#*points* this father can fit so much self hatred and fear | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghostietea · 3 years

Text

Furuba autistic headcanons

With it being April, or autism acceptance month, I wanted to finally drop my list of characters from Fruits Basket that I read as autistic! This is based a lot on my own experience, as well as that of other autistics I know or have seen talk online. I hope some people can get something out of it, feel free to tell me what you think 😊, though please refrain from getting upset that I would dare suggest your fave is autistic.

Hanajima

Before becoming able to better control her powers, she would be constantly overwhelmed by the things she heard to the point that she couldn't even really go out in public. This reads a lot like sensory overload.

Constantly picked on in school because other kids thought she was weird. Eventually reclaimed this weirdness and turned it into a whole persona.

Seems to talk usually in a relatively flat tone.

Had trouble socializing with no friends outside her family until middleschool.

Has a very funny, dry sense of humor that I find very similar to a bunch of autistics I know, including myself.

Hatsuharu

Listen. You have seen the funky little man, you have seen the way he talks, the way he acts around others. He is, and I mean this in the best way, a weirdo. I do not know how you could look at him and see a neurotypical.

Once again, like Hana, Haru is funny in a way that feels very autistic.

Very flat, dry, tone delivery. Sometimes just Says Things that make everyone else go huh??? Suuuuper blunt. Doesn't emote facially a lot of the time.

When this man sees a social norm he doesn't get he WILL NOT follow it. Pierces his ears just because his hair got flak, defends Momiji wearing whatever he wants because sometimes y'know the social rules are just dumb and don't make sense. Especially dress codes.

Sometimes says things not befitting the current tone of the situation.

Represses (masks) a lot of his emotions, leading to outbursts that seem uncharacteristic.

His main childhood trauma revolves around adults branding him as "dumb" and ridiculing him. Haru, however, is super smart and wise!! Just in an offbeat way that not everyone may get.

Machi

Reads as very "flat" emotionally to the point that others would call her boring. Also has a flat vocal delivery.

Relies on specific habits or ways of doing things or else she gets super upset (her hatred of imperfection.

Has trauma surrounding adults completely misconstruing her intentions and thinking she's doing something malicious when she's not.

Generally behaves in a way that's hard for others to understand, one of her formative moments with Yuki was him saying he wanted to "see how the world looks" through her eyes.

Once again, trouble socializing.

Tries super hard to please her parents but in the end they still see her as somehow inherently "defective."

Listen. A lot of this one and the last two are mostly vibes, hard to verbally define. You just have to look at them and trust me.

Tohru

Displays behavior very reminiscent of masking throughout the story, a huge part of her arc is about how she hides a lot of herself and has a very controlled persona. I think it would fit very well if she had other autistic behaviors that she suppresed also it helps explain why she is relatively socially adept, it's learned behavior to make people like her more.

Yes she is very good at saying what others need to hear, but especially early on she is pretty blatantly imitating her mother's words. She only gets better at getting through on a more personal level later on (see her with Rin and Akito v. early series Tohru). She does this by relating her own experiences, a very autistic way of showing empathy that often gets us written off as self centered. The way she relays things her mom said could also be seen as this, and she even worries at a few points that she's being insensitive for going on about things like that.

While emotionally repressed she is hyper empathetic and feels other's emotions so strongly she cries.

Her speech patterns are all imitated from her father and she often copies verbal things from others (see Ritchan-san). Noted in canon that people think her way of speaking is slightly off/not befitting of someone her age. Additionally, her father was polite more sarcastically, while she plays it straight and sometimes takes things very literally or fails to get the message, indicating trouble with reading tone. Has numerous strange verbal tics, including saying parts of her internal monologue out loud without context.

Very expressive with her hands including waving them around and flapping them up and down.

Does have a bit of trouble with accidental insensitivity in social interactions, like how she constantly fixates on her mom and realizes that might bug the Sohma.

Has trouble paying attention in school since it doesn't have much to do with her interests

Her only friend until she was a middle schooler was her mom

Has a pretty unique outlook on things compared to others, people seem to think she's pretty eccentric. There's always a "this girl is nice but in an odd way, she's our weirdo and we love her" vibe.

Sometimes has an "inappropriate" emotional response to situations

Has a lot of trouble with change, similar to Akito. Which oh, look at the time, next hc coming up.

But first, a disclaimer. It is cathartic for me to read Akito this way, but with that reading comes the baggage that she would, mayhaps, be showing a more negative side of things... It doesn't bother me since it's a joint hc with other characters and she does develop at the end but yeah, general villain hc baggage. This is in no way me trying to excuse her being The Worst being autistic doesn't absolve you of being able to do wrong . Also, a lot of these points can and do have other explanations related to her upbringing, but things can be for more than 1 reason. With that said, she really strongly comes off as autistic to me, in a way that's sorta hard to explain. I wrote a lot more for her than the other, both because I felt I needed more to convince people and that this headcanon was more sensitive and I needed to be careful in my explanation. Also hey! She's my special interest within a special interest.

Akito

Shown to have a dislike of summer weather due to heat and brightness, could be due to sensory issues in tandem with sickness things. Also covers her ears when people raise their voice sometimes which is partially her trying to shut down opposition but also 🤔 can read a different way. She'd also avoids louder Juuni like Ritsu and Ayame because she can't handle them.

Wears pretty much the same outfit every single day. Said outfit is also pretty loose fitting.

Always seen sitting in a pretty unconventional way. Evidence:

Of course this is also the isolated in a cult thing and there is a level of her purposefully doing things to intimidate but: doesn't follow a lot of social rules (overly touchy with strangers, legit doesn't get that what she's doing is wrong, ect.). Repeatedly confused when people indicate she should act otherwise without explanation. Has a breakdown when this comes to a head and approximately says that "they" shouldn't expect her to know "common sense" if "they" never explained it to her, that the way that she was was her "common sense."

Often talks in a way uncharacteristic of her age when shown as a child in a more faux mature/pretentious way. Might just be the translation and idk how to explain it but her speech as an adult also seems off from what one would normally use in conversation. Additionally, when she tries to fake being friendly in her intro chapter, it comes of as extremely stiff and unconvincing.

Generally displays behavior that could be thought of as childish as an adult, but a lot of this behavior could also read as autistic (covering ears, emotional deregulation and meltdowns, ignorance of basic social norms, ect.). It's also important to note that she knows that this behavior makes her seem younger and more helpless to the older zodiac and uses it as a manipulation tactic. Has issues regarding people treating her like a child or only hanging out with her because of pity. While she does weaponize it, we can tell that this grates on her, as seen with her finally blowing up on Kureno, which is partially triggered by the maids saying some sorta infantalizing stuff about her. Irl, a lot of autistic adults and teens struggle with being infantalized for our behavior generally or treated as little babies that can do no wrong. Even in fandom, you see people doing stuff like jumping to call autistic adult characters, such as Entrapta from Shera, "minor coded." It is also common for us to have at least one bad experience with someone hanging around us out of pity. This is something that really gave me a similar feeling in Akito's arc. She's not a baby and she can understand and do better if she is given the chance to learn and break from all the freaky cult indoctrination she's been subjected to instead of just being constantly enabled. In the end, a lot of her growth is represented by her showing that she is capable of changing and being independent.

Shows particular difficulty with socialization, often sits by herself spacing out at social events. A lot of her fear is rooted in the fact that she doesn't know how normal relationships work, becoming overly reliant on the curse because she doesn't know how to make friends.

Clings desperately onto the notion of being "special" and in some way superior to others to be worthy and to make up for perceived inherent "flaws." It's the nd gifted kid burnout vibes for me.

Easily bothered by things that don't bother others. Feels emotions very strongly to the point of getting physically ill and has bad emotional regulation.

Relatively good at reading others in an analytical sense (though has more trouble when it comes to seeing how they feel about her since she's wildly delusional) but brings up her observations in a very cold, detached way and hurts people even on the rare occasion she didn't mean to. Has extreme trouble connecting to others and understanding their point of view. This makes her come off as pretty unempathetic even though that might not fully be the case. Also thinks that people like Momiji are trying to look down on her when they try to empathize with her. A lot of why Tohru can get through to her is that she manages to convince Akito that she's not condescending by relating shared traits and experiences. As I said earlier, autistics often empathize by sharing their own experiences with someone, and I know I often have an easier time confiding in other autistics because of a fear of being seen as lesser by those that don't understand me. I think the connection between these charachters and the way that Tohru manages to reach Akito like that while others couldn't makes a lot of sense through an autistic lense!

Additionally, when Akito herself gets around to trying to help others instead of just projecting trauma, she tries to reach out to the old maid by relating back to her own experiences. This however, doesn't work.

Has "cold" emotional reactions sometimes even to things that do make her upset. For example, how sort of calm and detached she acted after her father's death can make her seem uncaring. However, we know that this event did mess her up a lot and she is still (poorly) dealing with a lot of grief from the death of her father years later.

Copies mannerisms from others, the most blatant example is with Ren, who she directly parrots lines from as a child to Yuki.

Partly just her posturing, but gestures a lot with her hands when she talks. Also seen several times clutching her hands in her hair.

Deals extremely poorly with the idea of things changing to the point that it is a driving force of the story.

Does not understand when people tease her.

Ect. Ect. Ect. Listen, I could go on for ages but just trust me, the mean gremlin lady is autistic.

#fruits basket #akito sohma #tohru honda #saki hanajima #machi kuragi #hatsuharu sohma #actually autistic #meta

195 notes · View notes

uwuwriting · 3 years

Text

Bad day for the pros w/ Bakugou, Shinsou and Todoroki

Request: May I ask for some headcanons of pro hero Bakugou, pro hero Shinso and pro hero Shoto, they had a very very bad day at work, some heavy stuff happened and it was their fault, but fear not! y/n is here to save the day with love, good cooking and cuddles to be their hero. (Fem reader if possible)- anonymous

I haven’t written for Shinsou in a while, same goes for Bakugou. Shoto is baby, I can never go for too long without writing for him. My midterms are coming up so I won’t be posting next week at all, I’m stressed and depressed and whenever I think that in June I’ll be taking my university entrance exams I wanna wretch. So yeah life is going great. Love ya.💖💖💖

masterlist II rules

warnings: tired babies, fluff, some angst, self doubt.

Bakugou Katsuki

-People really have no chill and poor baby is barely keeping it together.

-He’s minutes away from committing mass murder and man slaughter.

-It’s common knowledge that he has no patience whatsoever and people today seemed to be testing his control.

-But alas finally this awful day was over and he could go back to your shared apartment and relax, eat something and sleep.

-Stepping into the apartment he dropped his duffel bag with a loud thud letting out a sigh as he slowly peeled off his jacket and slipped into his slippers.

- “Katsu?”

-Your sweet voice rang through the halls, your head peeking out from the corner eyes landing on his slumped shoulders and tense features.

-Wordlessly you gently grabbed his hand and guided him into your bedroom.

-Passing him a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie you pushed him into the bathroom where the tub was already filled with steaming hot water.

- “Dinner is almost ready, take your bath and I’ll be waiting.”

-Giving him one last kiss on the lips you exited the bathroom.

-Almost 20 minutes later he came into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around your waist as you stirred the soup.

- “Bad day baby?”

-He only answered with a grunt as he buried his face in the crook of your neck nuzzling his nose in your hair.

-Mumbling something under his breath you let out a chuckle as you gave him a plate and guided him to the living room couch.

-Settling down next to him you kissed him again before digging in.

-Soon enough you were cuddling on the couch, his head on your chest and your hands intertwined.

-You’re running your fingers through his spiky hair, smoothing down the knots as he goes on and on about his awful day.

-People really were pushing his buttons today.

- “You wanna go to bed then?”

- “But it’s early for you.”

-Shrugging you got up taking him with you.

-Once in bed you cuddled again with you being the big spoon since your mans needs some well deserved comfort.

-“No matter how bad your day is I’ll always be here for you.”

- “I know shitty woman.”

- “Awww I love you too.”

Shinsou Hitoshi

-He was tired of people doubting his motives.

-Really it was getting old.

-The mocking and the lingering fear even after five years in the hero industry.

-His agency had booked another meet and greet so they could do some damage control with the hate Hitoshi was getting and of course he couldn’t bring you along.

-He was kinda jealous of your day off.

-Jealous because he wished he could spend time with you and Mochi rather than deal with random strangers changing sidewalks during his patrol.

-He was exhausted as he stepped into your shared apartment that night, Mochi sprawled on the hallway carpet waiting for his other owner.

-Awaiting for his belly rubs with open paws, Mochi ignored the dark aura his master was emanating , or he just chose to ignore it.

- “Didn’t Y/N give you belly rubs? I bet you have been taking my place all day mister.”

- “You know he can’t replace you, love.”

-He looked up only to be met with your dazzling smile and bright eyes although he could see the faint signs of sleepiness clinging to your eyelids.

-He could feel your eyes inspecting him and soon enough he would be kissed and pushed towards the bathroom for a much needed shower because you would see how tired and drained he was.

-He could never get away.

-It was a power you had since high school and try as he might he could never hide his fatigue.

-Before he knew it he was up on his feet, capture tool placed on the hanger near the door and slippers on his feet, a kiss on each cheek and one lingering one on the lips.

-Soon he was soaking in the tub with you behind him massaging his scalp with that special lavender shampoo while humming a soft tune.

-It always amazed him how you could calm him without using words and if he was being honest he wanted to keep it that way, the silence was always nice and he loved basking in your presence but today he really needed to be reassured.

- “Why do you stay with me?”

-Your movements stilled at his words and he could feel your eyes widening.

- “It’s bad publicity for you, you’ve been held back on hero ratings because people believe that you are conspiring with me in some master plan.” he sighed before continuing leaving you no space to speak. “You could have anyone you want. It would make your life 100 times easier if I wasn’t in it.”

-You would have never guessed that those thoughts were running through his head when he walked through the door moments earlier.

-Hugging him closely to your chest you finally spoke.

- “I fell in love with you and you alone. I would never leave you because some pompous asshats keep saying that you are a villain. Hero rankings can go suck it for all I care along with anyone who wants to call you a monster.” Turning around so now you were straddling his lap you cupped his cheeks connecting your foreheads. “I love you with all my heart ‘Toshi, don’t ever forget it.”

-You might be a witch putting him under a spell with your sweet words.

-He believed you and with that he relaxed in your grip, hugging you like his life depended on it because in his eyes, it did.

Todoroki Shoto

-He couldn’t even count how many times he was told he looked like his father today.

-He couldn’t begin to describe how gut wrenching those comments were.

-One would believe that being compared to the retired n.1 would be a big fit for an upcoming hero but not for Shoto.

-The first thought that always runs through his head when those words are heard is his mother.

-The fear in her eyes and how much she hated his left side, to the point of scarring him for life.

-He begins to wonder if you too look at him with such disgust and hatred from time to time.

-He knew of your dislike towards his father since you two were in high school and he finally shared his past with you.

-This undying dislike carried on into your adult life even after multiple family dinners and warm, friendly exchanges with Endeavor.

-Did you also think he was like his father?

-Did you see Endeavor when he walked inside your shared apartment at night?

-He got home before you or at least that's what he remembers.

-You found him with his head resting in his hands and back pressed against the hallway’s wall when you returned from your patrol.

-At first you thought that he was hurt but after he didn’t answer to your fifth call of his name you knew it was more of a mental struggle.

-Crouching down to his level you slowly pried his hands from his face, giving him a smile once his eyes came into view.

-Cupping his cheeks, you brushed your fingers over his scar once, twice before leaning in and giving him a little peck on the nose, then on his forehead, then on each cheek, on his scar and last on his lips.

- “Sho my love, what’s wrong?”

-Your hand was now running through his hair, untangling the soft locks of white as your other still lay on his other cheek, your thumb making small smooth circles on his scar.

- “Do you see me as Endeavor?”

-Taking in a sharp breath you stopped your ministrations for a moment before shuffling closer to him and raising his chin so he would finally meet your eyes.

- “I see Shoto when I look at you. I see the shy boy who wouldn’t sit next to me during movie night in our first year so he wouldn’t make me uncomfortable. I see the boy who overcame his fears and used his quirk. I see the pro hero who has saved hundreds of lives in the three years he has been in the industry. I see the man I’m in love with. So no, I don’t see Endeavor.”

-He looked at you then, really looked at you.

-You were smiling at him, one of your sweet as honey smiles while your eyes almost sparkled as they were locked with his.

-In one swift movement he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you flush to his chest a thousand I love you’s leaving his lips as he kissed senseless.

- “Now would you like some takeout soba from that place you like or homemade soba with my lovely cooking.”

- “I wanna actually eat so takeout.”

- *le gasp*

TAG TEAM AY:

@the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei @storage11037 @dnarez @wolfkid22 @letscheereachotheron @ezoyscorner @dark-thoughts-and-red-roses @threeamwriting

618 notes · View notes

usuallyapirate · 3 years

Text

A short Introduction to the most common Player-Races in Dungeons and Dragons as given by the DnD 5e Players Handbook:

Dwarf

“Yer late,elf!” came the rough edge of a familiar voice. Bruenor Battlehammer walked up the back of his dead foe, disregarding the fact that the heavy monster lay on top of his elven friend. In spite of the added discomfort, the dwarf’s long, pointed, often-broken nose and gray-streaked though still-fiery red beard came as a welcome sight to Drizzt. “Knew I’d find ye in trouble if I came out an' looked for ye!"

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crysta lShard

Kingdoms rich in ancient grandeur, halls carved into the roots of mountains, the echoing of picks and hammers in deep mines and blazing forges, a commitment to clan and tradition, and a burning hatred of goblins and orcs—these common threads unite all dwarves.

Elf

“I HAVE NEVER IMAGINED SUCH BEAUTY EXISTED,” Goldmoon said softly. The day’s march had been difficult, but the reward at the end was beyond their dreams. The companions stood on a high cliff over the fabled city of Qualinost. Four slender spires rose from the city’s corners like glistening spindles, their brilliant white stone marbled with shining silver. Graceful arches, swooping from spire to spire, soared through the air. Crafted by ancient dwarven metalsmiths, they were strong enough to hold the weight of an army, yet they appeared so delicate that a bird lighting on them might overthrow the balance. These glistening arches were the city’s only boundaries; there was no wall around Qualinost. The elven city opened its arms lovingly to the wilderness.

– Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Elves are a magical people of otherworldly grace, living in the world but not entirely part of it. They live in places of ethereal beauty, in the midst of ancient forests or in silvery spires glittering with faerie light, where soft music drifts through the air and gentle fragrances waft on the breeze. Elves love nature and magic, art and artistry, music and poetry, and the good things of the world.

Halfling

Regis the halfling, the only one of his kind for hundreds of miles in any direction, locked his fingers behind his head and leaned back against the mossy blanket of the tree trunk. Regis was short, even by the standards of his diminutive race, with the fluff of his curly brown locks barely cresting the three-foot mark, but his belly was amply thickened by his love of a good meal, or several, as the opportunities presented themselves. The crooked stick that served as his fishing pole rose up above him, clenched between two of his toes, and hung out over the quiet lake, mirrored perfectly in the glassy surface of Maer Dualdon.

– R.A. Salvatore, The Crystal Shard

The comforts of home are the goal of most halflings‘ lives: a place to settle in peace and quiet, far from marauding monsters and clashing armies; a blazing fire and a generous meal; fine drink and fine conversation. Though some halflings live out their days in remote agricultural communities, others form nomadic bands that travel constantly, lured by the open road and the wide horizon to discover the wonders of new lands and peoples. But even these wanderers love peace, food, hearth, and home, though home might be a wagon jostling along a dirt road or a raft floating downriver.

Human

These were the stories of a restless people who long ago took to the seas and rivers in longboats, first to pillage and terrorize, then to settle. Yet there was an energy, a love of adventure, that sang from every page. Long into the night Uriel read, lighting candle after precious candle. She'd never given much thought to humans, but these stories fascinated her. In these yellowed pages were tales of bold heroes, strange and fierce animals, mighty primitive gods, and a magic that was part and fabric of that distant land.

– Elaine Cunningham, Daughter of the Drow

In the reckonings of most worlds, humans are the youngest of the common races, late to arrive on the world scene and short-lived in comparison to dwarves, elves, and dragons. Perhaps it is because of their shorter lives that they strive to achieve as much as they can in the years they are given. Or maybe they feel they have something to prove to the elder races, and that’s why they build their mighty empires on the foundation of conquest and trade. Whatever drives them, humans are the innovators, the achievers, and the pioneers of the worlds.

Dragonborn

Her father stood on the first of the three stairs that led down from the portal, unmoving. The scales of his face had grown paler around the edges, but Clanless Mehen still looked as if he could wrestle down a dire bear himself. His familiar well-worn armor was gone, replaced by violet-tinted scale armor with bright silvery tracings. There was a blazon on his arm as well, the mark of some foreign house. The sword at his back was the same, though, the one he had carried since even before he had found the twins left in swaddling at the gates of Arush Vayem. Father’s face was as kill she'd been fortunate to learn. A human who couldn’t spot the shift of her eyes or Havilar’s would certainly see only the indifference of a dragon in Clanless Mehen’s face. But the shift of scales, the arch of a ridge, the set of his eyes, the gape of his teeth – her father's face spoke volumes. But every scale of it, this time, seemed completely still— the indifference of a dragon, even to Farideh.

– Erin M. Evans, The Adversary

Born of dragons, as their name proclaims, the dragonborn walk proudly through a world that greets them with fearful incomprehension. Shaped by draconic gods or the dragons themselves, dragonborn originally hatched from dragon eggs as a unique race, combining the best attributes of dragons and humanoids. Some dragonborn are faithful servants to true dragons, others form the ranks of soldiers in great wars, and still others find themselves adrift, with no clear calling in life.

Gnome

Skinny and flaxen-haired, his skin walnut brown and his eyes a startling turquoise, Burgell stood half as tall as Aeron climb up on a stool to look out the peephole. Like most habitations in Oeble, that particula tenement had been built for humans, and smaller residents coped with the resulting awkwardness as best they could. But at least the relative largeness of the apartment gave Burgell room to pack in all his gnome-sized gear. The front room was his workshop, and it contained a bewildering miscellany of tools: hammers, chisels, saws, lockpicks, tinted lenses, jeweler's loupes, and jars of powdered and shredded ingredients for casting spells. A fat gray cat, the mage’s familiar, lay curled atop a grimoire. It opened its eyes, gave Aeron a disdainful yellow stare, then appeared to go back to sleep.

– Richard Lee Byers, The Black Bouquet

A constant hum of busy activity pervades the warrens and neighborhoods where gnomes form their close-knit communities. Louder sounds punctuate the hum: a crunch of grinding gears here, a minor explosion there, a yelp of surprise or triumph, and especially bursts of laughter. Gnomes take delight in life, enjoying every moment of invention, exploration, investigation, creation, and play.

Half-Elf

Flint squinted into the setting sun. He thought he saw the figure of a man striding up the path. Standing, Flint drew back into the shadow of a tall pine to see better. The man's walk was marked by an easy grace – an elvish grace, Flint would have said; yet the man’s body had the thickness and tight muscles of a human, while the facial hair was definitely humankind’s. All the dwarf could see of the man’s face beneath a green hood was tan skin and a brownish-red beard. A longbow was slung over one shoulder and a sword hung at his left side. He was dressed in soft leather, carefully tooled in the intricate designs the elves loved. But no elf in the world of Krynn could grow a beard ... no elf, but...

“Tanis?” said Flint hesitantly as the man neared.

“The same.” The newcomer’s bearded face split in a wide grin. He held open his arms and, before the dwarf could stop him, engulfed Flint in a hug that lifted him off the ground. The dwarf clasped his old friend close for a brief instant, then, remembering his dignity, squirmed and freed himself from the half-elf’s embrace.

– Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman, Dragons of Autumn Twilight

Walking in two worlds but truly belonging to neither, half-elves combine what some say are the best qualities of their elf and human parents: human curiosity, inventiveness, and ambition tempered by the refined senses, love of nature, and artistic tastes of the elves. Some half-elves live among humans, set apart by their emotional and physical differences, watching friends and loved ones age while time barely touches them. Others live with the elves, growing restless as they reach adulthood in the timeless elven realms, while their peers continue to live as children. Many half-elves, unable to fit into either society, choose lives of solitary wandering or join with other misfits and outcasts in the adventuring life.

Half-Orc

The warchief Mhurren roused himself from his sleeping-furs and his women and pulled a short hauberk of heavy steel rings over his thick, well-muscled torso. He usually rose before most of his warriors, since he had a strong streak of human blood in him, and he found the daylight less bothersome than most of his tribe did. Among the Bloody Skulls, a warrior was judged by his strength, his fierceness, and his wits. Human ancestry was no blemish against a warrior – provided he was every bit as strong, enduring, and blood thirsty as his full-blooded kin. Half-orcs who were weaker than their orc comrades didn't last long among the Bloody Skulls or any other orc tribe for that matter. But it was often true that a bit of human blood gave a warrior just the right mix of cunning, ambition, and self-discipline to go far indeed, as Mhurren had. He was master of a tribe that could muster two thousand spears, and the strongest chief in Thar.

– Richard Baker, Swordmage

Whether united under the leadership of a mighty warlock or having fought to a standstill after years of conflict, orc and human tribes sometimes form alliances, joining forces into a larger horde to the terror of civilized lands nearby. When these alliances are sealed by marriages, half-orcs are born. Some half-orcs rise to become proud chiefs of orc tribes, their human blood giving them an edge over their full-blooded orc rivals. Some venture into the world to prove their worth among humans and other more civilized races. Many of these become adventurers, achieving greatness for their mighty deeds and notoriety for their barbaric customs and savage fury.

Tiefling

“But you do see the way people look at you, devil’s child." Those black eyes, cold as a winter storm, were staring right into her heart and the sudden seriousness in his voice jolted her.

“What is it they say?" he asked. “One’s a curiosity, two’s a conspiracy—”

“Three's a curse,” she finished. “You think I haven’t heard that rubbish before?”

“I know you have.” When she glared at him, he added, “It’s not as if I’m plumbing the depths of your mind, dear girl. That is the burden of every tiefling. Some break under it, some make it the millstone around their neck, some revel in it.” He tilted his head again, scrutinizing her, with that wicked glint in hiseyes. “You fight it, don’t you? Like a little wildcat, I wager. Every little jab and comment just sharpens your claws.”

– Erin M. Evans, Brimstone Angels

To be greeted with stares and whispers, to suffer violence and insult on the street, to see mistrust and fear in every eye: this is the lot of the tiefling. And to twist the knife, tieflings know that this is because a pact struck generations ago infused the essence of Asmodeus – overlord of the Nine Hells – into their bloodline. Their appearance and their nature are not their fault but the result of an ancient sin, for which they and their children and their children’s children will always be held accountable.

57 notes · View notes

the-redeemed-anon · 3 years

Text

Welp, since we got Wilbur back, let’s take a look at Eight

As a disclaimer, I’ll talk about the character, and if I mention the CC, I will label his name accordingly.

Okay, since the pog thing that happened on the 29th of April, and a couple of bad takes have already started to pop up Jesus Christ guys why do you want the dude that just got back to life after being trapped in limbo for over a decade to get beaten up violently- I think it’s appropriate to bring attention to the thing that gave me my pseudonym and my belief that we may get a redemption/healing arc for Wilbur: the song Eight, by Sleeping at Last.

Why this song matters, you may wonder. Well, it’s a song that we have confirmation to have been CC!Wilbur’s personal inspiration for his character, as said by CC!Wilbur himself. Not only does that give us insight into how and why Wilbur acted in certain ways in Season 1, but it also gives us the opportunity to see the inner turmoil he went through and still will.

Now keep in mind that this is just my interpretation of the song, other people may see the song differently, but overall looking at this song and looking for meaning into it I think is very useful if you plan to analyse Wilbur or even write about him. It truly gives you a lot of insight and context for how he was. Here is a link to it for you to listen to it, before I dive into the analysis.

First, let’s see what Eight is about, as a song. The song is about Type Eight of the Enneagram of Personality, which is basically a system that defines 9 different personality types. Sleeping at Last made a song for each Enneagram, actually, but we’re here to talk about Type 8 (also bear in mind I am not an expert in psychology, so I am not here to comment on the validity of this system. I’m here just to analyze a song lol).

What is Type 8 (aka a bit of analysis on Wilbur outside of the song)

Type 8 is often called the Challenger or the Protector. This type is characterized by a want to not show vulnerability, to have power. Their deepest fear is to not be in control of themselves, to be harmed, to be vulnerable, and their desire is to be in control of themselves, their life/destiny. They want respect over status, value loyalty and they want to make an impact on the world. You can start to see some core characteristics of Wilbur in this description.

We also have levels, from healthy to unhealthy, with which we can see what a Type 8 person can behave like.

Healthy Type 8 people act like a protector for others, they are the strong leaders, the challengers of oppression, the people who don’t stand for injustice in their communities. You can say they are the natural leader type, and I think you can start to see inklings of Wilbur’s personality from early Season 1 here. He started L’Manberg to challenge what he saw as tyranny. When Wilbur described the reasons he cared about L’Manberg, we can also notice that the values he lists align with the core desires of a Type 8: the desire to have control over their life, and not allow others to control them. By making L’Manberg to “stick it to the man“, Wilbur is very stereotypically a Type 8.

Average Type 8 people aren’t as open as someone on the healthy level is. Showing weakness is unacceptable. They may see relationships as the next challenge they need to surpass, and can come easily off as intimidating and ambitious to peers. To me, this sounds a bit like Wilbur after the War, before the announcement of the Festival. He was more closed off around that time, and you could argue that the Elections were a part of his ambition to prove that people respect him, that he can do this, rule a country. The new revelation that Wilbur was lying in his letters to Phil, about the Elections and the formation of Pogtopia also shows that he didn’t want to show weakness, to disappoint or worry his father.

Unhealthy Type 8 people become so closed off that they are intimidating and can appear tyrannical from the outside, often disregarding the feelings of others. They pursue power, and when someone stands in their way, they are cold and become quite antagonistic. They may issue empty threats in their pursuit for power, and their already existing relationships are turned into tests, where the only option is to pass or to fail, with no in-between. This can result in them being abandoned, and them accepting this as being better this way, to be alone. They can force themselves into loneliness.

If this sounds terribly familiar and recent, well... Wilbur, ever since the “Then let’s be the bad guys“ speech, has exhibited the traits of an unhealthy Type 8. Even now, post-resurrection, while he is trying to improve on himself, a lot of his traits remain or have worsened, due to staying in limbo for 13 years. He still has a persona under which he hides his issues, and as I have said in another post, he’s the emotional equivalent of a snail, you poke him gently and he completely retreats in his shell. Wilbur has actively driven people away from him for being so confrontational, and this can be seen again with Ranboo. All in all, Wilbur is definitely cozy in that section of the Type for now.

I also want to talk separately about three things:

1. The Pit

I won’t lie, the Pit is probably the most extreme thing Wilbur did to this date. It’s Wilbur at his lowest point morally and mentally, reveling in his brother figure fighting a much tougher opponent and losing. I won’t sit here and say he was right, nor am I gonna condemn you for your opinion on the Pit, but, when you look at Wilbur’s enneagram, the Pit and why it happened makes sense. What happened right before? The Festival. The Festival was meant to be the time Wilbur either blew up Manberg or left it be, based on Tubbo’s call. Wilbur prepared for those two scenarios, and felt in control of the situation... then it all went horribly wrong. The situation spiraled wildly out of Wilbur’s grasp and it ended with the death of Tubbo and the possibility of Techno being on Schlatt’s side.

This started a breakdown fueled by paranoia that led to the Pit, to Wilbur goading Techno and Tommy to fight. The question is, why? Why do that?

To regain control. Wilbur, in my opinion, did that in an attempt to regain control, after the Festival slipped so hard from his grasp, no matter his effort to keep control of it. That was his urge, that was his need in the moment, no matter how messed up it was, he may have felt like this was necessary. Remember, the core fear of Eights is to not be in control of their own life and destiny, to be puppeteered by someone else. This is why the Pit happened, when you acknowledge the fact that Wilbur was unstable mentally, and he is the type of person to want control.

2. The want to protect others

This is a quality of healthy Eights that still shines through with Wilbur, but it’s sadly overshadowed by his more antagonistic or morally darker actions and quotes.

Wilbur was naturally a protective person. Because Eights challenge authority, this makes them see the world as being inhabited by those who are strong and those who are weak, and not in a bad way. Eights consider themselves part of the strong ones, because they stand up for themselves, but because they see the world also inhabited by the weak, they have the urge to protect them. They also stand up for whom they think can’t stand up for themselves on their own, they think they are responsible for the protection of others.

And when you look at Wilbur, this shines through. He made himself President, and while no one protested, he did it because he felt he was the one fit for the role. Even at the time this scene happened, you can see why Wilbur would have perceived Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy as weaker than him: Fundy was his son, and Tommy and Tubbo, no matter the age intended at the time, were always viewed as younger than him, not to say, Tommy had just lost 2 lives back-to-back. Therefore, Wilbur put himself in charge and with the duty to protect the nation and its people, as the President.

Wilbur even says this in the flashback from Quackity’s stream:

[“What has made you do everything you’ve done up to this point?” (Quackity)

“That’s a- That’s a big question. Um. I guess it’s just protection for my people. I mean, I- I- I just want to see them thrive, and I want to see them safe.” (Alivebur) - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:03:02, 12th Apr)]

It’s clear, Wilbur has a desire to protect his nation, and, by extension, his people, his friends, especially with the following quote once Quackity replies: [“Your aspirations of optimism are not going to be subject to my nation’s security I’m afraid. I- I completely disagree with everything you’ve said.” - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:05:18, 12th Apr)] He keeps hammering in the idea that he did what he did to protect and offer safety to his friends. That’s why he needed power: [“If you want to really help people, you’re gonna need power, Quackity.” - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:05:42, 12th Apr)]

And again, this happens even after the “Then let’s be the bad guys“ speech. Even though he initially says he wants to kill everyone at the Festival, when confronted with this on the day of the event, he second-guesses himself. He doesn’t want to hurt his friends, he doesn’t want to hurt people weaker than him. He distrusts Tubbo, but the moment Techno fires the first rocket, he’s shocked, appalled and moves to go to the button, while urging Tommy to act. When Schlatt wants to kill Niki, he steps out and offers himself to be killed and no one else be harmed.

Even the act of pushing the button himself, there are Wilbur analysts who have pointed out that Wilbur may have wanted to be stopped. And even then, the explosion created no casualties, thanks to all of them wearing armor.

In the Void, Wilbur talks about how he’s evil, how the server is better off without him. He recognizes himself as a hazard, and while that is a part of his self-loathing and hatred, you can also see his care for others shine through: he didn’t want to come back at the time, because he thought he would bring back conflict, suffering [“Here’s the thing, I genuinely think, if it weren’t for me and you dying right, the server would be in shambles. I know for a fact that if I come back, or if I’m brought back to life in some way it’s definitely gonna just go [shit again]” “I know what I’m like, that’s the issue.” - (Tommy’s am i dead?: 10:29, 4th March)]. By staying dead, at this point, he was continuing to prevent weaker people from being harmed.

Even now, post-resurrection, we can see this, but, well...

3. Opinion on Dream

I have looked at this before, from the angle of Wilbur’s mentality. We all know his opinion on Dream so far, that he would have killed him on the spot for what happened to Tommy in the Exile, but Wilbur still considers him his hero. While I said at the time that it may be a subtle way for Wilbur to cloak his self-loathing and self-hatred, but now I want to look at the first part again, from the perspective of Type 8:

Wilbur, by having the urge to kill Dream on the spot, for what he did to Tommy in Exile (and, keep in mind, Ghostbur wasn’t there for all of it, so Wilbur did not see the destruction of Logsted and why it happened, or how Tommy was completely isolated from everyone after the party, and Tommy referred to Dream as his owner to Mexican Dream), no matter what he says after about Dream, proves that he still has the quality to want to protect the weak.

Dream, as always, is one of the strong people of the server. He’s the owner, he has a lot of items and good gear, and in general, everyone recognizes him with a level of danger he presents, and power. Tommy, on the other hand, is one of the weaker ones.

While Tommy has valuable traits, like his loyalty, his fierce determination and the will to keep moving despite how low life kicks him at times, one can’t deny that, in general, Tommy is viewed as one of the weak. He doesn’t have that many powerful items, he isn’t physically that strong, people constantly pick on him, and he is one of the minors of the server, the youngest of them, in fact. Add to that the humiliation of Exile and the treatment he was put through, Tommy was not only at his weakest then, but also at his most vulnerable.

Why would it be a surprise then for Wilbur to want to gut Dream, considering the above? Tommy and Wilbur were very close. As Wilbur acknowledged in the latest stream: [“We were a family, Tommy. We were…” - (Wilbur’s resurrected gentleman of L'manburg: 27:26, 5th May)], they were once so close they could have been brothers. Tommy stuck with Wilbur as a right hand man, he was the only one who didn’t give up on him in Pogtopia, no matter if he thought his choices were right or wrong, and Wilbur confided in Tommy a lot. Now take this little brother figure he had in Tommy, and put him through Exile.

Of course Wilbur would want to gut Dream, Tommy may as well be part of his family, and Wilbur doesn’t strike me as the kind to want his loved ones in pain, genuinely. He may dismiss the feelings Tommy has sometimes, but his reaction to Exile shows that he isn’t blind to suffering. He saw it and recognized as harmful and damaging to Tommy, unprompted by anyone else.

He even makes a comment that I think may be important in the future: [“Tommy, I’m not, I’m not- I wasn’t blind, I saw what he was doing to you, Tommy. I saw. I saw what he was doing to Tubbo. I saw what he did to me.” - (Wilbur’s resurrected gentleman of L'manburg: 21:08, 5th May)]. Remember, Wilbur right now is deeply conflicted, I don’t think he’s properly sorted his feelings on Dream yet. He, in this quote, recognizes he saw how Dream treated Tommy, Tubbo and himself. While Eights want to protect the weak, their core fear is being controlled or harmed by others. I am very curious what will happen if, or, when, Wilbur will decide that Dream is also a hazard to himself, or if Dream will try to use Wilbur for his own plans. But, this is starting to deviate from the purpose of this post so, with that out of the way...

The lyrics:

I remember the minute It was like a switch was flipped I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit

Here, Wilbur’s arc and story begins. The lyric recount the moment Wilbur’s spiral began: the Final Control Room. He remembers that betrayal up to his death, still calling Eret a traitor and quoting him, with the same quote he used: “It was never meant to be”. This moment is what will define and shape Wilbur throughout Season 1, and even now. The switch mentioned is the button pressed, the moment everything changed. “I was just a kid” is Wilbur recognizing that he was not ready for the role of President, sentiment reflected by the rest of the lyrics: “who grew up strong enough/To pick this armor up”. Wilbur forced himself to bear the title of president, like a suit of armor, something that protects you, and helps you to fight for others, until “suddenly it fit”.

God, that was so long ago, long ago, long ago I was little, I was weak and perfectly naive And I grew up too quick

Here Wilbur internally recognizes that time passed, his ideology changed, as evident the quotes from Quackity’s stream: [“You say, you say everyone has a good side, Quackity. And you’re right, you’re right, everyone has a good side, but that good side is only there to help themselves. If you want to really help people, you’re gonna need power, Quackity. You can make a movement, you can make a resistance, right, you can go out and you can come back, and they’ll give you a ticker tape parade. They’ll cheer for you in the streets, but you will change nothing. If you have a revolution, everyone will hate you, you will sacrifice everything, and you will lose everything you’ve ever had, but you’ll come back and everything will be changed. And Quackity, if you want to change things, you’re gonna need power. That’s what you want, really, isn’t it? Look at me. And power isn’t gaining from diplomacy, and bureaucracy, and giant courthouses suspended in the sky, blah blah blah. It’s gained from swords, Quackity. It’s gained from blades, it’s gained from steel, iron. Even if everyone has this good side that you’re talking about, then anyone who wants to prove it, has to show their dark side first. You’re going to have to kill, you’re going to have to torture, you’re going to have to maim.” - (Quackity’s Killing My Enemies: 1:06:34, 12th Apr)]. Yet, even if this happened so “long ago, long ago, long ago”, he “grew up too quick”, because the change was too sudden, and it didn’t occur naturally.

Now you won't see all that I have to lose And all I've lost in the fight to protect it I won't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford, no, I refuse to be rejected

I think this verse refers to the Election and its fallout. He quite literally loses a lot on that day, not only his country and his second life, but seemingly, his son, because Fundy takes down the walls. Wilbur also lost a lot in the Independence War, as he lost his first life in there, his son and allies lost their lives too, and this created the perfect environment for paranoia around trust to form. Wilbur, at this point, swears to not let himself be vulnerable with anyone again, or to fully trust people, because of what happened in the Final Control Room and at the Elections. The last line is Wilbur deciding to go ahead and start Pogtopia, to reclaim his nation. As you may remember, the Election was held so that Wilbur could legitimize his presidency, because he felt people started to not listen to him anymore, and an election, in his mind, would have fixed that. Due to his paranoia, and depression, Wilbur couldn’t afford to lose, because the presidency was one of the things that gave him happiness and helped him function. Once he lost and was banished, he decided to strike back and take back the country, or, as the lyrics say, “I refuse to be rejected”.

I want to break these bones 'til they're better I want to break them right and feel alive You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong My healing needed more than time

People who’ve broken a bone before may be familiar with this, but there is a possibility for a broken bone to heal incorrectly, so, when that happens, the bone is broken again and you try again. What that lyric means is that Wilbur was not healing properly, and he was constantly damaging himself again, to restart the process, to make his bones stronger, to make himself better. The “feel alive“ part, in my opinion, goes hand in hand with the fact that Wilbur was... not in the best place mentally in that time. We all know how he died, and, to be honest, a lot of the morally bad things Wilbur did could be argued to have been done to give him something to live, be it thrill or satisfaction. The last two lyrics, I feel, are directed to Tommy; Wilbur needed more than just time to “come back around“, and we know how Season 1 ended.

Now, this may be a controversial take, but... This is the end of Wilbur’s Season 1 arc. I think this is as far as Wilbur’s parallel to Eight went in Season 1, it’s the Pogtopia Era, up to November 16th. You may say that it’s his unfinished son- *gunshots*

Okay, okay, but what does that mean for the rest of the song? Well... It could be that either CC!Wilbur will stop with the Eight parallels here, or, the version I like, it means that the rest of the song is a hint for insight into how Wilbur feels and how his character will change in the future.

When I see fragile things, helpless things, broken things I see the familiar I was little, I was weak, I was perfect, too Now I'm a broken mirror

This is Wilbur recognizing that he is not okay, internally, which we know is a thing in canon, because of this quote from the Resurrection stream: [”Are you trying to- Are you trying to make me- Tommy, are you trying to make me- You remember that time in the cave? Are you trying- Are you trying do- Are you trying to make me feel like I did back then, in Pogtopia? Are you trying to- Are you trying to make me feel as bad as I did back then? ‘Cause it’s not gonna work!” - (Tommy’s Breaking Into Prison To Kill Dream: 59:06, 29th Apr)] It’s a great step for Wilbur, afterall, healing starts when you recognize you have a problem, so you can begin fixing it, but, as we know...

But I can't let you see all that I have to lose All I've lost in the fight to protect it I can't let you in, I swore never again I can't afford to let myself be blindsided

Wilbur is the emotional equivalent of a snail. Here we see “Snailbur” doing a reprise of the third paragraph, which I linked to him in the Election Era and its fallout. From the way the lyrics are worded, we can see the how similar they are, but there is a difference: reluctance. Wilbur knows he’s not okay, but he can’t reach out for help, because then, he’ll be showing weakness, but he wants to open up. “Now” becomes “but”, “I won’t let you in” becomes “I can’t let you in”. Now he’s not afraid of rejection, he doesn’t want to be blindsided, which I didn’t know at first what it meant, because my native language is not English, but when I looked it up I came across this definition: “to surprise someone, usually with harmful results”. This shows us something important: Wilbur is hiding his true feelings because he’s afraid to not be hurt again. He doesn’t want another Final Control Room or Election to happen to him.

I'm standing guard, I'm falling apart And all I want is to trust you Show me how to lay my sword down For long enough to let you through

This set confirms it, Wilbur is on the defense now, he’s defending from potential hurt, and the second part of the first lyric is hinting at what a lot of Wilbur analysts have pointed out and we are prepping for: Wilbur having a big crash from the high he’s experiencing from getting resurrected, he’ll be “falling apart“, he’ll be vulnerable, and open to hurt, or... Redemption. This is it. This is the section that made me insist and theorize about a redemption/healing arc: that second lyric, continuing with the rest: Wilbur is reaching out to someone or some people, that he can put his trust to. Wilbur doesn’t just need someone willing to redeem him, because we had that in Pogtopia, with Tommy, no, Wilbur also needs himself to open up, trust people and ask for help. And that is exactly what happens in the last two lyrics: Wilbur is asking for help to open up and let people help him.

Here I am, pry me open What do you want to know? I'm just a kid who grew up scared enough To hold the door shut And bury my innocence But here's a map, here's a shovel Here's my Achilles' heel

And here we have it. Wilbur opening up. Wilbur finally letting someone in, admitting he’s scared, he’s scared of hurting again, comparing himself to a kid. This one I find very symbolic, because if he, at the beginning, was a kid, then by admitting he is a kid at this stage, he’s the same person he was at the beginning, with the good he had, with the flaws he had, what he did and the trauma he gained will never erase that. The innocence in this part of the song, I think is Ghostbur. People forget, but while Ghostbur seems to be a separate entity, he’s still very much a version of Wilbur. He has a lot of his memories, his happy ones. Wilbur and Ghostbur are the two sides of the same coin, different, yet so much alike. You need both to understand the other. Wilbur has the capacity to be innocent, to be kind, good, he just... buried these qualities, and someone has to help him dig them up, when he is ready to open up. I don’t think I need to explain the meaning of someone showing you their Achilles’ heel, beside the fact that it means they trust you with their life. Wilbur needs to find someone to trust.

I'm all in, palms out I'm at your mercy now and I'm ready to begin I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in

Here, I think we see Wilbur accepting the consequences of his actions, of the hurt he caused, because, while he’s not irredeemable, he did hurt people, and he needs to be open to them not forgiving them, but, as the song says, just then he’ll be “ready to begin” his healing and redemption. And right at the end there, “I am strong” is repeated thrice, he’s ready to heal, to be vulnerable with someone. It’s the redemption in full swing from here to the end.

I'ma shake the ground with all my might And I will pull my whole heart up to the surface For the innocent, for the vulnerable And I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

Remember what I said, about healthy Eights? Champions of the people, natural leaders, challengers of oppression and protectors of the weak? This is what Wilbur should become at the end of the redemption, if we are to follow the song. He’s gonna put all of his strength into fighting for what’s right, and he’ll open up, he will heal. We’ll be back to fighting for “the innocent, for the vulnerable”, he’ll have a purpose to fulfill. L’Manberg was deeply tied to both Wilbur and Ghostbur, and Wilbur himself admitted to caring about L’Manberg because what it stood for. Now, L’Manberg is gone, but those ideals aren’t. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll fight in the future to protect those ideals.

And, finally:

And I'll give all I have, I'll give my blood, give my sweat An ocean of tears will spill for what is broken I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again Invincible like I've never been

I really like the end here. Because, it’s not only reinforcing the idea that Wilbur will be redeemed, but that penultimate lyric always stood out for me: “I'm shattered porcelain, glued back together again”. Porcelain is, while very fragile, a beautiful material. When I think of the word, I think of beautiful vases, handcrafted with skill and care. It’s a shame when a porcelain vase breaks. But, just because something is broken, it doesn’t mean it can’t be repaired. And when I think of repaired porcelain, I think of the Japanese art of kintsugi - a technique with which broken pottery is glued in such a way that the cracks aren’t hidden, but celebrated as a part of the object’s history, by filling them in with gold. I like to think that at the end of his healing arc, Wilbur will be similar, he was broken, he healed, but the scars are still there, and, even then, he’ll be thriving again. It’ll be an experience that, overall, helped him become better. And the final lyric: “Invincible like I've never been“, I like to think that this will be him at his peak: healed, happy, ready to take life by the horns, like he wasn’t before. It’s a hopeful, happy note to finish the song and his story on.

And that is my analysis on the song and the enneagram, I guess (Jesus this got waaay longer than I expected). I really hope Wilbur will get a redemption arc, it’s already wonderful that we have him back AND he wants to live (it’s honestly the first time I see, in any media, a suicide victim that not only is brought back to life, but they are happy to be back). Hopefully this is useful to people, and, as always, thanks to @kateis-cakeis for compiling Wilbur’s/Ghostbur’s quotes in a masterlist with timestamps and anything you’d want to know about them. It’s a goldmine of analyzing Wilbur and I highly encourage you to check it out.

#dream smp #dsmp #wilbur soot #dsmp wilbur #dream smp analysis #dmp analysis #dream smp character analysis #dsmp character analysis #finally... after 3000 years... the Eight analysis is complete #this took so long I am sorry lmao #now I can go focus on schoolwork #and before someone says it I'll say it #snailbur effervescent

128 notes · View notes

itsonlystrange · 3 years

Text

I feel like a lot of people seem to forget the Mike is the wheelers only son. Meaning he has different expectations than Nancy has and that Holly will have.

Example:

Nancy was always expected (By Ted, at least) to marry in to a good family of her own. Take someone else’s last name.

However with Mike, and with men in general and heteronormativity and toxic masculinity, men are the ones that are supposed to “carry on the family legacy.”

Mike isn’t supposed to marry into a family, a young lady is supposed to marry into THEIR family. The WHEELER family. For a young lady to take THE WHEELER last name.

Nancy was expected to be the house keeper. The cook. The house wife. She bares the children, takes them to school, while her husband is off at work. Following the pattern of Karen and Ted.

However Mike isnt expected to do that. He’s supposed to find a woman that marries into their family. She bares the children while he’s at work.

I do think Karen noticed early on that their son isn’t what 80’s society deemed as normal, not even from a sexuality stand point.

We don’t know much about Ted, but we do know that he is wealthy. He makes “6 figures” (or more) in the words of Jonathan. He was probably in some sort of sport. Most likely popular. Very much similar to Steve.

And well, Mike isn’t.... any of those things.

He isn’t athletic... like at all. Which in the 80’s , was very looked down upon. He isn’t popular, and he’s a “nerd.”

While Ted probably had girls swooning over him 24/7, Mike doesn’t have that. I’m sure Karen noticed very early on that he wasn’t going to continue the Wheeler family in the most conventional way possible. He wasn’t going to get prom king. He wasn’t going to work at an insurance firm, marry a Kathy or a Susan or a Tina and settle down working a 9-5. And that doesn’t even involve his sexuality.

But most importantly, I’m sure Ted noticed that.

There’s often a lot of focus on Will’s relationship with his father (which albeit, is much more front and center.) and how Lonnie often tried to “man up” Will. (I’m not invalidating that in any way.) However, it isn’t very out of character that Ted had very similar concerns and expectations. Definitely on a different scale, but he had them.

No, I don’t think Ted has ever “abused” any of his kids. However I do think he reinforced his expectations in... unhealthy ways. Especially on Mike.

Nancy was (in season 1, but still is.) the “perfect daughter.” She was on the cheer squad. She was pretty, popular (to an extent at some point), good grades, likable, she was doing everything her family wanted her to. She dated the most popular guy in school, and even in season 3, while she is dating Jonathan, she still seems to be doing pretty well. And although she is definitely more independant now, and isn’t following the structure her parents have set up for her (letting the man do the discovering and hunting and all of that, while she sits back as the damsel in distress.) it doesn’t seem like her parents are “disappointed” in her,, or worried about her future. Unlike Mike.

Very early on, I assume, Mike definitely wasn’t the “star son” Ted was looking for. Not the extroverted popular guy, the one who all girls swooned over. I’m sure Ted complained about this and to Karen, and expressed his concerns on why their son wasn’t fulfilling the expectations they set up for him. Instead of star football flayer, he’s a nerd. Instead of a ladies man, he’s well.. not a ladies man. I believe Ted set up these expectations at a very young age. And reinforced them, not in the best ways. He probably tried to in force “manly” stereotypes onto Mike. Maybe even tried to get him into a sport. We see in season 2 that he is forcing mike to “grow up” by giving away some of his toys, because in Ted’s mind, growing up means Mike could finally “man up” which then snowballs in season 3 to Mike feeling like he has to “grow up” so he can “man up” so he won’t be so childish. So he can finally fulfill his parents expectations. So he won’t be such an out cast (which we now know backfires, as he’s in the Hellfire club and will probably be under a lot of scrutiny.)

Mike is aware of these expectations, which only affect his personality and attitude further. I’m sure Ted had ridiculed him on not being athletic enough... failing PE. Not having a girlfriend. Not being very talkative, and when he is talkative having an attitude. Lashing out. Not being popular. Playing board games inside all day instead of going out and playing soccer. And this only affects Mike’s insecurities more.

Mike is insecure that he will never be able to fulfill his parents desires. That he will never be the star football player and valedictorian that all the parents think is phenomenal. And even though Mike hates to admit it, he relies on people, especially his father, for validation. His father very obviously didn’t and doesn’t give him enough love, and his mother, while definitely being more open and caring, can be distant. His family doesn’t give him much attention, which is why he lashes out. He needs attention, and if he can’t get it from his parents, maybe he can get it from other people. Or even worse, he does things, graffitiing the bathroom stall, cussing out people, stealing from Nancy, to get a rise out of his parents. So maybe his parents will notice him, pay attention to him. Ground him, take away his Atari. He may act like he hates it on the outside, but he subconsciously does it on purpose. So he can feel something again. So he can feel recognized. Mike possesses self destructive behavior because of his parents. Because at school, people don’t pay attention to him. At home, people don’t pay attention to him. He’s lost. He’s alone.

And in ways, Mike thinks he’s a failure.

This is where the party comes in.

I think a lot of people seem to round up Mike being against Max joining the party is because he doesn’t want someone to “replace El.” However, while that may be the case, I don’t think that’s all of it.

The reason he didn’t want Max to join the party is because, they are the exact. Same. Type. Of. Person.

Mike was projecting his personal insecurities onto Max because they are so similar. He seems himself in Max. And because he refuses to talk about his own personal problems he will be seen as “more of a freak” he takes them out on Max and ridicules Max for things that he actually ridicules himself for. And also, on a different note. Mike was scared. Scared he’d be replaced. Because his whole life that’s how he was treated. Ted seems to only give out love and praise when it fits his expectations. And when Mike doesn’t reach those expectations, Mike feels like a failure because he is told he is.

Mike is scared of being replaced or abandoned by the Party because he already has been by the rest of his school and his own father.

So Mike was upset that Dustin and Lucas found Max so entertaining, because he was afraid Max would take up his spot in the party. Because although he hates to admit it, she was awesome. Way more awesome than he could ever be. And he saw how cool she was. He felt threatened. Threatened that Dustin and Lucas, and probably Will too, would ditch him for Max.

Max radiates “leader” energy. She has the ability to take charge of a situation when she needs to. She’s cunning. Sarcastic. She can be slick, and doesn’t usually take no for an answer. She’s intimidating.

Mike felt threatened because, well, he is the leader of the party. And he didn’t want this girl to come in and take a hold of that. Because the party is literally all he has. He may act like he has this big ego or whatever, but this is all he has. He’s an out cast. And he needs validation from the party. He likes being a leader, because this is the only setting where he can be one. He isn’t popular, yet the people in the party look up to him. And he likes that attention, the attention that his parents didn’t give him. While Karen and Ted were busy paying attention to Nancy, he was alone. He had no nobody. He still sort of has nobody. But the party is his comfort. It’s his validation, the validation he needs from Ted but doesn’t get. He saw Max’s potentional and was afraid he’d be kicked to the curb. His attitude towards her in season 2 wasn’t because he wanted to be a jerk. It was a defense mechanism.

And the thing is, they really are so similar.

Both have fairly absent fathers. Both are sarcastic. Both are leaders. Both are witty. They are both pretty smart (in different fields.) They are quick thinkers and are both able to take charge of a situation. The reason Mike “hates” Max is because he hates himself. Max is so similar to Mike which makes her an easy target for projection. He both envies her yet holds resentment towards her at the same time.

So Mike’s hatred of Max is because of a few things:

A coping mechanism and fear of being left behind and kicked out of the party because she is the much “cooler” version of him.

And a projection of his true feelings of himself on to her because they are so similar .

Mike has abandonment issues and unhealthy coping mechanisms. But even worse, he has high expectations that he can only meet in unhealthy and unhappy ways.

Mike believes that in order to become a “man” he needs to grow up. That’s something his father taught him. Mike believes that in order to become a “man” he must find a young lady to settle down with. He must settle in life. Work a 9-5. Have a wife that bares children.

Which is why it utterly shocks and scares mike that he can’t even fulfill that expectation either.

When Mike first realizes his feelings for Will, I don’t think he fully acknowledges it. I don’t think he wants himself to. Because he is fully aware that in his fathers eyes he is a failure. And even to himself, he sees himself as a failure. So it upsets him that the one thing, the ONE thing, that he thought he could do to make his parents happy, the one thing that would dig himself out of this hole, the one thing that would make Ted “proud” of him, being straight, isn’t possible for him. It scares him. He’s already messed up this far. He isn’t athletic, popular, talkative. Why can’t he just have this one thing? This one sense of normalcy?

So he pushes it away. I think he’s had these feelings for Will for a long time. In season one, he definitely had them, but didn’t realize or acknowledge them. In season two I definitely think he realized something was up, but just didn’t wanna believe it.

I do think he cares about El, and loves her platonically. However I also think that after he accessed that his feelings towards Will weren’t totally “bromantic.” , he began overcompensating. He pushed Will away in fear that if he connected with Will even more he’d act on his feelings. Now I don’t think he’s fully acknowledged his feelings yet, all I think is that he knew something was up and tried to stop it from flourishing. He was still under the impression that this was a “phase.” That all he has to do is “grow up.” Because he equates straight love with growing up and settling down. His feelings for Will are “childish.” He attempts (and fails) to act like an “adult” or a “man” by saying misogynistic things against El, (like the usual 80’s man would), by regularly using slang like “Man” or “Dude” against Will, which was a first. And calls himself a “7 year old” when he reverts back to talking about getting new toys for Christmas. This boy is reallyyyy trying to push his straight agenda here.

Then, after about 10 months of trying to push this “straight agenda”, by constantly reminding the party that he is in a STRAIGHT RELATIONSHIP. By acting all lovey dovey in front of the party yet never showing that alleged affection to El on screen. (Saying he loved el, came off as if he was trying to impress the party, or further prove he is “straight”, yet not being able to say it back to her. Acting like he’s all in love and crazy for el when he runs off the weather top in s3 e1, yet just going through the motions of making out with El and even taking her hands off of him behind closed doors.) Point is, he barks more than he bites.

Remember how I said this boy needs a lot of validation to function? Yeah well this is where that comes in.

He needs validation that people believe he’s in a straight relationship. He constantly reminds the party that he is and almost seems like he’s really trying to push it. He’s overcompensating. Because he NEEDS people to believe that he’s in a straight relationship so that he believes it himself. Because in his head, if people believe he is then, he is. Nobody knows what they don’t know. They never have to find out about his attraction to guys if he doesn’t show it. And in the beginning it’s paying off well. The party really believes it. But then he messes up big time and it all crumbles down. Very curious if Lucas ever realized how quickly Mike went off in the rain to fetch Will when he couldn’t even call El by phone.

But as I said, after 10 months of this “facade”, El says she loves him back, something he either actually forgot about or lied about forgetting, and kisses him. And then he stands there, and it turns out, all that work, all that time he spent, lying to himself and to the party, didn’t work. He realized that this isn’t just a phase. It’s real. He can’t just overcompensate for this. He cant just pray it away.

Mike, early on, developed an insecurity of not having a girlfriend because of the bullies at school and his father. No girl ever paid attention to him. He was sidelined, and the only people that even really knew his name were the members of the party. He saw how Will got bullied. And he was bullied for similar things too. He saw the aids epidemic spread infront of his eyes. He saw how homosexuals were treated. He didn’t want that to be him. Because he had already failed his parents and their expectations (Atleast in his eyes.) He already failed the kids at school and is seen as a nerd or outcast, why couldn’t he just have one thing that would make him “normal” . Being straight was essentially Mike’s only opportunity to be “normal”, to not be seen as such an outcast, and now that opportunity is taken away from him because well, he isnt straight.

So then El came in and to El, Mike was this warrior. To El, Mike was this strong, charming, fearless ‘man.’ And Mike knew that wasn’t true. He knows he’s just a small town kid that’s a total nerd and a total joke to the kids at school, but El didnt and doesn’t know that. With El, he’s allowed to be something he’s not. And that made Mike happy. Someone gave him attention. Someone didn’t actually think of him as a “failure.” All the girls at school found him repulsive. He had already assumed he’d have to settle for a trophy wife. But El came into the picture and allowed him to appear normal for once.

I do think Mike loves El platonically, but I also think that he subconsciously liked her for his own personal benefits. Lucas said it the best. He liked her because she’s the first girl that isn’t grossed out by him.

He cares about El a lot, that’s undeniable, but he also thought that in El, he saw a chance to be normal. To impress his father who already assumed he was a lost cause. El was his gateway to being straight.

TLDR:

So what I encourage you all to realize is:

Being gay In the 80’s is hard as it is, but mike’s personal complexes and his parents expectations make it extra hard. He feels even more like a failure. Because out of everything, he isn’t straight. He isn’t athletic, popular, isn’t well liked, and he’s disappointed his father, when all he’s ever wanted was to impress his father, and now he knows he never really will be able to.

Mike’s journey in season 4 deserves to be about self acceptance. About learning to love yourself. Mike relies heavily on other people’s validation and attention. So when he isn’t given that attention he lashes out. Mike feels unloved and like a failure. He needs to be the leader of the party because he feels like that’s the only form of leadership he’ll ever have. He likes that in the parties eyes and in el’s eyes, he’s on this pedestal, because in his mind that’s the only pedestal he’ll ever stand on. Mike is full of self esteem issues, anxiety, ptsd, and most likely depression. He deserves to be uncondiontially loved by someone. But most of all, he deserves to love himself and become comfortable with the fact that A. A nerd and shouldn’t be ashamed of his nerdy hobbies and B. He isn’t straight and that’s okay! He needs to learn to accept his sexuality. Season 4 is the deciding season. I believe we will see him go through a lot of ups and downs, and a lot of realizations. But the end of season 3 was very telling as to where his arc is headed.

Mike’s reliability on validation and need for attention leads to unhealthy coping mechanisms. He’s been keeping up this fake agenda of “being straight” and shoving it in his friends faces in order to convince himself that he IS straight and that these feelings for Will are just a matter of “being a child” and needing to “grow up” , which backfires. His father has implemented a lot of these insecurities into his head. He wants to grow up faster than the rest of the party because growing up means finally being a man, which would in turn, impress his father. And impressing his father means he’d be loved by his father. And being loved by his father means getting attention from his father. The attention he has never received. Ted has affected Mike in more ways than most people notice. That needs to be addressed. I hope to see Mike come to terms with who he is. The fact that he’s a nerd, the fact that he is a “freak” and that’s okay, and the fact that he’s not straight, which is also okay.

Mike isn’t a bad character. He is misunderstood and really really just needs a hug.

SUPER SORRY FOR LONG POST. PLEASE REBLOG AS THIS NEEDED TO BE SAID. GOOD NIGHT YALL <3

#stranger things #byler #stranger things 4 #mike wheeler #st4 #byler is endgame #stranger things season four

224 notes · View notes

laurore-stormwitch · 3 years

Text

Post rule of wolves, about Zoya and Nikolai being soft with each other in one of the many moment of hardship they face. Zoya gets a letter that unsettles her and leans on Nikolai to face more of her demons and move on. I love how Zoya is slowly learning to open up and face her wounds, and how Nikolai is there to catch her. Feedback are always appreciated, so much love to you all

the blood in our veins - ao3

When the sound of leaves crunching under someone’s steps reached her, Zoya did not startle. She knew Nikolai would appear at some point, as he always did, as if he could sense her despair. Or as if someone played the snitch on my escape, more likely. He was the only one to have the key, beside her, and the only one to know she would take refuge here. For a moment, she lingered on what a strange sight she was making; a steel spined harpy perched amongst the wildflowers, her kefta smeared by dirt and pollen, her eyes trained on the ground and a sprout in her hands. She felt his intense gaze on her, his worry. The scent of his skin; Nikolai always tasted like salt and sunburnt skin, like the sea.

“Who ratted me out?”, she asked. He lowered himself toward her, brushing a kiss on her head before kneeling beside her on the ground.

“Tamar”, he answered, “told me you got a letter and dismissed the meeting.” More like run away from it. She would have to thank Tamar for her regard.

Zoya clicked her tongue. A letter. Her hand went in her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Nikolai. She sensed his concern turn into outrage. Zoya knew it was a matter of time before Sabina reached out to her. After all, her daughter had just become the queen of Ravka. There was no hope left in her heart that her estranged mother would not try to exploit this particular advantage. As long as she was not dead, she supposed. Which, as far as she knew of, could very well be. As it turned out Sabina was not the one Zoya should have been wondering about.

“It’s a long list of arrogant pleading. Get to the end”, she instructed Nikolai. Zoya glanced at him and saw him shook his head with a sigh when he came to the last lines.

“Zoya – “, he tried, his tone insecure, weary of what was the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say when you lost a father you had already wiped from your mind? The word lost probably was not even fit for the situation.

“He’s been dead a couple of years, apparently. She did not even bother to say how.”

There was no grief left inside her to tug at. No sentiment to pull and mourn over. Nothing left for them, for him. There was just a void lurking next to the well inside her, in which so many stones had tumbled. It was not endless anymore; it stopped right beside her, where Nikolai’s light flooded in through the cracks in her walls. Zoya tried to look for something to hold on to, something to guide her over this empty sea of nothingness. No love, no regret, no pain. The sorrow in the well had always been for Lilyiana, for Lada. For David, for the Grisha, maybe even for herself. A monument to her solitude. None of it was dedicated to the two young people who had given her breath. Yet she felt the void, like it had form and claws that pierced at her heart. Its fingers tied around her throat, squeezed the air out of her lungs.

“I thought maybe I should plant something for him, too. I – I don’t know.”

She murmured. Her voice came out more frail than she had desired to, more vulnerable. Nikolai moved closer, his shoulder brushing on hers. She grasped at that touch that anchored her on this moment, that prevented her from losing herself.

“I don’t know what the Suli ritual is.” The defeat in her tone sparked a flicker of injustice. It was supposed to have been over; the child that did not look back on a wretched church was supposed to have grown. Such restless waters she had had to navigate. How does one separate hatred from fear, love from abandonment, rage from regret?

“We could find out.”

“There’s no time. There’s no time anymore.” To know him. To understand. To take the child in her hand and protect her in an embrace. Faintly, in the distance, Zoya felt Nikolai’s hand on her back, his lips landing again on her cheek.

“Why did you choose this?”, he asked, bobbing his chin at the sprout she was holding, at his light blue blossoms.

“I’m not sure”, she sighed. “When I was very little, there was always a glass of forget-me-nots on the kitchen table. My father used to bring them from the fields at sundown. He stopped before my sixth birthday.”

Zoya never knew what they meant. Her mother told her they were the colour of their eyes, weaving them in her hair. She had felt like a princess in a fairytale, with a crown of blossoms.

“Inej told me the Suli have a saying about love. Her father says that you would know a boy truly loves you when he brings you your favourite flowers. I figured that is why our house was full of them, at first. Maybe these are for both of them. Maybe I should bury my mother too.”

What a sombre, depressing thought, she half expected Nikolai to say. Instead, he just reached for her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching her in silence. So she forced another sentence out, one that stung to admit. “I thought I did that already the moment I set foot in the Little Palace. I thought they could float away like a river in the sea, instead I just built a dam that feels dangerously close to shatter.”

The quiet stretched on. “I don’t know what they are”, Nikolai admitted. “Your favourite flowers. I don’t know them.”

She moved her gaze to him and wondered what he was seeing. If he had already grown tired of her, of her dark moods and brooding tendencies. Those fears clutched her heart on her worst nights. Was he catching the sheer sentiment in her eyes, the fire that burned for him inside her? How she grasped at his voice like it was the thread that tied her to safety, to belonging? Whatever her failings were, Nikolai’s look never wavered. His certainty, affection. He was the one keeping the dam from falling, keeping her from breaking.

“You told me once I could be branches without blossoms and wait for the summer to come. The way you love…it’s not the fleeting beauty of petals. It’s the strength of roots.”

She spoke before having the chance to think about her words, not sure what she had wanted to convey, pressed by an unfamiliar urge to let him know. Saints, Nikolai was rubbing off on her. His eyes sparkled and he looked taken aback, a fond and surprised smile tugging at his lips. Zoya let his warmth creep into her, before moving back to look at the flowers still resting in her hands.

“I don’t have a favourite one. I like them all.”

Nikolai nodded, his fingers lingering in her hair, brushing through them. “Good to know. See? You are not such a difficult person after all.” Zoya heard him move beside her, sensed his fingers draw away. He gently pulled the plant in front of her. “Let me do it for you”, his voice soft, caring. Let me carry this weight for you. Her hands dug into her kefta, clinging into it as if it could make her remember who she was.

Nikolai pulled his gloves away. She snatched them from him, huffing impatiently. It really was an unnerving habit of his. “Would you stop with these? You do not need them around me. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Don’t take it out on my gloves”, he grinned at her. Yet, she caught the shadow sweeping through his eyes; the darkness Zoya had never wanted him to hide. He worked in silence, moving the terrain away, placing the sprouts and watering them. Zoya stood still, one hand clung to her kefta, the other tightened around his gloves, watching him as he took care of her garden for her.

“My mother was loud”, she said abruptly. Water leaking from the cracks. Nikolai’s gaze swept toward her as he kept going. There was no other person she could tell this to. Stories needed to be told, She had learned. “Sabina kicked and screamed her way into our misery. She shouted her wrath; she broke the ceramics on the floors, spewing spite. She weaved sweet lies that stuck like sap into my ears, before wiping my tears as I stood in a ridiculous ruffled dress.” Zoya sighed, seeing her memories flash in her mind. She did not want to feel this. She did not want to know. But Juris’ wisdom was unforgiving. “Her frustration, her selfishness. Everything was like thunder. Maybe that’s where I take it from.” A dry laugh escaped her lips, as she forced herself to say what she knew had been the truth this whole time. “My mother was loud. Yet, it was my father’s silence that broke me. That was what carved the hole inside of me. The way he let everything happen, his head slumped on his shoulders, his mouth shut. The emptiness of his affection. It gave me the guilt of not being enough, of not being worthy.”

Zoya kept going, averting Nikolai’s eyes. “Yelling is easy to counter. It enrages you, fires you up, picks at your pride. Silence is different; it cuts you slowly, drains your blood drop by drop, renders you powerless. How do you fight a wall made of nothing?”

His gentle touch moved to her jaw, tracing the lines of her face, grounding her to earth.

“I feel it. I can see it.” Every word she got out seemed to force a split into the void. Warmth flood in, rage went out, passing through her like a blade. The dragon's eyes had opened, whether she had wanted it or not. She felt like drowning. “How unprepared they were. How powerless. The hatred that grew around their souls like thorn wood. It’s the same they have set upon me. I do not want that. I do not want this to be their legacy for me.”

Legacy. What was hers, in this life, and what was theirs? Zoya had Sabina’s eyes, Suhm’s wavy black hair. It gave her comfort to think her pride and her strength came from Lilyiana. Her wind and lightning was born from the making at the heart of the world. What, then? What had they been like, when they were just a boy and a girl in love, dancing under the moonlight? She had shrugged her name as if she could be born anew. Tossed the memories of them as if she could build a new life. That she supposed she had done, at least. Even with this new name, this new life, something of them still remained. The poisoned blood in her veins if nothing else. She could not cut them open and change it, and she had spent her life feeling it flow like a curse through her.

“I cannot go on hating them.” The words were spoken as a shameful confession, as a defeat. As a realization too, however. Nikolai laced their fingers together, making her relent the hold on the kefta.

“Perhaps we should not hate them”, he said, careful and gentle. “Maybe the secret is that we need not pass judgment over them. Maybe the secret is to forgive them.”

Zoya shook her head at Nikolai’s relentless goodwill and optimism. He had forgiven his mother that day in Os Kervo. He had forgiven the one who was not his father, he had delivered his punishment and moved on. And Zoya? She did not have any forgiveness left in her. The hatred, though. Whatever remained of it, she guessed she could try and leave it here, with the blue blossoms thriving from the earth like forgotten hope.

Their legacy might have been just thorns, storms, and thunders. It might have been just the spite that had threatened to rot her insides. Still, it was an inheritance she could find the strength to relent. She could keep their eyes, their blood, Sabina combing her hair and Suhm telling her a goodnight story in his arms, even if she did not miss it, even if she did not remember what that felt like. Zoya was not Nikolai, she was not golden nor kind. She could not justify their weakness; she could not pardon both the screams and the silence. Maybe you could let go, though. She wasn’t sure if it was Juris’ voice or her own to cut through the mist of thoughts. Zoya bleeding in the snow. Zoya crying on her own. Let go.

The dam had broken, but the dragon queen did not drown. Hours could have passed, or minutes. Nikolai had put his jacket on her shoulders, the fabric thick and warm. He had not spoken anymore, just sat with her in the quiet as the sun disappeared. At some point, when the chill had started creeping in her bones, he had tugged her up and walked her to her chambers, dismissing the Heartrender twins who stood guard on her door with a wave of his hand. Zoya had let him handle her, leaning in his touch. Only when the lock clicked, she had let herself release her breath, slumping in her favourite velvet sofa. The crackle of the fire was comforting. Nikolai had called for tea, murmured something in her ear she did not remember. He had sat on her desk next to her, working through some documents while she got back to herself. The familiar rhythm of their quiet caught on, enveloping the room, soothing as a cold cloth on an open wound.

Time did not matter anymore. Zoya had the cup in her hands, the fire in front of her, and Nikolai’s jacket still curled around her. His scent was tight on the fabric. It lulled her into a silent calm, along with the rhythmic pounding of her heart, the sound of Nikolai’s pen scraping the paper, of his hands scribbling, the muffled huff of his breath. Peace washed over her in a tide.

“What is it like?”

Zoya suddenly spoke, after what felt like an eternity. The tea had turned cold. She kept her look trained on the fire. Nikolai stilled, relenting whatever piece of work he was doing, arching a brow at her. The question was vague, at the very best. “Not being an only child”, she added. Now his attention peaked on her.

He shuffled back the papers on her desk, got up and came to her. Moving her feet away, he eased himself on her sofa, letting Zoya stretch her legs over him, resting his hands on her calves and leaning his head on a cushion. His careful look never left her face, turned thoughtful as her question travelled his mind.

“I adored my brother”, Nikolai started, slowly, “Worshipped him. Loved him with every fibre of my being. Until I did not anymore. We were not bound, or tight, and well – we all know how that turned out. It was an embarrassment and a weight, more than an anchor like I desired him to be. And I did desire that a lot.”

Zoya looked at him. She left the cup on the nightstand; as soon as her hands were free, Nikolai snatched one of them in his. “And Linnea?”, she asked. An affectionate smile curled his lips.

“Linnea is…different. I feel the kinship – and not just because we both have a soft heart for ships. I know she is me, for some part, and I am her. She’s more grounded than me, more quiet, more practical.” He brushed a thumb over her palm, tightening the hold. “I guess that’s why she likes you. I am quite scared at how much you two get along, frankly. And she has this creative, restless energy, she is charming in her own silent way, brilliant. Sometimes it’s like I’m looking inside some sort of distorted mirror. In some life I may have had if I took a different path.”

Yet, the choices they had been forced to make forged a solitary childhood for them. A lonely boy looking for sounds to fill his deafening silence, a vengeful girl screaming her rage over lost love. Had they been choices at all? When had they stopped being their parents’ sins, and had they become their own? How long can you blame a mother’s failings, how long can a daughter or a son be defined by rage and guilt? Zoya could see the same query behind Nikolai’s eyes. He spoke again, tentative, a vulnerable edge to his voice. The lonely boy, looking for hope in the vengeful girl.

“I want her to know me. I want her to care for me, to be honest. I feel protective of her. I feel like I cannot wait to show her every wonder I know of. The wonder of life, of adventure. The wonder of romance”, he managed to wink at her, “I wish to be for her the brother Vasily never was for me. To make up for lost time. This is idiotic, right?”

He huffed at the end, as if he could dismiss the intense desire for a family that still haunted him; there was a slight plea in his look, darkened under the dim light of the fire. Zoya felt an ache in her throat, and she knew there were tears in her eyes. She could feel them clouding her sight. They belonged to the little raven-haired child that silently cried alone in a corner, in all her nightmares. It was not a cry for grief, but one of deluded wanting. She leaned in, brushing some golden strands from Nikolai’s face. He was looking at her like she was his light in the storm, even though he had just been the one to pull her back from a devouring pain.

“We should have her here more often”, she said. Nikolai wiped one of her tears away. “We should have them here more often. Linnea and your father. You deserve to have this family, Nikolai.”

Nikolai stopped his hand on her neck, grinning wider at her.

“Zoya, I already have one.” She frowned at him.

“I hardly count as a family. I am just me.”

“Then I’ll have two. So long as you stop referring to yourself as just you.” Zoya rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance. He started fidgeting with a loose silver bead on her kefta’s cuff. Another unnerving habit of his, the way he always snatched those away. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I wasn’t an only child. I would have had someone to shield and someone to shelter in. To give me purpose, I suppose.”

A little brother, a little sister whom she could watch grow up and think how much better than her they were, how much softer, how much worth preserving. Though it had not been like that, for Sabina and Lilyiana. It was best not to linger on what ifs. She huffed and shifted, suddenly nervous; time to face this problem head on. “You think I should help her, right?”, she asked, knowing damn well what the answer was. Needless to say, Sabina’s letter pleaded for Zoya’s support, lamenting her misfortunes, and praising her daughter’s victories. Especially the gifts she could share. Even if she had not stated it, Zoya was sure that a jewel or two would be just fine. Greedy and hollow like she remembered.

“I think you should do what makes you comfortable.” Zoya shot him a threatening glare, and he chuckled. “Fine”, Nikolai added, “but don’t kill me. I think you’ll keep the weight on your chest as long as you do not help her. I think maybe it would bring you some peace to do it. Still, I support whatever decision you make.” He marked the last words, and she knew he meant it.

“I don’t want to be the bearer of my mother’s misery.” Zoya despised herself a little while admitting it. An exasperated grunt erupted from her as she threw her hands in the air. “How can I feel responsible for her?”

“I guess that’s the curse of being a daughter. You can’t relent the blood in your veins, not anymore that you can ignore the good heart that thrived inside you behind all of your spite.”

Maybe the secret is that we need not pass judgment over them. Maybe the secret is to forgive them.

How she loathed when Nikolai was right. It made him insufferable. And unfortunately, he was right most of the time. Unbearably reasonable. He smirked, as if he could read her thoughts and sense his victory.

Zoya might have been an angry and unloved little thing, but that was not what she was anymore. She had been a soldier, a general, a loyal friend. She was a queen now. And most certainly not alone, she thought, gazing at the confident ball of sunshine seated next to her. Had this happened before the war, before knowing Nikolai, her crueler and colder heart would have prevailed and she wouldn’t have thought twice on this, burning the letter along with her sentiment. The beaming boy had definitely rubbed off on her.

“I can not forgive her, or them. I do not have it in me. And I cannot forget, not for now”, she said, cautious. That was what Lilyiana had always desired for her: to release the hold on her anger. For her, she could try. “But I can start by letting go. We can find her work in a factory, with a salary and some retirement money. I can provide her with a dignified life. That is all I can do. I will not get a letter from her anymore; I will not grant her audience or listen to her words. Someone will have to deal with this.”

Juris roared inside her, clearly displeased. Hush, you lizard. How irritating of him. Be a dragon, bide your time and stop harassing me. Enough progress for today. Nikolai, on the contrary, smiled at her with relief, nudging her closer.

“We will arrange it.” He let her rest her head in the crook of his neck, curling his arms around her. “Do you think you can close your eyes and rest for a while now?”. His voice was already coming from afar, as she inhaled deeply in his skin and her lashes fluttered closed with exhaustion. Zoya wished her days as queen would become less tiring, and she also wished they could always end in Nikolai’s safe hold. Her mind fell silent; the last thing she heard was his whisper hovering around her. “I got you, Zoya.”

Zoya could still be a daughter, could take the raven-haired child in her arms. Daughter of the wind. She could still be whole, worthy, and loved. We see you. She could be at peace. The world went black; yet, it was not dark.

97 notes · View notes

sekceesimps · 3 years

Text

A Rose Made of Chains Ch 1

a/n Thanks for the 50 followers everyone! Keep sending us feedback and requests.

As promised here is chapter 1. Monday (tomorrow) night I’ll be publishing chapter 2 and then chapter 3 on Tuesday night. More info shortly but when we hit another milestone I’ll be publishing chapters 4-6.

Once again, thank you so much for the support! We never thought that we’d get this much appreciation from everyone. Hope you enjoy!

sincerely,

Coffee

Teaser Ch 2 Ch 3

teaser for part 2, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7

Kurapika (aged up) x Reader x Chrollo

Soulmate AU where you can find your soulmate through matching soulmarks.

Chapter 1

The rocking of the dingy boat made it hard for you to stand, but you did so nonetheless. Bitter water and a nervous type of air had taken over your senses. Your determination to get to the exam had forced you to ignore the wobbling of your legs ad you pushed yourself even further to get to the wheelhouse. When you had finally reached it, you noticed a small kid and two others also struggling to stay on their feet as the storm raged on. You had smiled queasily at the tall man with glasses. You don’t remember much during that moment, at least, not until the blonde passenger began a passionate speech. You tuned most of it out until you saw those glowing scarlet eyes, filled with fiery rage and fervor. Those eyes that haunt your dreams and still stick with you even now. You remember looking deep into that vermillion and knowing exactly who the blonde was in that moment. After his dramatic reveal, you yourself had quietly taken out your contacts and looked at him with a matching passion. In that moment, the two of you knew you were destined to be together, two survivors on the hunt for vengeance.

»»————-　　————-««

The exam itself wasn’t too rough for you. You and the blonde Kurta, who had later told you that his name was Kurapika, had shared stories as you ran together through the first phase with ease. You had learned that he had been the lone survivor of the massacre. He listened intently when you informed him that you weren’t fully part of the clan, but rather that your father had been and you were raised to be a hunter with your mother far away from the Lukso Province. At that time, you were still hesitant to tell him about your home life, wanting to only listen to him and memorize how he looked in case he was also taken from you. You had always believed yourself to be unlucky for inheriting the scarlet eyes. You had viewed it as a mark of death and a hideous trait from your father, as it had been drilled into your head for the past five years. You had confided in Kurapika about this self hatred, sobbing softly at the thought of you and your family being hunted down for them. You hoped these words wouldn't be intense enough for him to leave you too. When the both of you had reached the end of the tunnel, he had pulled you in close and told you that nothing was more important to him than protecting you, the last member of his clan. You remember how passionate he was with this promise, nuzzling his face into your hair. The rose surrounded by chains inked onto his wrist, the one that was also on your body, had gone unnoticed by you.

»»————-　　————-««

The second phase of the exam was when you truly began bonding with Kurapika’s companions. Your initial wariness, that his friends had initially interpreted as aloofness, began fading away as you took on a more helpful role for them, a role which would later turn into a sisterly one. After the examiner had let you all loose in the forest, you had quickly joined up again with the blonde Kurta, while also going with the people who were on the boat with you. The green haired boy named Gon and the tall man named Leorio stuck close as you led them through the foggy swamp. Through your trek, you had learned more about who they were and in that time you vowed to yourself that you would protect the young boy and try to help him on his quest to becoming a hunter. His demeanor and passion was something you admired and wished to see more of. You remember how in that trek, your small party had come across the magician named Hisoka that Kurapika had initially told you to be wary of before the exam had even started. You were all crouching and watching as the red haired man ruthlessly slaughtered a capable group of examinees. The rest of what happened was a little blurry to you, but you remember your anger when the magician had smirked at you and told you how ravishing you looked and in that moment you had chosen to fight. It had ended rather quickly, his combat skills were much better than you could have ever imagined. Somehow he had still managed to flirt with you while you and Gon tried to attack. You attributed your flushed red face to the fight rather than some of the steamy words he had whispered before tossing you to the ground. Hisoka had easily taken out Leorio but happily said that your group had passed, whatever that meant. The atmosphere was uncomfortable to say the least as you and your companion continued on your way. You and Gon successfully met up again with Kurapika and Gon’s white haired friend from the first phase. Kurapika had quietly asked if you were okay as he tended to a minor wound on your arm. You fondly remember the concentration on his face as you reassured him of your safety, no one you had ever met showed you this type of warmth before. That moment was when you had realized that you cared deeply for him.

»»————-　　————-««

The rest of the exam had been fairly unmemorable. There was a whole struggle with the gourmet hunters, but you had powered through with Kurapika at your side, as usual. The third phase was unfortunately when you and your new friends had gotten separated. The five of you had lined up on the tiles at the top of trick tower and jumped in. You didn’t know what happened to your companions, but you recognized the urgency of passing the phase and went down the dark hallway alone. You recall the surprise of meeting up with Hisoka during the test, teaming up to brave the last part of the tower together. The two of you ended up successfully being the first and second people to pass, with days left to spare. As the hours passed with you and the magician wordlessly sitting together in silence, you couldn’t help but think of what Kurapika and the rest of the boys were doing right now. Your anxiety only increased when other examinees continued coming through and the blonde was still nowhere in sight.

“Darling, what’s got you looking so stressed. Your eyebrows are too crinkled,” Hisoka had interrupted your endlessly running fearful thoughts about 50 hours into the exam. You only sighed and ignored him. “You know, we make an incredible team. I’d love to truly fight you one day. You have this certain aura that I would just love to break” he continued and licked his lips, looking down on you with eyes of pure malice.

“I’ve got a delicious idea that could tire you out easily,” the man grinned with mischief and scooted closer to you. You glared at him in response, frantically trying to push him away. He chuckles at your pitiful attempt, but leaves you be for now.

“Thanks for the concern, I guess. I’m just tired and I can’t seem to fall asleep.” you mumbled and fiddled with your hands. You wished that Kurapika were with you, his presence somehow always filled you with ease.

It was down to the wire, when your hope ran out and you had accepted that your companions would not pass this phase. Sighing you went to Hisoka for a conversation, at this point he was the only person you knew since everybody else around you filled you with uncertainty. It was at that moment that your four companions and some other guy burst into the clearing at the last possible second. You grinned and waved at Kurapika, but he wasn’t looking at you. Instead, he was glaring daggers at Hisoka, who had put his hand on your waist when you hadn’t noticed. You shrugged him off and gave the blonde teen the warmest of smiles. You hoped that it made his heart melt, he had seemed cold after you two had been seperated.

»»————-　　————-««

Zevil Island was unbearably hot. The whole area was much too warm for your liking. It was almost off putting how hot it was, a sharp contrast to the freezing cold demeanors of your fellow examinees. As you got off the boat, Gon had smiled and congratulated you on coming in second. This meant that you were one of the first to get off the boat and begin the trial. Kurapika looked far away as you had told him how you planned to stick by his side this time. He nodded solemnly as you told him that you would be off first so you would find him when he started. You had hidden in a tree and waited hours for him to finally get there. You remember grinning and how that instantly put him in a less tense position after you had jumped down and surprised him. You hoped that his ease with you was a sign that he cared about you too. Fortunately, neither of you had a target you knew, so you had both got your buttons fairly quickly, the two of you truly being excellent partners. The rest of the test was spent helping Leorio again, as the two of you powered through together, back to your friendly dynamic. You treasured how he said he wouldn’t let you out of his sight again. With that phase over, and all of you at rest before the final phase, you saw it fit to bring up soulmates with Kurapika.

“Kurapika! How are you.” You caught him as he was pacing the area in front of his room.

“Huh? Oh, hey Y/N,” he had grinned with surprise at seeing you, “do you want to go on a walk with me?” His invitation made your cheeks flush red, but you gave an enthusiastic yes and followed him. You talked about meaningless things like music taste at first, then your ambitions, your thoughts on the future, and then finally you brought up the one subject you were anxious about covering. You were beginning to have a suspicion that the blonde was your soulmate. The two of you had just gotten along so perfectly. It seemed like fate intervening when you two had met on that boat and he had revealed his identity. You hoped that it would be him who you’d spend your life with. He was so intelligent and calm. Not to mention, also incredibly attractive. You weren’t too sure how to ask him if he had a soulmate. Your own soulmark was inked onto your thigh, a place that made it hard for others to be able to identify you as their own soulmate. The placement made it much easier to pass off as someone without a soulmate. It was common for people not to have a soulmate now. In fact, it was also a common occurrence for people to lose their soulmate and then their mark would disappear. There were also terrible people in this world who would leave their soulmates, not everyone had a happily ever after and you were especially aware of this, your own parents being a soulmate couple that split up. The concept of a soulmate was once incredibly appealing to you as you grew up, but the more pain you saw in the world the more you gave up on the dream of a perfect partner determined by fate. Yet you silently prayed to whatever God that was listening for his mark to be a blooming rose being wrapped up by heavy chains.

“So, what are your thoughts about soulmates?” you inquired casually. He looked at you with a slightly surprised smile before answering,

“I think it’s definitely an interesting concept. I want to find someone one day. The idea of a person matching and completing my soul is so fulfilling. But it would be too much of a danger for me to have a soulmate right now. I want to meet them later, after I’ve done what I need to do. I just can’t have them be with me, it wouldn’t be fair to them,” he stated seriously, “what about you?” Those few words promptly break your heart. If you were his soulmate, you promised yourself in that instance to hold strong and wait for him. His heart is too heavy right now to take on the burden of you.

You sit next to him in silence for a bit, unsure of how to answer him, so instead you ask “What’s your soulmark,” breaking the awkwardness. He smiles and shows his wrist to you. In sharp contrast to his pale skin you see black and red marking his left wrist. A crimson rose encased in black chains, it matches yours perfectly. Your stomach drops. You don’t want to seem suspicious so you run your fingers lightly over his delicate skin and smile, you compliment the design and tell him how lucky he is.

“Y/N, can I see your soulmark” he had asked so sweetly and looked at you with the soft smoky eyes you had begun to love.

“I actually don’t have one,” you grin, trying to hide your pained words. It hurt you more than anything to lie to him, to have to see his small amount of joy dissipate. It’s all for the best you think to yourself. Someone as perfect as him shouldn’t have to weigh himself down with someone like me. You smile softly again and change the topic before wishing him a goodnight.

»»————-　　————-««

Passing the hunter exam and gaining your license didn’t fill you with as much excitement as you expected it to. You felt bad for Gon, seeing as his friend didn’t pass. You liked the green haired boy quite a bit and wanted to help him the best you could. So when your soulmate said that he was going to go off on his own and earn money for the auction, you decided in that moment that it was time for you two to part. You wanted to help Gon find Killua and you needed some time without Kurapika so that you could think of your own future. You told him this but not without a vow to see him again.

“I promise that I’ll see you again” you declared with angry resolve. Kurapika smiles softly and places a light kiss on your forehead. You sigh and interlocked your fingers with his for one last time.

“As do I,” he replied, backing away and waving to you and your travel companions. You were going to fight tooth and nail to see him again in York New City.

»»————-　　————-««

Icy water splashed across your frail sleeping form. You sharply gasp as the frigid splash wakes you from your dreams about the past. You don’t know how long you’ve been here or even where you are. You let out another sharp yelp in pain when a blade as quick as light rips the skin on your barely healed cheek apart. It always starts like this. A man comes in and jolts you awake, then he reopens the wounds from when they took you, before implementing some new form of injury. The last form of torture is always expected in your day and you weren’t sure in the first few sessions, but in all of them the same dark figure stood behind in the shadows. Watching but never saying anything. You were in agony at the end of every day, but your decisiveness remained the same each time. At the end of these sessions your torturer would ask if you wanted to join his group, you would let out a snarky reply saying no, then he would leave you in darkness for several days before coming back and starting it all over again. However, your resolve was becoming shorter and shorter with each passing day. You didn’t know if your friends even knew you were here. You were starting to believe that no one was coming to save you, no happy ending in sight. All you want is to see your blonde soulmate one last time. The dark quickly closes in again as the door closes shut, leaving you to your dream like state again.

a/n Chrollo in the next chapter, I promise. Please leave some feedback, as this is my first chapter fic. Anyways hope you enjoyed, Ch 2 out tomorrow!

~Happy Holidays!~

#kurapika #kurapika x reade #angst #smut #dub con #chrollo #chrollo x reader #x reader smut #soulmate au #kurapika x reader #soulmark #hisoka #hisoka x reader #fem!reader #kurta!reader #hunter x hunter #hxh #fluff

218 notes · View notes

maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Day 9: Intruloceit (Pt 1)

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 9: When you write something on your own skin, it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well.

Content warnings: implied abuse (nothing graphic), self deprecation, some internalized homophobia concerning polyamory, angst.

(Happy ending in next part)

Word count: 1.7k

Janus didn’t sleep the night before his eighteenth birthday. Instead, he sat curled up on his bed, wrapped in his blanket, watching the minutes pass in the dim light of his alarm clock. His heart pounded as it drew closer to midnight, feeling like the numbers on the display were a countdown to his death.

He didn’t have friends, and that wasn’t a topic he would ever admit to being sensitive about. Most people would spend the eve of their eighteenth birthday surrounded by their loved ones, count down the seconds until they reached the strike of midnight, and then huddle around the birthday person as they wrote a message to their soulmate for the first time. A little greeting, an introduction, something to begin the process of meeting the love of their life. In a decent amount of cases, probably half, Janus would speculate, they wouldn’t get a response until their soulmate also turned eighteen, but the first note was still a special moment; something to celebrate. He’d never been a popular person though, by any standards. Even back in elementary school, his general dark demeanor and habitual lying kept people away from him. Sure, it would be more fun to play at recess with the other kids instead of laying in the sun and watching the clouds float by, but his defense mechanisms were not something he was going to let go of any time soon.

When his bedside display finally read 12:00, he expected to feel something. A shiver up his spine, a tingling under his skin, anything. But nothing happened, and he couldn’t tell if he was more grateful or upset. He stared down at his skin, pen held in his shaking hands, debating if he should do it. The minutes ticked by, suddenly a lot slower than when he’d been fighting for breath in anticipation and fear, and the pen continued to shake.

Downstairs, the front door slammed shut, causing Janus to flinch so hard the pen clattered to the floor. His dad wasn’t supposed to be home for a couple more days, and he could hear his mom voicing similar confusion as she made her way downstairs to greet him.

“Darrel? Did the trip end early?” He could hear the hesitation and uncertainty in her voice even from behind his closed door. His father had left with the excuse of a work trip. They both knew that wasn’t true, and both had an unspoken agreement to not say a word about it.

“What are you doing awake?” The man’s voice was gruff, sleep starved, annoyed. He clearly hadn’t intended to run into his wife, the soulmate he had stopped loving years ago.

“The headlights shone through the window, they woke me up.”

“Well, go back to bed. I don’t want to be grilled by you right now.”

“Do you want some dinner? I think there’s some leftovers in the fridge-”

“I said, go back to bed!”

“Darrel, please! You’re going to wake Janus!”

Janus shut his eyes and ears as the yelling started, abandoning the pen and what little excitement he’d had previously. Like every night, his sleep was as restless and chaotic as the day time, haunted with flashbacks and nightmares that he had no way to escape. Words hit with as much impact as fists, reminding him of how he was meant to be alone. A soulmate could never love a royal fuck up like him. His dad’s words echoed and distorted as the blows landed, shouts of unlovable and worthless setting in his mind as tombstones. Images of his parent’s failed bond rifled through his mind’s eye at record pace. Whether they were a one in a million flaw or just a cruel reminder that soulmates are never as perfect as displayed, he’d never know. All he knew is that he’d rather be alone for the rest of his life than be submitted to the fate that had befallen them, abuse and hatred but unable to leave, not with the expectations and stereotypes they lived under. ‘Soulmates were perfect, never failing, an unshatterable bond.’ Bullshit. He knew he was also subjecting his soulmate to a life alone, but his fear easily outweighed his desire to be loved, or his sense of compassion.

He woke up the next morning with a new heaviness in his heart, glancing at the time habitually. It was ten minutes before his alarm, but the thought of going back to sleep was too daunting a quest, so he rolled off his bed and padded to the bathroom to get ready for school. It was his senior year, and no matter how much he would rather stay at home and mope in his room, zoning out as he tended to do, he needed his grades to stay decent. It was the only way he was getting out of here. Half asleep, he threw on his yellow comfort hoodie, a stark contrast to his mood. It had been a present from his mom a few years ago, given with the uncomfortable smile between two people who lived together but rarely spoke.

He clambered down the stairs two at a time, freezing on the last step as his eye locked on the person in the kitchen. His mom sat at the table, nursing a cup of coffee silently, barely acknowledging he had entered the room. Without so much as a word, he scooted by her, eyeing the bruise forming on her left cheek and slunk out the door. They didn’t talk much anymore, why would today being his birthday change that?

The day was nothing out of the ordinary, and Janus didn’t know why that made a certain hole open up in his chest. Boring classes followed by lonely breaks, a quiet lunch hour in an abandoned classroom and an uneventful walk to the park after school. He preferred doing his homework anywhere that wasn’t home, especially now that his dad was back in town. He needed to get these done, and who knew what would pull him away from his work there. Besides, the grass was soft and the sun wasn’t too overbearingly hot, and he desperately needed a tan. The darker his skin, the more unnoticeable was the huge birthmark that covered the left side of his face, a little something that just made him that much more avoided by his peers.

His pen had barely scratched the paper when a tickle over his right arm made him gasp, like a feather ghosting over the skin. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what it was, and after a moment of adrenaline and panic, it occurred to him that no amount of putting it off would prevent the inevitable. He’d have to acknowledge his soulmate’s existence eventually. With a deep breath, he tugged the sleeve of his hoodie up, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

From wrist to elbow on his forearm, a deep blue ink had scribbled down bullet points that he must have not noticed throughout the entire day, since there were too many for them to have happened in the last few minutes. He started at the top, eyes drifting hungrily over the writing until he reached the last note, still being finished.

Chemistry test next Friday, study cephalopods

English paper on William Shakespeare, ask Roman for advice

Talk to Patton about moving movie night to next weekend

What far away is Andromeda from earth?

Fix V’s pin

Yell at V to stop breaking their pins

Get dad to sign detention slip

Extra credit for calculus due tomorrow

Do you want to get coffee?

Janus froze. That last one… what the hell? Sure, his brain was decently sleep deprived, but he was almost certain he hadn’t written to his soulmate last night. Except, damn, that question certainly didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of his notes; it seemed aimed at someone. Nevermind how they knew he was there, knew he had turned eighteen, they were trying to contact him, and that was more important. He picked up his discarded pen off the grass, twirling it in his fingers. What should he say? Should he even say anything? His original plan to ignore his soulmate was suddenly significantly more difficult, now that they were making the first move. They were a real person, not just a stranger, no longer a figment of his imagination twisted into something evil.

But before he could touch the tip to his arm to respond, to maybe introduce himself or ask where they were in the world (why were they offering coffee if they’d never even established where they lived, he wondered distantly), a barrage of green script exploded under his poised pen.

YES PLEASE! I was awake all night. I just saw your notes, you want help with the cephalopods? I can quiz you, I know everything about them. And I guarantee I know just as much about ya boi Billy Shakes as Roman, and I know the FUN stuff too! Not the prissy romancey stuff. Did V tell you their pin broke because they tried to stab me with it and hit my pocket knife? Because they did. What did you get detention for this time?

Even with the small writing, Janus had to rotate his arm to follow the messy scratching as the… new person continued to rant about their day. He sat in shock, not able to process what was happening. This had to be a mistake, right? It was astronomically rare to have more than one soulmate, and there was no way he was one of those people. He had never been special before in his life, in either a good way or a bad, so he in no way was deserving of… this. Maybe this was a mistake after all, just like his parents. Another cosmic fuck up, where he’d have to live out the rest of his life, watching the two people fall more and more in love while he looked on like a creep. Isn’t that what he deserved, though? The two other people obviously knew each other; two soulmates who must have turned eighteen before him and met a while ago, if their casual interaction was anything to go by. And… he couldn’t intrude on that. Even if he did, if he popped up out of nowhere like a bad cold, they wouldn’t want him to join their pre-established relationship already. They probably weren’t even polyamorous, and the whole idea would just make them uncomfortable.

His mind was too far gone for homework. So with a lump in his throat the size of a meteor and tears stinging the corner of his eyes, he capped the pen, rolled down his sleeve resolutely, and packed up his supplies. Anything his dad would do to him would surely hurt less than this.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #sanders sides #intruloceit #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #ts soulmate au #soulmate september #soulmateseptember

257 notes · View notes

lire-casander · 3 years

Text

as the world collapses on hell's front door

[1,550 words] [teen and up audiences] [beta'ed by @meloingly] [carlos reyes, tk strand, judd ryder, paul strickland, marjan marwani, mateo chavez, original female characters] [spoilers for s02e12, coda fic, fighting, pushing, violence, thoughts on relapsing, no actual relapse, angst, grief, intrusive thoughts, little to none dialogue]

[tk's been trying to make sense of his father’s whereabouts for the past couple of days, until a familiar face comes to the station and gives him bad news]

[written for @marjansmarwani’s birthday! i hope you love reading it as much as i loved writing it! i wish you the best of days and a year ahead full of happiness!]

as the world collapses on hell's front door | on ao3

the rest of the series

He’s lost count of how many times he’s been sent straight to voicemail when calling his father only in the past ten minutes. The rest of his fire family is running wild with theories about what’s been going on in the Strand Household, and he hasn’t had any idea about it. He feels out of a loop that used to be his, and the lack of reply from his father is only adding fuel to the fire pitching in his gut.

His hands are shaking so much that he almost drops the phone as he pulls it off his ear and grunts at it. He can feel himself spiraling out of control as the seconds tick by, nothing preventing his mind from running to all the dark places he’s been trying to avoid for over a year now. He’s feeling too much, all at once, and he knows he can’t cope with it on his own. He lets out a relieved sigh when Judd points to the entrance and he sees Carlos.

His soft baby is met with a nervous energy that sets him on edge. And he was right to feel like that — Carlos delivers the news that Major Reyes has arrested his father for arson, and his whole world turns grey all of a sudden. It's a feeling he isn't used to anymore, and it throws him wildly off-kilter. It's easier to lash out, to blame Carlos for not intervening, to blame Major Reyes for arresting his father, to blame himself for not seeing what was going on under his nose. He doesn’t believe his father is the arsonist — he understands that his father fits the profile, but he knows his father would never put other people in danger on purpose. There has to be something else.

Carlos isn’t giving him any peace of mind, and he loses the little self-restraint he had left. When pushes come to shoves, he literally throws himself against Carlos, pushing at him angrily, spitting hatred and venom that isn’t really aimed at his boyfriend. Carlos pulls him into a lock, back against chest, muttering in his ear, but he’s too far gone. He doesn’t need to be held by Carlos like this — like he's some sort of nutcase who needs to be kept apart — so he does the only thing he can think of.

He asks to be released and for Carlos to leave the station. Carlos doesn’t let go at first, even tightening his grip, but Judd orders him to with that authority in his voice that comes with being acting Captain, and Carlos obliges.

He watches as his boyfriend retreats like a cornered animal, but he doesn’t have the strength to feel nothing more than fear for his father. Tears well up in his eyes as his mind races through all the possible scenarios. His father is held in custody. His father could go to jail. Carlos was right, despite everything — when Major Reyes arrests someone, it's because he has good reason.

That opens a whole new myriad of realities that he's not yet ready to face.

He leans forward, stumbling his way over the counter in the kitchen area. Mateo approaches him, worried and probably scared, but he doesn’t care. He can't look up; he can't see pity and grief in his friends' eyes. It would be the nail in the coffin of his own recklessness. He simply breathes in and out, deeply, counting the inhales and the exhales to try and control the panic attack that’s rising. The truth of his actions is quick to settle afterwards, when his breathing is measured and the trembling in his fingers is a mere thrumming white noise against the counter.

He's reacted poorly before, when Carlos has been involved. And even way before Carlos — he always behaves like a complete jerk when he's scared shitless. But somehow this feels way bigger; pushing Carlos when he came to give the news in person is akin to stomping over his own dreams and hopes.

"What have I done?" he mutters under his breath, head hung low and shoulders shaking. "What have I done?"

There's no reply, the group disaggregating when the sirens goes off, not a second to spare. He follows them and hops inside the ambulance, not fighting Nancy over who rides shotgun this time. He's aware that everyone has witnessed — or at least heard — his spat with Carlos. He takes in the way Nancy is avoiding his gaze, the way Tommy pointedly doesn’t put him in charge of complicated interventions. He's out of his mind, and he can't focus.

It's all his fault, and he doesn’t know how to undo what's already been done.

Tommy ends up sending him home early, because he keeps messing up and getting easily distracted. Only, he doesn’t think he has a home to go back to, nor after having treated Carlos the way he did, before. He stares at his reflection in the mirror back at the station, the paleness standing out among the rest of his features, making his eyes seem bigger, greener. He throws on a comfortable hoodie he keeps in his locker — one that still smells like the softener Carlos uses for his laundry — and almost breaks down on the spot.

He can’t believe how much of an idiot he's been.

He grabs his keys and his wallet before walking out of the station. He's grateful that the rest of the 126 is on one call or another — they won't see him taking the walk of shame — but a part of him viciously wishes they have been called to a fire that ends up being arson, just so it can exonerate his father.

He should go home — wherever it is right now, because he feels like he’s blown it up with his fight with Carlos — or to the Rangers headquarters to visit his father. Instead, he hires an Uber and flops down on the back seat as the driver takes him across Austin to the creepy address he's indicated in the app. There’s some sort of déjà-vu in how the driver asks him if he's sure just as he hops off the black car and makes a fast beeline for the entrance of The Trap.

He sits at the bar, which is mostly empty at this hour in the morning, and debates with himself about what to order. His most rational side wants him to escape this hole and run away, while his cravings are murmuring in his ear for him to let go of all fear and embrace the darker side of who he is. He takes his wallet out of his pocket and picks one credit card, twirling it in his hands as he thinks. He needs to choose between giving in or getting out, and the balance right now is tilted to just one side. The bartender notices him and comes closer, a sweet smile painted on her face, to start preparing whatever he wants to drink.

He orders a vodka.

She raises an eyebrow at his choice at such an ungodly hour, but says nothing else. She makes quick work of the ice as she pours the clear liquid in a whiskey glass, apologizing about not having proper clean glasses. She places the drink in front of him and walks away after winking at him.

He stares at the drink, unable to touch it but mesmerized by its sole existence. He yearns to lift it to his lips and drink all of it, lapping at the last drop as though it was manna from the gods. His soul soars at the mere thought of it being unhinged by the power of numbness. Just one sip. One sip and he'd stop feeling, his mistakes becoming just a distant memory of a life lived by someone else.

Carlos' face comes to the front of his mind in that very same moment. Those big, soulful eyes that can see through him and read him like an open book. He sighs. He's hurt the person he loves the most, just like he always does. And thanks to his own stupidity, he's - afraid to go home,and he has no way of knowing what his father's going through. He doesn’t even feel like he has a support group — Paul had looked down at him and told him off for his outburst at the station, while Judd simply stood back and said in no uncertain terms that he'd rather walk all the way through Hell before getting in between Carlos and TK. There’s this nagging thought in the further corner of his mind screaming at him that he put them in this insane situation — in the middle of a fight between two of their friends, with no real chance of breaking through them without getting caught in the middle.

The more the thinks about it, the more revolted he feels at his own actions.

The itch is winning the inner battle for dominance of his soul, and he reaches out, fingers grazing the beautifully cut glass. Just touching the coldness of the recipient is making him giddy. He just needs to take the leap. He just needs to let go. And then he will stop hurting. Then he will become numb. Then he will be free.

Then he will be forever chained at a flaw that's holding him down, preventing him from flying.

He shakes his head to clear it, horrified at the implications of the thought he's just had — the implications of the order he's just placed. There's nowhere left to hide when it's just him and his demons, but there’s certainly one place to run to, after all.

He slaps a twenty on the bar and hires another Uber to the Rangers station, leaving the whiskey glass untouched behind.

28 notes · View notes

serialreblogger · 4 years

Note

Hey! I'm thinking of reading Dracula, and knowing that's your eternal hyperfixation, I wanted to ask your thoughts, if you had any comments, suggestions, ect.

HEY WHY DIDN’T I SEE THIS SOONER I’M SO SORRY FRIEND

okay okay okay okay (...several people are typing...) SO

the first thing you should be aware of when reading Dracula is that it’s quite Victorian, so you might find it easier, especially on a first read, to get an annotated version (the Norton Critical Edition version is quite good) that puts footnotes in to explain all the outdated references to like, London penny-meat merchants and stuff. I would say it’s significantly easier to read than Lord of the Rings, but because it was written 200 years ago the difference in language means it’s not a simple read. (However, if you have absolutely any attraction to the Gothic aesthetic, Dracula is so very much worth the brainpower to slog through the rougher sentences. Like. “...the courtyard of a vast ruined castle, from whose tall black windows came no ray of light, and whose broken battlements showed a jagged line against the moonlit sky.” The whole book is like that. A bit stilted to contemporary readers, but also breathtakingly spot-on in its Spooky Factor.)

the second thing you should be aware of is that Dracula is extremely gay, but in a Tormented Victorian Closeted way. There’s a part where Jonathan climbs out a window that just. It’s uh. The descriptions are very,, metaphorical-sounding. Again, the whole book is like that, and sometimes it’s very fun and sometimes (lookin at Lucy’s whole thing) it’s significantly more unsettling if you pay attention to the weirdly sexy descriptions of how the protagonists interact with the vampires, but I think that’s part of what I find so fascinating about Dracula--it’s unsettling and strange and the pieces don’t fit together clearly, and I still don’t know quite what to make of it, but all the same the feeling of what Stoker’s saying comes through quite clearly. There’s a reason why so many Dracula adaptations have this narrative of a protagonist falling in forbidden love with the tormented Vampyre, yknow? There’s something so unmistakeably sympathetic about the character of Dracula, even when the narrative of the story goes out of its way to establish that he has no redeeming qualities or even proper personhood, that he’s just a monster. Because there’s something about the story (even without getting into the whole “Mina and Jon murked their boss” thing) that makes a reader wonder if that’s really the whole truth. If there isn’t something tragic about Dracula. If there isn’t something in him, if not of goodness, then at least of sorrow, instead of only fear.

Anyway I digress but I think we all knew that was gonna happen; point is: Jonathan and Dracula definitely had sex, Mina and Lucy were definitely in love, Seward’s got something weird goin on with the old professor (and also he’s just very weird, full stop. sir. sir please stop experimenting on your asylum inmates. sir i know this is victorian england but please Do Not), and Quincey, well, Quincey is an American cowboy with a bowie knife, and I think that’s all we really need to know.

ok and! the third thing you should be aware of is The Racism. Imperialist Britain, yo. Bram Stoker was Irish so like, it isn’t half as bad as some other authors of his time period (Rudyard Kipling anyone), but the racism is real and I don’t wanna gloss over that. The g**sy slur is used with abandon for a huge assortment of people groups, there’s a tacit as well as overt acceptance of the idea that West is superior to East, and because the educational system where I grew up is a joke and I can only learn things if I accidentally fall down the wikipedia hole of researching the insect genus hemiptera, i genuinely still don’t know how accurate the extensive history of Romania recounted in the first third of the book actually is. Oh also casual and blatant anti-blackness is verbalized by a character at least once. I’m pretty sure the racism has a metaphorical place in the framework of Dracula’s storytelling, but I couldn’t tell you what it is because I am not going to bother putting myself in the mindset of a racist white Victorian man. This is the mindset I am trying to unlearn. So: read with caution, critical thinking, and the double knowledge that even as the narrators are meant to be unreliable, so too is the author himself.

Finally, regarding interpretation: so personally I’m running with the opinion that Dracula is, at least partly, a metaphor for Stoker’s own queerness and internal conflict re: being queer, being closeted, and watching the torture his friend Wilde went through when the wealthy father of Wilde’s lover set out to ruin his life for daring to love his son. Whether this is true or not (I think it’s true, but hey, that’s analysis, baby), you can’t understand Dracula without knowing the social context for it (as with all literature--the author isn’t dead, not if you want to know what they were saying), and the social context for it is:

- Stoker was friends with Wilde, growing only closer after Wilde was outed

- Wilde was outed, as I said, because the father of his lover was wealthy and powerful and full of the most virulent kind of hatred. This is especially interesting because of how many rich, powerful parents just straight up die in Dracula and leave the main characters with no legal issues and a ridiculous amount of money, which is the diametrical opposite of what happened to Wilde

- Stoker idolized his mentor Henry Irving. Irving was a paradigm of unconventional relationships and self-built family, in a world where divorcees and children born out of wedlock were things to be whispered about in scandalized tones, not people to love and embrace. Irving was also famous for thriving off of manipulating those close to him and pitting friends against each other. Given the painstakingly vivid description Stoker provides for his titular vampire and how closely it matches Irving’s own appearance and demeanor, Irving was widely understood even at the time of writing to be the chief inspiration for the character of Dracula

- the book is dedicated to Stoker’s close friend, Hall Caine, a fellow writer whose stories centered around love triangles and accumulation of sins which threaten to ruin everything, only to be redeemed by the simple act of human goodness

- Stoker was Irish, but not Catholic (he was a Protestant of the Church of Ireland, a division of the Anglican Church). This may come as a surprise when you read the book and see All The Catholicism, Just Everywhere. Religion is actually a key theme in Dracula--most of the main characters start out your typical Good Victorian Anglican Skeptics, and need to learn through a trial-by-fire to trust in the rituals and relics of the Catholic Church to save them from Dracula’s evilness. Which is interesting. Because not only do these characters start off as dismissive towards these “superstitions” (in the same way they dismiss the “superstitions” of the peasant class on the outskirts of Dracula’s domain), but the narrative telling us “these superstitions are actually true!” cannot be trusted, when you know the author’s own beliefs.

(Bram Stoker is not saying what his characters are saying. This is the first and most important rule to remember, if you want to figure out Dracula.)

- The second-most famous character in the novel, after Dracula himself, is Van Helsing, whose first name is Abraham. Note that “Bram” is a declension of Abraham. What does this mean? I legitimately have no idea. But it’d be a weird coincidence, right? Like what even is the thought process there? “Oh, yeah, what should I name this character that comes in, makes overtly homoerotic statements willy nilly, and encourages everyone to throw rationality out the window and stake some vampires using the Eucharist? hmmmm how about ‘Me’”

ok wait FINAL final note: you legitimately do not have to care about any of this. I love Dracula because it has gay vibes and I love trying to figure it out, like an archaeologist sifting through sentence structure to find fragments that match the patterns I already know from historical research; but that’s not why you should love Dracula. The book itself is just straight up fun to read. Like I said, Stoker absolutely nails the exact vibe of spookiness that I love, the eerieness and elegance and vague but vivid fear of a full moon crossed by clouds at midnight. The characters are intriguing, especially Quincey gosh I love Quincey Morris but they’re very,, sweet? if i can say that about people i, personally, suspect of murder? They come together and protect each other against the terrible threat that is Dracula, and you don’t get that half as often as I’d like in horror media. I don’t even know if Dracula could qualify as “horror” proper, because it’s not about the squeamish creeping discomfort that “horror” is meant to evoke, it’s not the appeal of staring at a train wreck--it’s not horrifying. It’s eerie. It’s Gothic. It has spires and vampires and found family and cowboys, and to be honest, I don’t know what could be better than that.

#dracula #linden writes an essay #linden's originals #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK FRIEND I WILL ALWAYS WANT TO INFODUMP ABOUT DRACULA #ask linden

86 notes · View notes

a-pretty-nerd · 4 years

Text

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 3

Premis:

When The League of Villains discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word count: 1,556

Warnings: Panic Attack, themes of depression and self-hatred. Later chapters will include violence and nsfw content.

A/N:

I'm gonna try and have a pretty regular posting schedule. From now on I'm going to try posting once a day, even of its just a headcannon, I wanna post once a day now. I'M GOING TO TRY AND POST ONE CHAPTER A WEEK. Especially for this series, I'm having a lot of fun with it but Tumblr doesn't seem to like it and refuses to post it to the hashtags. Sorry, I know this chapter is kinda short, but I feel like this series deserves a slow, intense, burn.

Don't forget, I have a Patreon, where you can join my discord, vote on new projects, and make requests! Thanks for reading!

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Days passed.

It all felt like a strange blur. You wondered around the abandoned house the villains called their hideout for the time being. You spent hours watching the news that Shigaraki constantly played. Despite being the daughter of the Japan’s #1 hero, there wasn’t a single report of your disappearance. You were confused.

“They’re probably keeping the investigation quiet. Y’know, so we don’t see them coming.” Dabi told you one day as you sat on the old dusty couch and watched. You watched helplessly as the group came and went, always having someone stay behind to ‘babysit’ as Mr. Compress referred to it.

You were allowed to wander around the old abandoned building the villains called their hideout. At first, you thought it was a house but now you realized it was an old office building. The villains mostly stayed in a specific part where they were made comfortable. It appeared that only a certain part of the building had power. Everywhere else was dark and cold and uncomfortable.

“Yeesh, you stick!-Take a bath!” Twice shouted at you one day. You frowned and crossed your arms over your chest and stuck your hands under your arms.

“Speak for yourself! Not my fault you guys didn’t exactly grab me a change of clothes, or let me piss alone much less shower!” You shouted in frustration. It all seemed to dawn on them at once, maybe they hadn’t exactly thought this through all the way.

“Y’know what? You’re right! I’ll be right back!” Toga declared with a smile.

“Where are you going?” Shigaraki asked as he watched her head for the door.

“It’s a surprise!” She closed the door behind her and the room fell silent. Spinner soon approached only to recoil in disgust.

“Twice is right, you do stink.” He grunted.

“Thanks…” You grumbled.

“Here take this and go wash off.” He held out a raggedy towel. You were directed to a bathroom with a makeshift shower in it and told to wash off before the bathroom door closed. The water was horribly cold.

You stood under it and let the water wash over your naked body. Man, you really were dirty. The cold water soon became warmer and you lost yourself in the feeling of it. You closed your eyes and melted. Soon, the feeling of tears running down your cheeks mixed in with the sensation of your wet hair tickling the back of your neck. You crouched down and held your knees to your chest as you began to sob uncontrollably. You couldn’t stop it, the pain in your chest flowed out through your lips are you cried. You held yourself tight, your fingers digging into your legs. The pain was so intense, and your thoughts so muddied, you could see yourself sitting there, just crying. Objectively, you watched yourself and criticized.

This was all your fault, your mother and father are worried sick about you. All because you pushed yourself too hard and couldn’t fight back. You’re a mess. You deserve this. You’ll die here, they’ll kill you before you can see your parents again. You’re worthless. You can’t even protect yourself.

These thoughts only made the pain more intense, it made it worse. You sobs grew louder and louder and the pain grew and grew. It got to the point where you felt unable to control yourself. You began lashing out, hitting your own head, and scratching your legs. Then another thought emerged.

This wasn’t your fault. If it weren’t for him. If it weren’t for your father and his stupid fucking hero work, you’d be home right now. You’d be safe and sound and unbothered by this hero/villain mess. He didn’t even want you to come to Japan, so why were you here? He doesn’t even want you. And your mother, she’s the one that sent you. This was her idea. This was her fault too. Anger fed the pain in your chest and it ached. The attack on your mind and body ragged on, until you heard a knock on the door.

You felt unable to move, unable to stop. You cursed yourself again. They could hear you, couldn’t they? They could hear you crying. You expected someone to yell, but there wasn’t a voice. The door slowly opened and shut. The curtain was slowly drawn back and two eyes looked down at you. You shook violently as you looked up. Suddenly you became very aware that you were naked.

“Why are you crying?” Toga asked as she knelt down to get closer to you. You couldn’t respond. “What’s wrong? We’re not going to hurt you, I promise. Hey, don’t cry, it’s alright. Look, I brought you some new clothes.” She reached out a hand and rubbed your naked back.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” You croaked.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she reassured, “you’re safe here, no one is going to hurt you. And if anyone does, you come to me, alright?”

“O-Okay.”

“Are you done washing off?” You shook your head no. “Okay well finish up and try these on. I think you’ll like it.” She set the new clothes on the bathroom counter before leaving you. You sniffled and struggled to stand, but you managed. You took deep breathes and tried to soothe yourself. You felt drained and empty now, if not a little bit better. You stepped out and looked at the clothes on the counter. They were soft and comfortable, how did she guess the right size of underwear but the wrong size shirt and pants? They were just a little big, they fit fine where it mattered, but just a little baggy everywhere else. Definitely not something you’d pick out for yourself, but it would do for now.

You brushed through your wet hair with your fingers and stared at yourself in the mirror for a moment. Your eyes were red and puffy, your face flushed. It made your heart race to know that everyone was well aware you were crying. You opened the door and everyone turned to look at you again. Oh god. Toga pulled herself away from what looked like a chat with Shigaraki.

“Damn! One size off! I knew it!” Toga shouted as she approached you to examine the clothes on you.

“They’re fine, really.” You mumbled to her as she pulled on the pants at the band.

“Are they comfortable at least?” She asked folding her arms over her chest.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Oh don’t mention it! Next time I’ll have to take you shopping with me!” She smiled. Next time? Take you? You stared blankly at her. She pulled you with her to sit on the couch and watch more of the news.

“You know. Now that I think about it. I don’t think he wants it out that I exist.” You thought out loud.

“What do you mean?” Toga asked. You turned to her with a blank face.

“Its always been a secret. I could never talk about my dad, even when I was little. Everyone assumed I just didn’t have a dad. Even when we came to visit when I was younger, no one knew I was his daughter. If the public asked, I was his niece. They always told me it was for my own safety. I get that now.” You chuckled to yourself. “But that’s probably why there’s no report on my disappearance. No one can know. I’m just a dirty little secret.”

“Xavier! Over here!”

Your mother called as she stood partially outside a taxi. Xavier, your “boyfriend” waved back to your mother as she dragged along his luggage.

“Ms. Y/L/N! I’m sorry I’m late! The flight was delayed, I came as soon as you called.” Xavier was a clean-cut, academic genius. He wore slacks and a button-up on a daily basis. He was incredibly smart with several degrees by his early twenties and already on his way to becoming a very successful lawyer. He was handsome, conventionally so. He was handsome, smart, thoughtful, and generous. He was everything your mother wanted for you.

But that was it, he was a gift from your mother you took reluctantly. She knew his father from work, it was all set up. You had been together for roughly a year now. You liked him enough to date to try and love even. He was nice and even fun at times. But you were lying every time you told him you loved him. You had been meaning to break it off for some time now, but you were unsure. You feared disappointing your mother, again. You were afraid to hurt him. You thought your trip to Japan would allow you to clear your mind and think about things before making a decision.

Your mother brought him back to your father. Who was far too busy worrying about you to really care to give Xavier the time of day. Xavier had a very specific quirk, one that came in handy in the legal field. He could tell whether or not someone was lying just by making eye contact with someone. He was now going to be a key player in getting you back. He, like your mother and father, was not going to rest until he had you back. You can be sure of that.

Taglist:

@bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable

#mha x reader #bnha fanfiction #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki x reader #Tomura Shigaraki #tomura shigaraki smut #tomura x you #tomura shiragaki #Tomura Shigaraki x All Might!Daughter!Reader

138 notes · View notes

hoodwinkd1 · 3 years

Text

or it's gonna go down in [silver] flames

Summary: Nesta needs an escape from Velaris. Eris needs a distraction from planning his father's murder. They both need one person who looks at them without disdain and hatred in their eyes. Can I make it anymore obvious?

———

Silver and orange flames danced together above Eris' head where Nesta had his hands pinned. She smirked at the small gasp that escaped his throat as she ground down, the friction hitting their bodies at a new angle. His eyes burned and his arms flexed at the urge to break free of her grip.

He never would, though. Eris had seen the haunted look in her eyes once, had understood immediately never to push against any boundaries she set during their interactions. Fortunately, the two of them equally enjoyed a dominant female on top.

Nesta felt herself approaching the edge, thighs tensing to keep her rhythm consistent. She leaned forward, biting and kissing down Eris' jaw to bring him with her. Not moments later, they groaned in unison, hearts racing as Nesta collapsed against his chest.

She wouldn't remain there for long. He never held her after. After catching her breath, Nesta slid off and grabbed her discarded robe from the floor. Eris rolled onto his side, not bothering to hide his body under the sheets as he propped his head up on one arm.

"Will you join me for dinner?" The prince of Autumn kept his tone light, casual. "My father is expecting some political guests, diplomats or other useless bastards, and you would be the perfect date to infuriate him."

Nesta snorted. Eris loved nothing more than parading her in front of his vicious family who detested his failure to procure a proper wife with beneficial political connections.

Someone like Mor. The nasty voice in her head drew a harsh comparison between them at any opportunity.

"Guests from where?" Nesta asked, careful to keep her language disinterested.

Eris watched her stand, tying the robe tightly around her figure. "Not your precious Night Court. Somewhere irrelevant on the Continent."

With grim satisfaction, Nesta noted that the thought of her family stung less than last week. Which had stung less than the week before. Two months in the Autumn Court, hiding away in the prince's chambers, had strengthened her walls immensely to the point where she felt no emotion the majority of the time. She refused to acknowledge that small minority of moments, usually at night if she awoke gasping from a nightmare, when fear and anger and sadness slipped past her defenses like rain through a cracked window.

"Fine." Antagonizing Beron would serve as good practice for keeping her mental walls locked tight. The High Lord treated her like a prisoner, as if she hadn't marched into his Court of her on volition, looking for somewhere her demons wouldn't follow. Looking for somewhere her family wouldn't follow.

(Looking for somewhere he wouldn't follow).

"Wonderful," Eris grinned. "We'll postpone our night session, then. Can't risk anyone discovering your...abilities." He sighed dramatically. "Although I do love seeing you get all riled up."

Nesta grimaced at his propensity to make everything sound filthy, even their regular training sessions. Eris had been surprisingly helpful in teaching her how to restrain and manage her magic. Centuries of harsh lessons and punishments from his father had given him more self-control than anyone Nesta had met in the Fae world. Much more control than any of the darkness-spilling, power-abusing pricks in Velaris.

Most importantly, no one in the Night Court had flames running through their veins. The Autumn Court had seen more types of fire than they would ever admit to the outside world, carefully honing the art of weaponizing heat and chaos in any form against any enemy. Normally, the Vanserra family kept their knowledge under lock and key, but Eris delighted in spitting on tradition and giving their secrets away to Nesta.

Her feet carried her to the luxurious rooms, the door hidden behind a rich tapestry, where she stayed. Nesta knew exactly what the suite was intended for, but couldn't muster any shame at living like a royal whore when she fit the description a little too well. She lit the candles automatically as she swept past them, lighting the room in a soft, silver glow. Control.

Estimating she had at least two hours until she had to get dressed, Nesta drifted over to her balcony instead of her closet. The sun had only just begun its descent, the sky bleeding the slightest pink into the overwhelming blue. Dense forests filled with massive trees blocked her gaze from travelling very far, but Nesta liked to imagine she could see anything she wanted. Her fantastical images had to be better than the alternative.

Her heart raced and slowed in equal measure as one emotion slipped past her leaky defenses and the smell of pine filled her nose. Longing, then. The feeling of missing something she never had, the ache of a pain she never experienced. She'd tried to put this one emotion into words for Eris, one time, stumbling like a newborn fawn trying to learn how to walk.

"You're heartbroken," Eris said with a smirk that had no humor. "It happens when you miss someone you no longer have."

"I don't have anyone," Nesta insisted. "I've never had anyone."

He had looked away from her then, uncharacteristically dropping her gaze. "Yearning, then. Or longing. Missing someone you never had in the first place. Mourning the loss you wish you could feel." His unspoken words had screamed me too, me too, me too.

She wouldn't probe him because she didn't care and he wouldn't probe her because he did care. Eris knew Nesta would leave him too, someday, but he wanted to delay that day as long as possible. Give her no reason to leave until fate did.

Mating bonds were a bitch that way.

Tonight, she would put on that delicious crimson gown and pretend the color didn't make her sick to her stomach. She would laugh in Beron's face while playing a role that was so incredibly wrong. She would sit next to a male whose scent was entwined with hers, a mixture that would disgust her family if they ever smelled it.

She would damn herself even more, distancing herself even further from the Cauldron's wishes and make sure that he would never want to lay a hand on her again.

And she definitely wouldn't hope and wish, like a child captivated by fairy tales, that he would chose her anyway at the end of this, that her mistakes weren't bigger than the ocean of emotions threatening to crush her like a tidal wave if she dared to open the gates of her mind.

Her time in the Autumn Court might go on forever, but it would most likely go down in flames.

#acotar #sjm #acosf #autumn court #eris #eris vanserra #a court of thorns and roses #Nesta #nesta deserves better #nesta archeron

14 notes · View notes

child-of-the-nighttime-stars · 3 years

Text

The Things I’ve Carried

Before I could even properly grasp my mother’s finger, thrust upon my shoulders was the ideology of being a miracle. It was something that lifted me up yet weighed me down all at once. It was something that I didn’t even realize I carried until much later in my life. But since I was too young and couldn’t know about this, I carried the weight of dreams filled with great ambition and the perfect life. A goal to go to college like my father before me and like my mother had dreamed to.

As I arrived at my first day of elementary school, the weight of these dreams only grew. Along with my sparkling backpack that carried my crayons, pencils, books, and toys for show and tell, I also carried a small bag that looked like a briefcase. It was heavy to me, despite only weighing five pounds, yet I carried it with pride. For within it rested a small and very primitive laptop. To be honest, it was a little more than a lighter, digitized typewriter, but to me it was everything. This is because within that small screen and my ever-growing knowledge of how things were spelled laid the key to my self-expression. This laid down the pavement for me to travel down a digital road. A long and winding one that wore my heavy and stumbled steps down the older I got, yet to me it was natural, what I thought every child does since I still did not understand that my body wasn’t natural like all of my peers and their families.

But as I grew, the differences began getting clearer and the weight of them began getting heavier and heavier. I shook too much and far too often. My steps were stumbled. My speech was slurred and sloshy. A lot of the kids were quick to point it out. But none of it was in my control, What bothered me the most was how these kids would ask all these questions about the bulky braces casting my legs. They were lovingly called my robot legs when I was younger and when I was asked brief questions about them. They helped me walk so I had begun to think of them as my cybernetic enhancements that were just another part of me. Even though they were carved from plaster and screws rather than breaking edge technology that went to my brain. But as my classmates began to twist their questions from marvelous curiosity to cruel mocking, the light weight of two and a half pounds on each leg began to weigh on my entire body. That uplifting load of being considered a miracle began crashing down as I began carrying the burden of knowing that I was a burden all because of my missteps on the things I could never control.

I tried to hide it. I tried to fit in. I was desperate for the relief that normalcy seemed to bring. But even when I threw away the robot legs for the constricting nature of skinny jeans, the title of outcast and burden was still thrust upon my shoulders and slashed at my heart like a dagger to the back. Only now, these titles were not only thrown mindlessly by children who don’t know the weight words can have. Many adults outside of my family cemented those titles into my brain. I could see now that their praise about me being a miracle, an inspiration, wasn’t because they saw my intelligence or my creativity to work around my problems. It was all because they thought that I was incapable of doing anything in the face of them and would never amount to anything besides simply existing. But I was furious! I wanted them to see that I was capable, that I am competent. But the weight of my lungs burning, gasping for breath that would only be wasted on the willfully ignorant, became too much.

So I gave up. I began hiding behind a screen. The digital world was where I could hide my flaws. It was where I could hide behind a mask of normalcy, just like everyone else. But putting on this mask was not the relief I hoped it’d be. Every time I put it on, it didn’t blend with my skin, with who I was. It made me feel like a liar and those lies crushed me as the craving for acceptance and true validation became an addiction that left me unable to stand before it.

So within this digital world, I became a storyteller. I wrote short stories and poems about my feelings, about the adventures and romances I’d have with characters I felt connected to. I mean, if I could love them when no one else around them did, then maybe I was worthy of that love from someone as well? Yet still crumpled by a load of cynicism that my condition and other unsavory circumstances life had thrown on to me, my stories, although well-written for my age, were dark, bitter, and dare I say, a bit edgy. They granted temporary relief. A cathartic release of my emotions that someone could read and know how I felt. Although, in the end, I was left feeling hollow. That hollowness led to a sensation of stagnation. That stagnation is a sensation that ground my soul into ashes and didn’t have any decency to spread those ashes anywhere but the trash. At least there, I was where I belonged both in the eyes of those around me and in my own eyes as well.

But one positive thing I see now about this dark time in my life is that physically I couldn’t stay stagnant. My family was homeless and that meant I couldn’t stay in one place for too long nor could I carry much with me every time I moved. The only thing I had made sure to always have was my laptop. An upgraded one from my little digital typewriter, at a weight of seven to ten pounds, compared to the now measly five that used to be so heavy to me.

Within these transfers of homes and schools, it was the last school I was transferred to where I finally made some friends. The first one was a quiet girl named Sydney, her acceptance of my circumstances and patience with them planted the seed in reality that I was worthy of love despite them. We bonded over arts, both her visual and my written works. But what I still remember what really connected us was a hatred for P.E. class. I got hit on the head with enough volleyballs that weigh half a pound to leave a pounding weight in my head. Not only that but we also liked the same song, one that I carry within my heart to this day. The next friend I made was a year later and who I thought hated me like the rest at first, despite myself really admiring his bold style. His name is Chris. We bonded over Halloween since Sydney was the one who brought us together. That night they both helped me carry my candy bag and the beautiful gown I wore as a costume, making sure I was never left behind. I don’t think they even know that they also lifted one of the crushing weights on my back of slowing everyone down and troubling them with my stumbling steps and slowly helped me grow into a genuinely more positive person.

The third and final friend of this group that Sydney and I made through Chris was another girl named Elisa. Our first meeting was rocky since I had invited them to see me perform because I had finally grown confident enough to get back to singing and acting publicly. I was even the opening act for this show! But due to traffic, they had missed it. I was heartbroken, The anxiety of being forgotten and replaced gnawed at my bones and the weight of a heavy broken heart crumbled me to the floor when I saw them finally arrive. I was worried that I was in the wrong for being upset and that Chris and Sydney would leave me soon after this night. As for Elisa, we hadn’t met before in person, and seeing someone sob hysterically wasn’t a great first impression. Even at that moment, the fear that she wouldn’t want to be my friend mangled the confidence I had carried minutes prior.

But they didn’t leave. Not then, not soon after, and not even all the times they could’ve. Elisa and I grew to be really close as well. She allowed me to do things that everyone before her and my other two friends forbid me from doing since they viewed me as too incompetent. I enjoyed every bit of our excursions! Even if one of them ended up with me jumping out of a treehouse and having to carry my right arm in a cast and all the soreness of doing so for several weeks after…

During this time I still continued writing on my trusty laptop, which fluctuated in upgrades, sizes, and weight. But now my writing began to reflect my true feelings and perspectives. My stories had dark moments but were not drenched in it. My poetry had begun to blossom with hopeful beauty rather than wither with the venom within my words. The weight I carried of being unworthy, unlovable, incompetent, and being a burden began to slowly fall away as I settled into a happy home and friends that truly cared about me. With the final weight being ground into ash and thrown in the trash when I realized that regardless of what ails me I am not inhuman and I’m no longer alone. Now I am strong enough to not hide away but to carry who I am and the companions I’ve made with love and pride once more...

#writing #writing prompt #writing inspiration #narrative #short story #i write things #beauty inside #hope #Your past doesn't define you

10 notes · View notes

midsummerevening · 4 years

Text

Alright so I thought I’ll share some of my thoughts on certain scenes of Love, Victor. As I said in a previous post, I don’t think Victor was ever attracted to Mia. He might have thought so, but he never was. To me, Victor was never meant to be bi. He’s gay but was in denial and did not want to accept that part of himself yet. That’s a hot take, I know that some people won’t agree and may criticize the series for its bi-erasure or even for being misleading with their trailer + the series in general. This comes from a girl who is bi herself so I understand why you may feel this way. You may or may not agree with me, and that’s okay. Feel free to add anything if you want to!

Okay. I thought I’ll do this episode by episode. At first I wanted to do it in one single post then it turned out that even in the first episode there was plenty to say so (warning: it’s pretty long)… off we go!

Episode 1: Welcome to Creekwood

Starting with the beginning. What struck me (besides the whole intro where Victor basically lashes out at Simon for having it easy), was a line said by Pilar. “if you had a girlfriend, you would understand” right there. See that face Victor’s making? It felt familiar to me, as it may too to other people. People including family assume you’re straight.

Pilar assumed Victor would have a girlfriend. There’s no wrong in assuming, but Victor probably feels like he can’t be anything but straight. Being gay isn’t presented as a “possibility” and it means he would have to come out, and that’s a lot harder. Especially knowing where Victor comes from. Texas, yes.

I found the little flashbacks scenes very revealing on his character and why he would deny who he is, and what is his sexuality. In Texas, there was “no place to be different” so Victor, to be accepted and included, fitted in. And I don’t think I’m reaching if I say that this has built up his internalized homophobia throughout the years. It’s no wonder he wouldn’t want to be gay when all he saw or heard was negative. His own father was mocking that man in the church, assuming he was gay because of his behaviour (and maybe he is). My point is, the vision that Victor always had of gay people is limited, and only draw criticism and judgement.

Victor is so afraid of not fitting in that he would rather stay in the closet, push down those thoughts than admit it, and assume who he really is.

When he arrives to Creekwood, meeting Mrs Albright made him realize he could finally be himself. Who he knew he was but never “dare” to be. When he learns about Simon’s story, he looks so relieved. If you look closely you can even see that he releases the tension he had at first. He had so much expectations about coming to a new school. New life, new me? Right. And then Mrs Albright made his dreams come true.

But even with that, Victor’s still afraid, which is understandable. And he falls for the safety net saying there’s no girl back at home and confirming the assumptions that he’s straight.

Now Felix has been the most accepting and the most wonderful best friend Victor could have had. I love his character a whole lot! There was just this sentence that did not sit well with me. I don’t think Felix ever meant any harm by saying it. I think though, it did not help Victor to embrace who he is.

First Felix assumes Victor has a crush on Mia after he talked to her for five minutes. Okay, why wouldn’t he right? He doesn’t know anything much about Victor yet, and as I said, there’s nothing wrong about assumptions. However it is hurtful to Victor, as again, gay isn’t presented as a possibility for him.

Focus on Victor’s reactions which, to me, are pretty telling on what he thinks about what Felix is assuming to be a growing crush on Mia:

“you’re blushing too – no I’m not”

“you’re falling in love!”

Then what’s striking is the first scene with Benji. Do I really need on expand on that? When he appears, everything disappears. The sound fades. Victor has only eyes for him. If you were taking the music out I’m certain you would hear his heart beating sO fast. It simply looks like Benji took Victor breath away. His first scene is faaaaar different from the first scene with Mia. That speaks volume to me. This scene reflects on what attraction looks like. I could even say love-at-first-sight, because honestly, I’m pretty sure Victor fell for him the second he saw him, but that’s for another conversation.

Though I think Victor have chemistry with both of them, the way he looks at Benji is different.

Back to Felix. You may have noticed what he said after that marvellous scene. “Benji’s chill. Also, he’s gay. Just so you know.” When he says this, Victor appears so frightened of what Felix might say next. You can see that a million thoughts are already spiralling in his head. Then when Felix proves to be accepting/supportive, Victor relaxes a bit but for a short while as Felix continues by saying, probably unconsciously and without knowing what effect it will have on Victor: “You don’t want people to get the wrong idea.” You can tell Victor is affected by it, but tries to save face, and then his smile falters shortly after Felix goes away.

This, combined with the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to say he is figuring things out to Mia and Lake, crushes his dreams of coming out, whatever he may have thought after Mrs Albright’s speech is gone. And it continues to weigh on him during the whole fricking day. In the locker room for instance, where again, being gay seems to be the object of mockery. Or when outside, later on, as Benji reaches out for his hand to help out, there’s that stupid guy who shouts “get it new kid!” which, of course, panics Victor and pushes him to go far away from Benji. He fears he may be associated to him, I guess, and doesn’t want people to label him as gay as gay is apparently not really accepted here.

The scene with Isabel is interesting as well as it entails that Victor’s family especially her mother relies a lot on him, so coming out would break that stability (or apparent stability, as it will break sooner than expected) and Victor, as the fixer of the family, doesn’t want that. Instead, he’s holding back on his true self. “Pretending is exhausting.” That’s the key line here. Victor knows damn well what it means to pretend. But to protect his family from exploding, because he is “the strong one” he would rather continue doing so, even if that crushes him deep down, and gives him so much pressure. Sooner or later that pressure will make him crumble.

All that culminates in him choosing Mia over Benji at the Winter Carnival: as hurtful as it may sound, it’s easier to try to be with her than to be with Benji or any boy for that matter. As much as being straight is a lot easier than being gay. He won’t face hatred or judgement if he dates her, however if he dated a guy, that’d be another story. It is therefore no surprise, seeing where he comes from, and seeing that first (eventful) day at school, that Victor would go for this possibility. Why, he wouldn’t want to accept that part of himself yet. He would rather stay in denial than face the possible consequences of being who he truly is. From his family, his friends and people at his school.

(If you made it until the end, I thank you a lot. Didn’t think I had sm to say just for one episode but here we are.)

#love victor #lovevictor #victor #victor salazar #victor x mia #victor x benji #venji

64 notes · View notes