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bigmeatymudcrabchitins · 3 years

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A not-so-brief overview of my Skyrim Dova OCs bc i need to scream to the digital void about my ideas

Freyora Lind, more commonly known by her strange alias “Bjorne Icepick”

A Nord-eventually-turned-werewolf who orphaned during the Great War and taken in by a Dunmeri mercenary whose residence was in Windhelm’s Gray Quarter. Grew up in a cramped boarding house setting among desperate mercenaries of varying backgrounds. Many of them would all come and go, but there was always some sort of a familial bond between them all.

From a young age she got in a lot of fights against people who insulted her for living in the Gray Quarter among the dark elves. Eventually she took a fight too far and was jailed for murder around 14, but was broken out shortly after by a band of masked vampires. Turns out some of her mercenary comrades unwittingly caught vampirism during a contract to clear out a vampire den and had to skip town, but not before ensuring one of their own wasn’t left to rot.

Lived in Cyrodil for about 15 years, but returned to Skyrim pursuing rumors surrounding a cure to vampirism, as her adoptive father would be nearing the end of his elven lifespan and had wished to die a normal death.

Seeing as she was literally a fugitive, and her long-belated parents were somewhat renowned for their battlefield prowess, she took on a false identity. AND an act to match it.

She’ll eat raw meat, chase prey with swords instead of using a bow like a normal person, harp about irrational conspiracy theories, and more. Everyone’s foul reactions to her outlandish act are plainly hilarious to her and only encourage her to act even stranger.

The alias “Bjorne Icepick” was simply the most ridiculous name she could think of.

Not the most morally outstanding. Besides drunken brawling, she’ll steal from anyone who angers her, even if it’s things she literally won’t ever need such as all the goblets in a household. It’s the pettiness that counts. “Try drinking your damn high-end wine now, jackass.”

Calls Dwarven Automatons “Gundams.” Including she herself, no one knows what that means.

Joins the Companions out of homesickness and a desire to fill in a gap that leaving home left.

Hasn’t bothered curing herself of lycanthropy because her whole schtick is being incredibly resourceful, and that includes using any means of power necessary. Still doesn’t fancy Hircine’s Hunting Grounds as her desired afterlife, though.

As her journey goes on, however, her lightheartedly eccentric face starts to fall off as a number of events push her to begin to question the legitimacy of her actions up until that point.

Some of which include the eventual death of her adoptive father (and how she was indirectly responsible for it even if it was what he wanted), Delphine’s ultimatum, the civil war as a collective, learning the tragic history behind the Falmer and the original Companions’ role in it, and killing of Vyrthur (no matter how much he genuinely deserved it).

She grows disgusted by herself down to the core. She takes to skooma to cope, and starts to be plagued by serious skooma-induced side effects. She ends up shutting herself away from all her responsibilities and distancing herself from her friends.

Does she get better? Maybe. I haven’t thought up anything past this point lol

Moureneris Alta

A very, VERY ancient vampiric snow elf, (though it’s notable she was born a considerable amount of time after the razing of Sarthaal)

Survived many atrocities. Stayed in isolation with a band of vampires for countless years out of sheer disgust for the nature of the sapient races. (I’ll explain her full story some other time. It’s pretty complicated)

She was abducted from her isolated lifestyle by a certain person i’ll talk about later. She managed to free herself south of Skyrim, and uh, walks right into that Imperial ambush. The rest is history.

Super ignorant to modern society as a result of centuries of isolation. Exploited for comedic relief. (“What in the name of Oblivion is a Cyrodilic Empire? Are you messing with me? And please, how does levitation magic simply get outlawed by this hypothetical Empire? What are you to do when you fall down a crevice? Just... let yourself perish? How degrading.)

She reintegrated herself into society with vengeance in mind under the belief that all humans are savage bloodlusting murderers who had to answer for their treachery. (And she was royally angry there was no Dwemer left to spite, but partially satisfied at the same time). But she grows conflicted after being shown genuine kindness, even as early as being freed from her binds in Helgen.

Subsequently has a very muddled redemption arc. Queue Dragonborn hero stuff

She has impaired vision, but she cultivated detect life magic to aid her in daily life and combat (think Hyakkimaru from Dororo ‘19 and his soul detection or Toph Beifong from ATLA and her seismic sense). At her peak, she can detect life from about a kilometer away.

She can just barely read, but only if she holds the text incredibly close to her face, not to mention her Cyrodilic lessons were left unfinished after her abduction, making reading a very taxing process. Weary travelers are often spooked at the sight of a floating, ghastly looking elven woman with her nose pressed up against crossroad signs, and it has become somewhat of an urban legend.

Isn’t as nearly as skilled with detecting the dead and tenses up in burial crypts or around other vampires for that reason. Unfortunately, being the Dragonborn and all, she finds herself in a lot of crypts...

When questioned about her background due to her unique appearance: “Oh, yeah. My mother was one of those mer from the east. You know the ones. Dark elves, I think? And my father was one of those er, tall elv- no, sorry, HIGH elves. Yeah. They both died in a big fire or something though. It was horrible. I can’t get the noxious smell or the deafening screams out of my head. Good talk, but never ask me about that again.”

Queue sheltered old immortal antics: “Wow, you’re THAT old? Enlighten me on how it felt witnessing the fall of the Dwemer. Or perhaps the rise of Tiber Septim’s Empire. The Gates of Ob-“ “Oblivion if I know. I lived in someone’s basement for thousands of years. And I still don’t know what everyone means by Empire. You all are messing with me, aren’t you? That really annoys me.”

She ultimately returns to faith in Auri-El and makes it her life’s purpose to help the Betrayed find peace, as well as to seek out any remaining snow elf groups. Probably good friends with Gelebor or something.

Had a crush on Serana. We all know how THAT went. Damned temples.

Was originally gonna spiral into a much darker corruption arc (another ATLA comparison being Jet or Hama) but I just felt bad for her. Moureneris can have a little found peace. As a treat.

That’s her preliminary design made. I’ll need a mod to properly play her, because that right there was made by choosing Dunmer as her race. But I can’t do that. I’m on console, and while I got the Steam port a month ago, my PC’s stone age specs can’t handle Skyrim yet and I’ll need to wait until I can afford a better graphics card (thanks economic inflation)

Alexandre Armasi, jokingly nicknamed Alexandre the Curious

A complete and unapologetic export of my character from a dead and unfinished DND campaign. Except there are no Aasimar in Skyrim, so he’s half Altmer half Bosmer. And his initial last name was Armas but I thought Armasi suited his Skyrim counterpart more, as subtle a change it is.

He’s mainly Bosmer in appearance and constitution, save for his hair and eyes, which are more similar to that of his Altmeri father’s.

I can’t really export his original backstory though because the campaign wouldn’t translate well into TES lore at all.

He’s a writer who came wandering into Skyrim in search of inspiration. While he mainly writes dramatic fables, he wanted to divert his focus to crafting his own bestiary and herbal compendium surrounding Skyrim’s fauna and flora. The ones at home are simply too vague to him!

He’s very altruistic, wishing to spread cheer wherever he goes, through the art of song (even though he was a cleric in DND and not a bard. My bad.) However, many of his verses are just blatant self promotions of his published fables.

But he’s too naive for his own good. Dangerously so. In fact, he says what’s on his mind with little forethought, with little grasp on the consequences of his actions, which lands him in lots of trouble. “I don’t favor him myself, but you guys kill people over Talos worship? That’s not very cool. A bit scary, if you ask me.” or “A Stormcloak rebel? Didn’t your leader kill a bunch of Reachmen rebels years back, or so I’ve heard. By the divines that’s not a man I’d make a symbol of nonconformity.”

He’s also insatiably curious. The type to ACTUALLY shove alchemic ingredients in his mouth with no knowledge of their properties, experiment with dangerous rune spells, throw rocks at pressure plates, and more. Needless to say he’s very accident prone.

Doesn’t know common curse words. People exploit this for laughs. Think that episode of Spongebob.

Everyone is a little baffled that HE of all people is the prophesied Dragonborn of legend. This agonizingly imbecilic writer who has absentmindedly wandered into burial crypts, troll dens, bandit forts, and more, too busy juggling his manuscripts to pay attention to his surroundings.

His past doesn’t exactly reflect his outlook on life. His mother and father fought in the Great War aligned with the Imperials despite their elven background. Both managed to live to see the war’s conclusion, but his father vanished without a trace shortly after, and it seems his mother knows something she won’t tell him.

With plenty of exposure to bad influences, his innocence is slowly lost throughout the course of his journey, and his altruism begins to grow twisted. But nevertheless, he maintains his jovial, social persona, except this time with much darker undertones. Kinda like a creepy dentist or something.

Whoops. He winds up becoming a feared Dark Brotherhood assassin. (Haha get it “Innocence Lost”???) He somehow deluded himself into thinking that the life of an assassin was the right thing to do. But he’s a funky little guy so he gets a pass for his heinous crimes against society

#skyrim #skyrim oc #dragonborn #dovahkiin

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ask-artsy-oncie · 3 years

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So I’m kinda in a meh/apathetic headspace in regards to my mental health right now. Maybe it would be best to just let some thoughts out.

Firstly, I do want to apologize for making stupid, borderline inflammatory posts and throwing them out there onto tumblr dot com, I know that’s never the best course of action. However, I really, really do not appreciate anons sending vague “are you okay”s at me. If you’re not close enough to me where you can’t PM me (relatively) face-to-face, then I really wouldn’t like random inquiries about my mental health from you. Maybe it’s just because I don’t 100% trust anons (I’ve been here for a decade, I’ve seen some shit, can you really blame me?) but I think I ought to make myself clear on that. Are we clear on that? cool.

I don’t know... I’ve felt so lost and tired recently, moreso than usual.

I’ve always had a massive complex about annoying people, being too self-indulgent, not having good ideas or opinions or what-have-you. People who have known me for a while almost definitely know that. I don’t think it all necessarily exists in a vacuum, either I have a genuinely hard time coming up with objectively good ideas. Sometimes I’m just straight-up “head empty” mode. I’m also often really opinionated and sometimes intend to die on hills that people aren’t really meant to die on (or are even necessarily worth dying on). I can get way too wrapped up on meaningless things because my brain is too hyperfocused on this one thing, or maybe something I rely too heavily on for comfort is... I don’t know how to put it.... put at risk? Challenged? I have a lot of mental issues and real life issues, though I’m not claiming to be massively oppressed or anything, but I tend to cling to comforts a little too desperately. And I’m not just talking about like. Media. Just comforts in general. Sometimes I’ll spend too much of the day laying in bed. Sometimes I cling to old relationships or old forms of relationships or I constantly worry about the day I’ll inevitably no longer have the same relationships I have now.

I’ve known I needed therapy for a while now. I’m waitlisted and everything, but I need to go about actually choosing a therapist to see and I’ve been dragging my feet on that so I guess that’s my bad. I’ll get to it. Shit’s overwhelming, yknow?

Anyways I know I have a lot of these flaws and problems and I think my horrible anxieties about being too annoying and whatnot is just a really extreme form of self-reflection. Maybe. Not entirely sure. Maybe a therapist could tell me.

I get way too passionate, way too easily, and it’s almost always followed by a super intense period of shame, like, to the point where I’m desperate to isolate myself and destroy my relationships with other people, because then at least I’m actually trying to destroy a relationship by being a bad person, rather than someone leaving me for... I don’t know, being too happy? Caring too much? Talking too much? Just. Shit I have less control over.

I’ve tried putting a cap on it, suppressing everything. Trying not to indulge too much, trying not to be so happy and talkative, straight-up deleting messages I think might be too annoying the second I send them. Trying to be inoffensive through being unnoticeable. I’m trying to do that now, honestly. It’s why I joked about deleting my blog. All it does is hurt and make me go fucking nuts because I’m bottling up a lot in doing that, I know. I’m just not fully convinced I don’t just deserve to feel that way.

There are a lot of points in my life where I’m convinced that my best course of action in succeeding or keeping people from being put-off by me is to just sit down and shut up and draw what I’m told to draw. To just completely lose my agency in drawing. It makes sense, when you feel like you don’t have any good ideas of your own, you just illustrate others’. And there are many, many points where I have done this out of a place of love. Fuck, most of what I’ve drawn for Lolly’s writing has come out of a place of genuine love, not just for her work, but for her. A lot of what I’ve drawn for Bethany (for any REAL long-time followers reading this) has been like that, too. But there are also points where it honestly just feels like my only purpose is to be a tool through which others may visualize their whims. That if I dare inject too much of myself into things, they’ll be permanently ruined. And then there’s the shame I feel in having wanted to impart a piece of myself into a work - a demerit for being too selfish or self-important to deem my whims anywhere near good or important enough to be included.

I have so many ideas. So many opinions and thoughts and feelings and genuine insight that I’ve suppressed or deleted because I either feel like that’s what’s expected of me, or I’m straight-up told that my thoughts and opinions are bad and wrong. Like. Fuck me for having opinions on animated media levels of being shut-down. And you know, I’ve noticed something in the past decade of being an insufferable opinionated prick about things like that - that it’s actually easier for me to enjoy media when I’m allowed to be negative and critical of it. When I am allowed to just share my thoughts. And I don’t mean like, without being disagreed with, I mean like, in an environment where I’m made to feel like I actually can share these thoughts. When I can pinpoint and analyze what I didn’t like or what made me upset, it can be a lot easier for me to then move on and be able to focus on aspects that I genuinely do like. Like, holy fuck, it is SO much easier for me to pick-and-choose aspects of a certain sequel film that I actually like and feel comfortable saying I like than it was for me to do with the original, because I no longer have an incredibly toxic person in my life (or at least, in my life as much).

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had this kind of experience since then, like. There are STILL things I struggle to move past because I have been made to feel like I just can’t fucking talk about them without being insufferable (sorry if I’m overusing that word - it just feels like the best word the feeling I’m trying to describe) or just straight-up ruining something for someone I care about. Keeping shit like this in does crazy shit to me, for real, and there’s still a large part of me that tells me “Fuck you. Suck it up. None of this shit matters.” Y’know? Because in the grand scheme of things, I know it doesn’t. And then there’s the shame that comes from having cared so much in the first place. It’s a fucking cycle. There’s some shit that’s just irreparable ruined for me because of this and that SUCKS.

I don’t like losing comforts. Fuck, I hate it, really. And I’m not talking about new comforts coming along and catching my attention as an old comfort begins to wane, I’m talking like. Destroying relationships, feeling SO MUCH shame surrounding a comfort media that it’s too difficult to enjoy it no matter how hard I try, or having too hard of a time disassociating a comfort with a horrible event or person. And it’s feeling like at LEAST one of these is starting to happen to me again and Good Gods it’s just. It’s so terrifying.

But who do I tell? When my primary worry is annoying or offending or hurting people? Y’know? I can’t just vent to one single person to this all the time, that isn’t fair. But it gets to a point where my brain tells me “No, you can’t talk to ANYONE about this because that’s rude and wrong and a true friend wouldn’t do that. There’s a reason why you can make any number of concerning posts, messages, private ramblings, whatever, and the people you’re closest to won’t ask you what’s wrong.”

And, yeah, honestly, I do think it’s true that the people I consider my closest friends won’t read this. I actually don’t believe the average person will read this, or at least get this far. I genuinely do just talk too much and it’s a lot for most people to deal with. Otherwise, I talk too little, and probably enter the “you should be able to read my MIND” level of expectations, which, of course, isn’t far. I understand, I swear I do, it just takes some time to come to terms with every time I get wrapped up in my stupid mental stuff. And I also promise that I try to give these people the same kind of response I want, y’know? I try to look out for any worrying behavior and try to offer an ear and help in any way that I can. I don’t think expecting the same in return is fair, I just worry about any of them being like me, and I’m willing to play to that if it’s necessary. I’ll break quiet streaks for that shit, y’know?

Honestly, these stupid quiet streaks are probably more unbearable for me than they are even noticeable for most people. It sucks. I just wish my mind was normal so I A) wouldn’t have these insecurities to begin with, because B) I would never end up exhibiting the behavior to warrant such insecurities.

There’s so much shit I want to talk about, to analyze, or explore, that I want to share with the world, or at least with people I love, that I probably never will because my stupid brain has already decided that all this stupid shit is better kept to myself where it can rot and be forgotten eventually. Which is fine, in the grand scheme of things, I guess, because I functionally have never really been the guy who comes up with ideas (at least, good ideas) I’m just the pencil, the one who I guess makes things visual? I can’t even bring myself to say “I bring the ideas to life” because that’s pretentious and untrue. These ideas are already alive because they come from brilliant minds.

I don’t even think it’s fair for me to call myself a character designer unless the characters are my own. Otherwise, I’m just following the directions of a much more competent conceptualizer (there’s a reason my characters barely have any... well, character). That’s the reason why I removed my unearned credit as the character designer for Ty from Swindle’s description, because I really don’t deserve that kind of credit. It’s why the asks about the designing process of Ty have been left unanswered, because, fuck, what do I even say? “I just did what Lolly told me to do, just like I did with all of Swindle. Please don’t give me that kind of credit, I know I falsely ascribed it to myself earlier, and I want to rectify that”? I guess I could have, actually, now that I’m typing this. But people always get fucking upset with me when I try not to take credit, even when it’s shit that isn’t mine!! So I don’t know what to do!! I don’t know what to fucking do!!! Because I just don’t fucking want to make people upset or unhappy!!!!!!!

I’m sorry, this post is too long and I’ve worked myself up and I’m no longer apathetic. I’m gonna go cry myself to sleep so big win for my complexion, honestly.

Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I guess getting this shit out of my system is probably best to do in a big tumblr post no one will read.

I don’t want anons about this. If I can just ask one thing. Please.

#do n/ot reb/lo/g #rant #vent #long post #probably won't delete tbh #i don't know it's the most competent i've been about weird mind shit for a while now #so maybe it would be best to just leave it

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kinkerush · 5 years

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Penny’s Little Pet (Pennywise Fanfic)

Warnings: 18+, degradation, rape fantasy

The weather was dreary that lazy Sunday afternoon, a dense fog refusing to lift as the day went on. The constant drizzle was enough to keep even the most avid outdoorsman miserably cooped inside and idle. As I gazed out the window, I had to wonder - when was the last time I allowed myself to free my child like, curious spirit and allow myself a little stroll in the rain. After all, there was little more to do on a day such as this. I had spent too much of my life lately keeping myself isolated and had become increasingly depressed and cynical as a result. Fearing the unknown was something I had spent far too much time on.

I threw on a pair of cotton shorts, a light tank, a windbreaker, and a pair of flip flops to get the full effect of my impromptu frolic in the rain. As I headed out the door, I briefly considered leashing the pup to join me, but upon second thought, decided I wanted this moment all to myself. It’s an opportunity that didn’t arise often.

The early autumn air was cool but comfortable still, and laden with moisture, the clouds seemingly dancing on the ground. The neighborhood was almost eerily quiet and still, no passing traffic. For a few brief seconds, I considered turning back. Something felt...sinister almost..a intuitive feeling I couldn’t ignore. I brushed it off, best as possible, convincing myself I was being silly and paranoid, something my mother was great at instilling in me.

As I continued on, I attempted to enjoy myself. I watched as the sparrows playfully danced in the puddles, embraced the soothing sound of the light drizzle on the changing, colorful leaves, the feel of the cool rain between my toes, and the sight of the fog dancing over the distant hills like elusive ghosts. I was able to mostly forget about the nagging, incessant paranoia that had began plaguing me only minutes into my walk.

By the time I neared the end of the street, I was completely lost in thought, losing some awareness of my surroundings. I was startled to break out of my trance like train of thought when I heard what sounded like a light whisper, but somehow...inhuman..evil, even. As my paranoia returned full force, I felt the prickles of fear on the back of my neck, and the flutter of my heart as it began to pound, so much that I could feel it in my head and ears. I had involuntary stopped in front of an abandoned house, littered with graffiti and rot. Fear paralyzed me. Something wasn’t right. I wanted nothing more than to run like hell back to the warmth and safety of my home, but the intense fear had frozen me dead in my tracks.

As I stood locked in my tracks, something else caught my attention. This time, I was certain I heard a child whimpering. This wasn’t happening, I told myself. My mind was playing tricks on me..or maybe it was the sound of the light wind circling the many trees alongside the long abandoned and unkempt property. Either way, it was time for me to head back home.

I wasn’t sure whether to walk or run as fast as I was fucking able, but fear still gripped me regardless. As I began to back away from the looming, dark, crumbling house, I prepared myself to break into a sprint and get the hell out of there, back to the safety of my home. However, there it was again..the whimper. A child. The whimper was escalating to light, muffled sobs, progressively getting louder and more intense. “Is there a child injured, in distress?” I asked myself. I groped the pockets of my shorts, desperately hoping I had remembered my phone. Surely the police could find out what’s going on. Not there. Shit. I couldn’t, in good conscience, allow myself to walk away. What if this child was gravely injured? Perhaps he/she had been abducted and was being held here? What kind of person would it make me to simply walk away when perhaps time was of the essence? Fear had me in it’s ugly clutches but despite that, I found myself opening the badly rusted, creaking gate to investigate further.

As I slowly crept up the weeded, muddy path towards the house, the sobbing intensified briefly, then ceased. I wanted to keep telling myself this was all a figment of my over active imagination. My mind was running away from me..what if I was losing it? What the hell was I doing? Another screeching cry snapped me back to reality, this time horribly loud and tortured. I had to do something. I crept onto the porch, trying to peer into the windows. The view was mostly obscured with years of dust, dirt, and cobwebs. The door stood ajar. I tried my best to peek inside without calling attention to myself. I had no idea what I might walk into. The darkness beyond the door and into the house, intensified by this dreary day, was horribly intimidating and again I felt my knees utterly weak with fear, as if they might literally collapse beneath me. I slowly pushed the door open, hesitating before I took a step inside. Silence now. Eerie, deafening silence, like nothing I had ever experienced. Until suddenly, the door slammed with the force of inhuman strength behind me. I was sure I was about to pass out from the fear that had shaken me to my core. I was screaming inside yet couldn’t make a sound. My heart was pounding right out of my chest and into my throat. Just as suddenly as the door as slammed, my knees gave away and blackness enveloped me as the world faded.

Drip. Drip. Drip. I regained consciousness insidiously, my vision blurry, my mind disoriented and painfully clouded. As my memory recollected itself, I started to convince myself that this had all been a terrible nightmare, the worst of my life. Drip, drip, drip. What IS that? Isn’t this nightmare over? My consciousness was returning, ever so slowly but surely, and with it, an unpleasant awareness of a putrid, rotten scent of...decay...mildew...? I felt the oh so familiar intense fear beginning to embrace me again. This was no nightmare. Drip, drip, drip. I blinked several times, trying to clear my still blurry vision, in an attempt to familiarize myself with my surroundings. All was again eerily quiet besides the dripping noise. No longer any child like sobbing, no screams...silence. I began to get the feeling that I had been duped.

As I attempted to stand, my vision still obscured by the sleepy haze, the the muscles in my legs quivered and ached. Just how long had I been out? After a few feebled attempts, I got to my feet to assess my surroundings - dim, cold, wet, and...wait, what was that? The eerie sound radiating from the shadowed corner caused a fresh, intense wave of terror to wash over me. I wasn’t alone. First, a light shuffle, at the realization I was finally awake, no doubt, and then, a subdued, but steady growl. I was gripped, once again, by an unwavering terror so intense, I was sure I’d pass right out again. My will to survive allowed me to regain my composure, and I attempted to adjust my eyes to darkness that seem to envelop the corner emitting the source of the worst terror I had ever experienced. I couldn’t decide whether to run (but to where?) or stay still, quiet, and unprovoking. There was no time to ponder this, as again, I heard the shuffle of movement and a step in my direction, the throaty, intimidating growl intensifying. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly, a single tear dropping from my left eye and splattering onto my knee, as I had now backed into the dead end of the cold, wet, abrasive wall of my new, personal hell, or whatever this place may be, and crouched in an attempt to shield myself. The heavy, deliberate steps continued towards me slowly as my crouched legs quivlered and ached to the point of collapse. My eyes remained closed tightly, refusing to accept the fate that likely awaited me. The sinister presence became overwhelming, so much that I felt obligated to accept my fate. I would die in this dark, dirty, and cold unknown, and my compassion and naivety were to blame. I was only trying to help. The tears were fresh and hot now, my sobs drowning out the fact that the growling had ceased, but the presence was still looming, so close that I could feel the heat between us. At that moment, all was eerily silent except for my waning sobs and the drip, drip, drip that had become somewhat of a constant..a comfort. I braced for the worst, my body tensed and quaking with uncontrollable tremors.

My hair. A gentle tug and tousle. More curious than sinister. That was the initial tension breaker. The first touch. My guard was still up, my body remained tense. Do I dare take a peek and witness what stands before me, playfully tousling my hair in wonderment and curiosity? Still crouched and trembling, I dared to crack an eye open.

As if hit by a wave, my eyes flew open involuntarily after that first initial peek. My emotions quickly oscillated between horror, amazement, wonder, terror, and...curiosity.

What stood hovering above me, my crouched body tiny in comparison, was a..clown? Seriously? A man in a clown suit maybe? Something else entirely? It glared down at me, eyes glowing such a hot, bright yellow that I felt it my very soul being set on fire as I stared back up at it. <Not human> I couldn’t look away, no matter how desperately I wanted to. A brand new kind of terror washed over me. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible at all. I squeezed my eyes shut again as my mind grappled for some kind of explanation, anything to comprehend the madness standing before me. Nothing. Reality, as unsettling as it may be at this very moment, was at the forefront. I collapsed into a heap on the dirty, stone cold floor, accepting whatever fate may be thrown my way.

I was snapped back into reality by the tugging of my hair again, although not the gentle tousle this time. He grabbed a handful of my wavy brown loose curls, now moist with the sweat from pure adrenaline and the dampness of this...place, and pulled me to my knees. He stooped down to me, maintaining his stronghold on my hair, pulling downward until I was looking up at him, while tangling and intertwining his gloved hand and razor sharp black claws into my long hair. With his other hand, he used a single claw to trace the side of my face downward, leaving a burning hot scratch along the right side of my flushed face, stopping under my chin. I was now face to face with what just might be my worst nightmare...or was it? His glowing eyes once again seared into mine. His white face revealed rather gentle, but equally terrifying features. His red hair was wild and feral, his stature intimidating. My trembles were now quaking my body with such ferocity that I was sure I would once again collapse. I lowered my gaze to his red, full lips, the only calm within this raging storm overtaking me. He pressed the tip of his sharp claw under my chin, urging me to stand, reluctantly releasing the iron grip on my hair. Now standing, my arms crossed and cradling myself for comfort,still unsure of whether to run or stay put, he stepped back to assess me fully. My damp, tangled hair, my face, droplets of blood seeping from the scratch, and my dirty, tattered shirt and shorts. As he did so, I became well aware that the low, menacing growl had returned, and droplets of drool began to drip slowly from his rather beautiful mouth. His lips curled back slightly to reveal razor sharp teeth, glistening despite the dim surroundings. He was hungry. He was ravenous, and I was fucked.

A scream attempted to escape my throat, but couldn’t quite reach the surface. I stood frozen in fear. I was about to be eaten alive, and no one would know what happened to me. He walked rather slowly towards me, but the eagerness in his eyes was apparent. Despite the fear that gripped me, I couldn’t help but notice his full stature was indeed impressive. So tall, I cowered below him. My arms remained crossed defensively across my body as I backed away from him, straight into the cold (and mossy?) wall behind me. There was no where left to go. This was it. As my heart raced right out of my chest, he lunged towards me with a frightening quickness, pinning me against the wall by my shoulders. My arms fell and I dug my nails into the wall behind me, bracing myself for the inevitable. He once again stared at me with such blinding intensity, looking almost..lustful. Was it lust?! The drool dripped from his mouth and made his sharp teeth again gleam and glisten, which was rather fascinating. He was now so close, it dripped onto my cleavage peeking out from my tank, leaving trail marks settling into tiny puddles. He released the grip on my shoulders and grabbed my hair again, weaving and intertwining his long gloved fingers tightly into the hair at the nape of my neck. I could feel his sharp claws brushing the back of my neck, which simultaneously frightened me AND sent pleasurable chills down my spine. He yanked downward forcefully, pulling my head back and exposing my bare neck, the blood pulsing beneath the skin with painfully obvious vigor. My fear began to escalate even further, and the deep growl rising from his throat told me everything I needed to know. My fear was fueling him, making him crazy with desire. For what part of me, I wasn’t yet certain. At the sight of this, the deafening silence that followed the throaty growl was broken by a sinister grin followed by maniacal, shrieking laughter. I jumped, startled and cried out in pain when his grip tightened in my hair, extending my neck back even further until I was looking straight up into the dark abyss of this cold and damp lair of horror. Not sure what to expect next, I felt him release my hair with one hand, still gripping tightly with the other. A clawed finger lightly traced the pulsing vein in my neck, continuing downward into my cleavage.

With one swift swipe, even too quick to be startling, he tore right through the front of my tank top and bra, exposing my bare breasts and midriff. The cool, damp air caused my nipples to harden immediately and that, along with the droplets of blood oozing from scratches on my breasts inadvertently made in the process, seemed excite him beyond comprehension. His throaty growls turned into almost a deep moan, and although he still had one hand in my hair forcing my head upward, I felt what must have been his tongue, warm and pleasant, tracing the area around my nipple. Sampling me. Tasting me. His drool continually dripped onto my midriff, causing the muscles to quiver..not only with fright now, but oddly enough, with excitement and anticipation. The confusion regarding the conflicting feeling and emotion made my head swim, but what could I do besides roll with it? There was no fighting him, no resisting. His inhuman strength made damn sure of that. His long, slippery tongue continued to circle my hard nipples, his sharp teeth grazing them as he moved upwards towards my neck. As his tongue and sharp claw, one followed by the other, traced the veins, the area of blood flow on my neck, I was horrified to feel the first twinges. THOSE twinges. The budding heat and moist spread of pleasure in just the right spot. My first urge was to fight it, it felt like the right thing to do, but my body was surrendering quicker than my mind could catch up.

He released the powerful grip on my hair, lowering my head to meet his vivid, hypnotizing gaze. His tongue continued upward, tracing the corners of my mouth as my own lips quivered, trying hard to hide the fact that I was beginning to actually enjoy his dirty indiscretions. His wild tongue forcefully parted my lips, running it along the inside of my mouth, savoring my warmth..my flavor. I could feel his sharp teeth piercing my bottom lip, more of a turn on than terrifying at this point. I tried hard to fight the feelings of shame and lasciviousness brought on by my newfound and overwhelming lust. As he brought his huge gloved hand up (oh such long fingers) and wrapped it around my neck, the claws digging into the nape while still exploring my mouth with his, a feeling a warmth rushed through my body, settling at my now damp crotch. So many conflicting emotions flooding over me - desire, terror, lust, longing, confusion. My head was spinning with the overwhelming chaos. He tightened his grip around my neck, removed his mouth from mine, and stared at me, a menacing, mocking grin spreading across his face. How was he so fucking beautiful, yet so hideously terrifying? Confusion and a daunting sense of delirium clouded my mind once more as he began to laugh..a shrill, terrifying noise that pierced the dark depths of this...place.

I quickly snapped back to my senses when he abruptly ceased his laughter and, in another single, swift movement, swept his hand downward, tearing off my remaining clothing - my shorts and underwear. As I instinctively raised my hands to shield my now naked body, he grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the wall. While this should have been intimidating, I felt the excitement once again quiver deep down in my loins, and I, involuntary almost, bucked my hips towards him to meet his towering body. As if some kind of cue, a harsh growl escaped his full red lips as he suddenly reached behind me, grabbing my ass with both hands and lifting me upwards, pushing me against the wall forcefully. His claws dug deep into the soft skin, puncturing, the contrast of the hot blood and cold, damp wall causing my excitement to rise to a whole new level. I was unsure of what would happen next, but without a second to think about it, or even HOW it happened so quickly, he lifted me up even higher and pressed against me with brute force, entering my now dripping, eager pussy with something that wasn’t entirely..human. My breath hitched, harsh and ragged, and the ensuing moans that escaped me were almost as inhuman as the beautiful creature now savagely and lusciously ravaging my now willing body. His forceful and bruising thrusts sent waves of sheer ecstasy and sensual electricity throughout my body, my uncontrollable moans echoing throughout this dark and damp lair. Each moan seemed to excite him more and more, his claws digging further into the flesh of my ample ass with each thrust, his drool puddling on my bare breasts as his glistening teeth appeared to sharpen and lengthen even further. With each raging, jarring, and wildly gratifying thrust, his length thickened and hardened inside of me, filling me up completely and causing my body to tremble head to toe with unearthly pleasure I never imagined was possible. I was on the brink now, headed full speed into an oblivious nirvana. My moans were now wild, uninhibited..animalistic. My body belonged to him. His, all his. At the sight of my sweet, luscious surrender, another mischievous grin spread across his face, exposing every single one of his razor sharp teeth. As he thrust into me full force this time, he simultaneously put his face to my shoulder and sunk his teeth deep into my skin. A searing, white hot pain coursed through my body, followed by waves and waves of ecstasy so intense and overwhelming, I thought I might faint. My orgasm was unrelenting, my moans frantic, my legs quivering like jello until I could barely stand. He released my shoulder from the grip of his wicked, jagged mouth, as blood and drool streamed down into my breasts and continued down the curve of my body. He pulled out of me as his pointed, serpentine tongue traced the path of blood down my naked curves, causing me to gasp once again. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand. I could have melted into a puddle at that very moment..but he wasn’t done. No, not yet. Now, it was his turn.

I was panting and trembling in the aftermath of my ravaging, the bliss consuming me, when he spun me around to face the wall. I steadied myself with my palms against the stone wall, regaining some semblance of balance and support for my now useless legs. With zero time to think about what might be next, he slammed into me from behind, cupping my breasts in his massive hands. Once again, his claws sank into my skin, blood seeping onto my already slippery, blood covered breasts. He pinched my hard nipples, circling them occasionally with my blood, as he fucked my already exhausted body until I was sure I couldn’t take much more. His deep, rumbling growls and moans intensified as I felt him growing more and more firm, his sizable, slithering erection threatening to tear me wide open. I began to pant and moan again, his growls, moans, and the fullness were utterly intoxicating. I backed up into him, his hands moving down to my waist for a secure grip. He pushed deep into me, tickling my G spot and pushing me over the edge, into my own personal heaven, once more. As I moaned loudly and uncontrollably, he began to thrust faster, his erection rock hard to the point of painful, his cries becoming consistently more wild and feral. He grabbed a handful of my hair with one hand, twisting and pulling, his claws entangling into the damp mess. His other hand circled around to my face, another claw teasing my lips to open, pushing his finger into my mouth for me to suck on. His claw gently scraped the surface of my tongue and circled around my slick mouth, willing me to suck. As I did, I backed further into his erection that was adequately filling every little bit of my sore, swollen satisfied cunt. His thrusting became erratic, his inhuman cries, growls, and moans reaching a roaring fever pitch, as I suddenly felt him pulsing and exploding inside of me. His claws tore down my back as I winced, leaving deep, bloody gashes, as he continued to pump his thick juices into me, overwhelming me with another warm sense of pleasure. His hands trailed back up to my shoulders, pushing himself deep inside of me one last time, us both savoring the moment.

At last he pulled out of me, I attempted to stand up straight, my legs still terribly weak. I could feel the heat of his thick juices trickling out of me and down my leg in a slow, steady stream. I turned to face him, and immediately noticed his eyes were burning a vivid blue this time, piercing right into my soul. He stared at me a long moment, cocking his head, observing my bloody body, scratched and bitten, looking somewhat concerned, but mostly amused..and oh so blatantly proud. Slowly, he lifted a single finger to his mouth, his white gloves and claws caked in blood, in an apparent “shush” gesture, as if to say this was “our little secret”. He turned away, walking towards the darkness, disappearing, leaving me to ponder...was this a dream, or possibly (hopefully) reality?

#pennywise #it clownkink #pennywise smut #bill skarsgard #pennywise the dancing clown #clown daddy #it #clownfuckers #clown kink #pennywise fandom #pennywise fanfiction #pennywise imagine #pennywise x reader #pennywise x you

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saferincages · 6 years

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a couple of weeks ago, a friend showed me this amazing post (where the photos are far better than mine, which just didn’t want to turn out at all) of @the-far-bright-center‘s beautiful, sparkly Force Ghost Anakin, and it brought me such joy (I was maybe giggling excessively...), and today he arrived in the mail as a surprise gift! 💖

I want to take a moment to appreciate this bio, and the “weapon of choice” being loyalty and love, because it is. a lot.

this could be a very silly post (okay, it already is), but it actually gives me an opportunity to talk about something that I’ve never had a chance or reason to discuss before without some frame of context, so here is an unbelievably overemotional story (one of many regarding Star Wars’ history and special place in my life, I could write a series of these focused of specific themes and characters in all honesty) that no one really needs, but that I feel compelled to write anyway.

I’ve written before about my first experience seeing Revenge of the Sith (most recently here), so I apologize for retreading a certain amount of ground, but it’s important to know what the state of my life was at that time, which was a frightening, burned out shambles. ROTS premiered in May 2005, I believe I had just completed the physical therapy I’d been undergoing since the car accident we had that February. I was extraordinarily ill, and no one knew why (diagnoses were forthcoming), I was rapidly losing weight, and at the time, the scariest thing for me, was that I had no choice but to withdraw from school. Academia, which was such a constant for me, wasn’t even going to be on the horizon. I was, in short, not okay. I felt almost hollow in that uncertainty.

That midnight premiere was incredible, exciting, emotionally fraught, and I remember the weight and the sorrow of it hitting me in a very profound way when we got home, at which point I crawled into my bed and sobbed. I saw it several times that summer, but the final time (which is also a story a couple of my friends know, but I don’t think I’ve posted about it publicly?) was on my birthday that September. It is a crystalline memory. I can recall everything about that day, even what we ate (the cinnamon rolls my mom made for breakfast, the vanilla chai tea I had at Borders that afternoon), because it was the last birthday I had when certain things were not yet permanent, when I was still in the misty place between before and after. By then, the film had moved to our local little budget theatre, and seeing it that way, with a handful of other people rather than with a big, enthusiastic crowd, lent it an intimacy and poignancy which struck me on a wholly different level. (That was also the night Supernatural premiered, which is an aside, but don’t doubt for a moment that the events are inextricably emotionally connected for me.) September, and I should have been in school, but I wasn’t. I had no idea at that point that I never would be again, but I was frightened, and sad, and deeply angry. Anger isn’t a feeling I’d had a lot of experience with, I was a sweet, shy, overly sensitive, naive child (and teenager), but I didn’t often deal with anger, and then I usually sublimated anger with grief and guilt instead (and those things were warring in me, too, and of course I still carry them), but the anger at the unfairness of it all, at how cruel it was that this had happened to me, at how much I hated my own body for turning against me, how I irrationally hated myself for not being better or stronger or able to fight it, was consuming and yet almost childish, as though being ill was causing a perpetual temper tantrum in my mind.

My touchstone in the prequels was always Padmé, and she deserves her own post, but she was so inspiring to me, her compassion and her goodness and her belief in justice, her loving nature and her femininity and her tender heart being strengths, and never undermining her bright spirit, her keen mind, her ability to lead, her powers being her forgiveness and empathy and kindness. I love her so much and she had (and continues to have) such meaning for me.

It took me by surprise when the aching heart of my identification in ROTS plunged more towards Anakin. I loved him too, and I had a lot of varied, complicated feelings about him already, about his gentleness and his trauma, about the immensity of his capacities and his contrasts, but this was the fall, the dark hour of the story, the nadir of everyone’s suffering, and so much happens at his hand, because of his tragic choices. When I was reading the novelization, I didn’t know what to do with the fact that I understood certain aspects of his struggling in such a harrowing way, and seeing it playing out made that even more acute. Those choices he makes out of desperate fear aren’t rooted in evil, they’re driven by the chasm of grief and terror of loss, and they’re mixed with disillusionment and disappointment and frustration. Up until the moment when he walks into the Jedi Temple, when we really see him cross a line he cannot return from, hope for a course correction seems possible. Even knowing what’s coming, it’s like...just turn back. You can still fix this. It ripped my heart out because of course he wouldn’t, he couldn’t. There’s the scene where he’s denied the title of Master, and his outburst at the council (“this is outrageous! it’s unfair!”) is tinged with an adolescent level of upset, but...of course it is. He’s still so young and he wants to trust them, it’s not ambition causing that fury, it’s desperation for inclusion, for some measure of respect, and he keeps being refused. It’s a strange analogy because the things holding me back had nothing to do with a council of old men deciding my fate, all my hindrances were physically trapping me in my own body, the jury denying me the ability to move ahead was my own failing immune system, but I understood his rage, because I wanted someone I could yell at. The person I was so terrified of not being able to save, of having to watch die, wasn’t my beloved, it was...me, the girl I was, the girl I dreamed of becoming. I’ve talked so many times about feeling like I let her down, like I’m the ghost of her, the revenant walking around in a shape that vaguely resembles her, but at that point, she wasn’t gone yet, she was just rapidly slipping away. I didn’t know what to do to save myself. People would say it wasn’t my fault, to let it go (which felt a lot like being told the useless “mourn them do not, miss them do not”), that I was still here, I didn’t ask to get sick, and I knew, logically, that was true, but emotionally all I felt was that crushing guilt and despair (all of this remains a lingering struggle). I didn’t want to be powerless. I would have clung to something that offered me a way out. I knew where Anakin, conflicted and misguided as he was, was coming from, and it eroded everything that made him good and heroic and kind, so the only power I had left was to fight against it and keep the anger at bay.

This is such a specifically personal thing that I won’t get into the analysis of what happens in regards to his descent (which I also expounded upon in that other post anyway), but every time it happened, the same muscle memory seemed to take hold of me, my hands would shake and I’d press them together, my chest would pound, I’d bite my lip to try not to cry. I have this overwhelming fear of fire, so Mustafar was its own nightmare, and I’ve literally only watched the immolation scene once (that first time, at the midnight showing), otherwise I close my eyes tightly shut. I don’t even like seeing gifs of it. But because of what I was going through at the time, what I’ve gone through since, the physical aspects of him so painfully and horrifically losing himself, being so stripped of his humanity that hardly anyone ever looks at or acknowledges him as a person again (until Luke) held its own terror (it’s such an awful metaphor when it’s examined, and it’s that re-enslavement, he did not choose that reconstruction) because I didn’t understand what was happening to me physically, and because so many people were questioning the veracity of my pain and my incapacitating illness, were treating me as somehow less (ableism wasn’t even a word in my vocabulary yet, I just thought maybe everyone had a point and I didn’t deserve the space to be heard or understood, since so much of what I was going through was invisible). I genuinely felt like my personhood and my agency was being taken away. I didn’t have school, I was quickly isolated from everyone else and kept in the (comforting yet confining) cage of my room, I didn’t know who I was supposed to be anymore, and I didn’t know what to do if no one would listen or believe me (my mom aside). The torture Anakin is put through in that conversion to Darth Vader is unimaginable and I don’t want to dwell on it, but there’s a passage from the novelization that goes in part: “The first dawn of light in your universe brings pain. The light burns you. It will always burn you...You can hear yourself breathing. It comes hard, and harsh, and it scrapes nerves already raw, but you cannot stop it. You can never stop it. You cannot even slow it down...now your self is all you will ever have...and within your furnace heart, you burn in your own flame.” It’s such a wrenching description that some part of me separated it out from the villainous aspect, because the rest of it felt true. My nerves were raw and burned with sensation, touch and too much strain hurt, but my heart persistently, stubbornly kept beating, and I was left sifting through the alternating aspects of its passions (both the transcendent and the desolate).

This isn’t at all “excuse or justify the things Vader did” (since, again, this isn’t actual analysis, it’s sentimental personal nonsense), because of course I do not and never would, but the depth of empathy I had for Anakin, as a person and as a lost soul (and a lost future), and the way that left an imprint on me right at the onset of my illness became indelible.

There’s a point to this, I promise.

George Lucas did re-editing and reworkings of the original trilogy and I’ve never minded any of it, because they were his to edit and fix up if he wanted to do so, and little extra CG snippets of planets and creatures only expands the universe in my mind. That said, I realize adding Hayden’s Anakin at the end of Return of the Jedi was divisive, even upsetting for some, but for me it was everything. I’ve hesitated to ever reblog gifs of the scene because I felt like I had to justify or explain why I hold it so dear before I did, so this is my chance to do that.

As a child, I never felt really connected to the fleeting glimpse of Sebastian Shaw (my mom actually remembers me asking why he was so “old,” apparently I reasoned at the time that Anakin should have been younger, I think because I imagined him then as more of a dashing hero, based on Obi-Wan’s description in A New Hope). Anakin never lived as that image of a more middle aged man, that was never who he was within Vader’s suit, and there was always an evincive resonance that I was seeking. Once Attack of the Clones came along, Hayden was my Anakin, he was the embodiment of that character, and I loved him, and I loved his performance (and saw so much nuance and layering in it despite what was often said). Yet one of the last images we witness of him is burning on that scorched lava shore. It’s devastating.

Luke’s unwavering faith that some glimmer of his father still exists, that goodness can’t ever be entirely erased, that love will overcome, that throwing aside his weapon is an act of bravery and grace, is the moment when Anakin is finally released from that. “He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son.” Balance is restored, and redemption is very small and quiet, not a washing away of violence, but a ceasing of it. It’s the hope that we can always find salvation, that we can still choose to act in love.

When Luke turns around and sees those spirits watching over him, benevolent and glowing and one with the Force, Anakin is his beautiful self again, as the description on this little package says, restored to the “hopeful young Jedi he once was.” The first time I saw that edit of the film, I wept. That was the connection I’d been looking for, the understanding that we’re never wasted, that our souls endure and are mended, that we can choose light, no matter how lost we feel we are, that love can persevere and illuminate even the longest night. It reminded me that I wasn’t only my body, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how it felt like it was collapsing on me, no matter how often I felt like I was failing to be the person I thought I would be, my body could never capture the entirety of who I was, or am. My spirit could still shine, my heart could still be soft.

Anakin says to Padmé in AOTC, “Compassion, which I would define as unconditional love, is essential to a Jedi's life, so you might say we are encouraged to love.” It’s one of my favorite scenes because it’s so sincere, and yet so richly layered in its meaning. And in the end, this is fulfilled, this belief is proven right.

People may think the idea of the Force is hokey, but because of the way I was brought up, and the intense theological discussions that used to be framed around it (particularly by my dad, we used to do this over e-mail back in the olden days of dial-up, I wish I had those conversations saved), it was a really important, formative concept for me. The Force is connectivity, it’s like a variant of the belief in Tikkun olam that parts of the vessels of the divine used to shape the world shattered, and their shards became sparks of light trapped within the material of creation, and thus exist and persist in all of us, in all the diverse and breathtaking life around us, and that we should respect and cherish that life. “The best expression of the Force is not a lightsaber fight or other combat techniques. It’s really about your connection to life, to everything around you, and your ability or willingness to let go, to find peace, and ultimately become a selfless part of existence...in the end there is no power that aids [Luke], except the power of compassion and love; the act of forgiveness and apparent self-sacrifice is what saves his father from the dark side.”

It’s the idea that there’s something eternal within all living things, something powerful and connected that binds us together, that means we affect one another, and that we make choices as to whether those influences are for the better (or not). That we can decide to increase the power of light and warm energy in the universe. The idea that we’re not limited to our physical selves, that we’re luminous, radiant, possible beings. That we can reach out in love and compassion to heal the world, even if it’s only in small ways, even if we’re the only ones who see it exist, who know it happens, and still the summation of that additional light can radiate everywhere.

#does this even make sense idk but here it is anyway #anakin skywalker #love can ignite the stars #encouraged to love #star wars #luminous beings are we #look what a *toy* caused me #i am a ridiculous person #bubble wrap around my heart #spirituality #the little girl who was always tired #chronic illness #it took me three hours from start to finish to actually get this posted sigh #but it was important to me even if nobody reads it #you are not obligated to complete the work but neither are you free to abandon it #sw meta #it's not really but i'll file it there

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somberillusions · 4 years

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Hi Guys! I recently found something that really fits this blog. Apparently there are 36 questions designed to make someone fall in love with you, so I’ll be answering them today!

1. Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest? I would want Tom Felton as a dinner guest, I feel like we would get on well and who doesn’t want to cook dinner for a loveable little musician?

2. Would you like to be famous? In what way? I think if I ever became famous, I would want to be famous for doing something good in the world, like donating money to charity or standing on a redwood tree for three years to prevent it from being cut down, y’know? But given the choice I wouldn’t want to be famous, I value my privacy.

3. Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why? Oh definitely, I get really scared calling people for something important, so I always want to know what I’m going to say so I don’t mess up.

4. What would constitute a “perfect” day for you? For me a perfect day would be if in the same day, I went to a BTS fansign and met my idols, and then got to spend time with my closest friends, watching my favorite movies, and eating my favorite foods. God that sounds amazing.

5. When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else? I last sang to myself around fifteen minutes ago, I last sung to someone else last night. I really like singing.

6. If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want? I would want the mind of a 30 year old because then I would have all my memories and be able to tell all my grandkids stories from my past without forgetting small details.

7. Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die? I don’t actually, I used to think I was gonna go by my own hands, but now I don’t care how I’ll die, and I’m not scared of it either.

8. Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common. Well this is hard considering so many individual people could be reading this, but based off of you reading this I would say we both like tumblr, we both find the topic of love interesting, and we like getting to know people.

9. For what in your life do you feel most grateful? I am very grateful for my mom, she is incredibly strong of a person and I would be dead without her strength. She gives me hope of better days and not a day goes by where I don’t remind her how much I care for her.

10. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be? That’s a hard question, I would have to say I wish my dad hadn’t told me stories of what he saw while he served military duty in Iraq, at least not when I was so young.

11. Take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible. I’m timing this, I was born in a military fort in Texas, my dad was in Iraq until I was 3 and when he came back, he came with alcoholism, this essentially ruined my life, when I was five my mom and I moved to Alabama, two years later my dad said he would change so we moved with him, and surprise! He didn’t change. He went to rehab and came out, but sixth months later he relapsed and I attempted suicide from the pain. I had a lot of mental issues and still am recovering. I met my best friend who helped me through all that and I am lucky to have her in my life. I fell in love while my dad was in rehab, and three years later I still am. I currently have three friends who I care about but I don’t like talking to them online much because I prefer face to face. I now spend my weekdays watching movies with my mom and my weekends trying to protect my baby brother from witnessing my drunk dad get angry.

12. If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be? I would like to be fluent in Korean, it would get me more job opportunities and I would love to add bilingual to my job resume.

13. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know? I would want to know if I will ever fall in love and be loved back in return.

14. Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it? I have always dreamed of living in a van, but I haven’t because I don’t have enough money or even a driver’s license.

15. What is the greatest accomplishment of your life? Recovering from Anorexia Nervosa

16. What do you value most in a friendship? Honesty, I want people to give me the real deal instead of acknowledging my feelings, I’d rather rip of the band-aid than leave it on the rot into my skin.

17. What is your most treasured memory? A Halloween party in 2017, that whole October was the most amazing days of my life, but that party changed me in so many ways.

18. What is your most terrible memory? So back in 2015 my dad drunk drove and got caught so for a year he had to have a breathalizer in our car and in order for the car to turn on you had to blow into the breathalizer for 30 seconds and wait 60 seconds for it to calibrate and the car to start. Keep that in mind. So my parents were arguing one day inside and I was outside removing nails from a plank of wood because woodwork was my coping mechanism, when my mom walks out of the house (we lived with my grandparents at the time) she grabs my arm and we run to the car and get in. My dad is walking after us with a face twisted in pure rage. My mom is trying desperately to get the breathalizer to calibrate and my dad is getting closer. At this point there are tears falling down my face. My dad sees my mom frantically trying to start the car and his face gets impossibly more enraged. He then swings his fist at the window and it cracks, but it doesn’t break. I scream. The car is finally starting and my dad screams, “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU BITCH” and goes to swing at the window again, but my mom quickly backs up. If my dad had made that punch my mom would have been dead. My dad goes to the back of the car to stop her but she keeps going until he moves. We immediately leave. I don’t remember where we went but I remember that after that my dad was kicked out of my grandparents house. We stayed but he left. While we were driving I cried so hard my voice went away. I didn’t speak for three months after that.

19. If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why? No, I wouldn’t. I think I am living my life as best I can right now, I act like myself and don’t hold back. I am confident, and I don’t let other people get me down, and I wouldn’t change that for the world.

20. What does friendship mean to you? Friendship means the world to me, I could live my whole life without a romantic interest if I had friends who understood me and were fun to be around.

21. What roles do love and affection play in your life? Honestly I could live without it, that’s not to say I’m opposed to love, but I have mad commitment issues and that’s something not many people want to deal with when it comes to romance, so I don’t need it to live.

22. Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of five items. I like that you listen, I like that you care enough to read this far. I like that you have enough energy in you to even keep reading this far. I like that you don’t give up even when things get unpleasant, and I like how considerate you are of other people.

23. How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s? I would say in my family I am only close with my mom and my cousin. I don’t think my life was happier than most people’s but it definitely could’ve been worse.

24. How do you feel about your relationship with your mother? I’ve talked about her a lot in the post, but great.

25. Make three true “we” statements each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling ... “We are both struggling in different ways” “Our emotions are valid no matter how strong they are, or how trivial they are” “Just because someone is having it worse than us, doesn’t mean we aren’t allowed to be upset”

26. Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share ... “My taste in movies, nowadays people only watch YouTube, and I don’t hold them against that because sometimes I do too, but I wish they would care enough to watch the movies I like.”

27. If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know. I have a lot of trauma like everyone else, and I try to hide that through smiling, don’t fall for it, the wider my smile is, the more I’m breaking down inside.

28. Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things that you might not say to someone you’ve just met. I am proud of you for picking up whatever device you’re reading this on, and spending this long reading a post from a complete stranger, and I really appreciate the amount of time and consideration you put into doing so.

29. Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life. This is really horrible of me but please keep in mind I was four at the time. I was at a Mexican Restaurant in New Mexico and I saw a Mexican person for the first time (I was an isolated child) and I pointed at them and said “Look Mommy! It’s a real Mexican person from Mexico”, I to this day am really embarrassed by this and wish I could see this person again and apologize.

30. When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself? I last cried in front of my mom two days ago, we were watching a sad movie. And I last cried by myself at midnight. I swear I don’t usually cry this much it’s just bad timing.

31. Tell your partner something that you like about them already. They like asking this question a lot don’t they? I also really like how dedicated you are to making sure other people feel cared for.

32. What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about? Sexual Assault, in no situation is it okay to joke about people being forced into sexual acts.

33. If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet? I would regret never apologizing to my family for not talking to them, I haven’t done it yet because they think I am this perfect little girl and I’m scared that they won’t love me anymore when they find out I’m not.

34. Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why? My memory box, it’s full of all the most cherished items in my life and I wouldn’t be able to live knowing I let them burn.

35. Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why? My mom’s, I would cease to function if she passed away, I know it’ll happen someday but the thought terrifies me. I think I would shut down mentally.

36. Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen. My dad is a raging alcoholic, and I am scared to be around him on the weekends. I don’t want to pressure my mom into leaving but at the same time my mental health is deteriorating every Saturday. What would you do in my situation?

Welp, there you go! I’m honestly surprised you made it this far, thank you for caring enough to stick around. Until next time!

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jsscy · 6 years

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I have no inkling of sympathy for my abuser. I was ten years old, barely a girl, and he took advantage of my trust, my innocence, my naivete. Years later when I came to enough of an understanding of what he had done to me I spoke up and my family slapped the back of my hand and told me not to tell lies. He got away with it. I think what’s worse is he’s still considered part of the family. He’s still invited to holiday dinners, birthday parties, weddings, even though he moved across the country after I revealed the incident. Not a word from him to me since. It’s been over a decade and he still shows his face around a group of my blood relatives who stood behind him as his kid niece cried out about the wicked things that he’d done to her on the vacation he took her on for her tenth birthday. “Don’t disrespect our family that way,” my mother says. “Just pretend he’s not there, even if it really happened it’s been so long,” Grandma chides, begging me to show my face at the table for Christmas this year. What am I allowed to feel after being denied every emotion since it happened? I grieved quietly in isolation throughout adolescence, contemplating whether life was worth living, experimenting with the thin line between life and death, pondering if my family would belittle me and shove me back into the small confined box labeled “good respectable daughter” if I ever cried out again and I didn’t dare utter a word of the past once more even though I so desperately needed to. What was a girl to do, stripped of her own voice, her own emotion, no safety net to fall onto, nobody to tell me “it’s going to be okay” while I screamed in my head it was not. Christmas 2015. My first Christmas back from university and not the slightest clue that he would be there. I froze at the discovery of his presence and silently trudged to the furthest room in the house in which I locked myself in for hours, more terrified and infuriated than I had felt in years. I didn’t realize that I had that much anger, hatred, and sadness in my body and I was sure my eyes would run dry after all the tears. I wanted to suck every particle of joy and breath and life and all that was good and deserving out of that man I had once considered a father figure, someone I looked up to when I had no one to call my Dad, someone who I had some of my most tender memories with at the peak of my innocence and the same man who ripped it all away within the palm of his sweaty hand that so desperately groped at parts that hadn’t even filled into my body yet. He had the perfect scenario spelled out for him and he made a choice with his 41 years of moral development, wisdom, and better judgment over me, the choice that would one day be overlooked, completely brushed over, no matter on anyone’s mind but his and my own--and who is the one left to suffer more? And today I’m left with the feigned choice of whether I suck it up and put a face on and be there for the holidays for the sake of keeping whatever this family is together or quietly protesting by spending the most wonderful time of the year in isolation. So I choose the latter. I refuse to let the torment slide and to let him keep slipping under the noses of the rest of my family members even though my absence is covered with white lies, “shes just feeling sick, she has a fever, she’s not feeling well”. Surely there must be at least one of them that doesn’t believe the bullshit, that can put two and two together and I’m almost certain it’s in the back of everyone’s mind but again, for the sake of family, for Christ’s sake, just let the past die and for once would you stop being an utter disappointment and disrespect to the family--the product of a failed marriage, the first born and only kin of a wife-beater, a liar, another woman abuser, another case of “let the past die” but not in scenarios when I have the power to use it against you of course. Don’t be anything like your father because we all know what kind of impact he had on our family, and yet we all choose to turn a blind eye to what impact another man had on the family. Yes I am filled with rage still, I am filled with sadness, and that may never go away. But I’m also filled with a greater understanding that justice is not equal, life is not always fair, and sometimes there will be no one to stand up for you but yourself. I will never have any sympathy for you, I will never let your actions slide or the things you’ve done go unacknowledged. Perhaps the rest of my family will, but it will never slip away from me. I’ve dreamed of the day I can face you and say the million things I’ve recited in my head over and over for the past eleven years, confront you with the disgusting truth that’s been swept under the carpet, rotting and molding, dust off the vile past and spit it back in your face, but I’ve learned that I cannot do so with hatred or rage, but rather with peace and closure. That day has not come and I have no sense of when it will, but until then I will continue my silent protest and I will keep growing my own strength and courage so that one day when I do face you again, I won’t have to cry out to the rest of the world and shake my fist demanding justice, but know in my heart that I’ve built my own.

#abuse #trauma #recovery #depression

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pearlescent-words · 5 years

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Greater Good - Chapter Three

This chapter is a little long….it got away from me a bit, but hopefully, that’s not a bad thing.

Anyway, please review! And enjoy!

“This whole earth thing certainly wasn’t off to a good start.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3

“Your dad is a dick, Wells!”

Laughter erupted through the cargo ship, clearly the majority agree with the sentiment. Myself among them; to a degree at least. I can understand the necessity for this venture, and the logic in sending the ‘expendable’ delinquents who’d be floated soon anyway – but that doesn’t negate the truly heartless treatment of us, as people whose crimes, for the most part, were committed in the hope of bettering their circumstances aboard the Ark. Circumstances made worse by the very people who’ve chosen to send us down here.

Instead, we are crammed, like cattle for the slaughter. No dignity in our death. Only the dimming hope of our deaths holding some greater meaning for the many.

“…Mount Weather was a military base built within a mountain. It was to be stocked with enough non-perishables to sustain three hundred people for up to two years.”

Jaha’s monotone instruction was drowned by the juvenile cheering and celebration rippling through the ship as the “‘Spacewalk bandit’ strikes again!” if the distorted hollering from the far side of the ship is too be believed. I can’t quite make out what’s going on from here, though I can just make out two legs sticking out from around the side of a seat, floating horizontally in the air. Plainly someone had removed their seatbelt to float through the zero gravity of the ship – presumably the same boy they locked up for taking an illegal spacewalk and wasting almost a month of oxygen.

Not the most commendable of moments.

From the looks of it others where following suit, from my isolated seat beside the drop ship door I ’m provided with an unobstructed view of another young boy unclipping his seatbelt in glee to begin floating upwards from his seat. The distant shouting of “Stay in your seats!” echoing down from the floor above must mean that someone’s realised the same thing I have; as much fun as these boys must be having the likelihood of this being a less than smooth ride to the ground is high, especially if the previous break through the atmosphere was anything to go off.

I almost don’t have the heart to stop them. Their jubilation was understandable; I was in a close enough state myself, suffering through the utter terror and hollow agony that courses through you, turning your bones to lead and blood too ice when they decide your fate, believing your time on the Ark to be in its final few moments. To have a sudden release, to be sent to earth with no Chancellor and no proper rules, complete free reign to do as you wish after so long of simply sitting and waiting to die.

Who wouldn’t want a moment to feel just as weightless physically as we do now mentally and emotionally?

But then the crash came, as dangerous and jarring here as being imprisoned on the Ark. It throws you off, sends you into a panicked frenzy, not knowing where to turn. And the boys floating in their glee suffered the full force of it. I watched as the boy I could see before was slammed into the side of the dropship and ruptured the pipes against the wall, steam now billowing out of them. Panic had erupted aboard the ship as the steam filled the room and the agonised groaning of the metal struggling to keep itself together built and built and built.

They knew this’d be a possibility.

God knows how old this ship is, and they decided to shove 100 adolescents aboard knowing full well if we don’t die on the journey down we’d likely die of radiation on the ground. It doesn’t look as though wed make it that far now. I can’t fight the knot in my throat or the tears building behind my eyes as we spiral out of control and the screaming swells into a horrifying cacophony of fear. I’m not ready to die. I wasn’t even ready aboard the Ark, when I believed that was where I was being taken too and to be given this hope, this chance of a full life for me and everyone on the Ark, only to have it ripped away again – I’m not ready.

The turbulence of the ship is still building and I can no longer distinguish the others suffering from my own sobbing. That hollow feeling’s back, like I’m made of lead and metal but my blood runs as ice and, despite being so packed into such a small ship, I’ve never felt so utterly alone. To die like this is one thing, but to die alone. Away from my family and those few friends I had, surrounded instead by people id never met and hold no bond with. To die in a crash and left to rot on Earth in a metal mass grave – it’s not fair.

Of course they’d send us, the worthless and undeserving, instead of themselves. Jaha wouldn’t even sacrifice himself for his own people, he could only send his instruction though a video, not even capable of being Chancellor on Earth while someone else governs the Ark – he expects us to die for him and those who imprisoned us but would never do the same for his very own people. He’s who my blame lays with, him and every other governor. They couldn’t even ensure a safe land.

They didn’t even give us a chance.

The crash came sooner than expected and with a thunderous impact we’d landed – the first humans on earth in centuries. Now to see if we’d survive.

At some point I’d squeezed my eyes shut and now, trying to prize them open and blink through the blurry film of tears clouding my vision, I can see the others looking around in confusion or relief, checking on themselves and their counterparts – and I remember; the floating boys who hit the walls. With a newfound energy I reached down with shaking hands to hurriedly unbuckle the seatbelt and rush forward from my seat, the straps flying backwards to collide loudly with the metal of the walls as I dive towards the med-kit strapped to the wall on my right. At some point during the flight one of the pipes near me must have ruptured and had broken off to hit the plastic med-box, crushing it slightly in the corner and spilling what looked like a fluid on the inside of the case. None the less I prize it off the wall and rush in the direction of the boy who I saw slam into the dropship wall, barley registering the hurried nature of those around me rushing towards the front of the ship.

Frantically I kneel beside him, he’s face down and I can see blood forming on the floor beneath his face – he must have broken his nose on the impact, or, even worse, hit his head hard enough to do serious damage. I roll him over quickly, faintly panicking over his dead weight nature, and find his nose badly broken to the side, bone showing through and blood coating the side of his face. Despite fearing the worst I check for a pulse. The tears build again in my eyes as I pull my hand away. Looking around I can find nothing to grant him that final dignity in death and instead begin to rearrange him in a more peaceful manner, limbs less splayed and eyes closed as opposed to their blank, glazed stare.

Someone barges past, not even noticing me sitting beside this bloodied figure of a young boy in their rush to the doors of the ship. Only now do I look around at the people congregating a few rows of seats behind me, all being stopped by something in their rush to open the doors to the ground. It’s as I see people running down from the upper levels that I remember the first boy, the one whose feet I could see but little else – he would have been hurt in the crash too. Pulling the med-kit up and hurrying to the stairs I desperately search for the boy, this “space walker” they were all cheering for, praying that I won’t be too late to help him as I had been previously.

I find a young man staring solemnly at the ground first and as I approach him I see those same shoes jutting out from the row of seats. A third boy lays there on his side, and I settle down beside him, unconsciously batting the hands away from his head as I start to take his pulse, wasting no time this time round.

“Isabella?”

A shocked tone sounds from beside me and I glance around to face Clarke, tearstained and panicked as she stares at me, as though for some answer or reassurance that I could not give. I hadn’t expected to run into her so soon, especially not in such a dire situation, but I have no time to speak to her and she’s realised this too,

“Finn, is he breathing?” she asks in a rushed tone, desperate for some form of answer - clearly he got here before us both but if his solemn look is anything to go of he believes the boy to be dead, but then I feel a pulse, faint and fluttering, but there none the less, beating meekly beneath my fingers.

I scan him quickly for injuries and settle on his face and I notice not only does he have a large cut to his left cheek, in addition to the already broken arm bent at an odd angle to his right, but I realise that I know him. Glen Dickson. He was one of the families I helped. His mother was sick so often and they had used up their quota long ago but that didn’t exactly help her. I was smuggling pain killers and antibiotic to him to give her, in addition to the odd extra ration I could grab to try and keep her strength up. I wasn’t sure if she was going to make it, but I was doing the best with what I had, He got arrested for trying to do more than I already was – he was caught in a ration locker, grabbing all he could put his hands on, something he never would have gotten away with even if he had made it out of the room. I had to save him, after all I’d done for him I couldn’t just give up on him now – I knew him, he was kind and loving, the most family orientated boy I’d ever met and so mature for his years, he deserved so much more than this. I turned to Clarke, as she sat beside me as though waiting for instruction, and told her to grab an oxygen mask and any kind of bandages to stop the bleeding before he slipped away as I began resuscitation, desperate to build his heartbeat back up to a more manageable standard.

She’d just pulled out an oxygen mask when someone shouted something about the doors being open and she whipped around and jumped to her feet shouting after them, “No. we can’t just open the doors.” While I shouted after her “Clarke! He’s still breathing, Clarke!” but she was already gone.

I turn back round to my patient and huff in frustration as I reach behind me for the oxygen mask she’d discarded on the floor while I try to keep tempo with my other hand, pumping down on his chest. Just as I whipped my head round with an angered grunt to search for the oxygen mask properly, I see the boy, Finn, crawling being me, shuffling towards Glens head and fitting the mask over his face. I quickly return both my hand to his chest and maintain a heartbeat rhythm, “Thank you.” I say glancing over at him; staring down at Glen’s face. “What else do you need?” he doesn’t look at me when he speaks, to busy analysing Glen’s face, a distracted look in his eye.

I scan back to Glens misshapen arm, the bone showing through near his elbow and blood quickly pooling beneath him, “bandages, any you can find, apply pressure to his arm and try to slow the bleeding,” he shuffles around again, now with a wad of bandages in hand as he settles across from me, unravelling the bandages and pushing haphazardly on Glens wound, “Tie a tourniquet if you can, just above his elbow, nice and tight to stop the blood flow to the broken skin.” He nods absently and goes about the actions, he seems somewhat removed from the situation, as though weighed by guild or remorse. He was the first one to remove his seatbelt and float about, he triggered the others into following, I suppose in a way he is responsible. But he couldn’t have known what was too happen, the crash or the severity of the boy’s injuries. I won’t tell him about the other boy, he seems weighed down enough without that on his conscious – if that boy’s death is on anyone, it’s on Jaha.

Finn finishes tying the tourniquet and I wave him to take over what I’m doing as I move to examine the gash on Glen’s cheek and bring my hand to check his pule again as I do. It’d stopped. I look around at my hand on his neck, feeling no flutter or out of time beat. He was gone. I close my eyes and reach out for Finn’s arm, pushing him to stop the resuscitation and looking round at him with sadden and clouded eyes telling him soundlessly that Glen was gone. Finn deflates across from me and thumps back against the wall, head hitting the wall with a bang and his eyes shutting softly. “It’s not your fault. They were enjoying themselves. At least they had some kind of release in their final moments, you gave them that really. Don’t blame yourself.” I can’t find any other words of comfort to conjure forth and I know what I’ve provided likely isn’t exactly what he wants to hear. He doesn’t bring his head forward but I see him open his eyes and look in my direction, he nods minutely and I do in return. I move to remove the oxygen mask from Glens face placing it back In the med-kit box, before reaching over to untie to tourniquet and pick up the bloody bandages – I’ll probably be able to soak them and salvage them, depending on how many I was truly equipped with. Glen’s jacket had come off in his flight, perhaps he was in the process of removing it when we crashed, regardless I slipped it off his good arm and covered his face with it, giving him some dignity in death that he wasn’t rewarded by the Ark in life. At least he’d be with his mother again. Though his father would be broken, they were such a close family, always so grateful yet desperate. They all deserved better.

##############

By the time I’d repacked my equipment and arranged both the boys in a more dignified position, saying a small prayer above them both out of kindness – I can’t say for the first boy, but I know Glen and his family were quite religious, they’d appreciate the gesture and it’s the most I can give. It’s only as I sit back from my ministrations that I recognise the eerie quite which has taken hold of the dropship. They’d all left, gone outside to the ground; Finn had walked quietly past me some time ago, laying a hand on my shoulder for a moment as he went. I’d almost forgotten where we were, that we had safely landed on earth – for the most part. I’d been so wrapped up in sorrow and guilt in failing to save either boy that’d I’d forgotten what they’d died for, unwittingly or not. I rose to my feet, dragging the med-kit behind me as I move back down the drop ship stairs to see the doors open before me, spilling in the sunlight from outside. I’d never seen such natural light before. And so much green, I could spot the beginnings of it around the dropship door and the outlines of tree shadows against the cool metal I’d grown so used too, but so much green that it reflected off the metal itself, casting a green hue around the entrance of the drop ship. I pause at the bottom of the staircase to gaze, unfiltered, into the outside.

It was breath-taking.

Absolutely mesmerising, something I’d never forget. I’d read about it for years, we all had, Earth skills class after Earth skills class, telling us about all these plants and trees and greenery we all believed we’d never get to see, and here It all was, right in front of me – just a few more steps and I’d feel the ground beneath my feet. Would it be hard, like the metal floor which I’d taken my first steps on, or would it be softened by a recent rain, muddy and supple.

I drag the med-kit across the floor over to the remaining, larger one still strapped in place against the wall and rest the smaller one beneath it, knowing I should really organise and take stock before heading outside for the very first time – to experience all of that with all the others. But a brief flash of the boys crushed nose and Glen’s fluttering heartbeat is enough to snap me out of my reverie. Two people have already died on this attempt to colonise earth, I’m not going to fail anyone else in the way I’d failed them, and so I kneeled down in front of my smaller med-kit, with its oxygen mask and bloodied bandages tossed haphazardly inside it and begin to take stock of what they’d given me.

Unless the larger med-kit holds a plethora of bandages I would have to be reusing the bloodied ones I’d used with Glen. It was mostly pain killers, bandages, some morphine vials, a few rations to be used in emergencies and an oxygen mask – hopefully the larger one holds more. Unstrapping it from the wall and allowing the weight of it to fall into my arms proves that it’s much heavier than the smaller one I’d been lugging around. It also contained much more, that being more of what the smaller did and more products in general. The small crack in the lower corner had broken a bottle of morphine and spilt it’s contents into the plastic box but, with the amount I’ve been provided, I’m hoping it won’t cause much issue, I doubt I’d be in need of too much morphine.

I sit back on the floor, taking a moment to look over the final stock of my medical supplies and glance back round at the small glimpse of the outside that I have from my position and, should I turn any further, the view I have of the first boys shoes sticking out from behind some chairs. It strikes me now that I don’t even know his name, or if anybody even will, considering how no one has come back in search of him.

They can’t stay aboard the dropship, and on Earth they deserve a proper Earth burial, but I can hardly do that alone. I realise now that I’m putting oftraveling outside in a way, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps it’s because I never thought it’d happen and now I’m worried? That it won’t live up to expectation perhaps or that the council has placed so much pressure on us all that the moment I step foot on the ground everything we do will determine whether our peers follow us down here or not. I can’t say I’m scared of the radiation, if we were all doing to die from it, being on the dropship or out in the open wouldn’t make any difference. I move over to the door hanging on to the end as I look out. I’ve never seen a blue sky before, not from below, only ever from above, in orbit. It was so striking, so brilliant in its vibrancy that it almost moved me to tears; certainly took my breath away at least. The trees were unlike anything I’d ever read about, they reached so high it was as though they brushed the sky itself, painting the very clouds into existence. I can assume that the ground is a supple mud from all the shoe prints present from all the other 100 rushing about, some I can still see between the trees and foliage but most are long lost within the distance. But on the ramp, leaning over a map were Clarke and Wells. Straight to business I suppose.

“You shouldn’t have left back there, he was still breathing I needed your help.” I didn’t mean for that to be my first words to her on Earth or for my tone to be quite so reprimanding, it was an overwhelming situation for all of us. But I can’t disagree with my statement. She shouldn’t have left. Perhaps if time hadn’t been wasted between her leaving and Finn stepping in I would have been able to save Glen. Clarke looks up at me, barley sparing an apologetic look, before returning to her map, “They were just going to open the door, we had no idea what was out there, I had to stop them Belle.” “and you did a fine job there Clarke, really stopped them in their tracks, whether they opened that door or not radiation still would have found its way in, what did you want to happen, Clarke, us stay locked inside forever?” I’m not sure where this argument is stemming from and, in the recesses of my mind, I no I’m juts taking my frustration out on her and I’m not being exactly fair, but I can’t help that part of me that finds responsibility in her for Glen’s death, just like I find responsibility in Finn and myself.

“Look I’m sorry okay, what do you want me to do about It.” “He’s dead Clarke; there’s nothing you can do.”

I’m being harsh and I know it but I can’t stop. It’s not her fault he’s dead, not entirely, if at all really but whats been said has been said. On the Ark, Clarke and I never quite got along, we were civil enough, at times bordering on friendship, but we never moved past that territory. We just clashed. I found her too impulsive and desperate to have her way, while I’m sure she found me to agonise over every option too much and be all-round to passive. To be honest, I believe she shows her emotions and mentalities simply much closer to the surface than I do.

Wells is looking at me with a furrowed brow and downturned lips, as though he’s not pleased with the way I’m speaking to Clarke – not that she’s happy with him talking to her in the first place. I could agree with her on her coldness to Wells at least. He was responsible for her father’s death after all, after growing up as such close friends and be betrayed like that, from your closes source or confidence, he’s lucky Clarke even entertains his presence.

She scoffs at me under her breath and shakes her head at her map, “They dropped us nowhere near Mount Weather. There’s an entire forest between us and it.”

Apparently out conversation about Glenn is over, suppose I’ll hold that grudge much longer than she will. But now the issue is getting to Mount Weather. Jaha said that it was fully stocked for a nuclear war, and he couldn’t even get the drop point right. The rations I have in my med-kits are clearly to be used in dire circumstances, there aren’t even enough to go around half the people here once, never mind sustain everyone for the remainder of what now looks like our very short time here.

“We’ve got more problems than that. The communications system is dead. I went to the roof, a dozen panels are missing. Heat fried the wires.” Wells added to the general gloom of the conversation. They sent me down here to be their main source of communication to the Ark and be able to report back all the technical and medical information I could and now even that was ruined. No food, no supplies and no communication. Brilliant.

“Well, all that matters right now is getting to Mount Weather, see, look.” Clarke returns to her map and draws a line between us and Mount Weather as she explains to us both where we need to be going. To get there looks like a bit of a trek, not that I was ever very good at reading maps, I never did very well in Earth skills – I could read all the books, and I did, twice most of them, but I just couldn’t pass the examinations, it was all the technical parts that threw me.

“How far is that exactly?”

Evidently Wells is really not happy with me as, just as Clarke looked to me to answer, Wells butted in with, “Where’d you learn to do that?” Even I knew that that wasn’t the right thing for him to say, there’s a reason Clarke was always so excellent in her earth skills classes and much of it came down to her father’s outside teaching and Wells knows this, so why he’d even think to question I’ll never know but the icy chill of tension that settled over us was enough of an indicator that he’d said the wrong thing. Thankfully someone looked to be bounding over just in time to diffuse the situation and the awkward turn it’d taken, “Ah, cool, a map. They got a bar in this town? I’ll buy you a beer.” The boy clearly meant well, not quite understanding the direness of the situation with Mount Weather and he did a good job of unknowingly cutting the tension that had settled but Wells was quick to amp it up again. This boy was a scrawny thing, goggles perched atop a messy head of hair and a pointed face but he looked kind with warm eyes and inviting grin so why Wells felt the need to grab him so forcefully and shove him backwards like he posed any sort of threat was frankly ridiculous. But his clenched jaw and hardened eyes indicated that he wasn’t intending to go easy on the kid. And neither were the small group of men coming over from the right. This looks distinctly like trouble arising – trouble I may need my medical alcohol and bandages for.

“Hey, hey, hey, hands off of him. He’s with us.”

The boy’s approach seemed to have already organised some form of defence if the makeshift spears they’re carrying are anything to go off. Wells attempt to calm the situation he’d caused are short lived and you could clearly see they were unlikely to work anyway, even before that familiar voice chimed in,

“We’re on the ground. That not good enough for you?”

I look round to find Bellamy Blake standing direct in my eyesight, and while I know he was addressing Wells, he too was only looking at me. He didn’t look any different than I remember him, before he stopped using my services, not that I ever did find out why, but i certainly did see him much less after that. The only difference in him I could spot now was the guard uniform, but he still sported that same cocky air that he had with or without the jacket. We’d become friends, in that time that I’d helped him out, good friends actually – a friendship built on mutual trust, we both had secrets and I felt we’d both shared what we had. He was certainly one of my closest friends aboard the Ark, albeit he didn’t exactly fit in with my usual friends circle or any circle I travelled in for that matter, bit I trusted him more than most. What could he have done to end up on the dropship?

Wells and Clarke broke away to approach Bellamy and the group of boys followed close behind. I’m unable to hear what they’re saying from over here so I move closer, settling in-between Clarke and Wells but still stood back, as removed from the conflict as I could get, “Screw your father.” Well, Wells is certainly going to have a fun time around here. The venom in the brunette’s voice strikes me, never mind who she’s directly addressing, “What? You think you’re in charge down here, you and your little princess?”, if she hadn’t looked over at Clarke when she said that, fazing directly over me, I would’ve panicked to be at the end of her disgust. I’ve never seen this girl before, but she certainly has a hate for Wells and Clarke – Wells I can understand, it was likely his father that had locked her up, though I’m not sure what Clarke could have done to her. “Do you think we care who’s in charge?,” Clarke begins, desperation clear in her face, “We need to get to Mount Weather, not because the Chancellor said so,” as she continues she moves to address the larger crowd clearly determined to get through to the others in the group. With how convincing and passionate she got in times like this, when faced with leading a crowd or a class, I always questioned how Wells was the Chancellors child and not her, she certainly had the makings of a chancellor, after speeches like this I’d follow her anywhere, friend or not, “but because the longer we wait, the hungrier we’ll get and the harder this’ll be. How long do you think we’ll last without those supplies? We’re looking at a 20-mile trek, ok? So if we want to get there before dark, we need to leave. Now.”

Apparently, not everyone shared my sentiment for Clarke’s rousing speech, “I got a better idea. You two go, find it for us. Let the privileged do the hard work for a change.”

I can’t say that the cheer that sounded after Bellamy’s contribution surprised me, nor can I disagree with what he’s saying, but that doesn’t mean it cuts any less. While I can see how those from lower Stations were left to struggle by those in charge, and those of us who were blessed enough to be born into the more technological Stations defiantly faced an advantage in life and certainly held less menial and labour intensive jobs – it still hurts to know that Bellamy would view us all like that, or even the majority of people. I can recognise my privilege aboard the Ark, but I also felt I used that privilege to help those I could the best I could – Bellamy included. “I don’t think this is an issue to be divided between the privileged and the less so – this affects all of us.” My own interjection surprised me just as much as it seemed to surprise both Clarke and Bellamy, while I certainly don’t wish to be involved in a conflict, I refuse to ignore the blatant injustice Bellamy has just served and more importantly; Clarke was right, we all need to move to Mount Weather if we wanted to get through this. Clarke seemed surprised that I’d agreed with her and that I even got involved in the first place while Bellamy didn’t even seem to realise I’d moved forward into the conflict, perhaps he didn’t even think I’d hear him, if his sheepish look was anything to go on.

“She’s right, and you’re not listening, we all need to go.”

Just as Wells finished off, someone came barging into my shoulder, knocking me forward and shoving me to the side as they rushed up to Wells to shove him back, “Look at this, everybody – the chancellor of Earth.” before this boy even began to speak he radiated cockiness and confidence, the swagger in his walk and stance as he provoked Wells and riled up the crowd made it clear that he was loving this, the fight and the attention. And Wells clearly didn’t know when to stop and remove himself from the situation; clearly, this aggravator was much more forward than Wells was. He didn’t sand a chance.

Before I could even blink the floppy-haired boy kicked Wells’ legs out from under him and began heckling him, encouraging him into the fight. And the crowd loved it. Cheers erupted among them some I’m sure just excited for a fight and even more excited to see the Chancellors son beaten up. This was escalating quicker than anyone could control and I feared how badly Wells would come out of all of this; when Finn made a sudden appearance, leaping down from the side of the dropship to stop directly between the two boys.

A hush came over the crowd in anticipation of what would happen next, whether Finn would escalate or deescalate the fight, but as the boys stood across from each other for a moment it became clear that it was over and whines of disappointment come across the crowd. To put a final end to the altercation the brunette girl from before moved forward calling out in a flirty tone, “Hey Spacewalker, rescue me next.” If her bedroom eyes and swaying body where any indication, she was clearly trying to get Finn to blush from her advances. It seemed to have the opposite effect though as a boyish grin spread across Finn’s face and some encouraging calls bubbled up from the remaining audience, though the situation was certainly at an end.

The drama and the audience it had attracted all dispersed back into the woods surrounding us and I watched as Bellamy approached the girl with an annoyed, exasperated expression marring his face, almost like a parent reprimanding a child for their wrongdoings. Any hope I had of over hearing their conversation disappeared as Bellamy grabbed her arm and dragged her off to the side, or as far as he could before she ripped her arm away from him. Clearly they were having some sort of argument with their hushed tones, leaning forward towards each other in their frustration.

Evidently they were a close pair, but I’ve truly never seen or met this girl before and she’s never someone Bellamy mention to me in our time together, and he certainly didn’t have many friends at all, all that he did I’d met or knew about. So who was she and how could they be so close? If he’d met her after we’d stopped talking as much that’d only give him a month at most and to get as close as they seemed to be, it was odd. Bellamy grabbed her again and pulled her even further away, obviously aiming for more privacy than they already had though I doubt anyone could have heard them anyway. “Well, all that was pretty fun, eh.” A cheerful voice chimed from beside me with soft laugh. It was that boy in the goggles from before, I hadn’t realised that it was just me, him and another young boy now that all the crowds had dispersed. He seems just as nice and jovial as he did before and the friend next to him had a soft smile on his face too,

“That’s one word for it.” I laughed slightly.

“Ooo, not into the whole one-two then.” He laughs along as he mimes out a punching action and his friend beside him chuckles at him, “I’m Monty, and the one fake punching you is Jasper.” It was the shorter boy with black hair that introduced themselves first while Jasper nodded along to his statement, “I’m Isabella, people tend to call me Bella, or some variation of that.” I held my hand out to them which Monty shook politely but Jasper scoffed, batted it away and gave me a swift hug before pulling back and announcing that they’d both be calling me Izzy, “sounds cooler” he said. “Certainly a first but thanks” I laughed, definitely two of the most forward but nicest boys I’d met in a while, I wonder if they were like this aboard the Ark or if it’s just the effect the ground has had on them. I turn back to watch Bellamy and the girl and see them coming to a calmer tone of speech and decide now is probably my chance to get over there, “Excuse me” I call to Jasper and Monty as I move away, both of them waving me off as they turn to some people behind them. They were just finishing their conversation and as I made my way towards them, the brunette girl looked over at me and muttered something to Bellamy; he straightened himself out and gave me a soft smile as I approached, one I hoped was intended to welcome me over. “Long time no see, Bell”, I incline my head at him giving him a friendly smile, hoping he feels that nothing’s changed between us just as I do – yes, his comment earlier annoyed me, but I certainly don’t disagree with it. In truth, I’d missed him, in that month that he’d told me to stop sneaking him rations and clothes, I’d barely spoken to him and I sincerely hoped that our friendship wasn’t only limited to the time in which I smuggled him supplies. Thankfully he smiled widely at me and agreed, laughing lightly as he turned to the brunette and laid a hand on her arm, “I think there’s someone you should meet,” he paused as he looked between us both and I smiled at the young girl, being this close to her I could see the freckles spotted across her nose and the familiar deep set of her eyes, she was a few inches taller than me despite certainly being a few years younger judging by the roundness of her youthful face. “Bella, this is Octavia, Octavia, Bella.” He brought a calloused hand up between us to gesture between us and before I could raise a hand to shake her own she exclaimed, “Bella! This is Bella, oh my god I’ve heard so much about you, he hardly every shut up. Thank you so much.”

I was taken aback by her thanks, I’ve defiantly never met this girl before, despite her affiliation with Bellamy so I can’t imagine why she’d need to thank me. Bellamy had scoffed at her statements ad lightly shook his head but I couldn’t understand why he’d tell her ‘all about me’ but never mention a word of her in return. Clearly recognising my confused expression, Bellamy placed his free hand on my own shoulder and said in a measured tone, “Octavia is my sister.”

I couldn’t stop my mouth from falling open as I looked comically back and forth between Bellamy and Octavia, his sister that he’d never told me about. I’d been helping him out for years, he was one of my very first – how could he never think to tell me this. Suddenly it hit me, she must have been why I’d needed to supply them, Bellamy and his mother, with extra rations, he always told me his mother struggled with ill health and he just went through them too quick but he was such a kind and endearing boy that I had to help him, but now to know that this whole time I’d been supplying a secret sibling that they couldn’t claim for, “wh-why would you never tell me, even with the rations I was getting you, they weren’t enough for a whole other person. If I’d known I could’ve tried to get you more, given more medical care even.” They both chuckled slightly at my sentiments so clearly my tone had been more confused or upset than angered, and I’m not angry, rather a mash of gobsmacked and disbelieving, “I had no idea, this whole time. I’m so sorry.” I finished in a quite tone,

“What are you sorry for, you basically kept me alive, risking yourself in the process, I owe you. And honestly after all Bell’s said about you I’m just glad we’ve finally met.” Octavia smiled as she spoke, looking up at her brother in a teasing manner at the end, clearly trying to embarrass him a little and I couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped when watching their interaction, I’d never seen a set of siblings before, it seemed surreal.

“Alright I think that’s enough out of you, O” he laughed as he spoke; nodding knowingly at her as she broke out into laughter at his expense and my own soft giggles joined them.

Just then Octavia caught sight of something to capture her interest just over my shoulder and, turning around, I spotted Finn spinning Monty and Jasper around to address Wells, who was resting his leg on the ground. It seemed they were arranging a party for Mount Weather and Octavia wasted no time in bounding over to them exclaiming, “Sounds like a party, make it 5.”

For someone who has lived away from people her whole life she certainly oozed confidence, something Bellamy was evidenty trying to reign in, “Hey, what the hell are you doing?”

This must be how siblings are then, the big brother looking to protect and the little sister rebelling away – I couldn’t control the giggle as I watch him try though. I stood with the rest of them as they discussed leaving for Mount Weather before Clarke noticed something with Finn’s wristband, “Hey, where you trying to take this off?” “Yeah, so.” Came Fins blasé reply.

Clarke launched into the whole explanations for the wristbands and I find myself surprised that no one else seems to understand the use for them, did the Ark simply strap them on and not explain their purpose that they were to measure our vitals and determine if Earth is even safe. How could they gloss over that fact, of course people would try to remove them, they’ll see them as ties to the Skybox rather than the final form of commination to all their friends and family. Regardless, as Clarke finished her explanation of the wrist bands it was clear this was new news for everyone present. With a finishing statement to dive her point home, Clarke called out for them all to leave while I move down to look at Wells and his injured leg. I have no intention of going with them, there are likely to be a few injured in the crash coming down and I’d be best to examine them and make sure no infections are likely to set in. They won’t need a medic in the travel, it’s just a straight cut through the forest and if anything should come up, Clarke has enough training to quickly patch anyone up. “Before you go let me put together a med-pack for you to take with you, just in case.” I called up to Clarke as I rose from looking at Wells’ leg; she nodded silently at me and followed me inside to sort out the pack. The rest stayed outside to further discuss the journey and as I quickly organised some alcohol and bandages Clarke took a quick turn around the drop ship, “oh my god. Belle, what happened here, why didn’t you say they were still here!” I didn’t need to turn around to know shed just found the first boy with the smashed in nose behind the first row of seats, “What could I have done with them Clarke, I need help moving them to bury them, but I can’t exactly barge up to someone to ask them that.” I spoke in a soft tone, not wanting to have to face the two empty bodies on the floor again, I know they need burying but I can’t just stroll up and tell people that – I could hardly handle it myself and a small sniffle escaped me as I stood braced against the wall.

I heard Clarke making her way over to me and felt as she placed a hand on my shoulder before hugging me gently from the side, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left before. I’m sorry.”

I was struck with guilt at realising I’d made her feel responsible for Glen’s death before, it wasn’t her fault, not by a long shot – my blame lies with Jaha, as I should for everyone. I shook my head at her and turned to face her fully saying, “No, it wasn’t your fault, they were out of their seats in the crash but I did the best I could.” I sobbed lightly on her shoulder. Clarke pulls me back slightly and looks me in the eyes, “It’s not your fault either, accidents happen.”

We can try and absolve the guilt we both feel as much as we can, but I doubt it’ll ever go away. I silently nod and hand her the small drawstring bag I’d put together with medical supplies and we both head out of the dropship again, while I try to hurriedly wipe away my tears. I head out just as Octavia leans up to give Bellamy a quick kiss on the cheek and, though I smile to see it, it breaks my heart when I realise he’s who I’ll have to approach about the bodies on the dropship. He’s the person I’m closest too here and the only one I think would be able to handle it, to be honest.

They all begin to make their way out and I look over at Wells to tell him I’ll be with him in a moment to see if there’s anything I can do for his leg, as I slowly make my way over to Bellamy. He immediately notices my freshly tearstained face as his brow furrows and he reaches out an arm towards me, “Hey, hey, what’s happened?” he asks In a more authoritative tone than one echoing with concern, but I feel I know him well enough to know that this was his way of expressing concern, to try and fix the problem and provide comfort after.

I started with a deep breath to compose myself, not wanting to burst into tears all over again, “When we crashed there were a few boys out of their seats. They got thrown into the walls of the ships, I did what I could but one was gone by the time I got to him and the other I just couldn’t work quick enough to save,” I paused to take another breath, most of what I was saying turning into a fast-paced jumble by the end and Bellamy braced me with both his hands on my shoulders now, looking down at me with intense eyes, “they’re both still on board Bellamy, and I need to get them off and get them buried but I can’t do that alone.” I finished. “You don’t have too, I’ll start digging some graves for them and I’ll move them off for you.”

“No, no, I’ll help you do it I just can’t lift them and-“

“No. you’ve dealt with enough already, I’ll handle it.” He argued back at me, he was still staring at me intensely and he was gripping my shoulders at this point, as though trying to weld me to the ground itself. I knew this likely wasn’t a fight I’d win but that doesn’t mean he can’t really stop me from following along with him if I so chose to, “I’ll show you where they are.” I nod and I move away to return to the dropship, Bellamy following close behind me and Wells watching us as we go.

I don’t want to have to go in there again, I don’t want to have to look at the boys smashed in nose or Glens covered face. I don’t want to be reminded of the blood on my hands, but they, at the very least, deserve a proper burial.

This whole earth thing certainly wasn’t off to a good start

#The 100 #the 100 bellamy #the 100 fanfiction #fanfic #bellamy blake #bellamy x oc #bellamy/oc #bellamy fanfiction

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