#anyway people say do whatever with your blog so that I shall

[lemonduckisnowawake]

I've been using tumblr wrong

#*unfollows everyone who isn't a beloved discord friend or someone who tricked me into mutualing them* #see here my biggest problem with social media is that i like the media part but get scared of the social part #also im keeping the people i got onto tumblr for but that's ALL #also i give up on reblogging #have now more than 400 drafts #would rather use this blog as my title says #i mean I'll still reblog but I'll probably mostly use this as a dump for all the stuff that i must get out #that doesn't really have any form #my shapeless blob blog #anyway this isn't me saying don't interact with me #it's just me going i give up on interacting with anyone since that isn't what I Do #anyway people say do whatever with your blog so that I shall

[hazshit-hotel-hater]

"I own you, b***!"

"Yeah, you do. In the studio. And you can do whatever you want to me there, just like our deal says. But out here, I get to do what I want." - Valentino and Angel (episode 6)

That one scene made me come up with a solution of how Angel can be freed and Valentino getting what he deserves. OK, fine, let's say that Charlie and Lucifer don't have the power to mess with other demons' contracts and can't free Angel's soul with just a snap of their fingers. BUT they do have the power as a royalty to take down Valentino's business. "And you can do whatever you want to me there(in the studio), just like our deal says." Think about it:

(No business + no studio) + Valentino losing his power and his overlord title = Angel's freedom (and the freedom of many others)

Just imagine: a powerful man-turned-demon doing a lot of terrible things in order to get wealth and fame, and people to step on (pls, don't take that out of context). He gets what he wants every time, and everything is perfect. For him, at least 😒. And then, out of nowhere, the "stupid, blonde, good-for-nothing" princess of Hell and her father, the King, declare that this porn business is coming to a close, and Valentino shall no longer be an overlord. Everything, EVERYTHING, that this disgusting moth-man has worked for crumbles right in front of him. Money, gone. Porn movies and drugs, bye-bye 👋🏻. His favourite toy (Angel) and the souls he has under contracts are free. Even Vox and Velvet are leaving him behind because he is worthless to them now. Personally, I think this will be more satisfying than simply killing Val with an angelic weapon.

But, alas, knowing Vivzipop, it's highly unlikely that she will come up with something like this.

I kinda feel proud of myself 🤗, and I'm not even a writer. 😅

(Sorry if I have any grammar mistakes, English is not my first language. )

Your grammar is very good don’t worry! Also you had me terrified a Valentino roleplay blog messaged me for a second

This is a really interesting idea actually! I’ve seen a lot of people mad at Charlie for not doing something about Angel’s situation and honestly I am too but Angel asked her to stay out of his business which is something I and many other have experienced of that “It’s fine I can handle it myself this is my issue” mindset, but still in the future I really hope she actually steps up and does something. Especially with her stupid “But thats so meaaan :(” line when Vaggie tells her to actually use her authority.

I also agree on the point I’d like to see Val have more consequences to his actions instead of just killing him. Of course I want him dead but I’d like it to be later on. Number 1 thing I hate is character’s abuser dying and then suddenly the character is fine and has no issues.

Id draw a picture of Valentino and put him through the oven and stove but I don’t want to draw anything more than the back of his torso and hands. Maybe someday you’ll see me make an animatic of Val being gunned down but certainly not soon.

Anyway expanding on this idea sounds like it’d be very interesting, if you’d have anything to add I recommend toying around with it!

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #hazbin angel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel rewrite #angel dust hazbin #raimble #cw valentino #hazbin valentino #valentino hazbin hotel #valentino #tw valentino

[punkpandapatrixkdailyread]

我が！熱い！決意！ waga! atsui! ketsui!／my! passionate! determination!

Moon Day 2 in Capricorn／New Moon

Hello, I’m back—for realz XD Sorry my posting here has been rather sporadic; I’ve been deep in intense spiritual rehab of sort that’s been quite heavy on my physical body hahah I’ve been having a lot of brain farts subsequently🙉 Anyway, let’s get to today’s Moon Navi!

M o o n N a v i ♥︎ Knight of Wands

The New Moon yesterday was technically in Sagittarius. This New Moon invites us to be more passionate—to gather the courage to fight for a Life that’s truly worth living. You do see all these world powers that are trying to take away passion from Mankind, right? It’s super obvious that the powers that be (whatever that means) have been working really hard to bring back the dark ages. They are trying to deliver Humanity to a new era of digital dark ages of sort…yeah, something like that🤷🏻‍♀️

If you do care about saving yourself from this new age of subversive slavery (even though, really, there’s nothing quite new about it), then you must take it upon yourself to gather enough mental clarity so this evil social engineering misses you. Develop enough mental strength to say ‘NO’ to all these distractions that are making you weak on a psychological, and spiritual, level.

Human beings are nothing without their passions. Passions are what make people… Human. You get it? Know that Apathy is anathema to true spiritual liberation within the construct of this evil Matrix ;D Never lose the FYRE to fight for your fairy tale! I know you will do your best🦉

Priestess of Integrity ♡ Affirmations

‘As above so below. As within so without. As I command so it manifests. Everything I want I shall have. My hobbies, interests, passions are not a coincidence, nor are they silly daydreams. I know in my heart of hearts these are the very things destined for me. That’s why I yearn for them. That’s why I’m called to them. As within so without. As I dream so I live.’

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

[Main Blog] [Patreon] [Paid Readings]

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

#Punk Daily Read #daily astrology #daily tarot #daily affirmations #affirmations #positive affirmations #manifestation #manifesting #desired reality #law of assumption #lightworker #starseed #dark academia #astrology #tarot #pick a card #girlblogging #girlblogger #that girl #character development

[briarborealisart]

Asking all the writeblrs I love to grow a vast garden, apologies if I ask the same thing twice *

Hello! I'm attempting to grow a Tumblr garden, with input from people around here to make a series of short stories about' houseplant fairies. The hope would be to have a 'community tumblr garden' full of all the wholesomeness the internet can offer.

Here's the request/seed - do you have a prior worry' or 'stumbling block'. perhaps an event or a piece of advice others told you that didn't help much or simply an' obstacle that you overcame. To be honest, I'm unsure of how to accurately describe 'the seed' but something in the realm of 'society expectations versus what actually helped- or whatever you wish? Also also, favorite plant/houseplant/ flower to write the story about.

Thanks for participating :)

hello unknown!! this is my main blog and my writeblr is @briarborealisocs but ill just answer here and rb it over there lol since this is kind of a catchall blog anyway

thank u so much for the support as always!! let's see here. this seed i think shall grow into a rose of some sort. a stumbling block of sorts for me was the idea that being your true, authentic self meant saying every thought that came through your head without any filter or regard for how you affect other people. i really bought into the idea that you should never ever change for others, which is a nice sentiment, but one that i took too far. i was mean. i didn't hold any regard for other people's feelings or experiences. we are pretty social creatures and it's good to be considerate of how what you're doing will affect others—even if that means changing the way you would say or do something. :)

#briarborealisart

[mydaroga]

Follow up on the Tune In ask, Thank you for your response!! And please, never apologize for the length, it was greatly insightful. I actually haven't started on the book yet but it came highly recommended to me as The definitive Beatles biography so I was looking around to see what others think of it. Most of the critical opinions I found on this site seem consistent with your criticisms especially about Lewisohn's tendency to cherry pick quotes or imposing a new context on them...

Well, that formatted weird. Sorry. Anyway, I will definitely try to give as thorough an answer as I have time for, so that may mean just a few examples. If you want a deeper dive I can recommend the Another Kind of Mind Series, Fine Tuning. I don't agree entirely with their approach, but I agree for the most part with their findings and concerns, if that makes sense. And then there's Serene's blog entry which does a more thorough examination of the way Lewisohn ... hrm, shall we say, stretches citations to mean... whatever he wants.

I don't know that I am going to be able to go into quite as much detail here as I didn't keep these good notes while reading. But I can think of a few things that stuck out to me before I listened/read these other takes. And I'm happy to keep talking about this or expand, I'm not saying I don't like doing this, just that I am not gonna ... okay I'm going to write an essay? But I won't be as meticulous as I should be.

The first thing that made me stop reading and just go track down what was actually going on was a passage in which Lewisohn is talking about teen Paul's resistance to getting a job, going against Jim. From Tune In:

Paul still hated anyone telling him what to do -- 'It just never occurred to me to listen to other people' -- but when Jim insisted, sometimes Paul did as bid... as John scathingly noted. He went down to the Labour Exchange and Renshaw Hall and landed a £10-a-week Christmas-period job with SPD Ltd, Speedy Prompt Deliveries.

Now, all on its own without context this is a great Paul McCartney quote because you go, "yeah that checks out." I plan on using it as a sort of Macca meme, you know? But it was soooo Paul I thought, "wait, in what context did he say that? Like, he doesn't listen ever? He's admitting he just doesn't listen to anyone?"

So weirdly, it's not actually footnoted, but I found the source. It's a 1980 interview with Tim Rice, which is entertaining in its own right because he tells the guy who co-wrote Jesus Christ Superstar and Evita and later The Lion King that, you know, musicals are boring. Anyway, not the point.

It took me awhile to find the actual quote, because it's really a throwaway, almost self-deprecating aside, in the context of how he's listening to people more now because he's realized too many smart people just talk and it might be good to listen some.

So okay. Paul did say that, and he's admitting there was a time he didn't take the time to listen, but he's doing it in a sort of jokey way. I guess it's fair to say, generally, sure, Paul has a tendency to be headstrong and go his own way and that certainly would have been a factor in his psychological battle with Jim Mac over going to get his teaching license or whatever. It's not like Lewisohn is bending the facts of anything. It's not really a big deal. But it was the moment that clued me in that he's not necessarily using like for like. There's plenty of quotes about how Paul felt about this time in his life without using a joke from 1980 to shore up your point about his resistance to dad, in a paragraph that implies he's saying it about his resistance to dad. And when you've decide that "it just never occurred to me to listen to other people" can mean "and that's why he didn't listen to Jim about work, except this time he did," I don't know. It leaves a funny taste in my mouth because then you could use it for anything Paul decides to do differently. If that makes sense. If it applies there, it applies to anything Paul does. And Paul obviously didn't mean that in 1980.

Also maybe this is more nuanced, but while "Paul still hated anyone telling him what to do" is a true statement in any time in his life, that quote itself? Is neither necessarily relevant to being told what to do or very revealing. It actually is entirely unnecessary. The passage would be completely benign and throw me no red flags without it.

Like any of the points I make or, frankly, I've heard others make, it's less that he's saying untrue things and more that by using these citations in ways that remove them from context and add them to a different context, he is painting a picture but passing it off as fact. In addition, he often will use a quote from John's angry, Lennon Remembers period to interpret Paul's motives in the early 60s, rather than using, oh I dunno, a quote from.... Paul? Or a nicer quote from John when he's contradicted himself again? Again it's all legit sourcing and citing! But the contextualizing creates something he's selling as free of interpretation which is anything but.

The other one I've been thinking about is laid out quite well in I think episode 3 of the AKOM pod, and it's about Paul's creative development. While John's is described as original and a free spirit and rebellious in his artistic ambitions--which he was--Paul's artistic endeavors almost always come with a weasel word or caveat. What I mean is, John is always described as inventive; Paul is a gifted mimic. This despite a lot of attention paid to how John was basically copying his favorite cartoonists and artists--he even says at some point everything he does is Just William and Lewis Carroll. But somehow when he does it, it's extraordinary. He's got his own voice, while Paul is a talented parrot. Lewisohn gives props to all of Paul's many accomplishments but there's always either some kind of adjective like that to take away from it or this thing that creeps in where everything Paul does is for show. There are numerous places in Tune In where Paul is ostentatiously reading difficult books so he can be seen reading them. Anytime he's trying something new or going to explore a new art form or theater experience, Lewisohn has to point out that he wants to be seen to be doing something clever. When he writes songs, Lewisohn points out that he's not just writing songs, he's thinking about the image of being a writer or something like that. It's never because he's artistic, or likes the thing. He needs to be seen as someone liking the thing.

Now, we do have a quote from Paul about this. He does mention thinking about the image of a poet with the pipe and the leather patches, and he does at one point get a pipe and you know, famously pretend to be French to try to pull birds. (He does this again on that little week off he takes in France, years later, reminiscing about imagining he's a novelist in a cafe.) It's not that I'm saying Paul isn't capable of being pretentious! (I still have the beret I insisted on getting for my birthday when I was 16. I'm not immune. I still look great in it.) But Paul's, again, self-deprecating description of himself as a goofy teen appears to be the only 'proof' Lewisohn has that his reading, his art, his going to shows alone no one else cares about, is a pretense.

Again. It's not a huge deal and it's not like Paul didn't factually do all of this. It's that in a text that he's insisted in the front matter is free of speculation, Lewisohn's included numerous interpretations of Paul's (and others') motives without any direct proof/citation for those interpretations. That, I'm afraid, is speculative. And that's fine for an author to engage in--but he needs to be clear about it.

For the record he does this with John, too. He interprets numerous, sometimes almost contradictory actions of John's as "evidence" of his ability to lead. Sometimes he's like, in front and sometimes he's doing nothing and Lewisohn will conclude this was John also leading.

The point of all this isn't, like I said in my original post, that I think any one of these things is that bad. Paul's kinda pretentious? Maybe sometimes he did like to be seen reading War and Peace or whatever? Maybe John sitting back and watching what his mates are going to do is leadership? The problem, for me, is that it's not presented in a way that meets the premise of Lewisohn's introduction, which promises a work free of the prejudices and unsubstantiated speculation of his forebears. And I really do think that Lewisohn has convinced himself that he's done enough research and been a keen enough "Paul watcher" that it no longer counts as interpretation. I fear he may actually believe that he's done the math.

Again, I think you should read it. I loved the attention to detail and you'll get a lot out of it. But just be aware of this tendency, which I no longer think I'm imagining. And these are just the first two things I thought of and wanted to rant about.

#oh man thank you so much for enabling me #you don't know how great it feels to get to just babble about my thoughts lol #i'm really touched that whoever you are thinks my opinion is even worthy!! #kris reads tune in #kris talks a lot #tune in anon #anon asks

[grapecaseschoices]

as the time approaches us, i just wanted to say that i am IMMEDIATEY sus of anyone who does not have an F mc (mainly @ those who have an mc for each ro EXCEPT F Hauville) and/or (doubly sus) doesn’t have any F content on their blog. 

as someone who's also black myself I definitely agree with the F hauville not being as popular, specially since friends to lovers seems to be quite a popular trope in if, specially when the character in question is white or ambiguously light brown/tan skinned, but the author never mentions where the character is actually from (I wish more authors put where the character is from in terms of ethnicity and nationality because the amount of white washed art/erased ethnic features in art I've seen generally in the IF community is not cute but anyways). I do have some problems with the way F and M are portrayed and treated by the author at times, specially when it comes to some of the racial stereotypes used and the portrayal of Sin, an assyrian character in Book 3 as a trapped man, but that's a point for another day. I absolutely adore Wayhaven but I do wish that F was treated better by the fandom. I think sometimes some fans kind of infantilise F and just brush them off as the sassy best friend with no other role in the story, which is kind of sad because if you actually play they're route you get to see that theres more to them than meets the eye in the same way that the other ros do.

why do i need to say more when you already said it all so well anon?

bloop! what more can i say to this? this is true facts. like i get that sometimes a lot of people ARE tired of that trope -- especially on tumblr; and people do love the angsty. But it is STILL a very popular trope for a reason. And I've seen with my own eyes how the sweet RO/best friend RO goes well over when they aren't black (and in certain circumstances, when they aren't a person of color period -- but especially when they aren't black*) that I can't fully buy that the preference argument isn't back with some racial bias. But whatever, people can make peace with themselves about it. I will remain sus.

have you been reading my brain anon? because that was going to be my NEXT bitchy/vent post. But I was like let me pace the dashes. But respect for put it all out there.

I need writers to bring back putting descriptions on their intro posts (they did it for a time but stopped) or doing a description post immediately. 1) Because of what you stated and 2) because I want to make sure I'm not wasting my time on a game that is fully white. /shrugs. I mean I guess it is good that, if they feel they can't write minoroities not to include them at all -- because as you said, I wouldn't want to invest in a story where the black and brown characters are then treated stereotypically. But that still doesn't mean that I want to read a story where the majority is white and the lone amibigously brown/East Asian RO is barely developed.

No, do go on anon. (When you feel like it that is!) I'd love to read your thoughts. I do think Sera has improved in respects of her writing of F and M as characters in the story, both in and out of their own routes. However, I do agree that the whole Sin thing did make me side-eye hard. I heard she's gotten sensitivity readers, so we shall see how that goes.

Well stated. This is, in the crux, is my frustration of the matter. That and the fact that this is STILL an issue. As I stated in my tags, I HAVE seen improvement -- but just going through the F Hauville tag shows how much F is still a general afterthought to the general tumblr fandom.

#f hauville #twc #interactive fiction #my anons are so big brained #how about yours? #grapecase answers #the wayhaven chronicles #twc meta #*now there are exceptions: leo from lure of the gallows is a very popular black best friend ro #(but from what i can recall leo isn't dark skiinned. and leo is also the ONLY one i can think of) #speaking of that infantalization is why i was hesitant to reblog that one f fanart #with the arrow #it is interesting how experience shapes one's outlook -- bc as a black person that was immediately in the forefront of my mind #like if reblogging an art where f looks younger was enabling the treatment #i ended up reblogging it bc i didnt feel anything malicious wa meant but it's a reminder of how different our fandom experience is from a #white person's. #especially re: characters that look like us #and it sucks. and its tiring #(i mean sometimes it can be joy. and i love being black and lauding black characters. but man fandom is such such an intense microcosm of #the real world. and taht can be so annoying. #especially with how some of yall engage -- smh.)

[voltstone]

scav·eng·er | TWDG Retelling | 4

HEARTH pt.1

why can't she feel like she used to?

[9,591] [May.09.2024]

— — —

There's a tag (#twdgscav fic) for if you want to follow this story and not my whole blog.

But, as a swift note before this chapter, while I'll maintain that this fic is unhinged, and shall get progressively more so as it goes on, it's also a crack taken seriously kind of thing.

Meaning, the cannibalism and the reverse-bite(?) is allegorical to a loss of innocence, and it's an exploration of a survivor after the trauma itself. And the psychology behind it. And like. You know. The horror. So turn to this chapter where it's the first that directly addresses it, and Clementine. I know this is dead dove, but I figure I'd preface what this fic gets into since that wasn't something I thought to do initially, but here we are.

Somewhere down the line I'll probably either reorganize these posts, delete them all together (and replace them with one collective post), or something like that. This fic will be posted on Tumblr regardless, though. Rest assured.

Anyway. Hope you enjoy!

:)

— — —

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

[Previous] | [Next (TBW)] | [First Chapter]

A dying man was still clung to her, in nicotine's breath, upon her return to the cabin. Pete still is. 

And she stands here, in the kitchen, with an awkward lean against the counter peninsula. Clementine wonders if the stale tobacco is as strong as she thinks, or if it's just how the scent matted her nose, obscured the citric orchards. A wince irks for her face. She swallows it down.

Turns out, a mauled arm isn't something to lean on.

.

Not now, in company of a man with a voice like his, and the words crafted by a canniness, a wit, suited for nightmare.

He was coming in either way.

.

He looks like every other man. Heavy brow. Overgrown in both hair and face. Dark on him, and lined by steel. In all, he wasn't someone she'd pay any mind to in the world before—back when the country was thriving, and she wasn't starving.

Until his eyes.

It's always the eyes.

.

"Bloody arm there. That's a real dark stain, don't you think?"

.

"Hunting accident."

"You don't say."

.

Except for when it's the words, suited for nightmare, clothed by a witful generosity.

Clementine knows better now.

Even if that generosity is a nonchalance in this man, she knows.

.

Her arm is biting when the man decides he's spent his time in the kitchen, and he stalks down into the living room. He remarks a flannel of Carlos'. Murmurs over a chess game in pause.

White's in trouble.

She pangs to know how to get this man away.

Only for a door to close, and for the man to find a polaroid.

.

Clementine feigns her indifference. It doesn't sway the man. His glower gleams canny.

.

"You don't know who these people are, do you…?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

.

"Let me ask you this, what do they think of your appetite?"

.

Deadbolt.

She twists from the inside. Squirms in her eyes. It takes everything to stand firm. Clementine doesn't budge. Refuses it.

.

"Oh, you haven't told them. "They don't know, do they?"

.

He lingers. Before he parts, and he's down the stairs.

Clementine watches him. Doesn't say a word. She only glares, and when she bites, her jaw aches. An agony finds a blade. It strikes.

.

When the door closes after him, and he disappears into the woods, there's Sarah beside her. Where Sarah quivers, Clementine hums beneath her skin. It pricks, so she works her jaw. Finds the blade again. Winces.

It takes too long to lumber down the stairs, and onto the couch. Sarah soothes the flannel's sleeve. She absentmindedly toys with one of the black pieces to the board—hers, with whatever game she had with Luke. The piece tips over. She doesn't bother to find it beneath the armchair.

And Clementine sits all the while, as Sarah's vacant onlooker.

Because her thoughts are winding. His voice echoes. Like gravel. Deep in the earth, enough for the cabin's mass grave.

.

"You have a real nice day now."

. . .

THE HUNGER WAS EVERYTHING

. . .

The dog bite heals swifter than Carlos first estimated.

It doesn't smooth over. Clementine doubts it ever will. Yet, in time, she figures it’ll be a meager blemish and nothing more.

And, she figures the way she's been parched for blood by the hour, and starved for flesh, has everything to do with the dog's lasting remark.

She needs to feed. Her jaw aches as well.

.

They've been walking for too long. Rebecca is drained. Sarah teeters her weight into Carlos from time to time. There’s wary eyes on Nick, and what he might do now, after Pete.

Clementine burns in her soles, and her eyes are drawling for shade; the sun pricks them until the world numbs, whenever there isn't the shade to find. Every time a noise cleaves her—an odd bark of laughter between Luke and Nick, or gunfire, or a whistle of Carlos' for an all clear—, Clementine feels an agitation rupture down her back. She toys with the hammer whenever it happens. And it is dangerous, given the urge to strike it down on…whoever, really. Whoever's unfortunate enough to be a little too close, and a little too loud.

It's as if there's a nail lodged through her ear, or a needle. Whatever it is, everyone has nudged it at least once, and its pike has seized her mind.

Everything whirls for a moment.

She's grown a habit to snap her eyes at whoever's laughing, or with the smoking gun, or Carlos and that damn whistle.

.

She bites her tongue often. Buries her nails through her jeans and their denim.

And toys with the hammer.

Gnaws on its handle, even. Until the seizing stops, and the world is what it once was again.

.

Clementine needs to eat.

.

She can't stomach their rations anymore. There's granola, and beans, and the last of what Pete hunted.

Yet here she is, around the…third fire, is it? The fourth or fifth? Clementine's lost track. Every day, there's at least one. With Rebecca, and her unborn son, maybe two. They're tired. They're panicked as well.

Rebecca above them all. Clementine sees the way she glances at her, and there’s a burden in her eyes. Alvin seems to be her anchor; he’s a good husband. Still, there’s a trace of… Not fear. It’s not quite that, though she does wear a shade of it too. Just…not in her eyes. Not really. Instead, it’s a nervousness—cold and bitter to Clementine’s nose. She suffocates in it, whenever Rebecca decides to stray over and talk to her. Make amends. For being a close breath away from shooting Clementine herself. Then, for the shed.

And then dinner. Where Rebecca apparently cussed her out while she was face-deep in soup, without a damn to give.

.

There’s no knowing, no understanding, when and how time escapes her like this. Nor every last thing around her because she has, and will, watch the trees drown, and the earth beneath her shoes fade. Her ears swarm. There’s a fog to trudge through. Words refuse to bile.

Clementine knows her mind is slipping between her fingers. She’s well aware, in fact. She just hates how her very mind likens itself to sand leaking from one glass into another. Grain by grain.

She doesn’t have the patience for this.

Not that she has the say. Clementine’s found herself drifting towards the woodland on occasion. With her absent mind, she doesn't mean to. Honest. She really doesn’t.

She still scares them though. Luke paws her shoulder to snap her back, or it’s Nick who does. Or Alvin. Or Rebecca.

Just about everyone, actually, the more Clementine thinks.

It's after they ask her to climb something, or help lug a log out of the way. They've realized she's strong for her size. Impressively so. Because they are all same: nervous, burdened, and outright strange in ways she’s never been. However, she nods along. Tries to fix on a smile, or something like it. All while swallowing down this…temptation. A trepidation. It reeks all around Clementine. When she warns them of the walker struggling low to the ground, they chuckle, compliment her prowess, when it's really just that temptation trying to guide her teeth.

She just wants to rest. For an hour. Long enough to slip away.

It's getting difficult. Her hands fidget before she realizes. And Clementine's snapped at Carlos twice now, then Nick. Even Sarah. Not with her eyes, but her words.

.

She leaves the woman and her baby alone.

Doesn't understand how she knows the baby is a boy.

Clementine keeps that quiet though.

.

Now when—? When…did this fire go out…?

.

Is she the only one left awake?

.

Clementine salivated at the last walker. A couple days ago, she did. They had to pass it on their trail, and it was one Nick had the aim to shoot. The walker was waterlogged. She may have not cared in the moment, about the waterlog. Because Clementine would've taken anything in that hour. Even a scrap. A lone finger. And she still is salivating. She's empty. Her stomach churns, and it teethes at all other organs. So she salivates, and it's to that walker's mere memory. Clementine smells rain now. It's enough to recall the lakewater and moss dripping off the thing…

She staggers from the rock she sat herself beside, when the sun was still crisp above the horizon. The fire now isn't out entirely. There's still a few embers going. But, the smoke is gone.

Enough of them are snug in their tents—aside for Nick, who's taken to watching the stars, blank in the face.

Her feet drag at first, before she stalks across their modest camp in the night. Someone else is pacing. She’s not alone. It’s Luke, if she has to guess; he does it whenever he's on watch. Clementine takes note. Has enough of a mind to avoid him best she can. Her eyes scour. They blitz across the woodland.

.

Her jaw aches. Anytime she tries to rock its pain, it throbs. The pain is sharp.

Sometimes she'll massage it in whatever reflection she comes across. The water likes to tell her the most about her eyes.

The color in them is vibrant. More than they should be. And she's been paling a bit too.

.

Clementine. Needs. To eat.

.

There's a groaning somewhere. A lone orchard's rot. She's called to it. To the camp's outskirt. It's a rough murmur between the trees, and she echoes it, to herself. Feels it harrow up her throat. There's a congestion to this. Tastes like… Like all the meals she's had, except it's sludging, and it's not from her stomach. It's— This is her, and only her.

Her voice gravels.

.

Sarah…

.

Clementine hears her. Sees her shadow lurch close. Sarah screams. It isn’t loud. There’s no true voice to her. None, because she’s out of breath. Can hear her heart. It thrashes. Stumbling now— Sarah’s flailing. Trips over something. In the dark, the shadows are painterly, and the dirt billows off their heels.

She’s lunging. There is a violent blur of momentum, and Clementine’s lunging.

Because this is Sarah, and Sarah's a friend. She is. And she sounds pained. Clementine will help her. Has to. She's a friend, so that's what they do.

They’re friends. Sarah said so.

.

Clementine knows only hunger, however.

.

Despite the shadows, Clementine finds where her nose guides her, and where her eyes acclimate. There’s a rotting hand. It swipes violently after Sarah. Doesn’t have the time to twist itself around—bite Clementine instead. She hurtles. Its groan is a winded snarl. Hers has more weight; it barrels from dearth's basin. And they're rattling down a decline, together. Her and this dead, with the live behind. It's not far. Hurts though. She grabs one of the rocks she's shouldered into, and Clementine bludgeons. It takes a few swings. Brainmatter flecks. The smell revolts her. It's nothing like the marmalade. Instead, it’s too much. The acid. The citrus. It’s too much.

Behind her, Sarah fights for her breath. She whimpers something like a name.

And Clementine does not hear her. She’s scraping at its stomach, before the chest. This is made difficult without a knife. She doesn't have the hammer, nor its claw.

.

"Cl-Clementine, what are you—?!"

"Come … the fuck on already…"

.

She's seething. The sludge in her words, it's coarse. Clementine can only scratch so deep.

This one's fresh. God, it's fresh.

.

"Cl-em…?!"

.

It's fucking infuriating how fresh it is—

She just wants. To eat. One fucking full meal.

For. Fucking. Once.

.

Clementine clasps her hands together. Her teeth are bared. Agitation seethes between them. She socks both fists into the walker—aims for the ribcage. Twice. Feels bone snap the first time. Break through the second.

She's smiling.

It hurts how much she is.

Her fingers dig for the shards, and she uses them, leverages them—pulls the walker's chest apart. (Someone screams without air.) Skin frays with muscle, but that's not quite what she's after. Clementine brings some to her mouth anyway. Her hand closes around the chest's marrow. The center of it all. Clementine pulls. (That someone is whimpering now.) Her shoulder burns from the ferocity. When the vessels snap, and the tendons rubberband, she tears the heart free. (Hysterically. Silent, but hysterically.)

It's a pound of blood, and muscle, and fat. All in her one hand.

(She can hear Sarah's heart rocket up the girl's neck and pommel behind her ears.)

.

Clementine bites.

If a granola bar could be a dream, this is yearning reaped like pure treasure.

.

The meat to a heart tastes raw, and like iron. It's firm from the years of flexion. Rich in blood. So, so unbelievably rich in blood. The clots molt to her tongue. Its muscle begins to fray the more she works through. Her hands tear it apart. She will eat this. Clementine will devour this organ in its entirety.

Her breaths are rabid.

Her own heart—alive, or not—, it thrashes behind her ears.

Does so to the muse of this meal splitting in her hands, the leakage as well, and does so in harmony to those rabid breaths as they fog. It's cold enough tonight—for those breaths, and for the lukewarm meal to scald her.

She will sleep well.

Clementine will evade nightmare, not quite dream though. Her stomach shall anchor her to the earth.

.

A rifle tilts.

The safety is pulled, and the barrel finds company with the air right behind her neck, then her head.

.

Clementine may have just been a bit dramatic with this meal. Or this is just how it is, blossoming in the grey between bitten child to bitten adolescence.

.

She cranes a glare over her shoulder. Looks Luke dead in his eyes while he…tries to hold her dead to rights. To…this. Whatever this is. Luke visibly struggles to understand why, precisely, a kid has half a walker heart in her hands, and the other half swallowed. Then a corpse eviscerated at her feet. A corpse that was just walking, mind. And truth be told, Clementine can hardly blame him. She doesn't really know either, won’t ever know, just that it is vile. This is degenerate.

Somewhere down the line, she doesn't quite know when, she's stopped questioning it.

This…was something to welcome.

Because once there was a time when the dead didn’t walk either, and Clementine as a monstrosity is reality’s mere, feeble mirror. At least, that’s what she’s decided for herself. She decides a lot of things this way.

.

…losing Christa, it might've done something. Clementine hasn’t really acknowledged the void left behind, how it’s in the shape of her.

Their last attempt at a dinner was lousy. And the rabbit she caught, strung above the fire, thought the same. Reminded her too that it was no walker. It would've never satisfied her like what pounds in her hands now.

Not that night, where she fell off cliffside, found a river to drown in—only to not, because damn humanity.

.

Clementine was able to bite back the taste for it, a mere week ago. Or however many days it has been.

For Christa's sake.

She can't now.

With much of her life, she doesn't understand.

.

"I know. I get it. This is really bad."

.

She doesn't understand.

She will still try to brush it aside, however, because she just can't swallow the urge anymore.

Not tonight.

She—

Clementine needs this.

.

Sarah has gone rigid. She's huddled by a trunk, with the tree’s roots swarmed around her. And her doe eyes are strained to the ground. Her mouth’s skewed shut.

Scared again. Sarah’s scared—horrified, even—, except this isn’t Clementine wandering off. This isn’t Clementine with a likewise fragile mind. Or, it is fragile, yet rather than collapse, her mind splits like glass. It shards whoever offers their hand. Nobody likes the reality; they’d rather not learn what it is they find. Omid died to it. Christa deteriorated right with her.

And now Sarah…

She’s horrified of her. Clementine’s done the one thing nothing else has: rattle her to an absolute silence. She doesn’t even rock herself.

Her doe eyes are not to the ground either. Not anymore. They’re watchful. She doesn’t allow Clementine to sink away, out of sight.

Luke as well. He stares, wildly, with the rifle poised. On him, however, Clementine doesn’t know what it is that locks her in place, ebbs some of the euphoria. There’s fear. There’s also confusion. He wears the one with a pale face. But he…festers in the other—the confusion. Which plagues him. Refuses to leave him.

He wears confusion like his body has failed him, and there’s nothing to do but walk into the night. Without a rifle. Without his blade strapped across his back.

.

"Wh-What— What are you doing…?!"

.

"Just let me have this… Please, Luke. I've been starving. "I need it. I-I need this."

.

The flesh wilts in her hand, then it throbs. Clementine's grip is ironclad.

So as her heart begins to pound through her palm, it almost gives the thing a new life.

And that new life dwells in her hand like slaughter. It cries in blood.

.

"You… You eat them?!"

"Y— Yeah…"

.

He sounds as desperate as she feels. Rather than desolation, however, Luke strains denial. He still sees a little girl. The same he plucked off the forest floor; a little girl weary with a walker loomed over her. Or, the one in the shed, backed into a corner—eyes ignited, because she can take care of herself after all.

Clementine nods. Slowly. Ignores the disgust as it sinches down his nose. Tries to. Can’t, really. Climbs to her feet though.

The heart stays in her hand.

.

"Yeah. When they're dead like that, yeah."

.

She wonders if he’s realizing what happened that night. Why the walker was splayed the way it was, and why she backed away from it—the farthest she could. This may be the paranoia, however. Logic isn’t the kind to sprint through moments like these. It likes to fall behind and wait for revulsion's spire to bolt down a backbone.

Clementine eyes the barrel. Wishes, again, that it shot her.

Before she finds Luke. He’s soft. The rifle sinks in his hands. It mouths into the earth.

.

"I was bit, Luke. Just … a long time ago. H-Honest, I'm not lying. "It did something to me. I can't— I can't control it anymore."

.

He believes her.

Whether it be her words, or the fact that this is the most coherent she’s likely been, it doesn’t matter. Luke believes her. The sky, the ground, and the trees between begin to warble. A bleary haze, now. She doesn’t hear the words he murmurs, barely sees the hand that reaches out. Because her skin is teeming. Her wet mouth pounds for her to return to the body and feast again.

Clementine blinks the blear away.

Revulsion does loiter, and in his eyes, there’s still the body at her feet. He doesn’t have his hand offered anymore. Luke doesn’t know what to say.

.

Leaves bristle, and branches snap. Moonlight glimmers before Sarah nudges her glasses by their frame.

.

"Y-Your mouth…"

.

"You're bleeding, Clem."

.

Blood is pooling on her tongue.

Clementine swallows thickly. She’s dumbstruck as her tongue massages, before a hand feels instead.

A gap. A hole in her mouth.

Clementine just lost a tooth. Luke is guiding her away. The heart is dropped, somewhere. Clementine still thumbs where the blood leaks. Her jaw croons, and it’s numbing. The pain doesn’t think itself a knife. The serration is lost.

She just—

Just lost a tooth. And Sarah is still rattling, but she’s almost smiling. Chirps weakly about this…milestone. Luke pales the more he hears about a tooth fairy because now is not the time, yet it is, because Sarah’s rattling, almost smiling, and… And Clementine knows how often his eyes snag on her skin—how it’s entrenched by blood. Not red, aside for what’s twined from her mouth. Black. Almost an oil.

He’s about to vomit. Can smell it on his breath.

Sarah too. Yet, somehow…, she finds a way to bite it down. She’s instead brimmed by a fairy, and milestone, and— And something… Something about a— A-A hero. Rattling. It’s all she can do.

When Clementine doesn’t answer her, and instead stalls to thumb along her teeth again, Luke mutters about money, and how they’d need the tooth anyway. Looks like he just about dies when he says it. The words crawl before they croak.

It’s not the time. It isn’t. This tooth fairy died with the country. Supposed to stay rotting.

.

Half of Clementine is standing beside the walker. Begging for Luke to understand. She really…, really wants to go back to that walker now. Dig around for the heart. Brush away the mulch. She draws the line with dirt; a rotting human is one thing, dirt is… Is another…

She’s walking away. Luke’s practically herding her. But no. No, half of her is—?!

Clementine was hardly done. She’s still…

Still hungry. It’s never enough. Her mouth is a pain, but it’s numbing, yet it’s bleeding.

.

What.

The actual fuck.

.

Nick is the first to ask why the hell they’re all so twisted around for.

.

Clementine doesn't answer. Doesn't dare unveil the rot bathed in her mouth, though perhaps the fresh blood is enough to charm her way out of—

Well. No. There isn't charming her way out of cannibalism. It's a thought spurned by losing… Losing a tooth. Her canine. On the right, her canine.

That shouldn't be. She—

.

Clementine has already lost this one…

.

Sarah exclaims about a walker, a tackle, then the stupid fucking tooth.

Luke just vomits horror. He also cries.

.

And she never thought she’d see the day.

When Carlos nudges past Nick, Clementine is thankful. There’s words to eat. She’s thankful to hear his voice, and to watch as his eyes dart between the three. He doesn’t think to chastise Sarah. Luke is hurling the rest of his stomach—enough for the doctor to grimace.

So he finds Clementine’s bloodied mouth.

Can’t answer.

.

Sarah does instead.

.

Goes on about a hero again. Like in a comic book, the one Sarah wishes she had the chance to read back at the cabin.

.

Clementine only thinks of the river. How this is the same. Plunging off a cliffside, straight into water—the half of her who lingered by the corpse, it has found her again. And down her hand is static. The blood is cracking where it’s dried. She’s been wrenched from a freefall, a euphoria, right into a frigid current.

Her eyes dart. There’s whiplash. Her mouth doesn’t feel like her own anymore. Lost something… She lost—

.

Why is he looking at her like that?!

.

Carlos watches her. He isn’t a man of words, come to find. At least, not with anyone aside for his daughter. He saves them for Sarah to savor, and Sarah to cling for.

He doesn’t smile at Clementine. Instead, Carlos squeezes her shoulder. The bite itches. That’s all.

.

She…just did something. Clementine did good. 

A tenderness finds her. It’s warm—mouths like praise. Except this muses to Clementine something she already did learn. Once, in a time forever ago. It was already ingrained. The warmth is a haunting that shouldn’t be. Whatever this is she basks within, it should’ve come to her like an old friend. Not this. Clementine doesn’t know its name. Doesn’t know when it was lost, just that…it died, somewhere. In nightmare. And it still rots.

Yet it flails now. Like the dead around her.

And herself, if only Clementine would find the time to be honest with herself.

.

There is no nightmare. She doesn’t sleep for any to find her. That hour alone was nightmare enough. She doesn’t need the slaughter within haybale. Nor does she want to be slug around again, to the whims of her life’s malice evermore.

Instead, Clementine stares at the stars. She decides Nick has the right idea.

Her tongue grazes along her foreign mouth. There is no cease.

.

Maybe she is dead after all, and her body is what remains. This body.

Citrus is a mellow blanket from whatever lurks in the dark. There is no warmth, because all it does is whisper to her. And it whispers that the walkers have it better. The people they once were, they are not who stay behind.

None know the mute agony of fading away, only for their body to brew a vigor like nothing else.

Clementine does, for she���s been left behind to rot within this body of hers. Her heart has been silent. It’s caged by her very bones, and she’s mindless in her yearning. All she wanted was to feel a heart. It wasn’t her own, but it was enough. It bled, at least. She still tastes the scrap of what she once felt lurch within her by every passing day…

And her body bleeds beneath those stars. Enough to choke her. Like it finds this funny. The way her frenzy lost Clementine a tooth already matured—already the most human it can be—, it’s funny. Apparently.

.

Or it's not at all, nobody thinks that, and Clementine has just lost another thing she once had.

She doesn't understand.

.

Clementine doesn't. It becomes a mantra. And she never does find that musing's name.

.

"A pinky swear is forever."

.

Just an echo to a night's rain, and the promise therein.

.

The rest find the walker when morning comes.

Alvin is the first to comment. He’s the one who drops his flask by accident, and watches it topple down to the walker’s feet. And it’s a joke that comes to his mind first, something about having to watch for a worse thing than one of them.

Before he stalls. Looks at the crater in its chest, then abdomen. Realizes the skin stuck to his flask. And, with a sheen across his glasses, he scoffs and whistles at the gore left behind. It carpets the dirt. Because the body…is not a good spectacle. Not as it is, in this light.

Rebecca murmurs about a bear. Nick palms down the rifle.

Luke and Sarah are dead silent, and they keep themselves on the road they’ve been following down. Neither dare to witness.

Clementine plays onlooker. She watches Alvin hold Rebecca, who’s mildly curious despite it all, Nick with the rifle, pacing…

Then Carlos. Who surveys the body, just to assure Rebecca that, no, the bears are not what hunts them now. Another man is, and true to his name, he has a way in carving his eyes to memory.

.

They're a dark shade of hazel, as though the sun could rot before her eyes, and fester within the dirt to a fresh grave.

.

Clementine tries to bury his voice, and those eyes, and the words he snaked to her. She had been exhausted. A dying man was still clung to her, in better memory, upon her return to the cabin.

He is the reason why they walk. He’s the reason why they talk in hushed, nervous breaths, and why Rebecca dwells to herself more often than not.

The man gave rise to something within her… Ignited a fire, and it was the very same that she evoked from Luke with a walker’s heart at hand, and blood on her words.

.

The very same that struck Clementine, the moment she was bit. Because that man with the radio…

He had the same kind of eyes too. Except they were…pale. A weak, erratic shade of yellow.

.

And it is the same now, the longer Carlos studies the body. His brows are furrowed deep. He is far too engrossed to hear Rebecca, and the questions she asks of him. There's many questions. They don't so much as fall as they do plummet onto deaf ears. Carlos digs for something. Clementine sees a precision in his hands, and they're strung by a fervent loyalty to his eyes.

He digs through the chest in particular. Massages down the patterns of— Of teeth gouged into the skin and meat.

She feels cold. It burrows down her spine. It claims her throat, and it gifts her the worst knot to swallow.

.

Fear.

.

It is fear which crawls beneath her skin now. It was fear she evoked from Luke, fear in those pale yellow eyes…

And there is William Carver.

He pries from them all the same, except where they’re nervous, and they’re burdened, Clementine grows a famine. There is only her mouth now, and her stomach.

.

…she doesn't understand. She can't. Except that Clementine may have lied to herself, or her mind has refused to tell all.

The dog bite has gnawed at her to eat, and to replenish.

His dark, hazel eyes, and his snaked words—they've gnashed at her, for Clementine to devour.

.

Carlos snaps his own. Lands them on her.

He knows.

.

She rolls her tongue over the gap in her mouth. Watches him, and then one hand as it closes, because he's captured something. And she jolts. Tastes blood.

Fumes from her tongue. Hurts.

.

Clementine may have been more polite with her teeth than the dog had been.

Because Carlos knows her bite now. He knows.

. . .

HE SAID OTHERWISE

. . .

"What's the most important thing in this world?"

.

"Food."

.

"Listen, what's the one thing a guy would walk hundreds of miles to get back? Something you can't just find."

.

She's the cleanest she has been in a few days, and it's only now when Luke decides to pull her aside, away from the rest, to…have a talk. On the way to a bridge. And he continues to be cautious of her. Even now, when he… After he’s pulled her aside. For this. A talk.

It feels like he's urging her. He's desperate for Clementine to tell him the right answer—which there is one, apparently.

Clementine doesn't know it, though. She's the cleanest she's been, all to keep his eyes from being struck by this fear.She doesn't want that fear. Doesn't, but she's hungry. Needs to heal. She smells the citrus all around. Sweet. There's plenty of fresh ones roaming in the trees, just out of arm's reach…

The rations they have are enough. For the time being.

They just…don't sit as well as they could. And her tongue rolling where her tooth had once been doesn’t help.

.

"Come on. Clem, it's family."

.

"It's a tough world out there without people you can trust."

.

There's a stray hint of disappointment in his words. Yet, at the same time, a knowing, and then a caution. Because this had been a test, a gage, and Clementine has failed bombastically, but she'll still maintain that it is food, in fact, with every morsel she comes across. She longs for a mouth that waters like it used to, she does. She wants to perk to the sound of a crisp can, or the sweet aroma to Mom’s baking, or a homely dinner. Sometimes she does that too. To the cans or dinner—like the warm bowl, in fact. Yet. It's not the same. Not when blood soothes her skin the way it does, and flesh pulls apart to her mouth's desire.

Walkers have this tang… A tang that animals don't have. In their hearts, and their stomachs, their muscle—the muscle especially. Her mouth only waters to that tang now. Truly waters, because…it's the only ounce of satiation she can find.

And, quite honestly, family rings sour now.

.

Her bite was in a family's name.

It's what brought her to this. It's what brought a man to bite a child.

.

And family… That's what led her blindly to him in the first place.

.

Clementine will answer food, however. She will. No matter the lesson Luke intends.

It's easier to think it is. Finding a home requires an odyssey. It requires a gambit to embark, and its trial to writhe through.

And she knows, deep in her gut, that these people will not be that for her.

. . .

YET THERE A BREATHING MEMORY WAS

. . .

Nick just killed a man. The bullet threw his body over a bridge. There are lights in these woods; they're the eyes of who follows. There's a lodge too. A ski-lift.

It all…sloughs away, however. It takes one held breath, and the deck to whirl beneath her feet.

.

Sarah grazes her arm. Murmurs anxiety.

Clementine shrugs through Luke and Nick anyway.

.

She rolls her tongue again. Gashes another line, and the heartbeat bled is ruin. Half of her is still above the land, lingering in a breath shy from clouds. And the landscape is there as a canvas to forge behind her eyes. The pine vista. A sheer drop to water. A red bridge.

It begins to decay, however…

Clementine sees him. And only him. There's the trucker's hat, the same beaded necklace, then the brown of his eyes. He blears to focus.

Doesn't know what to say. Neither do, but she— She really doesn't. Doesn't know what to do either, aside for a careful step, and another, to the man.

.

Kenny.

.

And he wipes a tear.

He kneels, looks at her with a smile like no other, and it's for her. Only for her.

.

She may mirror him. She may not. If there is a smile, it's cracked across her numbing face. He's a comfort. And another one in life's comedy. Kenny should be dead, yet he's not. Looks very much alive. Breathes that way in what fogs in this cold.

His words are cradled by hearthfire. There's a homely timbre, and it doesn't crackle as much as it should to her ears, despite teary eyes. There is only flame. A warm bask in yellow.

.

Clementine strays away with him. Kenny leads them all—her and the cabin, him and the lodge—around the corner.

There's no words between them. A giddiness, or disbelief, radiates off him.

.

Her strides are pounding however.

Because Clementine hears a saltlick. It echoes, somewhere. And the skull it married after that too, before the flesh trodden by their union.

.

Kenny makes a joke, or something like that, which… It actually rises a chuckle from her. Scathes up her throat, but it is one none the less. Feels…nice, even if not a moment later, she's rattled again. Kenny is a haunting reminder of Lee's patience, and how much he spent it on the man. Caught in a crossfire.

It takes everything to remember how she used to laugh.

And how Lee meandered down the line between one and another.

Clementine murmurs to Kenny that her people, they're fine. Sure her head was almost blown off at one point, and she still kind of wants it to, but, really. They're…

They're cool. Haven't made her laugh really, but they are.

.

The fireplace is grand.

In its mouth, a vast fire.

.

He comments about the ballcap. She could say the same.

.

The cold in her bones, winter's breath in her hair, remind her how far Savannah is. As a distant nightmare. A long, winding road down her life's broken spine.

.

"You know, I half-expected to see Lee walk up next to you…"

.

That nightmare flares. Life's broken spine rattles in her ears.

She's cold in her bones. Winter's breath feels too, too close to the tub's ceramic.

.

And there's Lee again. Spoken into the world. There is no grave for him to roll; he may twitch where she shackled him by his last wrist, however. Clementine doesn't know what Kenny sees in her eyes.

He panics though.

.

"Oh, shit, I didn't mean to… "It's just hard not to think about it, you know?"

.

It is.

It— It is.

.

Clementine swallows. She fights the bile.

She's desperate to know if he smells it off her.

Guilt. Rather than the degenerate.

.

"Aw, hell… I'm sorry, darlin'."

.

She answers everything he asks when she can. Silence permeates best, however.

.

They slink away from Lee. Catch up on things. Not many. There's no good memories left, and none of them breathe in their time apart. They're stained now. Corroded.

Like Christa. All of her.

.

"She's gone…"

.

Clementine doesn't know when she accepted it, the fact that there is no finding Christa.

The days have blurred together. Her famine has never ceased. It's only cannibalized. She eats away. Time smears in her split mind's wake. And between that, famine claws at memory and corrodes it all. Stains them.

The bite…

It gnawed Omid to an obscurity. Christa's next.

Kenny was too, once. Before life's gnashed smile brought him to her.

Why—

.

Why not Lee?

Or is he to be her last memory before blank moon eyes…?

.

"I am! This is all a dream!"

.

She flinches at first. His hearty laugh thereafter is unnerving—it snaps at her, wrings her from thought. This isn't Kenny. Not really. He's never done that, and the longer the laugh barrels from his chest, Clementine finds herself longing for the swift chuckle and clap on a shoulder.

.

They are not the people they once met. Neither are who they know by memory.

Kenny, the one in Savannah—Clementine laid him to rest, left him behind, the moment she was lured, and the moment the man's teeth found her shoulder.

And she's been rotting all this time. Not of body. In mind.

Gradually, because the days and weeks and years since have been a plodding agony.

.

The last Kenny still corrodes after all. This Kenny, however. He will never know what she's become.

Clementine's decided to mimic memory. He will not lose another child.

.

"Sorry. Bad joke."

.

Clementine finds herself wishing it wasn't.

. . .

AND SHE HERSELF WAS LOST

. . .

"Show me the bite."

.

"The other one, Clementine. You know what I'm talking about."

.

Carlos manages to snag Clementine from the Christmas tree. He herds her away, quietly, with the same hand on her shoulder. It doesn't feel warm. The scrap of whatever she still can't name, it's gone. There's no salvaging it.

And he's sat her on the furthest booth, beneath one of the overhangs.

Light is scarce here. The tree, and the fireplace, are one collective haze.

.

She hesitates, before grasping the shoulder.

He waits. Clementine should've known he expects to see the bite itself, so she works her shirt's collar open. Unveils where the man bit her: along the clavicle, dead between her neck's crux, her shoulder's point. Carlos studies it. Like before, his hands are loyal to his eyes, and there's precision. Nothing else.

Carlos murmurs about how it's scarred over. Asks if she was attacked.

.

Clementine wasn't. Not really.

A confirmation more than an answer—he knows from scar alone. The bite didn't tear. It's the perfect shape. There are no abnormalities. Yet, the clear indentation is what rivets the doctor so. The identity of a strange man. His lasting print. Had Carlos been in dentistry, this would've been something to diagram.

Clementine only hears that the man left his mark, and did it well.

Her grave, however shallow it shall be, will bury both her and this part of him.

There is no escape. Even now.

.

He asks if this had been a man, or the dead. His eyes want to know if she knew the intention. The depravity behind it.

.

The man had yellow eyes. He just wanted a family again. Until Clementine shot him, that is.

He's dead and gone. Never knew his name.

.

If Carlos thinks the worst of her, he doesn't say. His face doesn't flicker at least, and he leaves her to cover again. Which she does. Swiftly. When Clementine looks back to face him, she finds Carlos…pained. His face doesn't flicker; it yieldsinstead. Like something's dawned on him, so his hands come together. They're kept to himself. Whatever he knows, or assumes, Clementine can't fathom.

Just that there's an odd nausea, it coats him a blooming complexion, and he's angry. Cold, though. This is no fire. More like a man about to beat another, only to leave that man behind to bleed.

Lee had the same nausea. She saw it one night, with a hand twisted into her hair.

And he did just that—broke a man's face, left him behind to his welted eyes.

.

"There are men, Clementine, who aren't right, and they look at little girls all the wrong ways."

.

That was how Lee started a long, agonizing conversation. His words were coarse. There was conviction, however. She needed to know. It took a night. Then the week after curling herself deep in blankets, washing away the memory of the brother's twisting hand…

Then the other.

The one with dark eyes and a twitched smile.

She never met those hands. Nor saw what they'd do in light of the evil in his eyes, because it was only that light there. The evil.

.

"You bite if you have to. Do everything you can to get away."

.

Duck… He tried to do just that.

Did, almost, before Clementine was thrown off the patio, and Lee was slung over the St. John's shoulder.

She hopes he did. Duck's dead, but. Well. She hopes.

The memory of him settles whenever she believes so.

.

Clementine realized in the few weeks thereafter how glad she was that Lee killed the brother. And grateful, because there was a gratitude.

A world where that man walked with her, somewhere in the shadows, was worse to her than hearing the pitchfork run through ribcage.

.

She feels a lurch in her throat. She wants to assure Carlos that the man who bit her, it wasn't an evil in his eyes. He didn't want the same. He sought a daughter in her. Only that.

He did trap her by words alone, of course. His mouth. But not once did Clementine ever mistake him for the St. John brother. Not once. Still hasn't.

It's the thought of describing the brother, however, which keeps her silent. Because to explain him would means to speak gore.

.

Carlos preens away the nausea and watches Clementine. He then murmurs about her skin. The way that she's waned before his very eyes. In a mere matter of days, or something like that. Her aggression as well. Wandering off wherever they walk, or in the night. She's had a scarce portion of their food. None of them know a habit of hers—the one where Clementine pulls her ballcap over her face, just to sleep.

.

"There are many peculiarities with you, and I've kept my eye on them."

"You're not going to put me down, are you?"

"Of course not. I realize you don't have any interest in us."

.

Carlos speaks to her like she's something else.

As though Clementine is another being. No longer human.

Yet, this isn't the same as talking down to a dog either. Far from it. She's not an animal. Instead, he speaks like she understands every word, and knows them in his eyes—down to the grain. He's careful. Articulate. Above all, however, Carlos is guarded.

She's beyond his understanding. Something to behold. Perhaps study. And to revere.

A threat.

Clementine is a threat, but not quite the danger she could be.

Not an animal, but a walking dread.

.

He unfolds a hand.

.

There in his palm, a tooth. Hers.

.

"You are going through a metamorphosis, Clementine. "And so you feel like you're starving despite being fed not long ago."

.

Carlos has met a person like her before. He knew her. Married her. Had a child.

.

She got bit. A mere matter of days, and she was…fine, but not. He kept Sarah away. Did everything he could to console.

His wife, however… She was lost, but she was there. And she asked what Clementine craves. A gun. A ledge. A river.

.

Sarah found her writhing. Strung from a fan.

.

He does not know what would happen if Sarah is ever bit. What she would become. How coherent she would be, if at all.

And if she would feast like his wife did. Or if she would only walk.

Carlos doesn't say it. Clementine smells it off him anyway.

.

He doesn't want to be the one to pull the trigger. Not again.

.

"No bite is anyone's fault. But you do anything to Sarah, and I will put you down like you are one of them."

"She's my friend. I won't do anything to her."

.

A frenetic storm builds.

The same he discovered of her, nights ago. Her tongue's wit and mind's hemorrhage—neither have left Clementine, and Carlos sees them within her still. She is something to revere. Walk tepidly around, should he be a little too close, a little too loud.

And should Clementine be just hungry enough.

He sees it in her eyes. She isn't mindless… 

.

Carlos knows the dwelling monster.

It wears her skin, calls herself Clementine. Debated whether or not it could lick its maw in the time Pete fermented, and citrus throve.

She just…cannot, for the life of her, tell if he knows the monster only.

Wonders why Sarah sees beyond that—if she truly does—, and if it's something inherited from a mother, not the doctor.

.

Sarah is…different that way. Another for Carlos to behold.

.

"Do you understand now?"

.

She does.

No answer crosses her lips, but yes, she does.

.

Clementine nods. It is a vow to never bite Sarah.

.

When silence drawls, and there's nothing more, Clementine breaks away. Carlos lets her. The tree evokes for another time. The lights glimmer. Sarah's dawned it an angel. It's all a shard to her very eyes. The tooth in her closed hand bites. The floor rocks with every stride, and the lodge is swaying to the fireplace and its restful flame, and the shadows birthed.

She snags his silhouette through the windows.

Kenny's.

That alone keels everything in arm's reach.

.

Clementine shambles for solace. Finds it in shadow.

.

Cliffside again. Where the air was brisk, and the river beneath her was a frigid havoc to her body.

It's found her. Laughs like life's miserable parody. Harkens to its thrashing well, where copper lathers down her throat, foams like river's whirlpool. Momentum to gain, everything to lose—how it's happened again, and the world's racing to snap her neck, she doesn't know. All it took was falling off that fucking cliff.

And the water didn't feel like concrete, so she calls bullshit on that.

.

She knocks into a door. One of the lodge's restrooms. The women's.

As the door closes, Clementine is abandoned to the blood throbbing in her ears. Static is a balm down her skin. When she reaches beside the door— clamps upon an old, old habit of hers—, Clementine doesn't fathom why, not until she finds the switch, and a lone bulb springs to life.

Clementine recoils. It's loud to her eyes, and her ears. Buzzes worse than the static. It's callous as well. She's forgotten just how much everything was before. There was never a gradual passage between these lights and not. There was only ever onslaught, and the overbearance.

When her eyes adjust, she lumbers across the restroom tile. The stalls are wooden. There's clutter, everywhere, to meander around. Her nails rake across the counter. The mirror is wide.

To her nose, there's only must, grime, and neglect's spillage.

Clementine glares into the light's reflection, then the bulb itself. It hangs close to the mirror, incased within a flowering glass.

.

She has half the mind to throttle it before ripping the damn thing from the wall.

The other half reminds her that, well, she did just turn it on herself. So. Her fault. What didshe honestly expect? And Clementine doesn't really want to lug herself all the way back over.

.

She's also not that kind of guest. …even if she did rip open a hole into a crawlspace not a week ago.

.

Great. On top of losing her mind at the ripe age of still a child, she's now acquainted with her first very own paradox. Which is vandalism.

Second if Clementine counts the cannibal tendencies.

.

Mulling over the logistics of her wellbeing while glaring holes into her reflection, with her own tooth burrowing into her palm… It doesn't feel great, for some reason.

Who would've thought?

.

Clementine seeps into the aches of her body. Her exhale is withdrawn. The tooth rattles over the countertop granite when she clasps for balance. Burdened by her joins, there lies a call for sleep, to rest her weary head and heal these wounds. And her lungs are clawing for air the more she gasps. Every swallow is reticent. With them bolts another ache, and they're piling now. They settle where she doesn't want them to. Not her stomach's basin. Instead, these aches char within heart's cage.

They spurn her. Like embers, or the falling ash to a fire deep within pine vista.

And they've clogged her jugular. Clementine's mouth froths for words she cannot find. There's only smoke, or it's the thrashing frigid waters, or those coin spiral wishing wells. A blaring arcade. Claps of a storm.

There's too much. It's all too much.

In this… This body of hers…

.

She rocks her jaw again. Stares at the lone tooth.

.

Carlos cleaned it. There's not a red left behind.

Her eyes follow down a ravine in granite, and it splits into the wall, cracks the mirror. Weblike—it doesn't go far in reflection.

.

Clementine meets herself by her eyes. Finds a stranger. Wearing her skin. Hiding behind her name.

She's narrower than she once was, in the face. Her eyes are a striking shade of yellow. Not gold though. More… They're more lupine against her complexion. As in spitfire. Blinding in their own right. Spat from the end of a barrel, to scream a bullet's remark.

She leans to the mirror. Works her jaw, thumbs where the tooth once was, and by the pad of her finger, Clementine feels her skin abrade. A flinch later, a hand pulled away, blood beads close to the nail. Clementine leans again.

.

Another tooth. Knived, though… Its crown is knived. There's no other way to explain. She scrounges through smog to find better. There just isn't.

.

A thought pangs her. An inkling.

Clementine tries the opposite tooth. It's loose. So's another on the other side. Too many. She's already lost them. There's no reason. Her breath is rattling. The reflection is blearing, eyes burning.

Her nails grate into the granite. Chips wherever she scrawls, before she grasps, and tension shivers through bone.

.

"Sweet pea…"

.

The granite seethes into her palms. Lacerates one. Pricks the other.

Clementine jolts.

She staggers away. Holds herself.

.

The blood is dark. Seeped from her hands, stained into the counter, it's of wine. Dark like wine, raw in glass.

.

"Another … daymare, Clem? Which one?"

"The— The one you killed…"

.

She hears— H-Hears it fall.

.

Enamel chimes across ceramic tile. Cracks at the crown.

This blood, the wine, strings the counter. It leeches deep within grout.

.

Spitfire glints from shadow. Doesn't realize where she herself stands, and that it's the mirror. Her reflection. A stranger.

Clementine buckles. She chokes for air. Her ribs spine into her heart. Closes in. Blood smears down a stall door. Her hand's shape.

She seethes through her teeth. Air swells in her mouth. Can hardly swallow. Wood, tile, granite—the restroom whirls together. Agony gnaws her bite. Clementine's floundering. Her hands skate across tile. The grout is coarse. It cleaves whenever her palm's heel catches.

.

This isn't her mouth. It longs to shed its human shape.

A girl's lasting print.

.

"You bite if you have to. Do everything you can to get away."

"What i-if I can't…?"

.

Lee— He never did answer her.

So the world swam the way it does now.

All Clementine knew was his face.

.

"What do they want from me? "L-Lee?"

.

Not her mouth. Not her blood. Not her eyes—

None of this is hers.

Where has her body gone…?!

.

"The only thing a child has to themselves. Your … innocence, Clem."

.

Was he right…?! Had Carlos been right to look at her with this— This burdening nausea?!

Did it only take that one fucking glance at her bite?! Did the doctor know from her eyes alone?!

.

What— W-What did that bite do to her?

What did it take?!

.

"And men like that will steal it, just because they can."

. "They give reasons that don't ever make sense, because those reasons are for themselves to think."

.

Clementine smacks into a stall door, and down her spine, she nails into its frame. Her heart is hammering. It seizes down her veins. Sirens in her ears. She feels it pang behind her eyes. Or it's all her head, writhing in static.

Belting the moment when the saltblock drops.

Smells it. Tastes the flesh, ever brackish, on her tongue.

Her mouth's dry. Throat's raw. Air is clawing.

.

She can't breathe.

.

The air is clawing, yet her lungs scream for it. 

.

"Because I would rather be the one to ease it away from you than to have it torn from your hands. "I'm sorry."

.

What kind of world is this…?

For the mercy of man to take anyway—if by a tender, wary gesture in remorse's name.

.

Clementine shudders, and her chest swells for that air.

.

Agony finds her jaw for another time. It strikes when she bares her teeth, when Clementine coils into herself. She grapples her head. Her fingers lace through hair. And… And she weeps. There are no whimpers to croon, for she is an orphan with no one to hear. The cold flogs across her bloodied tongue.

There's no granola to soothe this.

Lee's voice will be a mere ghost forevermore.

.

She is alone. Will only ever have the bite to take with her.

.

Clementine n-never asked for this. She never asked for his family. She wanted hers. Mom and Dad—th-that's all she ever wanted. She got Lee instead. Cherished him. Abandoned him. Got bit for it.

Left Omid for citric orchard.

And then lost Christa. In the woods.

.

Blood twines from her mouth. There's salt in her tears. They bathe her tongue, an open wound, in daymare.

She chokes.

.

"A metamorphosis, Clementine…"

.

Her nails dig into either arm when she hugs herself. She keeps the cloth tight on her body. The bite agitates.

.

"A metamorphosis…"

.

"So you feel like you're starving despite being fed not long ago."

.

Did that little girl die in a nightmare?

.

She doesn't know. The monster doesn't know.

There will never be clarity.

For that is a fabled dream.

— — —

AO3 | FF | Wattpad

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#twdgscav fic #volt's library #twdg #twdg 2 #twdg fanfiction #fanfiction #twdg clementine #twdg kenny #cannibalism #gore #violence #horror #body horror #psychological horror #trauma

[wetcatspellcaster]

I deeply apologize for the amount of spam I've just given you. While I'm here I have thoughts:

1. One of my literal writing inspirations doesn't think they're good at writing??????? What type of dark twist of faith is this????????? I literally think about your writing all the time it's so good. I reread it religiously and gain new knowledge. I recent reread the latest chapter of an honest lie and had my eyes opened further to the greatness that was that chapter. I am OFFENDED on your behalf.

Literally you're writing reminded me of my favorite book series of all time, the folk of air, and I was so delighted when I found out you've read it too. (Cardan and pieces!Astarion would think they are the same and shake hands, and then Cardan would be like "anyway so that's why I became a better person" and Astarion would start hissing. Also Jude would break Astarion in half. I'm sorry ik he's like Ascended or whatever but Jude would destroy his ass.)

I say it reminded me of it because you too have such a great upstanding of character, dialogue, and misdirection. Which doesn't mean you lie to the reader, but more that characters make assumptions with the facts given to them, and we as readers have to sort of take ourselves out of their head and view the facts objectively. If you listen blindly to Rose, you will be more blindsided and confused than of you think critically. Like, the idea that beta Astarion actually likes her is Very obvious even from the first chapter but it takes her a good while to really click that in her head because well from her pov it makes more sense that he hates her. GAHH ITS JUST???? UGH. UGH!!!!! ITS SO GOOD

2. I totally plan on book binding Pieces when it's finished. Probably party favors too. Like all of your writing is so good but pieces is so ambitious and it is so rewarding. Stories like this often struggle to reinvent themselves after revelations and the climax (or toward the end of the rising action), but Pieces has managed to keep its identity and change at the same time. While the story is not the same as it was when it started, I'm reading it for the same reasons. And this is doubly hard with dark romance. Dark romance is hard to write because a dynamic like that HAS to have a resolution, whether it be one party giving in or one party acting out. And often dark romances struggle to reach this esolution gracefully, but the direction pieces is going is so good. It's so intentional. I'm insane. YOURE INSANE.

3. I am LIVING for the ACU (astartion cinematic universe) like each story on it's own? Amazing. Lovely. The stories together??? Wretched. Painful. Delicious.

4. I'm happy things went well with your surgery!! Wishing you a speedy recovery.

5. Obligatory take your time with updates, there's no rush. The strong among us shall survive the winter and flourish in the springtime.

Oh God, this got long. Oops! Have a nice day!

hello lovely! thank you for the message, and the extensive tumblr blog peer review 😌😌😌😌 no one is ever going to complain about activity on their blog, we live under the Sway of Statistics :')

unfortunately, either I'm a cesspit of self esteem, or (equally likely) if you were to do a survey of all your favourite fic authors, around 8 out of 10 would express concerns/dissatisfaction with certain parts of their writing. we spend the longest time with our work so that even the things we're proud of become a little taken for gratned, we see all the things we executed different than we planned, and even if we're happy with the final draft the first draft Haunts Our Dreams. I am very happy with a lot of my fic and at this point in this unexpected "oh shit, people like me now" boom I can't exactly pretend it's not successful, but I can and will always see my areas for improvement! I always really love the moment after a project is done where I can go back to the fic and read it again with fresh eyes, and actually appreciate it for what it is! right now, I'm in the trenches lmao.

Though I think the final book fumbled it's execution (I was happy with the 'make each other worse' energy of books 1 and 2, trying to pretend Cardan wasn't a bully wasn't it for me, especially because by that time Jude was on his level), The Cruel Prince is one of my favourite series, so thank you for the comparison!

Book binding is and will always be fine with me, I am very jealous of those with The Skill and still reeling over the idea that anyone wants to do that work with my writing :)

Thank you for the compliment about the development of Pieces and the pacing! I don't read much Dark Romance, but I have noticed some issues in the manga/webtoons I read that seems similar to what you're describing. For me, I'm a big fan of the kind of heroine/villain pairing where everyone's thirsty but no one's moral compasses are budging even an inch, so the people involved have to just glare at each other with lust and hatred, and then go to the privacy of their own home for a morally correct, guilt-free wank lmao. That's the kind of dynamic the story has been serving the whole time, and what it means is that if you ever want them to finally get together, something seismic has to shift - hence the end of Act 2. Luckily for me, I feel like there's room for the kind of interpretation in the Ascendency ending that can give me the artistic license to make that change! It's my genuine hope that people feel sympathy for both Astarion's soul AND the Vampire Ascendent by the end... we'll see soon whether I hit those beats or not lmao.

Idk if I'll do the plot behind Pieces justice yet (I say, hyperventilating in my gdocs) but what I have is an outline I've kept since the beginning, and occasionally elaborated on (I realised a new plot point last night, very exciting times for me) but otherwise stuck to religiously. Some commenters and some wider canon revelations (e.g. the epilogue being released) have not changed it, I've deliberated over doing that in the past but ultimately decided I'd rather have an ending I've planned for from the beginning than swerve and change course halfway through and undermine the delivery! I am hoping, like you say, this will make the conclusion rewarding, because it's foreshadowed from about Chapter 2? It might not be the most perfect or even most original story as a result, but I'm hoping it feels like the groundwork has been laid, and that there's an equal mix of surprises and things people can see coming from the very beginning. It is, indeed, intentional, so that's a nice word to use to describe it, thank you! :)

The curse of concurrent WIPs is a joke I've played on myself. The fact that I had to write a Pieces scene that foreshadows but doesn't ruin the Act 3 conflicts of my canon-playthrough fic is so stupid, I have clowned myself specifically :'))))))

Thank you for the well wishes! Recovery is going well. Idk when updates will happen or with what speed I'll finish the fic, but the good news for readers is I'm autistic, hyperfixated, and an introvert 😌😌 as such, I tend to update things pretty regularly lmao

#asks #lovely words from lovely people #wip: pieces still stuck in your teeth #i guess there's some mild spoilers in here for Chapter 17 so spoilers!

[alexstfuistg]

Since here’s for the word stuff and your other blog is for arts.

A funny thought because Chrissy’s parents, her mom specifically, is the worst. 20 something year old Chrissy having to deal with her mother constantly asking if she’s seeing anyone in the most snide tone. Like she’s amusing herself picturing her daughter with no one because she lost out on what’s his face. I don’t wanna say his name it feels like I’ll get cursed.

Or what I imagine Eddie says often when he who shall not be even thought of is brought up. Anyway.

Chrissy has weekly dinners with her parents it’s once a week, she promised her little brother, and her mother always brings up the relationship thing and brings up how her hair looks or asks about her diet, whatever, she’s just a horrible person but specifically, she likes to mention all of the people that Chrissy had been acquainted with before who have gotten married, who are having children, who have wonderful husbands or fiancé’s or partners. So Chrissy decides, because she is in her doesn’t give a shit era, to text Billy with an idea. The idea makes Billy laugh so hard he falls out of his seat. He’s in, he is so in and he wishes that he could video the moment they do this. And he does, he takes one of Eddie’s old vests, a raggedy old denim and hooks it up with the camera in the pocket. Hidden.

So Chrissy calls her parents and she tells them, directed mostly to her mother, that she’s going to bring who she’s seeing over. They make her happy, they make her feel safe, she feels fulfilled and happy and loved. She does text her brother to find himself elsewhere that day because things are gonna get awkward in that little boy ain’t stupid.

They’re gonna show up maybe 20 minutes after Chrissy is having dinner with her family, she says they’re going to be a little late. Her mother kind of looks at her and says what do you mean they and then the doorbell rings. In comes Steve Harrington, and here her mother gets a little excited because Steve, while he might have veered off the path, comes from a wealthy well to do well respected family, he’s tall and handsome and polite, and she imagines he’ll probably get some corporate job from his father because of course he will right? So he meets her family he schmoozes they love him. He sits.

And here is where Laura notices that there are two other plates out. Chrissy got the table ready who else did she invite? Now she begins to sweat. The doorbell rings again and inside comes Billy Hargrove, he throws them a hello nice to meet you and gives Chrissy a firm kiss on her lips. Steve had given her a kiss on the forehead. Chrissy tells her parents that Billy is going to college, he has a high GPA, he’s athletic and he makes her happier than she’s ever been. He and Steve make her happier than she’s ever been. Her father starts drinking and her mother’s heart starts to palpitate.

She wants to yell, outraged, but before she can the doorbell rings one final time, and Laura stares at the chair with the final empty plate and wonders who else could possibly be any worse than the bulldog that is Billy Hargrove and his whoring reputation with older women. She ought not to have wondered that.

Walking into her house, a nightmare a tall 6 foot nightmare with scraggly long hair torn up jeans a leather jacket and a cut off T-shirt showing the expanse of his belly. She sees the tattoos, piercings, she gets faint. Philip drinks just a little bit more. Steve raises a hand to wave to Eddie, Billy juts his chin in a silent what’s up, and Eddie smiles brightly and goofy, lifts Chrissy up into the air and gives her a long hard open mouth kiss which ends in him tipping her. Tipping her back and then lifting her. He kissed her like a old fashion romantic movie and it would’ve been cute had it not been Edward Munson.

Before Chrissy can say that Eddie is kind and gentle and sweet and beautiful her mother‘s face connects with the salad upon her plate. Philip puts down his glass, stares at his daughter and says I think you made your point, sweetheart.

Dinner is only a little bit awkward but they finish the meal and leave. Billy has it all on tape and they all haven’t stopped laughing from the moment they stepped out of the house. Laura Cunningham never fucks with her daughter again she learned her lesson.

#alexreplies #stranger things #harmungroveham #fic #rebagelwc #this is already so great by itself and idk what to add to it lol #so please have these gifs that show their whole vibe

[sonnet141snz]

Council Meeting

Ok sooo I finally done it! This is the first time I’m posting original content here and I’m quite nervous about it, but these characters just wouldn’t stop banging inside my head so I just had to do it. But anyway, don’t mind me lol.

This story is set in a dystopian world where each high born family has some sort of supernatural ability. The two main characters are Aiden and Callum. They kinda hate each other at this point by the way lol. Aiden is the crown prince and has ice powers. Kinda like Jack Frost lol. Callum is a metal manipulator and is the fourth son of the Daewynn family. He’s at that council meeting for… reasons lol. I’ll explain later why his father or his three older brothers aren’t there to represent their family.

Anyway I’ll stop rambling now. If by any chance anyone is interested I can do a more detailed description of the two of them, but for now that’s it I guess :)

Needless to say, minors DNI. And please don’t reblog this on non kink blogs.

————————————————————————

“We’ll close the damn gates to the peasants then. They belong in the battlefield anyway, not the capital.”

That prick. How could someone be such an asshole? This is exactly why Aiden absolutely hated these Council Meetings. It was depressing enough to sit here and talk about warfare, and now he had to deal with arrogant bastards like Brandel.

“Tell me, Lord Brandel, didn’t your own men die in that same battlefield? Although I suppose I shouldn’t sound so shocked, considering it’s you we’re talking about.”

The temperature in the room rose. Lord Emyr Brandel stood and looked at Aiden as if he was scolding a dog for eating his lunch. It made sense, really. As pyrotechnics, the Brendels were natural enemies to his family and had always felt like they should be the ones sitting on the throne.

“I am not having my honor questioned by a boy, ” he practically roared.

Oh. He looks absolutely furious. Now that’s some fun Aiden thought he wouldn’t have today, especially not here. He smiled at the challenge and said nonchalantly as he made the temperature in the room drop several degrees.

“I am not questioning your honor, Lord Brandel. I’m denying its existence.”

At the far end of the table, Aiden caught a glimpse of Callum, raising his eyebrows and smirking. He was fidgeting — more like playing really, with a sphere of pure gold he always seemed to carry around everywhere, changing its shape to a dragon, sigil of the Brandels, a crown atop its head.

Aiden couldn’t help but glare at him but decided to say nothing about it.

“You little- we shall hear what the king has to say about this.”

“No, we shan’t. This meeting is over.” Aiden said.

The members of the Small Council stood, Lord Brandel being the first to storm out of the room, Callum being the last. Or at least he would have been.

“You’re not that funny you know?”

Callum looked over his shoulder, the little golden ball morphing itself into a necklace, a pendant that looked like a shield hanging on it.

“Oh, I know I’m not. Your reaction was much funnier, Your Highness.”

Aiden closed the distance between them and could have sworn he saw Callum shiver a bit. Most people did though. Not exactly out of fear (although he supposed some did) but because they actually felt cold when they were around him. But not him. Not ever. Something about metal manipulators being able to endure both high and low temperatures alike or whatever. Come to think of it, this was the first time Aiden actually got a good look at him today. His cheeks were flushed same as his nose, and there were dark circles under his eyes, a sight he never thought he’d see. He was about to respond to Callum’s provocation, when he saw a hazy look across his face. The scar that practically divided his face in half, beginning on his left eyebrow all the way to his right lower cheek, scrunching a bit. Aiden never understood why he didn’t have the Healers get rid of it. He was certain they could make it look as if it was never there to begin with. Every metal manipulator he’s ever known has lost at least a finger or two, and he was sure Callum did too. So why wouldn’t he have this one specifically healed? All his fingers were there, and he didn’t seem to carry any other scars, not visible ones anyway. So why— 

“— nkggt! Nggxt!” Callum’s shoulders shuttered with the effort. He stayed in place for a few seconds as if in anticipation, but finally decided to turn back around as he lowered his arm.

“Sorry.” He murmured, probably out of mere habit.

Well, that’s unusual. Men like Callum never showed their “weaknesses”, even when they were bleeding out right in front of you, especially not in front of Aiden. And for Callum to apologize too… something was definitely wrong. Either way, Aiden chose not to acknowledge it and decided to carry on with their usual banter.

“I don’t believe I reacted in anyway, Lord Daewynn.”

“Oh but you did. It was quite amusing seeing you talk to Brandel like that too. I didn’t know you had that in you.” He gave a wet sniffle as quietly as he possibly could and rubbed his knuckles at his nose.

“Well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Another sneeze. This time it was only half successful and the goblets still at the table, the chandeliers and his own necklace shook a bit. After that display, Aiden decided he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

“Alright, what’s the matter with you?”

Callum stopped rubbing at his nose almost immediacy as if coming back to reality and said “What do you mean ‘what’s the matter’ with me?”

Unfortunately for him and without his consent, his chest jumped and he uttered a barely audible sneeze once more, even more forceful than the last three.

Aiden only stared at him for a brief moment and said “You know, you really shouldn’t do that.”

For how long has he been doing that anyway? If his powers were starting to go haywire like that, probably for quite some time.

“Do what, sneeze in front of my prince? I’m so sorry Your Highness, but I can’t exactly help it, can I?”

Aiden rolled his eyes “I meant trying to be so damn polite about it. It’s not like you’ve ever done that before anyway.”

He might not exactly like the guy but he wasn’t that cruel. It weirdly bothered him to see Callum look so miserable. Besides, it was not that fun to taunt him when he was in such a state. He was not one to kick a man when he is down.

“I assume you don’t want to get stabbed by every piece of metal in this room, so I’m afraid I have to.”

“You, caring about my well-being? I’m flattered,” Aiden says, raising a hand to his chest to emphasize his statement.

“Not really, no. It just would be such a nuisance to kill the crown prince, and I really do enjoy my freedom, so I’d rather avoid it.”

Aiden chuckled at that “Fair enough.”

For a moment they just stared at each other until Aiden realized that his cold nature might not be exactly helping Callum. Suddenly, he felt surprisingly guilty for lowering the temperature so much when Brandel tried to defy him.

“Go rest, Callum. You look like you need it.”

The only answer he got was a quick nod before Callum left the room. He lingered there for a bit, looking at the now crumpled goblets at the council table, before finally returning to his rooms.

#hope you all enjoy this little fic :) #snzblr #snzfic

[youalreadyhavefullresults]

It doesnt work. I've done things wrong, and then I've done things "right", I've gone meta and realized my own power and lived in the knowing and not put in any effort and was 100% sure of things happening to the point I literally starting forgetting that it wasn't in the 3d yet, and it still didn't happen. I know what you're gonna say. It's my self concept. No, it's not. I believe in myself, I think I'm capable, I think I'm worthy, I dont obsess over techniques or affirming cuz I'm powerful. You're gonna tell me to persist. In what? How long should you persist before you realize it's not happening? Days? Months? Years? How much glaring evidence in the 3d do you need before you say yeah this isn't happening. You're gonna tell me to stop having negative thoughts. Well, I'm supposed to be god, right? If I'm God then my negative thoughts shouldn't manifest anyways.... right? Right? You're gonna say I did this thing wrong, or that thing wrong, or I didn't live in the end well enough, Well guess what? I did, I just naturally assumed I was going to get in my dream college to the point I started mentally putting aside clothes to pack and started checking the weather there. You're gonna say, well if you've been doing everything right then you wouldn't be sending this ask right here. I didn't acknowledge things not going my way and continued to be positive for 2 years. 2 whole years. And dont you dare say I should keep doing that when people manifest changing their whole life overnight. Everything that loa blogs talk about, I've done it. I've done it all. And I still failed. I've failed in manifesting things before, and those times I knew where I went wrong. But this time was different, I did every single thing right, and still I have to look at the list of selected people NOT having my name on it. I've been at this for years now, and this is my last straw. If the law works for you, congrats, you're lucky. I dont really have a set reason for sending this, but I had to let it out some where, but dont you dare come at me telling me to pErSIst, cuz god knows I've persisted enough.

ok look, as someone who’s also been in the loa community for like 2 years now, i get it. It’s totally frustrating when you keep doing whatever people say and then it doesn’t work. But let’s just break down your rant here, shall we? You claim that you’re doing everything right, and that you have been persisting, but really, have you?

I believe in myself, I think I'm capable, I think I'm worthy, I dont obsess over techniques or affirming cuz I'm powerful

Ok, then answer this. If you are so powerful and have a perfect self-concept, then why are you here lol? If you had a perfect self concept, then you wouldn’t feel the urge to make this long rant about not getting your desires?

How long should you persist before you realize it's not happening? Days? Months? Years?

Ok anon, just before I say anything, what’s your thoughts on manifesting? Do you think it happens instantly, or do you think there’s a time lag? Based on this, you seem to think you have to persist for a really long time before you see any results. If you’re feeling frustrated that your results aren’t here yet and that they’re taking so long, why not just affirm that they come instantly? It seems like you need to work on your own assumptions about manifesting itself before thinking about your desires.

How much glaring evidence in the 3d do you need before you say yeah this isn't happening.

Hon, that’s the thing. You’re not supposed to be looking for evidence in the 3d. You’re not supposed to be acknowledging the old story either. The 4d, your desires, is the only thing that should matter. Ofc there’s going to be “glaring evidence” in the 3d if you keep internalizing the fact that your desire isn’t here.

If I'm God then my negative thoughts shouldn't manifest anyways.... right?

I mean, yes. But you being god is not the reason why it doesn’t manifest. Everything in life happens because you assume it. So if you build up that assumption, then it won’t happen. But until then, I suggest you make sure that you aren’t entertaining any of the thoughts in your head. They’re pretty much harmless until you start giving them attention.

And dont you dare say I should keep doing that when people manifest changing their whole life overnight.

People do that because they have the assumption that they manifest over night. Take the 3dolc x roe challenge that’s been trending recently. If you go through the success stories, you’ll see that everyone was mainly affirming that they receive their desires within 3 days or less, and therefore, they received it pretty quickly. You’ll be able to do the same if you set some sort of assumption that you manifest quickly.

I dont really have a set reason for sending this, but I had to let it out some where, but dont you dare come at me telling me to pErSIst, cuz god knows I've persisted enough.

My advice for you anon? I really think you should take a break for a bit. You seem like you’re obsessed with getting into your dream college, and while I completely understand you, you need to step back for a bit. You’re not going to get anywhere if you keep coming at it thinking you’re going to fail. I’m not telling you to persist, I just think you should take a break from loa, and then come back and work on the assumptions you currently hold about it.

I was in the same boat a few months ago. I was an anxious senior who was so stressed about college apps that I did absolutely everything I could think of to make it happen, from listening to subliminals to affirming for hours. But it was so difficult when that seemed to be the only thing that everyone talked about. I eventually got through it tho, and now I’m going to a great college that I’m proud to be in. I wish you the best of luck anon, because I know if I can do it, then you can do it too.

-cinna

#ask #law of assumption #mine #self concept #loa #manifesting #motivation #manifestation

[kougyokuseyeshavemeweak]

Hello hello! I hope u are doing well! I hope you do not mind a request for a scenariou, if u prefer headcanons, u can go with that tho!

So we can all agree that Judar is good material for enemies to lovers ( or… enemies AND lovers, but I shall request that later >;) )

It’s a modern au ( specific: university/college au ) ( if u don’t mind. If u do, u can choose whatever timespace u want <3 ).

I was thinking, here is this sweet fem s/o, very cottagecore-ish. She’s very adorable ( not in a childish way tho ) just like a sweet fairy. Very smart also and with good moral values.

Since she’s never afraid of speaking up, I imagine that she does start an argument with Judar, the main reason is Judar being Judar, maybe bullying poor Aladdin, ofc s/o is taking Aladdin’s side, tries to put this * cough * menance to society * cough * to his place and she DOES WIN THE ARGUMENT, leaving him speechlese, cuz she knows how to reply to everything, anytime ( at this point, this is a semi-representation of me but let’s ignore that — I can’t help it ). Just because I’m evil, I also imagine that a lot of people were listening, oh, poor dark magi!

So just because he’s a lil brat — I mean, Judar — he will always try to insult her, start an argument with her, making it a competition or just his way of revange. Since s/o is very good at handling men like him, she never shuts up ( both Judar and s/o are the type of persons that are like: I NEED TO HAVE THE LAST WORD ). At first it was fun for everyone but they started to argue, make fun of each other everyday, like EVERYDAY WITHOUT EVEN A BREAK — people got used to it and it became their thing. Their routine.

And here begins the drama: maybe they do catch feelings and they both hate it ofc, but can they rlly ignore each other? Even if they only fight. They both ask themselves before going to sleep: how can I like a person when at first I’ve only seen their imperfactions? How to fall for somebody when u used to only see the bad parts? There were moments when they don’t argue ( after an argument ofc ) when they help each other ( asking again why they did that tho ) or have a silent moments together when nobody is watching ).

But plottwist, s/o is actually very fragile and sensitive when it comes to her heart, even tho she knows how go argue, arguments do hurt, and arguments between her and Judar start to hurt more. Why can’t he treat her nice like he does SOMETIMES with Kougyoku? Why is he so mean? She wants to keep talking to him but she hates the insults but she can’t help it.

Judar, one day, insults her very bad ( I don t have an insult in my mind, but u can come up with one if u would like ) and he makes her cry. Here is the scenario: what is his reaction when she admits that she’s hurt and she’s in love with him and he actually won? he’s a damn bastard and she hates the fact that such a spoiled brat like him touched her heart. She opens her fragile soul to him.

I think that this man needs a s/o that is sweet ( his type, canon ) but can also put him in his place. He will never ever have the guts to say “ Women are boring “ ( he said that in manga, I’m crying😭 )

Anyways, I hope this isn’t too much for u! As I said before, I love ur blog and excuse me for my english, not my mother tongue :(.

Thank you! Your English was great so no worries. I have been watching Hunter x Hunter (2011) lately so my writing might seem a little similar to the narrator in the anime. Might do a part two because I didn’t get everything.

Warning(s:) Mentions and acts of bullying, a bit rushed near the end.

There he stood. She had hoped she would avoid him but in this case, she was glad to be here. Judar appeared to be picking on one of the new students named Aladdin as some other students merely watched. She noticed Aladdin’s other friends that always seemed to be at his side weren’t around at the time. Knowing that Judar decided to bully Aladdin and when he was alone absolutely sickened her.

Walking up, (y/n) got the attention of the two which also gained the attention of the other’s who were staring. “Stop it Judar. What do you gain from hurting others?” The black haired individual stepped up to the girl a bit “Oh come on. I shouldn’t have to explain myself.” He said with an air of confidence. She desperately wanted to show her anger and yell at him but knew that would only bring him amusement.

“I think you should. Bullying isn’t allowed so unless you have no choice but to-which I highly doubt-then please leave him alone.” Judar scoffed and quickly countered “You think you’re the boss of me or something?” As he was noticeably getting annoyed. “No actually but I know better than you since I’m not the one picking on others” the girl retorted. “Why you..” The man started but was interrupted by Aladdin’s friends quickly coming into view.

“Aladdin!” Alibaba shouted. “Where were you?” The blonde and the small woman with him ran up to their friend. Judar began to walk away as he no longer wanted to waste his time with this. “Got nothing else to say?” The voice of that girl let out. He could tell there was smugness to it and it irritated him. He turned to face her with a smile.

“Wow, you must really be an idiot if you think that” he said as his smile slightly grows. A look of hurt grew in (y/n)’s eyes but she quickly hid it. He would not get the best of her. With her hands clutching her top and a barely noticeable whimper, she responds “If you refuse to acknowledge and work on your faults then the real idiot is you.” Judar becomes quiet with shock that turns visible.

(Y/n) cringes in guilt at what she said but she can’t take that back and especially not around him. “Whatever.” Judar let’s out as though the word itself had a disgusting taste. He leaves all while shaking in anger as (y/n) could only imagine what he’s thinking. As she walks home, she grips her bag in desperation as to not let any tears slip when she thinks about what happened that day.

It had been days since the ‘incident’ and Judar doesn’t seem like he has let it go. He acts as though it doesn’t matter but when his actions consist of following (y/n) around and throwing insults at the poor girl whenever he has to leave the area, it is quite troubling. She wonders if it’s her words that day that have caused this to go on farther than it should have. They would bicker occasionally when (y/n) would get tired of his hovering but nothing seemed to work. No one had ever stood against her for this long and it only served to confuse the woman to no end.

As for Judar, he was all the more confused. To think someone who dresses in flowers and looked as though she was on the verge of tears whenever he were to throw a simple, little insult her way could think she had the right to stand up to him. He at first found her persistence amusing but now he couldn’t stand it. He had decided to start taunting her with hope that she’d realize her supposed ‘place’ but all it did was seem to make her cry as she miserably failed to cover it up. He wondered why this brat was stuck in his head to begin with though he refused to think to much on it.

Days continued to go on with the occasional arguments that never seemed to end as well as the constant picking on only caused by a certain man. He couldn’t seem to understand his need to focus his attacks on her though he often found his mind drifting to thoughts of the girl. Judar was getting rather impatient to know why she was seemingly targeting his mind so he decided that it was enough and headed towards the very woman who had caused all this trouble. Getting her attention yet again, he was about to bring up more words but she quickly beat him to it.

“You know you can stop right?” Was the question she brought up. “Why should I? You’re just so fun to mess with you know.” Judar replied with slight amusement. She countered, “Doesn’t matter. I swear, you’re starting to act like a little boy with a crush.”

To (y/n)’s surprise, Judar did not respond. She turned to face him in a want to know why but she only found him deep in thought and she believed that now was a good a time as any. “Hey Judar?” He seemed to snap out of it by giving a ‘What?’ In return. (Y/n) suddenly appeared a bit timid as she looked down while playing with the end of her dress. “I’m sorry for what I said that day.” “Huh?” Judar said suddenly due to not understanding or knowing the reason behind her sudden shyness.

“When I called you- no why I called you an idiot. That was wrong.” She elaborated. A small glimpse of shock made itself shown on the man‘s face though it was quickly replaced with one of no care. “Oh. Honestly, I forgot about that.” “Oh” she struggled to let out as a feeling of awkwardness crawled its way into her being while she quickly and desperately attempted at finding a way to change the subject.

“Hey. You’re free to hangout tonight right?” Judar asked casually. “Um. What?” (Y/n) responded in obvious shock and slight terror at what just came out of Judar’s mouth. “Don’t make me repeat myself” he sighed dramatically which caused the girl to hesitantly answer that she was free.

“Good. I’ll see you tonight then!” He said, voice getting louder as he walked away. She cringed at the knowledge of other’s hearing as his figure disappeared from view by turning down a hall. She wondered if his sudden question was brought due to her accusation of a crush but decided to not think much of it.

#judar magi #judal magi #magi scenarios #magi: the labyrinth of magic #magi: the kingdom of magic #magi

[sixstepsaway]

I just wanted to say thank you for all your writing and analysis on Izzy and the Blackhands dynamic. I just found your blog but I've been reading through posts and it's just been so great and helpful to read. Every character is going to sit differently with people depending on so many things. The whole "ack this character is reminding me of something toxic I have experienced and I shall now put any disparaging feelings from this media onto this character" has been placed quite often on Izzy in this fandom, but from my first watch (and strengthening upon rewatching) those feelings for me went right on Ed (Not taking responsibility, out of control, etc. Which yeah we wouldn't want to watch a show with a perfect lead who doesn't have to grow. I'm here for the journey but it does give me gnarly feelings!) Izzy has become a comfort character for me (haha, oh dear) and with most scenarios in the show, I see Ed falling off the edge of the earth and Izzy going to the end of the world to bring him back... then being demonized for it. Anyway, I probably don't have to over explain. Your deep dives are magnificent. I'm a fandom lurker and I'm mostly fine taking my perspective from media and being groovy with however the fandom wants to roll with things, but as it is for many people, OFMD just hits deeper and a bit more intimate so your writing has really been refreshing and I just wanted to say thanks for that. -Finch

General fandoms, especially those with a large portion that ascribe to purity culture etc, find it much easier to enjoy something if they boil it down in a way they can take in small bites. Eg: Izzy Bad. If they don't do that, they have to admit that Edward is a really morally grey character who needs a lot of growth to be healthy to himself and those around him, and that it's okay to still love him. It doesn't make them a bad person.

Instead of doing that introspection and acknowledging those things, they hone in on someone annoying (Izzy's voice isn't exactly standard, so that's one thing they can start with, he's a bit of a dick, rough around the edges, his accent is northern which is already looked down on and not often represented, etc etc) and heap all of the bad feelings on him. He becomes a vessel for their wrath so they can love the other characters in peace, without having to (haha, considering this is what they tell us to do) think critically about what they enjoy.

It's shitty and toxic and if I can help even one person with my metas and analysis etc then I've achieved something great, because I know what it's like to step into a fandom and get bombarded with nothing but hate for a character you don't think is all that bad really and struggle to find anything refuting those accusations of toxicity, abuse, homophobia, racism, whatever the fuck else they decide to throw in there.

Frankly, Izzy has become a comfort character for me too, probably because he's so desperately trying to keep control of a life rapidly falling apart around him and no one is listening to his cries for help. It resonates.

And I agree with your take on Edward wholeheartedly. I love that man to death but he needs to straighten up his act because his whole, "Oh no, no, the fall killed the guy I pushed down the stairs," schtick is adorable for five minutes until you realize he basically perpetuates that across everything in his life. I bet you anything that in season 2 he's like, "No I didn't hurt Izzy, the Kraken hurt Izzy," and I want someone to call him on that!

and with most scenarios in the show, I see Ed falling off the edge of the earth and Izzy going to the end of the world to bring him back… then being demonized for it.

Oh my god yes. Izzy's ways of bringing Ed back are questionable sometimes (you know, the murder thing in reference to dueling Stede) but they make perfect sense, especially in the context of everything else in the show and what everyone around him does! He tries so hard to take care of Ed and the fandom is just like, "What a dick." Or, what I saw earlier, which was, "Izzy wants to keep Ed as a pet."

Which a) was a highly racist take, as these people talk about here

and b) completely ignores all canon context that says that honestly Izzy is closer to the pet in the situation than Ed lmao

I think also one of the reasons OFMD hits so deep is there's so much love and time put into it, so we can dig into every character bit by bit, analyze scenes, talk about the context when framed against other factors like homophobia, race, class, power etc, and then keep digging and talking about everything else. There's so much detail work that's been embedded in it, as demonstrated by Izzy's ring and the tattoos they chose to put on each character that has them. I love it.

Your deep dives are magnificent. I'm a fandom lurker and I'm mostly fine taking my perspective from media and being groovy with however the fandom wants to roll with things, but as it is for many people, OFMD just hits deeper and a bit more intimate so your writing has really been refreshing and I just wanted to say thanks for that.

You're really welcome, Finch. I'm glad I could be a port in the storm of the fandom and I hope you stick around :)

thank you so much for such a lovely ask, it really made my day

#ask #anon finch #ofmd #izzy hands #edward teach #ofmd meta #izzy hands meta #edward teach meta

[gemandthescotts]

I posted 633 times in 2022

That's 633 more posts than 2021!

110 posts created (17%)

523 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@felicityphoenix5

@nervousbreadpuppy

@jinxneedssleep

@ghxstingimgaytoo

@jacklynbraveheart

I tagged 223 of my posts in 2022

#alsmp - 70 posts

#alsmpblr - 59 posts

#alsmp scott - 51 posts

#incorrect quotes - 41 posts

#alsmp sausage - 36 posts

#scott smajor - 20 posts

#alsmp shubble - 20 posts

#alsmp jimmy - 17 posts

#afterlife smp - 14 posts

#esmp - 14 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#my mom seriously helped me get over gender dysphoria for wearing a bra by taking advantage of my gender dysphoria for having large breasts

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Incorrect Quotes

Scott evilly laughs: Sausage you must make the choice, allow this innocent by standard die or stop being a hero

Lizzie: Don't worry I can-

Sausage: Oh no whatever shall I do? What an innocent person? How can I stop you without stopping being a hero???

Scott: You can't! Haha!

Scott gets close to sausage: Being a hero never suited you

Lizzie unties the ropes: Don't worry I untied the ropes

Sausage dramatically sighs and backs away from Scott: Oh whatever can I do??

Lizzie: I'm free

Sausage: Must I give up the fight of justice????

Lizzie facepalms: No, I'm free

Sausage: Such an innocent helpless person?!?!

Scott: Truly evil I know, making you choose such a difficult choice

Lizzie: You know what, I'm going leave

Scott finally looks over to Lizzie: Wait, you distracted me so you could free this innocent person!!!

Sausage: I, uh, yes!! That was the plan the entire time!!!

Scott: Curse you Sausage!!!!!!

Lizzie: I was free the entire time basically

Sausage: Another win for Gravity Man!

Lizzie walks away:

Scott: I will get you next time!!!

Scott runs away:

Bonus:

Jimmy walks in: Sorry I was late, anyway I have to untie Lizzie for the "Epic Sidekick Reveal" right?

Sausage stops looking into the distance dramatically: You completely missed the fight!!! You're lucky Scott and I have such great improve skills!!!

134 notes - Posted April 19, 2022

#4

Incorrect quotes

Jimmy: *Uses “Yeet” in a sentence*

Scott: Jimmy, people don’t say yeet anymore.

Jimmy: Yeet is cringe?

Scott: JIMMY, NOBODY SAYS CRINGE ANYMORE.

Jimmy: Cringe has been yeeted?

141 notes - Posted April 24, 2022

#3

Incorrect Quote

Jimmy: Remember when you didn't try to solve all your problems with attempted murder?

Scott: Stop romanticizing the past.

146 notes - Posted April 4, 2022

#2

Incorrect quotes

Scott: Are we fighting or flirting?

Sausage: I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck-

Scott, smiling: Your point?

171 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Trans Hunter Headcannon

I love the idea that Hunter is trans, and in light of the most resent episode of the owl house, at the time of posting this "Hollow Mind" I thought I would bend this into a personal view of the headcannon.

So basically Grimwalkers are genderless beings, Belos forces all the grimwalkers to be boys, whether that feels right to them or not. Some might have liked the idea of being a girl rather then a boy, I imagine they'd wear dresses when belos wasn't around secretly ask all the coven heads to call them by there prefered pronouns, some wouldn't feel boy or girl fit them and just ask to only change their pronouns for they/them, some liked being a boy, some would change inbetween, but when belos found out about this he'd always guilt them into stopping because his brother/whatever was a boy and they should be, he probably made up some lie to keep them. Hunter though never really cared for pronouns and was fine with being a boy,and when he found out of what a grimwalker was apart of him wanted to change just to go against belos, but he wasn't happy doing that, so he changed his name to something he liked, Caleb

176 notes - Posted April 28, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #most of these were incorrect quotes i made when i first started

[bookofmirth]

I'm reading some of your older posts from 2022- the time where people were claiming el/riel is endgame because of the CC leaks and it got me thinking.. I am kinda dissapointed that Gwyndion and Narben won't play a role in Azriel's book. I thought because of the name "gwyndion" and the german word Narben that means scars (Azriel's scars) + the whole history with a pristess helping the former high king and dipps gwyndion in the cauldron + a certain nymph having told amren about how Amarantha threw Narben away + the name Fionn (or whatever) also having connections to gwyn's name (look at yaz's older posts), it would have some connection to gwynriel or gwyn specifically. I wasn't convienced that gwyn would play a major role when it comes to these swords, not like Azriel at least, but despite Sjm being not so great of a writer and always forgetfull, it didn't sound like a coincidence, you know? I find it weird that sjm repeatedly connect some parts of these swords to gwyn. So I had thought it would be interesting to see it all in Azriel's book.

The crossover seems to disagree with me. Maybe we'll get to find Narben in Azriel's book? (Again- it stands for scars)Bryce would need Truth-teller more than Narben that is somewhere lost in Prythian so it could be cool for Azriel to have Narben then?...though there is a possibility that Bryce will have it in CC3, Azriel is more like a knife guy anyway and the IC would probably take it for themselves.

It proves that no matter how much you believe you've connected the dots and solved the mystery, the answers can still be wrong. Some people are going to be real mad and scream "fanservice" when Sjm might never have planned to go that route.

Still, I thought Gwynriel using Gwyndion and Narben would've been a cool thing but meh I guess..

This blog really is a time capsule of what the fandom has been through! For better or worse haha

Never say never, anon. sjm could bring back Narben. Amren could remember something vague, suddenly, from millennia ago. I know a lot of people hate the idea, but maybe Az could lose Truthteller, since it's paired with Gwydion. (I had to reread my hosab wrap-up post because I legit cannot keep these things straight, one pointy sharp object is as good as another when I'm reading). Or maybe he ends up with both? And then end up with Narben down the road?

I agree that it seems like a stretch for Gwyn to be connected to either of them. Sjm names things and chooses colors and flowers etc. based on the vibes she gets from them, and I honestly think we ascribe more meaning to those things than she intends.

I feel a lot more comfortable speculating based on characters' personalities and dynamics, rather than anything plot or world based. Everything comes in second after those relationships, to her, so that's where it makes sense to me to look! But also, that means maybe you could get your wish and Az getting Narben could somehow serve his emotional journey. I am leaning towards us learning more about Truthteller in CC3 - seems highly likely - and then in acotar5 Az could end up with Narben. Seems like a waste of a name to not give it to Az eventually.

And I do lowkey see Az letting go of Truthteller as a symbolic way that he could let go of the more traumatic parts of his past and the way he seems to be paying penance now, but... we shall see.

#azriel #acotar #acotar/cc #hosab #ask #anon

[seth-burroughs]

I shall never forget the day I discovered you had taken the guy's name. I wanted the man's name for a gimmick blog </3

However you are far cooler than what I was going to do with it so I wasn't too mad. Anyway, keep being cool and awesome or whatever

x3333 well back then 27 years ago when Rain Code came out and I saw Seth appear for the first time I just immediately ran to tumbler to snag it. Was in near disbelief I actually got there before anyone else did since I was under the impression the RC fandom was well. Bigger. But i'll say it's better that way because if there was just a few more dozen people in the tag I believe it would be over. It's so rancid in bigger fandom spaces I don't even want to wonder about what kinda discourse tm would be born in here we already have the "Makoto is a LITERAL MINER if you ship him with Yaoi I will come into your house and reenact 3 guys 1 hammer on your degenerate ass" I don't think I could imagine nor handle anything of a way worse degree not in my frail state...............

Ok I believe I got off topic for a minute well anyway since we were talking about urls. you have mentioned the seth-burroughs url right. Well I got a business proposition to you, yes YOU person who's reading this and currently is in hold of either or both the yomihellsmile and yomi-hellsmile urls I know you're there I can smell your presence don't you walk away now. And I want you to listen carefully, to the message I have prepared for you: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEAAE PLEAE PLESAE PLEAE PLEASE PLESSAE PLEASE PLEASE PLSEA LPKELSP PLEASE PLEASE PLESAE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LPLESE PLEASE PLESWE I got the makoyomi and this seth url do y you want them :(((((((( one of you wants the fubuki url right I can beg them on my knees to give it to you if you want I don;t think they're using it anyway but im kinda scared what if they call me a loser can you hold my hand mrs mr sir maam yomi url haver. Ok with that out of the way I completely forgot what I was talking about (it's been 3 whole minutes you cant expect me to remember that far)

And as always I'm so surprised whenever other people say I'm cool like waooowwww.... me?? *that one blushing emoji* I mean I do have my... Thing (gestures) but it's always different when other people actually tell me that than when I think so myself . .. Ok anon I will keep being very awesome I'm gonna do it now I will try my best.............

#mine #ask