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intheholler · 5 days

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the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

#appalachia #appalachian murder ballads #murder ballads #appalachian music #appalachian culture #appalachian history #appalachian #appalachian folklore #appalachian gothic #tw violence against women #cw violence against women #cw murder #tw murder #folk music #folk #txt

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wqterlillypdfs · 1 year

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summer blues

pairing: jeremiah fisher x fem!reader, bestfriend!steven conklin x fem!reader

summary: All summer, you had been in some strange sad limbo, and you had blamed Jeremiah for that. For all the girls he had kissed at every party, for the way he made your heart beat and palms grow clammy. But really, was it his fault when you were the one who pushed him away?

word count: 3.3k

warnings: underage drinking, swearing, general sad thoughts. dumbass idiot jeremiah. unedited!

a/n: i went thru like the full range of emotions writing this fic, idk how i feel abt it but this is my comeback after three months of no writing. anyways, hope u enjoy!! 💞. reblogs are appreciated as always!

The sun sets low, casting a warm glow upon the unfamiliar garden. The air is thick with the hum of laughter and music that drifts from the house, and everything seems perfect. It should be perfect. This is the stuff summer dreams are made of, and yet, you’re sitting on the outdoor furniture, alone, and left to your own devices.

Summer so far has been nothing but longing. You had watched as the one boy who had captured your heart at ten spent days at the beach with girls you didn’t even know the names of. And sure, it’s not like you have anything, not even close. But could you blame yourself? Jeremiah was nothing but perfect Carolina-blue eyes and golden skin. He was your summer dream.

The house party was meant to be a distraction, that’s what Steven had said when he tugged you into his car. It’ll be fun, you need to stop being sad all summer. He was nothing but adamant to make this summer the best yet, especially with the overhanging weight that Conrad and himself would be moving to college next year. Steven had never been fond of change, especially not when it came to summers at Cousins.

Steven had long since abandoned you to dance the night away with pretty girls and hooting boys, so instead here you are, sitting alone at a party, trying to fill the Jeremiah-shaped cavity in your heart with fruity drinks and loud music.

Jeremiah hadn’t been in sight when you first arrived at the party, and maybe that was a good thing. You could enjoy yourself for once, without your wandering eyes finding him somewhere with his hand on a girl's waist. Even just the thought of it made you sick to your stomach.

But sometime between then and now, he had shown up. Figures. And now you watch as he makes his way out of the big back doors, down the patio steps, past the pool, until he’s sitting with you in the makeshift gazebo, fairy lights sparkling above.

“Hey trouble,” Jeremiah greets as he sits on the plush outdoor sofa next to you, sidled up close enough that he bumps his shoulder with yours in welcome.

“Hey,” you parrot back, not meaning for the obvious buzzkill tone in your voice.

“What’s got you all bummed out?”

“Dunno.” you reply, eyeing the cold drink you’re balancing on your thigh which leaves a cold ring of condensation on your bare skin. “Did Steven send you to get me?”

Jeremiah’s eyebrows draw together in confusion as he cocks his head to the side. “No? Why would he need to? Can I not check up on my favourite girl?”

You let out a bemused snort, running your finger around the brim of your glass, eyes still not meeting his. Maybe you have had too much to drink.

“Come dance with me,” he says instead, hand outstretched, waiting for yours. You let your head fall against the back of the sofa.

“Not in a dancing mood.”

You don’t know if it’s the drinks or if it’s real, but Jeremiah shakes his head, a soft smile gracing his features as he tucks the stray strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face behind your ear. His hand lingers there a few seconds too long.

“What happened to dancing the summer away?” He questions, and when you finally look up to meet his eyes, he’s much closer than you expected.

“I was fifteen when I said that,” you note, which was almost two years ago now. How does he remember these things?

Jeremiah doesn’t respond immediately so you take your eyes off him, instead you watch the house glow to life, light filling the windows as the dark night begins to blanket the sky. The garden itself is empty with most of the party opting to escape the summer heat by seeking shelter indoors. A few girls are busy by the poolside, and you notice one of them keeps diverting her gaze back to where you and Jeremiah are sitting. Typical. It was like every girl in Cousins was obsessed with the prospect of at least one of the Fisher boys taking fancy in them. Was it bad that it always made you jealous? Everyone who sees him, wants him, and you wish you could keep him as just yours.

“You have an admirer,” you point out, nodding to the girl by the pool. You must admit, she’s gorgeous. Pretty brown eyes and gorgeous hair that even when wet seems to frame her face perfectly. You slink further down in your seat.

Jeremiah simply rolls his eyes at you. “Well she is pretty.”

And you know he means it as a joke. Can tell by the stupid grin and the tone of his voice. But the words are still like a dagger to your heart, twisting and turning until you can barely breathe - and oh God, you need to get out of here and away from him.

You set the drink down by the sofa, it meets the wooden deck with a too-loud clink before you stand abruptly. You brush down the skirt that had ridden up your legs as the ring of water on your thigh left behind by the glass soaks the edges of it. “I need to go,” is all you can murmur out.

“No, wait-” Jeremiah begins, standing to follow you.

“It’s fine,” you push, faux niceties lacing your voice, smiling as much as the ache in your chest will let you. You can feel the frown on his face burn into your back as you turn to leave, but you choose to ignore it, instead making your way back into the large lively house.

As you pass the pool though, the girl who has been eyeing Jeremiah gets up with a giddy look on her face, she calls to him in a sweet honeyed voice and it makes you sick.

You climb the patio steps, making your way through the lavish interior of the house.

You push through the crowd of people within the house. You just need a moment to yourself, to gather your thoughts and figure out just what the fuck was going on with you. Carefully, you slip into the bathroom, pushing the door shut with the weight of your body before leaning against the sink. You take deep breaths, trying to calm the beating of your heart.

All summer, you had been in some strange sad limbo, and you had blamed Jeremiah for that. For all the girls he had kissed at every party, for the way he made your heart beat and palms grow clammy. But really, was it his fault when you were the one who pushed him away?

Being in love with Jeremiah Fisher was anything but easy, not when you had to dance around the intricate friendship that had blossomed since you were eight years old. You didn’t know what love was until you were fifteen, sitting on the pier with him as you skidded rocks across the ocean. When he had smiled that smile and his eyes sparkled like the entire cosmos was within them. From that very moment on, you were doomed. Every brush of his hand against yours felt like a calculated step, and it was your fault for deluding yourself into believing he had space in his heart for anything more than a friendship with you.

It’s only a million times worse when you’re as close with him as you are, casual flirting and lingering touches was nothing but the norm. So it was especially difficult when he’d grab your hand and lead you through a crowd, or whisper some stupid inside joke just for you in a crowded room, when such a simple touch set your body alight with sparks.

“Knock knock,” you hear the door open softly, Steven’s head poking through. You had forgotten to lock the door, you realise. “Jeremiah thinks you're mad at him.” He informs, voice careful and soft as he closes the door behind him, making his way to you and placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You shake your head, unable to find the words to express the turmoil within yourself. Instead, you offer a weak smile letting out a shaky exhale. “Well, I’m not.”

Steven looks amused as he leans with his back against the sink next to you, tilting his head so it falls into your field of vision. “You sure?”

“Very sure.” You confirm.

“I think you’re lying.”

You take another breath, “I’m not mad, i’m just…” your voice trails off as you try to find the words.

“Angry, confused, sad?” Steven offers.

You shake your head as you poke his shoulder, “would you let me speak?”

“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am,” he throws his hands up in surrender.

“I’m just… tired,” you say, defeated. Steven gives you an apologetic look. He’s known about your not-so-little crush on Jeremiah. How could he not when he seemed to be the only person who could light you up when you were dim and down?

“I’m tired of having to watch him go out with other girls every other day. I mean it’s not like we’re exclusive - we’re definitely not - but I just wish I didn’t feel like throwing up everytime.”

For a second, Steven doesn’t say anything, he looks at you with those eyes he does when he’s thinking. “What’s that thing Susannah always says?”

“What?”

“About…” He blows out his bottom lip as he struggles to remember the words, “about how love is like a flower, it needs time to grow and blossom and you need to nurture it.”

You pause, before cracking a smile. “Never in a million years would I have even imagined you quoting one of Susannah’s cheesy pieces of romance advice.”

Steven rolls his eyes at you, but he can’t help the smile that creeps up on him too. “Look, the point is, love isn’t supposed to be easy. Like, at all. But you really like Jeremiah, and I get it, he can really suck sometimes, especially with the whole hooking up thing,” - he looks up at you as he finishes his sentence, - “but if you love him as much as you let on, you’ve gotta just go for it. You need to stop pushing him away because of your irrational fear.”

Shaking your head, you turn fully to face Steven, crossing your arms defensively across your chest. “Okay, it’s not irrational, it’s completely rational. What if I just end up ruining everything? That’s a super real possibility. I don’t want to lose Jeremiah as a friend, and the risk of running that possibility is way too high.”

“God,” Steven lets out through a sigh, he looks like he wants to strangle you. “Listen to yourself! Maybe if you haven’t been moping around all summer you’d be able to see it.”

“See what?”

“Just go out there and talk to the boy.”

“This’d be a lot easier if you just told me.”

“I think you’d appreciate me a lot more if you figured it out for yourself.” Steven tells you, and he says it in a way that leaves little room to bicker back. He gives you an encouraging nod and a soft smile and for a minute you think he’ll say another stupid thing like go get ‘em tiger! But he graces you with silence and leaves you alone in the small bathroom.

You look back at yourself in the mirror. Maybe Steven is right.

‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚.

Jeremiah is sitting on the steps of the patio when he hears the sliding glass doors open and shut and the shuffle of Steven’s old sneakers. Immediately, his head swivels so he’s facing his long-time best friend. “So what’d she say? Is she mad?” He blurts out immediately.

“Woah, slow down lover-boy,” Steven says, amusement in his tone. He takes a seat next to Jeremiah, placing his hands either side of himself. “Well, she’s not happy.”

“What the fuck, bro,” Jeremiah grumbles, “you were meant to deescalate the situation.”

“Actually no, I was checking up on my friend, who I care about, and who I haven’t been dancing around all summer long.” Steven corrects.

Jeremiah looks away, unamused, “okay I get it. I haven’t been the best person to her lately.”

“Really?” Steven gasps, faux surprise lacing his tone, “You’ve been avoiding her like the plague and hanging around with random girls like you want her to be upset.”

“I don’t!” Jeremiah is quick to retort. “I’m just…”

“You’re just being a dick.”

“That’s not fair-”

“Look man, I’m not trying to upset you either, but I really don’t get why you’re so scared to confront your feelings. You like her, you like her a lot and it’s so fuckin’ obvious.”

Jeremiah opens his mouth, ready to argue back, but Steven leaves no room for it.

“She literally craves your attention and you’re out here, making out with other girls like she’s not right there. Is this some weird attention grab sort of thing? What, are you trying to make her jealous? This isn’t like you, Jere.”

Steven’s words cut deep. So deep Jeremiah thinks they’ve scarred him, but maybe it’s for the best. No, it’s definitely for the best.

“Think about it,” is the last thing Steven says, before he stands up, giving Jeremiah a reassuring pat on the back, and disappears into the crowd of party-goers within the house.

‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚.

When you finally feel ready enough to leave the bathroom, you think for a moment about Steven’s words. They kick around in your head. You chuckle to yourself, who knew you’d ever be taking legitimate advice from Steven? But instead of confronting your problems like you should, you pour yourself another drink, turning on your heels as you ascend the glossy white stairs. Whoever’s house this is - in the words of Steven himself - they’re fucking loaded.

The upstairs of the house is empty, albeit a few straggling couples making out in the hallway. You ignore them, noticing the gorgeous open balcony that conjoins to the hallway you’re currently walking down. It’s quiet and empty, a perfect place to spend the rest of the night in peace.

The moon hangs low in the sky now, reflecting off the ocean ahead, and as you step out onto the balcony the cool Summer night’s air bites at your skin.

It's a glorious view for what should’ve been a perfect night. Laughter and music wafts up from the party below, and you let out another regretful sigh, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words. As your eyes linger on the ocean, you hear the sound of approaching footsteps. You turn to see Jeremiah standing beside you, and when you look at him, he gives you that sweet smile.

“Hey trouble,” he begins, “you alright?”

You shrug, turning your back to the balcony as you slide your back down the railing, slumping to the floor with your knees tucked under your chin. “Trying to be.”

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

Jeremiah with such a soft voice felt unnatural, and a part of you felt guilty for rendering him so quiet. Silence stretches between both of you like a chasm, as you struggle to find the right words within you to tell him how you truly felt. Instead, Jeremiah fills the silence, his voice hesitant but filled with a quiet determination. “I’m sorry.”

You gave him a perplexed look, “what are you apologising for?”

“For this entire summer,” he says, sitting on the ground next to you as he takes the cool glass from your hands, fingers brushing yours, before he places it on the ground. You tilt your head, curiosity in your eyes as you wait for him to continue.

“I’ve been an asshole. Like, bigtime, and I'm really sorry.” He takes a deep breath, takes your hand in his carefully, softly, like you’re something to be worshipped. To him you are. “And, I… need to tell you something.”

You look up at him, heart racing with anticipation, “what is it?” you all but murmur.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I just-” and when he can’t find the right words, because how is he meant to compress everything he’s ever felt for you into one sentence? It’s impossible. He instead uses his actions.

His hands untangle from yours, grabbing the sides of your face before pulling you into a kiss. He kisses you. He kisses you and the world falls away and there’s nothing but him. At first, you don’t know what to do, it’s all so sudden, but when it finally registers, you want to cry. Not sad tears, and not entirely tears of joy either, tears of relief, tears that carry the weight of all your longing.

When he finally pulls away you’re quick to pull him back, holding him as close as humanly possible as you kiss him with all the fervour you can muster, hoping and praying he can taste the apology on your lips. But when it gets too much, and you need air, you pull away again. He looks at you, and you hold onto the fabric of his shirt tighter because this all feels like a dream.

“She isn’t you.” He murmurs, soft enough it could be carried away by the summer breeze.

“What?” you whisper back, as to not break the sacred quietness.

“She's. Not. You. None of them are, none of them could even dream of being you. They’re not funny like you, not gorgeous like you. They don’t know me like you do - Shit, I sound like a sap.”

You chuckle, “no, please do continue.”

He shoots you that heartstopping grin. “Oh, so you do like it when I flatter you?”

“Love it,” you answer, mirroring his grin.

His features soften for a second, and again, the apologies cascade from his lips. “I’m sorry, for being such an asshole. You deserve so much better than me, I’ve been the worst, and I didn’t mean to make you upset or jealous, I was just… nervous. God, you make me so nervous I do the dumbest shit.”

“I make you nervous?” You can’t help the disbelief in your voice.

“Like you wouldn’t believe.” He says, nothing but sincere. He smiles then, and that makes all of it worthwhile.

You don’t know for how long you manage to get lost in him, but when your thoughts begin to wander, you let the thoughts flow freely from your lips. “Remember when we were ten,” you say, recounting the memory that started this all, “we had snuck out to the beach. We got home so late that night, and we tried to sneak back in, but of course that never works with Susannah. She had said something like-”

“No more sneaking out for the both of you,” Jeremiah continues, “she said we’d had too much fun.”

“But we did it anyway.” You finish, dumbfounded that he remembers that at all. “How do you remember all these things?”

“Because it’s you.” He says it like it’s obvious by now. His pretty blue eyes don’t leave yours for even a second. “I don’t think I’ve loved anyone the way I love you.”

You look at him with that stellar smile he loves so much, but before he can speak, you’re interrupted by the familiar presence of the boy who played cupid.

Steven shakes his head, clear amusement in his eyes. "Finally,” he breathes out, as if it pained him to see the both of you dance around each other all summer. It probably did. His hands are wrapped around a cool glass, it’s empty. “I think this has been quite a night.”

You nod, blissful, turning to meet Jeremiah’s blue eyes. They speak volumes in themselves, a deep ocean blue that sparkles with some form of admiration, you can’t quite figure it out. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, pushing himself off the balcony floor as he extends a hand for you to take, which you do.

Maybe, this summer could be perfect after all.

‧₊˚☆༉‧₊˚.

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hugshughes · 7 months

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my tears ricochet R. McGroarty

Rutger McGroarty x fem!reader

synopsis - Based on “my tears ricochet” by Tay obvs. Reader is on the umich soccer team and when they lose the NCAA championship game, and Rutger is there, reader is confused and sad in a way that he would come to this game after their terrible breakup.

wc - 3.0k!

contains - reader is on the umich soccer team! lightly edited! angst!!!!!!!! then a sprinkle of fluff. reader has a panic attack and has trouble breathing, crying, descriptions of a terrible breakup, kissing, happy ending, lmk!

an - this was probably the hardest one so far, other than the last great american dynasty, which i promise is coming soon! ALSO. 200 FOLLOWERS????? THANK U GUYS! I swear I’m trying to speed up the process of writing these but it’s harder than I thought. I've been getting more requests than usual lately! You guys are all so cute btw. I've gotten multiple about Behind My Back with Nolan part 2 and it's on the way! I'm so slow at writing smut. Anyways hope you enjoyyyy!

we gather here, we like up, weepin’ in a sunlit room. and if i’m on fire, you’ll be made of ashes too.

The final whistle blew, the game was over. You crouched to the ground, palm flat on the field as you wept. You could barely breathe as the UNC team flooded the field, screaming in victory, group-hugging 10 feet from you. 4-3 in overtime. You dropped to sit on the ground, arms loosely wrapped around your knees as you stared at the crowd.

The sea of Carolina blue jumping up and down, smiling, shouting. The motionless pit of maize and navy, crying, grief, disappointment. In you. They’re all disappointed in you, that’s what you tell yourself.

Your best friend sits next to you, enveloping you in a hug, you hear her whimpers, you feel her tears.

“I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head at you, hugging you tighter than ever before pulling away, holding your face, wiping your cheeks.

“No, don’t say that. This isn’t your fault. Okay? It isn’t. You scored 2 of our goals tonight, and you just did so good okay? This isn’t your fault.”

You looked at the ground, trying to catch your breath. You’re only a sophomore, you’ll have more championships to win. She didn’t though, she was a senior.

“This was just your last game, and I just- I let you down and coach and-”

“Honey, it’s okay. I’ll be okay. You cannot blame this game just on you.”

You hesitantly nod, letting her help you to your feet. The rest of your team is hugging, some crying, some seething, some trying to smile.

You run to your coach, she opens her arms wide to hug you. She’s trying to smile, trying to tell you that it’s okay as you heave out the word sorry over and over, sobbing as you try to catch your breath, to no avail.

Your chest heaves as you try to breathe, but nothing is going in or out, you’re about to have a panic attack. You grip your jersey where your heart is, the navy material soiled from tears and sweat. Your coach lets out a curse as she realizes what’s going on, your best friend sees you, running over, holding your arms, trying to calm you down.

You can’t, you were warm before, but now it’s like you’re suffocating.

“I- I can’t! Fuck, I-”

The worse you cry the less you can breathe, but the less you’re breathing the more you’re crying.

Your trainer runs over, hand on your back as she urges you off to the sidelines. You know there are dozens of cameras on you, making everything ten times worse.

It’s time for you guys to shake hands but instead, you are urged off the field, down through the tunnel, and to the locker rooms. They sit you down in your designated stall, offering water, fanning you with random papers, holding your hands, everything as you start to breathe again. When you’re finally steadily breathing again, you feel embarrassed.

“I’m so sorry! Shit- I just-”

They just shush you, hugging you tight. You, as the star player of Michigan Women’s Soccer are informed you’re doing press with your best friend, the captain, now. You almost cry again, you know someone is bound to ask about your leaving the field early.

But here you are, sitting next to your best friend, holding hands under the table for some form of stability as you look at the reporters and flashing cameras in front of you, fans behind them.

Your best friend answers the majority of the first chunk of questions, you only chiming in a few times. Your name is called by a reporter, a question just for you.

“Would you like to comment on what happened with your early departure after the game?”

You tense, your best friend’s hold on your hand tightens, comforting you as much as possible.

“Oh um, yeah. So uh, I was having some trouble breathing and stuff and I needed to go back to the locker room. I apologize if I came across as rude to any of the UNC girls, I still definitely want to congratulate them.”

The reporter nods, and you get sad smiles from almost everyone you can see. You get another question about your performance.

“I think I definitely could’ve played better, I’m disappointed in my performance tonight, I’ve apologized to teammates and coaches. I did as well as I could in the moment, Carolina is a really talented group of girls. I-”

You see him, Rutger fucking McGroaty, standing at the back of the group, Ethan, Mark, Dylan, and a few other hockey players with him. Your voice catches, and your mind is blank.

even on my worst day, did i deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me? ‘cause i loved you, i swear i loved you. ‘til my dying day.

The eye contact is full of pain, you feel your heart stutter. Your breathing that had finally started evening out is suddenly picking back up, but also somehow slowing down? It just, hurts. Why was he here? Why would he do that to you?

What was he trying to do? Was he trying to see you? Was he just trying to watch the game?

You looked to your coach, the attention of the reporters on your best friend, with pleading eyes. She nods for you to leave, and you silently thank her, slipping out of the seat and discreetly exiting the room, having to walk right by the guys, and some fans along the way. You wave at a little girl dressed head to toe in maize and blue, your jersey adorning her little body.

You crouched down next to her, letting her grab your hand.

“Hi sweetheart, how are you doing?”

She smiles brightly, making your heart swell. She has your number drawn out on her cheek, and a Michigan temporary tattoo on the other.

“I’m good! It was fun watching you play, even if you couldn’t win. I saw you crying, are you okay? You still did really really awesome, even my brother thinks so!”

She gestures to her slightly older brother, a boy who looked about 8.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be okay. Well sweetheart, if you’d like it, I would love to sign your jersey.”

Her face lights up, she squeals and hugs you, which you accept. She turns around and you sign right next to your number on her maize jersey. She thanks you and squeezes your hand while taking a picture with you. You’re finishing up with them when her brother almost shouts.

“Are those the Mich hockey guys?”

You freeze, eyes darting from the ground to the little boy and then up to Rutger's shocked face. Rutger quickly puts his fan persona on, greeting the kids.

'cause i loved you, i swear i loved you. 'til my dying day.

You realize you're position, frozen and staring at Rutger in front of all these people, and you quickly turn to go. You get about ten feet when you hear someone quietly shout your name, then twice. Someone, being Rutger. You didn't wanna talk to him. You really did want to talk to him, you just knew you couldn't.

You are in the tunnel at this point, striding a few more feet to make sure no one can see you before stopping when he says your name once again. When you turn around he stares at you silently, his eyes filled with hurt. You wish you could run into his arms, but you can't, you can't.

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace, and you're the hero flying around, saving face. and if i'm dead to you why are you at the wake?

"What are you doing here Rut?"

You could feel the tears lining your eyes, pushing to break past your waterline. He has the same tears, which hurt you even more.

"I'm sorry."

That you lost? That he came here? That he called for you? That he broke your heart?

"For what, Rutger?"

The tears were close to spilling for both of you. He lets out a shaky exhale, wiping his nose and sniffling.

"I- Um, everything? I just, I'm sorry."

cursing my name, wishing i stayed. look at how my tears ricochet.

You didn't know what to do. Part of you was about to throw yourself into his arms while another part was about to sprint as far away from him as you could.

He stood there, quickly wiping a tear that fell. In this moment, losing the game was the farthest thing from your mind. Everything in your mind was just completely overwhelmed with him. At one point he was everything to you, you knew in part of you he still was.

we gather stones, never knowing what they'll mean. some to throw, some to make a diamond ring.

When you and Rutger had broken up, it had been terrible for both of you. Rutger wasn't allowed to be alone afterward for two weeks, not that you knew that, his friends wanted to tell you and try to get you back to him but he wouldn't let them. He was too embarrassed by the idea. His friends begging for you for him because he couldn't handle a breakup? Please. What Rutger doesn't know is that you would've run straight back to him if you'd known. He was your lifeline.

Your relationship was like a dream, you'd started dating in July of 2022 and broke up the next May. You guys were inseparable, in a cute way. You guys were always there for each other, no matter what. But out of nowhere, in April, Rutger started freaking out about everything happening in his life. The team had just lost the frozen four, and he was just hurt from that and he was not himself. Even weeks after, when the other boys had seemingly gotten over it, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling in his chest.

The feeling started affecting other parts of his life, too. Specifically, your relationship. He'd become way cut off from you, and a lot more mean. It went on for three weeks before you broke up with him. You just couldn't keep trying when you were getting nothing back, even though it hurt you so badly to do it.

you know i didn't want to have to haunt you. but what a ghostly scene. you wear the same jewels that i gave you, as you bury me.

You rub your eyes before looking up from the ground to him, and then you see it. The ring he once gave you on a chain around his neck. He'd kept it when you gave it back to him.

You remember every detail about the night he gave you that ring. Where he'd taken you, how he held you in the cold of February nights in Ann Arbor. You remember his confession of love to you. How he was worried you'd think he was proposing, how he shakily opened the ring box when you got back to his room, and how he said he wanted to give it to you in your scenic snowy walk through a local park but had gotten too nervous. You remember how you kissed him, and how he brought tears to your eyes.

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace. 'cause when i'd fight, you used to tell me i was brave. and if i'm dead to you why are you at the wake? cursing my name, wishing i stayed. look at how my tears ricochet.

Him being here, crying, apologizing, you losing the game, everything was just so much, but when you looked into his eyes he was still your everything. Your boy, the one that made you fall in love with every part of him, every crack and crevice, every flaw. He was still yours, no matter if you were together or apart. And you were his too, you knew that, you both did.

You can't imagine what your friends would think if you'd told them how close you were to kissing Rutger right now. They would never believe you, not after the months you spent trying oh so hard to convince yourself you were better off without him, no matter how false that statement was.

You knew you would need him, always did. He didn't know that though, when he would stalk your social media all summer, seeing you post in your little white linen dresses, having fun at the beach with your friends, he convinced himself he'd never get another chance with you. And you knew that if he tried hard enough, he could completely win you back, 100 times over.

and i can go anywhere i want, anywhere i want, just not home. and you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones.

He was your safe haven, whenever you were with him everything was just good, you didn't have to worry about anything with him, he wouldn't let you. He was your person.

You just stared at him, thoughts running a thousand miles per minute. You wanted him, you needed him. You knew it, too. He was always gonna be the only man that ever came to mind when you heard a love song by Taylor Swift, the only man you thought of when you saw a husband and wife with a little baby on your for you page, the only one.

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace.

He sniffled again, and you practically lunged at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and tucking your head into the crook of his neck. You started to cry again as his arms went around your hips, holding you so tightly. He was so warm, he smelled so good, he was definitely home for you if you had one. You felt his tears fall onto the base of your neck. He was mumbling i love yous and i'm sorrys like prayers. You just said the three words back, telling him it was okay because you knew it would be. As long as you had him.

and so the battleships will sink beneath the waves. you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same. cursing my name, wishing i stayed.

You pulled away from him, just a little, his tight hold on you barely let up, he couldn't let you go. You cupped his cheeks with your hands, looking into his now bloodshot, but otherwise beautiful blue eyes. You giggled, this was so crazy, you couldn't even believe it. Your amusement at the situation must've made Rutger feel embarrassed because he shook his head from your hold and buried his head into your neck. You could see his rose tinted ears. You ran your hands through his hair.

You had not the slightest idea what this meant for you two, but it definitely felt right, like you were whole again. You knew that he would come back to your life, you always felt it. And you knew you guys were gonna have to have a serious long talk about everything, but right now it just felt so good to take solace in him, acting like you were never broken up.

you turned into your worst fears. and you're tossing out blame, drunk on this pain. crossing out the good years.

If you knew one thing, it was that Rutger McGroaty was your boy, and you were his girl. No matter how much time kept you apart you'd always find each other again. You loved him, too much to lose him. Especially now that you were both given another chance.

"Rut?"

He moved his head a little, adjusting his arms around your hips, grumbling out an 'mhm?'

"I'm really happy you're here."

He came out of hiding at that, smiling at you, you smiled back, partially because of how cute he looked with slightly puffy eyes and rosy cheeks.

"For real?"

You gave him a pointed look, 'duh', written all over your features. He smiled brighter, his perfect teeth on display, oh you so hoped he would never experience any teeth loss during his hockey career, even though he'd probably look fucking adorable.

"I love you. I'm not letting you down ever again, I promise. I'm gonna be perfect, okay?"

You looked at him like he had just hung the stars one by one. You shook your head mumbling something about how you loved him so much and he'd never let you down and he was already perfect in your book before pulling him into a kiss. He smiled so hard into the kiss, and so did you.

Even though you'd just lost one of the most important soccer games in your life, you'd just won someone that was more important than any soccer trophy you could ever receive.

and you're cursing my name, wishing i stayed. look at how my tears ricochet.

707 notes · View notes

sailor-aviator · 3 months

Text

Meet Me at the Sea: Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Your best friend, Bob Floyd, had insisted you join him for the summer at his family's home along the Carolina coasts. You had been hesitant at first, but ultimately agreed to his request. Now, here you were in a new town with strange locals who spoke in hushed whispers and cryptic retellings about glistening scales, glowing eyes, and haunting songs that echoed from the sea. You didn't believe them at first, but when you wake up on the beach one morning after having fallen overboard the night before, you can't help but think that maybe you hadn't imagine the strong arms and deep, green eyes of the man that had saved you.

Content Warnings: Panic attack, Mentions of dog attack, Tense Daggers, Arguing, Skipper sneaking away, Cursing, Monster appearance, Crying, Begging, Murder confessions, Execution, Gunshot, Descriptions of blood. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 4.5k

Series Masterlist || Moodboards || Playlist || Jake "Hangman" Seresin Tag List

When you were little, your grandmother had a dog. It was a sweet thing, always eager for pets and treats. You always liked that dog, but the dog tended to be a bit skittish.

You remember walking into your grandmother’s living room one day, no older than five at the time, and seeing the dog - Mitzi you think her name was. You had walked up to her, paying no mind to the fact that she was sleeping, and you stuck your little face by her to greet her. You hadn’t meant any ill by it, but the dog had snapped at you anyway, drawing blood and a screech from your tiny lips. Your parents and grandmother had come running into the room, finding you in tears and Mitzi trying to console you.

Of course, you knew that it hadn’t been the dog’s fault, but it didn’t stop you from shying away from her every time you saw her after that, afraid of the teeth of the otherwise sweet as could be creature that always happily greeted you.

Now you stood on the boardwalk, the ringing in your ears drowning out the laughter and chatter around you, sending you spiraling into a panic as you came to terms with what had just happened. You knew that it hadn’t just been Mandy or Jake to sing to you, but you had allowed yourself to be lulled into a false sense of security, sure that Mandy had been the one to kill the others.

After all, she had tried to kill you.

Your breath came out in ragged gasps as your body went into panic mode, your fingers and toes growing numb as you continued to stare after the space where Cole just stood. He had been the one to tear Mandy apart, but why? To protect you? Why had he killed those other girls then?

In order for a sea person to claim their chosen mate, they have to drag their partner down, down, down beneath the waves, cutting them off from air until they’re to the point of death.

Your breath caught in your throat. Had he been trying to claim them? Is that why he had been singing to you? To drag you beneath the waves of the ocean as well? Your head whipped around to the darkening blue just passed the rails of the boardwalk, the thunderous sound of the waves crashing against the shore sounding more ominous with each passing moment.

Skipper.

Your breathing picked up once more, your hands shaking as you froze, vision becoming pin points as you fought to remain standing, your knees threatening to buckle.

“Skipper!”

A hand grabbed your shoulder and you let out a terrified shriek, drawing the attention of several people around you. You whipped back around, tears in your eyes as they met familiar blue.

“Skipper,” Bob murmured, brow furrowing as he took in your trembling form. “What happened? Are you okay? Where’s Jake?”

Your eyes darted around the crowd, several people glancing over at you with hushed whispers and concerned looks. You let out a choked sob as you finally realized that you were safe. For the moment anyway.

“Bob,” you whimpered, a breeze alerting you to the fact that your tears had long since spilled over. Your bottom lip trembled as the tension finally broke, and you threw yourself in his arms, sobs wracking your body as he held you.

“Skipper, what happened?” He asked again, firmer this time as he ran a comforting hand over your back.

“It was Cole,” you managed to get out, pulling away to look at him, shaking your head frantically. “It wasn’t Mandy. At least, not all those other girls. He dragged them down and something happened, and-”

“Honey, slow down,” Bob said, gripping your shoulders and leaning down to look you in your eyes. “Take a deep breath, can you do that for me?”

You nodded, following his lead as he took in a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a beat, and then letting it out through his mouth. He had you repeat the process a couple more times until you stopped shaking, some clarity returning to you.

“Okay, good,” he smiled, rubbing your arms. “Now tell me what happened.”

“I ran into Cole,” you started again, “except that I didn’t know it was him at first.”

You stopped, pursing your lips as you stared at your best friend.

“Bob, he sang to me.”

“He sang to you?” Bob balked, eyes growing wide as he looked around. “Where is he now? Has he been singing to you this whole time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, taking his hand. “This whole time we thought it was just Mandy, but Bob, it was him too. He’s been calling to me since I ran into him that day at the tilt-o-whirl. He’s the one that’s been killing all of the girls.”

“Why would he do that?” He asked, more to himself than to you. You gripped onto Bob’s forearms, drawing his attention back towards you.

“It’s his frenzy,” you murmured, the pieces clicking together the more you thought about it. “Jake told me that the longer a sea person goes without taking a mate, the more dangerous the process becomes. The frenzy causes sea people to lose their control right?”

“Right,” Bob answered hesitantly, the wheels in his head turning as you continued on with your theory.

“He’s losing control, Bob,” you breathed, looking past him and back towards the water. “He doesn’t have a mate, and he’s trying to take one, but he keeps losing control and killing them. He’s going to keep going until he finds someone to be his mate.”

“Not someone, Skipper,” Bob frowned, worry shining bright in his eyes as he looked up at you. “You.”

“What?” You blinked, confusion sweeping over you.

“He’s been calling for you, Skipper. Ever since he laid eyes on you, it’s been you that he wants. He’s not going after anyone else,” he hissed, hand grabbing your forearm and scanning the crowd wildly. “We need to find Jake and the others. Come on.”

Without waiting for a response, he started dragging you through the crowd, the both of you searching wildly for your friends.

“There!” You shouted at him, pointing to your right towards the haunted house attraction. You saw Bob let out a sigh of relief as he pushed through the crowd with you in tow to stand before your friends.

“Hey!” Nat chirped, smile dropping when she saw the two of you looking worse for wear.

“Woah,” Reuben said with a whistle. “What’s up with the two of you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Which can’t be because we haven’t even gone through the haunted house yet,” Mickey grinned, pointing at the building behind him. Nat rolled her eyes before turning her attention back to the two of you.

“What happened?” She asked, eyes searching yours. “Where’s Jake?”

Before you could answer, a hand came up to tug you away from Bob, the bespectacled man moving to protest until he saw who it was, relaxing only a fraction.

“There you are,” Jake drawled, placing a kiss to your temple. “You disappeared on me.”

You looked up at him, and his demeanor instantly shifted from easygoing to alert.

“What happened?” He demanded, eyes glancing at your friends.

“We were just about to get there when you interrupted,” Nat scowled, hands on her hips as she glared at the blond. Jake muttered something under his breath but turned his attention back to you expectantly.

“Skipper is in danger,” Bob said, eyes hard and serious as the words left him. Jake stiffened next to you, the sound of a low growl emanating from his imposing frame.

“What do you mean she’s in danger?” He hissed, green eyes narrowing at your best friend. You turned to face him fully, hands grasping his tightly so that he looked at you.

“It’s Cole,” you breathed, “he’s been singing to me. He’s been singing to me this whole time, and we all just thought it was Mandy. It’s his frenzy, Jake. He’s losing control.”

You cursed internally at the way your voice cracked at the end, emotion overtaking you. You thought about Jake and how close he was to being in the same position as Cole. Even now, you could see how desperately he was clinging onto his control, the greens of his eyes glowing at the very thought that you might be taken from him. You reached up to cup his cheek, pulling his attention back to the surface and away from the depths of his inward spiral. He blinked at you, confusion warring with desperation as you stared at him.

An unspoken message passed between the two of you, and Jake let out a long sigh, reaching up to place his hand over yours.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

“That’s the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever heard,” Nat snapped, glaring at Bradley as he leaned back on the couch, tossing his hands up in defeat.

“If you’ve got a better one, I’d love to hear it,” he growled back.

All of you were seated around Jake and Bradley’s living room, a common spot for you all to gather these days. You wished it was under different circumstances, but it seemed that you were once again the center of discussion.

“We could just leave?” Bob suggested, arms crossed over his chest where he sat perched on the end of the coffee table. A low growl ripped through the form beneath you, and you squeezed the arms wrapped around your waist.

Jake had been reluctant to let you go or out of his sight once he knew you were in danger, insisting on your current position once you all had made it back to the house.

Jake didn’t look at you, but squeezed you tighter to him as he fixed your best friend with a warning glare. No one was taking you away from him.

“That might not be a bad idea,” Reuben muttered, eyes darting up to look at you. You could feel the anger radiating off of your boyfriend, sighing as Reuben averted his gaze once more.

“We know you don’t like the idea,” Nat started, running a hand over her face as she stared at the blond, “but we’re running out of options here, Jake. She’ll be safest away from here.”

“One of us will be with her at all time,” Mickey offered, flinching at the snarl that tore through Jake. Your brow furrowed as you looked around at your friends.

“I’m missing something,” you said after a beat of silence. “Why are you acting like Jake can’t come with me? What am I missing?”

Everyone avoided your gaze before Bradley rolled his eyes.

“He can’t come with you,” he groused, shooting annoyed looks at all of his friends, “because his frenzy is about to reach its peak, and the ocean is the only place where he can go to release some of that energy without hurting anyone. If he leaves with you, it’s a recipe for disaster and we all risk exposure.”

The room was silent once again as he finished his explanation. Your eyes darted around to each of them, waiting for someone to contradict him. When no one did, you let out a sigh. You knew the goal was to keep you safe, but the thought of leaving Jake behind filled your mouth with a bitter taste, and you knew that leaving wasn’t an option.

“He’s right.”

You jumped, turning as much as you could to look at Jake. A solemn expression sat on his face, eyes pensive before locking on yours. You couldn’t help the stab of betrayal that washed over you, and it was obvious that he noticed.

“I don’t want you to leave,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours, “but if it’s the only way to keep you safe until this passes, then so be it.”

“But what about you?” You implored, feeling the tears kiss the back of your eyes once more. “You shouldn’t have to go through all this alone. I can stay and-”

“Not an option,” he whispered, a wry, humorless smile tugging on his lips. “I need you safe more than I need you here. Don’t you worry about me, angelfish. I’ll be just fine.”

He grazed his nose against yours, breathing you in for a second before pulling away and fixing your friends with a hard stare.

“She’ll need to go inland.”

And with that, they began to discuss plans to take you away from North Island. A feeling of unease and restlessness filled you. How could they expect you to just up and leave? Did you really get no say in what happened? No. Jake might be okay with this, but you weren’t.

While your friends planned, you began to form a scheme of your own.

An hour passed, and you moved to stand, Jake’s arms stopping you as you let out a huff.

“Where are you going?” He asked, eyes immediately glaring at the front door as he listened for any sign of danger.

“To the bathroom,” you scowled. “I think I can do that by myself, don’t you?”

Jake gave you a sheepish look before helping you to your feet, hands on your waist to steady you as you stood in between his legs. The two of you stayed like that, his hands on you as you cupped his jaw in yours.

“I love you,” you said, never breaking eye contact. Jake’s breath hitched at your words, eyes shining as he studied you. He reached up to grab your hand, turning his face into it as he kissed your palm once, twice.

“I love you too,” he smiled, meeting your eyes once more. Your heart swelled before a wave of guilt washed over you, and Jake must have sensed the change because his smile dropped and his brow furrowed. He moved to say something, but you stopped him with a kiss to his forehead.

You pulled away from him, moving down the hall like you were going to use the restroom. The voices in the living room faded slightly, and you paused just out of sight. You waited for a moment before your gaze shifted from the light pouring into the hall to the dimming light filtering through the back door. As quietly as you could, you opened the screen door, slipping out onto the porch and into the night.

You weren’t sure where to go, but you knew you needed to be far away from other people. So you walked the length of the beach, coming to a rocky inlet that was sheltered by the surrounding cliffs. The waves crashed gently against the shore, coaxing you to step closer.

You made a seat out of one of the flat rocks along the shoreline, crossing your legs as well as you could in the dress you still wore. You wished you could have changed, but the group had been in such a hurry to get you away and to somewhere safe, that a change of clothes had fallen by the wayside.

Now here you sat, watching the sun dip below the shoreline, the raucous from the festival still heard even this far out. Still, you waited on the rocks even as the cold seeped through your dress and to your bones, sending a shiver up your spine. The air was calm and unassuming, a stray gull crying out overhead.

“I know you’re out there!” You hollered, watching the waves as they lapped against one another. “I know you’re looking for me too. I’m right here, Cole! Come and find me.”

You waited, still watching the water for any sign of a disturbance. Minutes passed, and you knew the others had discovered your disappearance by now. Another pang of guilt rocked through you, but you remained where you were. After a moment, you stood, stepping back onto the sand and facing the water. With a determined breath, you stepped forward. Then again. And again, until finally you came right to where the water stopped.

“If you won’t come to me,” you shouted, eyes flickering across the waves as the sky around you grew darker, “then I guess I’ll just have to come to you.”

You took a step into the water, feet sinking further into the sand as you shuffled through. Stopping again once the water reached your knees, you looked around for any sign of life. It wasn’t until your third sweep that you spotted him, and your heart stopped.

Cole’s eyes glowed an inhuman green, unblinking as they stared at you. Everything from his nose downwards was hidden beneath the water, but you saw him. It unnerved you how he didn’t move, simply content in that moment to watch you.

“I wanted to talk to you,” you called, hoping you could be heard over the crash of the waves against the rocks. A wave crashed against you, sending you teetering back a little bit as you lost your balance. You stretched your arms out to steady yourself, looking down to frown at the water around you. Looking back up, Cole was gone and your heart dropped. It was only a moment though before he resurfaced, just a foot or two away from you this time, and your heart nearly lept out of your chest at the sight of him.

He looked even worse this close up, olive skin looking pale and shrunken as he stood in the water to face you. The pupils in his eyes were almost slits at this point, and you could see the webbed claws of his hands resting on the surface of the water. He looked like the stuff out of nightmares.

“Cole?” You questioned, unsure if he would even recognize you in his current state. He cocked his head to the side, seeming to contemplate you with a series of clicks that didn’t sound unlike something a dolphin would make. You swallowed around the lump in your throat, continuing, “Why don’t we go back to the beach, huh? We can talk there?”

He stayed silent, still watching as you retreated to the beach, keeping your eyes on him as you moved. Finally, he followed after you, moving like something out of one of those b-grade horror movies Bob made you watch sophomore year.

You let out a small sigh of relief as your feet finally left the water, placing you back on dry land. You retreated a couple more steps until Cole stood in the surf, the two of you only three feet apart now.

“You didn’t mean to hurt those girls, right?” You asked softly, and a flicker of recognition flashed in his eyes before turning into something akin to sorrow.

“Wanted…a mate.”

The change in his voice startled you as well. It was a mixture of a gurgle and a rasp, once again highlighting how inhuman the man before you had become.

“I know,” you murmured, tears stinging at your eyes. “It’s your frenzy, right? It’s making you lose control.”

“Frenzy,” he hissed out, cocking his head to the side once more as he regarded you. Something flickered in his eyes, and he took a step towards you, sending you two steps back. Your heartbeat thundered in your ears as he sneered at you, and you caught a glimpse of his teeth. Teeth that just earlier that evening were normal - human. Now, they were serrated and sharp like a shark’s. You dared to scan the rest of him now that he was completely out of the water, and you noticed now that slits had opened up along the column of his throat. Gills.

“Is this what happens when you don’t take a mate?” You asked him, heart clenching in your chest. “You don’t just lose yourself, huh? You become something you were never meant to be.”

“Skipper,” he said, voice ringing out as he used his song, and a wave of dizziness ran through you, hitting you like a brick wall. You fought against it, shaking your head and clamping your hands over your ears as he went on.

“Need you, Skipper. Come away with me.”

You shook your head again, willing yourself to stay put, but his song that close? It was almost impossible to resist.

“Please.”

Your hands fell to your sides as you quickly lost the battle for your senses, gaze fogging over as you gave in. You took all of one step towards him before the sound of a snarl mixed with what sounded like the call of a whale rang out.

Hands ripped you back before slashing towards Cole, drawing out a pained cry from the man as he fell to the sand, a snarl twisting his lips as he glared up at the person that stood between you and him.

Jake’s eyes glowed a richer green than Cole’s, fury so clear on his face that it almost distracted you from where his pupils were now drawn into slits of their own. His teeth were bared against Cole, hand raised to claw at him again should he move.

“Mine,” Jake growled, the rumble coming from deep within him as he stood over the other man. Cole’s eyes darted to yours, and your heart broke at what you saw.

For a moment, the man you knew before shone through, tears lining his eyes as he looked at you desperately, pleading with you. Without thinking, you placed a hand on Jake’s arm, pushing it out of your way as you moved to kneel down beside Cole.

“Skipper.”

You turned to see Bob and Bradley standing a few feet back, the two FBI agents standing next to them. The older of the two had a grim, sorrowful expression on his face as he watched Cole and the younger looked like he was still coming to terms with what was happening before him. Bob looked like he was about to rip you up from the ground himself while Bradley watched you with an unreadable expression on his face. You gave the two of them a reassuring smile as you turned your attention back to the man in front of you.

Slowly, gently, you cupped his face in your hands so that he looked at you, and for a moment you were reminded of your grandmother’s dog. A sweet thing, but perhaps not meant to be around other people.

Tears flowed freely down Cole’s cheeks as he watched you, the man you knew resurfacing once more. You stroked your thumbs carefully over the apples of his cheeks, wiping away his tears. A sob wracked through him as he closed his eyes, face pinched in pain. You wrapped your arms around him then, holding him to you.

“I’m sorry,” he cried, quietly at first. His shoulders shook as he began to cry harder, his voice raising in pitch as he continued. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I just wanted the pain to stop, and I-I-I didn’t mean to wait this long. I thought I had more time! I thought that I could pick a mate, but every time I tried to bond with them, it went wrong!”

His tears soaked through the fabric of your dress now, and you were only vaguely aware of the tears that streamed down your own face.

“I didn’t want to hurt them,” he whispered, clinging to you.

“I know,” you whispered back, nodding against the top of his head.

“Make the pain go away.”

“Cole,” you trailed off, looking helplessly at the men around you. He shook his head, pulling away from you.

“Not like that,” he rasped, the look in his eyes growing farther and farther away, and you knew that the moment of lucidness was coming to an end. “It’s too late for that now. There’s only one way out for me.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you moved to argue, but he shook his head.

“I’ll do it.”

You turned to see the older of the two FBI agents, Kazansky if you remembered right, stepping forward to stand beside Cole. You hesitated, looking down at the man in your arms. He gave you a reassuring nod, letting you go as Jake helped you to your feet. The blond pulled you back to stand with the others and you watched as Cole readjusted himself to kneel with his back straight. Kazansky moved to stand behind him, pulling out his service weapon and aiming. A shudder ran through Cole as the monster within came crawling back to the surface, his eyes darting to you.

“I’m sorry,” he sang out, claws digging into the sand. “Please.”

The shot rang out, and you let out a startled cry as Cole’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, crashing with a deafened thump. Your hand flew to your mouth as you stared, watching his blood soak the sand around him and turning it a sickening maroon.

Kazansky holstered his weapon, glancing up at your little group with a purse of his lips as his partner, Simpson, walked cautiously over to him.

“Kerner is going to be pissed when he hears about this. He loves crazy shit,” the younger man muttered. Kazansky scowled at him before turning his attention back towards the four of you.

“You kids should get out of here,” he grunted. “Somebody was bound to hear that shot and call someone. You don’t want to be here when the cavalry shows up.”

“What are you going to say happened?” Bradley asked, eyeing Cole’s corpse. Kazansky shook his head with a sigh.

“You let us worry about that,” he replied. “Now get.”

The boys didn’t wait to be told a third time, moving to leave, but you stayed rooted on the spot. It felt wrong to leave Cole there, and you suspected it had a lot to do with the man who wrapped his arms around your shoulders in a bid to steer you away.

“There’s nothing more you can do for him, Angel,” he murmured, thumb stroking over the skin of your arm as he pulled you along gently.

“That could have been you,” you whispered, and he froze. It was true. Jake was nearing the the point of no return with his own frenzies. He knew it, you knew it, everyone knew it. His hand came up to cup your cheek and you finally looked up at him. His eyes swam with an indiscernible emotion has he studied you.

“It’s not,” he told you quietly, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “It won’t be.”

The promise between you two was a silent one, but one that you accepted, finally allowing Jake to pull you along to catch up with the others as police sirens sounded off in the distance.

The weeks of danger, terror, and uncertainty were finally over and behind you.

A/N: Only one chapter left! How exciting!! Anyway, gentle reminder that if you would like to receive updates on my stories or other content I create to follow @sailoraviator-library and turn on post notifications! As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can also find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator. Until next time! Happy Valentine's Day!!

#mmats #meet me at the sea #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #hangman #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman fanfiction #hangman top gun #top gun hangman

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crooked-wasteland · 5 months

Text

An SA Survivor's Reading of Stolitz

I don't believe that creators should be confined to telling one type of story. The beauty of fiction is to explore worlds, emotions and scenarios that are by definition unreal. It gives a safe space to interact with extremes that we would never necessarily wish to experience in our real lives with the ultimate safeword of no longer engaging with the material.

That being said, as creators, there is an ethical awareness that must be maintained in order to tell stories of things like trauma and abuse. Being alone in a cabin in the woods with a killer, that scenario is not a pervasive subculture in our society. Whereas cases of child abuse, sexual and domestic abuse are not only real, but common. And the complexities of psychological damage that perseveres long after the traumatic events are necessary aspects to telling these stories.

If you are not consciously aware and attentive to the lasting impact these events have, you run up against the horrific possibility of retraumatizing an individual unprepared for the callous invalidation of their experience.

No one should ever be shamed for engaging with media that depicts trauma they themselves may have experienced. For many, engaging in the fiction of it is a way of processing and validating their experience. Frankly saying, if you wish to write about trauma at all, you should be writing for that audience in specific. Otherwise you are simply exploiting the horrors that real people live through and struggle with every day for some cheap drama at the risk of triggering someone whose story you are inadvertently telling.

And much like most therapy speak, the term Triggered has become appropriated and misused to the point of losing all meaning in the lexicon. According to the University of North Carolina, "A trigger is a stimulus that elicits a reaction. In the context of mental illness, "trigger" is often used to mean something that brings on or worsens symptoms. This often happens to people with a history of trauma or who are recovering from mental illness, self-harm, addiction, and/or eating disorders."

The university breaks down the types of triggers as well and gives examples as to what those subcategories mean. I highly recommend that even if you are not the sort to follow up on references, I do recommend going over the article. It offers coping suggestions as well for those who are at risk of becoming triggered and helps refocus the sense of control back to the individual.

With that said, this is where I came across the inspiration for this essay. I completely removed all information for this user because the last thing someone needs when expressing how the misappropriation of abuse triggers them is how it is their fault for being triggered. These are the original tweets this response was in reference to.

As such, I feel the empathetic need to write this essay as a sympathetic reading to this person and others who have experienced SA who find that Stolitz resonates in an undesirable and even harmful way. I think this person deserves to feel seen.

To make the argument that the relationship between Stolas and Blitz isn't fundamentally abusive requires an author-intent reading of the series. It necessitates massive leaps to fill in gaping plot holes that never clarify the story Medrano is intending to tell. This is plainly just a reading of the series as is with all the context that has been physically, actually, shown in the series and that alone.

Throughout the series, Blitz is depicted as emotionally volatile and unpredictable with low self-esteem and crippling loneliness. He is constantly hounding his employees through sexual harassment from a sense of envy over their loving relationship, and infantalizes his twenty-two year old adopted daughter through an abusive dynamic where she ranges from rude to outrightly cruel while he consistently sacrifices any personal boundaries and self-respect.

The relationship between Loona and Blitz in specific feels like a masochistic self-hatred on Blitz's part where he allows himself to be used and abused by a parasitic family member to feel wanted, showing a pure desperation to be desired by someone in any way. Loona is verbally and physically abusive to her adopted father, using terms of endearment like "Dad" as a tactic to control Blitz's behavior, rewarding him when he does something for her benefit and taking it away when she deems him embarrassing or unwanted.

Blitz's tie to Stolas in the main story comes when he is called in a vulnerable time. Hiding from Martha who is hunting him down, he explicitly tells Stolas that now is not a good time to call. Stolas, who has a visual of Blitz's situation, ignores all of it. He is unconcerned about the danger Blitz is in, instead viewing Blitz solely as a sexual object as he offers the trade of the book for sex.

Stolas is more keenly aware of Blitz's situation than even Blitz is aware of. He not only is told that the current moment is not a good time, and Blitz's tense tone portrays a sense of anxiety, but he can physically see Blitz. It exists entirely within reason that he chose this specific moment to call while he knew Blitz was in a difficult position, using the tension to leverage a quick response that would get Stolas his way without needing to intimidate Blitz himself. Using the threat of a third party to pressure compliance from Blitz.

Come Loo Loo Land, the interactions between Blitz and Stolas are simply outright hostile. Blitz actively does not want to have a sexual encounter with Stolas and is even so untrusting of the Goetia that he is repeatedly asserting the boundary that he is not at all interested in sex, which Stolas explicitly mocks by being openly sexually suggestive to him. Everything Stolas has to say to Blitz is steeped in objectified sexuality as Blitz asserts his person, dehumanizing him to the point that Blitz is first and foremost an object of gratification. Even to the point of neglecting and humiliating his daughter, Stolas uses the excuse of spending time with her as a means of leering on Blitz.

In this episode we see Blitz has a history of being overlooked and unappreciated. His act in Loo Loo Land went nowhere and we see the first hints of his failed performance career. Over the course of the series, this hint towards a crippling lack of self esteem masked by an extroverted exterior is reinforced.

In Harvest Moon, Blitz is genuinely flustered when given recognition by Striker. He is quick to devalue his relationship with Stolas because there genuinely isn't a relationship at this point.

After having gone missing for two episodes, Stolas returns, being slightly less sexual and slightly more affectionate. It is a sudden recharacterization, but it is only for this scene. The rest of the episode once again shows how Stolas values Blitz physically in a sexualized manner and claims Blitz through the use of a pet name he repeatedly requests not to be called. In the opening scene, Blitz vocalizes that he "doesn't mind" their arrangement for the book, which could be taken at face value in regards to the first season. He does have the option to reject the agreement at any time and return the book in the context of this episode. It's why, despite still being an abuse of power dynamics overall, the relationship itself doesn't tip over into abuse. Blitz has the same amount of autonomy as Stolas at this time, before the context of season two, he has just as much power to end the agreement.

With the addition of The Circus, this retroactively is a situation of placating one's abuser. Blitz assuring Stolas that he doesn't mind the sex would be a way of asserting Stolas' complete control over the relationship and that Blitz isn't necessarily threatening the status quo by his question.

They don't actually know anything about each other, they aren't friends and don't spend time together outside of their forced meetings. Blitz doesn't know anything about Stolas and questioning the need Stolas has for his book could very well be read as a means of interrogating the agreement as a whole and figuring out why this was the arrangement.

(The argument that Blitz had any opportunity to negotiate things comes from an audience bias. It is probably the dumbest thing I have ever seen put into writing. Blitz doesn't know that he has any leverage in the relationship at all. He doesn't actually know Stolas has any feelings for him. That's kind of the whole point of the hot and cold romance slant that Medrano is trying to replicate.)

This is because the book is not the reason the relationship exists.

Blitz does not instigate sexual conduct, Stolas does by leading Blitz into a private room and locking them both inside with the impression Blitz would have sex with him. Blitz has no choice in the location or the isolation. He was caught trying to illegally break into the home for the explicit purpose of stealing the book. He was caught and is effectively at Stolas' mercy in every sense of the word. Not only is he still alive due to Stolas' whimsy, but if he tries to escape now after being shown this grace he could risk having the guards hunt him down and the second time will most likely not be so kind.

He literally does not know Stolas. They met for a day as a playdate and Blitz spent the whole time manipulating Stolas into facilitating his own robbery. There is no trust between them, there isn't even a relationship. While the doe-eyed pink vignette animated around Blitz shows that Stolas has an attraction to him, Blitz is entirely in the dark about this. Stolas' behavior is merely unpredictable and precarious from his position and limited knowledge.

(Just a side note, the argument that because someone decides to do something must mean they are not afraid is just asinine. Generally speaking, most people who commit crimes are in a state of fight or flight, it is more akin to gambling your actual life. Its a rewards and risks assessment, not a case of being sociopathically unafraid.)

It isn't until Stolas dramatically announces his desire for sex that Blitz realizes he has something that can be used to distract the Prince while he steals the book. And that's the issue with the argument that Blitz is the one willingly escalating the situation: it's not sincere. Throughout the entire sequence, Blitz isn't once sincerely interested in Stolas. He leans into the pretense to gain control of the situation, of which, might I remind you, he has had zero control over up to this point. Not only is he not interested in Stolas, but this is a bid for control from the position of helplessness. This way he is not relying on Stolas' unpredictable behavior, he is reclaiming power in the dynamic by playing into Stolas' desire.

("But Stolas says nevermind and Blitz keeps going!!"

Yeah, because he needs to maintain control of the situation. This is what power dynamics actually look like; there is a two-way push and pull. The only way he has any power is through the lens of sexuality. He needs to keep Stolas interested in him to keep his position. But throughout the scene, he is explicitly depicted as being put off by Stolas. In fact the entire reason he ties Stolas up is because he was becoming too into the act. He is shown to not be sensually performing bondage, he is trying to remove a problem.

And side-side note, I know I said I wouldn't lean into Medrano's intention or explicit dictation on how she demands her show be interpreted, but she was the one who said that The Circus and Loo Loo Land are connected in the timeline and Blitz's hostility in Loo Loo Land reads far more like a man who feels used and taken advantage of. So even the argument that Blitz was an enthusiastic participant is disproven by Medrano's own metacommentary and character interactions.)

And ultimately, it all boils down to that last moment scene. Between willingly having sex with Stolas when he is tied up or the book, Blitz makes for the door to leave. He doesn’t willingly engage in sex with Stolas. Either you can read the scene as a form of pity sex, which in the context of Medrano’s timeline and Loo Loo Land, shows Blitz was not enamored with the encounter or you have to read this as being manipulatively pressured into it. There is no way to argue Blitz has any leverage in the situation and no grounds to argue that it was mutually enjoyed.

That doesn’t even start to cover the fact that all the way to Ozzie’s, Blitz is repulsed by Stolas. When calling, he openly shows that this is something he would rather not be doing. He doesn’t have feelings for Stolas and despite just using the man who is using him, just having to deal with Stolas is distressing for him.

This is not an equal or fair relationship dynamic. It is not a mutual relationship. This is a relationship of self-preservation and coercion. And the fact is, it could have worked with very small changes to The Circus. Having the dynamic be actually mutual would have been a great start, but just properly addressing the actual dynamic and having Stolas take ownership of what he's done, and validating the fact that coercion is sexual abuse. Because out of all the sweeping changes, retcons and inconsistencies, the one aspect that has persevered throughout the show is just how trapped Blitz feels.

In Truth Seekers, Blitz’s hallucination is contradictory in its attempt to be visceral, and that is not inherently a problem. Trying to be abstract, it is normal for people to experience contradictory emotions over something. It makes sense in that way, but it needs reinforcement in the expanded narrative to tell it's story. As such I am just going to give my reading on the sequence based on my narrative and state it as fact.

The clown costume shows that Blitz sees himself as a joke, feeding into his low self-worth that no matter what he does, he is always the clown being laughed at. The murky wasteland is a reflection of his life. Devoid of anything bright or good, it is populated by dead trees and the ground is a quicksand like sludge, showing how he devours the good and extinguishes it in his own life. He kills his own happiness. Moxxie exists as a critical voice Blitz hears, telling him how stupid and awful he is to everyone around him. Blitz rejects his own self-criticism, reaffirming his self destructive victim mentality that appears when faced with the consequences of his own actions.

It's when the characters of Fizzarolli, Verosika and Striker appear that Blitz gives his regrets, insecurities and resentments voice, poorly impersonating the voices of those who saw the real him. Striker mocking Blitz’s need for companionship, how he lies to himself constantly and presents himself as independent and assured when really he sees himself as needy and pathetic.

Fizzarolli adds to it, pointing out Blitz’s failures to make it on his own, however this portion of the series should probably be considered non-canon as the newest episodes established that Fizzarolli and Blitz have not had any contact with each other since the accident. The more important line Fizzarolli says “You're going to die alone”, have been written out of the show. There would have been no time or place for Fizz to have ever spoken this to Blitz.

Then there is Verosika, who brings up Blitz’s self destructive tendencies, showing Blitz’s own abusive behaviors towards characters like Moxxie. It also suggests an explanation to why Blitz tolerates Loona, because her constant rejection of him contradicts his reactionary need to push others away, as well as feeds his self-flagillation.

It is when he endeavors to flee the reflections of the worst parts of himself that he runs into Stolas. Perched atop a pristine staircase of gold, being fanned by two silhouettes of Blitz. This shows the power imbalance in every way. Blitz doesn't even walk up the stairs, but crawls. Himself just a faceless accessory to Stolas’ desires, but everything he has intrinsically tied to the power Stolas' exerts over him. This is shown explicitly by the chains around his hands and neck, Stolas' reeling him in as he bears a grimace of reluctance. It is the most explicit representation of being trapped between two bad decisions. Either he is just the joke, the failure, the asshole, the stupid piece of shit, or he is the pet, the object, the toy. Stolas mentioning Blitz being "afraid to love" is less a suggestion that Blitz has any feelings for Stolas, but instead his psyche convincing himself that the relationship is not so exploitive. That he is not being dehumanized and abused, but on some messed up level he is being wanted and desired, which is better than the wastes below.

Maybe one could say that Blitz is being elevated out of his situation for how the feathers removed the costume and sludge, essentially wiping him clean of his worst self, providing a sense of safety. But he only has this opportunity because of Stolas, and it isn't free as shown by the feathers also becoming the chains binding him. Because at the end of the day, Stolas isn't the prize at the end of the climb to self actualization, the stairs belonged to him in the first place. To escape the horror-filled wasteland below, Blitz has to play by the rules of the owner of the stairs.

And ultimately, that isn't a story that is off-limits.

The Stolas apologist argument is why the depiction of this dynamic is triggering and harmful, not the fact that it exists in the media. Just owning the scenario and having Stolas acknowledge that he has sexually abused Blitz would have gone a long way. Instead, Medrano and the fandom have insistently represented this victim-blaming interpretation where Blitz is responsible for his own abuse. And that will never be okay. This goes all the way back to my "Not All Victims are Survivors" post. Blitz is the victim in this and his bad behaviour and own abusive actions directly correspond to the fact that he is a victim with a victim mindset. He actively lives in the middle of his abuse and has formed maladaptive strategies through manipulation, harassment, verbal abuse, and self harm. These do not remove his victim status. There is no such thing as a "Perfect Victim". And he should not have to be any sort of way in order to have that experience validated. And the issue that is at the heart of this show is that the narrative and the fanbase require a victim to be framed as delicate and hapless to circumstance with a soft and gentle personality to be a victim. To come out of abuse aggressive and harsh with sharp edges is framed as being less valid. But this outcome is normal and it's a difficult battle to work on oneself to feel safe again. It's absolutely a story worth telling.

But you first have to be interested in telling a story.

#helluva boss critique #helluva boss critical #helluva boss criticism #vivziepop critical #spindlehorse critical #spindlehorse criticism #vivziepop criticism #tw self destructive behavior #tw sexulization #tw sa

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