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jemej3m · 4 years

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hi i love love love your writing! sorry if people have been asking this but ive been looking for a part three of your lawyer!andrew and neil is on trial for killing his father and I wasnt sure if I missed it or if you haven’t continued it. Just wondering thank you ❤️

well GUEsS WHAT MY FRIEND

its here!!!

(p1 / p2)

Andrew didn’t like to drag things out, but the prosecution did. They always did. It was their only joy in life, especially in appeals: tease every possible fraying strand of a case till they were three weeks into the trial and the jury was dead on their feet.

And yet, here he was, on the second day of his closing. He’d never made it to a second day: once he’d finished a closing in five minutes.

Neil had grown progressively more antsy over the three weeks, desperate for a resolution. Every time he was scanned into court, Andrew took his favourite key and slipped it into his pocket. Every time he left to be escorted back to his temporary holding cell in Baltimore’s central policing station, he gave it back for safekeeping. Andrew would hold it, the metal still warm to the touch, the teeth of the key worn with how many times Neil would run the tips of his fingers over it.

Professionalism, Betsy had warned him.

But damn it all to hell: Andrew was gone.

“Mr Minyard, if you would continue where we left off last night?” the judge drawled. Andrew could read people better than books: it wasn’t looking good. This was his last chance.

He stood up, shoved down the strange anger that had simmered beneath his skin every time the prosecution slid their pompous gazes over him, and closed his laptop. His briefcase. Put away his notes and hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his slacks.

“Your honour,” he said, with as much grace as his perpetually bored tone allowed. “This case is beyond that of my client. That much we can all agree upon.”

He waited for an answer.

The judge cocked her head. “Yes, Minyard.”

“It is a gruesome story of a luckless, loveless marriage, made for the sakes of alliances and blood money. Mary Wesninski paid that price with her life, when her husband took his favourite weapon - a cleaver - to her throat. My client was 17 when that happened. He was a minor. A child.”

He turned to the jury. “Over and over, I have rebutted the prosecution’s solitary and feeble argument that my client is Nathan Wesninski’s son. The very Nathan Wesninski who earned his name, the Butcher, through bloody campaigns and fearmongering. That Nathaniel Wesninski was destined to follow his father’s path and continue his legacy.”

“If it weren’t for his mother, perhaps he would have,” Andrew said, rocking back on his heels. “Without intervention, there’s no doubt that Nathaniel Wesninski would have been a carbon copy of his predecessor, and just as bloodthirsty. But that man -” he pointed at Neil. “That man is not Nathaniel Wesninski. Not in the way his father wanted him to be.”

“We’ve seen the pictures of my client’s torso. The bullet wounds and gruesome knifings that he earned whilst clawing desperately to free himself from his father’s iron grasp. Worse still: we’ve seen the proof of a tormented childhood, skin torn off by a hot iron, stitches from misplaced butter knives at the dinner table when Junior, seven years old, didn’t sit still enough. A crooked nose, broken three times before he managed to escape.”

He looked to the one woman who he knew would recognise this pain, this trauma.

“You should have no doubt in your minds that this man here, my client,” Andrew said, voice lowered down. “This man was simply fighting for his life. He was running from his worst nightmare, clawing desperately for freedom when all he’d known was pain, chains and despair. He fought against what his father wished for him, every step of the way. In self-defence, he rid the world a serial killer. A rapist. A man who had committed every atrocity known to humankind. If anything, we should be thanking him.”

The room had gone deathly quiet.

“Ask yourselves,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Is purging the world of a monster that monstrous of a thing to do?”

He turned back to the judge.

“My client has served his time. He’s done twice as long as he should have for manslaughter, which is the true nature of this crime. Repeatedly, my client has expressed his willingness to comply with parole measures and prove himself a functioning member of our society. If you have any humanity left within you,”

He looked over his shoulder at Neil. The man held his gaze, blue eyes so intense that Andrew nearly lost his train of thought.

“Any humanity at all,” he continued. The judge looked down at him, face blank. “You would grant his mother her dying wish, and finally let this injustice rest.”

He returned to his desk. “That’s all, your honour.”

It took her a few moments to clear her throat and call: “Court adjourned.”

Two policemen came and cuffed Neil’s hands behind his back. Andrew had done everything he could: it was out of his hands now. He mightn’t ever see Neil again, if by the afternoon the jury had decided Neil’s pleas were worthless and had him sent him right back to maximum security.

“Thank you,” the man said, just before he was turned away. “You were amazing.”

Andrew remained very still until the courtroom was empty.

Now all he could do was wait.

“The ‘dying wish’ thing was intense,” Matt commented around a mouthful of falafel. Dan flicked a crumb off his tie, looking at him with an irritated fondness. Both of them - Wymack too - had sat in for both days of his closing. Dan because she pretended she had any sense of authority over Andrew, Wymack because he was Andrew’s boss, and Matt because he was fatally friendly and had never missed a closing of any of his coworkers, even Andrew.

“The whole thing was intense,” Dan grumbled.

“I bet the sexual tension was off the charts,” Allison called out, kicked up her feet onto her desk as she ignored Renee’s unsubtle shushing.

Andrew ignored them all.

“We’re just waiting for the verdict?”

“We’ll be called in when the jury’s ready.”

“It’s been two days. They’ve dragged this on long enough.”

The phone on his desk started ringing. He shoved it against his ear and said “What.”

“Mr Minyard? This is Amy Johnston from the Post, I was just wondering if you wanted to comment on the outcome of your most recent case -”

He slammed the phone back down onto the receiver, jolting his coworkers out of their idle chatter. He was going to kill Nicky for letting the press through. His cousin was useless, and the press were even worse: there was no outcome. The jury had been silent for 2 days, and at this rate, it’d probably go into three.

Wymack texted him. I know you’re still at the office. Go home.

Andrew didn’t need to be told twice.

He careened his ludicrously expensive car into the driveway of his small home. Being a lawyer did have its perks, even if his fellows were curious busybodies and he got attached to impossible cases. He’d crack a better whisky tonight and herald in the news of him impending failure half drunk.

He was never taking a case like this again. Of course, there was no case quite like Nathaniel Wesninski’s, but the point still remained.

He unlocked his front door, stepped inside, and immediately stilled.

The heater was on.

His briefcase, blazer and tie came off, thrown haphazardly in the general direction of Andrew’s study. When he entered his kitchen, he skidded to a stop.

“Hi,” Neil said, skin far more bronze without the gaudy orange jumpsuit. Andrew just stared. The man ducked his head down, lacing his fingers behind his back. “I - uh, I got Wymack to call you in sick for the verdict. Wanted to surprise you.”

“You knew,” Andrew said. “You knew the outcome?”

“Of course,” Neil snorted. “Had to do something with the bloodmoney. Don’t worry, it was only two of them. The rest you had hooked.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Andrew said flatly. Neil’s grin flashed, but he was clearly way out of his depth here. Free and nervous about it. Here, because he thought that Andrew would be the only one that cared.

And he did. For the first time, he did.

The man gestured at his ankle. “18 months parole. It’s a bit heavy but I’ll get used to it with time, I guess.” He rubbed the back of his neck, curls bouncing. “Gotta find somewhere to live, I suppose. Figure out how normal life works. I’m applying for a name change: the first random name generator on Google gave me Josten, so that’s probably what I’ll go with.”

“You’re a disaster,” Andrew managed, fighting every urge not to reach out and comb his fingers through the man’s hair.

“What else is new?” Neil joked.

“You said you’d go to law school.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You’re holding me to that?”

Andrew shrugged. “It’s your life.”

“I suppose you’ll regret taking me on when I end up stealing your cases,” Neil teased, leaning a little closer.

Andrew reached up and tugged on Neil’s collar. “I don’t believe in regret. But I sure as hell will give you the challenge.”

Neil’s lips quirked up at the side, warping his scars and making Andrew’s chest ache.

“Stay,” Andrew said, softer than he intended.

And, now that he could choose to, Neil Josten, freshly minted and definitely real, whispered: “Okay.”

wow only months later did i finally figure out what i wanted from this

srry its so short!!

#andreil #lawyer!au #htgawwm au #kinda #part 3!!!!#out of 3 probably srry #:(((#unless someone inspires me ;;)#all for the game #aftg #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxes #boppity boo heres content for you #pls bear with me i have like 4 wips all 15k plus but i cant stay on track with anything

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whetstonefires · 4 years

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Do you think the DC fandom maybe, Infantilizes Tim a little too much? Like for a rich kid character who's main trauma for a long time was a getting left home alone too much there's an oddly amount of meta abt how much how much his parents hurt him~ compared to, y'know the two poor characters who grew up with physically abusive dad's+druggie mom's, or the two that were raised assassin cult's, etc

…well, yeah, I do kind of think that? His whole schtick for so long was being too old for his age in ways that didn’t sacrifice his jokey, relatable teenager energies. It’s weird how little of that we see anymore, sometimes.

And then DC broke him and discarded him and he’s sort of awkwardly hanging around getting reimagined as more woobie with every fan generation. It is weird!

But tbh I do get it. And I think the reason his parents’ failure of him and his vulnerability get played up so much, and Jason and Steph’s sufferings (while used a lot for things like motivation and context) not dwelt on quite so much in the same lugubrious style, are kind of the same reason.

Which is that canon didn’t commit to it. Jason and Steph’s experiences with bad parenting were foregrounded and retconned more dramatically awful several times. (There’s some definite classism in how that was approached imo, and I’m never budging on being mad about DC retconning out Catherine being sick and then ignoring her forever in all Jason characterization because a drug death invalidates a person ig, great message during the opioid crisis guys.)

They engaged and coped with it–Steph (and Cass, our #1 canon batfam parental abuse victim) pretty directly, Jason a little less so because of the dubious and fluctuating canon status of most of the content more specific than ‘poverty, homelessness, theft, parental drugs and crime in there somewhere,’ so most of his parent issues have been focused on Bruce. He sure has dug into them tho. 😂 Rarely well or productively, thanks DC, but it’s explicitly part of his character, is my point.

Whereas upper-middle-class Tim was always treated by the narrative as fortunate and unharmed by his experiences with his parents. Even though they were clearly behaving badly in several ways, and Tim showed signs of being harmed by it.

Tim outside of immediate moments of frustration always was of the opinion he was Fine, and Very Fortunate Actually.

Therefore a huge chunk of the numerous everyone who’s got parent-related mental and emotional harm, but has struggled to have that validated and hasn’t responded with a lot of anger toward the parent, identifies with Tim. The only one who’s never really lashed out at his parents for fucking up with him. The one who still needs it explored, because canon ultimately didn’t.

[editing post to put in a readmore because lol it’s long, post otherwise unchanged]

(Dick obviously didn’t ever have any Issues with the Graysons, but he Angry Teenagered at Bruce so hard it changed Bruce’s characterization permanently, rip.)

The things Jason, Steph, and Cass have been through are dramatic, obvious, and fit stereotypes because that’s what they’re based on.

That’s important content to have, but because it’s right out there in your face even people who identify with it quite a lot are less likely to feel the need to work all the way through it again in fanworks. That part’s there. It’s text.

(Well actually Jason having been physically abused kind of wasn’t? I think? It was mostly assumed on the basis of stereotyping and Jason’s not caring about the man much even as he felt possessive of information about his death, which is valid. I don’t actually know what’s up with Willis now, Lobdell did some weird shit that lacked emotional resonance or staying power because he’s Lobdell and has no soul.

Cass’ wandering years are also ludicrously underdeveloped. But very very few comics fans or writers can personally relate to being amazing child warriors with no grasp of language living feral under bridges. That part of her life is consistently represented in terms of absences, in terms of its deviation from the norm and the deficits of normality it left her with, which is typical but unfortunate.)

The interesting things to do with these characters are often informed by the bad stuff in their childhoods, but there’s relatively rarely that much more to say about the fact that those things were bad. They know they’re bad. They’ve had a lot of on-panel rage about it, as discussed above. Steph and Cass both beat the shit out of their dads.

Jason is, in fandom especially, a sort of Platonic ideal of a kid who’s mad about his bad childhood and really bad at figuring out where to point that rage.

(Damian is a whole other kettle of fish, because he’s been lumbered by so many detailed retcons coming so fast no two people can seem to construct compatible models of what his early childhood was like, and even more because he’s still ‘a child’ enough that he’s necessarily in a different stage of processing than someone who’s officially only a few years older than him at this point, but still functionally 8 and also 20 years older, and whose parents are no longer in the picture to continue screwing up.

Also there’s no question that if he brings up an abusive thing the League did, he will be validated by his current environment about his realization that it was in fact bad. There’s a lot of fic on that theme! But it doesn’t have the same tone precisely because it is usually understood that that support will be there if he wants it. Realizing that his previous context contained things that were wrong keeps being made the focus of his arc.)

The badness of Tim’s childhood, on the other hand, was mainly in subtext. Even when we were clearly meant to understand Jack was fucking up, like when he canceled plans with Tim at the last minute to go on a date with Tim’s stepmother, or that infamous time he came to apologize for not being a great parent and got mad Tim was distracted by a crisis on TV so he flew into a rage and took the TV and smashed it and was like ‘that’ll teach you,’ it wasn’t leaned into.

The story didn’t treat Jack as a minor villain to be overcome but like a sort of environmental hazard of childhood, like homework, to be endured and coped with. Tim said things like ‘it’s fine’ and ‘at least he left the computer.’

(And like. It’s not about having a TV and computer in his room. It’s about not letting a child have boundaries, pointedly not respecting a child’s possessions, creating an emotionally insecure environment, punishing minor infractions in proportion to their momentary impact on your own ego, physically lashing out at a proxy for the child…)

Rather like Tom King later didn’t understand about the punching from Bruce, whoever did that story (probably Dixon? I don’t care enough to check) did not understand how serious a case of bad parenting that scene was. That is most definitely textbook abusive behavior. (It’s a hell of a lot more common abusive behavior than being a lame supervillain or shooting you when you screw up, and a lot more specific than ‘was a thug, might have hit me, dead now.’)

And Tim was never allowed to be mad at his parents about it. It was fine. He needed to be ignored so he had the freedom to be Robin. He deserved his dad being mad at him because he was keeping secrets. He complained too much, although objectively he did not.

The universe punished him for ‘complaining,’ more than once. We cut straight from him shunting aside his disappointment that his postcard from his parents was just to say they weren’t coming home yet after all with ‘if it will stop all the fights they’ve been having lately it’s more than fine’ to them getting kidnapped.

He agreed not to come on the rescue mission. His mom never made it home, and his dad was in a coma for a while. And then ultimately Jack died as a result of Tim’s decision to be Robin, immediately after finally deciding to accept it.

So Tim walks around feeling a huge burden of responsibility for his parents’ deaths, and completely unable to process any hurt they did him as real or valid, especially in comparison with the far more blatant awfulness other people have been through, and canon is clearly never going to address it. Or even acknowledge it properly.

Let me repeat that because it’s kind of my main point:

People are fixated on getting Tim’s emotional abuse validated because that’s an incredibly important step in recovering from emotional abuse, and it’s one canon consistently denied him.

How ‘bad’ things are ‘in comparison to’ problems other people have is a bad and unhealthy way to engage with trauma. Okay? That’s just a really harmful framework to apply to pain.

It’s also a way that both Tim and people with experiences similar to Tim’s are encouraged to engage with their own experiences, compounding the existing problems.

So. Not a form of relatable DC was ever actually aiming for when they tried so hard (and pretty effectively) to make him a relatable character as Robin, but an enduring one for a lot of fans.

So Tim’s childhood is a natural target for fanworks in a different way than the traumas that have been made explicit and taken seriously by the text. And then a lot of that got compounded by the way the introduction of Damian as Robin was handled, and the lack of resolution that got. And his current status as not quite having a place in the family anymore.

So between the level of projection encouraged by that context and how relatively difficult to access Tim’s Robin run has become ten years after the fact, this has led to a lot of fanworks on these themes that are based mostly on other fanworks, and stray further and further from the original content.

So at this point there’s an entire wing of Tim’s fandom wherein this side of him has expanded enormously, and he primarily exists to suffer, frequently in ways that 1) escalate to a point that is inarguably ‘valid’ and hard to dismiss and 2) set him up to rebound from it in whatever way the writer finds emotionally satisfying or useful–being ultimately cared for and reassured by people who value him (the most infantilizing option but like, popular for obvious reasons), or unveiling his brilliant scheme that was causing him to pretend to be passive in the face of mistreatment, or turning around and using his genius ninja skills to wrest power back from his abusers, or just laying down some sick burns about being treated fairly.

But not that many of the last one, because that’s mostly done with other batfam members.

Tim’s become a vehicle for a lot of vicarious coping that Steph and Jason just aren’t appropriate for, because they get angry and they get even. And those are stories that exist already, so there’s less scope for telling your own.

And because Jason’s reaction pattern is ultimately so masculine (i’ll make them all sorry! with my guns! blam blam!) while Tim’s is pretty gender-neutral, the demographics of fanfic mean that the bulk of the people using Tim vicariously in this manner are female-aligned, which has over time feminized this archetype of him a lot. Sometimes in ways I find really uncomfortable, like there’s a lot of forced pregnancy stuff which activates my panic buttons. x.x

But, ultimately, it’s fandom. People are going to do what they’re going to do, DC in their perpetual fail has hung Tim out to dry in narrative terms, and I’d rather the people who are using Tim for victimization narratives over the people who can’t dismiss or discredit him fast enough now that his position has been filled. 🤷‍♀️ What we gonna do? Fave’s in an awkward spot. DC hates us. This is the life in this comic book pit. XD

Also if you’re the same anon who left me a callout about op of that weird Steph post in my inbox, or if you aren’t @ that person, 1) I refuse to get involved so I’m not answering that ask 2) those aren’t even particularly dramatic fandom crimes? That’s pretty normal? That’s just…Caring Too Much About Ships And Disagreeing With Me.

Do I also feel those opinions are kinda bad? Yeah. But I disagree with everyone about something. Chill.

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myuntoldstory · 3 years

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saeran after end after thought

it took me a ducking month and some change because i had to farm hourglasses. when i started playing i kept getting the bad ends and i got so frustrated i didn’t touch the app for two weeks. i had to consult a guide to finally reach the end.

i wanted to play this because i needed to see where jihyun ended up and... well... we all know what happened there. anyway...

i have many thoughts and feelings about this ae. i don’t know if i can ever properly organise them, but i’ll put it in bullet points for now. this is my personal feelings, not any kind of fact. i have nothing against nearly anything and anyone (character or real) involved in this game. i’ll always love and appreciate them for being in this game, for creating this game, for giving us something to love for the past four or five years.

these thoughts are rather unfiltered. this is me coming out hours after finishing the ae. i might change my mind after letting it marinate for a while and after reading up some more about it.

it’s all under the cut. it’s long and rambling. there’s no need to read this, really; the ae is a month old after all, but i just needed to get this out. also, it’s salty as hell. literally saltier than the dead sea. it will dehydrate you... best to not bother with this.

also spoilers.

1. during the first playthrough the game mechanics were wonderful, novel, and immersive. but years later and for the sake of an ae? unnecessary. it’s too long. it’s too much work. i did my due when i played the game during ray’s route. why do i also have to work for something that should have been my reward? why do i still have to worry about hearts, choices, and game branches? why do i have to go through multiple endings? it’s an after end. it’s after the ending.

of course i love new content, i love more content, but not like this. and i know i sound super entitled. if i was impatient i should have justt read the wiki, but i wanted the experience, but not this specific experience. lucky it’s the pandemic and i have more time on my hands, but in normal circumstances my life is very different from what it was in 2016. i can’t be waiting for chats and making plans around it to get to the after ending. honestly i expected something like the secret ends or even similar to the style of jihyun’s ae... but no. apparently, chertiz thinks it’s fun to make us spend three and a half days to reach an AFTER END.

2. saeran choi needs love... but, in my opinion, not ours. not mc’s. the love he needs is his brother’s. the person he needs most is saeyoung choi. he’s suffered so much, endured many things no person should ever endure. of course he deserves romantic love, but i feel like he needed to recover first. that’s why after all this im firmly in the very bare, maybe even empty camp of preferring secret end saeran choi over ray route saeran choi.

3. never in my life has a game made me exhausted about the act of forgiveness. i feel a little sick. it’s terrible to say that, i know, but i am just so emotionally exhausted. there is this heavy feeling in my chest that makes me want to cry because i feel like i somehow destroyed a part of myself?

first it’s the saviour in jihyun’s ae. it’s still her in this ae. but in addition to that there’s also the prime minister? when does it stop? at this point we might as well forgive the twins’ mother too. she imprisoned her own sons to benefit from their father; beat the shit out of and starved saeran to the point that he wanted to die, but there must be a reason behind it, right? like all the villains in this game her choices are not her own; they are the product of their circumstances and we have to understand that.

i just... i understand what cheritz is trying to convey here. and granted saeyoung is not as forgiving, but this isn’t his story. it felt like the forgiveness was nearing some extreme by the end of it. i don’t think there’s anything wrong if you’e unable to forgive. if the only way for you to move forward is to not do so i feel that’s valid. as long as you’re not hurting anyone and that you’re not hurting yourself, you do whatever you need to recover. forgiving is not the only way, the noble way. not everyone’s backstory you have to understand and take into consideration in order to move on. even if they realise what they did was wrong, it’s okay not to forgive. sometimes that’s what we need to take care of ourselves.

im rambling on this point, but im going through this currently. it’s not as extreme as the choi twins or the rfa, but all my life i’ve been forgiving and understanding and it chipped away at me. even at my expense i forgave everything and it landed me in a place im struggling to get out of. i needed justice and this ae didn’t give me a bit of that... at least not in the way i needed.

4. cheritz said this is the grand finale, but... it didn’t feel like it? again this is me being entitled, but i expected something more. something bigger. something poignant because after this mystic messenger is over. i expected some kind of epilogues in the form of story modes. of course i appreciate everything the company has done, especially the efforts of the writers, artists, voice actors, and everyone, but... it’s so rushed? it such a short farewell that instead of getting catharsis and satisfaction i felt... drained. and i feel sad that it’s all over because im not ready to say goodbye and that goodbye is far too short for me.

i don’t know im just sad it’s all over.

also, the conclusion they come to is the dissolution of the rfa once everyone found their happy ending. i... this is a group that has been through some shit and that doesn’t make them closer somehow? the rfa app lies neglected and abandoned as everyone moves on with their lives? that is so... lonely? at least for me.

i mean, of course, not all endings have to be necessarily happy in the “everyone gets together once a week for dinners” kind, but i just... i dont know i expected them to be closer somehow. maybe they are. maybe outside the app they’re all closer, but... i don’t know. i feel sad they’re abandoning the app.

5. and then there’s kim jihyun.

and im... i dont know anymore. if you know me, follow me, or have read any of my fics you know im a jihyun fan. i love that man and YES i know his sins. we all do.

as i played the ae i started to hope that he’d die in the end instead of suffering through this egregious character assassination. yes, i literally preferred that he died and that i go through that pain instead of suffering whatever this is. obviously i dont want him to die, but this is like killing him anyway. they killed the essence of him, who he is as a person. hell, they probably killed him already and just installed a stranger in the ae because that v is not our v. all throughout the game he’s been kind and compassionate and selfless. his whole thing is about protecting the rfa, the mc, saving the saviour, and sacrificing himself for them. this is the idiot who gives you his hearts when you’re being actively nice to his abuser and saeran in his route. his ultimate happy ending involves everyone being happy, reunited, and given the proper mental care. he went away for two years, putting a much needed pause in your budding relationship, not only to recover from his trauma, but also to rescue saeran and help him recover too.

yes, v enabled the saviour even before another story. he lied. he put everyone in danger. he’s reckless and he keeps secrets way more than what’s natural. but he will never let any of them come to harm. my memory is fuzzy but im sure he never lets the rfa get in danger. he was devastated when yoosung got injured. he also tried to rescue seven and mc in the secret ends thats why he got shot. this guy always looks out for everyone.

in what world is he okay with drugging the twins? making deals with the villains? the idea of trapping the twins in the saviour’s delusional, twisted family life? he’s not the type to be okay just standing there when his best friend’s life is falling apart or for even causing it. when zen, jaehee, and yoosung get backed into the corner he wouldn’t have been just idle. but in this ae all he does is play stacking chairs, buy strawberry yoghurt, and echo the saviour’s words like a puppet. he asks only mc to save herself and like... jesus christ he never gets a break. he doesn’t even get the same gesture of forgiveness everyone and their father gets. he goes through a trial and jail, which is fair enough, but he’s also a victim of abuse and suffering and despair and mental illness. but somehow because it’s v it’s okay that this is all he gets. somehow he doesn’t deserve any compassionate resolution.

literally the only time he’s happy is his route and after end and even then that happiness is not his own. even then there were concessions to be made before he could get it.

seriously. it seems like cheritz hates him. they think little to nothing of him. if that’s the case why even make content for him? he’s not even meant to be romanceable in the original stories. they could’ve just ignored the petitions and left him as a side character. i mean, i dont know if i prefer that honestly, i do appreciate the content we got, but as his fan it hurts to see all this half-hearted decisions. and to see all this hate still pouring out for him, now magnified because of this ae.

this is like a tiring odyssey, starting way back when he got shot and killed all because he loved someone. he loved the wrong person and it’s the wrong kind of love and he committed his crimes because of it. he had a hand in making the rfa and mc suffer, but still all he did was love. and i know that sounds blind and naive and ignorant and im sorry for not picking up the nuances of his relationship with the saviour, but that’s all i saw. i saw a guy loving the wrong person and it made him make all the wrong choices leading to a bad life.

gah. i am drained people. i am drained, and frustrated, and tired.

#jihyun kim #mystic messenger #tag this please #im sorry for this #i dont know why im apologising #i guess for my thoughtless rambles #it became a rant #this is all unfiltered #dont bother reading im just ranting #ive had like an hour sleep today because reasons #anyway thats not an excuse or anything #ANYWAY these are just stupid thoughts #i had to let it out

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shittyelfwriter · 5 years

Text

Nightmare

Pairing: Unrequited Castiel x fem!reader, established Dean x reader!sister, Sam x reader!other sister

Word count: 8.3k, one-shot

Summary: Your sisters had made a deal to save Sam and Dean. You had made another deal, with Crowley’s help, to save your sisters. No one had seen it coming when you went missing, but even less had they expected to find you as a shadow of your former self.

Warnings: Usual spn levels of angst, trauma, demon deals, etc.

A/N: Sort of sourced from an old rp I did, and loosely off of Nightmare by Halsey. Another song fic, literally no one is surprised anymore (oof.) I’ve been extremely sick this week as I’ve been working on this, so apologies in advance if it isn’t as coherent as I think? Also apologies since tumbles apparently took away the line break feature and I’ve yet to find a way to fix that. I’ve made an attempt at line breaking in the meantime, we’ll see how it goes.

More of my writing (masterlist)

You’d just been so desperate.

There hadn’t been a lot of time to think through what you were doing—there never was with this sort of thing, was there? All you knew is that your sisters had sold their souls for those Winchester boys, and now they owed theirs as debt. You weren’t surprised, exactly. It was just like them to sacrifice for the men they loved, and who loved them in return—they had done the same for the girls before, right? It was a stupid mess, but serious.

And with three days left before their time was up, and no other viable options on the table, you knew what you needed to do.

Oddly enough, you weren’t the type to have enemies. Of your sisters, you were the most polite, and quiet. Innocent, if you wanted to put it that way. For all of your connections to Sam and Dean, you weren’t hated in the supernatural world—if anything, monsters knew not to cross you because if anything happened to you, they’d be shooting themselves in the foot. You only believed in hunting when necessary; preferring to help creatures find ways to live without killing humans. Oftentimes you vouched for the odd vampire, or demon, even angel from time to time—which was perhaps why you were so close with Cas.

Well, close was one word for it. Rumors ran amuck that you two were hopelessly in love—but you weren’t in a relationship, by any means, nor romantically involved. You were very close, and yes you were pining after him, but you refused to ruin what the two of you had because you had a crush.

So it was surprising when you’d called Crowley for a reason other than a case. You didn’t exactly trust the King of Hell, but he had taken a shining to your wit and intellect. Perhaps he even had a soft spot for your well intentioned naïveté—or at least, that’s what he’d told you once before.

“Isn’t it more like you to ask Feathers for help with something like this?” The demon had asked you, and you’d looked down at your shoes, clearly distraught.

“We’re a bit past that point, Crowley. Don’t get me wrong,” you added, looking resolute. “I know better than to ask you to pardon my sisters. There’s a balance to this sort of thing, when you’re trading in souls.”

“Then what exactly are you here for?” He’d asked, and seeing your expression his face had fallen. “Oh no. Really?” Seeing tears jump into your eyes, he sighed. Be it far from him to be compassionate, but he really did have a terrible soft spot for you. “Dearest, I can’t let you do that. You know that, don’t you?”

“Please,” you asked, begged if you were honest. “I know it’s one soul for two, but…I mean, from what Cas has told me, I have a high quality soul.”

“He’s not wrong.” That was reassuring, somehow. Crowley circled around you, assessing you. “Of your sisters, you’re the most untainted. The Winchesters have a way of defiling those around them—your being more removed has done you good. You don’t drink, smoke, gamble, fornicate—still a virgin, which is a near miracle. And that’s coming from a demon.” You swallowed uncomfortably, shifting on your feet. Crowley came to stand in front of you again, his hands behind his back. “Sam and Dean had a heavy price on their heads, which transferred to your sisters when they renegotiated the deal. All of that on you would be…brutal, to put it lightly.”

“I know.”

“And you’re willing to take that on?”

“I don’t have any other choice.”

“You could let them do the time, wait for the boys to save them—eventually.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Crowley squinted at you. “You’d really sacrifice yourself for them?”

You let out a sad little laugh, shrugging. “Why not? I’m the only one who doesn’t have someone to live for.”

He seemed concerned by your statement, frowning and taking a step closer. “I know Castiel for one would disagree with that heavily.”

“Castiel is my friend,” you said, your voice breaking on the word. “Nothing more, nothing less. Taylor and Ariel have Sam and Dean in their lives, they deserve to have that. I want them to have that, and I’ll do what I need to to keep them all safe.”

“Your soul for theirs?”

“Yes.”

The King of Hell turned over your answer for a moment, the silence weighing on you considering how he’d turned you down at first. “On second thought, I do have a proposition for you, Y/N,” and you could tell by the look on his face it wasn’t going to be pretty.

In the end, you agreed to Crowley’s terms. “What will you tell Castiel?” He asked, and you knew he was concerned about the angel coming after him for brokering your demise.

“I won’t,” you said, resolutely. “I’m not going to tell any of them. They don’t need to know.”

“Dean it’s been six weeks. Six weeks, and nothing from Y/N.” Your middle sister, Ariel, stood at the map table in the war room, staring her boyfriend of the past few years down with tears in her eyes. “This isn’t like her, Cas is worried out of his mind even though he won’t admit it—”

“I know!” Dean admitted, running a hand down his face. “I know, and you know that we’ve been doing everything we can to try and find her. Cas has been back on angel radio, Sam and Taylor have been working with Rowena to try and track her, but that didn’t pan out.”

“Rowena said something is tainting Y/N’s energy,” your youngest sister, Taylor offered from her seat next to Sam. “It’s impossible to track her the way she is now, whatever that means.”

“I think we all know what it might mean,” Dean said, and Ariel and Taylor immediately began to protest when they were cut off by a deeper voice in the doorway.

“Y/N can’t be a demon.” Cas looked much worse for wear than usual, more disheveled, with red rimmed eyes that if he weren’t an angel might suggest he’d been crying. But he did seem exhausted through and through, so maybe he actually had been crying. “We’ve been over this before, Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Her soul is too pure, to become a demon she’d have to commit a heinous crime and none have come up on our radar that have anything to do with anyone who looks like her.” Dean slumped into a seat, clearly frustrated. “I just don’t know what to do, man. Y/N is incredibly intelligent, and capable—if she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be.”

“It doesn’t exactly help that Crowley isn’t picking up his phone,” Sam pointed out with a meaningful look.

“You think he’s hiding something?” Ariel asked, and Sam shrugged.

“I’m just saying. Y/N went missing around the time your deals were due, and seeing as you haven’t been collected by hellhounds, and she’s nowhere to be found—”

“Don’t say that.” Cas’ gritted tone garnered everyone’s attention. His hands were in fists, a furious and heartbroken expression on his face. “If she were in danger she would have prayed to me, I know it. She promised me, and Y/N doesn’t break promises.”

“But what if she chose to be in danger?” Sam asked, saying what everyone was thinking but was too afraid to say. “We all know she used to say that if any of us ever did anything too pigheaded, she’d trade herself for us in a heartbeat. We were so down to the wire, trying to find a way to save Ari and Tay that maybe we forgot that she’d promised that.”

Everyone fell into a miserable silence. They all knew it felt like the truth, but none of them liked it. Cas turned around and stormed from the room, up the stairs to the front door.

“Cas?” Dean called, concerned with his attitude but not surprised. He knew how close the two of you were, how much this must be tearing Cas apart. “Where you going, buddy?”

“To keep my promise. To bring Y/N home,” Cas snapped, but there was a catch in his voice that betrayed his emotion. He slammed the bunker door on the way out, and considering how heavy it was it made quite the clatter. Ariel and Taylor both cringed, exchanging glances, and Sam sighed.

“We should keep an eye out for unusual demon activity,” he said, and they all knew what he was saying.

“On it,” Dean replied, already on his way to the computers. If they were facing the truth, then maybe it would be easier to find you.

As much as your family and the Winchesters cared about you, this was perhaps hardest on Castiel.

He’d believed what he’d told them: that if you were in danger, you would have reached out, called, prayed to him, anything. Maybe you withdrew from your siblings, but not from him. He was usually exempt from your moody phases, always an exception to your rules. This time, being shut out had him worried much more than he would have anticipated. And it made him wonder how badly you were in trouble, if you hadn’t prayed to him.

He didn’t want to believe what the others were saying. He didn’t want to even think, let alone believe that you would have sacrificed yourself without coming to him for help first. It was tearing him apart to think you’d been so afraid, that even now you could be suffering the full force of two Winchesters worth of torment—and all because he hadn’t realized you were pulling away until it was too late.

It was driving him frantic, leaving him chasing his own tail trying to find any scrap of information as to where you were. And now that that had failed, he was moving onto the next phase: direct action.

He found demons. He tortured them, trying to get them to talk, to let slip where you were. They seemed afraid of him, but not more than they were of talking. Three died before they gave up something he could work with: the address of an abandoned hotel in Chicago, and the promise that Crowley would try to stop him.

“I hope he does,” Cas growled out, smiting the demon in the chair it was tied in before whirling, picking up his angel blade from the table and heading to Chicago. He needed someone to take his anger out on, in big swinging punches, and Crowley was seeming more and more like the right face to make a punching bag.

Of course he’d called Sam and Dean and the girls. Of course he’d told them to get the dungeon ready, just in case. Either he was bringing Crowley back, or…he didn’t like to think about the other option. But when he reached the abandoned hotel, saw the penthouse windows lit up from the sidewalk below, he knew he was going to have to prepare himself for the worst case.

Not that it made that any easier.

He was surprised to find the bottom floor unguarded. Finding the elevator out of order, he ascended the staircase of the hotel, his apprehension rising with each floor. As he reached the penthouse, he drew his blade and approached the door—surprised to find it open, cracked ever so slightly.

“Castiel.”

It was like a dream, or some sort of reverie the way your voice carried out from the room. Music to his ears, how clear and unharmed your voice sounded. He felt his vessel’s heart skip a beat, his pulse rising as he pushed the door open with his free hand. Maybe this was all just a misunderstanding. Maybe you were okay, almost dared to let himself hope. Almost.

You stood there, in the middle of the room. It seemed lived in, as if you’d been there for a few days. But your back was to him, and you were examining something in your hands, something he couldn’t see. The energy in the room was all wrong, he couldn’t sense your soul—that bright ball of beautiful flame that he always found himself mesmerized by. No, the air felt static, and heavy—there was a demon nearby, and everything in him was clawing to find an answer that meant it wasn’t you.

“Y/N,” his voice was relieved; he just couldn’t help it. After weeks of searching, he was weary of missing you, of being afraid for your life. Seeing you in front of him unscathed was a mercy he hadn’t thought he’d be afforded.

But then you turned, and your face was all wrong. His angelic eyes were horrified to see your face, not glowing softly with the radiance of your soul, but hollowed out into the thing he’d feared most.

“Took you long enough,” you said, your voice still normal sounding and a little amused. It was like you were mocking him, that he’d thought you’d be alright. “What’s wrong, Cas. Aren’t you happy to see me?” You smiled, and it was earnest, filled with the happiness and love that normally greeted him. But then you blinked, and your eyes went black.

“Y/N, what have you done?” Cas asked, his world shaken. It felt like everything had gone upside down, that nothing made sense. He’d grounded himself with you, and now you were the inverted version of yourself. He didn’t know which way was up.

You could sense his confusion, could see it in his form that you could finally look at unharmed. “They always did say that you were handsome, and I wondered how much was true,” you admitted, casting your blackened gaze along his true form. “It used to make me jealous.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you.”

You quoting verse at him was already twisted enough, but Song of Solomon was a particularly low blow; as if you were mocking his affection, the love you shared but never spoke of.

“Why.” It was a simple question, but it seemed to puzzle you as you came closer, stopping when you were a foot in front of him. He longed to reach out, to pull you close and reassure you everything would be alright, but he knew that wasn’t possible. Not now.

“Why do you think?” You were so calm, so at peace with what you were that it was unsettling. Normally demons were full of anger, venom, spite. But you still seemed like you, if not a bit faded out. Like your personality had been switched from color to black-and-white. “I had no other choice, Castiel. It was either them or me.”

“Why you?” He asked, anger creeping into his tone. His chest rose and fell, barely contained emotion showing itself physically. “Why should you be the one to bear their sins?”

“Why not me?” You asked, tilting your head. You blinked, and your eyes went back to their normal color. It was like nothing was wrong, it was just him and you. “You’ve thrown yourself into danger for us without a second thought many times before, Cas. Why is my doing so worthy of questioning? I did what I needed to do, to protect those I loved.”

“Loved,” Cas clarified, and you smiled sadly, the emotion not reaching your eyes.

“Demons don’t love, do they?”

“Neither do angels,” he countered. “And yet…” His eyes lingered on your face, searching for anything that gave away this was a trick, that you were really you. Your gaze softened, something almost like emotion behind them as you realized the intention behind his trailing off. It made his grace want to reach out to you.

“I’ve missed you, Cas,” you whispered, and he believed you had. He believed that you believed you had. But he knew that like this, you couldn’t properly miss anybody.

“I miss you too,” he replied, unmoving when you set a hand to his cheek. It felt wrong, when you touched him, which was so wrong itself. All he’d wanted for weeks was you to come back, to comfort him. Now that you were, it felt terrible. Your face darkened at both his words and lack of response.

“You should be more grateful,” you said, withdrawing your hand. All sweetness had left you, your tone cold as you took a step back. For the first time, he realized you were holding an angel blade. His relief could have cost him his life, and he wouldn’t have even seen it coming. “I could have been dead, or worse.”

“Isn’t this worse?” He demanded, irritation creeping into his voice. You could see it, the anger rising behind his eyes, the celestial in him spurred to action by your behavior. You saw his wings flutter angrily, but there was a conflict in them—like he knew he was angry, but they had a mind of their own and still wanted to embrace you. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Oh, Cas,” you singsonged, holding your blade behind your back with both hands and swaying from side to side. You were grinning again in spite of yourself, far from aware of how manic your mood changes were. “Do your wings always reach for me like that? Was I just too blind to see it?” His lips turned downward in frustration, and you knew you’d hit a nerve. You faked a gasp. “Is it possible your true form is more forward with your feelings than your vessel? Fascinating—especially considering how little you give me of yourself.”

“I give you more of myself than I do to anyone else.” Hearing him be so firm was even more arousing than usual, and you felt your own wings aching to come forward, to mingle with his despite the contrast of their essence. “I stay with you while you sleep when you ask for it, my arms wrapped around you, keeping you safe. I protect you on every hunt, at every opportunity. I put your safety above my own in all things, and I always answer your call, whether it be in prayer or over the phone.”

“Which I’m assuming is why you’re so offended I didn’t call,” you finished, noting how wound up he was. You rolled your eyes, sighing and abandoning your stare down to return to packing a bag at the end of your bed. “I didn’t need you to save me, Castiel. Not this time. I needed you to let me go.” You looked over at him, sadly. “I still do. There’s nothing for you to save here anymore, angel. And I’m sorry it had to end this way—really I am. But this is the end of the line for us.”

“No. No, I refuse to believe that,” He argued, raising his voice. “The Y/N I know wouldn’t give up so easily. She wouldn’t just surrender to becoming”— he looked you up and down—“this.”

“A demon,” you pointed out, seeing his expression sour at the words. “You can’t face it, can you? That this is what I am now?”

“I won’t,” he growled, staring at you, rage behind his blue eyes. “I won’t accept it, because I’m going to make it right. And once I’ve done that, Crowley will pay.”

“Crowley only did what I asked,” you said, crossing your arms. “I asked him to intervene, he didn’t have to, but he did. I owe him everything.”

“You don’t owe him anything, Y/N!” Cas said, clearly exasperated. “Look what he’s done to you!”

“Made me stronger,” you said, calmly. “Erased my weakness, given me something to do while serving my time—well. My sisters’ time.”

Cas seemed ready to snap, like he was about to boil over and was afraid he’d take it out on you. “Enough of this,” he said lowly, striding forward. You didn’t attack, allowing him to grab your wrist. “I’m taking you home.”

“I don’t want to go home.” You refused to move, feet planted firmly.

He narrowed his eyes at you, cocking his head. “Do I look like I’m asking?” He said, all sass, and you hated that desire pooled in your stomach from the fiery look he was giving you. Despite that, you forced a firm glare.

“I’m not going back. Not to the bunker, where they’re going to look at me the same way you are right now.”

“We—“ He sighed, rolling his eyes before fixing you with a clear gaze. “We care about you. We want what’s best for you, Y/N, I know you know that deep down.”

“And what’s best for me, Cas?” You asked, arching a brow at him. “To go ‘home’, have you lot try to ‘cure’ me? Go back to being a pathetic little girl, who pines after you like a puppy who’s master only comes home when he needs something from her?” That hurt him, you could see it in his face. “No, fuck that. I’m done being the child of the group. I’m done letting you make a fool of me, like you have all these years.”

“I’ve made a fool of you?” Cas nearly hissed, rounding in on you, so close you were practically nose to nose. His eyes were furious, hurt. “No, little girl, you’ve been making a fool of me all this time. Making a laughing stock of me to my brothers and sisters, who spurned me for my weakness—my weakness for you.”

“Why should they? It’s not like you’ve ever acted on it.” If you’d had the ability to feel your emotions, you would have been crying. “All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”

“Enough.” He shook you a little, the look in his eyes far more emotional than you would have expected. “I’m not having this conversation with you the way you are right now,” he told you, and you scoffed.

“Please, any other time I’d be too shy to talk about it.”

“Which is incidentally why I don’t bring it up,” Cas said, exasperated.

“So you admit you don’t want to talk about it, right.”

He stopped and stared at you. “And I thought you were impossible when you’re human,” he muttered.

“Surprise, surprise,” you said with a wink, and he sighed. “You gonna let go of my arm yet? Crowley will be back from an errand any minute and I doubt he’d like to see you with your hands on the merchandise.”

“Would you stop talking about yourself like that.” He pressed his lips together, as if he didn’t like what he was about to say. “I know you have an issue with self-loathing to begin with, but this is taking it to an unhealthy place.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You think this is cause I hate myself? No, Cas. Maybe I finally loved myself enough to get out. To stop pining over you, and grow the fuck up.” Your eyes went black, and you saw his anger boil up again. “This is what I’ve chosen to be, and I don’t owe you, or anyone else, a goddamn thing.”

“Is that your final answer?” He asked, and you reached for your blade with free hand. He clutched your wrist tighter, a warning.

“Yes.” He was clearly dissatisfied, but you could tell he wasn’t about to give up. He was about to say something else when slow clapping sounded behind the both of you. Cas turned, revealing Crowley in the doorway—clearly entertained.

“Bravo, Y/N, you him occupied long enough for me to show. Told you it wouldn’t be hard.” He stepped into the room, Cas already bristling. He was shielding you with his body, you realized, finding that funny—but something deeper within you began to worry. Crowley hadn’t mentioned hurting Cas. Was that what this was about?

“You,” Cas said, nearly a snarl, but Crowley waved him off.

“Oh come on. We’re past that by now, aren’t we? You know as well as I do that we both have a soft spot for Y/N. I did what I was asked, save the holy wrath for someone who actually deserves it.”

“You made her a demon,” Cas pointed out furiously. “I think that warrants a bit of wrath.”

“Yes, and she’s lucky she got the easy out. I had to pull some strings to make that happen—do you have any idea the kind of torture that was lined up for Sam and Dean?”

“I’m taking her with me.”

“You’re really not.”

He really was though, because exactly 17 minutes later he was leaving the room, a bit bloodied and bruised but with Crowley pinned to a chair with your angel blade, and you unconscious, slung over his shoulder. Crowley was shouting after him, promising all sorts of foul repayment for his interference, but at that point Cas didn’t care anymore. He was far more concerned with the apathy you’d found in your new state of being—because that didn’t come naturally to a demon, and it made him think something was wrong with the way you’d been turned.

When you awoke, you were handcuffed and chained in the dungeon of the bunker, a dim overhead light making you squint. The last thing you’d remembered was that you’d had Cas pinned to the ground, your blade at his throat as Crowley had yelled at you to finish him. But it all went blank from there. What had happened?

“It’s not important,” came a familiar voice from the corner, and your stomach churned at the idea that your thoughts had been combed through. You noticed Cas there for the first time, sitting in the semi dark, his forearms resting on his knees with blue eyes fixed curiously on you. “What matters is that you’re home now.”

“You’ve made a big mistake bringing me here,” you threatened, but Cas merely sighed.

“Dean’s already spoken to Crowley. We’ve given him something he wants—an item, not a person,” he clarified, seeing your interest. “While he’s still annoyed about the fight we had, he’s letting it rest for now.”

“How long have I been out?” You asked, tilting your head and groaning. You felt lightheaded, dizzy, out of sorts and you knew it wasn’t from whatever had knocked you out. You looked about the room for what could be the cause of your pain, when your eyes fell on the series of needles on the table. You groaned. “Really, Cas? Blood therapy?”

He didn’t answer, but it didn’t seem to matter when the door opened and Dean, then Sam came in.

“Where are the girls?” You asked, your tone again, too normal. It was like nothing was wrong, like everything had just been a bad dream. Only the cuffs and chains around you were a sign that something was amiss, your eyes flickering to black reminding them all that this was real. That you were the nightmare.

“Somewhere out of your reach, for now,” Sam said, picking up a needle. “Is it time, Cas?” He asked, and Cas nodded. “Good.” He came over to you, and even though you struggled he still managed to get the needle into your neck. It felt like your blood was on fire, and you were freezing all over at the same time. You hissed angrily, thrashing about as much as you could.

“You don’t have to do this,” you said, near begging. But neither Dean nor Sam seemed to be in the listening mood.

“Back in an hour?” Dean said to Cas, and again, Cas nodded. You growled in frustration, kicking your feet.

“Talk to me, dammit!” You demanded, but neither brother paid you any mind as they left the room, closing the door behind them and leaving you alone with the angel again. Your head lolled to the side, and you looked at him. You were bleeding from your nose, eyes their normal color but red rimmed, with your bottom lip split from your fight earlier. “Please,” you begged, near whimpered. “Please, just let me go. I don’t wanna go back to what I was before. I don’t wanna go back to being that miserable.”

Cas’ expression shifted to some kind of emotion for the first time since you’d woken, guilt and sadness marring his features. “Did you really hate it all that much?”

You couldn’t reply, your returning humanity hanging heavy in your throat. He got up, and you felt your pulse quicken as he took slow steps towards you. One, two, three. A finger lifted your chin.

“I don’t understand,” he said, voice low, scanning your face—your true face, which was beginning to faintly shine with the light of your soul again, just barely; like a flickering lightbulb. “How did he turn you? I see no signs on you of a sin large enough, no spot on your soul dark enough to warrant your demonic nature. What did he do to make you this way?”

You blinked, eyes heavy with tears. “I’d rather die then tell you anything,” you said angrily, turning your face away and out of his grasp.

“Maybe you feel that way now. But it will pass.” You hated him in that moment, in his surety that he could bring you back from the place you’d begun to feel was safer than your own home—the dark depths of what you’d become. You tugged at the chains again, trying to escape against the odds. You knew there was no getting out. All of you had kept Crowley in this dungeon before, for weeks at a time. All you had was hours, you weren’t even sure how many; but by the feeling in your head, you assumed you were around halfway finished.

“You might as well relax,” Cas said, grunting as he took a seat again. His blue eyes fixed on you the same way they had before, with patience and wariness. “We’re going to be here a while.”

He was right. It was a good five hours before your treatment was nearly done. The boys had been coming in and out on the hour, dosing you and giving you a scrutinizing look before leaving you with Cas, in silence. Your hatred for their coldness has begun to fade into a lonely sadness every time they ignored you—a sure sign of your humanity returning, which only made you more miserable.

One last syringe remained, and this one Cas had insisted on giving to you himself. He came to stand in front of you, your face layered with a sheen of sweat, your hair clinging to its edges. “Please,” you begged brokenly, and it wasn’t clear if you were begging him to stop, or to give the last dose. He paused, looking into your eyes. He could see the shine of your soul beginning to stabilize, but something beneath was ebbing darkness, the source of your demonic energy. Your core wound. His curiosity got the better of him, and knowing that you wouldn’t tell what had caused you to succumb to your fate, he set a hand on your head—stepping into the memory of it.

Just like now, you were strapped into a chair. He was viewing you from the front, as he had been in the dungeon, but you didn’t see him. Instead, your eyes seemed fixed on something behind him. No, someone.

“This will only work if you believe what you’ve done to be a truly heinous sin,” Crowley explained, holding up a vial of inky liquid in front of him between two fingers. “Think you can do that, love? I know you don’t have much to go off of, but—”

“I know what will work.” You sounded resolute, but Castiel could see your pulse hammering with fear, worry. The look in your eyes spoke of regret, sadness, and pain.

“Right then.” Crowley opened the vial, tipping its contents out into the air. It was like a smoke, slithering towards you, a whisper behind it. It wound and coiled around your body like a snake, grasping at your throat. There was no external noise, but inside your head a voice spoke, discordant and echoey.

“What have you done to be worthy of calling yourself a demon?” It questioned, and your eyes slipped closed, tears slipping down your cheeks.

‘I have desired the undesirable. I have longed to love that which is not made to be loved, but to be venerated. I have wished to belong to that which cannot be understood by my own nature. I have loved an angel, with all my heart, and body, and soul, and in doing so, I have defiled his divinity—tainted his light.’

The smoke hesitated a moment, then snuck into your mouth and nose, making you writhe in pain. When it stopped, your eyes opened, pitch black, your pained expression empty, vacant.

“Y/N.” Crowley said your name, spurring you to awareness, and you looked up at him with dark, oily eyes. He smiled.

“Welcome home.”

Cas took his hand off your head, finding you gasping for air. He felt similarly breathless himself, taken aback by what he’d seen. All the same, it only redoubled his resolve, and he reached for the last syringe, plunging it into your neck. You let out a blood curdling scream, chains biting your wrists as the antidote burned through you, the last of the demon in you washed away. You fell silent for a moment, stunned and in too much pain to think clearly, before a sob overtook you and your head fell to your chest. The emotions were so very much, after feeling so little.

“Y/N,” Cas breathed out your name like a breath of fresh air, relieved beyond belief to see the last of that ghastly face fade away, replaced in full by your soul. He reached out out of instinct, to caress your face and smooth your hair aside, but you whimpered and pulled away. When you looked up, there was so much fear in your eyes it nearly stopped his vessel’s heart.

“Y/N?” The door to the dungeon flew open, Sam and Dean rushing into the room. “Cas?” Dean demanded, wanting to know if it had ended well.

“She’s okay,” Cas assured him, his eyes not leaving yours. “The cure worked.”

“Thank god,” Sam sighed in relief, and he and Dean both came forward to help you, checking you with salt and holy water before undoing your chains, apologizing profusely all the while.

“We couldn’t take any risks,” Sam explained. “We had to get you back, understand?” You’d nodded weakly, and Dean had pointed out how exhausted you looked. Sam picked you up, carrying you upstairs to where your sisters were waiting to help you recover from your ordeal. As he carried you out of the room, you saw Cas talking with Dean, shame weighing heavily on the angel’s shoulders. He glanced up and your eyes met for a moment, guilt all over his face before you hid yours against Sam’s shoulder.

You didn’t know what to say, what to do, how to act after what Cas had seen in your mind.

It had been four days since you’d been cured. Four days, and you still hadn’t spoken to Cas.

The others had all thought that the moment you’d had a shower, had a proper meal and maybe a good long cry, the first thing you’d want to do was take comfort in Cas’ presence. It’s what you normally would have done, anyway—maybe even before the crying part, since he usually was your shoulder to lean on.

But you hadn’t. You’d given your sisters an explanation, a half apology for what you’d done but you’d stood your ground that you believed it to have been the right choice. Everyone, Sam and Dean and your sisters all made you promise that you wouldn’t sacrifice yourself like that again; that you’d trust in all of you to find a solution, together. You’d agreed, just because you were too tired to argue anymore. You felt weary all the way down to your soul, just wanting to sleep for the sake of getting away from all your thoughts and emotions. So you did. And when anyone asked you if you’d like them to call Cas, that it wouldn’t be an issue, you’d quietly reply that no, that wasn’t necessary thank you.

“You don’t have to hide from him,” Ariel told you, sitting at the end of your bed. “I know that going through what you did, with him there must have been strange—maybe even embarrassing. But Y/N…you know by now that there’s nothing you can do to shake Cas’ faith in you.”

“He never stopped believing we’d bring you home.” Tay was in the doorway, offering you a smile. “We were all afraid that maybe you were gone for good, but he wouldn’t even consider it.”

“Cas cares about you, Y/N,” Ariel agreed, and you felt your pulse quicken, stomach twisting itself in a knot. “He loves—”

“Do you think I could have some time to myself?” You blurted out, fresh tears in your eyes. Ariel seemed disappointed, exchanging a look with Tay before smiling softly.

“Of course.”

The silence was too heavy, after they left. You rolled onto your side, picking at the blanket, your eyes stinging. The blanket was one Cas had bought you for your birthday; something to make the bunker feel more like home. It was soft, with silk edges, and was a particular shade of blue that usually comforted you. But now, it made you want to break down completely. You got up, swiping angrily at your tears with the back of your hand before tearing the blanket off the bed, folding it hastily. You couldn’t handle any reminder of Cas, not then. The way you felt reminded you of all the times he’d been dead, when you couldn’t handle the idea that he wasn’t coming home to you. You wondered if he’d felt that way. You wondered if he felt anything, at all.

You knew he did, and you knew that the doubt was your despair talking. Because as much as you’d been avoiding Cas, he’d made no effort to come to you either, and you knew why. You felt so, so extremely guilty, broken, that he’d seen your deepest fear, and that it was something that reflected so poorly on him. It wasn’t his fault that you felt like you’d been a weight around his ankle, continuously pulling him back down to earth since you’d met. Your guilt was your own, it had nothing to do with him—but it did make you ashamed, and want to hide yourself away. Which is what you were doing now, you realized, looking down at the blanket in your hands. Hiding yourself away, pushing away any vestiges of his affection. They’d told you your soul had returned, but if that were true, why was there a gaping hole in your chest where your heart should have been?

You sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the messily folded blanket to your chest. You just didn’t see a way out of this, a way where he could forgive you for viewing your relationship with him in such a negative light. You pressed your mouth and nose into the blanket to stifle your noises as you broke down into sobs, screwing your eyes shut as your shoulder shook. This was too much. All of it was too much, and you wished you could go back to just nothing.

Until you felt a hand on your head, you looked up and found a familiar pair of blue eyes on your face. He was looking at you with such sadness that your breath caught, choking on your sobs. “I-I’m so s-s-sorry,” you cried, and the hesitance about him melted away. He knelt in front of you, pulling your blanket out of your arms and setting it on the bed beside you. He opened his arms, and you wrapped yours around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder. “It’s not like you think, I promise,” you told him, and you felt his hand rest on the back of your head again. “Do you hate me?” You asked, in barely a whisper. It had been your biggest fear from the moment he’d seen inside your mind in the first place.

“No, I don’t hate you. How could you think that?” He asked, breath warm against your ear. You could have sworn he was about to cry as well from how thick his voice was with emotion. “How could you let yourself think that you caused me to fall?”

“I…” you stammered, looking for the right words to convey your contriteness. “I suppose it is a bit arrogant of me, to assume,” you began, but he cut you off, turning his head to look you in the eyes.

“No, Y/N,” he said, and you realized there were tears in his eyes. “How could you let yourself feel that kind of guilt, over me? Over something you didn’t do? My multiple fallings out with Heaven…they came from me trying to redeem my own failings, not from you dragging me down to you.” You should have been embarrassed, sitting there with your arms round his neck, forehead to forehead, nose to nose, much too close for casual conversation; but you weren’t, and this wasn’t. It was for the first time like a wall had been fully brought down between the two of you, all reservations set aside. You weren’t afraid to say how you really felt, not anymore.

“I know that,” you admitted, sniffing softly. “I know that you chose to leave all of that behind, that I shouldn’t take the gravity and free will of that decision away from you. But on the other hand…” You bit your lip, turning the words over in your mind to make sure you had the sentiment right before sharing it, fresh tears pooling in your eyes at the brutal honesty of it all. “There has always been this pull between us, even before we became close in the way we’ve become accustomed to, in the…the friendship we’ve had. Castiel, I…I’ve loved you from the first time we met. And so for me, our friendship has always been convoluted, mixed up with my feelings for you into this guilty, one sided thing where you don’t realize how deeply I feel for you, and meanwhile, I’m burdening you with a love you never asked for. Never chose.”

“Didn’t I choose you?” Castiel replied, bumping your nose with his own, raising your gaze back to his. “Don’t I always come back to you, always you over anywhere else on this earth? Always you, when the choice is mine. In making a place for myself here, rather than in heaven, I have always found it preferable to be at your side.” It was true, when he said it. It made what you’d said to him before, in Chicago, weigh even heavier.

“All this time, Castiel. First Dean and Ariel, then Tay and Sam. Everyone around us finding love, and yet with everything we’ve been through, we stay the same.” You tried to shake his hand away, but he wouldn’t let go. “Was it me? Was I the problem? Because back when I cared, I sure thought I was. Something must have been wrong with me, that you wouldn’t want me despite what we share. But then I realized that maybe you just needed someone who cared no matter what. A little more than a friend, a lot less than a lover.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to push away the thought of what you’d said when you hadn’t cared about the consequences. But you could tell, by the way that his hand came up to hold your face, that he’d heard you anyway.

“It makes it easier,” you confessed, mortified as you realized a truth you hadn’t even let yourself admit yet. You sighed shakily, eyes fixed on his tie and unable to meet his. “To believe that I’ve been hurting you, by pulling you down. Because if I believe that—if I believe that I’ve trimmed your wings with my love—then it’s easier to understand why you wouldn’t want me. It being my fault is easier to live with than just…not being enough.”

“The only way that’s correct is that the reason you and I haven’t had what your sisters and Sam and Dean do isn’t just because of me,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. But he was smiling softly, and you could feel your pulse in your fingertips from how hard your heart was beating.

“Oh?” You managed, quietly. Trying not to look at his lips was harder than usual when you were this close and personal.

“It’s also because you’re both incredibly stubborn, and incredibly shy when it comes to romance. I didn’t want to push you too quickly, and for me, the waiting wasn’t a problem. I’ve waited much longer for much less.” You supposed that were plenty true, considering how he experienced time on a cosmic time scale rather than a human one. “But it was never because you weren’t enough, and definitely not because you trapped me.” He tilted his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Why do you feel like your love is such a cage? It’s been my safe place, my succour, but never a confinement.”

“Because angels aren’t meant to be loved, are they?” You said, and you saw the comprehension in his eyes. “Let alone love someone back. I shouldn’t have let myself feel what I did, should I?”

“I thought we’d set aside that kind of thinking after the apocalypse,” he said, and you sighed.

“It was easy to say that I had. Hard to stop, especially when this is new territory and I’m afraid to hope for more. Hoping for more felt selfish.”

“Y/N.” He caught your chin and finally brought your eyes to meet his. It was becoming too much again, too real. Too close to having it all, and you wanted to draw back again, fight your own feelings. But he was looking at you, and this time you felt like you were the center of his world for the look in his eyes. “It’s not entirely true that angels can’t love. It’s more accurate to say that until recently, no angel has ever tried.”

That nearly stopped your heart. “And...some angel did try?” You asked, cautiously, skirting around the real question. Humor crept into his eyes.

“Yes.”

“And...did they succeed?”

“Almost too well, I’d say,” he replied, sighing and looking up at the ceiling, playing along with your little game just to keep you comfortable. “But of the risks that this particular angel has taken, daring to love is perhaps the one he regrets the least.” He pressed forward, closer into you, and your knees came to rest on either side of him. “You need to hear me say it, don’t you?” He said, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he squinted playfully at you, and you felt tears pricking your eyes again.

“Only if you mean it,” you replied, with a soft smile.

“Don’t you know that I do?” You felt his hands circle your waist. Goodness his hands made you feel tiny sometimes, and you liked it. His breath was warm on your lips, the blue of his eyes so soft and eager just for you. “Every time I’ve stayed, held you all night. Every time I’ve cradled you to me, every time I come when you call. It’s all there, you just didn’t want to hear it yet.” Perfectly sculpted lips pressed gently against yours, a ghosting of affection to lead the words you’d needed for so long. “I love you, Y/N,” he said, words soft against your mouth. “And by now, I know that I always will.”

The last little bit of your reserve melted, fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him in. “I love you too, Cas,” you reassured him, between breathless kisses. You knew you didn’t need to say it; that he was the one that could read your mind and heart like an open book. But it was all out there now, the rest of it being told in touch, no more unspoken feelings between you, no more wondering ifs to keep you up at night.

When your sisters and Sam and Dean came to find you later, they found you both tangled up in the blue blanket, your face tucked into the crook of Cas’ neck—but the expression on his face in the dim light from the lamp beside him told them everything they needed to know.

You were really yourself again, for the first time in a long while.

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fletchermarple · 5 years

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Quick Review of the True Crime Books I Read in 2018 (Part 2)

Review of Books in 2018 Part 1

Review of books in 2017 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2016 Part 1 and Part 2

Review of books in 2015

In the Name of The Children by Jeffrey L. Rinek: This book was written by a retired FBI agent who worked a lot of cases involving child abuse and murder, so be aware that its contents are very disturbing. Much like John Douglas in Mindhunter, Rinek mixes his personal history with some of the cases he worked in when he was in the bureau, although his book offers less academic and actual crime information and a lot more emotional response and family life. This is not really a bad thing. Rinek is an interesting person, and he really shows the effect that working with cases like this can have in one’s mental health and close relationships. As for the cases themselves, they are all horrific and some more detailed than others. Probably the best one, because of the amount of information and detail, is the Yosemite Murders, which happens to be the only one that doesn’t involve actual children (the youngest victim was 15). Overall, a gripping read which might not be as insightful as other books written by former agents, but way more personal and raw.

Dark Dreams by Roy Hazelwood: Roy Hazelwood is probably one of the main experts in sexual crimes, and he was one of the top agents in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI (he sadly passed away in 2016). If you’ve ever read books involving some kind of predator, it’s not uncommon that the cops went to him for his advice regarding profiles. Again, this is another John Douglas type of book in which he goes through some of the cases of his career in the agency, although in contrast to In the Name of Children, this has almost no personal information about Hazelwood himself. That means this book is purely concerned with identifying different types of sex crimes and criminals by giving real life examples. It’s very academical and informative and a fairly easy read (because of the narration style, the subject is as dire as you’d expect). My only issue is that he never goes in detail into the cases and most of the time won’t even mention the names of the victims or the perpetrators, which annoys me because it makes it hard to look up more information. But still, a worthy read for true crime enthusiasts who want to understand more what goes into this sort of cases.

Burned Alive by Kieran Crowley: This books details the murder of Kim Antonakos, who in 1995 was kidnapped for ransom and left with no food, water or warmth in a basement for three days before she was set on fire. It provides a lot of information I didn’t know about the case and it’s a good account of how things went down in the investigation and trial. I don’t like though that the writer decided to write a full passage telling us what Kim was feeling and thinking while she was in that basement, because there’s no way to know that’s true and when you insert that kind of thing in a serious, non fictional book it always throws me off. It’s also quite evident that a lot of the information came from one of the men accused in the kidnapping, Julio Negron, who was the one who made a deal with police and testified against the other killers in their trials in exchange for a more lenient sentence. Apparently he was the only one willing to give his version of the story to Crowley, so I would take some of the things presented here with a grain of salt.

Blood Justice by Tom Henderson: Do you ever read a book and completely forget it soon after you finish it? That happened to me with this one, which is obviously not a good sign. The case it talks about is very compelling: two murders, six years apart, committed by the same perpetrator. One was Margarette Eby, a music teacher savagely killed in her home in 1985. Then, flight attendant Nancy Ludwig was rape, butchered and tortured in a Detroit hotel in 1991. It took a really long time and a lot of effort from police to finally get enough evidence to arrest their murderer. The book has plenty of details about the case, the victims and the killer to satisfy the reader, I think the problem to me is that the narrative falls flat most of the time. This book has a structure problem that takes away all of the suspense, and also the author failed to really give us a good character to focus on, which happens a lot in true crime books about long winded investigations. But it is a fairly unknown case, so you might want to give this a try.

I: The Creation of a Serial Killer by Jack Olsen: This novel is about serial killer Keith Hunter Jesperson, also known as “The Happy Face Killer” because he had the tendency to draw smiley faces in the letters he sent to the media. Jack Olsen, an award winner journalist, makes the bold choice of writing some of the chapters in first person, as Jesperson. At first I was a little put off by this, because as you know, I’m a bit of a purist when it comes to non fiction, but I have to admit, those chapters are very gripping and really give you a glimpse into the workings of a very twisted mind. Most of what’s written in first person was culled from interviews Olsen had with Jesperson, so I’m sure he got the tone, the wording and the train of thought right. These chapters follow the actual murders and crimes committed by Jesperson, and they are interjected with more common third-person narrative and newspaper article style writing about the biography of Jesperson and what was going on with the investigation. It was a very interesting read, although you do have to be prepared to put up with a very sick individual pouring his thoughts, indirectly, on the page.

The Anatomy of Motive by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker: As usual, an excellent food for thought from one of the masters of crime analysis. John Douglas really knows how to pick cases to analyze and give you the right balance of information and opinion. In this case, as you can tell from the title, he wanders into the motive behind several crimes with very clear examples. This book reminds us that motive is probably the main mystery we always want to solve in any case. Even when we know the culprit, if we don’t understand the motive there’s always something very unsatisfying about its resolution. Douglas offers us a glimpse of his own thinking about some complicated cases, including Andrew Cunanan’s killing spree and the still unsolved Tylenol murders, among many others. Recommended.

#true crime #tcoriginal #book review #true crime book #john douglas #kim antonakos #keith hunter jesperson #fbi #review

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surveys-at-your-service · 6 years

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Survey #156

“you’re such a perfect little human wreck, but i like you.”

Have you given anything up for Lent? When I was Catholic, I mighta tried but never succeeded. Who was the last person you went shopping with? Mom. Are you planning on dyeing your hair any time soon? Yes. I have a few ideas in mind. Who was the last person you saw that you haven’t seen in a while? Hm, not sure. Do you sing in front of people or only when you’re alone? Usually when I'm alone. When was the last time you left your cell phone somewhere? No idea. I rarely lose it. Do you prefer fake tanning or real tanning? Neither. I actually like being pale, and I also don't fancy skin cancer. Have you ever dated someone that was a different race than you? Hispanic for less than a day (race had nothing to do with it). How old is your best friend? 23. What does your favorite necklace look like? It's a black, spiked choker with some silver chains and crosses. Would you take a million dollars if it meant you had to die a month later? No way. Are you a visual, audio, or kinesthetic learner? Kinesthetic. I have to do it with most subjects. Cover songs or the original song? Depends. Have you ever been evacuated from a public building because of an emergency/fire? I think for a bomb threat once? What is one responsibility you have that you hate? Cleaning Roman's litterbox. Is there a TV show you used to love, but then lost interest in? Not really. Do you ever worry about any potential damage you may be doing (knowingly or unknowingly) to your body? Yeah. Have you ever been to a rave? No. Have you ever been on public transportation that broke down or got stranded? No. When’s the last time you did something you were really scared to do? Recently when I had to call vocational rehab back. What’s an old video game you used to play that you really miss? Shadow of the Colossus. I lost the disc. :< Haven't bothered buying it again 'cuz I wanna get a PS4 and the remaster anyway. If you have a case for your phone, what does it look like? I don't have one. What are your feelings towards glitter? Good shit. Are the blankets that are on your bed now made by someone you know in real life? No. Would you ever have a child just to get someone to fall in love with you? Oh my god, fuck off. Ever have a drug overdose? What did you OD on exactly? Yes, and all I'm saying is it was a cold medicine. The most painful medical procedure you’ve ever had? Getting an infected cyst drained and having not nearly enough numbing. I felt it, all right. Have you ever met someone in person that you met online? Yes, Sara. Ever have an ultra-sound performed on you? What was it for? Yes, on my liver. What color is your digital camera, if you have one? Black. When was the last time you were sick and what illness did you have? Idk. I rarely get sick. What is the strangest food combination that you enjoyed as a young child? Sandwiches with potato chips in it. Have you ever had to call the cops on someone else before? No. Are you supposed to be doing something else? Nah. If you were with your favorite person right now, what would you be doing? I've been having horny spikes lately, and I've also just felt extremely attached to her recently (more than normal), so probably making out tbh if she was ready. Do you own a gun? I legally can't due to mental illnesses and a suicidal past. I wouldn't want one anyway. Do you know how to play chess? No. What is something the world needs less and more of in your opinion? Less violence, more love. How hard is it for you to open up to others? Hard as fuck. Do you think before you act in serious situations? I sure try, but I can easily slip up if I'm mad. Ever done something you knew was wrong and kept doing it anyway? Yes. Are you religious? I believe in a higher power, but I don't really *act* religious. Are you superstitious? No. Have you ever experienced insomnia? Yes. I went through a juncture where it was pretty serious and I couldn't sleep without Melatonin. Are there any words that you just absolutely hate? The derogatory words for gays and blacks. Do you have an accent? Not really. Do you say “soda” or “pop”, or something else? "Soda." Do you believe in reincarnation? No. Do you have auto correct on your phone? Yep. Do you know anyone who suffers from depression? Too many people, myself included. But mine's well-managed. When you lost your virginity, do you honestly feel like you were ready? I didn't realize I'd lost it until the beginning of this year lmao. Don't ask. How much older/younger than you was the person you lost your virginity to? Two years older. When you were younger, did you plan on saving yourself for marriage? Yeah, oops. Have you ever had sex with more than one person? Like, have I had a threesome? No. What country do you think produces the best musical artists? Tied between the US and UK, probs. Which year was your favorite year of middle school? 7th. What amusement parks have you been to? Disney World. What is a song that always makes you happy? Something from my childhood, probably. Are your parents still married or divorced? For how many years? They'd been officially divorced since like... 2014. What meal do you usually miss the most? Breakfast or lunch. Do you have the same political views as your parents? Some. Are you closer to your mom or dad’s family? I don't really remember my dad's family, so I can't answer this. Though I'd honestly probably like his more. Who in your phone has a heart after their name? Sara. Have you ever hated someone, but ended up being friends with them? More like she ended up my girlfriend lmao. Do you have a favorite soft drink? Mountain Dew Voltage is my weakness. Do you have someone who you can be your complete self around? Just Sara. Have you ever broken a couple up? Unintentionally. We were talking too and he ended up wanting me instead. Probably the thing I'm most ashamed of. She was my best friend at the time. Are you one of those people who are always cold? No, I'm usually hot. What are you listening to? "Get Away With Murder" by Jeffree Star on repeat ahhhhh. Have you ever gotten a speeding ticket? No. If you could make your lips bigger, would you? I don't think so, I'd have to see a preview of something. What season is your favorite and what season do you feel represents you? Autumn is my favorite, but I think spring would represent me. Would you rather learn more about space or more about the ocean? Space. Do you have a mental illness? If yes, how have you learned to cope with it? If no, do you ever suspect you may have one? I have a lot, but the only two I can't really cope with is anxiety and AvPD. I've learned with all the others in various ways. I'm also pretty convinced I have ADD. Do you have a favorite character from the Avengers? Thor, probably. Or Loki. Are you alive or just existing? Alive, finally. What is your favorite type of cookie? Chocolate chip. What is your favorite type of candy? Probs strawberry sour punch straws, but if you count chocolate, the Reese's square bars. What do you think is creepy that society accepts as normal? Stealing the last person's answer: Sexualization of young girls. What do you think is a good date other than dinner and a movie? I'm up for anything, dude. What time do you wake up most mornings? Like, 8-ish, typically. What is something you have given a lot of thought to lately? My future. What do you get complimented on the most? That I've lost weight. Do you believe in soul mates? No. Would you move out your house if you could right now? If it was to move out with Sara, yes. Are you biracial? No. What kind of booze did you last take shots of? Never done shots. What color of hair do you find the sexiest on the opposite gender? Black. If the last person you had sex with asked you to date them, would you? HAHAHAHA NOOOOOOPE. How long until your next birthday? A bit less than five months. When you lost your virginity, were you sober? Yeah. Do you think your best friend’s significant other is attractive? He's all right. He's not ugly. Do you own any books written by musicians? Yeah, Ozzy's autobiography. What’s the chorus to the song that’s been stuck in your head? "I'm gonna break your heart and get away with murder. You shoulda known from the start that it wouldn't last forever. I can't control myself; I feel like someone else. I'm gonna break your heart and get away with murder." Who was the last member of the opposite sex to give you a hug? Dad. Are you going to make a New Year’s resolution? No. What does the outfit you’re currently wearing look like? Red plaid pj pants, black shirt that says, "We would save ourselves if we could. - The Animals." Are you accepting of criticism? Depends on how harsh it is but also the subject. I can eaaasily get hurt over it, admittedly. It's an AvPD thing; I get embarrassed. Have you ever felt like you couldn’t fully trust a significant other? Yes, Tyler and Girt both. Only because I'm very scared of men now. How many relationships have you been in? I'll just count everyone who's had the title. Six. How long did each of those relationships last? Idk about the first. Second, less than a day. Third, three and a half years. Fourth, like two weeks. Fifth, I think four months. My current one is eleven months in. Has anyone lost their virginity to you? No. Would you raise your children the way your parents raised you? No. How long was your longest friendship? I don't know about years, but with Colleen since girl scout days. Legitimate, talk all the time and hang out type of friendship, middle school. Do you like facial hair on guys or do you prefer the clean shaven look? It depends on the guy. Who was your first celebrity crush? Jesse McCartney. How long do you usually spend on the internet in a day? All day. .-. Would you ever commit a crime if you know you wouldn’t get caught? Well, I already have. Downloading music is a crime. Are you good with kids? No. Which was the worst phase in your life? Late 2015 - very beginning of 2017. Is it easy to make you cry? YEAH. Are you good at applying makeup? Noooo. Do you like pastel colored hair? I FUCKING. WANT IT. Do you take your medications in the morning or at night? Most in the morning, but my second dose of my OCD med and my birth control are at night. Do you think oatmeal tastes better when made with water or milk? I'll only eat it if made with milk. Do you like thrift stores? Yeah. Have you ever used a fake name at Starbucks? I don't go to Starbucks. What are you passionate about? A LOT!!!! Have you ever tried vlogging, and if yes, did you stick with it? No, I never could. What country do you most want to visit? South Africa to see wild meerkats. For aesthetic/vacation reasons though, probably Scotland. Do you have a birthmark? If yes, what color is it? Yeah, tan. Who is your favorite Lisa Frank character? ANGEL KITTY. What were you voted in the senior class polls? Nothing. Do you want to give your kids common names or unique names? I'm not having kids, but if I did, there's no way I'd give them a common one. Favorite Spice Girl? I don't remember the members. Favorite Cheetah Girl? ^ Backstreet Boys or *N Sync? The boiz. What is your favorite tattoo that you’ve seen? Those by Brando Chiesa. Fuckin' aesthetic. I'd die to have a tat by him. Do you knit or crochet? No. What season do you want to get married in? Autumn. Is your Pinterest cluttered? No. What is your favorite insect? Butterflies. What bugs scare you? Most, really. Who picked your name, your mom or your dad? Probably Mom. I can't imagine Dad having much of an opinion unless it was awful. When was the last time you got a new phone? Like... three years ago. Have you ever made your parents cry? Mom, yes. Have you ever been cheated on or had a guy move on extremely fast after a long, seemingly sincere relationship? I'm aware Jason was talking to a girl preeeetty soon after our breakup. I'm sometimes suspicious if he was cheating or liking someone more than me and thus he lied about the reason for the breakup, but I'll give him enough credit to say I doubt that. Have you ever had someone tell you they wanted to be with you forever only to have them break up with you? ^ :) Does your ex’s new romantic interest know about the things you two did together? I don't know if Jason's taken now, but I don't see why he would share anything. Do you ever tell your current significant other about the things that you did with an ex-partner? I'd only tell her in she asked. It's not something I'm gonna just randomly talk about. Have you ever felt like your heart actually stopped? The moment I realized Jason was leaving, it legitimately felt like everything stopped. Can we stop with questions that bring him up? What’s something you’ve vowed to never eat? Wild animal/venison. Are you good at holding back your laughter if needed? NO. Have you ever had a “thumb war” with someone? Yeah, has any kid not? What was the last movie that made you teary-eyed? Johnny Got His Gun. Have you had two friends that absolutely hated each other? Not absolutely hated, I think. Has a laptop ever burned your legs? Yes. I actually had marks for quite a while. Do you know anyone who has a scar through their eyebrow? Juan. Have you ever just screamed really loud in an attempt to feel better? Once that I recall.

#survey #quiz #questions #random

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alixofagnia · 6 years

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Get to know your fellow Reylos meme

This will be fun! Thanks for the tag @emperorren.

Answer these 10 Star Wars related questions, reblog and tag your favorite Reylo blogs to join in!

1) Who is your favorite Star Wars character of the new trilogy (excluding Rey and Kylo)?

Wow, that is so unfair because Rey and Kylo are truly my favorites from the ST so far.

Since TLJ came out, I would say Holdo. I love how she was introduced: you didn’t quite know what her deal was (or if that was all just in Poe’s head), but you gradually understood that there was way more to her than met the eye. Some people think she was a wasted character –because apparently showing up for the first time and then dying in the same movie amounts to a wasted, pointless character (Qui-Gon, hello, is that you? Rogue One squadron, are you there?). But I saw TLJ four times in the theater and every single time people literally gasped into the silence of Holdo’s death.

So, yeah, fuck off.

2) What is/are your favorite quote(s) from a Star Wars movie?

The OT movies were my “stay-home-sick” movies when I was a kid – I played the shit out of those VHS tapes, let me tell you. So, there are a lot of quotes from the OT that are just kind of pure nostalgia for me. I’m not a huge fan of the PT and since dialogue is one issue I take with them, I hardly ever quote them except to mock “she’s lost the will to live” because I find that line so problematic, and I just hate it.

It hasn’t been until the ST that certain lines of dialogue have actually resonated with me, probably because I’m seeing them as an adult. There are a lot of terrific quotes from TLJ, but I gotta let them stew a bit longer. So the two I picked are from TFA:

Maz Kanata: The belonging you seek is not behind you. It is ahead. I am no Jedi, but I know the Force. It moves through and surrounds every living thing. Close your eyes. Feel it… The light… it’s always been there. It will guide you.

My liking this quote probably has a lot to do with Lupita N’yongo’s lovely voice and line delivery, because I remember tearing up in the theater when she started talking about the Force, and I swear to you I was not high. I just think it’s so beautifully spiritual, and when you put it into context with Rey’s journey and Kylo’s journey, or any SW character’s journey, really, it carries this deeply profound message of hope and faith.

The entire bridge scene dialogue, but mostly the moment when Han touches his son’s face:

I know it’s not a quote, but so much is contained in that single gesture.

It wasn’t shock at Han’s skewering that made my breath catch and bring a tear to my eye. It was the utterly heartbreaking grace of his final action. It’s such an unexpectedly visceral reaction and, actually, far more profound than I previously believed Han Solo capable of since he was largely a one-note character over the course of his SW career. This moment has taken on much more depth and meaning since TLJ’s release, in terms of Ben Solo’s arc, and I think it will continue to do so after Episode IX.

3) Do you think Kylo/Ben will survive Episode IX?

I have a lot of thoughts about this. Well, mostly just one.

YES.

As is obvious, Kylo Ren is one of my favorite new characters. That has nothing to do with Adam Driver, whom I had never watched before, and nothing to do with what I knew about the character, which was zero. [Srsly, I was in such an ‘I heart SW’ bubble for TFA that I did not even think about, let alone suspect, his heritage until literally the moment he was talking to Vader’s helmet.].

No, it has everything to do, instead, with the complex villain story-line and Byronic heroes. I love complex villainy. I adore Byronic heroes, with their tortured souls and black clothing. OF COURSE I was going to fall for Kylo/Ben. Just a bit.

But he’s also the son of Han Solo and Leia Organa and I love them, too. So, out of loyalty and like the good SW fan I am, I care about their son and what happens to him, and there’s just no hope to be found in Kylo’s death. There’s no good message in it. Even say that he’s “redeemed” or finds salvation or suffers through atonement, fine, whatever. Death is too simple. Vader was not a complex villain. Maybe in his youth he was supposed to be, but after his fall? No. He made his choice, and he chose the wrath and the Dark every day for 20 years until his son came along to rile up the long-buried conflict in his heart. No one conflicted Ben Solo more than Ben Solo himself. He’s his own worst enemy, as we all can be at some point in our lives.

It’s repeated all the time, so I’ll say it again:

Star Wars is a saga predicated on hope.

The message with a dead Ben Solo at Episode IX’s end is simply that of ‘well, you can find a way back from hell, but only if you die’, and that’s really bleak. Yet, it worked for Vader because, in the OT, he was largely an unsympathetic, “more machine than man” character.

Consider: How was Darth Vader going to find salvation and atonement for 20 years’ worth of galactic terrorism and oppression?

Answer: He wasn’t. His crimes were so great and extensive that 10 minutes of “goodness” couldn’t even begin to ease them. Narratively-speaking, his story was complete and it was time for him to meet his end. Character-wise, fueled as he was on hate and anger, and sustained by machinery for so many years, you have to also wonder if Vader wanted to die, ever since the moment he was told that he’d killed his wife and, by extension, his child[ren].

This greatly contrasts with Kylo Ren.

Consider: How is Kylo Ren going to find salvation and atonement for 6 years’ worth of galactic….wait, what?

Answer: The FO as a military and political threat is fairly new. It was not a fully realized organization during the events of Bloodline, though it was (if I remember correctly) in progress in the far regions of space. Ben, aged 23, was still with Luke at this time; he’s 29 by the start of TFA. So, in the span of 6 years, Kylo Ren canonically

destroyed a temple, killing a handful of classmates

started training under a Dark side master

became the leader of a mystery group

killed an old man from his past for withholding information during war time

ordered the mass killing of a small village during war time

interrogated some prisoners during war time

committed patricide during war time

fired on his mom’s ship during war time

killed his abusive master

led a full-scale yet futile attack during war time

tried to kill a projection of his uncle during war time

all while exhibiting acute internal conflict. It’s important to consider the majority of these crimes strictly within their context of war, primarily because it’s in the damn franchise title, but also because it again contrasts with Anakin’s crimes, which were not always within the context/name of war. It’s such a different villain treatment from OT Vader that I think Kylo not only deserves, but demands an equally different resolution.

Therefore, here’s a much more hopeful message on which to conclude the complex villainy of Kylo/Ben and, thus, the entire Skywalker saga:

You can find a way back from hell, if you live well.

4) What is your favorite scene featuring Rey and Kylo?

Ah, shit.

Well, the throne room battle was amazing and the closest to definitely-on-the-same-page as they’ve ever been to date. But I think I have to say the fourth Force bond scene. Hand making-out aside, this scene truly can be read as merely platonic, which I actually love because it’s another example of how this movie as a whole is so versatile and open for varying interpretations and discourse, for years to come!

AT THE SAME TIME, I personally feel that the hand touch (from the skin-on-skin contact, which the camera lovingly and reverentially sexualizes, to the forbidden connotation of Cock-block Luke) sent these two really rolling on a romantic trajectory. This scene also won over many viewers, whose previous feelings about Reylo were lukewarm at best and are now overwhelmingly positive. And that’s because of one undeniable thing:

This is the most emotionally vulnerable we’ve seen either Rey or Kylo.

It’s a major turning point in both their shared interactions and as individual characters. There’s a lot of amazing meta out there right now about Rey and Kylo, articulated far better than what I can produce. So, what I want to quickly add is that, for me, this scene reveals how utterly unselfish they can be with one another. Born from a place of intense, mutual knowing, they offered one another sincere support and reassurance from opposite sides of a political and ideological war. We later learn that this moment of reaching out yielded a shared vision, one where they saw themselves together.

A key takeaway is that they not only acknowledge this vision as truth, but earnestly –almost desperately– welcome it.

For me, this scene alone transcends the depictions of other cinematic romantic pairings within Star Wars itself, the wider genre of sci-fi, and the scale of big-budget franchises. I know I’m biased, but it’s quite frankly unbelievable how much was established and advanced between Rey and Kylo in two and a half hours of screen time, which they had to share with two other interwoven plot lines. For comparison, we have a good 80-90% of AotC entirely devoted to Anidala, and the most I’ve ever felt for them is a tepid interest because George Lucas and the OT said I had to. Written on paper, the Force connection scenes honestly sound super corny, this one especially. That they’re actually some of the film’s strong points is a testament to the story-telling/directorial abilities of Rian Johnson as well as the chemistry and talent of Daisy Ridley and Adam Driver, of course. And the great thing is Reylo isn’t even over! Think how much screen time will be devoted to them in IX and what they could do with that!

This is bound to change upon repeat viewings and/or after IX comes out. But for now, yeah, this is my favorite Rey and Kylo scene.

5) What order did you initially see the saga films in?

I think I was 5 or 6 and I think it was Return of the Jedi first, then A New Hope and Empire (in that order) shortly after. The rest I’ve seen as they’ve been released.

6) If you had a lightsaber, what color would you want it to be?

Maybe like an ice white blue…I’m not much of a lightsaber gal.

7) What are your top 3 favorite Star Wars films?

I’m tentatively going to say Empire, Force Awakens, Last Jedi.

8) Which droid would you most like to own/ have as your sidekick on intergalactic adventures?

What’s that Empire/FO “mouse” droid called? Maybe that one.

9) Which Jedi master would you most like to train under: Luke, Yoda, Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan?

Pfffft. Please. Reylo, obviously.

10) What is your ideal ending for Reylo in Episode IX?

So, I really try not to look at a Reylo ending through rose-tinted glasses. Reylo is a pairing that at this point cannot be taken lightly: it’s dark, it’s deeply complicated, and it’s very imperfect. In other words, it’s an honest, unfeigned pairing and I identify with it so much more because of its mesmerizing humanity.

We inevitably hurt the ones we love; shit happens, people miscommunicate, feelings get hurt. Kylo and now Rey have exercised misguided, even manipulative, behavior toward each other and failed in basic ways to understand and accept one another’s differences despite having shared and attained a powerful moment of clarity in their way forward. People call this ship abusive; I’m not that sorry, but they’re wrong. At worst, it’s unhealthy.

Well, guess what. You can get healthy.

Since I can’t even begin to predict or shape an ending for Reylo, I would just say that I wish for them to be sound in body and sound(er) of mind, and preferably together in some way. I personally want to see that union be romantic, but I will also accept a platonic union. I love and respect these characters so much that, honestly, I just want them to finally find what they’ve been longing and suffering their entire lives for. Now that they’ve at least partially found –and briefly possessed– that, I hope they also find a way to hold on to it in whatever way they can.

So much for not looking at it through rose-tinted glasses.

Tagging: @maleficentrox; @crez0le; @reylotea; @adambenkyloren; @paper-radio; @violet-is-maybe; @mooshygirl; @dr-porkchop1; @him-e

#reylo #rey #kylo ren #ben solo #star wars episode ix #can you guess at what i actually wanted to talk about #complex villains #byronic heroes #humanity #meta

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go-redgirl · 4 years

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2019 Was the Year That Democrats Went Off the RailsCOMMENTARY.

By Frank MieleDecember 30, 2019

Every year at this time, it is incumbent upon us columnists to gird ourselves with chest-high waders and a deluxe trash grabber as we venture back through the muddy waters of another annum in search of significance.

Sometimes, it’s as clear as the pimple on a teenager’s nose. Other times it’s as obscure as the reason why anyone would invest their life savings in blockchain — whatever that is. Usually, it’s a mixed bag. You pays your money and you takes your choice.

For me, I’m going to remember 2019 as the Democrats’ last stand. The party of Thomas Jefferson was given the keys to the nation’s future and told, simply, don’t drive it off the road. Instead, the Democrats honored their Southern roots and decided to go mud bogging! Might have been fun if they had four-wheel drive, but they were stuck with the antique transmission of the Constitution. Voters were sure to notice when the yee-haw Democrats covered them with dirt, ground the gears to dust, and spun the engine into oblivion.

How we got here:

Jan. 3: Democrats took over the Animal House of Representatives and immediately pledged to take down President Trump in the mistaken belief that he is really Dean Vernon Wormer. Nancy Pelosi auditioned for the role of chapter president, but was told she was born to play the John Belushi part of “Bluto,” the pathological sergeant-at-arms. That big nasty gavel sure does make power go to one’s head — and you don’t have to be a good ol’ boy to understand that!

Jan. 15: An apparent messiah complex leads Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand to join dozens (hundreds?) of other Democrats offering themselves as the Chosen One to defeat DJT. Political spin doctors warn that the delusion could spread rapidly and, indeed, before the year is half over, it has infected Jay Inslee, Marianne Williamson, John Hickenlooper, Beto O’Rourke, Bill de Blasio, Julian Castro, Steve Bullock and other non-entities. It appears, however, that although non-politicians were for the most part immune, a related condition resulted in uncontrollable laughter whenever two or three people gathered to discuss the state of the Democratic primary.

Jan. 29: Democrats encountered a detour on their road to ruin when “Empire” actor Jussie Smollett claimed to be the victim of a hate crime on the streets of Chicago in the middle of the coldest night of the year. The noose still hanging around his neck when police came to his door later may have seemed like the perfect prop to TV star Smollett, but to everyone else it seemed like a giant neon light shouting, “Give me attention!” Did I say everyone? Oops. Not Democrats, who have mastered the marriage of victimhood and hagiography. To them, St. Jussie was the second coming of Tawana Brawley. Oh, wait. This is getting way too uncomfortable! It’s almost like Democrats specialize in phony attacks and disingenuous outrage. Hmmm. On Feb. 21, Smollett was arrested for filing a false police report, but thanks to a corrupt system in Chicago, he walked away without even a slap on the wrist for his staged hate crime. Did I mention Chicago?

March 22: I know Democrats thought that Robert Mueller was the Easter Bunny, but when he delivered his report on Trump and Russia, it turned out to be a big goose egg. Attorney General Bill Barr tried to warn the nation that there was “no there there,” but we didn’t know he was talking about the space between Mueller’s ears until July 24 when the special counsel testified before the House Judiciary Committee. Turned out that Mueller doesn’t even recognize the name of Fusion GPS, the company that hired Christopher Steele to write the dossier that was behind the entire phony Trump-Russia collusion conspiracy sham. Case closed. But the Democrat conspiracy elves cobbled together a new hoax that was ready to go 24 hours later — the Ukrainian extortion quid pro quo bribery scandal. This time, surely it would be the beginning of the end for that impostor president!

March 25: CNN’s preferred candidate for president, porn-star lawyer Michael Avenatti, is arrested for a real extortion scheme he allegedly plotted against Nike. Over the next month, Avenatti, the darling of the Never Trumpers, would be indicted and charged with north of 40 federal crimes. The presidency would have to wait for a better con man.

April 25: Enter Joe Biden. Ignoring former boss Barack Obama’s wise counsel that “You don’t have to do this, Joe,” Biden commits professional suicide by announcing his candidacy for president, thus ensuring he will leap from comfortable irrelevancy to irrelevant corrupt con-man politician who will eventually have to answer for his bragging about a quid pro quo in Ukraine. Talk about poetic justice!

May 3: Unemployment falls to 3.6% in the United States, the lowest in 49 years. By October, it is down to 3.5%, setting the 50-year record, and jobless numbers for blacks, Latinos and other minorities are at all-time lows. Nor surprisingly, the Democrats blame Trump for the horrible economy because — well — there was nothing else they could do.

June 27: Wait, there actually was something else the Democrats could do. All 10 Democrat candidates in the first presidential primary debate on NBC raised their hands when asked if they would guarantee health-care coverage for illegal aliens. Democrats swooned, but the rest of us just felt sick.

Aug. 24: At their summer convention in San Francisco, the Democrats voted against holding a climate-change presidential debate. Three days later, 16-year-old climate phenom Greta Thunberg arrived in New York City propelled only by her own hot air across the Atlantic from her native Sweden. Told she is too early to appear as a teenage blimp in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, she decides instead to testify at the U.N. on gaseous emissions, of which she has become an expert. Somehow she never gets around to telling the Democrats what she thinks about their decision to sidetrack the climate debate. How dare they!

Aug. 28: Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand withdraws from the race for the Democratic presidential nomination. LOL.

Sept. 3: The San Francisco Board of Supervisors passes a resolution calling the National Rifle Association a “domestic terrorist organization.” In response, the NRA passes its own resolution calling the San Francisco Board of Supervisors “a lime Jell-O salad with marshmallows.” At least that’s what I think they did. Reporting on this is somewhat vague.

Sept. 8: Disgraced former South Carolina Gov. Mark Sanford announces his primary challenge to President Trump. As part of his doomed bid for attention, Sanford simultaneously announces he will be departing the race on Nov. 12, but because he is not wearing a noose around his neck, the media misses the story altogether.

Sept. 9: The inspector general of the intelligence community, Michael Atkinson, draws the short straw and is forced to launch a third unsuccessful coup attempt against President Trump by the CIA involving the “urgent” and “credible” whistleblower complaint that turned out to be “irrelevant” and “partisan” a few days later when President Trump released the consensus transcript of his call with Ukraine President Volodymyr Zelensky. When will they ever learn? Oh, well, after Trump is reelected, they will have four more years to get their impeachment-coup machine in working order. If at first you fail to smear, try, try again.

Sept. 20: New York City Mayor Bill de Blasio announces his withdrawal from the presidential race. New Yorkers tremble in fear at the prospect of his return to work.

Sept. 24: In a legacy-building move, Nancy Pelosi announces she will go after the Guinness Book of World Records title for shortest successful impeachment proceeding in history. In a surprise, she also added a last-minute bid to win the title for the impeachment with the least evidence, and Guinness decided to award her that one summarily. As one Guinness judge was overheard to remark about Trump’s call with President Zelensky, “That was a perfect call. How the hell does she impeach with that call? Damn, she’s good.”

Then, in a shocking turn of events, the entire fourth quarter of 2019 was canceled on account of impeachment. Speaker Pelosi, who had been holding the nation hostage since September, is expected to free the impeachment sometime early in 2020, but the nation itself will remain a prisoner throughout most of the year as Pelosi and her henchmen in the media continue to pretend that the other shoe is about to drop, leading to a bombshell revelation that this is the beginning of the end of President Trump, who will nonetheless breeze to reelection on his pledge to Keep America Great and to keep the socialist Democrats at bay.

I, for one, can’t wait for 2020, but it will be hard to top 2019 if you enjoy a good laugh at the expense of liberals.

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oumakokichi · 7 years

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after reading more about ouma, i had some questions. it was revealed at the end of the game that the characters had been brainwashed. knowing who he was before, was ouma a genuinely bad and sadistic person in the killing game since his personality was warped? i thought so until learning that he tried to stop the killing game after all. why did he do this? did he know he was being broadcasted? also, why did he ask momota to kill him? did he not want to survive the game? or was it a plan? thanks!!

It’s normal to have these kinds of questions, especiallywith all the fake spoilers floating around out there still! Ouma is anextremely complex character, and on a first playthrough it’s very easy to sortof fall into the same pitfalls the other characters do and assume that he’sdoing the things he does just because he’s an asshole or a sadist who gets offon it.

But answering this question in full requires going in-depthwith what Ouma’s personality and motivations were like, as well as how heworked within the game. There’s no denying that he’s an extremely morallyambiguous character. Ouma is someone who is definitely willing to make cold,hard, practical choices, as well as to put on an act that will terrify or hurtothers if it means accomplishing his end objectives. He’s neither good nor bad,but morally grey all around—the reason there’s so much black and white imagerywith him in particular out of all the characters is precisely because in a gamethat is constantly trying to string the characters between “truth vs. lies,” or“hope vs. despair,” Ouma works in a middle ground, constantly.

Still, there are definite aspects to his personality whichare cleared up and confirmed by the clues and evidence presented by thenarrative. That’s why as a short answer I can say this with certainty: Ouma wasnot a genuinely bad person, nor washe a sadist. He was absolutely notevil, and he didn’t do the things he did to cause chaos or to make the otherssuffer. I’ll be explaining why under the read more, but of course, there willbe lots of spoilers for the entire game, so read at your own risk!

The first thing to address is the brainwashing. Unlike dr3’sbrainwashing, which impacted pretty much all the reserve course students andthe sdr2 characters in almost the exact same way across the board, the use ofbrainwashing is different and much more subjective in ndrv3. Remember lightsare used to implant memories and backstories into the characters, and thereforeto make it more likely that they might react or think in a certain way, butthey never really serve as a surefire guarantee.

Knowing that the remember lights are fake, or simplydoubting the credibility of the information they provide in the first place, ispretty much enough to dispel any sway they might have over the characters. Tsumugiherself admits in Chapter 6 that if the students were to execute Kiibo andchoose to live in the school and “continue” the killing game (very similar todr1’s bad ending in Chapter 5), she could provide them all a bunch of newremember lights, but they probably wouldn’t ever kill again. After all, theremember lights would no longer serve as a motive for anything. So basically,they’d be able to live peacefully without anyone ever believing the fakememories they were provided.

Ouma is confirmed to pretty much doubt the credibility ofhis memories almost from the start. As one of the only characters whoconsistently brings up lies, he doubts absolutely everything around him,including not only the other characters, but his own brain, memory, talent,etc. Even in his earliest FTEs with Kaede and Saihara, he constantly dropslines about how lies can become reality, if they’re accepted as such by enoughpeople, and encourages them to question the authenticity of absolutelyeverything in the world around them.

It makes sense, then, that the brainwashing never worked onOuma in the same way that it did on the others. Every time a new remember lightwas given to them, providing new “memories” about the outside world or theirbackstories, Ouma was one of the only characters who doubted the information,seeking instead to investigate on his own and confirm things with his own twoeyes.

He’s extremelyperceptive and intelligent as a character, which was also probably a factor inwhy the remember lights never quite impacted him the same way as the others. I’vewritten multiple pieces of meta on just how scarily intelligent he is, but thegist of it is this: he’s so frighteningly good at predicting the actions andbehaviors of others, and he’s so far ahead of the rest of the group in terms ofplanning and strategizing, that I think there’s ample room to believe that hisreal talent was something along the lines of “SHSL Chessmaster”—something similarto Junko and Kamukura’s SHSL Analysis, but much more likely to deal in terms ofhypotheticals and predicting the moves and strategies of the people around him.

Ouma’s SHSL Supreme Leader talent was definitely fake, notonly in terms of being implanted via remember lights, but also in the sensethat his “secret, evil organization” literally does not exist. Even in-game, DICE was merely a group of 11 memberscounting Ouma himself, and they ran around committing petty crimes and pranksfor the thrill of it all, and to get a good laugh out of it. They wereliterally a bunch of friends wearing clown masks and making a big ruckus.

Both in-game and even in the bonus mode content, there aretons of indications as to the fact that Ouma’s really not a “Supreme Leader” ofanything, although he certainly has the charisma and commanding personality onewould associate with a leader. In his bonus mode interaction with Komaeda, evenKomaeda’s SHSL Luck cannot find anythingon any secret organizations in the real world of which Ouma might be a part of.Even the ndrv3 demo had Naegi allude to and suggest that Ouma’s talent was onlylisted as SHSL Supreme Leader, and that the real deal might be something else.Therefore, I think SHSL Chessmaster is still the best possible fit.

Using his ability to analyze and predict various situations,Ouma tried at every twist and turn to stop the killing game. This iscanonically confirmed, not just my own personal opinion. No matter how muchpeople might want to doubt Ouma’s last words to Momota in Chapter 5, the factof the matter is his whiteboard and all the evidence from past investigationsin his room prove that he was trying to pinpoint the real ringleader and put astop to the game the entire time.

His motive video from Chapter 2, also found in his roommuch, much later on during Chapter 6, also confirms this. And it doubles asconfirmation that Ouma was in no way a sadist and could not possibly haveenjoyed watching people die. His motive video provides the clearest informationpossible on DICE, and as part of his in-game backstory, it is made explicitlyclear that Ouma and DICE had an absolute taboo against killing people. Theirpranks were meant for fun, not for hurting others.

Therefore, when Ouma tells Momota that he hated the killinggame the entire time, and that he had to lie to himself to pretend that he wasenjoying it and that it was fun or else he wouldn’t have been able to survive, there’sno way to read this other than as Ouma telling the truth. What’s more, Oumaconfesses this to Momota with no crocodile tears, no cheap ploys for sympathy,absolutely nothing. He says it very straightforwardly, and while literally onthe verge of dying from being slowly torturedto death by the poison. There was no reason for him to lie there, and allthe facts and evidence point to him telling the truth.

Because of how completely against killing others Ouma was,he found the killing game repulsive in every single way. This is the first andforemost reason that he wanted to put a stop to it. The problem was thatbecause of the scenario the killing game created, and because it was impossibleto trust anyone but himself, he could not and would not open up to others abouthis plans. Ouma wanted to stop not only the current killing game they were in,but all the killing game shows to come—because he definitely did know about thebroadcast.

As perceptive as Ouma was, he realized early on that becauseMonokuma was following a specific set of rules and guidelines, and treating thewhole situation as a “game,” it followed that that “game” was being shown toothers. Probably from almost the beginning, he guessed that the whole thing wasa show being put on for an audience, and because he was very smart and anincredible actor, he played to the whims of that audience and put on afantastic show of being a villain, enjoying the killing game, and being anall-around incredibly fun “character” who they would want to see more of.

In Chapter 3 in particular, he outright confirms that heknows it’s all being broadcast. Multiple times in the post-trial, he dropsfairly ominous lines, including one literally along the lines of, “If there areany people out there watching this, I bet they’re having so much fun, they justcan’t help themselves!” This can be read just as Ouma breaking the fourth wallon a first playthrough (and it is, in part), but it’s also definitely him addressing the ndrv3 audience themselves. He knewabout the broadcast, he knew that there were people taking a sick, sadisticpleasure in their suffering, and he dedicated pretty much every waking momentin the killing game to trying to put a stop to the show they were all in onceand for all.

Of course, in making such a desperate resolution, we comeback to the matter of Ouma being morally grey as a character. Because he waswilling to go to any lengths to strike back against the killing game show as aconcept, and at the real ringleader, and because he was willing to do whateverit took, he wound up crossing certain lines that couldn’t be uncrossed.

Initially, I think he played into his antagonistic, villainrole in part because he knew it would unify the group, and because he couldstay out of the ringleader’s radar as long as they thought he was genuinelyjust a puppet who was enjoying himself in the chaos—and ultimately, it was easyfor him to believe that he “was doing the right thing” even if it meant beinghated, because he knew that he was not the ringleader. As long as he himself knewhe was trying to stop the game, he didn’t care much about what the othersthought.

However, this mindset became harder to maintain the longerthe game progressed, and it culminated to a boiling point in Chapter 4. Afterthat, it backfired pretty spectacularly. Because Miu made up her mind to killhim and try to escape to the outside world (an outside world in which there wasabsolutely no point in getting out to, although she didn’t know this), Ouma wasforced to come down to a hard decision: he could either let himself be killedand risk Miu getting everyone killed at the school trial, or he could usesomeone else as a sacrificial pawn to kill Miu, so that he himself couldsurvive a little longer and keep investigating the killing game.

Either way, however, people had to die. No matter how helooked at it, sacrifices had to be made. He consciously made the decision tostrike back at Miu, and he used Gonta to do so, and as a result, the two ofthem died, and this is not something Ouma himself ever shies away or refuses toadmit to. It was unforgivable, not only from an objective standpoint, but tohimself as well, because even if he used indirect means, he still stained hishands. By getting Miu and Gonta killed, even if it was in order to survive, heviolated his and DICE’s number one most important rule of “not killing others,”and that was the exact point at which he started to believe that he himself wasno better than the real ringleader.

Even if we as the players can recognize that that objectively wasn’ttrue, Ouma clearly believed it was. And as he himself says within his FTEs,lies can become “reality” if they’re recognized as such. He really, trulythrows himself into the villain role after Chapter 4 and throughout most ofChapter 5, letting himself be hated on an entirely different scale than before,not only because he’s more desperate than ever to end the killing game show,but also because he really, honestly hated himself. Again, this isn’t just mespouting a personal opinion. All the canonical evidence backs this up.

Because of this self-loathing, and because the killing gamewas jumpstarted into action again by Maki literally right after he had just putan end to it, Ouma was very, very tired in Chapter 5. He did want to survivethe game, expose the real ringleader, and put a stop to the broadcast once andfor all—but he was also exhausted with the implications of what that wouldentail. After all, if he wanted to survive in that scenario, the only way to doso was to get Maki executed, and to let Momota die in his place by drinking theantidote himself. And doing such, in his opinion, would be no better than thestunts he pulled in Chapter 4.

Ouma did not wantto repeat the same situation he had done with Miu and Gonta. He tried doing “whateverit took” in order to survive—and he hated it. So even though he had a perfectopportunity to get rid of Maki once and for all by exposing her as the culpritwho killed Momota and tried to kill him too, and even though he certainly didn’towe her or Momota anything, he willingly let himself be killed. Because eventhough he did want to survive, there was a much larger part of him that was sick and tired of getting people hurt and killed, and he was undeniablysuicidal as a result.

In Chapter 6, when Saihara investigates Ouma’s room, there literally a suicide note, cheekily titled “This is (not) a suicide note.” All of thepapers and clues left in Ouma’s room led to even more hints which he hadscattered throughout the school carefully, always making sure not to be noticedby the ringleader, and he clearly put a great amount of forethought into howbest to lead Saihara and the others to the truth even “in case” of his death. Consideringjust how good at predicting the mostlikely scenarios and outcomes Ouma was (and he was good enough to write a300-or-so-page script for Momota to use in the Chpater 5 trial which containedmulti-route scenarios and predictions of how literally all the other characterswould react), it follows that Ouma had probably been thinking about the possibilityof his own death. For some time, too.

So in the end, he let himself be killed even though he hadample opportunity not to do so, because he valued Maki’s life more than hevalued resorting to “whatever it took” to stay alive once again. He left Momotawith his script and with a plan to strike back at the real ringleader, andultimately left enough clues so that Saihara and the others would definitely beable to solve the Chapter 5 trial—hoping that they would instead piece thingstogether and fight against the ringleader of their own accord in the nextchapter instead. And this, of course, is ultimately exactly what happened.

This is very long, but I hope I provided a pretty goodsummary and explanation of Ouma’s character thus far. I tried to incorporate alot of the things I’ve talked about in other pieces, and hopefully I made itpretty easy to follow. Thank you for asking, anon! I hope this clears up someof your questions!

#ndrv3 #drv3 #new danganronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #ouma kokichi #ndrv3 spoilers //#my meta #okay to reblog #i kind of hope this gets reblogged quite a bit #i did my best trying to incorporate as many important facts about ouma as i could #so i hope if this gets spread around maybe some of the misinformation will die down a little #anonymous

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lotornomiko · 6 years

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Valkyrie Profile Drabble MiniSeries Chapter Two

Finished this the other night, but had been too tired to try and go over it for any mistakes. Ended up deviating a little from the original version too!

Subtitle of this one would most likely be Hunger.

Lezard Lenneth Angst again...

He had spared no expense when it came to feeding her. To tempting her. Sumptuous feasts of roasted meats, delicate glazes, and the gravy to flavor them all. Buttery thick confections, sweet tasting cakes, frosted pastries, and the like. Fruits from all corners of the realm, ripe and fresh, preserved that way due to magic, Lenneth had shown no more interest in the fat berries than she had the fish from Hai Lan. She had cared not for the food from the holy city of Crell Monferaigne, or the common every day stock farmed from such villages like Coriander. She craved neither the simple nor the extravagant, turning up her nose at most of his offerings.

He had kept on trying though. Bringing before her rare delicacies from Vilnor, from Gerabellum, from Lassen. She never outright ate any of it, the Goddess more apt to pick apart the food and take only the bare minimum needed to keep her going. Only now it seemed she had abandoned doing even that!

It went beyond any pattern that he had grown familiar with. Her appetite sparing at the best of times, now seemed gone completely, the Goddess viewing the task of eating as though it was some horrendous chore. Little by little, Lenneth was wasting away, a once vibrant being now made listless and lethargic by her own hand.

It wasn’t the only sign of her starvation. Lenneth’s skin always a pleasant if pale shade of cream, now had grown so white as to be near translucent. Her clothing was starting to loosen noticeably on her already slender enough form. Worst yet might be her lack of strength, her rapidly depleting energy, a condition only made worse once she had started refusing all drink as well. She no longer even deigned to sip of even the freshest of spring water, Lenneth’s lips cracked from her dehydration. She was in effect dying a slow death, and Lezard wondered if Lenenth even cared.

It was the most passive aggressive attempt at suicide Lezard had ever born witness to. She was torturing herself, and she was torturing him, this wasting away that Lenneth was doing killing him inside. His heart so hurting with his worry, then sounded with a harsh beat at the thought of the Goddess cheating them this way. It made him angry, SHE made him angry, Lezard wracked with a violent shudder and an unspoken vow that she would not escape him this way.

Such was the violent strength of his anger, that the tray that Lezard carried shook. There was the wet sloshing sound of soup spilling over the sides of it’s bowl, Lezard biting back a curse at the mess that he was helping to make. The sight of that wasted food didn’t help with his anger, and abruptly Lezard was turning, marching his way back in the direction he had just come from.

His hands had white knuckled the tray, steadying it as much as he did his nerves and his resolve. He would not allow her to do this. He would not! One way or another, Lenneth would eat, either by his choice or by hers.

She didn’t even seem to have enough strength left to muster up a gasp, though Lenneth’s mouth gaped open for one all too brief moment. Her genuinely disinterested facade faltered, that startled light gleaming in eyes that had colored a glassy blue. Lenneth stared at him from where she lay confined to the bed, too weak and too sick from her hunger to do much of anything else. The sight of her so weak and so frail, so clearly hurting, only cemented his resolve, his steel determination lending purpose to the way that he stalked his way toward her.

Lezard saw the way Lenneth’s nostrils flared, that and the way that she struggled to sit up. She was too weak to do even that much on her own, and it made Lezard absolutely furious. “This has gone on long enough.” He all but snarled at her, his demeanor completely different from before. Gone was the gentle natured suitor, the would be lover who would have done and said anything to coax a willing response out of her. That man was who she had so blatantly ignored, Lenneth having turned on her side to present her back to him. It was that man who had walked away, who had almost accepted defeat at her hands. It was that man who he had let make him feel helpless, and it was that man Lezard now wrested control from.

Eyes that might almost be frightened tracked his forward progress, that beautiful blue color unnerving in the depth of feeling that it betrayed of her. He saw fear, but Lezard also saw a deep abiding resentment, that unspoken accusation boring into his very soul. Even at her absolute weakest, Lenneth’s warrior spirit remained stubborn and proud, and ever ready for a fight. Nothing could sway it, sway her, not the gifts and the silk finery, not the jewels and his ardent proclamations of affection. And not even the food, Lenneth difficult as both a woman and as a captive.

She had such a strong and unyielding spirit, that noble heart of hers something to be admired, feared, loved. It left him in awe of her, and it left him furious, Lezard both hating and loving the stubborn streak that was so uniquely Lenneth’s own. It made her a woman like no other, the Goddess a challenge Lezard meant to unravel.

With his eyes reflecting a subtle menace of their own, with the tray carefully set aside, Lezard reached for Lenneth with both of his hands. She made a sound very much like a hiss, weakly attempting to shove free of him. He ignored her feeble efforts, Lezard hauling Lenneth to sit up right across his lap. With her frail form situated snug against him, with his left arm an imprisoning weight across the tops of her breasts, Lezard brought a spoonful of the warm liquid to her lips.

The silver scoop of the spoon actually nudged it’s tip against her lips, the Goddess making an outraged sound before abruptly turning away. So quick and so sudden was that head whip, that his hand was knocked off balance, splashing soup onto the front of Lenneth’s gown. She barely reacted to that, or to Lezard’s annoyed growl, Lenneth just resolutely keeping her nose upturned to his offerings.

There was a dozen things he could have said to her then, a million accusations about her stubborn and difficult nature. They would have had as much effect as any of his earlier platitudes, the woman not of mind to care that Lezard was simply after what he saw as best for her. She cared not what he wanted, and not of his affection and of his worry, Lenneth turning her back on it, on him, all. Where once such a blatant refusal and rejection would have left him stonewalled and helpless, the anger inside him only helped to combine and strengthen his resolve, and his determination.

With his eyes gleaming calculation behind the panes of his glasses, Lezard shifted enough to scoop up another spoonful of the warm soup. That silver utensil then clattered to the bed, a stray drop soaking into the mattress’ sheets, as his now free hand caught at the back of Lenneth’s hair. Stiff and unyielding, he heard Lenneth start to make a questioning bit of sound. Whatever she might have asked was then lost to the firm pressure of his lips, his mouth pressing an open mouth kiss to her. The noise she made then was an indignant shriek, the woman not quite able to keep from choking on the soup he spilled into her mouth from his. The Goddess tried to rebuff him, tried to reject the nourishment offered, but Lezard kept their lips pressed together. She could no more spit out the soup, then Lenneth could hope to get away, the firm unrelenting grip of his fingers in her hair just as harsh and demanding as his lips and HER hunger. That mouthful of soup once tasted was near impossible to resist, her starved body’s instinctual need taking over, her throat working to greedily swallow down what she had so long denied it.

There was a soft rumble of sound from her stomach, a noisy protest of just how starved it truly was. He felt how that ineffectual fight inside her began to give, Lenneth trembling more and more violently in his arms. The last of her resistance began to crumble apart, and it was Lenneth’s tongue that then touched at his lips, the woman greedy for any lingering taste of the soup.

She wasn’t kissing him. Not exactly, and yet he couldn’t help himself. His tongue and his lips took sweet advantage of her, mouth molding firm and needy to hers. Lenneth gasped and faltered against him, everything of her from her soul to her body, seeming to withdraw in on itself. Lezard didn’t immediately relent, he couldn’t, greedy for a taste of the Goddess he had sinned so blatantly against.

With his tongue slid firm and unrelenting inside her, he learned the soft contours of her mouth. Ate up the fitful sounds that she made, and enjoyed the squirming gyrations of her trembling body’s attempt to escape. It excited him, SHE excited him, his blood pumping furious through him as his exhilarated heart roared a pulsing tempo in his ears. It would have been SO easy, so easy and ever so tempting to take further advantage of her.

He was anything but a saint, with his unholy desire and his unrelenting pursuit of her. His hands already so dirty from sin and temptation, and with the numerous crimes committed for and against her, it took a strength of will Lezard hadn’t known he had possessed, to stop at just a kiss. That they were both red faced and panting, made breathless from the experience, brought a crooked smile to the man’s lips. He took in the sight of her, of her cracked lips looking swollen, of the wild look in her eyes, and of the way her erratic breathing made her breasts heave and strain thin the satin fabric stretched across her chest.

She was staring back at him, her eyes wide and wary, something very much like apprehension a light in that cobalt blue color. Lezard wondered just what his own unsettled gaze showed her, if the demons of his lust waged their battle in his very expression.

“Now...” There was no helping the husky, overly sexual timber of his voice. Not after that kiss he had just stolen! He shifted enough to fetch the spoon, Lenneth never quite looking away from him. There was a ripple of sound made by an unsteady hand, Lezard getting another scoopful of soup before continuing. “Are you ready to eat on your own…? Or….” His eyes dipped low to caress an intimate look at her lips which were still all a quiver.

It was a threat that needed no further voicing, Lenneth sagging in defeat against him. He was ALMOST disappointed, but that was also lost to the relief, the Goddess finally breaking her fast to take in eager mouthfuls of the soup.

To be Continued….

#valkyrie profile #Lenneth Valkyrie #lezard valeth #fanfic #fanfiction #drabble miniseries

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