#this series is the reason I need therapy and the therapy itself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katsheadinclouds · 8 months

Text

chapter 5

Joel Miller x gn!/f!reader

series masterlist - chapter 4

summary: After a few weeks since you last saw Joel, you end up bumping into Ellie. What you don’t expect is to finally reach your breaking point.

rating: mature

chapter warnings: angst, hurt and comfort, anxiety, panic attack, grief, descriptions of violence typical for the TLOU world, no use of y/n, Ellie and Joel are the kindest and caring, everyone needs therapy.

word count: 7.6k

notes: Here we are, at the end of part 1. Thank you everyone who has read so far <3 Like with the last chapter, this is heavily angsty but I promise, it’s only uphill from here! The next chapter will be out in two weeks, as I’m taking a writing break to finish part 2.

divider by cafekitsune

It has been raining for a couple of days. You’re holed up in your house and the walls feel like they’re starting to fall on you. You haven’t seen anyone or heard from anyone and the longer you’re alone, the more you want to just disappear.

Dan released you from stable duty because some teenagers wanted to come take care of the horses for a while and your rotation says that you’re supposed to be working at the community garden next anyway. But that was two weeks ago. And you haven’t been able to leave your home.

You’re not sure how long it has been since you were at the cliffs. You just know that since then you haven’t been able to sleep, being afraid of the nightmares and new panic attacks. You’re afraid of them all the time, bracing yourself for the fall and loss of control. You can feel it simmering somewhere inside, ready to slap you across the face and make you lose yourself. You relive the moment at the cliffs every day and just the thought of the panic you felt is enough to make you hide in your house, behind closed curtains and darkness.

And if communication wasn’t hard enough already, it has now become almost impossible. You don’t like to look people in the eyes and being in crowded places makes your skin crawl. You can’t even imagine opening your mouth and hearing your own voice. The more afraid of your own reactions you’ve become, the easier it has been to just stay at home and not keep in touch with anyone.

You’ve had panic attacks for a long time and you’ve always been able to somehow make sense of them. You’re almost used to the intense fear by now even though it’s not pleasant. The trick was to always reason with the irrational side of your brain.

After being holed up in your house alone, they’ve gotten so much worse. And it’s not even the attack itself, it’s the shame surrounding it. It gnaws in your head, making you think things that you’ve thought to be untrue. Or at least you hope to not be true. And when you’ve tried to calm yourself down, your head has just filled with more chaos, drowning all of your attempts at finding quietness.

This panic attack at the cliffs managed to surprise you, and how different it was from the ones you’re used to. For a long time you just felt your body tensing up, your breathing getting harder that made you light headed and your head spewing fear into your whole body, making it shake.

This new episode wasn’t like the ones when you weren’t able to move and you’re glad that you haven’t had those after getting to Jackson.

But this one panic attack was like going through a night terror and realising that it’s not ending. It just kept on going, it keeps on resurfacing and you can’t let go of it. You’re dreading to experience it again.

The scariest part?

You can’t feel a thing.

It’s like you don’t have a body anymore, just a shell that somehow keeps you alive.

You don’t feel the wind whipping in from the open window. You don’t feel the heat when you keep your hand too close to the stove. You don’t feel water on your skin or if it’s cold or warm when you take a shower.

You don’t feel your feelings like you used to either.

They seem distant and strange because you know how you should be feeling, but those emotions just don’t become reality. You just are, floating through days without really existing in your life right now.

Your thoughts are spiralling once again. You’re certain that you’re not a good member of the community. People must hate you. No one is going to want to share a house with you, no one knows you and even if they did, they’re not going to like living with you and your… problems.

And Joel? He must loathe you. The way you poured your panic attack on him was unacceptable. How could you let him see it, how could you let yourself be so weak?

The town doctor hasn’t been able to help you, how could anything or anyone else help you either? You’re so sure that you’re broken that nothing can change your mind. Maybe they’ll just kick you out and your head will shut up.

Maybe you should just be out of this town so no one has to wonder what is really going on with you.

At least you haven’t been spending their food or supplies since you’ve just been living on water and porridge. Your cupboards and fridge emptied of everything else almost a few days ago.

You’re not sure how long you stare out the window but the night turns into a dull, grey morning. And then even greyer day.

You listen to the drumming of the rain against the roof and it’s almost hypnotising. Something in you makes you want to go out and get your clothes wet. At least you’d do something else than just listen to the incessant sound of your brain beating you up.

You wrap a flannel jacket over the t-shirt that you’ve worn for the past four days and don’t bother changing out of your sweatpants that you’ve had on night and day since you realised all your other pants had to be washed.

It’s almost funny that no one has checked up on you and when you think about it, your brain almost short circuits from the possibilities your negative thoughts throw your way.

You wrote to your doctor that you’re better, that you’ve gotten friends like he wanted you to and that all meetings with him would be unnecessary. You left the note into his post box and since he hasn’t contacted you, it probably worked.

At the same time you left a note to a worker from the community garden. You told her you’re not feeling well and need to take a little time off. Back then you thought it’d be just a couple of days and then you’d show up. But the more time has passed, the harder it is to let them know that you still need time to recover.

Maybe they don’t care about you and your help, maybe that’s why no one has checked up on you.

You press your hands into tight fists until your nails make half-moon shapes against your palms. Once outside you’re met with the freshness of the mountain air. It fills your chest and you cough as your lungs get used to the cold.

You see no one which comforts you to start walking. You’re going to avoid the town centre just in case, but it seems like you’ll be left alone.

You don’t mean to walk for more than a few minutes, but you end up walking to the other side of the town. Your head has been light and dizzy and you don’t know if you can trust your unsteady legs but here you still are, further than you had imagined going.

Your clothes are completely soaked through but you don’t really mind. You can’t feel it anyway, not the cold or the wetness clinging to your skin. And at least now your brain is thinking why the hell you can’t feel a thing anymore instead of all the negative, fictional scenarios it so enjoys creating.

You’re already on your way back home when you hear a grunt and someone cursing under their breath. Your first instinct is to run away, hide, not make any contact. But when you see a girl wet from the rain, pulling on a small wagon filled paint canisters, that’s gotten stuck in the mud, you decide against it.

Ellie.

You approach her slowly, not really knowing what to expect. What’s she doing with all the paint? When she hears your wet footsteps, she looks up and her face lights up.

“Hey!” She looks genuinely happy to see you standing right in front of her. “Can you help me with this? The wheels are shit and I can’t get this fucking thing to move.” Her cursing takes you aback even though it shouldn’t surprise you.

It just seems like other people in town don’t use as much curse words and she is making sure to use all of them to fill that void. You move to push the wagon while she pulls and together you manage to free it from the mud. Ellie wipes some lose, wet strands of her hair from her forehead and she beams at you.

“Thanks! Will you help me take these home as well? I know there are some puddles that I’m not really looking forward to pass,” she waves her hand towards the street and pulls the wagon with her, making you follow her.

She just smiles at you and almost on instinct you walk next to her. You get winded from the faster pace but try to hide it from her. You look at the paint canisters and then at her, who is eyeing you with curiosity.

You hope you lift your brows at her in question but you’re not sure if that actually happens. She seems to understand your question through your expression though.

“I’m renovating a garage for myself,” she tells you and you can hear the hints of pride in her voice. “Yeah, Joel and Tommy have been doing the building, but they’re both out on patrol and I got bored at home. Maria has been around as well, but she wants to be careful with the baby and all, so it’s just me today.” She explains it all slowly, like she’s trying to fill a quiet space between the two of you.

You’re kind of grateful she’s doing all the talking and isn’t pressuring you to speak. You do catch her watching you a few times though when the silence falls on you both and your panting comes through the sound of the rain.

She doesn’t say anything about it, or anything else for that matter, and you keep on going in the heavy rain towards her house. Maybe Joel hasn’t told her about your weak moment at the cliff which you’d be grateful for. That way there’d really only be one person who knows what a mess you are and others wouldn’t know about any of it.

You could just quietly slip away from this place and no one would miss you.

It's weird to notice that you’d like to talk with her, ask her things and hear how she’s been settling into Jackson, but you can’t make yourself talk. Your throat feels tight and your mood isn’t helping. Ellie leads you through a side gate into a garden and you help her pull the wagon to a run-down looking garage.

“Come inside, you can warm up there,” she offers when you look around and take in the backyard of a two-storey house.

It has seen better days, but it also looks inviting, like someone’s making a home of it. There’s a single light in one of the windows, beaming out warmly like a light from a lighthouse. Ellie leads you to a back porch and inside through a mudroom that now works as a laundry room as well. Ellie pulls her shoes off and you follow her example. Your wet socks squelch against the floor.

“I’ll get you something to change into.” You try to huff a no in response but she’s already on her way through the house and you’re left alone to catch your breath.

With your wet feet you make your way into the kitchen. It’s clean except for the few items on counters. There’s a mug and a plate next to the sink and a bowl turned upside down on a towel next to them. A basket full of fresh carrots wait next to the stove. And a pile of clean towels are sitting closest to the door, probably waiting to be put away.

You run your numb hand against the island counter and walk slowly further into the house. The wood floors creak softly and you hear Ellie rummaging somewhere upstairs, her footsteps thudding against the floor. The house looks comfortable and warm, even in this gray and cold lighting.

You look into the living room and see a soft, worn couch, an armchair and a bookshelf. Even your house doesn’t have a bookshelf but this house does and it’s full of books.

You get closer to the titles and recognise a few. You’ve never been much of a reader, but your bro—

Your breathing catches in your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut when your head starts swimming. You grab the shelf with your hands and try to stay up, but your legs seem to buckle at their own accord.

“Hey,” you hear Ellie’s soft voice call you and you whip around, tears making everything around you blurry.

She looks at you with wide eyes, her hands full of clothes. She has already changed out her own wet outfit into a more comfortable one, a hoodie and a new pair of jeans. She comes closer and you clutch your chest, catching your breath.

You try to make yourself calm down but it’s even harder now that your head is laughing at your and you don’t feel any physical feelings happening in your body. She stops and leaves space between the two of you, her face softening even more until a small smile crinkles her eyes.

“I had to raid Joel’s dresser, I hope these are at least a bit more comfortable than those,” she nods at you and you follow her gaze to look at the drenched clothes on you. She’s clearly trying to distract you from your uneasy thoughts.

“You can change in the bathroom over there,” she gives you the clothes before she swings her arm towards a closed door. You walk past her with wobbly legs and make your way to the downstairs toilet.

You wipe at your face furiously once the door closes behind you and you force yourself to think of other things. How the mirror is stained but clearly kept clean. The stacked toilet paper rolls in the corner. Next to the sink there’s a small plant in a clay pot that is cracked and barely holding the soil in. But the plant looks like it’s thriving.

You eye at the dark blue t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants she had given you and start to peel your clothes from your body. They stick to your skin and there’s actual water dripping to the floor when you pull everything off.

You intentionally breathe very slowly, in through your nose, holding it for a few seconds before pushing all air from your lungs through your mouth. Your heart seems to calm down until there’s only that dull, numb nothingness left.

The shirt seems to swallow you and the pants hang loosely on you, but they’re not wet and that’s everything that matters.

Even though you can’t feel the cold, you can still get ill. And that’s the last thing you want at this point. There are a pair of socks as well and you put them on, even though they’re definitely too big on your feet.

This doesn’t seem right, wearing Joel’s clothes when he’s not even here telling you that you can. You don’t know where you stand with him, but he probably doesn’t want to have anything to do with you.

He hasn’t checked up on you either.

In a way it hurts, but you don’t even know the man. It would be best to just forget about him, if it wasn’t for the embarrassment that prickles your skin. You look at yourself in the mirror and don’t recognise the person looking at you through the reflection. Your eyes, your skin, your face, they all belong to someone you don’t know. The clothes definitely hang on your frame loosely and it only adds to your discomfort.

“Well don’t you look pretty!” Ellie smiles when you open the door and carry your wet clothes in your arms. You don’t know what to do with her words, stopping right in your tracks while her smile only grows.

“Let’s hang them up to dry,” she points at the bundle against your chest and leads you to the mudroom where she takes your clothes one piece at a time to hang them on hangers.

“You hungry? Thirsty?” She asks when she’s done and you shake your head lightly.

“Okay, are you ready to paint then?” Her face lights up and you can’t say no to her even though you’d like to.

You should’ve just turned around when Ellie got home and you definitely should’ve been somehow more insistent on not letting her give you dry clothes. You should’ve just left and gone back home. Now it looks like you’re stuck here with Ellie, who wants your help.

She must see the inner battle going on in your head from your face because her smile drops just the slightest.

“You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, just keep me company,” she tells you. She bends to put on her wellies and you move to put on your wet shoes when she throws you another pair of boots. They’re way too big for you, must be Joel’s, but you don’t seem to find any other option either.

When you get into the garage, you’re met with a worksite.

Ellie walks you through it all, introducing you to the unfinished kitchenette, with uninstalled cabinets and sink. She opens the minifridge door and you both look inside like there’s something to see, even though it’s just a couple of empty shelves and an old, yellowed stain at the bottom. She insists she has washed the fridge already. She just needs to figure out how to get the stain out.

She leads you to the bathroom, that now has walls at least. Apparently Tommy and Joel got them up last weekend, even though there’s still work to be done with the plumbing and they also need to find a door and finish the floor.

She walks you to the middle of the room and points where a couch and her desk for drawing and little tinkering are going to go. “I also want a bed in here, if some day I’d actually live here, on my own.”

She paints such a picture with her words, how there’s going to be hanging lights, a few bookshelves, bedside tables, posters, her art stuff. She wants to make this her own space and she’s clearly excited.

You stand still and imagine it all around you, even though now the space seems incomplete and kind of cold. Ellie moves around and pulls the wagon inside, bringing in mud at the same time.

“Maria showed me what to do with the paint when we finished the back wall of the kitchenette.” She points at the fresh white wall behind the waiting cabinets.

“My plan is to paint that wall, where my bed is eventually gonna go. The grey drywall is damn boring.” You look at her unloading the four paint canisters from the wagon to the floor, grunting at the heavy weight.

“Dark green,” she says proudly and takes out her painting equipment. You follow her movements as she opens the canister like she has done it hundreds of times. She pours a small amount into a bowl and takes out a wide brush. When she stands up, she faces you and you see the question on her face immediately.

“It doesn’t have to look perfect, we’re gonna paint it a couple of times. The paint is fucking old anyway, who knows what it’s gonna look like.” Her hands reach out to you with the paint and brush. You hesitate, but when she nudges them towards you, you take them into your weak hands.

“Just start from the corner, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to continue,” she tells you and you look at the darkest corner in the whole room.

You drag your feet against the cement floor to the wall and toe the boots off your feet before you sit down and face the corner. With delicate hands you dip the brush into the rich, deep paint and do a stroke against the drywall.

You spread the colour with a slow drag, carefully painting the wall right above the floor. You lose yourself in the process, watching the wall in front of you turn dark green.

Ellie takes her own brush and bowl and moves to the other end of the wall. She watches you sitting cross legged on the carboard that’s been set on the floor and paint in slow motion.

It’s quiet in the garage except for the rain hitting the roof and her own brushstrokes. Ellie is definitely faster at painting, but it doesn’t surprise her.

Something has happened to you and she can see it a mile away. There’s a dullness in your eyes, dark shadows on your face, you try to avoid looking at her and your trembling body all tell her that you’re not okay.

The fact that she hasn’t seen you since you first got into Jackson and now you look even worse than then makes her worry, but she doesn’t know how to approach that with you. She doesn’t know you and she’s not sure if you even want to talk with her about whatever’s on your mind. You don’t seem to want to talk at all, like back all those months ago.

It's like a puzzle she starts to piece in her brain. Last week she heard Joel talking with Dan from the stables when they went to see Shimmer. He had asked if Dan had heard from you, but he hadn’t. Apparently you’re doing a rotation at the garden but he hadn’t seen you there either when he had gone there to pick up vegetables.

Joel had only nodded at that but Ellie recognised the deep crease between his brows and the way his lips pursed together to be telltale signs of him being worried.

Then there was the time they were here in the garage and Joel had asked how people are housed here, if they have a say in who moves in with whom. Maria had been confused about the question, until Joel mentioned a friend who is going to be moving in with strangers at some point.

Ellie knows Joel doesn’t have close friends here, so him mentioning someone made her look at him in question. He only shook his head to make her not say a word.

Maria eyed him for a long while before she told him that people who come here alone have a say in who they’re going to be living with. Sometimes you got to move in with strangers because living on your own in a big house doesn’t make sense in this community, especially when the housing is limited. So, you have to make friends with people, or at least get to know some of the people in town so it’s easier to integrate into your new life.

And then there was the time when he got home that one evening a few weeks ago, didn’t say a word and went straight to his bedroom. She knocked on his door to offer him some of the leftovers she had gotten from Maria earlier that day.

Ellie remembers that day specifically because Maria had visited Joel that day and asked him to go help at the stables. It felt like there was some hope between Maria and Joel to have a friendly relationship, based at least on the way Maria kind of thought he was coming over for dinner. When he didn’t arrive, she offered Ellie to take dinner home.

Ellie had opened the door of Joel’s bedroom that evening to find him sitting on the edge of his bed, wringing his hands together with a pained look in his eyes. She had never seen him like that. She sat next to him and listened to his laboured breathing, while he tried to calm himself down.

They had stayed like that for a long while until Joel just closed his eyes, cleared his throat, and rubbed his palm over his face. Finally his hand came to rest over his chest, like he was making sure his feelings were staying inside. To make sure his heart was beating normally again. He didn’t mention it and she didn’t dare bring it up. But she did hear him staying up that night, the whole night, walking first around his bedroom and then downstairs.

He clearly couldn’t sleep and she wasn’t able to chase her sleep either when she knew he was in distress. He didn’t say that he had seen you or been in contact with you, but somehow seeing you like this now makes it seem like maybe something had happened to you and Joel knows about it.

Ellie knows she’s staring at you while you work slowly, lost in your own head. You don’t even notice that Ellie isn’t doing anything, just keeping an eye on you.

When your bowl of paint starts to run out, Ellie hands you her own paint bowl and takes your empty one before filling it. She doesn’t use it though. She just waits for you to finish the paint so she can hand you more. You work meticulously, not missing a spot and being careful not to drop any paint on the floor.

“I first said I wanted to paint the wall to look like space, but Maria wasn’t so sure about it,” Ellie tells you, waiting for you to react. But you don’t.

“Maybe someone else is going to move in here at some point…” Ellie copies Maria’s voice and way of speaking. “Who would move here, we live here,” Ellie rolls her eyes.

“I know Joel wouldn’t have said no to anything, he would’ve given me the paint and the brush and watched happily,” Ellie smiles and sadness tugs at her chest. Of course, Joel would let her paint the wall, he would let her do almost anything. The implication is there, but she doesn’t want to admit it to herself.

I swear.

“Except there was this magazine that I found in Bill’s car. Joel knew Bill, he’s dead now though, so is Frank. Anyway, the magazine, it was a dirty one, with pictures of naked men in there… I bet Joel wouldn’t let me paint something like that on my walls,” Ellie chuckles at even the thought of that.

She still remembers the face he made when he realised what she was reading. He was clearly out of his element and the vein in his forehead looked like it was going to pop when she asked why the pages were stuck together. It was such a long time ago. Back then things were so simple.

“I wouldn’t want to either…” Ellie almost whispers to herself before she looks at you and sees that you might’ve not even heard her talking. Your brushstrokes haven’t paused and your face doesn’t look like you’ve registered any of Ellie’s words.

She sighs and stands up, stretching her arms behind her back before setting the full bowl of paint right next to the old one. You don’t notice her or when she leaves to go back into the house.

The clock on the kitchen wall tells Ellie that Joel should be coming home soon. It feels even darker now that it’s raining and Ellie knows Joel went to a longer trail today with someone he hasn’t gone on patrol with before.

Before she can start wondering if the other person is good at killing infected, she hears heavy footsteps on the front porch.

Joel sighs long and deep when he closes the front door after him, taking his coat off and pulling his boots off his feet. She waits for him in the kitchen, sitting on the counter behind the corner. He doesn’t see her at first.

He combs his fingers through his wet hair before he blinks under the warm kitchen light.

“How was it?” Her voice makes him jump. Maybe she should’ve let him know she was there, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity.

“Did I scare you?” She raises her brows and lets out a short laugh.

“No, of course not,” Joel huffs. He washes his hands in the sink and sees the dishes he left next to it.

“Have you had dinner yet?” He asks while he slowly washes the dishes clean and sets them on the towel where Ellie’s now dry breakfast bowl is.

“No, I was kinda waiting for you.” Her voice makes him look over his shoulder. Somehow he has learnt to understand her like he would’ve known her her whole life and instantly he knows that something’s up. It’s also past their usual dinner time, she would’ve taken the leftovers from yesterday if there wasn’t anything on her mind.

“What’s happened?” He leans against the sink, but he doesn’t have time to question her more when she already jumps down from the counter and moves to put on her shoes and go out back into the garage.

Joel follows her but stops when his older boots aren’t there. Instead there is a pair of other, unfamiliar shoes on the floor and when he looks up, he sees a flannel, a t-shirt, pair of socks and sweatpants drying on hangers.

“Who’s here?” His face hardens but Ellie looks so unsure that it only makes him confused. Clearly there’s no danger, otherwise Ellie wouldn’t be this calm either.

“I saw them when I was getting the paint from Tommy and Maria’s house and they helped me get the fucking busted wagon back home. But Joel, something’s not right with them.” Ellie’s voice turns into a whisper like someone else could hear her.

He leans forward and fear creeps into his body. He can feel his skin prickling, cold sweat pushing out on his back, his heart stammering to beat a little faster and his hands clench before he wiggles his fingers in anticipation.

He goes to get his muddy boots from the front door while Ellie waits for him. Her uncertainty is something that he hasn’t seen in a while. It sometimes peeks through, but while they’ve been in Jackson it has only become rarer. She’s finding her footing here, becoming more confident every day.

She leads him into the garage and the rain is finally starting to ease up. Joel was looking forward to taking a shower, having dinner, and sitting on the couch, maybe watch a movie from the DVD stack he borrowed from Tommy last week, finally winding down from the day.

The rain and the cold were one thing but coming across a group of infected at an old suburb that no one had checked in a while was another. Him and Jade had cleared them out, but the few clickers in the mix did make the task harder.

Jade had gone to make an official report about the incident and how the area should be checked over more regularly even though it’s not on any official routes. Still, it was too close to the town and it would be better if areas like that stayed clear rather than someone stumbling across a pack like that by accident.

The last thing they’d want is the group of infected getting bigger until they’re too hard to handle.

He was so ready to relax. He has started having a routine to get himself calm in the evenings, but whatever is in the garage is not helping him. The back of his neck is tight as he expects to see something disturbing.

The funny thing is that he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to expect. A friend of Ellie’s, maybe drunk? Someone from town who wants to snoop around his house? An infected? That wouldn’t surprise him.

Ellie opens the door to the garage and it’s extremely quiet in there. She steps in and lets Joel follow her and right away he sees you. He stops dead in his tracks and even though the door isn’t the quietest (he makes a mental note to check the hinges and oil them) when it shuts, you’re not moving. You’re deeply hunched, painting the wall deep green, like Ellie wanted, and your head is almost leaning against it.

“Should I – “ Ellie starts, but Joel cuts her off by lifting his hand.

“Stay here,” he tells her quietly as he starts to approach you slowly. He says your name quietly but doesn’t get a reaction. It’s like you can’t even hear anything that’s happening around you.

“Hey,” Joel speaks gently and crouches next to you, touching your shoulder with the lightest of fingers. You flinch and draw in a deep breath, the paint brush clattering on the floor.

It’s completely dry and the two bowls in front of you look like they haven’t been touched in a while. There’s no fresh paint dripping from the side back into the bowls and the paint on the wall has already started to dry up.

Joel looks back at Ellie who sways on her tiptoes, waiting to spring into action. Joel takes the bowls and hands them to Ellie, who scoops the unused paint back into the canister.

Joel directs his attention back to you.

“Painting, huh?” He keeps his voice low when he moves the paint brush from the floor and hands that to Ellie as well so she can clean it.

“These look familiar,” he chuckles lowly, recognising his t-shirt and sweatpants on you. The t-shirt hangs from your shoulders and the pants are way too long for you.

“It’s getting late, we should go inside,” Joel tries to direct you, but you don’t look at him. You barely register he’s right next to you.

When he first touched your shoulder, it was like an electric shock. Now you don’t feel it anymore. But he is touching you, gently adding more pressure. You breathe through the numbness, afraid to look up and face him. You’ve been afraid of seeing him because you thought he’d only bring up that shame you’ve felt. The same fear that you felt at the cliffs is squeezing your lungs, your head swimming in memories you don’t want to remember. There’s something else as well, something surprising. You don’t feel shame around him, you feel calmer than you’ve felt in weeks.

He only reminds you of breaking apart.

And here he is now, trying to coax you into action. You can’t, it’s so much worse now than it has ever been. The feeling inside you. Your eyes sting and your head feels heavy, your lungs trying to gasp for air, but it seems impossible. You feel like you’re coming back alive, wires connecting and your own being washing through you in overwhelming waves.

“Ellie,” Joel lets go of your arm and stands up. This is something he doesn’t know how to handle. Ellie is on his side and the look on her face turns more grievous the harder you’re breathing.

“Go talk with Maria, she said there was someone new here, a doctor, who might be able to help. This is too much for us.” Ellie nods and takes off without a second look.

Joel stays with you and feels at a loss. He knows people get broken in this world, he has seen it time and time again. Hell, even he was that person at some point. Maybe he still is.

But he didn’t see himself from the outside. And he directed that pain into voluntary violence, not knowing how to deal with his wounds inside.

He has been the one to turn his back when someone was on their breaking point for so long because there was no way to survive if you lost your control. But then came along Ellie who is one of the strongest people he knows, even at such a young age. She opened something in him, and he doesn’t want to turn his back anymore.

He looks around and tries to find something that could possibly soothe you. There are a couple of boxes that Tommy and Maria brought in and he opens them, finding sheets and towels. They have to do.

He picks up a towel that is soft and worn, but when he holds it in his hands, it feels thick and warm. He approaches you calmly and squats next to you. He wraps the towel around your shoulders and you bend forward with a flinch, your breathing coming out in ragged, painful gasps.

He keeps his large hands on your shoulders and moves them slowly up and down to warm you up but also to let you know you’re not alone. After a while you do calm down, but you’re shaking and he recognises the way your shoulders shudder.

You’re crying, hard.

His knees start to ache and he sits down while he tries not to jostle you. He stays next to you, his other leg bent behind you while the other is crossed in front of him. He keeps on gently rubbing your back while listening you take wet breaths between your tears.

There’s an air of sadness around you. It’s so thick that he feels like it’s being forced down his throat with every sob you let out.

He sees tears dropping in heavy beads onto your lap. He feels like he’s physically trying to keep you here and he tries so hard, but he also feels at a loss. The last time he saw you he was thoroughly broken.

The panic attack only tore open his own wounds. The face that you made when you looked at him afterwards was something he knew he couldn’t wipe away. Like you were embarrassed to show that part of yourself.

He knew he had to get away from there. From you. He knew he wasn’t able to deal with his own emotions after seeing you in such distress. The screams you had let out reminded him of the night when the outbreak happened. What his own daughter sounded like when she took her last gasping breaths.

Why you were hiding your panic attack confused him though. He had already seen you at your lowest, behind the rock and by the campfire. That time at the cliff was somehow different though.

Your breathing suddenly becomes faster. There’s a fear in him that something’s happening to you, that you’re going to pass out or that you’re having some sort of a medical emergency.

He’s ready to pull away and he’s already moving his hand from your back and arm, but you suddenly grasp onto his wrist. Your hands are cold and clammy and your nails dig into his skin. You look up and he sees the terror on your face. The dark circles under your eyes and the hollows of your cheeks trouble him.

“I- I saw h-him,” you gasp out and a fresh wave of tears fall onto your cheeks. Deep creases form between his brows.

“You saw who?” He whispers back, afraid he’s going to provoke your panic even more.

“Him, my b-brother,” you say and your voice breaks.

“Where did you see him?” He tries to stay as calm as he can but his heart hammers in his chest. Where did you see your brother, here? Why hasn’t your brother been with you if he’s here?

“When his head had been cut off,” your voice is shrill through your pained cries. The confession makes him recoil back and he’s staring at your face, unable to form words.

“A-and my sis-sister, I remember. Sh-she got s-shot in the h-head right i-in front of m-me,” you gasp out between your sobs. His throat tightens at your words and he tries to swallow his own panic down.

You keep whispering something under your breath over and over, and he leans forward, holding his hand against your back just a little firmer while you squeeze his wrist in your own.

Not long after the garage door opens and when he turns around, the first one through the door is Ellie. Her cheeks are red and her hair and clothes are damp from the drizzling rain. Tommy follows her and then there’s an older black woman he hasn’t seen before. She looks at the scene in front of her while she’s catching her breath. They all are, clearly after running here.

“She can help them. Diana, she can help,” Tommy speaks with a low voice, but frantically, nodding his head towards the unknown woman. Joel looks at her when she nods her head in agreement and fixes her eyes on you.

“I can carry them,” Tommy tells Joel and he gets closer. Joel feels his skin crawling, like he’s supposed to protect you.

He looks at Tommy with wide eyes and he’s afraid what’s going to happen when Tommy approaches you. He’s afraid you’re going to start screaming, that you’re going to go into shock if he lets go of you.

“It’s okay, we can take it from here,” Diana says from the door and her soothing voice is like honey to the soul.

Suddenly Ellie is on Joel’s side, helping him up from the floor. She keeps holding his hand and he’s not sure why. He’d like to help Tommy or at least stay with you. You need someone you’re familiar with.

But it looks like you don’t even notice who is holding you. You don’t start thrashing and kicking when Tommy picks you up from the floor, still wrapped in the towel. You have your eyes closed; your lashes are wet from your tears. You hold onto the corner of the thick terry cloth and cry with no end in sight.

“I will need to talk with you at some point as well,” Diana points her words at Joel and he’s confused why she’d say that. He’s not the one who needs help, it’s you, you’re in distress.

Tommy is already at the door, ready to carry you out when Joel sees your socks, his socks, on your feet. They look like they’re about to fall off and he takes a step forward, ready to fix them. But Diana notices it as well and pulls them up over the legs of the sweatpants. Joel’s pants. They leave fast and when the door closes with a loud groan, silence envelopes Joel and Ellie.

“Are you okay?” Ellie sounds concerned and he looks at her in the eyes. He has never seen such deep sadness in her gaze before. Just pure grief that radiates in waves.

He must look confused because Ellie reaches up and touches something on his cheek. She strokes it with her thumb and then moves to the other side, her fingers gently wiping his skin. He follows her movements and touches his own face, his fingers brushing something wet.

He looks at his hand, seeing the water on it. Ellie drops her hand and the empathic look she gives him says it all. He lets out a single laugh, almost surprised, when he realises he had been crying. He hadn’t even noticed. He was so focused on you.

“Is this why she wants to talk to me?” Joel’s voice seems to get stuck in his throat, deep and confused.

“Diana?” Ellie’s voice is so quiet that Joel has to strain his hearing. She squeezes his hand once. He nods slowly, wiping his hand on his damp jeans.

“Maybe… She said she’s been dealing with a lot of people who have gone through trauma, maybe this is one of those things as well.” She talks like she’s trying to make sense of the situation for herself too.

Joel doesn’t answer her but lets her pull him back into the house. After a small cough and dropping his old boots on the mudroom floor he promises to warm up dinner for them both. He moves automatically, constantly having to swallow down the lump in his throat, and tells Ellie to busy herself with something while he takes a shower.

“I’m gonna be right down,” he promises her and his feet feel like they weigh a ton when he walks up the stairs.

He leans his hands against the tiles and the warm water falls on his head. His chest feels tight as he looks at the slowly fading imprints from your nails on his wrist.

He closes his eyes as he finally puts together what you were saying to yourself before you were taken away while wearing his clothes.

“I’m alone, I have no one, it was my fault, I’m alone…”

It’s the middle of the night when he walks downstairs to the mudroom. The rain has finally stopped. He takes your clothes and puts them all into the wash bucket. He wasn’t able to sleep, he couldn’t stop thinking about what you had told him.

He washes your clothes carefully. He’s thorough and makes sure that he gets every inch of fabric clean. He hangs them up to dry back on the hangers, listening to them drip on the tiled floors while wringing his own hands together while anxiety swells through his body.

The next update, the prologue for part two, will be up on the first of October! See you then <3

#the last of us fan fiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn reader #joel miller x f!reader #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #katsheadincloudswrites #fractured fic

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evilwickedme · 1 year

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Ooh, do you have any good Jason fic recs?

anon I cannot tell you how long I've been waiting to see those words!!!! yes I have good Jason fic recs in fact I have so many good Jason fic recs that after narrowing it down I still have fifteen links for you

I have read more fanfic for Jason Todd than maybe any other character ever. I do not understand the hold this man has on me but it's simply the situation we're in. anyway

Jason comes home fics

Make a Little Birdhouse In Your Soul is hands down my favorite. I'm talking favorite DC fic, top fics of all time period, not just from this list. I love this fic series. It is actively and regularly updating, thank fuck, because that little boost of serotonin is everything keeping me going I swear

The 70 Days After Groundhog Day is technically from Dick's POV, but it's about the aftermath of a timeloop that Jason was stuck in. it's. oh my god it's so good. just trust me on this one.

Emotional Motion Sickness is the "bruce goes to therapy" fic series we all want. canon get on this level

Retrograde Motion - I never used to like de-aging fics; not for any particular reason, I just never vibed with them. Recently I decided to see what all the fuss was about (bc there's so goddamn many in this fandom) and I'm glad, because I opened this fic and it's just. oh my god. the use of the de-aging trope here is truly incredible. after a whole week of dipping my feet into the trope I never need to do so again, because this fic made me fucking lose it. this is not going where you think it's going. also, for some reason there's not that much rebirth outlaws fic, and I really like what this author did with that team

matching wounds haha just gonna sneak my fic series on here and pretend that it was an accident, wait how did that get there (some jayroy later in the timeline too which can be read on its own if Jason coming home fics aren't for you)

other non-ship

Too Much Fucking Salt deals with the straw that broke the camel's back. I've read all 22k words of this in one sitting more than once. this is the anti "Jason Todd comes home" fic (this is in itself a whole genre of fic too honestly).

take his name out of your mouth (you don't deserve to mourn) is about Jason mourning himself, which he fucking deserves to. also he smokes a joint with Dick

Sown in Winter is about Jason pulling himself out of a depressive episode partially through the power of Stardew Valley. also technically jayroy, but it's honestly incidental to the story for the most part imo

JayRoy

I do read other ships for Jason but unabashedly this is my favorite, so

A Solid Resume - competency kink. that's all I have to say.

Tenderize is a series of oneshots all of which slowly build Jason and Roy's life together and coparenting lian and I just !!! could also double as a Jason coming home au but honestly that's mostly in the first fic. also a lot of discussion of various chain grocery stores in the united states that I will probably never actually step foot in

Dick Grayson and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Two to Three Weeks (But Who's Counting) is so fucking funny I die every time I reread this. there's a scene early on in a coffee shop that just. I don't even know what to say everything about this is perfect. I AM the girl sticking her nose in their business, at least spiritually.

dust devils on the horizon isn't even the only western au I've bookmarked for these two. something about jayroy and horses, man

unity of time: april 27th, 2020 is just,,,, super sad, man, idk what to tell you. it's f!jayroy, but happens after Roy died in sanctuary during the 24h of Jason's death day, so all of it is very fucking depressing. It's also fucking beautiful. I want to reread it now.

Promise After That I'll Let You Go is a poisonivory fic. I was introduced to poisonivory through the daredevil fandom earlier this year and may I tell you when I found out that this author writes for jayroy I lost my goddamn mind. this is my personal favorite, but I almost recommended at least two more aus. Their jayroy sugar daddy au is one of the only sugar daddy aus I've ever truly enjoyed. also really like the one where roy has had feelings for dick since their teen titans days but still starts a fwb thing with Jason. poisonivory can make me into kinks I'm not even into I s2g. anyway this one has lian literally dragging roy back into jason's life

finally, Reciprocation (or: Sex as Violence) shouldn't even really count as a jayroy fic but I feel weird putting it in the other category since it is sort of a jayroy fic. it's ace-aro!jason, which is one of my personal favorite interpretations of Jason (with so much textual evidence wtf), but there's still like... a lot of sex in this. Jason does not have a healthy relationship with sex in this fic. I would describe this as ending in a QPP for jayroy and lian.

honestly there's a lot of good jason and roy and lian fic out there I didn't rec cause this is already long enough

so yeah this is my very VERY pared down fic rec list for Jason Todd let me know if you want more and thank you so much for asking

#I have 632 fics bookmarked for dc and 130 of them are jayroy #most of the folder is misc and a considerable amount of that is jason focused batfam #oh I should've linked the jason and ollie fic I bookmarked ages ago. oh well I'm not looking for it now it's one thirty am #and I need to be up for work in like. six hours #jason todd #jayroy #batfam #dc #fic recs #before and after fic #gail speaks #ask #anonymous #can somebody confirm redfam is the name for jason roy and lian's dynamic I wasn't confident enough about it to put in the post itself #also it looks like radfem if you're not paying attention

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jawritter · 1 year

Text

If It’s Meant to Be

Part 6

Summary: Bad things happen to good people, that’s just the rule of thumb. But sometimes, things happen for a reason, and that reason is so you can find the person you’re meant to be with…

Pairing: Alpha!Beau Arlen x Omega!Reader

Warnings: 18 + ONLY!!! ANGST!!! Multiple View Points

Word Count: 2040

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Enjoy!

My Masterlist Series Masterlist

Beau’s POV:

Beau rested his head against the cold glass of the passenger side window he was sitting next to, his gaze unfocused on the greenery flying by ahead of him. Everything around him was nothing but a blur, a long, agonizing blur. He’d stopped drinking heavily when he moved to Montana, but tonight, if he survived this shift, he was going to give his past, ‘recovered’ self, a run for his money.

The day had been no short of hell itself, as he expected it to be. He was pretty sure that everyone in the Goddamn department knew that he’d not claimed Y/N.

He thought he’d been able to hide behind the mountain of paperwork he’d had to work through in his office all day, but of course, some fucking asshole had to do a hit and run in the description of the car that Beau and Jenny had been tracking for weeks, presumably, it was connected with some cartel that had moved its way into town from New York. So therefore, he had to respond in person, because he didn’t really trust Jenny to do something stupid if she decided to go alone. This was just fucking perfect. Icing on the cake of a total shit day. One that apparently didn’t seem to have an end in sight.

“You know, if you’re not up to this I can take you back to the station and just bring Pop with me,” Jenny offered again, taking her eyes off the road momentarily to stare at Beau with a concerned look on her face. She’d never heard him so quiet. It scared her. At first, she thought he was just angry at her, and he knew that is what she thought, but honestly, he was past angry, and just didn’t feel like talking about his feelings to anyone. Now he was pretty sure she was just fucking scared he’d gone into some sort of pining sickness. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure that he hadn’t, but seeing as there was nothing he could do about, there was no point in worrying about it. It’s not like he could change things, make them better. He just had to live with it until that little piece of Alpha that thought he’d found hope in Y/N died, just like he did the night Carla left, and took his pup with him.

“Beau!” Jenny yelled this time, and he jumped, looking at her with wide, confused eyes and she set her lips in a hard, disapproving line as her eyes bore back into his. “You know, fuck it, I’m taking you back to the station, you’re not—”

“I’m fucking fine, we’re almost there anyway, just… let’s just get this over with.” Beau bit back, and she narrowed her eyes at him again before bringing her gaze back to the road ahead of her.

“Beau, your mind’s clearly not on this, that’s dangerous, something could happen to you when you’re not paying attention fully to what’s going on around you. You’re not even really in any shape to be at work today.”

“I said I'm fine,” Beau growled threateningly as he turned his gaze back towards the road ahead of him and leaned his head back against the window.

“I can tell you’re not fine Beau, but whatever, be stubborn. If you get hurt, then it’s on you. I offered you a way out. In more ways than one.”

“Excuse me?” Beau questioned, head shooting off of the window as if he’d been tased to glare at the blonde woman sitting next to him. “What do you mean, ‘in more ways than on’?”

“How do you think Y/N knew you were in rut? Or that you needed her? I went to Tonya’s Diner and I told her, if I had not, you’d be feral or dead right now.”

Beau saw red, he’d never been so angry. No amount of anger management, grief counseling, or fucking therapy could have calmed him down. He’d never had a woman on his punch list before, but he was pretty sure she’d just made it.

“You what?” he growled as Jenny pulled up to the scene of the accident and put the vehicle in park.

“You weren’t going to get any better,” Jenny said stubbornly. “So I went to Tonya’s restaurant, and I told her you were in rut, and that she’d triggered it. Ultimately it was her decision to go to you, but still, I think she had the right to know.”

Beau’s hands were shaking as he reached for the door handle, his nostrils flared heavily with each breath, and honestly, he probably looked a little insane.

“You know, you really need to learn how to mind your own Goddamn business. I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask you to send that girl to me. I didn’t ask for an Omega. Next time you decide to help, don’t.”

Before she could argue with him, Beau jerked the car door open, and stepped out onto the road, taking deep breaths to try and calm himself, making a mental note to ride home with another deputy. Had she not butted in, he wouldn’t have to feel what he was feeling right now. He wouldn’t have had to make the decision’s he’d made.

Y/N’s POV:

“Jesus Donno, I’m so sorry,” Y/N apologized for what felt like the thousandth time just in one day.

“It’s okay Y/N,” Donno reassured her on the other end of the phone. “You had a lot coming at you when you left last, and this morning when you got here was no better. It was a simple mistake. I can correct it.”

“Doesn’t make me feel any better though, I should have checked it this morning before I left. When I get back to work tomorrow, I’ll stay an hour later and help you set up the breakfast prep for the next day off the clock to make up for it.”

“No you will not,” he argued, an air of finality in his voice. “You work too much as it is, take a few days off on us, recover from what that so-called Alpha did, and in a few days, come back to work when you’re feeling up to it. Your job will be here, and I’m seriously not worried about the prep work, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t losing it, and that I really didn’t have it done and not just misplaced a pan of biscuits or something.”

“You’re sane as you always were Donno,” she chuckled on her breath at the thought of Donno in comparison to sanity. “It was my mistake.”

“Again, no worries, I’ll call back and check in a few days to see if you’re able to come into work. In the meantime, get some rest Y/N,” he insisted. “You work and stress too much.”

“Scouts honor,” she said before disconnecting the call, and laying the phone down on the table with an exhausted huff.

Truth be told, there would be no resting for her.

When she’d gotten home from the restaurant, she’d cried until she just had nothing left to cry, only making it from the front door to the couch. She was mourning. She was mourning the Alpha that had rejected her so cruelly after he’d used her for his rut. She was mourning the pup that would now never be. She was just gutted from the whole thing.

Then once she’d cried all she could cry, she picked herself up off of the couch, and forced herself into a shower in an attempt to get his scent off of her skin. She’d succeeded mostly. Still, if she breathed deep enough, she was sure she could smell him still. Like he was embedded into every fiber of her being.

She thought that if she could get his scent off of her skin, then the extreme heaviness in her chest would go away, and she wouldn’t feel as if her whole house were sitting in the center of her chest, making it difficult to even breathe sometimes. The Anxiety and the heaviness that was there though did not dissipate with his scent though, cause it seemed to be getting heavier, and she started to become more anxious the longer she sat alone on her couch, staring at the phone that she’d placed on her coffee table moments ago.

Even through the grieving, she’d been angry with Beau since she’d pulled away from his trailer with her shattered heart somewhere in her gut. She was angry that he’d used her. She was fucking furious that he’d had the audacity to bring her that pill. She was so, so mad, and so brokenly hurt. Still, as the minute hand clicked by on the clock hanging opposite her on the wall, the more she started to feel like something was very, VERY wrong. Like something really bad had happened.

If she had to describe it, it was as if someone in the corner of the room had whispered, and she’d heard it, but no matter how hard she listened, she couldn’t distinguish what they were saying, but she knew they were asking for help. Then, when she turned, no one was there. It was creepy, and it made her skin crawl.

It didn’t help that every time she closed her eyes, even for a moment, all she could see was those emerald eyes staring back at her the way they were when she’d left them there in his trailer.

So no, there would be no rest for the weary, not today, probably not tonight or tomorrow either.

She was just about to get up and go to try and make herself eat something, thinking it might help with the pit that she felt in her stomach, even though she wasn’t at all hungry, when the phone rang, making her jump off of the couch as if someone had yelled ‘clear!’ and hit her with a set of paddles.

Normally, if it was a number she didn’t recognize, she just ignored it, but since she was so on edge, she answered it on only the second ring, afraid that if she didn’t, then it would only driver her mad thinking that it was the one call that she should have answered, but didn’t, cause that’s just how anxiety works, and now she’d never know because she didn’t answer.

“Hello,” she half yelled breathily into the phone, her hand placed over her racing heart in an attempt to slow it.

“Hello? Ms. Y/L/N?” the female voice on the other line responded, and for a moment, she thought she was about to get another notice on the extended warranty on a car she didn’t even own, so she rolled her eyes dramatically at her own overreaction as she flopped back down on the couch, even more annoyed and upset with herself that she already was.

“Yes, this is she,” Y/N continued, committed by the fact that she’d already picked up the phone, might as well let it play out.

“This is Connie, from Helena General. Beau Arlen was shot today in the line of duty. Jenny told me that you were his Omega.”

Just like that, the floor felt as if it had fallen out from under her, and had she not been sitting, she would have fallen on her ass.

“Sh… He’s been shot?” she stuttered out finally. “Is he okay? Is he alive? How bad is it?”

“Calm down Ms. Y/L/N, he’s alive, but I can’t discuss the nature of his injuries on the phone, I need you to come to the hospital.”

For a split second, Y/N thought about just hanging up on her. Beau had abandoned her, rejected her so cruelly. Maybe he deserved the same fate. Maybe she should just walk away. Whatever happens to him, well, he deserved it. But then, there was this gut-wrenching feeling that just wouldn’t let her do it. It just wouldn’t let her abandon him the way he’d abandoned her.

“I’m on my way.”

Forever:

@demongirl1996

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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#it's meant to be #beau alren #beau arlen x reader #alpha beau arlen x omega reader #alpha beau arlen #omega reader #abo #abo dynamics #beau arlen series #jensen ackles #big sky #jawritter

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monkeydluffy19920 · 9 months

Text

Quick thoughts about chapter 1031

A little late for the party but been slowly trying to catch up with One Piece. Wano has been quite eventful arc but so far this here became one of my favorite Wano chapters so far.

Sanji’s part of the Reasons to love Mugiwaras-series was written 6 years ago and it focused heavily on WCI arc’s revelations (his past, reasons for his certain ways of behavior i.e sacrifical nature etc.) and we got plenty of answers during the arc and he even received major character developments there.

There is another thing that was well explained in WCI: why Sanji is competitive around other guys (for example why the bounties always were a big deal for him). I think @movedbento summed it up in their post: It’s in his childhood, he was always put in comparison against his siblings and was ignored by his biological father. Since he was the only who didn’t have the monstrous superpowers and always ended up being the last one, displeased Judge wiped out Sanji’s existence basically. So, because of the neglection he went through as a child, he has the inner need to be needed and therefore puts his own needs aside and this is what explains the tendency for self-sacrifice.

While leaving the Whole Cake island, Sanji got the raid suit capsule and he also fulfilled one his dreams in Wano, being invisible and sneaking around the women’s bathhouse. First he thought the suit was great but when arriving to this chapter, the problems are stacking up.

Sanji starts to see the downside of the Germa raid suit and although his durability and fighting skills are increasing inhumanly, he notices that he is turning into his brothers. On top of that there was a beaten woman and obviously he started to hesitate whether he did it under the influence of the suit or not. So, all this leads him struggling with a huge decision, whether to trust on his own skills or becoming a Germa soldier.

Well, he had very conflicting thoughts about the capsule already the first time he saw it and whereas Luffy and Chopper were super excited about it, the cook even stated that he prefers to get stronger by natural ways, not relying on Germa science

So far, Sanji acknowledges the good sides such as how easy it would be to win Queen or fight against ladies (which has been one of his weak points because it’s against his foster father’s teachings). However, he is also truly afraid of losing the human side of his (the one that makes him who he is). So. again this dilemma is highlighting his strong traits: self sacrifice and kindness.

Although he learned in WCI arc that he is valuable and important person, at this moment of hesitation in Wano, Sanji still keeps putting people first by thinking what would his captain want instead of what he himself wants.

What makes Sanji’s final decision even more meaningful storywise is the fact that it’s reflecting towards one of the main themes of this series, freedom. He got away from his birth family and tried to forget them but eventually bumped into them again and got trapped. Later he got the chance to tell Judge that Zeff is more father to him than the Germa leader ever was which was a great moment itself but now that he has erased the final piece that links him to their family, I think this was what Sanji really needed when it comes down to character development.

So, this chapter is basically him finally breaking free for good. Of course this or WCI didn’t magically heal all the trauma he carried inside years that’ll need years of therapy like all Strawhats need but at least now he is on the right track when it comes down on recovering and becoming stronger for his crew’s sake.

This alone made this chapter great but also the ending was another chefs kiss-emoji. Would be cool to see how the original dialogue goes but at least now his request (made because he is afraid things will still still end up with worst case scenario) sounds harsh but on the other hand is completely understandable.

Most interesting thing is that Oda chose him to ask this from Zoro but somehow he’d be very logical reason compared to other crewmates. Anyway, asking for this kind of huge “favor” tells that no matter how much they bicker in the end, their nakamaship is more than just competing and annoying each other. They have utter trust for each other.

What tells about their bond as well is that Zoro doesn’t even question Sanji’s request. It’s probably because he knows so well Sanji’s sacrificial nature and that he hates his brothers so much he’d rather die than turn into them. Zoro’s reply is great: basically he accepts the request replying the way he’d be expecting to say but at the same time he also “ignores” it by telling Sanji he better stay alive no matter what and therefore pushes and motivates Sanji to move forward (because he knows that Sanji will kick Queens ass and just like the others, the cook also has a dream to reach).

Anyway, all I can say is, amazing work again from Oda! *thumbs up*

#one piece #sanji #sanji vinsmoke #kuroashi no sanji #black leg sanji #one piece chapter 1031 #sanji vs queen #wano arc #opthoughts

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softevnstan · 1 year

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³.⍭ 𝐈𝐭 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 - PART II.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender netural!reader

summary. you couldn't believe the name that graced the file on your desk for your new patient. james 'bucky' barnes. you'd heard of him - even studied some of his history during college for psychology classes. never would you have imagined he'd be sent to your office, looking for help.

a.n. you guys responded really well for part one so i wanted to work on part two. no beta, we die like men. i have no fully formed plan with this so i apologize if i got anyone's hopes up. see part one here (make sure you read that first, otherwise, parts of this won't make sense). i also hate using 'y/n', but i don't know how not to, so i heavily recommend the 'InteractiveFics' chrome extension - it'll automatically correct 'Y/N' to the name of your choosing (and can replace other terms)

w.c. 3.6k

tags. depression mention, suicide mention, ptsd mention, therapy, recovering!bucky barnes, patient x therapist (as a whole for the series), not 100% accurate therapy - based on my own perspective and experiences.

‘What am I doing here?’ Bucky's mind played like a broken record, brain scouring for any reason to excuse himself from this appointment altogether.

Was it too late to slip out of the room? Surely not - the secretary was one of the four people (including himself) that sat in the same gray room, and she didn't seem to be paying too much mind hunched over her desk in a seek-and-find book.

The waiting room was dark - lacking any real windows in the area given it was part of a larger building that housed the offices. Bucky had taken the stairs up to the second floor after stepping into the building and searched the stretched hall for your office number and silver nameplate on the walls. Upon finally finding it, Bucky couldn't help but see it as a blessing and a curse. No more wandering aimlessly with the inkling of tension that'd begun to grow with the anxiety of someone approaching him to potentially redirect him. But it also meant he was now another excuse short for skipping this referral appointment entirely.

When stepping in, the atmosphere wasn't near as comforting as he'd been hoping. The space was dark and dimly lit by the glow of orange lamps; chairs sat neatly along the wall with a coffee table, scattered with magazines that had been flipped through countlessly since they'd been there. There was a rounded desk to the left of entering the room where an older woman sat, glasses sitting on the end of her nose and the signs of aging prevalent in her graying hair. Along the back wall, there are several doors; Individual offices, Bucky's brain supplied.

There were shelves of books and an overwhelming amount of fake plants in the room. The closest window that Bucky could scour out immediately was a narrow, rectangular one. Lone by itself given the layout of the office building not allowing for it. Hardly any natural light seeped into the room. If the actual offices with the therapists were as gloomy as this, Bucky would have better luck abandoning all hope right then and excusing himself. Save him another uncomfortable experience in the mental health field.

Working with Raynor wasn't exactly what Bucky needed as a first experience in therapy. Before the 70 years that he'd spent under HYDRA's thumb, there were no resources like this at home. Mental Health hardly existed as a concept - no awareness of the rippling effects of war or aid for the soldiers that would return traumatized and self-loathing. Hell, men beat their wives back then like property. That was even without the PSTD and fragile masculinity slammed on top.

Not his father, thank a god that Bucky isn't sure he even believes in anymore.

Christina was rough around the edges. A former officer in the military, one would think she may be perfect for the job in regard to Bucky's emotional baggage and the weight he carries. She wasn't. That was something Bucky only began to learn months later with Sam's help; That while Dr. Raynor was not a bad woman, she was not what Bucky had needed to begin opening up to people. The clipped energy that filled a room when sharing a space with Christina made it near impossible to relax fully; When Bucky was being a little difficult on his bad days (yes, he can admit he's difficult), instead of approaching him with patience, Raynor would combat his comments with her own condescending ones. It felt more like a weekly brawl where he had something to prove rather than a safe space to begin the healing process.

It was like ripping open a healing wound, wondering why it wouldn't improve, and being confused when it worsens under brutal treatment.

Dr. Raynor was not what Bucky needed, simply put.

But the one that woman did right with all certainty was to at least aid in redirecting Bucky to someone that can help him produce better results.

That's what landed him there. In the waiting room of your office with an appointment at 3:15 p.m.

Your praise was sung of being someone who was more approachable and positive, albeit not naively so. When Bucky was peering at reviews and your background check - comforting his own paranoia - he'd seen nothing but kind things said. How patient you were. How compassionate; How you make your patients feel heard and understood. How you provide the tools to create a proper support system and show people how to live again. Bucky tries not to get his hopes up for things, but he was certainly beginning to spark hope when he was able to look more into your reviews. It made him want to try again rather than give up.

But sitting in that dim-lit office, he's not sure how confident he is in that statement anymore. Bucky's left leg bounces in an anxious fidget. His shoulders are tight, arms folded over his chest in a closed-off stance while he sits back in one of the empty chairs of the waiting room. To anyone else, Bucky probably looks angry at the world - it's just him hiding his nerves. Never an intentional expression worn, it's simply become a default to wrinkle his forehead and wear a tired face.

Bucky could still leave. The heavy door that he'd pushed open to get in taunts him from where he sits.

And it's right as he's weighing out the consequences of bailing on this idea altogether that the sound of a door opening grabs his attention. Head turning in the direction of the noise, tired eyes squinting slightly for a brief moment when light pours into the room. A woman in roughly her thirties steps out of the first door lining the back wall, followed by you. Bucky is only certain of that fact because he recognizes your face from the LinkedIn profile you have.

"Thank you again for coming in, Greta, I'm looking forward to hearing about your daughter's Bat Mitzvah; tell her happy birthday for me." you tell the woman that's begun her leave.

"Of course, I hope your next session goes well," beams a woman, assumedly 'Greta'.

Bucky sucks his bottom lip in, worrying the skin between his teeth before sighing out through his nose. Attempting to take a steadying breath to appease his nerves when--

"Mr. Barnes?" your voice prompts.

Running away isn't a choice anymore. Not realistically.

So Bucky drops his arms and feels the taut muscles in his shoulders before trying to force them to settle. Rolling broad muscle under his leather coat before pressing off the armrests of the wooden chair with gloved hands to get up. His eyes remain averted from your face, but he crosses the room to you nevertheless.

"It's nice to meet you, James, if you'd please step in here with me," you hold the door open for Bucky; Allowing him to step into the relatively small space.

But it's not suffocating, he notices.

It's actually a stark contrast to the heavy waiting room he'd just been sitting in for the past 10 minutes or so. The light of day pours in from the tall, wide window on the back wall of the room. In the brief space where the window doesn't occupy the wall, there's a bookcase sat with countless psychology books. A soft-looking loveseat is pressed against the wall to Bucky's right, and across from that is a matching single chair with an end table. On the table sits a lamp, a box of tissues, and what appears to be a selection of colorful fidget toys. The walls are hogged by large framed photos; some of paintings, some of hyper-realistic photos or art. The floor is a deep gray-brown carpet, the walls painted a soft eggshell. Plants sit on the shelf in front of the window, drinking in the sun; He spots a Wandering Jew, two cactuses (both different breeds), and a succulent perched comfortably.

"Have a seat," your voice interrupts the way Bucky studies the room, and promptly he moves to the loveseat. Lowering himself into it, it's significantly more comfortable than the chair he was just sitting in. Still, Bucky sits stiffly. Uncomfortable; refraining from letting his back touch the couch and posture coming across as closed up without him even realizing it.

Like a mantra, belittling thoughts play on a broken loop through his head.

This isn't going to work. It's going to end badly. I'm going to be seen as a monster all the same. I'm a bad person, I don't deserve this. Other people deserve it more. I'm wasting everyone's time.

The thoughts spiral heavier and heavier for Bucky, even as you close the door; successfully sectioning him and you off from the rest of the world. His jaw sets as you move to sit across from him.

Bucky silently wishes the moment would end before it's even begun.

He wants to go back to his apartment, even if it makes him just as miserable.

“So, Mr. Barnes, from what I’m understanding, you'd like to make me your primary therapist and discontinue working with Doctor Raynor?”

Bucky wants to heal. You see it in him. The first step is admitting you have an issue; that there is something wrong. Not that Bucky is wrong, but his headspace surely is a defunct mess; The task ahead of you in untangling said mess is daunting, but Bucky is worthy of it. He deserves it. Even if he doesn't realize that yet.

He deserves to have someone who's willing to help him understand and put the pieces back together. Not simply throw their hands up the first time that Bucky struggles and leave him to fend for himself - this man was done far too much fending by himself.

It's clear by the silence followed by the words, 'That’s all I’ll ever ask of you', that Bucky isn't sure what to say. Rather than allowing the quiet to eat at him, you continue the conversation. Save him from the anxiety he might be feeling in being unable to muster a reply.

"So, Bucky - Can I call you 'Bucky'?" You ask, sure to keep a warm and approachable composure. Bucky's comfort is your priority; If he feels unwelcomed, he won't come back.

A stiff nod comes from the man across you. He still struggles to meet your gaze; Eventually, you'll both work on that, but for now, you don't mind. Let him take things at his own pace.

"So, Bucky," you reiterate, leaning back in your armchair and crossing your legs at the ankle. Your shoulders ease and you relax into your seat. "How about we start by getting to know you a little bit; Where you'd like to work first and what some of your immediate issues are, in your opinion."

Bucky's teeth clench - you can tell because his jaw flexes and it pulls on your heartstrings for a moment. His shoulders look so tight, his body so stiff. Chiseled features are hard, and his face doesn't seem nearly as full as you'd seen in museums and textbooks while growing up and learning American History. Dare you even say he almost looks sunken in, with dark rings around his eyes and sadness in gray hues.

You wonder how he sleeps at night - if he even does. If he eats the way he should. It's heartbreaking to see a man carved into such a husk.

"Raynor was working with me to make amends," Bucky starts, and surely that doesn't mean what you think it does-- "To make things right for what I did as the Winter Soldier, as a condition of my pardon."

"There's nothing to make right, Bucky." You answer almost immediately; your blood feeling hot for half a moment. You saw history unfold right before you, living in New York. Hearing the chaos of HYDRA overtaking SHIELD in 2014, that Boy Wonder 'Bucky Barnes' was still alive. Many things were kept from the public, as much as they could be, but one thing was for certain. Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could see that Bucky was another victim of HYDRA's. Not the catalyst for the carnage. An unwilling piece of the puzzle.

You have to stop yourself from becoming too expressive, though. Despite the quickness of your words, you maintain an evenness to them. "Now, I won't pretend to know what's happened with it all; That's something for us to talk about with time. But I can promise you right now, Bucky, that I am not Dr. Raynor. And while we can revise the conditions of your pardon, you won't be trying to fix mistakes you didn't make. We're here to help you."

Another break of silence, and Bucky has begun to fidget with his hands. Kneading them together in his lap; your own gaze flickering briefly to watch the leather rub on leather.

"I... I don't know what to say," Bucky speaks, his voice soft and timid. Unmatching the hardness of his face.

A small crease forms between his brows, eyes downcast but briefly lifting to peer at you.

"You don't have to know what to say right now," you gently tell him. "I know you may not agree with my perspective on things right now, but please hear me when I tell you that I'm not here to judge you. You're a survivor, Bucky."

A soft huff comes from him - lip curling into a crooked grin that's humorless. Bucky shakes his head right after, and the expression falls. You watch curiously.

"I'm sorry, it's... Everyone seems to either look at me like the pariah or like a victim." Bucky explains, and for a moment, your lips form a soft smile. You lean forward, shifting your position once more to lean in a little closer to Bucky's space without outright intruding on it.

"You're a survivor," you reiterate. Making sure he hears it. "And there is no shame in being a survivor - I'm a survivor and don't consider it derogatory, it's exactly what I am."

Bucky's brow knits up slightly and his attention is on you fully. Arguably the longest so far since he's been in this room with you. He looks as though he's searching for something and the answer is somehow embedded in you, and deep down, you want to give him whatever it is he's searching for.

You're a survivor, too. It's what made you good at your job. Being able to empathize to a degree with the individuals that come to you; To be able to share your own experiences and show the person sitting in front of you that they are not alone. People like to feel heard and understood. And sometimes the best way to for that is to sit with someone who's been through something similar.

Though you certainly didn't have experience as a prisoner of war who was genetically engineered...

His pink lips part as though he wants to speak, but whatever words were that die on Bucky's tongue when his mouth clamps shut and he finally averts his attention. You follow his gaze briefly to find him looking out the window parallel to him on his right. The light peeked in through the sheer curtains and lit the side of his face partially. You wonder if the sunlight makes him warm at all.

"Do you want me to draw the curtains for you, Bucky?" You offer, wondering if perhaps it's distracting to him.

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm not used to this." "Can you explain what 'this' is?" You ask, gently prompting him in hopes he keeps talking. "I, uhm..." His voice trails - clearly searching for the words. "You're... Calm. I don't entirely know how to explain it. We haven't been talking that long but I was, uh, intimidated to meet you. My precious therapy experiences haven't been the best..." It's the most he's said in a single sitting, you're impressed.

"And that's alright - sometimes not every therapist works out. Many people struggle to understand that therapy is not a 'one size fits all' matter. Sometimes we have to feel out situations and feel out people. If you decide at any point you're no longer comfortable speaking with me, I understand and will be more than happy to help you find another therapist that can specialize in your concerns." Always deliberate as to not call Bucky's situation 'problems' or 'what's wrong'. The last thing you'd want is for him to feel as though he is the root problem in his life. He's not.

"Thank you," the man murmurs softly, and you can tell it's another moment he's unsure what to say. Even the words feel as though it took quite a deal of effort to muster from Bucky. That's okay - sometimes people need to warm up. You're not surprised in the least that Bucky isn't an open book, you wouldn't be if you went through even half of what he did.

"...I'll tell you what," You begin, Bucky's attention drawing right back to you rather than the world outside the glass. "How about we start small, you and I, okay? We don't have to touch anything heavy yet, we can start simple."

"Simple?" Bucky echoes.

"Mhm," a confident nod from you, "I hope I don't sound rude at all, but I can tell you're someone who's carrying a whole lot more than they let on."

That earns a skeptical look from Bucky. You wonder in a brief moment where you potentially lost him when he answers that question for you:

"I'm sure you can." The response comes out almost irritated. No elaboration.

For a moment your mind scrambles, wondering, before it clicks. Still, you encourage Bucky to use his words. "What do you mean?"

A long sigh comes through his nose. "Oh, c'mon," he tries, but you simply look expectantly. Bucky needs to communicate, if they have no form of communication, they have nothing. "Y'know, everyone seems to know about me. Everything with HYDRA..." His expression is progressively hardening; He's lumping you with everyone else. You see it. Even if Bucky doesn't realize what he's doing, he's trying to build that wall again. Brick himself out and separate himself.

"No," You reply, "I only know what you want to share with me, Bucky. I didn't follow your story as it was happening - though I'd be lying if I said I was entirely clueless. Whatever I knew prior to meeting you today, though, doesn't matter. I want to know you. Not what everyone else's perception of you, is. Consider us strangers."

Then, as if to prove your point, you shift forward even more in your seat. Uncrossing your legs and sitting them flat on the floor as you offer your right hand out.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Bucky, I'm Dr. Y/N." Maybe the notion seems silly - and it is, honestly. You've both been talking this long.

Bucky is a little taken aback by the gesture; Blinking at you cluelessly for a moment before he huffs again. This time, his half-hearted grin doesn't look so bitter when he offers his right hand out tentatively. A ginger shake, as though he's scared he's going to break you, and the leather of his glove is warm against your palm.

While he doesn't verbally reciprocate the gesture, his expression speaks for him. A conversation without words.

It's clear that it's a bit more comforting to Bucky. For a brief moment he seemed as though he was ready to leave without coming back, but with quick thinking, you're relieved to have reeled him in once more.

"Anything about you outside of this room means nothing to me," you promise. "It's up to you how much you share. No one else."

Bucky's smile pulls just a tad bit wider, and you consider it a victory.

"We'll start simple," You repeat, pulling your hand from his to pick up the notepad on the table beside you. Flipping to a clean page and clicking your pen - you don't miss the way Bucky looks at you almost worriedly. As if you've picked up a weapon when in reality it's a pen and paper.

"I'd like you to find a nice journal that you like. One that you won't be afraid to write in, and one that you'll feel comfortable using. Next week when we see each other, I'd like you to bring it with you." You effortlessly speak while your pen scrawls away on the small lines sheet in front of you - your handwriting reads out on the paper, 'BRING A NOTEBOOK THAT YOU'RE COMFORTABLE WITH USING :)'

You tear the paper from the metal rings that bind it and pass it over to Bucky. He takes it wordlessly, looking at the piece of paper in his hands.

"That's it...?" Bucky ponders aloud. "That's it." Another gentle smile you wear. "Journaling is an extremely useful tool for going through our feelings and helping us take a step back and breathe. It can help us avoid dramatizing situations unintentionally, and it can help us develop a sense of mindfulness and gratitude. You don't need to write anything in it just yet, but if you'd like to decorate it, I won't stop you. Whatever makes you feel comfortable to begin writing in it."

"...Dr. Raynor didn't have me keep a journal," the soldier murmurs. "I'm not Dr. Raynor." you answer simply.

Your first session with Bucky seems to go well on all accounts. Sure there were a few brief tense moments, but you like to hope he'll return. At the end of the day, that's Bucky's decision. If he chooses to continue with you as his therapist, though, you want to help him in any way he can.

He doesn't know it yet, but you're determined. By the end of your time together, you want to have helped Bucky obtain a new perspective and help him live. Not simply survive.

After he leaves your office, you make sure to fill your schedule in for the same time next week.

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theroundbartable · 4 months

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You said to ask you about your takes about Merlin, and I always find it interesting to find out which angle people approach an ot3 of, so which edge of the triangle arthur/merlin/gwen was the first you shipped? Or was it the full ot3 right away? 👀

Ah, yes. When I started watching Merlin back in 2019, the very first thing I shipped was Merthur.

I usually don't start shipping right away, I start looking at the different dynamics and wait where it may take me. And the very first episode left all dynamics open. So, I wasn't an instant Merthur fan but I could tell that this was where I was heading.

Even though I wanted to ship Merlin x Gwen first because Gwen had a crush on Merlin and Merlin was oblivious and Arthur was an arse in season 1. I still knew I would end up a Merthur main.

Back in 2019 I was still working through a lot of stuff when it comes to relationships, sexuality, identity, trauma, etc, It sounds weird but what I needed at the time, was characters that I couldn't "be" and that also couldn't be attracted to me. The reason for that is too personal to post here but that's why I distanced myself from female characters in ships at the time. That's why I knew Mergwen wouldn't be where I'd end up. I didn't hate them, I just couldn't deal with certain things.

And then came the Elena episode in which Merlin tells Arthur that he will be a better king with a woman by his side whom he loves. I was already lowkey shipping Merthur by then, but THAT scene burned itself into my DNA and changed me forever. I LOVE that scene! If I ever had any doubts until then, they were gone the moment Merlin hands Arthur the sword and says: " I think you're mad."

I knew from the beginning that Merthur wouldn't end up canon, and that without looking at spoilers. The show is from 2012, I just knew. In fact, I was delighted with how FAR they took it despite that!

And I absolutely loved how the canon ship actually made sense. And Ioved how it was a learning curve for me too, to see them grow to make sense. In the beginning it felt a bit sudden but when I watched the show again, I realized just how many moments they actually had.

Plus, Gwen wasn't a mere love interest, she was a real character. Basically, she passed the bechdel test, lmao. I love that she's a blacksmith, that she had her own story arc, her own tragedies and losses, a full family that we SEE in the show, etc. And I loved her dynamic with Arthur growing from awkward to genuine. I always thought that relationshipwise, they were one of the best portrayals of lovebirds I've seen in a series in a long time. And BBC merlin is PG so that was a bonus. And they always had space for Arthur's friendship with Merlin. (This is very important to me, as an ace person who used to think they would lose their friends due to their relationships)

And well... years have passed and I slowly got over my trauma through writing fanfiction and some mild confrontation therapy. There was one fic especially, that paved the way for Mergwenthur. I think that one was Wired... (2021) in which time is a circle and Merlin lives long enough to see Arthur be born again. In that one I tried to be as close to canon as I could, while also writing a Merthur story. Originally, Arthur was meant to choose Merlin, but during the darkest hour, in which the story begins, he's already head over heels for Gwen. And the more I tried to grasp Arthur's feelings after the magic reveal, the less possible it was for me to not see Mergwenthur.

As Arthur starts realizing his fellings for Merlin, his feelings for Gwen don't change, because why would they? The feelings were different but they were both of love. And when I tried to characterize Gwen, I ended up thinking of their three person date in season 4(?) in which Arthur says:" Isn't it nice to be here? Just the two of us?" And it's GWEN who says: "you mean, the THREE of us. " When I thought of that, I just couldn't imagine that Gwen didn't already know and accept Arthur's feelings. And I couldn't imagine Merlin wanting Arthur to choose him over Gwen. While at the time, Mergwen wasn't really on my mind, I thought this was where the story was naturally progressing, so I let it.

I've always been a multishipper. But this dynamic is important to me. I've analized their relationship a couple of times and come to the conclusion that Gwen is the better Queen (some people like to call Merlin Arthur's queen). Because her relationship with Arthur is build on mutual goals and their future vision of Camelot. Their relationship is reasonable and healthy. I think their love is very soft but strong. While Merthur is just unhinged soul bond, ready to sacrifice everything for each other, including Camelot. Merlin would be a terrible Queen, like, seriously. Camelot would be destroyed the moment Arthur gets abducted once. Their love is intense and fickle in the sense that they can't live without the other. And Mergwen should have had more moments. Gwen was always the one person picking up that some things about Merlin were a bit odd, like the Lamia episode, or servant of two masters, etc.. I feel like Mergwen is a ship that's friendship first and can be both wholesome and completely mad, depending on which of the two indicates the action.

So, it was a bit of a curve for me. I ship them individually, I ship them together, apart, with other characters, everything. But the more I look into the show, the more sense Mergwenthur makes to me. Regardless of whether they are platonic or not, I can't unsee them. And why would I? they are fun.

Haha, this answer was very long, but I hope it answers your question :D

#bbc merlin #faq #answer #mergwenthur #shipping #ask

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purplexing-writing-and-concepts · 2 years

Text

{Am I…a God? Neat}

-Chapter Two: Emergence Day & Cryo Therapy-

Polaris was concerned for its creator. Sure they had finally mustered up the energy to summon them home, but maybe it was a mistake. Watching (Y/n) float about the void space looking through screens and observing everything was a sight the creature thought they wouldn’t see again. It had been eons since the creator’s fall. Since that last horrific fight the remnants of it can still be seen in the worlds of creation.

The gelatinous creature hovered over (Y/n) shoulder noticing that they’d stopped to stare at one screen in particular. A warped jingle sounded from them as they noticed it was of Teyvat. (Y/n) hummed at them but said nothing. The current scene was of the twins being separated, playing on loop. Polaris knew of the twins separation but didn’t feel a need to worry as because of the divine’s blessing they’d always find each other again.

But it was worried about what could happen while the twins were separated. The creature knew that the twins were the only being keeping the cosmos and the worlds of creation stable since the Void’s death. If their powers were sealed away and them separated who knows what would happen to everything their creator made, including their beloved children.

This was the reasoning Polaris and a few other screen guardian creatures banded together to summon the divine once more. It was risky and resulted in casualties, the screen guardian of Teyvat was the only survivor. “Polaris dear…its not your fault…you did what was right…you all did…and for that I could not be prouder of my creations…Know you do not bear this burden alone little one..”

A hand was placed on top of Polaris’s body as a gentle and comforting warm embraced them. The aura of the divine was always something Polaris missed in the time it had to spend alone. A soft jingle rung out from it as it nuzzled into its creator’s hand. “I’m back now…but I am still weak…even so I must act now…I fear what damage this… Celestia has done is almost irreparable…”

A sigh could be heard from (Y/n) has they placed a hand on their chin to think,’ I need to reunite with my children but…if I don’t do so quitely I fear another Divine war will break out…I’m too weak to fight on that scale again for now…’ Thoughts ran through their head as they contemplated the best way to get rid of the parasite.

“Too think while I was away another one formed…and succeeded in conquering a world at that…well this world is still in its infantile stage so its no wonder Tevyat couldn’t defend against its invasion.” Polaris jingled at the thought. It’d lost contact with the Tevyat world guardian during the summoning but the last it’d heard from it was that it had secured a location for the creator to enter undetected.

“Oh well you are indeed a tactile screen guardian…hmm a form will suit you better..you have earned a metamorphosis…”

If Polaris could cry it would be. The last metamorphosis it had occurred ages before the Void's fall. When Teyvat was in its early stages of creation. Upon the world's basic finish in the sandbox Polaris was gifted with a new form, the one it is in currently. "Let's get started them well head to this location you mentioned.." Polaris released a series of jingles in excitement and gratitude.

A golden glow slowly began to take over the creature's form much like when it first reappeared after the Divine One's return. The light began to mold its body to be larger. It even felt new appendages growing. As the light dimmed the once duosion looking seelie looked like a Reuniclus-seelie hybrid. Smiling at Polaris (Y/n) removed their hand and floated smoothly towards the screen displaying Teyvat.

"Come now Polaris it is time we return the true natural order..." Letting out a warble sound Polaris glided over to its creator in glee attaching itself to their back as they both melted through the screen.

Their surrounding became distorted and fuzzy before the glaze faded from their eyes. (Y/n) hummed in approval noticing they were on the summit of Dragonspine. The area was chilly at best, odd that the sheer cold didn't affect them. It also seemed as though the area was still sealed off. The Skyfrost Nail sat in the middle of a ruin. A few ruin guards could be seen from their place. "I sense a few lifeforms around.. Polaris would you be a dear and gather everyone for me..."

Said creature floated off their creator's back and moved in front of them before doing its best salute and speed off to gather the creator's of Teyvat that were around the summit. Watching the young screen guardian gather the slimes, hillichurls, and their large frost Lawachurl (Y/n) couldn't help but smile sadly. This world was in disarray because of their absence.

While yes, they were technically dead, that didn't mean they didn't blame themselves for what has become of one of their precious worlds. Not to mention their children also got caught up in this chaos doesn't soothe them either. A sigh left them as they floated upwards towards the platform where Polaris had gathered the creatures. It was a rather adorable sight if (Y/n) would say.

The lawachurl sat behind all the other creatures with most of the hillichurls sitting in its lap with the cryo-slimes seemingly bouncing in excitement. Holding back a laugh at the display (Y/n) smiled. "Hello everyone...I've been away for while haven't I..." A grunt could be heard from the frost lawachurl. "Yes I know it was sudden...and I'm aware of the situation regarding Celestia..."

The group of creatures seemed to start buzzing with various displays of anger or disapproval hearing (Y/n) mention Celestia. "Trust that it displeases me just as much if not more than all of you of their intrusion.. for now I will need you all to help me prepare the grounds...I plan to make this my reside here alongside you all but I'd like for everyone to feel comfortable and at home."

As they finished the lawachurl stood to its full height, some of the hillichurls scrambling to do the same, before bowing. The other hillichurls followed suit with the slimes doing their own attempted bow. "Oh there's no need to bow..hehe I may be divine but that doesn't mean you are below me.." At their words the creatures relaxed and waited. "I'll be sending out Polaris to gather the other Churlenas and slimes of the mountain and have him lead them here..." With that the gelatinous creature once again saluted before speeding off the cliff of the mountain in a glide.

Continuing the speech (Y/n) softly floated to the side to show the ruins "I will ensure everyone's safety and make sure to rid of any unwanted visitors...in the meantime could you all, except the slimes I have a special task for you in a moment, help with clearing the rubble and moving the ruin guards." Receiving an array of nods and puffs of agreement they couldn't help the large smile that appeared on their face. "While you all do that..if the slimes are able, I'd like for you all to attempt freezing me for as long as you can..."

The group of slimes seemed confused before (Y/n) chuckled as they explained," I need to get back in touch with world's elements and this is the best way I can think that doesn't involve me getting involved with the archons and celestia..." At this the slimes bounced happily. (Y/n) could tell the creatures felt honors that their divine creator wanted their help getting touch with the elements. "Alright then let's get started yeah..."

Floating towards the slime as they made a circle around them, the lawachurl and hillichurls began moving about removing rubble and pilling it up near the Skyfrost Nail. Taking a deep breathe before taking a meditative position with their hands clasped in their lap, (Y/n) then spoke," Let's begin.." With their signal given the slimes began to blow cryo infused frost onto them as a small slime bounced itself into (Y/n)'s lap producing a frosty mist.

This went on for a while before a soft ice blue aura began to form around (Y/n)'s head like a circlet before it spiked outwards like sharp teeth. The aura then shattered like glass before turning into a cloud of mist sinking into (Y/n)'s forehead. With a gasp they opened their eyes quickly feeling a subtle cooling sensation around their body before it faded away. "So this is cryo...it feels different...than I remember.."

The small slime in their lap wiggled before it bounced onto their head making a noise that can only be compared to as purring, but it sounded like glass on glass, as it practically snuggled until it was comfortable. Its actions sent a smile to (Y/n)’s face as they moved themselves into a standing position, not that their feet were touching the ground.

They took a deep breathe before exhaling, a frosty mist expelling from their mouth as the tips of their hair glowed a fluorescent ice blue. “It kind of tickles….” They said as they softly twirled ensuring the little slime was safe before they stopped in their original position.

The other larger slimes gave warped chirps as cheers of excitement. (Y/n) turned as they heard of grunt from the Lawachurl. It was standing a but behind them holding four deactivated ruin guards. The hillichurls were still piling small rubble into piles, though the larger pieces were accounted for.

“Oh place them here I have an idea of what to do with them…” Gesturing to the open space in front of them as they moved aside for the Lawachurl to pass and put down the ruin guards. Said creature then lugged the old machines to the designated spot and dropped them unceremoniously.

Looking over the machine they noticed that they all each were missing a part that the others had. “How intriguing….but as they are now they won’t really protect much if anything…” Floating around the machines inspecting them each in more detail. “I have an idea.” Reaching a hand into the first guard’s eye socket (Y/n) rummaged around before grabbing its core.

They repeated the process for the other three guards. The cores were blackened in their deactivated state, with a small pulse of their divine aura the devices lit up a bright (Favorite Color) before floating from their hands back into the eyes of the guards. The aura then spread throughout the ruin guards’ bodies as it encased them like a liquid.

It seemed to condense the machines bodies into the cores before each color melded together into a diamond shape. Floating over to the newly formed core (Y/n) grabbed it and all but excitedly zoomed towards the Skyfrost Nail. Looking at it with a barely hidden smirk they placed the core onto it.

At first nothing seemed to happen, but then the glow from the core seemed to be transferring into structure. This caused bright cracked to appear on it as the bright blue ice broke away in unassuming chunks together. “Now to finish the job…”

Gliding towards the chunks of ice like crystal they moved them into the desired position. Then (y/n) moved back grabbing the core again, and all but yanking it out of the nail, as the nail collapsed in on itself. Smiling at they saw the Domain’s entrance light up they moved back towards their “Ice-sculpture” placing the core in its center.

Tapping the four cores (Y/n) formed 3 and placed them near the other four. All seven cores were now forming a ··⋮·· symbol. Nodding at the work they smiled before switching to a more serious expression.

“Okay…this is the hard part…” Taking a deep breathe they infused their hands with cryo before placing them on the core once more. Focusing on it as the ice chunks melded together they made sure the cores were bonded to the ice structure before removing their hand and floating backwards a bit.

“If I’ve done this right I should hear a—“ As (Y/n) tried to finish their sentence a loud,”Du…dU…gi…ccceEE” sounded out through the area. The seven cores in the face of the structure blinked in a peculiar pattern ad they all then blinked in unison. The ice sculpture then proceeded to float upwards off the ground and stay there.

“Let’s welcome our newest protector of Dragonspine…” The ice construct released another series of beeps before flying off like Polaris did. “It will make sure that any unwanted guests stay out of Dragonspine…fortunately it’s programmed not to kill..” Hearing this the slime all gave a cheer of happiness. The hillichurls cheered as well and the Lawachurl giving a gruff hum of approval.

Smiling at them (Y/n) nodded their head before a sharp pain shot through their head and flashes of scenes and people’s faces flooded their vision before suddenly stopping. “So…I’m still connected to my earth consciousness….this will be helpful..they seem to still be playing the game…what a wondrous way to tell the future…”

Rubbed their forehead as the headache subsided they sighed in exhaustion. They told the creatures they were going to rest for a bit, making sure the small slime was back with the others for its safety. They then moved to a cliff edge of the ruin that was up high facing the border of Liyue and Mondstadt as they took a meditative position.

“I’ll rest here for a hours and try to contact Paimon…the little fairy should have felt my arrival…and I can only hope she’ll help Aether reach the summit soon…” They then closed their eyes letting the tiredness over take them as they fell a dreamlike state, though they were still aware of their surroundings incase their attention was needed.

“Just a bit more….then we will reunite my dears…”

#am i a god? neat #creator is gender neutral #creator is old #creator is the twin's parent #genshin impact #genshin impact sagau #sagau #this is heavily self indulgent #traveler is aether #Polaris a screen guardian #I'll get more into that later I promise #Help me story is getting out of hand #I need to make a taglist a masterpost and a story breakdown #who’s that pokémon #yes i added an actual pokemon this time because its one of my all time favorites

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avengerrevenger · 3 months

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Ohio Anti-Trans Laws (and what you can do about it!)

AND WHAT YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!

Please educate yourself on the contents of Ohio House Bill 68 and other related Ohio Anti-Trans laws before giving into propaganda from either side. At first, I gave in to the propaganda without reading the bill itself; people told me the most outrageous and outlandish stuff. I've heard that it would: make people who have already medically transitioned de-transition, and just a lot of misinformation. These are not related to the bill, rather some other recent Ohio laws that will be detailed later.

I read the entirety of the bill, and, if I'm not mistaken, in summary, it will effectively do the following:

1. Not allow gender-affirming care to be legally given to minors in the state of Ohio, including puberty blockers and gender affirming therapy(continued care is allowed, but only if it was already started or the person is intersex)

2. Children in schools must stay in sports leagues of their biological sex.

The bill has some potentially redeeming ideas few and far between, but for a bill like this to be useful, they need to take into consideration the age of the child, mental health status, current hormone levels, and many more things that they do not have in the bill.

(Example for #1: The bill says that no minors will be able to get gender-affirming care or puberty blockers, with the reasoning that most minors “change their mind” about being trans as they get older. This statistic is factual but does not take into consideration specific ages, as it takes into account everyone under the age of 18. Teens, for example, especially the older that they are, are highly likely to “remain trans”, while people ages 0-12 are not, as they don't understand gender and sex, and may claim to not identify as their birth sex, not realizing fully what it means.

Example for #2: It may seem logical to vote for this because it keeps males claiming to be females from just saying that they are female and beating all the competition because of their biological advantages. However, it also excludes, for example, the trans girl who has been on hormones for 7 years and now has the same levels of testosterone an average cis girl or lower has, giving her no biological advantage. It does not consider that young children are nearly identical biologically. It also forces people with female on their birth certificates to stay in female leagues, despite them not having any biological advantage, which is the only reasoning given for this section, so it is very apparent this bill is directly targeting trans people for no reason other than hate. If the terms were very specific as to hormone levels and ages, such as what I have outlined, I could understand why people would vote for it.) Simply put, in its current state, House Bill 68 is not specific enough to do more good for the cis community than harm it will do to the trans community.

In addition to this giant bill being passed and taking effect on February 15th, Ohio governor Mike DeWine signed an executive bill on January 5th, preventing any transgender surgeries for anyone under the age of 18, no exceptions, taking effect immediately. He also proposed a series of outlines for more Anti-Trans laws to come soon. He wants to force transgender people to “out” themselves to the government so they can keep detailed information on trans people for further study. No thanks. He also made a series of declarations of how he wanted it to be MUCH more difficult for *adults* to get gender-affirming care as well, requiring them to see a bioethicist before medically transitioning. How many bioethicist do you know? None? Well, that's because they're incredibly rare. There’s two offices in Cleveland, one at Ohio State, and ZERO anywhere else in Ohio, so it would be next to impossible to start or continue medically transitioning, even as an adult.

We MUST oppose House Bill 68 and encourage others to join us or it has the potential to snowball into a series of anti-trans laws in Ohio and across the country, or perhaps even a genocide (if you study the ten stages of genocide, trans people would be on stage 5 or 6, halfway or more there if this bill and DeWine’s proposals passed.)

I don't typically make it an issue of mine to pursue political activism or politics in general, but this law will directly impact many people I hold dear, with some even already making plans to leave Ohio, while being decided by people it does not impact at all.

House Bill 68 and similar laws are available for public comment until Feb 5th so anything to oppose it has to be done NOW before it is too late. We must inform the government that we the people do not approve of the bill, and why it is objectionable. This is similar to a case in Arkansas that was nullified because the bill could be seen as an offense against the 14th Amendment, under the Equal Protections clause, so hopefully the same thing will also happen to the situation here.

Some things you can do:

1. Directly contact the governor's office (About the executive order and his proposals for bioethicists to be involved in the transition process) https://governor.ohio.gov/contact

2. Leave a message for the governor: [(614) 644-4357]

3. Send a message to Ohio senators through the American Civil Liberties Union https://action.aclu.org/send-message/tell-ohio-senators-stop-hb-68-veto-override

4. Email the Ohio Department of Health ([email protected])

5. Email the Department of Mental Health and Addiction services ([email protected]), with “Comments on Gender Transition Care Rules” in the subject. These rules are about making sure trans people with mental health issues do not have access to gender affirming help.

6. Fill out this form of the Ohio Department of Health https://odh.ohio.gov/about-us/offices-bureaus-and-departments/ogc/resources/feedback-survey putting “rules 3701-3-17, 3701-59-07, 3701-83-61” in the field and explain some of the following: how you don't think Ohio should force medical professionals and therapists to keep detailed information on all trans patients about gender “incongruencies” with the patient’s birth sex (rule 3701-3-17), explain how trans people shouldn't have ludicrous restrictions on medically transitioning, (like making them go to a bioethicist to even start/continue hormones on an ADULT, much less surgery) anyone under 21 must additionally undergo mental-health screening before accessing care (with the implication that if you are mentally unwell in any form you will not receive care, and many trans people already have depression/anxiety stemming from how society views and treats them) (rule 3701-59-07 and 3701-83-61)

7. Stay updated to the current status of this bill, the executive order, and efforts against them. For more information, click here https://jessk.org/blog/things-you-can-do-right-now-for-ohio

Thanks for sticking up for peoples' rights, and have a nice day ;)

TLDR: Ohio House Bill 68 bans all gender affirming healthcare for minors, including therapy, and trans people aren't allowed to participate in sports.

A series of other Anti-Trans laws, along with an executive order from the Ohio governor plan to make medically transitioning or getting gender affirming therapy, even continued services, impossible in Ohio for adults, as well as creating a detailed registry on anyone that is identified as trans.

#ohio #ohio news #politics #democrats #democrat #leftist #leftism #left #transgender #trans #human rights #trans rights #lgbtq rights #lgbtqia #lgbtq #lgbtq community #lgbt pride #gay rights #activism

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bloodonmysqueegee · 9 months

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ASM ISSUE 30. I HAVE OPINIONS. SIT DOWN.

I told you I was gonna review any issues that are vaguely superior spidey related and that includes this one. And this one was certainly intriguing! Intresting ideas, the issues it has just stem from the entire run itself sooooo

So here we goo- superior spidey (but like the bootleg)

So here's the things I do like:

Superiors memories, or whatever echo of them are in the arms do affect Peter and while it was brief it was pretty fun. I like how Peter's posture shifts to look like Superiors (in like one panel but shhhh)

Otto and Peter (bootleg superior edtion) bickering was kinda fun to see hshdhsh Thats a concept I kinda love hehsh,.z.

The arms try to sacrifice themselves for Peter in one panel. Me when sad character growth,.,. Nice to see them technically working together tho

It's pretty much confirmed now that superior is in those arms, probably just an echo of his memories, but it could also literally be him because of how aware the arms are and that's a bit freaky and now I feel bad

The implications behind whatever was left of superior in the arms trying to literally strangle doc ock, that's harrowing in context but a intresting concept they could use because man is gonna need some SERIOUS therapy when he gets out

Also also I love that the arms punch Norman every chance they get 100% the most superior spiderman thing they would do

Things I'm a bit iffy on:

Kinda weird that everyone still kinda treats the arms as pets. I mean Jameson does at least. I know we don't know for sure how the arms work with like, Doc's memories but if he is like, aware and sentient in there OOO MAN that makes this so much weirder. Free my boy and don't treat him like that

How the fuck does Peter not suspect somethings up with the arms seemingly containing a separate consciousness. Bro hasn't even really investigated them yet

All my other complaints aren't for this issue but rather complaints for the entire Zeb Wells run itself like Doc Ock back to being an evil goofy villain that needs to get beat up again (like can we not, he doesn't need that anymore) and also on a 10x worse note, reminding me that Zeb Wells killed Ms. Marvel for no reason. I know she'll be back alive soon ut she didn't have do die the way she did 4 issues ago and Aughhhh I cannot get into that rn do not start with me

But yeah those things aren't exactly complaints with this issue so YIPPEE MOVING ON

Buddies.,., pals even

Yeah the only other thing I'll mention is what I talked about in my last couple of posts is that I'm a bit worried on how they are bringing superior back into the present without using time travel or clones (because giving the title back to og doc ock seems a bit out of the question cuz hes still evil for some reason ((I'll rant again if I go into that more)) but unfortunately that seems like it's the case rn)

It might not be that big an issue, I'll still read the new series when it comes out, but I'm just really hoping that they do him right. STILL EXCITED FOR OCTOBER THO YIPPEE NEW FOOD AND CONTENT LETS JUST HOPE ITS GOOD <3<3

Also apparently the next issue is gonna have a teaser for the next superior book, so I'll be sure to post about that :]

#otto octavius #doc ock #spiderman #superior spider man #norman osborn #superior spiderman #garfyspeaks #spiderman comics #comic spiderman #comic spoilers #coping and seeting until the next issue #i just want my boy to be treated well #or i will rewrite everything #or rant #anyways gotta go write fanfics specifically catered to me #see you when the next one comes oug #im going to be thinking about this so hard for the next 3 months #crying #superior spider-man

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squarebracketsmileyface · 2 months

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Again by ARAKI is so so so Jaylex and Timlex core in the context of ur fic

Oooooooo yes.

It got long again so hiding it for neatness

"i haven't been the same lately, I don't blame you for not wanting to stay" so Jaylex, that one's obvious, Alex was changing so much all through uni, no wonder Jay hated him so much by the end, no wonder Jay started changing too, becoming crueler and doing things that hurt Alex as much as Alex was hurting him. Alex thought he deserved it, Amy told him he didn't and tried to show him what a healthy relationship should look like. Jay ALSO thought he deserved the pain he was in from Alex not liking him back, but just in a more nebulous way rather than for any real reason. It just felt like that was how it was meant to be, for both of them.

But but but... Jam. (I assume you meant jay and Tim, rather than Tim and Alex, as Tim and Alex haven't actually technically interacted in sorry it's locked yet? Either way imma yell about jam) JAM, obviously there's the whole thing with Tim and Jay falling out of trust with each other towards the end of the series. Jay sneaking into Tim's house with a knife, Tim overpowering him and tying him up with zipties, leaving him in his house to try and keep him safe.

There's always that.

But there's also kinda a thing for if Jay hadn't died at the end of the series too. Like, if he and Tim had both survived and gone on to live together and further their relationship. Jay would have changed, he's unfortunately very very fucked in the head, and as we see in the series, pretty resistant to actually getting any therapy or anything, and that'd easily be his downfall. (One of the things he does in chapter 5 is also something he did to Alex back in uni, and like, yeah, yikes, not good. Alex wasn't the only one making that relationship toxic. They both were. Jay pushed boundaries that shouldn't have been pushed, etc)

ANYWAY, the only thing kinda holding Tim and Jay together in the fic itself right now is the whole operator thing. If that was over, it'd be a lot harder for them to ignore all the things wrong with their relationship (unfortunately, all the things wrong with Jay that he refuses to fix). Now that he's in a relationship with Tim, Jay is the problem component. Before, he and Alex were the problem (and in Jay's head, it was just Alex) but now all Jay's damage from being with Alex back in uni will be on very clear display, and eventually it'd start getting in the way of his and tims ability to have a healthy relationship. For Jay it'd just feel like a normal relationship, like this is how it's meant to be, and hed just assume something with Tim changed, like tim got tired of pretending to be a nice person and started being horrible. But in reality Tim would have been struggling so much with how Jay was treating him, and he'd stop just putting up with it once it became clear that jay didn't think there was an issue, or think they needed to go to therapy about it, because "well this is just how relationships are, sorry you can't see that tim"

Their relationship would so easily fall apart, because the only one tying real knots in the strings that attach them to each other is Tim, and jay's just haphazardly tangling threads together hoping they'll hold, and refusing how to tie real knots, because "well in all my other relationships we just tangled the strings together and it worked"

I love jay. But he needs therapy. And he'd definitely keep refusing to get it, probably because he's scared it'll somehow make him lose Tim, rather than letting him keep Tim (his brain stupid, jay thinks dumb things that make no sense, but same so it's okay) anyway, sorry. Yeah, jay's now the fucked up one in the relationship and he doesn't know what to do with that, so he assumes it's actually TIM who's the bad guy or who has changed for the worst, when really Jays the one starting most of the fights and blowing up over tiny things. And if Jay doesn't wanna do therapy about it, Tim doesn't have to put up with that, especially when they have a kid in the house. He's not having her traumatised like he was by the people who are supposed to care for her.

#asks #sorry. im rambling #yes im still giving tim jays kid #i fucking love the angst of it and i cant see sorry its locked without her anymore. shes just become part of it #sorry yhis was meant to be a lil song analysis and then just turned into rambling about one line #oh well 💀#anyway WHOOOO SONG #(just pretend i analysed all the lyrics in the context of SIL)#marble hornets #jay merrick #tim wright #alex kralie #marble hornets fanfic #mh jam #jaylex #mh sorry its locked

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tirsynni · 9 months

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Years ago (crazy to think about how many years, honestly), I started Sands of Time as writing practice to see if I could get into the practice of writing on a regular schedule (it failed). I had a bunny inspired by thinking too much about Ganondorf and his role in OoT and WW, decided it was as good as an excuse as any to work on writing regularly (failed so hard), and it ended up becoming a love letter to a game series which I've loved almost my entire life.

That fic kept going and going and taught me so much about writing, both in general and fanfic-specific. It ended up being far longer than planned, more detailed than planned, and even when I was distracted and tired and side-eyeing this massive WIP, it reminded me of how much I loved the Zelda games and the many details, overt and subtle, in them. Writing was more than just putting words on paper: it was translating the things I was passionate about. Even if there are some definite issues in the fic due to the many distractions occurring during its creation and how sometimes I wrote less because I was passionate to write and more because I was just stubborn about seeing the fic through, it's still a fic I'm very proud of. It is also, without a shadow of a doubt, my most popular fic. It is a fic that someone refused to rec because they wanted to hit lesser known Zelda fics, and holy shit, I preened when I read that.

I have been struggling with fic and fandom in the last year for many reasons, including some serious RL stressors. The other big reasons have to do with the evolution of fandom itself. I'm not talking about the rise and fall of the popularity of certain things. For example, while I'm not a fan of "reader" fic, I feel like it's a fantastic example of the things that can be done with the fanfiction medium and also a way to explore how tropes/genres/random things in fanfiction reflect different cultural changes in the same way horror movies do. What I hate, though, is the rise of negative feelings and negative takes in fandom, transforming it from a fun, collaborative atmosphere into an arena full of witch hunts, deliberately bad takes, and people terrified to write because they are afraid of being attacked for their content, pairing, writing styles, grammar, etc. I love fandom as a love letter to canon, an exploration of canon, an exploration of self and writing styles, among other things. Now it feels like it's no longer that.

Back in the Old Days, people put disclaimers on fics because they didn't want to be sued. Now people put disclaimers on things assuring readers that of course they don't advocate these things, these things are bad, they know it, they aren't a criminal, they aren't a pedophile, they aren't a Bad Person. Now I see people skip summaries just to tell people to stop attacking them for their pairing and to just let them write what they like.

I see people indulging in deliberate bad takes of the original content, of the original creators, of other writers in fandom, of different tropes, of game mechanics... fucking everything. Sometimes it's just a nasty circle. Sometimes it's done to elevate something else, because we all know the only way to elevate something is to put something else down. I understand vent sessions. I understand going to a friend and going "Holy shit, did you see that summary??? Wow!" It should stop life as a quick vent. It shouldn't make up the person's entire personality. It shouldn't require a full online presence. Hate should never be detailed in the comments. Call-out posts should be left to actual nazis, terfs, etc., not to someone who wrote a "gross" or "unhealthy" or whatever pairing. Seriously. If you waste so much time on that, you need to look into some self-exploration and therapy. In all sincerity.

Fanfiction is not a published work. It should be fun. It is put online to be shared with fellow fans. It is something where someone gets excited about something or has an idea about something or wants to explore something or just wants to write some kinky porn and then share it with fellow fans. That's why writers post work and then sit eagerly .02 seconds later waiting for people to comment on it because they want to share their thoughts and love and happiness and excitement and sadness and grief and their general emotions with others and they want those others to respond and share their thoughts and reactions, too!

I just saw a post tearing into Moffat's Sherlock series because it lacked sincerity for the audience and source material and instead indulged in its arrogance, contempt, and self-righteousness. My immediate thoughts turned to the Lord of the Rings movies. If Sherlock is remembered, it will be purely in the critical sense, an example as to how a popular series was forgotten and dismissed. LotR remains loved. It is a classic. It is something people repeatedly marathon despite the lengthy watch time. LotR was a love letter to its source material. It wasn't just the writers and directors: everyone involved was sincerely, fiercely passionate about it, and it shows. It drags the watchers in, prompted people who had never read the original to pick up the books, inspired so much fanfiction. It was sincere and passionate and loving and, in turn, its fans are sincere and passionate and loving.

The LotR movies explored and loved the genre, the characters, the message. Even when characters faltered, it didn't make them terrible people. It made watchers hold their breath, it made watchers cheer them on, it made watchers hope. Check out people who do bad takes of Frodo and his struggle with the Ring and watch how many people come out of the woodwork to defend Frodo. There was no tongue-in-cheek humor mocking the source material. There was no critical analysis of "Well, you see, this is how the hero was actually stupid." No. It was sincere. It was loving. It still makes people cry and cheer and happy even when they're wiping away a sad tear or two.

I've read fanfics where the writers insist on the worst takes for the characters. It isn't done out of humor or a teasing love or an exploration into the characters/writing styles/etc. The writers want to drag the characters down, put themselves on a pedestal, and do it not through sincere analysis but by doing the worst possible takes on the situation. This usually relies on going into the source material with a negative mindset and desiring negativity in return, feeding primarily on the negative takes of others rather than looking into the source material or looking for positive takes, or just having a "bad faith" mindset. They go into it with an axe to grind and want to drag everyone else down with them. It isn't one or two fics: it's a growing, poisonous movement which is one of the things driving people out of fandom. It isn't a love letter to the source material. It is hate and disgust and contempt and Moffat writing Sherlock, patting himself on the back all the while and surrounding himself with people doing the same exact thing.

I'm a strong believer in people writing whatever they want to write. You want to write this character being evil? Sure! You hate this character and want to make them OOC to bash them even more? Go for it! I've written so many things testing how far I could go or feeling angsty and wanting others to feel angsty or even feeling happy and grinning like a feral gremlin as people wrote comments talking about how the angst in the story made them bawl. Want to write vore? Want to write character death? Whatever! It is fucking fiction, and it should be something you can enjoy doing. Hell, an asexual person can write two people fucking without wanting to get fucked. A lesbian can write two men fucking. A pacifist can write a murder mystery. It is fiction. Write whatever you want, and I hope that you feel better after doing so, even if it is only in the catharsis way of having a bad day and getting it out by making characters bleed.

Already, I can fucking hear people insisting that all of this makes you a bad person. No. No. If you truly believe that, it means you don't understand writing. You don't understand art. OR it's not a misunderstanding but a deliberate Bad Take, an extension of the poison I described above, because you want to attack someone and you want any opening. See: Republicans going after Drag Queens now, probably not actually believing that Drag Queens are harmful but recognizing vulnerability and knowing they can manipulate others through hatred. If you truly believed that, you would be wondering about Stephen King and other writers, but instead, you use conservative attacks and uncritically promote purity culture and are oblivious to the day when the leopard turns around to eat your face.

It's exhausting. It's a growing trend that is poisoning the water that is fandom and is not only playing a part in driving people out, but is keeping people from ever trying their hand in the first place. It is keeping people from enjoying what should be a fun thing. It is fucking poisoning minds, because this is a damned slippery slope. Hammer/nail and all that. It is seeing one thing as "problematic" and knocking over one tile and then seeing a full domino effect because they never bothered to analyze what "problematic" meant or why they found that "problematic." It is people grabbing a torch with the hope they won't find themselves on the stake.

Let people enjoy fandom. Try having positive takes. Let fanfiction and fanart and fanworks in general be something enjoyable again. Maybe some people use it as a way to vent current political issues. Maybe some people want to explore certain sexual kinks and writing these two (or three or five or seven) characters going at it is a great way to do it. Maybe they had a funny thought and want to share it via fanfiction. Whatever. We can't go online and bash people like Moffat and then casually do the same exact thing. We can't bitch about conservative politicians attacking people and then use the same exact thought processes and methods to attack others.

Let people be sincere in their enjoyment. If you don't like it, find something you do like. Maybe take some time with some tools and explore things which make you happy instead of indulging in deliberate bad takes to tear others down and use those takes to bind yourself to others and their bad takes like barbwire. Remember why things like LotR lives on and makes people so happy and why Moffat's works are going to be used in classes in the future as to what not to do.

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