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#i believe in him but he's also lied to me about streaming before
kainyte · 6 months
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you're all i have left ⎯ ft. childe angst bcs idk what else to do w/ my life pt. O1 : pt. O2
the fatui harbingers lead dangerous lives, including childe. with his newborn son, it's getting harder and harder to keep everyone safe. and as much as it pains him he might just have to leave.
notes : 1245 words of pure angst :DD
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Ajax sighs, gently setting down the sleeping baby in the crib. His son. He has the same hair color as you, but he shares Ajax’s eyes. As the baby finally begins to settle, Ajax takes a step back.
The door is ajar, light from the hallway seeping in. You're asleep on your guys’ shared bed, arms curled against you chest.
Ajax misses when they were wrapped around him.
“I…” Ajax’s voice cracks, “I’m sorry,” he whispers to his son. Ajax knows the baby can’t understand, but he doesn’t care.
You’re a weak spot for him. Someone can easily exploit you to get to him. Or worse, someone could hurt you. Ajax can’t let that happen.
He kisses the baby on the head. Come morning, Ajax will be gone.
He’s about to leave the room quietly when he sees you stir in your sleep. You let out a soft sigh before settling back into sleep again.
Ajax is suddenly overwhelmed. He can’t just do this, he can’t just leave you here. He grabs the blanket from beside the crib and gently places it over your shoulders. He wants to wake you but he also wants what little rest you can get.
Ajax wants to stay.
But he can’t.
You slowly crack my eyes open, “Ajax? Why’re you up so late?” you move to the side of the bed, “Come back to bed.”
Archons. How can he do this. Tears well in the corner of his eyes, and he’s never been so thankful that darkness of the room hides them.
Ajax walks back to the bed. There’s something different about him.
Your eyes grow wide when you make a connection. He looks like he just woke up himself.
“I…” he pauses. He can’t tell you the truth. But he doesn’t want to lie to you. His eyes dart around the room as he struggles to come up with an excuse. “I saw that you were cold,” he lies.
You know. You’ve read him well enough. You know he’s lying but you know the truth would hurt more than the lie.
“You we’re going to leave?”
“Darling…” Ajax sighs, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into the crook of your neck. He’s holding you so close.
You’re everything he has, and the way he feels the tears that stream down your face and fall onto his shoulder makes Ajax’s resolve waver.
He doesn’t want to leave you.
He wants to stay.
But he can’t. He’s told himself that a million times tonight, his mind running endless scenarios of what can happen if his enemies ever find out about you. He loves you too much to stay.
Your grip on his shirt tightens, and you bury your face deeper into the crook in his neck. “Please…” Archons, you can barely see through your tears, “Please don’t leave. You’re all I have left.”
Ajax swallows hard. He hates the lies. He hates having to do this. His love for you is the biggest reason to stay.
Yet…
He has to.
Ajax looks you in the eyes.
Can you tell that something is wrong? Or do you believe the lie? Ajax is holding back tears as hard as he can. The words feel like rocks in his mouth. He hates himself for doing this but it has to be done, for both your safety and the sleeping child’s.
“Shhh,” he whispers in your ear, “go back to sleep.”
Your voice is wavering with every word you speak, “Not without you, please don’t to this to me, I cant…” Your voice trails off.
I can’t do this without you.
Ajax’s hands are shaking. He’s tries to hold back his tears but some have slipped free. He brushes cups his hands against your face.
You’re crying because of him, and it breaks his heart.
“Darling…” he replies softly, “listen to me. There are enemies trying to hurt me. They’re looking for me, not you. If I go then you can be safe our son can be safe.”
Ajax kisses the top of your head, “I love you. I always will but you’re not safe with me.”
“But it doesn’t matter! We can get through it… Ajax i can’t do this without you.” Your tears are freely streaming down my cheeks. Your voice breaks and you stare up at Ajax with a blurry vision.
You break Ajax. How you whisper to him, how desperate you look for him to just stay.
Your words do what Ajax’s resolve couldn’t. Ajax hugs you tightly, refusing to let go. He doesn’t want to do this, he doesn’t want to leave you.
But the world is a cruel place, and Ajax knows how much a burden he could be to you and your guys’ son.
The two of you are his everything.
Yet his words still taste like poison in his mouth.
Ajax kisses you. Slowly, gently, tasting every inch of your lips. His lips taste like salt from his tears, and the kiss holds no desire or lust.
Instead, his kisses are soft, sweet, and desperate.
He doesn’t want to go.
He refuses to.
But his kisses tell you that as much as his words refuse to, he might have to.
He knows the pain he’s about to cause, but he can’t bear causing more. So even if it physically hurts him to leave, he has to.
“I love you,” Ajax whispers. “I love you more than anything. I never want to leave you.”
“But, I have to.”
Ajax walks to the crib. He picks up the now crying baby and rocks him gently. He wipes away the baby’s tears as he continues speaking to the baby.
“Darling, listen to me, listen to me. You’re going to be okay, okay? I love you very very much, very very much and that will never change. Daddy will always love you, okay?”
He speaks through tears to his baby son. His words are strained but the emotion he feels is raw and honest.
Ajax looks back at you, wanting more than anything to kiss you one last time but knowing he would never be able to leave if he did.
With a final kiss on his son’s cheek, Ajax sets his baby down in the crib. He looks at you once more. There is a pleading in your eyes. In your eyes, he can see how much this is hurting you.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers.
He’s about to leave.
Ajax looks at you one last time. He swallows hard, taking in every last detail of you. Your eyes. The shape of your lips. Your hair. In the darkness of night, he can see the stains of tears against your cheeks.
He knows he won’t see you again for a very long time, and his heart is breaking. The pain of letting go and the pain of holding on are tearing him apart. But he has to go.
Ajax backs towards the door.
And right before he opens it, he turns.
“Goodbye, darling. I love you.”
Ajax’s voice is thick as if he’s trying to fight off tears once more. He won’t win this fight. He can never win this fight, not against you. Not against your eyes, your lips, your love for him and him for you.
He leaves, shutting the door after him. It isn’t long before you hear the sound of footsteps on grass and then silence.
He’s gone. And you’re on your own.
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© kainyte do not repost, copy, edit or translate
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spif-lol · 5 months
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Reasons why the simpsons hit and run stream is jerma's best stream
it's ELEVEN HOURS LONG
you get to witness his slow descent into madness as he insists on playing the whole game in one sitting
I can watch it when i replay the game, would recommend makes it way more enjoyable
he spends too much time doing really bad impressions trying to copy voice lines for the game and yelling "HIRE ME IM AVAILABLE"
He decides to confess half an hour in that he knows nothing about the simpsons and has only seen like one or two episodes
this is ten minutes after he references a specific episode, and then proceeds to get told off for 'spoiling' an episode of the simpsons (from like 1995) by chat
Chat also somehow manages to convince him that ten year old boy Bart Simpson's famous catchphrase from everyone's favourite family animated tv show is 'eat ass'
In general it switches between him refusing to believe things people tell him about the game despite being true and falling for obvious lies
he starts the game going 'lol wouldnt it be funny if you could run over simpsons characters' and then jokingly drives towards civillians thinking they'll jump out of the way. they go flying. he is so confused
the dissonance between early and later parts of the stream are palpable. It turns from a cheerful and lighthearted exploration of a funny simpsons game that he refuses to take seriously or accept that it could genuinely make him angry, and transforms into a desperate race against time, his computer and his own hubris as he seeks simply to finish the game so he can sleep. This stream destroys him.
the way the stream highlights are named on his youtube is hilarious. "Jerma will not get angry at the simpson's hit and run" -> "Jerma might get a bit angry at the simpson's hit and run" -> "d'oh"
it's extremely funny how many time he's convinced he's in the last level of the game, only to be wrong. the first time he thinks that is in the first section and hour of the stream
easily his most rewatchable stream (this is gonna cover a lot of dot points)
the amount of tragic irony and foreshadowing in this stream is almost cinematic.
at the very start of the game he complains about the music being too loud and monologues about sounds and over stimulation of game music bothers him, which of course will be very funny in the finale
he also comments a few time at the start about how annoying homer's random voice lines are, and says 'oh god he's gonna repeat that a thousand times before the end of this game'. he's right, and it nearly drives him crazy by the final mission
speaking of the final mission(s), the second time he has to transport the toxic sludge from power plant to the school he like pauses the game and very seriously addresses chat like 'alright tell me right now are the next three levels also me driving the nuclear waste to the school that cant be possible right'. and then just accepting in defeat that that is in fact how this incredibly stupid and difficult children's game finishes
when he first races against the malibu stacy car and gets destroyed he gets mad and says he wishes he could drive that car. then when he gets to drive it in later levels he quickly decides its his favourite and maintains that until the end of the game
on rewatch... you hear him audibly crack open a can that chat demands he prove to them is soft drink and not alcohol like A WHOLE HOUR before The Incident and it's a little like watching a disaster movie where you see the characters laughing and having fun little knowing how they are being hastened towards their own doom... like chat keeps bugging him about it, he keeps making excuses, he keeps sipping the drink. they bring attention to it so much and you listen to it just knowing the pain that is yet to come. dramatic irony at its finest and most heartache inducing
15. ohmyfucking gaaaawd no! no... god... ICANDOITINAJUMP! ..... BART. WHERE IS HE??? BAAART!!!! AAAUUGH
16. actually fr there's a lot of memorable jerma lines in this stream, rewatching it is like watching a jerma funny moment compilation
17. the final couple of levels where he is getting steadily more overwhelmed to the point of ferality, and then he says he has an idea and goes to the sound menu and turns everything off. voice lines. music. sound effects. and then we watch him play the level in complete silence. and it actually helps him focus its really funny
18. the whole tragic sequence where he is in the FINAL LEVEL. he has played it so many times and just missed it by a few seconds. he is tired. he is hungry. he just wants to get off stream and eat a BURGER. he is focussing as hard as he can. he is almost there. he runs over too many things and the police are after him. but its okay. he's doing it! he's gonna make it!!! he gets to the school with time to spare and is sucked up into the end of the game beam. it's over. except then the police get sucked into the beam as well. he gets arrested in the beam. which teleports him and the car out of the beam. WHICH MEANS THE TIMER RUNS OUT AND HE LOSES. so he has to do it all over again. it's actually so so so funny and also something i think i personally wouldn't survive if i was in jerma's position in that moment
19. okay we have to talk about The Incident. bc i already alluded to it and bc like, i couldn't not talk about it. as stated above Jerma cracks open a can so you can hear it and chat immediately accuses him of being an alcoholic. he adamantly insists that it is a soft drink not a beer but they refuse to believe him unless he proves it by showing camera. he's playing on a modded ps2 pc port or whatever of the simpsons so it's a complicated setup and he explains that it would be too hard and also he's shirtless so they will just have to believe without seeing. chat continues to harass him while he goes on to play the game, specifically most of the lisa level. he laughs it off but eventually caves, gets up and get a blanket to cover himself and then alt tabs, holds his can up to the camera and says 'alright you satisfied? that might have just fucked up the game'. so then he tries to tab back into the game and it. crashes. hard. so hard that the game won't actually turn back on. so jerma's cursing and fiddling with the controls and saying its over. then it finally reboots and the game works and he's so relieved and it loads and he realises that he has lost SO MUCH PROGRESS. he's back at the start of the lisa section. this is truly the turning point of the game where it goes from being a fun experience to a nightmare gauntlet
20. on a related note: jerma waiting with bated breath *sound of simpsons game booting back up after refusing to for far too long* jerma: yeeeAAAAAH
21. im watching it right now as i replay, which is why im thinking about it obv. so i will almost certainly have more to add to this
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ficnation · 19 days
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Chapter 9: Intentions
Series: “Eat Your Heart Out ”Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,7k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, canon divergence A/n: I know we're still not out of Su-zukana, but we're getting there. I probably won't follow everything that happens in the show. I will skip through some parts. Also I'm not super satisfied with the last scene no matter how many times I rewrite it, so I'm leaving it like this. (unedited)
Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist
PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER
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Hannibal and Will’s eyes lock in a silent duel, the latter’s gaze unforgiving, tinged with feigned ignorance. Will Graham wishes he could stop caring about what happened and what is yet to happen, but he can only pretend.
He studies the psychiatrist from head to toe, silently pleading for a sign from the universe that would reveal what sick ideas were brewing in his mind.
“You were able to reconstruct this killer’s fantasies,” Hannibal’s voice is almost a melody. “One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim’s new beating heart. Her soul given wings.”
Will’s gaze shifts away from the man before him, his mind conjuring the brutal image of Sarah Craber’s lifeless body, her eyes forever staring into the void. The way the psychiatrist describes it aligns with your words, and Will finds himself reluctantly agreeing. It’s a brutal kind of poetry, one that leaves an indelible mark on the soul.
“Rebirths can only ever be symbolic,” Will states, seemingly uninterested.
“You’ve been reborn.”
That piques his interest; he looks at Hannibal with raised brows. “Wasn’t that the goal of my therapy?”
A pregnant pause hangs between them as the other man carefully selects his words. Will finds it disappointing when the topic of conversation is swiftly shifted.
“How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time, it nearly destroyed you.”
Will blinks rapidly and licks his lips in annoyance, a subtle sign of his inner turmoil. He knows he can’t allow his emotions to overpower him. Certainly not now.
“Last time, you nearly destroyed me,” he states the obvious. Hannibal’s gaze shifts to his hands lying in his lap, a subtle indication of his own contemplation.
“After everything that has happened, Will, you still believe—” his words trail off into silence as Will cuts him off swiftly, his voice almost amused.
“Stop right there.”
Hannibal blinks slowly, meeting the other man’s gaze head-on. Will notices he almost looks ashamed, but he’s not entirely convinced that the killer in front of him is capable of feeling anything, let alone shame.
“You may have to pretend, but I don’t,” Will asserts, his tone firm and unwavering.
Hannibal’s gaze softens, a glimmer of understanding flickering in his eyes. “No, you don’t,” he agrees, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity. “Not with me.”
There’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a moment of unspoken connection between them, despite the chasm of their differences.
“I don’t expect you to admit anything. You can’t. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don’t lie to me.” Each word is enunciated with deliberate care, emphasizing the gravity of the statement.
As their eyes meet, the sunlight streams through the window, casting a golden hue that dances across their faces. The gentle rays illuminate the room, creating a warm and serene atmosphere despite the tension between them. The dim sunlight seems to linger, as if highlighting the intensity of their quiet exchange and emphasizing the gravity of the moment.
“Will you return the courtesy?” the psychiatrist’s question hangs in the air, awaiting a response.
Will remains silent, knowing that Hannibal will interpret his lack of response as agreement.
“Why have you resumed your therapy?” his voice is steady, probing for the truth.
“Can’t just talk to any psychiatrist about what’s kicking round my head.” Will replies, his tone casual yet guarded. Hannibal scrutinizes him closely, searching for any telltale signs of deception or sincerity.
“Does she know?”
“About me being back in therapy with you? Yes.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, Will. Does she know?”
Will sits in silence for an excruciatingly long moment, contemplating which pieces of truth he should divulge and which he should leave behind.
The room grows unbearably hot and airless, and his breath comes quick and heavy. He can feel his heart hammering against his chest, demanding to be let out. He’s struggling with a familiar feeling, the kind that threatens to overwhelm—to swallow him whole. And he’s powerless against it.
Finally, he finds the words, but they’re hardly a relief to the growing burden in his chest. “Yes.”
“What did you tell her, Will?” Hannibal’s voice carries more curiosity than anger. Will isn’t sure if he expected something more profound or revealing from his response.
“Everything.”
Hannibal’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but his expression remains unreadable.
Will feels an intense urge to elaborate, to fill in the missing pieces, to explain the whole picture. But he bites his tongue, choosing to stay silent instead, to keep his secrets. Hannibal remains still for a moment, taking in the information, assessing Will and his answer.
After a while, he speaks, “Does she know why?”
“Hannibal, I don’t even know why you did what you did.”
“Perhaps you never will,” Hannibal replies cryptically, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow, piercing Will like a knife. “And yet, you came to me in spite of that.”
“You wanted her to come back. Why?” Will asks. He’s not going to give up that easily.
“Because she’s brilliant, Will. She understands people in ways no one ever has. She’s perceptive and intuitive, and she’s not afraid to stare into the abyss. I’ve been searching for such an individual for a very long time.”
“I reckon asking you to leave her alone would be futile,” Will suggests with a resigned tone.
“Indeed,” Hannibal acknowledges with a faint smile. “But I promise to handle the situation delicately.”
“Handle it delicately?” Will asks, unable to keep the surprise and amusement from his voice. He’s never expected such words from Dr. Lecter, not when it comes to you. “Can you promise me she’ll be safe?”
Hannibal hesitates for a moment, clearly weighing his answer before speaking. “I can promise you that I have no intention of harming her,” he replies, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “However, I am also aware that my intentions may not always be the most relevant factor when it comes to such matters.”
Will finds himself contemplating the psychiatrist’s words, feeling an intense frustration at the answer, despite knowing that Hannibal will never offer more. He wants to ask further questions, to keep digging for answers, but the words won’t form. He’s been given an answer. For better or worse, that will have to be enough.
He speaks, his voice barely registering above a whisper, “Thank you.”
“Do you fantasize about killing me, Will?”
“Yes.” Now, more than ever.
Hannibal raises an eyebrow, his eyes studying the other man carefully. The question hangs in the air for a silent moment, the two men locked in a tense staring contest. Will breaks his gaze, his eyes dropping to his lap. There’s an uncomfortably long pause, one that leaves him feeling more exposed than he ever has.
The psychiatrist speaks again, his voice carefully measured but still carrying a hint of curiosity, “Tell me. How would you do it?”
Will feels an intense surge of anxiety, the idea of sharing his murderous fantasies almost too much to bear. His heart beats rapidly, his breaths come short and shallow, and his palms are damp with sweat. He hesitates, taking a deep breath in an failed attempt to settle his nerves.
Finally, he answers, his voice trembling slightly as he speaks, “With my hands.”
“Then we haven’t moved past apologies and forgiveness, have we?” Hannibal studies his face quietly for a moment, his eyes scanning Will’s features, searching for any hint of deceit.
“We’ve moved past a lot of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed,” Will says slowly, a hint of reluctance in his voice. 
Hannibal’s gaze remains unwavering, a steady, almost calming presence. He’s unfazed by Will’s blunt statement, his face uncommonly relaxed as he listens.
“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”
Will blinks and nods, a tinge of surprise in his eyes. No one has spoken this truth before, not even himself. But the words seem to provide a sense of closure. There is no judgment, no criticism; merely a statement of fact, a mutual understanding.
“Yes.”
“I need to know if you’re going to try to kill me again, Will.”
“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter.” The man swallows and shakes his head. “Not now that I finally find you interesting.”
There’s an intense silence between them, Hannibal’s face betraying no sign of shock or surprise at the confession. The man merely listens calmly, processing Will’s words as he studies the man’s every feature.
“Your honesty is both refreshing and concerning,” the psychiatrist says with surprising ease.
“Thank my wife. She makes an honest man out of me.”
As you lie asleep in your bed, the quiet of the night envelops you, broken only by the gentle hum of the old bedside lamp and the crackling of the fireplace. You’re lost in a dreamless slumber, your mind temporarily free from the weight of the day’s responsibilities. It’s probably the best sleep you’ve had in a while. Sadly, it doesn’t last long.
The shrill ring of your phone shatters the stillness, jolting you awake with a start. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, heart pounding with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.
With a groan, you swipe to answer the call, your voice husky with sleep as you mutter a tired, “Hello?”
On the other end, Jack’s voice crackles through the line, urgent and insistent. “Agent Avant, we need you at the crime scene immediately. There’s been a development in the case.”
The words cut through the fog of drowsiness, instantly sharpening your focus. You sit up in bed, running a hand through your tousled hair as you process Jack’s message. “What kind of development?”
“I can’t discuss it over the phone. I’ll send you the adress. Get here as soon as you can.”
“Understood,” you reply, your tone firm and decisive. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
With a sense of urgency, you throw off your covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You reach for your clothes, hastily dressing in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, your mind already racing with possibilities. You grab your badge and gun, slipping them into their accustomed places on your belt, and make your way to the door.
As you step out into the cool night air, you feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Though weary from the abrupt interruption to your rest, you know that duty calls, and you’re ready to answer it with unwavering resolve, just like in the good old days.
With each step towards your car, you embrace the night’s unexpected summons, steeling yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. In the world of law enforcement, there’s no such thing as ordinary hours—only the relentless pursuit of justice, no matter the hour or the cost. Oh, how you hate it.
You slide into the driver’s seat of your car, the engine rumbling to life beneath you as you buckle up and prepare to head to the address Jack has sent you. You’re glad to have your own car back; depending on Will wouldn’t do you any good in situations like this.
Before pulling away, you instinctively reach for your phone, hoping for a message from your husband to ease your mind.
As the soft glow of the screen illuminates your face, you quickly navigate to your messages, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. But as you scan through the notifications, disappointment washes over you—there are no new messages from Will, and he isn’t home either.
A knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a nagging sense of worry gnawing at your thoughts. You remind yourself that Will was never one to provide constant updates on his whereabouts. He’s always been independent, often immersed in his work with little regard for the passage of time. Yet the silence from him tonight feels different somehow, unsettling in its absence.
Pushing aside your concerns for the moment, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and focus on the road ahead. There will be time to address your worries later, but for now, duty calls, and you must answer—no matter the personal cost. With a determined set to your jaw, you shift into gear and press on into the night. Having agreed to return to work for Crawford, you’re determined to give it your all.
“We found Sarah Craber’s grave and fifteen others,” Jack Crawford informs you the moment you step out of the vehicle.
“Fifteen?” you repeat, unable to hide the stunned note in your voice. You knew the killer had murdered others before Sarah Craber, but the discovery of fifteen additional victims is shocking on a whole different level. “How long has he been active?”
Jack’s face is grim, his expression somber as he speaks. “The earliest victim was buried eight years ago. The most recent grave is only two weeks old.”
You dare to focus your eyes on the crime scene behind your boss’ back. The sight in front of you takes your breath away—not in a good way.
The dim light of the night provides only limited visibility, casting the landscape in shadows and silhouettes. Yet, the shapes around you paint a clear picture, a horrifying image of a killer’s work. 
You can see the dug-out graves, dotted here and there—the final resting places of his victims. You can see the rows of police tape, marking off a boundary that no one is allowed to cross. You can see the solemn faces of the technicians, the detectives, the forensics, and other members of the investigative team.
“Fucking hell, Crawford.”
There’s a beat of silent hesitation before he continues, “And I’m afraid it gets even worse—”
You look at him with wide eyes, annoyance bubbling up beneath the surface of your skin. “You said I didn’t have to look at the bodies. You said that to me, Jack.”
“I said you didn’t have to get close to the bodies,” he corrects you with a hint of irritation. “But you’ll have to see them, at least from a distance. We have to assess the situation, and you’re our best profiler. It’s your job.”
“I didn’t sign up for this.”
“Didn’t you? You came back to the agency. This is what we do. You know that.”
“Yes, I came back. But you said I wouldn’t have to see the bodies.”
Jack sighs, a hint of impatience in his voice. “I thought I could shield you from that side of it, but it’s not worth risking your expertise when you can make a valuable contribution here.”
You feel your blood boil as you duck under the police tape and head toward the graves. “Let’s just get this fucking done,” you mutter through gritted teeth, your frustration evident in every word.
As you make your way toward the nearest body, the reality of the situation begins to sink in. It’s one thing to know that a serial killer has been active in this community for years, but it’s a completely different thing to actually see the proof of his crimes. The graves offer no comforting illusion—they’re real, and they represent the brutal truth and senselessness of the killer’s actions.
As you gaze upon the rows of bodies, or rather what was left of them, a realization dawns upon you with striking clarity.
“They’re all women?” you remark, the observation coming swiftly and without hesitation as your eyes sweep over the somber landscape.
Each marker bears testament to the lives lost, their identities hidden by the earth until this moment. There’s a solemnity in the uniformity of the graves, a shared narrative of female lives cut short, each one a story untold and a voice silenced.
In that moment, amidst the hushed whispers of the wind and the solemn rustle of leaves, you can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for the women who now rest beneath the earth, their stories lost to time but not forgotten.
“Alright, he got comfortable.”
“Too comfortable?” Jack questions, eyebrow raised, ready to find out if you’re close to catching the serial killer.
You nod in agreement. “Way too comfortable.”
When a predator becomes comfortable, it means they believe they’re in control. And when they’re think they’re in control, they’re more likely to make mistakes.
The killer’s overconfidence in his ability to evade detection is evident. He’s been operating for years, right under your noses, taking the lives of innocent women and burying them in shallow graves that are easy to uncover once people start paying attention. You realize that this killer has been playing a dangerous game long enough to develop a deep sense of hubris; he truly believes he’s invincible. Arrogance seeps from every part of his crimes.
“So, it’s not Peter Bernardone?”
You crouch nearby one of the dug-out holes and observe as a forensic inspects the decomposing body. “Tell me, Jack, does Peter Bernardone ooze arrogance?”
Jack ignores your snarky remark as he considers your question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say so,” he decides. “Quite the opposite.”
“You really had to think about that one, huh?” You snort and shake your head in disbelief. “That man is a sheep, Jack. And this was done by a big bad wolf.”
Jack allows himself to crack a small smile at your analogy. “You’re right, this doesn’t fit Peter Bernardone; the arrogance doesn’t match the man. But there are a few others I have my eye on.”
“No, I don’t think he’s one of them.” 
Jack raises an eyebrow. “I’m interested to know who you think it is then.”
“How the hell would I know?” you retort, shrugging your shoulders in frustration.
“Your job is to figure that out,” Jack scolds you, growing tired of your complaints and excuses. “So what are you going to do now, Agent Avant?”
“I—” you start, then stand back up with a sigh. “I will find a bottle of good booze to lull me to sleep today.”
Jack’s face softens at the joke, the slightest hint of a smile gracing his lips. “That sounds like a plan. I don’t suppose you’re going to share?”
“You’re welcome anytime, boss.”
Jack nods, then gestures for you to continue examining the bodies. “Go on. We’re not done here yet.”
“Thought sharing the booze meant we’re ditching,” you mumble in resignation.
“Not until we’re finished here.” Jack indicates the bodies in front of you. “This is hardly the kind of case where you can get drunk and call it a day, Agent Avant. We still have work to do.”
“Alrighty.”
When you return home, the cold seems to have intensified. You lock the car, clutching a bottle of cheap wine under your arm. Sure, you could have splurged on something better, but right now, good taste isn’t your priority. You are aiming for a one-way ticket to Drunkville, with fingers crossed that the morning hangover won’t be too punishing.
The cold air nips at your cheeks, the bottle of wine under your arm a tangible reminder of the purpose of your excursion. You seek a distraction, anything to divert your mind from the day’s grim events. Yet, even as you hum a lighthearted tune, your thoughts stubbornly gravitate back to the graves and the haunting visages of the deceased women interred in the damp soil.
A complex array of emotions churns within you—grief, anger, irritation... perhaps even a touch of admiration? It was an unsettling sensation, one that you had experienced all too often before.
You dare to look ahead, your eyes tracing the outline of the forest behind the house, barely visible in the darkness of the night. It’s a mistake.
As soon as your gaze settles on the trees, you hear a faint scream emanating from that direction. You try to convince yourself it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you, but you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you.
The scream gives you pause, causing you to hesitate on the icy pavement. You entertain the fleeting thought that it might be your tired mind, but then it comes again—a desperate cry for help echoing from somewhere near the woods behind the house. The sound sends a chill down your spine, a stark reminder of your solitude in this desolate place.
Despite knowing better, your legs carry you forward through the clearing behind the house, drawing you closer and closer to the trees where the sound originated. The urgency in the scream compels you to move, your heart pounding in your chest as you approach the edge of the forest.
Your footsteps are unsteady on the icy ground as you pause just outside the woods, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. The dense trees obscure your vision, and the faint light barely penetrates the forest, leaving your visibility limited to mere feet around you. You press on, determined to uncover the source of the distressing sound.
The screaming fades into silence, leaving only the sound of your own unsteady breathing echoing in the stillness of the night. You slip further into the woods, each step cautious and deliberate, the snow crunching under your boots. Despite the chill in the air, your clothes provide little warmth against the biting cold, and the shelter of the trees does little to shield you from the relentless wind.
The wind carries the cold air deep into your lungs, making your breath come out in cloudy puffs. Your coat offers little protection, and you feel the wind whistling through it, chilling your body to the core.
You take a few more steps, the trees growing thicker around you with each passing moment. 
You pause, listening intently, trying to discern the direction from which the cries for help emanated. But in the silence of the night, your own heavy breathing is the only sound that reaches your ears. 
The shrill of a scream shatters the stillness of the air, bursting through right behind your back, no more than a few feet away. It’s so loud that you instinctively cover your ears, feeling the jolt reverberate through your entire body.
In the chaos, the bottle of wine slips from your grasp, crashing to the ground and shattering upon impact with a nearby rock. Red wine splashes onto your boots and calves, staining the pristine snow with dark splotches.
You gape at the scene with wide eyes, heart racing in your chest as adrenaline floods your system. Your whirl around in an instant, your eyes scanning the area for any sign of the origin of the scream.
But the woods remain still, enveloped in an eerie silence, with only the moonlight filtering through the trees, casting shifting shadows that seem to dance around you. A shiver runs down your spine as you become acutely aware of just how isolated you are in this dark forest, surrounded by unknown dangers.
Your legs carry you as fast as they can, propelling you back the way you came, away from the ominousness of the forest. Panic surges through you, urging you to flee, to escape the darkness closing in around you.
Every step feels like an eternity as you race through the woods, your heart pounding in your chest, the echo of the scream still ringing in your ears. All you can think about is getting away, getting back to safety, away from whatever lurks in the shadows. Your senses are on high alert, every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs makes you jump.
The darkness seems to press in on you from all sides, suffocating and oppressive. Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your desperate flight through the underbrush.
You can’t see what’s behind you, but you can feel its presence, a looming specter haunting your every step. Terror grips you in its icy grasp, driving you onward, even as your legs threaten to give out beneath you. You push through the pain, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion in your frantic bid for escape.
You look behind you, but all you can see is darkness. You’re just about to reach the clearing when you collide with someone with so much force that it takes both of you down.
Your breath rushes out in a startled gasp as you scramble to disentangle yourself from the other person, heart hammering in your chest. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you push yourself away from them, scrambling backward on all fours until you’re a safe distance away. Panic surges within you, making your movements frantic as you try to orient yourself in the darkness. The shadows obscure the details, making it difficult to see who or what has you so rattled.
The person mutters your name in panic. It’s Will.
The instant you hear the familiar voice, you know that you’re safe—that whatever was chasing you is gone. You let out a shaky sigh and release the tension in your muscles, suddenly realizing how close you were to losing control of the situation.
But his sudden appearance leaves you confused, and you can’t help but ask, “What are you doing out here?”
“I heard your scream. Are you alright?” He stumbles in your direction in panic, hands outstretched to grab your arms.
The confusion only grows as you listen to his question, certain that you never made a sound. You didn’t scream, yet he’s insistent that he heard it. And even though you know your voice would be distinctive in the silence of the woods, he still seems to be under the impression that you were the one who called out for him.
“I didn’t scream,” you insist, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to make sense of the situation. “I heard it too, but it wasn’t me.”
You don’t know what to make of it, and the uncertainty makes your nerves flare. You start backing away from his touch, keeping an eye on him as you try to make sense of what’s happening.
“I don’t understand,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly with a mixture of fear and confusion. “I didn’t scream. It wasn’t me.”
“What do you mean you didn’t scream?” He seems taken aback by your response, his gaze darting around as he tries to process what you’re saying. “I ran here as fast as I could after I heard you. Are you trying to tell me I imagined it?”
You can feel the tension in his voice, the confusion mirrored in his expression. There’s a palpable sense of urgency in his demeanor, as if he’s desperately trying to make sense of the situation.
You shake your head vigorously, repeating like a mantra, “It wasn’t me.”
“Then who was it?” He glances around the woods again, searching for clues in the darkness. “Who else could be out here?”
“Let’s go home,” you say, ignoring his question and rising to your feet with the help of his steady arms.
Your legs still feel shaky after the run through the woods, and you lean on his arms for support as you try to regain your bearings. The cold air nips at your cheeks, making it hard to breathe, and the sudden burst of adrenaline has left you feeling exhausted. You let him guide you toward the house, not wanting to spend another moment in the dark woods.
“Don’t ever let me near those woods again,” you mutter, the words tumbling out without thought. Your voice trembles with a mix of fear and frustration, the events of the past few hours weighing heavily on your mind.
As you take the final few steps toward the house, you’re grateful to be out of the forest, but a lingering unease gnaws at you. Something about the whole evening feels off, and the fact that Will is here only adds to your discomfort.
As his arms envelop you, you feel a creeping unease settle over you, intensifying with each passing moment. His embrace should be reassuring, but instead, it triggers a disturbing sense of déjà vu. In this moment, you find yourself unable to be reassured by anyone or anything.
His eyes seem to darken, and before your startled gaze, antlers begin to emerge from his head, a surreal and terrifying transformation unfolding before your eyes.
The longer he holds you, the more your anxiety mounts, until you can no longer bear it, pulling away sharply, desperate to escape the unsettling sensations gripping you. Blinking in disbelief, you look back at him, finding no trace of the eerie transformation you just witnessed.
Taglist (I tag ppl that leave a comment or ask me for it): @strrvnge @raininhell @crowsoundsonly @gabriella-aesthetic @gayschlatt69 @russian-soft-bitch @lokittyy @hellouseemc00l @justaproudslytherpuff @it-s-tickety-booh @r4diocabeca @sanriogarbage @zoleea-exultant @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @emily-roberts @unsolvedghoulboyz @00hellohello00 @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @jadenblueberry @slashercupcake @octobermania @magdalenmillicent-blog @unsolvedghoulboyz @gabbyonjupiter
Leave me an ask or a comment if I forgot to add you <3
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mooseyhischier · 5 months
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ALWAYS, LUKE HUGHES
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summary : in which luke is still stuck on his previous relationship with you, while you moved on to another guy, yet he can’t seem to let you go.
warning: talks about feeling anxiety and jealousy
a/n: hii !! i’m so proud of this fic it’s definitely one i enjoyed writing about !! i was listening to this song today and immediately thought of this fic !! i hope you guys like it as much as i do !! 🫶
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“baby, baby
there will always be space
for you and me
right where you left it “
Luke can recollect the day you guys broke up like a piercing arrow through his heart, leaving a lasting ache that never seemed to fade. you were Lukes first love, first kiss, first everything. he had never felt any more alive than when he was with you. but now, all he felt was pain and regret.
that night it all happened was after a game that the devils won. Luke and you were on your way back home. You were both ecstatic about the win, luke being an overtime winner. Something felt off. Luke had been completely distant all night, and you couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.
When you got home, you confronted Luke about his behavior. You asked him if everything was okay, and he hesitated before finally admitting the truth.
he lied to the press about being in a relationship with you, but to make things worse he ran to his teammates and started making fun of not just the press, but also you.
“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you,” he said bluntly.
You were taken back by his words. You had no idea that he felt this way. You had been dating for two years, and everything seemed to be going well.
“Why?” you asked, tears streaming down your face.
“Because I don’t want to be tied down,” he replied. “I want to be free to do what I want without having to worry about anyone else.”
You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You had given Luke everything, and this was how he repaid you? By making fun of you to his teammates and denying that he was even in a relationship with you?
You knew that it was over between you two. You couldn’t keep holding onto someone who didn’t want to be held onto.
“is that really what you want ” you said, your voice shaking with emotion. “yes.”
“okay than” you said making you way towards the front door.
Luke didn’t say anything as you walked out of the door. He knew that he had messed up, but it was too late now.
it’s not like Luke didn’t want to move on from you, if anything he did. It’s just that every time he did everything reminded him of you. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. Every time he heard a love song on the radio, on a date, or even during practice, he only thought about you.
he’ll have you as much space as you need until you come back to him is what he thought. He’s always going to have a soft spot in his heart for just you.
“and just maybe
enough time will pass
we’ll look back and laugh
just don’t forget it”
Luke had dreamt about you two getting back together a million times. He’d even picture what it would be like if you two ran into each other. He’d imagined you two walking to a coffee shop together, him apologizing to you for that night, and even making jokes about the break up. he dreamt of every scenario he possibly could.
“if you’re with somebody else
i’ll give you time and space”
it wasn’t until that one night at the bar after a devils game he finally go to see you, but around the arms of another guy.
the moment you two made eye contact for the first time in months. Luke’s heart skipped a beat, your radiant smile illuminating the room. Luke couldn’t help but feel jealous and regret interwined within him.
it hurt luke to see you happy with another guy that wasn’t him. how could you be happy without him? how are you not thinking about him as much as he think about you? is all he could be thinking about.
Luke got the courage to go up to you were alone.
“hey can we talk” luke blurted out
“luke there isn’t anything we need to talk about” you said trying to push back against
“please, just give me a minute, a minute is all i need” he plead
The air was filled with anticipation and unspoken words as he stood right infront of you. in that moment he realized that all his dreams and scenarios were fragments of what could be. The path of reconciliation lay in facing reality and acknowledging his past mistakes.
“I’m sorry, i messed up big time. i never meant to lie to the press about us, let alone make fun of you to everyone on the team.” luke’s heart was pounding with anticipation and anxiety.
“luke you broke up with me because you wanted to be free and not take care of anyone else!” you yelled back at him.
“i know, i was upset i didn’t meant it i still feel regret. i’m sorry” luke’s eyes looked into yours searching for forgiveness.
“I appreciate the apology luke, but it’s too late now. I’be moved on with someone else and you know that.” forgiving luke was the first step only you can take to heal after your breakup with him.
Luke’s face dropped as he heard those words. He knew that deep down he lost you forever. But he also knew that he had to make things right with you.
“i understand” he said, looking down at his feet. “i just wanted to apologize for that night and for everything.”
with that, like turned around and wakes out of that bar, not caring if any of his teammates saw. all he could feel was regret and sadness wash over him.
he’ll give you as much space as you need. hoping that one day, you two can reconnect with each other as you once did.
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extra note: i need to learn how to write longer fics 🧍‍♀️
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OK, people were very nice to me yesterday about my latest absurdly niche blorbo: Guthláf of Rohan. I wrote a little story about him (it's below and it's only 500ish words). But I feel like I can't post it in isolation without explaining myself a little better first.
The fact that he's Théoden’s banner bearer is the only detail about Guthláf’s life in the canon. But just that by itself was enough to grab my interest because I took a class on ancient warfare in college, and one of my major takeaways was that the flag bearers were often the bravest and most selfless guys in a battle. They were highly visible, highly vulnerable, and highly prized as a target for the enemy. That's not an encouraging combo, and they had an appallingly high casualty rate. And yet, the ones who pursued it did so willingly and considered it an honor!
Although Guthláf's name literally means "battle survivor", he did not avoid the flag bearer’s usual fate. He’s listed among the fatalities at the Pelennor Fields (along with Halbarad, the only (?) other named flag bearer in the books). So I wrote the drabble-ish story below about Guthláf’s experience of his own terrifying job. (I also, of course, have a full head canon about his personal life—how he spoke Rohirric with a rural accent that stood out in Edoras, how the early loss of his family drove him toward recklessness, how he was maybe in love with fellow obscure blorbo Wídfara, etc.—if anyone is interested! And I decided that he's the tall, blonde drink of water on the left below, who I believe is otherwise unnamed and is too young to be Elfhelm or Erkenbrand.)
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Anyway. Story (ish) here:
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Alone among his éored, Guthláf carries no weapon. In his left hand, he holds his shield, his one and only means of protecting himself; in his right, he carries his banner, a charging white horse on a field of deep green that whips furiously in the cold wind above his head.
Alone among his éored, Guthláf does not strike blows. His war is fought not with strength of arms but with strength of spirit. He has only to keep himself going long enough to let his banner do its work. To signal the direction of the charge and mark the vanguard of the attack. To be the rallying point around which scattered troops coalesce. To lead the way, like a torch in the dark, so that those behind know where to follow. He has only to keep that banner flying, set high and stark against the cool blankness of the winter sky, so that every Rohirrim heart can see that they are yet unconquered, that victory still lies ahead.
Alone among his éored, Guthláf can never hide or blend in. His banner draws the eyes of foes just as easily as friends. His every move is visible. Noted. Tracked. Hunted. The hope he kindles in his fellow riders is equaled by the hatred he inspires in their enemies, and there is no greater blow such an enemy can strike than to bring him down, to achieve with the death of one man the turning of a tide that can change the fate of thousands.
Alone among his éored, Guthláf has no hope that he will survive unscathed to see old age. Banner bearers don’t last long in times of war, and Guthláf is his éored’s fourth bearer in five years. He has only to walk the streets of Edoras to be confronted with the reality of how the lucky banner bearers end their days–empty sleeves tied up where an arm used to be, angry red scars across unprotected faces and necks, canes and crutches that will never fully compensate for crushed legs, twisted spines, shattered hips. The unlucky ones end instead in hastily raised barrows, resting eternally in the sometimes distant and friendless lands where they finally slid from the saddle, bloodied and broken and desperately looking for a loyal hand into which they could pass the banner before everything went dark at last.
And yet, Guthláf wanted this job. He fought for this job. It means everything to him. Because even as he rides to his death, charging into battle on his gray warhorse with his banner streaming brilliantly in his wake, he has never felt more alive. He has never felt so much bigger than himself. When he carries his banner, he is no longer just Guthláf, son of Hulac. He is instead the spirit of Helm, and Eorl, and Frumgar and all the great warriors of old. He is the sound of thousands of hoofs thundering together across an open plain. He is the sight of the jagged white peaks towering over the lush green and gold grasses of the Mark. He is Rohan itself, not just a man but an idea. And an idea can never be slain. When he carries his banner, Guthláf becomes immortal.
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popmybrains · 6 months
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Soft Lies [ Astarion x She/Her Reader ]
Pairing: Astarion x She/Her Pronoun Reader
A/N: This is meant to take place pre-events of the game so the reader is not intended to be Tav but can be if you so wish. This was also posted on A03 under my account so if you see this there that was also me. This is just a little short story I felt like writing nothing exciting lol.
Warnings: Angst
Summary:
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” he finally said, his voice steady but tinged with an unmistakable sadness. “And I’ve come to a decision.”
Her heart skipped a beat. The words were not what she had expected. “A decision?”
Astarion nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground. “I don’t love you.”
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The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the secluded glade. Its where Astarion had arranged to meet her just before the sunsets. She had expected a pleasant evening, a moment of intimacy with the vampire who had captured her heart. Together they had spent weeks, laughing and sharing stories. She had even dared to share her blossoming dreams of a life together, unaware of the shadow that would cast over his face.
It was then he started pulling away from her. She didn’t notice at first, not until he gently pulled his hand away from her touch the other day. How tense he would become during the times she would embrace him. It’s why she was so eager for this little rendezvous of his, excited he wanted to spend some time with her.
Running down the path that lead from her small town, she stopped at the edge of the forest slightly heaving from the run after her chores. Astarion appeared from the trees, stopping along the edge still in the shade the leaves provided - his demeanor unusually somber. He looked every bit the charming rogue she had come to adore, but his eyes betrayed a hint of sadness and uncertainty. As he drew closer, she noticed the tension in his shoulders, a tightness in his expression.
Breathing through his nose he began, his voice quieter than usual, “We need to talk.”
She smiled, hoping to ease the heaviness in the air. “Of course, Astarion. What’s on your mind?”
He hesitated, his gaze flitting about the tranquil glade as if searching for words that eluded him. “I’ve been doing some thinking,” he finally said, his voice steady but tinged with an unmistakable sadness. “And I’ve come to a decision.”
Her heart skipped a beat. The words were not what she had expected. “A decision?”
Astarion nodded, his eyes fixed on the ground. “I don’t love you.”
She felt as if the world had shattered around her. The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible to ignore. “What are you saying, Astarion? After everything we’ve planned, after we even… you’re telling me you don’t love me?” Her voice trembled, this wasn’t how she expected the evening to go. 
He swallowed hard, a pained expression crossing his face. “It’s true. I don’t love you, and I can’t.”
Tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice trembled as she spoke. “But why? Why would you say that? I thought we meant- that I meant more to you, gods sake I even let you feed off me...”
Astarion reached his handout to touch her cheek only the flesh of his arm being touch by the ever fading sunlight. His fingers brushing against her skin before he quickly withdrew his hand. “You don’t… I was just, using you. And it’s is for your own good, if this ends now.”
Fury surged within her, a tempest of emotions threatening to consume her. “You can’t just end things like this, Astarion! You owe me a better explanation than you don’t love me!”
He stepped back, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I’m sorry… It’s over.”
With that, he turned and walked away, her alone in the glade, her heart shattered into a million pieces. She watched him go, unable to comprehend the abrupt and inexplicable end to their relationship. The silence of the meadow was broken only by her anguished sobs.
Astarion didn’t look back, didn’t see the tears streaming down her face. He had done what he believed was necessary to protect her from the lurking danger of Cazador, but it had come at a heavy cost. As he retreated into the darkness, his tears fell freely, his heart aching with the knowledge that he had pushed away the one person he cared for the most.
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frienderbee · 17 days
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The thing that's really pissing me off about the Caitibugzz situation is how quick people have been to disagree and stand against her.
"She saw the clout shubble got!" The whole point shubble wanted to make was that people should feel comfortable coming out about this stuff and that we should support the victims. And frankly if anything standing up against a creator this babied and beloved with a platform that size would only hurt her follower count.
"Its her own fault for drinking" Maybe drinking at a party with people she did not know well wasn't the safest decision in hindsight but it doesn't mean it was HER fault. She had no reason to believe she was in an unsafe position till she was.
"Well why didn't she leave, why'd she keep coming back?" We only know she kept coming back from George. All the things he said regarding the night has no proof and I'm sick of seeing people say there is??? The things that do line up are him touching her, not asking her age, not asking consent. We can't know for sure what he said is true at all.
"Well she was at a 21+ party! She lied about her age" Okay not only was that not true as it was a 16+ party. But it also doesn't fucking matter how old she was?? Her being freshly 18 adds in the factor of the power dynamic and worsens the situation, yes. But if she is being touched without consent and is uncomfortable then it doesn't matter how old she is, it's still wrong for her to be in that situation.
Even before people made any connection to George people were saying "her tears seemed forced" or "she's not even really crying". I watched the stream live and saw tears going down her face and heard her voice break. I've even seen people say "she's literally reading it!' YES. She wrote down her thoughts to make a statement cause she knew it would upset her.
Finally I don't understand why people are saying Her story had too many holes compared to George when if we focus on the things they have in common its still clear that George assumed everything, didn't ask consent or her age, and did touch her.
Maybe George genuinely believes he is innocent but I think it's telling that he doesn't even deny most the events, just says they were exaggerated and that He thought it was okay. She didn't.
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Note
dark!yandere/obsessed!eddie munson :0 they get into a fight and reader wants to break up so he does something about it... (btw love your writing!)
poor reader :,(
note: this kinda sucks bc i wrote it on my lunch break at work earlier and then was too lazy to revise lol.. also.. this is very dark so be aware and read the CW.
CW: obsessed!eddie munson x innocent!fem!reader (doesnt need to be innocent could be just naive), HINTS of crybaby!reader but tbh who wouldnt be crying in this situation, mean!eddie (obviously) toxic relationship, power dynamic, fighting (not physically), violent!eddie munson, angst, nicknames, eddie puts his hand around y/n's throat, jealous!eddie, dark!eddie munson, CNC (kinda), unprotected sex, possessive!eddie, no prep before sex, abusive relationship, tw: abuse
˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
eddie and you have datd for a good few months now. at first he was sweet, caring, and kind..but then things took a turn for the worse. eddie became too posessive, too jealous, and being in a relationship with him became exhausting. he isolated you from your other friends telling you that you didn't need anyone else but him. you came to the conclusion to break up with him; even if that made you nervous.
you talked to him as calmly as you could when you went over to his trailer one day, forgetting that his uncle wouldn't be home. sitting eddie in the living room, you kindly explained (as to not upset him (eddie was scary when he got upset)) that you needed a break.
eddie's face dropped, his hand pulling away from yours that were sitting sweaty on your lap, shaking. for a moment, you missed his warm touch. "what do you mean you want to break up?"
"i-i need some time alone eddie, 'm sorry," you whispered, swallowing back the growing lump in your throat of nerves and anxiety.
he stood up, pacing shortly for a moment before turning to you. "this is about him, isn't it?"
you could tell he was about to get really scary, and tears started brimming in your confused, glossy eyes as you asked, "a-about who?"
you hated that your voice was meek and trembling, you could barely contain your anxiety.
"oh don't give me that fucking bull shit, y/n. you know who the fuck i'm talking about..." his voice was tense, omitting anger from every pore. you shook your head, tears already streaming down your face.
"i swear i don't! who 'r you talking about?"
"don't play dumb with me, goddammit! Carter O'Niel!" he enthused, throwing his hands outwards, his rings glinting from the soft lights of the lamp.
Carter? You barely knew Carter. He was on the wrestling team, and was your partner in a biology project but that was it. it lasted a week and then you barely spoke to him again. Last time you two talked was.. oh god.
Today. Behind the bleachers. Did eddie follow you?! All Carter wanted to talk to you about was buying drugs from eddie because he knew you two were dating. he wanted to keep his doings a secret so he asked to meet you with a note he slipped in your hand in english class...which both you and eddie had together.
"wh-what are-are you fucking him or something?!" eddie yelled, making you flinch, an onslaught of tears still streaming down your face.
your face flushed red at the innapropriate thought. "n-no! ed-eddie i would never do that! i swear! please, i just needa break!"
"Oh," he dragged out, "you just 'need a break!' i don't understand, why so you can fuck him without the guilt of cheating?! i dont- i dont get it...baby, why would you do this to me?" tears began to brim in his eyes, and you stood up, trying to be brave, but your whole entire frame was shaking.
"'m-m sorry, eds, please!"
"do you not love me anymore?! when i said i loved you forever, i meant it, y/n. i fucking meant it! and you.. you just...lied!"
you shook your head, sobbing, "no! i-i meant it, you have to believe me! i love you, i-i" another sob slipped through, "i j-just need a break. youre scary, eddie. you scare me."
eddie turned to you, his jaw ticking. "i scare you? baby, i'm protecting you!" he walked toward you, backing you into a wall, his frame towering over yours.
"n-no, you're s-so mean ta'me. you make me hurt," you sniffled, and eddie's eye softened, causing your body to melt into his as he pressed himself against you. "p-please.." you begged, slightly pushing him away from you, which was obviously not the best idea.
your cries were loud as he turned away, yelling a curse and throwing one of the glass vases across the room.
he stormed over to you, grabbing you by the throat and dragging you to his room before pinning you on the door. you spluttered, shocked and choking as your vision sparkled.
he shook you a little with his hand. "i fucking love you! i cherish you, and this is how you treat me?! y-you can't leave me!" he loosens his hand, allowing you to breathe, but still keeps it in the area, a sort of threat.
"e-eddie," you stammer, wheezing and trying to catch your breath. "m so-sorry!"
catching you by surprise he grabs your chin, squishing your cheeks together and smashing his lips to yours, his body on you.
you whine, gasping for air as he holds you closer with his hand on the back of your head, both of your tears meshing together.
he pulls away, putting his forehead to yours and breathing heavily as he whispers close to your lips, "i love you, princess. I love you so much. i hate when you say shit like this. i hate that you make me get angry, i never wanna hurt you, baby." he peppers light kisses on your lips, holding your face with both of his ring-cladded hands on the sides of your head.
you feel yourself give in.
it's too late.
he's got you where he wants you and you just want him to forgive you and kiss you and hold you.
you hiccup over a small cry, and he shushes you softly, tilting his head to the side to pepper more small kisses on your lips. "youre not gonna leave me, right baby? because you love me so much, and i love you. you're mine and im yours, okay? i love you, i love you, i love you.."
he kisses you gently again, and you sniffle holding on to him and letting him take you to his bed. he kisses your lips, nose, corners of your mouth, eyelids, forehead...everywhere.
"e-eddie, i don wanna be with carter, i-i jus wan you, i never wanted to be with him," you sniffle, and his eyes soften. he breathes in, getting on top of you as he hands you the small teddy bear of yours on his bed. you wrap your hand around the soft plushie.
eddie whispers against your lips as he undoes his zipper, pulling his hardened cock out and stroking it gently, tossing your panties under your skirt to the side, "i know baby, fuck, you're mine."
he thrusts in, fucking you hard and slow, then fast and shallow, holding your hips with his hands and letting the loud sounds of skin smacking fill the air in the room, small moans and whimpers coming from your lips as he kisses away the tears. the stretch burns, but it feels too right.
"mine, mine, mine," he whispers with each thrust, kissing you sloppily and licking your lips with his tongue, then the inside of your mouth with his tongue as you reciprocate, your cunt pulsating around his cock.
"my baby, my sweet baby, hm?" he tucks some hair behind your ears, kissing your cheek and thrusting faster and more animalistic.
"'m yours" you respond.
there's no escape.
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nukedimplosion · 2 months
Text
Why I believe Spade King will be redeemed
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The Spade King is a... controversial character to say the least. From what I've seen, opinions of him range from a complete monster to an abusive douche with little leeway.
So, making a post about how this villain will be redeemed in future chapters may seem like a slap in the face. Let it be known that none of this is to upset real survivors of abuse, but instead it is to highlight the many indicators I feel show that Spade King is not beyond redemption.
I personally have had this theory since around when chapter 2 came out, and time has only solidified it, but this is the first time I actually got the confidence to post it.
That being said, let's get into the evidence.
THE FOUNTAIN
In the 6th anniversary stream for Undertale, Fangamer played through an edited version of Deltarune with Toby Fox making comments about development, the characters etc.
When facing the Spade King, Fangamer talked about how they hoped Spade King had been a good dad 'before the other mouth grew in'.
Toby Fox then says this;
'I mean, I think that fountain definitely changed his behaviour. For sure.'
This quote is stated around the 3 hour mark of the livestream video below.
So what does this mean? You may want to argue that Toby was not be literal when he made this statement, and that the fountain was a simple temptation instead of something that directly effected his behaviour. But then there's the queen...
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The queen seems to have also experienced this fountain brought phenomena despite only wanting to use it to serve the Lightners instead of oppose.
She threatens and attempts to kill the Lightners. She establishes a regime significantly more strict then the last. She won't stop going on about the Knight. These are all things the King does as well.
It seems that the fountain abstracts the behaviour of their respective rulers for the sake of the Knight.
Okay, so the fountain impacts the King's behaviour, great. Doesn't change the fact that he threatened his son, and refuses to apologise or acknowledge his wrong doing now the fountain is closed.
Well, that leads me onto the next part...
HIS SON
Let's immediately establish one thing; the Chaos King does care for his son. While how genuine that care is is debated by the fandom, I would like to make the case that he was a good dad and does want Lancer to be happy.
First of all is the quote about the fountain that Toby made in the anniversary stream, which was a reply to a comment about how Fangamer hoped that he was a good dad.
Replying then seems to indicate that the fountain did impact his ability to be a good father.
More importantly is his dialogue in jail.
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Here, he asked directly if his son is happy, in hesitant, even reserved manner. This is in direct contrast to how he mocks the Lightners with his boisterous grin or cruel frown.
Remember when he was yelling that he'll 'KILL ALL OF YOU' while his subjects dragged him away? An insurrection led by his son, who he called a traitor? Despite this, he seems to hold no ill will towards his son or his fellow darkners (we'll get to that). This behaviour I believe was caused by the fountain, thus the attitude change.
And yes, I do acknowledge that he has lied for sympathy before (his act before Ralsei healed him in chapter 1), but this is different. There is no reason to lie at this point; there's no way they would believe him.
He also admits that if he HAD let his son go, Lancer would have just... bounced. He then calls his son a bouncy little pumpkin. This line is notably similar to a line right after Susie casts pacify on him, calling her a 'sweet little pumpkin', again hinting that he was a good dad before the fountain and his love towards Lancer isn't a lie.
'But' you may argue, 'Lancer was afraid! He knew his son was scared of him but kept threatening anyways!'
Which is a valid point, and is obviously horrible.
BUT combined with the fountain being an impact for his decisions, I think it is also a valid idea that there's more to it than 'The Spade King is abusive'.
Both the Queen and King are callous when it comes to the opinion and wellbeing of others. Queen spends the entirety of Chapter 2 attempting to force Noelle to do as she says, even threatening to kill her classmates (and crush) for the sake of her goal.
What King does is similar, making Lancer watch as his friends get killed because he didn't do as he said. It's cruel, yes, but this is another case where you can argue the fountain may have led to this mutual behaviour.
(You may argue that the Queen has the excuse of being a computer who isn't completely in tune with peoples emotions. This argument doesn't really make sense because she actively uses Noelle's emotions against her in a way that shows she understands how upset it makes her.)
I do believe that Spade King knew his son was upset and still went along with it. This post isn't some elongated argument for Spade King's sainthood.
But I do have to say, him being aware and still going along with it may explain why he's hesitant to talk about Lancer in his jail cell. He knows he messed up and is feeling guilty post-fountain, he's just too prideful to up and say it to the face of the enemy. What he did is not a show of Spade King's abusive inhernet nature but an example of the fountain clouding his full judgement at that moment.
Also, you may argue that Spade King was neglectful of his son, leaving him to Rouxls Kaard to be cared for. I do believe that there has been a bit of exaggeration on this point. Yes, he does put his son in the care of his employees perhaps more than he should, but he's also straight up a King. He's a busy guy.
'Oh, but he doesn't feed him, the poor boy is starving!'
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Honestly, my big question is why he's cooking in the first place. He's a King, he has subjects literally fanning his son and he can't afford one chef? It seems like this is more a downtime thing he does with his son for the sake of family bonding (may explain where the food based nickname of 'sweet little pumpkin' came from) and he knows his son will be fed by his employees when he's busy.
Again, too dependent, but I don't see any signs of such an intense neglect to call him a bad dad.
Of course, this is more in the assumption category. It is possible the neglect is more active and that the King is just a douche, but I feel that we are being purposely mislead here.
Now, onto the final point.
HIS SUBJECTS
Let's talk about why Spade King did what he did.
Spade King hates Lightners, that much is obvious. He calls them scum, says that 'their existence goes against our own' and feels absolutely no guilt towards trying to kill them post-fountain.
Which isn't really not justified. Darkners were made to keep Lightners happy, only to be abandoned by them. The Chaos King has to watch as the kingdom, HIS kingdom, rotted without meaning. He had to raise his son with the understanding that he would never be 'truely happy' because the so called only source of happiness for Darkners left them to the wayside.
So, when the Knight came, is it really that surprising he would try to create a 'new purpose' as he said? Yes, perhaps world domination is a bit insane (maybe he's dramatic like that, maybe it was the fountain, he does hate Lightners so it's likely both) but the core of his ideals, that darkners can be something beyond what they are to Lightners is not only justified but correct.
In the scene where the gang are walking to the castle in Chapter 1, Lancer acknowledges how happy he is to be here, feeling like he's doing 'something important'. Ralsei replies that this is because he is serving the Lightners and that is the purpose of the Darkners.
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Susie is notably uncomfortable, and dismisses Ralsei's point as 'weird purpose' talk and simply says that Lancer is just happy because he ate a weird berry. This is the first sign that the plot beat of Darkners only gaining happiness from Lightners is not just going to be an accepted status quo by the main cast and that there is likely to be more contention about the subject in the future.
(I would also like to mention that Ralsei in this scene asks if the Spade King is happy, in which Lancer very hesitantly says he's not sure.)
Then, in chapter 2, Ralsei is shown to be confused about friendship. He starts to understand that friendship is more than just being nice all the time and that he should be more 'Ralsei-like', meaning more like himself.
The problem is that he doesn't know what that is. He's spent all this time forming himself into the perfect companion but he doesn't know how to be himself. This is a result of his purpose, his wish to be the perfect Darkner for his friends. Now, his purpose seems more cloudy. Should he continue being the perfect little angel for his friends or should he become someone who is more genuine on their own terms, like what his friends seem to want?
While Ralsei is still doing everything he can for the Lighteners, he is slowly becoming his own individual, which is what the King wanted for all Darkners.
Then there's the general themes of control. Be it Kris, the secret bosses or the Spade King, all of these people wish to be more than the binds that control them. While the Spade King is acting on behalf of the Knight, he does so to free his people from the influence of the Lightners, to make purpose on their own terms and be their own people.
Just like how Kris wishes to be free from, you, the player, also making their own purpose and be their own person. May I remind you that the Darkners are media and toys, fun things meant to be enjoyed. They are in universe equivalents of video game characters, made to entertain Lightners, just like Kris, Ralsei and Susie are made to entertain us. The only difference is that the latter is closer to the forth wall.
So yes, while his world domination thing was wack, I believe the Spade King is righteous in his core values.
So why doesn't any other character seem to agree?
Ralsei completely believes that Darkners can only gain happiness from Lightners, Queen does everything she does for the sake of Lightners, hell, the town that the Darkners live in isn't named after the Prince or anything but you, a Lightner. They even call you boss!
At this point, the only character who cares for Darkners having a purpose outside of Lightners is locked in a jail cell.
Now, it is possible that Toby Fox introduces another character who has Spade King's beliefs but is less nasty about it, but that's lame. It's also possible that Ralsei has an epiphany and realise that Darkners deserve better and that becomes the result of his arc. Better, and I can see him going in that direction, but I still think it's less satisfactory.
In any route in which you don't get all recruits, the King is the only person who acknowledges this and is actively upset about it. Even the Queen is hesitant yet still ultimately okay with leaving her subjects behind because the Lightners are onboard.
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The goofy cutscene where he asks for cashews? Gone. He simply remarks on how you left them behind like Lightners left the Card Kingdom darkners behind and tells you to 'Begone'. The first line is said with a smile, knowing that he's been proven right but after that, the smile leaves and he's just... cold. He seems genuinely upset about what happened to the Darkners you left behind, portrayed with a '...' in his second line and the loss of his smile. He is not trying to trick you, you simply disgust him at this point. He cares for Darkners in a way that no character has shown yet (aside from Nubert (the goat))
This is why the title of this post is why Spade King is GOING to be redeemed and not me saying he SHOULD be. The difference in levity between an interaction with the Spade King post full recruits and not full recruits indicates that by getting recruits, the King is more willing to acknowledge you and, perhaps with time, your points and intentions. If Spade King was supposed to be this abusive bastard, having characters such as the Queen be on positive terms with him seems strange. You can argue nuance all you want, but the Queen, a character who we're supposed to like, being friends with a character we're supposed to end up hating seems like a strange writing decision no matter how you slice it. Especially if he's a straight up child abuser.
(yes I know she might not know but are you really expecting an epic drama where Queen finds out he's an abusive scumbag and calls him out? Having a morally positive character be friends with an abuser can work but in this situation, it is objectively a weird choice and I will argue on that)
He asks for cashews in this chapter and suckles out a giant hamster water container. Maybe the second serves to make him look pathetic, but then the Queen apparently has the same thing but bigger. The cashew bit is played off as endearing more then anything.
This is all because you got those recruits. Without them, he doesn't even talk to you. Therefore, it can be concluded that Spade King does have a chance. After all, if all of him was completely against you and believed you would be bound to abandon them, he would not be talking to you in any route. It's only when you prove it directly that he stops.
Toby Fox uses the recruit dialogue to endear you to him, which I presume is to set up a redemption if you continue to go down the recruit everyone path. By proving him wrong in future chapters, I presume he will talk more about himself and his ideals and perhaps listen to the Fun Gang and his son in turn.
CONCLUSION
My prediction is that over the course of the chapters, players will see more and more endearing aspects of the Chaos King, with things such as his theoretical neglect and love for Lancer being properly clarified and elaborated on, but only if you keep all recruits. He will still be sceptical, perhaps even leading to him going against you when the Knight returns, but he will ultimately fight by your side if you have successfully convinced him through your treatment of the Darkners that Lightners aren't bad after all.
Hopefully by the ending point, Ralsei would have had enough of an extential crisis to hear the Spade King out on his whole 'Darkners deserve to be happy without the Lightners' deal. Susie would absolutely be on board with her friends finding happiness without needing Lightners (I can see her arguing with Ralsei about it in a future chapter).
I can see him sacrificing himself, but I don't want Lancer to deal with that.
The final point I would like to mention is his place in the narrative. A lot of people have argued that all he is meant to be in an objective evil to prove that Ralsei was wrong about fighting never being the answer and that a redemption would ruin that, and yes, that is his role is chapter 1.
But if that was his only purpose, bringing him back as the only person to actively acknowledge the consequences of your lack of recruits seems pointless. Giving him moments of endearment and clarifying he loves his son is unnecessary. You, again, can argue it's for the sake of nuance but I think at this point I have clarified that there is a lot more to it than that.
Besides, what would be more satisfying to see than the most stubborn character of your journey, the only one you could not convince in the chapter he appeared in, joining your side as a result of you sparing every darkner you can?
In a game with only one ending, making routes like full mercy seem worth it is kind of important if you want players to bother caring about those mechanics. The few dialogue changes we do get really don't cut it.
But witnessing the development of a character who you started off hating but then becomes your ally due to your decisions and comes to help you in your darkest hour?
That would be worth it.
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Thanks for reading this theory! It's been a while since I've written a theory like that. Do say your opinions, I know this is a desisive topic but I am still happy to hear people's perspectives!
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bodyswapmischief · 4 months
Text
Andrew's Holiday Part 1 (An interactive story)
Part 2 Part 3
"Fine! Maybe I won't fucking come home for Christmas!" Andrew hung up and threw his phone on his bed. His heart was racing. His hands were shaking. The whole world around him felt loud and bright. The panic that sat within him before the phone call did not leave him. Even now, with the call over, he felt worse. He could feel his body begin to react to stress like it always had. His blood pulsed. He began to sweat. Every neuron was firing in his brain. All of them were telling the brain the same thing. "There is something in us, and it needs to be out of us." His stomach began to bubble, and a sour taste began to coat his mouth. He jolted to the trash can by his bed, as everything in his stomach came out. Tears began to stream down his face with each convulsion of vomit.
"What's wrong, Andy?" A voice came from behind him. Shame washed throughout Andrew's body. "Go! I don't want you to see me like this!" He tried to yell. But, Oscar's presence just added to the anxiety in this moment, and Andrew threw up again.
"Are you sick! Do you need anything?" Oscar called out again. "I was just coming back from class and heard..." Oscar stammered, not knowing what to do in this moment. "Leave!" Andrew cried out in the corner. His back turned away from Oscar. He could still feel the uneasiness of his stomach. His body shook as he cried.
Oscar let out a sigh. "No ... Andy! I'm not gonna leave. I'm your boyfriend and I want to be here for you." Oscar knelt beside Andrew and began to rub his back. "I'll be here ... I'll be quiet. I'll let you process. Just let me know if you..." Before Oscar could finish, Andrew turned around. His head sank into Oscar's chest, and he let the tears rush out.
The two sat there for sometimes, as the tears of Andrew face began to dry. His nose clogged, and his eyes puffy red. He sighed, feeling like he could finally breathe. He felt so safe in Oscar's arms. He couldn't believe he got lucky enough to be paired with him in freshman year as roommates. How they spent every day together. The shared anxiety they had not knowing if the other was gay. But, now it was sophomore year, and they were committed to each other. And Oscar was proving it, in this moment. However, comforting Oscar was, Andrew felt like he didn't deserve it.
"I came out to my dad today ... it didn't go well." Andrew pushed himself away. The shaky anxiety could still be heard in his voice. And, his body plops onto his bed. Oscar follows him and sits at his side. "I'm sorry ..." Oscar grabbed Andrew's hand and began to rub it. "He was mad, of course, but also in denial ... Between cussing me out, he'd throw in talks about me coming home and him fixing me and taking me to therapy and getting me through this phase. So, I told him I'm not coming home."
Oscar shook his head with a pit of disgust in his stomach. "That's sick. Wow, I don't even know to say ..." He lies down next to Tyler and pulls him close to his body. "He's wrong, tho ... you know that, right? There is nothing wrong with you. You ... us ... we are prefect." Oscar gives Andrew a reassuring squeeze.
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Why is Oscar so prefect? Is all Andrew could think about at this moment. "Yeah, I know that." Andrew finally smiles and rests his face against Oscar's chest. "You know ... my offer is still out there. You could come home with me for the holidays. My parents would love to meet you. And, I could help with any fees to change your ticket this late." Oscar turns onto his back. Excitement is clearly ringing from his voice.
Andrew turns on his back as well and weighs his options. Spending time with Oscar would he nice. Meeting his family could be interesting. But, is he really not going to go home? Would he punish his mother just because of his father. His mom has been accepting of him ever since he came out to her in high school. And, then all his friends would be there. He'd find ways to ignore his dad. But, maybe he just needed time alone. He could stay on campus and just spend time to think. Think about who he was without family or a boyfriend. He loved Oscar, but there was always this feeling of not being good enough for him. Maybe some time apart could help him with these feelings.
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catierambles · 10 months
Text
Back in the Saddle
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Pairing: Syverson x Heather Markum (OFC)
WC 3282
Warnings: Some talk about divorce, sterilization, and childlessness
@brattymum96 , @ouroboros113 , @peaches1958 , @summersong69 , @eldarwen333 , @omgkatinka , @identity2212 , @lucypaulette , @km-ffluv , @kebabgirl67 , @squeezyvalkyrie , @rebelangel1102 , @dopegardensaladhuman
By hour two she was about ready to shotgun a bottle of wine or stab someone with a spoon. It wouldn’t be so bad if she had her phone, but the speed dating company that one of her friends had registered her with had a strict “no phones” policy, and she was given a numbered key in exchange for her things when she got to the restaurant, her bag locked securely in a locker in the back. Damnit, Beckah, she was fine. Who cares if she hasn’t dated once since her divorce? It was her choice and all the guys their age wanted something that she just wouldn’t and couldn’t give them. It would just be a repeat of history, save for the walk down the aisle and credit card debt.
The first guys that sat across from her, she couldn’t even remember their names or faces anymore, and given that they each had half an hour, that was telling how forgettable they were. One went on and on about his job in the stock market and crypto, flashing his fake Rolex whenever he could (it ticked, not swept, so it was fake) and veneered smile. Another devolved into a rant about his mother, making her chug her wine. Also not her fault she couldn't control her face when around people that bugged her.
"Okay, gentlemen!" The host said after the bell rang, "Move on to the next lucky lady!"
"Is it time already?" The guy across from her said, Dave? Or was it Tim? She didn't care. "I'll be looking for you in my stream audience, hope to see you there."
"Yep." She said and he got up, moving to the next table.
"Damn, doll." She heard as she saw the next guy sit down from the corners of her vision, "You look about as miserable as me." She couldn't help it, she laughed, and it made her look up at him. He was handsome, in a rugged kind of way, with a buzzed head of dark hair that came to a widow's peak, a full beard on his jaw, and clear blue eyes. What the hell was he doing at a speed dating event? What was wrong with him?
"That obvious, huh?" She asked.
"Just a bit." He said with a shrug. "Jake Syverson, call me Sy." He held his hand out slightly across the table and she took it, his palm rough and his hand dwarfing hers.
"Heather Markum." She said and they shook briefly. He was the first to get her full name, as the company didn't believe in name tags, wanting their introductions to be "organic".
"So," He sighed, "Well-meanin' friend set you up with this shindig?"
"Yup." She said and he nodded.
"Same." He said, “Told me I needed to get “back in the saddle”, so to speak.”
“Been a while?”
“I was in a long-term thing for the last couple of years, but I got home from deployment and found her in bed with another guy. Dumped her then and there.” Sy said, very matter-of-factly, and she gave a low whistle.
“Damn.” She said and he nodded.
“You?”
“You could say I was in prison.” She said and he arched a brow at her, “Married.”
“Oh.” He said with a snort. “Mind my askin’ what ended it?”
“Not at all. He wanted kids, I didn’t.”
“Thought he woulda found that out before he put a ring on ya.”
“Oh, he knew. He knew while we were dating, while we were engaged, and while we were married. He thought I would change my mind or I would make an exception for him. He realized I was serious about it when I got myself sterilized.” Heather said.
“That’ll do it. Fucked up policy, but don’t they ask the husband if that’s okay?”
“I lied on the paperwork and said I was single, and we have separate insurances so he didn’t come up when they ran it.” Heather said and he nodded again.
“Well, I don’t want kids either. I have enough nieces and nephews to know that yeah, I like kids, but I like’em better when I can give’em back.” Sy said and she snorted.
“You said you were deployed?”
“Army.” Sy said and she nodded.
“Still active?” She asked and he nodded.
“What about you? How do you pay the bills?”
“I have an OnlyFans.”
“Really?” He asked, his voice pitching up slightly and she snorted.
“No, not really, I’m in real estate.” She said.
“Damn, I was about to ask you for your handle.” He said, making her laugh again. The rest of the half-hour went by far too quickly for her liking. He was charming, made her laugh, and had a killer smile that made his blue eyes sparkle. Soon the five-minute warning chime went off, signaling their time together was coming to an end. “Can I give you my number?”
“You absolutely can.” She said and he gave her another smile, grabbing the supplied pad of paper and pen and scribbling it down for her to add to her phone when she got it back. The end bell rang and he sighed, pushing up from his seat and touching her shoulder lightly as he went past, Heather watching him go before turning her eyes forward again, the next guy already seated.
“Hello, gorgeous.” He said with a sleazy smile and she sighed, pouring herself another glass of wine.
The rest of the night dragged on with none of them holding a candle to Sy and soon, thankfully, it was over. Turning in the key, she got her things and stepped out into the night air.
“Heather!” She heard and turned around, seeing Sy walking over to her, weaving his way through the other people also leaving the restaurant.
“Hey.” She said, unable to stop the smile from pulling at her lips. They moved to the side as he reached her so they weren’t in the flow of traffic and now that they were both standing, she could see just how massive he really was. Tall, broad through the chest and shoulders, narrow through the waist and his slacks hugged his thighs just right.
Down, girl.
“The rest of my night was a bust.” He said, “Yours?”
“Yours is the only number I accepted.”
“Good, ‘cus you were the only one I offered it to.” He said and she felt a small blush come over her cheeks, “The rest of the ladies I talked to just…couldn’t compare.”
“You hungry?” She asked and he sighed.
“Starving.” He admitted, making her giggle slightly. “In the mood for something special? We are in the neighborhood for it.”
“A cheeseburger, with bacon and mushrooms. Greasier the better.” She said.
“Woman, if you’re tryin’ to seduce me, it’s workin’.” He said, making her laugh, “You don’t gotta be so heavy-handed with it though, damn.” He smiled at her continued laughter before holding out his hand, “Come on, doll. I eyed a burger place down the street as I was drivin’ up. Let’s get some meat in ya.” He winked at her, well tried to, and she swatted at his arm playfully.
“Cheeky bastard.” She said, taking his hand, a small thrill going through her chest as he laced their fingers. Okay, this felt nice. He was handsome, charming, funny, with a slightly naughty sense of humor. Please don’t turn out to be a serial killer.
They talked as they walked and she thanked her foresight to wear flats and not heels. The burger place was a glorified hole in the wall, so she knew the food would be fantastic. They were extremely overdressed compared to the rest of the patrons and got some looks as they were placing their orders, Sy grabbing the numbered flag that was slid forward and they found themselves a seat towards the back, Sy sitting with his back to the wall and a clear line of sight on the entrance. Must be a military thing. He had insisted on paying for her food even though she told him he didn't have to.
The conversation picked up where it left off and they shared some more things about themselves, how she had originally gone to school with an arts major but switched to business when she realized that unless she wanted to teach, an arts degree wouldn't really get her anywhere. Sy had a bachelor's in Criminal Justice, which got him into the Army Officer's Program once he graduated. He wasn't just in the Army, she found out, he was a Captain.
"So what kinda real estate do you do?" He asked, taking a sip of his soda.
"Commercial." Heather said, "Office buildings and such. Bigger price tags mean a bigger commission, and I don't have to be constantly flipping properties."
"Sounds pretty relaxed."
"It's got its challenges, like when a Fortune 500 company tries to lowball me, but I manage." She said and their food arrived, the server setting the trays down and taking the flag with her. "Goddamn." The burger was massive, covered in cheese, bacon, and mushrooms.
"Eyes bigger than your stomach?" He asked, picking up his own burger.
"Shit no." She said and dug in, letting out a low sound when she bit into it, making him cough on a piece of his burger. "Food goes in stomach, not lungs."
"I'm trying." He wheezed, taking a sip of his drink. "Shit, doll." She just smiled into her food, biting into a couple of the rough-cut fries that came with the burger. 
"Fries are good too." She said and they resumed talking in between bites, the conversation not dying even after they finished their food.
"You parked by the restaurant?" He asked, "The looks we're gettin', they probably want to close up."
"Yeah, in the lot next to it." She said and they stood, taking their trays over to the bin and dumping the garbage before setting them on top, wishing the staff a good night as they walked out.
"I'll walk you to your car, I'm parked in the same lot anyway." Sy said and offered his hand again. She took it and again he laced their fingers, that small fluttering in her chest making a comeback. They didn't talk as they walked back, but it was a comfortable, companionable silence. Her car and she guessed his truck were the only ones in the lot and he walked her to the driver's side as she dug out her keys. "I wasn't expecting much from tonight, but I’m glad it turned out the way it did."
"Me too." She said with a small smile and there was a slight hesitation on his part.
"Heather, can I…can I give you a kiss?" He asked and her smile widened.
"I'd like that." She said and he smiled back before leaning into her. His lips were soft as they brushed over hers and her eyes closed as she pressed back against him. His hands came up to hold the sides of her jaw as he seemed to fall into the kiss and her own hands found their way to his trim waist, sliding under his suit jacket that he hadn't buttoned. Okay, he was good at this and her heart pounded in her chest as he kissed her. He finally broke away, breathing heavily, and she opened her eyes, seeing his were closed still.
“Let me know you got home okay?” He asked, his eyes still closed.
“Yeah.” She said, having put his number in her phone earlier and given him hers. She wanted to ask if he wanted to come back to her place, but it was way too early for that and she didn’t want to give him the wrong impression about her. They said their goodnights and he moved away, but she noticed that he didn’t get into his truck until she got into her car and started it.
She barely remembered the drive home, her mind and heart soaring from the night and the kiss they shared, but she did remember to send him a text once she got inside and locked the door, letting him know she was home safe like he requested. She got a simple heart emoji back but it made her smile nonetheless.
Taking off her makeup and getting changed into her pajamas, she brushed her teeth and got into bed, setting her phone on the charger.  She lay there for a little bit before giving a small giggle, wiggling a little under the covers in giddy excitement. She felt like a teenager again, not a divorcee, but then a moment of doubt crossed over her mind. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if she never heard from him again? He didn’t give her the impression of someone who would ghost someone, but you never knew. Whatever happened, happened. If she never heard from him again, then so be it. She’d be a little heartbroken, but it was ultimately his choice.
Sleep came quickly after that and she drifted off.
The chime of a notification from her phone is what woke her the next morning and she opened her eyes, blinking blearily and reaching for it. Turning on the screen, she saw she had a text from him and couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at her lips. It was a picture of him still in bed, his head resting on his pillow as he laid on his side, the selfie showing that he obviously went to bed with no shirt on as she saw a bit of hairy chest that was obviously muscular.
“Morning, beautiful.” The message said and she tapped in her reply.
“Morning, handsome.” A bit lame, she knew, but she just woke up. “I look like a swamp witch first thing in the morning, so you’re not getting a selfie.”
“Lol fair enough. Plans for today?”
“Nothing really, seeing as it’s the weekend.”
“Wanna meet for coffee? There’s this great spot I like that has killer muffins.”
“Absolutely, send me the address.” It came over a moment later and she put it into her GPS app, seeing that it was about a twenty-minute drive away. “Meet in about 45?” She needed time to get herself presentable, after all.
“I’ll be there.” She hoisted herself out of bed after that, taking a quick shower and throwing on clothes after too long of a deliberation. Casual, flirty, sexy was out for just coffee. She decided on nicer jeans, a long-sleeved shirt with a V neck, and black leather flats, twisting her hair up and keeping it secure with her hair clip that looked like skeleton arms. As it was, she was late leaving and nearly walked out of the house without her keys. Can’t go anywhere without those.
The drive to the coffee place was a blur of nervous anticipation and soon she was looking for parking, having already seen him sitting at a table outside of the shop. Finally finding a spot, she got out and walked up.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” She said and he looked up, setting down his cup and standing to pull her into a hug, pressing his lips to her cheek. Damn, he smelled good.
“It’s perfectly fine, got here not too long ago myself.” He said and she sat down across from him, a server coming over to take her order a moment later.
“So I don’t know what we’re going to talk about.” She admitted with a small, nervous giggle, “We pretty much covered everything last night.”
“I’m fine with just sittin’ here enjoyin’ your company.” Sy said she felt the wide smile pull across her face.
“Son of a bitch.” She said, looking away from him and shaking her head.
“What?” He asked with a chuckle.
“You’re not real, you can’t be. You have to be a paid actor or something.” She said and he gave a laugh.
“I ain’t that, trust me. Besides, even if I was gettin’ paid, I’d give the money back.” He said, giving her a clumsy wink.
“Motherfucker no one is this charming.” That made him laugh again and he was still chuckling when her coffee came. They talked about nothing in particular as they drank their coffee, sitting there long after their cups were empty. “And that’s why I can’t stand horror movies.”
“Makes sense.” Sy said with a shrug, “You understand basic anatomy and you know someone ain’t gonna spray blood from what’s basically a papercut.”
“Also, with Jason Takes Manhattan, subway tracks are alternating current, not direct. He would have been pushed away from the tracks when he touched them, not grafted to them.”
“You sure do know a lot of random trivia.”
“I get bored and I google things.” She said and he snorted.
“Fair enough.” He said, “What’re your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Nothing really, I usually just sleep on the weekends.”
“No errands you gotta run?”
“Adulting is for the weekdays, there’s no adulting on weekends.” She said and something caught her eye, making her look over, but she looked forward quickly again, hiding the side of her face with her hand. “Oh no, please don’t see me.”
“Darlin’?” Sy asked, giving her a questioning look, and the sunlight hitting the table was blocked.
“Heather?” She heard and dropped her hand, looking up and giving him a tense smile.
“David, hi.” She said.
“What’re you doing here? Who’s this?” David asked.
“It’s a coffee shop, I’m having coffee. David, this is Sy. Sy this is my ex-husband, David.” Heather said and Sy moved his head at him.
“Hey.” He said, correctly reading the mood.
“He your new boyfriend, or something?” David asked, giving him a dismissive look.
“Too soon to tell, really.” Sy said, “I like spendin’ time with her, though. Like talkin’ to her. Wouldn’t mind takin’ her out on a proper date, if she’ll have me.”
“Oh my god, Sy.” Heather said with a smile, “Yeah I wouldn’t mind that either.”
“All right, then.” Sy said with a smile and David huffed.
“You know she isn’t going to give you kids, right?” David asked.
“Yeah, I know.” Sy said and shrugged, “And?”
“He’s the one who asked for the divorce, not me.” Heather said and Sy gave an understanding nod.
“I see.” Sy said, “Well, my guy, it’s her body, so it's her choice. She doesn’t want to have kids, then that’s that. She’d be the one carryin’em. I don’t want kids either, so that works out for me.”
“What about your legacy? Who’s going to carry that on?”
“My what?” Sy asked and Heather gave a suffering sigh.
“For the last time, David, you don’t have a legacy. Monarchs have legacies, you have a ten-year-old Corolla and student debt.” She said and Sy snorted. “Now if you don’t mind.” She turned her attention back to Sy, “Where did you want to go?”
“How do you feel about laser tag?” He asked.
“Aren’t you in the Army?”
“I’ll go easy on ya!” He said and she laughed.
“Laser tag sounds like fun.” Heather said, “But I can be bold for a moment?”
“As bold as you wanna be.” Sy said and she beckoned him with a finger, making him lean over the table to get closer to her.
“How about…” She started whispering in his ear, his facial expression ranging from shocked, to amused, to excited.
“Girl, you’re dirty! I accept those terms because either way I win.” He said sitting back again and there was a moment before he looked back up at David. “What’re you still doin’ here? Lady dismissed you.”
“Yeah.” Heather said, “Bye, David.”
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see-arcane · 16 days
Text
More thoughts about @ibrithir-was-here's Blood of My Blood AU. Shredding my heart about it
Picturing Quincey thinking back on the sparse scenes in which Dracula must have actually acted like a parent. All the revelations of the present wouldn't hurt as much if the Count was always a monster to the boy. It couldn't have been a constant stream of fear when in his Father's presence. Worry, yes, but also love. And the assumption of love returned and shared with everyone in the castle. A happy image waiting to be torn to pieces.
There had to be Moments.
Father showing him how to follow the blue lights and discover real treasure, like in his adventure books. Quincey didn't care about the value as much as the magic, the finding of (gasp!) Buried Treasure. He'd cherished the couple little coins Dracula let him take more than any golden heap piled in the castle.
Father being in a good mood when little toddlerpire Quincey tried to sneak up on him along the ceiling while his back was turned, only to play-pounce in turn, making the boy yelp at the sudden blazing eyes in his face. "I know everything here, child. You must do better to take me by surprise." A sharp smile. "Just ask your mother." And Quincey did. This somehow transmuted into something of a Lesson in which Father showed Quincey and Mama how to race along the walls and mountainside without effort or sound. Mama had smiled. For her son.
Father peacocking during history lessons as Quincey sat rapt. Tell another, Father! Just one more! He even showed Quincey how to hold different blades in a fight. A sword. A dagger. ...A kukri. Bonus sour aftertaste points if Papa is roped in for the latter, his smile straining as the Count let him 'borrow' the weapon for proper demonstration. A suit of armor was beheaded, picture of false catharsis. Quincey was delighted--and fed an unsubtle hint that Violence is Cool and Normal and Right in this family--before Jonathan had to hand the blade back. Smiling. For his son.
Father hearing the boy tell him upon some special occasion, a holiday, a birthday or deathday, or a pure whim of genuine warmth: "I love you, Father."
Father telling him in turn, sounding nothing less than honest, "And I you, pet." A hand on his head. Never his shoulder; no matter how he grew, always he stroked the boy's head. Perpetual child. Perpetual pet. Good boy. "We would not be a family without you."
Out of an endless sea of lies, Quincey knows now that this much was a truth.
Worse thought: Father himself believed that what he had to give to Quincey, to his true parents, was love. That Purgatory of abuse and horror and ownership was and remains the most he has to give. To force upon the Harkers, the family he put in invisible chains.
Quincey thinks of the child he was, who knew only love, with parents all smiling for him, with an ignorant faith that he lived a fairy tale.
And he thinks, hating himself, that for all that he must acknowledge reality, must fight back against Father the Count's evil, must Do Right and Be a Good Man, a tiny selfish corner of him envies that oblivious child. The boy who was happy and loving and loved because he knew nothing else.
A boy who had three parents where he only has two.
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echoing--stars · 4 months
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Hello worm. For your prompts, maybe Wind trying to show off to Wars how he’s just as much a hero as him despite his age? It can be fluffy or angsty, you decide. Also bonus points if Wind discovers Wars enlisted early and starts calling him a hypocrite
This was an amazing idea! I wish I could write more for it, but I hit a wall of fatigue (thanks flu shot and covid booster cries) so this is all I got. Maybe I'll come back to it!
(If you read this and would like to request a short snippet, see this post!)
Wind was sick of being treated like a kid. He didn't get as many watches as everyone else and never the second watch. They'd stopped early when he'd complained about the walk — even though Legend had been complaining for an hour. He was stuck with guarding civilians while the others battled the monsters. And now Warriors was getting his arm stitched up by Sky after taking a hit meant for Wind. He bided his time, however. Wind was mad but he wasn’t mean. He waited until Sky was finished with the stitches and bandaged Warriors’ arm. And then waited until they’d moved away from the battlefield and made camp. Warriors stood and stretched, then grabbed his waterskin, saying he was going to the nearby stream. Wind grabbed his own waterskin and followed. Warriors didn’t acknowledge his presence, but Wind knew better than to think he hadn’t been noticed. He wasn’t exactly trying to be sneaky, but he’d long since learned to not startle the captain, especially after a battle. When Wind kneeled down next to Warriors to fill his water skin, Warriors turned to look at him. “How are you doing, Sailor?” Wind pulled his waterskin out and slammed the lid back on. He rocked back on his heels before standing up. “How am I doing? I should be asking you that.” Warriors sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. He stood up and stepped away from the water before turning to face Wind. “I’m fine. The cut was small and Sky took care of it.” “You took a hit meant for me.” Warriors froze for a moment, and his eyes met Wind’s. Like this, their height difference seemed greater than normal. “It—” “I’m not a kid, captain! I can fight my own fights! You don’t need to get injured to protect me.” “Sail—Link. That sword was heading for your back while you were engaged with another enemy. It was coming from your left, so you wouldn’t have been able to block it with your shield. I took a calculated risk to save your life.” Wind opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He’d known the enemy was there, had sensed the attack. But he hadn’t realized how dire it almost was. As much as he wanted to believe that he could have escaped the attack, he trusted Warriors’ battle experience to know what he was doing. “Okay fine. What about not letting me take second watch? And me taking fewer watches than everyone else?” Warriors tried to respond, but Wind cut him off. “Or putting me on guard duty while everyone else fought the monsters in Twilight’s world a few weeks ago?” Wind could feel the heat in his cheeks as he ranted. “I am just as much of a hero as anyone else. And I’m sick of being treated otherwise!” Wind took a deep breath. He spoke his final words soft and cold as a steel knife. “And one last thing. I overheard something the other day. That you lied about your age to enlist early. You’re such a hypocrite.” Warriors sighed and his shoulders fell slightly. It was as if he’d aged years just in the past few moments. Wind didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest. Warriors gestured to a fallen log a bit further away from the river. “Sit with me?” Wind huffed, but stomped his way over to the log and sat as far away from Warriors as he comfortably could.
“Link, I know you’re a hero. You’re amazing. Maybe even the best of all of us.” Warriors looked up to the sky where, the stars were just starting to come out. Wind scoffed. Fancy words with no substance behind them. “I’m serious!” Warriors said. “You’re the youngest of us, but your skill in battle rivals even the best fighters among us. You defeated Ganon and saved your world—” “Before you even joined the army,” Wind muttered and crossed his arms. “Exactly.” Warriors rubbed a hand over his eyes. “But that’s exactly why you should get to be a kid sometimes.” That made Wind pause. Warriors took the chance to carry on. “We all grew up too fast. Nearly all of us began our journeys before we reached adulthood. Some of us never stopped once we started, or at least not for many years.” Warriors expression was grim. It reminded Wind of the old man. “If I can give you — and all the younger heroes, for that matter — a chance to be a kid sometimes, I will take that chance. Over and over again.”
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coal-mine · 2 years
Text
So one thing about Technoblade (Technoblade never dies!) is that, like...
Ok so I'm not trying to be mean, I'm just gonna do what he'd want us to do (or at least expect us to do), which is make fun of him.
Rememeber like the multiple half-kinda-face reveals he did and everyone was like "we've seen his face yet we couldn't tell you what he looks like"?
Or when Raboo talked about a face reveal, like before he showed his eyes, everyone was like "if this man one day forces us to see his face, or if we ever accidently see it, I will immediately forget it on the spot, it is wrong to see, it is against god's will"?
Ok, that, but real life. Because I've cried about his death multiple times, only to be forced to look up what he looked like because fuck, he was the most generic looking mf in the world. He was just a white dude and I keep genuinly forgetting what he looked like. Like that dude could've walked up to me in the middle of the street, told me to my face that he was Technoblade, only to take a single step back and melt into the crowd like Homer Simpson in a bush.
His dad said he was planning a face reveal before he died, and I'm sorry, but the entire comment section, me included, would have been like "Holy shit I watched the whole 20 min video and he held eye contact like the whole time and I still don't know what he looks like, how"
And we'd fucking drag him about it, because of course we would. We'd be like "Clickbait! You didn't show your face!", and "I trusted Technoblade, I trusted him when he said this was a face reveal in the title, and yet he has let me down", "L, he has no face"
And he'd start the next stream with chat being like "Technolate also he has no face" "TechNoFace" "Nofaceblade" TechNoFace!!" "technoface wth man" and he'd have to spend the first twenty minutes of the stream trying to convice us that he does actually have a face, he promises. And we'd scream lies and slander, and he'd beg us while barely holding back laughter, and eventually, he'd give in. He'd tell us that yeah, we're right, we figured out his big secret. The reason he's never showed his face before this is because he didn't have one to reveal. He'd tell us that we can't tell anyone, he's gotta keep his pig brand and how can he do that without a face? Which doesn't make any sense, but he'd say it with such confidence that we just had to believe him (he'd also refuse to budge on his reasoning). He'd talk about how maybe covid wasn't that bad because the mask has really been helping out when he goes to the store because now no one stares at his missing face, cause no one can see it!
It'd make it's way into the lore, somehow. His crown is suddenly the MCC crown and waaay too big, covering half his face, the rest of it covered by a medical mask. There'd be animatics of his speeches where he's standing the wrong way, shouting at nothing while characters behind him are whispering shit like "should we tell him?" because he has no face, which means no eyes. Or of Tommy doing that thing that kids to do to mall Santa and try and tug on his fur beard, only for his whole face to fall off because it was a paper mask.
It would have been great.
I miss him.
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scarletlich · 2 years
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Heyo you offered to talk about the memes in the Chinese dsmp community and yup here I am to listen bc this is cool (also the fact that tommy is sometimes legit called child is fucking hilarious to me lol)
I will first add a slight disclaimer, I have been less active lately in Chinese dsmp community (wow back in the day I was part of a translation team too...) so my memes may be a bit outdated.
For some context, I'll explain a bit about how bilibili is structured. Here's a screenshot from Dream's 1v4 Manhunt Finale. As you can see, there are bullet comments on top of the video (if you scroll down there will also be comments below the video like on YouTube), sort of like chat on streams. Some of the bullet comments have lots of likes, such as the one with a yellow thumbs up next to it (it says ***At this point Antfrost is secretly doing something***).
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The ones I have been keeping up with the most on bilibili were Dream's manhunts and Technoblade, so there'll probably be more of their memes in this list.
muffinhead 松饼��袋 this actually means pancake head, one of the initial translators mistakenly translated muffin as pancake but it stuck and is now a meme. Also theoretically they could've used 头 instead of 脑袋 but that also stuck.
Dream's opening "only X% aren't subscribed": 白嫖不分国界 "getting/taking things for free is an international activity". When you watch a video on bilibili without leaving a like or coins (which you get for free by logging in) or subscribing it's described as taking something for free.
There's a specific type of meme called 空耳 (lit: empty ear) which is how people mishear English. These are a bit hit or miss for me since I am a native English speaker as well, but here's a couple more common ones:
"leave me alone" sounds like 李云龙 Li Yunlong (1919-1965) who was a general in the People's Liberation Army and there was a movie made about him in 2005 I believe.
In the manhunt where the hunters get enchanted diamond armor Bad excitedly chants "shiny squad! shiny squad!" but viewers in the bullet comments misheard this as "Chinese squad". After seeing that comment I couldn't unhear it either.
半条命 "half a life" Every time Dream has half a heart left somebody will come up with a fancy title to describe the scenario, and people will spam 封印解除 "the seal (on his power/skill) has been broken". Examples of titles: 半条命:亡命天涯 "Half a Life: Death at the Cliffs/Edge of the Sky" 半条命:山谷危机 "Half a Life: Danger in the Canyon" (these are pretty mediocre examples, there are better ones but I can't think of them right now)
D道站 (since dream is also shortened to D) is a pun off of 地道战, a 1966 classic Chinese movie about the Sino-Japanese War, it means tunnel warfare and is used for whenever Dream tunnels around during manhunt.
They also have the dudududu meme, of course. They call it 松饼处刑曲, "muffin" sentencing (like sentencing a crime) song
Techno was a known fan of the esports donghua (donghua is to China as anime is to Japan) The King's Avatar 《全职高手》 and talked about it onstream before, he even read the entire over thousand chapter webnovel. In fact, fans found his comments on the English translation and he was in the novel's Discord server (it was linked to his Discord account iirc so it was him). He also once made his nick on hypixel OneAutumnLeaf referencing 一叶知秋, the main character's original username. (Sidenote I remember getting salty when people were commenting "webnovel? just say fanfiction" it's not fanfiction! it's original fiction! just because webnovels aren't a thing in the US... no need to say it in such a disparaging way... anyway...)
Of course Chinese fans would know about his memes with Sun Zi (Sun Tzu but modern transliteration) and The Art of War, as well as when he intentionally misquotes. The Republic-era author 鲁迅 Lu Xun is also often misquoted as a meme so these jokes often appear 鲁迅:这个我熟 "Lu Xun: I am familiar with this (experience of being misquoted)". Sometimes people comment on how incredibly long the English translation of Sun Zi's lines are.
中国文化传播大使 Techno is jokingly called Ambassador of Spreading Chinese Culture because of his usage of The Art of War, and to be honest he really truly understood the concepts he quoted lmao, he used them very well.
日常和粉丝互相80 Techno and his fans bully each other on the daily
There was that time Techno described Dream as a 刑天 Xingtian, a Chinese mythological warrior who was beheaded and then basically has eyes where his nipples are and a mouth on his stomach, so Chinese fans sometimes call him the green Xingtian, they also call him 晴天娃娃 which is actually a Japanese thing, they look like this:
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Skeppy often starts and ends his videos with things like "like or die tmr" and the bullet comments will spam 永久反弹 which means "eternal reflection", its basically just a "no u"
On funny interactions/bullying between Phil and his "sons" or Wilbur and Fundy, commenters like to spam 父慈子孝 which is a Chinese idiom meaning "compassionate father and filial son(s)"
I might add to this post in reblogs if I remember any more memes unique to Chinese fandom. I am not active on lofter dsmp circles (which you can think of as equivalent to tumblr) or weibo (analogous to twitter), only bilibili (similar to youtube) so that's where my memes come from.
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ficnation · 9 months
Text
Chapter 1
Series: The Cockroach Word count: 2,3k+ Pairings: Negan Smith x Reader; Lucille Smith x Reader; Negan Smith x Lucille Smith Warnings: cheating, mentions of cancer, usual twd themes A/n: Hi! Just posting lil finished something for you while I work on all of my other wips. Enjoy! If you're not on the taglist but would like to be tagged let me know!
Full Masterlist
“The Cockroach” Masterlist
NEXT CHAPTER
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“He’s getting on my nerves, hun. Ugh, he’s just so infuriating but for some reason, I still can’t give up on him,” Lucille grumbled, and you could hear her restless footsteps on the other side of the phone.
You chuckled at her words but immediately bit your lower lip to muffle it when she snapped at you that it wasn’t funny at all.
You were at a point where you had no idea what advice you could give her in that matter. You were no marriage expert. But you were a good friend, so you listened through her hours-long monologues about her husband and butted in when you could to reassure her. She deserved more than Negan could ever give her because that guy gave her nothing but headaches.
“Maybe it’s just his charm,” you threw in, shrugging your shoulders even though you knew she couldn’t see it.
“Well, I wish this charm of his stopped working on me. Fuck, it’s just as if we’re speaking different languages. I tell him that we’re struggling with money and he goes on with his life spending 600$ for a fucking leather jacket! I just can’t believe it,” she complained, groaning at the memory of their latest fight.
“What an asshole,” Murphy spoke out loud from his place beside you on the couch, his ear pressed to the other side of the phone so he could listen in on the gossip.
You shushed him with clenched teeth, swatting at his arm. He promised you beforehand that he was going to be quiet if he wanted to listen in and keep you company, but he couldn’t keep his mouth shut like always. Annoying bastard.
“Yeah, you could say that. Hi, Murphy.” Lucille laughed on the other side of the line. It didn’t bother her anymore that your friend was so invested in her life’s latest gossip and drama.
“Hello, darling,” the man greeted her back, yanking the cell phone out of your hand. He ignored your loud protests, standing up from the couch so you couldn’t reach for the device. “You know what, you should totally leave that douchebag and go on a date with me,” he joked, a proud grin on his face.
“Murph, not to burst your bubble but you’re also an asshole. Don’t think it would be a huge improvement for her.” You stuck out your tongue at him before jumping up to your feet and grabbing the phone out of his hand.
The man in front of you pretended to be offended by your comment, clutching his chest theatrically. “Take that back!”
You rushed over to the bathroom and locked yourself in for some peace and quiet. Murphy groaned from the other room so loudly that you could hear him through the walls. You laughed at that. He was just like an overgrown child.
“Is he gone?”
“Yeah, he started getting on my nerves,” you admitted, biting your finger in thought. “You deserve so much more, Lucy. It saddens me to hear how he treats you.”
“I just… I can’t leave him. I know that somewhere inside there he is still the sweet man I fell in love with.” You could hear your friend’s voice breaking on the other side of the line, and you had a feeling that tears were already streaming down her face.
Lucille was the strongest woman you’ve ever known, and you admired her so much for it. But everyone has a breaking point where they lose all hope and feel like everything around them is falling apart. You were afraid that your friend had just reached that point in her life. It broke your heart to even think about it and imagine what she was going through.
“Try talking to him, Lucy. You’re both adults, even though sometimes, or most of the time, it feels like you’re the only grown person in this marriage. Words can change so much, sweets. Just try one more time. Don’t leave it like it is,” you encouraged her, hoping that your words would give her at least a little bit of hope. You knew she hated giving up, even when it compromised her well-being; she was stubborn like that.
The woman sniffled into the microphone, making you sigh in sadness. You wanted to hug her and make it all better, but you knew you didn’t hold power like that in your hands. What you could do, though, was distract her, but you weren’t sure if she was in the mood for it.
“Tell you what, how about you come over for dinner and a sleepover tomorrow? Just a little break from it all.” You pinched your arm and waited for her to respond, hoping she would agree to it. You missed her so much.
There was a long pause on the other end before Lucy sighed. You already knew her answer was going to be negative. Scratching your arm, you cursed yourself in your head. You got your hopes up, like always.
“I wish I could, hun, but I have an MRI tomorrow,” she reminded you; you could hear her nails tapping on the counter nervously.
“Shit, it’s already tomorrow? Will he pick you up?” The concern was evident in your voice. You waited for her response with bated breath.
“I haven’t asked him yet, but I know he will. After making me so mad, he knows he needs to make it up to me somehow.” She chuckled, trying to brighten up the mood of the conversation. It worked just a little more than you allowed yourself to admit.
“He has no other choice now.” You smiled slightly to yourself before another negative thought popped up in your head. What if he doesn’t show up? No, you couldn’t think like that. Lucy was right; he had to make it up to her somehow.
“But… If he doesn’t—”
The woman cut you off confidently, “He will. No buts.”
“Lucille, seriously. If he doesn’t, and god I hope he’s not that fucking dumb, but if he doesn’t go with you or pick you up, you call me immediately. I will run there for you if I have to.”
“You’re too sweet to me, hun.”
“Only to you, Lucy.”
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The next day you couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes. With your cell phone always pressed into your palm, you waited impatiently. At this point, you didn’t care about whether Negan showed up; you just wanted to hear from her that she was healthy and they didn’t find anything unsettling in the scans.
Around the evening, you heard knocking on your door. At first, you assumed it was Murphy coming over to annoy you for the hundredth time that day, but he had keys. He’d just let himself in without a second thought, and he’d make a lot more noise than that, screaming your name and telling you all about his day before he even knew whether you were home or not.
You looked through the judas, and you had to do a double take because you didn’t expect at all to see the familiar green-eyed woman standing on the other side of the door. You quickly unlocked it with trembling hands. 
“Lucy, what are you doing here?” you asked when the door no longer shielded you from her.
“Is that dinner and sleepover proposal still on the table?” your friend asked with tears streaming down her face. Even the smudged mascara on the top of her cheeks and the messy hair on her head didn’t make her look less angelic. 
“Of course it is,” you assured, looking her up and down in concern.
Lucille threw her arms around you and burst into sobs. Her shaking body pressed tightly against yours; she needed to feel that you were truly there for her. She just needed someone to care, to be there for her without her having to beg for it.
You could almost hear your heart breaking into million pieces in your chest. You weren’t sure whether Lucille’s presence at your door meant something had happened between her and Negan or that the doctors had found something in the scans. But you cried for her all the same, pulling her into the apartment and kicking the door closed with your foot.
The both of you stood in the middle of the hallway, embraced and in tears for long minutes that felt almost like hours before you managed to calm down enough to lead Lucy towards the couch. You helped her sit down but didn’t let her go even for a second, sticking to her side like glue.
You waited patiently for her to start the conversation herself, no questions asked. Nothing was more important to you than making her feel safe and cared for. You weren’t in a hurry and didn’t want to rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. 
After some time, she mustered the strength to speak up, “Thank you for being here for me.” Her voice sounded hoarse, and you could only imagine how much pain her mind had to endure today.
You hugged her tighter and kissed the top of her head. “Anytime, Lucy, anytime. You know that.”
Lucille sniffled, trying to regain control of herself before she sat up straight again and faced you. She played nervously with the hem of your shirt while you raised your sleeve to swipe over her moist cheeks, her mascara leaving smudged stains on the blue fabric.
“Did they find anything strange in the scans?” you asked gently, holding her hand in yours and running your fingers over her knuckles.
Her face fell once again. Lucille nodded and then buried her face into the crook of your neck. She sobbed in anguish, not knowing how to stop the tears from escaping her eyes. Every cry that wracked her frame pierced your heart. You wanted to take all that pain away from her or even just a part of it so she wouldn’t feel so alone in that battle. 
Your mind was whirling with questions, but you said nothing. It was all that mattered at the moment to be patient and be there for her. She needed you more than ever. After all, that’s what friends did, right? They supported each other no matter how hard it could be.
You didn’t know how much time had passed before Lucy calmed down and sat up again. Her nose was still red, but she stopped crying. Your hand caressed her messy hair, twirling the random strands between your fingers. You hoped your touch could help her focus on the world outside her mind. 
“I have cancer,” she whispered, barely able to look you in the eye.
Your blood turned cold. You’d been expecting something horrible, but this? This was worse than any possible thing you’d considered in your head. You swallowed hard and took in a shaky breath. So many questions raced through your mind that processing them took you a minute. In the end, the only word that came out of your mouth was, “What?”
It seemed to be all she needed to tell you because her shoulders soon shook again. You reached out, put an arm around your friend, and pressed her head to your collarbone as she dissolved into more tears. And just like that, you lost it too.
You had no idea what you could say to reassure her about the future. How could you tell her that everything will be alright without knowing for sure? You would never lie to her.
All you knew was that you loved her. And it wasn’t going away; you weren’t going away. That realization sent your whole world crashing down. But you held her tight and rocked back and forth, trying to console her. For her sake, and yours, you had to remain strong. 
You made spaghetti for dinner while Lucy lit up a few incense sticks and candles around your living room, something that always made her feel a little more at peace. She settled down on the couch, wrapping herself in one of the blankets that was carelessly thrown over the backrest. It was her favorite one, made out of thick wool with little pink strawberries embroidered all over the green fabric.
You watched her through the doorway as she slumped down against the couch and pulled the blanket up to press it against her cheek, always amazed by its softness. The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly at the sight. 
When you finished cooking, you grabbed two forks and jumped onto the couch, sitting down next to Lucille. You handed her one of the plates, kissing her cheek softly and dropping the remote on her lap. Without a complaint, you let her choose every movie you watched that night, making sure she was busy deciding whether she was in the mood to watch a horror or a comedy, too occupied to let the dark thoughts overwhelm her.
The next day when Lucille returned home, she had no more tears left in her. She left all of her pained cries and the uncertainties swimming around her head at your apartment. You had listened to her yesterday for long hours, staying up till the sunshine slipped in through the blinds. You let her get everything off her chest and offered comfort without expecting anything back. 
But she kept a few pieces of information for herself, away from your reach. She didn’t tell you that Negan was fucking her friend Janine and that he lied to her, saying he was “too busy” to pick her up from the clinic. She didn’t want you storming into her house, ready to choke him to death and make him regret being born. Lucille wanted to deal with it herself. Her own way.
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