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monchikyun · 3 years

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XIII. give you everything

Connor can’t help but laugh when a palm lands on his cheek ever so softly.

“You’re aware that I can’t feel physical pain, right?”

“Shut up,” Gavin pretends that he’s bothered by that rhetorical question, but the hint of a smile trying to force its way in doesn’t go undetected. Ever since the morning, his face has been graced by the shade of red Connor can’t get enough of, which is the main reason for his good mood.

Somehow they ended up playing rock-scissors-paper and Gavin insisted that the loser should receive some form of punishment, “to spice it up a little”. He thinks that the man just wants to test how advanced his programming is, to find out whether he’s even capable of losing. The truth is he could accurately estimate Gavin’s move if he concentrated enough, but then this would be no fun now, would it.

Of course, he had to draw paper in their first round and the fact that Gavin immediately went for scissors was all but unexpected. The man himself can be sharp like a knife when you touch the wrong side of him.

Connor has a hard time admitting to himself that he lost on purpose because he can’t quite figure out why.

“Doesn’t matter,” Gavin mumbles and invites him for a rematch.

He supposes there are better ways to spend their free time, but since no one is willing to talk about what is going on between them, childish games count as the next best thing.

And Connor really enjoys the limbo they trapped themselves in. It’s just warm enough without the possibility of leaving burns. Luke-warm, if he’s being honest with himself. A bit bland. Still, he could live with that. He can ignore the longing in Gavin’s eyes if it keeps them safe like this.

“Guess I win this time.” Gavin’s fist uncurls in disappointment, preventing Connor from enveloping it in his ‘paper’.

“You sure you didn’t cheat with your robo mind-reading power?” There is nothing but playfulness seeping from his voice, still, Connor can’t believe he even has to ask.

“You really do think highly of me, don’t you?”

“So that would be a ‘no’.” He squeezes his eyes shut and winces in anticipation.

“I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

And he is, imitating the slap he got just a couple of minutes ago.

“Seriously? Well, that was kinda underwhelming.” He sounds almost dissatisfied. Connor never considered Gavin was into that kind of stuff but one never knows what the other person might be hiding. Not that he minds, it’s just a piece of information he needs to get used to.

“So was yours.” He smirks at him, creating a petulant frown on his friend’s face.

“Good point.” At least he doesn’t initiate a fight. It would be a shame if something ruined their so-far peaceful day.

The snow has finally stopped falling, letting a ray of sunshine peek through the thick clouds. He would suggest taking a walk if Gavin hasn’t coughed three times in the past two hours. Connor has been monitoring his vitals, not noticing any significant change to his health, but that might have been only thanks to their current sufficiently heated location. At least according to his scans it is so, because the detective’s hands rub his arms up and down in an attempt to get rid of the cold only he can feel.

“If only you had a perfectly comfortable sweater to wear.., what a pity,” Connor shakes his head in theatrical sorrow.

“Oh, wait.”

The darts coming from Gavin prick his skin without having to look at him at all. Now, this is fun.

“You do!.”

The man seems offended by his toothy grin, which makes it grow even wider.

“For phck’s sake, Connor. I told you I’ll wear that over my dead body.”

“Guess I’ll have to kill you then.”

He means it as a stupid joke, but the air turns serious as soon as his mouth lets out those words.

“Sorry.”

He shouldn’t be the one letting himself be carried away by the moment, no matter how carefree it might have been.

But Gavin doesn’t react to his feeble apology, busy making himself smaller to contain some of his bodily heat. His temperature is still within the norm, but that doesn’t tell him anything about what might happen in the next several hours. Days.

He repeats his actions from the night before, placing his blanket around the man’s shoulder, letting his hands linger a little longer than they should.

They spend the rest of the day wasting their time by playing all the games from Gavin’s childhood that Connor would never have the opportunity to experience otherwise. It’s a nice gesture, if that indeed is the intention behind it. Could be that this is the detective’s idea of dealing with boredom. And since they’ve decided to forget all about their work while they’re here, there weren’t many options left if they wanted to avoid all communication that could direct them to the forsaken grounds, also known as a personal dialogue.

Connor almost had to force-feed Gavin the lunch he ordered for him, fighting against his endless excuses of not being hungry. He needs the strength if his condition is to worsen, and he’d make sure he gets it, even if it ended up in him having to shove a spoon inside his human mouth and nearly choking him to death. The man does sometimes act like a misbehaving toddler, but he figures that’s just a part of his charm. Besides, he likes taking care of him, it makes him fulfilled, for more reasons than one. It reminds him that he’s capable of so much more than just police work.

It’s late in the afternoon now, the sky has gone dark and their carefully structured conversation quieted down into a pleasant silence. The only light source in their room is provided by the muted television which no one pays any attention to.

Gavin is sitting on the ground, backed propped by the side of his bed. He’s still snuggled in Connor’s blanket, cradling a cup of tea the android has made for him.

He has packed plenty of supplies with him, thinking they might come in handy. It’s better to be over-prepared than the opposite, an opinion that this trip has confirmed to him.

Connor has just got off the phone with Tina, assuring himself that Sumo is being adequately spoiled. He really misses that oversized lump of fur, but the dog is doing just fine without him, so he has nothing to complain about.

Checking up on Gavin he notices his temperature has risen above what’s deemed healthy. He sits next to him and retracts the skin on his hand, pressing it on the man’s forehead to extract the precise reading, just to be certain.

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin says, clearly defeated. He shifts a bit and looks at him like he’s seeing the most beautiful being in the world, setting the now half-empty cup aside.

“C’me here.”

Maybe it’s the medicine he took twenty minutes ago finally kicking in, making his brain all mushy and body too clingy, but Gavin magically pulls him in his lap and holds him like he’s the last of his kind. He rests his head on the android’s chest, and Connor is too weak to deny him this show of vulnerability. Even if it’s likely drug-induced. They stay like this for a while, basking in each other’s touch, breathing in the tender atmosphere. Their hands have found each other too, fitting together like opposite poles. His spare one is threading through Gavin’s hair, messing it up on purpose. Connor loves seeing it like that, it feels intimate to him. A secret side of the man reserved only for those who are closest to him. It’s nice. Too nice.

The moment is so overwhelmingly light it doesn’t even occur to him how dangerous his actions are. How those small acts can wedge a rift between them if he isn’t careful enough.

But it’s too late to back out because Gavin kisses his chest, the place whereunder his mechanical heart beats loudly. And it doesn’t stop there. He traces those kisses up along his collar bone, his jaw, his neck, eliciting a content hum from him in the process. When he comes close to his lips, the man hesitates for a second that seems like an eternity, but ultimately decides to give in.

And that where Connor draws the line. Snapping out of his trance, he quickly shoves his hand in front of his mouth to prevent Gavin from doing something he won’t be able to take back.

“I’m sorry,” comes the muffled expression of regret. He truly loathes having to say that phrase so often because he apparently can’t do a single thing right in his life.

He climbs off Gavin, dropping his body right next to him instead.

“Why,” the man breathes softly.

“I- I can’t. I can’t give you everything you want, Gavin.” He tries to communicate his despair through his doleful gaze, which his friend appears to be drowning in.

“What-” Connor grabs the upper side of Gavin’s hand, guiding it towards him in an answer. It discomforts him greatly, but he leads it to where his genitals would be if he had any. He’s not the only one unsettled by this, for he senses Gavin struggle against his grip and at this point he has no choice but to set him free.

“You phcking toaster, you think I don’t know that?” he laughs without mirth.

“You think that… that I want you just for your body?”

Connor has hurt the man again, despite trying to do the exact opposite.

“...no?”

“No!” It’s not that difficult to believe, but not as easy when the truth has been spoken out loud.

Gavin leans back into him, resting his head on his shoulder. At least they haven’t spiralled down the path of pretend animosity.

“You don’t mind that I’m not a man?” Connor has never really regarded himself as one. It’s a label that doesn’t feel right to him. He’s simply himself, a human-like android who has been given a soul. There is no need for something else.

“I don’t care what or who you are, Con. As long as it’s you that’s inside, I wouldn’t mind if you were a phcking jellyfish, I’d… I’d love you all the same.”

“You… you love me.” The world around him gets blurry as he can’t quite process what he just heard.

“Is that so surprising, tin can?” Gavin chuckles, his own tears audible in that delightful sound.

He wants to say it back, every inch of his being is urging him to do so, but his brain has frozen over and refuses to receive any command his heart gives him.

The words are stuck in his chest, leaking out through his close eyes, unable to be turned into any shape. They stab him with their intensity over and over, making him want to pluck them out and throw them at the person who has created them.

“I-”

“You don’t have to, Con.”

Maybe neither of them is ready to carry the weight behind that sentence just yet.

@a-convin-new-year i had to change the title a bit to suit my story hope you don’t mind

#aconvinnewyear #convin #low-temperature burn #longest one yet #sorry for mistakes my brain has also frozen over ahaha #some important stuff happens idk if I'm vibing with it #tell me how you feel abt it please :D

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lveclouds · 4 years

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a/n: an atla au that i’ve been planning to write about for a while hehe and i apologize that this oneshot jumps around a lot (oops) and it is slightly different from the actual show and wow this is the longest thing i’ve ever written lmao and this is very much raw and unedited so if there are any mistakes, that’s on me fklkflkf

genre: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, doomed love

rating: pg-15 (see tw) (i’ve bolded them so they are easier to see)

word count: 5.4k

pairing: avatar! reader x firebender yoongi

warnings: a bit of violence, (it’s nothing graphic), light swearing, mentions of family death (very brief and doesn’t go into much detail), mentions of blood (very brief), a nightmare sequence, major character deaths (nothing too graphic or super violent)

summary: you were supposed to hate min yoongi. after all, he was from the fire nation, and their people were responsible for the chaos that had divided the four nations all those years ago, and for the death of your family. however, no matter how many times you fought, and no matter how many times he got under your skin, you eventually caught feelings, and now the two of you were in a relationship that was never meant to happen. and now, you, along with yoongi, have to face the consequences.

disclaimer: i own none nothing related to atla (the story, setting, etc) all rights go to nickelodeon and michael dante dimartino, the main creator of this amazing show. also, originally, the cooling chamber is used for prisoners who dare to step out of line while imprisoned on boiling rock, and they are only rendered unable to bend for a full week. however, i decided to change it because i don’t want to make their deaths too graphic or violent or disturbing, as the show barely has anything like that and i do not want to disturb my readers.

“he was like fire, and i like water, and we often clashed, but somehow, we managed to fall in love. however, because we fell in love, a grave punishment awaited us, one that would haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

prologue

min yoongi. the mere mention of his name was enough to make your blood boil and your insides churn with anger and hatred. he was arrogant, hot-headed, and worst of all, infuriatingly gorgeous. messy, raven hair that fell into his eyes, which were dark and piercing, pink lips that always curved into that irritating smirk you despised, perfect cheekbones, a chiseled jaw, and the long scar on his left eye, which would’ve made anyone else look terrifying, but somehow, it only made yoongi even more attractive than he already was, which deeply vexed you. he was from the fire nation, whom you hated with all your heart. they were responsible for the death of your family all those years ago, when you were just a little girl who didn’t know the complexities of the world, nor did you know that you would one day be the one to put an end to the all the slaughter and turmoil. you remembered the day they invaded your village all too well. you had been helping your mom prepare dinner, when, all of a sudden, loud shouts pierced the air, and you heard the crackle of fire and heavy footsteps making their way onto the shore. your father, already armed with his armor and scimitar, rushed outside, yelling over his shoulder for your mom to protect you and your brother. your mother, who was firm and loving above all things, calmly instructed for you and your brother to slip out of the tent if things went bad, to which you agreed to, despite being deathly terrified of what was going to happen. before you knew it, the flap of your tent was blown open, and you felt a rush of warm air wash over you, and you clapped a hand over your mouth, holding back a terrified scream as two fire nation soldiers barged in, mouths twisted in evil smirks. they grabbed your mother roughly by the wrist, who put up to resistance as they dragged her away, and you felt tears fill your eyes. to your horror, your brother, who was only eight years old, ran after your mother, who was looking at him with tears running down her cheeks, silently pleading him to go back inside. her attempt was in vain, as your brother persisted, desperate screams escaping his throat, and you were frozen in the corner, tears freely falling down your face, watching, petrified, as your kind and outgoing and brave brother was dragged away, possibly to his death. after you had managed to calm down, you quickly gathered all you had, which was nothing much, just a water skin that your grandmother had gifted you before she died. despite it being nothing too significant, you still held it dear to your heart. somehow, you had managed to escape, quietly hiding behind ruins of igloos and tents, and escaped onto a boat, not daring to look back at the destruction that the fire nation had caused. and, as you let the boat carry you away, you clutched the water skin to your chest and cried.

(fin.)

fast forward ten years later, and you were now eighteen, and you had traveled all around the four nations, being sure to avoid the fire nation at all costs. within the ten years that you had traveled, alone and unarmed, you had managed to discover something: you were the avatar, the one person who would be responsible for stopping the war between the four nations and the only one capable enough to stop the fire nation and their scheme to take over the entire world. at first, you didn’t want to believe it, for you were a poor girl who grew up in a small village in the southern water tribe, and as far as you knew, none of your ancestors were avatars, at least, or so you thought. turns out, your great great grandmother had been a past avatar, a very powerful one at that. you hated to admit it, but you were terrified. after all, being the avatar wasn’t going to be easy, and, to top it all off, you had to save the world from absolute peril. granted, you weren’t exactly experienced in the whole “avatar” thing, but you were willing to try. and, so far, you had been able to improve your waterbending, and had mastered earthbending. now, you were working on your airbending, studying scrolls you had picked up while exploring an abandoned air nomad temple. you were currently staying at a small inn located in a remote village in the earth kingdom, training nearly every day. however, you found it difficult to concentrate, for thoughts of min yoongi popped into your mind, which greatly irritated you. you had had only a few encounters with the arrogant prince to be, but you had come to despise him. you hated the fact that you thought of him, for you could just imagine that stupid smirk on his face if he found out, and for heavens sake, you hoped it would stay that way. every fight you two had made your blood boil, and the sarcastic remarks and teasing only deepened your hatred. you vowed to never fall for an arrogant asshole like him, nor would you ever consider giving up anything for yoongi, not a chance. little did you know that three years later, you loving yoongi would be your greatest downfall.

yoongi gritted his teeth in annoyance at the trembling servant before him, trying not to get irritated at his cowardice. “speak.” he grumbled, letting out an exasperated sigh. “i-i ‘m s-sorry your highness, i-i didn’t mean to tell your sister about the a-avatar. i-it just-” it just what?” “i-it was a mistake, your highness.” yoongi sighed. he was exhausted from the countless meeting his father forced him to attend that day, and he didn’t have the energy to deal with such a fool of a servant. “whatever, just don’t let it happen again,now, get out of my sight.” yoongi muttered, waving his hand absentmindedly. the servant nodded, frantically getting up, sputtering out apologies and nearly tripping over his own feet as he exited his bedroom. yoongi groaned in annoyance as he hopped down from the chair he’d been sitting on, stretching out his weak limbs. the meetings had been quite tiring, and yoongi thought he was going to insane from listening to incompetent men ramble on and on about pointless war strategies. ok, yoongi knew that coming up with war strategies wasn’t easy and they were doing their best, but none of the strategies they come up with have succeeded, and yoongi was starting to lose faith in them. yoongi knew he could be a bit hotheaded and a bit arrogant and selfish at times, but he wasn’t heartless, and deep down, he knew that the men were just trying to help with the crisis that was plaguing the world. yoongi sighed and plopped down onto his bed, closing his eyes. he was so tired to the point where he couldn��t even be bothered to get under the covers, and soon sleep came over him, covering him like a blanket.

y/n scowled, clenching her fists together tightly, her dark eyes full of anger and spite. her beautiful face was bloody and a long scratch was on her forearm, but she didn’t seem to notice. yoongi had been thrown off to the side, clutching his arm awkwardly, and there were smudges of dirt and blood on his face, and his body felt like it was being stabbed with a thousand needles, but all he could focus on was y/n, facing off against the fire lord, rage ablaze in her eyes. the fire lord gave her a once over and sneered. “so, you’re the so called avatar? heh. you look weak, and definitely not enough to defeat me.” y/n’s scowl only deepened, and yoongi could see the ember of a flame kindling in her now open palm, illuminating her features in a orange and red glow. “you killed my family, didn’t you?” she hissed, the flame in her hand getting stronger, sparks flying in the air. the fire lord let out a dark, heartless chuckle. “oh, you mean the powerless and pathetic waterbenders who didn’t even try to put up a fight? ah, well, if you must be so curious, i did kill them. they were imprisoned for a while, and i ordered my soldiers to starve them, and when i got tired of keeping them alive, i took their lives with my own hands.” yoongi stared in horror as the flame in y/n’s hands got bigger and bigger, and her dark eyes glowed with fury, a strong wind lifting her up in the air, and she was now a blue streak against the dark sky. when she spoke again, her voice wasn’t normal, it was almost as if she had been possessed, and that’s when yoongi realized: she had entered the avatar state. suddenly, a fight broke out, and yoongi shielded his eyes from the debris and the smoke that was heading his way, struggling to see. and, when the smoke finally cleared, yoongi’s heart felt as if had been ripped out of his chest. his father was dead, lying in an awkward heap on the ground, and a few feet away lay y/n, her blue dress tattered and torn, her body lifeless. yoongi held back a scream as he crawled over to her body, fighting back tears. her dark hair was messy and strands fell over her face, and with shaking hands, yoongi reached out to brush them away, there were scratches and bruises covering her arms and legs, and the cut on her arm had gotten worse, and then he noticed the piece of metal in her chest, blood pouring out of the wound. yoongi finally let the tears fall, grasping hold of her now cold hands, letting his emotions pour out of him like a waterfall.

yoongi shot up, his brow coated with sweat, breathing heavily. his heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he felt as if his ears were ringing. over the past few weeks, he had been having recurring dreams of y/n dying in different ways, and he couldn’t understand why. why was he, out of all people, having dreams of her dying over and over again? why? he scowled and wiped away the sweat with the back of his hand. “this makes absolutely no sense. i don’t love her, nor do i have feelings for her, so why am i having these dreams?” he mumbled to himself, head swimming with thoughts. yoongi shook his head, as if to try and rid himself of what he had just dreamed of. he decided to go back to sleep and not try to think of her, for it would only cause him more confusion.

(three years later)

you dodged a flying rock just barely, propelling yourself upwards with air, landing gently on your feet just seconds later, and allowed yourself a quick sigh of relief before turning back to the battle at hand. your bending had gotten better since then, and you were just mastering firebending, the one element you dreaded learning, but alas, as your duty as the avatar, it was mandatory to master all four elements. you were currently locked in a slightly tense fight with thugs from the earth kingdom, who had previously tried to steal your belongings just weeks ago, and as you were on your way to the local market to pick up some food, you were ambushed. luckily, the thugs weren’t too dangerous, and had a few weapons, but not any you were too concerned about. after the thugs were lying on the ground, groaning in pain, you wasted no time in running away, not bothering to look back, just in case one of them recovered. the local market was ablaze with activity, street vendors selling food and other items, such as jewelry and cloth and weapons, and some were even offering to read your palms. you made sure to stick to the stalls that were run by people who didn’t seem to care about the avatar, and those who seemed to just see you as a normal girl, which was enough for you. after all, you weren’t even supposed to be going to crowded public places, as there is a chance that anyone could recognize you, but since you had been to the market so many times and no one seemed to bother you, well, you didn’t worry too much. however, you still kept your guard up, making sure no one was following you and trying not to use your bending without people seeing. you rushed back to the inn you were staying at, making sure to look over your shoulder as you went, feeling your heartbeat speed up a bit. yoongi was lying down on one of the beds, eyes closed, chest falling up and down peacefully, his soft breaths filling the room. “yoongi? are you awake?” he cracked open one feline shaped eye, lips curving into a small smile. “mmm. was just closing my eyes.” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper, but just loud enough for you to hear. you bit back an amused smile at the sight of yoongi in a tattered red cloak that was a far cry from the royal garbs he was used to wearing all the time. his dark, raven hair had gotten longer, and the strands were now falling into his eyes, and most of the time, his hair was messy and a bit unruly, but you didn’t mind. you hummed softly as you prepared dinner, which was noodle soup and fish. while you were adding ingredients to the stew, you heard yoongi slide off the bed and walk over to you, his bare feet soundless on the wood floor. strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist, and you couldn’t help but smile in amusement. “you’re finally up, huh?” “i was awake, i was resting my eyes.” “uh huh, and those little snores i heard? those were fake?” yoongi huffed. “shut up, i wasn’t snoring.” “whatever you say, yoongi.” you singsonged. yoongi sighed and let go of your waist, settling down in front of the small table in the center of the room, hugging his knees to his chest. “is the food almost ready?” “yes, your highness.” you teased, pouring the stew into a wooden bowl, steam rising into the air. as the two of you ate dinner that night, yoongi told you stories about his life in the palace, and how he had almost fallen asleep at a meeting because he was so bored. “seriously? and you got away with that?” yoongi shrugged, shoving a handful of rice in his mouth, and you nearly laughed when you saw a piece of rice sticking to his bottom lip, but refrained from doing so because you didn’t want to embarrass him. “they know i barely get any sleep, so i guess they’re used to it.” “why?” “why don’t i get any sleep?” “well, i used to have nightmares, mostly about my father killing me, you dying, and a few other things, and i don’t know, i’ve always been a night owl, i guess.” your heart dropped down into your chest. “what? you ‘ve had dreams of me dying?” yoongi sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “yeah. but i don’t have them anymore. i had them before we fell in love or whatever. we hated each other before, in case you forgot.” “but, i still don’t get it. why would you have dreams of me dying?” yoongi shrugged once again, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “not sure. anyways, don’t worry about it. it was a long time ago.” you nodded, but deep down, you were still a bit doubtful that the dreams were “nothing.” they had to mean something, you thought as you forced yourself to eat another piece of fish. you lay in bed later that night, staring up at the wooden ceiling of the inn, lost in thought. you couldn’t help but wonder if the dreams that yoongi had all those years ago meant something. you weren’t afraid of death, necessarily, as you knew that all life stopped eventually, but you were scared of when it would happen, after all, you hadn’t saved the world yet, nor had you mastered the four elements. you shook away all bad thoughts, silently scolding yourself for being paranoid, and snuggled deeper into yoongi’s side, letting sleep take over.

the next morning, you awoke to the smell of smoke, and you immediately shot up out of bed, looking around for yoongi, who was nowhere to be seen. a wave of fear washed over you as you rushed to gather your belongings, heart beating wildly in your chest. you quickly put out the small fires that were blazing in the inn, turning the wood to ash, and ran outside. the sight that awaited you turned your blood cold. yoongi was being held captive by fire nation soldiers, hands tied with rope, and there was a smudge of dirt and blood on his right cheek, but otherwise, he looked unscathed, and you allowed yourself some relief. one of the soldiers, a tall and lean man, sneered at you as you got closer. “if it isn’t the avatar. thought we’d never see you, and honestly, i’m quite disappointed. thought you’d be taller, and well, a male.” you felt a surge of anger wash over you, clenching your hands into fists. “what do you want?” “first, surrender now and we’ll consider sparing your life.” “and if i refuse?” “if you refuse, then we’ll kill you while he watches.” you gritted your teeth in annoyance and snuck a glance at yoongi, whose expression was unreadable. you sighed and slowly put your hands up in surrender, and before you could react, you were pinned down to the ground, dirt flying into your eyes, making you sputter, and you felt a knee dig into the small of your back, and you hissed at the sharp pain that shot through your shoulder. . “what are you doing?! you said you wouldn’t harm her!” yoongi screamed, dark eyes ablaze with anger. “you’d really think we’d spare her? she’s the reason why we’re always getting scolded, and the reason why our people are suffering, so she deserves to die.” “your people are suffering?? don’t you mean our people?” the soldier who was pinning you to the ground let out a bitter laugh. “our people? the fire nation no longer sees you as a prince, for you turned your back on your nation and ran away with the avatar. your father is ashamed of you, and you are no longer welcome in the palace.” yoongi scoffed. “please. i was never accepted by my father, and i got tired of living there, too many rules to abide by. the fire nation is pathetic and my father is a piece of shit. i used to be blinded by the teachings and the values that we lived by, but not anymore. the fire nation deserves to be burnt to the ground, and i hope i get to be around to see it happen.” you watched in horror as yoongi was kicked in the stomach, causing him to cry out in pain, body falling in an awkward heap on the ground. tears welled up in your eyes, and you forced yourself to look away, for you were afraid of breaking down in front of everyone, especially in front of fire nation soldiers, no less. the last thing you wanted was to be seen as weak.

after a long stretch of silence, yoongi cleared his throat, causing the soldiers to look at him, sneers immediately forming on their faces. “what is it now?” “let her go, you can take me back to the palace and i will receive whatever punishment awaits me, even if it’s death.” your blood ran cold as soon as the words left his mouth, heart dropping down into your chest. the soldier who was holding you down let you go, and you breathed a sigh of relief as the pain in your back subsided. the soldiers laughed, and you felt dread rush over you. “awww, how cute. loverboy’s willing to give up his life for the pathetic excuse of an avatar this girl is.” one soldier said, his tone dripping with sarcasm and mockery. “no, take me instead, i’m the one the fire lord wants to see dead.” the soldiers looked at each other and almost immediately, satisfied smirks appeared on their faces. then,you were roughly helped to your feet, and your hands were tied with rope. out of the corner of your eye, you saw yoogni looking at you, dark eyes swimming with tears, silently begging you not to go, and you felt a slight twinge of regret, but it was too late: you had already made up your mind. you were willing to sacrifice anything for yoongi, even if it meant inevitable death. you swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise in your throat as you were led away. suddenly, you heard loud screams from behind you, and you whirled around to see yoongi, who had somehow managed to break free from his restraints, the sharp features of his face illuminated by the orange and red flames that he was throwing at the soldiers, who tried to dodge them, but to no avail. even from afar, you could see the tension in yoongi’s shoulders as he fought, dodging fireballs every now and then, sweat forming on his brow. you could only watch as he singelhandedly fought off soldiers from his own nation, anger coming off him in waves. and, just as he was about to run towards you, his eyebrows set in determination, you felt the hilt of a sword slamming into the back of your head, and before the world around you turned to black, you heard a scream of pure agony and distress.

you awoke in a prison cell, head pounding as your eyes adjusted to the dim light. you groaned as you realized where you were. you had been brought to boiling rock, the most secure prison in the fire nation. the bars of your cell and the walls were made of an indestructible metal, and you immediately regretted not learning metal bending all those years ago. defeated, you slumped down in the corner of your cell, sighing heavily. the fire nation soldiers were right, you thought. you were a poor excuse of an avatar. not only had you fallen in love with one a fire nation prince, but you had also betrayed the values you were supposed to uphold as the avatar by choosing to try and protect yoongi instead of yourself. you knew that the past avatars before you would’ve done the complete opposite, for the sake of the whole world, and you chose to neglect all their teachings and values by trying to save him. you felt tears fall down your face. for the first time since your family’s death, you had never felt so hopeless and scared in your life. you knew that the fate that you had lead yourself to was entirely your fault, for you had chosen to love yoongi and defend him. deep down, there was a part of you that wondered if things would’ve been different if you had not fallen in love with the fire nation prince, but there was also a part of you that didn’t regret choosing yoongi. he had taught you some firebending techniques, and most of all,had treated you like fine china after you had started dating. he had been nothing but good to you since you dated, and you felt like an absolute fool for falling so hard, so quickly.

you sobbed quietly in your cell, feeling completely helpless and defeated. there was no way you were escaping what was about to come, and you soon fell asleep, dried tears sticking to your face, heart heavy. when you awoke the next morning, you heard a guard unlocking your cell, and you slowly sat up, dread pooling in your stomach. you were led out of the cell and down a long corridor. you were practically shoved inside the interrogation room, which was dimly lit with metal bars in the ceiling, and the guard that was inside pushed you onto a chair, tying you to it with rope, which was rough and itchy against your skin. the interrogator stepped into the room, an old man with prominent frown lines around his eyes, looking at you with utter disdain and disgust. "so, this is the avatar? hmph. seems pretty weak to me." he muttered. you fought the urge to roll your eyes as he stood in front of you, eyes piercing. "did you or did you not kidnap the crown prince?" you couldn't help but let out a soft laugh. "kidnap? i never did such a thing, he voluntarily agreed to travel with me." the old man sighed impatiently. "and you fell in love with him, did you not?" you gritted your teeth in annoyance. "and so what if i did?" the old man smirked, and you fought the urge to break free from your restraints and punch him in his face. "well, isn't the avatar supposed to despise anyone from the fire nation? they have values to uphold, and while i don't know much about your ancestors, they would probably look down on you for it." "fine, i did." the old man scoffed. "it's pathetic, really. i mean, the avatar betraying her ancestors for a lowlife prince?" "i'm not proud of it, but i don't regret it." "is that so? well, you definitely will once you freeze to death in the cooling chamber tomorrow." and with that, he exited the room, slamming the door shut behind him. as you were led back to your cell, you felt as if your world had come crashing down. you had been unable to master all four elements, nor had you saved the world from absolute peril. and, once you died, the world would be thrown into absolute chaos, and no one would be able to stop the fire nation from causing absolute destruction.

that night, you sat in your cell, leaning on the wall, thinking about all the memories you had made as you traveled, and the ones you made with yoongi. yoongi, who you hadn't seen since you got knocked out, and who you didn't know was even alive.you knew that it was possible to resent yoongi, for he was one of the reasons why you were now in a prison cell, but you also knew that you were to blame. after all, you had fallen in love with him. despite the fate that was awaiting you the next day, you couldn't help but feel happy that you had lived a decent life, and you had managed to fall in love, even if it was someone you were destined to hate. "i love you, yoongi." you whispered, and you slowly fell asleep, with memories of yoongi in your mind.

the bitter cold in the room enveloped you like a blanket, and though you had grown up in a village surrounded by glaciers, you had always been covered up in thick clothing lined with fur, keeping you warm despite the harsh temperature. you shivered slightly, rubbing your arms frantically, as if the action would keep you warm. though the cold was unbearable, you were at least grateful you would die slowly, instead of painfully, so at least you could reflect on yourself before you died. you sighed and slumped against the wall of the cooling chamber, feeling absolutely defeated. there was no way you were getting out this time. suddenly, the door to the cooling chamber opened, and someone got shoved inside. the door quickly closed and you could hear the joyful laughs of the fire nation soldiers outside, which vexed you. when you saw who had been placed in the chamber with you, you felt tears welling up in your eyes. it was yoongi, and to your relief, he looked uninjured. “y-yoongi?” you called out, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible, despite the tears running down your face. he looked over at you, dark eyes wide. “y/n?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “w-what are you doing here?” “i turned myself in.” “what? why?” “i couldn’t let you suffer without me. after all, i am the one who dragged you into this mess in the first place. you fell in love with me, and if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be here, freezing to death.” your heart broke at how sad he sounded. “yoongi, don’t blame yourself. i was the one who should’ve left, but i couldn’t bring myself to. i neglected my duty as the avatar and now i’m letting thousands, maybe even millions of people die. all because a certain firebender came into my life. however, i don’t regret falling in love with you. you’ve helped me become a better person and you even helped me how to control my firebending. you also showed me that it doesn’t matter where you come from and that you shouldn’t let your nation define you. and, honestly, at least your face is going to be the last thing before i die.” despite the cold, you could see a faint shade of pink settle across yoongi’s face, and you allowed yourself an amused smile. “since when did you get so cheesy?” “don’t know. guess certain death just does that to a person.” eventually, you died peacefully with yoongi by your side, and while you deeply regretted not being able to fufill your duty as the avatar, you had at least shown that love didn’t come without sacrifice, and sacrifice didn’t come without love, for you would have gladly given up the world for yoongi.

a/n: omg this was so long hehe but i hope you all enjoyed this! this oneshot took me forever to type up, but i had so much fun doing it! once again, thank you all so much for supporting me always, and i hope my stories can make you smile, or at least feel some type of emotions!

tagging: @suhdays @softlyjiminie @softguks @jksmoongf @softlypouty @haylo4ever @sweetheartjeongguk @sketchguk @glossyfever @taeramisu @nahfamily @dylanxmin @saintjeonofbusan @mmmikrokosmos @sunkyeoml @honeylovecult @lomlkook @yoongislovecult @daechwitas @yoongismykink @periminkle @thotxuxi @fairyqook @moonmintrails @flowerseok @koophoriia@onherwings @ppersonna @ot7always @koosgrl @cest-la-tae @minsprings @mygsii @roguebangtan @minniepetals @euphoria-vmin7 @ladyartemesia @gguksbby @baekhyyun @randomkoalablog @yoonsgiggle @birthofvcnus

#mine #bangtanhq #heartsforbts #oneshot

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itsclydebitches · 5 years

Link

Clammy

Summary: Aziraphale's molt is upon him. He has to decide what to do with the feathers

A park bench and supernaturally beautiful weather. A basket of sandwiches, fruit, crisps, and a rather large selection of chocolate truffles. A bottle of Pinot Noir between them. Crowley stretched out his legs and thought that if this was it, all they ever managed to wring from this world, it just might be enough.

“Divine,” Aziraphale proclaimed, polishing off the last raspberry truffle. The sun had left chocolate coated over his fingers and he set to licking it off, heedless of decorum. Crowley designed to watch.

“Not precisely the word I’d choose,” he said. “Considering I bought them and all.”

“But Mrs. Sutherland made them.”

“But you don’t know what I did to them between here and the bakery.”

Aziraphale froze, thumb halfway between his lips and a smear of chocolate on his cheek. The shock lasted only a moment before he was rolling his eyes. “Of course I know. You forgot to chill them so now they’re a half-melted mess.”

“...touché.”

Not that half-melted messes had ever stopped him. Aziraphale continued to work his way steadily through dessert while Crowley watched the foot traffic in front of them, sneaking glances every now and then from behind the safety of his glasses. It was while he was most assuredly looking only at the changing leaves past Aziraphale’s shoulder that he noticed—

“That time of the century, huh?”

Aziraphale froze for the second time, eyes widening just a bit. But Crowley didn’t call him out on the absurd little wiggle he’d been trying (and apparently failing) to do subtly against the back of the bench. There was no one looking but Crowley and if he didn’t mind chocolate-covered fingers or crumbs down the front of his vest, there was little reason to think he’d mind this. With a sigh Aziraphale gave up and shoved the box away, reaching to scratch rather ferociously at his back.

“It’s so undignified,” he said, tone just this side of petulant. “I am meant to be an ethereal being. A creature of unsurpassed glory and wisdom—”

“Think rather highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Not some, some, some common avian enslaved to his biology. I don’t even have biology. Not technically.” The last part was definitely a whine.

Crowley indulged in a snort and slid further down the bench, nearly boneless against the wood. Literally. His body bent in ways not generally allowed by spines and pelvises, but no joints dared raise a complaint. “You’ve got it easy, angel. I go through two of them.”

“Two?”

“Wings and,” Crowley gestured down his entire body, suddenly looking a little unsure. “You know. I am a snake.”

“Right.” Nothing like the embarrassment of another to sooth a bit of your own. Aziraphale cast him a crooked smile. “That’s... well. Quite sorry to hear it, dear boy.”

“You and me both.”

Another quick press against the bench and then Aziraphale deliberately went still. He let out a breath. Popped another truffle into his mouth and closed his eyes, trying to savor it. When he opened them again he could see Crowley’s concerned look, even behind the glasses.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. “Over sixty molts since the beginning. You’d think we’d grow used to them by now.”

Crowley barked out a laugh. “Grow used to what? The incessant itching? Constant pain in your back? Exhaustion? I slept for a month after my last molt. Only woke up because Beez themselves was looking for me. Molts are proof that She’s more than a little sadistic, angel.”

“Hush.” But the slap against Crowley’s arm was half-hearted at best. “I suppose I could return Upstairs. It’s always easier without a mortal body compounding things...”

“You really want to spend the next few weeks up there?”

No. He didn’t.

There was a certain understanding that came with annoyances shared across thousands of years. Without being asked Crowley miracled together the rest of their lunch and sent a quick thought towards the London traffic, urging it to thin out. He’d drive Aziraphale back to his shop, say goodbye like it was any other day... and then proceed to only call and text for the next three to four weeks. Their first substantial time away from one another since the Tadfield airbase, but they’d been expecting this. Molts, for all the grumbling, were intensely private things.

And as Crowley stood just outside the bookshop’s entrance, pressing the basket of leftovers into Aziraphale’s hand, he didn’t dare ask that they might change that too.

***

The bookshop was a disaster.

The space had grown considerably in the last two weeks, making room for a collection of supplies that would have rivaled any doctor’s office. Electric heating pads were a marvelous invention that Aziraphale now hoarded, along with the small pharmacy of mortal medications that didn’t seem to do much, but he was inclined to try nonetheless. Safe from the books were melting ice packs he used when unexpectedly feverish; weighted blankets when, a mere hour later, he was suddenly chilled. In the leftover space surrounding his most comfortable couch was the food, a veritable feast of everything salty and sweet. Some of it he’d ordered in, slipping the containers through the smallest crack in the door and slipping exorbitant tips back out. The rest came from Crowley. Per the unspoken promise he hadn’t stopped by again in person, but he could easily miracle things directly into the shop. Aziraphale often looked up from one of his books to find chocolates or tarts or freshly made bubble tea now sitting on the table. He gobbled it all up with a hunger he wasn’t supposed to feel.

Where there weren’t supplies there were feathers. A stunning collection of white that settled into every nook and cranny; an ethereal blanket of snow. Aziraphale didn’t bother picking up after himself whenever an old feather dropped and a new one began the arduous process of growing in. Most would disappear over the next week, fading out of this reality entirely. It was a rather convenient thing (perhaps the only convenient part of this whole process), with just a handful of flight feathers to deal with in the end.

Which was precisely what Aziraphale dealt with now, curled up on the couch with Persuasion resting forgotten in his lap. Disposal of these feathers was no minor thing. It required patience and careful thought.

...Which Aziraphale was quite happy to ignore once his phone buzzed. It took him a full minute to find it amongst all the mess and another to remember which button allowed him to light up the screen. Two more remembering his passcode. Really, he could appreciate humans’ continued advancements in technology, but did they have to keep making them so hellishly complicated too?

Ah. Now that he thought about it, that drive might have been Ligur’s doing.

hows it going?

Aziraphale smiled. Three simple words from Crowley and he already felt better. Though admittedly only a bit. One breath later and that incessant itch reared its ugly head again, along with the familiar ache in his lower back. One wouldn’t think that losing and re-growing feathers would be such a monumental feat, yet here he was, taking a moment to breathe before daring a response.

Crowley,

I’ve been better, as you know. Nothing to be concerned with, however. I expect only another week of this nonsense before things return to normal. Shall we get lunch together next Thursday? I greatly appreciate the food you’ve sent over, though I find myself craving something a bit more substantial after all these sweets. Italian would do nicely.

- Aziraphale

The response was immediate.

sure, angel.

There was a beat of silence except for the tick of the clock and a very low hum emanating from two of the heating pads. Then,

need more time to gift your feathers?

Aziraphale’s throat tightened. He blamed it on his poor health.

Crowley,

No, I don’t expect they’ll be any travel this time around. It’s quite nice of you to be thinking about my needs though.

- Aziraphale

His words had the desired effect. Aziraphale’s phone suddenly buzzed as ferocious as a beehive, text after text coming through about how Crowley was not nice, they’d had this discussion, he was actually being selfish, if you’d just listen, and by the way texting isn’t the same as sending a letter you stuffy, outdated, impossible—

With a chuckle Aziraphale let him keep going, well aware that no answer was the best response of all. As he leaned further into the cushions another primary dislodged and settled in his lap. This one didn’t look like it was going anywhere.

Aziraphale stroked the feather tip to tip, thinking.

No. The person he wanted to give this to wasn’t far away at all.

***

Angel feathers had, shockingly, once been a part of an angel. Imagine that. As such, they had a bit more significance to them than what came from your average hawk or peacock or whatever else might be leaving bits of themselves behind. Aziraphale didn’t know why some primaries remained while the rest disappeared—another question on the tip of his tongue that he’d never dared ask—but every angel knew that they’d wind up with a small handful after their molting and those must be dealt with in the most careful fashion. There was a vault up in heaven that catalogued and stored each deposit, perhaps with the hope that the feathers might one day be turned into weapons against the enemy. For those on Earth, however, there was the expectation that they not allow these pieces of divinity to fall into the wrong hands.

Aziraphale knew it was the same among the demons, another similarity that others were too scared or blind to question. They would molt and be left with feathers that gave off what one might term a bad aura: nasty thoughts and feelings that radiated outward, soaking into the back of a mortal’s mind and strengthening the longer they held on. Aziraphale didn’t know what Crowley had done with his own feathers over the years, whether he simply tucked them away where they’d never be found, or handed them off to those who were later remembered as the more unhinged individuals throughout history. He’d never had the nerve to ask. He, however, had always considered the remains of his former wings to be a gift and gave careful consideration to who would receive them. Angel wings had rather the opposite effect, promoting feelings of goodwill, creativity, and a general sense of peace when held. Aziraphale had thus handed his off to writers who fashioned them into quills, great chiefs who wore them with pride, poor mothers who might not have jewels or vases to display in their homes, but they could set this on their mantelpiece and know that someone was watching over them. It was a process that deserved his utmost attention.

Though in truth, Aziraphale had an inkling of what he'd do with his next molt in 1941. Now, with Armageddon behind them, he was quite sure of his decision.

Crowley,

My deepest apologies, dear boy. I meant to say that you’re quite considerate. Is that better?

- Aziraphale

P.S. It’s hardly my fault humans have forgotten how to properly write to one another. Besides, you ought to be proud of me. Convincing this tech to put in line breaks was no easy task!

His phone blew up once more as Aziraphale shook out his wings, trying to encourage the remaining stragglers to finally let go. He must look a right mess, physically done in and sporting only half his usual plumage. It was perhaps no surprise that molting had become a rather private affair over the millennia. Anyone who saw an angel in this state might second-guess their supposed superiority. Aziraphale hadn’t bothered with a mirror in weeks.

The heat was doing wonders for the muscles surrounding his wings though. The ibuprofen, while perhaps not effective under normal circumstances, seemed to be taking the edge off his headache. Crowley kept up a vibrating litany in his lap. He was clearly busy, yet just a moment later Aziraphale caught the scent of garlic and looked up to find a takeout box of pasta sitting on the table.

Fondness surged, helping his new feathers to grow and his mind to settle. Aziraphale placed the primary on a stack of books beside the couch, safely away from his newly arrived lunch.

Crowley,

Thank you <3

~Aziraphale

He’d made his decision. Best to start the implementation of it early.

***

A week and two days later Aziraphale finally left the bookshop. He was what, in human terms, might be called an introvert. Had anyone asked him on an average day whether he’d enjoy spending nearly a month by himself, nothing but books and films to keep his attention, he would have gasped in pure pleasure at the idea. Now, having lived that life once more—one always tended to forget such things as the years went by—Aziraphale recalled how little fantasy matched up with reality. Taking that first breath of fresh air was an unexpected pleasure.

“Angel!”

As was the company. Though perhaps ‘unexpected’ was quite disingenuous of him.

Crowley waited for him down the street, Bentley parked and providing the perfect object to lean against. Aziraphale took in his appearance, identical to when they’d last met with the exception of a pendant necklace spicing up his outfit and rather longer hair. Crowley must have encouraged the growth. Aziraphale was rather sure hair didn’t get to that length in just three weeks time, no matter how much Crowley might yell at it in the mirror. He had most piled up in a bun with the occasional wisp framing his face.

Perfect. Aziraphale couldn’t have planned it better if he’d tried.

“You don’t like it,” Crowley said, noticing his gaze, assuming the worst. One hand lifted instinctually to his hair, twitching like he wanted to start tearing it out. “I’ll change it back. If you want.”

In that moment, with Crowley framed by London traffic and the quickly fading light, Aziraphale had the uncomfortable realization that he could ask him to do anything. Anything at all and it would be done without question or hesitation. The power made him hesitate. Aziraphale knew now that he had to guard his words: ask for nothing more than what Crowley deserved to give; certainly nothing worse than what he’d forced him to endure before.

Wait for me.

“Not at all,” he said. “I love it! You’re just missing that final touch.”

“...final touch?”

They knew separation well. One month was nothing to them. Aziraphale slipped back into Crowley’s space, easy as you please, allowed to turn him slightly and gain access to his bun. Crowley was so focused on the hand Aziraphale had placed on his arm that he didn’t notice the object until it was slipped beneath his hairband.

“What the devil did you put—” Crowley stopped, catching sight of his own reflection in the Bentley’s hood. Aziraphale watched his eyes blow wide behind his glasses.

“Hardly the devil, my dear.”

With the molting finished Aziraphale had been left with eight primaries still in existence on this plane. He’d told Crowley as much over text and had patiently sat through reading the same thoughts he’d already had: it was suspiciously convenient, one might say miraculously so, that he had just enough feathers remaining to number the humans involved in stopping Armageddon. Well, seven humans and one antichrist. The brats deserve it, Crowley had said, voice surprisingly tender down the line. They’ll appreciate it, angel.

No doubt they would. Appreciation wasn’t quite what Aziraphale was going for though.

Upon getting the text that Crowley was outside he’d miracled one of the feathers into the fern he’d gifted him two months back, the only plant in his apartment given the honor of a room to themselves and (Aziraphale would bet) the occasional kind word. The white beauty would be the first thing to greet Crowley when he opened the door, stark against the otherwise dark space.

As Aziraphale donned his coat he’d sent the second feather into the pocket of Crowley’s favorite coat, a surprise for when the weather turned cold and his mood predictably plummeted. The third appeared pressed between the pages of The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy; the fourth now slipped beneath his pillow. By the time Aziraphale was descending the steps of his shop the sixth feather was on its way to Lesley, accompanied by instructions to deliver the inconspicuous envelope at a future date and time, to be decided. It never hurt to have another pick-me-up waiting in the wings. Pun most certainly intended.

The seventh currently rested on the Bentley’s dashboard, yet unnoticed because Crowley was reeling from the feather Aziraphale had slipped into his hair.

“Angel.”

Just that. A breath. So much packed into one single, reverential word. Aziraphale had to swallow hard before he could speak himself.

“I know,” he whispered, trying for steady and failing spectacularly. “We needn’t speak of it if you don’t wish to. Simply know that this decision was the easiest I’ve ever made... and you look quite beautiful, my dear.”

Crowley’s hand rose to brush at the feather, shaking enough that Aziraphale could spot the emotion even in the fading light. He was steady enough to open the door for Aziraphale though, stumbling back around to the driver’s side, managing up until he spotted the second feather on his dashboard. Aziraphale watched him double over and thought that perhaps he’d made a mistake...

No. There’d been enough doubting between them and the care with which Crowley cradled the gift said it all. Even as the rest of him shot the Bentley recklessly through the streets.

For once Aziraphale did not call Crowley out on his driving. There was silence—not even any Queen—all the way back to Crowley’s apartment. Aziraphale caught the tinniest noise, like pain, when Crowley saw the feather in the fern and then he was moving again, nearly tripping over himself in an effort to get to the closet.

It was a door Aziraphale had never seen opened before. He couldn’t even be sure the space had existed before this moment. But the trunk Crowley pulled out was certainly real enough. Aziraphale sucked in a gasp at its age, wood now held together through will and more than one demonic miracle. Crowley hesitated only a moment before flipping the lid.

Inside were black primaries. A couple hundred at least. More than enough to account for one individual’s molts across the centuries.

“Never gave them away,” Crowley said. One hand gripped his feather while the other dove into the trunk, finding and extending a handful of himself. “I was waiting for you.”

Aziraphale tried vainly to keep the tears out of his eyes. He’d never been very good at that. Too soft. Too soft by far.

“Well... I’m here now.”

And he was. As Aziraphale knelt and took Crowley’s face in his hands the feather in his hair slipped out, drifting into the trunk. A spot of white among the black. New amidst the old. It nestled there, settling in.

As did those who had born them.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #air conditioning #wings #good omens fic

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ramblingguy54 · 4 years

Text

Amphibia’s Season 1 Finale: An Emotionally Charged Climax Of Brilliance

For those who haven’t watched Amphibia yet, or are only halfway through the series, I’d highly recommend not reading this post on the events of Season 1′s finale. This is an episode that should be experienced blind, rather than having it spoiled for yourself, unless you really don’t mind at all whatsoever.

No matter how many times I’ve re-watched Amphibia Season 1 on Disney+, I gotta say its finale was easily up on my list of top moments from animation back in the 2010′s. Amphibia starts off with some pretty simple straightforward slice of life stuff throwing in a nice mix of drama and comedy. Although, as the series has progressed, Amphibia’s storytelling makes it clear we’re in for a bigger shift with dramatic writing once Season 2 rolls around in the future. This last episode of Season 1, Reunion, gives me the impression it could very likely be transitioning into heavier stuff, like Gravity Falls did, when it’s second outing steps up to the plate eventually. Season 1′s finale has seriously impressed me with what it managed to accomplish in its themes that were set up as early as its first episode. We finally get more insight into what Anne’s daily routine with Sasha must’ve been like before she was suddenly dropped into this crazy lovable world of anthropomorphic frogs. What I really appreciate about this backstory is it reels us in just enough with seeing Anne and Sasha’s chemistry. It doesn’t do a big exposition dump about what good friends they are, rather Amphibia just simply shows us first hand. From the get go it’s made crystal clear that Anne and Sasha are very close, seeing how Sasha stands up for Anne when someone tries to steal her food on a special day no less.

Or else you can forget about coming to my awesome house party next week.

Happy Birthday, girl!

Like, extremely close given how happy these two are to see each other. Anne & Sasha’s interaction here is safe to say they go way back before their current school year. Almost as if, they’ve known each other since they were younger.

“Sasha’s been my friend since Kindergarten. If she says it’s fine. It’s fine.”

Anne’s piece of dialogue here makes it evident how much she cares/trusts about Sasha as an individual. Even enough to allow her in doing morally questionable stuff highlighted with this brief montage spotlighting Anne’s passive behavior towards Sasha’s dangerously impulsive attitude. Time and time again Anne willingly goes along with Sasha’s mentality of, “Do whatever we want.”, because in her eyes that’s what being best friends is all about. Giving the other what they want regardless of the moral implications around whatever their actions are. Not to mention, when you take that into account that Anne has been around Sasha since preschool, it’s equivalent to putting your foot down on a family member. Anne doesn’t want to hurt Sasha, considering she’s like the sister Anne never had, being an only child and all. That further establishes emotional weight for something Anne fears to lose out on, which Sasha takes advantage of greatly.

Anne, this isn’t cute anymore. We’re meeting up with Marcy right now! End of discussion...

“Heh! She’s persuasive, right?”

Look, if a friend likes a pencil case, you get it for them. If your friend likes your new shoes, you give them to her. And if her friend wants you to steal a crazy music box from a thrift store, even if you really don’t want to, you do it okay? Because if you don’t, they might not want to be your friend anymore...

Sasha’s serious verbal abuse has made Anne completely twist around the very concept of what a healthy friendship basically is, overall. For whatever the reason at some point, be it the very school environment they both grew up in or personal family issues, Sasha has become an extremely toxic influence on Anne’s important decision making and it painfully shows here in her self-esteem. This kid has made it second nature for herself to never be honest when a friend is doing something that she internally deems highly questionable in moral terms, since she’s so afraid of permanently losing those who claim to care about her own well being. Anne believes it to be a “golden rule” that if you’re openly honest with your close friends, it will only lead to failure in a nutshell. This is honestly one of the strongest elements of Amphibia’s storytelling on how it explores the human condition of real friendship. It’s not sunshine and rainbows, but an honest reflection of who you are as a person. Those you choose to let into your life for better influencing yourself, also reveal your true nature as an individual. These particular lines from the episode, Flood, Sweat, and Tears, sets the mood into motion that vital theme its story centers itself around.

Sharing a room doesn’t make you best friends. Being honest with each other does!

In fact, if you ask me, you’re better friends now than you were before.

Seeing how greatly Amphibia explored this statement means a lot to me, since I myself have struggled with passive aggressive behavior plenty with my own friends. There were social experiences I went through in my childhood that made me bottle up how I genuinely feel a lot, so being honest with my own circle of close friends was a serious challenge for me. While I have come a long way in the improvements of being more honest with my pals whenever something is bothering me, it’s still a never ending struggle I deal with on a daily basis, considering it’s much like second nature to me. This significant moment hit all the right chords for me in showing that beauty of human connections, by taking the good and bad people can experience in dealing with their own differences. Anne’s journey to better understand what real friends are and stand up for herself is a very empowering one to see occur, as she continues to come out of her shell, while putting her foot down when more immoral shit starts to hit the fan. Another giant step forward for her own independence comes to light in the tenth episode, Toad Tax, when Anne wanted nothing more than to be respected by the towns folk, instead of being openly called a monster and getting severely alienated for it, too. Which, again, it really shows just how much Sasha’s manipulation has had a grip on Anne, given she first thought that by joining the Toad force that she’d garner their respect. However, that idea was nothing more than a deeply shallow belief, which would’ve made the town more afraid of her rather than love and accept her.

All I wanted was this town’s respect, but just because these people treated me crumby, doesn’t mean I’m gonna do the same to them. I’m done with this. I don’t care if they’ve broken the law, you can’t treat people like this!

In a very jarring contrast to Anne, Sasha is a more two faced individual with her own motive for getting herself, Anne, and Marcy back home by any means necessary. To put it bluntly and harshly, Sasha is a real bitch hilariously to the point where she is the sole reason why Grimes minions become more competent, due to throwing out fake compliments to help their lack of motivation, since his intensity as their ruthless leader was backfiring greatly. It’s priceless to see a villain’s cold blooded behavior ironically be a big detriment to their rule of power, as other works of fiction have shown it to a “positive” influence on their minions, where a teenage cheerleader blonde archetype has to patch things up.

You lot are without a doubt the most useless group of toads I have ever seen!

Just try saying nice things for a change. Get them to love you and they’ll do anything for you.

That actually works?

Ooooh, it works alright. Trust me.

Sasha’s already cold and calculating manipulation is influenced in return by Grimes heartless nature. Sasha & Grimes combined make for a deadly combination for one Hell of antagonistic duo, but that’s not to say this series doesn’t add layers to this complicated girl. While she is a very toxic verbally abusive person, Sasha isn’t without her own humanity either. Besides lying about being the only human in the world of Amphibia, Sasha genuinely is concerned about reuniting with each of her friends and not just for keeping them underneath her thumb in a controlling fashion. The voice acting here from Sasha’s VA really helps elevate that idea there’s more to her than how she acts.

Hold on for a little longer girls. I’m coming for you and when I find you we’re gonna get home, but first I think we’re gonna have some fun with this place.

By the time Anne and Sasha reunite by the finale, both have changed. Anne for the better and Sasha for much worse. Anne has become more selfless and free to make her own choices that she feels morally comfortable with doing, while Sasha is out to kill Hop Pop, due to his vital actions in earlier episodes, for encouraging more Frogs to rebel against the Toad’s rule of power through fear and violence. Sasha doesn’t view Hop Pop as as an equal living thing, but another obstacle that’s keeping herself, Anne, and Marcy from their one way ticket home. She strongly believes that killing Hop Pop, to keep the other Frogs back in line from having a voice of their own, will allow them a better chance to get back home with help from Grimes. Sasha knows to an extent the terrible thing she’s trying to help Grimes commit, however she still only views Hop Pop as not an equivalent human being, but an already figurative dead frog for them to dissect in their biology class.

So you’ve probably already noticed the Toads in this valley have one job. To rule over the Frogs. And lately those Frogs have been stepping out of line.

Sasha is a serious fucking jerk, but a well intent extremist on wanting to get everyone back home, who doesn’t fully grasp the full context of what horrible atrocities she’s helping Grimes commit through doing this attempted murder.

Anne, what are you doing? Are you really gonna risk your life for these...talking frogs? We don’t even belong here. Don’t you wanna get back home? See your family?

Yeah, but...

Then put your sword down, now!

END OF DISCUSSION...

There we go, that’s my girl.

There that wasn’t so hard was i-

WHAT THE HECK!?

For someone who’s Anne’s best friend, you sure don’t know her very well! She brave, she’s smart, and most of all she’s not gonna be pushed around by a bully like you!

I think I’ve had enough of you, squeaky toy.

Anne, what are you doing!?

Something I should’ve done a long time ago. Standing up to you!

Thanks for believing in me, Sprig.

Can I just say that I love how they don’t try to pin blame on Anne for being consistently manipulated by Sasha? While Anne most certainly needs to stand up and not allow Sasha to abuse her like this anymore, Sasha is the sole person responsible for making Anne feel so insecure, who needed to be put in her place. It was very important for them to make that clear who is at fault here in this situation more than anyone and Sprig was perfect for telling off Anne’s abusive friend. Can’t begin to describe how cathartic it was for seeing that bitch get hit in the face for trying to once again pull on Anne’s emotional baggage. That highly noteworthy moment aside, there is a really interesting exchange between Sasha and Grimes showing how warped Sasha’s definition of friendship has become over the years she’s grown up with Anne in school.

You’ve given me plenty of advice, now let me give you some. Stamp this out. Make her yield. Fail and nothing will ever be the same.

Not gonna happen...

So, taking into account everything that I’ve covered at this point, this makes for a wonderful climatic finale to a slow burn where previous episodes have emotionally prepared Anne for facing down the very person who’s been hurting her most of all. One of her closest friends, who’s been like a symbolic sister in the past to Anne, but has turned into this very hurtful person with a seriously warped idea of an “affectionate” friendship based on similar ideas of control as seen with Grimes. While Amphibia has plenty of comedic shenanigans in its storytelling, there’s always been this dramatic undertone centered around Anne and Sasha’s views of what relationships are all about for what each one has based their ideals on. This Disney series is centered around gaining new bonds, while looking at old ones in a much different perspective, as seen with Anne and Sasha’s falling out.

Anne, you don’t have to do this.

Yes I do...

Anne vs Sasha is an important key moment that the finale nails on every possible level, given each side here has something lose, if the other one wins this duel. These are old friends, or rather family in a sense, standing up for what they think is the right moral thing to do and you can feel this high stakes tension every second as its building up to their swords finally clashing again against one another. Reminds me a lot of the Star Wars battles where it’s not necessarily remembered so much for the fights themselves, but the emotional weight that is carried in every moment which is happening between its characters and I applaud Amphibia for taking inspiration in utilizing that trope of writing.

Much like how DuckTales (2017) handled its amazing Season 1 finale, Amphibia’s writers know the most crucial element to focus more than anything are the characters themselves and what they’re feeling, rather than making it a big flashy battle of epic proportions. Granted, that’s a nice icing on the cake and all, but the real meat should always be in how you’re executing the important themes you’ve introduced from the start. In Amphibia’s case, it’s the tragedy of friendship turning into something nasty with Sasha treating Anne poorly and breaking apart their once stable lives, due to that very nature which dropped them into this world where they have to now fend for themselves.

There’s so much powerful heartbreak emitting from this one pic here and hoo boi we haven’t even gotten to best part, yet. It’s delightfully angsty and shocked the Hell outta me when first watching this episode. Fuck, it still does quite frankly knowing the people behind this show had the guts to go that far dramatically.

They’re just slimy little frogs, Anne.

They don’t matter!

They’re not just Frogs. They’re my friends!

After Anne finally beats Sasha the entire castle starts exploding, due to Wally misinterpreting her on not blowing up Grimes base. Here’s where the most heart wrenching scene comes in as the cherry on top of this intense finale to Amphibia’s first season. As the castle is falling to pieces, Sasha almost falls to her death but Anne catches her in time, despite just fighting her tooth and nail seconds ago to save the family she was trying to kill for her selfish reasons. There’s a crap ton of symbolism here in this poignant moment of characterization for Anne & Sasha’s current state of friendship now. All of this is topped off by the music piece, Lean On Me, being poetically woven into it.

The Plantar family is doing everything in their power to hold Anne up equivalent to how they’ve made her into a better individual than she ever was around Sasha. While Sasha is putting all of them in danger as a figurative ball and chain that, besides holding them back from staying alive, is also keeping Anne from becoming the best version of herself she can be. In these last moments, I’d like to believe Sasha finally put it together in her mind just how much she’s royally screwed everything up. Not just what she attempted to do with Hop Pop and most likely the rest of his family, but how seriously disrespectful she was to Anne for who knows how many years of their friendship when Sasha started abusing her. Sasha was most likely feeling a ton of self-loathing and terrible guilt before making this shocking pivotal decision next in saving Anne and the Plantars’.

Hey Anne...

Maybe you’re better off without me...

Like, on one hand it can be simply viewed as Sasha simply saving these people from dying, too. However, I’d prefer to make it darker for the sake of heavy angst and say she was committing suicide, as well. Sasha realized in these last moments, before thinking that she was going to die a painful death, how shitty she was to Anne. Sasha’s abusive behavior is what started this whole story in the first place. If it wasn’t for Sasha, none of them would of ended up in the world Amphibia to begin with, but it needed to happen for Anne to become better about who her real friends are and maybe this rough experience would even help Sasha, too. We’ll just have to see what awaits for Sasha’s character arc in Season 2′s future. As it stands now, Anne may have a lost a dear friend, who was basically like a sister to her years back, but gained something even better.

A family and terrific friends who care deeply for her.

Hop Pop, you three are my family. I’d never let anyone hurt you.

Thanks for taking the time read this very lengthy post of me gushing about this powerfully bittersweet finale. Can’t wait for Season 2!

#amphibia #anne boonchuy #sprig plantar #sasha #amphibia season 1 #this finale hurt me REAL good #amphibia spoilers #amphibia season 1 finale #ampihiba reunion #amphibia episode 20 #polly plantar #hop pop plantar

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ladyhindsight · 4 years

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I find that Thule in QoAaD greatly break the narrative rythme of the story. It's so out of place that it gives me the vibe of another story withouth ties with the one Clare was telling. It seems a piece of a (badly written) science-fic dystopian world. Mixing this with a fantasy genre like Shadowhunters wasn't a very good idea, it looks like a crossover in the same universe but without sense save for easy plit convenience. Like mixing a Song of Ice and Fire with the steampunk genre -.-

Thule was very Mad Max of Clare. It was unnecessarily long segment too as it didn’t really count towards anything significant, especially plot-wise in QoAaD. Like I said previously, the Mortal Sword and Livvy’s letter were the only things that bore any significance as to later events in the book, and even the whole Livvy’s ghost thing drains me of energy whenever I think about it. In one of her long-winding answers, Clare writes that

“Going to Thule also changes Emma and Julian in ways that make it possible for them later to be talked down from the parabatai curse instead of dying. There is nothing like visiting a place where everything is lost to open your eyes to how much you still have to lose, and how much you value what you do have. I don’t think the Blackthorns would have been able to save Emma and Julian had they never gone to Thule.“

Which in itself could be significant change, but also a change that is entirely reliant on Julian’s stupid ass spell where he is dead inside, full of angst, and essentially a complete sociopath. The spell which Magnus did on Julian always seemed ill-founded and idiotic, contrived and unnecessary albeit it being reasoned by Julian’s grief over Livvy’s death and his feelings for Emma that he couldn’t overcome. Didn’t stop me from losing my last nerve with Julian and his load of angst rivaling that of Jace then and there.

It ties back into anything in this series failing to be necessary or essential plot-wise. Nothing ever really is this exact thing needs to happen, there is nothing else that could’ve taken place instead of this, this is the only way this could’ve gone. While reading QoAaD, I never associated Emma and Julian’s experiences in Thule to their True Nephilim ending. There was no tie-in. I always thought Emma and Julian reverted back to themselves because of their deep and significant bonds with their siblings. Doesn’t what Clare says here somewhat take power away from that?

Overall, I barely remember the order of things that took place in Thule, but some tiny, silly ones tend to stick with me better. One was Thule!Cameron offering condoms and beds for the chance that Emma and Julian may wanna frick in the middle of all the shocking devastation new to them. As you do in this series. What even is more necessary than sex in places where it completely halts the story and doesn’t belong into.

Inviting Sebastian back into the narrative also just makes this whole story go in circles. I also barely have enough in me to deal with one Jace, and now there is two. Then there’s the mystery disappearance of Thule!Simon. But who. Cares. About. Him. Honestly.

I didn’t enjoy Thule partly for the same reasons you named. Thule being an alternative dimension didn’t bother me as much because, well, Edom already existed. It just felt very same but more human and less magical. There was also the whole let’s hail Clary one more time because the rest of the book doesn’t do it enough already guys. No matter how many times even Thule underlines how important and amazing Clary is (how Clary is the one needed to save the world) it doesn’t make her character that just because the contrived narrative forces the idea. It only makes me dislike her and her importance more. >:/

The whole rhythm of the story fell apart after the fist 200 pages or so, and Thule didn’t help that at all with the overall structure. It only broke it further and halted whatever remained of the main plot. It may have been more bearable to read if it was shorter, more sticking to the point, and not so lengthy Emma/Julian fest.

#Emma Carstairs #Julian Backthorn #Livvy Blackthorn #Queen of Air and Darkness #The Dark Artifices #Reply

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hollenka99 · 4 years

Text

The Creator

Summary: When Sean discovers he has the ability to bring his characters to life, he wasn’t expecting to be shunned by them or for it to lead to tragedy time and time again.

Warnings: Blood mention, implied death (including children), kidnapping mention

Sean wishes he never went to Max's house that night. It wasn't any fun. They were just really mean to him and he didn't like it. It's not like he didn't try to stay awake. It was a dumb anyway. His mother asks him if he'd like her to speak with Max's mother. He tells her no. In response she encourages him to stop moping about if it wasn't that bad. Well, fine then. Max sucks and Sean can make a way better friend than him any day. Right, what kind of qualities should a good friend have? He should be kind always, never teases him in a mean way, be willing to be there for him and want to join in with his games. For the hell of it, Sean adds 'never sleeps' to the criteria. This imaginary friend is named Jack, after the family nickname. Having been moulded into the 6 year old's interpretation of a perfect friend, Jack becomes a concrete part of Sean's life. Jack is always there when he gets home from school. They mess around in the woods near the house, complain about homework together and share a great deal of laughter between themselves. For years, his parents and siblings brush it off as him being a little boy. However, Sean is undeniably getting older. With each birthday, having an imaginary friend is increasingly becoming something he should outgrow. And he is, somewhat. It's just that Jack feels so real to him. But his friend understands. Sean is no longer 6 and it is time for him to gradually mature. He gets crushes, makes his way through secondary school and decides he may have made a mistake with his original degree choice. Through it all, he's maintained an interest in video games. So screw it, there is a place for gaming content on YouTube. What does he have to lose? This damn cabin doesn't exactly allow him many opportunities to socialise with those outside his family otherwise. He goes by Jacksepticeye on the website, harkening back to a nickname he gained following an injury years before. Months pass and it is soon July. To his surprise, his channel's subscriber count reaches 1000. He's delighted. That was 1000 more than he'd ever really expected. He films a vlog to mark the occasion and thank his audience. Something he'd expected even less than his sub count was his doppelganger, complete with an identical outfit, collapsing in front of his television. Regaining composure after getting to his feet, the clone speaks. "Um, hi Sean." "What the fuck? Who are you and why do look like me?" "I'm Jack." "Okay. Hello Jack. What the hell are you doing in my living room?" "No, Jack as in... Jack. From when you were a kid." Sean stands there, no words coming from his mouth. He seems to remember himself after a minute. "But you're imaginary. You were an imaginary friend, it's kind of in the name." "I guess that's changed." Jack shrugs, obviously as lost as he was by this unique situation. Sean falls back onto the sofa. With his hands in his hair, he lets out a deep breath. Jack gently sits himself on the other side of the sofa. Not bothering to lift his head, Sean opens his mouth. "I'm going to be honest. This was not how I imagined my day going." "I didn't think I'd suddenly come to life either." Sean leans back and their eyes meet. A beat passes before they both descend into laughter at the absurdity of it. That summer is phenomenal compared to his previous expectations for it. He introduces Jack to so many things that he usually took for granted. They eat more tubs of ice cream together than was healthy, don't allow a week to pass without a competitive gaming session and occasionally wander about in the woods surrounding the cabin. There was apparently a whole other world with people Jack haphazardly described as 'the NPCs to my main character'. Their faces were probably based on people Sean had walked past in the street. There was this completely separate world and the entry point was simply lingering outside his cabin. It was inconceivable. When he gets the courage to venture through the gateway, he discovers it's actually a bit remote. Isolated, like his cabin is. Jack helps him laugh it off. Besides, he couldn't be expected to be creative with his literal worldbuilding if he didn't know how he was doing it in the first place. Jack introduces him to a friend who was like him. This Australian guy called Angus Irwin tags along to a hang out session. Here was this person, standing right before him, whom he was entirely responsible for creating. By messing around in Far Cry 3 and putting on a dumb accent, he'd created life. What the hell was he capable of? The three of them are firm friends by the time the local trees have suffered a significant loss of leaves. He and Jack gradually become the joint face of the Jacksepticeye channel. For some reason (Jack cited Sean's 6 year old self for this) his doppelganger didn't sleep. This was actually very beneficial for him because he could edit while Sean slept. God knows Jack complained enough about his sleep schedule. When he gets announced as a winner of Pewdiepie's shout out competition in September, Jack swings by to congratulate him. Along with Angus, the trio spent the evening celebrating this bizarre occasion. There was a lot of work he'd have to put in to keep the momentum going but Sean knew it would be worth it in the end. The colder months fly by after that. Jack had never been particularly affected by the cold before. However, now that he could feel it, he suffered the consequences of not wearing enough layers. Jack detesting the cold is funny to Sean, especially after how much his friend thrived in summer. Angus wasn't used to the lower Irish temperatures either. He helped them stay warm as best he could. That goddamn cabin with its internally forming frost didn't help but still, he tried. He jokes he should conjure up more radiators for Jack and Angus' home despite not having the faintest clue how to actually do so. As the new year approaches, Sean realises he never gave Jack a birthday. They could have celebrated in November because he is maybe 90% sure Max was born during that month. Therefore, Jack would have been initially thought up during November 1996. But Sean had no idea what the specific date of creation was. Not to mention November had already passed anyway. There was that date in July but he wasn't sure he should pick the anniversary of Jack becoming corporeal as his birthday. At a loss, he goes for the day he associates with birthdays the most. Who says Jack couldn't share his birthday? He blanks on what to get his friend. He's not sure where he gets the dumb idea to let Jack experience hot chocolate for the first time as a birthday treat. Jack gets understandably frustrated by this ban on the drink. It pays off when Sean gets to witness the wonderful sight of his friend enjoying hot chocolate. Lost on what to give Angus for his birthday in early April, he approaches Jack for ideas. His friend suggests getting a toy leopard and jewellery that can fit on the animal. Sean can't help but question the odd combination. When Jack explains leopards love jewellery, especially the gold digging females, it's as if these were widely known facts. Sean had been bullshitting when he'd spouted that nonsense. Jack reminds him it was factual to Angus. Oh alright, fuck it. Let's present Angus with a jewellery loving leopard on his birthday. As predicted, the Australian wildlife man greatly appreciates the gift. It's late summer once more when Sean's problems begin. Jack mentions being concerned about their friend's changing sleeping habits. Then Angus' memory gradually starts suffering. Throughout 2015, Angus gets worse. Jack's always had a big mouth. He tends to speak before he truly thinks things through. Sean's technically to blame for that. However, it hasn't been much of an issue until now. The first time Jack brings up potentially finding a way to reverse whatever was affecting Angus, he hates to reject him. The painfully dejected look in his best friend's eyes breaks his heart. He wants to help, he really does. He just can't. Not long after, he spends an hour or two looking for a game with an open world. Perhaps he could put on an Australian accent for the anniversary of the character's first appearance. Nothing comes up. Life gets in the way. Sean abandons the search for a while. Jack never allows him to forget for too long. What starts as "I'm worried about Angus" soon morphs into "Angus only called me Jake once today". The longer it goes on, the more desperate Jack gets. And angrier. Sean has never seen such frustrated fury in his friend. He wishes he never had to. He's not even sure if he can call himself a true friend anymore, given how much he's already failed them. The cycle of attempting to find a solution and putting it on the back burner due to no leads continues. As do the arguments with Jack. Contrary to popular belief, he is putting in the effort. The main problem was he never seemed to have anything to show for it. He still cares for Angus too. The reason he wasn't visiting their home as often was because he didn't always feel welcome. As was in Jack's nature, he kept forgiving him. He'd say it was fine and Sean would agree for the sake of it. But it wasn't fine. He is beginning to forget when the last time things were 'fine'. Following some filming with Ninja Sex Party, Sean is excited to dress up as a superhero for a bit during a Welcome To The Game video. Jack is just as pleased to make a new friend. Jackie is a surprise, his young age even more so. He was 16 and, as far Jack had told him, brimming with excess energy. The new arrival had been a shock for Jack too, apparently. The most he could offer the kid last night was a can of Dr Pepper and some custard creams. Shit, this was new territory. He hasn't had to deal with a new ego in years. Jackie's age causes conversations about school and whether the boy would need an education in the first place. Sean doesn't necessarily see the point. Was Jackie currently the only minor in their world? Because in that case, has a high school suddenly popped up to accommodate a single student? Even if Sean created a character with children at a later date, the kids would probably be the wrong age group to attend school with Jackie. If it was that important to Jack to see the young superhero have an education, he would have to do it himself. Being home-schooled would also allow Jackie to do his job. Attempts at being responsible aside, he ensures Jackie knows he can come to him if needs anything specific. Naturally, he gravitates to Jack as his adult role model. Sean doesn't mind. They live together and Jackie therefore has easier access to him. But Sean is still there if the need arises. A month later, he buys a cheap cat mask that covers half of his face. It was something to use once and forget about until you throw it away in a big spring clean. The magic set was the same, only with extra smaller parts. The video is nothing spectacular. All it entailed was him messing around with the box's contents before switching to decorating the mask. The last thing he was anticipating was the creation of life. Although, by this point, perhaps he should have. Besides, he hadn't even given himself a name. It was just 'Jack the Magnificent'. Jack comes to rectify this oversight a couple days later. He explains he'd made the suggestion the night of Marvin's arrival. The box had the name on it so why not let the new ego make it his own? The main issue Jack had with all this was that Marvin had not been planned in the slightest. With Jackie, there'd been some preparation. Neither of them may have foreseen his creation but at least there had been a name and outfit. All Marvin had was a mask, plus a name that was already taken. "This better not happen again." Jack privately demands. "I don't want another Angus. God knows you're not going to help." Jack swings by at the end of August to inform him Jackie's in hospital. He'd gotten stabbed while confronting a thief. He was fine, recovering well and all that but he thought Sean might want to know. On the subject of requiring medical care, Jack brings up the idea to have a doctor ego. Just someone who understood their unique situation and could also take care of their health. Oh, oh yeah. He can totally do that. He'll need some things for the video so give him a chance to prepare but definitely, one doctor coming right up. He feels somewhat dumb playing Operation as if it were a serious procedure in this cheap surgeon's outfit he bought over the weekend. And yes, even he can admit the 'German' accent was atrocious. Half of what comes out of his mouth is bullshit. If this works as intended and he creates an ego from it, this guy is sure going to be interesting. He pretends to be distressed over Peter's death. Then it hits him that Dr Schneeplestein probably won't appreciate him killing his friend and personal accountant. He could try refilm it but he doubts he has the time. Fix it through editing? Sure, but then it might be obvious that there was another part. Alright fine, maybe he'll just have to deal with the consequences. Dr Henrik von Schneeplestein is indeed an interesting guy. A married father too, which surprises him. Not only has he made the doctor, there is a new family of 5 in the egos' neighbourhood. One of these days he'll know what he's doing with this creation thing. For now though, he thinks it's very cool that he managed a 5 for the price of 1 deal. Henrik himself is intelligent and if Sean was more knowledgeable on certain topics, he's sure they'd be able to share thoughtful conversations. Either way, Henrik was incredibly busy with his professional duties and personal commitments. It was understandable that neither had much time in the day to sit down and truly get to know one another. For the hell of it, he throws in a little extra into the egos' characterisation. They can't die. Or, to be more specific, they can't die for long. Jackie gets stabbed and bleeds out? Easy, just deal with the wound and he should wake up after a while. What this means for Peter, who knows? Sean is secretly thankful when the accountant isn't granted life. That's one less person to keep happy. Like seemingly everything ego-related he does, it backfires. Within a year, this failsafe will have caused more suffering than hope. Sean isn't to know. However, he convinces himself he's done the right thing for once. He sure as hell knows how much trouble it's going to cause him if they don't believe that too. Sean makes an irreversible mistake in the October of 2016. The entire month, he has glitches sprinkled throughout his horror game videos. He gets so caught up in the teasing and build up that he doesn't contemplate how this will affect the egos. Worse yet, he recklessly allows Jack to film the Halloween video. Sure, he would have used a bit of red paint if it had been him filming. But since it was Jack? He doesn't want to imagine the scene Jackie discovers. God, he can't believe he's been so thoughtless. Signe has to encourage him to bed before he manages to rack up over 24 hours of being awake in one go. Resurrecting the dead is exhausting, he finds. He postpones visiting Jack for a day before realising his avoidance is likely making matters worse. The dread cumulates to the point he swears he will be sick if he doesn't actively focus on his breathing. The loophole he made in September might have ensured nobody died permanently but it never mentioned scars. It's not visible behind the bandages but he knows it's there. Jack is pissed off. Rightfully so. Matters worsen even more after Jackie vanishes while attempting to get away from their fighting. It's just another thing that's ruined the egos' perception of him. If he thought the hill Jack was ready to die on was Angus, he's got another thing coming. There's only so much he can take before he has to force apathy for the sake of his sanity. He understands he can't control Antisepticeye. Once this situation is dealt with, he vows, the demon will never be used on his channel again. The subscribers' love for the character will have to ignored. It's too risky to play Anti again. He puts the red suit on again. In the short video, only a minute or so in length, Jackie sprints through poorly lit corridors to the exit. Sean acts scared and looks behind him frequently as he runs. It is uploaded privately. His community didn't need to know anything about this. He hopes with everything he's got that it works. Nothing. For days, for weeks, for months. Sean doesn't bother letting the egos know what he'd tried to do. It's guaranteed Jack and Marvin would tell him to try harder. He has no idea what that means in this context. Christmas passes without incident. As does January. In February, he celebrates his 27th birthday alongside Jack. It's a day devoid of resentment. Sean had almost forgotten that was allowed in their friendship. He exaggerates his dissatisfaction about getting older. In response to this, Jack smears the frosting of his slice across Sean's face. 'Accidentally', of course. Just as accidentally as Sean reciprocated the action. Signe humours them by taking photographs of their new cake-based look. The next time they are hanging out in Jack's room, he notices a picture from that day is in a frame on his friend's dresser. "What's this about?" "Oh uh, this is going to sound dumb but... I like being reminded it isn't always so rough between us." "No. No, I get it. I um, I feel the same way. That day was great." He glances at the image once more. He lets out a humoured scoff. "Maybe I should save your dumb face to my phone." "Aww, wow, I knew you loved me really." Jack puts his arm around his shoulder. A playful shove. "Fuck off." In an emotional slump during April, he buys a bunch of Lyons boxes and mini chocolate eggs. It's just a parody of Dude Perfect from someone with zero accuracy. Then he does the stupid thing and creates life again. Fuck it, his wife hates him and he may never see his kids again. Chase Brody's depression causes him to pretend to shoot himself before the end card plays. When Jack calls him and demands to know what the hell he was thinking, Sean has no answer. It turns out that when the ending translated into Chase's reality, he'd actually shot himself in the head. Fuck. Afterwards, Jack doesn't provide his creator with any updates. Insisting he has the right to talk to Chase only makes him more hated. Despite having never met before, Chase already resents him. The next time an ego is intentionally created, Sean's going to be there to intercept them. They're not going to enter that home and have their opinion of him influenced by people who wished he wasn't in their lives. The next new guy would be given a fair chance to see Sean for what he was. A massive screw up when it came to the ability he's unsure how to master. But in no way was he some villain. August is around the corner when Jack asks to visit. The two of them seem to be on the same page that day. Sean is more than happy to hang out and cheer him up. Believing Jack would be empathetic, he begins a conversation about how the YouTube algorithm was bothering him. Over three years of working as a duo on the Jacksepticeye channel meant Jack should understand where he was coming from. But, of course, his friend makes it all about himself and his own problems. Why wouldn't he? It's what he usually does. They argue because apparently that's the only way they communicate with each other nowadays. Jack sure knows how to pack a punch. Being friends with him shouldn't be such a struggle. Sean snaps. The emotional fatigue of trying to keep up with the algorithm and all this fighting causes him to make one of the worst decisions he'd ever go through with. If Jack wants him to be the bad guy, fine. Sean would be the bad guy. Just this once, he'd actually be the asshole. "You want to sleep, I'll let you sleep." He threatens when Jack begins walking off mid-argument. "Bring back Jackie. He's been missing for months. Do something!" Jack flings viciously back seconds before he marches out the door. He can tell Signe regrets asking him how the gaming session went. He dresses as Schneeplestein as soon as he finalises his plan, pretending he aims to save a version of himself in Bio Inc Redemption. He loses. Oops. He acts as he feels the real Schneeplestein would, desperate not to watch another patient die. He sends the video to Robin for editing. The final uploaded product is nowhere near what he'd recorded. His audience are all talking about Anti. They were praising him for his acting and Robin for his editing. But... he never included Anti. Any recollection of filming the final scene was non-existent. And the parts with Henrik getting possessed weren't him either. The more he thinks about it, the further the terror sets in. Over the course of years, Jack had chipped at Sean's mind until he cracked. It had only meant to end with Jack slipping into a coma. Just a chance for Sean to focus on his own problems for once. He would have gotten Henrik to wake his patient up when Sean was ready. God, he just wanted peace for a change. It was never meant to happen like this. Marvin ever so pleasantly greets him with a "Fuck off" when he tries to visit Jack. He supposes he deserves it. But he didn't come here just to back down at the first sight of opposition. He may have caused Jack to be in that coma but, as his friend, he was still entitled to a visit. He has to push past Marvin just to get in. "Leave right now before I make you regret it." Marvin tails him through the corridor. "Hey, listen, I'll be the first to admit I fucked up big time-" He says over his shoulder. "You don't say." "But he was my friend too. I am seeing him whether you like it or not." "Well, I don't like it. And this is my home. So get out." Fed up to the back teeth of Marvin, he halts to whip around before lashing out. "We both know a bad mood on my part can spell disaster for you. That is how we got into this situation is the first place. So I would watch your mouth." "Oh, look at me, I'm Sean McLoughlin. I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it." Marvin uses a mocking tone before reverting to venom once more. "Guess that's what you told your 'best friend' before you put him in a fucking coma, isn't it?" "Don't you dare suggest I don't care." "You made him feel like he had no choice but to keep being nice to your sorry ass. He barely survived Halloween and now look where he's en-" "God, cut it out!" Chase marches towards them, looking as if he was 30 seconds from grabbing a weapon to silence them. "Both of you. Sean, you have 10 minutes then we want you gone. Marv, leave him alone because we honestly have enough shit going on without you stirring more of it." Marvin bluntly says "Five." "Okay, fine, you have 5 minutes then you leave." The magician clearly isn't satisfied with this compromise but decides it's not worth the effort of fighting further. "Thank you." "It wasn't for you. I did it so I can avoid a headache." Chase promptly leaves him to it. He's not even sure he wants to enter once he reaches the infirmary's doors. Still, he's gone through too much trouble to get this far. He can't undo all that effort now. He walks into the room and- Nope, he can't do this. He means, look at Jack! He makes for an awful sight. If his friend had looked terrible while recovering from Say Goodbye, this was a whole other level. He decides against making it past the doors. He's simply there in the corridor, sobbing. "Sean, I think you should go before Marvin tries to commit arson or something." It's the most patience Chase can muster after all that's happened this week. Sean can't appreciate the effort enough. He answers with a mix of 'Uh-huh, yeah, sure.' Jackie looks like he hasn't eaten a thing in the past 11 months when Sean answers the door to him in early October. He doesn't know what to say. If Jack were currently conscious, he would have probably informed Sean of the kid's arrival by now. Yet, as it stood, Marvin seemed to be the new 'leader' and pigs would fly before he bothered to do anything that benefited Sean. He notices Jackie never lets his feet touch the ground the entire time he's there. There is a long silence in the living room before Jackie comes out with "Why didn't you do anything?" "I tried but it didn't work." "Somehow I struggle to believe that." "Jackie-" "You could have prevented a lot of shit. But why fucking bother when we're not even real, right?" "If you give me a couple minutes, I could find that video where I tried to trigger your escape." Jackie doesn't reply. He locates the footage for him regardless. The teenager remains silent the whole time. Sean decides to break it. "It must have backfired but I did try." He notices Jackie glaring at his own legs. "Great, now I know you're to blame. Not to mention you moved country while I was gone. Thanks for making me walk from Athlone, by the way." The boy superhero abruptly makes his exit, making no attempt to elaborate. Well then, great chat. Except, wait. Walk from Athlone? How the hell do you walk from Athlone to Brighton?! Sean makes good on the promise he made to himself months before. He risks uploading the pictures to Instagram. On the 29th, there is a fair amount of hype at the potential new character. He lingers inconspicuously near the egos' home for a couple hours, keeping himself occupied with his phone in case the ego didn't appear. Which he doesn't. He repeats the activity after posting the 2nd photo on the 30th. Still nothing. It's the video on Halloween that triggers creation. It was a simple thing. The same as the previous two years, he had carved a pumpkin. The main difference was that he had dressed up like a dapper gentleman, waistcoat and bowler hat inclusive. There was some glitching at the end, nothing Sean or Robin had a hand in. He supposes he should be glad there was such a small interruption. Outside the house, he spots the lost time traveller. His first surprise, for both of them it would seem, was that Jameson had lost the ability to speak. He seems reluctant to use the speech slides. No worries. Sean can buy a notepad or two for him tomorrow. Learning to sign, or in the very least understand it. will take a considerable amount of time. Written responses would have to be a sufficient compromise for now. Either way, the most important thing was that Jameson was willing to come with him before he met the others. He is in awe of Jameson. He knows he'd intended to create an ego with a proper backstory but this was far more than he'd been expecting. He had drafted a brief life story beforehand. Jameson would be the middle child of three in an upper class British family. He'd be too young to join WW1 but his brother would lose his hearing to it, allowing Jameson to know sign by the time he went missing. Maybe throw in some time in the army for good measure. However his power worked, it filled in the gaps nicely. Jameson is fully fleshed out, as are his memories. "Thanks for humouring me." He tells Signe that night. She hums in acknowledgement of what he'd said. "You can't keep him here forever, you realise that, right? I'll let you have tomorrow. But you really should let him make his own choices after that." On the 1st, Chase comes knocking. Sean relents, allowing him in to be introduced to Jameson. As expected, Chase calls him out. He assures Jameson that it was fine to go with the unfamiliar ego. As hostile as Chase was, he was still trustworthy and believed he had Jameson's best interests at heart. He lets his latest creation go. Now he will be taught the egos' version of the 'truth'. He doubted Jameson would be rushing back. But oh, there he is days later. It's completely reasonable for the dapper man to want answers. Sean provides them to the best of his ability. Jameson surprises him once more when he says he'll let the deception slide if he cuts it out from now on. Of course he will. As Jameson heads off back to his world, Sean is thankful he made him open minded. While having a casual conversation, Jameson mentions befriending someone named Shawn. At first, Sean is simply perplexed at the written name. Jameson knows how to spell his name, even includes the fada. So surely Shawn couldn't be him. When he has his friend explain, he can't believe it. Shawn Flynn. In other words, his Bendy voice cameo. Okay, egos like Henrik, Chase or Marvin, he could understand. Those guys had gotten specific videos that centred around them. He also got the whole 'springing from him putting on a voice for a series' thing with Angus and Jacques etc. Robbie... well, who the fuck knows what happened there. The point was they all came from his channel and his channel alone. Shawn Flynn was not his to claim. He was only a voice, a few sentences' worth of speech. He will always be amazed by his community's power to create from scraps. As soon as he lost Jack's contribution to the channel, he had been forced to pick up the slack. Even with Robin editing most videos, recording twice as many as he was used to was taking its toll. Something had to be done. He needed a new recording partner. And who better to help him than someone who already had experience with maintaining a channel? Obviously, Chase is opposed to the idea at first. He tries to get him to listen to his reasoning. Without Jack, he was struggling to have time for himself anymore. If he has no time outside of work, then how is he supposed to figure out how to reverse the coma? Not to mention, the community members were the ones responsible for keeping the egos from fading. Chase agrees to, in the very least, consider the offer. Sean is glad to have him as part of the team when he reluctantly accepts it. He is very grateful too. He knows this requires a sacrifice on Chase's part, perhaps more than he is aware of. In the run up to Christmas, he'd simply wanted to raise money for Save The Children with the help of his friends and community. There had occasionally been odd noises throughout the first day but nothing super suspicious. He has no clue where the hell the security footage came from. He had intended for the stream to stay up, sure, but it was meant to display a screensaver. Some people begin to notice the glitches and unusual goings on were triggered by donations of at least $1000. Well, how nice to learn that Anti liked encouraging charitable donations. The day after the event is over, Jameson attempts to speak to him about it. Listen, he's really sorry to hear about what happened over at the house. It's awful that Jackie suffered a huge panic attack from the music. But what do they expect him to do about an event that's already passed and he had no control over in the first place? The less he has to think about 'Overnightwatch' over the holidays, or Anti in general during the new year, the better. He's so fucking done with 2017. The following cold months blur. The Dr Jacksepticeye character becomes a community-made ego in January. That was great. He was aware the egos had been struggling to provide Jack professional medical care. March sees Chase getting custody of his kids on the weekend. Although he doesn't risk ruining the party with the scene his attendance would cause, he congratulates Chase on the good news in person. To top things off, he began the first leg of his tour. That had been a hell of an experience. Maybe 2018 would indeed be a better year. This hope is kept alight at the start of May. He had spent months attempting to work out how to save Jackie. Following that, they lost Henrik only to welcome the hero back. Then the doctor had been out of reach since August. It is for this reason that he receives the news of Henrik's return with great relief. Chase is ecstatic when he recounts what had happened at the end of his recording session. Sean is happy for him. He and the rest of egos need more positive events in their lives. Jackie certainly surprises him when he randomly shows up at his door days later. Signe gives him a heads up about the visitor as he leaves a recording session. The teenager comes across as distracted while they talk. Something feels really off. Then again, they haven't been able to talk since his kidnapping. Months' worth of trauma were bound to change how Jackie acted in certain situations. When he eventually leaves, Sean feels like he's missing some sort of sign. The community goes insane after Dark Silence is uploaded. He cautiously makes himself watch the infamous ending. Once more, Anti has added content to a video. The whole time Chase stands in that hallway, Sean is begging his screen for his friend to start sprinting in the other direction, as far from Anti as he could manage. But, of course, you can't prevent an abduction through a screen, especially when it had happened hours beforehand. Chase seemed so distressed. The thought of his reaction to Anti won't leave Sean be. Nor will those two questions. Jameson swings by in an attempt to comfort him. For what it's worth, his heart is in the right place. Sean just doesn't feel he's in a position to appreciate the efforts properly. He supposes this is his opportunity to finally get a rescue attempt right. Yet, with the tour and having to revert back to multiple recordings a day, time slips away. No doubt he'll get accused of not caring. Thankfully, Chase returns in June. Mostly unscathed physically too which is good. He wishes the same could be said for mental repercussions. Chase relapsing hard with his alcoholism wasn't great to hear either. Suffice to say, Chase needed help. Some good news about the whereabouts of his ex and two young children would be fantastic too. The Akinator video is fun. He enjoys making that website's algorithm figure out the characters. Admittedly, he doesn't know whether picking Jameson for a round was a smart idea. Even worse are some of the questions he gets offered. There are two specifically he doesn't feel comfortable answering on camera. He plays it off as teasing eventual ego content to his audience. In reality, he's not sure it's his place to say. And it's hardly like he can put the recording on hold to contact Jameson about his personal life. The video goes up and the community naturally laps it up. Sean wonders if he should be concerned about the fact Jameson was yet to speak to him about it. In October, he asks Jameson to deliver a card on his behalf. Henrik would be amputating Jackie's legs in an attempt to reverse one of the most prominent aftereffects of his time with Anti. Therefore, a get well card was in order. It's not much but he hopes Jackie will appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Jameson simply shrugs as he hands him a note a couple weeks later. He ends up finding the message humourous. On it is written: Thanks for the card but you don't need to bother next time. He's just about had enough of Anti when Quit The Game To Win gets recorded. He's not sure at which point in the video he becomes lightheaded. There's a brief moment of zoning out then he's sitting at his desk, having sent the video off for editing a minute prior. Unlike the other times, there is no extra content even Robin was oblivious to. The footage of Sean staring into the camera had undoubtedly been there the whole time. They debate whether to upload it. The decision gets taken out of their hands when it is uploaded regardless. That goddamn bastard. He probably realises Sean can't take down a video like that with no explanation. And what explanation is there to give? The community has no idea the egos were real or that it was actually Anti speaking to them. Oh but sure, the compliments to his 'amazing acting' pour in without fail. Also, next phase? What the hell was Anti planning to do? He and the egos would have to remain proceeding with caution. On his 29th birthday, he is surprised to find numerous egos on his doorstep. A little dumbfounded, he invites them in for cake. It wasn't like he was doing much today other than typical work stuff and checking out the community's birthday art. Chase spots his notebook, the one containing his story plans. This topic of conversation leads to them encouraging him to rectify his mistakes by waking Jack up. He's all for it. Even after all these years, he's not sure how exactly his power worked. He gets it into his head that staying up indefinitely will cause Jack to remain conscious. Somehow, this becomes the actual criteria. As the day goes on, he thinks about how things must be like over at the egos' home. It must be wonderful to have Jack up and about. He can imagine him sharing jokes, laughing and smiling, just generally enjoying the company of friends. He's always been a bit of a night owl. He can manage to stay up the whole night, for Jack's sake. Jack deserves as much time as he can give him. He increases his caffeine intake. It didn't matter whether it was coffee or a fizzy drink. If it had caffeine and could help him stay up longer, he'd drink it. His plan seemingly backfires when he plays Shadow of the Colossus while exhausted. He wakes up with a crick in his neck, the sight of Wander stationary upon Agro's back and looming guilty disappointment. When he checks in, Henrik confirms Jack was indeed back in the medical bay, unresponsive as ever. The doctor tells him that, not for nothing, they'd all enjoyed the day. It had been after 2am when Jack had begun exhibiting signs of diminishing consciousness. Even if the others may not admit it, he was sure he wasn't the only one who appreciated what Sean had given them. Perhaps one of the stupidest things he ever voluntarily subjects himself to occurs that May. He leaves peculiar edits in the Observation series. Then he posts an unlisted video of him facing off against his clone with a bloodied throat and exclusively black attire. It works. For the first time in Sean's life, he stands in Anti's presence. As it turns out, Anti is grateful. If it hadn't been for Sean spending weeks playing around with a community fuelled concept, complete with a grande finale, the glitch would still be lurking in the shadows as a nobody. Sean had solidified him. Antisepticeye had long since stopped being a fun idea that lived purely in fan creations or Tumblr headcanon posts. Even better, he'd been armed with a knife and violent tendencies. Bit of a bad combination, wouldn't you say? In fact, he's been revelling in watching the whole Sean vs Egos fiasco. Because sure, he could blame a lot of things on Anti if he wanted. But the mistrust that began with Jack then seeped into the others via the original ego? Sean's doing. The one who used his powers of creation when, even to this day, he doesn't quite understand how on earth they worked? Sean. Best yet, letting his emotions cause him to put a loved one in a coma he had no clue how to reverse? Once again, courtesy of Sean McLoughlin. Sean brushes these comments off. He's been called out too many times to be that easily affected by it. Besides, he had some things on his own mind that needed saying. Where were Stacy and the kids? Oh, in a ditch. They served no use without Chase's conscience there to haunt. Actually, where had Anti himself been during all these years? Here, there, everywhere. Why stay in one spot when he thrived on being near impossible to pin down. Any question Sean has, Anti's answers are delivered nonchalantly. Right. That's how Anti wants to play it, huh? He creates another piece of footage. This time, he dresses as Chase and speaks on the phone. 'Chase' begs Stacy to take the kids, stay hidden and only contact him when she really needs to. Once Sean posts it (privately of course), the real Chase updates him on the recent developments in his life. He'd gotten a text from Stacy saying they were safe for now. He had only managed to compose himself before leaving the house but ah look, there go the waterworks again. Sean apologises as he makes it abundantly clear that Chase would not be able to see his family for a while. It was for their safety. Chase understood, right? Yes, yes of course. For good measure, he also talks to Henrik. His wife and children weren't in as imminent danger of becoming Anti's targets right now. However, there was no harm in staying vigilant. It was up to the doctor but Sean thought it would be for the best if they maintained a low profile for now. Sean discusses another video with Chase in October. The father is reluctant to have more of his story explored, especially if things are going to play out the way Sean had planned. That's fine, he assures. That was exactly why he wanted Chase to be part of the process. Besides, it may seem a little bleak right now but his fortunes would improve as soon as the ball started rolling. When it comes to filming the short video, Chase kills it. The community may be praising Sean but he makes sure Chase is aware of the love he had earned. He decides to allow Jameson another solo video for his birthday. They brainstorm together, coming up with the premise of a puppet show. Jameson is the one who comes up with the 'I can't be questioned, I'm rich!' joke. As soon as he does, he goes off on a tangent about how he used to know people like that. Hell, his own parents had been like that. Sean laughs along with him. The first sight of trouble is the random bit of string around his arm. Jameson naively removes it without becoming suspicious. Sean's been in this position before. If the video's up, it's already way too late for the targeted ego. He forces himself to watch to the end. Jameson's wrapping up the story when the strings reappear. His arms go limp before he begins swaying on the spot. It is clearly Anti who is controlling his movements now. Sean really wishes he didn't know the sign for 'help'. He bets Jameson believes he has the power to save him. If only he did. The worst part of it is having to witness Jameson clearly attempting to fight against it. If Sean thought Henrik's distress during Kill Jacksepticeye had been a challenge to watch, he had another thing coming. Goddamn it. Can he please go one year without losing more of those he cared about? He'd once been friends with Angus before the fading fiasco caused them to drift apart. Jack kept giving second chance after second chance until Sean had let his frustration screw that up. Chase had gradually begun to see him as potentially trustworthy, only for Anti to kidnap him and set them back to square one. Is it too much to ask for them to feel happy and safe as well as remaining so? His 30th birthday is quiet. There are no egos hassling him or attempts to initiate a bout of insomnia. It's a nice day chilling out with Evelein and BB. He would have enjoyed it even more if he knew he'd achieved his goal of waking Jack up by now. Or even getting Jameson back. The last person he expects to see coming round to his house is Marvin. He doesn't think the magician is entirely sure why he chose to do this either. He states that he gave his word when he said he'd never forgive Sean. With his fae heritage, that meant something and he couldn't go back on that. Marvin seemed offended when Sean shows surprise upon learning he had connection to fae. Well, how exactly was Sean supposed to know this detail if Marvin's been keeping him far away for 2.5 years, especially since they hadn't been best buddies pre-coma either? The magician scowls before returning to a calmer neutral demeanour. He carries on his point. Marvin may not be able to forgive Sean for what he's done, not that he really has a reason to given what was still happening to the egos. That said, he wasn't going to judge his friends as harshly anymore if they decided to give their creator a chance. That uh... shit, that was huge coming from Marvin. All he can reply with is a thank you. August rears it's terrible head. It's been three years now. 36 whole months, god knows how many weeks or individual days. He's had all this time to fix this yet is still working on it. And oh, sure, he can rationalise it. He can remind himself that during 2018, if he wasn't on tour then he was preparing for a leg or decompressing after one. Not to mention that had also been the year he'd finally started addressing his mental health. Now, the biggest thing preventing him from progressing the story to the point where Jack woke up was the virus. For half the year, he couldn't film anything that required a crew, let alone do so on location in America or wherever like he had with CHASE. Instead, he sits at the end of the bed as usual. Legs to his chest, he simply lets himself be here. Henrik is going to kill him for the way he is seated. He rambles at Jack, updating him on recent goings on. When he's said his bit, he becomes contemplative for a moment. "I'm still trying, I swear. You're going to wake up one day. I'm just- I'm doing my best to get everything sorted. I promise you can call my ass out eventually. I will get there. Anyway, I'm sure you have better things to be doing than listening to me mope about like I have been for the past three years. See you around, buddy."

#my writing #creator au #the creator #jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye egos #writersofjack #if anyone saw me despairing yesterday about this fic going on and on I want you to know this bitch is 8.2k words now #tw death mention #tw blood mention #tw kidnapping

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incarnateirony · 4 years

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as an emerging lgbtq+ (i'm 'BT') guy i am so glad you're making the point you made in your last post. I've always gravitated towards Dean because he is so 'imperfect' in his queerness, like me. but he's not a uwu soft queer so apparently that bothers a lot of ppl on here? Especially younger queer women, I've noticed. But a lot of guys, cis and trans, struggle with being attracted to men so much in a way that is simply different (not better or worse) than (1/2)

being wlw, especially depending on one’s generation and region, etc. basically what i’m saying is a lot of the few queer men that there are in the fandom stay quieter as it is almost completely queer women dictating what is and what isnt, and not quite empathizing with the unique struggle many queer men have with internalized homophobia/being Unmanly for being attracted to men. hope this wasn’t too all over the place, ive had this on my mind for a Long time and i’m glad you brought it up. (2/2)

ps: I’m not trying to put down queer women for being a significant part of the fandom. I just really wish the environment of the fandom felt more like somewhere queer men’s voices can be heard better, considering the largest pairing is, needless to say, mlm

Well, first of all, welcome Nonnie. I take it you’re addressing this untitled post addressing intersectionality, representation vs tokenization, represented demographics and just general motivations of those in discussion, yes? (x)

You’ll find this is a longstanding topic of my blog, be it excavating creator commentary people have buried for their own motivations and talked down and around, or dual faceted issues.

(If you haven’t read the crosslinks on the post you’re addressing, you may want to read The Problem With Dreamhunter (x) It discusses exactly this issue, even if it was written over a year ago at that point, showing just how cyclic this issue is. It talks about MLM/WLW intersectional issues, migrating goalposts, a bunch of show stuff and some of Bobo’s sociopolitical commentary from 2003 about advancing LGBT representation through moderate incremental methods being proven effective at expanding the media presence/platform exponentially above liberal, or more severe/extreme styles)

But when it comes down to it, basically: Yeah, you right.

I didn’t just arbitrarily develop this opinion. I didn’t… just magically tune in to what the LGBT men that literally dodge fandom, for exactly the reasons you say, and know it’s because of the reasons you say – like that didn’t manifest. It came from leaving fandom (un)”safe” spaces. It came from engaging a great variety of LGBT males in real life, many of which engage the content. From observing how they spoke of the content in multifandom servers, or even *why* they chose to avoid speaking up.

And no, I personally didn’t get a read of you, like, insulting LGBT women for their part in fandom. Women engage social media for primetime TV fandoms at an exponential rate above men, so it’s almost unavoidable and it’s nobody’s fault really, but that says nothing for the perpetual habit of drowning out their voices to the fact that– well, they literally abandon engaging.

I’ve seen it enough times it *hurts* me. I shouldn’t *have* to pull my gay writing buddy out of holes to face this, and him still hide silently. I shouldn’t *have* to be the vein of news and information on the show to the bi male friend I have that refuses to touch this fandom. I shouldn’t *have* to even speak up about this. I really do want *you all* to speak up about this, because I can only speak so far, because you’re right: OUR JOURNEYS ARE DIFFERENT.

Hell, even a cis lgbt male vs a trans lgb(t obvious) male have entirely different journeys even though they’re both validly men. These battles are not the same. One community can speak up to defend another, and help hold them up and amplify them if there’s just not enough of them to project the way they need to, and this is something *greatly under respected* in this fandom. Nobody’s holding up the LGBT male voices when actually talking about representation. And you’re right, it’s mostly women, and you’re right, our path is different and our struggles and needs and wants and lives are different. But unless you take a considerable amount of time talking and sharing and learning personally the perspective of the LGBT male community, you’re not… really… helping them speak.

And let it be said, “holding up LGBT male voices” does not and should never equate to “despite having multiple LGBT men saying one thing, I found the one LGBT male saying the thing that matches what I want, who may or may not even actually be in the targeted demographic set of the character we’re discussing representation about, because it’s more than just being bi, it’s entire lives, paths and challenges– but you know, I found the ONE, so fuck the others.” That’s using your friends as tokens and cards. If you want to genuinely add to the conversation, what you do is you introduce your male LGBT friend to the other male LGBT friends and let them have a long conversation to talk out the sources of their disagreements before engaging in conversation.

But drawing a pretty base line collective from all people in the represented demographic, respectfully learning the majority wants and needs and struggles, and helping voice those is pretty key.

Women can sit here all day, and pass around things they’ve been told by other women are woke points, or things that sound progressive and good, and often sort of decontextualized from their purpose (be that the dresswear mentioned shortly hereafter, or what LGBT want/expect/SHOULD want or expect – but in the end, if you’re not sitting down and having dialogues – not just with one, or two, or even three LGBT men – but large handfuls and subsets, able to actually critically examine the differences in LGBT males of gen X, Y, or Z and their lives and stories – if you’re not doing that… If *that* isn’t the core of your discussion values, rather than pass-along buzz vibes– then you’re really not talking representation. You think you are. But you’re not.

There’s the uh. Thing. You noticed. About how women expect the men to engage.

When it comes to young queer women, I’m going to risk pissing some people off, but the long and short of it is (I could probably dig up the link but it’s been an eternity) a while ago they ran a psychological study to figure out why young women were attracted to yaoi, and gay porn, especially what is essentially stereotypical force-role type gay porn. It has to do with blooming attraction, primal fear, and trying to make the men more appealing in a way that does not intimidate them.

This later manifests into feminizing them, setting twink/bear roles that go beyond into top/bottom, and conflating it with penetration, position, power, dom/sub, fork/spoon, sometimes served with a dose of internalized misogyny being projected into the vessel of whatever twink/sub is positioned, and generally— like, kink culture. Often this is passed with narrowly progressive-masked arguments of “Men should be allowed to be feminine if they want!” rather than a genuine answer to, “Why do you perpetually heterosexually resize, or reframe, and enforce heterosexual structure onto characters that do not meet this mold, and why is that a personal gain to you?” because in the end– it’s a personal gain. And again, at that point it’s not about representation.

Now again, I’m not… shaming anyone for having a kink. But kink/fetish needs/wants have blurred themselves in as if to hedge on equal territory to discussing canon content. Or sprinkling the quite literal fetishized art (power to you if that’s your thing, I guess, even if I do bear discomfort over fetishization of any LGBT demographic, even by another LGBT demographic) and reasoning with dialogue that implies it as being representative, and inserting that into the representation discussion, which *literally* just makes the entire bog muddier, makes the LGBT men trying to speak more easily dismissed in a vat of “just women/fetishists”, it just– it’s Not a Good. I’m… personally not a fan of it. Like at all. A lot of it makes me angry tbh. So I don’t engage. I don’t browse fanfiction. I look at very little art.

Hell most of the people around here don’t even realize it’s actually a *minority* of LGBT men that choose to engage in penetrative sex, but it’s become a topic of outright obsession around here. There is so much simple… lack of awareness and discussion of the lives LGBT men lead, even by LGBT women because again – we don’t have your path. We can only listen to you. (And BOY have I gotten earfuls from my LGBT male friends absolutely going apeshit banana bonkers over fandom’s obsession with penetration culture, gender role enforcement while feigning it as liberation, and all kinds of other stuff. And that’s what I base most of my talking points on.)

Because if I’m going to talk representation, I’m going to talk about representing the demographic the character is supposed to represent, not molding him into a tokenized wash-over of every single person’s wants. If you’re an LGBT woman that can resonate with Dean Winchester, that’s great. Sometimes representation can be shared. But a character’s origin determines what demo he represents and not all of any given representative’s character’s attributes, methods, functions, anything – not all of it is going to meet any one person’s goals collectively, but the target demographic is inevitably closer to it.

Another point to raise is that it feels like people have lost track of *what* the representation battle is about. It isn’t just about any one person attaching to any one character. It’s about developing a TVscape that looks more representative of the real world, with a fair presence of PoC, of women, of LGBT people of all types, of the disabled community, of people that are even more than one of these, of people with different stories: people. About, well, normalizing it, because it should be normal. About saturating television enough that one day, and that day will not just be tomorrow per convenience, that people won’t be desperate for representation even vaguely in their wheelhouse, that they can turn on and see people of any intersectional type and go– wow, the world finally realizes we’re real. And that in that wide, realistic menu, yes, being able to turn a channel and eventually see someone *just like you*. A day when any show turned on has at least *someone* in your wheelhouse because every show eventually should have some sort of realistic spread, but if you find the *right* show, *there you are.*

That’s how it’s built. We don’t start by footstomping and tokenizing everyone to be vaguely representative of everyone or it doesn’t count because it didn’t work for *them*. We start by sharing truly diverse narratives, each unique to their own, just as diverse as straight stories are, maybe even more. That’s the only way you’re actually going to end up with a TVscape full of The Gays, and full enough to find *explicitly yourself* in there.

Deleting normalized, non-sensationalist text for lacking either visibility or flavor, even if you weren’t the intended demographic for it to speak to, is quite literally contrary to the entire fight.

and tbh?

This shit is why I hate shipping culture.

And I say that as someone who presumably “ships” Dean and Cas, if it’s shipping to address canon bullshit happening in front of you and just watch the show as it folds out without going into denial for *whatever* personal reason.

There’s a lot of well intended people, most shipping fandom is full of good beans, but as a collective group – skewed by sociopathically manipulated dialogues we can literally track the origins of – have been driven into much of the above while genuinely believing they were doing the right thing, in a long chain of being told this was what and how to fight for, without really stopping and critically examining the nuance of the conversation. Because why would you? Seems to be the popular gay thing to do – while a lot of bisexual people currently hide their commentary via reblog hashtags or hedge awkwardly into an anon box sideways.

That all said, it continues to be my focus. It will never change on this blog. I will never surrender to being pressured, be it by antis or bitters or people just wanting to argue, into pretending things that were text are subtext. I will not move that goalpost. You are real, and you are valid, and you are welcome in my inbox any time, Nonnie, confidentiality guaranteed. Like, DM too.

but lmao like shit, dawg. There’s a reason the LGBT guys I’ve had as writing partners as Dean literally refuse to play with another Cas. That’s not just because I’m a *super aweSOME auTHOr*, it’s because they recognize I do not come from the wing lost to fanfiction, to troll wars, or even to shipping culture, love of a ship be damned. I don’t try to force gender roles on them. I listen when they speak, and often, surprise many with the angle I ever enter discussion or listening from to begin with, because of spending so many years listening to begin with. It’s an intrinsic understanding of why they resonate with the content, not what I can pull some transformative art stuff on or wanting to *make* it into anything else to fit *my* molds. It’s because of being someone engaged to the male perspective, without the need to twist or change a character to be content with it, and being WILLING to hold those challenging conversations.

Listen first. Talk later. But never in front of or over the people you claim to be talking for.

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thinkingback-movingforward · 5 years

Text

2017

Sunday. May 21, 2017.

I'm here again. I'm finally here, it took a while, but I'm back. I've felt alright a few times, but this time it's different. I honestly feel good vibes emitting from my personal aura. There's no exact reason for it either. I can't pinpoint a moment within the past two days that changed my mood around drastically, but I'm not complaining. I want to stay like this, if not forever, at least for a little while longer.

Monday. May 29, 2017.

*news update

This past week I reconnected with Jean Urbano. It's honestly been a great week. The best week of the year, by far. Fun. Laughs. Drinks. Bikes. Sweet. Drunk. Bittersweet. These are the words that come to my mind right now; also, "strictly platonic".

I keep thinking to myself, what if? What if I wasn't being weird and stupid and we became close before? We're literally neighbors, like 4 houses down. I probably would've seen her every day or every other day. I regret that. Maybe we could've been something. Maybe not. Maybe she would've pushed me to be someone great. Maybe not. Maybe she would've ended up being the one. Maybe not.

But she is a catch. If you have someone like her, keep her.

I've always had a crush on her. I've always liked how she dressed. Her laugh is cute. She fucking bikes, like come on fam. She's still the same as before. Just better, obviously.

At least we're friends again.

Thursday. June 1, 2017.

You're the only reason I'm regretting this move. You're the only reason I want to stay on this block, three houses away. I've had all these years, but only realized how good I could've had it, now that's it's too late.

Friday. June 2, 2017.

I'm trying to find solace in romantic films, but I think it's having the opposite effect.

*update*

After hearing Jean's amazing surprise story, I'm starting to feel a bit better. She is an amazing woman, and an amazing girlfriend and Jose is lucky to have her. They are both lucky to have and, they definitely, deserve each other.

Wednesday. June 7, 2017.

Technically, it's the next day as I'm writing this.

She came over, exhausted from the night before she rested after we talked a little bit. We were supposed to do work.

She said she could feel herself starting to get sick. Her throat hurt and her body ached. All I wanted to do was take care of her. I wanted to cuddle with her and rest with her, but I can't.

I made her some tea, got her water, and put on music. I thought listening to her favorite band would make her feel better. And as much as I tried to, I couldn't sleep.

As we lay, at one point she woke up. We started talking again. About life and us and little jokes here and there. When I'm with her, I have all this energy. I have to be completely exhausted to fall asleep with her there.

I tried my hardest all night. I didn't touch her. I didn't comfort her. I stayed my distance. She would turn to her side, head rested on her arm and look at me as I did the same. I can't help but smile when I look at her. That image, what I would do to wake up to that very same image of her every morning. If she could be the first and last thing I see every day and night, I would be the happiest guy in the world.

If I could ever have her, I would never let her go.

At the very last half hour before she left, it happened. Nothin wild or sexual, she moved closer to me and as our elbows overlapped, we got closer and I spooned her. I was trying to contain myself all night, but I'm glad I got to embrace her again.

I finally got to feel the warmth of her body again. I got to feel our fingers, intertwining and mingling. I could feel my heart race, just by being closer to her. I wonder if she could feel my breath on her neck, or how nervous and excited she makes me feel. I wanted to kiss her so badly. I don't even think she knows I didn't particularly mean on the lips either. That whole night, I was thinking when would be a good time to kiss her forehead, but I never got to do it.

I wonder if this is real. Is this love?

I've only ever felt like this one other time.

Then why do I feel like I don't fit in to her story.

I want to say, I love her. But how can I even say that? I wonder if she feels the same way... how can I love someone when we just reconnected two weeks ago. Why is this so natural. Why do I feel so at ease around her. Why is she so fucking awesome. Why am I not?

It's hard for me to feel confident when she is an adult, has a degree, and a career? I don't even have my license... I haven't graduated... and I don't know what I'm doing with my life.

I feel I need to up my game a lot, even though I know deep down she doesn't care about all that, and she does care about me. Obviously she would want what's best for me but you know what I mean.

She never judged me.. how did I lose such an important person? I'm glad she's back. I'm glad she's back in my life, regardless of how bittersweet she makes me feel at times. I like grabbing food, and drinking, and playing games, and staying up late with her. I like her presence. I like her petite body, and thin hair. I like that she bikes and can keep up, or even be way ahead of me. I like how adventurous she is, although she is sometimes reckless. I like her awkward turtle posture, and her cat smile; which is funny because she has turtles and cats as pets. I like her banged up legs, she works hard and goes hard. I like that she's so charming, as you can see from all the people around her. I like her.

I love her.

Thursday. June 8, 2017.

How did she quickly become one of my favorite people? 10 years later, how everything has changed, yet nothing changed between us.

Saturday. June 10, 2017.

I hate you.

I love you.

I hate that I love you.

I HATE YOU

is what I want to say,

But I love you. Fuck me. I actually do love you.

Friday. June 16, 2017.

She dropped me home after a long day and had a great dinner. We were so full. I want to throw up.

But, she dropped me home and we stayed in the car a little bit. I stared at her as she stared at me. It sucks. I felt like she wanted to kiss me. I felt like she actually wanted me to kiss her, but I knew it wouldn't happen. I would've loved to kiss her. I wanted to brush her hair back and grab her head and kiss her. I wish she was mine, but at the same time I don't feel she belongs with me. Maybe it's my lack of self confidence. I feel like I'm not good enough for her. I wonder what she even sees in me, if she sees anything at all.

Regardless of everything, I love her, and I want her to be happy.

Saturday. June 17, 2017.

I'm not mentally strong. At all.

Why am I sitting in my closet, surrounded by darkness and faint music, tearing up at thoughts and feelings that I chose myself.

I'm hurting myself, actually. I can't blame her for anything.

I'm crying and I can't really pinpoint the exact reasons why.

"No matter what lies you tell yourself, you can't fool your own heart."

Sunday. June 18, 2017.

I guess, who I want is, someone that can make me be goofy and carefree and not care about what everyone else is thinking of me, as I laugh with her and we're caught between each other's gazes, living in the moment.

*update

I invited Jean over to a family friend barbecue. I'm not really sure what I was thinking haha. Obviously the only reason you invite someone else over of the opposite sex is if you're seeing them and that's not what is happening here. I see her, a lot actually, but I'm not dating her. I would love to though. I maybe even love her. I just know I can't deny how I feel when I look at her. I feel bittersweet, parts of happiness and parts of sadness.

Monday. June 19, 2017.

It suddenly started pouring and thundering. All I'm picturing is us running through the rain, laughing and having fun; then showering together, and then getting all cozy on the couch wrapped up in a big comforter.

You. I wish I could do that with you. I wish you would have these thoughts of doing cute shit with me also, but...

I'm starting to reach that point where it does bother me when she mentions his name and shit, but that's her boyfriend so.

Tuesday. June 20, 2017.

It's technically Tuesday, it's 12:37 AM.

I wish you would call me, and even if we run out of things to say, you would lay there in the silence as we fall asleep.

Jose is lucky, or maybe I'm unlucky, or maybe this is God's plan. Maybe he thinks she can impact me in a non significant other type way, or maybe he is cynical and wanted to show me what I missed out on.

I hate you because I love you.

Thursday. June 22, 2017.

I didn't get to write about it, but Tuesday was an awesome night. I think it was greatly contrasted by my terrible day, leading to a more awesome night.

My friend, Juan, invited me to be part of ENI's entourage. ENI is an upcoming star! Her single Kissing in the Dark Is already so popular, but I digress.

By going to the event, I met a lot of cool people, such as Laura, Arthur, Pat, and ENI herself. I think it's cool what creatives do and how they're all so different, but all hustle to do something more with their lives. I want to be like them. I want to be part of the creative world. All I need to do is act upon what I want to do.

Tuesday. July 18, 2017.

It's been a while. I guess things are okay. I still love her. My feelings are there. Every time I see her. Every single small conversation we have, even the meaningless ones aren't meaningless at all.

I guess I'm more understanding and I just don't want to be hung up on someone that I can't end up with. But I love her, and I love that she is back in my life. She's a great person, and an amazing friend.

Thursday. July 27, 2017.

Jean. Why are you at my house?

Why did you call me and drive to me just because Jose was already asleep? Why didn't you just go home? Why did you sleep here? Maybe because to 'get some work done' which you didn't do since you were drunk from Angelo's birthday dinner.

I just want to know why.

Why am I not trying to lay down in bed with you right now? Why am I forcing myself to not kiss you right now? These are questions with answers. I don't have any for my questions. (Well, I'm lying. I know you said if you went home you would not have gotten the papers graded, but to be fair, I wrote this whole thing before we graded the papers)

Do you like me? Do you like our friendship? Do you like taking care of me? Do I love you?

I do. I love you.

Sunday. July 30, 2017.

Party. Biking. Fountain. Ticket.

I love her.

I kind of know she doesn't, and I can't help but think I'm fucking weird.

It hurts.

It's been a while since I laughed and had fun in a fountain, I think two years. Was it worth freezing afterwards and getting a $30 ticket because I didn't realize I was supposed to say no to having my ID? It was worth every second and every cent.

*update

"Everyone has had hard experiences in their life. We have to go forward, loving ourselves as a whole, including our weaknesses."

Wednesday. August 9, 2017.

It's been a while since I wrote anything. As of right now I'm currently facetiming with Jean. We do this from time to time, just facetiming whenever she has the time to; either when she's driving or late at night or shopping at Walmart.

I enjoy these times with her. It's hard not to look at her and just want to smile.

Bury these feelings deep down, and love her as a friend.

Thursday. August 10, 2017.

24 inches. 18 inches. 6 inches. Those are the different amounts of distances between both of our lips as we lay on the couch watching the movie.

I so badly wanted to just grab her hand, or grab her face and kiss her. I want to so bad. But...

She just left. Last night was great. It was the first time we rode our new bikes together. I missed biking with her. I miss the feeling. I miss living closer to her.

We saw The Lobster, which was a lot more surprising than I thought. It was definitely an unexpected movie in a good way. I like sharing a couch with her, there's something about having her next to me.

I am lowkey, probably not lowkey for her, trying to win this challenge. I want to go out with her for dinner and drinks, if she lets me redeem that prize.

I wish I could at least have the drumroll. When the mood seemed alright, I would grab her and look at her and go for it, but slowly, as I approach closer and closer to lips, and right before they touch, we stop.

Friday. August 11, 2017.

It happened. I didn't expect it to be like this or for it to happen like this, but it happened. We need to stop talking.

Jean told Jose I was in love with her, which after reading my previous notes, is fair. I am in love with her.

But now we can't talk. I'm not really sure yet how I feel about it besides that it's shitty, and this sucks and I FUCKING HATE IT.

I love talking to her, even about miscellaneous things. I like telling her about my day. I like hearing about hers. I like being emotional with her. I love that I'm about 97% always smiling when I'm with her or talking to her. I feel like I'm losing a big part of me, and our silence hasn't happened yet.

I don't know if I'll last. I don't think my feelings for her will ever go away. They will always be there. I wish my feelings weren't an inconvenience, but to be honest, I like that she knows how I feel about her.

I shared my notes about her over the past two and a half months, after some

nagging and persuasion. I don't regret sharing them, although I thought I would at first. I simply watched her as she was reading through my notes. I'm not entirely sure how she feels about all of them. All I saw were tears and that it's all so heartbreaking.

I'm currently facetiming with her, but she fell asleep. Honestly I'm surprised she even lasted this long. She deserves a good night's rest.

She is beautiful. She always looks beautiful. It's not even my skewed vision of how I see her, she is just naturally beautiful.

I know she feels Jose is her grand finale, but then why do I feel like she's mine? Is is wrong to feel that way? If I ever, ever, EVER, had a chance to be hers. I WOULD NEVER FUCKING LET GO.

I feel like this is all just my bullshit selfish brain talking now.

I'm glad she's happy. I'm glad she feels Jose is her 'one' because it's not everyday that people feel that. If you're ever lucky enough to have that feeling, go for it. I want her to be happy and I know she wants me to be happy, which is probably why she blames herself and she feels selfish and sort of an asshole. I don't blame her at all, for anything. These feelings are my feelings and I love her.

But what can you do?

Also, since I shared my notes with her. I kind of want to move them back, but I kind of also want to leave them there, incase she wants to go back and read them anytime, during our silence.

I don't think she knows the power and effect she has on me, not only physical and emotionally, but mentally.

I don't think anyone that I truly care about knows how much they affect me.

I have no energy. I had no real appetite earlier. I had no motivation to go to the gym. I hope it's just today. I don't want to let Jean down, but I also don't want to let myself down. I want to prove that she has made a positive impact. She won't be like everyone else in my life. I knew she this would have to come eventually, not being able to talk all the time, I just need to try my best and not let it affect me too much.

I'm stronger now, and I'd like to think she has affected me within these past few months.

Saturday. August 12, 2017.

I got a photo from Jean. That surprised me, but I was so happy. First of all, I don't have any pictures of her, like at all. Second, she looks so bomb! Oooo that blue velvet (?), I always forget what type of material that is, dress is fire! She got cuuuuurves!

*update

I wake up and get a text from her saying, "I broke my arm."

LIKE, WHAT? YOU CAN'T JUST SAY THAT AND NOTHIN ELSE.

I hope she's okay.. how did she break her arm?! What..

I hope she's okay...

*update, she's fine

*update

I just left Nina's Body and Pole party. It was great, and definitely a different experience.

I don't know why I'm like this, but so can't seem to be normal. I tried, but I felt like I was trying to avoid Jean and Jose. I hate when I can feel and notice what I'm doing. She probably feels the same way, knowing that I was kind of avoiding them.

It's hard. I knew it was hard before, but I guess I didn't reallly see them together, that much, before. But it makes sense, the two don't really know Nina so it's obvious they would stick together.

(Side note: Jose and Jean were killing it out there to be honest!)

I kind of wanted to stay with them and have fun, but I also kind of wanted to leave the group. But here I am now, on a train to Edison.

Monday. August 14, 2017.

I don't feel all there, I feel like I'm mentally regressing again...

I feel like I'm struggling, with something inside me. I just don't know what it is.

P.s. the rug was obviously sold out. I'm stupid.

I don't know what's wrong with me.

I'm here in the middle of the food court in Jersey Gardens, eating this combo that I shouldn't have bought, and I feel like crying.

What is wrong with me..

Tuesday. August 15, 2017.

Yesterday was a great night. I actually had a heart to heart with Alfredo, finally. I also opened up a bit more to Jean, I feel like, emotionally. I feel that she's getting to know me more and more on a personal level from all our interactions, talks, and my notes. I'm not the best at confrontation, but it does feel nice to be bare and vulnerable, especially to someone that truly cares about you.

I cried, a bit much actually. I truly do appreciate my friends who let me cry, because sometimes I just can't hold it. I was always made fun of by my dad about how easily I cried when I was younger, so I try not to. Sometimes I get deep in my thoughts and they just come out.

We went out for drinks, and it was great to hang out with our trio again. I did miss Alfredo. We also met some cool people throughout the night. The rain killed our bike adventure, but I don't know if Jean would've lasted to be honest. (lol)

But she dropped me home, and I always like it when she stays over. I love when we're gazing at each other. I never know what she's thinking as she does, but I enjoy the moment.

I also got to hold her hand while we layed, not together obviously, I'm on the ground, but that got me happy as fuck.

Any physical touch we share, I appreciate. Whether it's a light hit when I mention her white frames or olympics, to her light caress of my face.

Sometimes I feel she's so close to me, yet so far away.

Wednesday. August 16, 2017.

I'm so impulsive lol.

I just bought a Saturday Afropunk ticket for Jean. This time I get to be with her the whole time! I'm excited.

Saturday. August 19, 2017.

I miss her.

I wonder if she misses me too.

It's only been a few days though.

What qualifies as needy?

I wish she would've just said to come downtown at 12. I would've gotten ready and came downtown so fast. Then she says she was denied permission...

Whatever that means.

I want to see her. I want to be in her presence right now. Not some awkward small talk presence, but our regular good vibes presence.

*update

Why don't I feel good right now?

I feel kind of...

I'm losing energy. I feel weak. I need a recharge.

*update

Who would have thought a nail cutter would make me upset? I guess it's just my low energy and stress right now contributing to the situation.

My dad was cleaning and I thought he put everything in my room, even this nail cutter, but it wasn't the right one. I ask him where's the nail cutter with the giraffe part and he says he didn't see it.

I get upset as I'm looking everywhere for it. Why do I even get upset? I would say it's because it's Jean's. She let me borrow it before, and I just never returned it. I guess, seeing as I don't have her, I like to hold on to anything that's a part of her.

At least I found it.

Am I going crazy?...

Sunday. August 20, 2017.

I'm eating McDonald's... I guess it's fine to back track once in a while. If I had a choice I wouldn't have but it's fine.

I hope she's having a fun time upstate! It sounds like a really fun time.

*update

I still think about her all the time. I wish we could go out into a sunflower field and dance under the sun.

Monday. August 21, 2017.

I don't know how to express into words how I'm feeling.

Wednesday. August 23, 2017.

I biked home in the rain, again. This time was a bit harder than the previous one. I hope I don't get sick again.

The thing is, I don't even mind the rain. I guess it's the fact that I'm still alone under this rainfall. It feels cold, and even colder when I know I'm coming home to nothing.

But one day, she'll be there. Whoever she may be. Making every trip under the rain full of laughter and smiles, and we'll find comfort and warmth in each others' presence.

My dad.. I feel like he has no care for anything that's ours anymore, as long as the house is fucking clean. I'm not missing anything major, but they are things I fucking use. I hate not knowing where my own shit is in my own house.

My parents didn't fuck up or anything, I'm just not mentally strong enough.

But I do promise, to my future children, I will do such a great job, along with your mother. Love will flow throughout our family, along with honesty and forgiveness. I promise to do my very best.

Thursday. August 24, 2017.

She is so beautiful, and she doesn't even know it, or at least doesn't want to accept it.

I know, whoever I marry, when I see my future wife come out and walk down the aisle. I will cry, without a doubt.

And whoever she ends up with, if not me, then I would like to be invited to her wedding to at least be able to witness her in all her glory. She will be so beautiful, and happy, god she better be happy.

No matter what, I'll love you. I'll always love you.

Friday. August 25, 2017.

I think, I'm starting to get over my feelings; or at least just realizing that I shouldn't have them and it's stupid hurting myself.

I can't rely on her for happiness. I should create happiness within myself. I don't even know who I am.

I'm sorry. Do I regret everything that has happened this summer? Not at all, but I'm sorry.

They look great together.

I don't even want to feel hopeful. I'm not even trying to, but part of me still is. I just want to not be hopeful and forget those feelings and just be okay with them two. I want to be able to hang out with her without it being a problem, on like some gay best friend type shit.

Plus, like I said to myself, I don't FIT IN with her life. I just don't. Things should stay how they are now, except with maybe a bit more talking lol.

Saturday. August 26, 2017.

Afropunk: Saturday was a success! If I do say so myself. I'm hella lit right now, she's knocked out, and definitely full as fuck lol.

My dad loves Jean, (why wouldn't he?!) and I have other relatives over too, what a great situation lmao.

She's amazing. I'm glad she spent the day with me. Even though she couldn't say no anyway.

I'm happy.

Part of me was like, I want her so bad right now. Part of me was like, come on man what are you doing? Part of me was like, ah I'm sorry. Part of me was like, kiss her, KISS HER!

It's been a while though, since I got to sleep next to her, or since I got to embrace her body. I could feel the warmth of her breath, as I inhale her air. I spooned her, and it was great. I miss the feeling of our bodies touching.

I don't even know if I mentioned that we ate $40 in churros at Afropunk, 15 churros each, 30 total. I'm pretty sure we spent a lot of money, but I'm reckless. I don't even think about money when it comes to her.

THANK YOU FOR AN AWESOME TIME ❤️

I'm not ready to give her up. I don't know how that sounds. I'm not ready to give up these feelings for her. I want these feelings to remain as strong as they can be for as long as possible, to be honest. Am I crazy? Yes. Am I stupid? Yes. But that's me.

Sunday. August 27, 2017.

WORTH IT. EVERY SECOND OF THIS WEEKEND WAS WORTH IT. EVERY FAT INCREASING FOOD AND DRINK, THE SORE KNEES AND FEET, MY LOSS OF VOICE, EVERYTHING WAS WORTH. THANK YOU.

Monday. August 28, 2017.

Sometimes, I'm up at night and I don't know what I feel like doing. I don't feel like sleeping, I don't feel like watching YouTube or a movie, and I don't feel like eating, so I waste time doing whatever, and I don't even really know what I'm doing but actually wasting time.

I should just sleep.

I wish I had a recording of her voice. Not of even anything specific, just talking. She should record herself reading a book. Just the audio would be fine too. I would love to listen and fall asleep to her voice every night. It would be awesome if she did some ukulele covers too. Hearing her sing every night, I would sleep great all the time.

I hope when she reads this note, whenever that is, this gives her some ideas. Wink~

Please?

lol

I laugh because I already know your answer

*update

... nevermind

*update

I can't wait to reach that point where I fully understand Jean and I are just friends and Jose let's us hang out and she can come over whenever she pleases, and she'll be my best friend.

If that could ever happen. I wish.

Tuesday. August 29, 2017.

I want to do random or spontaneous things with you.

A DIY succulent date, how awesome does that sound?

But what are the chances, we can't even play tennis together...

I'm sorry that every time there's an event or I want to do something, I want to experience it with you.

Thursday. August 31, 2017.

Note to self

Jean's first day/night in Miami. She said "Craziest thing ever happened I gotta tell you the whole story".

Nevermind, she just told that crazy coincidence of a story. It just seems like she's always lucky. Gods are shining down on her haha.

I haven't slept yet, and it's 6:00 AM.

I highkey wish you were here with me, just staying up, smoking and laughing, while helping me fold my clothes.

*update

God! I'm just trying to see this fire ass two piece picture of Jean. LIKE COME ON GIRL, SEND IT TO ME. You read all my notes and my vulnerable side. I'M TRYING TO SEE THIS SEXY MOTHAFUCKIN' PICTURE OF HER!!!!!

Just send it to me so I can heart eyes emoji all over that motherfucker and drool a little bit.

*quick update

She sent me the photo. For some reason, I thought it'd be more scandalous lol.

I find her extremely attractive. She's like a perfect mix of cool, sexy, and derpy.

Wednesday. September 13, 2017.

I'm sorry. I'm so selfish...

Saturday. September 16, 2017.

Arveen and Thai are going to Surf City tonight for the last night of it's opening.

I only want to go because of the small chance that I may see you after your baseball game, but I have a feeling he'll just give you a ride home or both of you will come down and I won't be able to talk to you.

I ended up going downtown to hang with the boys anyway. It's 12:23 AM and I am currently in an uber. I also have a double shift at work later today. Kill me.

I lowkey highkey hope I run into Jean downtown. That would be the best added bonus of my night.

Thursday. September 28, 2017.

I've actually been meaning to write for a while now. Things like, what I'm stressed about, how I feel physically and mentally, being sick and small anxiety moments, and feeling unfocused and unmotivated.

I'm not going to tell you I loaned Joe $160 so his wife could buy a nice dress and shoes for his sister's wedding on Friday.

I'm not going to tell you that I bike home with him because, timing wise, I missed the train and I had a lot of energy from winning those Vic Mensa tickets.

I'm not going to tell you I biked to our block because I honestly miss it. I miss Alfredo, I miss you, I miss being close by.

I'm not going to tell you that your latest Instagram post was super sweet, and that I feel some type of way.

I'm not going to tell you that I'm going to try hating you. It's probably for the best. I won't really text you for a while or maybe I'll be bland, and this should help. I lied. I probably will tell you this part, maybe, if it comes up; or I'll play it off and just keep saying "nothing's wrong", or "I'm fine". Which, technically, aren't lies, because I am fine, and nothing is wrong.

I'm happy for you, but I want to be truly happy for you. I want it to reach that point where we can hang out together with no problem or I can hang with you guys and me and Jose are actually friends, as much as you don't want that.

P.S.

I didn't meant to write this much.

Thursday. October 12, 2017.

I should've just stayed on the couch with her downstairs. The whole upstairs got me confused on what to do and I just can't fucking sleep. I mean I shouldn't do anything. Why am I so fucking weird? I don't fucking know.

Sunday. December 3, 2017.

I'm kinda sad

and I want a pizza.

I miss Jean.

I feel like I'm losing her

as a friend, again..

I know I'm not

a priority,

But I wish I was;

even a little.

1 note · View note

jumpydolly · 6 years

Text

Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen... (6)

Summary: Your favorite past times are bar hopping in search of different ways to get you drunk, nights with the lone wolf sheriff of Hawkins, Indiana, and becoming greatly awestruck over the powers of one mysterious little girl.

Jane has no idea what any of that means.

Or, in other words, a series of drabbles regarding you, the lovely Jane, and the less than lovely Jim Hopper.

Chapter Summary: Your whole world is turned upside down.

Chapter One: Honey, I’m Home!, Chapter Two: Relationship Advice 101, Chapter Three: You, the Enigma, Chapter Four: Best Kept Secret, Chapter Five: A Roll of the Dice

Chapter 6: The Strangest of Things

Ambivalent baby blues found a woman in their periphery, a blur of cement gray and burgundy interacting with the senses. The scent of lavender crawled up into the nostrils of the men standing centimeters apart from the source, those treading closest to the perfume intelligent enough not to indulge in it for too long. Quite a pleasant smell it was, except the flowery aura was mixed with condemning and aggravation that it no longer could bestow what mood-altering powers it was meant to offer. There was once a time where Jim Hopper relished in such a scent, finding pleasure in trailing his nose along your skin because the recipe born was intoxicating, damning, except never was there a time where negativity ruined it for him.

One glance beside his left shoulder caused his eyes to roll to the back of his head, his next course of action to show a touch of gratitude to the door at the end of the hallway for grappling at your attention. With your lips puckered, extending past your nose, whoever unlucky enough to brush past you was met with aggressive jostling that mirrored… a child, which was along the same caliber of your apparent immaturity. You trailed past him and the director too far for comfort despite Hopper having the ability to halt your movements by grasping at your elbow and changing his mind at a moment’s notice, and you commanded the party to move forward simply by the crossing of your arms. Your sight remained still and concentrated, arms pulling at the sleeves of your vintage, fading cardigan that no longer fit the description of such a vivid burgundy as if nothing else mattered but what would undoubtedly be an obstacle to a goal that seemed improbable.

What irritated the man was not just your childish behavior—now there was no escaping from that, as much as the tendencies vexed him—but your willingness to carry with this charade of silent treatment. A man who earned the respect to have a voice, he surely could not make use of it when he needed it the most; he left you lost in a world far from your own, shoving you off a cliff of the unknown where you were constantly descending without a reason as to why. All he asked of you was to remain still, to wait until he could find the most appropriate way to turn your world upside down and twist reality to where it was unrecognizable, and that was quite a difficult task considering he was all too aware your impatience near outmatched his. Apparently that wasn’t so because the inability to even spare a glance his way was the answer he didn’t want but was receiving from you anyway.

Doctor Owens’ adams apple bobbed considerably at your attitude. “What you’re going to see beyond those doors is something even we can’t explain.”

It was a sentence anyone would stop to hear more of, but not you. “Cool. I had a kid slam the door in my face with her mind… a kid whose life you stole, but hey, what do I know?” This was where you plunged the knife into your questionable lover, your harsh phrases etched into his skin. “I’m just a woman who has emotions and cares about other people.” That was when you twisted it… figuratively, although you couldn’t help but wonder if he would feel anything.

On the contrary, the man couldn’t help but wonder where exactly you got the balls to say such things, especially when he could see proof of your apprehension upon squinting and edging closer to you without your consent. Somehow a fraction of his brain; God only knew which one, for his times in biology were spent beneath bleachers where he could experience a personal taste on a woman’s sexual organs. You might have been a rarity, braces lined across your teeth with a mechanical smile that Hopper once detested, since the smartass in you never could find the bravery to miss material you knew was significant in life. As your pace grew, your fright of what might lie beyond those doors agonizing you and pulling at your thoughts, the man recalled of a past where rubber bands pulled your hair up into twin ponytails. A grin threatened to rise at the image: books pressed close against your chest and a frown upon your lips at such an unruly public school with the logo of a more prestigious school slapped on the collar of your old uniform. To shorten a long and tedious story, one built upon years of knowing you… twenty years did not change the fact that you still could be a bitch.

Sometimes, he thought it was entertaining. “Don’t bother. Years won’t change the fact that once she’s got her mind made up, she ain’t budging.”

“Right-O, Chief-O,” you praised, your hands wrapping around the handle of that cursed door before you reminded yourself, “O-Oh, right! Forgot I was mad at you.”

Before you could waste what little time you had left to reveal the extent of your anger after the mutter under Hopper’s breath, you chose to leave your energy to your forearm to crank the handle of a doorway to a world you could never describe. The creak of what followed caused the inhabitants of this space to spare a glance over their shoulder at the newcomer, all of them clad in lab coats far from what you wore when dissecting frogs in high school. Rearing your arm back, you were promptly aware of the purpose of the bolts lining the heavy steel, the gray paint contributing to a darkness inside that no one outside was to see. Your front teeth clamped on a lip growing weary of your assault, your eyes shuffling to the screens among the walls to the control panel in the center of a room safe from beyond… whatever was growing inside this laboratory.

“Ted, we got ourselves another visitor.” Doctor Sam Owens clapped your shoulder, a mistake easily repaired through your inability to breathe and dwell on his gesture. “Go easy on her, is all I’m saying.”

“I told you to call me Teddy,” said Ted, his annoyance masked by secrets and an unforgivable discovery, but Ted was simply noise that dug into your skull and embedded itself in a brain that neared shutting down.

Hopper followed your gaze to the translucent, encased glass, awaiting your reaction to what horrors you remained ignorant of until now. Your eyes fell to trail upon speckles of dust floating in a world that lived aimlessly, a space comprised of vines that rooted deep into your Earth and invaded without no one knowing. The ropes ridded with rust and poison wrapped themselves around what you would no longer recognize as a… computer room, cafeteria, you would never know. Your stare lingered on the way the tendrils would expand and shrink, crawling along whatever home they built for themselves, unable to find solace in what could have been a more attractive being to look at: Jim Hopper, for example. You would never forget the way the ominous, somber yellow caressed your cheeks, the baby pink brushing your cheekbones overshadowed by such an ugly color. Your palm would lay flat against the glass, all too aware of the chill that somehow existed beyond this existential expanse a part of you longed to explore. Yet, you would snatch that slim chance of you turning on your heels and running from it all… if only Hopper didn’t make it so slim.

“What… the fuck…”

“What the ‘F’ is right, Miss,” the Director of Operations chimed in, hands fishing into his pockets to search for how to explain it all, “Kids call it the Upside—”

“Ki-Kids?”

Yes, kids.

One of them happened to be your favorite brat and Eggo lover.

#stranger things #jim hopper x reader #stranger things imagine #jim hopper imagine #stranger things fanfiction #how to tag tbh

19 notes · View notes

xseildnasterces · 3 years

Text

power over me.

Okay. Buckle in. It's going to be a long one. Like, a really long one. I am finally beginning to feel some sort of normal after getting my second covid vaccine on Thursday. It’s been a rough few days. My body has just been completely exhausted, constantly aching and in pain and I’ve had zero energy to do anything. As with the first vaccine I never even felt it go in, and so as I was feeling pretty fine once it was done, I went straight to the office. I was lifting and moving boxes around and was having no issues at all. I got home and my arm was starting to ache, but just the normal kind of ache you get with any vaccine, so I assumed I wasn’t going to have the fly symptoms other people had had. But oh my, was I wrong. Later that evening my body just gave up. I was incredibly exhausted, my arm ached worse than any ache I’d ever had, but what’s more, I was also in a huge amount of pain. I could not move my arm even an inch without being in extreme pain – to the point of constantly saying ‘ouch’ out loud to myself. I tried to go to bed early but that didn’t work out. The pain was too much, and I couldn’t sleep at all. I was exhausted, but sleep would not come. I found myself wandering around the apartment in the early hours of the morning trying to cool down because I was burning up and felt like I had a fever. I curled up on the sofa for about an hour as it was cooler in there and eventually dragged myself back into bed at 5am for a few hours sleep before getting up for work. I did zero work all day. I had a morning call with J and C for which I stayed in bed. The call certainly cheered me up. I cannot express how happy those calls make me. I miss the two of them so much and cannot wait to head back to Frankfurt and see them at some point in the hopefully not to distant future. We just laugh so much about everything and I feel very lucky for the relationship I have with them both. I slept a lot of the day, or at least tried to, and lazed around trying to feel somewhat alive which I didn’t. I believe the state I was in was also due to the fact my allergies were awful the day of my vaccine, and I also started my period. Not the best combination. So yeah, I felt horrendous. Yesterday I started to feel a little better, but my body still wasn’t back to normal. I hope today it will be better.

Allergies: before moving to the US I had never had any issues whatsoever with seasonal allergies, yet since moving here I have apparently developed them. Some days I wake up with sore eyes, a running nose that also feels completely congested and just all round feeling a bit shit. I imagine it must be a different type of pollen here that bothers me which we don’t have or have as much of in Europe perhaps. I don’t know. I’m not an expert, but it certainly seems weird that I have developed hay fever since moving here. I spent most of last summer back in the UK so I wonder whether I just didn’t spend enough time here last year to experience the new allergies. This year however will be different, so I guess I better start taking that Claritin!

Periods: Oddly enough, after a few months of no periods whatsoever and starting to panic, things seem to have reached some form of normality. I say some form, as I also had a month when I had two periods within two weeks which really wasn’t great. Regardless, things seem somewhat normal for me anyway. Period pain and cramps seems to have gotten so much worse recently, but more on periods and that later. I have a new major love for period underwear. It’s genuinely one of my best ever purchases and I will never, ever go back to disposable period products. If you want to make your period more bearable, I would wholeheartedly recommend period underwear above anything else!

Work: I had my usual one-to-one meeting at work on Monday, and as always, I was filled with complete and utter anxiety. It was fine and nothing wrong whatsoever. In fact, I actually left feeling really positive which makes a change. I am trying hard to not get too excited or think too much of it as my boss can have one thought one day and say she never said it the following day, but regardless, we were talking about my current task. When I first started in my current job there was an absolutely huge backlog of requests for researchers. I’m talking, requests dating back to 2017, all of which needed to be reviewed, digitised, quality checked, second reviewed and pushed to the catalogue and sent out to researchers. My initial task was to eliminate the backlog. Things were going well, and then the pandemic hit and we had to work from home. Of course, my job is very hands-on. I need to have access to the records to do most of my tasks, and so the backlog got bigger and bigger. Once I was deemed ‘essential staff’, myself and my consultants working on the digitisation were able to go onsite to work on the reference requests. We have been chipping away for months and are making good progress. However, archival reference is not my thing. I do it because I have to, but my love for my job lies in archival processing… something that I was under the impression I was initially hired for. Archival processing and description is my jam! And I cannot wait to do it again. My boss mentioned in my meeting that she felt I was not able to use my skillsets well whilst working on reference and that she did not think I was working to my full ability. I 100% agreed. I could do my current task with my eyes shut. It’s not a challenge, and more than anything it’s a necessity rather than anything else… partly because there is only one of me. One archivist for a whole organisation. And a huge international organisation at that. She discussed with me that her plans were that once the backlog was under control (it will never be complete as requests are a continuous part of our job), I would be working on processing. That is what she wants me to do and it was never her plan for me to be solely on reference. This has purely happened due to my supervisor retiring and the inability of our upper management to hire anyone else in her place (the job advert hasn’t even been sent out yet – so who on earth knows when I will no longer be a lone ranger)… Regardless, I left the meeting feeling a little giddy and happy. Perhaps I won’t be finding myself leaving in October this year after all… but let’s not jump the gun just yet.

ICA – This week we had a three hour(!) meeting from 7am regarding the ICA, the NP programme and everything else related to the current goings-on of the organisation. It was a really great opportunity to sit in on a meeting of many important and influential people in the archive world, and I felt grateful to be there. The topic on the Congress was brought up, and we were told a final decision of whether it will go ahead in October would take place on Friday with the meeting of the ICA Executive Board. As of yet, we have not been informed of the outcome. I’m nervous, and I’m sad and frustrated. I feel like I already know the answer will be that it will either be going ahead virtually or not at all, and I’m just so sad that that will be the case. I have wanted to attend the congress/conference for as long as I can remember in terms of my archival education and career, and to be awarded the chance to go and then have it stripped away from me (or so it feels), because of a bloody pandemic is just infuriating. I understand that there are much worse things going on in the world and I am lucky to even have a job and live somewhere that has enabled me to get the vaccine before many others, but at the end of the day everything is relative and I think I am allowed to be upset and mad about what covid is taking away from me, regardless of this smaller scale. I worked hard for this, like really hard and it would have been a significant and landmark experience in my career.

Therapy – Solo therapy this week led me down a road I have very rarely opened up about to anyone. I guess I always felt that because I was never ‘officially’ diagnosed with an eating disorder, I shouldn’t really say that I have had one. However, as a child, I suffered from anorexia. Other than knowing that I wanted to be skinny and felt that I was fat, I have never delved deeper into why or what caused my eating disorder. I have always believed that part of it was due to being bullied, and the more I explored this with my therapist the more things started to become clearer. I think there were so many things that I got bullied for as a child, being skinny was something that I had control over if I didn’t eat – and that meant I couldn’t be bullied for being fat. It may sound silly for anyone reading this, but I was a child, under 11 and this is how I was thinking. It actually breaks my heart to think of a little girl feeling that way, and then I realise that that little girl is me. I always grew up with an unhealthy relationship with food, something that since moving abroad has changed greatly, and I would now say that my relationship with food is the best it has ever been. There are still ‘wobbles’ and I am still incredibly self-conscious about my weight and how I look. I step on the scales pretty much every day, and the moment I see a pound over what I am expecting I have a meltdown – regardless of whether this is water weight or I’ve just eaten a huge meal or I’m bloated from being on my period. Anyway, opening up and exploring that part of myself felt easier than it has previously, and I felt somewhat comfortable exploring it. The conversation also discussed my childhood in other ways, growing up ‘poor’, my mum learning to read and spell at the same time as I did, and my parents not being able to help me with my homework – regardless of how much they wanted to – because they physically couldn’t. We talked about my dad working in the local factory, and my mum working cleaning jobs and how this affected the way people treated me in school and looked down on me because of it. I expressed that growing up with no money made me strive to not find myself in that position. I do not believe my parent's situation was their fault. I know there is much that I will not discuss here their lives before me that led them to not have much money – the education system at the time being a large part of that, but regardless, none of the reasons that led to their lot in life was their fault. I knew from a young age that I would go to university. I remember being in primary school and telling my parents that I would, and I remember my mums face turning to panic as she told me she didn’t know how I would ever afford to go to university and that they did not have the money to help. At the time, we were not aware of student loans etc. but I knew so young that I was going to get a degree. Determination to succeed was rooted in me so young and my honest aim was not to be ‘rich’ but to be comfortable. To be able to live in a way that didn’t leave me counting the pennies or wondering whether I would be able to afford something or whether I needed to wait until the next paycheck. I wanted to be comfortable enough that I didn’t need to think before buying something (within reason), or that I didn’t need to save for months on end for something I wanted or needed (again, within reason. I am well aware that large ticket items e.g. a house, is not something I can buy overnight). Anyway, I’m on a random tangent here, so back to therapy. Group therapy this week was good, but I found myself going on a mass rant about women’s rights and the current situation in the UK. I think I went a little overboard, but I was so riled up and angry about it that I couldn’t stop. We were discussing seeing these things in the news and one of the people in our group discussed how they feel that there is nothing they can do to improve women’s place in the world and that they switch off and try not to watch too much media about it. This made me angry. I will preface this with

the person in question is male who I do not believe is inherently misogynistic in any way, but the fact he is male is key. I responded by saying don’t you think we could just switch off from me for a few days, weeks or months and not have to think about it? Don’t you think we wished that we didn’t have to think about it every single time we walk outside or it’s starting to go dark? I was really mad. I expressed that I was not mad at the guy that had said this, I was just angry at the issue. I expressed how this was such a HUGE issue for me personally and something that I feel super strongly about and this was probably why I was raging about it. Well, that and the fact it’s a prominent issue in UK media right now. One of our therapists said they thought the best way to push the discussion forward was to give examples of why we feel the way we do. This I found really annoying. I do not feel that I should have to justify why I feel the way I do about these things or why it makes me angry. I didn’t feel comfortable going into detail in a group setting about the sexual assaults that I have personally experienced and I felt that the other women in the group felt the same. My therapist gave an example of how she sometimes feels scared going to her car in a parking lot at night. Yes, I agree, I would feel the same, but regardless, I felt like they were asking us for more personal examples, and no one seemed happy to give them. After the session, I calmed down a bit and thought through everything I had said and felt during the meeting. I usually do this. I write down my thoughts so that I can explore them in my solo session next week. I assume the topic will come up again, so I guess we’ll see what happens.

OBGYN - This week I had my first OBGYN appointment here in the US. I felt nervous but also excited about it because I was hopeful that I could get some advice and at least someone who would listen to my worries and concerns. However, this is not exactly what I got. I was given the same as the doctor when I booked my appointment. I had specifically asked for a woman, and I looked her up the day before my appointment. I do believe that more often than not I am a good judge of character. I saw her picture and immediately felt negatively towards her. She just looked like someone that was going to be a bitch. She was late to my video appointment which already got my back up and she was immediately dismissive and gave the impression that she couldn’t be bothered. She firstly barked at me to provide her with a list of my illness and medication. I started with IBD, to which she replied, yep IBS. I said no, IBD. I said I have inflammatory bowel disease and she said irritable bowel syndrome. I said no, and she scoffed and said they are the same. If I didn’t have my back up before I certainly did now. One thing worse than having a chronic illness is someone telling you it’s the same as something that isn’t a chronic disease. I said no, I have Crohn's disease or ulcerative colitis, it has not yet been determined which. She then clicked on and said, oh! So yes, after her scoffing and laughing at me, she began to understand what I was saying. Next, she asked why I had made an appointment. I explained the appointment with my dermatologist, and she pulled a face and said she didn’t really understand why she had advised me to see an OBGYN. Of course, this just made me feel defeated already and I hadn’t even got onto explaining my thoughts and worries. She said she thought the only reason the derm had told me to see an OBGYN was to get put on birth control as it would also help with my skin. I told her I did not want to be on birth control. She asked what method of contraception I was taking. I REALLY wanted to say that I don’t sleep with men, but I felt so uncomfortable with her already that I just said I don’t have sex right now. Which wasn’t a lie in any terms anyway. She scoffed again and said, so your method of birth control is abstinence. I chose not to explore this further and just let her carry on. We went through some information on my periods, their length, regularity etc. etc. She agreed my periods were irregular… not something that I even needed confirming. I have been living with this for over ten years at this point. I wanted to explore fertility options for the future, just in case I ever decide to have children, but she was so dismissive and said that I shouldn’t begin to worry yet, but should make sure I consider my option of having children sooner rather than later. She made me feel uncomfortable. She didn’t make me feel that I could tell her that I was never going to get pregnant naturally, not because my body wouldn’t let me, but more importantly because I was never again going to have male/female sex. Anyway, the appointment didn’t go how I wanted, and I intend to book with another doctor later in the year to discuss the things that I want to discuss and to hopefully be taken more seriously. The one positive outcome from the appointment was that I am eligible for the HPV vaccine here and they recommend that you get it up until the age of 35. In the UK I was told it was pointless to get it after you have already had sex (with either gender), and you are only covered under the NHS to get it until some point in your 20s. Whatever it was I have now passed that age anyway, so I am open to getting it here. Give me all the vaccines. It’s a three dose-er, so considering my bodies reaction to the covid vaccine I will give it a bit of time to recover before booking my first appointment. Secondly, I have also been prescribed a medication to ‘kickstart’ a fake period should I not have one for three months or more. This made me feel happy as I had been told if my body does not shed its womb lining at least every three months I am

at an increased risk of cancer, so of course, being prescribed a medication to create a bleed, for this reason, is certainly positive. Finally, one part of the appointment that provided me with some concern is the mention of pelvic pain. The doctor said if I ever experience pelvic pain on either side, I must see a doctor right away as there is a high chance a cyst has developed, and I will need surgery… This filled me with great panic considering I have had enormous amounts of pelvic pain recently. I presumed and still believe it is related to my IBD, but regardless it’s something I need to keep track of and be more aware of. I didn’t mention it to the doctor which I now regret, but I just wanted to get off the call as quickly as possible. But yeah, it wasn’t as successful as I had hoped.

In other news, birthday gifts have started arriving from my family which is exciting. Each time something arrives I just think of how lucky I am to have people that are willing to pay the extortionate shipping costs to get things here, and for that, I am so very grateful.

Finally, I am well and truly OBSESSED with Line of Duty. I have been meaning to watch it for years as my mum always told me I would enjoy it and she is also obsessed with it. So, I finally started watching from series one a few days ago. I’m not about halfway through season four and loving every single minute of it. IT’S JUST SO GOOD. I also may have an ever so slight crush on Vicky McClure. Not that that is anything new. Lol in This Is England anyone?

[Blog title: Power Over Me - Dermot Kennedy].

#Dermot Kennedy #power over me #life #personal #diary #journal #write #writing #thoughts #thought #feeling #feelings #me #memory #memories #vicky mcclure #health #drs #medical #periods #women

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blackwolfzbane · 6 years

Text

Come Home

Summary: Famous inventor and heir to Berk Enterprises, Hiccup Haddock III has become somewhat of a well-known name across Europe. And thanks to an interview with the popular magazine The Archipelago, fans have begun to wonder about the private life of Europe’s most avid inventor. Does he have any hobbies besides inventing? Has he always wanted to take over his father’s company? Does he have a significant other? Is he gay? Straight? Bi? What better way to answer these questions than in yet another interview, but live and hosted by the one and only Anna Wynters on her talk show?

He should have never agreed to that damn interview with The Archipelago in the first place. It was a courtesy and a compromise between his father and him when he agreed to it anyway, so why did it have to be such a hit? Couldn’t his new model to aid handicapped animals be the thing that suddenly caught the public’s eye rather than his mysterious, unknown background with the affairs of society?

Looking back on the interview, Hiccup regrets not stopping the interviewer, a woman who went by M.K., at the more personal questions. For nineteen years, the latest magazines and the paparazzi never saw any sign or sighting of Hiccup to prove he wasn’t dead. Stoick Haddock, the head of Berk Enterprises and a man who was and is still very used to the demands in the world of cameras and interviews, didn’t want his son to be exposed to that life so early especially after an incident that involved Hiccup and a misplaced bag. So, when Hiccup showed up to the interview instead of Stoick for The Archipelago magazine, questions were thrown at him that were so random and rather personal that Hiccup honestly couldn’t process fast enough.

And for once, he was glad Gobber had shown up right on time in the family car to pick him up from something.

“Hiccup?”

His head snaps up from where he sits at his desk, in his room of the Haddock home. From where he sits at his desk that faces a serene view of the untouched forest through tall windows, Hiccup turns to his left and is met with the slouched figure of the one and only Jackson Overland. His best friend is slumped against the door frame sporting his signature blue and white frosted hoodie, black jeans and combat boots. He raises his hand to pull back the hood of his sweatshirt to reveal his strange, white head of hair.

“What is it now, Jack? I have to leave for this stupid interview soon.” Hiccup grouses as he turns back to his computer where his is working out possible hindrances on a digital, 3D model of the latest prosthetic he’s designed.

“Relax, man, I’m here for… we’ll call it moral support.” Jack offers as he makes his way over to Hiccup’s side.

Hiccup scoffs at him. “‘Moral support’? Is that what they’re calling an excuse to go see one’s girlfriend now? Besides, you work there.”

He listens for an answer as Jack let’s out a chuckle as he crosses the room to stand before Hiccup. “That’s what I’m calling it. But in all seriousness, I am going for your sake. Elsa’s letting me work today and it gave Andy an extra say off, so what’s he gonna complain about?” Insists Jack before adding, “Seeing her is just the up side to this whole trip.”

Rolling his eye in response, Hiccup smirks a bit. “You also just like hitching rides with Gobber because you know damn well that he doesn’t give a shit if you tag along and we’ll end up going Thor knows where afterwards.” He turns to face Jack in the swiveling desk chair.

With his hands held up in mock surrender, Jack lets out yet another chuckle. “Also guilty for that. But come on, Hiccup, admit it. You’re completely relieved that I’m going with you to this dumb interview that we both know all too well you’re going to hate.”

As much as Hiccup doesn’t want to admit it right now, Jack has a point. Though he loathes the idea of heading over to Arendelle Studios, it probably won’t be too unbearable with at least one person to express his annoyance and disdain with.

Just as Hiccup is about to retort with one of his witty comebacks, the door swings open with a loud bang. In hobbles Gobber Belch, lovely name yeah? But Hiccup doesn’t really have much to say about Gobber’s name, instead he sympathizes with him when it comes to the names that they have been given. Because, unfortunately for him, 'Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III’ is his legal name. Do you know how much teasing he received in school for his damn name? It’s not like he had a say in it!

“Hiccup, it’s time ta head out now.” Gobber announces in his loud and heavily accented voice. “Oh, hullo there, Jack. I s'ppose you’ll be joinin’ Hiccup at Arendelle Studios?”

Jack nods his head just as Hiccup teasingly mutters 'unfortunately’ under his breath at the same time he closes his laptop.

“Sorry, didn’t hear that, Haddock? What did you say about your dear best friend?” Jack asks feigning an innocent tone as he bends over at the waist, his eyes right at the same level as Hiccup’s.

“Nothing at all.” Hiccup shrugs nonchalantly as he stands to his feet and walks over to his closet to grab a coat from his closet to pull on over his grey dress shirt and black vest.

“Well you sure know how to clean up yourself.” Jack jokes as Hiccup emerges from the closet.

“Shut the hell up,” Hiccup mumbles as he pushes past Jack to grab his phone off his desk before joining Gobber at the door with Jack just steps behind him.

He leads the other two through the familiar, tall, white and maroon decorated hallways and down the marble steps. Then he takes a left at the end of the staircase and heads towards the garage filled with cars and gets into the car that has been 'Gobber’s’ for the last fifteen years.

Once Gobber himself and Jack are seated in the car, his guardian revs the car to life and the three of them settle into comfortable silence. After the garage door lifts up and the car rolls out of its place among the others, Hiccup is soon met with the lush, green space that surrounds the Haddock’s luxurious mansion. As he watches the familiar green space fly by in a blur, he sighs. He would much rather spend his time with Toothless, his black german shepherd, in the woods rather than in a studio with overbearingly bright, florescent lighting and the stench of terrible coffee.

Suddenly, it hits him that the car is far too quiet for one that contains the infamous chatterbox that is Jack Overland. He glances over to his counterpart who is slumped against the car door, hood pulled up over his head, and phone in hand with is eyes glued to the screen.

Hiccup’s watch as the forest soon turned into tall, city buildings. For the next twenty minutes, the trio drive in silence, and the only one who apparently thought it was a little odd was himself. But he doesn’t bother saying anything about it. Maybe it’s just the anxiety from the interview that he’s about to do is playing weird mind tricks on him.

“Hiccup!”

Gobber’s voice snaps him awake suddenly from his short nap and he can hear Jack sniggering from beside him.

“We’re here.” His driver announces.

Hiccup nods his head and glares at a still sniggering Jack before opening the car door and climbing out with Jack in tow. He whips out his phone to check and see if he’s missed anything important, however, the only notification on his screen is a single snapchat from the one and only Jack. He quirks an eyebrow at the screen as security allows him and his suddenly chatty friend through the door and escort them to the proper level of Arendelle Studios. As soon as he taps the chat, he is met with his own slumbering face, mouth open, with little snores being let out every once in a while. 'Pre-interview napping by the heir to Berk Enterprises…what a successor’ the text reads.

Narrowed eyes fixate themselves on a certain snowy-haired friend of his. “What the fuck is this?” Hiccup demands as Jack bursts out into laughter.

“I just couldn’t not take the chance, Hiccup. You practically asked for it when you fell asleep beside me!”

Hiccup whacks Jack on the back of the head before shoving the phone back in his pocket and rolling his eyes. “Why did I let you tag along again? Also, what kind of moral support is this?”

“The frosty kind.” Jack shrugs as they near the correct stage.

“I’m laughing so hard I can’t show it through the annoyance written all over my face.” Hiccup deadpans which only sends Jack into another fit of laughter.

“Hello, Mister Haddock!” A cheery voice greets.

Pulling his attention away from Jack, Hiccup focuses on the woman standing before him who can’t be any older than his own twenty years of age. Her hair is a soft orange-red that has been knotted and piled neatly on top of her head. She has bright, teal eyes that stand out greatly against her fair skin and a few freckles dust along the tops of her cheeks as well as under her eyes. She’s about a head and a few inches shorter than his one hundred and eighty-five centimeter frame, but she must be even shorter than that considering she is wearing heels.

Hiccup clears his throat a little before offering her a small smile. “Hello, Miss Wynters. Thank you for having me today.” He hopes his tone doesn’t make him sound too rehearsed.

“I should be thanking you, Mister Haddock. It means a lot to me that you accepted my invitation to agree to be interviewed.” Anna replies still smiling widely.

“Hey, Anna,” Jack greets casually from Hiccup’s side.

She turns her attention to Jack and smiles up at him as well. “Hi, Jack. Elsa will be down in a bit. She said to tell you not to get into too much trouble while she’s not here.”

Jack dramatically clutches his chest where his heart rests. “You mean to tell me that she still doesn’t trust me? After being my girlfriend for five months, she still doesn’t trust me around one of the stages in her studio?”

Anna rolls her eye playfully and shakes her head. “Yes, and I can understand why.” She laughs a little before turning her attention back to Hiccup. “We’ll be on in ten, okay? I know it’s sudden since you just got here and all, but I just thought that since I asked so quickly, you’d like to get out of here as soon as possible.”

Hell yeah I would. He thinks to himself, but, of course, he doesn’t voice that thought. “No, no, take all the time you need, Miss Wynters, I did, in fact, agree to spend time on your show.” He finishes awkwardly. Besides, it’s not like I have much planned afterwards. Though he may detest the idea of being there at all, he might as well spend an hour doing someone else some good.

“Yes, but I believe we have chosen a fantastic gift to present you with when we’re nearing the end of the show. Oh, and please, call me 'Anna’. I think we’re past former names for each other.” Anna says before she tells him that she’ll see him soon and thanks him one time.

The guest who agree to appear on Anna’s talk show always receive a gift at the end of the show to show how appreciative the hostess is that they took the time to stop by and chat. Gifts have ranged from a free dinner at some hoity-toity restaurant and an all-expense paid weekend getaway to some hotel by the see or on a tropical island. But somehow, Hiccup forgot about that little tidbit. He didn’t accept the interview because of the possible prize that he may obtain out of it; he accepted the invitation out courtesy and a desire to fulfill one of the Wynters sister’s wishes. In the past, the Haddocks and the Wynters have had a good relationship with one another, even going so far as to collaborate business with each other from time to time.

Before he knows it, ten minutes is up and he hasn’t even moved from the spot he stood in from the moment Anna stopped to greet him and Jack.

A stage hand was soon showing him to way to the seat across from where Anna sat and as he glances over the stage from this new perspective, he can see the audience’s seats as well as a window high on the wall where the lights and the screens are controlled. There in the box, sits Jack who gives him a thumbs up and a smirk before being accompanied by the oldest Wynters sister, Elsa. All Hiccup has to say is that Jack got lucky that Elsa came around about the twenty-fourth time Jack asked her out in some kind of insane or goofy way. With platinum blonde hair, eyes as blue as the northern lights, and skin so light it could be snow, Elsa Wynters is a beautiful girl that Jack was lucky enough to annoy to the point of her saying 'yes’ to a date just to get him to stop all the grand gestures.

“We’re live in two minutes!” Hiccup hears someone announce.

After a deep breath, Hiccup shrugs his coat off, gives it to one of the crew members, who in exchange for his coat attaches a microphone to the collar of his shirt, before Hiccup shoves his hands into his pocket while the other goes to rub the back of his neck anxiously. Soon, Anna is standing behind him as she prepares herself and attempts to soothe his nerves that he is so desperately trying to hide.

“You’ll do just fine. I promise the questions aren’t too intense.” Anna guarantees him as the audience files in from the three double doors. “I know it’s a lot to look at with the live audience, the bright lights, and all, but you can do it! Besides, if you need a laugh, just look up at my sister’s goofball of a boyfriend and he’ll set you back on track.”

Hiccup offers her a curt nod and a muttered 'thanks’ before she takes her place in her chair on stage as he silently asks Thor why he agreed to this again.

“And we’re on in three two…”

The intro music to the show blares out the speakers placed throughout the room and Anna welcomes the audience as well as the viewers at him while Hiccup does his best to look like he’s not about to have an anxiety attack.

“Tonight, we have a very special guest, who’s been off the radar for the last few years. Please give Hiccup Haddock a warm welcome to his first live interview on TV.” Anna encourages as Hiccup makes his way out from behind the curtain and to the white and golden accented couch.

“Hello, Hiccup, and welcome to Melting Wynter’s Ice. I’m so glad you could make it!” She says as she smiles brightly at him.

He returns the smile as he sits down and attempts to get comfortable. “Thanks for asking me, Anna.”

The audience claps for him as he offers them another smile and a shy, awkward wave which gets the girls going and results in some swooning in the crowd.

And now I’m even more out of my comfort zone. Fantastic. He thinks sarcastically to himself.

“So, Hiccup, it’s been a while since the media has heard anything about Berk Enterprise’s heir, and if it’s okay with you, we’d like to know why that is.” Anna says from a white chair lined in gold like the couch he sits upon.

Hiccup chuckles awkwardly before shrugging his shoulders a little. “Well, I-I mean, after an accident with my five year old self and a misplaced bag.”

The crowd give a short chuckle, so he takes this as a que to continue.

“Five year old Hiccup was a weird kid, okay? That’s, I guess, the first thing you gotta understand.” Hiccup starts. “He would go hunting for trolls in his back yard when his left socks were missing. Which, mind you, he wouldn’t have done if Uncle Gobber hadn’t told him that trolls are, in fact, real and that when little boys upset them by taking their rocks from the creek, they take their left sock.” Hiccup stops for a second as the crowd laughs and giggles at his five year old self. “I think that was just Gobber’s way of trying to convince a five year old that bringing moss-covered rocks into the house wasn’t the best idea. Five-year-old Hiccup also loved the idea of finding new fantasy inspired worlds through the woods and I, personally, blame it on the movies Bridge to Terabithia and Mary Poppins. Oh, and the Harry Potter and Narnia books. So, you can imagine what a five year old thought at a gala that was very, very boring to him when he saw a large, fluorescent patterned bag sitting by a staircase. Now, I’m still a talking fishbone, but back then I was even smaller. So, I get this grand idea to climb into this purse that resembles Mary Poppins’ and possibly get transported into Narnia or something.”

Anna, along with the audience is openly laughing at the story of five-year-old Hiccup and he hopes that he can keep this up for the rest of the hour.

“This bag, by the way, is just big enough and five-year-old me is just small enough so that if I were to lay down and curl up into the fetal position in this bag, I could easily not be seen. So that’s what I did. And, you can imagine what happens next.” Hiccup says as he rubs the back of his neck again. “Yeah, I fell asleep in this random purse for like two hours or something. So you can imagine the shock and horror the woman was in she found some weird, super skinny kid curled up in the fetal position in her purse for absolutely no reason. After that, dad decided it was probably best if I was kept under the radar, which I was alright with honestly.”

There’s not one person who’s not laughing in the studio. And once Anna has calmed down enough to speak again the audience is ready for more.

“Oh my gosh, Hiccup. That’s insane!” Anna chuckles a little. “You’re what like, what, a hundred and seventy-eight centimeters tall?”

“A hundred and eighty-five, yeah, sure.”

“You had to have had some kind of growth spurt right?” She jokes.

He laughs along a little and shrugs his shoulders again. “Around my fifth year, I had a weird growth spurt which didn’t help my awkwardness or my inability to control my oddly long arms and legs. I’m pretty sure I grew eighteen or twenty centimeters or something like that.”

“So did you have any hobbies back then that you still like to do today?”

“I like to hang out with my german shepherd, Toothless. He’s my best friend and the reason I even began to work on designs to aid handicapped animals of all kinds. He’s what started it all.” Hiccup explains. “See, when I found Toothless abandoned on the side of the road and hurt, I refused to leave him to suffer. I got my cousin, Scott or as I call him 'Lout’, to help me get him in the back of the car before driving straight to the nearest vet and getting him patched up best as possible. Later, we realized, his back left leg was infected and he’d die if he didn’t get rid of it.”

Sounds of sympathy washed over the crowd.

“That’s amazing that your dog is such an inspiration to you. Not many people are inspired by something so negative that turned into something positive.” Anna commends. “So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to change the topic to something a little lighter.”

“Go ahead, I’m ready when you are.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I thought I read something about you being in an ice hockey club, and being quite spectacular as well. When you were in school, did you, in fact, participate in the ice hockey club?” Anna asks curiously.

Slowly, Hiccup nods his head. “Yes, I was in an ice hockey club during the majority of my years of secondary schooling.”

“Where the rumors right about you being great enough to play professionally someday?”

A blush blooms on Hiccup’s cheeks and spreads down his neck as he runs a hand through his hair and with the same hand, he rubs the back of his neck yet again. “I guess I was good enough.” He relents, embarrassed. “But, obviously, it wasn’t meant to be.”

“Oh,” Anna breathes and he can tell that she’s feeling bad for bringing up the subject.

“Besides, originally, I didn’t want to be a professional ice hockey player. That was just something I did to help get me into shape to join the army.” Hiccup reveals as he makes it a goal to avoid eye contact with everyone in the room.

“The army?” Anna questions.

He nods his head sheepishly. “Yeah, the army. See, a year into my secondary schooling, my friends and I all agreed that we wanted to serve. It wasn’t a sudden or abrupt decision, obviously. Some of us wanted to serve from a very young age, and others decided to join over time. Just, some of us didn’t get to.”

“These friends of yours, are you still close?”

Hiccup chuckles a little as he pictures their faces vividly before him as if they were sitting there with him right now. “Of course. I’ve never been so excited to get mail in my entire life.” He jokes lightly.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why can’t you?” Anna asks, treading lightly.

For a moment Hiccup is silent to gather his thoughts before sitting up a little straighter. “The reason I don’t – can’t – play hockey anymore is the same reason I can’t join my friends in the military. I was out in the woods with Toothless trying to get him used to his new prosthetic. He was doing far better than I thought he would so I kept getting him to run and maybe jump a little every so often. It got dark and I lost track of time. We were pretty deep in the woods and I hadn’t brought a light with me or anything so I was heading back to the house on pure instinct. I fell into a ditch, skinned myself up pretty bad, broke my left foot, and even managed a huge gash at the ankle. Toothless, thankfully, cried loud enough for Gobber and my father to hear. But when they found me, I was in so much pain I don’t remember much of what happened. Like my own dog, my leg was infected and if it didn’t come then…”

Silence washes over the room and even a few tears were silently shed.

“So yeah,” Hiccup mumbles awkwardly. “I, uh, don’t have a left leg.”

More silence.

Finally, Anna breaks the lack of noise. “I’m so sorry, Hiccup. It must have been so hard to let your dream go.”

“Yeah,” He mutters. “It was.”

“Why don’t you tell us about your friends?” Anna inquires.

Offering her a small smile, Hiccup nods his head. “Well, Lout was definitely one that took time to realize what he wanted to do. He’s stubborn and doesn’t like to admit he’s wrong so you can imagine the conversation that took place when the twins brought up the idea and he wasn’t too keen on it. But, I think he made the right decision. It’s been good for him. The twins, Taylor and Rebelle Thorston took time as well, but they took less time. They’ve always been a bit too reckless and like Lout, I believe that it’s been good for them. Finn Ingerman wanted to do something with intelligence, but he decided that in the end, the military just wasn’t for him. However, for his girlfriend, Heather Osvald, it gave her purpose. All her life, she’s been a survivor, and being out there, doing something that she’s all too familiar with but having a purpose while doing the one thing she’s always known is relieving for her.”

“You speak very passionately about your friends, but her specifically very strongly. Tell us, Hiccup, do you have to disappoint all the lovely ladies in audience by confirming that you do indeed have feelings for Miss Osvald despite her involvement with another?”

Hiccup’s eyes widen. “No. Not at all. We’re closer to brother and sister.”

“Well, since we are on the topic, if you don’t mind too much, can we have the privilege of knowing whether or not you have that special person?” Anna asks dramatically.

Another blush darkens his cheeks and neck as his hand repeats its nervous habit once more. Instead of speaking, he simply nods and the crowd 'oh’s and 'ah’s.

“Can you give us a name? Gender?”

Silence engulfs the room again and Hiccup’s blush apparently refuses to fade. When he opens his mouth to speak, he only hopes his voice doesn’t waver or come out as a stutter. “Astrid Hofferson.”

“Astrid Hofferson.” Anna repeats.

“Astrid was born to be in combat. She’s fiercely loyal and she’s resourceful and insanely determined.” Hiccup claims. “If anyone was meant to be out there, it’s her. I’ve never known anyone more passionate than her about being a soldier. And she doesn’t want to be a soldier for honor or personal glory, she wants to be a soldier because she’s dreamed about it her whole life. The other soldiers in her unit have given her a nickname: Fearless Astrid Hofferson. And that’s what I love about her. She’s not like anyone I’ve ever met and for some insane reason, she hasn’t realized what a total fishbone I really am.” He jokes. “But, of course, I miss her when she’s away like any normal person.”

“How long until she gets back?” Anna asks with a sympathetic smile on her lips.

“About two months. But if I’m lucky she’ll be back sooner.” Hiccup says as her runs a hand through his hair.

“What would you say to her if she had the opportunity to watch this live stream?”

“I’d tell her Stormfly, that’s her weimaraner, misses her, that I love her and miss her. I’d tell her that her house plants are dying but it’s not my fault and that I miss her scent and her laugh. I’d tell her than when she gets home, it’ll be falling in love with her all over again as soon as I see her in front of me and know it’s not a dream or some trick Jack could play on me.”

“Then I can assure you that this is not a trick Jack is playing on you.”

He freezes, but soon he’s on his feet in the blink of an eye and when he turns to see where that all too familiar voice is coming from, he almost can’t believe the sight before his eyes.

Only meters away, clad in her green uniform and combat boots, stands the very person he has not seen in the last eight months. And as soon as he lays eyes upon her he knew he was right about what he said earlier. At the sight of her, he feels as if he’s fallen in love with her all over again. Her eyes are just as blue as he remembers, but her hair seems to be longer, still braided none the less though. He doesn’t know how long he stands there staring at her with his mouth open in shock, but he doesn’t care when he just barely whispers her name and she meets him half way across the stage.

As soon as she’s in his arms, he breathes in her scent and he knows this is the smell of home. Astrid is home. His home.

Her vice-like grip around his waist doesn’t bother him in the slightest. As long as she’s here where he can see her face to face and hold her just like this, he’d say yes to another interview and another.

Hiccup feels her hands move higher so that now they rest behind his neck as she beckons him down for a kiss that they so desperately desire from each other.

“Hey, Hiccstrid.” Comes the familiar voice of his cousin.

Hiccup and Astrid break apart reluctantly and turn to face the direction from which Astrid came. Standing in the same uniform and combat boots, are the friends he me missed so much over the course of eight months.

“Now, I don’t want a kiss or anything like that, but-” Taylor, the male twin says.

“Buy we’d at least like a hug.” Rebelle finishes.

While everyone surrounded Hiccup as they became reunited with each other, Astrid made eye contact with Anna, first and then Jack and Elsa up in the control panel.

She mouths 'thank you’ to all three and offers them a smile as they give her one in return.

“And there you have it, everyone. Hiccup’s gift as a 'thank you’ for stopping by and chatting for the first time. Thanks for watching, and I hope you’ll tune in next week on Melting Wynters Ice.”

AN: I really hope you all enjoyed this one shot! Let me know what you think and if you want, follow me on tumblr blackwolfzbane! Feedback is greatly appreciated.

read here on fanfiction.net and ao3:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12780923/1/Come-Home

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214700

#hiccstrid #hiccstrid fanfiction #hiccup horrendous haddock iii #astrid hofferson #how to train your dragon #how to train your dragon fanfiction #blackwolfzbane

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fapangel · 7 years

Note

November Fourth. Antifa and BLM take up arms. The problem is too massive for even the FBI to handle, and several states descend into civil war (coastal Cali, cities of Chicago and Detroit, etc.). Geopolitical response?

Antifa and BLM combined might manage to take over a single apartment block. The Illinois Nazis can barely muster enough people to occupy a single fucking gazebo. What worries me with things like “CalExit” and such aren’t the relative handful of thugs - the FBI has taken down cartels with more hardware, willpower and killers then they have combined, after all - but rather the cultural forces that allowed them to rise. The thing that really caught my attention during the last brouhaha in Berkeley was the “normal people” in the crowd shouting “thank you!” at the antifa thugs, as claimed by the left-wing’s own propaganda outlets. (Source from a distinctly different viewpoint saying the same thing.) And we cannot dismiss the significance of California’s legislature’s “resistance,” which has signed a unilateral treaty with a foreign state, (a direct violation of the Constitution,) has passed multiple “travel bans” in an attempt to punish select other US states who’s policies they dislike, and have openly flaunted Federal immigration law by making it illegal for local law enforcement - state-wide - to even co-operate with Federal authorities in certain ways.

California is acting like they’re an independent state, to be blunt - and I’ve heard more than a little arrogance coming from Californians. They’re the “sixth largest economy in the world all on their own,” and even their state legislators have been arguing that they pay more into Federal coffers via taxes than they get back, so if they did go their own way, they’d be just fine.

There’s rural areas in California, yes - but the laws of the state are completely dictated by the far-left-wing urban centers - and the differences between these areas couldn’t be starker. Just ask anyone who’s actually went to California and compared/contrasted the fabulously wealthy urban centers, with their thriving tech and entertainment industries, and the rural areas, where people are struggling to make ends meet. Or consider this article. Or this piece, run by fucking NEWSWEEK, of all places! Or this article, that describes how the urban/rural inequality divide is nowhere worse than in California. Or consider how rural California is plagued by lawlessness and criminal activity so unchecked that most rural Californians can’t trust their own mailbox anymore, and must pick up correspondence at the Post Office directly, and vast volumes of trash are dumped on their property daily, with the authorities unwilling - or unable - to stop it. People in rural California are either fleeing to the coast - and if they can’t afford that, as many cannot, they flee East.

This isn’t an isolated example - it’s happening all across the country, and it’s getting worse, as this Stanford study shows. Our ideological and class divides are driving geographic divides; a closed feedback loop that is widening the gulf between one half of the nation and the other. This is a large source of the “smug liberal” phenomena; there’s an America that’s wealthy, deeply involved with a thriving and growing information economy that can afford to pour millions of dollars into kickstarting fucking Wi-Fi enabled juicers, and utterly confident about their future. Politics to them aren’t a matter of life-and-death, of immediate employment opportunities, or something that will significantly determine their future prospects. Politics to them is a social affair, a clique, an in-club, an opportunity to showcase their moral superiority in much the same way the rural South’s elite social circles revolved around church-related events and showcasing their superior piety. Is it any wonder then that they regard the rural people, who’s troubles are alien and opaque to them, with sneering mocking disdain at best, and outright, frothing hatred at worst?

Read those last two articles I linked. I mean it. Read those, and then look me in the eye and tell me there isn’t a civil war brewing in this country.

And know that I’m not beating up on the clannish mean lefties and ignoring the right-wing’s equally rigid hatred of the “city dwellers.” As the New Yorker’s review of “Hillbilly Elegy” points out, this is a chicken-and-egg problem:

It’s one thing to criticize a culture. It’s another to see that the culture being criticized is formed partly in response to other cultures, and that those cultures are, in turn, worth criticizing. This is why explaining human behavior is so difficult: the buck never stops. The explanations don’t come to an obvious, final resting place.

There’s blame enough to go around, for sure. I beat up on the left wing because they currently control the broadcast media, the print media, the vast majority of the information/tech industry (silicon valley, for instance,) and Hollywood - in addition to the major urban centers, which often dictate the politics of an entire state that’s overwhelmingly rural outside of the suburban sprawl (witness Chicago, Illinois, and Detroit, Michigan.) California exemplifies this effect due to its sheer size, and that’s why we’re seeing things coming unglued there, first.

The people with the power to influence our opinion and thought en-masse, the people with deep pocketbooks for political fundraising and the people in charge of the most important sector of the American economy are telling rural/conservative dwellers to go to hell, and to take their concerns and complaints with them.

Antifa and the Illinois nazis are just the beginning - the symptom, not the disease. And because of that, they’re only going to persist, and the problem’s only going to get worse. Some nations see low-level, constant violence for years or even decades before things really erupt - but the drawn-out smoldering claims plenty of lives before then, and is not easily extinguished. The seeds of the American Civil War were visible at the nation’s founding over a hundred years prior, with that silly “3/5ths of a person” thing - representing the South’s fears of total political disenfranchisement that would be realized when Lincoln (an abolitionist) was elected without bothering to get on the ballot in a single southern state. It wasn’t oppression or abuse that drove the Revolutionary War, remember - it was disenfranchisement. No taxation without representation.

Now we have a situation where rural conservatives are being disenfranchised and suffering, materially and greatly and for the second or third generation in most places. And the backlash has been a long time coming -the Tea Party was the first rumbling, and Trump is just the first significant salvo. Not for nothing does he leap feet-first into stuff like the NFL protests - as a commentator on Twitter put it, Trump is providing “culture-war covering fire.”

That’s where we’re at - not political strife, but cultural war. We are, in every way you care to name, a nation divided - and while the people predicting the Third Coming of Xenu, riding the dark moon Nibiru literally next Wednesday are the same chemtrail-cataloging kooks they’ve always been, it doesn’t mean that any discussion of this national malaise on sub-decade timescales is foolish. It’s one thing to observe that this divide is extant, steep, and growing - but it’s quite another to see a GQ.com article calling you and everyone you know, live and work with a fucking evil racist who doesn’t deserve a voice in the nation they live in. When a Presidential election can trigger over a week of constant street protests, demonstrations and riots, America looks less like America and more like those third-world countries we see on TV where every election is occasioned with screaming mobs in the streets that seem to have more say on the actual results of the election than the votes do.

It’s not going to happen tomorrow. We have “time.” But when you consider how steep the divide is, how relentless the momentum, and the speed with which things are deteriorating, you’d be foolish not to be scared.

All in all, I doubt it can be stopped at this point. The forces in play are too vast for any dialogue to really penetrate - Scott Adams was absolutely correct when he said we’re living in two complete realities, closed-loops with their own vast contexts and truths, and never the twain shall meet.

But until the eleventh hour, all we can really do is try.

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takerfoxx · 7 years

Text

Another day, another Subconscious preview, and I am blazing through this book! Like, I thought I was going to have to fight through tremendous writer’s block due to switching gears into new characters, but nope! Looks like all those years of preparation are paying off!

It was somewhat interesting, as Sir Mane reflected as he settled into luxurious chair in his private box at the Ava Adore Theater, how wars are named.

Certainly there seemed to be little rhyme or reason. Some, especially single battles, took their name from the place whose soil soaked up the blood. Others from the date in which they happened. Still others got their titles from what was accomplished, such as the Tyrannical War or the War of Jewels. Whatever the case, there just seemed to be little consistency between them.

Take the two most significant wars in Nightmare history. The Nightmare War, in which Thelonious the Silent decided that he was no longer content with ruling over a full fourth of Nod and tried to take the whole pie, was named, of course, after the people who started it, who fired the first shot, who were the most central players in the whole dismal, bloody affair. And ultimately, they were the ones who lost, losing their Progenitor in the process with no heir to take up the mantle of Monarch. The interesting thing to note was that at the time, it wasn't known as the Nightmare War. After all, the Nightmares weren't even called the Nightmares back then, as the one who would provide the name hadn't even been born yet. From all accounts, it was known as the Screaming War while it was still in progress, with the rename occurring much later, starting off as a nickname that eventually took hold and became official in the history books.

On the other hand, despite its similarities, the Marauder War took a different road. Like its elder brother, the Marauder War had been started by the Nightmares. They had been the aggressors, the instigators, the ones who bore the responsibility. As was the case with the Nightmare War, they had done so out of greed, seeking to steal something that they had no right to. In both cases, they had been wholly unprepared for their enemies' response, leaving them a broken and bewildered people, with less standing than they had begun with. And finally, though the Nightmares had taken the brunt of the damage, the end results had still sent shockwaves throughout Nod, forever changing its destiny.

The difference was that the Nightmare War had been named after the losers, as an eternal reminder of their greed and stupidity. On the other hand, the Marauder War was named after the victors. Before they had brought the Nightmares to heel and forced their surrender, the Marauders had been seen as little more than pests, nuisances that bore watching but had little to do with Nod's affairs. So long as they remained in their world, they weren't worth the effort to bother with. Funny how things changed.

Another difference was how much time had elapsed. The Marauder War had only taken place a scarce seventy-four years ago, and many still lived that remembered it. It was recent enough to pervade public consciousness, and was a sore enough subject in many circles that joking about it was considered poor taste.

Naturally, the only thing to do then was to produce a rock opera about it.

The Table and the Tunnel was certainly a controversial production. It retold the events that had led up to the Marauder War and the circumstances of its ending in broad strokes. The personalities of its players were exaggerated, their motivations twisted and several key moments ignored while others warped. To this the producers were unapologetic, citing artistic license. "An entertaining production is more important than historical accuracy!" claimed its writer. To this, critics had been unimpressed, as it was exceedingly clear that the goal of the play was to rewrite history, demonizing one side while propping up the other as misunderstood heroes. The agenda was as clear as day, and the producers' stalwart refusal to admit as such had earned them some very vocal opponents. Protestors were common sights at performances.

Of course, all of this combined with the attractiveness and charisma of its leads and an undeniably catchy soundtrack meant that it was a smash hit. The price of a ticket was obscene and often sold out well in advance. And as one of its principal bankrollers, Sir Mane had profited greatly from its success.

However, money was not the reason he had personally invested in its production. He had more than enough already. No, his reasons were much more personal, and the play's success was satisfying to him on a deeply intimate level. He would have ensured its production even if not a single ticket were ever sold. And he had already seen it three times.

The lights dimmed, and the babble of voices in the audience below, the overwhelming majority of them Nightmares, died down to be replaced with loud cheers and whistles. Smirking, Sir Mane settled down to enjoy the show.

But as the opening chords of the rock ballad The World Beneath began, he became aware that the door to his private box was opening behind him. Frowning, he turned in his seat, wondering who could be so bold to interrupt him and why the guards he had stationed outside had let them through. It had better be good, or they had better be dead.

A plain-faced young man, barely out of childhood and dressed in an ill-fitting tux, walked in. Sir Mane's icy blue eyes were already cold and malicious, something that newspaper caricatures took delight in emphasizing. But now they were downright frigid. If there was one thing he hated more than being interrupted it was children. Already he was mentally figuring out how to dispose of the body.

His hands stuck into his pockets, the young man smirked at him. Then without so much as a greeting or an apology he walked over to slip into the empty seat next to Sir Mane.

And with that, the boy's death warrant was signed.

But before Sir Mane could translate murderous intent into action, the boy's features dissolved like the picture in an old-fashioned, poorly-tuned television. When they came back into focus, Sir Mane found himself sitting next to someone else entirely.

The man looked to be in his late thirties or early forties, with northern European features, a strong, clean-shaven jaw, neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair, and storm cloud eyes as cold as Sir Mane's. Though old age was still far away, his face was lined with the wrinkles of a much older man, denoting a man accustomed to submerging himself in weighty affairs. His charcoal black suit now fit him exquisitely. There was a gold ring set with a ruby on his left hand, and a large golden watch on his right wrist. The side of his lip curled up in a manner that might be a smile and might not be. Either way, it did not reach his eyes.

Slowly exhaling, Sire Mane settled back into his chair. "Your Highness," he said, his tone conveying nothing but respect. "This is an…unexpected pleasure."

Prince Claudio Borgia nodded cordially. The eldest son of King Savio Borgia, Claudio was the crown prince of Kanon, a title that might be meaningless in light of his father's immortality, but given that both the original Antoine Borgia, Progenitor to the Kanon, and his son and heir had met with untimely ends three hundred years apart, Claudio's chances of one day taking the throne were higher than one might expect.

Whether or not that should happen depended on who you talked to. Certainly, there was no denying that Claudio was far more intelligent than his passionate, impulsive father, and would make a far more competent Monarch. However, he was also considerably more ruthless, considerably more dangerous, and considerably more feared. It was whispered that Savio had fathered him upon a Nightmare woman. Those that believed so were fools. One didn't need to be a Nightmare in order to be dangerous.

"Clearly," Claudio murmured in his soft, deadly voice, one that was often described as being like a velvet sheathe covering a killing blade. "Apologies for disturbing you, Sir Mane. But if word got out that we were speaking, then uncomfortable questions might arise."

Sir Mane frowned. "Then…forgive me, but wouldn't surprising me at a public venue still cause whispers to spread?"

Claudio's not-a-smile grew ever so slightly. "It is of no consequence. No one save for you recognizes me for who I am. In fact, no one save for you can even see me right now."

Sir Mane slowly breathed out. He was not a man without power. In fact, were the whole of Nod placed onto a list, he would rank in the upper echelon. But the power wielded by the Monarchs and their families was nothing short of terrifying.

Down below, on the stage, the actors playing the parts of Lord Eric of Thorns and the nefarious Dr. Croencore were singing a comedic duet listing all of the Marauders' worst traits, of which they had several. Lord Eric was already a handsome man and the actor selected to portray him had been cast accordingly. However, by all accounts. Dr. Croencore had not been easy on the eyes, and the things he had done had made him an unpopular figure in history. As such, Sir Mane had made sure that the person selected to play him was darkly handsome, with a commanding stage presence, formidable acting ability, and a deep, bass voice with no fewer than three musical numbers. Even the play's harshest critics admitted that he stole the show.

Even Prince Claudio seemed impressed. "You know, my little sister has the soundtrack to this play. This piece is a favorite of hers."

"Really," Sir Mane said. "I'm surprised that your father would allow this."

"Oh, he doesn't," Claudio said amiably. "He doesn't even know. The old man hates this play. In fact, he tried to have it banned from ever being performed anywhere in Kanon

"I remember," Sir Mane said. He didn't ask what the prince was even doing there. When Claudio wanted to tell him, he would. "He doesn't object that strongly to how we portrayed the Marauders, does he?

Claudio chuckled. "Well, he does appreciate how the Marauders knocked the Nightmares down a peg or two dozen. That in itself has caused him to look upon them favorably. But no, it's less of that and more of how well you made the Nightmares look."

"Ah."

Claudio shrugged. "The Nightmares killed our Progenitor and his successor, my father's grandfather and father. He is one to hold a grudge. Understandable, but wearying in the long run."

"And you?"

Another shrug. "I never knew my great-grandfather. I respect him, of course. But I never knew him. And I barely remember my grandfather. The Nightmares deserved their humiliation, yes, but that was a long time ago. If the current regime wishes to make amends, I say it's best to let them. Besides, we cannot allow ourselves to remain blind to the threat the Marauders pose."

The edge of Sir Mane's mouth twitched just a centimeter. It lasted less than a second, but Prince Claudio caught it.

"See?" he said, his smile finally becoming something real. "You agree." He looked back down to the performance, where the primary antagonist was taking the stage for his introductory number. As was customary, the audience booed him with enthusiasm. "The Marauders have not been shy about using their stranglehold on the Nightmares to push their influence out into our world. You know this. Jacob Draco especially grows bolder every year."

"Does he," Sir Mane growled.

On the stage, the character of Jacob Draco, Super Clanmaster of the Marauders, began singing his appropriately bombastic trash-metal signature song, bragging about his schemes and designs on taking all of the world of Nod for his own. The actor was a particular point of pride for Sir Mane, as he nailed the slimy, conniving, duplicitous character with perfection, with grating, nasal singing voice to boot. The fact that he hadn't even hit puberty yet had garnered him much acclaim, and the rest of the cast were quick to let people know that the actual boy was the sweetest thing ever and nothing like the vile person he played.

"Sir Mane, please don't plead ignorance," Claudio said as they watched the fictional depiction of the actual person they were discussing. "You know full well that he's already purchased a number of industrial properties, many of which you yourself had your eye on. And we have reason to suspect that he's been making a push into the entertainment industry as well. We know you've already been undercut several times and had assets you already owned bought out from beneath you. He is aggressively pushing into your territory. And we both know how protective you are of what's rightfully yours."

Sir Mane felt his jaw tighten. He didn't really have the best poker face, true, and Prince Claudio's words were scoring several hits. "What do you want from me?" he said, his voice hoarse.

"Your assistance." Prince Claudio steepled his fingers in front of his face as he continued to watch the performance. "We are in the process of putting together, shall we say, an organization, one that will be tasked with stopping the Marauders in their tracks and force them back into their tunnels."

Sir Mane had to snicker at that. "Good look with that. You know how the Marauders are about their rules. Hurt one, and you bring the whole swarm down on your heads."

"True," Claudio admitted. "But there is something of a loophole, a place where, according to their own rules, anything goes."

That made Sir Mane blink with surprise. No, he couldn't be suggesting what it sounded like he was suggesting. "The Unconscious?" he said, perhaps a bit more loudly than he should have. "You're taking the fight to the Marauders in the Unconscious?"

Unperturbed, Claudio merely said, "There are many who feel that they've been given free rein to plunder dreams long enough. There is more than sufficient reason to suspect that their thieving has had a negative effect on the dreamkind that spawn from dreams that they've stolen from." He quirked an eyebrow, his stormy grey eyes glancing meaningfully at the man sitting next to him. "Besides, if the rumors that they've begun kidnapping fetal dreamkind before the dream has even ended are true, then that in itself is more than enough reason to put a stop to things."

Sir Mane was shocked. Part of the reason why nobody had bothered to do anything about the Marauders until the Nightmares' misguided attempt to steal their power was that, for the most part, the Marauders kept their activities restricted to the Unconscious, sneaking into dreams and taking whatever odd baubles caught their eye. Conducting raids upon those who lived in Nod was heavily frowned upon, which was something of a relief, as killing, harming, or holding a Marauder against their will in Nod was tantamount to an act of war, as the Nightmares had been surprised to find out. Besides, with the Warrens that they called home being inaccessible to anyone but themselves, stamping out their nests was all but impossible, whereas they could strike anytime, anywhere should they be provoked. As such, so long as the little rats kept their plundering restricted to dreams, then the rest of the world had to content itself with pretending that they didn't exist.

The war had changed that. The Nightmares had broken those rules, and had paid the price for their foolishness. And ever since then the Marauders had been growing more and more bold. There were rumors of raids taking place on the smaller settlements, farmsteads, and unclaimed territories. People claimed to have seen Marauders walking the streets, plain as day. One particularly disturbing incident had occurred only a few weeks ago, in which a group of drunk young men had attacked what they swore was a Marauder raiding party but had turned out to be group of schoolchildren walking home from the theater. Luckily there hadn't been any serious injuries, but it did speak to the growing fear that came from the Marauder clans breaking their traditional borders and everyone being unable to do anything about it.

However, like Prince Claudio, there was a loophole, a way to strike back without violating the Marauders' strict code. The Unconscious itself, where the dreams of humanity created the denizens of Nod, a virtual no-man's-land as far as the Marauders were concerned. According to their rules, those who entered a dreamer's dream did so at their own peril. And while no Marauder would dare take advantage of that loophole to murder another while in a dream, there was, as Claudio had just pointed out, nothing preventing someone else from doing the same.

Sir Mane slowly breathed out. This was…this was going to change everything. "It's still dangerous," he said. "Dreams don't last long enough to set any proper traps. And where are you planning on taking any Marauders you capture?"

"I never said anything about capturing them," Prince Claudio murmured.

Silence.

Back on the stage, the current song came to an end, as Sir Eric of Thorns lamented the circumstances that had driven him to such extremes. The applause eventually died down, and as the room darkened to signal a scene change, Sir Mane said, "What you're proposing is extremely dangerous. Sure, it's a loophole, but you can't expect the Marauders to do nothing. They'll declare war regardless."

"Some will want to, yes," Claudio responded. "Others won't be so eager."

Sir Mane frowned. "Meaning?"

"We have reason to believe that tensions have started to rise between the clans. They were always a disorganized bunch, squabbling and competing amongst themselves. They united during the war, certainly, but that was a long time ago. As we understand it, the fact that Jacob Draco kept the power he accumulated during the war has rankled some nerves, and whatever goodwill he gained for winning is now all but spent."

Now this was interesting. Sir Mane's own sources had also said as such, but nothing had been confirmed. His brow furrowed, Sir Mane leaned in closer and listened.

"If you'll recall, it took some time for the Marauders to fully commit to the war, and that was after the Nightmares had blatantly violated their rules," Claudio continued. "It wasn't until the purpose of Dr. Croencore's experiments came to light that they panicked. It is our hope that striking at them while respecting the letter of the law of their rules will further inflame those tensions, driving a wedge between those who wish to strike back and those reluctant to enter into another conflict."

"Maybe, but that'll just make them more reckless," Mane countered. "Even if there isn't another war, the pressure will just motivate Jacob to accelerate whatever he's doing."

"Indeed," Claudio said with a soft smile. "We're counting on it, actually."

And then Mane got it. "This is what you need me for, isn't it?"

Claudio nodded. "No one knows the extent of Jacob Draco's push into our world like you do. No one's resisted him as long as you have. As his principal…business rival, you're in a unique position to upset whatever it is he has planned. Only now you'll be doing it with our backing."

"Really. And are you sure they'll be so anxious to have me? After all, I am not a popular figure in many circles."

"Oh, your necromantic hobbies don't bother us much. We're not looking for public support. We're looking for results." Then Claudio make a cursory scan of the audience below them. "By the by, are those two infamous monsters of yours about?"

"They're where I need them," Mane answered, his voice betraying nothing. "Back to the point, what if war does result?"

"Oh, I feel that's inevitable at this point," Claudio said, his tone disturbingly casual for such a weighty pronouncement. "But this way, we'll be in a far better position to fight back and eventually crush them when it does. Furthermore, you'll have our full support and protection should they turn their destructive attention toward you and your properties."

"Ah. And if I may, who exactly does we include?"

"Why, all of us," Prince Claudio said. "The Kanon, the Desios, and the Sahks. The Nightmares are, of course, excluded, but we have every reason that should open hostilities erupt, they'll be more than happy to throw off the Marauders' yoke and throw in as well."

Mane's head jerked back. "What? Are you serious?"

"I am." Then Claudio grimaced. "Well, for the most part. We're still ironing out the details. The Four Thrones have never been known for being agreeable with one another, but we're making headway. It helps that it was King Azul the Golden's idea."

Now Mane was outright stunned. "Azul is part of this?"

"He's spearheading it, actually." Claudio shrugged and chuckled. "Of course, Father is being contrary, but I'm sure he'll come around. The Sahks are…more or less on board, but with them, who can tell really?"

Mane leaned back into his seat, thinking. This…this changed everything. If what Prince Claudio was saying turned out to be true, then the social and political ramifications were going to be huge. Three of the four dreamkind kingdoms cooperating to exterminate the Marauders once and for all? The Nightmares themselves finally free to seek bloody vengeance? Jacob Draco, cornered like rat, his machinations laid bare while his support base crumbled? The Marauders themselves falling into dissolution and infighting? This was going to shape history for centuries to come!

Of course, dissention or no, the Marauders were going to resist. Even with all four kingdoms united against them, they were sure to put up a hell of a fight. No one really knew the full extent of the resources they had at their disposal, and even if they went down, it was fair to say that they were going to take a number of their enemies down with them. And just by being involved, Mane was going to become a prime target. They were going to try to ruin him, destroy everything he had worked to build, maybe even kill him.

But then, they were going to do that regardless, and with this level of support there was nothing he could lose that he would be unable to rebuild tenfold. And he relished the chance to take the fight back to that conniving snake. Besides, he was very, very hard to kill.

But still…

"There's still problems though," Mane said. "What about the Warrens? We still have no way of accessing them. Dr. Croencore's research was never completed, and he's been missing for years. What if they see this coming and start leveraging the Nightmares against us? What about-"

"The problems and risks are numerous, yes," Claudio said smoothly. Mane bristled at the interruption, but he didn't dare make an issue of it. "And we will be more than happy to discuss them with you at length. But for now, we don't need a sounding board. We need an answer. Are you in or out?"

Mane frowned. "Hypothetically speaking…if I say no, what follows?"

"Then I thank you for your time and leave you to enjoy the rest of the play," Claudio said. "You sacrifice only the opportunities that are to come."

"And you'll trust me not to blab?"

"I don't see how you'll be able to, seeing how I'll be taking all memory of this meeting with me when I leave."

Sir Mane wasn't surprised. Though he was far more resistant to mental manipulation than most people, even his mind would be a cakewalk to alter for a member of one of the royal families. "Fair enough," he said. "I'll have to think about it first."

Claudio nodded in agreement. "Quite reasonable. Take all the time you need. However, before you begin, there is something else I feel I should point out."

Mane was instantly on his guard. This was it: Claudio's trump card. "What is it?" he said guardedly.

Leaning over to whisper into Mane's ear, Claudio said, "He's here."

"What?"

"Jacob Draco. He's here. In this theater."

Mane inhaled sharply through his teeth. "What?"

Moving away, Claudio gestured with one hand out toward the audience. Specifically, to the box across from Mane's. In it sat an unremarkable young man and woman, both of them seeming to be in their late teens or early twenties (though when it came to age, appearance accounted for little) and were dressed wealthily enough to not seem out of place, with the boy wearing an olive-green suit and golden spectacles with thick green lenses while the girl had on a low-cut, frilly red dress and a large red flower stuck into her dark hair. Standing behind them were four men in dark tuxedos, obviously bodyguards.

Mane did not recognize them, and that in itself set off alarm bells. They had bought a ticket for one of the private boxes in his theater, watching his show! He ought to not only know their names, relations, and accomplishments, but also have their parents on speed-dial!

"That's him?" he said, his voice lowering to a snarl. "Are you sure?"

"Quite," Prince Claudio murmured. If he was at all offended at having his word questioned, it didn't show. He made a vague motion with the fingers of his right hand.

Before Mane's eyes, the occupants from the other box changed. Though their outfits remained the same, the boy and girl both shrank in their seats, becoming children nearly a decade younger than they had been. The boy's face darkened, his slicked-back hair thickening into black curls, changing from a bland Caucasian to adopting more Mediterranean features while the girl's complexion paled, her hair darkening and her face changing from English to Korean. As for the large men behind them, they also shrank, turning from burly men to burly teenagers. Though his eyes were shielded by his glasses, the boy was clearly disgusted, his nose wrinkling as he watched the stage. There, Dr. Croencore had little Ellen Richardson strapped to the titular table and was exasperatedly trying to convey his intention to her while the girl cluelessly misinterpreted everything he said, turning the scene into an Abbott and Costello routine.

Mane inhaled deeply through his nostrils and hissed it out through his teeth. That was him. Jacob Draco, in the flesh, accompanied by more of his Marauder filth.

"If you doubt what you're seeing, I remind you that I don't need to cast an illusion in order to manipulate you. I could simply dominate your mind and be done with it," Claudio said mildly. "The only illusion I've created is the one that that admitted me to your box and continues to make it seem that you are sitting alone, enraptured with the play. All I've done here is let your eyes pierce through their own glamour." He waved his hand again, and everyone in the far box regained their false faces.

"I'm not doubting you, your Highness," Mane growled. "What I am, however, is wondering what he's even doing here."

"Oh, that's easy enough. If my rival produced a smash hit musical about what a wicked fellow I was, I would want a closer look as well, if for no other reason to ensure that my songs had the potential to become breakaway pop hits."

Then, as if acting on some sort of cue, the disguised Jacob Draco shook his head and got up to head for the door at the back of the box. Two of the guards immediately followed suit, with the girl and the other two remaining.

"And there he goes," Claudio observed. "Perhaps he knows something's up, or simply had all the stage slander he could stomach. Odd he would leave his date though. Maybe he's just going to the restroom."

Mane took a deep breath. "Right then."

And then he stood up and made for the door.

Before he went too far, Prince Claudio reached up with one hand to grab him by the sleeve. He waited until he had Mane's full attention before saying, "Careful. You do anything to harm or detain him and the war is started prematurely. If you kill him, he'll just become a martyr, and someone else will take his place. We want him destroyed, not dead."

Mane gritted his teeth, but he managed a short nod. "I won't hurt him," he said hoarsely. "I'm just going to show him the door."

Claudio said nothing. The way his eyes bore into Mane's was warning enough. He released Mane's sleeve, and the Death Knight straightened out his coat and continued on his way, out the door, his gloved hands clenching into tight fists.

…

As Sir Mane stormed through the richly decorated halls of the Ava Adore Theater, he pulled his cellphone out of the pocket of his great coat. A few flicks, and he had brought up the theater's camera system, which told him immediately where Jacob Draco was and where he was heading.

Curiously, the Marauder Clanmaster was not making for the stairs, as the first thing a Marauder would do upon sensing danger would be to rush for the ground floor. Instead, he and his muscular entourage were instead moving around the top floor, making their way towards…

Despite his anger, Mane still smirked with amusement. So, it turned out that Jacob really did just need to use the restroom. Well, that was convenient.

Pocketing the phone, Mane continued his relentless march toward his nemesis. As he did, two other figures emerged from separate hallways to fall into step just behind him without losing stride, their long coats swishing as they walked. One was an exceptionally tall Pacific Islander with a neatly trimmed black beard; a large, black leather coat over his tailored black suit; and a wide-brimmed black hat. The other was a white man of average height, with a brown leather trench coat, spiky brown hair, and far too many tacky golden chains around his neck. The tall dark man scowled, the smaller white man smirked, and they matched each other's gait stride for stride.

As Mane turned the corner, he saw a few men gathered around the restroom in question, looking rather annoyed. Stationed in front of the door were the two guards, both of them standing with their arms folded and their expressions blank, staring silently at one especially peeved looking old man in a grey tuxedo who was loudly demanding if they knew who he was and what their names were.

As Mane and his escorts approached, the old man turned his furious attention to him. "Ah, there you are!" he said as he stormed over. "Mr. Mane, I'll have you know that I have been a loyal patron of this theater for years, and never once have I heard of anyone being permitted to clear the restrooms for their private use! This is an absolute-"

"Sir Mane," Mane corrected automatically, his eyes looking past the old man to focus on the guards, who were uncrossing their arms and now looking rather nervous. "And you're right, Mr. Pendanski. We don't permit that."

One of the guards raised a hand to his earpiece while the other reached inside his jacket. Wrong move.

Moving so quickly that those gathered around gasped, Mane suddenly had his hands around the necks of both guards and had them lifted up against the wall. He tossed them to either side, where his associates were waiting.

"Don't move, junior," said the white man in the brown coat in his thick Australian accent. He yanked out one of the sprawling guard's earpiece and crushed it in his hand and leered down at the dumbstruck Marauder. "Or this night's gonna get real interesting."

The tall dark man didn't even bother with threats. He merely disarmed the other guard and stood with his boot planted against the struggling boy's chest.

Without bothering to watch the proceedings, Mane shoved the restroom door aside and went in.

Like one might expect, the Ava Adore Theaters restrooms were as pricey as the rest of it, with each toilet having its own room set in the wall that including a small, private sink, mirror, a television screen keeping its occupants up-to-date with the performance, and cosmetics tray and refreshment table; potted plants; a central fountain; black marble floors; white marble sinks with golden faucets; and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. One of the doors was shut.

And from inside, Mane heard a toilet flush, followed by a rushing faucet.

The stall door opened, and Jacob Draco emerged wiping his hands, still wearing the false face of the bland young man that had granted him access. He apparently had not heard Mane come in, as he didn't seem at all hurried. In fact, he was idly whistling his stage character's signature song.

Then he caught sight of Sir Mane standing there, staring at him, and he froze.

Mane smirked. "Enjoying the play?" he said.

Before Jacob had time to react, Mane was on him, clearing the distance between them in less time than it takes to blink. Seizing the boy by the lapels, he lifted him up and shoved him against the wall.

"Wha, whoa, wait!" Jacob shrieked out, his hands clawing at Mane's arms. "What are you-"

"Shut up," Mane growled. He would have shut him up himself by squeezing his throat, but he was dancing along the line as it was. "Drop the act, Jacob. I know it's you."

Jacob stared down at him, his thick, green glasses giving the gaze an insectoid look. Then he sighed, his body relaxing.

Unlike when Prince Claudio had dropped his own glamour, Jacob literally seemed to shed his, the false face and added height flaking away from him like ash that fell around Mane's hands to disappear before touching the floor. It was like watching a snake shed its skin. In fact, it was exactly that.

"Well," Jacob said, dropping the high, Western American accent he had been using in favor of his natural voice. "I believe the term is 'busted.'"

Mane was not amused. "You have some nerve coming here. What are you doing here, Jacob? This is my theater."

"I wanted to see the rock opera," Jacob responded with a wry smile, his lips opening enough to display two rows of large, sharp, predatory teeth, like those of a wolf, though given his mascot, a dragon would be more accurate. If he was at all concerned with being hoisted into the air by the notorious Death Knight he didn't show it. "And I have to say: the songs are catchy, but surely you could have given me a better voice than that."

Even with rage reddening his vision, Mane was aware that this was the first meeting between himself and the infamous victor of the Marauder War, who held the entire Nightmare government by a tight leash. That might have meant more had Mane not been the boy's elder by several centuries and still remembered when the Marauders were nothing more than a few back-alley gangs of runaway children, stealing food and picking pockets to survive, with the Warrens nothing more than a distant fantasy. Plus, the way Jacob was confidently smirking despite his peril was all kinds of infuriating.

It also occurred to Mane that he had it within his power to make this meeting between them the last, to tear those disrespectful lips right off his face and smash those pointed teeth. The Nightmares would probably thank him.

But even as his body tensed with the thought, he suddenly found himself locked in place, his limbs frozen. Grunting, he tried to move, but it was like an invisible block of ice had set in place around him. He could move his eyes, twitch his nostrils, and tighten his muscles, but any movement beyond that was denied him.

No, Prince Claudio's silky voice spoke into his mind. Do not.

Mane gritted his teeth, but he acquiesced, his body relaxing. And suddenly, whatever it was that had held him in place was gone.

"Cat got your tongue?" Jacob said wryly.

Mane's eyes were already dark, but that comment lost them some color still. He slowly lowered Jacob to the floor and set him down. The threat was not gone though. He still towered over the boy, boxing him in between himself and the wall. For his part, Jacob stared back from behind his thick, green coke-bottle glasses.

"You are not welcome here, Marauder," Mane growled. "Leave."

Jacob quirked an eyebrow. Then he reached up and removed his glasses from his face.

His eyes were two orbs of pure silver, glinting in the light from the lamps.

"I bought a ticket," he said as he pulled out a silk handkerchief and used it to wipe down his glasses. "I broke no rule. I see no reason why I should not-"

In answer, Mane pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted several bills. "Here," he said, flicking them at the boy. "Your refund. Now get out."

Sighing, Jacob placed his glasses back on. "Sir Mane, why the hostility? You are no Nightmare; you're not even a dream. As far as I know there is no reason for quarrel between us."

Mane wanted to take the smirking snake by the throat and crush it. He imagined how it would feel, the flesh crumpling between his fingers, listening to that insipid voice gasps and pleadings harshen into a croaking death rattle. "Jacob, don't take me for a fool. I know it was you that stole NamTech from me. I know it was you that bought out those Sierra farms out from under me. I know it was you that blocked me from those contracts in Mascaline."

Jacob tilted his head. "All's fair in love and capitalism, is it not? Business is business, and-"

"You are a Marauder," Mane snapped. "Your kind scurries in holes and tunnels and steals from dreams. You have no place in Nod. You have no right."

"Do I not? That's an interesting thing to hear from your lips. After all, you are no dream yourself. You may not be human, exactly, but you are still a dreamer, or you were. You're even more a stranger a stranger to Nod than I."

Mane bared his teeth in a gorilla grin. "Yes, you are correct. I am not a dream. I came here when the ways were still open. And in the hundreds of years since, I have integrated myself nicely with dreamkind. You? You rejected your claim, you and the rest of those dark children, sniveling about in your tunnels. I have earned my place, you forfeited yours. Now, will you leave, or will I have to test your people's loyalty? Because I hear there are many in the Warrens who would be relieved to see you gone."

Jacob's face hardened then. The boy's poker face was better than Mane's, yes, but Mane's comment had struck a nerve. So, it seemed that the reports of dissention between the Marauder clans had some merit.

"Very well," Jacob said shortly. He straightened out his jacket and moved around Sir Mane, not bothering to pick up the money on the ground. As he walked, his glamour rebuilt himself, giving him half a foot in height and a different face. Mane stood in place, watching him like a hawk.

Before Jacob reached the door, he paused. "By the by," he said, his hand on the metal push bar. "I have a complaint."

"I don't care," Mane said.

Jacob ignored him. "Demonize me if you wish. Drag my name through the mud if it makes you feel good about yourself. But your portrayal of Ellen Richardson was unwarranted. She is a victim, and what Dr. Croencore did to her was beyond the pale. Tell me: does it give you pleasure to portray her as a joke?"

Mane thought for a moment. Then he said, "Why, yes. Yes it does."

"Hmmm." Releasing the door, Jacob turned fully to face him. "Someone sent her a Table and the Tunnel DVD, you know. She cried when she saw how you made light of what happened to her."

"Good to hear," Mane said. "Now get out."

Jacob said nothing more. He merely turned and marched from the restroom. As the door swung open, Mane saw that Jacob's date and the other two guards had apparently joined their companions, with all five of them being lined up against the wall while Mane's two monsters casually stood guard.

Jacob paused upon seeing them, clearly recognizing who, and what, they were. In turn, they smiled twin predatory smiles at him, with the tall, dark one tipping his hat while the other bowed mockingly at the waist. Moving in synchronization, they motioned toward Jacob Draco's companions in an "after you" gesture.

Jacob grimaced. Then he walked over to the terrified girl and gently took her by the arm and hastily led her away from the gaggle, his four guards quick to fall in step behind them. The restroom door swung shut.

It was only then that Mane allowed himself to exhale. Though he had broken no rule, he knew that that altercation was going to have consequence. Despite his youthful appearance, Jacob Draco was not one to suffer such an insult. Perhaps his interference into Mane's business had been nothing more than simple conflict of interest. But from here on out, it was going to be personal.

Good.

Mane picked up a moist hand towel from a silver serving tray and used it to wipe his face. Discarding it, he left the restroom.

Some of the men had dispersed at the first sign of violence to find some less jealously guarded restroom while the braver and more curious remained, along with a few new faces attracted by the action. One of them was the elderly Carl Pendanski, who seemed shaken that his wishes had been carried in such a violent fashion. "Good God, man!" he sputtered. "Was that all really necessary? It was just-"

"The situation has been dealt with," Sir Mane announced to the stunned onlookers. "The restroom is once again open to the public, and those who thought to claim otherwise have been…banned." He smiled grimly. "My sincerest apologies for the disturbance."

With that he turned and stormed back the way he came. Behind him, his two monsters silently sauntered off to wait until they were needed again.

…

"That was a bit close to the skin," Prince Claudio remarked as Sir Mane returned to his box. "I do recall instructing you not to harm them."

Exhaling, Mane slumped back into his seat. Below, the play had entered the end of the first act to enthusiastic applause. "I'm in," he said.

Claudio smiled grimly. "I thought you would be. You more than committed yourself just now."

Mane's hands were trembling where they gripped his seats' armrests. He quickly clasped them tightly over his chest. "He's going to respond. Try to destroy me out of spite."

"I am confident in your abilities to resist. You have, after all, survived considerably worse."

"That I have," Mane said hoarsely.

Nodding, Prince Claudio stood to his feet. "Well, I must be off. Unfortunate. I was enjoying the show. If you could send my sister Valerie a signed cast photo, I would take it as a kindness." He patted Sir Mane on the shoulder. "I'll put you in touch with our Lord General once he's ready."

"Lord General?" Sir Mane frowned. "This organization is to be military?"

"Some aspects, yes. I personally see them more as a special police."

"Ah. And who is this Lord General of yours? Anyone I know?"

"No, I'm afraid. He's new to the game, but I promise you'll be impressed." Then, like the Cheshire Cat from storybooks, Prince Claudio started to fade from view, his body becoming more and more transparent. However, before he vanished completely, he left Sir Mane with one last thought. "In fact, you might say he was made for this job."

#subconscious

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