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moonagedaydreamohyeah · 3 years

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One other thing that’s really problematic about Steve’s ending in Avwngers: Endgame, I think, is what it says about dealing with trauma.

I’ll explain. So, along with Bucky clearly being main part of Steve’s storyline, I also feel like the main theme in Steve’s story is dealing with and overcoming trauma. The trauma of loss, PTSD, and of having to find his place in the world after coming out of the ice.

A few examples of that being made more or less explicit are these:

Here we see Steve struggling to find himself and find people who get what he’s been through.

In the conversation between Steve and Sam at the VA, Sam is showing Steve that he’s not alone, that there are people who relate. Now, obviously noone else has had the experience of being frozen for 70 years only to wake up in a different time. But at the core, Steve’s trauma consists of human experiences that are not at all uncommon: Loss, guilt, and trouble finding oneself after coming back from a traumatic experience.

Sam does this the first time they meet as well, when he asks Steve if “it’s his bed that’s too soft”, showing him that he relates to what he’s going though, and making him aware that what he is experiencing is not an uncommon thing to struggle with as a war veteran.

At the VA, he tells him about loosing his “wingman” and not being able to save him, which almost relates 1:1 to the story of Steve losing Bucky in CA: TFA.

Important note: This not only makes Steve realize that there are people that relate to his trauma, it also Steve’s trauma relatable to the viewers- Which in my opinion,gives the creators a responsibility to treat that part of his storyline properly and delicately - which I actually think that they do to some degree, up until Endgame.

When Steve visits Peggy, she encourages him to start over, and move forward. What I think she is saying here isn’s that we shouldn’t grieve, but rather that in dealing with trauma, we have to accept that we can’t go back. The trauma won’t magically go away, because it has happened. And trying our best to move forward is the best that we can do.

The way I read it, what she is also doing, is that she’s saying goodbye, and telling him not to linger, but to move on, and live, ensuring him that she has already done so.

This again at it’s core, is something a lot of us can relate to - grieving for a lost love. And Peggy says it beautifully - “the best we can do is start over” - it won’t make you happy, expecting that in a couple of years you’ll find some stone that’ll magically take you back in time to that first love that you thought was going to last forever... oh...

Okay, moving on:

So the thing is, that I think Steve does move on, to some extend. In the CA: TWS we see Steve establishing relationships based on deeper connections and shared experiences with both Natasha

As well as with Sam (see/read above) ⬆

Another important example is when Steve and Sam first meet and Sam asks how it is for Steve to have woken up in the future.

In his answer, Steve is focusing on the positive sides to being in the future, which can be read as Steve healthily dealing with his situation, but it also depicts the nuances of trauma.

What I mean by that, relates back to what Peggy was saying: “We can’t go back”. Our trauma won’t magically dissappear, and then everything is all good. In order to move on, we have to accept that we will be carrying some of that baggage with us.

But that doesn’t mean that we can’t move on, that it will always be all bad. In this clip, Steve we’re right at the start of CA: TWS, and this is Steve’s first time meeting Sam, before knowing that Bucky is alive, and before having made any friends in the future. And what he’s saying is “Yeah, I miss my old life, I’ve been through something traumatic, but nothing is black and white, and I can appreciate the things that I have now”.

In CA: CW and the later Avengers movies, Steve’s continues developing new friendships, establishes somewhat of a life, and makes meaningful decisions for himself, based on his own ideals. He gets to grieve for Peggy, and even tries dating. (The whole Steve/Shannon debacle and the way she was treated, is a discussion for a whoole ‘nother day btw).

The fact that Steve gets to have Bucky back is of course already streching it in terms of realistic reprensentation of trauma. But I think that can be allowed, given that avenging Bucky and finding a tie between his old self, somebody who knew him all along, and now, makes up a complete storyline, that, aside from working really well, also tells a beautiful story about friendship.

(I mean the whole “one soulmate presumably dies, the other wakes up 70 years later, alone and feeling guilty, and it turns out his soulmate is actually alive, having been made a dangerous asset controlled by the enemy?? *cheff kiss* who comes up with that shit - okay, I might be little bit biased in this) :):):)

- Back to the point!

So, to sum up:

Steve starts off feeling completely alone because of the unique nature of of his trauma, and realizes that at the core of it, there are people who can actually relate to what he is going through (the grief of a lost love, the loss of a friend and the guilt of not being able to save them, struggling with finding yourself as well as your place in the world, in the aftermath of a traumatic experience).

He moves on and begins letting people in, letting himself grieve and establishes new ties that bind him to his surroundings, when he finds out that there is no going back, only forward, and he is in fact not alone with his experience og trauma.

Now, Idk about those of you guys that have had to go through either one of the above or other types of trauma, but to me, this process doesn’t sound unfamiliar.

I think that a lot of the reason why so many of us fell in love with Cap’s story, with the relationship between Steve and Bucky, Sam and Natasha, and the reason why these relationships are so inspired and well-written and exciting to examine in fandom content, is because this is a beautiful story about overcoming trauma in a nuanced and realistic way, of finding out that you’re not alone, and of using that knowledge to move forward.

When Steve finally gets Bucky back, everything isn’t back to normal or okay. They both have still lost, both others and parts of themselves, and they still have to process a lot of trauma, and find their place in a new time.

But that’s okay, because overcoming trauma is possible, even if it doesn’t magically go away. And it will be okay, because they have someone by their side who can get what they’re going through.

And I think a lot of us relate to that. And I also think that that’s a really important representation of trauma and of friendship and love (be it platonic or otherwise) between men, within a far-reaching franchise such as the MCU.

But oh no, MCU just had to get in a frantic Gay Panic over the fact that people fell for these beautiful dynamics and were inspired to create stories and art examining that, to more explicitely fit the reprensentation that they need, that they threw all of out the window, just to go out of their way in both Infinity War and Endgame, to ensure that there could be interpreted exactly zero Gayness between Steve and Bucky, and not even the smallest possibility of Steve not being 100% straight would be left open,

Leading to an ending that is the exact opposite of a healthy narrative when it comes to dealing with trauma:

- Little guy gets the buff body and the Girl, and then all the bad was gone and everything was perfect -

While completely ignoring the fact that he’s leaving his life and his friends behind, to go to a place where he knows nobody and his best friend is actively being tortured, and Steve will have to not be noticed in the past, probably leading to a very isolated life.

And thus, MCU managed to fuck up when it comes to appreciating their LGBTQ+ audience, representing healthy depictions of coping with trauma, as well as male friendship and non-toxic masculinity.

Only for this short clip, that would leave us all very dissapointed and confused:

Way to go.

Thanks for reading, if you made it this far:)

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foilfreak · 3 years

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BEAUTY AND HER BEAST: Chapter 8

WARNING PLZ READ BEFORE CONTINUING: This fic is rated NSFW and contains graphic depictions of things some people may find disturbing or alarming, including, but not limited to: violence, gore, unhealthy family relationships, Oedipus complexes, gratuitous amount of pornographic literature, ableist language, physical, mental, and emotional abuse, etc. If you are someone who does not enjoy fiction with these elements in them, then I suggest you refrain from reading this, because this fic will have all that, and probably a lot more. So, this is your first and final warning to turn around and go somewhere else if stuff like this just isn't your vibe, because from this point forward, your emotional wellbeing is in your own hands, and I will not be accepting blame if you disregarded my warnings and ended up reading something you didn't like. Idk why I feel compelled to write one of these despite this being Resident Evil fanfic, but I figured I'd cover my ass just in case.

(AO3 Link Below:)

Several days had passed since Salvatore had sought out both his younger sisters, requesting items like jewelry or clothing they’d be willing to part with that Salvatore could gift to Nadine, as a sort of soft and informal introduction to ease the young woman’s mind and prove he meant her no harm.

The plan seems to be going rather well, as far as Salvatore can tell. Nadine found the gifts he’d laid out for her rather easily, and even correctly wondered if the person who lived here had left them for her purposefully. She seemed wary of the items for a time, though she seemed pretty wary of everything in the reservoir at the moment, but eventually she deemed them safe enough to accept, throwing the long white nightgown Salvatore had procured from Donna over her petit azure frame, and strapping the delicate golden locket Alcina had graciously donated around her neck.

Salvatore practically drooled when he first saw Nadine, slightly sheer satin nightgown flowing elegantly in the gentle afternoon breeze and golden chain glittering beautifully against her white speckled, ocean blue skin. She looked like a goddess, a true figure of pure ethereal power and beauty. Even the biting cold of winter wasn’t enough to touch the young woman, shielded and protected by her own glowing radiance.

Despite looking every bit like an other-worldly deity worthy of unending human devotion and worship, Nadine’s face held nothing but fear, anxiety, and loneliness as she aimlessly wandered the seemingly empty docks and windmills surrounding the reservior’s watery interior. An occasional dejected “hello?” still echoes out throughout the reservoir every few hours, growing less and less hopeful with each passing round of silence Salvatore spends hiding away from view.

The disfigured man’s heart twists and stabs in pain every time he cowers away from Nadine’s soft, anxious calls, desperately wanting to comfort the young woman in her moment of confusion and fear, but still so terrified of her inevitable reaction to his appearance that he finds himself unable to do anything but skitter shamefully to his room beneath the surface and try to drown her out with one of his old romance films.

How pitiful.

Salvatore spends much of his time lamenting and pitying himself over his soul crushing loneliness and his intense desire for a love of his own, and yet here he is, taking refuge in an old romance film while he hides himself away from the real woman he could be making his own romance film with, were he not a massive coward and a horrific freak of nature unworthy of anyone’s love and affection, of course. What a cruel irony it is, to have the one thing you want, more than anything else in the world, dangled just inches in front of your face, and yet knowing, before you’ve even tried, that it’ll never be yours.

Salvatore knows that no matter how much of a romance story this whole situation might seem like, Nadine will never be able to love him in the way the gorgeous women in the movies love their tall, dashing, dark-haired lover men. Not only was Salvatore the exact opposite of tall and dashing by literally everyone’s standards, but his patches of dry, greasy dark-hair did little to salvage the violent wreckage that was Salvatore’s whole appearance.

There was absolutely no way Nadine would ever be able to love someone as hideous as Salvatore, so perhaps the best thing to do would be to contact Miranda and inform her that, while he greatly enjoyed his gift, Salvatore didn’t feel he would be able to appreciate her in the way she deserved to be appreciated in all her beauty and wonder, and that perhaps it would be better for Mother Miranda to find better arrangements for her elsewhere.

“I-it’s for the b-best… i-i think… a-after all… Nadine… d-doesn’t want t-to live i-in a d-dingy place… l-like this for… for the r-rest of h-her… l-life… m-much less with… w-with someone l-like me… s-she’d hate th-that… im c-certain” Salvatore laments aloud, dipping his head downward as tears of painful realization and sorrowful acceptance pour down his face like waterfalls of lonely depression, already fully set on contacting Mother Miranda as soon as morning came.

“While it's very kind of you to keep my best interest in mind, I do think I am more than capable of making my own decisions regarding what’s the best place for me, thank you very much” a soft voice responded suddenly, causing Salvatore’s head to whip in the direction the sound was coming from in startled shock. “This place is a little rundown, sure, but the windmills still stand tall and the water is always just the right temperature, so I don’t think this would be the worst place to live, if I had to… so long as I wasn’t alone, at least.”

Even in the dimly lit area located at the end of the hallway, Nadine still looked so gorgeously stunning and elegant. It was incredible how she managed to sound so casual and yet look so ethereal.

In the brief moment before his panic set in, Salvatore couldn’t help but pause and marvel at the spot down the hall where the young woman stood, her gaze locked directly onto him and yet she showed no signs of having seen him. She even went as far as to begin moving about behind the large boards that blocked her from entering the room, clearly trying to get a better look at the room and, more importantly, the person she suspects is in it.

After a surprisingly large jump that launched Nadine all the way up to the ceiling, just narrowly avoiding hitting her head, Salvatore’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open in stupefied shock as the sight of Nadine, moving the way she was at the end of the hallway, brought to Salvatore’s mind a scene from one of his favorite romance films. In the particular scene Salvatore is thinking of, the actress’ character is an aspiring prima ballerina, and she’s having a brief moment of bonding with her fellow ballerina’s after a long, but successful performance. Dressed in a nightgown not too unlike the one Nadine is currently wearing, the ballerina is showing the others how to do other kinds of dance, like polka or Irish step dancing, but by the end of the scene the group of ballerinas are all merely jumping about the room excitedly, laughing and cheering while carelessly throwing themselves into the air, only to land gracefully back on their feet.

While not exactly the same obviously, the resemblance between Nadine and the absolutely stunning ballerina in the movie, in both silhouette and style of movement, was almost uncanny.

Stretched out as high as her short legs would allow, strong and gorgeously defined muscles flexed almost instinctually with every rapid twist, curl, bend, and jump of the young woman’s tiny body. Her lucious silhouette was only aided by the feminine aura of the long, sheer nightgown as it trailed after her with every movement. The delicate satin material caresses the sharp ridges of her muscular back and shoulders with the same tenderness and love as it does the weight of her breasts or the pillowy layer of protection atop her midsection. The lower half of the nightgown, cinched just below the breasts, twisted and jerked in whatever direction was necessary to keep up with the speed at which Nadine was fluttering and jumping about upon the tips of her toes. Her legs were hidden by the ferocious speed of her movements, but Salvatore did not need to see her legs to have some idea of what they were, or perhaps merely could be, capable of.

Whether or not Nadine was actually a ballerina herself, or if Salvatore’s delusions were merely that realistic now, the young woman appeared to move with nothing but effortless grace that hides the raw power and physical strength it takes to float as carelessly and as quickly as the young woman was, clearly growing more and more frustrated the longer her search failed to reveal what she was looking for.

Still paralyzed by the sudden presence of Nadine in his personal space, Salvatore could do nothing but hold his breath and hope that the light at the end of the hall didn’t reach far enough to reveal his presence in the room. The TV was still on, but the movie playing on it had finished running long ago, meaning the only thing being displayed now was a static filled screen that proved someone had been here at some point in time, but thankfully wasn’t a dead giveaway from the start.

“Helloooooooo… I heard someone talking on my way in, so I know that someone is down here. Please… just come out, ok… I won’t hurt you… honestly” the raven haired woman begs softly, her movements slowing a bit to allow more of her air to be used for speaking rather than jumping to look over beams over and over again.

Salvatore’s heart ached at Nadine’s desperate tone, knowing all too well what the mutant woman is going through right now, but trying his best to remain strong, since giving in means dooming this perfect young specimen to a life of bitter misery and unending terror, regardless of the best effort he’d try to put in. Whatever short term gain Nadine could get from being with him would only come back to bleed her dry once Salvatore was sufficiently attached, and therefore unable to allow her to leave once she inevitably decides that she’s had enough of pretending to love a disgusting freak of nature.

Salvatore had never been very good at accurately predicting the outcomes of situations, but he knew for certain that Nadine was in no way deserving of the hellish punishment that living in the reservoir with him would undoubtedly become, if it didn’t start out that way from the beginning, that is. Perhaps the young woman could convince herself to accept her situation and play into his affections as a means of survival for a short time, but based on what he’s heard of Nadine thus far, Salvatore doubts such a strongwilled and dangerous woman would allow herself to play wife and sex slave to anyone for very long. If she didn’t somehow successfully murder him in his sleep within the first 48 hours of her “slavery”, it would only be a matter of time before she finally ran out of patience and unleashed... whatever the hell it was she did back in the labs, upon him.

For a brief moment, Salvatore entertains the question of whether Nadine could potentially be strong enough to take him out with a single hit, as well as whether that thought should be something he finds arousing or not. His thoughts are quickly interrupted however, by the sound of shuffling and grunting, and upon turning his head toward the sudden racket, Salvatore is horrified to see Nadine, just small enough to fit her tiny body between the thin cracks of the boarded up wall, attempting to climb through the barrier, and enter the TV room.

Body shaking and voice beginning to tremble slightly, alongside his already labored breathing, Salvatore unsteadily backed his way further into the room, putting his hands out in front of him as if to try and stop Nadine from entering, though he makes no move to physically eject the invading woman himself, oddly enough.

“N-nooo… p-please… don’t come i-in...” Salvatore stutters helplessly, shrinking further in on himself in fear as the young woman effortlessly slips through the wooden boards like a slippery eel, quickly and easily landing on her feet before turning back to the mostly darkened room.

“H-Hello?” Nadine calls out again nervously, taking a tentative step forward, both hands extended outward beside her until her left hand made contact with the wall. Gaining some purchase on the vertical slabs of wood, Nadine slowly turns her head to look about the room, carefully inspecting everything from atop the surface of Salvatore’s messy desk, to the very dark corner in the back right of the room that Salvatore himself was currently shoved as far into as physically possible.

Nadine stuck her arm out in front of her and began slowly walking toward the opposite wall, eyes open, but unfocused, and right hand waving aimlessly in the air for a brief moment, as though trying to feel around for the other wall despite it clearly being right in front of her. The hooded man had no idea how she hadn’t seen him yet, he could practically feel how absolutely ridiculous he looked, his bony, weathered, turtle-esque body hunched as low to the ground as possible with his chin tucked between his knees and hands covering the rest of his face, leaving only the smallest bit of space through which he could observe Nadine’s inevitable reaction to him. And yet, despite the amount of time the young woman spent glancing over Salvatore, back and forth across the room, her bright golden eyes resembling that of a ravenous alligator in their intensity and ferociousness, no scream left her plush lips nor did fear and horror suddenly mar her supple face. In fact, not only had the mutant woman not seen him yet, but it was in that exact moment that the reason why Nadine couldn’t see Salvatore, obviously shoved into the corner, just to her bottom left, became immediately clear to him.

“Y-You’re blind...”

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ganymedesclock · 5 years

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So it’s been a while since I’ve really posted about some goshdang rocks on this blog but I have been staying posted with Steven Universe and it’s really starting to bother me how often I’ve seen people in the fandom insinuating Change Your Mind, or the show at large, is naively idealistic in the way that it handles talking to dangerous people.

Here’s the thing: I don’t think there’s anything naive or idealistic about SU as a show and how it depicts talking to people.

First and foremost, Steven does not ever successfully talk to people in a situation where he hasn’t protected himself. When he does, it’s a bad thing. Steven doesn’t get the upper hand on White because he makes bambi eyes at her and sniffles a little and goes “oh granny won’t you be nice to me” and she immediately falls over herself to go “oh my goodness you beautiful baby child how could I ever have thought to wrong you.”

White endangers Steven. And at that point, Steven makes considerable emphasis to protect himself and his friends. Neither half of split Steven waste much time looking at White or acknowledging her. Their focus is on each other. Steven takes care of himself first. He makes sure he’s safe and healthy.

Thing is? Pink split Steven makes it clear that White can’t hurt him. She literally tries. She gets steamrolled. She’s lying unconscious on the floor at the point that Steven’s halves reconcile.

Steven at no point neglects protecting himself to negotiate with people. Even as early as Monster Buddy half of his argument at protecting Nephrite is the awareness that she’s obviously not trying to hurt him and becomes dangerous when she’s triggered by the senior CGs’ overbearing interventions. Steven not attacking Nephrite is literally the sensible thing here and the Crystal Gems are wrong because they assume that being violent will fix everything in absence of factual evidence. Steven is in no danger. The reason things go to hell at the climax of Monster Buddy is because Garnet’s earlier violent behavior meant that the sight of her summoning her weapons was a trigger for Nephrite- and, even then, she still protects Steven, the person who was consistently nice to her.

This is not a whimsical fantasy scenario. If you use brute force to push people around, they will remember, and will either resent you or panic when it seems like you’re about to hurt them again. If you’re up against someone who is motivated primarily by fear, don’t scare them.

“Violence isn’t the solution here” in this case is not an arbitrary nicey-pants talking point where “oh but see if you just sing songs and hold people’s hands they will all universally like you!” it’s talking about the fact that you need to actually meaningfully develop your response to situations based on information. Nephrite is a traumatized soldier suffering from an affliction that makes her easily startled. When she’s able to maintain a clear head, Steven is readily able to observe that she is friendly and willing to work with him. Steven not being violent to Nephrite is based in the fact that she is not a threat, and the Gems are failing to reevaluate because they’re just assuming she’s a threat based on prior behavior (and likely some bias- both out of the assumption that corruption can’t be cured and out of knowing Nephrite is a Homeworld soldier) and they’ve stopped observing what she’s actually doing.

The show doesn’t even exaggerate how much or how well talking to people works. We see people rebuff Steven (e.g. Jasper in Earthlings). We see people indifferently stonewall his overtures of friendship (Peridot in Marble Madness). We see people who take fondly to him because he’s nice to them but frankly trust him as far as they could throw him and don’t feel that bad selling out his friends (Lapis in The Return).

We see people give him a blank look of “are you actually kidding me” when he tries to talk to them (Aquamarine in Stuck Together)

Heck- the entire thesis of Beach City Drift is that Stevonnie needs to reevaluate the way they’re responding to Kevin because he’s engaging with them in bad faith and using it as an opportunity to mess with them.

The idea that this is unrealistic because, we guess Stevonnie doesn’t decide that Kevin messing with them means they need to take him out back and extrajudicially execute him on the spot just tells us something: Our culture has been spoonfed the idea, over and over and over again and mostly through popular cartoons, that violence is the default solution for problems.

This is an idea that SU is deliberately deconstructing like in Monster Buddy. Because- why are Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl just assuming Nephrite can’t be trusted? In-universe, they have their reasons, but those reasons are also wrong.

However, we have to consider that Steven was clearly operating on the assumption all the monsters are bad even though he was able to observe that some of the monsters were only dangerous by accident (the worm from Bubble Buddies).

He assumed the monsters were dangerous even though time and time again, they largely only targeted the Crystal Gems, and most of them were in remote environments hiding, and only are drawn out of hiding because the Crystal Gems deliberately hunt them down.

And this is an assumption so pervasive that when given starkly contradictory evidence in Monster Buddies, his initial reflex is to defend this viewpoint- saying Nephrite “isn’t like the other monsters” and then trying to tell her “you’re not a monster any more!” when she never was in the first place. She only seemed “like a monster” because Steven was fed a specific narrative from people who were in some ways ignorant to the reality of Nephrite’s situation, and in others withholding information. And Steven is not a gullible, unobservant, or callous person.

Here’s the thing: before we as an audience are told anything about the Gem monsters, we accept that. We take it as a given the Red Eye is going to crash into Beach City just because it’s bad. We assume the “Centipeetles” are hostile even though Nephrite’s drones are frankly no more aggressive than you’d expect a stray cat loose in your house to be, and Pearl is the one calmly standing there snapping one’s neck.

Personally, I grew up with the high fantasy genre. Heavy door-stopper books with dragons on the cover, and games like Final Fantasy. This is a genre that most popular codifying installments of give you broad, sweeping pastoral environments chock full of monsters that live exclusively to fight and kill you, and you need to kill them first. Anything that you shouldn’t kill on sight is going to immediately broadly flag you down so that you know not to murder this one. And killing monsters is never wrong. The ones that you aren’t supposed to kill, the narrative will coddle you so that you could never even think they might be just like the intrusive offal.

Sometimes you’re explained these monsters, they’re especially bad, because they did this bad thing or caused that bad thing to happen. Often you don’t actually witness it. Sometimes there’s simply no explanation given at all, but they are called “goblins” and they look strange and pointy and dangerous compared to the pretty likable-looking Heroes, and that’s supposed to be all the evidence you need to never worry if your heroes run them through.

We don’t worry, even if these monsters are actually people. We don’t worry even if they will directly talk to you and make it clear they believe they’re doing the right thing. After all, they have an entry in the in-game bestiary, and if they were really good, the game wouldn’t have given us the option to kill them, right?

When I hear people talk about “villains” and which villains are entitled to “redemption arcs”, what I hear overwhelmingly is thinking that sprouted from that genre, those games and those books. I hear, basically, the indoctrination that we just accept that worlds just have a bunch of Evil Things and the way to solve Evil is to kill it, and that the world will gently guide our hand so if it’s not actually Evil, then it will throw up its hands and drop to the floor and the battle music will stop and all of our combat commands will lock up.

We accept that Nephrite is evil, going in. Even though, actually watching that first episode, she’s standing on the outside of the Gem Temple, and doesn’t attack until the Crystal Gems barge out to threaten her. Nephrite is written from the very beginning of the show as an expression of its thesis statement.

Nephrite does not fling herself to the ground and whimper for mercy and try to stagger back to her proper Gem form as soon as she’s encountered. Nephrite is written, deliberately, as a monster. We accept that she’s here to be a threat for Steven to beat to prove himself. We accept that her pain doesn’t matter because she’s a monster.

We accept, in effect, that she is not a character with a life or a story. We accept that she is merely an empty receptacle for Steven’s fighting capabilities and inventiveness.

That’s preposterous. That’s ridiculous. If you suggest someone disagreeing with you is actually just an empty caricature of a person here to galvanize your growth as a person, or just show off what you’ve learned or accomplished since your past, people would look at you like you’d grown another head and rightfully so. There’s nothing “realistic” about that.

But it’s pervasive. It’s everywhere. And when patterns are repeated endlessly and repeatedly and constantly we get used to them.

It’s why Steven Universe, why Undertale, why even Off are treated as subversive narratives, even though they’re actually more realistic.

“But Clockie,” you say, “the Diamonds were so willing to talk and listen to Steven! That’s preposterous!”

“They sure weren’t in The Trial, or most of Reunited,” I say. “In fact the only reason they’re shown to have changed their mind so quickly is because Steven had a direct personal connection to them, and is that really so unlikely- that these people who have been alive for thousands of years and live at the heart of a densely populated empire would actually have connections with other people, who would not all homogeneously believe the same thing? That they could meet and interact with others who might change their opinions even slightly?”

And even then both Blue and Yellow try to talk Steven out of actually trying to say anything to White. And Steven literally points out why he’s doing this: because they tried fighting White, they tried fleeing White, and none of that worked. It failed to meaningfully change anything. And forcing change through by murdering White and standing on her corpse would just repeat the doomed rebellion because the staged murder of Pink Diamond just entrenched more people against the Crystal Gems.

Steven literally criticizes the refusal to attempt any form of negotiation as impractical. Because it is. The only reason people genuinely think violence as a narrative cure-all works is because we are basically raised in narratives- even narratives that are otherwise optimistic, friendly, and colorful- where the only solution is murder.

#Steven Universe #writing ruminations #readmore

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x0401x · 5 years

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Flower Symbolism in Tsurune

The amount of plant representation in this franchise has considerably increased with the release of the DVDs and KyoAni’s latest spring campaign, so it seems more than appropriate to make this kind of post right now. This post has been bettered thanks to @bowcrazy. Most of the symbolisms refers to individual characters, so I’ve separated them by the official character line-up order.

I’m gonna start with the ones that represent everybody.

Yesterday-today-tomorrow: I’m guessing that this one is the flower that appears during the opening and ending. They seem to also be the ones appearing behind Minato in the DVD bonus artworks as well, so I’ll get to them below soon enough.

Iris: This one is mentioned twice in the novel, and in one of those mentions, they seem to refer to the Kazemai boys. It has many meanings, the most common ones being faith, hope, wisdom, courage, valor and admiration. In Japanese flower language, they’re associated with good news, glad tidings and loyalty. Gifting someone with irises normally means “your friendship signifies so much to me”, and they’re often used in Japan on Boys’ Day.

Now, the flowers below are the ones shown behind each of the characters in the artworks that come with the DVD/Blu-ray sets.

Sen & Man

Amaryllis: Stands for pride and self-confidence. Its message is “if you’ve got it, flaunt it”, and boy, are the twins arrogant. But here’s what’s truly interesting about this flower: it’s normally associated with one-sided feelings, lmao. The red ones, like most red flowers, are linked to passion and love, be it requited or not. I really wanna try to pretend that Senichi staring at Shuu in that artwork instead of ahead like his brother is doing has absolutely nothing to do with this, but damn, it’s hard. I won’t lie; this kind of depiction of the Kirisaki trio (literally every single thing about it) had been on my official art wishlist for a long time.

Shuu

Tulip: Its general significance is “perfect, enduring love”, but there’s also a variety of other meanings to it:

Undying passionate love, whether the passion is spurned or returned

Royalty and a regal nature

Forgotten or neglected love

Abundance, prosperity, and indulgence

Charity and supporting the less fortunate

There’s probably no better flower to describe Shuu’s character. The undying love surely refers to archery *cough* and Minato *cough*. He does have a regal, noble-like nature, and has been overflowing with talent from the very start. The neglected love might be a reference to his family, but it might also apply to Shuu hitting a wall at the end of volume 1. The part about charity and supporting the less fortunate is probably an allusion to Shuu growing softer and helping out the twins after Manji gets target panic. Moreover, the tulips behind Shuu in that artwork are white, which are used to claim worthiness.

Nanao

Osmanthus: The flowers that represent the Kazemai boys have very similar meanings and I’m pretty sure that’s on purpose. The osmanthus signifies happiness, good fortune and prosperity. This flower is known for being attention-grabbing due to its strong scent, and that may refer to Nanao’s popularity with girls. It’s also nicknamed “emperor’s flower” and “emperor’s jasmine” in some languages, which might be a reference to how Nanao is depicted as prince-like in the novel.

Kaito

Cornflower: This one also stands for good fortune and prosperity. However, it has a special focus on friendship as well, and considering that “friendship” is the keyword of Kaito’s character arc, it only makes sense. This flower comes in a variety of colors, but there are only blue and pink ones behind Kaito. The main people of Kaito’s character arc and development other than Kaito himself are Nanao and Seiya, so the colors surely represent the two of them respectively. The fact that the crushing majority of the flowers is blue is without doubt a purposeful detail.

Ryouhei

Peony: Yet another good fortune and prosperity flower. They also carry the meaning of bashfulness. The ones behind Ryouhei are red, which is considered a symbol of luck. The message of peonies is “striving to act honorably” and “sharing one’s love with others to improve their lives as well”.

Sunshine child exists to bless everyone. No news here.

Seiya

Daisy: This one has different meanings depending on its variations, but the generally accepted meanings are innocence, purity, new beginnings and true love. Giving daisies to someone also normally means that the sender might be keeping a secret.

Daisies are often used to represent motherhood as well. The ones behind Seiya are English daisies, which are often paired with primroses in order to symbolize motherly love.

Minato & Masaki

The symbolism resolving around these idiots comes in a set and it’s literally impossible to separate them since one either also applies to the other or is about one’s feelings regarding the other.

I’ll start with the flowers on the DVD/Blu-ray’s artworks.

Jersey lily: Lilies carry a variety of meanings, but red ones stand specifically for passion. Jersey lilies, on their own, normally represent:

Perseverance and resilience

Happy memories

Brilliance, radiance

The messages of jersey lilies are “you have a lovely smile” (Minato would tell you about it, lmao) and “I look forward to when we meet once again”. Now the last one was a punch to the gut.

Yesterday-today-tomorrow: This one is also known as kiss-me-quick, and the irony is ridiculous. It’s a flower normally associated with the stages and the passage of time, as the name denounces. In Japanese flower language, it carries the meaning of:

Good fortune, just as everyone else

Inconstant, fickle person

Passionate

That’s a very Minato-like flower, considering how much he wavers and how open he is to doing the unexpected. The passion part goes without saying.

Now on with the novel stuff.

Oak: The trees surrounding Yata Shrine. It stands for wisdom and strength.

Bamboo: Minato compares Masaki’s shots with bamboo sprouts at some point. They symbolise resilience and inspiration.

Cherry blossom: The story begins with the first day of school, which means spring, which means cherry blossoms everywhere. There also seem to be cherry flower petals raining all over the DVD/Blu-ray artworks, which makes me believe that this flower applies to all the main characters. Still, Kirisaki doesn’t show up until the cherry blossoms are already gone, and Minato meets Masaki for the second time when the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, so I dare say the flower applies to both of them in a very particular way.

This flower is used to remind people that life is short yet beautiful, often represent gentleness and femininity, and symbolize the short-lived beauty of youth. They’re also an allurance to new beginnings and the start/renewal of a cycle, since they are a common symbol of the coming of spring. They’re usually an allegory for romance as well, but plot devices aside, I don’t think this one should be considered.

Azalea: Amongst other things, they mean “remembering your home with fondness or wishing to return to it”, “caring for yourself and your family”, “temperance and emotional evenness”, and “delicate/developing passion”. The part of remembering home with fondness and wanting to return to it definitely refers to archery, and I’m pretty sure that this is emphasized by the fact that the chapter of the novel in which azaleas are mentioned is titled “Home”. “Caring for yourself” surely refers to both Minato and Masaki, but “caring for your family” might refer to Masaki alone in this case, since he was shooting in order to send his grandfather’s soul to rest. Temperance and emotional evenness surely refers to Masaki alone, lmao. Delicate and developing passion, though, refers to the two of them without a doubt.

In Japanese flower language, the message of azaleas is “take care of yourself for me”. Now this is an extremely fascinating piece of information, because Minato and Masaki basically act like that with each other all the time, both conscious and subconsciously. Masaki is always giving Minato advice on how to improve not only his technique but also his life, and all Minato learns from him never fails to turn out useful for very personal matters, and normally serves as Minato’s trigger to solve each and every one of his problems. In contraposition, Minato never shies away from showing how important Masaki is to him, which always instigates optimistic changes on Masaki as a person and influences on big decisions in that have impact not only in his life but also on Minato’s (because literally everything one does affects the other at some point). In a way, one usually takes the initiative to care for himself after receiving positivity and affection from the other.

Spotted bellflower: Bellflowers are a symbol of gratitude and unwavering love. For some reason, the author specifies spotted bellflowers, which are known for their heart-shaped leaves.

Primrose: Minato seems to be holding a bouquet of primroses in the newest art for KyoAni’s spring campaign, and rather than representing him, they most likely represent his feelings. This one has the connotation of something special and of telling somebody you can’t live without them. Its main meanings are youth, love, new beginnings, rapture, new life, blindness, birth/rebirth and supertition, and if this shit doesn’t make y’all flashback at the speed of light to Minato and Masaki’s encounters at night in Yata Shrine, I don’t know what would.

But wait. It gets worse.

Primroses are a representation of the many stages of life, but they mostly stand for youth due to also representing the incapability to have a realistic image of the world when we are in love, as the initial moments of love have people in reverie and blind them a bit. Another meaning that it carries is the fact that there’s an end to each life on this planet. All of that seems to bring back not only the nights in Yata Shrine but also the truck accident and what happened afterwards.

These flowers also seem to apply to volume 2, since they symbolize our fallacies about love and other people, which both lead to disappointments and teach us important lessons. It also stands for protection and safety, and that might as well refer to the entirety of both volumes.

Victorians consider primroses as a symbol of bashfulness, inconsistency, young loves, and neglected merits. The message of primrose is “I cannot live without you”, and Minato literally can’t live without a certain somebody, so it seems legit enough.

#tsurune #tsurune kazemai koukou kyuudoubu #narumiya minato #takigawa masaki #takehaya seiya #fujiwara shuu #onogi kaito #kisaragi nanao #yamanouchi ryouhei #sugawara senichi #sugawara manji #kyoani #kyoto animation #morimoto chinatsu #ayano kotoko

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nancydrew65 · 5 years

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SKAM NL Season 2 Episode 8 Thoughts

So, I just realized that SKAM Dutch, the tumblr page that posts translated clips and text messages from the show, also labels how each clip is related to the episode, including which episode it belongs in! I am an idiot for not noticing this sooner. Now, I can post reactions sooner. Hurrah!

I Miss You

Liv wakes up hungover in Noah’s room lying in bed beside Morris and the blonde girl from the party.

Oh my god, I just realized this because I watched all the clips that just came out, but when Liv puts on her clothes, she doesn’t put on her bra. Rewatching this scene to write this reaction was one of the hardest things I have ever done.

As Liv leaves the house, she gets a bunch of messages from an unknown number. It is Noah and he lost his phone. He doesn’t want any more space and he texts her that he loves her. What a punch to the gut for Liv.

She has to throw up/retch by a tree. I have to say that lead-up was very realistic. I saw it in her before she did it that she was going to throw up.

And here starts the spiral into doom

What Happened Last Night?

Liv takes a shower at home, very similar to what Grace did in SKAM Austin. She buries herself into her covers and tries to fall asleep.

Ralph barges in and soon sees that something is wrong. He is worried about her not going to school and offers to make her juice! Sweetest Eskild ever. He is so attune to Liv’s feelings. I love him so much. I hope Liv confides in him soon.

Under the sheets Liv looks at all her messages and decides to send one to Morris asking what happened the night before. I think this is one of the hardest things that the Noora character is put through. Not only was she possibly raped or sexually assaulted, but she has to message her possible assaulter just to find out what really happened.

Flashbacks

This clip was… I almost felt physically sick watching it.

Liv is scrolling through instagram - there was an easter egg to SKAM with fan art of Noora - and looks through Morris’ profile. She finds a photo with Morris and the blonde girl who was in bed with them. Her name is Marie Van Aspen. So, this girl appears to be the Mari character. I really hope she and Liv have a scene together because she was so funny at the party.

Liv then searches for signs of whether or not you have had sex. My dear, poor girl.

Liv watches a youtube video of a girl who went through a similar experience as her, where she was drugged and taken advantage of in Las Vegas. I think it is really important for Liv to watch that video so that she realizes that whatever happened, it was not her fault.

There’s a knock at the door. Noah is outside, looking for Liv. She ignores him and he finally goes away when she texts him that she has the flu.

And then Morris texts Liv back and oh my god… SKAM NL just did that. So, I think SKAM NL set certain things up to make Liv’s situation seem better than other Noora’s, like how Ralph was so supportive and sweet and how Liv watched that really helpful, inspiring video of the girl who had been sexually assaulted. I think they did all that to shock us with this new reveal. For one, Morris responds much quicker than any other version of Niko and there is no fake-out text where he tells her nothing happened, she reunites with William, and then he texts her again and shows her the naked photo he took of her. Instead, we get this wholly awful scene where Morris texts Liv a video he took at the party where Liv is in bed wearing only her bra. In the video, Morris pulls back the covers of the bed and proceeds to slip Liv’s bra off, leaving her breasts exposed.

This is… shocking and horrible to say the least. I really wish there had been a trigger warning. Morris is easily the worst of the Nikos. And I feel kind of uncomfortable ranking the relative awfulness of each version of this character because each version is a terrible person. However, there is a large difference between Noora stripping and Niko taking a photo of her naked (still absolutely disgusting) and Morris approaching an almost unconscious Liv and stripping her bra off while she is protesting. That is sexual assault. And we don’t know if anything else happened… But that is so, so terrible regardless. I made an earlier post where I said I thought it would be interesting watching a version of Season 2 where Noora actually got assaulted because I thought it would be an incredibly complex and important storyline to tackle…. And I guess, be careful what you wish for. I am already so upset and horrified after one clip.

I Had to Do It

Liv is doing the wash and there is a very beautiful contrast between the white of the clothes and the dark hoodie Liv is wearing and the dark colors of her room.

Noah shows up with groceries. How domestic. No, I’m kidding. That was really sweet of him, probably one of the nicest things a person can do in a relationship tbh.

Liv explains that she isn’t angry anymore about him fighting, but she is sick and needs time to think. They share a kiss, so there’s hope. (Who am I kidding? I just watched the latest SKAM NL clip where a version once again leaves a version of Noora collapsed on the ground crying. I am very pissed off, but I will get more into that next episode.)

There was a great visual moment when Liv closes the door and leans back on it. She turns to the left where the glass part of the door is and through the frosted glass we see Noah’s silhouette. Very poignant. Once he leaves, she opens the door and grabs the groceries.

I Don’t Remember Anything

There was a trigger warning at the beginning of the clip, so at least SKAM NL took its fans thoughts into consideration.

Liv bakes cookies for Ralph and Jayden, but doesn’t have any herself. Is this a hint of her eating disorder? I know they kind of brushed that off in SKAM Austin and I can’t tell if they are doing that here.

Jayden comments on how put together Liv is… and that broke my heart because Liv is falling apart inside and she feels like she has to put up this strong front. Let people in!!!!! Tell the girls!!!!

Liv gets a call from her mother who sounds quite busy. Like the only time you can call your daughter is when you are in the car? Really? She does sound more concerned and invested in Liv’s life than her father who is really only interested in Liv’s music. And we got confirmation that Liv’s dad is experienced in the music industry.

This also made me notice that the record company meeting is probably equivalent to the article Noora had to write. That kind of makes it more sad, in my opinion. In Noora’s case, yeah, the article was a great opportunity to invest in her job goals, but for Liv it seems more serious. Music is something she loves and hopes to make a career in. This meeting could have potentially life-changing consequences for her and it is all ruined because of Noah’s asshole of a brother.

Liv’s mom suggests getting a plant (an offer Liv takes eventually) and tells her daughter that she is always there to talk. So, I feel like Liv’s mom actually does care about her daughter, but is a bit distant and is not really great in initiating contact.

Liv goes back to her room. Ralph asks to use Liv’s computer to look up a recipe to cook for Benny, his sweetheart. He finds what I assume is a website looking for symptoms of if you’ve been raped. We don’t know for sure.

He immediately confronts Liv about it. She yells that it’s not her fault. 1. It is incredibly sad that she has to assume that is what Ralph thinks, but 2. At least she doesn’t think it’s her fault.

Liv has a breakdown/panic attack and Ralph goes and hugs her, telling her she doesn’t have to go through this alone.

Now, I really enjoyed this scene, don’t get me wrong. I think SKAM NL has developed Ralph and Liv’s friendship very well this season. However, they do get rid of what is, in my opinion, Noah’s best scene in the season. And honestly, I would have cared more had I not just seen the scene where Noah confronts Liv. Now I’m glad they gave this scene to Ralph because Noah does not deserve it.

You Don’t Have to be Ashamed of Anything

While I am so so so so so glad that Liv has a support system much sooner than in other remakes… I am kind of uncomfortable about how SKAM NL handled it. I really wish Liv could have told the girls on her own, not have it something that was discovered. Despite how terrible it was watching Noora suffer alone, it was such a relief when she finally confided in the girls. I wish Liv could have been allowed to have that same initiative. She seems very reluctant when she is telling the story to the girls.

The girls (and Esra!) all arrive at the apartment (i’m pretty sure Ralph called them) to talk with Liv. I am glad that she explained the whole story to them and that Ralph didn’t just tell the girls all the details.

Speaking of the details, can we acknowledge how courageous Liv was to have showed them the video?

I loved the juxtaposition of everyone on one side of the bed, watching the video with Liv by herself on the other end. And as soon as the video ends, Isa and Engel climb right back to Liv’s side. It is kind of a metaphor for saying, we are here for you, it’s not your fault.

Esra says to go to the police… and yeah. Liv should most definitely go to the police. I am not very happy with SKAM NL executed the whole confrontation scene between Liv and Morris, but I will get more into that next episode. Long story, short: I wish they had adapted it better to the unique situation Liv is in, a situation vastly different from OG.

Liv doesn’t want to go to the police, but Engel convinces Liv to at least confront Morris. Janna says she will fight Morris bare-breasted. That is something I would like to see. Fight him, Janna!

Liv seems to get a renewed sense of confidence and messages Morris to meet with her.

General Thoughts

This has been probably my favorite episode in the whole season so far. I thought SKAM NL did a great job depicting Liv’s anguish and struggle (Zoe Love Smith is a fantastic actress, she is killing these extremely intense scenes) and despite how hard it is to watch, I am really glad they gave us a version where the Noora character is assaulted. For dramatic storyline purposes, I wish we had gotten the next clip (where Liv confronts Morris) as the last clip for this episode, but I understand that they have to distribute clips accordingly to each episode. That is really all I have to say.

#skam nl #skam remakes #skam reaction

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emphoenixcat · 6 years

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Raindrops

Summary: Despite his emblem being a stormcloud, Virgil has never experienced rain. Roman fixes that.

Pairing: Prinxiety

Warnings: Over the top fluff. Excessive fluff. You have been warned.

It’s really late. The later it becomes, the more one can argue that it’s actually early.

Logan and Patton have fallen fast asleep, leaning against one another on the couch. Roman sits on the floor and is still wide awake, completely enraptured by the movie that’s currently playing on TV, even though he has seen it more times than he can count. Virgil sits next to him and is fighting to hold his eyes open, actually enjoying the movie Beauty and the Beast.

Although he has also seen it before, he loves happy endings. No, he doesn’t just love happy endings, he desperately needs happy endings. He needs them because….well, he isn’t even sure why. He just knows that any other ending leaves a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach and a dull pounding in his head.

The scene currently playing on screen is the moment where the rain is pelting the castle and the Beast is on the brink of death. Virgil leans forward, his eyes still on the movie.

“Roman?” the anxious side whispers.

“Huh? Hm what is it, Virge?”

“Why is it always raining on all the really distressing scenes?” he turns to look at the Prince.

“Oh, I suppose that’s because storms symbolize change, transformation, and danger in stories. It can sometimes represent the inner turmoil of the characters.”

Virgil grimaces, “Oh….”

Roman glances at him, “Something wrong?”

“....is that why Thomas chose my emblem to be a stormcloud?”

The Prince looks thoughtful, “Quite possibly. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing, it can also represent new beginnings and growth. Let’s not forget that some of the most romantic scenes take place in the rain! And I rather enjoy rain, it’s quite....purifying.”

“Really? I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“Roman narrows his eyes, “Are you telling me that you have never experienced rain before?”

“You’re the one with the kingdom, Princey. You’ve never really liked me enough to invite me on your little ventures, remember?” Virgil rolls his eyes.

Roman gasps dramatically, “Okay, get up. It’s adventure time!”

“Wh--what are you talking about? It’s like 3am.”

“That’s the best time to get caught in a storm.” The Prince replies, helping Virgil off the ground.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he mutters. Roman simply grins as they make their way to his room, careful not to wake the others.

The anxious side watches apprehensively as Roman opens his door, but the room is….

ordinary.

Well….as ordinary as a room of a royal could be.

It is unbearably bright in Roman’s room and Virgil impulsively shields his eyes with his arm, still trying to get a good look at the place. The ruby-hued walls are adorned with Disney posters and fancy-looking art pieces. Upon closer inspection, the art pieces are all paintings that the Prince has created himself, each signed in Roman’s gaudy, cursive handwriting. One of the pictures stand out among the rest, immediately catching Virgil’s interest. It was them. The Sides. Roman has painted them, painted him.

It is a four paneled painting and in the first panel, Roman appears to be dramatically singing. In the second, Patton holds a plate of cookies, a pleasant smile on his face. In the next, Logan is nose-deep in a book. His brow furrowed in concentration. In the last panel, is Virgil---he has his eyes closed, a slight smile upon his face as he wraps his hands around his headphones and gets lost in the music.

He instinctively reaches out to touch the image lightly.

Why is he up here with them? Princey doesn’t care about him. Certainly doesn’t think he is significant enough to paint. Yet….here he is.

“I hope you like it. It took me hours to paint all of you. Actually, yours was the most difficult.” Roman says from behind him.

Virgil turns, his eyes still filled with dazed disbelief. “You--you spent hours? --Wait, why was mine the most difficult?”

“I had to get the expression just right. I wanted the most accurate depiction of you. I pride myself on perfect detail. Anything less and it is a disgrace.”

“But why paint me?”

Roman frowns, “Well, you’re just as much a part of Thomas as we are. Besides, it’s supposed to be reminiscent of the four seasons. See? I’m Summer, Patton’s Spring, Logan’s Winter, and you’re Fall.”

Virgil glances at it again, noticing the details of the differing backgrounds. “I just didn’t think you would include me.”

“Virge….”

Virgil shakes his head, brushing off Roman’s concern. Too strange.

He walks over to a full-length mirror with an ornate golden frame. He scoffs, “Can’t get enough of yourself, can you?”

Roman chuckles, “I’ve got to look my best. A mirror is a must.”

Virgil scans the rest of the room. There is a velvet bedspread on a king-sized cushion, a floor that seems to be made out of glitter, and a ceiling that isn’t a ceiling at all, but a sky full of stars.

The sky twinkles realistically and he swears he saw a shooting star whiz by.

Roman smirks at Virgil’s stunned face. “You like?” I decorated everything myself. The sky was a bit challenging though.”

“This is--this is….how?”

“You think this is cool, just wait ‘til you see the rest!”

Virgil gawks at him, “The rest?”

Roman rolls his eyes, “I have a kingdom, remember? This part is just my room, the place I go to rest after a long day of traveling and fighting.”

“Uh, how big is your part of the mindscape exactly?”

When Roman shrugs, Virgil figures it is best that their little journey end here. The last thing he needed was to embarrass himself and have a panic attack in front of Princey, of all people.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’ll just do this another day. It’s like super late and---hey!”

Before Virgil can finish protesting, Roman has grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the closet. Except, it wasn’t just a closet.

Virgil wrenches his arm away in exasperation, “What the hell? Give me warning next time before you drag me into fuckin’ Narnia! Your world is in the closet, like really?”

The Prince smiles sheepishly, “Heh, you heard what Thomas said. Some of his most artistic ideas and musings happened when he was an awkward teenager. It’s kind of fitting that this realm exists in a closet.”

Virgil can’t help, but laugh at that. “This is so stupid.”

“Don’t laugh at my world!” Roman says indignantly.

“I’m not laughing at your world, I’m laughing at the location of your world.”

“Same thing!”

“Oh, whatever! Look, can we just get this over with?”

While Virgil is enjoying the weirdness of Roman’s realm, he can’t help being a bit uneasy about it. Things were more unpredictable here after all.

Currently, it was night and a full moon hung in the sky, the only source of light in the otherwise dark forest. Ominous noises echo throughout the space and the anxious side unconsciously moves closer to the Prince.

A gentle, almost reassuring, breeze tousles the anxious side’s hair.

“C’mon then!” The Prince says brightly, gently tugging Virgil by the jacket sleeve and leading him down a little beaten path Virgil hadn’t noticed was there. It leads to a small clearing where brilliant white, red, and purple flowers bloom and glisten in the moonlight.

As they draw closer, he sees that the blooms are star-shaped and a bit reminiscent of pinwheels.

“What are these?” he asks curiously.

“Moonflowers. They open at dusk and close up in the morning. This is where I go when I can’t sleep. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Virgil nods in agreement, wishing that he could conjure something as lovely as this. However, he knows with terrible certainty that if he were ever able to construct a world of his own, it would probably become a turbulent and grotesque nightmare. He shudders at the thought and eyes the flowers with a growing want. He wonders if Roman would mind him picking one. Virgil wants one because at least when he gets back to his sad, barren room, he will have a piece of this place. Just a spark of light among the darkness.

Roman seems to sense this because he picks out the biggest purple and white bloom he can find and hands it to Virgil with a smile.

Virgil takes it in surprise. Tha--thank you,” he stammers.

“Don’t mention it.”

Roman notes the way Virgil clutches the flower close to his chest and the way his cheeks are turning a pleasant shade of red. The Prince grins.

“It’s my favorite flower. It symbolizes passion, power, prophecy, and protection. All that I live for.”

Virgil gives a small smile, “Sounds like you. I always pegged you as more of a day person though.”

“Even the day must appreciate the night, just as the night would appreciate the day. You can’t have one without the other after all.”

“....I guess.”

“Which brings us back to what we came here for. The difference between calm, light weather and intense, stormy weather.”

Roman cracks his knuckles and conjures a picnic blanket.

“Umm, what’s that for?” Virgil asks with confusion.

“Watching lightning is a lot more satisfying if you’re lying down and looking up at the sky.” Roman says matter-of-factly. He spreads it out neatly on the grass and sits down, patting the spot next to him. Virgil scowls, but moves to join the over-enthusiastic prince.

A clap of thunder startles the anxious side so badly, he nearly jumps back up again.

“What the hell was that?!”

“Relax, it’s only thunder.”

“Is--is that normal?”

“Perfectly normal. Don’t worry, I’m in control here….well, sort of.”

“Sort of? What’s that supposed to mean? And how is that, in any way, comforting?”

Roman appears slightly embarrassed, “Well, the weather here is based heavily on my emotions, but that shouldn’t worry you at all because I’m feeling rather euphoric at the moment.”

Virgil eyes him with suspicion, “Then how are you making it storm?”

Roman’s whole face is turning a deep shade of pink. But before the blushing prince can answer, a flash of light brightens the sky and makes Virgil gasp in fright. He instinctively puts an arm out to protect Roman from whatever threat the mysterious light poses.

The Prince laughs softly, gently taking Virgil’s hand in his.

“It’s just lightning, Virge. But thank you for trying to protect me.”

Virgil’s muscles are still tense and another roll of thunder puts him even more on edge.

“Listen, this has been really enlightening….but I think this was a bad idea.”

Roman keeps his hand on Virgil’s. “Please stay. I promise I won’t let anything hurt you”

Virgil scoffs, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Princey. Everything hurts me….at least, emotionally.” He bites his lip. Why did he say that? Roman doesn’t need to know that.

The Prince outwardly shudders at the prospect of having ever unintentionally cut Virgil with nasty, careless words. “I’m sorry if I was ever the cause---”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s my job.” Virgil forces a laugh.

“No, I mean it. I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget how much my words can have an impact on you.” Roman frowns and continues, “I might not be able to keep you from the emotional hurt, but I will protect you from any and all physical harm. That I can promise you.”

Virgil shakes his head, ready to disagree, but before he can, a gentle rain begins to fall.

He sits there, completely stunned.

His muscles relax as the droplets fall upon him, smudging his dark make-up. He lets go of the moonflower he’s been holding in one of his hands and hesitantly tests the air. His right palm facing the sky, catching little silver droplets. They remind him of the moon. He’s catching moonbeams.

Roman watches with growing worry because he is unsure. Unsure if Virgil likes the rain or not. It isn’t until he sees Virgil’s face slowly spreading into a smile unlike any he has ever seen before. A child-like smile of pure wonder, an unusual emotion for Anxiety.

There is another streak of lightning running across the sky, but the anxious side pays it no mind. He turns his face upward, letting the surge of water droplets wash over him. He feels it. He listens, hearing the melodious sound of the moonbeams hitting the soft earth. It is more than what he has seen on TV. More than what he has read about in the books and poems. It is the sky meeting the earth. It is nature eagerly showing him that it too, has emotions. Wild, chaotic, untamed emotions.

He feels no worry now as lightning shoots through the heavens, brightening it in purple, yellow, white, and blue-tinted veins. His heart is pounding, but in a different way. In a way he is unaccustomed to. He’s---he’s excited.

Virgil turns to the Prince, grinning like he has never grinned before. Roman is staring at him in complete awe. Virgil may be captivated by the storm, but Roman is captivated by him.

Virgil doesn’t think that this unnatural feeling of amazement can grow anymore, but he is wrong. His other hand is still wrapped in the Prince’s. And Roman is smiling at him, but it’s different somehow. The wind, the rain, the brilliant veins of light are steadily becoming stronger. Somehow the storm has a way of making one’s senses become sharper. Perhaps, it is the adrenaline of it all. The way the rain elicits a clear, crisp scent of freshly-cleansed earth. Maybe it is the frigid air gusting around them, stirring things up that normally lie dormant.

The sensation in Virgil’s chest can’t possibly be because of Roman holding his hand or because of Roman’s smile. No, the butterflies fluttering chaotically in his stomach have to be due to the storm. Most definitely the storm.

“Ro--Roman?” the anxious side’s voice wavers slightly. “You said that the weather is based off of you….and how you’re feeling. Wha--what feeling is this one exactly?”

The Prince looks away, trying to piece together the right words. His gaze falls on the moonflower lying next to Virgil. He gingerly picks it up.

“It’s like this--this moonflower. Passion, power, prophecy, and protection. This tempest, this night, the moon. It’s been created because of my passion. My emotions and motivations propelling it forward is my power. A night like this always symbolizes change. It is prophecy. And the adrenaline and fear makes one rush to protect.” he smiles.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Princey.”

Roman looks up at Virgil and holds the bloom out to him.

“It’s for you. It’s all for you and it will never die, I promise.”

Virgil stares, not quite knowing what to do. Was he saying he----was he---was he really saying this?

“Do you accept this?” Roman asks quietly.

Heart-hammering away, he gives into the dreams of the moonbeams, the spark of the lightning, and the yearning of his soul.

Virgil gently takes the flower from Roman. Suddenly his arms wrap tightly around the Prince, pulling him in closer and closer until they are close enough to feel each other’s pulse. And it’s breathtaking. More breathtaking than anything Virgil has ever experienced and that’s saying a lot for the personification of anxiety.

And he is whispering the words that have remained dormant for ages.

“I love the things you create. I love your realm and the other worlds within them. I love it all because it comes from you, because it is you. There is no doubt within my anxious heart, I love you and I always have.”

And they are kissing, Roman’s arms encircling Virgil’s waist as they taste one another for the first time. They are sinking slowly to the ground, no longer sitting up but comfortably lying together in embrace. Virgil is on top of the Prince, never wanting to let go because this can’t possibly be real. It’s just a dream, a glorious dream. If he lets go, he’s afraid that he’ll lose it. That it will be ripped away from him. So he clings to the Prince, his kisses deep and desperate.

And Roman feels Virgil pulling at him in different ways, trying to get closer and closer. Roman is kissing back with equal fervor, sliding a hand under the anxious side’s hoodie and feeling the warm and rhythmic thudding of the other’s heartbeat. And it’s pounding faster than a hummingbird’s fluttering wings. His hand moves up and softly caresses Virgil’s neck, the other hand still feeling his waist.

And they scarcely notice the chilling torrent of rain that rushes at them or the way the entire night sky is lit up to resemble day. The wind fights to be felt, but they are lost in each other’s warmth and nothing can break them away from one another. Not until they are ready.

It seems like an entire eternity has passed before either of them are ready to return from their love-induced ecstasy. By that time, the sun is rising and they’re both completely drenched with rain. They make their way back to the door that leads back into the mindscape and out of the Prince’s realm. They walk slowly, both frightened that their time together will turn out to only be a fleeting dream.

They stop at the door, Virgil clutching his promise as if it’s a lifeline. They’ve made it. They’re back.

Looking into one another’s eyes, they know that nothing has changed and they smile with relief. It’s real. Unconditionally and utterly real.

They lean forward once more, but are interrupted by a voice from behind.

“About time you guys got back, we were wondering how long you were gonna be in the closet.”

Patton and Logan are standing in the doorway to Roman’s room. Patton is grinning and Logan is smirking.

“We hope we didn’t interrupt anything.” the logical side says with a hint of amusement.

Patton giggles slightly, “You better go get dried off, kiddos. I wouldn’t want you catching a cold. Breakfast is downstairs when you’re ready.”

And with that, they leave to let the two change out of their rain-soaked clothes.

Before heading down to breakfast, Virgil goes to his room and places his moonflower on the dresser next to his bed. In the darkness, it immediately blossoms. The flower emitting a soft glow, almost like a nightlight.

Roman knocks lightly on the doorframe to alert Virgil of his presence. The Prince is happy to see the moonflower on the dresser.

“So, what did you think of the rain?” he grins.

Virgil beams and it’s enough to make the Prince’s heart soar.

“It was like being surrounded by the stars.”

Roman runs a hand through Virgil’s hair, “See, I told you storms could represent new beginnings. It looks like the start of a beautiful and chemically imbalanced romance, my dear.”

#sanders sides fanfic #sanders sides fanfiction #prinxiety #rain #fluff #emphoenixcat writes

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loki-fanfiction · 6 years

Text

For Fear

Pairing: Loki x Sigyn (Logyn)

Summary: A sequel to For Pity in which Loki’s wife, the Queen of Vanaheim, has been made to forget her past. From her husband, to her friends to her rule, and has ended up stranded in New York city. 3 years after waking up with no memory, she had befriended Tony Stark and works as a writer. However, when a new, mysterious stranger comes into her life, whom is frustratingly familiar, will she remember? Or is Cass destined to be forever lost in the dark?

Warnings: Depictions of torture, amnesia, swearing

Series or oneshot: Series which i update faster on AO3

She could feel the whip continuously cracking down upon her back, the vengeful hand of the one wielding it being more brutal than usual. Her skin had been flayed and some parts were simply hanging off of her. The sharp sting rung out through her body clear as day and made her gasp again, her entire body burning with a hatred for the person inflicting this on her once more.

Again it cracked down upon her, slicing through her already scarred and ruined back, prompting more blood to trickle down from the previously closing wounds on to the ground beneath her, leaking on to her feet and eventually back to what was previously the white clean floor to stain it red.

She had stopped looking down, she had stopped looking altogether. Both at her attacker and herself, as her ruined state only upset her more. And for that, he had taken what she could look with. If she wasn’t going to use her eyes what was the point in having them working.

She had stopped screaming, her voice having gone completely raw and cracking. She couldn’t remember who she used to scream for anymore, but still she begged to whomever might be listening to please make it stop in any way. She had stopped letting herself heal over the night, and instead wanted her wounds to fester and rot until the rest of her was gone too, and yet she found she could not go, not when her body was broken, not when her mind was empty and blank, not when she had no more blood to bleed or flesh to strip. She was simply alive and it would seem she would have to remain that way.

The whip came down again, striking her with renewed fervour as the arm that wielded it swung twice as fast, cracking it down repeatedly and ruthlessly. Again and again it struck her sensitive skin and again and again it sliced through, easily guided by her torturer.

The whip cracked harshly against one of the many infected wounds, and before she could stop herself a broken sob broke through her cracked lips, echoing around the room. She didn’t need her eyes to see the cruel smile which would now grace her torturer’s lips. She knew the rules. No noise or fear prepare for a worse punishment.

Which would he go for this time? There were many options, each of which he favoured for different reasons, but only one of those options made her blood freeze in her veins. And as she heard that terrible knife scrape dangerously on the bowl, she knew exactly what she was in for today.

She heard his steps behind her, soft and almost silent, and yet every shift of his robe made hear breath catch in her throat with fear. She felt the blade press slowly against her shoulder blades, her entire body tensing even though she had yet to feel its effects running through her.

Instead of cutting in, the torturer started to run the blade down her spine and then back up, waiting simply for her to beg. But she didn’t beg. Begging to him got her nowhere. Begging to whomever was in her head did nothing either. It just made her fearful and weak.

slowly, he made the knife trace towards her right, playing with the clear ribs which were sticking out after months, possibly years of starvation. And he slid it between them.

She hissed, jerking away instantly and tensing even more, trying to escape the knife which was now lodged deep within her. Though the movement would only aggravate it more, she tried to push away and jerked, almost demanding that it should be removed.

That wasn’t what scared her. The knife she could deal with. A thousand knives she would rather deal with than what was about to happen.

And then it started. The intense burning exactly where the knife had slotted neatly between her ribs. She extreme and inescapable pain which would slowly flow through her and overtake her completely. She bit her lip painfully, tying to distract from what was to come, but all it did was make her bleed to no avail. eventually, she felt the pain grow, as if a melting beneath her skin. It was as if her entire internal was slowly collapsing and melting on itself, like an old plastic toy being burnt and bubbling. She tries to flinch away but it only made the pain worse.

Tears started streaming from her unseeing eyes, down her ruined and scarred face, before dripping onto the floor below her, as the pain slowly spread across her back, then through her stomach making her gag and wretch.

And then, she screamed.

Cass woke up with a start, sweat coating her skin as she sat up in her bed. She took in deep breaths as she looked around her room, panic still very present in her as she shook off the effects of the nightmare. Her eyes jerkily surveyed her small room, landing on the chair at her desk which looked slightly like a human form, then to the shirt hanging on her wardrobe knob, then her towel on the wall, then to the door which was tightly shut. then, she sighed and relaxed a little, the panic being slightly sated.

‘It was only a dream’ she told herself, trying to soothe her mind into a calm.

‘Yeah, a fucking realistic one’ her mind shot back snarkily.

Of course she knew that it wasn’t real, that she hadn’t been whipped to shreds by some psycho and that the hadn’t been poisoned, or burnt, or hurt as her overactive imagination enjoyed telling her that she had been. If she had been hurt, there would be scars.

She swung her legs over the side of her bed, painfully aware of how vulnerable her ankles would be to an attacker, and sprung off it. She padded towards the door and swung it open before walking out towards her kitchen.

She knew it was a dream, but fuck, she also knew she wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. She walked over to her fridge before pulling out the milk, and then turned slowly to grab the cocoa powder.

A small prick of pain made her look down to her wrist, where nothing was present. And yet a small line of discomfort was clear and made her scratch the surrounding area. Damnit, why now? Why every time after a nightmare? She walked towards the freezer and brought out an ice cube, massaging the area and rubbing the cold on it, finding it dulled the pricking just enough.

Cass turned to the digital clock on her microwave and saw it flashing at 1:36. She still had about 5 hours until she had to wake up, but with the adrenaline pumping through her system, Cass was sure that she’d only get about one hours broken sleep if she was lucky.

Instead she turned back to the empty mug and set about making herself some hot chocolate, because damn she was going to need it.

By the time her alarm rang, Cass was already halfway out of the door, dressed and ready for work and carrying her 5th cup of hot chocolate in her flask, and a precarious stack of papers filling one of her two arms. She was fiddling with her phone, trying to turn the alarm off or maybe snooze it, but all she managed to do was drop it on the floor.

“Ugh.” Cass groaned and leaned down, only to have many of the documents slip onto the floor and spread around the corridor outside of her flat.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, dropping her binder on the floor and launching for her phone, finally turning the alarm off, before trudging around the landing and picking up paper after paper.

One after another, they eventually found their way back into her hand and back on top of her binder. As she went, she grumbled, cursing the paper, her nightmare and her inability to pick up paper without having to basically crumple it in some way.

Every damn day there was something. Yesterday it was her next door neighbour getting into a huge fight with her husband and kicking him out, making him cry outside her door for house without shutting up, the day before it was that one kid who ran past her in the stairway and made her fall down, hurting her knee, and today it was dropping her flask, her papers and just about everything else on her.

Cass collected herself and began skipping down the stairs, trying to make it down as quickly as possible. As she went she heard a couple of doors open, mostly people leaving for work just as she was. Just as she got to the bottom step she almost ran into one of her neighbours head first.

“Wow Cass, coming in like a catastrophe there huh.” The nephew of her neighbour, May, said jokingly.

“Yeah, sorry Peter, in a bit of a rush today.” She replied, skirting around him hoping not to drop anything again.

“See ya later Cass.”

“Bye Pete!” She said, picking up her pace to a jog to try and catch the 6:45 train to Broadway.

Her commute to work went off almost without a hitch, all of her papers had decided that staying in her arms was better than sliding all over the floor in the subway, and yet she still felt herself grip them tighter when she was finally off of the claustrophobic coffin she had to take to work everyday.

Cass wove through the busy streets of New York, praying to whatever deity might be listening that her scripts, piled high in her arms, didn’t fall into the street, or worse down a manhole. As she was walking she felt a shoulder nudge her just a little too aggressively, and one of her particularly large script threatening to tip. Just as she was about to drop everything in her arms against better judgment to retrieve just one script out of instinct, a hand stopped it from tipping.

“Best keep hold of that.” A British voice, prim, proper and clipped like her quipped from somewhere above her, before the hand left her with a newly adjusted script.

“Oh, ok, thank you.” Cass called into the crowd, not sure whom exactly had helped her, but was grateful none the less. She swore she felt some sort of remembrance at that voice, familiarity frustratingly far and out of reach. And yet, she couldn’t place the voice, and so instead of standing in the middle of a crowded street Cass decided that maybe getting to work was slightly important.

With that, she went back to weaving, eventually finding herself in the familiar backstreet leading to the door which only she had a key to. She slipped the key in with much effort, opened the door and slipped into the theatre which she had come to love working at.

She dropped all of the papers and her laptop rather unceremoniously upon her worn desk and took in her small work room. She had thanked the gods she didn’t have to work in the noisy theatre, and had instead taken a small supply closet to refurbish to make it somewhat an office. She clicked her fingers and sat down, bringing out her highlighter and pen, and turning to the first page of her recently printed script.

“Well, time to work.”

#loki #loki fanfiction #loki headcannon #sigyn #sigyn fanfiction #sigyn headcannon #loki x sigyn #logyn #loki x ofc #for fear #for pity #marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel headcannon #thor #thor headcannon #thor fanfiction

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odderancyart · 6 years

Note

How would you start a ship story? Any tips?

That depends on what kind of story you want to write. Is it a drabble? A longer one-shot? A multi-chapter? When in their relationship?

It also depends on your writing style. If you’re relatively new to writing (and I am counted into that) you probably will change your style every now and then so you’ll have chance to try a lot of different ways.

I’ll put this under the cut because it got a bit long. There’s also a few minor spoilers for a few of my fics.

Two examples of a little longer one-shots about first meetings I’ve written are…

Errotic:The first time Error had showed up in Underlust, he had been disgusted and frankly horrified. It had been quite easy for Lust to see. The exact moment the other realized the nature of his universe… it hadn’t been pretty. Especially since some really horny Snowdin citizens had come by and triggered Error’s haphephobia. Badly. Many people had almost died that day, and Lust had never seen such a frightening panic attack.

Spicyhoney:Stretch stood hid behind an alley, watching the people walking by. This was one of the nicer parts of the town, so it was obvious he did not belong here. His tattered, torn clothes and dirty face was easy enough to spot. He had done his best to clean himself up, but hadn’t managed very well. Yet, he was desperate.

As you can see, they’re done quite differently. The first one is written with Tell, not Show. I tell you what happens, and I begin immediately in the middle of the story. I show you directly into a (non-graphic) panic attack in the first few sentences. Both characters are immediately introduced; it’s obvious this story is going to be about Error and Lust. Not until about half-way into the story do I start to show you what happens rather than tell you.

The Spicyhoney-one is more subtle. I start with showing you the situation we’re in rather than telling you a story. We’re still going quickly into the meeting with the love-interest (Fell), but it happens a few paragraphs in rather than in the first sentence or two. (As he walked past the next person, who was carrying a heavy box, he quickly moved his hand to grab the wallet sticking up from his victim’s backpocket). It’s not even obvious it’s Fell at first. It could’ve been a random person. There’s not any romance happening either until after a huge time-skip in the end.

Another example is NRS; in this story Red isn’t even directly introduced until we’re over a thousand words into the first chapter. In this story, he’s introduced by coming with food to Razz who is now a prisoner. There’s absolutely no romantic interest either, to begin with. Only resentment from Razz and amusement from Red:

Suddenly it knocked on the door, and thesound of a key in the key hole reached him. He froze. It opened, and in yetanother skeleton came. This one was shorter and sturdier than the one he hadfought, but still taller than Razz, irritatingly enough. The pirate startled ashe saw Razz on his feet, before grinning widely.

“good, yer awake,” he drawled, and held upa tray on which a mug and a few sandwiches laid. “boss said ya oughta wake upsoon.”

“WHO ARE YOU?” Razz demanded,backing a few steps until he stood against the wall.

So the story starts with some telling yells about protecting the princess (Razz) and then we get to see Razz in his cabin where he’s supposedly safe from the pirate attack.

The cabin was small and dark. Only an oil lamp lightened up the room and made it possible to see. The only furniture in the room was three bunks and a chest of drawers. Razz paced the room nervously. He detested being locked in. Yet, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. As the princess, he had to be kept safe in situations like these. Even so, it felt awful to be protected and safe while his guards fought for him. He couldn’t even watch and see which of them died. Once Razz was queen he could ride to the battlefield when he so wished, but not before that. He couldn’t wait.

Drabbles, on the other hand, should be started in the middle. Even though hardly any of my drabbles actually are drabbles. Throw us directly into the action:

Kustard”ey, sans, look a’ this!”

The loud call made Sans peek out from behind the huge clothes racks he had been going through. The sight that met him made him snort. His husband was fighting to get a huge sweater over his head. It was hideous. The sweater was black and depicted a green ribcage decorated like a Christmas tree with gifts beneath. Once it sat where it was supposed to, Red grinned triumphantly at Sans. Sans, meanwhile, could hardly believe his eyes when he saw the joyous expression on the other’s face.

There’s no build-up. You can also do this with a longer story, of course, but it’s especially important in a short one so things actually happen. Starting with someone speaking works a lot of the time, so that is a recommendation.

Hmm, what else?

I wrote this fic that was supposed to be Cherryblossom, but then I got bored and finished it before it could really turn into romance. This story starts with Red walking through the forest, being all cold and tired and annoyed. Four short paragraphs in, we’re introduced to Papyrus.

”OH. HELLO!” This time, Red did jump at the unexpected sound. Frantically, he tried to spot whoever had spoken. Nothing. There was a sound of someone clearing their throat, and he looked up. In one of the trees the source of the light was… hanging. A skeleton, like him. They looked a bit like his brother, just less sharp. And they appeared to be stuck. Red blinked in shock as he studied the stranger. They were wearing a long, white robe, a red scarf, and a kind smile. Then there were the wings. The stranger had great, feathery wings on their back. White but kind of sparkling gold.

To be perfectly honest, starting a romance isn’t so different from starting any other kind of story. Try to catch your reader’s interest as soon as possible so they don’t get bored - preferably already with the first sentence, but this is hard - and don’t get too lenghty.

Make sure that the characters interactions are realistic; the I’ll-do-anything-for you kind of love by first eyesight isn’t exactly a common occurence in real life. Now we’re not talking the infatuation one can get in the early stages of a relationship or during a crush, but rather I’ll give my life for your happiness. It’s not exactly healthy either. So don’t rush things. Don’t make your character sad for years to come because someone they’ve known for one day doesn’t love them back, so to speak. That is an easy way to make me lose interest for a story, at least.

Try to let the relationship build up. Let them be friends, not only lovers. At least if you’re writing a healthy relationship. Otherwise feel free to ignore what I just said.

If they’re already in a relationship in your story, try to show early that they truly love each other. My Errotic-fics tend to be very Telling in the beginning, like this one:

Memories.

Flashes of two lives intertwined to one.

The first time they met. Those panic-attacks. Holding hands the first time; hugging, kissing. His soul fluttered slightly at those. It had been such a long time since those initial tentative touches. Having sex, carefully, slowly, for Error’s sake. Lust had made him scream, like promised.

Little things, like eating popcorn on the couch and cleaning up said popcorns after a popcorn war.

In this fic, they’ve already been together for many, many years. Centuries. Personally, I think these sentences gives a certain feeling of tenderness. The story has just begun, but I did my best to so quickly as possible show that they truly love each other.

That is the main point of the story, after all. The love and the memories they have shared during their very long relationship. Honestly, I think I’m already here preparing the reader for bittersweetness and fluffy angst. Because this beginning gives, according to me, a feeling that “alright something’s going on here”. Of course, I’m the writer, so I might be completely wrong.

Otherwise the ending wouldn’t be as sad, after all. *wink wink*And sad, that was what I wanted it to be. A lovely sad. Bittersweet. Looking at the comments, I think I succeeded.

You can also do it in a much less serious way, of course. By jokes and pranks and wrestling and laughing together. Unless your story is meant to be solemn this is actually recommended. Like this drabble I wrote a couple months ago;

RottenberryRazz grinned as he picked up the sugarbowl, pouring it all into the trash. Normally he wouldn’t waste all this food; he had grown up in a world of limited resources after all, but this was totally worth it. He’d make Blue regret tricking him yesterday. Filling the bowl with salt instead he put it back in it’s place and began preparing breakfast. Now he could only wait.

Just as he had finished the pancakes and the coffee was standing on the table his husband walked into the kitchen. Blue looked just as energic and cheerful as always, giving him a big grin.

”Morning love.” He said and kissed Razz’s cheek. Razz felt his usual grin melt into a sincere smile. There was few people who actually could make him really smile, but Blue always managed. He was so lucky to have him. Still. Revenge was soon to be served.

The first few sentences are important. They will set the mood for your story. If you want it to be humorous, try to make that clear quickly. By starting with a light-hearted situation, for example. Perhaps your OTP/OT3 is having a pun war or looking at bunnies in a pet store? If you want it to be sad, try to build up to it.

Then of course there’s the concept of changing mood in the middle of the story, or even the end of it. It’s a great thing to do. Amazing. It’ll shock your reader and I recommend it. Just do it logically.

This Genodust drabble doesn’t start out sad. It starts out happy. Which only makes the ending more heart-breaking, because this isn’t a lovely kind of sad.

The Void was empty and silent, but it didn’t feel as cold and lonely as usual. Not when Geno was lying with his head in Dust’s lap, watching Outertale’s stars through a screen. He had been happier these last months than he could remember being since he kind-of-died. Dust stared at the stars in awe. This was the first time he saw them.

While this Classicberry is thoroughly happy because I needed happy when writing it (thanks to Kamari and The Last Laugh which I need to re-read). It starts happy and it continues to be happy, following the mood set in the beginning.

Blue smiled as he rolled around where he was resting in Sans’ arms. Looking at his husband’s – his husband, how amazing was that, he was married and soul-bonded to Sans – peaceful face. Sans never looked quite as peaceful as he did when he slept next to Blue, and he adored it. He knew that Sans still had awful nightmares sometimes, about dust and blood and RESETs, despite them having ended a long time ago but Sans had told him he never slept as well as he did when he either held Blue or was being held by Blue.

I need to wrap this up now, it’s getting too long. It also covered a bit more than the beginning… Oops? I got enthusiastic. I hope it’s helpful!

#oddasks #writing tips #anonymous

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meltingalphabet · 7 years

Text

The Collector

The story told most often is that Greg Wilson was a child rapist, a murderer, and a monster, feeding off the trusting nature of young boys. But Greg had been my friend, and I know he didn’t do those things. I've tried to tell people the truth, but no one will listen. Maybe one of you will believe me.

The southwestern town I grew up in was small and isolated, surrounded by tall mountains, and resting near a deep canyon. There was one two-lane highway that stretched through the mountains and ran lazily across the town from one end to the other. Buying comic books there was impossible before the internet, so for me and the few other nerds and geeks in my town, Greg was the hero we thought we deserved, but, as we learned later, not the one we needed.

Greg owned the only comic book store in my town: The Rusty Robot. It was my favorite place in the world when I was a preteen. My friends and I worshipped Greg, whose inventory, as well as his personal collection, was the envy of everyone from small kids to some of my friend’s dads.

Greg had inherited a building when his father passed away, a two story space with a store on the ground level, and an apartment on the upper floor. After he inherited the place, Greg changed it from a hardware store into a geek’s paradise, filled ceiling to floor with stacked boxes of backlogged comic books. Figurines and collector’s items lined the tops of shelves, while valuable items were carefully positioned in shadow boxes behind the large glass counter, which held first editions of classic books.

One night, when the store was empty except for me and Greg, he swore me to secrecy as he donned white cotton gloves and delicately brought out a rare edition of the first book in the original Amazing Spider-Man series, placing it on the counter with a reverence reserved usually for holy objects. It was the most beautiful thing my young self had ever witnessed.

I loved comic books, but my real passion was collecting figurines from Fireball XL5, a sci-fi show popular in the sixties. My father had watched the show when he was young, and we used to watch it together when I was really little. My attachment to the show was solidified when my father passed away a week before my sixth birthday. I became a bit obsessed.

Greg knew of my collection, and would let me know if he found anything on the road at a convention or another store. Once, he purchased a pristine figure of Colonel Steve Zodiac from a Japanese collector he ran into in Indiana. He knew I was low on funds at the time, so he gave it to me as a birthday gift. Birthdays were hard for me, and he wanted to give me something that’d remind me of the happy memories with my dad. His mother had died when he was little, and I think he felt especially attached to me since we both knew what it was like to lose a parent as a kid. He really was a great friend.

Our town had a history of children disappearing: usually one a year. Each loss was devastating to the town, but between the mountains, the cliffs of the canyon, and the wild animals that occupied both, these disappearances were nothing anyone thought of as intentional malice.

The year I turned thirteen, that changed. Four boys went missing within nine months. The first one, Brandon, nine years old, went missing that January. The entire town got together and searched for him in the mountains and along the closest wall of the canyon. Then Jack, eight, went missing in February and the town doubled their efforts. Kyle, nine, disappeared one evening in early June, and Zack, seven, in September.

The kidnappings didn’t affect me much, beyond my parents spending a few nights assisting the searches. I hate to admit it but, as a new teenager, dealing with puberty and the selfishness found in most teens, I didn’t pay much attention to the missing flyers that began appearing in great numbers all over town. That is, until Zack was taken.

The town’s Middle School had a program called Kids Assisting Kids. Older students would sign up to tutor struggling Elementary School students. I had been tutoring Zack in math, and we had grown close over the year. As an only child, I found it nice to have a younger boy look up to me. I had gotten him into comic books, and he’d accompanied me often to The Rusty Robot. We were as close as an eight year old and a thirteen year old could be. When his mother called me, I was horrified. I remember feeling scared for what my friend might be going through, as well as anger at whoever could have taken such a sweet boy.

People noticed the trend of disappearing children instantly, and suspicion and accusations started spreading like wildfire. By the time Zack went missing, everyone in the town was in full panic mode. It was a small town and so everyone knew that all four of the boys had only two things in common: they went to the same school, and they all frequented The Rusty Robot. Greg became the town’s main suspect.

My mom, like most people’s mothers at that point, banned me from going to the store, so I didn’t see Greg for almost a month. From the news reports, I knew that they had found no evidence to support that Greg was the one behind the boys’ disappearances.

One weekend in late October, my mom went out of town on business. I woke up that Saturday a free man. I used a mixing bowl instead of a regular bowl to eat my Lucky Charm’s, and filled the late snowy morning with cartoons. A little after lunch, I decided to check in on Greg. I bundled myself in my thick winter jacket and boots, and hopped on my red Mongoose mountain bike. I rode down to the small central street in our town, lined with mom and pop shops.

Stopping in front of the door of The Rusty Robot, I noticed the “closed” sign hanging in the dirty glass. My stomach dropped. Greg never closed the shop during the day, especially not on a weekend. The media must have been doing more damage to the business than I had realized.

I pounded on the glass door, but heard nothing from inside. I pressed my face to the door, blocking the sun from my vision with my hands, and peered inside. The place was dark and empty.

Turning to the buzzer at the door, I rung the apartment bell. A window opened above me, so I stepped back to see Greg’s face hanging out.

I waved up at him.

“Oh, heyya Nate.” Greg said, without his usual enthusiasm. “I’ll let you in, one sec.” With that, Greg’s face vanished back into the apartment, and I heard the window close.

Moments later, I could see Greg approach the door from inside the shop. He waved as he saw me, and unlocked the door, stepping aside as he opened it to allow me past his large frame.

“Hey Greg!” I said, as cheerily as I could, and stepped inside. He closed the door behind me and gestured for me to follow. We walked to the back of the store, past rows of comics and graphic novels. The sun feebly stretched from the glass door towards us, but without much success. The posters of poised superheroes and cut outs of famous sci-fi characters looked menacingly down at me in the dim light as we passed. I stopped in front of Farscape’s villain, Scorpius, who loomed above me. His leather mask revealed taught grey skin. Deep red lines that looked like a blend of wrinkles and scratches, stemmed from beneath his eyes and mouth. His black lips were pulled back into a nasty smile, revealing yellow pointed teeth.

I shuddered. The show was silly, and I had never been shaken by the character’s appearance before, but his face morphed into a nightmare in the dark stale air.

I jogged to the stairway at the back of the room, which Greg had vanished into. That had been the first time I ever saw the door to his apartment opened. I followed him up into the dark unknown.

Entering the kitchen, I squinted at the sudden light. A bare bulb above me illuminated the entirety of the main room, which consisted of both the kitchen and a small living room. Greg’s apartment was pretty much what I was expecting. The first thing I noticed was that, like the store, the walls were lined with boxes from floor to ceiling. The contents of his collection. The kitchen’s once white linoleum floor was curling with aged and yellowing from a lack of mopping. The wooden cabinets looked warped, one door hanging loosely from its top hinge. Outdated wainscoting ran along the perimeter of the entire room, cut off halfway up by an over the top but faded floral pattern.

The kitchen had an old rectangular table in the middle, with two chairs on either side. There was a worn beige armchair with a matching footrest in the living room, placed strategically in front of a small television I recognized from shows that played after cartoons stopped during weekday afternoons, like I Love Lucy and The Happy Days. I’d watch them sometimes when I was home from school, sick.

The room smelt bodily, like a mix of sweat, old food, and fear. I mindlessly picked up a figurine I didn’t recognize, and examined it. It was an amazingly realistic depiction of an older man. He was tall and thin, his mouth set in a tight scowl. He felt like he might have been made of leather, the texture of his skin more forgiving than the hard plastic I was used to, and his fine white hair rested in a comb-over above splotched wrinkled skin.

I felt the heaviness of the silent room around me, and looked up at Greg, who stood before me, staring at the floor. His face was oddly unshaven, and his hair was even frizzier than normal. He looked like he had lost weight, his skin waxy and loose.

Uncomfortable in the silence, I finally spoke. “How is it going?” I asked, realizing how stupid that question was in the moment, but unable to think of a better conversation starter.

He looked up at me with eyes outlined in red, and stared for a moment. I swallowed, shifting my feet beneath me in discomfort.

“I’ve been collecting.” He responded.

I looked around, nodding encouragingly, “yeah, this place is full of stuff!” I smiled at him, hoping the conversation would become less awkward.

“No, not this stuff.” He said, gesturing towards the boxes. “I’ve been collecting something better.” He emphasized the last word, his eyes growing wide. “A man from Russia came into my store six years ago and sold me something. Something… special.” His face gleamed with a manic thrill.

I nodded slowly, trying to figure out what he was trying to tell me.

He continued, “at first, I just used it to get this place started. But then, over the years, I’ve grown to love it.” He leaned closer towards me, and I took a step backwards, uncomfortable with his tone. “I’ll admit, it’s turned into a bit of an obsession.” He paused, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re a collector.” He said in a low tone. “You understand how addicting it can become.”

My heart was racing. This was not the Greg I knew. This was a Greg, who for the first time, I realized might be as bad as the press claimed he was. But I had never even heard Greg swear, let alone express any interest in violence against someone else. He even refused to carry some of the more mature comics for that very reason.

“I’ll show you.” He turned, and shuffled to a door in the back. He opened it, and I reluctantly followed, lead by a loyalty to my friend, even though my heart pounded with fear. The door revealed a much cleaner and neater room then the rest. White bookcases lined the walls, filled with what I recognized as the more valuable part of Greg’s collection. The items were illuminated by small lights set into the top of each shelf.

He gestured to a thin glass cabinet in the corner, set apart, and stopped. I walked up to it and looked inside. It displayed nine small figures of children. They were each about six inches tall, and were the most lifelike figures I had ever seen. The features of their faces were incredibly realistic. I examined each one individually, in complete awe of the detail.

I stopped at the last figure, my blood turning cold. I recognized that face. It was Zack’s.

I turned slowly towards Greg, who was behind me holding a small futuristic toy gun. It looked sort of like one of the Phasers from Star Trek, but it was different somehow. The more I looked at it, the more real the collectible seemed. It wasn’t one of those cheap plastic things you usually see, but actually made of metal and glass.

“What’s going on, Greg?”

“I got this from the Russian. He had called it a Ctatyetka Gun. It sounded impossible, but the price was cheap enough, so I bought it on the spot.” He rubbed the toy affectionately, then turned his attention back to me, “I’m so happy you came. I’ve been waiting for you.”

“What do you mean, Greg? What does that gun do?” I said, my throat tightening with fear.

Greg nodded to the glass case, to the figurines, to the young boys shrunken and frozen in time. I knew that even the ones who had disappeared years ago still had family searching for them, hoping with the last of their strength that they were okay. Despite all logic and reason, these boys were standing in a display case in Greg’s apartment.

My eyes grew with realization and horror as Greg held up the gun, aiming it directly at my chest. “I have to leave here soon, Nate. I have to get out of this town.” Greg said, stepping towards me, “You’re a little old for the collection, but I love you so much, I can’t bear to leave without you. I want you to be apart of it.”

I stepped back, trying to make my way towards the door.

I watched Greg’s finger tighten over the trigger. He shook his head, “now we can be together forever, Nate. I can be the father you deserve.”

Instinctively, I dropped to the floor. A high pitched buzz vibrated over my head, and an unnatural green light illuminated the walls. Greg’s face was bathed with the eerie light. He looked like he was radioactive, his facial features tight with determination, his thin lips twisted into a sneer.

I remembered the old man figurine I was still holding. I reached up and smacked Greg’s hand as hard as I could. He yelped, and the gun flew out of his grasp, landing by my leg.

I grabbed it and jumped up, aiming the weapon at his chest. Terror washed across Greg’s face.

“Guess I’m not as slow as a nine year old.” I growled. I felt my outstretched arms shake with anger as I thought of the missing posters all over town. Zack wearing a bright yellow jersey, on one knee in a grassy field, a soccer ball resting on his thigh. I could see the wide warm smile that followed me as I biked through the familiar town streets, the right front tooth missing.

I tightened my finger over the trigger, and shot him. Green light spilled from the narrow muzzle, encapsulating his large body in a sickly aura. I watched with fascination as Greg shrunk in front of me. The green light grew brighter with every second, and I eventually had to turn away from the sight. My eyes burned, so I shut them tight, small tears of pain and loss escaping my eyelids. I let go of the trigger, and looked up.

An eight inch figure of a man stood in front of me, the statue of the older man lying on the floor next to him. I put the gun down on the table beside me, and picked both figurines up. The new one was a man in his late thirties, the red shirt and grey pants he wore were stained and worn. I looked at Greg’s tiny face. His expression was one of betrayal and hurt. My eyes darted to the older man’s and I screamed. I dropped both dolls and ran outside, jumping on my bike and pedaling as fast as I could away from there.

The old man’s scowl had transformed into a satisfied smile.

I called my mom the second I got home and told her what happened. She immediately canceled the rest of her trip and came back. The next week was full of police questioning. I repeated my story over and over again, but no one believed me.

The official story is that Greg Wilson tried to kidnap me, as he did the others, but I had escaped. Greg had left town when his attempt was foiled, but neither him nor any of his victims were ever found. During the next ten years, the disappearance rate of boys under ten in my childhood town diminished back to what it had been before Greg’s father passed away six years ago.

The part of the story I had never told anyone before now is that I went back to Greg’s apartment later that week. The figurines weren’t taken as evidence, and I found the gun on the table where I left it, surrounded by what a naive cop considered collectibles of the same value and nature.

As an adult, I’ve continued growing Greg’s collection. But not with little boys. I prefer older men. Despite the trauma of that day, I still think fondly of my other memories with Greg. And besides, Greg wasn’t a child rapist, nor was he a murderer, or even a monster, really. He was a collector.

#nosleep #horror #shortstory #sciencefiction

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talbottoalam · 4 years

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Playtime Interrupted

ARTIST STATEMENT

Extensive isolation and idle time made it painfully clear to me that even after five years in therapy, I am still resentful of my parents for my upbringing. On March 20th of 2020, in the middle of my last semester of college and just nine days after my twenty-second birthday, my parents drove me into the city to help me move out of my West Village dorm and back home to Queens. The early move was mandatory for all students as an emergency measure to flatten the curve of the COVID-19 virus. This I feel was the premature end of my life as a college student, and my facade as a Manhattanite. Truthfully, I couldn’t pull it off much longer. My head spun as I walked home in excruciating heels from hotel bars I couldn't afford. I felt much like one of my favorite fabulous women from Sex and the City but with none of the glamour. As a child, I would wait till everyone fell asleep to sneak into the living room and watch the show on a low volume, curled up in front of the boxy television. I have loved those women since I was ten, but trying to be like them was wearing me out.

The suffocating conditions of quarantine are exacerbating my neuroses. The panic attacks I have in the shower are a cruel, private reminder that I am the product of an estranged father and a narcissistic mother. This is probably why I am a writer. When I am a good writer, this is probably why. I am starving. I am a starving artist. Not dirt poor, no. Starved for attention, security, validation, love. Throughout all of college, I've been walking across a tightrope trying to convey through my art that mental illness is not romantic, and yet that sadness is my most profound grounding emotion. An assigned final project for my Photography I course was a welcome deterrent from over-indulgence in my own sadness and brokenness. I think I've made it across that tightrope.

I started by picking out old cherished toys of mine, desecrating them, and photographing it. In doing so, I wanted to portray bitterness towards my own childhood and the loneliness I feel until today because of it. I took inspiration from Lauren Semivan, Francesca Woodman, and Anna Gaskell, particularly her Wonder series. Across all of these photographers, I was intrigued by the ambiguity of time in their work and the absence of presence even in photos depicting someone physically there. To achieve the same in my work, I staged photographs in generic settings with no era-specific technology, landmarks, or events that indicate the passage of time. The photos are mostly taken within my parents’ house, or within the not so well-known neighborhood that it’s located in. Objects within the background that could potentially inform time are non-informative. The potted plants do not appear to grow throughout the photos, and the chess game ceases to progress once I step on the board.

When photographing people, I made sure to mostly exclude faces. My own face only appears once and it is obscured. This is my only confrontation with viewers, that someone is truly there and though she can be seen, she is not recognized nor acknowledged. For the most part, the subject in these photos is enveloped by the emptiness of the space. In events where another person is needed, they are not there. The doll appears to swing by itself. A subject plays chess by herself. The single interaction between the doll and a human is not playful and friendly, it’s abusive. The observed interaction between a mom and her son crossing the street also doesn’t feel friendly, it’s hasty and voyeuristic. I shot a variety of ground-level, high-angle, and low-angle photographs to create a sense of disorientation akin to what Alice from Alice in Wonderland might see between her phases of shrinking and growing. In a more realistic sense, it is unclear whether the point-of-view is that of a child or an adult.

Shooting these photos in black and white film and then developing in a darkroom felt appropriate for the intimacy of the subject. I wanted to be able to interact with these photographs through touch. Touching the rinsed photos with my hands, I felt a sense of gentleness towards them and perhaps a newfound gentleness towards myself. I am worth my salt as an artist. I am worth it. I found it charming how rebelliously the fiber prints curled. My mother’s voice rang in my ear, and I almost uttered to them “You never do what I tell you.” The process of setting up a makeshift darkroom in my parents’ basement to make this project possible was also in of itself a meaningful experience. Prior to the set-up, my mother told me about how my father acquired darkroom supplies in Poland, but had to abandon them prior to immigrating to the US without ever printing a single photo. Through setting up my own darkroom, I feel I have somehow connected to my father unbeknownst to him, and vicariously fulfilled his artistic endeavor.

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-Claudia Wasielewska

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i-constantly-want-to-scream-blog · 7 years

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Kasey

Kasey was born in a calm family, or at least it was for the first few years of her life. That ended when her mother left with a smile on her face and a hatred to Kasey's father. Last she had heard of her she was a crack whore on the streets, every night was a new party, more drugs, probably ending up with her in a laundromat in a complete alcohol induced blackout. She didn’t understand at first, than she cried. She blamed herself for her mother's abandonment, even though the voices told her it wasn't her fault. It was all apart of the plan. The voices had always been there, they were the only ones that helped her, that cared. They The sadness became resentment and anger towards her mother when she was eight. The voices encouraged her, they told her stories about how they would make sure that her mother and people like her would pay, regret all of their sins. They would feel everything that she had felt. When Kasey's Dad began to abuse her at age nine, the voices became shadows. They made her feel better, told her stories about the great things she could do, how she could help all children like her. She dreamt about having power over the adults, being able to hurt them, make them feel all of the pain she had felt She had friends once, she tried to tell them about the voices and when she did they didn't believe her. They laughed and taunted her about having imaginary friends. From then on her only friends were the shadows, they warned her that all of the other kids would only try and hurt her. That everyone would. All because they couldn't understand how she felt, she was above them all. They only wanted to hurt her because they didn't know what she was. She dreamed of the kids at school that laughed when she fell to her knees in the hallway, crying on their knees in front of her in her own home. That the children who taunted her wouldn't be able to make a single sound as she ripped out their throats with her bare hands. That the teachers that treated her as weak and stupid would beg for her forgiveness while she put them on their deathbeds. She always asked the shadows when she would gain this power, they always told her that when the end comes, it will just be the beginning.she never knew what that meant exactly, but she knew that all she had to do was follow with the shadows and let them guide her and she would gain unimaginable power. She kept her nails cut into small spikes, her naturally blonde hair was always dyed black. When Kasey turned 10 years old, the shadows gave her a gift. She woke up wearing a locket around her neck. It was a shape of a book, and in it held a blade. It about the size of a fifty cent piece and the blade itself was just a bit bigger than what you may find in a pencil sharpener. The shadows told her to never take it off, and never discard the blade, so she never did. At school, the bullying had begun to worsen, when she was 14 the taunting grew and Kasey was absolutely tired of it. She asked the voices for help, encouragement but they only responded with "Soon." Soon. Soon. Soon for what? Kasey was tired of waiting for answers. "Soon" was being replayed in her head, over and over one morning, faintly, just above a whisper. They had kept her up all night, she was so tired when she arrived at school. It was in her fifth period when she had a dream, "Soon!" multiple voices whispered over and over. She was surrounded by darkness. "Soon, Soon, Soon. SOON!" a final voice yelled out waking her. She jolted silently and looked all around the room, hoping to see a glimpse of one of the shadows. They usually formed in corners to stay hidden, but she could tell the difference between them and a normal shadow. She sighed and looked down at her diary to see the same word written on every single line, multiple times. Soon. It made her so livid, she cried out "WHAT IS SOON?" She flipped the pages of the journal trying to see more writing, something, anything. She needed answers. She was broke out of her search when the teacher grabbed the diary out of her hands. "Why are you interrupting class?" she asked and began to flip through the pages of her diary. She stopped flipping through when she got to one of many of Kasey's drawings, a very realistic depiction of a woman in a ditch, stabbing a knife into her own stomach. The caption reading: "When you left you only hurt yourself." She stared at the drawing than looked at Kasey who only smiled and said in an apathetic tone "You only hurt yourself." She nearly threw the book at Kasey and went back to teaching. The bell rang shortly after the incident calling for lunch. Kasey went directly to the cafeteria, not bothering to stop at her locker for her lunch. She went where she always sat in the very back of the lunch table, but today was different. Two girls were sitting there, she noted them from her English class, laughing at something the other had just said. Unwilling to give up her spot, she simply took a seat on the other side of her table and began to slowly examine her diary again. "Whatcha lookin at?" On girl asked. Kasey didn't bother to stop looking up at her notes drawings to respond "Personal" her searching had also come up to and end when the book was suddenly pulled away from her. She stood immediately to grab it but it was already in the complete grasp of someone else. She growled and glared at the two girls. "Give it back!" She demanded as the girls wide-eyed flipped through the journal. Kasey smiled at the looks of horror that masked the other girls face as the saw more and more of her detailed pages. "What the fuck is wrong with you... you freak!" One of the girls shrieked and threw the book down at the table directly into a bowl of soup. Kasey's smile faded into a grimace as she slowly walked around to the front of the table. "It has begun." She heard one of the voices say, she glanced into a corner and saw them, the shadows. "You just threw my book into soup." She said in a monotone voice. She clenched and unclenched her fingers as she turned the corner of the table. One of the girls began to back away out of fear, but the other stood confident and completely unfazed. "Yea, what are you going to do about it fre-" she was cut off by Kasey grabbing her throat. She swung wildly at Kasey, kicking and slapping at her trying desperately to get away from her grip but Kasey stayed relaxed and unfazed. She noted the crowd cheering on whichever girl they wanted, not letting any administration get past. She pushed her sharpened nails into the girl's throat and smiled when she saw the blood begin to dribble from her throat. She yanked her hand away from the other girl's throat leaving long scratches along the girl's throat and neck The girl fell and gripped her own throat. The girl gasped as blood trickled down her throat and chest. When the girl was trying to stand again Kasey dropped to her knees, both slamming into her chest causing the breath to rush from the girl. The children around the fight took note of the blood drawing from the girl and had begun to back away in fear. Knowing it would only be seconds before administration would break through the crowd of students, Kasey began to worry and question herself with what to do when an answer came to her. "The locket" The shadows reminded her of what was in it. She smiled and used one hand to open the locket, the girl gasped for air and tried to pull herself away, but it was too late for her. Kasey took out the blade she had kept in there for all of those years and pushed it against the girl's throat. "You only hurt yourself." Kasey said as she ripped the blade across her throat. Blood poured and spewed from the opening and the girl began to shake. Kasey stood quickly while teachers surrounded her and the other girl as she died. "When the end comes, it will just be the beginning." and she finally understood it. She knew what she had to do. "IT IS NOW!" She screamed, and pushed the blade into her own throat, she felt the blood of the other girl on the blade and her fingers, she laughed maliciously as the pushed it in. It didn't hurt, she felt no pain. She loved the taste of the blood as it gurgled from her throat while she laughed, and laughed. She fell rather quickly due to loss of blood. Her heart tried to pump blood that wasn't there while she laughed, and laughed, and laughed. --- She woke up in her bedroom, in a small panic she began to feel around her neck, the locket was still there. She got up very stumbly and made her way to her small half bathroom. She screamed when she saw her own reflection. She was dead. Her throat was slit. She was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead! "Hush. It was all a part of the plan..." The shadows said. She watched what was happening behind her in the mirror as they shadows slowly began to appear, a black mass so dark it seems as though someone was photoshopping her surroundings. Suddenly they lurched forward, she felt a horrible burning sensation in between her shoulder blades. She looked up and screamed out as she felt pain ripping through her. She was pushed to the vanity and froze. The pain moved throughout her, yet it started to fade. The color in her eyes was darkening to black as tendrils of the same color began to stream from her eyes and the slash Kasey had made in her throat. And for one of the first times in her life, she felt truly powerful. She smiled at her reflection, her skin was deathly white, and the black in her eyes, her nails, the slash in her throat, and the trails that streamed from her neck and face were all black. She looked so terrifying it looked edited. She loved the way just her appearance would strike fear in the souls of everyone she was targeting for. She opened the locked and pulled out the blade that was held in it. As she walked confidently out of the bathroom she spun it between her fingers, but it wasn't like she would need it. Since she died, all of her nails were sharper than any blade. She stepped out of her room into the living room, she immediately knew who her first target would be. "Oh, hello Daddy." She said sweetly. She stopped spinning the small blade when he noticed her. "Kasey..." He trailed off, a look of terror crossed his face. He stepped back and dropped his whiskey glass, it shattered at his feet while he barely avoided the glass he backed himself into the corner. "Don't call me that," Kasey demanded. "I am not that weak little girl, I'm.." Kasey trailed off. "I'm Shadow." "Quit playing around Kasey, take off that damn make up. Why aren't you in school?" He questioned, stepping from the wall. Kasey jerked forward five feet, faster than the blink of an eye. Her father jumped back and slammed himself against the wall. "What the fuck are you." She blinked forwards again, close enough so he could hear her whisper. "I am your worst damn nightmare, Daddy." She shot her arm out at lightning speed, within seconds her father was lying on the floor, gasping for breath that will never come while blood came out of his mouth, nose, and the slash coming from his throat. "You don't like it when the tables turn, do you daddy?" she said. As the light left his eyes, he stopped moving and struggling. No sound came out, he was dead. And so was Kasey. She looked up at one of the cameras her father put up in the room and said, "You only hurt yourself." It's Shadow's time now.

#kasey #supernatural #demon #ghost #shadows #school #death #dad #mom #hurt

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