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simpforfandoms · 1 year

Text

Here with me

a/n: I got my wisdom teeth out and I’m high on pain killers rn so I don’t know what this is also it's been like a year since I've last uploaded I've just haven't had the motivation whoops. Also requests are open so please request I'm running out of ideas.

pairing: dick grayson x fem!reader (probably could be read as gender neutral)

summary: reader got broken up with by a text of all things

genre: angst, hurt with comfort, tooth-rotting fluff at the end

word count: 2665

warnings: language, not proofread

masterlist

“you’re nice and all but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

You’re heart drops. You read the text over and over again. Guess he lives up to his name. What kind of person ends it over text? You don’t know how to respond. A million thoughts at once fill your head. Do you respond with a whole ass paragraph begging him not to leave you? Do you call him? Do you run over to his work? What the fuck do you do? Your finger hovers over the call button. If you call him would he even answer? What could you do to salvage this relationship? It wouldn’t be the same if you could fix the relationship. Doubt would fill your brain. More doubt than you already had. In retrospect, you should’ve seen this coming. Dick Grayson is a beautiful human sent from the heavens above. And you? Well, you’re just you. It was stupid of you to think that a guy like him could ever love a gal like you. You check the time.

5:48

You know Dick can see that you read the text for almost six minutes now. You freak out and reply with the first thing you could think of.

“Okay”

He reads it almost instantly.

And just like that, it’s over. Almost a three-year-long relationship. Down the fucking drain. It’s funny it seemed like only 2 hours ago he was telling you how much he loved you and missed you. Where did you go wrong? You’ve done nothing but been there for him. You’ve been a good girlfriend. Maybe not the best. Definitely not Barbara. Barbara. Her name brings a funny taste to your tongue. A pit in your stomach forms. She’s everything you’re not and more. He probably reconnected with her and realized that he’s better off with her. Oh my fucking god why can’t you be better. Be better. Be fucking better. So many words that you want to say to him. Please being the most frequent one. You want to cry. Scream. Anything. But you can’t. It’s like you’re paralyzed. You’re hands are shaking as you find the caller ID and quickly push it.

“hey what’s up?”

“me and dick broke up?” You say it almost like a question.

“What oh my god! What happened?!?! I’ll kill him”

“Babs I need you to be completely honest.” You say gulping, “did you have anything to do with it?”

“No of course not,” she says

Of course she didn’t. She might be Dick’s ex but she wouldn’t betray you. A part of you hates yourself for ever thinking that.

“I’m coming over right now” you hear a muffled voice in the background but before you could ask she hangs up.

Weird but you didn’t have time to focus on that. You just got dumped. You can’t say you didn’t see it coming. You don’t know what hurts worse, being broken up with or believing that for once you were worthy of love. People say that “you accept the love you think you deserve.” If that’s true than why the hell were you and dick together. Dick is the most perfect boyfriend. Maybe it was all a mask. Maybe he didn’t actually love you. A small part of you hope that its not true, but the logical more realistic part know that it was all just a fantasy. A beautiful fantasy, but a fantasy nevertheless. You wish you could cry. You feel like everyone else in this situation would cry. Maybe it’s because you’re still in denial. You’re still hoping for Dick to say this is some sick joke.

•

1 hour earlier

“You don’t understand I love her!” Dick retorts.

“Dick you don’t understand. Y/n’s a civilian. Telling her, hell even dating her puts her at risk. I am ordering you, not asking you, to break up with her.” Bruce says.

Dick takes a long exaggerated sigh. Leave it to Bruce to turn innocently declaring that he was going to propose into a full-blown argument. His brothers sit and watch patiently. As if they’re waiting for a lion to attack. Barbara, on the other hand, is waiting for a chance to speak. After all, you are her best friend, she has to do everything she can to prevent you from getting hurt. By that, she means mentally. She has no doubt in her mind that Dick can protect you. Honestly, she found it heartwarming that Dick had come to her for the approval of the engagement ring. She only regrets suggesting that he tells Bruce.

“Bruce I’m not a kid anymore you can’t boss me around.”

“Think about all the people we have lost because they knew our identity. If you truly loved this girl you would set her free.”

Dick mutters something under his breathe. Barley auditable. Something along the lines of “I don’t want to”

•

knock

You don’t bother to answer the door you know it’s Barbara. You know she has a key.

“Oh honey I’m so sorry!” She says as she runs over to hug you.

“It’s okay it’s not like your the reason he broke up with me.”

You notice a falter in Barbara’s face. She showed a tinge of guilt but as quickly as it appeared it went away.

“I know but I’m still sorry” she says.

“Y’know it’s funny Babs I thought I was gonna marry him. For a moment there I thought he felt the same. It was stupid of me. I turned a blind eye to him coming home late all the time. It shouldn’t have been such a big shock. I guess in the back of my mind i always knew there was someone else. I guess I should pack up my shit and get the fuck out of here. I don’t think I can handle looking into eyes without crumbling.” Tears begin to fall.

Barbara does nothing more than squeeze you tighter. A reassuring comfort that it’s not your fault. You know she knows something you don’t know and only wish she could tell you, but you also know that maybe she won’t tell you to keep you safe. You think about, if she knows that dick broke up with you because of someone else, maybe she’s just saving all the pain that comes with feeling you’re not enough. But she also has to know that you already feel your not enough. You pull away from the hug to look her in her eyes. Searching for answers. You grab her hands in yours.

“Babs if you know something I don’t please tell me, I know you want to protect me but please I assure you that I already have self doubt and if you tell me that there was for sure someone else all that could bring is closure. So please for the love of god tell me.”

She suddenly pulls away breaking eye contact.

“No! It’s not that- it’s uh. It’s all my fault Y/n. I’m so sorry.” She says in a hush voice covering her face in guilt.

As if your heart couldn’t possibly break it more, it feels betrayal.

“Babs were you the other woman?” You say not understanding.

“Oh my god of course not.” She turns her head to look at you. “I would never ever do that to you”

“Then how is it your fault?” You question confusion mixed with sadness on your face.

She turns away again.

“It’s just- oh god. I promised dick I wouldn’t tell you.” She closes her eyes and gulps. “A week ago Dick came to me asking to help pick out an engagement ring for you. He was going to propose.” She then looks at you searching for any reaction.

“He was? I don’t get it then why would he break up with me?”

“I convinced him that he should tell Bruce and all, thinking that Bruce would want to know. It ended up turning into a big argument. In the end Bruce convinced him to break up with you.” She sighs once again looking at your confusion ridden face.

“I still don’t get it. Bruce loves me. Why wouldn’t he want Dick to marry me?” You question.

“What Dick does for a living is dangerous.”

“I’m fine with him being a cop, he knows that.”

“No, it’s not just that. What we all do for a living is dangerous. Bruce likes you, he does. At first, he didn’t think you and Dick would last so he never thought that your relationship would get to the point where Dick would have to tell you the truth, but Dick had other plans. So when Dick told him he wanted to marry you, well-“ She stops taking a deep breath, “Bruce knew that marrying you would mean Dick would have to tell you the truth. So he told Dick that the only way to keep you safe was to break it off and if he truly loved you he would set you free.”

“How is any of that your fault?” You ask.

“Well after Dick stormed away I followed him to convince him not to break up with you. But he wouldn’t budge. He believed it would be selfish to continue your relationship while putting you jeopardy. He sacrificed his own happiness for your safety. He said he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something ever happened to you. I knew he wouldn’t budge so I at least tried to get him to break up with you in person but he knew if he saw you he would never be able to do it. You called me after it happened Dick begged me not to tell me anything but here we are” She finishes with tears in her eyes.

“None of that is your fault, Babs.” You say as you pull her into a hug.

She chuckles dryly, “I’m the one who should be comforting you.”

You both laugh through the tears.

“I still have one question though. What does he do for a living?”

Barbara stops laughing and contemplates telling you. She eventually stares you in the eyes and says barley above a whisper “he’s nightwing”

Though you barley heard it, you’re eyes widened. Suddenly everything made sense. The late nights. The excessive bruises. The leaving dates early. It was like the final piece of the puzzle.

“Where is he?” You say though you already know the answer.

You get up from the couch, grab your keys and are almost out the door til you hear babs say “Y/n please don’t tell him I told you”

You stop for a moment and say, “Thank you Babs” and rush out the door.

•

“Dude I can’t believe you actually listened to the old man” Jason says.

“I don’t need your shit Jason.” Dick mumbles on the Wayne manor sofa.

“I’m just saying, you’re in love with her. Everyone can see that.”

“That’s why I had to!” Dick yells, standing up.

Jason stands back, seemly pushing Damian in front of him as if it’s his turn to talk some sense into Dick.

“What Todd is trying to say is, it’s absurd that you of all people would take Father’s advice about love seeing how miserable he is.” Damian states.

“Ya, Bruce doesn’t know shit about relationships, even I can see that” Duke chimes in from across the room, not even looking up from his book.

"You wanna know why he can't seem to keep a relationship? Because he lets his fear consume him." Tim says bluntly.

"Yeah take Tim for example isn't he dating a civilian? Benard? Nothing has happened to him" Jasons says.

"Well, I wouldn't say nothing" Tim replies.

"Shut up, I'm trying to make a point." Jason sighs, "He's not dead is he?"

"Yeah, Tim and Benard seem to be going strong," someone chimes in from the doorway.

That voice. Dick could recognize that voice anywhere. They all turn to look at you. Jason is the first one that turns back towards Dick.

"See y/n gets it." He shrugs

"Yeah, I do."

There is a moment of silence. The silence is so loud. The tension so thick. The boys seem to notice this and walk away. Jason gives Dick a look that reads, "Don't fuck this up, lover boy"

When the boys all leave the room, leaving you and Dick alone, you walk towards him. Dick's piercing blue eyes stare into yours. Almost questioning you, as to say "what are you doing here".

"You didn't really think I'd let you break up with me over text, did you?" You smile.

Dick can't help it, he smiles back. Even though it's silent, you both are saying a million words to each other. He can look into your eyes for eternity. He can't believe he broke up with you without getting to see those gorgeous eyes again. But as much as he wants to keep looking, he can't, he knows if he does, he'll come running back to you. He knows if he does that, he'll never see those pretty eyes again. The reality of the matter hits him. He breaks eye contact, turning away and crossing his arms, as a way to say "please leave". You however have other plans. You come closer to him barely an inch away from him. You take his face into your hands and turn his head towards you. He tightly closes his eyes.

"Dick, please look at me." You say.

"I can't," he whispers.

"Why?"

He sighs closing his eyes even tighter. "You know why."

You silently remove your hands from his face, sliding them down to his chest. You sigh, about to remove your hands completely until he untucks his arms and lightly grabs your wrists. He looks down, finally looking into your eyes.

"Please don't go yet," He says.

"Dick I need you to tell me the truth"

You search his eyes for a sign, anything at all. What you find is remorse.

"Y'know I love you" You say

"I know."

"Dick you can tell me anything"

He sighs, "You already know the truth"

"But I need to hear it from you"

He sighs again, this time deeper. He stares into your eyes almost pleading with you so he won't have to say it because if he does it makes all of this a reality. The harsh reality that he'll either have to love you from afar, or put you in jeopardy because of him. He'd rather stay here with you in complete bliss. As long as he's with you he's complete. He can't imagine you gone. Alive but gone or dead and gone. He wishes things were simpler. In another time or maybe another universe, he thinks.

"I'm Nightwing"

You burst you laughing. Making Dick confused, but he couldn't help but start chuckling with you.

"My fiance's Nightwing" You start singing.

When you eventually catch your breath, Dick seems to have an even more confused face.

"What?" You question.

"Fiance?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Well yeah but only if you want to be" You smile sheepishly.

Instead of replying Dick swoops you up and kisses you. Not like any other kiss you've had with him, it was one filled with passion. All of the love left unsaid was poured into the kiss. Any doubt that either of you had was solved. When you finally break apart, you two are panting resting your forehead on each other. Dick casually slips an engagement ring on your finger. To which you pull away to look at.

"Oh, Dick it's beautiful!" You gush.

"You have Babs to thank for that," He says pulling you in for another kiss.

You're the love of his life, and he's yours. You know what you're getting yourself into but ultimately you'd rather die having him by your side than not at all. As long as you're with him you've got a smile on your face.

#dick grayson x you #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #bruce wayne #x reader #angst #dick grayson angst #hurt/comfort #dick grayson hurt/comfort #dick grayson fluff #duke thomas #jason todd #barbara gordon #tim drake #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson one shot

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thedreadvampy · 6 months

Text

cause I think the thing is. like. I try REALLY REALLY hard to give people the benefit of the doubt when I get Bad Vibes, and I particularly do when they're saying my partners bc like. obviously there's a) some need to keep things smooth and not fuck up my partner's other relationships and b) it's hard to vibe out where the closeness to the situation introduces unconscious bias.

h o w e v e r

and this is in and of itself a pretty biased view but

I would say that I have yet to have a situation where in retrospect I've been too harsh in my opinions on a partner's relationship, and I've had several experiences now where I have been un-harsh to the degree of really letting their partners treat not just then but also me real fucking shitty like.

I don't think I'm a particularly jealous person (for a current example I straight up love Kofi's boyfriend he's SO FUN AND NICE AND GOOD FOR THEM. in this house we stan). and I have really liked the majority of people who've dated people I've been dating tbh. I also think I'm pretty good at telling the difference between 'I like this person but I don't think their relationship looks great' and 'I don't like this person'.

but I get So Anxious about, even in my own head, being honest about the bad vibes I get about a relationship my partner is having. it's one of the trickiest things about poly, I think, and it's something I've dealt with probably 4 or 5 times now?

cause, at least in my model of polyamory, a relationship that your partner is having with someone else is theirs, not yours. Like a relationship your sibling or parent or best friend is in - you're potentially very close to it and have ringside seats, but you're not a participant and ultimately you don't get to make decisions about what it looks like.

But like those other types of second-hand relationships, you aren't uninvolved or unaffected by bad ones. Both because you have to watch someone you care about go through it, and because as someone very close to them you end up picking up a lot of flak. When someone you love (whether it's friends, family or romantic partners) is in a relationship that's toxic, abusive, or going through a lot of stress, that has a lot of knock-on effects on you - they're stressed, they need support, they may have less energy or time, they're likely to be more reactive to stuff that triggers bad vibes in their relationship, they may need a listening ear or someone to reassure them they're not being unreasonable (or tell them if they are), they need a safe place to go when stuff blows up, all that stuff.

and that's a difficult balance whatever their relationship is to you. We've all had that thing with a friend or family member where you're threading that needle of like "ok I need to reinforce that they don't deserve to be treated like shit but also I need to be civil with their partner and not make things worse and also there's angles on this I'm not seeing, and do I tell them what I think about their partner or will they turn round down the line and be like WHY SHOULD I LISTEN TO YOU ABOUT THEM WHEN YOU'VE ALWAYS HATED THEM." that kind of stuff.

but I do think there's a specific complexity to that in a poly context. because unlike with a friend or sibling or parent or child, in a poly relationship, you and your partner's other partner are kind of in the same space. You might not be in direct competition but you're approaching each other as equals and what you have to say about someone's relationship hits different because of that.

like for me it's often cut both ways too. it drives me nuts if a partner goes to their partner for advice on how to handle our relationship. similarly I really don't want to be implying that my way of being in a relationship with someone is the Right Way and their other partner is just Less Good At Dating Them, because obviously that's not the case, we have different relationships. and I don't feel that way about friends or family. and it's not really jealousy, I don't think, it's just there's a type of closeness bred of similarity that creates a possibility of competition (not necessarily fighting over someone, but competing to be the Best At Dating Them).

in my case I think I often overcorrect for that. hence letting a lot of stuff slide in how my partners' partners behave around me that I absolutely would not let pass if they were my friends' partners. but whether you overcorrect or undercorrect I think it's really hard to navigate tbh.

#red said #this isn't really specifically about my ex's partner tbh just general reflections #but also idk i think it's useful to talk about bc it's one of the trickiest poly pitfalls ime

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helianskies · 1 year

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Portspa [11] please!!!😍🤩

in retrospect i doubt you were expecting this from that prompt, but uh. i've been on an angsty binge lately. and i like giving toni issues. so...

Sobriety

Empty bottles are dotted around the room. João has been in Antonio's home for all of a minute, and it's obvious: he was right to be worried. He was right to travel to Antonio’s home to see him, because things have gotten bad. Worse than he thought, in fact. And as João looks towards the defenceless Spaniard, bleary eyed, semi-dazed, a bit unsteady on his feet, he remembers that he could have been there sooner.

“Don’t say it," the other begs. "Please… don’t say it.”

“You promised,” João says all the same, however, regardless of his protests. “You promised me…”

Antonio is suddenly unable to look at him. He sighs in that way he only does when he has truly, truly surrendered, despondent, and he ambles over to the sofa, where he sits down and stares at the rug on the floor.

It brings an unease to João. He has seen him like this many times in the past, but they were never good times, and he has been trying so hard to avoid seeing it again—to avoid letting Antonio feel like that again. Yet, here they are. And as bad as he feels, there is no point being annoyed at him, no point in trying to lecture him, no point in telling him he’s disappointed. Because Antonio knows. João knows that Antonio knows, and therefore, the words are simply redundant.

Instead, João takes a seat next to Antonio. He doesn’t say anything—not right away—and remains there in the hopes that the other will be reminded that he is there for him. If Antonio wants him to go, then he’ll go. But if he does not demand he leave, then… João will stay. That is certainly the outcome he would prefer.

All the while, time passes by. Seconds, and then minutes, trickling past them as an endless stream. Antonio’s objections never come. João, in turn, does not move. And then, Antonio glances towards him, still not quite able to look him in the face, and he says, “I’m sorry.”

But João doesn’t want him to apologise. There is nothing to apologise for, really. He can’t entirely blame him for his actions; the world makes him want to drown his sorrows most days, too. He’d join him, in fact, if he didn’t think that one of them needs to stay sober…

At the same time, however, that promise had been important. It was not a promise to not drink, to not be upset, to not succumb to old demons, but rather, a promise to simply let João know when he is starting to wobble. Because João cares about him. Because João doesn’t enjoy seeing Antonio genuinely hurt, in pieces, a wreck—much like he is now, staring up at the ceiling and silently, statically crying.

No, no. João doesn’t want him to apologise. Antonio is already suffering enough…

In a bid to remedy this, João calls over to the other and pulls him from what little moment he is having, muttering to himself, to the ceiling, to God. Antonio looks at him through glassy eyes and reddened cheeks, and… and João knows, at least, that he really is sorry. And that will do.

“Come here,” he invites as he amends his own position, turning himself to rest against the sofa arm and welcoming an upset and in-desperate-need-of-comforting Antonio up onto him.

The offer is not refused; Antonio clambers over—stumbles, slips, fumbles—and plants himself (a little abruptly) down on João’s chest. Between the two of them, some further adjustment is required to get comfortable, but, in the end, they find that perfect position and settle.

Hands find Antonio’s hair, João’s back, Antonio’s waist, João’s shoulder. A kiss lands amongst soft, ticklish locks. Infrequent tears begin to dribble onto foreign fabric.

“I’m sorry,” Antonio manages to say again, sniffling as he shifts and fidgets. “I… I-I didn’t know what else to do…”

There are worse decisions he could have made, however. For the alcohol, João is therefore somewhat grateful, even if he is in a sorry state.

Still, “I’m not upset with you,” he assures the other as he strokes his hair and helps him fight his shame. “Are you feeling okay? As in, you aren’t feeling sick or anything?”

Antonio shakes his head as best as he can, while simultaneously trying not to move. “Just stupid…”

“Ah. Nothing new, then.”

The other whines, almost like a child, and João makes up for it with another kiss to his head. While there, he gently breathes in—breathes in Antonio and that distant smell of oranges that seems to cling to him—and then breathes out again, feeling… a bit calmer than he had done when he arrived. He only hopes Antonio starts to feel better soon, as well.

"Next time," he then begins to say, "when you're feeling down about something, you should let me know, Toninho. We made that promise to each other, didn't we? To make each other happy?"

"And you do," Antonio replies, sullen as he is. "I'm… glad you came…"

It brings a warmth to João's chest, a feeble smile to his face. It feels good to hear him say that so openly—to admit such a thing, no matter how inebriated. He never tires of it. Though, he reminds the other, "I would have been here sooner if someone had thought to call me," which naturally earns another sigh.

"I know…"

"So…"

"So…?"

"Are you going to tell me?"

Antonio struggles. He glances up at João and finds kind eyes holding a glint of understanding. Yet, he is unable to say anything. It's as though he wants to, but fears doing so, or perhaps cannot cope with the shame of whatever it is that has dragged him down so low.

Even then, however, João doesn't want the silence to remain. He wants openness for them both, so that he can help to bring the light back into Antonio's usually brilliant eyes. He seems so… unlike Antonio without it—his light, his spark, his shine. That is what makes Antonio Antonio, after all; his radiance, his warmth, his sunny, sunny smile…

"Dime," João duly presses, searching for what they've both lost, "por qué el sol está tan triste."

"Ele não é," Antonio slowly, carefully, quietly replies as he settles back against João's chest, "agora que está com sua lua…"

[ final wordcount, 1050; prompt lists here & here! ]

#helia writes #hetalia #hws spain #hws portugal #portspa #spaport #tw alcohol #questionable portuguese aside #it's kinda cute #my initial instinct was to in fact give port the issues but then that felt too predictable. for some reason.#anywho so uh. toni it is! :')#hope u liked this anon. i hope u even see this anon 💙#also again with the longer-than-intended work. tch. you guys... stop unwittingly feeding me angsty ideas i get carried away!

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yoomiii123 · 1 year

Note

When did Peter and Charlotte share their first kiss?

I was rereading The Runaways and it got my thinking about them 💕

Thank you for the ask and asking about Peter and Charlotte! Also super-congrats on your first ever fanfic, I am so proud of you!

So, confession time: I've always imagined their first kiss happening after they left Maria because if it happened before, Jasper would certainly have known. However, I hadn't really thought about the schematics of it all much until you sent in this ask.

You sent me on a spiral which over a couple hours of obsessive typing led to this: A bonus chapter for Runaways. I hope you'll enjoy it and my version of Peter and Charlotte's first kiss :-)

Land of the Free

Read this on AO3, FF.net or here on Tumblr. Reviews and comments are warmly welcomed!

Summary: Peter's PoV of the first days after their escape from the South. Word Count: 2'245 Trigger Warnings: none Rating: PG

I had always enjoyed running. As a kid, when the others quickly tired out or got bored playing catch, I couldn’t get enough of it. I was running up and down the street, chasing whatever fantastical creatures my mind envisioned just for the sake of it. Later, after father died and my brothers joined up, running became my safe haven, a momentary escape from the daily struggle. It had always been about the experience, the feeling of freedom for me, never about the destination.

Things changed after I turned.

Discovering what my legs were now capable of had been exhilarating at first, but the delight disappeared quickly as the new routines set in. I was no longer chasing fairy tales; in fact, I wasn’t running anymore at all. I was hunting.

In retrospect, it wasn’t the experience that changed much. It was the destination, what lied at the end of every race. Jasper had always joked that, for someone who claimed to not particularly enjoy killing, I was a tad too good at it.

When I contemplated running away for the first time, a part of me wondered if this would bring back the old joys. After all, Charlotte and I would be breaking the proverbial chains to regain our freedom. The unfortunate truth, however, was that I had never felt this trapped before in my life.

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since our first stop, we were still in the same forest, and every step was a struggle. We had slowed down significantly, still faster than humans but only just. I could barely think of anything but putting one leg in front of the other; if I did for more than a few seconds, I stumbled over my own feet.

Charlotte was struggling as much, if not worse, than I did. It made me sick to my stomach to know that I was the one who forced this on her. The fact that she had asked me to stop apologising, didn’t help either.

Was this really the better option? Jasper would have granted her a quick death. I doubted that whatever coven got their hands on us would provide her the same kindness…

No, I couldn’t think this way. All we had to do was make it through. She had been right, there was no point in holding a territory with a few hundred humans stretched over miles and miles of wilderness. There was a place where we could be safe. I had to believe that.

I took a breath to say something encouraging. I wasn’t quite sure, what I would have said, but it didn’t matter anyway. As soon as the air passed through my nose, venom started to pool in my mouth and my body froze.

Charlotte halted a split second later as she caught the scent as well. This was the way we were drilled; feeding without permission was certain death. But then, there was no one to give us permission anymore.

“Do we…?” Charlotte asked.

I guess so? My body dashed forward before the words could leave my lips. I was positive she understood, nevertheless.

Famished as we were, we drained the group of four in a matter of minutes. Charlotte decapitated her first victim in her eagerness, but the second one was a respectably clean kill. Almost as clean as mine, even though I had a good three years on her.

I didn’t feel a smidge of remorse, as I looked down upon our victims. Instead, a certain sense of victory lingered in the air. Maybe it was because Jasper and his moods were hundreds of miles away. Or maybe, it was because for the first time in this second existence, we had done something purely because we wanted to. This felt like an even bigger defiance than running away.

Inexplicably smiling, I wiped my hands in the grass and then turned to Charlotte. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could run for days.” She was smiling too.

“Good, because that’s what we’re going to have to do,” I answered instinctively, the true meaning of my words only slowly seeping through the euphoria that feeding had caused.

We had killed on foreign territory. If whoever claimed this land was inclined to let us pass before, they were certainly going to kill us now.

I didn’t waste another moment, took Charlotte by her hand, and picked up the pace. “Let’s go.”

xxx

We continued running for four days with little progress. Doing the exact opposite of how we knew covens typically conducted themselves meant that we had to travel during the day and hide at night. Unfortunately, the sun and little coverage made it sheer impossible to traverse outside the twilight hours.

I had lost count of how many hours we spent huddled in a cave, bush or abandoned cabin somewhere. We had stopped talking on the second day, worried about our breaths masking the life-saving misstep of someone approaching.

Charlotte had been quite imaginative, coming up with a handful of different signs to communicate the most necessary information. Go, look, stop, run, feed, I forgive you. At least that’s what I hoped she meant when she crossed her hands and affectionately placed them over her heart.

We weren’t holding hands anymore either, it was too dangerous. If someone found us, we’d need both to even have the slightest chance of clawing ourselves out of this mess. Still, sometimes at night, I’d place mine against hers, just close enough that the sides of them brushed against each other. It always elicited her a small smile. And that smile was enough to keep me going through the next day.

Finally, on the fifth day, the skies stayed clouded. We pushed forward as fast as we could, continuing our zig zag from cover to cover, still avoiding cities and populated areas. We hadn’t allowed ourselves to feed since that first mistake and although thirst was clearly bothering Charlotte again –judging from the way she frequently rubbed her throat – every time I spread my pinkie and thumb away from the rest of my fist and made a drinking motion, she just shook her head. At least the temperature was dropping, suggesting that we were headed the right way. Who knew, with another day like this, we might finally make it to the wilderness.

Charlotte’s gasp jerked me to a halt. She had already frozen a good four feet from me, and I was about to speed to her side, when I finally noticed what she had seen seconds ago. Across the field stood another figure dressed in loose rags. And he was staring right at us.

No! I cried internally. Not now, not when we’re so close.

I returned to Charlotte's side slowly, scanning the area, trying to figure out where the rest of his coven was hidden. But I couldn’t make anyone out.

Running away was the first option that crossed my mind, but it was also risky. And even though I didn’t like to entertain the thought, we were in a pretty good spot if a fight would ensue. The field was open, no-one would be able to sneak up on us.

“What do we do?” Charlotte whispered, her voice raspy due to the lack of use.

What would Jasper do? I asked myself. A foolish question, he’d fight. Obviously. But he had ten times the experience we had combined and usually a good number of newborns to offer as cannon fodder. All we had was ourselves.

“Wait and see. Maybe we’re lucky and he’s just a look-out,” I muttered. “But if another one shows up, we run. Head to the right into the corn.” Maybe we can lose them in there.

Charlotte’s eyes spoke of pure fear, but she nodded. Once more, she trusted me without second-guessing, and I hoped that her trust wasn’t misplaced.

I kept my eyes focused on the stranger as he came closer, scouring the area for backup out of their corners. There was still none. And in another strange turn of events, he seemed relaxed with a sheepish grin on his face. He even buried his hands in the pockets of his jacket, restraining himself.

He finally stopped a few feet away, nodding his head. “Hello, pleasure to meet you. It’s been a while since I’ve come across our kind.”

Charlotte and I exchanged a confused look.

“You guys come up from down south?”

His look was curious, he obviously waited for a reaction on our part. But I had no words. Nothing I had experienced in this second life had prepared me for an interaction like this.

Unsurprisingly, Charlotte was the first to retrieve her voice. “Yes. We wish to pass through to Canada peacefully.”

I kept my eyes peeled on the vampire. He didn’t react to her words, as if it was the most mundane request ever.

“There’s some beautiful stretches of nature up there,” he returned. “Though I wouldn’t recommend heading too far up north. It can be quite a hassle to feed.”

“You’ve been?”

“A few years back. I prefer good old Great Plains these days.”

I had enough of talking in riddles. The stranger didn’t seem hostile and while I wanted to believe it, reality had told me otherwise. If we were intruding on his land, I’d rather know it right now than spend another few minutes on platitudes. “How far does your territory stretch?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Son, they call this the ‘Land of the Free’ for a reason. There are no territories here, every man is free to go where they please.”

“No coven lays claim to these lands then?” Charlotte chimed in, surprise lacing her voice.

“No. Why would they? Seems rather boring to hunker down when you can have it all.”

I couldn’t believe what my ears were hearing. “What about the cities? Certainly, there are covens there.”

“Not as far as I know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Though I did hear about a permanent residence somewhere up in Denali once. Maybe you’ll come across them if you head north.”

I felt Charlotte’s hand find mine. Her eyes spoke of disbelief, just as much as mine must have.

“You two certainly are a funny bunch,” the stranger said. “Are all the vampire’s down south like that?”

I ignored his question, still wrapping my mind about what he was implying. “So, there are no territories up here? We can feed wherever we want?”

“Of course! There’s plenty for everyone. What did you think?” Now it was the other vampire that seemed confused.

Could this be? Had Jasper lied to us? Was the tale of world-spanning wars for territory just that; a nightmarish tale to keep us all in line?

“Please excuse our questions, it isn’t like this where we come from. What you’re describing is a foreign concept to us,” Charlotte intervened, now a charming smile on her face.

I prayed internally, that she hadn’t placed too much trust in the other vampire’s words. But even now, he didn’t seem threatening. Curious mostly.

“It isn’t? Well, I’ve never been down past Santa Fe, but it definitely is this way up here.”

Jasper wouldn’t have lied, I concluded. More likely, he didn’t know better himself. Maybe even Maria didn’t. I had never questioned the ‘why?’ of the wars before, but the strangers’ words rang true. It’s not like there was a lack of humans on this planet. And as I started to entertain the reality he was painting, I felt the weight, that had been resting on my shoulders ever since I’d called out for Charlotte to run, starting to crumble.

I didn’t catch the rest of the conversation she had with the other vampire. My mind was spinning, trying to readjust to a completely new view of the world; to the fact that maybe, I hadn’t doomed but actually freed her. Freed us.

When my rabid thoughts finally settled down and I consciously returned to her, the stranger was gone, and Charlotte was standing in front of me with the biggest smile I’d ever been graced with.

“We’re free,” she whispered, tasting each word. The idea must have been as strange to her, as it was to me.

“We’re free,” I agreed.

“Free!” she echoed, this time with more vigour as she jumped up to wrap her arms around my neck. Holding her felt like the most extraordinary and natural thing all at once. And somehow, I couldn’t help but start laughing. It wasn’t long before Charlotte giggled against my neck as well and I was spinning in place. I didn’t know why I did it, it just felt right.

Just as right as it felt to push my lips against hers at the first chance I got.

When we finally tumbled into the grass, I’d made the first new discovery about this life in four years: vampires could get dizzy. And boy, did it feel good.

Charlotte was laughing next to me, pulling bushels of grass from the ground and throwing it in the air above us until there was nothing but dirt left on either side of her. I watched her silently, with a big grin on my face and a heart so light it felt like it could pop out of my chest and fly away any second.

This was the feeling I had been hoping for, the one that running had given me in a previous life.

Freedom.

#asks #the runaways #twilight fanfiction #peter/charlotte #peter and charlotte

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omnishanked · 9 months

Text

It's the end of the world, the total and finished end. '7 whole weeks dedicated to survive yet so barely going by' said a survivor , 'It's not the end of the world you're just having a headache' the other said, they looked each other in the eyes the survivor spoke again 'No, I'm for real sure this is the end of the world I don't think anythings left any more. No food no people no animals, it's just.. Endgame I'm guessing' The other survivor scoffed.

They were in their bunker waiting out the heavy rain, it was almost full besides a few soup cans and bread.

One laid on a raggedy old couch and one laid on a small cot next to the other. 'So.. Do you think you completed things? I mean— obviously not it's the apocalypse no shit you can't complete things but like.. Y'know, felt fulfilled?' Said the survivor, he seemed curious as it's been long since they actually spoke about just everyday things. The other survivor sighed 'I mean.. Kind of? I don't have a bucket list so I don't think I have any goals to achieve, I'm pretty sure all I had in my book was get a job and survive and I'm doing that pretty damn well.' The survivor chuckled before going to a low hum 'Must've been nice.' The other survivor turned to look at the survivor in confusion 'What?' He asked, the survivor shrugged 'Having simplistic goals? I had a whole pint lg things I wanted to do, it's probably alot better to set my goals to normal things.' He sighed 'I wanted to start a family, skydive, travel the world.. Really everything.' He sighed again 'It doesn't feel good to just.. Not do really any of that.' He laughed.

The other survivor wasn't too happy with the respond, in retrospective it was really depressing. The survivor turned to the other side of the cot and stared off onto the crayon ridden walls of the bunker, The other survivor only watched him fall back asleep, it didn't feel right to just let him waste without watching.

It's the next day. They felt alright for the most part. apart from some bedhead action it was a pretty okay morning for them.

The other survivor got up and stretched while the other broke open a can of soup to sip. After a long time of trying to pick open the locks with a toothpick they finally got out, the sky was as grey as it was yesterday only without rain. 'Huh.. I mean, it's fine, might be hard to hunt things though' the survivor tried to squint to look at his surroundings 'Does rain make fog or is it like, early,' The other survivor looked through his backpack searching for a torch, after an irritating minute of scrounging through it he finally found it 'Thank god I didn't forget these.. But then again..' He tried to turn it on but got absolutely nothing, He groaned before searching through his bag again. An old lighter with a spider designed carved into it, It seemed vintage but nothing to be obsessed about. He lit it before flinching from the flame.

It barely lit up anything but they could at least see a path, the survivor opened a map and led the other survivor to follow and direct a light. Wanting to start conversation the survivor spoke.

'I heard theres a supply box somewhere, some girl got mauled down while delivering it. I doubt someone's claimed it yet so.. You wanna take the chance?'

'Eh.. Being mauled by a dog and taking a chance in the same sentence seems really, really, really bad.'

'We barely have anything in the bunker, what if she had bullets?'

'What? No- we're not gonna risk our lives for bullets, plus it's a supply package least they could send is bread and water and we already have loads.'

'Think about it though, what if, In theory, it's loaded with ammo and flashlight batteries and food and water and—'

'Grant. We're not gonna kill ourselves over a supply box. Also it's Torch not flashlight get your english right.'

'Oh fuck off, it's not like we're running out of food or something..'

'Because we aren't, trust me I've seen what you hid behind the boxes.'

'What?'

'A package won't last us forever, I promise you that. At least a week sure but.. I don't wanna kill myself for a box of ammo'

'Well it could last us like...A week sure, that's what we have left! That's basically the longest shortest time we live it's worth it I promise'

'Enough of the we're gonna die thing'

'Well I'm sorry I'm looking at the upside of things Mr. Ulysses'

'How in the hell is death possibly a good thing? I don't..??'

'I mean it's better than living in a cramped bunker, I can literally see you shower from the divider'

'It's literally better than dying to wolves, also— don't look at me while I'm showering, that's fucking weird'

'The hell am I supposed to do then?'

'I don't know- play the harmonica? Chess? Fuck around with some ammo?'

'Meh..'

'You want me to let you watch me when I shower??'

'If you're up to it then—'

'No! What the hell!'

'Fine.'

The two stopped talking after a while.

A good day or two later the survivor gets a bit irritated by the sound of groaning and whining from the other, Sure he's tired but not that tired.

They laid next to each other in the couch. It was night already, barely anything is lit up. Only a shitty oil lamp and a scented candle that's long since stopped smelling good. There's nothing else to do than stare at each other, the survivor looked at the others face and asked 'Why are you so tired all the time..' His tone was definitely soft, nothing to offend the other survivor just a measly little question till the night starts 'God is killing me, thanks for asking.' The survivor only chuckled.

'This is fucking weird Jon.. I mean- sure the cot is broken but, I could just, sleep on the floor?' He was willing to but the other protests 'Do you want to? We have rat poison on the floor right now, I don't think your ass can't resist at the smell of that. Licking it up like a dog' They laughed but it was pretty awkward 'No I mean, it's weird, we came so far and our first encounter was literally a mugging' the survivor was pretty right, they became alot closer after the apocalypse happened even after up's and mostly down's, No doubt they still disliked each other but it's less.. Mean now.

'It's better if we're friends than enemies, I don't think we would go better if we don't know each other.' The other one turned to look at the survivors eyes 'I think we would both be dead by now.' He smiled. The survivor only laughed before asking another question 'Do you think we would still be friends if this never happened?' He was genuinely curious but the other survivor was Hesitatant to answer

After a good while he finally did respond only with a cracked voice 'It doesn't seem likely.' He turned back to the couch and drifted off right sleep. The survivor didn't get to sleep though, only staring onto the back of the other survivor.

It's weird. They would never be friends if it weren't for the end of the world as we know it. It would be a waste of time if they even attempted to be friends if this whole thing didn't happen but.. They are friends, right here, right now.

Laying next to each other on a single couch, one watching and one resting. They don't hate each other, not now.

Right now all that matters is that they wake up in the morning, them, they wake up. Not one but both. They can't let each other die. Not now. Not here.

Survivors of the apocalypse, only a light from a spider lit lighter and food from stolen boxes.

It's not the life but it's better than not even having anything in the first place. It's nice.

Just cold cans of soup broken open with a pencil and a jug of water, some bread here and there, a checkerboard, a harmonica. One shotgun and a measly packet of cigarettes. Not the most glamorous bunker but they survived throughout so it doesn't really matter now does it. just two friends huddling for warmth in the cold dead bunker.

The world has ended. The lights are out. Everyone is dead. Miraculous Retreat to safety in a barren empty wasteland full of mutants and death.

#Survivor yaoi #Grant Ilvas (oc)#Jonathan S. Ulysses (oc)

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jacepicableme · 1 year

Text

Entry #5: With much certainty, my love.

Much has happened since the last time I uploaded my recent post. In retrospect, from everything that has transpired since then, I find it ironic and somewhat ridiculous that I decided to end my entry streak with an ambiguous note. I guess it was due to the fact that I wasn't sure where I stood between love, life, and death.

As much as I hate to admit, I have started to cast doubt on the happiness my time with @worthleslie evoked.

Being the annoying skeptical cynic I am, I have wondered right from the start whether that joy and tranquility was just temporary distraction. In time, I began to suspect whether it was a ruse to convince me to put my defenses down. That awful wonder grew to become an honest doubt. And with the accompanying turmoil that surrounded us due to my unfinished business with the past, I hesitantly imagined myself back on my relationship hamster wheel.

So when shit hit the fan, when the ghosts of my past and my sins rose from the grave, when the beating and battering commenced, and when I felt a sliver of that happiness slip away from my loosely clenched fists, I almost conceded.

As much as I want to lie to you, reader (including myself), that my silence was a meditation to gain my strength and composure, I was actually contemplating whether it was time to wake up from my fantasy-turned-nightmare. I was on the edge again beside the dark and unending abyss. It was once again deafeningly silent with the doldrums occasionally only broken by unwelcomed thoughts that felt like tendrils pulling me towards the bottomless pit of my depression.

My uncurated words and thoughts that I used to pour onto my partner became words that lodged themselves in my throat - words that I struggled to sputter but inevitably choked me. It is a learned skill to be quiet, an even more difficult skill to stay apathetic whilst the same silence paves the way to create a distance between the strongest bonds.

Needless to say, just like how my last entry title was all about uncertainties, I've also started to become unsure. It felt like the end was looming closer and closer as the days rolled by.

Yet, despite this confession, I pray that you pay no heed to my erroneous meanderings. After all, this is a new entry, a new title, and, more significantly, a new year.

I believe I still have the right to indulge in "turning a new page" or "sprouting a new leaf" sentiments.

It is currently 5 o'clock in the morning as I am typing this from my laptop. Meanwhile, the love of my life is snoring with loud liberty behind me. I do not mind the low hum and thunderous crackle that almost sounds like a broken motorcycle exhaust - the old and rusted kind. It's funny because usually, the slightest noise distracts me, but I have gotten used to her nasal symphony.

We've been together for five months now. We've gotten used to so many things about each other now. To say we tolerated each other this long is an understatement, especially now that we have been living together for exactly a month and two days.

Moving in and living together was not like how I imagined it the first time we searched for a place to stay. The first few days were cold, not just because of the winter solstice but because of the overhanging quandary I'd brought along with my emotional and literal baggage.

I have often questioned when the honeymoon phase would end between me and my partner. I have also acknowledged that our strong personalities would lead to a one-time-big-time fight. It's laughable to think now that I've become the very staunch critic of our relationship in my desperate attempt to take off my rose-colored glasses.

We've fought tooth and nail, hell and back, during the silent period between my last entry and this one. But I digress; the fight wasn't between us. It was a fight against our own prejudices, self-preserving defense-mechanisms, and non-negotiables in order to keep us.

That determination to break away against ourselves and our norms in order to hold on to each other made me realize that there is no reason to think the spark between us is already moot and that our link is weak.

Every relationship is a leap of faith. I know this, yet I view this as a threat rather than something to look forward to. For an adrenaline junkie, I forgot that leaps of faith entail a thrill like no other as we plunge into who knows where.

So as I sit here and type while recounting the now steady streak of oranges in my mood calendar to signify the best days I have had with Aly, I've come to embrace my fall once again with her.

This time, it is clear, the path is vivid. I walk with pronounced certainty in my heart.

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elmaxlys · 2 years

Text

Dreamed I was at uni but also it was very clearly not my uni. Dream has been going on for a while but I only remember from the moment I saw one of my former middleschool classmate, K. I waved hello and was about to go my own way because my parents were waiting for me in the parking lot, as we had to go somewhere. Except he stopped me and asked me if I could show him the way to a study room, in the upper floors, and I was like oof I do not know this part of the building like at all but if the layout is the same it should be possible probably. So I go with him on the upper floors and it's a restauration area so I'm like dude I don't think I can help you, I've never been to this part of the uni, to the point I didn't know there was a restauration area here, you should ask someone else.. He gets all panicky and goes NO! So I'm like oh okay you want me to ask them instead (while internally dying because I'm not good at that stuff). He says no again and stops me physically when I was about to walk toward someone to ask and I go listen, K, (and tbh I'm doubting it's even him since he looks too young to be him, which makes sense in retrospect since I haven't seen him since high-school), I have someone waiting for me so i have to go soon and also i do not know this part of the building like I've told you earlier I'm sorry but I cannot help. So if you want to find those study rooms in the upper floors, either ask someone or let me ask them, at least the number of the room, bc then you can look it up on the localization app. And he goes no no it's okay. And I go well I really have to go tho and he says alright and we say goodbye and I hurry. Behind me, he's joined by someone and that someone says "See? Not everyone is a C" (C being another former classmate of us) I wonder what they mean by that but I hurry to the parking lot.

Somehow I end up somewhere else, at a meeting of sorts. I know no one apart from my older sister. I am like wait I have to go to the car and you (sister) as well :v and she's like nah we have time and everyone is there talking and i'm about to go my way and wait for her in the car when someone comes to me and asks me to help them hold a huuuge poteau like bro what even was it for and I said fine but not for long I have to go. So I hold it. Then it's someone else's turn. And someone else's. I'm about to go back when the poteau falls. Not toward us or the building but toward the outside. There was a scene with people rehearsing music there. I panic and watch in horror.

It's blurry here

They give a fee of 128€ to each of the people there. But they give me 2€ because I wasn't supposed to be there and I'm like thanks very helpful what the fuck. I ask and apparently no one was harmed it's mostly material destruction. I'm immensely relieved.

I finally go to the parking lot. It was dark out. I don't remember why I put down my bag and my 2€ (in 2 coins of 1) but I did? I think I talked to someone, there? Then I ran back to get my bag and 2€. Finally reached the car, my sis was already in and complaining about the fee and the fact I was given money and I'm thinking very uncourteous things very loud but I put on my headphones and ignore her. I wake up.

For the stats: bigender with fluctuations as to the percentage of girl and boy I felt at any given moment. Mostly 50/50 but the girl part went up sometimes. Name: I don't think anyone called me by name 🤔

#dream journal #19/05/2022

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lvyu · 3 years

Text

to have and to hold until you disappear

. . ♡ ･ﾟghostbur x reader, past wilbur x reader

⎯ warning(s): semi-detailed for wilbur's canonical death and the explosion, a mix of sadness of happiness, brief scene and description involving a breakdown, swearing

⎯ wc. 4.4k

notes: woo! little story for @.quackisinnit and their 1k special, congrats to them :) i used prompt eight! ("i love you but i dont know if you feel the same.") and i actually really enjoy how this turned out– also explosion scene isn’t accurate to streams!

happy reading!

my love,

i couldn't sleep tonight, this ravine is quite cold after all. all alone in this cold, dim, sorry excuse for a room. it's been weeks and yet this feeling, this feeling as though i've been misplaced, never ceases.

god, look at me.

once a man in power, reduced to an outcast. funny, isn't it? i doubt if you saw me now you'd love me the same. 'my wilbur' you always called me, right? i wonder would you still call me by that name? would i still be your wilbur, even after i've left you all alone?

...do you get lonely in l'manberg without me by your side? i know i haven't let you visit or even know where i am, but all in do time, my love. all in do time.

[ ⋯ ]

it was funny to you, really.

how wilbur had felt abandoned and betrayed by those he trusted most, yet in the end he was no better. when he pushed that button, when he begged to be killed, he had successfully managed to both betray and abandon those dear to him in a matter of minutes.

it was funny how your last words to him were, "and please... don't do anything stupid, will." how he promised that he would never do such a thing, kissing your forehead before you walked into a war and he prepared to do something so, outrageously stupid.

but by far the funniest thing was how the universe allowed you no time to grieve your lover's death.

ghostbur's introduction was sudden and to put it kindly, a little unnecessary. you were one of the last people to meet ghostbur as well.

you had gone to live with phil for a little, you knew him well enough, and locked yourself away in a room for a couple of weeks after it happened. nobody mentioned that wilbur, well some part of him, still somehow existed and still walked the earth as a ghost.

in retrospect, perhaps that was a good thing. phil knew before you and had purposely avoided the topic of ghostbur, aiding others to do the same.

in the few weeks you'd stayed with him, it became apparent that even the mere mention of wilbur would leave you in tears, inconsolable for hours.

it was just too soon.

eventually you decided you needed to move out of phil's house, feeling too much of a burden. he understood and offered to help you build a new place which you gladly accepted. he let you go off to find an area to set up first.

he regretted not going with you.

[ ⋯ ]

ghostbur didn't venture out of new l'manberg often, but when he did it was to collect cornflowers for his blue or ingredients for his potions.

he didn't bother to let anyone know before, he didn't think people would miss him. the more he thought about his negativity, he realized how silly it sounded. people's faces lit up when they saw him, because he was just such... a beam of happiness, wasn't he?

but if he stopped working, stopped moving and thinking for just a second, he could still feel his heart ache of loneliness.

“this looks okay, i think...”

oh,

that voice,

“don’t know much about.. land finding, i should have asked phil before i left.”

he adored that voice, he loved that voice.

“it’s sort of dull looking, but i can change that!”

...why? why did he love it so much?

[ ⋯ ]

“this is the dullest looking thing ever, will.”

he gasped, faking a hurt look. “it’s not! you’re just jealous!”

“ah yes, i’m so very jealous of...” you looked down at the sweater in your hands. “...this very yellow sweater that looks like if i put it on i would die of heat.”

wilbur snatched the sweater back from you, pouting. “you’re so, so mean.”

you hummed, laying back down on his bed, will following your lead. “if i’m so mean, why hang out with me?”

“you know i’m only joking..

i adore you.”

[ ⋯ ]

oh...

oh!

you were... you were his! his love, his entire world, that’s why he loved your voice so much!

ghostbur tended to act on his emotions with little to no thought, especially if those thoughts could lead to painful memories. his excitement over the possibility of meeting his alive self’s lover overwhelmed him, not even thinking of the likely harm it would cause.

a sudden wave of happiness and calm washed over him the moment he laid eyes on you, one of the few moments he’d truly felt at ease since his appearance. a bright smile formed on his face and in an instant he rushed over to try and hold you. he wasn’t quite sure what compelled him to do so.

perhaps the memories of you flooding back, or just the selfish desire for more of this calm he felt.

everything was suddenly so cold, you were suddenly so cold.

then you heard your name and thought you were hallucinating, so you turned around to find the source of your sudden chills and voice.

you froze.

seeing the person you love again, a person who was supposed to be dead, six feet in the ground, is not something someone can prepare for, ever.

any progress moving on or healing will vanish in seconds, and wounds will open up once more. one could have a lifetime and it would not help ease the confusion, the fear and the anguish you'd feel.

"will..?" your voice was quiet, but luckily he was closed enough to hear it.

"actually, i'm ghostbur, alivebur and i are..." you didn’t give him the chance to finish.

"no, no, no, no..." he unwrapped his arms from shoulders and backed up cautiously. "you died, he died, wilbur died, please stop it..."

a string of 'stop it' and 'why now, god why now' fell from your lips. soon, you had your arms wrapping around your head, as if shielding yourself, eyes closed, uneven breathing.

in and out, in and out, in...

in... in.. wh... wilbur, no, out, it's out.

not him, he wasn't here, he'd never be here again. its in and out, in and out, not.. not..

in, out, in, out.

your breathing only increased and ghostbur was completely clueless. "please don't cry... please, why are you.. please."

[ ⋯ ]

"will, please for the love of whatever god, stop crying, please. it’s a little distracting."

he winced, tears continuing. "easy for you to say, you're not the one with a big fucking cut on your arm." you frowned.

you knew it hurt, of course it did, they got a pretty good hit on him. wilbur was furiously wiping his tears away, but more and more came. "it hurts. lovely... i hate pain so much."

you smiled at the nickname and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. "look, will i know it hurts," he whined. "...but i really, really need you to be still for a minute to finish this up, okay? look, you can squeeze my arm if that helps you."

"im going to fucking squeeze your arm to death."

you smile,

his tears stopped.

[ ⋯ ]

he hated this, ghostbur hated this so much.

you weren't supposed to react this way, why were you crying? he wanted you to stop crying, he didn't want to see you crying. it hurt, it hurt him so much and he couldn't explain why.

a few seconds and you were on the grass, completely gone, his pleads falling on deaf ears. he looked around, looking for something, anything to help you.

“don’t know much about.. land finding, i should have asked phil before i left.”

phil!

he didn't know what happened after he went to get phil. ghostbur could barely speak when he found phil, unconsciously clutching multiple blue, but fortunately it only took your name for phil to realize what had happened and have him frantically asking where.

he heard a door creak and turned around to see a tired phil leaving your room. quickly he turned back around to face the window, softly stroking his blue. phil sighed and took a seat next to him.

"you didn't come back for a while. it's already dark, phil, so silly, coming back after dark." he handed phil a piece of his blue.

he thanked him and glanced back at your door. "it took some time to calm them down, will."

ghostbur traced a little heart on the fogged up window.

"phil, it hurt."

he looked at the heart his son drew.

"it hurt to see them cry."

[ ⋯ ]

“would you like some blue? i should’ve given you some last time.”

ghostbur wasn’t exactly sure why you wished to see him, but he was happy nonetheless. he put the blue in front of you and gave it a little pat as encouragement.

phil watched the scene from the other side of the room, just out of worry. it’d only been a week since you first met him and you’d been locked in your room ever since, but the minute you came out you had asked him to bring ghostbur, needing to talk to him. he was shocked at your request and asked you to reconsider, but you were fixated on speaking to him.

“you...” you looked down at the blue clump he’d placed in front of you, covering it with your hand. “ghost..bur, i want to.. i want us to be friends, of some sort, if that’s okay... is that okay?”

he stopped fiddling with the blue in his hands and jumped from his seat. "do you mean that?"

you paused for a second and looked at him, taking everything in, and nodded.

and it was cold again.

and you were cold because he was hugging you again, giggling happily. "i'm happy, thank you... oh!" he parted from the hug and pulled out a white flower.

"it's not blue, but it's still pretty!"

he really wasn't... wilbur, was he?

"thank you, ghostbur."

a shaky sigh left you, and you pulled your knees to your chest as best you could. ghostbur wished you and phil a nice day, and he left saying he had some fatherly business to tend to. he took a seat across from you, where ghostbur sat not too long ago.

"he's not him, you know that, you need to know that."

you twirled the daisy around between your fingers, focusing on it. "i wonder how long it'll take for this flower to wilt. want to place a bet, phil?"

he grabbed your hand, stopping your motions. "tell me you know it's not him. tell me you're not doing this because you think you can be with him like wilbur."

[ ⋯ ]

"did you know daises supposedly symbolize purity and innocence?"

you looked at the flower in your hand and pressed the head to your lips. "and you're giving this to me because im just oh so innocent and pure?"

wilbur scoffed and closed his eyes. "please, you're just the opposite of pure. a complete menace, really."

he felt you moving his hair and opened his eyes, seeing you laying on your stomach, trying to tuck something behind his ear. "hello, no boundaries, when did you get here?"

you sat up, proudly smiling.

he loved that smile.

"shut it, i was just trying to make you prettier." though he hadn't looked or asked yet, he knew you put the flower in his hair.

"well, do i?"

yeah, he did.

"as pretty as a princess, your highness."

you laid back down next to him, facing to look at him. he wasn't smiling, but he looked relaxed.

he looked happy,

and that flower was good on him too.

[ ⋯ ]

it looked so sad, ripped from the ground.

“i can barely say his name, phil,” you spoke in a hushed voice. “and when i do i feel like i can barely breathe anymore.”

he let let of your hand and sat back, silently urging you to continue. “do you think that maybe if i talk to him, it’ll help? because phil, i don’t want to feel like this forever because it hurts and i’m so, so tired. i know you’re hurting too, so please... please just let me try.”

you pressed the head of the flower to your lips, waiting for his response. you knew he wasn’t wilbur, and he wouldn’t ever be wilbur, but you couldn’t avoid him or moving on forever.

he sighed and headed towards his own room. “if you want to, but don’t push yourself too far.”

“i could say the same about you.”

ghostbur was kind, though he did seem childish and forgetful. since you told him you wanted to be friends with him, he clung to you day in and day out. he spoke about all kinds of things, sometimes he would ramble for hours about a few animals he saw in the forest. his home was neat and tidy, surrounded by books and potion making stands. it almost reminded you of your shared home with wilbur not long ago, though much smaller and lacking a key component.

in the few months you’d spent together, he’d also recently grown fond of holding your hand. to be more specific, he enjoyed interlocking your pinkies together.

it hurt when you touched, and that wasn’t even considering the fact that he was always so cold. if anything, that was what hurt least. after the first time, you strayed away from his touch as subtly as you could. moving away when he touched your shoulder to pick up a flower or removing your hand from his to wave to a passerby.

but it didn’t hurt as much anymore.

you’d been held before, of course you had, but it’d been a while since it hadn’t been out of pity or shared pain. when ghostbur hugged you it was because he wanted to, because he enjoyed you and your company. it was something you hadn’t felt in a long time, and it was as wonderful as you remembered.

he was cold, freezing almost, but somehow when he hugged you it felt warm.

“i have found a flower!” you jumped, nearly dropping the blaze powder on the floor. you put the powder on the stone counter and let out a sigh of relief, seeing it was only ghostbur.

between both his hands he held a flower, and you heard him congratulate himself quietly. “it’s a white tulip, at least i think it is,” it was actually, he was right. “here... you.. go!”

ghostbur tucked your hair behind your ear and placed the flower delicately. “i hope it doesn’t fall. you can adjust it to make it better, though.”

you smiled and thanked him, going back to the potion.

lately, you’d been helping him make his invisibility potions, along with others that he enjoyed experimenting with. his favorites to make, besides invisibility, were night vision and instant harming potions. he didn’t let you help him with the harming potions, insisting they were too dangerous to handle.

“don’t touch that, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

[ ⋯ ]

“will, i have made just about every single potion you can think of, i think i can handle this one.”

he grabbed your hands and walked, making you walk backwards too. “and i have helped you with all of them just about a dozen times, and i once ended up unconscious and bleeding for a day.”

“that is,” you pulled him down by your connected hands and kissed him softly. “because,” again. “you’re kind of stupid.” last time.

he chuckled and wrapped his arms around your waist. “stupid?”

you nodded.

“i’m just so,” he lifted you up and squeezed, causing a scream from you. “stupid, right?”

though you couldn’t see his face, you could tell he had the biggest grin on his face. such a dumbass, you thought, though you couldn’t help but laugh at his actions.

[ ⋯ ]

“i’m almost done with this batch, if you need some right now.” ghostbur shook his head and hugged you from behind, both to hold you and see what you were up to.

he enjoyed times like these.

when you were in his little home in the sewers of new l’manberg (“i promise it doesn’t smell, i’m fine, bur!”), helping him with his tasks or reading with him. he enjoyed seeing your smile too, seeing you laugh and getting to hold you. they were small, some domestic-like things, but they made him the happiest ghost.

you’d been happier more recently, too.

he loved that.

he could still remember the day he met you, your shaking and cries and the complete terror and panic he felt. it was odd to him, usually he forgot unpleasant memories, but he could remember that day so, so clearly. it still made him upset to think about it, but before he could go too deep, you’d typically show up with a smile on your face to greet him. somehow always managing to fix all his worries and doubts, reminding him that it was in the past.

that you were here with him, and how you could so easily allow yourself to feel happy with him.

and he loved how you made him feel so happy in return too, like he was walking on the soft clouds in the sky. often by just doing the littlest things, no grand gestures ever needed.

he felt a small poke at his side and looked back towards you. the potions had long been put away and sorted into their place. instead you sat on the counter, holding a beat up old book and looking at him with curious eyes.

"what d'you think about when you disappear like that?" you asked.

he blinked and looked towards the floor in confusion. "dis...appear?" it was his turn to be curious now. ghostbur didn't disappear, as far as he knew anyways. he didn't disappear, did he?

noticing his incoming panic, you waved to get his attention. "wait, wait, no, i don't mean literally disappear, bur." he shifted his gaze back to you. "i just mean you look lost in thought a lot, i was just wondering what you thought about."

ah, he knew what you meant now.

"well, you mostly, sometimes friend or fundy and phil, but you mostly." and oh, that caught your attention.

a part of you told you to leave it alone, tell him that it was good to know or to just say okay and switch topics. but another part of you was curious, almost desperate to know what he meant by 'well, you mostly', and what better time than the present?

if there was one thing about ghostbur, it was that he was honest to a fault.

"what do you mean by mostly me, bur?"

he opened the book in your hands and opened it, 'aww'ing at content inside.

"bur?" you carefully grabbed and moved his hands away. "what does mostly me mean?"

"um..." your hands were warm, he noticed. "well, i think about you a lot." you nodded, but continued to hold his hands in your own.

"or do you want to know what.. i think about? i'm sorry i don't– can you ask again?"

the truth was that he did know what you meant, but he wasn't sure if he wanted you to know what the answer was. playing dumb always worked at getting him out of an uncomfortable situation before, but something told him you wouldn't let him play dumb this time.

"that's what i meant, yeah."

there was no out this time, was there?

he wasn’t stupid.

sure ghostbur was an amnesiac, and sure he was the silly little comic relief character, but he wasn’t stupid. he understood the weight the phrase ‘i love you’ carried, he understood how messed up his feelings for you were, and he understood how badly hearing those words in a romantic sense, coming from ghostbur of all people, would damage you.

the two of you came so far since then, and he cherished that more than anything in the world.

he remembered every little thing about you, since the day he saw you looking for a home. ever since that day, slowly, memories would come to him. memories of you, of your relationship and friendship. every argument, every touch, every smile and laugh.

was it really so awful to want that again...? was it selfish?

he knew you were calling out for him, he had ‘disappeared’ again, he knew he had. perhaps if he waited long enough, you’d drop the topic and he wouldn’t have to ruin anything.

perhaps he wouldn’t have to lose you again.

but when he looked at you, so much warmth and care in your eyes, how could he lie to you any longer? for how longer could he keep up his facade, keep lying to you, to everyone and himself that he didn’t wish to call you his once more.

“i remember everything when it comes to you, do you know that?” he speaks so quietly, barely audible, looking at the floor. “and i don’t know why, i forget everything, but when it comes to you i just can’t.”

truthfully, he had scared you a little, going away for so long, but you brushed that aside and continued to listen. “and i try, i try to forget when you cry or we have an argument. i couldn’t understand why for the longest time, you know? i thought i was broken even further than i already was, but i was wrong.”

you paused, curiosity gone in an instant. “bur, you don’t.. have to if you don’t want to, we can drop it.” you had already heard this years ago and you knew what came at the end of the confession, you knew what would happen at the end of the story, you lived that story.

[ ⋯ ]

smoke filled your lungs and you coughed, trying to wave it out of your face. one second you were trying to shield yourself with niki and fundy and the next you were laying on the ground, weak and bruised. there was a constant ringing in your ears, and it was so fucking annoying, you just wanted it gone.

someone lifted you up, they were talking to you, at least you think they were. over all the ringing it was near impossible to hear anything more than a muffle.

with a hand still clutching your arm, you tried to walk back, only to trip and immediately fall to the ground again.

“no! hey, we need to be careful,” it sounded like fundy, but dust from the crumbling debris left you blind. “can you hear me now?” you nodded and looked up to see fundy, just as you thought you would.

with his help, you steadied yourself and looked towards the stands, only to see a gaping hole where it should be. looking down you saw stone and andesite, any chairs or pathways long gone.

“fun.. fundy?” you looked to him for answers, but instead he stood, staring at a little hole in the mountain, fear and shock on his face.

before you could look at what he was looking at, he looked back and tried to push you away from the scene. you protested, trying to get him to leave you alone, claiming you were old enough to see whatever damage had been done. faintly, you heard tommy and quackity’s yells and froze.

you shoved fundy’s hands off you and ran as best you could where tommy stood, stumbling and crashing on the harsh ground. but even from your position you could see him. you could see both of them, and you could see the shiny, bloody blade through wilbur’s abdomen.

and everything went still, and nothing felt real anymore. you couldn’t feel, couldn’t hear anything. the only thing you could do was see– see the horrific scene of wilbur, your wilbur, dying in front of you.

then the world continued as if nothing had happened.

there was screaming and cries in the back, and you felt yourself being grabbed, but nothing really seemed to matter.

‘don’t do anything stupid, will’

it was a simple request and he promised he could never,

he promised.

[ ⋯ ]

you lived that story, and you didn’t want to relive it– you just couldn’t live it again.

“i’m broken, i think i forever will be, but you... you help in a way.” he was holding your hands now. “and i know i can’t ask you to reciprocate, or even wish to be near me, but please, let me admit this once and for all to you.” tears were falling down both of your faces now, and it burned him so bad, but he could mope about it later.

you only lowered your head in response, but you didn’t back away from his touch, instead bringing him slightly closer to you.

“i do adore you, i won’t ever stop, but what hurts the most is that i love you, but i don’t know if you feel the same.”

there are little things in life that hurt more than true heartbreak. it’s not like a burn from spilt hot water, it’s not a cut or stab from a sword, not even like being engulfed in flames. because when burnt or stabbed, you know the pain will end soon, whether by healing or death, but with heartbreak there is no set time for an end or even when the healing will begin.

the day wilbur left was the day everything fell apart. your only wish was to hold him, to go back and time and say you were there for him, no matter what thoughts he had. that he wasn’t crazy as everyone else said.

life’s unfair, it always has been and will continue to be. no do overs, no magical wishes could be granted.

but the day ghostbur brought you a daisy and set it on phil’s kitchen table for you to have, you started to believe that perhaps you could rebuild everything again, recover from the shitshow wilbur had left.

rather than will, ghostbur was here now, and he would be until he wouldn’t be. you pulled him into a hug which he accepted, and stood there with him for a while, doing nothing but holding onto each other. his sobbing only worsened as yours calmed down, but you merely reached to stroke his hair to calm him.

you knew your answer and he did too, he knew it from the moment he’d realize just how far he’d fallen.

but he just wanted to cherish you for a little longer,

and all you wanted was to cherish him for a little longer.

#mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt fanfiction #wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #mcyt wilbur x reader #c! wilbur soot x reader #c! wilbur x reader #mcyt angst #mcyt x reader angst #dsmp angst #dsmp x reader angst #wilbur soot x reader angst #wilbur x reader angst

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mavy1 · 3 years

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my aunt trains horses and does dressage competitively so I know a little about it? but I actually would like to hear your thoughts about riding culture and your experiences. I've done archery since I was 3 (w a lil training bow, but still I've shot for 14 years) but I hurt my shoulder seriously about a year ago and haven't shot since. injuries always complicate your relationship with a sport, especially when you invest so much into it and then have it taken away

I’m sorry about your shoulder :( God yeah, it sure does. But the thing is, physically I’d be capable of getting back on a horse, despite my general pain levels, but mentally I can’t make myself do it.

The thing about riding is, even at the best of times, it’s dangerous. Some of my grievances are more general, some more discipline-specific, and some very specific to my old coach.

In general, I’d say that riders have to work so hard to make people who are unfamiliar with the sport even believe it is one, that we’ve actually developed an extremely unhealthy relationship with the amount of danger involved. It’s hard to argue it’s not a real sport when you point out the potential for injury and death is so high, which is a weird source of pride at times. Like, I understand that always trying to get back on after falling off has it’s uses - if you don’t reintroduce yourself to it almost immediately after a fall happens, the anxiety just grows afterwards to almost crippling levels, so it’s best to just do it as fast as possible, but at the same time, falling off can result in serious injury, which should be treated seriously, But it isn’t. If you can stand, you’re getting back on, even if it’s actually somewhat inadvisable. Personally, with retrospect I can say that after may major accident I probably shouldn’t have gotten back on (luckily for me, my regular coach was away, and the lady that filled in for her was really nice, and just had me get on and walk around and not do anything major - I don’t know what would have happened if I had tried), and no matter how many times I insisted I was fine, someone should have taken me to the hospital. I mean, I couldn’t even bend down afterwards to take off my boots. I could barely stand. But no one really tried to convince me. That’s just how it is. And I wanted to prove that I was tough, and an real rider, and that I deserved to be there. I guess the jokes on me, because I’ll pay for that probably for the rest of my life. And it’s like that every time. Even when I had a bad fall AT a competition during a warm up, no one even bothered to check that I was okay - they just cleaned me up and sent me into the ring. I placed fourth, and so that was the end of the discussion.

Eventing is especially bad for this. Of the English disciplines, I’d say it’s one of the most dangerous. I used to hear a lot of people say things like “of course it’s a real sport, don’t you know how many people have died doing it?” I doubt they would have said those things, if they new then that in a few years one of our barn mates and her horse would be killed during a competition. And the thing is, it doesn't have to be like that. You won’t ever be able to eliminate all the risk, but there are ways to build and design courses that are less dangerous. But they won’t. Because that element of danger is part of the culture, and in everyone’s mind if you’re not ready for it, you just shouldn’t be competing at that level. Which is true, but how would you know if you’re ready if you don’t try? You shouldn’t have to face death for overestimating your abilities.

Which brings me to my former coach. I read a lot of articles, afterwards, about why the death that had happened did happen. Some of them pointed to the course design being inherently dangerous, which I agree with. Some of them suggested she probably shouldn’t have been competing at that level at all. I have to say, it had been a few years since I’d seen her ride, so I can’t say for sure, but when we rode together, I would say she was a bit of a reckless rider. But that was the kind of person my coach liked. Someone she could push and push to higher and higher levels, so she could look good and make more money. She did it to everyone - my sister had a fall in competition basically entirely as a result of competing at a higher level than she was ready for, and I know it’s happened to others too. But it’s easier to do to someone with no fear. And bad things can and do happen. The ego on that woman caused, or at least contributed, to a lot of trauma for a lot of people. And you either get indoctrinated into this weird way of having no fear and ignoring all pain to your own detriment, or you drop out. Some, like my sister, try to make a go of it on their own, which is hard because she’s the most qualified coach around - she’s the only (former) Olympic-qualified rider still in the province. Some, like me, quit all together. Which is a shame, because I spent a huge amount of my life devoted to it, and when I first stopped I really had no idea who I was without it. But ultimately, I think it was for the best. Maybe I could solve my own problems with therapy of various kinds, but I can’t solve the inherent issues of the sport, and I don’t want to have to deal with things like that either. I can remake myself as something else, thank you very much.

#asks #sorry this got... long....#and If I thought about it more I'm sure I'd have more to say #but... yeah it's... rough I guess #but hey! dressage!? That's part of eventing so I've done that too!#I used to hate it when I was younger because it was the most boring part #but after being injured i liked it more by comparison #mostly because I got kind of afraid of jumping...#anyways it's neat that you know someone who does it too!#tobeasyouarebeing

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ais-n · 4 years

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Same anon as before x) I've started to reread the DC version book 1. I also stopped to compare the changes from the original website version. Was there a reasoning behind why you decided to cut out a lot of Hsin's interaction with the bar owner Jessica? Like his mutual physical interest in her and the kiss ect? Was it influenced in any way by fan opinions?

Hi again! <3 + :D

This is where I was like “Oh I bet I misunderstood that other question” lol Sorry again about that if I did, or sorry again if I didn’t and thought I did XD

Ok so for the purposes of lessening confusion (and yes, I am aware I am the sole reason it became so confusing haha) I’m going to take “original website version” to reference what we currently call “Original Evenfall” aka the pdf/ebook you can download for free at aisylum.com/project/icos. That is in comparison to the “edited” version aka Director’s Cut aka DC. So when I say original/DC that’s what I’m referencing. Hope that helps/isn’t confusing and makes sense.

With the whole DC edit, full disclosure: the whole reason that came about was 1) we felt like there were parts of the first book especially that definitely needed a lot of editing to flow better and make sense, but also 2) we had been discussing how it would be cool to eventually get them printed in book format somehow for physical copies.

We agreed on this; what we had different views on was how to go about it. Me being wordy ass me, I thought we should just edit/add/whatever as made sense for the story, and pay zero attention to the word count itself. “Sonny” specifically went into it wanting us to cut a percentage of the word count in order to make it more of a “normal” sized book, which should help with physical publishing and maybe getting new readers, etc. I forget what ‘his’ goal was - I think the goal was to cut 33% of the word count out or something? 25%? I just remember I thought it was way too large a percentage because I’m wordy af lol

Anyway we split the book in half more or less and each of us was responsible for trying to cut things down as much as possible while maintaining the story etc. I ended up having most of Monterrey because I wanted to update Jorge and all that. But because of the way the story is written, things changed in the early part of the book would affect the way things were done in the later half of the book.

From what I recall, we both felt the Jessica parts were a bit over-dramatic at times and maybe detracted from the story. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say that when we had the book in context of the rest of DC editing, the way Jessica was handled stood out too much if it remained the Original Evenfall way in the midst of the DC editing. So that ended up getting changed a decent amount. I honestly can’t remember who changed it but it doesn’t really matter since ultimately no matter what one person changed, the other had to agree it was okay or they were okay enough with that change before we published it.

I think at the time we were trying to make things flow better, which meant lessening some of the drama which also affected a bit how Hsin interacted with people and how Boyd responded to those interactions. It’s possible that was the right choice, I don’t know.

But in retrospect, I’m not sure that the change did any favors for Boyd. His story always was very specifically built piece by piece to show why he reacts how he does at different points in the story. He was hella insecure and full of self-doubt and jealous and just emotional in general over the whole Jessica thing because of the way that was first written, and that built into why he does or doesn’t do certain things not only in the rest of Evenfall, but also into Afterimage and even Interludes.

We were initially thinking that after we did Evenfall DC we would DC the rest of the books, so the thinking was we could smooth out some of those things in later books. But since those DC versions never happened, it just ends up making Boyd seem particularly melodramatic at times in later scenes, if a person hasn’t read the original and only read DC. Which then I think led into the way some readers viewed everything going on especially in Afterimage and Interludes. By the time Fade rolls around, it ends up mostly evening out and being pretty consistent across the board in how readers view things, but I think some of those changes in DC ended up being detrimental to the flow of the story in the context of only having one DC book instead of all 4 DC books flowing together using the same points of reference and building off those.

So, generally - we probably changed Jessica thinking that it made more sense at that time in context of the way the rest of the scenes were written, but that wasn’t thinking in terms of being in context of the way everything was written in later books. So now some things Hsin does or thinks later, or Boyd does or thinks later, or even other people do/think later, seem more melodramatic or odd than they need to be. I think we thought we were doing a good job of keeping the key points needed, and generally we did in terms of plot - like, Jessica As A Possible Rival is still a thing, but it’s less imminent of a feeling because Hsin’s reactions aren’t as intense or whatever as they had been the first time, which is like a little ripple going down the line affecting other things we didn’t realize.

In the end, I’m still glad we made the DC version - it’s super fun having a physical copy, and there are some parts of that version I like a lot, that didn’t show in the original version. New scenes we wrote, or characters we got to expand on. But because “Sonny” had gone into it specifically wanting a specific amount of words cut, we did also cut some scenes out in order to more meet that goal, or adjust the way some scenes were written. And then on top of that, just editing anything will affect the way other stuff is written in that book. Since Boyd especially as a narrator/person is so much built on cause and effect, action and consequence, I tried to keep the spirit of that intact in the DC version but I think I failed in some parts and didn’t realize it at the time or just was so tired of editing I was like “Fuck it; let’s just go with this... It will never be perfect, so this can be good enough.”

By the way, I’m not blaming “Sonny” for this or anything - I’m just mentioning the whole word count thing because it was a thing we didn’t really agree on, but it ended up becoming the shared goal because it was the easiest way to move forward, and because I thought maybe there was enough repetition in the narration it would end up being a moot point. I was all for editing and cutting out unnecessary stuff, I just got hung up on the idea of having to meet a quota for it. I just didn’t want that to be part of the goal; I just wanted the goal to be improving the story as a whole.

But on the other hand, because we had that specific goal, we may have gone about editing a bit differently, like writing new scenes that combined plot points from other disparate scenes. And I like some of those new scenes a lot. So it probably works out in the end, it just means there’s a lot of give and take when comparing the two versions.

Ultimately, it probably makes sense for someone who likes the series to read both versions, if they are up to it, to really get an idea of everything that was written as happening in canon, even though that canon at times is a bit opposed to each other between versions.

Which is probably a super confusing way of going about things and no doubt is a super confusing answer - but hopefully it made sense in some form ^^;

#Anonymous #ask ais #icosbooks #icos #in the company of shadows #longpost

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mittensmorgul · 6 years

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So I've been having Thoughts and Feelings about Dean being the lead torturer for TFW. In 10x21 and also in 13x22 (and obviously in 4x16 and probably others I've missed). What do you think?

Hi there. I have had loads of thoughts and feelings about this, but probably not more than Dean himself has. S4 was agonizing as the true horror of what he experienced in Hell unfolded. We learned little by little what actually happened to him. First that he remembered it at all (in 4.06! IT TOOK UNTIL 4.06 for even US the audience to learn he remembered things about Hell), and Sam didn’t even know that Dean remembered any of it until Uriel told Sam to ask Dean what he remembered in 4.07.

I’m putting this under a cut, because this essentially turned into a retrospective of torture on Supernatural post 4.01, and heeeeck it’s kinda dark. It also got really, really long.

Sam begins pestering Dean for details in 4.08, and at the end of the episode Dean tells him he’s not going to lie anymore, but he’s not gonna talk about it, either. Because it was just THAT traumatizing for him. EIGHT EPISODES LATER.

It’s not until the final scenes of 4.10 that Dean breaks down and tearfully confesses some of his experience to Sam.

Dean: It wasn't four months, you know.Sam: What?Dean: It was four months up here, but down there... I don't know. Time's different. It was more like 40 years.Sam: My God.Dean: They, uh... They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you... Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly... I would be whole again... like magic... just so they could start in all over. And Alastair... at the end of every day... every one... he would come over. And he would make me an offer. To take me off the rack... if I put souls on... if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines. For 30 years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The -- the things that I did to them.Sam: Dean... Dean, look, you held out for 30 years. That's longer than anyone would have.Dean: How I feel... This... inside me... I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.

And it’s not until the final scene of 4.11, aka that episode that they intentionally tried to craft as something so awful no network would ever air it again, like, deliberately scraping the bottom of the barrel to see how bad an episode they could get away with making, including all the shock value and zero redemptive quality, that we learn the absolute horror of Dean’s experience. Not only did he torture, but he liked it, and he can never forgive himself for that.

DEAN: You know, I felt for those sons of bitches back there. Lifelong torture turns you into something like that.SAM: You were in hell, Dean. Look, maybe you did what you did there, but you're not them. They were barely human.DEAN: Yeah, you're right. I wasn't like them. I was worse. They were animals, Sam, defending territory. Me? I did it for the sheer pleasure.SAM: What?DEAN: I enjoyed it, Sam. They took me off the rack, and I tortured souls, and I liked it. All those years, all that pain. Finally getting to deal some out yourself. I didn't care who they put in front of me. Because that pain I felt, it just slipped away. No matter how many people I save, I can't change that. I can't fill this hole. Not ever.

And it can’t possibly get worse than that. He’d essentially described what it feels like to become a demon, and it seems he was well along in the process when he was finally pulled from Hell and restored to his body with all the demon smoke scrubbed off his soul. Or else it wouldn’t trouble him to live with this memory of what he became there.

Note also that this is the turning point where Sam begins to buy into Ruby’s claims that Dean is “weak,” and too weak to really follow through with the hunt for Lilith. And Sam returns in the very next episode to start drinking Ruby’s blood and practicing his demon magic again. He believes that Dean “broke” permanently, and no longer trusts his ability. He begins to see Dean as “fragile.”

Which is why he goes running to Dean’s rescue in 4.16. Cas is no longer “in charge,” because he’d grown too sympathetic to the humans in his charge (literally Dean specifically, and Uriel was now running the show. And Uriel WANTED Dean “broken.” He wanted Dean damaged enough to be subservient to Heaven’s will.

Everything that happened in that episode (thanks, Edlund) is critical for understanding Dean and Cas. Cas begins to understand Dean on a truly human level:

DEAN: You ask me to open that door and walk through it, you will not like what walks back out.CASTIEL: For what it's worth, I would give anything not to have you do this.

But he does it anyway. Meanwhile Cas begins to learn that something is truly rotten in the state of Heaven, that their orders aren’t all coming for reliable sources and that some angels have defected to Lucifer’s side in this. Dean learns the horrific truth that his “failure” in Hell was more than a moral or personal failing, but was literally the first key in starting the apocalypse. But after going through this fresh hell together, he and Cas are finally on the same side in this... on the side of Humanity over the squabbles of Heaven and Hell.

Sidebar to note that in the very next episode, Zachariah had to step in with a false reality to motivate Dean into even wanting to continue the fight... even if Zachariah’s machinations tended to go sideways on him... but this is still important to note for Dean’s next run-in with torture, because it was yet another run-in with Zachariah and a manipulative vision of a horrific future where Dean apparently DIDN’T comply with Heaven’s wishes where he discovered his future-self was casually engaging in torture again.

In 5.04, Dean is disgusted with his “future self” that he seemed to rely heavily on his skill as a torturer. He called it classy. And look how well all that turned out for him... >.>

Over the years, Dean’s had multiple other run-ins with torture-- either performing it himself or his observations about others engaging in it. I’m just gonna make a list here for reference purposes, because I think a pattern emerges:

6.03: Dean is HIGHLY judgmental of Castiel’s treatment of Aaron Birch, a CHILD who Cas “can’t care about” because he’s at war... Dean’s reaction is expected, but it’s also used to demonstrate Sam’s LACK of a reaction. We’re supposed to be suspicious of why Sam would just... stand there and watch this happen, and we’re supposed to be very concerned for Sam because he doesn’t become upset the way Dean does.

6.07: Dean is HIGHLY judgmental of Sam (especially now that he knows Sam has no soul) when he learns what Samuel is doing with the Alphas he captures-- that he’s torturing them for information, but Sam doesn’t know what information.

6.10: This one’s full of torture on all sides >.> Dean is tied up and threatened with torture by Meg, Meg is eventually captured and tortured, but Dean kills Christian-possessed-by-a-demon. Dean then turns around and traps Crowley, and threatens him with Meg torturing him... not Dean himself doing the torture, but he’s tired of being on Crowley’s payroll trying to earn back Sam’s soul, and he seems less fussy about torturing demons than people, but still not doing it himself.

6.19: we see, and Bobby sees, Cas torture one of the people Eve had turned into a Jefferson Starship, for information on Eve’s location. I highly doubt that Bobby actually shared that fact with Dean, because he seemed downright horrified enough. And the pain of 6.20 is gonna hit Dean like a ton of bricks, so I like to think he didn’t know about Cas’s casual torture here.

6.21: But as horrific as everything in 6.20 was, it drove Dean to this point of bleak despair, learning of Cas’s betrayal that goes back more than a year, with the final straw being Lisa and Ben’s kidnapping. Dean... breaks. He grimly picks up his torture implements and tries to find where Lisa and Ben are being held by trapping and torturing demons. He’s so distraught he nearly gets himself killed, but Cas arrives just in time to save him. Meanwhile Sam resorts to a different tactic-- summoning Balthazar and asking him for help. Cas finds out that Balthazar “betrayed” him to the Winchesters, and kills him. It’s... a terrible state of affairs all around.

7.06: With a captured Leviathan, it’s Bobby who sets about systematically-- well not torturing per se, but trying to figure out what might even hurt or kill a leviathan. It’s effectively the same as torture, though, and thank heck Dean isn’t the one carrying it out. Enter: the season of throwing cleaning products at bad things.

7.15: Dean is tied up and tortured again, this time by someone he’d tied up and tortured back during the apocalypse, someone who’d been possessed by a demon they needed information from, and yet someone who claimed to want to help and actually consented to the torture if it got the demon to talk... but it was all lies, and now the guy wanted “his demon” back.

Then there was Purgatory, where everything was “pure.” It was 24/7 WHERE’S THE ANGEL, and interrogating everything he could catch and killing everything else. It was about finding Cas and surviving everything else. And it’s fucking scary. When he gets back, he’s shaken by his experiences there, but he’s also finally got a different context to associate with his abilities as a torturer. Something “safer” to pin those associations on at any rate rather than pointless gleeful torture for torture’s sake.

8.02: We see Dean resort, via flashback to his torturing a monster in Purgatory, to a similar but slightly more restrained technique (slamming a witness against a wall, choking him, and holding a knife to his neck) to get information back in the real world. He doesn’t go through with physical harm, but heck... that was torture.

8.07: But then Cas miraculously comes back. Dean’s wary, but it’s not Dean doing the torturing in this episode. It’s Crowley, torturing Kevin. Well, Dean does threaten a demon that Linda captured into revealing Crowley’s location, and then kills the demon when they get the information. >.>

8.10: Again, it’s Crowley doing the torturing, of Samandriel. It also becomes clear that Cas is suffering the aftereffects of some similar form of torture inflicted on him by Naomi, and his actions bear this out when he’s ordered to kill amandriel. It seems that Dean is put off again by torture, concerned for Cas, but refuses to even listen to information Crowley’s minion tried to share before killing him outright (whoopsie... that could’ve saved some trouble in 8.17...)

8.15: Dean is tortured by a witch (and Sam is, too), and they’re forced to relive hell-related memories. Not fun...

8.17: Dean describes Cas’s interrogation technique as “zero dark thirty,” and is rather horrified. He’s beaten and nearly killed by Cas before he breaks through... Cas heals him, and he finally learns that Cas has been controlled by Naomi this entire time, but then Cas flees, now being controlled by the Angel Tablet itself, with his only mission to protect that tablet at all costs.

I think it’s fair to say that Dean, by this point, has some fairly complicated associations with torture.

8.21: Cas is tortured by Crowley, and the Angel Tablet is stolen from him, but he escapes.

8.22: Basically one long, slow torture by Crowley, killing people they’ve saved until they agree to his demands to turn over the Demon Tablet.

9.02: Sam and Dean have to save other hunters from being tortured by Abaddon. They were a trap designed to capture the Winchesters, but Gadreel-in-Sam was not something they’d been expecting...

9.03: Yeah, April tortures Cas, but Sam and Dean also capture a “rogue reaper” and torture him for information on Cas’s location. Dean had no difficulty cutting into a reaper who had been dispatched to capture and torture Cas for info...

9.09: Cas is captured and tortured by an angel faction, but managed to steal another angel’s grace and save himself.

And then in 9.11, Dean takes on the Mark of Cain, and is affected by it for the next season and a half... wherein he wrestles with the “darkness” in him, and then whoopsie, finds out that a lot of that darkness in him was The Darkness and not him at all...

Which period covers one of your original episodes you’d asked about: 10.21.

This was Dean’s final descent into the darkness of the Mark of Cain. I mean, even back in 10.14, there was a lot of references to what he was asked to do back in 4.16, and the same sort of vibe, with the twist that Dean KNOWS he needs to do this, and that he’s literally the only person in the world who can. So instead of grim acceptance and resignation, he basically psychs himself up for killing Cain, puts a plan in place, and does what needs to be done.

In 10.14, it’s no longer, “if I go in there, you won’t like what comes out,” but “I need to go in there, regardless of what comes out.”

So even if this isn’t a torture situation, it’s a moment for Dean to confront that similar moment (and loads of others like it) from his past.

10.21 I take with several grains of salt, because first of all it’s a Bucklemming episode, and they’re infamous for a gratuitous use of torture, sexualized violence, and general skeeviness. But also, this is Dean succumbing to the Mark of Cain/The Darkness. He does the torturing because he’s pragmatic. He’s good at it, and he’s also already “tainted” by it in ways that Sam isn’t (or at least not to this degree... Sam had his own run with darkness at the beginning of s10 when he was torturing demons for information on Dean, not to mention his treatment of Rowena in the run up to the end of s10, which absolutely also counts as torture).

10.22: Dean gives into the darkness, and while it’s not presented as torture, he’s an asshole who torments the parents of a kidnapped girl, slaughters his way through the entire Styne family, and nearly kills Cas before walking out.

But then the MoC is gone, and Dean’s himself again for the first time in a year and a half.

Through s11, Dean is more often the witness to torture (Cas under the Attack Dog Spell, the various things the Darkness perpetuates such as the Zompires, and the werewolf victims in 11.17) or the victim of torture (by the naczer... nachez... the ghoulpires in 11.04, by the demon in 11.15) than the perpetrator.

The BMoL and Lucifer were behind most of the torturing in s12, forcing Dean to refresh his perspective on those morally grey areas.

I think another important episode you missed was 13.07, where they capture and confront Ketch, who’d been torturing and killing witches for information on Rowena’s whereabouts. Dean sees through Ketch’s lies from the start, and has no problem torturing Ketch. (again, this is Bucklemming, so have your serving of salt) But Dean knows who and what Ketch is, and that goes a long way, I think, to making it easier for him to dole out torture in this case.

13.14: Donatello has been corrupted by the demon tablet and attacks Sam. Dean attempts to interrogate him, but Donatello is too powerful and nearly suffocates him with magic. Cas falls on his sword, carrying out a horrific torture of stripping Donatello’s memories from him, leaving him brain dead, because Dean and Sam had not wanted to kill Donatello, despite that essentially being the only way to stop him. And it tortured Cas as much as it tortured Donatello, as we saw the results of that particular ability of Castiel’s demonstrated by the broken and tormented version of him in the alternate universe in 13.22.

And while it’s also Bucklemming, I will give credit to 13.22 for demonstrating the parallel between the AU!Castiel version of torture, and the cooperative version that Dean and Cas carried out together. AU!Castiel was reprogrammed to the point of breaking under the weight of the horrors he’d perpetrated, and his only purpose, which he seemed to take pleasure in, was this specific form of torture for information, stripping the memories from his victims until nothing was left.

We had this particular horror set up both with Donatello, but also a season earlier in 12.11 when Dean’s memories were disappearing one by one, until nothing would’ve been left of him. He’s got a very personal association with that particular form of torture.

And in full disclosure here, this is one of my personal biggest fears. I do not like amnesia as a trope, I do not like reading it, I avoid stuff based around loss of identity, because it’s triggering and nothankyou I do not need a psychotic break today. So... suffice it to say, the lack of my going into explicit detail here is a method of self-preservation, and I thank y’all for not posing more direct questions about it. I will not answer them.

But Dean and Cas working together, getting information from someone who’d betrayed all of humanity in giving information to the angels, and yet STILL only taking that ONE bit of information before stopping the torture... I mean they were trying not only to save Charlie and Ketch’s lives, but trying to rescue them before the angels tortured them into giving up everything about the human resistance, putting the rest of humanity in jeopardy.

This was about more than just a horrific act of torture, but about the stark contrast between both the method and the cooperation between Cas and Dean, the trust, and who they are as people compared to what they so easily could’ve become.

Dean so very easily could’ve become what Ketch was in 12.21, and Cas could so very easily have become what AU!Castiel became, BECAUSE of torture inflicted on them, and torture they’d doled out themselves, but that’s not who they are, and it doesn’t define them.

So yeah, I guess that’s the evolution of Dean as a torturer.

#supernatural #torture #oh DEAN #castiel winchester #sam fucking winchester #sorry this got so long and ate up the rest of my night #and possibly every last brain cell I possessed >.>#i know it's a kind of grim read but there's an evolution going on here #but yeah its just 3200 words about torture #have fun with that >.>#Anonymous

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local-bloodclan-leader · 2 years

Text

I'm bored so... Time to talk about why I identify as Scourge.

(Feel free to scroll to the bottom for a quick summary/tl;dr)

So at around age 6, I stumbled across the Warriors books.

I really loved the first chapter, so I looked it up on YouTube, and from that point on my childhood was completely consumed by Warriors

During 2017, when I was I think 9? I discovered a "therian cringe comp" and instead of finding it cringe, I was like "PEOPLE WHO ARE ANIMALS??? SIGN ME UP!"

So I immediately did some research snd got involved in the Therian community.

I instantly was like "Hm. Cat." But something felt off, I was a cat, 100% but there was more.

Later on, I met someone who was fictionkin, and that changed everything

And so I was like "cat? Fiction? Fiction + cat.... Warriors??? S c o u r g e."

Now onto why it's Scourge specifically

I never had a steady childhood. Easier then most, but not perfect.

Warriors came around almost the exact same time I was at my most vulnerable. It was my escape from the real world, especially as home life got worse.

I always enjoyed Scourges manga more then other warrior books, I guess it was a subconscious thing as a kid, or I just liked it *shrug*, but Scourge is alot like me.

I have a genetic disorder, turners syndrome, that causes one of my chromosomes to basically just... not exist. In my case, it was a male chromosome.

As a result, I'm very short (4'9) and even then I've never been strong, skilled or really good at anything.

I've been treated like a useless kid, teased and pitied all because of my hight or lack of physical strength.

I've always been overlooked or underestimated. Just like Scourge.

Difference between me and Scourge? People like him. Maybe it's more fear or general respect bookwise, but it's something I've never had, or ever will have.

I have friends, yes, but it's because I am social. Maybe one or two of my friends actually respect me. Otherwise, they see me just as the "small child friend" or a person they can get away with teasing if they are my friend.

I guess the idea of someone who was underestimated and teased, rising above those who doubted him and becoming someone important... well that's basically what I've always wanted.

Call me edgy or cringe, but I've always fantasized about having an "I'll prove them all wrong" moment. Mainly something like turning into a powerful animal and getting revenge. Always ended in them regretting there ways and being nice for the rest of there life.

Did I always believe it's a past life thing? Yeah. But in retrospect, this seems to make more sense in my eyes...

Tl;dr

I am very short, weak and overall untalented. I was the target for teasing and overall no one really liked me, alot like Scourge at first. I met a fictionkin not long after learning about therians, where I realized I was 100% Scourge. Used to believe it was past life, but now I realize it's largely due to heavily relating and connecting to him, and a desire to prove those who doubted me wrong, like Scourge did.

Sorry for posting twice on the same tags in a short amount of time, but I just wanted to talk about it.

#alterhuman #otherkin #therian #warrior catskin #fictionkin

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mbti-notes · 7 years

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1. Hi. I've never told anyone any of this before, so it will likely be a little bit all over the place, and for that I apologize. My situation is this: when I was 18, I had to cut ties with my father whose house I used to spend my weekends at. A part of me thinks it's clear he was abusive, but I carry the doubt with me everywhere I go. Cutting him out of my life was the biggest leap of faith in myself that I had taken in years, and in retrospect he probably had a lot to do with that.

I’m putting this post behind a jump in case there is anyone who requires an *abuse trigger warning*.

[con’t: Some of the things he did involved locking me in rooms as punishment or “work.” One example being once when I didn’t want to write a birthday card on his behalf and was locked in my room for 9 hours (I wasn’t given food nor let out to use the bathroom), and if I accepted gifts like clothing or specific food items I would later be informed that I had to pay him and his gf back by cleaning the bathrooms. They locked the doors then too, and no matter how much I cleaned it was never clean enough so I would be cleaning for the rest of the day. He never believed anything I said either, stating that since he would always lie when at my age, he knew I was always lying too. This meant that I was expected to eat food I have allergies to or which would otherwise make me sick, because he didn’t believe me when I told him I couldn’t eat it. I even had several arguments with him from behind bathroom doors about whether or not the food had made me sick and he said I was making the sickness up and was just dragging out time. I started having anxiety attacks around him, but he refused to believe they were real, and when I presented papers from several psychologists (anxiety is an old issue of mine) he said I had manipulated them and that he had friends who had done the same thing. We were on vacation once only a week and a half after a good friend of mine had passed away, and he yelled at me throughout our entire stay because my somber mood was ruining his holiday. On another vacation I was only allowed to eat dinner but not touch any of the other food. I would’ve been fine with this if I had been allowed to go with him or his gf to the store, but I was always left behind to watch my siblings and so because of this I not only lost a lot of weight (we were there for two weeks) but also fainted without it changing anything. I think you’re getting the gist by now, so I’ll end that part here. I broke contact with him one day when he called my mom (they haven’t been together since I was very little), stating he wanted something like a family convention to discuss my bad behavior, which was something that came very out of the blue as I had stopped visiting by then and we only talked on the phone. I actually wanted to come over more often, but he wasn’t interested in having me there. Anyway, I realized he was only trying to turn the part of my family who were on “my side” (his words, during the following argument) against me, and knowing they wouldn’t buy into it anyway I sent him a long text message that essentially was a big and fancy “fuck you.” I had hoped I wouldn’t as much as hear his name again, but my mom received a letter from his lawyer stating he wanted a paternity test a few months after, and not too long after that again I found out from my school that he had repeatedly harassed the school board because he wanted them to hand him personal information about me. Not too long after I started having weekly nightmares about him, but instead of him being scary they were all about us becoming friends again and having a good relationship. They lasted for about a year/a year and a half, and I consider them nightmares because of the feeling I had when I woke up. My grandmother (his mother) and I were in touch for a while, but he moved in with her and she has refused to talk to me since. My issue now is that it’s been nearly four years, and… I miss him. A lot. Every single day, actually. I very irrationally feel like I have a hole in my chest that can only be filled by having him in my life again, even when I recognize that what I long for is the idea of him more than the man himself. Yet I’m still very bothered by thoughts of how he could have changed by now, how he could be a good father and how even when I’m already happy he could somehow make me happier. I’ll see something in a store and think he’d love it and I’ll be gripped with the desire to buy it for him. When I do things now that I know he’d approve of like enjoying a certain type of music I feel proud and wish for him to be proud too. My mental health is far better now and I won’t risk it for maybes, but I guess I needed to get it out in the hopes you could help me make sense of this, because I’m beyond confused. I’m not expecting answers or a snap of your fingers where it all goes away, but I think I, right now, really need an outside perspective. I don’t even know, actually, I guess I’m just reaching out to a stranger because I strugglewith talking to anyone else about this out of shame. No matter what I thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful week.]

If necessary, I can confirm: There is no ambiguity or doubt in your case, your father is abusive, he is a manipulative and controlling person who shows no empathy for you, remorselessly treating you as a piece of property and not as a human being. People like him rarely change, in fact, they often get worse. But I also understand why you carry doubt and shame and don’t feel comfortable opening up about your experience (though it’s good that you finally are). Unfortunately, the way that some people talk about abuse is very insensitive and paternalistic, speaking for/over victims and not fully respecting their perspective, which can sadly lead to feelings of shame because, if everyone else knows in such black-and-white terms that you were abused but you are still not sure and even want to defend your abuser, doesn’t that make you “stupid"? No, not at all. Having very mixed feelings is normal when you’ve experienced chronic abuse. Having mixed feelings is really just being human. Feelings and emotions are not always easy to sort out even when the morality of the situation happens to be clear-cut.

While being abused is never a picnic for anyone, it’s especially horrible for children. Children are built to be very trusting because they need to learn as much about the world as quickly as they can, so they are basically little sponges. Unfortunately, it is all too easy for an adult to manipulate children’s emotions and loyalty, to exploit innocence and naivete for their own selfish ends. Chronic abuse results in your moral senses being twist-turned-upside-down because, on one hand, your natural moral instincts are telling you that everything is WRONG WRONG WRONG but, on the other hand, the person who should know better (and teach you right from wrong) is telling you that there’s something off with your moral judgment, that THEY are right and you are wrong about what you experience, as though you don’t know your own mind. If you hear this enough, you start to believe it and distrust yourself because you have no other knowledge to fall back on, because you’ve never had a chance to build up a strong sense of self, so you possess nothing with which to fight back against their manipulation. In other words, it is NEVER the child’s fault for trusting and loving the parent, rather, it is entirely the parent’s fault for exploiting that trust and love - the parent should know better.

You know that he is abusive, otherwise you would not have cut him off, and you should be proud that you found the inner strength to take such a big step. Perhaps doubt comes because you still have the very normal urge to want a good parent-child relationship, because what child does not want approval and love from their parent? It is absolutely normal, even as an adult, to want a good relationship with your parent. In fact, the more you feel as though you’ve been deprived of it, the more strongly you tend to yearn for it. Unfortunately, this is not always possible, not just for children of abuse, but also for orphans, adopted children, children whose parents died young or were absent for whatever reason, etc. You want something that is perfectly normal for people to want but the situation does not allow you to get what you want, however, there’s nothing wrong with the wanting in itself.

Perhaps shame comes because you know that you should not miss or want a relationship with such a horrible man, therefore, if you do, what kind of person does this make you? Unfortunately, the more ashamed you feel, the deeper your yearning for him gets. The more you try to push away emotions like shame, guilt, or lovesickness, the more power you give them, and the more they consume you. It is similar to how the more you try to forget something, the more you end up thinking about it. Wanting a relationship with your father and missing him are normal feelings to have, however, shame arises when you think these feelings aren’t normal or that you “shouldn’t” feel them. Therefore, the remedy to shame is to acknowledge these feelings and recognize that there is nothing “wrong” about them. Feelings are what they are, however, they need not dictate your behavior or influence your decision making unless you allow them to. When you are willing to fully admit your feelings, to expose them to the light of day, to put them into the right perspective, they lose power over you because you see them for what they really are, in this case, they are the simple longing of your inner child for parental love - nothing more, nothing less, nothing really untoward. However, if you keep trying to suppress these feelings because you are ashamed of them, they swirl around in your unconscious mind, mutating and growing in strength and threatening to grip you. You only become gripped by feelings and emotions if you never answer them properly, if you keep pushing them away.

Therefore, it is necessary for you to confront these feelings, to admit, process, and release them through healthy channels. Perhaps you can get some counseling for the specific purpose of giving yourself a chance to get these thoughts and feelings out of your system. Telling your story the way that you want to tell it can be very healing. My personal philosophy of self-improvement is that you should try to make your mind more transparent to yourself, that you should confront unpleasantness/darkness instead of trying to push it away and, yes, shine a light from the outside when you feel stuck inside your darkness. I hope this is why you felt comfortable enough to write in and I hope that simply speaking out has been helpful regardless of my response. Perhaps you would benefit from the experience of a close friend of mine who suffered very similar abuse as you and also cut her father off when she became an adult (though members of her extended family are still in touch with him). She is closing in on thirty, a bit older than you. We discussed her (not your) experience at length, paraphrased and summed up below:

“I will always long for a relationship with my father. Though we are no longer in contact, as long as he still exists in this world, a part of me will always hope that the two of us might yet one day experience a normal and loving father-daughter relationship, doing all the things normal fathers and daughters do, and it still fills me with sadness to know it won’t happen. I don’t try to deny that this hope exists but I don’t indulge it either. I know it’s a fantasy but it’s not something I waste time fantasizing about. I still have nightmares about the past sometimes, I cry when I need to, I talk out my feelings when I need to. Instead of feeling ashamed, guilty, or angry that he still affects me, I acknowledge that I am human and it is perfectly normal to be easily affected by one’s family. It’s a GOOD thing to be able to love and care even when the person cannot reciprocate, because this means that I did not lose the best part of me, he was not powerful enough to ruin me or my ability to love with an open heart, and I am very proud that he did not successfully twist me into his image. I can love him and feel sorry for him from afar without losing anything. I know that I cannot be healthy if he is in my life, he is not capable of being a good father or friend, this is the reality.

As for how to move on, I treated it as though grieving the death of a loved one. Grieving is mustering the will to move forward even though you still miss what was lost, and perhaps always will. It is sad to think about what could’ve been or what potential was squandered, but life is full of losses and unrealized potential, this is just one of many losses that I must deal with - everyone feels a void about something or other. It’s human to collect scars but scars don’t have to keep hurting unless you keep picking at them. When I allowed myself to grieve the loss of him, to accept the impossibility of a relationship, I was able to move forward - but this did not happen overnight, it took time. People who abuse you want power over you, to bend you to their will. I realized that I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of still having power over me, of defining my existence, of permeating my thoughts and feelings. The best “revenge” I can think of is to live my life to the best of my ability, to live it well for myself because I deserve to be happy. He does not care about my happiness, it is too bad, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about my happiness. It’s easy to believe that if even your parent doesn’t care about your happiness, then your happiness isn’t worth caring about, but your life should not be defined by what someone else does because then you can never be true to yourself.

When you venture out alone into the world, you might find yourself longing for the old and familiar even though you know you shouldn’t, especially when you feel down or lonely. Freedom can be scary. It’s ok to long for the past a bit because nostalgia is deceptive and bad memories lose their impact over time, but happiness is found by looking forward, by seeing that something better awaits you when you shed the bad aspects of yourself. You have to fall a few times before you can successfully fly on your own but always remember: Going through the hard work of forging your own life is the right way to build your self-esteem. I try to focus on all the good things I have at present and how good it feels to be free. I know I can never replace the fatherly love I missed out on but it has helped me greatly to surround myself with loving people who fill my days with light and laughter, so find those people whom you can count on and keep them close. I try to attract loving people by being a loving person. I make it a point to reflect and feel gratitude for the positive ways my life has changed over the years, to periodically remind myself how far I’ve come and how I successfully took control of my life by leaving him behind.”

#abuse #trauma #emotion #recovery #child abuse #mental health #ask

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