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yukidragon · 1 year

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Sunny Day Jack - Moonlight

Hey, hey, remember the Bad End AU? Remember how I teased about making a part 2?

Inspiration struck, and now the bad ending can continue. Here is a peek of the unpolished rough draft. Eventually I’ll polish both parts of these and put them into my Sunshine in Another World collection.

Credit goes to @okamiliqueur for the comic that started it all.

Warning: there is mentions of major character death, gore, body horror, trauma, and grief in this short story. Please read only if you’re in the headspace for such dark subject matter. Also, general reminder, this fandom is for Adults Only. I hope you enjoy the continuation of this sad what if scenario.

Don’t worry, this is an AU and not canon for the main story of Sunshine in Hell. Sunshine in Hell is going to have a happy ending, I promise. This AU is just an exploration of how things could wind up going so very, very wrong for Jack and Alice.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore

Edit - Now you can read the polished version of the first part of the Bad End AU over here on AO3.

...

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Joseph couldn’t entirely blame Ian and Shaun for what they did. He had gone too far as Jack, done too many things that he shouldn’t for Alice’s sake.

Joseph paused before shaking his head harshly. No, he shouldn’t lie to himself. He did it all for his own sake, for his own feelings of love, fear, desperation, and all the messed up shit that was twisted up inside his head as Jack.

Jack wasn’t as clean as he deluded himself into believing; he was a monster.

Joseph couldn’t really blame Ian and Shaun for sending the monster known as Jack to hell.

That didn’t mean he could ever forgive them for it.

It wasn’t as though Joseph was entirely free of Jack. He remembered everything, including the thought process he had when he lost himself so deeply into the character that he was practically a caricature of a person. He wanted to be ‘perfect,’ and in his fucked up mind, that’s what Jack was. Everyone loved Sunny Day Jack after all, not him, not Joseph, no matter what last name he used.

Only Alice was different.

Joseph knew it from the start. He felt it deep down in his soul where he kept the piece of her soul that she gave to him to save him from hell. How could he not fall in love with someone who gave up so much for him when everyone else gave up on him so easily?

He wanted so badly to be perfect for her as Jack, to be everything she could ever want so that she would never regret saving him and keep him with her forever. Now, in retrospect, he could see how ridiculous the idea was. The ‘perfect’ mask of Sunny Day Jack showed cracks even on the first day.

Yet, despite getting glimpses of the unclean filth that was Joseph behind his mask, Alice didn’t shy away. She didn’t try to peel it off him either. He could still remember the panic he felt the day she asked if he knew the name Joseph Haberdae, the evasive answers he gave to redirect the topic so he wouldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t lie to her.

She let him. She realized what he was doing and let him pretend he got away with it. He could still remember her words to him after he fooled himself into thinking otherwise.

“I don’t mind calling you by whatever name you want. Even if you used a different name before or change it later… as long as it’s the name that feels most like you, then that’s what I’ll call you.”

At the time, it made him panic. Alice saw through him, through the facade of Jack and saw the ugly side of him that he tried so desperately to hide. He remembered how badly he denied it - he wasn’t Joseph anymore, he refused to be.

Alice let him change the topic then too. Joseph barely remembered what clumsy attempt he made to talk about anything else, but he remembered the gentle smile she gave him, the softness of her lips as she kissed him to quiet his rambling. He devoured her lips like a man starved and made love to her immediately after, needing to hear her call the name Jack so desperately, needing to hear her say that she loved him.

Joseph missed that, the way Alice would shyly say she loved him, and he could feel how she meant every word. She was so afraid of getting hurt again, but so brave for trusting him, for loving him. He wanted so badly to never betray that trust.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The morning sun trickled in through the curtains, muted from the cloudy day, but the light caught the strands of Alice’s fair colored hair, making it shine with a faintly golden hue. She was curled up in their bed, eyes peacefully closed. She wasn’t as warm as she should be, he could never forget her beautiful warmth that filled him up and completely chased away the cold, never mistake the feel of her for anyone else. So much of her warmth was gone now, not completely, but enough that Joseph could tell that she wasn’t all there even though he held her close to his chest.

It was time to get up. Joseph was tempted to stay in bed with her a little while longer, pretend things were normal a little while longer. Jack was the morning person, not him. He hated dragging himself out of bed in the morning for school or work, but obligation forced him. He had to take care of them both now.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Joseph said, the words coming out in a cheerful cadence out of habit as he gently nudged Alice to help rouse her awake.

Though Joseph braced himself, he could never quite get used to what he saw when Alice opened her eyes. Her left eye was still the same beautiful blue of the sky just at the break of dawn, only a bit cloudier than before, but what replaced her right eye was something else entirely.

It was some sort of mess of plastic, darker chunks with shinier strands that reminded him of VHS tape ribbon. It was both artificial yet somehow organic as it blended into the flesh of her eye socket.

Joseph hated to look at it, this thing that had infected his sunshine, but he refused to run away from his mistakes again. He managed a smile thanks to so many years of practice doing so no matter how he felt. “Hey there.”

“Good morning,” Alice said. Her voice wasn’t the same anymore, not really. Joseph recognized it immediately - he would never forget the sound of her voice - but there was something off about it in a way that he couldn’t quite describe, something that reminded him uncomfortably of the static hell that he had been trapped in for 40 years.

Despite this, Joseph sought out her lips again, and Alice returned the loving morning kiss he planted there. She didn’t move her mouth against his quite the same anymore, a little less lively than before, but he could still feel her love.

Alice’s love was the one thing Joseph felt all the time. It thrummed in his chest. With every beat of his heart - her heart - he felt it resonate through every inch of him. Her love was warm and beautiful and everything he could have ever asked for except that this heart she gave him should have been inside her.

Despite how much Joseph didn’t want to see it, he looked down anyway. Her pajama shirt covered it, but he could see the outline of the misshapen mass that filled the hole in her chest, a giant tumor of plastic wrongness that replaced the heart Alice gave him. It throbbed faintly when he watched closely enough, a twisted mockery of the heart that should have been there.

In a sick way, Joseph was grateful for whatever supernatural infection that cursed tape left in Alice. He still remembered the sight of her after the ritual pulled him out of hell and brought him back to life. He still had nightmares of seeing her sprawled on the floor, bleeding out from the hole in her chest where her heart should have been and her empty eye socket. He remembered the fear and pain he felt as he watched the light fade from her remaining eye, how desperately he called her name and begged her not to leave him alone. He would have given anything for a miracle in that moment, and perhaps whatever cruel god or devil trapped him in the tape for 40 years listened.

It was horrific watching that thing take shape. Something artificial, unnatural, plastic, fleshy, and not right grew like some sort of fungus or tumor, filling in the empty space with something entirely wrong.

It was the tape. Joseph knew it immediately. Whatever cruel magic changed a simple VHS tape into something entirely unnatural and cursed had mingled with the ritual that Alice cast, and these things that grew in her body were the results.

As horrific as the results were to look at, as awful as the implications were, Joseph hated that he also felt a little grateful for them as well. Because of the tape, he didn’t lose Alice that day. She was still alive… if he could call it that.

Then again, he wasn’t quite sure he was really alive when he had been Jack as well.

Joseph never wanted Alice to do something like this, not for him or anyone else. He never wanted her to hurt or for anything to diminish her beautiful light.

Yet, she performed such a ghastly ritual to save him. Joseph looked over all of her notes, both the carefully written instructions she made for herself and the overwrought emotional scrawls that bled her hurt and frustration over losing him. The words written in the margins of some of the pages made the heart she gave him ache.

“I miss you.”

“I’ll save you.”

“Jack.”

“This is my fault.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I love you.”

“Forever.”

Joseph could imagine Alice hunched over the papers and writing late into the night. He could practically see her cry over him in the small warped circles of paper and smeared ink that marked where her tears fell. He could feel just how much she loved him in these notes, how desperate she was to bring him back despite all the mistakes he made as Jack.

The notes and strange tomes Alice left behind didn’t mention anything about the tumor that had formed from the cursed VHS tape that was keeping her alive. Maybe the ritual didn’t account for the mixing in another type of dark magic and how it might affect the results.

“You must sacrifice the part of you that you hold most dear.”

It was a cryptic line, one that gave no real hint as to the real price to be paid to perform the ritual to resurrect the dead, but the results spoke for themselves.

Alice loved him. Her love for him was what she held most dear, which was why the cost was her heart.

It made a cruel sort of sense to Joseph. What he didn’t understand was why it took one of her eyes too and put it in him. He could look in mirrors now - people could see him now - but he had a hard time looking at himself when he could see one of his sunshine’s beautiful pale blue eyes staring back at him. Every time he saw it, he felt judged, even though he knew that Alice never judged him.

No, it was just Joseph judging himself for his own filthy soul and what it cost the most pure person who ever had the misfortune to love him.

Despite feeling this way, Joseph still couldn’t let go of Alice or her love. She sacrificed so much for him, he couldn’t, wouldn’t throw that way. For as guilty as he felt, he treasured what she gave him with the same greedy ferocity as a dragon guarding his hoard.

He was going to fix this. He was going to bring back his sunshine’s light.

Joseph helped Alice out of bed and encouraged her to get dressed with him. She was still present, able to talk, but not really initiating conversation. She responded when he spoke first, needing his prompting to guide her through the motions of acting human.

The only things Alice would do unprompted would be to hold onto Joseph or say the words he once longed so desperately to hear.

“I love you, Jack.”

Joseph managed a smile, though it was strained at the edges despite all his experience pretending to be happy even at the hardest of times. He should correct her, he knew. He wasn’t Jack anymore, but he could never bring himself to. She wasn’t all there. She understood simple instructions, allowed him to guide her through the day to eat and care for herself even when he had to work. She probably would call him Joseph if he asked her to.

But it was the fact that they were the only words that Alice would say of her own accord, not as a response to his voice, that stopped Joseph. It was like they were a recording, the last message she had for him before she died and came back as something no longer human.

That was what Alice seemed to be now - an echo of her former self. Instead of glowing like the sun, she was the faint hints of its glorious light reflected off the moon, still beautiful in its own way, but not enough to banish the darkness that overtook the world.

Joseph pressed a soft kiss to Alice’s forehead. “I love you too, Alice… so much.”

“I’ll love you forever,” Alice responded.

“Forever,” Joseph repeated softly. “I’ll never leave you, my love. I promise.”

Joseph closed the distance between them, cutting off whatever response she would give him next with a gentle kiss. Before, when he was Jack, he never would have tired of hearing Alice tell him how much she loved him, but even though he knew the words were real, they felt so hollow now, and he could only handle so much before the guilt tore him up more than her love healed him.

Jack was no more. Gone were the bright primary colored clothing, the blue from his dark hair, and the makeup that hid the tattoos he regretted getting in his youth. He was Joseph now, not quite human, but far more of one than Jack ever was.

“I’m going to fix this,” Joseph murmured against her lips. “I promise…” He moved to press another kiss against her forehead. “I promise, I’ll make everything okay again.”

Alice closed her eyes and exhaled, the sound close to a pleasured sigh that let Joseph know that, in spite of all the changes she went through and how unnatural she seemed now, a part of her was still there, still with him despite it all. “I trust you.”

Joseph believed her, and he smiled more easily at that. He gave her another kiss, trailing down to press more on her cheeks as he took a moment to appreciate her serene face without the sight of the unnatural mass behind her right eyelid.

Joseph wasn’t clean. He would no longer lie to himself that he was. He wouldn’t pretend to be someone perfect anymore. What happened to Alice was all his fault. He did some awful things, even while he deluded himself that he was someone “clean.” He felt fully awake now and aware of who he was, what he was.

He was a sinner - that was why he went to hell for 40 years.

Alice didn’t deserve to live through that hell. Joseph would save her, just like she saved him when she gave him a piece of her soul and then all of her heart.

No matter what it took, Joseph wouldn’t rest until they could both be happy and whole together. Whatever price he had to pay, he would pay it to get rid of the curse of the tape once and for all.

Joseph wasn’t clean. He wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t Jack. He wasn’t going to lie to himself about what he truly was anymore.

He was a monster, but he was the monster who Alice loved with all her heart and soul, the monster she gave up everything to save.

Joseph refused to let all her sacrifices be in vain.

They would be happy again, Joseph would make sure of it.

Even if he had to burn the entire cold and uncaring world down around them to do it.

#Sunny Day Jack #Something's Wrong With Sunny Day Jack #SunnyDayJack #sdj #swwsdj #Bad End AU #My Writing #Sunshine in Another Hell

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neotericbitch · 3 years

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something very unpolished but i know i cannot do any more with it, so here

When Valkyrie came down for breakfast, Skulduggery was sitting at the dining table reading the newspaper. He also had his phone out and open, playing a radio broadcast that she didn’t get time to identify before he turned it down and then off to accommodate her morning routine. Xena was already there with him but being an early bird didn’t seem to be catching her many worms, and she sat under the table with her head resting woefully on Skulduggery’s knee.

Things were normal.

He said, “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“How are you?”

“Yeah, alright. Slept through, mostly. I know I was having weird dreams but I don’t remember what about.”

“Nothing to call the doctor over.”

She smiled. “No.”

Minutes passed.

Skulduggery then asked, without looking up from the paper, “And how are the Faceless Ones feeling today?”

Valkyrie rolled her eyes. “Fine, I imagine.”

He looked up now. “You imagine?”

“What, you think we’re chatting all day every day or something?”

“Oh,” with a jump to his voice. “Forgive my presumption. I just thought, with them being your new best friends and all…” He turned his wrist somewhat dismissively like it ain’t no thang and returned to the newspaper.

In a light tone that indicated she didn’t feel she really needed to say this, she said, “You’re my best friend.”

“Hm.” He turned the page. “That mustn’t net you a lot of points.”

“They don’t mind.” Trying to be jovial, “You’re on the safe list.”

“Ah, so they do talk about me. Do they have anything interesting to say? If it’s anything negative I fully expect you to take my side.”

“All the time.”

“Defend my good name,” he went on.

“Yeah.”

“But don’t fret about my feelings. If they have anything to say, even if it will upset me terribly, you must pass on the message.”

“No prob.”

“And if I–”

She held out her hand. “Let me stop you there.”

“Yes?”

“I just want you to stop.”

“Oh.”

Valkyrie ate her breakfast. Skulduggery sat there looking at her. It was quiet but for Xena repositioning over to Valkyrie’s end of the table, occasionally thumping her tail against the floor in the vain hope for a crumb.

“I don’t think that–”

“I wish you wouldn’t–“

They both stopped. Skulduggery offered his hand.

“Go on.”

Valkyrie considered it but shook her head. “No, you go. Could be an apology.”

He said nothing for a moment. “It’s not.”

“Okay, then I’ll say my thing. I just want to sit here and eat my toast and have a nice quiet morning, and you’re over there being a dick for no reason.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Bloody… Asking about the Faceless Ones for no reason, talking to me like I’m conspiring with them, like they’re here right now. Or like I’m bugged, like I’m different and bad, and I’m just sick of it.” Valkyrie put her hands flat on the table. “It reminds me of Darquesse and...that.”

“Right,” said Skulduggery. “And what was that, would you remind me? You forged ahead thinking you had it under control and then…?”

“Yo.” She scoffed and stood, pointing an accusing finger. “I get that you’re feeling threatened so you’re lashing out, but I don’t appreciate it and I don’t have to put up with it. Not while I’ve got the embrace of the Faceless Ones, turning me evil as you like to think.”

She got up and went out, only stopping before the doorway to turn her head back and announce, “And they don’t have shit to say about you, because you’re irrelevant. Because they’re here already, they won, so who cares about you?”

Very shortly afterwards he found her sitting on the back step. He sat down beside her and she said feebly, “I care. Of course I do. I love you but it hurts that you’re not accepting reality. The Faceless Ones are here and that’s that, there’s nothing wrong. They don’t hurt me and they don’t want to make me do anything. I can just love them.”

“Can they love you back?”

Frustratedly, “Yes.”

“Are there any here now?”

Valkyrie stopped. Checked around. Looked at him. “Nope.” Gave a squint and a faint smile, like issuing a challenge. “Think you can convince me to snap out of it because of that?”

“I was hoping so.”

The smile bloomed into a grin and she wiped the heel of her palm across her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I suppose I am.”

“Look, I’m sorry for yelling and everything. But it just, it hurts when you act like that, you know?”

“I know. And I’m sorry for what I said, it was cruel. You’ve always tried to do what you think is best and that’s something to be admired, not shamed.”

“Thanks. Not such a blasphemous heathen after all.”

Skulduggery took her hands into his and gave them a squeeze. “I don’t follow them, but I’ll always follow you. Even while you’re following them.” After a pause, he set them down on her knees. “Which is still going in their direction, but that’s not important.”

“Well, whatever, directions don’t matter anyway. Cause it’s really just you and me, no one in between,” Valkyrie said. “Not even gods.”

“Until the end.”

“And when I say just, I mean that in a healthy way, like, not as in an abusive ‘no one else would have you’ way.”

“No, of course not.”

“In a way that means like, we’re totally together, through thick and thin, no matter what, including saying mean things and having relationships with third parties.”

“Thank you for clarifying even though I obviously knew that was what you meant.”

She smiled and kissed him. He put his arms around her. They stayed happily like that for a minute, then Valkyrie saw something behind Skulduggery.

“Oh shit.” She ducked her head in embarrassment. “There’s one coming over.”

Skulduggery turned even though he knew he wasn’t going to see anything.

“Christ, it’s coming right this way.”

“Do you think it saw?” He leaned into her ear and murmured conspiratorially, “Do you think it’s heading over to scold you for kissing the irrelevant skeleton?”

“No,” Valkyrie said but clearly doubted it.

“This might be it. The moment where you must make the ultimate decision. You can no longer have both, Valkyrie. It’s going to ask you to choose. Them or me, what’s it going to be?”

She shoved him, giggling and trying to be very serious at the same time. “Shush!”

She looked up into the sky for a time, struggling to keep a straight face as she paid attention to whatever it was being brought to her. Skulduggery poked her in the ribs and pinched her and generally did not offer any acknowledgement or respect to the Faceless One. But he could feel it. It was there. A heavy presence that knew not the fine art of humour, and most certainly didn’t know love either. It put an ache in his bones.

Skuldugggery was down in the basement with Cadaver later.

“Now, if you want my advice–“

“I don’t.”

“When your significant other finds religion–“

“Be quiet.”

“It’s often helpful to do the same. I can give you some recommendations if you like. The Viddu De are growing in popularity, from what I hear. Oh yes, lots to hear about them.”

“I'm also hearing things.”

“Is it me still talking after you told me to stop? Your predictability has grown stale, surprise me for once.”

“Actually I really was going to tell you what I’ve been hearing about them. Maybe even from them. I think I’m beginning down the road you’re on, Cadaver.”

“I’ll give you credit for the effort but I know the ending to this one, too. I’m supposed to gormlessly say really so you can say no and tell me to be quiet again. You may be on the road but you are many steps behind. Now this is the part where you try to outwit me again.”

“Actually this is the part where I take your head off,” said Skulduggery, and did so, and put it in a thick trunk so he didn’t have to listen to Cadaver complain.

#sometimes you just feel out a concept and leave it and that's what this is. i'd like to share it if that's ok #i've got some pages of something else that's similar but not really but also yes that i might work more on or might not

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thetimetravellershigh · 4 years

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an informal goodbye to my sunflower eyes

I miss you.

Not in the bleeding heart, hole-in-the-chest type of way that I expected. It’s just hard to catch my breath in rapid-fire moments when I want to reach for you and you’re not there. Of course, I’ve wondered if there’s quite possibly something defective about me that I haven’t quite fixed after years of self-discovery. Something in me that just shuts off in the face of emotional trauma because I can’t bear it. This hasn’t been any easy lifetime so maybe I’ve met my quota of relentless reactions to bad, unfortunate luck.

Loving and losing you just came at a rotten time when the world is already so goddamn confusing. I don’t even know how to do taxes properly, but here I am, mourning the loss of a lover in my early twenties. It seems like some cosmic joke that I haven’t unraveled yet enough to laugh at...although, if I’m being frank, I did laugh when the news broke because, of course, it’s funny in a tragic way that no one around me understands.

The only man I’ve ever loved—ever wanted to love—is dead. You’re dead.

I’m a writer, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to this tragic ending. It reads like a modern-day rendition of a Shakespearian manuscript and I can’t help but marvel at how well-executed (excuse the pun) it was considering how atypical I used to be in the face of love. I don’t know how to accurately miss you, I guess.

Maybe I’ll feel your absence later in my thirties, or perhaps in the next lifetime if it was real enough.

I used to think that meeting you was beyond happenstance. Fate had to play a part in our introduction, didn’t it? But with age, I’m starting to think it was completely by coincidence that you captured my attention so randomly despite my better judgment. Truthfully, I don’t know if I want to believe in a world where people are dangled in front of each other as lessons.

What lesson was I supposed to grasp by falling in love with you? Yes, I’m aware that our answers differ for this part of my existential crisis. You’ve always been cruelly cold when it comes to romantic gestures, and as I’ve established over the last four years, I’m wholly sentimental. I think I learned a great deal loving you.

Forgiveness was one, although I’m not sure if I have the strength to do that right now. You did leave me here all alone. Despite our rollercoaster romance, it’s the first time you’ve ever left me. I don’t like it. Not one bit. I’m not ready to come to terms with what you did.

You once taught me how to dance, at least in a passable manner, in my small, empty apartment. I’ll remember that fondly for the rest of my life although I was so embarrassed that my cheeks were red as I stumbled over your complex instructions. I’d never slow danced with a lover before. In the same breath that I write this, I’m not sure that I want to dance with another. It seems like a cheap concept. A knock-off.

You sort of taught me patience. I’m stubborn, so I don’t think that lesson will ever land. Still, you made an effort. I spent most of our small lifetime together waiting on you; waiting for you to love me, waiting for you to understand me, waiting for you to come home to me. And now I’ll wait over ten times the amount of time we were together to see your face again and ask if any of it was real, or if I’m wasting my limited energy on hopeless love letters again.

Oddly enough, even after you broke me so many times, you taught me how to stand on my own two feet. I don’t know if it’s because I wanted to impress you with my persistent resilience, or because you fostered my growth. I have trouble understanding the concept but it’s tangible enough to mention. When I met you, I was a naive girl searching for something worth writing about. A great love. Now, just days after losing you, I’m a woman with a future ahead of me (at least that’s what they say) and a story I can’t quite tell yet. Our story. Your story.

There were other lessons. Harder ones that I can’t talk about. Softer ones that I want to keep just between you and me for now.

But, what lesson was I supposed to grasp by losing you? I don’t know how to sit here and believe God put you in my life to rip you away so suddenly because I needed to understand some secret message. If I did believe it, you would laugh at me. Religion really wasn’t your thing. You lived a life full of dots, moments, without a desire to find the line that connects them. In some pipe dream, I wanted to be your line.

I guess things don’t work out the way you hope. Maybe that’s the lesson.

I know I need to bury you. Say my respects and go through the whole closure dance. All the articles I’ve been mind-numbingly reading say it’s one of the fundamental steps.

The first night I saw you after we agreed to become a thing, I snagged your beer bottle top from the kitchen counter like a little fool. I held onto it all this time in the bottom of a box of momentos. Even when my friends begged me to, in the worst of us, I couldn’t part with it because it had some meaning although it was just trash. You would have thrown it away. Again, I’m sentimental.

I thought about driving to the beach, lying to the gatekeepers and burying it right in the sand in front of those beach condos. A small funeral, just me and you like old times. I was happiest there with you. I was also saddest, but I don’t like to think about that so much.

More than anything, I want to ask you if that’s okay. Can I say goodbye to you in that way?

The circumstances of our love didn’t permit me to attend a formal goodbye. Even if it did, I don’t think I would have gone. It’s not really what I believe in and I don’t like the spectacle it creates. It seems ingenuine, which is unusually cynical for me. It’s fake, though. You faked everything so often just to feel happy that it seems like a slap in the face that you have to endure the lies of others even in death.

You weren’t a good man per the textbook definition. You lied and cheated and broke people’s hearts because you weren’t sure how to use your own. But you were good enough for me when you weren’t being tormented by your worst demons. I can’t comprehend the things other people say about you because they didn’t really know you, did they? Then again, I could be the one that’s wrong.

I’m stroking my ego when I say you’ll live on beyond this terrible moment. It’s true. There should be an asterisk on your tombstone by your death date. You’re immortal in the pages of my unsuccessful books. I scribbled everything there. Every raw emotion. The happiness, the pain, the desire, the need, the despair. All those words were always about you, my poor dead muse, even when I didn’t want them to be.

Maybe people will crack open the pages and learn the depths of my love and the fragments of my loss generation after generation. I don’t think I can live in a world where you’ve been forgotten.

We can hope for a positive outcome, can’t we?

I think this is where I have to end, although I know it’s not the last time I write about you. I’ll make sure it’s just as crude and unpolished moving forward. I know you like that kind of shit. It’ll keep me humble.

Goodbye, my sunflower eyes.

May we meet again.

#stages of grief #griefjourney #grief quotes #griefsucks #grief/mourning #mourning #death #loss #mourning loved one #my love #poems on tumblr #writing

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sebthesnipe · 4 years

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How To Hold Your Dragon

February Prompts 2/26

Prompt List

First // Previous // Next February Prompt // Next MDP Chapter

The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Crest / Collect

Ship: Prinxiety and Logicality

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

Roman shifted in his sleep, curling protectively closer around the swaddled bundle in his arms. He had moved from the spot against the tree, where he had been dozing at some point during the night, careful not to jostle Virgil too much.

Patton chewed his bottom lip absently as he stared at the two, concern furrowing his brow. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had messed this whole thing up with his overprotective nature. He shouldn’t have come on so strong when he and Logan had rushed to the men’s aid. He was just so worried at the time.

Roman gave a small shiver, tightening his hold around the raccoon, and drawing it closer against his chest for warmth. Patton gave a squeak at the sight. It was just so adorable! He shifted to dig into the pack next to him, producing a blanket before pushing to his feet.

It was obvious that the dragon meant to cover the two, protecting them from the cool night air but he hesitated. The memory of Roman recoiling from his touch flashed across the forefront of his mind, causing him pause. Did Roman recoil out of fear? Was it just the stress of the moment? Or perhaps, it was disgust. From what Logan had told the smaller man, Roman had the grand notion that dragons were barbaric monsters meant to be slain by knights and heroes. It was no wonder he drew back at Patton’s touch.

“Um… Logan?” the man’s small voice came as he clutched the blanket to his chest, beginning to shake slightly as he glanced down at the witch who was currently taking stock of their provisions.

“Yes, Patton?” Logan replied, too distracted to glance up at the moment.

Patton hesitated, feeling silly about his next request. “Roman looks cold,” he commented.

Logan took a moment to set aside the rations he had been counting before glancing over at the prince briefly. He took in the sight of Patton hovering by the fire, blanket clutched against his chest. For a moment, the image of a small child clinging to a favored stuffed animal for courage came to mind, despite how ridiculous the notion was when compared to the god-like power the man before him possessed. Still, the look on the dragon’s face was disconcerting.

“Perhaps you should offer him the blanket?” Logan offered in confusion. Patton nodded, gaze still on the sleeping prince a few feet away. He didn’t move.

“Patton?” Logan asked softly, studying the way he toyed nervously with the corner of the fabric and how his bottom lip was slightly swollen from the worry of his teeth. “Is everything alright?”

“I just…” the dragon began but paused, unsure of what to say. It was foolish, he knew, but he was scared. What if Roman never warmed up to him again? What if Patton never got to be apart of that bright smile that he always flashed when Patton made a horrible joke? What if he never got to feel one of the man’s overly flamboyant embraces? Roman gave the best hugs! “I just don’t think it would be a good idea if I did it,” he admitted finally turning his attention to the tall witch.

Logan’s confusion only grew at the admission, trying to piece together what could possibly make providing a blanket to someone in need of one a bad idea. Perhaps it was one of those odd social etiquette rulings that he never quite understood. Typically, right about now, Virgil would be chiming in with a sarcastic comment or sassy remark to provide him with some context on the matter. However, given his companion’s state of unconsciousness, it appeared he was on his own for now.

“Isn’t that why you retrieved the bedding to begin with?” Logan asked curiously. The question had Patton’s brows furrowing further, making it appear as if he were about to cry. “Or perhaps the blanket is not the problem!” Logan rushed. He did not handle others crying well. Comfort was most certainly not a strong suit of his.

“C-could…” Patton stuttered, voice cracking softly as he hugged the folded material against his chest. “Could you maybe…” he continued, giving the witch a pleading look as he trailed off.

“Could I take the blanket to him?” Logan clarified, earning another small dip of Patton’s head in affirmation. “Certainly.”

Tension drained from Patton’s shoulders as Logan moved to stand.

The witch offered an outstretched hand to collect the blanket. Patton paused, unsure for only a brief moment before handing it over, wrapping his now empty hands around himself for warmth.

Logan offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile before turning towards the sleeping prince. Patton’s gaze followed the shirtless pagan as he turned his back to the dragon. The wounds were still visible in the moon’s pale light, making discolored patches appeared darker than they had in daylight. The sight was just as disturbing as when Patton had spotted it through the witch’s glamour when they had first met.

Logan unfurled the blanket in one efficient movement before draping it over Roman’s sleeping form, making sure to cover Virgil as well. He knelt to check up on the fur covered beast wrapped in Roman’s cloak.

Logan hid his pain well, but Patton could see through the composed exterior. Each of Logan’s movements were no doubt agonizing. The fact that he managed to hide it so well was impressive. For a human, death would probably be preferable to the torture of a simple breath. So, why then was Logan so determined to survive? What drove him? That was the whole point of the venture wasn’t it; to discover a way for him and Virgil to live without the tie to their master?

Was it revenge? No, Logan didn’t seem the type to be driven by such a dark emotion. Perhaps it was out of spite? No, again that wasn’t very fitting of the man. He certainly was an enigma. There wasn’t much that Patton came across anymore that caused him such confusion. Logan, however, was a puzzle he was looking forward to solving.

The witch straightened once more, the moonlight brushing against the crest of his dark hair, catching on his mismatched eyes. He was very attractive to be sure. It had been quite a long time since Patton had seen anything that could compare. The fact that anyone would wound such a beautiful being in such a way was an atrocity.

“Are you alright, Patton?” Logan asked softly, stopping just short of the smaller individual.

“Hm?” Patton hummed, glancing up from where he had begun to stare off, losing himself in his thoughts. “Oh. Yes! I’m fine! I’m great!” the dragon rushed, perhaps a bit too cherrily.

Logan’s lips pursed into a thin frown at the answer, pausing to consider his response. “Patton, I understand that you are a magnificent creature that I couldn’t even begin to comprehend,” he replied softly, making the shape-shifter glance away with a flush, “but from what I have observed you have the same complex and intense emotions as we humans. Perhaps, even more so. Yet, it appears that you hide them with an overly pleasant exterior."

Patton's frown returned at the accusation, though he took no offense. The fact that Patton was so transparent was just a bit surprising to the man.

"I cannot pretend that I have proficient knowledge or experience with emotions, but I can assume that keeping those feeling bottled up cannot be healthy. It is okay to feel things that are not pleasant. Virgil once informed me, and forgive me for the terminology, ‘Feeling like…" Logan hesitated, uncomfortable with the idea of cursing in front of the smaller man. Despite the knowledge that Patton was an ancient being capable of phenomenal cosmic magic, he always seemed so innocent to the witch. "’S-shit’," he stuttered, gauging the dragon's reaction curiously. Patton offered a small upturn of his lips in amusement, spurring Logan to continue, "Feeling like shit can be good because it makes the good feelings better than they were before,’” that earned a small huff of laughter from the small man. “While the phrasing is a bit unpolished, I believe he had a point.”

Patton rubbed his upper arm absently as the man spoke. Logan was intelligent beyond his years, that much was clear. For someone that claimed to be ignorant of a lot of things, Logan understood Patton more than he had expected. The fact that the witch was not only brave enough to point out his disillusion, but was obviously trying to comfort him about it was endearing.

Logan took Patton’s silence as an indication of the witch’s overstep and tensed. “Of course, it is completely likely that I am mistaken. I cannot pretend to know-”

“Logan,” Patton chuckled, finally meeting his gaze with a soft smile, “It’s fine, kiddo. You’re not mistaken,” he reassured.

Logan relaxed slightly at the reassurance, offering his own smile in return. “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I dunno,” the dragon shrugged, ducking his head in embarrassment. “It’s kind of a lot and I don’t like icky feelings. I prefer the happy fun ones that make everyone smile,” he added, forcing a grin as he bounced on his heels for emphasis, “I just… don’t know if I can provide those right now,” he sighed.

“Well,” Logan offered, “perhaps, since it is just you and me at the moment, you can allow yourself to properly manage those ‘icky’ feelings?” he offered, with an arched brow.

Patton’s softed smile returned as he peered up at the taller man. “Yeah… I guess that wouldn’t be so bad.”

“Good,” Logan huffed mirroring the soft expression as he lifted his arms. “Perhaps, an embrace might be preferable?” he offered, unsure if this was the appropriate course of action.

However, the suggestion had Patton instantly beaming. Logan had never offered him a hug before! In fact, He had never seen the man offer anyone a hug before! Only Roman had ever allowed Patton to hug him!

The dragon preened, feet dancing as he bounced from one to another in his excitement, hands lifting to his mouth, digits tapping against the giant grin that split his face. A screech escaping him, high pitched enough that Logan was certain only dogs could hear.

If that wasn’t affirmation enough, the dragon proceeded to launch himself into the witch’s embrace, arms tucked in close against his chest, far too conscious of the man’s wounds to return the embrace himself.

Logan grunted at the impact, giving a low chuckle that rumbled through his chest as his limbs locked around the small form. Patton instantly melted, his own heat seeping into Logan’s cool skin pleasant as they stood next to the fire. Despite Patton’s immeasurable power, he somehow felt safe in the witch’s hold, as though even his own nightmares couldn’t touch him there.

Patton had been so inequivalently wrong; Logan definitely gave the best hugs (but Roman was a close second).

To be continued...

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

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ecrivainescence · 4 years

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when all the lights go out

REPOSTING because instead of copying the formatting from the original post for chapter 5, i accidentally replaced all the text AHAHAHAHA

ao3

Chapter 4

Alya, 6 months later

It started with the NDA. The motherfucking nondisclosure agreement. L’accord de non-divulgation. She can’t forget the way it was worded:

If I have formerly conversed with third parties concerning personal familiarity with Subject, or concerning knowledge of Subject’s location or activities, I shall discontinue such conversations.

In short, she was then and is now bound to deny ever having been his classmate, ever having spoken to him personally, ever having known him as a friend.

The fact that she hasn’t found a loophole somewhere in this bullshit really, really pisses Alya off. But what does more than piss her off - what makes her sad - is that she agreed to relinquish her photos. She had to give up the entire memory card in her camera. The only reason Alya is still sure she really did know Adrien, and that she isn’t just a crazed fan, is that she still owns a copy of the NDA (with Adrien’s name blacked out).

That, and whenever she sees the fugly übermodern façade of the Agreste Corporation skyscraper, her whole body rages. You cannot just erase a person from people’s memory, she tells herself. It’s — it’s got to be some kind of a violation of freedom of expression.

Every time Marinette comes over, Alya wants to show her the NDA, just to see if it will jog her memory. Of course, this is also forbidden, per the cunning language of the document.

It’s seeing Marinette now, in sweats, popping sour gum, paging through a fashion magazine, with her bare unpolished toes in the air. That’s what’s brought on this ruminative mood. Alya isn’t sure whether it makes her want to protect Marinette, or be protected from whatever hollowed Marinette out, like pulling the pit out of a peach.

“I used to make things like this,” Marinette says, rolling over onto her back, hanging her head off Alya’s bed, pointing to a frilly blouse. “I used to make things.”

“I remember,” says Alya. “And they were wonderful.” “I can’t make things anymore,” says Marinette. She flips through a couple more pages, and then, with sudden and inexplicable fury, hurls the magazine at the wall. It’s thick enough to make a solid thwack.

Then she settles back down as if it never happened. Alya debates whether to even say anything, but her inability to leave well enough alone wins out. “You know I hate it when you throw things,” she says.

“I know,” says Marinette, looking away. “I…won’t do it again.” And she won’t, not for the rest of day. But someday soon, she’ll throw something again, or smash something, or hit something. The hate comes up out of her like vomit, too fast to get to a receptacle. To scold her feels like scolding a sick person for being sick.

Alya leans almost too far back in her rolling desk chair, on edge. One time Marinette threw a full water bottle at her head. She missed widely, and then cried for hours when she realized what she’d done. And then she came back to school the next day in a sweet pink skirt suit — impeccable as usual — but with puffy eyes, and when she tried to say sorry again, Alya said, “About what?” in a way that dared her to keep bringing it up. And, staunchly, she still pretends Marinette doesn’t scare the shit out of her.

“What is it that upset you?” “Sometimes I want to make something, anything, so bad I want to die. But no matter how hard I try…but I’m taking my meds and I’m getting better every day,” she hastens to add. “So it will get better. It will get better.” She smiles. Alya wishes she would stop.

Marinette has two speeds. The first is Definitely Regular™ Marinette, who is scatterbrained but conscientious and fashion-conscious and Happy™. But, like, happiness out of a can. Her warmth is the warmth of microwaved soup. It’s not artificial, but not satisfying, either. It leaves you wondering, “Is this all there is?”

…And then there’s the Other Marinette, who is much realer and much…dangerous-er. Marinette With No Brakes. Marinette who leaves you hoping this is all there is. This is the Marinette who did The Unthinkable.

Calling Other Marinette a different person than Regular Marinette is, in fact, the only way Alya can approximate forgiveness for the Unthinkable. That, and that Marinette was spectacularly drunk. And that when she watches her friend becoming feral in her quest to find whatever it is she’s missing, Alya despises herself for knowing exactly what is missing — and still being, on a Help Scale from one to ten, a negative seven.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #chat noir #ladybug #marinette dupain-chen #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #chloe bourgeois #ladynoir #adrinette #adrienette

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bubblepop-32 · 5 years

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If Bruce was De-aged and the only one who could make him stop screaming is Jason.

Bruce gets de-aged, but his memories aren’t as young (but not as old) as what they’re supposed to be. And he desperately needs Jason.

I wanted to read de-aged Bruce with our man Jay but I literally can’t find any ;A; So I sacrificed sleep and wrote this.

There’s going to be good ol’ fluff and bonding between Jason and small Bruce, but there’s also going to be angst. And swearing (mostly from Jay)

Read me already? Here’s >> Part 2 <<

~~~

Jason tossed and turned in his bed, unable to find a position comfortable enough to drag him off to sleep. After three more minutes of practically doing aerobics in bed, he decides that this was not going to get him anywhere and that he shouldn’t be wasting time trying to get some shut-eye but more rather do something more productive.

Like what? Go fucking apologise to Bruce to make Boy Wonder happy? Fat chance. It’s three am in the morning and even though Bruce will probably still be awake, he wasn’t going to just voluntarily visit the manor.

Jason pressed a palm to his forehead and groaned in annoyance. Everything was going so well. He hadn’t killed in a month (and he actually tried, really hard), he hadn’t thrown something across the room the instant Bruce entered, and he even managed to stay for a family dinner.

He’s even admitted to himself, secretly, whilst he was beat ass drunk, that maybe, deep down, he wanted to go back to the family. And he hated the thought and the emotional baggage that came with it.

He’s trying to ��forgive and forget’ but it's not easy when the Replacement is there, when he’s the exact reminder of what he had been through and all the shit that had gone down between him and Bruce. Dick’s told him that it isn’t ‘fair’ that he blames Drake, for practically everything. Oh if only Dick knew that all this wasn’t ‘fair’ from the beginning. If only he knew the bitterness that stabbed him when he saw Bruce smiling with the Replacement, putting all the hopes and expectations that was once put onto him being placed on someone else.

Now that Bruce has robins to keep him sane, what had Jason become to him? Right, Jason was a walking talking nightmare that reminds Bruce of his failure, his mistakes.

And then just the night before, Batman and Red Hood had gone on a patrol, together along with Nightwing. They busted a drug and arms trade between two gangs. It was all going smoothly until Jason discovers five children shackled to a steel bar behind the main room in which the dealing took place.

They were quivering in fear and delirious from hunger and thirst, but what really made Jason snap was the fact that gang members that managed to dodge Batman and Nightwing barged into the room to kill them off since the deal was off and keeping them alive would be a fucking waste of effort.

Five bullets instantly buried themselves into the first man that came in, one in each kneecap as well as shoulder, with the final one burying itself in the man’s stomach. One for each of the kids that they left to die without them even needing to kill them. The second man that rushed in got a fist to the cheek and a knee to the nose, then a series of punches to his face. All Jason remembers was one huge blur with a cacophony of screams in the background, but he doesn’t know if it’s the gang member’s, the children’s, his, Dick’s or Bruce’s. Maybe it was all of them.

The next thing he does remember is Batman dragging him forcefully away from an unresponsive body. Oh, but Jason did not go quietly. He struggled against the arms that restrained him. He wanted to get his fists back into the man’s mangled face, to get his fists into all the gang members’ faces.

There was shouting, alright. Nasty comments were hit from Jason to Bruce like a match of tennis, and Dick ended up with a deep cut to his jaw whilst trying to get the two apart.

Jason doubts that he’ll be able to set foot back in the manor soon after what transpired that night. Jason doesn't even know why Dick still insists that he and Bruce make up, even when it’s clear that Jason had crossed a line when he gave Dick the deep gash to the jaw. So when Bruce had growled at Jason to leave, he did. Something dark and bitter overcame him as he walked out of the room, and the bubbling wreckage of hatred within him grew.

Taking a dunk in the pit had done its numbers on Jason, and anger was the emotion he chose to use to deal with the bitterness within him.

Jason pulled the blanket off of him and sat up on his bed. The sliver of moonlight cut through the darkness and landed on his small fringe of white hair. It glowed softly in the dark as the light bounced off. The white hair is a scar left on him after healing from death. A souvenir from his trip from beyond and back.

So when his phone started ringing at three am in the morning, he and his heart literally jumped.

“Fucking hell!” Jason grabbed his phone with haste as his loud ass ringtone was not helping his heart slow down from the initial shock. His first thought was to press the big, enticing red button, but the fact that it was Dick who was calling made him hesitate. “There better be a good reason for this,” Jason grumbled as he pressed the green instead.

“What do want-”

“Jason? That you?” Yep, it was definitely Dick. “You actually picked up, oh my god I was hoping you that you were and you really did.” His voice sounded far from sleepy, rather he sounded like he has been awake for two days straight. It was a little rough and a little slurred together but it was also probably due to how fast he was speaking.

“If you were seeing if I would pick up then I’m hanging the hell up.” Jason expected something of a smart remark from Dick, like ‘aren’t you going to ask how my cut is because I’m looking pretty sharp right now,’ or some weird shit like that if Dick’s sleep deprived because he says some weird things when he’s loopy from not sleeping.

“No! Jay! Please just, just hear me out before you leave. It’s…It’s urgent.” The last words came across the phone as being slightly breathless. There was bated silence as Dick waited for Jason’s reply.

“Fine. Shoot.” Jason answered, and he heard Dick sigh with relief.

“It’s just, after what happened the night before, B’s been on edge ever since. He barricaded himself inside his office, and well, I thought he was going to be in there for a while, but he actually came out of it earlier tonight.” Dick explains.

“And you want me to come over and talk with the fucking brick wall?” Jason growled. Answering the phone really was a bad idea. “He doesn’t listen and I’m tired of being the only one who’s doing all the trying!”

“That’s not what I was talking about Jay. It’s…it’s not that.” There it is again, the same breathless whisper of a voice that is most definitely hiding something.

“Then what? I’m hanging up.” Jason pulled the phone away from his ear when there was suddenly a muffled, high pitched scream from the other side. Jason immediately pressed the phone back to his ear.

It was a scream of agony, of loss, a scream Jason himself is so akin to. It’s as if something had been torn away from someone, and they were yelling their lungs out and their throats raw. There was this desperation within the ear-piercing wail, as if seeking for someone to help.

And it was a scream of a kid too.

After that, he couldn’t hear much more. Either Dick dropped his phone onto something face down or he pocketed it because all he could hear was the very muffled a soft and pleading voice, which is most definitely Dick’s. But the screaming didn’t die down though. Instead, now, the kid was screaming something, a word, a couple words which Jason couldn’t discern either.

There was a moment when it was just the rustle of fabric before Dick started talking again, but now with less vigour and rawer, unpolished emotion.

“Jason? Jay?” Dick called, anxious for a reply.

“What in the world was that?” Jason’s tone was serious. He was suddenly unsure why Dick was calling him out of everyone else he could’ve called in order to deal with a screaming kid. If it wasn’t about trying to get him to speak to Bruce, then he really can’t think of anything else.

Something in Dick, at that moment, must have broken because the next words that came out of him were so simple and plain and simply lethargic. But it shook Jason to the core.

“That…” Dick whispers, almost inaudibly, “that was Bruce.”

Jason didn't know what to think.

“Something went wrong during tonight’s patrol and he was hit by something.” Dick supplied, but Jason still didn’t understand.

Jason stared at the small sliver of the moon that was visible behind his curtains. He felt as if he was spacing out.

“When he came out of that office, he looked like an empty person, Jay. Neither Alf nor I knew why he came out then, or what was going on in his head, but I’m pretty sure Alf had a better than I did. I suggested that I take over the patrols tonight and that he should rest, but of course, he didn’t listen.” Dick paused, and Jason still did not know what to say. “…You still there?”

Jason swallowed and found it extremely hard. “Yeah.” He answers but it sounded smaller than what he wanted it to be.

“And the ways he did things tonight, it was as if…as if you were, well, gone, all over again. He didn't think before he jumped, he didn't even consider different courses of action to safely capture the rogue villain-wannabe. He got hit by a huge pulsating flash of something and-and he’s been de-aged to being a child around the age of ten.”

Jason found this experience very odd. Nothing that he’s heard from Dick so far has properly sunk in and processed.

“But something’s wrong. B’s memories don’t match his age. He remembers things that he wouldn’t have known if he was ten…like about him being Batman. The guy responsible doesn’t even know what he did and the machine he made shattered when he fired the thing.” Dick sounded like he was on the verge of screaming too, but at the villain-wannabe who put Dick through whatever predicament he had gone through before he called Jason.

Everything was slowly starting to make sense to Jason now and he has sort of an idea about why Dick was calling him and not Cass who would love to see a de-aged Bruce. And he’s not really sure he likes the reason. Old Bruce or young Bruce, he just didn’t want to be near that man.

“…You’re being oddly quiet, you know.” Dick murmurs through the line.

“Duh, Dickhead I’m trying to listen. Go on.” It didn’t come out as snappy as he wanted it to be. In fact, it was pale in comparison to what usually came out of him.

“His ten-year-old self isn’t ready for all the shit he’s been through all the way until now…It’s shredding him apart, and I can’t do anything about it! Just imagine a small plastic bucket and trying to pour in a large hot tub of melting tar into it. Whatever is holding the melted tar was made for it, much like how the B now is able to deal with his emotions by shoving them under the rug, but, pouring the tar into the plastic bucket would overflow and break it.” Dick drew in a shaky breath.

Trust Dick to put his words into an analogy. Jason doesn’t know if it helped or not, but the imagery of burning and melting plastic wasn’t something he would associate with B. “Bruce…he’s only something like ten years old, but he remembers me and Alf, but nothing at all about Tim and Damian.”

Jason realised that his heart rate was picking up again.

“You’re the only one who can help him, Jay. He remembers you.”

“But so what? He’ll remember me as the kid who gave him all the trouble he never asked for. What do I have to do with all this? You’re clearly B’s No 1 golden child. If you can’t do anything for him then there’s no chance I’ll be able to do anything better.” Hopefully, Dick couldn’t tell that Jason was slightly panicking, because he’s starting to. “If you remember, I make things worse, not better.”

“Jay, this is different! B needs you. It’s because he precisely remembers you that you’re the one that can calm him down.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, his head’s too stuck up his ass to say that he needs me!” Jason’s voice rumbled as he spat that sentence out. What’s so different this time?

If B remembers him and Dick but not Replacement and Demon spawn, then, oh shit. If Dick’s analogy rings true…

“What exactly does he remember?” Jason commanded Dick to tell him. All along, he’s been avoiding that one topic throughout his explanation.

There was a moment of hesitation. Jason could see Dick struggling with himself, whether or not he wanted to say it or not.

“When you were Robin. He remembers you dying.”

Dick must’ve said the last word too loudly because the instant he said it the screaming began all over again. This time Jason heard loud and clear what kid Bruce was screaming.

It was his name, twisted in blood and anguish. It sent goosebumps down his neck. Jason realised that he didn’t have a choice in whether he was going to the manor or not. Especially when his name was being called and called over and over again in such excruciation and desperation.

I’ll probs post the next part sometime ;)

...and here it is: >> Part 2 <<

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ah17hh · 5 years

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jesus is king via /r/emojipasta

jesus is king

I've been a hardcore 💯 Kanye fan since College Dropout 👨‍🎓😤. I've LOVED ❤️ every single thing he's done. 💯 OBVIOUSLY everyone loves the run of albums from CD to MBDTF. 🤦‍♀️ I think Yeezus is his best album. 🤷‍♀️🔥🥵 I love TLOP. ❤️🔥I love Ye.❤️🔥 And I really loved the listening party version of Jesus Is King.❤️🔥 ✝️ I've been going through a really rough😩😭 time this year and the listening party 🎉happened on one of the few weekends where I actually felt happy,👆💯😌 so I associated the bootleg recording of the listening party version of the album💿 with the only bit of positivity 😩➕I've felt all year. 😭😩 Up ⬆️ From the Ashes 🔥🐓 was the MOST 👏 BEAUTIFUL 👏 THING 👏 I'd heard in a loong while, ⏳and though things went to shit 💩🤢after that, I've held on looking forward ➡️➡️ to hearing 👂that in CDQ.

And THIS is what we get. 👿🤬😤💢 Up From the Ashes is gone. 💀⚰️ LA Monster, which had some GREAT 💯 melodies even if it wasn't the best 🤷‍♀️ song on the album, is gone. 🥀☠️ Selah 👩 has been absolutely butchered. The transitions between songs sound extremely abrupt. 🖐️🛑 The mixing is 👏fucking👏 GODAWFUL even for a Kanye album. 🤦‍♀️ Follow God sounds absolutely horrid 🤮🤮🦠--I don't know how professional engineers/mixers/masterers can fuck up that bad. 🤷‍♀️💯🤦‍♀️ Even Use This Gospel manages to sound hollow somehow. 🧹🧴The ☝️ only ☝️ song that lived up to my expectations was Water, 💦💦🌊 and Kanye's verse on it is easily one of the weakest 🏋️‍♂️ parts on the album. 😤😤🤬

And can we TALK about Kanye's vocals? 🤬🍵🍵🍵🐸 The LQ recording of the listening party masked it, but never have his vocals sounded so 👏half-assed 👏, so unpolished. 🧽🧴And they aren't even mixed properly. 🤦‍♀️ Ugh!

I've loved 💕💕everything Kanye has put out and I've always defended 🛡️ his new music and hated 💔 seeing posts like these trashing Yeezus or TLOP or Ye. 🙅 But I'm just so 👏 incredibly 👏 unbelievably 👏 disappointed 👏 with 👏 this. I KNOW it's my fault for listening to the leaked recording and getting my hopes up. 😭 But needed 💯 that album and this just isn't it. 😭🤮😤🐸🍵

I never 🚫🚫 thought 💭 this day would come, but I'm going to need to distance 📏 myself from my Kanye fandom for a while. 💔💔 I can look past all the antics, 🥜 all the controversies, 🏚️ all the ignorance, 🤓 and 🔥hell🔥, I can even forgive the delays ⏳⌛and the poor communication. 👄🚫👂 But this album...💿... 😭I don't know. 😭💔 This is just one ☝️step 🦶 too far.🙅 I just needed to get that off my chest.😣😣 I don't mind if everyone disagrees 👎and downvotes ⬇️ me to oblivion--I guess I'd be happy if you all enjoy the album. 🤡🤡 But as one of Kanye's biggest fans... I don't know. He really let me down this time. 🤠☹️💔😓😭

Submitted October 25, 2019 at 11:06AM by andamancrake via reddit https://ift.tt/32NUjKS

#IFTTT #reddit

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elenajohansenreads · 5 years

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Books I Read in 2019

#98 - Wait for Me, by Samantha Chase

Mount TBR (64/100)

The Reading Frenzy's "Run Away with the Circus" Read-a-thon -- Read a standalone or the first book in a series

Rating: 1/5 stars

There was a brief moment at the end of this story that almost pulled a surprise second star for this rating, but then, the very end undermined it. This was all-around dull and unpolished.

First, plot problems. The setup is more than a little ridiculous, but if it had been taken at all seriously, I might be able to forgive that. The boss of a company (which is the most unspecific and generic of companies, I haven't the slightest idea what they do) plays matchmaker and sets up his assistant to have a "oops we're stuck in the same place" encounter with his son (also an employee of his.)

I'm not saying old white men who think they know best won't manipulate others, because they absolutely will. But he does it gleefully, and he does it poorly. Both in the sense that everyone around him is talking about how out of character his behavior is (when we the reader have barely been introduced to him, so that's a red flag that he's a plot device and not a person) and in the sense that his poor judgment puts his assistant in actual danger when she crashes her car due to bad road conditions on the errand he sent her on.

When it comes out, way down the line, that it was all a set-up, Emma the assistant gets a brilliant character moment I honestly didn't expect from this narrative, when she quits her job without notice because of how wildly inappropriate her boss' behavior was, and how he's absolutely shattered her trust in him, and how she'd never feel comfortable working there again because of what he put her through. My heart was giving her a standing ovation, it was such a beautiful speech and I was so proud of her for sticking up for herself (even when I didn't really care for her the rest of the time, but that issue I'll get to in a minute.)

Then the ending ruined it. While she doesn't go back to her old job (good) she basically forgives the guy for no reason. He hasn't really apologized or done anything solid to make amends (his wife is actually the one trying to bridge the gap in their relationship) and Emma just folds and hugs them both and everything is okay again.

Now, I've been talking this whole time not about the romance, but about Emma's relationship to her boss, who's also her love interest's father. Why am I not talking about the romance? Because it's dull as bricks. Stubborn person A constantly fights with Stubborn Person B, but they're also hot with lust, and after a while they fall into bed together despite both of them knowing it's a terrible idea. I've seen this before, and I'm happy to read this standard plot if it's made interesting by the characters sparking off each other.

They just don't, here. The dialogue is so formal and awkward and in places, frankly ridiculous. Lucas, on the phone with his father/boss, at one point says "...I'm going to take a shower now, to ease the ache from my muscles." He says that. Out loud. To his father. Who says that? Especially when Lucas is trying to hide from everyone how badly his injury is still bothering him, wouldn't he want to constantly project strength, as he tries to elsewhere in the story?

While that's my most memorable example of how people don't talk in real life, there's plenty more, and the constant awkwardness to how the dialogue sounds really diminishes any differences between characters. They can't have characterization through dialogue, because they all sound the same, and faintly stupid to boot. Emma and Lucas really are just two incredibly stubborn people shouting at each other for most of the book, except when they're having sex.

And the final nail in the coffin, which is minor, but telling: I don't feel like the title fits the story. Who is waiting for whom? Is Emma waiting for Lucas to get his shit together? Meh, not really. She's trying to move on with her life at the end, when he barges in and wins her back, but she wasn't waiting for him to do that. She wasn't expecting or even hoping for it. She was moving on. And if we make it about Lucas, was he waiting for someone to come into his life and call him a coward three times about how he was living his life, so that he'd get his shit together? I doubt it. Emma did that for him, and he changed, but was he waiting for her to do that? It doesn't fit.

#booklr #book review #wait for me #samantha chase #romance novels #my reading challenges #mount tbr 2019 #the reading frenzy

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