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funeralmourners · 2 years

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Understanding is a predator’s tool

… but love is also predation.

[Spoilers for Nightmare Alley by William Lindsay Gresham, the Hannibal series by Thomas Harris, adapted for NBC by Bryan Fuller, and AMC’s Interview with the Vampire].

Who dares to understand us? Certainly, only someone who loves us would make that terrible effort. But what if love wasn’t the motive–or at least, not the only motive? What if understanding was a weapon? And what if it was a weapon pointed at both ends?

Monsters in horror or horrific tales have various tools at their disposal. Understanding is one of them. They use what they understand of you to manipulate, influence, or otherwise hurt you. This can feel like both a loving gesture and a violation. First, this monster is intimate with you; they have knowledge of you that you believed you’d hidden well, knowledge reserved for someone devoted enough to discover it. Second, this monster shows no kindness to you when they draw out this knowledge and use it to their advantage. The victim feels like their heart has been turned out to the air. It is an attack that is cruel because it is intimate.

What is the effect of this attack? Here’s how the victim of understanding experiences it in William Lindsay Gresham’s “Nightmare Alley,” as he’s being probed by the diabolical psychologist Dr. Lilith Ritter.

When she hounds him to reveal secrets he’s never given up to anyone, including himself, he feels hunted.

“Did he have a deep voice?” [Lilith asks.]

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Never mind. What was he to you?”

“Nothing. That is–”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Damn it, quit deviling me.”

When he threatens her out of weakness, saying he’ll sic gangsters on her, she gives him no face and continues to disarm him.

“I’ve been shouted at before, Mr. Carlisle. But you don’t really know any gangsters. You’d be afraid of them. Just as you’re afraid of me. You’re full of rage, aren’t you? You feel you hate me, don’t you? You’d like to come off that couch and strike me, wouldn’t you?–but you can’t. You’re quite helpless with me. [...].”

A young, handsome grifter who finds pleasure in duping others out of their money, he’s reduced to crawling blindly under her psychological assaults.

He was on his knees, one hand beating at his eyes. He crawled to her and threw his head in her lap. Dr. Lilith Ritter, gazing down at the disheveled corn-colored hair, smiled slightly. She let one hand rest on his head, running her fingers gently over his hair [...].

He worships her despite, or because of, the weakness she strikes into him.

[...] he felt the helpless wonder sweep over him again, the impotence at touching her, the supplication. Twice she had given it to him. She had given it as she might give him a glass of brandy, watching his reactions.

She, of course, enjoys all this immensely.

Dr. Lilith Ritter, at the moment in a very unethical but satisfying position in relation to one of her patients, laughed deep in her throat.

Throughout her manipulations, she refers to her victim as “lover.” But crucially, Lilith is not a lover. She is a “master of herself,” as Anne Carson refers to non-lovers in Eros the Bittersweet; untouched by the madness of love, she is cold, stingy, and eminent. She uses understanding perfectly, as a weapon only, to prey on her patient Stanton Carlisle. Nonetheless, he experiences it as maddening attention and intimacy, because understanding feels the same regardless of intention–it feels like love. It breaks down the desperate, lonely victim who craves even false gestures. It’s perverse because it’s a bastardized act of love, and it hurts because even when it’s bastardized, it feels good.

But let’s look now at monsters who are also lovers.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, gourmand cannibal, also enjoys the rewards of being a diabolical psychiatrist.

I’ll start with the show by NBC. In Hannibal’s first conversation with Will Graham, the man who would eventually put Hannibal in prison, he speaks to him in words taken straight from Will Graham’s internal narration in the book series, specifically Red Dragon by Thomas Harris.

[Will’s] learned values of decency and propriety tagged along, shocked at his associations, appalled at his dreams; sorry that in the bone arena of his skull there were no forts for what he loved.

Compare this to Hannibal’s observation from 1.01, Aperitif.

HANNIBAL: I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

The dialogue emerges as prose, a fully formed and massaged thought, and perfectly accurate to Will’s mindset—perhaps it felt like a person you’d just met repeating a line word for word from your diary. It’s a particularly effective attack because Will Graham is oversensitive toward the thought of people getting “inside his head.” As it turns out, there are many things in there he’s fearful of others seeing; dissection frightens and weakens him. At that moment, he’s thoroughly disarmed. This is purposeful from Hannibal Lecter’s end, who makes a habit of this attack.

In Hannibal by Thomas Harris, Clarice Starling puts this habit of his this way, when asked how Hannibal Lecter feels about her:

“I think it’s easy to mistake understanding for empathy–we want empathy so badly. [...] It’s hard and ugly to know somebody can understand you without even liking you. When you see understanding just used as a predator’s tool, that’s the worst. I…I have no idea how Dr. Lecter feels about me.”

Again, despite this ugly, predatory use of a human tool, it still feels like empathy and love. As another character, Barney, says of Hannibal Lecter’s elegant courteousness alongside his monstrosity:

“That didn’t mean he wouldn’t kill me any second if he got the chance–one quality in a person doesn’t rule out any other quality. They can exist side by side, good and terrible.”

The predatory quality of understanding exists alongside the tender quality, and this dual principle is demonstrated throughout Hannibal.

Hannibal Lecter, using his psychiatrist’s understanding, has influenced many of his patients toward his own aims–his own aims being chaos. In short, he lures out the chaotic, murderous urges in his patients, coaxes them to the surface, and allows his victims to destroy themselves or others, all in the service of terror and beauty. He continues this habit with Will, who he finds attractive because of his enhanced empathy and hidden urges.

Before Hannibal is revealed to be who he is, Hannibal and Will’s interactions operate on two threads. On the first strand, Hannibal is Will’s ideal intellectual and verbal companion. They are fond of each other’s company; they discuss horrific murder cases, enjoying the debate as if they were playing moves in chess; they are each other’s accomplices, making one other the fathers of a girl orphaned by their collective efforts. On the face, it’s the most profound intimacy: two men growing closer despite, or maybe because of, the horror they’re immersed in.

On the second strand, Hannibal Lecter is–at every turn–lying to and manipulating Will, destroying his ties to others, and planting evidence that will cause everybody Will knows to abandon him. Their friendship is a deliberate trickery and seduction which Hannibal has employed based on his understanding of Will, and it is successful because he knows Will so well. Beneath it, the violation is profound, whole, and entire; he even makes Will swallow the piece of evidence that will damn him, their surrogate daughter’s severed ear. Nothing he has done to court Will’s friendship has been without motive. In this way, he has used his understanding, which Will experienced as purest, greatest companionship, to victimize Will.

Perhaps he’s even pulled off this predation without attaching himself over much. But notice what happens throughout the story, and is even starting to happen here. Because Hannibal Lecter’s ultimate aim is not sadism–it is, as said, chaos. Will Graham wasn’t a plaything he’d decided to torment just to torment him. Will Graham had a quality that Hannibal wanted to expose in him no matter what, because he found it amusing or exciting: Will’s own monstrosity. Recognizing that Will’s defensiveness hid something Will found unspeakable, he set about ruthlessly exposing it–so that he could love it.

It’s not that he knew he would love it or Will. It began as his habitual whimsy to peel back people’s skin, dissecting them mentally and physically. But then Will exceeds his expectations in this respect. Every layer he exposes in Will, he experiences to be the most amusing, interesting, admirable thing he’s seen in another person. He begins to see a true companion in Will, just as Will falsely saw companionship in Hannibal before Hannibal revealed himself.

So the monster’s aims are complicated by love. He is fascinated beyond professional curiosity, and this blinds him to Will’s next act, who now employs “understanding” to harm Hannibal just as Hannibal harmed him.

This he accomplishes with aplomb. Like Clarice Starling in the book series, he uses his understanding to lure or catch Hannibal Lecter. Clarice does it by knowing him “better than anyone in the world knew him” (Hannibal, Thomas Harris), tracking him by his taste in fine wines and foods. On the other hand, Will does this by giving Hannibal his heart’s desire: the cultivation of Will’s horrific urges as “the inspirations they are,” and his transformation into a killer. Will baits the hook with himself; knowing precisely what Hannibal Lecter wants, he engineers it, pretending to be Hannibal’s heart’s companion in order to entrap him.

But the maddening influence of love makes this strategy imperfect. Will’s retributive manipulation should be cold and effective, even if it’s rageful. But in his plan there is a touch of irrationality, a lack of sensibility; he can’t master his own feelings well enough to use his “understanding” cold-bloodedly.

Nowhere is this lack of mastery clearer than when Will, having spent his efforts maneuvering Hannibal into a trap, frees Hannibal from the snare at the last moment. For example, when he cuts Hannibal down from the machine at the Verger estate before his enemy can be fed to man-eating pigs; or when he calls Hannibal before their “last supper,” during which he planned to arrest and imprison Hannibal, to warn him that the FBI “knows.” Just as Hannibal is compromised by love, which blinds him to evidence of Will’s manipulation, Will is also compromised, unable to entrap Hannibal despite the advantage of his intimate weaponry. Love interferes with predation but also feeds on it; they are only possible together.

Let’s look at one more example: vampires.

The vampire in fiction is a master of others’ desires, and Lestat de Lioncourt is no exception. His preternatural gift for reading the minds of humans makes it easy to understand them; understanding them makes preying on them effortless. Humans are reduced to their desires, which the vampire can easily appeal to or manipulate, often without the victim's knowledge. The tool is perfect. But again, there is the imperfection of love…

When Louis du Pointe du Lac, still human, was understood by Lestat de Lioncourt, it completely disarmed him. Louis was seen, appealed to, and seduced. He was loved so completely and tempted so successfully that he felt it as predation, as he describes it in 1.01, In Throes of Increasing Wonder.

LOUIS: I was being hunted. And I was completely unaware.

Because he feels himself to be prey, metaphors of hunting describe Lestat’s courtship well: pursuit, luring, stalking, hounding. But because he is being understood, and because everybody wants to be understood, it still feels like what it is: seduction. Lestat’s tender attention to Louis’ mysteries unravels him, and he can’t help it. It’s a weakness of humans and even monsters to feel “being seen” as “being loved.”

The metaphors of hunting are often divided, as they are in NBC’s Hannibal, into either “stalking” (as in stag-hunting) or “luring” (as in fishing). There, the distinction is made because Will’s methods are more “lure” than “stalk”: he is the bait, he wants to hook Hannibal. But it’s appropriate to say that every lover in these examples does both; it’s all part of romance, after all.

Lestat, for example, “stalks” by hounding Louis, giving him no peace at his brother’s funeral, filling his mind with enticements, and even pursuing him to a church of God, his last refuge. He is intent on flushing Louis out. He “lures,” however, with softer techniques. In one scene, all he needs to do is walk backward for Louis to follow him. He dangles Miss Lily in front of him in a humiliation and enticement that remains on Louis’ mind long afterward. He offers him gifts: the winning hand, true understanding, a dark gift—chosen at each moment to appeal to what he understands is Louis’ heart’s desire.

These pursuits and lures are effective in each instance because Lestat understands Louis’s plight. His understanding of Louis ensures his words and gestures are exactly right. But it goes beyond manipulation; it is, in fact, love. His ultimate aim when utilizing this vampiric tool isn’t Louis’ destruction, it is his companionship. He disarms Louis out of vampiric habit but is more tender with the vulnerability he exposes than he is with that of the humans he feeds on. He hounds Louis to the edge of his wits, then offers him a gift born of love. He taunts him with Miss Lily, then invites him up to share a night of intimacy together. He pursues Louis in his grief to the church, brutalizes his last resorts, then offers him exaltation and freedom in the form of vampirism.

If he disregarded him, this predator’s tool of his would be both more devastating and less hurtful. If he loved him less, he would hound Louis to the edge of his wits and beyond, leaving him no recourse whatsoever and devastating him completely—but here he pursues Louis to the point and no more. If he was a monster who only wanted to feed on Louis, he would betray him only once, kill him, and be done with it—here he hurts Louis often with his love. This push and pull is a torture that only a lover could invent.

Again, in the hands of the lover this understanding is a double-edged tool; in turn, the vampire Lestat is flayed by his own weakness, perhaps even more than Louis is. Having understood Louis’ heart, Lestat selects him as worthy of his love. If the goal is to hurt Louis without being hurt, this is a mistake. As a lover, Lestat has now put himself in the position of prey, and willingly. He wants nothing more than for Louis to understand and love him as he understands and loves Louis. He is inviting Louis to see him, which will arm Louis against him if Louis ever chooses to hurt him. He puts his habitual weapon, the weapon of understanding, in Louis’ hands. This willful disarming of himself is his only option; vampirism has made him lonely beyond words. He is backed into a corner by love, just as Louis is.

Loneliness makes being understood devastating, but it’s a loneliness that can’t be escaped, that both monsters and humans share. Even Hannibal Lecter and Lestat de Lioncourt are willing to weaken themselves, make themselves mortal for love.

The monster who is also a lover flays their victim out of tenderness, wanting to prey on them, but also desiring to better love and appeal to them. This love, then, ruins them. Even as they inflict understanding on their lovers, they are, in turn, betrayed and victimized themselves.

#iwtv #hannibal #loustat #hannigram #interview with the vampire #nightmare alley #meta #analysis #mine #i really should have worked on actual things today but this kind of consumed me tbh #...#bonafide

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luveline · 1 month

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You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.”

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could.

“You’re not saying hi anymore?”

“Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.”

He looks up tentatively. “You have?”

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.”

“Why?” Spencer asks.

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.”

“Okay.”

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.”

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.”

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.”

“And stuff.”

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.”

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone.

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks.

“What are you enjoying lately?”

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?”

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.”

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse.

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail.

“Hug?” you ask hopefully.

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear.

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly.

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second.

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?”

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.”

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?”

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him.

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger.

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.”

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.”

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face.

“Nothing,” Spencer says.

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.”

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases.

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 5 months

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I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

#uuugh #either nobody will see this or everyone will and they will complain about it #sundrop speaks #dick grayson x reader #jason todd x reader #ellie williams x reader #spencer reid x reader #abby anderson x reader #mike schmidt x reader #fanfiction #fandom #vanessa shelly x reader #gar logan x reader

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thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

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Ghost of You | J. Miller (Chapter Four)

Series Summary / Grief is a strange thing. In the beginning it had been all-consuming. There wasn’t a moment of the day where you didn’t cry, didn’t ask yourself why it couldn’t have been you instead. And no-one ever explains the guilt you feel when it isn’t anymore. When it’s just a dull ache and you can finally breathe again, when you can start letting people get close to you again. People like Joel Miller.

Pairing / Joel Miller x Widow F!Reader

Word Count / 4K

Warnings / Descriptions of grief and depression, a therapy session, some Ellie/Reader fluff but nothing else - let me know if I've missed anything!

Authors Note / You know when I said this would be slow burn? I really meant it. I really hope you guys aren't getting bored but I promise things are going to heat up from Chapter 5 onwards 👀 Thank you once again for all your love on this series - I say it every time but it's really close to my heart and to know you guys are enjoying it really does mean the world! If you like this then please considering reblogging, leaving comments or popping into my ask box with some love! I love y'all!

Series Masterlist / Main Masterlist

You never thought you’d be the kind of person who needed a therapist. Even when your parents had passed in quick succession before the outbreak you’d managed to carry on with the distraction of normal life, processing your grief quickly, distracting yourself with finishing school and applying for college. Even now, when you thought back to them, it was with fond memories. Nowhere near the level of grief you had now after losing Mark.

Maybe it was the change in the world or the fact that Mark had been a part of your life longer than your parents had? You didn’t really know. Maria had suggested that trying to unpack your feelings with a therapist would be beneficial for you, someone neutral who could help you back to the person you’d been before he’d died. It had been six months since you first sat in this chair, the same feeling of anxiety you had then was apparent now, as Belinda poured you a glass of water and situated a box of tissues on the table, you took one, knowing you’d need it like you always did.

“So, how are you?” She asks, settling down in the chair opposite you with her notepad resting on her crossed knee.

“I’m okay.” You say simply.

This is a rehearsed response. You always say it. Because if you needed a therapist, were you ever okay?

Belinda nods like she always did, “I wanted to start today by revisiting what we spoke about last time,” Her voice is high and sweet and she’s at least twenty years older than you, “Remember we spoke about doing something to push yourself out of your comfort zone?” She asks, and you nod, “Did you do anything since our last session to work on that?”

You take a deep breath; how much should you tell her?

“I have, yeah.”

“That’s good,” She praises, a genuine smile on her mouth, “Can you tell me about it?”

“I went to The Tipsy Bison last week.” Is all you offer her.

“With Tommy and Maria?”

You nod, “And his brother and the little girl he’s got.”

She quirks her eyebrow a little, if you hadn’t been paying close attention to her face you would have missed it, “And would you say Tommy’s brother is a friend?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, I guess so, he came around a few weeks ago and fixed my porch step and he’s helping to build the table and chairs that Mark was going to do before he got sick.”

“Do you talk to him about Mark?”

“We’ve spoken a little about him, he actually lost his own daughter on outbreak day, so I guess I feel like he understands what I’m going through.”

She nods, “Let’s go back a bit and talk about going to the bar,” She writes something down on her notepad, you never really know what it is she’s writing, “Was it as bad as you had expected?”

You look down at your hands, scrunched tissue in one hand as your nails pick at the skin of your cuticles, “I was nervous about going, and I think I stood outside the door waiting to go in for too long, my mind was thinking of what would happen, like I would open the door and everyone would stop and go silent and just look at me, but no-one really noticed, but when we sat down to have a drink, someone said something and it kinda ruined everything.”

“What did they say?” She pushes.

You sigh, “That I’d made a miraculous recovery all of a sudden.”

“And how did that make you feel?” Ah. The classic therapy question.

You take a moment to formulate your answer in your mind, “I was angry,” You reply, “But not at the person who said it, I was angry at myself because it was true.”

“But is it true?” Belinda pushes, “From my perspective, of course we’ve made steps since you first began coming to see me, but I don’t think either of us think you’re fully recovered, do we?”

You shake your head to agree with her, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that sure, what was said wasn’t really true, but it’s the things they didn’t say which made me think they are,” Belinda is looking at you to continue explaining, “In the back of my mind I thought, well of course I’m recovered if I’m sat in a bar with a smile on my face, and if I can do this then why can’t I go back to work? Why can’t I start contributing to the community again? That’s what I think they’re saying in their heads about me.”

“But you don’t know that do you?” She asks, “This is something I’ve noticed about you, that you project your own feelings onto other people, even though you have no idea what else they’re really thinking.”

You nod because she’s not wrong, of course she’s not, “How do I stop?” You almost beg her.

She shrugs a little, “You’ve got to stop caring about what other people think,” She says it like it’s the simplest thing to do, “Of course not the people who really matter to you, Maria, Tommy, his brother, their opinions matter, but those people who you see in passing, what they think doesn’t matter because they don’t really know you.”

She looks briefly to her watch, “We don’t have much time left, but I’m proud of you, and if you think you’re ready to go back to work then challenge yourself, maybe ask Maria for a couple of hours a week, just to ease yourself back in, and we can talk about it a bit more next week?” You nod in agreement, “And it’s good to hear you’re making new friends too, I think Tommy’s brother might be someone to keep around if it makes you comfortable, friend’s with shared experiences can be helpful in recovery.”

You nod in understanding and spend a few minutes agreeing on what day and time you’ll meet next week before she’s ushering you out of her office in time for her next patient. As you stand in front of her office, a thought spring to your mind. This is the first time you’ve left having not cried. The tissue is still dry in your hand, a small victory that you can hand yourself on your journey to healing.

Just ten minutes later you are stood outside Maria’s house, knocking on the door. You can hear shuffling behind the door before she pulls it open, a look of shock written on her face that it’s you.

“Is everything okay?” She asks.

“As fine as it normally is,” You respond, “I was just coming back from Belinda’s and I wanted to ask you something.”

“You want to come inside?” She asks, “I’ve just made coffee.”

You gladly accept and before long you’re both sat on the couch, sipping coffee, “I think I’d like to go back to work.” You say simply before you get the opportunity to chicken out.

She almost chokes on the coffee she’d just taken a drink of, “Are you sure?”

“Definitely not full time,” You’re quick to add, “I just want to start with a few hours and see if I’m okay.”

“Where’s this come from?” You let out a sigh, “I’m fed up Maria,” You speak honestly, “Fed up of people thinking I’m useless, fed up of spending every day in the same four walls,” And then you add, “And I’m fed up of thinking that Mark would hate what I’ve become over him.”

She pauses for a moment, “Let me speak to Kate and see if we can sort something out from next week,” She smiles, “I’m sure she’ll be grateful to have you back, she always complains that Charlotte still doesn’t understand the library system,” She puts on a poor imitation of Kate’s accent, “Jane Austen next to Philippa Gregory.”

You both laugh and you think it’s truly the first time you’ve properly laughed in what feels like forever. You spend a little more time with her, finishing your coffee before leaving her to it and as you walk down the street towards your own home, you can’t deny that you feel a little lighter than normal.

It’s Monday afternoon, one of two afternoon’s you’ve agreed to step back into the library to help. Kate had suggested it because it was the afternoon that the teacher’s brought the kids down to choose a book to take home. It would be busy enough to distract you and meant you wouldn’t spend your time sat thinking.

You’d already helped two classes this afternoon, the last class we’re due in a few minutes, so Kate and you were enjoying a moment to sit and recuperate over a cup of tea. Well. Tea was stretching it – it was Kate’s usual concoction of boiled water and water flavourings she could get her hands on. Today it was lemon slices and honey, but it was warm and soothing so you wouldn’t complain.

“I’m really happy to see you.” She speaks honestly, grasping at your arm to give it a squeeze, “I know this can’t have been easy, but I’ve hope we’ve not scared you off.”

You offer a small smile, “I’ve actually enjoyed it, I guess my therapist was right when she said finding distractions would be helpful.”

Kate is about to speak again when the library door swings open and the older children start filing in, their teacher doing his best to corral them into the middle of the room. It’s just as you remember, he tells them they’ve got fifteen minutes to browse and choose and book and once they have, they need to come to the front desk to check it out.

You notice Ellie is part of the group, she’s hanging back, shuffling from foot-to-foot, but once her teacher lets them go, she’s just as excited as everyone else, picking up books and reading the covers. She’s one of the first to bring her choice over to the desk. You smile as you take it from her.

“Artemis Fowl?” You grin, “Great choice, it’s really good.” You write her name in the checking-out book and then the title of the book, before writing the date three weeks from now that she needs to bring it back on the inside cover of the book.

“I didn’t know you worked here.” She comments, taking the book back from you.

“I’m only here for two afternoons, trying to ease myself back into things, but yeah, before everything happened with Mark, this was my full-time job.”

“I bet you’ve read everything here, right?”

“Not quite,” You smirk, “But pretty much, if you ever want to know what else is good to read, you know where to come.”

She smiles and says thank you and just before she turns to leave, “Say, you don’t think you could ask Joel to pop by sometime and finish up the table for me, could you?”

She smirks, “Only if I can come so you can teach me how to make pie?”

You hold out your hand and she takes it to shake, “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

It isn’t until Sunday that Joel and Ellie turn up at your front door. Summer really is in full swing now and it’s warm. You’ve been padding about in the garden trying to clear up, tank top now slightly sticking to your back from the thin sheen of sweat you’ve worked up and you think it’s possible the skin on your legs will be burnt when you finish up for the day.

Joel heads straight for the back porch with his toolbox in hand, Ellie lingers at the kitchen table.

“Do you want coffee?” You ask, tilting your head around the open back door.

He shakes his head, “Water would be nice though.”

You head back to the kitchen and pour three glasses of water from the jug in your fridge, adding lemon slices to give it a little flavour. Joel thanks you when you had him the glass and you smile at him before heading back to the kitchen to focus on Ellie.

“Alright, you ready?” You ask and she nods with enthusiasm, “I tried to get apples at the market, but they were all out, so I’m afraid it’s cherries today.”

You bring out a bowl of cherries from the fridge and put them out the counter, “The first thing we need to do is wash them and take the stones out, it’s a bit fiddly but it’s fun, I promise.”

You rummage around in your cutlery drawer for the pair of chopsticks you know are hidden somewhere. You can almost imagine the family living in this house before the world went to shit, sitting at their table, eating Chinese food with them. God, what you wouldn’t give for fried rice right now. You had one of the sticks to Ellie once she’s washed her hands and rinsed the fruit.

“So, you take a cherry and pull the stem off,” You do it to show her, “And then you eat the first one to make sure the fruit is okay,” You smile as you pop the cherry into your mouth, watching as she does the same, “You think they’re good?”

She’s smiling at you, “They’re fucking great!”

You spit the stone into your palm and put your hand near her face for her to do the same before you discard the stones in the trash bin next to you, “Okay, now we know they’re good, what you need to do is take the smaller end of the chopstick, and can you see where you pulled the stem out from?” You point to the spot on her fruit, “You just push the end through it and hopefully….” You draw out as you push your stick into the cherry between your fingers, the stone pops out through the bottom, “That will happen!”

You watch as Ellie copies your movements, the stone popping out through the bottom of the cherry, “Does it matter that the fruit broke?” She asks, placing her destoned cherry in the bowl with your own.

“Not at all, we’ve got to break them to eat them, right?”

Joel is working studiously just outside the kitchen window and when you reach the last cherry in the bowl, you take it in hand, opening the window, “Hey Joel?” You call, he looks up from his work and you dangle the cherry out into the open space, he smiles as he takes it, popping it into his mouth before mirroring what you’d done, spitting the pip into his hand and slinging it over the side of your fence.

It strikes you in this moment that being with Joel and Ellie is effortless. Although they both know what happened and a little about how you’ve delt with it, they don’t seem to judge you, neither of them look at you with sorry written in their eyes, they don’t press you to talk about things you don’t want to and they both seem genuinely interested in what you have to say, or in Ellie’s case, teach them.

You take Ellie through the rest of the steps of preparing the fruit, drizzling them in a little honey in place of sugar, teaching her how to make the pastry, which involves more flour ending up on both of you that it does in the recipe. You let her pour the fruit into the pastry and decide which kind of top she wants on it. She’s a girl after your own heart and opts for lattice.

Once it’s in the oven baking, Ellie sits on your couch with her book whilst you tidy up. You refill her glass of water before heading out to do the same to Joel’s. He’s almost finished with the table, just a few more planks of wood to hammer into the top and he’ll be done.

“Thanks,” He says simply when you fill his glass, he takes it and drinks deeply, brushing his forehead for sweat, you stand with him for a while, “Ellie says she saw you at the library earlier this week, is that where you work?” He’s making polite conversation and you smile.

“I worked there before everything happened,” You explain, “I was speaking to my therapist a few weeks ago who said she thought it would be a positive step for me, so I’m just doing two afternoons a week to ease me back in,” You refill his glass when he’s finished with it, “Baby steps and all that.”

“S’good,” He nods, “You seem a bit happier today.”

“I think it’s more to do with her,” You speak honestly, motioning your head inside to where Ellie is, “She’s a great kid Joel.”

“She is,” He agrees, “I’m glad she’s finally gettin’ the chance to be a kid for a while.”

He’s finishing up with the last few bits of wood for the table, “You wanna stay for a slice of pie?” You ask, “It shouldn’t be long coming out of the oven.”

“If it’s anythin’ like the last one then I don’t think I can say no,” He smirks, “Let me finish up here and I’ll come in.”

“Oh no, stay out here, we need to make sure your handiwork is sturdy enough.” You give him a little wink just to play with him, before wondering whether that was too much. He doesn’t suggest it was, just beams his lovely smile at you.

You turn on your heel and head back into the kitchen. You kneel in front of the oven, and you can see through the door that the fruit is bubbling through the lattice top and the pastry itself is looking lovely and golden.

“Hey, Ellie, you wanna take your pie out of the oven?” You ask, she’s folding the corner of the page she’s reading and is by your side in record time.

You hand her the oven gloves, another souvenir from whoever lived here before, it’s white, or would have been before they’d been used to death and had a pretty floral pattern on it. Not what you’d have chosen if you’d been filling your new home, but you always tried to remind yourself that beggars couldn’t be choosers in this world.

“Careful when you open the door, it’ll be really hot.” Ellie shoots you a playful look that tells you she isn’t that dumb.

She pulls open the door and steps back to let the steam flow out before she’s wrapping the oven gloves around the pie and putting on the stove top to cool, “As the expert,” You speak, “I have to say that looks and smells fantastic.”

You peer out of the window; Joel is just shutting his toolbox and you watch him takes his hands a brush the tabletop of any dust and debris left over from him building it. He then takes the chairs he’d made and sets them around the table. You turn your head when he starts moving to come inside.

“Kiddo, that looks great,” He praises Ellie, looking over her shoulder at her creation, “Let me wash my hands and we can dig in.”

You busy yourself with grabbing some plates and forks, handing them to Ellie to take outside, whilst you take the oven gloves and take the pie outside, setting it down on the table. You stand back and look at what Joel’s made. In the old world, this would have cost you a pretty penny and you can’t help but realise how talented he is. There’s nothing to suggest that you hadn’t been down to the best furniture store and paid thousands of dollars for it.

“I brought a knife.” Comes Joel’s voice from behind you, he’s brandishing your biggest kitchen knife and you think that in any other circumstance you’d be threatened by him, but there’s something about the goofy grin on his face that you know means that he would never hurt you.

He gives the knife to Ellie and sits down in one of the chairs, you follow suit, taking time to warn her to be careful if she needs to touch the pie tin because it’s likely to still be hot. You catch Joel smiling at you and you know it’s because he’s her dad – whether by blood or not, you can tell that he cares deeply for her and he’s thankful, in some small way that you are too.

Ellie cuts into the pie and struggles to get it out of the tin, the pastry below breaks and the fruit spills onto the plate that she only just manages to catch the slice on.

“I’ll take that one,” You smile, holding out your hand for the plate, “Got to break it to eat it, right?” You echo your words from inside the kitchen earlier on.

Once everyone has a slice on their plate and has left it to cool for long enough, you’re all digging in and you have to admit it’s just as good as the one you made yourself.

“Maybe I should sign you up for kitchen duty,” Joel jokes as he spears another bite with his fork, “You can start earning your keep, kiddo.”

Ellie looks disgusted at the very notion of being put to work and you all laugh together. It’s in this moment that you think to Mark. Would this have been your life if you’d been blessed with children? When you’d arrived in Jackson it had been a serious conversation. You were safe. People had been having children for months. They had a real midwife for God’s sake. The lack of children hadn’t been through lack of trying either. You remember lazy Sunday mornings wrapped up in bed together, hands raking over naked bodies, moans and praises spilled from mouths. You’d just never been blessed. You’d never talked about who might have been the problem, it didn’t matter anyway, if it couldn’t be with Mark then it wasn’t meant to be.

And perhaps now you’re thankful. If Mark had still died, there would have been someone else to care for during your grief. A constant reminder, in the flesh, of who he was, who he’d been. You hated to think of not being able to look at your own child because they reminded you too much of your dead husband. No. Better to be alone in your grief than add that kind of complication.

Once the slices were finished on everyone’s plate and you’d packaged two extra slices for Joel and Ellie to take home, you’re standing on your porch. Ellie is already making her way down the street, but Joel is hanging back.

“I really don’t know how to say thank you,” You admit, “You’ve been a real lifeline since you came here so just… thank you.”

He smiles at you, secretly wishing he could reach his hands out to touch you. He can’t remember the last time he genuinely wanted to touch someone like he wanted to touch you. He didn’t even think he had that with Tess. Sure, she’d been a comfort and he cared for her, but it had never been love. Just a means to an end, a way to ease each other’s pain for a moment. Then he caught himself. This wasn’t love either. Sure, you’d spent time together and all he really wanted to in any moment he saw you was kiss away the furrow of your brow, but he couldn’t love you. Not yet.

“I just like helpin’ out,” He offers, quickly looking down the street to find Ellie talking to someone from school, “I like knowing it makes things easier for you, that’s all the thanks I need.”

“Well, consider Ellie and you guests of honor when I can finally host that dinner on your handiwork.”

He winks at you, and you think you can feel a slight flush across your cheeks, but you think if it is appearing across your skin, you can pass it off as the hear, “Consider it done, sweet pea, I’ll see you around.”

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emilyartstudio-s · 2 months

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Hi! I absolutely love your work and think you are really talented!

I dunno if you were asked this before but: How do you stay motivated?

Ive been having an art flunk for a few months now and wanna know how I can try to get back into the swing of things?

Much appreciated!

You sent me this in my peek art and motivation block AAA I had no idea what to answer you and I for real felt so bad ;;u;;!! I guess I still kind of struggle and it doesn't help when I leave for so long because of those unmotivated moments;;; I wasn't drawing for a while and I couldn't pick up a pencil and convince myself to do it.

I was asking myself more about what was the point of me doing all of this? And honestly that's not the question you should be questioning when it gets that bad. I think what kind of made me start actually doing something was doing one thing that was easy. I started to draw headshots of characters I never drew before but that I love so dearly. I was doing them on my sketchbook away from my usual work area ^^! It was easy and stress less and no one has to see them so the pressure was off! I picked one thing with a theme (Headshots, shows that I love such as The Last airbender, freiren, legend of zelda, ect!!) Maybe you need to pick one theme (draw only ducks for a week, or flowers, or cars??)) and see where it takes you! Always be patient with yourself, it sucks to wait but you will thank yourself in the end. I was also watching a lot of Hopeful content instead of swimming in my sadness!! Idk if sadness is what you experience when you have art block but I sure do hadsjksd And I can tell you from experience that it really messes with my creative process. So i need to take care of me before I sit down and do anything, which I was really bad at doing before. Just always believe that life is about choices. But it's never "I do this thing or I don't do it at all". You should think "DO I want to draw cars today or work on my AU??" it doesn't have to be all or nothing. Half assing things is way better than not doing it at all! I hope you are in a much better place now! Art is amazing and can break our minds. But it doesn't have to consume us if we aren't feeling it at the moment. Thank you for your ask!!

#asks #I missed this how is everyone

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marsosims · 5 months

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Hello! I've been super busy finishing up requirements for school... Today's the last day for the submission of requirements and I've been rushing to do them and submit on time, but I've been struck with a bout of procrastination, and I thought I'd participate in simblr appreciation day!

(under the cut because it's surprisingly long [that's what she said...])

I don't really have any particular people in mind but that's mostly because I cannot remember every single person and I would feel bad about forgetting anybody,,, ANYWAY! here's some appreciation to:

The people who make CC and mods - y'all make this game bearable and I genuinely cannot live without them so I am very much thankful to all of u ily all (except the permawallers)

The people who make those CC and mods POSSIBLE - the people over at s4s and all the other tools like s4castools, as well as the tutorials they've made over the years have been INVALUABLE to the community and I just wanted to recognize them and say thank you <3

The people who reblog CC and mods - I feel as a creator, I've always been very appreciative of people who reblog my content because it genuinely helps me out to have my content spread to a wider audience. On the flipside, as a consumer, I'm also very appreciative of these people because I LOVEE discovering new creators that I've never known before who make literally the best items out there and AAA i'm just so happy

The people who download and play with said CC and mods and create the most beautiful sims, stories, and builds with them - as a creator, I honestly feel very giddy whenever I see people use my cc or even my mods. I know I don't generally reblog (because I usually forget) but I genuinely appreciate all of you! Thank you so much! All of the sims and builds I've seen with my CC have been incredible and have been truly inspiring <3 The stories and edits that I see on my dashboard (or when I stalk people on my activity dashboard IM SORRY) are honestly amazing and I LOVE to see it!

Of course, the people who play vanilla! - whatever type of gameplay you make, whether it's vanilla or with a shit ton of CC and mods, I love to see it! It's so refreshing to see how differently people use the same game to create such a diverse community! Vanila players, however, I have SOO much respect for. You guys are the strongest soldiers out there. I am weak to the temptation of custom content. Always have been.

The people who made this a thing! - this has honestly been one of the best things I've seen on simblr in a while, all the negativity and drama have made me a little less keen on being here a few months ago, but I've slowly come back and I'm genuinely so happy to see something like this happen :D

My patrons - honestly couldn't really end this appreciation post without saying a thank you to my patrons. Seriously, thank you :D You don't know how much your donations mean to me and my getting through college. The extra funds from your donations have allowed me to be generally independent in terms of funding myself and my activities. Seriously.

Anyway, this has been a super long post and I'm actually kind of embarrassed to post it because it feels like a long diary because I've been rambling about stupid stuff that I should have probably kept to myself but uhh yeah!!!!

Hope you guys have a happy holiday season!!! Expect more things from me, at least until the end of this year! I've been working on some stuff! Probably not exciting, but it's stuff!

#marso #simblr appreciation day #this is so rambly #bye #i'm going to work on my requirements again

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sin-djarin · 6 months

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Becca's Brunch

Happy Sunday and the seasonal treats are in. Cranberry stuff, cinnamon things, pumpkin spiced donuts - I have it all (not really but we're pretending for a hot second, okay?). But there's probably still some Halloween bits leftover if you look hard enough. And coffee or whatever way you consume your caffeine, grab it, sit for a minute and let us enjoy.

Or, what I've gotten round to reading this week to make more room on the TBR shelf.

First, a quick reminder that what I may like, you may not and that's okay! Please heed individual warnings on fics. Leave an author a comment and reblog if you enjoy their work!

Joel Miller:

first light by @5oh5

oct 29 x stormy days by @trulybetty

Javier Pena:

Paranoid Heart by @goodwithcheese (new chapter)

Unworthy by @morallyinept

anytime by @undercoverpena

Dieter Bravo:

Bite Me by @chronically-ghosted

Working Title by @rhoorl (new chapter)

Ezra:

embers by @sp00kymulderr

Max Phillips:

La Mordida by @imalrightllama

Marcus Pike:

Headshots by @secretelephanttattoo

Or, other bits and pieces that made me smile this week.

Analysis of Tim Rockford's eyesight by @gemmahale

little cute things to remember by @undercoverpena

This moodboard but also all the other beautiful ones @wildemaven has been creating.

Or, what I managed to dish up this week.

Fic:

steep is the mountain Tim Rockford x f!reader

"art" (in quotation marks because these were a hurried job)

Bravo Bumper Stickers

Or, what if, by some miracle, we got two characters in the same room?

See below for Joel being totally fucking unimpressed at Marcus's forwardness.

Sleeves? No, not on this menu. You're safe.

Was this some sort of excuse to post a Rockford-esque image? No, and you can't prove anything.

Well. Good news and bad news.

Bad news. I am very tired. Know how I know? I work with a very sweet woman who asked me if I was tired and that was enough. Also, I've been asleep before 11pm many nights this week and still woke up exhausted. (Sorry @for-a-longlongtime for falling asleep mid conversation!) Corporate chaos ensued and my ADHD brain is teetering on burnout and I like to catch it before that actually happens.

Good news! I have a few days off and I'm going on a little surprise staycation. This is technically our first holiday since pre covid times. I'm excited but as a result, the kitchen will be closed for brunch next week. There is stuff in the queue, but I am hoping to stay off my phone/laptop for a while. Now having said that, I do hope to clear up a little space on my tbr shelf because damn, you're all so talented and your words and imaginations bring me so much joy. Please drop a tag if you think there's something I should read, and I'll be around for the rest of the day anyways in case ya need me.

Now, a very apt OST:

Friends, if you've made it this far, je t'adore. I wish you a week of creativity, rest, as much caffeine or caffeine free tea as your heart desires. Drink water, be safe and be careful. Be kind to yourselves and to one another. Be mindful of your energy and what you put it into, especially as the nights get longer this time of year.

I'll see ya on the other side and if I'm not back avenge my death. I'm kidding, don't do this. It's a Simpsons quote. From Homer vs The Eighteenth Amendment. You know the one? You're out there somewhere, beer baron...

Hopefully I return with Frankie's level of competency and Javi G levels of enthusiasm.

Clearly, I need coffee and so...

Thanks for your patience and the smiles that you bring me week after week.

Love, your emo neighbour,

Becca 🤍

Disclaimer: Joel's expression is not an accurate presentation of mine today, I promise I'm quite happy!

#joel miller #javier pena #marcus pike #frankie morales #max phillips #ezra prospect #dieter bravo #joel miller x reader #javier pena x reader #marcus pike x reader #max philips x reader #ezra prospect x you #dieter bravo x reader #fic rec #becca's brunch #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fanfiction #Spotify

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ctitan98official · 3 months

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@theauthor2103 : YN after getting in a fight with Alcina and having a panic attack because they have abandonment issues and thinks Alcina will leave them? Maybe she goes outside to be alone in a part of the castle where no one can hear her and completely breaks down. Alcina realizing she was in the wrong and seeks to comfort them after?

I really love this prompt. I have abandonment issues too so this was kind of cathartic for me lol. Reader, as usual, is gender-neutral. Let’s get into it!

You feel your heart racing, your frame wracked by uncontrollable shaking. You and Alcina are in the middle of a heated argument and you have never been so upset. She’s yours and you’re afraid that this disagreement is going to push her away forever. The fight had escalated quickly, fueled by both of your tempers and your own underlying insecurities that have been building for days. But now, as the realization sinks in that you might have pushed her too far, panic begins to consume you.

Your palms sweat, and your breath comes in shallow gasps. This is what always happens, isn’t it? The fear of abandonment, the crushing weight of being left behind, it’s all too familiar. You’ve been through it before. The scars it left still haunt you. And now, in the midst of this chaos, you can’t shake the thought that Alcina will leave you. Everybody does in the end, right?

With trembling legs, you turn away from her and stumble out of the room. You can’t bear to look at her, afraid of what you might see in her eyes. You need to be alone, away from prying eyes, somewhere no one can hear you. You finally find yourself in a secluded part of the castle, surrounded by ancient stone walls and eerie silence. This is where you seek solace, or at least try to.

As you lean against the cold wall, the dam holding back your emotions finally breaks. You cover your face with your hand and tears stream down your face as you cry. It feels like the weight of the world is crashing down on you, the ache of past betrayals intermingling with the raw pain of the present moment. Each sob is a testament to your deepest fears and insecurities.

Amidst your anguish, you’re unaware of Alcina’s presence until you hear her voice. It’s softer than before, filled with an unexpected tenderness that catches you off guard.

“Y/N,” She calls out your name, her tone carrying concern and regret. Slowly, you turn to face her, your eyes swollen and red, your vulnerability laid bare before her.

Alcina steps closer, her expression now gentle, and her eyes holding a mix of remorse and understanding. She reaches out a hand tentatively, as if she is afraid to touch you, afraid to cause more harm. But you don’t pull away. Instead, you let her pull you into her arms and envelop you in a warm embrace, her hold a comforting shelter in the storm.

“I’m sorry, draga,” She whispers, her voice sincere. “I never meant to hurt you. I should have handled my frustration better,” She admits. “I wasn’t angry at you, draga. I’ve actually been… Having a difficult time with Mother Miranda today and I just let things get out of hand,” She reassures.

In this moment, you understand that Alcina, too, carries her own demons, her own regrets. Miranda has always been a complicated figure in Alcina’s life and can rile her up more than anyone. You didn’t realize that’s why she was already so upset today.

You take a deep breath and through your tears, you manage to speak. “I… I thought you would leave me. That’s why I… Panicked.”

Alcina’s heart breaks at this and her grip tightens ever so slightly, as if to assure you that she’s here to stay. “I will never leave you, draga I promise you that. We’ll work through this together, just as we’ve faced everything else.” She promises, tears now streaming down her face also. “You are part of me. I couldn’t bare to lose you, draga,” She says. She needs to be more mindful of your past traumas and ever-present worries. She silently vows to do better in the future.

You find relief at her words and in the warmth of her embrace. You want to hold onto this feeling of safety forever. Your abandonment issues won’t magically vanish, and the road ahead might be rocky, but with Alcina’s love and understanding, you feel a flicker of hope ignite within.

She places a gentle kiss on your head, nuzzling her face into your hair. “I love you, draga. Never forget that.”

Masterlist

#alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #re8 #re8 village #re8 lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitriscu x reader #lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x y/n #alcina dimitrescu x reader #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #resident evil imagines #lady dimitrescu x y/n #angst #angst drabble

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dark-is-d3ad · 5 months

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Moving AU, part 3, anyone? Haven't got a tv and a ps5 like Ghost, but I do have some lights now (gosh my own headcanon made me want them so bad, why do I do this to myself).

Part 1, part 2, part 2.5 - context.

• A few days later it really starts getting on Ghost's nerves. Even with help from Gaz and Roach, a lot of their stuff isn't sorted yet, and they're both tired of it already. He's used to order, his home was always organised, and this is nowhere near it, and it won't be for foreseeable future. So, he does the only sane thing every adult person should do in this situation: holes up on the sofa and goes on a gaming binge.

• Ghost's sofa is black (of course), huge, and it's just a sofa. No plead, no pillows. A comfy one, yes, but to Soap it looks kinda empty. Well, given that its owner only has one chair to his name, Johnny knows better than to expect something else. Yet, he kind of wants to sneak in a couple of pillows, and is very surprised when Ghost protects his space with ferocity of a wild cat. No funny colours on his sofa of doom, not even a smidge. Johnny's slightly upset, but he's not giving up on the plan.

• He starts by fucking around. Then sits down to play Diablo with Ghost in the evening. Brings a plead and a nice mustard-coloured pillow in a little while, just to make himself comfy for the time being, OK? It's fucking cold. And then he conveniently forgets them there. Several days of shenanigans after, Ghost concedes.

"Pillow allowance," he says, so seriously it cracks Soap up. "No more than two, no patterns." No patterns it is. Johnny still counts it as a win.

• Soap's go-to sorting method is "make em piles". He's got a clean laundry pile, a dirty laundry pile, a kitchen pile, a random stuff pile, and he keeps throwing things around when he goes through the rest of the stuff they have to sort. With all due respect, that annoys Ghost to an extreme degree, because there's piles everywhere, but it doesn't look like they're getting smaller. If anything, they started to consume the little space they had.

• The "dirty dishes" pile is one of them, and Ghost finally takes care of it. They both dislike washing dishes, but someone's gotta do it. And it apparently annoys him more than Johhny, so Ghost gets to get rid of it. He feels so much better when it's all done, dried, and put away.

• They've split the wardrobe, and Soap's side is still partly in the pile state. It's also how Ghost learns that Soap doesn't really iron his clothes unless it's like a shirt he's going to wear on a wedding today, and he has to. At this point he's really starting to question his own sanity. Why does it bother him what Soap does (or doesn't) with his clothes? He really needs to chill out, he decides.

• Johnny's really doing just fine, because none of what Ghost does really bothers him, and he's in his lane, somehow managing to hop around his newly made piles while still on crutches, and he does it so effortlessly. It's Ghost who keeps stumbling on them and cursing all the time.

• Somehow there's not much space for Ghost's gun collection. Ok, he's got a place to work on them, but he doesn't want to store them away. After a while, they decide that one of the bedroom walls can be sacrificed so he can hang them up nicely.

"Are we sleeping in the armoury now?" Soap asks.

"You've got your toys,I've got mine."

Fair.

• Johnny's art room is one of the spaces that actually came together from the get go. All of his things had fit, and it's got a nice space to it, enough to put an easel out, and maybe set up a composition. And the light is good. There's a shelf in there almost bursting from the art supplies he had accumulated over the years. The best way to describe it would be "organised chaos." Somehow, while in other spaces the chaos really gets to Ghost, he enjoys it in the art room. He's been spending more and more time in there.

• Johnny has a little really soft futon with loads of pillows in the corner, just next to his desk (it's not for naps, OK? It's for a performance series where the artist explores their understanding of comfort, and if they happen to start to snore, it's a part of it). So, Ghost is now also an artist of sorts. He's been doing these performance pieces quite alright, working on it tirelessly almost every afternoon, and Johnny really doesn't mind it for two big reasons. First: he gets to draw relaxed Ghost, sometimes even maskless. Second: it's nice to join him there, too. It's a perfect cuddling space.

• What Ghost loves about the futon corner is that it is freaking ultimate safety. Even his sofa wasn't ever as good as this. He can actually sleep there without nightmares. The fact that Johnny's around doing his thing, the quiet rustling of pencil on paper, music low on the background - it knocks him out better than any sleeping aids he had ever tried. He usually comes there with a book, but never goes through more than 10 pages at most.

• After their kitchen finally got sorted, they found a quick understanding. If one cooks, the other does the dishes. Soap basically takes over dinners, Ghost does breakfasts, and they usually have a snack in the midday rather than a proper lunch. Also, Johnny shows him a couple of tricks to level up his cooking game, so now breakfasts are getting fancier. Ghost's secretly very proud of himself. And Soap doesn't miss a chance to praise him when it turns out good which honestly helps way more than he's ready to admit.

• Ghost basically stole a couple of finished paintings and hung them up in the living room. Soap tries to argue that they aren't his best ones, and they aren't good enough, and he could probably find a multitude of reasons why they should take them down.

"But I like them," Ghost says simply. And it's hard to argue with that. Besides, after a couple of days, Johnny gets used to it, and deems them "not too bad". It's a tie now, and a bloody good comeback for the pillow intrusion.

• He lets Johnny help him take care of the guns. It's a nice chill evening, they work on them together, Soap's humming a little silly tune under his breath. Ghost says they really have to take them out on a shooting range when his shoulder is better, shoot some plates or something. Johnny's thrilled about it.

• A few days later, Ghost finally declares war on the rest of the piles, and goes through them in one go, not stopping until they're gone for good. There's very little random stuff left after that, and they just put it all in a box and make a very responsible adult decision to put it away and go through it sometime later. Both know that it will probably never happen, but do they care? Not really.

~~~

"You know what's weird, Johnny?"

"What?"

"You know how if you're left with extra parts in a Lego set that means you've messed up a step somewhere?"

"Yeah, and?"

"We've got some screws, and that one is definitely from that chair. It's supposed to go in first."

"Oh, hell no, Si, we're not doing it again."

~~~

• They are even hosting a little housewarming party. Ghost never had one, so he's way too anxious, although it's just the close circle - their team + Laswell and her wife.

P.S. there will probably be one more part with the party, some neighbour action, a little more of outside stuff, but that's where I'm wrapping it up. After all, the move is done, piles are almost gone, and I'm close to being a functional human being again.

#ghostsoap #headcanon #soapghost #moving

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dulcewrites · 2 years

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Despite My Better Judgement

Summary: Your eccentric but kind hearted best friend tasks you with the duty of throwing “the best bachelorette party ever” in Wyoming of all places. An unexpected night with a brooding cowboy happens. (1.3k words)

Paring: Rhett Abbott x fem!reader (only thing mentioned is clothing)

Warnings: 18+ content, PIV (don’t interact if you’re a minor please and thank you), reader being insecure

A/N: This is my first work on my side writing blog. My first one, a top gun fic, is on my main blog. I think I’m gonna post all my ideas/writing on here. This is also my first time doing a reader insert. I also just want to say I see all of “my” characters as black (I plan on writing more stuff that outrightly depicts that) but anyone can read this. I think it is important for fellow black writers/writers of color to get support and have a space. Anyways I hope you guys like it. Please like, reblog, follow❤️

You are not boring nor stiff; you’re measured and pensive, two separate concepts. So when your best friend hints that her bachelorette party should be completely different from the one you had been planning, you can’t help but feel a spike anxious energy shiver up your spine.

Nature? Horses? Glam camping? Taking several born and raised city women (yourself included) to the backwoods of some Midwestern dude ranch was not for the faint hearted. But here you are are, adorned in a sparkly black cowboy hat and your best mini dress. Despite the lack of prep time and the initial shock of the idea, you’re actually having a good time.

“We need to get you laid,” Melody, the bride to be, giggles over the noise of the crowded bar. She fixes her white hat which stands out amongst the black ones of the rest of the bridal party.

“I thought this was a celebration of you becoming an honest woman. Not a plan to get someone to fuck me,” you down the rest your drink with a grimace.

Yeah it had been… some time. But it’s by choice!

“Why not both,” says Melody with a shrug as her eyes start dancing across the bar. “One night won’t kill you. God forbid you might actually meet someone you like.”

You roll your eyes. What’s the point of meeting someone kilometers away from your home base? Especially this late in the trip. Today was the second to last full day you and girls has in Wyoming. Plus the idea of going up to some guy and flirting was daunting.. even after the free drinks you’ve been giving (curtesy of nice patrons seeing the bridal party attire).

“I’m having a good time with just you guys. I mean how beautiful was the horse trail today,” You say, trying to change the subject quickly.

“That’s too bad you’re not up for it… sad eyes over there has been eyeing you for a minute,” Sasha chimes in, half nodding to the bar area to the left of table.

You find yourself sitting a little straighter, straining your neck to the left trying to discretely see what Sasha is talking about.

You make not do subtle eye contact with melancholy cerulean blue eyes slightly hidden by a big brown cowboy hat. You take in the boyish good looks and an obnoxious belt buckle. The staring is disrupted by him tipping his hat with a small smile.

Oh…

Melody let’s out a bit a of squeal and hits your arm.

“He’s cute. I recognize him from the rodeo we went to yesterday!"

She pats your arm encouragingly. You open your mouth, then close it. You know better than to try that. With a wave of your hand, you shut that down quickly.

After drinking some water after your drinks, you and Sasha excuse yourselves from the group to go to the bathroom.

“Maybe it’s tequila shots making me sappy but I wish you saw yourself the way others do,” Sasha sighs quietly as you both touch up your makeup.

You don’t really know how to respond to that. It’s not a new topic between you and friends. Your confidence is something you’re working on, but you still have moments where self-doubt can be all consuming. You squeeze Sasha’s hand hoping she realizes how much you appreciate her. How much appreciate all the girls, and this trip.

Her words continue to resonate in your head as you two leave the bathroom. Why wouldn't some that attractive be into you? You're a catch.

"I'm gonna go to the bar. Get a.... drink," you announce to the table. Melody raises an eyebrow with the knowing smile.

"Yeah, I think that's a good idea as well," she says as fixes your hair after you take your hat off, and picks a piece of glitter from your dress.

"There! Go get em tiger!"

While you're walking over, you remember why you don't do this. Your stomach feels like it is gonna fall out of your ass when you sit down at the stool next to the handsome cowboy. How do you even start a conversation?

You are taken out of your thoughts quickly.

"Nice boots," his voice is smooth and soft despite the bustling energy of the bar.

Instinctively, you look down at the black heeled cowboy boots you have on. Maybe he finds the obnoxious but albeit cute bedazzled MOH on the side endearing.

"Thanks. Nice belt?" it comes out more like a question than you intended. He smile grows as he laughs.

"Appreciate it sweetheart. I'm Rhett"

He holds his drink out as a toast and you clank your drink with his as you tell him your name.

There's a period of silence as you contemplate what you're about to do next. You're in a state you've never been to, talking to a hot guy you've never met before tonight, about to do something you never do. First time for everything. You lean over trying to avoid his hat, lowering your voice to a whisper

"I'm gonna go to restroom. Maybe in a couple minutes you can come give me a hand with my dress?"

You get up before he can even reply. Your body feels hot as you walk to the crowed unisex bathroom, praying its empty.

As you wait in the cramped bathroom, it hits you that you just positioned a guy you don't know to come and fuck you. And despite how you're wired, instead of being embarrassed, you hope he gets the hint.

The pacing around the tiny bathroom is interrupted by Rhett coming in and locking the door behind him. His hat is gone, revealing longish dark hair.

He walks over slowly, pressing you against the wall.

"This is okay right?"

Hands working their way to your waist, and you answer his question by putting one hand on the back of his neck and pulling him down to a sloppy kiss.

He groans in your mouth as one of his hand leaves your waist and squeezes your ass. His large, rough hand works it way under your dress. Long fingers tug on your underwear to the ride before rubbing your wet folds. You mutter a curse against his lips.

As his lips work down you neck, you start fiddling with his huge belt; distracted as he push one finger inside of you. You finally get inside his jeans, stroking him through his boxers. Rhett's eyes flutter at your actions.

"Do you have a condom?" you ask as your hips buck against his hand rubbing it against for clit.

You whine when he pulls his finger out, putting it in his mouth a hum. He fishes about condom out of his wallet then pushes down his jeans and boxers.

"Turn around"

A shiver runs up your spine at his voice. Authoritative and warm. You turn around, sticking your ass out in anticipation. There's light shuffling before you feel his tip poking at your wet cunt.

Rhett bottoms out inside of you as you both let out satisfied sighs. He lets you adjust to the way he stretches you out before fucking into you.

He pins one hand behind your back as you hold onto the wall with the other. All that takes over your brain is the sound of him going in and out you, and the lewd moans you both are making. You desperately push back against his thrust.

"Fuck you take me so well"

The warm feeling in the pit of your stomach grows; you come with with a cry of his name. He continues to thrust into you as you ride out the warmth of your orgasm.

Rhett lets go of your wrist, bringing both hands to your waist. He comes with your ass flush to him.

You feel like your body is floating as your stand up straighter. You feel a kiss on your shoulder, and turn around to his lips back on yours. The kiss is sweet.

"We should probably stop hogging the bathroom," you say with a smile against his lips.

You both get cleaned up in a tranquil silence. It takes you by surprise when Rhett turns to you with a shy smile.

"Ummm, do you think I could see you tomorrow?"

Well, going against your better judgement went well once... what's one more time.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x female reader #outer range #black!reader #rhett abbott smut #my writing

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linesonscreens · 4 months

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Let's Read Peanuts (Yes, all of it) - February 1953

There are lots of great strips I just don't have room to comment on. I strongly encourage everybody to read the full month at the official GoComics page. Today's month starts HERE.

Feb 5, 1953

Today: “Last night on the internet I read an AI-generated Sonic The Hedgehog erotic fanfic with ten million views”

Feb 6, 1953

I know that those are supposed to be weird thought balloons but it looks like Snoopy just talks now.

Feb 11, 1953

Bah, what's this nonsense? Schroeder never complained!

Feb 14, 1953

First Valentine comic? Maybe?? I really should have made a list of things to look out for when I started. -_-'

Feb 17, 1953

OK, so apparently “Ivanhoe” was a novel written in 1819 by Walter Scott. It's been adapted several times in various formats including an early 1940's comic book and a 1952 live action film.

Film trailer here.

I'd link to the comic but ~for some reason~ nobody bothered to scan and upload a 80+ year old comic nobody's ever hear of onto the internet. Rude!

Feb 21, 1953

Paperboy comics continue to be good.

Feb 27, 1953

Time is a flat circle.

Thoughts:

Apparently the only way to read that Ivanhoe comic (that I've been able to find) is to buy a physical copy off of eBay somewhere and consume it the old-fashioned way. Which is kind of a shame, right? I mean, would it have been especially good or noteworthy? Probably not, but reading a few issues would have been a fun way to get a peek into Schulz's mind and get a feel for the comics he was influenced by.

This kind of thing actually bothers me quite a bit and it's a topic that's been on my mind a lot lately. Think about it like this. Ctrl+Alt+Del is not a particularly good webcomic, but think about how many loss.jpg references have been made in various forms of media over the last couple decades that would simply stop making sense if the original comic were to become inaccessible.

All media is connected. Artists are constantly drawing inspiration from and commenting on works that came before and understanding these influences is a key part of decoding any given work. This is true not only for popular media that everybody agrees is good but also for the absolute garbage that may have been your favorite creator's guilty pleasure. It ALL matters, and it should ALL be available for anybody who's interested. Which is why it makes me irrationally angry when I'm reminded that access to older media can be such a huge crapshoot.

Anyways, I guess my call to action is to... upload more old comics? Sure let's go with that. Maybe support some of the groups archiving old stuff while you're at it. Art is cool, and we should be doing more to let people actually see it.

#peanuts #comics #charles schulz #comic strips #peanuts comics #lets read #charlie brown #patty #snoopy #shermy #Linus #Schroeder #Ivanhoe #fun fact I hate the loud house so much I almost started another blog dedicated to shitting on every episode independently #Over time the blog would have slowly degenerated into a house of leaves style descent into madness. Fanfiction would be involved.

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bacchicly · 3 months

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Email/text to my boss I am posting here instead of editing ad nosium and agonizing whether to send it not send. Keeping it in my drafts is not a strong enough "tonic" / interrupter of the behavior I am trying to stop/explain.

Note: I just realised half way through that I am literally writing the sfd (shitty first draft) that Brené Brown talks about and it is working. I am not sure if I am chuffed or irritated.

Hi, My daighter was sick yesterday (she is back at school today). I then allowed myself to fall into the "I will log in and do the last few things I promised to do just before I logged off on Monday - as soon as I have just done xyz " trap. Which is, of course, a shame trigger itself, which then makes it harder to stop the cycle of behavior I am trying to reduce in myself (not following through on promises, not informing proactively as soon as I realise I am not doing what I said I would do, not setting clear boundaries between home and work) - all of which I am clearly not doing as successfully as I would like to be is another shame trigger in itself.

I also am super frustrated with myself because my usual strategies aren't working (or I am not practicing them correctly) to interrupt the cycle and I am just getting more and more anxious - which is in itself perpetuating the cycle.

And the pure question of should I "hide my challenges" or "proactively disclose the situation" is creating even more "noise" in my brain. I am also starting to play the mental game of "if they really needed me they would reach out" and it's sinister shittier cousin "if they cared about me and trusted me they would have reached out to ask if I was ok when I ghosted them". And then I "have to" take time to argue with those stories I am making up since I am aware they are stories but also that I am trying to be true to myself and try to trust my impulses... which is time consuming and awful too.

It's feels like the behavioural equivalent of feeling like I need to smash into the boards to stop because I haven't learned to stop properly on skates.

Anyways - in an attempt.to both be kind to myself and clear with you. I need to:

Check if cats need crunchies and laundry.

Eat

Then at 2pm exactly I will log on and do 3 things:

Review my email and teams (this is the first source of my anxiety/procrastination loop) because I am afraid that I will be "in trouble" or that there will be a surprise that I will not be able to handle. (I still don't trust others to speak up for themselves or go the extra mile - whether going the extra mile is actually required is moot - I still feel that it is...but I don't feel that it is required enough to be justified in asking other people to go as far as I would)

Send the email (staffing related).

Follow up on session 2. (Shame trigger because this shoulda been done mid last week and it is time sensitive.)

Many thanks. Yours to Niagara falls,

Bacchic

Shut up brain. Shut up brain. Eat. Do the thing. Stop thinking about how you hate taking time off and suck at it and should could be better. You are working on this and yes you suck at it but you will get better. You are here now. Now feed your body and set your timer and GOGOGOGO. Turn on your audiobook tooooioo! Focus. Be kind to yourself. But go!

#life with adhd #adhd #bacchic dances

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brainfuzz · 8 months

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Fuck the AMPTP

I subscribe to Disney+ I know, they're evil, yadda yadda yadda, but they do have a lot of things I like to watch, and honestly they sucked me in with Hawkeye and Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Also, I don't have cable, and I like the NatGeo channels.

Last year I paid $85.29 for the whole year upfront. There was probably some kind of discount involved, because I think its normally around $110 for the whole year.

Today, I get an email saying they're raising the price. I can either do nothing, and will be charged $140/year or I can go down to Basic (content with commercials) from the Premium (content without commercials) and pay $8/month (I don't see a whole year discount price) which works out to $96 for the year.

Normally, I'd grumble, decide if it was worth it or not, and either pay or cancel. Now, however, in light of the WGA and SAG/AFTRA strike, they conspiracy theorist in me has come out to play.

Thought one - Disney knows they're going to cave, and this is how they're going to keep paying the upper echelon stupid high salaries. If they jack the price up now, it might not be equated with paying actors and writers residuals.

Thought two - They're jacking the price up hoping people will cancel, then they can go to the union with recently deflated numbers and tell them streaming isn't as profitable as everyone knows it is.

Thought three - PR will spin the price hike as a direct cause of the strikes and all of us consumers should really be angry at the actors and writers for being greedy and *forcing* Disney to raise prices so they remain profitable to the shareholders.

The funny thing is, I was actually considering upgrading to include Hulu and ESPN (cable or satellite isn't an option, I literally live in the middle of the woods) but now I'll probably cancel the whole thing because fuck Disney and fuck Iger for not taking a reasonable salary so they can maintain profits for shareholders if that's they're main objective.

#union strong #sag/aftra strike #wga strike #i stand with the unions

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calamity-unlocked · 1 year

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Yup. I did it y'all. I. Don't know what possessed me either. Enjoy <3

Scam Actually/Jodie Foster, 1.8k.

~~~

Scam’s actions usually didn’t come with consequences.

Customarily, Scam would enter a situation with the stirring seed of a not-quite plan and a devious penchant for ‘yes and’-ing his way into hilarity. He’d apply beautiful chaos and discord like a master painter brought strokes of paint to a canvas, then take a deep bow and make his grandiose exit. Such were the daily thrills in the life of a scammer!

Today… was a little different.

It was really the exit strategy where things had gone awry. The jape he had pulled was magnificent as always; he’d infiltrated a bunch of infernal cultists and convinced them that hell was truly only a state of mind, and that they instead should start worshiping the divine embodiment of pasta carbonara.

It had all been fun and games, until their leader had returned to their base and caught them chanting in tongues around a bowl of uncooked spaghetti.

Shenanigans ensued, all of which resulted in the current situation Scam found himself in. His wrists were chained to a tasteless stone slab with magical manacles that prevented him from poofing away. According to the chatter he had picked up, he was to be some kind of offering to please the god they planned on summoning in the hope to gain power and get their core beliefs reaffirmed.

Scented candles were spread in a ritual circle a few feet away from him, which the cultists stood around as they sang an ancient song of power and hellfire, their voices reverberating throughout the dark cave-like base. They all had their hoods pulled up as they passed a golden dagger around, cutting into their hands and letting the blood drip onto the floor, between the lines drawn on the floor.

“Ugh,” Scam rolled his eyes. “You know the spells Gate and Summon Greater Demon only take one action, right? All this atmospheric chanting and palm-slicing has no point whatsoever.”

“SILENCE!” the leader bellowed. He pointed the knife at Scam, his eyes rolling back into his head. “Be elated, you feeble trickster, for you shall soon be consumed by a power greater than the gods themselves. Prepare to face the greatest might of them all!” He turned away from Scam and read the words from the spell scroll in his other hand. “Daemonium inferni, primone aspectu in amore tu credis, aut iterumne experiri debeo!”

With those words, the world flashed red. A pillar of flame erupted in the circle, the fire whirling around like a tornado.

The cultists all prostrated themselves on the floor, screaming with joy and fear. Scam cursed loudly, because some of the sparks landed on his fedora.

Finally, the fire died down and the smoke cleared. The outline of an inhuman figure came into view – large and muscled, with wings of a bat and a jaw that could cut glass. Dark hair and eyes like charcoal. Scam got very hot all of a sudden, and it wasn’t because the temperature in the room was about the same as an average day in hell.

Then he recognized that face.

“Oh! Oh!” Scam exclaimed. “I know him! Hi!!!”

The figure slowly turned his gaze from the quaking cultists to the chained-up chaos bringer. The hardened look immediately turned into full bewilderment as their eyes met.

Scam tried to wiggle up into a standing position, which only half worked. He managed to give a little wave from behind his back. “Jodie Foster, as I live and breathe! It’s me, your old pal! My, my, my, you have had quite the glow-up. Look at you! All r-r-ripped and chiseled.”

A frown settled on his hellish visage. “Scam Likely? What are you doing here?” It was the same slightly high-pitched voice that he had before – seemed like some things stayed the same, after all.

“Scam Actually, actually!”

“What?” he asked, then rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh my gosh, I so don’t want to deal with this right now.”

“Rough morning?”

“You have no clue,” he chuckled, and shook his horned head.

Scam shimmied his shoulder in what he hoped came across as a helpless gesture, like a baby animal trying to gain the attention of a parent. “Hey, before you go, can you do me a real solid and get these pesky little chains off me? They’re really chafing my wrists, and my skin is really sensitive in that spot. I’d truly appreciate it.”

Jodie crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow. “Why should I help you? Last time I saw you, you caused that whole switcheroo thing and portalled away. For all I know, this is another one of your pranks.”

“Ah, yes,” Scam sighed wistfully, feeling the sweet pang of nostalgia. “How I do miss those days. Life was so much more fun while you courageous dads were roaming these lands, looking for your missing sons.” He gave his sweetest smile, which literally reached from one ear to the other. It was quite grotesque, or so people told him. “But not this time! No tricks, no japes, no nothing. Just scammed a little too close to the sun, that’s all.”

One of the cultists scraped his throat. “So, er– are you gonna kill him? Do you want our souls? What’s– what’s happening over here?”

“Oh. Yes. You’re also here.” Jodie turned to the cultists and visibly had to keep himself from sighing with exhaustion. “So. What is it you want?”

The tallest guy immediately leveled his forehead with the floor once more. “Oh almighty King of the Nine Hells, killer of Asmodeus, elevated firstborn son of the wrathful Snider, glorious bringer of hellfire and ash–”

Scam rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ, these guys are some serious bootlickers.”

Jodie scoffed. “Tell me about it.” He waved his hand in an impatient gesture. “Alright, I got it, I’m awesome as fuck. Can we skip to the end, please?”

“Of course, Lord,” the leader stammered. “We would, ah–” He hesitantly glanced over his shoulder at the other cultists. “We’d like power. Right guys?”

A chorus of muttered agreements rose up behind him. “Yeah, I like power,” one of them mumbled, just a bit louder than the rest.

Jodie hissed through his teeth and steepled his fingers. “Listen, it’s not that I got places to be, but I just… this is not really my scene. It was kinda rude to just pull me here, did not appreciate that. Like my good friend Henry would say, consent matters, guys. So… I’m not going to do that.”

Again, the cultists started murmuring amongst themselves, this time with worry. The leader raised his head slightly. “Is– Is the sacrifice not sufficient? We could bring you more blood, if you’d like! Virgins, children, you name it. Whatever you want, my Lord.”

Jodie grimaced. “Ew.” He shot Scam a disturbed look, which Scam answered with his ‘get-a-load-of-this-guy-amirite”-face. “Gross. Well. Now I kinda don’t wanna let you live either. Thought I was gonna do that before, but now… Eh, fuck it.”

He snapped his fingers, and countless bolts of fire zipped through the air with furious rage. Twenty seconds of agonized screaming later, and Scam and Jodie were the only non-burning corpses left in the chamber.

Scam considered it another win in Scam Actually’s book that Jodie had chosen to spare him. Yay him!

“Wow-ie.” Scam whistled in appreciation, then preened when Jodie approached him and effortlessly broke his manacles as though they were made of twigs. “They totally thought you were going to make them immortal and you killed them instead! That was sorta like…” he trailed off, his mouth falling slightly ajar. “A scam,” he finished with reverence. He brought his hand to his mouth to close it, and noticed that his fingers were trembling.

Jodie tilted his head and made a questioning noise. “I don’t really think it was?”

“It definitely was!” he exclaimed and clapped in delight.

Jodie rolled his eyes with what Scam hoped was fondness. “Listen, Scam Actually, it was great catching up with you. But, ah, I gotta go back to hell. I’ve got all this paperwork, and there’s souls to damn, and I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

Scam’s head swirled around. “But breakfast’s the most important meal of the day!” he said, appalled. “There’s this great brunch place in Waterdeep. You have got to try it, their croissant rolls are absolutely to die for. Know what? I’ll take you there! We can do some good ol’ catching up – oh, I could tell you about the time I pretended to be a ghost living in a merchant’s mansion for almost three full weeks!”

Jodie laughed and shook his head no. “Thanks, but I’ll just make a sandwich at home.”

Scam planted his hands at his side and clacked his tongue impatiently. “You may or may not have saved my life! The least I could do is buy you breakfast.”

“Let’s… not.” He scratched his head, not meeting Scam’s eyes. “We’ll just make this an IOU, ‘kay? If I need your aid, you help me. That sounds good?”

Scam crossed his arms and staunchly shook his head, chin raised high. “No, no, no, I wanna be Even Stevens with you. No more favors from good ol’ Scam Actually over here. I’m done with those.” Besides, he now had the sneaky sneaky ulterior motive of getting to know the new version of this handsome handsome man over a delicious set of sandwiches. That sounded like the perfect way to spend the rest of the morning.

The archfiend still looked hesitant, so Scam pulled out the biggest weapon in his arsenal: his eye-searing cuteness. With a tilt of the head and a little pout of the lips, Scam looked up at Jodie and said in his sweetest voice: “Pwease?”

“Ugh. Never do that again,” Jodie winced. Then his stomach rumbled, betraying him. He sighed in defeat, seemingly accepting the path the fates had spun for him.

“Sure, why not. Brunch sounds great. You’re paying?”

“Why, yes of course!” Scam lied cheerfully.

“Right. Stupid question.”

Scam was almost skipping as he walked next to Jodie, enjoying the way he smelled like a building that had just burned down with the people still in it. “Is this truly so bad?” he asked, wrapping his arms around Jodie’s left bicep and giving it a strong squeeze.

Jodie’s puppy-like confusion returned but with it came a soft smile – the kind that made his dark eyes seem to come alive with twinkling motes of light. He huffed through his nose in amusement, then gave a short chuckle as he let himself be guided out of the cultists’ base by Scam. “I suppose not,” he said, resigned and amused all at once.

Scam could not stop smiling.

#i have no excuse #dndads #dungeons and daddies #scammer #scodie #japefire #i dont even know what were calling them #scam likely #scam actually #jodie foster dndads #scam/jodie #calamity's writing

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bleachbleachbleach · 3 months

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Tag Meme

tag whoever you want to get to know better!

Thank you for the tag, @bendingwind! Responding here instead because my anime-heavy answers felt more relevant to B3 than whipplefilter.

I will no-pressure tag @dreaming-about-seireitei (idk why it won't let me tag you?? so I hope you see this if you want to do it!), @the-sage-libriomancer, and @paniniwrap, because you are my most recently-followed blogs~ I will also tag anyone who sees this and wants to do it, because I can guarantee you I want to read your responses!

Three ships: Three ships I have written recently: Kira/Rose monsterfucking; Hinamori/Hitsugaya (rather, Kira developing minor negative feelings about Hitsugaya because IT’S A LOT, HINAMORI. Like I’m your bro, he assures her, but it’s a lot); Renji/Rukia, if only the dominoes would fall the right way, which at the moment they are not, for dumb work reasons and also their dumb coworkers.

First Ship: I dunno, Gabrielle/Xena?

Last song: I didn’t listen to any music today, so I guess by default… the 4th ED for Haikyuu?

Last Film: …Muppet Treasure Island, I think? Wow, I sure am getting an A+ in answering questions!

Currently Reading: In This World of Ultraviolet Light by Raul Palma, which is a collection of short stories that tend toward the skrunkly, the macabre, but are also just incredibly truthful. He gave a reading of “Stand Your Ground” last year, and it was so excellent I think it was THE best thing I read all year. It was the kind of story that makes you really want to write, because it’s so good and he’s so good.

Currently watching: We’re rewatching Haikyuu again, in a perpetual cycle of rewatching Haikyuu!! We just finished the Seijou/Karasuno rematch, which was an INCREDIBLY emotionally taxing experience, because I want Karasuno to win but I also want Oikawa to win, and the fine details of that match are overwhelming.

I was swapping anime recs with a friend on LJ the other day, and she was like, “Wow, we have such similar tastes! That’s so rare, as varied as anime can be.” And internally I was like, IT’S BECAUSE YOU ALREADY TOLD ME YOU HATED LONG SERIAL BATTLE SHOUNEN. ToT Nah. I mean, she did say that, but I was intentionally reccing her things I liked that I thought she would also like. XD It’s just that I thought she would like them for the fanservice and the angst, and I like them because of the like, folding tables. (I love you Seijou folding table and banner on the ground.)

I also have 20 minutes left of the series finale of Reservation Dogs, but I don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

Currently consuming: Faildinner, which is distinct from girldinner because it’s when you feel very smart about making dishes that do a good job of using up last week’s leftover ingredients, only to realize you’ve made a tomato-based potato/squash dish and a balsamic vinegar-based chicken dish, which is already ACID ON ACID until you realize you also made a shchi recipe that included SAUERKRAUT.

Currently craving: JUSTICE. Not to be overly dramatic. At work today an adult child said something innocently intended but honestly kind of fucked up and I am so mad about it. It’s not remotely his responsibility to know our ranks or employment histories, but he assumed my colleague was older and more experienced and that I was learning from her, because he could “see the similarities in our teaching style.” Which, I just wanna say, EXCUUUUUSE ME???? I actually have years more experience than her??? I don’t know how old she is but we’re functionally the same age. But she just came back from maternity leave, and those similarities in our style are because I DESIGNED. THAT COURSE. And I gave it to her and told her she was welcome to keep whatever and change whatever, because she just came back from maternity leave and she should get all the shortcuts she needs. But the course is similar to mine because I MADE IT. Like, what a bizarre set of assumptions to make. Again, doesn’t matter, it’s not his business, there’s no reason that’s information he should have or care about, but omg, definitely not over it. Thanks I hate it!! /end rant

#tag meme #for the record the recs i sent her way were for re-main with the description 'we watched this because we thought it would be very bad #but it's good actually. like it's bad but it's good. the major premise is an AMNESIA PLOT except it's also about water polo'#and 2.43 with the description 'we watched this for the fukui accents but it also boasts the most batshit sports-based childhood trauma #we have heretofore witnessed in the genre. also it was surprisingly decent'#and overtake! with 'we watched this because we thought it was going to be yuri on ice but very bad and it turned out to actually not be bad

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