#am i psyching myself out about having to write real words now? yes

[bebewrites]

I promise I searched your blog, but how do you (specifically) zero draft? The post that showed up in a search of your blog was like, bullet point writing whatever is in your head for the.wip, which I think is v cool and would help me finish lofm! So I'm curious how you do it!

Oh yes, okay! I don't think I've actually explained it anywhere, but I love talking about this.

what is a zero draft?

The great thing about a zero draft is that you can pretty much make it whatever you need it to be. For me, I was having a hard time with the middle of my story. I've started and stopped this wip so many times, always getting hung up at the same part as I approach the middle. I've always had a very clear picture of the beginning and the end, but never how to get all the way through from point A to point B. My original outline had things in brackets like [character growth] and [plot stuff], but what does that mean!?

My goal was to get all the way through. So I opened a blank document, started at the beginning, and literally rambled and talked my way through the entire story. I didn't write real prose. It was all stream of consciousness. It was me describing what happens in the story as if I was telling it to a friend. The zero draft was my rubber duck. This was my brainstorming document. I used common vernacular and slang and abbreviations. There are bullet points, numbered lists, sidebars where I rambled about a scene I completely forgot to mention in a previous section. Lots of comments about things I need to include in the next draft. Literally anything and everything I thought of went into the zero draft.

A zero draft can be as long or short as you need it to be. Mine ended up being around 40k words. But I've seen other people say a zero draft is 10k to 20k words. It's really up to you! And when you feel like you've covered enough of the story to move on to the next draft.

And you don't have to go about a zero draft the way I did! Recently, an author I love and follow on instagram (Casey McQuiston) shared in their stories that when they were writing their most recent book, they zero drafted each chapter before they wrote it out. Casey said that because of this, it was first time they didn't have major edits and rewrites afterwards. So if you find yourself needing a little more structure and sense of where you're going, I think a zero draft could be super helpful!

Of course you don't have to have a zero draft, and if you've got a good sense of the plot and character arcs, you might not need one. But it can be a great way to brainstorm and figure out those things if you need to!

#zero draft #zero drafting #writeblr #writing tips #answered #kaatiba #i hope this makes sense and helps!! #am i psyching myself out about having to write real words now? yes #but i'm very excited about my wip again though #so that's helpful too

[tackytigerfic]

You write everyday and you say your mojo isnt there? Everyday is incredible no matter how fast or slow you might be. Are you writing any in particular or just general/various things?

Thank you so much for this message, Anon, and sorry for the late reply.

Yes, I do write every day, but to be honest it's inevitably a bit rubbish. Most of the time I can't write until evening time, and by then I'm always exhausted and slow and sloppy. i'm a morning person so really would prefer to get up earlier and write then, but that wouldn't work in my living set-up! Sometimes I get 50 words of shite written, sometimes i get 500 words... I always ALWAYS try to write something in a day, even if it's literally two sentences in a doc on my phone. In fact, more often than not atm it is just two shitty sentences on my phone, and that probably won't change for for the foreseeable due to real life stuff.

I do make myself write everyday, but only because I am naturally not a very disciplined person, and I really want to keep myself in the habit. Plus not being a fast writer, I have to take the slow and steady approach in order to accomplish anything! I've been writing for four years now and I'm learning to accept that i'll never be able to knock out the hefty word counts fast, or dip in and out of loads of projects. I'll just have to plod along with my little gdocs and hope it gets done eventually!

Re. projects - I am mainly working on my long WIP which I post about under this tag - I sometimes have to take breaks from it as spending so long on it (nearly two years now) means that i do get bogged down sometimes. When that happens I tend to write a short piece just to shake my brain up. (Did i mention i just posted a new short? No? Oh well... 😂)

I am also concentrating on a big original writing project which is very exciting but much, much more difficult than writing fic (imo) and I spend a lot of time psyching myself up to that. It also has to take priority atm so fic is like my holiday from that. My rule for myself is that once I get 500 words of that written, I am free to delve into my fic writing! It's a good approach (a bit like Harry in WWPWCS promising himself an ice-cream if he gets his paperwork done). That depends on having the time for that though—some days i know i won't manage many words, so on those days I just make sure I write anything I can, however that works. I have to be v gentle with myself because i'm an emotional writer and any stress just shuts me down.

#that was interesting to think about #thank you anon #lovely people being lovely #i am always interested in people's processes #i wonder do the big word count fast writer types find writing hard #or does it just flow for them #i wrote that little short i mention in a matter of hours btw #which has only ever happened once in the past before #v unusual for me #and it felt so good #do some people get that feeling every time they write? #lucky ducks if so! #normally 3k takes me a week and expands to 5k anyway 😂

[thedrunkenreadersreviews]

A long review of "Exquisite Corpse" by Poppy Z. Brite

NOTE: This review contains spoilers for "Exquisite Corpse." At the time of publication, the name of the author was Poppy Z. Brite. During reprints of the book, such as the copy of it that I have, the author's name still appears as Poppy Z. Brite. The author now goes by the name William Joseph Martin with the author name of "Exquisite Corpse" remaining Poppy Z. Brite. His website refers to the previous publication name of Poppy Z. Brite. This review respects Martin's pronouns (male) and name. His publication name in the title is only a reflection of the name of the author that still appears on new editions of the book as well as on the author's website. Going forward, the author will be referred to as Martin with male pronouns.

*Pours margarita out of the pitcher and into the glass. Sip, sip*

I know, right? Where the hell did this one come from? Well, it is a bit older but I was recommended it by a few people so I thought I'd give it a read. I am one of those people who can read extreme horror books and show no facial expressions whatsoever. I grew up watching horror movies, my Dad not noticing my three-year-old eyes peeping between the staircase railings as he watched Scream and The Exorcist on the big screen in the living room. I'll read about serial killers, watch the documentaries, and dig up all the dirty details. I guess this is why I love history so much; so many forgotten, unexplored details. But I digress.

*Sip, sip*

This book compiles a bunch of elements and throws them all into a pot like the numerous ingredients going into gumbo (get it? 'Cus ... 'cus it takes place in New Orleans mostly ... anyway). But while most of it works and Martin has a fantastic command of words there are some areas that fall flat.

*Sip, sip*

First, the praise.

Martin is a fantastic sentence writer. What I mean by that is, yes, he has an excellent command of words and yes, the sentences flow beautifully, and yes, sometimes you sit there and think, wow, that was an incredible sequence of words to explain this emotion or event or character or whatever it is. Martin can write an incredible sentence ... that does not mean that he is an incredible author.

*Sip, sip*

Now, hold on. I'm not suggesting that Martin is a bad author. I will confess, this is the only book I read by him. However, I will die on the hill of what I just said---Martin writes great sentences but the story is a little flat in the case of THIS book.

*Sip, sip*

The length of the novel, I must say was perfect. Nothing in the book was fluff, every detail was essential to understand the characters and the story. Also, with a book containing the subject material as this one does, less is more. If the book is too fat, too filled with gory details, the hardcore readers who won't flinch (like myself) will be able to push through, no problem. However, the exploratory reader might find themselves stepping away because the material is too thick. Length, in this area, is everything for this reason. Martin seems to understand that----mostly.

*Sip, sip*

The characters. For the most part, they are ... okay.

Focusing on the main ones, of course.

*Sip, sip*

Compton has a real Jack the Ripper vibe to him, is entirely self-serving, but not really balanced. What I mean by that is, his character is kind of two-dimensional. He doesn't really go into the "why" at any point. His backstory is lacking and his psyche is very, I'm doing this so I can do this to do this. There is no concept of consequence or inner struggle. Which, I understand, he is a serial killer. However, those types of people have more thoughts than just what I refer to as "road map thinking." Road map thinking is - I'll do A to get to B which will get me to C so then I can get to D. It's ... dull. Really, the only time Compton becomes interesting is when he meets Jay because that kind of throws a twist into his thinking. But even so, upon Jay's death there really isn't any diving into it. Compton kind of just leaves and says he's going to try to be in this state of meditation to be with Jay but here's the thing: the two of them interact so little that I was thinking, "Woah, when did any of this happen?" Granted, Compton is absolutely inflating this idea of love with what I'd say to be found obsession (Someone like me! We must be soul mates!). But even that is not fully unwrapped. Compton is the only character with a first-person narration in the book (which, I don't think did it any justice), while everyone else is viewed through the third person. I think it would have been great if Compton was in the third-person or everyone was in first. That way if one character is thinking one way because that is how their mind works, we should see how the others' minds work.

*Sip, sip*

Jay, by contrast, has a real Jeffrey Dahmer vibe. Like, tremendously. Even down to his looks, his method of killing, his reasons for killing, his disposal of the evidence and corpses. Anyway, he was also very flat with not a lot of backstory.

*Sip, sip*

I guess I found myself disappointed with these two main characters because, yes, THEY ARE EVIL, and one of the most important things that we can do as people is examine that evil. What led to that? What messed up their minds so much that they deviated so incredibly from the path? What happened to Dahmer that led him to do those things? What was wrong with Bundy? What the fuck was going on with Gacey? What the hell was the Zodiac killer's deal? Why was Jack the Ripper so fucked up? Why are these questions important? To try to stop this from ever happening again. There are always going to be serial killers and evil people, but the more we understand evil the more we can combat it and, more than that, prevent it. I wanted to know what happened to Jay and Compton. What brought them here but we don't ever get a peek and that peek, I think (for it is the case with me) is what interests us, as an audience and (hopefully) non-evil people when exploring these areas. Like, Damn! Who fucked you up so bad that this is what you do now? It is our desperation to solve the mystery, to find logic in the illogical, and to make something nonsensical make sense.

*Sip, sip. Sip, sip*

Tran. Damn. I barely had sympathy for Tran. Did I want him to die? No, absolutely not. I wasn't necessarily mourning him, however, or pleading for him to have a miraculous escape. If he did manage to get away, that would have been cool but I didn't really mind that he died in the end. Why? Well, that whole conversation with his dad. Tran kind of took this whole "woe is me" approach and I was just like "weird take ... but okay ..." I think his father had every right to be concerned. Tran, after all, was a very young adult who was obviously queer during the time a strain of a deadly disease that was running rampant through the queer community. The letters his father found, though he did not know the age of the person, were written by an adult to his young adult son and spoke in tremendous explicits. And Tran's father never tells Tran he has to leave. Tran just takes it upon himself to do so.

*Sip, sip*

In no way would I ever support a parent disowning, disapproving, or even ridiculing their child for being part of the queer community. That is horrible. It is alluded to that Tran's dad (T.V.) does not approve or like the fact that Tran is queer---more than that, T.V. does not seem to like the fact that his son is having all of these explicit things done to him, is taking hard narcotics, engaging in sexual activity with a deadly strain going around, and not knowing if Tran has ever brought any of that stuff into the house with the two younger kids around. T.V. also goes on to blame himself, saying that if Tran is doing all these things, he must have failed as a parent. 99% of this makes logical sense from a parent's standpoint. Do children deserve privacy? Yes, absolutely. Do all parents snoop into their child's belongings from time to time? Yes, absolutely. Why? For these very reasons. It's not a lack-of-trust thing. It is a been-there-done-that thing and I-want-you-to-do-better. In T.V.'s and other immigrant parents' cases, I think it is more of a I-sacrificed-a-lot-to-get-us-here-please-don't-waste-this-opportunity thing. And, it can also be a combination of both.

*Sip, sip*

And Tran dropping that whole "well, you came into my room and went through my things so you don't trust me" line when he lied to his dad literally like a minute before, come on.

*Sip, sip*

He's a teenager. Yes, I get it. I really do. Teenagers lie to their parents and they do stupid things and they don't think their parents know anything and that they know everything. I was a teenager at one point too and I, for the most part, thought the same thing. I guess what really turned me away from caring so much about Tran is never does he think, "Maaaayyyyyybbbbbbeeeeee my dad was right about something." Not everything, but something. Nope. Never.

And he constantly, constantly puts himself into stupid situations. And he is a cheater. I have no forgiveness for cheaters. Doesn't mean I wanted him to die, I just felt nothing for him.

*Sip, sip*

Luke. Ugh! I liked him a little in the beginning but then the more I read about him the more I hated him. The fact that he tried to kill Tran, the fact that he was EVEN WITH Tran when there is that tremendous age gap! And once again, all for the sake of "woe is me." I know he is pissed off at the world for the shitty card he was dealt but I'm supposed to care about a character who tried to kill someone he claims he loves because he's pissed that he has a disease that will most likely kill him? Pass.

*Sip, sip*

The bulk of these characters have so little redeeming qualities or any, I don't know, substance. Compton is just evil. Jay is just evil. Tran is a typical teenager. Luke is just a bitter idiot.

The one character I loved and I mean LOVED and was always so happy to see was Soren.

He was the best part of this book and it is because he was so different from the other characters. Soren never takes this "woe is me" standpoint like Luke and Tran but he is not evil like Compton and Jay. He is just a freaking fantastic person who tries to help everyone. When you are stuck reading about a bunch of characters who just complain or have such dark thoughts, that one ray of sunlight, that one character that is different than the others has such a gravitational pull.

*Sip, sip*

And Martin ruins it.

Soren and Luke. Oh, I almost rage quit. I was so close to rage quitting. Soren having feelings for Luke, no problem. Soren asking to sleep with Luke right after Luke abused him and confessed he is going to try to save his relationship with Tran ... what? Luke going through with it after just confessing to Soren that he is in love with Tran? The fuck?! Luke being into it even though he has never expressed any interest in Soren or ever alluded to the fact that he even finds Soren attractive? WHAT?!

Like, it is explicitly said I believe twice, maybe even three times in the book that Luke has a fetish for Asian boys---and Soren is white.

*Sip, sip. Sip, sip. Sip, sip.*

I think this book did more harm than good. All of the main characters are gay men, which is absolutely, one hundred percent perfectly fine. All of the main characters are overly sexual and just scramble all over each other. I am not judging people who enjoy the promiscuous lifestyle, who enjoy sharing themselves with others, and who just seek the gratification of pleasure. To each their own. But to overly sexualize your gay main characters on top of not providing them with much depth is just ... bad. It feeds into the stigma that all gay men are promiscuous and just sleeps with whoever and prey on younger, vulnerable boys.

*Sip, sip*

So ... was it good? The words were great! The imagery was spectacular. The vocabulary is top notch and the story itself had the potential to be excellent! But the plot is not carried by the characters. Give Luke something beyond bitterness and hopelessness, which, I'll admit, is alluded to in the end. But only for like 2 pages. Not enough for me. Give Tran something beyond "woe is me." Give Jay more than just stab, sex, and eat. Give Compton more than just sex, stab, maybe try a piece.

And my goodness, don't give your ray of sunshine character such desperation in their romantic affairs.

Gay people, like everyone in this world, be it straight or queer, have depth to them. That is just one piece of them. There is so much more that could have been explored with these characters. I wish we could have found it.

*Sip, sip*

And I think that goes for every queer character which is part of the reason why, as you can tell from my page, I love Hazbin Hotel. I love Alastor (ace). I love Angel Dust (gay). I love Charlie (bisexual). They have SO much depth to them. They have so much within them to explore and bring forward and it's not just about who they desire to have as a partner or lack thereof. I don't want writers or creators to just full on this "well, they're queer so they have depth" idea.

And I'll leave it with this. The Hazbin Hotel post-Season 1 finale Q&A.

Blake Roman who plays Angel Dust was asked what he considers to be Angel's greatest flaw and strength.

Roman replies that AD's flaw is he refuses to accept that he is in as horrible of a situation as he actually is and will make light of it and not let people in.

However, his strength is, well, his strength! "Once he does allow that wall to come down, he is a fierce friend. You know you've got him."

Oh! Depth!

And Amir Talai who plays Alastor is asked, "What are [Amir's] thoughts on being part of the ace-rep through Alastor [...]?"

Amir, who is not ace, wonderfully replies, "It means a lot to mean a lot. [...] If you're aro-ace, that doesn't mean you're lame. It just means that there is a part of you that is different from what is considered typical. [...] And people ask, 'How has that affected your portrayal of him so far?'. Well, it hasn't."

Jessica Vosk, who plays Lute, shortly after jumps in and tells Amir, "But it's kind of nice to hear you say that when you were asked whether or not it has informed you with what you do or how you changed it. You said it doesn't because it's not like that is why Alastor is ..."

Amir: "Right!"

*Sip, sip*

In essence, a character's queerness is part of them, yes. But it is not ALL of them. That is not just who they are and to diminish them to just that one aspect of them is incredibly belittling. One of the main issues I have with the production of queer entertainment, [for example, the new "Mary & George" series] is that it is overly sexual as if that is the only thing that queer people have to offer. No. Queer people live like anyone else. And depending on the queer person, some may even have very little to no sex at all! There is no reason to saturate queer material with sex. This book mentions the word "dick/cock" in a sexual (not insulting, but purely sexual way) nearly 100 times.

*Sip, sip*

If you can stomach some gory details, I'll recommend the book but I don't think it is a book that you should read before you die. It's a book with a lot of sex and swearing and some blood. So ... yeah.

Cheers.

*Sip, sip*

#books #poppy z b #exquisite co #book r #book reading

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 2/?

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: Y/N - your name, A/N - any name (your best friend’s name)

Warnings: Swearing, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

Welcome Back! I have, once again, written more of Jason Todd because he’s a fucking teddy bear and I love him.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Y/N and Jason both returned from that date feeling all giddy about each other, but trying their dammed-est to not let their hopes get too high about the other. However, that was extremely, extremely hard for Jason to do with family like Dick in his life. It’s like coming home to a hopeless romantic of a shipper as a nosey bitch. Lovingly, of course. No one’s like Dick.

“So, Y/N?” Dick asked Jason immediately as he entered the Manor.

“Yeah, what about her?”

“So, many questions: Was that a date? If no, will there be a date? Is there going to be a second date? Do you like her? Do you think we’ll like her? Does she know you’re Bruce Wayne’s son?” Dick rambled at his little brother.

“Okay hold on god damn, yes it was a date, yes there will be a second, yeah I think she’s cool and I like her, slow your roll Circus Boy, I don’t know when she’ll meet you lot, I don’t think she knows who I am, she’s from Metropolis, so I don’t think she knows the Waynes well.” Jason answered Dick with confidence.

“So you like her!” Steph mocked as she entered the hallway, probably heard her brothers talking about Y/N, so she wanted in on it. Somehow she had evaded Jason’s gaze though, so she startled him immensely.

“Jeez, how many of you will scare me today? And yeah, dumbass, I like her. But I’m doing this magical thing called ‘Not getting my god damn hopes up about her since it’s only the first date’ you hopeless romantic fucks.” Jason barked at them.

“Yeah, but you love us.” Dick said.

“That might be true, but your meddling is only going to cause chaos, Dick and Steph.”

“What about my meddling, Jay?” Bruce asked. Once again, he had heard the talking about Jason’s new crush and decided he’d parent the boy on his girl. Jason jumped out of his skin, because, he had once again, not seen Bruce enter the hallway despite his best efforts to not get startled again.

“You, are going to give me a heart attack.”

“Looks like this girl let your guard down.”

“Can we just go on patrol and stop badgering me?” Jason muttered under his breath.

“Nope!” Barbara exclaimed. Clearly, there’s a pattern with Waynes escaping Jason’s attempts to not get startled today, “We’re still going to badger you, Jay,” Barbara finished.

---------------------------------------

When Y/N made her way back to A/N, she couldn’t help but turn her radio as loud as she could and try to take the longer journey back home. Pieces of quiet and tranquility always surprised and drew her in. Like a good book on a Sunday morning before the rest of the bustling city of Gotham or Metropolis awoke itself. If New York never sleeps, she thought, then what the hell do Gotham and Metropolis call themselves. She laughed.

There were a few good things about Gotham, like the people you’d meet on the street at 4am were some of the weirdest but kindest people you’d ever know. It’s like the city radiated off of the energy of the people in it, and in spite of the villains constantly hitting the city with their worst, somehow everyone never let it get to them. It was admirable. Metropolis was the same in that avenue, but it didn’t feel like the cold Gotham streets.

Y/N thought Jason was one of the kinder people she had met in her travels and classes. And she never thought that she’d meet someone she liked this much in her criminal psychology class of all places, but hey, the universe had different pen strokes for her.

She went and parked her car in the driveway of the rental house she and A/N shared. Only the two of them shared it, but if either of them lost their jobs, they’d be looking for another roommate immediately. Pulling out her bag which was full of notes written by Jason, the original notes written by her, and binders upon binders of criminal cases she was looking into at the time, she would get out of her car and begin walking to her door.

Of course, like most people, she would kick off her heels the minute she walked through the doors of the house, to which, A/N paused her music and went to go question Y/N about Jason.

“So, you know how this works, babes, lay it on me, how’s hottie? Is he kind?” A/N pondered.

“He’s so kind, he paid the printing fees for my notes and rewrote all of them, I guess it’s a system for us now. I write the notes in class while he tries to take it all in, we meet up, and he rewrites them all and pays the printing fee.”

“He paid the fee?! At that college?” A/N said, completely shocked.

“Is that shocking?”

“Well, the printing fees are so fucking expensive, hun. Mans must have daddy’s money to do that.”

“Really? Well regardless money doesn’t matter, he’s kind and I can make a name for myself if I graduate at the top of my class.” She said, fully believing this. Smart woman. She knew she could do it.

“I believe in you, do you have homework tonight? I can make dinner for you so you can study.” A/N offered.

“Nah, I’m just going to go file my notes and shower, I’ll come join you and help after.”

“Well, don’t drown.” A/N joked.

“Do you know how much effort that would take?” She laughed as she walked towards her room, once she got there she pulled out her papers and began the slow filing process of them into her desk.

About 2 minutes into this, she got a text:

Hey stranger.

If someone had a heart monitor hooked up to her, they could have bet their last penny on her heart skipping a beat. 

Hey Jason. She sent back.

I had a fun time today with you, do you want to do the same thing tomorrow, I could use your fast writing skills to get by in classes. And I just like talking to you. What do you say?

She thought. Maybe something legit is here, hopefully I’m not just used for notes. She worried about that, since she was just a tad insecure about him. He was pretty. She knew she was a looker, sure. But he was something more.

I would love to go on another budget date with you.

Budget? Actually yeah, I guess it is budget lol. Maybe next time I’ll actually take you out to lunch like I said I would.

I, honestly, completely forgot you said you’d take me to lunch, I was just having fun as we were talking.

Me too. You’re a hoot.

A hoot? That’s a book nerd statement if I’ve ever heard one. She joked. She didn’t actually know if he was a book nerd at this time, but they had been joking the entire time when she was filing her notes. She was no where near done filing her notes, Jason was a distraction from that, it wasn’t that important, she would end up finishing it later. She just liked some semblance of organization so she didn’t have to put it off.

I’ll have you know I’ve probably read more books than you.

Well book nerds are cute.

Eventually the messages from Jason and Y/N started slowing, Y/N assumed he was tired or working so she took her chance to file her notes and start running her shower.

Sorry Y/N, this has been fun but I’m going to get really sparse with replies, I got work to do.

That’s fine! Where do you work, by the way?

And she got into the shower. Halfway through her shower her phone pinged, she assumed Jason was texting back, so when she finished her shower, before she even got her towel on, she decided to answer him:

I work at Wayne Enterprises with my dad. It’s quite fun.  He had said.

Oh! I’ve heard the owner of Wayne Enterprises is a lovely man, have you met him? She asked him back.

And within an instant, he answered.

He’s my dad, so yeah.

You’re the Jason Todd? Heir to the Wayne Manor and Wayne Enterprises? She started thinking back on what A/N had said. Yep, she thought, Daddy’s money indeed. She started to slip into her pajamas, which were literally a mess and not put together, because this is the real world, not every girl has matching sets, when he answered:

I hope that doesn’t change much, Y/N.

Explains the camera I saw but didn’t mention, and that’s about it.

You saw the cameras? Damn it. I tried to shield you, they may have pictured us together, sorry.

Worth it for a lovely date. I’ve seen worse, my mum works with Clark Kent, who I guess you probably know since he’s Bruce’s best friend, and the paparazzi loves to take Clark’s picture.

Oh yeah, Uncle Clark. Yeah, the pap love him. You get used to it. I guess you somewhat know my family lol.

Nah, that’s about all I know. Wasn’t really interested in drama about you lot because it’s just not my business. Probably not a shared ideal with the general public.

She finished getting dressed and went to go cook with A/N, and share the news.

----------------------------------

“Girl! You were right about daddy’s money oh my god,” Y/N said when she entered the kitchen.

“Go on,” A/N urged.

“You know Jason Todd? Guess what. That’s hottie from Crim Psych 101.”

“Are you serious? That’s insane. You’re probably plastered across the internet right now for that date,” A/N laughed, “are you scared to date a famous man?” She asked.

“No, he’s really sweet and if this gets serious, I can just block out the flashes.”

The two of them laughed and started cooking. A/N was Latina, so, of course, she was in charge to cook most nights. But Y/N made killer desserts and pizza. Tonight was fajitas, so Y/N kind of sat bat and let A/N do her thing. Trying to know more so one day A/N wouldn’t have to do all the work, Y/N went onto the internet and the first thing she saw?

Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire, Jason Todd, out on a DATE with a Mystery Girl?

Like clockwork, Jason answered:

I guess I have a lot to teach you, and I hope you haven’t been on the internet recently.

I have. Globally Revered Son of a Millionaire. She texted back.

Fuck those damn tabloids. He said, she couldn’t help but agree, the paparazzi seem like they’re very invested in stories that aren’t theirs to tell.

Can’t agree with you more. We should put on a show for them tomorrow, actually give them something to write about.

I like your thinking.

You’ve opened up a lot today.

Is it your turn now?

What do you want to know? You asked him before turning to A/N.

“Tabloids talk too much,” you sneered at her.

“Cat should get their tongue and choke on it,” she finished, “did you at least look cute in their pics?” she asked.

“Somehow. Wasn’t even posing,” Y/N finished.

“Well, food’s done, are you still hungry?”

“Always.”

--------------------------------------

Jason turned to his brother, Dick, Nightwing, and said, 

“She knows now.”

“That you’re rich?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess I have to be more wary of her now,” he sighed, “I hope she’s not in it for the Wayne fortune.”

“Doubt she is if she agreed the tabloids can suck it, Red Hood.”

“I pray you’re right.”

He then drew his guns and fired at the ground underneath their laest venture into crime-fighting. This was gonna be one hell of a ride Y/N embarked on, not even knowing what she was getting into.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #batfam #batfamily #batbros #jason todd fluff #red hood fluff #dcu #dc #dceu

[scrawnytreedemon]

Can’t sleep, mind going precisely 56 miles an hour, so I think I’ll finally get around to writing this.

Couples days back, I went ahead and finally psyched myself up to do the Zant bossfight.

Because I’d picked up where I’d left off yesterday, which was just before the boss room, obviously I was taken back to the beginning of the area. This gave the whole ordeal a trek, if a short one, what with the Palace of Twilight’s laughable length, and me more time to think.

I didn’t want to do this.

It sounds stupid, but I really didn’t want to do this. I’d cried the day before trying to psych myself up and failing, and I’d cried then, before the boss door, stalling by sweeping away the crystal-fog as best I could-- A meagre attempt at housekeeping, and a futile one. Of course I couldn’t. This isn’t that sort of game. This isn’t a game for failed attempts at kindness, at least trying to clean this awful, awful place for an awful, awful man going through awful, awful things. I was supposed to be a hero.

Heroes don’t make beds.

They don’t wash dishes, or hang laundry, or hold a rival’s hand,

They kill.

The trek didn’t stop past the door, either.

We still had to walk up the stairs. To the throne.

To him.

And I was there, laugh-crying, wishing I didn’t have to. That I could skip this pathetic ordeal.

I tried to turn around and leave.

Despite it only looking like a larger one of the many, many doors we’ve passed through this awful, nonsensical, poorly-designed excuse for a palace that no one could ever live in, it didn’t budge. There wasn’t any turning back. I had to go forward, because this is an action game, and violence is key.

The game takes the reigns. Link walks up to the throne, sword drawn, despite my deliberate decision to sheathe it. The narrative begins again. Midna sneers, and throws a taunt at him.

Zant sits, and smiles. Smiles like he thinks he still has some form of control, or knows full well he’s lost it.

You know, when I was working through the Palace of Twilight, I’d come to the realisation that... Zant locked himself in the throneroom. From the outside. Logistically, despite the good laugh I had over this guy locking himself in from the fucking outside, where his opponents can grab the key, he could get out easily-- teleportation and all. But even that aside, it still spoke to a level of hasty panic, that he would even keep the key outside, behind a waterfall of yet more shitty fog-crytals in the hopes that would deter them. Deter us.

How long had the guy been here, alone in that room?

We all know what happens next. Despite this being my first playthrough, I’ve probably seen this cutscene a dozen times. Zant has what amounts to an overly-dramatised autistic meltdown expositing himself and his motivations. That he was upset and felt like everything he’d worked for had been taken away from him. That he was angry, angry and fed up of being relegated to a half-existence. Midna retorts, Zant wails some more.

What gets me is that, when Ganondorf visits him, engulfs him in this flaming ball of fucked-magical-fuckery, he just. Stares. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything. Ganondorf speaks as though he’s already decided that, yes, you will do, we will make a pact and rule Everything together; I will live on through you.

Did Zant even agree to this?

I think, subconsciously or not, he accepted it, but it begs the question of whether or not Zant was capable enough to partake in it.

Whatever the answer, he’s clearly not capable enough to partake in this. This fight.

It’s laughable, that I’m expected to find victory in this.

The fight was a fucking slog, 90% of the time. Some of these boss-battles I hadn’t played in nearly two years thanks to the impromptu hiatuses I’m so fond of taking, so I didn’t know what the fuck I was meant to be doing half the time-- And when I did, it lagged to shit everytime this poor bastard fired projectiles, because I was playing on the gamepad, because why on earth would I play this on the goddamn TV? It was a sad, pitiful encounter that I had to laugh my way through and also mumble “what the fuck“ on several occasions because I guess somebody at Nintendo ate cheese before bed and the dev team were so desperate to patch something together for this guy’s sudden crisis that they threw it in-- I’m obviously having a good laugh, but What The Fuck.

I knock the guy down in the last phase of the battle, the only one where he isn’t mimicking something else and dizzies himself spinning like a hyperactive child, and the game takes the reigns again. Midna prepares her hair. I look away-- I’ve seen it before, many times before, and it’s cartoonishly grotesque for a game that relies heavily on somber semi-realism. Midna has her own crisis-- And yeah, yeah bossbabe, I feel it.

It cuts back, and there’s a Heart Container on the guy’s throne.

I.

I killed a guy, and now I’m collecting his lifeforce. I stormed into the bunged-up attempt of a fortress conjured up as a last defense by a man who’s fallen head-first into insanity, tore through any meagre security measure like butter, murder the guy when he’s having an episode, he dies a fucked up death, and then I collect his lifeforce.

Is that fucked up or what?

For all of Zelda’s endless violence, rarely do you actually kill “people.“ It’s the kind of stuff reserved for the end, for Ganondorf, or some other corrupted nigh-demigod on the brink of losing their humanity, or never having possessed it.

We kill Zant.

Zant barely puts up a fight, and we kill him. Zant gets summoned from the netherworld by Ganondorf in Hyrule Warriors; we put him there in the first place.

If we were to view this from a literal, like this shit actually happened and these characters are to be held accountable standpoint, then what we did was justified-- If not wholly, then mostly. Zant got power-hungry, committed what amounts to a bio-terroristic coup on the government, disfigured his rival, a woman notorious for her beauty, then proceeded to attempt the same thing with Hyrule, leading to the indirect death of at least the people who got transfigured into Shadow-Beasts in Kakariko, and attacks you first, then yeah, no biggie?

But I’ll be fucking real with you chief, I don’t find it... I don’t know, persuasive? Effective? Compelling, would be the best word, to think of it that way?

What Zant is, is a narrative tool. One that was set up to be this big, bad interloper who you need to Take Down and Save Everything, as per usual Zelda format. The justification for why we should hate him, if I’m going to be honest, feels contrived, most of the time. He does some bad thing off-screen, Midna gets pissed, Midna and everyone within a 12-mile radius explains why we should be pissed in a way that often feels borderline developer-hand-y-- And that’s. Well that’s how Zelda usually is.

It’s justification to commit violence.

--To be clear, I don’t say this in a political sense. I mean it in the very literal “hit/kill a guy“ sense. And in all honesty, that’s kinda inherent to the ethos of action games. We enjoy catharsis-- We enjoy taking down big things, it’s satisfying! I’ve played a little Hyrule Warriors-- Loved the feel of it. Violence is inherent to even the most benign of action games, and it is what it is.

Where it falls short for me, is that with Zant, I don’t feel like I’m taking down some great foe that I should justifiably hate.

I feel like I’m a clearly more equipped person breaking into a room, and bludgeoning a mentally ill person.

I’m autistic. I may slot in easier to NT society than most, but I am autistic, and it makes me deeply uncomfortable to see something I’ve fucking gone through be used carelessly as flavour for a prelude to violence. I have meltdowns. They’re relatively rare, and mostly in my room, alone, but I’ve also experienced one out in public. It was only sobbing, but there’s a special kind of horror, of humilation in knowing other people, strangers, family, what have you, are seeing it, and all you can think is how much you failed.

I can’t fully articulate why I cried so much during this, quite frankly, menial ordeal. I’m half-embarrassed to even talk about it-- Because then that means caring too much, and I can’t care too much over a poorly-justified character that wasn’t even intended to be sympathised with and that most of the fandom laughs at. And I can’t say I blame them.

I guess at the end of the day it comes down to the ever-present pity; some strange, childish commiseration I’d indulged in ever since I was six and cooing over Bowser and how awful everything was for him, that despite my continuous efforts, I can’t ever seem to explain.

I didn’t like the Zant fight. It felt empty,

And all did was sweep cobwebs and try to turn back.

#scrawny rambles #scrawny speaks #tloz #twilight princess #zant #back at it again with anotherhgkjhgjkhgkhj #thoughts #i'm tired of how violence is used to handle everything i guess #i feel like i'm walking around with a hammer wanting to buils a little shed and maybe set it down and make soup and hand it out #but the game goes NO bludgeoning ONLY you MUST KILL ALL THE WRONGDOERS VIOLENCE IS THE ONLY WAY-- #cAN WE MAYBE??? N O T?? FOR ONCE??? #AGAIN to get onto another thing. fuckign. mnish cap. and how e/zlo i n s i s t s the only thing to do about v/aati is kill him #you know. #his child student. that HE TUTORED WHAT THE FU C K #AND EVERYONE??? THINKS IT'S F I N E?? #(slashes employed so it doesn't show up in those tagshdjjhgjkhg) #BUT YEAH WHAT EVEN #i suppose another part of this is just how. violence is glorified so much even in everyday culture. even in progressive circles. #[especially in progressive circles.] #ugh. god i really am a soppy little lawful good pacifist aren't i??? #hhgjhfjgjl #it's 12am forgive any typos

[kissinginkitchens]

You Bring Me Home—Chapter Four: You Can Hear it in the Silence

a/n: hello again!! So glad to have you back :) I hope you're all enjoying the story so far. It's been wonderful to read some of your comments and thoughts! I do have to give a special shoutout to @harrysblackcoat and @determined-overthinker for their continued support and feedback, it really means the world to me, so a huge thank you to you both!! I am tremendously grateful for all of you lovely readers and I hope you will enjoy chapter four as much as I enjoyed writing it! As always, my inbox is open, so feel free to drop by and chat with me after reading! Much love, Mel <3

Pairing: Hawai'i!Harry x Original Character

Warnings: swearing, allusions to sexual content

Word Count: 6.7k

read parts one, two, and three 

“You kissed him?” Maleah gasps over FaceTime, her mouth so wide, Alani fears her jaw will detach from its socket. 

She had finally decided to tell her best friend everything, excluding the Rolling Stone details, nearly two days after the last time she had seen Harry. The entire next day had been spent replaying every moment and listening to the recorded interview on her voice notes until the phone battery was completely drained. Alani’s stomach fluttered at the sound of Harry’s voice and it only made her miss him more. The part that she desperately needed her friend’s input on was what had happened immediately before she left. 

“No,” Alani clarifies, quickly. “Well, almost. Maybe—I think,”

“I’ve only been gone a couple of weeks,” Maleah starts, brows furrowed as if her brain is malfunctioning. “And you’re already swooping in on my man?”

Alani feels her cheeks warm but she pushes past it and rolls her eyes. “There is no swooping going on,”

“I don’t know. You two were caught in the rain together, sounds like swooping to me,”

“But that’s the thing,” Alani huffs. “I don’t know what it is. And I don’t know if I’m just making a big deal out of nothing,”

Maleah nods understandingly and pushes any jealousy out of her mind, the love for her best friend winning out. 

“Well, tell me exactly what happened before the kiss,”

“There was no kiss,” Alani emphasizes, thinking back to the last few minutes spent in Harry’s car. 

The sun had already set when the two of them arrived at her house, leaving little light in the already darkly tinted Range Rover. But even in the darkness, Alani could see the intensity in Harry’s eyes. Their bodies had been close enough in the confined space that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, and his vanilla scent enveloped her in an intoxicating haze. For a moment, her eyes had darted to his plush lips and she imagined what it would feel like to close the space between them. She could have sworn that he had done the same, finding his eyes wandering just below the tip of her nose when she looked up. Before anything could happen, however, she found herself reaching for the door handle and stepping into the crisp night sky. 

“But did you want him to kiss you?” Maleah questions. 

Alani waits a beat, but she doesn’t have to think about the answer. “Yes,”

“Well there you go!” her friend responds enthusiastically. “Problem solved,”

“Problem not solved,” Alani corrects. “What about the fact that he’s, like, famous? I mean what happens when he has to go back to L.A. or London or whatever?”

“Woah, woah, woah, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,”

Alani anxiously nibbles on the skin of her lower lip, not stopping even when she tastes blood. “But it’s true—” 

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to think about it right now,” Maleah assures her. “What if you just let things happen and… enjoy it for what it is?”

Alani doesn’t miss the double meaning in the last part. “Mi, you and I both know that I’ve never been one to just enjoy it for what it is,”

“I know this, and I love you,” Maleah starts slowly. “But as your best friend—and I say this with nothing but love—you need to get laid, for real,”

Alani groans, slumping further into her mattress. “But what if that’s all he wants? I just don’t think I’m ready for that,”

“And that’s perfectly fine,” her friend coos. “But from what you’ve told me so far, it doesn’t sound like that’s all he’s after,”

Alani considers this for a moment before Maleah continues. 

“Look, let’s start with something simple: do you like him? I mean, do you like spending time with him and just generally being around him?”

“Yes,”

“Then start there,” Maleah suggests. “You can enjoy someone’s company without making it romantic, it’s just friendship. Don’t put pressure on something that you’re not ready for, or something that might not even be there,”

Alani feels a small weight lifted off her shoulders and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, no you’re right I shouldn’t psych myself out over something that didn’t even happen. I mean, for all I know he has a girlfriend,”

She waits a beat before a new concern enters her mind. “Wait, does he have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t know,” 

“Well even if he does, it doesn’t matter,” Alani reaffirms. “Because we’re just friends,”

“When are you gonna see him again?” her friend asks. 

Alani stomach drops. In all her concentration of the past, she hadn’t even considered what will happen when she has to face him again. “I don’t know,”

“Who initiated the last hang out?”

“He did,” Alani admits, thinking back to the hours he had spent reading in the café until her shift was over. 

Maleah hums. “Well then it looks like the ball’s in your court,”

Alani is quiet for a moment, which her friend takes as her cue to offer some more reassurance. 

“I’m sorry I don’t have more answers for you, Nani, but it’s gonna be okay. Promise, ” 

Alani sighs, kneeling to look out the window next to her bed. 

“No, Mi, it’s okay. I really appreciate you just being there, it means a lot,”

“Of course, babes. Keep me updated.”

“Will do.”

The call ends and Alani continues watching the palm trees sway in the wind. Will do—the very same last words that she had spoken to Harry that night. Her mind wanders back to the moment right before she had opened the door to escape and plays out an alternative scenario. What would have happened if she had leaned just an inch closer? 

********

Harry pinches his lower lip between his index finger and thumb. Will do, he repeats in his mind— two words that he never knew could carry so much weight. 

“I said ‘I think Manchester United is shit,’” Nick Grimshaw says loudly, shrugging at Mitch and Jeff Bhasker when his plan doesn’t work. “I dunno, that should’ve gotten him,”

“Oh hey, Alani,” Mitch speaks into his phone loud enough for Harry to hear. This piques the singer’s attention immediately, his heart racing. “Yeah he’s right here,” 

“What the fuck?” Harry questions, zeroing in on Mitch. 

“Who’s Alani?” Nick teases with eyebrows raised into his hairline. 

Harry springs from his seat and corners Mitch, who holds his phone above his head. “Gimme the phone!”

“Hello,” Nick interrupts, watching the struggle continue. “Feeling neglected here, who’s Alani?”

The guitarist ducks and sprints to the opposite wall, Harry chasing close behind. They hop from couch to couch and swerve around fragile equipment while Mitch snickers and guards his phone close. Harry had no idea why Alani was calling and why she hadn’t reached out to him directly, but he’s dying to hear her voice again and is growing increasingly frustrated with his friend’s antics. 

“Mitchell, stop fuckin’ around!”

“I’m sorry,” he relents, holding out the phone with an amused laugh. “It wasn’t her, wrong number,”

Harry huffs and returns to his seat disappointedly, a guitar resting in his lap. Nick, who had only been able to drop in for the weekend due to his busy schedule at the BBC, narrows his eyes at both boys before speaking up again. 

“Once again, no one has answered my question.”

“She’s just a girl he’s been hanging out with,” Jeff explains nonchalantly. “He wants to have her babies.”

“Don’t,” Harry warns. 

Despite already having his fun, Mitch can’t resist adding on. “It’s none of our business… but I’ve heard a summer wedding is in the works.”

“I’m gonna go drink now,” Harry announces, standing. “And none of you fuckers are invited.”

He wanders down the hallway and into the kitchen, immediately reaching for the tequila. Is it too early for margaritas? he wonders before deciding that he wants a second opinion.  No new texts are displayed on his phone screen, much to his disappointment, but he decides to open the messages app anyway. He carefully types in Alani’s name and writes, then re-writes, the text several times before pressing send. As soon as the tag reads “delivered”, his body is filled with apprehension, but there’s no turning back. 

Harry: Is 10 a.m. too early for margaritas?

There’s a minute of silence, then two, and Harry turns his phone face down onto the counter to reach for the ingredients. It dings just as he opens the bottle of tequila and he immediately lunges for it. 

Alani: Never. Morning margs were invented for a reason. 

Relief. He quickly types out a risky response. 

Harry: Any chance I can convince you to join me?

He stares at the screen, willing the “delivered” to turn into a “read,” but it doesn’t budge. His lips ghost over the rim of the tequila bottle before he bites the bullet and takes a sip. 

Alani: Working :( sorry. Another time maybe. 

Defeat. He knows that “another time maybe” is a polite “never.” Another swig of tequila down the hatch. 

Harry: Yeah, no worries. 

Alani sets her phone down on her nightstand and brings the duvet up to her chin. She hopes with every muscle in her body that Harry doesn’t show up to the restaurant, though if he’s planning on drinking, perhaps she’s safe. Maybe I should do the same. She wonders, thinking about the rosé her mom keeps in the cupboard for special occasions. Surely heartache must be a good enough reason to crack it open. Regardless, Alani doesn’t think she has the stomach to keep it down at the present. 

********

Harry pushes the remaining peas around on his plate with the prongs of his fork. His chin rests in the heel of his hand. 

“And then I said ‘what’s the difference?’” his manager remarks, sending the rest of the group into a fit of wild laughter. 

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Mitch comments through a chuckle. 

The laughter slowly dies down and their eyes all wander to Harry who hasn’t budged for the past twenty-five minutes. They exchange worried glances, and Jeff begins to wonder if  his initial advice for Harry to go out with Alani was a mistake. 

“Hey, H,” he begins gently. “You feelin’ alright?”

Harry looks up from his plate and musters his best fake smile. “Yeah, jus’ tired,”

It was partially true; the crew had spent their entire afternoon at Honoli’i Beach practicing their surfing, though it was mostly unsuccessful for Harry—his life seemed to be a series of wipe-outs these days. 

“I’m gonna go watch a Rom-Com in my room,” he announces, standing with his plate. “Probably doze off.”

The group exchanges “good nights” before Harry saunters down the hall to his room. Settling into the bed, he flicks through the movie selection and clicks on one that he knows by heart. He contemplates texting Alani again, scrolling through their brief conversation from three days ago. Against his better judgment, he types out another message and presses send. 

Harry: Opinion on The Notebook?

He waits, attention briefly occupied by Rachel McAdams until the phone dings. 

Alani: A classic, though not as good as Dirty Dancing if I’m being honest. 

The corners of his mouth curl and he immediately types out another response. 

Harry: You have a problem with The Goss?

Alani snorts, planting her spoon into the pint of strawberry ice cream to reply. 

Alani: First, I have many gripes about you referring to Ryan Gosling as “The Goss”. Second, I was actually rooting for Lon Hammond, but maybe that’s just because I’m partial to James Marsden. And third, the scene where Baby and Johnny are dancing alone in his room. That’s all I have to say. 

Harry hums, hanging on every word. 

Harry: Confession: I��ve never actually seen Dirty Dancing…

Alani: We need to change that immediately. 

His heart pounds. So she didn’t plan on ghosting him forever. 

Harry: So Lon Hammond, that’s your type? 

Alani doesn’t know why she finds it unsettling that Harry steers the conversation away from any possible talk of them hanging out again. She reminds herself that she had been the one to decline his invitation for margaritas and shovels another scoop of ice cream into her mouth. 

Alani: Kind, supportive, successful, handsome? Yeah, I’d say so. Not to mention he forgave Allie for cheating. 

Harry: But Noah built her a house. Her dream house, I might add. 

Alani: I’m not discrediting Noah, I love a grand romantic gesture as much as the next person. Just think Lon deserved better. 

Harry grins, entirely ignoring the movie at this point. Grand romantic gestures, he notes, good to know. 

Harry: And what about the fact that Noah wrote it all down and reads their literal love story to her every time she forgets?

Alani: Maybe he deserves some rights for that. 

Alani taps the spoon against her lower lip and thinks about Cecily’s words. Just let things happen. She desperately wants to, but she doesn’t know how. The thought of getting too close only to let it all slip through her fingers is too overwhelming, so she starts with something simple: do you like spending time with him? Alani doesn’t think she could enjoy anything more. Her mind wanders back to the passenger seat of Harry’s car and the image of his wrist draped over the steering wheel, lower lip captured between his fingers. She had noted this tick early on and found it endlessly endearing. Save for the awkward fifteen minutes of their very first interview, their conversations all seemed to come so easily. Alani enjoys his quick wit and the way he speaks slowly, as if carefully weighing each word. She likes that even though the entire reason for their relationship is for her to learn all that she possibly can about him, he makes an equal effort to get to know her. Alani compares Harry’s sincere reaction to hearing that she was a journalist to David’s snarky remark. Harry had believed in her from the get-go—he had trusted her. He makes her feel seen and known. Isn’t that what it means to be loved? To be known? His words echo in her mind. 

Harry: How’s the article going?

Alani’s stomach drops. Fuck. In all her contemplation over the almost kiss, she had forgotten the truth behind her motives. She had lied. Harry had trusted her, and she had lied. Not yet, she thinks, I haven’t lied yet. It would only be a lie if she submits the article to Rolling Stone. Her throat tightens. But I’m so close. She thinks about telling him, but quickly shuts the thought down when she considers that she still doesn’t have enough material and can’t afford to risk it now. This is her chance, there’s no doubt about it. Why else would the universe have planted a world famous rockstar right at her feet just when she had decided to give up for good? Alani had to at least try, she owed it to herself, and she reasons that if Harry really cares about her, he will understand. He would have to. 

Alani: It’s going. 

Harry: Can I get a sneak peek anytime soon?

Alani: Soon. Good night, Harry. 

She sends the last text and sets her phone face down next to her. If she was going to do this, she had to do it right—even if it meant putting some space between the two of them. She owed that much to Harry. 

He sinks further into the mattress, not understanding what he had said or done wrong, but he grants Alani her space, anyway.  

Harry: Good night Alani. 

********

“You’re listening to KWPX The Wave and that was the latest single from Ariana Grande,”

Alani stops fiddling with the radio and sits back with a defeated huff. She had been in a rut with her own music lately and after spending nearly fifteen minutes in her driveway shuffling through songs, she decided to turn on the radio and leave it up to fate.

“Next up is a song from everyone’s favorite ex-boyband: One Direction,”

Goddamnit, Alani groans. She had forgotten what a bitch fate could be. 

“Now, I have to say, DeeDee,” the radio DJ starts. “I was personally heartbroken to hear the news, and I know my daughters were too,”

“Oh definitely,” DeeDee replies. “And I can’t help but wonder what this means for all of them. I mean, what do you think they’re up to these days?”

The first DJ gives a snide chuckle before he continues. “Probably doing what every twenty-something year old millionaire does: booze, cruise, and schmooze—the pretty girls, especially,”

Alani scoffs, rolling her eyes at his insinuation. She had begun to resent all of the gossip and speculation surrounding Harry’s whereabouts, especially after learning how much privacy meant to him. Moreover, she hated the twinge of jealousy that coursed through her veins at the thought of him with another girl. Alani supposes that it wasn’t entirely out of the question since they were far from romantically involved. While he had occupied her mind over the past few weeks, she knew that it was highly unlikely that he paid her the same attention. The thought still brings bile to her mouth. 

“Well whatever they’re up to, one thing seems to be pretty clear,” DeeDee speaks up again. “All eyes will be on Harry Styles. I mean, he’s really the one to watch in all of this, isn’t he?”

“I think you’re right. I’m curious to see what he’s got in store. Maybe he’ll join Justin Timberlake and Nick Jonas with the ex-boyband buzz cut. But without further ado, here’s Drag Me Down.”

Alani knows that she’ll have to talk to Harry eventually; over the past week and a half, she had dodged every invitation to hang out, left cut and dry responses to all of his texts, and even ducked into the restaurant’s walk-in fridge when he unexpectedly showed up one afternoon. While the temptation to indulge his friendly advances was high, professional boundaries needed to be established. She had already begun working on the article with material from the two previous interviews—and it wasn’t half bad—but there was still so much of the story to fill in. If Alani was going to make it all worthwhile, she had to keep digging and do it fast; she couldn’t afford to let her personal feelings get in the way.  

Her car sputters slightly as she heads south on Mamalahoa Highway and the radio fades in and out. Alani checks all of her gauges—she had made sure that the gas tank was full before leaving—and doesn’t see anything unusual. A few miles later, it jerks again before coming to a complete stop. 

“Fuck,” she cries, pounding her palms against the steering wheel. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Alani waits a moment before turning the key again, but the engine refuses to start. She whips her phone out of the cupholder and scrolls through her contact list. 

Pua—no license.

Maleah—out of town. 

Dad—also out of town, catering a wedding in Oahu. 

Mom—probably scrubbed in on a major, life-saving surgery. 

She continues scrolling until her finger lands on a name that makes her heart race and sink at the same time. 

Harry Styles—no. 

There’s no way she can justify calling him, not after giving him the cold shoulder all week. If texting back and forth was unprofessional, then asking to be rescued off the side of the road surely crossed several boundaries. Alani scans her surroundings, shielding her eyes from the blinding afternoon sun. There isn’t a car or person in sight for miles—what other choice does she have? With shaking fingers, she dials the number and presses the phone to her ear. Harry answers after the third ring. 

“Hello?” he responds loudly over the sound of cymbals crashing and laughter in the background. 

“Hi,” Alani greets, raising her voice to be heard. “It’s Alani,”

She hears shuffling on the other end and then Harry’s voice, softer this time. 

“Oh hey. How are you?”

“Good, how are you?”

Harry senses that something is off, but he’s glad to hear from Alani, nevertheless. His friends continue their antics in the studio, despite his silent gestures to knock it off, so he heads outside. 

“Uh, yeah I’m fine. S’good to hear from you,” he offers shyly. 

Alani’s chest tightens. 

“Ditto,” she replies. “Hey listen, um, I’m kind of in a bit of trouble I—” 

She hesitates. What the hell am I doing? 

“I need your help,”

Harry’s heart sinks, immediately filled with worry. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she reassures him. “It’s my car,”

“Where are you?”

“The highway, southbound. Just past exit 243, I think,”

“I’m on my way,”

“Thank you,” Alani offers gently. “Really, thank you.”

A soft smile spreads across Harry’s lips. “Anytime.”

He arrives in a pink Cadillac fifteen minutes later, pulling over behind Alani. She doesn’t recognize the car and  her confusion only deepens when a man with short-cropped hair emerges. As he approaches, a wave of recognition and relief washes over her. 

“Harry?”

“Hey,” he greets, walking up to the driver’s side. “Need a lift?”

Alani’s mouth hangs open ever so slightly, scanning his new appearance. He looks like a completely different person than the one she remembers, and he has the faintest trace of stubble above his lip and jaw. 

“You cut your hair,”

“I did,” he confirms. 

“It’s so short,”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course I do,” Alani offers with a light laugh, feeling flustered under his gaze. “I mean it looks great, really suits you. Not that it matters what I think, it’s your hair,”

But it did matter. Everything she did, or didn’t do, said, and didn’t say— it all mattered to him for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. And it mattered more than she would ever know. 

“So Stevie quit on you?”

Alani sighs. “I don’t know what’s wrong, honestly. All of the gauges look fine and I filled the tank this morning,”

Harry asks her to pop the hood and makes his way to the front of the Bronco. He looks around, not seeing any smoke or trace of other issues, though his knowledge of cars isn’t as comprehensive as he’d like in this situation. 

Alani joins him, doing her own scan over the inside of the hood despite the fact that she has no idea what to look for. Her eyes wander to Harry’s strong hands as they prod the various bells and whistles, and she notices the way his tanned skin glistens under the sun. The cross pendant nestled behind his white t-shirt escapes when he leans over, swinging like a mesmerizing pendulum. 

“I called a tow truck,” he says standing with his hands on his hips. “Should be here soon,”

“I’ll pay you back,” Alani offers quickly, her throat dry. 

Harry waves her concern away with a hand and places the hood back. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad you’re okay,”

“I really owe you one,” she says appreciatively. 

He leans against the car with his arms crossed, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Have lunch with me and we’ll call it even.”

“Deal.”

The tow truck arrives ten minutes later and the driver gathers all of Alani’s information, letting her know which mechanic the car will be taken to and when she can pick it up. She sighs watching Stevie pull away down the road and imagines the dent it’ll make in her savings. Harry nudges her gently, motioning for her to get in his car. 

“New ride?” she questions, running her fingers over the cotton candy paint. 

“It belongs to the owner of the studio,” he explains. “All of the cars do except the Rover, she’s a rental. But Jeff took her out to get us lunch,”

“I’m so sorry for interrupting your plans,” Alani apologizes. And for kind of ghosting you, she thinks. 

Harry shakes his head, shifting the gear between them. “Nah, you didn’t interrupt, we were just messing around. But I am curious to know what brought you all the way out here on a Tuesday afternoon. Skipping town?”

Alani giggles at the way he says “Tuesday,” but responds despite the curious look he flashes her. “Day off. I was gonna go to the beach,”

“Bummer,” Harry offers, thanking every deity that he can name. “We could still go,”

“Your friends won’t be mad?”

“They’ll be fine,”

Alani nods, her eyes studying the orange checkers on her trousers.

“What’re you hungry for?” Harry speaks up. 

She thinks for a moment and is reminded of her original plans. “I could go for some sushi,”

“Know any good places?”

“Yeah, I’ll show you,” Alani’s curious gaze falls to the glove box before her, immediately wondering what’s inside. “Do you think the owner will be mad if I open this?”

Harry glances down at what she’s pointing to and shakes his head. “Knock yourself out,”

Alani pulls down the hatch and reaches inside; her fingers make contact with what feels like a pair of glasses. When her hand re-emerges with a pair that are pink and heart-shaped, she smiles. 

“They have good taste,” she comments, putting them on. 

Harry looks over and flashes a wide grin, the dimple that Alani has become so fond of emerging. 

“Look good on you,”

“Try them on,” Alani suggests, handing them over. 

He obliges and pushes his own pair up to make room for the other lenses. 

“What d’you think?”

“I think you should keep them,” she says. “They suit you.”

And they really do; they compliment his face well and hint to the fun, easygoing parts of his personality that Alani has recently discovered. 

She directs him to her favorite sushi spot near Bayfront Park, which is buzzing per usual. After they’ve been seated on the patio outside, Harry tucks the heart-shaped sunglasses into his t-shirt and contemplates addressing the elephant in the room: the ghosting. He doesn’t want to spook her, though,  so he decides to pose the question lightly, but Alani speaks before he has the chance. 

“So what’s with the haircut?”

Harry blinks, clearing his throat before he responds. “You hate it,”

“No!” She defends. “I like it, really, it looks great,”

“You wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t absolutely hate it,” he teases in mock offense. 

Alani rolls her eyes, a playful smile spreading across her face. “It just seems like a huge step and I’m curious, that’s all,”

He considers this, deciding to stop giving her a hard time, and responds. “Well if you must know, it’s for an audition,”

“For?”

“A movie,”

“A movie?” Alani’s eyes grow wide. “You’re gonna be in a movie?”

“Maybe,” he clarifies. “Dunno yet,”

“Wow,”

Harry leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. “What have you been up to? Any life changing decisions?”

Alani shrugs. “Same old. Work, my summer class,”

“And how’s your family?” he asks, which catches her off guard. 

“Good. My sister’s… a moody teenager. My dad is catering a big wedding in Oahu right now. Mom’s saving lives like the badass woman she is,”

Harry laughs lightly at her comment and Alani tries to store the soundbite in the back of her mind for safe keeping.

“What about yours?” she questions. 

“Fine, yeah. Mum’s good, so’s Gemma. Talk to them at least once a week just to check in,”

He pauses to take a sip of his water before continuing. “Ever since I was about...ten, maybe, ‘ve had this feeling like—protect mum at all costs. But she’s strong, has the greatest heart,”

Alani finds it sweet that Harry speaks so highly of Anne. Her own mom had always told her that a lot can be said about the character of a man by the way he treats his mother. 

“I’m sure she misses having you around,” Alani comments, thinking of her own close relationship with her mom. “I don’t know if I could let my child leave home as early as you did,”

Harry brushes the tip of his nose with a knuckle and nods. “Was kinda hard at first, but she’s always been really supportive.”

“I bet she’s really proud.”

He offers a shy smile in response, scanning the scenery around them. 

“I’m sure your family’s proud of you too.”

Alani and Harry continue their light conversation through the entire meal, sharing stories about their families and childhood. She finds herself wishing that  she could have met a teenaged Harry, pre-fame and general world domination. He enjoys her anecdotes, soaking up every detail that he possibly can as if his life depends on it. The two of them go back and forth well after the meal is finished, only pausing when the waitress stops to check on them. 

“Maybe we should go,” Alani suggests, checking her phone for the time. “I always hate when customers stay for hours,”

“Just like I did the first time at the café?” he asks, putting his signature on the bill. 

Alani feels her cheeks warm and she quickly back pedals. “No! I mean—well, yeah, kinda—”

“And the truth comes out!”

“I was just annoyed because my sister kept bugging me to fill up your water. She was afraid you were gonna, like, get dehydrated and die or something.”

“Tell her I appreciate the concern.”

Alani laughs lightly, feeling a bit of relief when the breeze soothes her burning cheeks. The two of them make their way back into the restaurant and out the main entrance, padding down the boardwalk side by side. Harry never knows what to do with his hands, usually opting to stuff them into his pockets as he hurries down a busy street,  but he desperately wishes to occupy them a different way. His pinky involuntarily brushes the back of Alani’s hand, but he pulls away quickly to avoid freaking her out. She wishes he hadn’t. 

“What were you gonna do at the beach?” he asks to break the ice. 

She thinks for a moment, watching the different couples huddled together on the beach. “Relax, get some air. Do a little reading,”

“What’re you reading?”

“Currently this book about Laurel Canyon in California and some of the musicians who lived there during the 60s. You might like it,”

Harry’s brow raises. “Think so?”

“Yeah, it’s got Joni, Crosby, Stills, and Nash, Mamas and the Papas, all those guys. They talk about their experiences of coming to terms with rapidly growing fame, the reality of the peace and love movement, the collaborative process. Seems like something you might find interesting—relatable, even,”

"I’ll check it out,” Harry promises with a nod. 

Alani smiles gently and refocuses her attention on the horizon. “So what were you gonna do today?”

“Not much,” Think about you. “But speaking of books and stuff, I‘ve been meaning to ask. When you become, you know, the next Pulitzer Prize winner, do I get to be your plus one?”

She scoffs, squinting under the bright sun to look up at him. “I don’t know, I have to make it first,”

“And what does ‘making it’ mean to you?” Harry had been trying to re-define success, himself, and was curious to hear Alani’s thoughts on the subject.

She ponders the question for a minute, adjusting the straps of her orange tank-top to occupy her anxious fingers. “Move to New York, work for some big publication, something like that,”

“New York?” he asks, slightly taken aback. “And leave all this behind?”

“I think I’d like the change,” Alani reasons. “I love it here more than anything, but I think I’ve gotta make my own way, my own decisions. My grandma used to say that you ‘gotta swim before you drown because the ocean’s too vast and too interesting to get stuck treading water in the same place,’”

Harry nods, understandingly. “Wise woman,”

“Carolina,” Alani says, using the Spanish pronunciation that sounds like music to Harry’s ears. “That was her name, I was named after her,”

“Middle name?”

“Yeah,” she clarifies. “I’m half Mexican on my mom’s side,”

He hums. “Ever been?”

“To Mexico?” Alani asks, proceeding when he nods. “Yeah. Once when I was like, five, we went to Xcaret for my aunt’s wedding,”

“It’s beautiful there,” Harry notes. 

“What’s your favorite place that you’ve been to?” Alani questions, imagining all the stamps that must be in Harry’s passport. 

He thinks for a moment, a hum buzzing low in his throat as he sifts through his memory. “Probably Italy,”

“Lucky,” Alani muses, picturing the Gothic cathedrals that she longs to visit. 

“You’d like it there.” Harry says, truly believing it. A part of him felt that she belonged in every beautiful place he could think of. 

The two of them walk in silence for a few moments, each taking time to scope out the view around them. Alani sees a couple leaned against a staircase railing, looking deep in conversation, though probably not a pleasant one. 

“You think they’re breaking up?” Alani asks gently, nodding her head in their direction. “Or just having the talk?”

Harry scans the scenery before his eyes land on the pair that she's referring to. “Ah yes, the talk. Ye olde chat,”

“What do you think you’d be if you weren’t a musician?” She poses suddenly. He laughs to himself at the way Alani jumps from topic to topic and reasons that her mind must always be going a mile a minute. 

“A virgin,” Harry jokes, hoping that it’ll land. When she lets out a sudden, bright laugh, he looks over in relief. 

“God, you are so…” Alani trails off, shaking her head.

 He waits to see if she’ll finish the statement, but he doesn’t think she will. Truthfully, she doesn’t know what to say. The more Alani learns about Harry, the more he seems to surprise her. One minute he can be serious and thoughtful. The next, a ray of sunshine—aloof and carefree. She finds herself anticipating his every move, every word, and loving each minute that he allows her to. It makes her head spin at times, but she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They journey down to the shore and discard their shoes in favor of feeling the cool sand beneath their toes. Alani tells Harry about the sea glass collection she had as a child, and he makes a mental note to scan the ground for any pieces she might like. She asks him if the beaches are nice in England, to which he responds a hard “no” compared to the ones in Hawaii or California. A couple of children splash in the shallow water nearby, and Alani doesn’t miss the fond look in Harry’s eye as he watches. Eventually, they wander back up to the main boardwalk when they spot a group of people  happily sipping milkshakes. Harry noticed her eyes following them, practically drooling, so he suggested it before she had to. 

“Want some?” Alani asks, her mouth full of strawberry. 

Harry gladly accepts, taking a sip from the straw that she holds out to him. He hums, letting the taste sit on his tongue before he offers  his own cup full of vanilla. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before leaning over for a taste. The flavor is sweet and comforting to her, despite popular opinion that it’s boring. Alani swipes her tongue across her lower lip and thinks for a moment that this is what his mouth must taste like. She wishes she could verify this thought. 

“I’m really glad you got the strawberry,” he notes, stirring his drink with the straw. “I was having a serious crisis over what to get,”

“When in doubt, always go with the pink one,” Alani says, tapping her temple, and suddenly Harry remembers that the contents of her bag were all various shades of bubble gum and dusty rose. 

“It’s the only true rock ‘n roll color,” he offers, taking another sip of his milkshake. 

“Paul Simonon?” she questions with narrowed eyes, instantly recognizing his reference to a quote from The Clash’s bassist.  

“Nothing gets past you.”

********

The clouds above start to resemble puffs of cotton candy, signaling that the day will soon draw to a close much to both Harry and Alani’s dismay. They lounge in the pink Cadillac, which is parked in an area that overlooks the entire beach, and take turns picking out the one lie amongst two truths about one another; it was a game that Harry had proposed. 

“Is it,” Alani starts, her lower lip caught between her teeth. “The four nipples?”

Harry makes a buzzer sound effect through his own laughter, temple resting against his fist as his arm drapes over the seat. 

“Wrong-o, sorry,”

“What?!” she exclaims, eyes wide. “You’re messing with me,”

“Am not,” he defends proudly. 

Alani lets out a surprised chuckle, fighting the urge to let her eyes wander below his neck. “I don’t believe you,”

“I’d prove it,” he shrugs. “But then I’d have to flash you,”

“Guess we’ll never know, then,” 

Their laughter settles down and the only sound between them is the crashing of waves in the distance. Harry lets his eyes trail down the slope of Alani’s nose to her cupid’s bow—dangerous territory. Little does he know, Alani does the same, noting the fact that his lips are heart-shaped and the perfect shade of strawberry. How sickeningly charming, she thinks. Her eyes lift back to Harry’s and there’s something hidden behind the sea-glass that she can’t quite read. The air becomes charged and the two of them are like magnets, drawn inexplicably towards one another. Alani inches closer, her heart pounding so violently in her chest, she’s afraid that he can hear it. The sound of his own blood rushing in his ears prevents this, however, as he leans in too. The space between them gets smaller, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation, when the high pitched ringing of Alani’s phone sends her jolting backward. Harry curses every deity that he can name. 

“Hello?” she responds, turning her back to him. She listens for a minute, a soft “mhmm” escaping every few seconds. “Okay, yes, I’ll be there. Thank you,” 

Alani dreads having to turn back to Harry and face the consequences of whatever lines were almost crossed. She chooses to simply ignore it all together, as if no time had passed between his shocking personal revelation and the ringing of her phone. 

“Stevie’s ready.” she says weakly. 

Harry swallows down his frustration and offers a polite smile. “Let’s go get her.”

The mechanic shop is twenty minutes from the beach; Harry and Alani spend the entire ride in silence. Neither of them address the almost kiss despite the fact that it hangs over their heads like a raincloud of uncertain emotion. She occupies her gaze with the scenery whizzing past while he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. Alani mourns the fact that their little bubble had been popped so soon, but she figures that it’s for the best. Don’t get attached, she reminds herself. Easier said than done. Harry also wallows in the aftermath of the interruption, wishing he had acted sooner. When they finally arrive at the shop, the mechanic reveals that the cause of her car troubles was a simple dead battery. Harry offers to foot the bill, but Alani refuses, deciding that she shouldn’t accept any more favors from him in order to restore the boundary. 

“So I guess this is where we part ways,” Alani says gently, toying with her keys. 

Harry scans his brain for something—anything—a single excuse to see her again, and soon. He doesn’t think he can take another week and a half of icy silence and he has a suspicion that she can’t either. After all, she had leaned in, too—hadn’t she?

“There’s this thing,” he blurts out. “A sort of jam sesh at the studio tomorrow night. There’s gonna be booze, otherwise I’d tell you to bring your sister. But I’d love for you to come, and I think it might be good for—the article, or something,”

Alani weighs the pros and cons in her mind, one of which he had already mentioned: a chance to listen to what he’s working on. It seemed professional and innocent enough, not to mention the fact that there’d be other people around to keep them in check. Once she decides it’s safe, she nods. 

“Okay, sure,”

“I can pick you up,” Harry offers. 

Alani shakes her head gently and offers a shy smile. “No, that's okay. Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there.”

They exchange good-byes and Alani thanks him for coming to her rescue, to which he offers a modest shrug. Harry speeds down the highway and back to the house, but three words linger in the silence. 

I’ll be there.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles writing #harry styles x oc #harry styles fluff #solo harry #one direction #harry fic #ybmh #sooo :))) how we feelin now

[yellowocaballero]

Not Your Queer-Coded Disney Villain: Annabelle & Web!Jon Ficlet

Got bored again today and forced myself to write something that wasn’t gratuitously long. Set in the same universe (or, one of the universes) as The Convention on Chronographer Lane, but it’s completely unnecessary to have read that one before this. 

Content warning for (apparent and fake) predation of a student by a teacher, body horror, and spiders. REVERSE content warning for A PSYCH 101 LECTURE WRITTEN BY SOMEONE WHO WAS A TA FOR PSYCH 101. ACCURATE SCIENCE, BITCHES. 

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

Annabelle was sleeping through Psych again.

In her defense, she was really tired. The nightmares had been getting worse every day, and yesterday she hadn’t gotten more than forty minutes of sleep without jolting up in the middle of the night. She had flipped on the light five times during the night, hysterically convinced that bugs were crawling over her and earning the eternal ire of her roommate. Whatever - Irene would forgive her once she bought her an iced coffee from that campus shop she liked. If Annabelle gave it to her later at night, she’d stay up later and would be less likely to bitch when Annabelle inevitably made a stink at three am again.

It didn’t matter. Psych was tediously easy anyway. Not that everything wasn’t tedious, but there were few things more boring than listening to the drone of Mr. Sims’ voice. She had no idea how that guy had a fanclub. Emmanuela Odugawa had asked her if she thought that he recited Piaget’s developmental stages in bed. Barf. 

Thankfully, Annabelle had mastered the art of sleeping with her eyes open in class and barely aware enough to recognize when somebody called her name a decade ago, and she ruthlessly used this skill now. She dropped into a half-doze, and was only startled into awareness when she heard the word that had been running in a nonstop track loop through her mind for the past month. 

“Phobia: an extreme or irrational fear or aversion to something.” Mr. Sims adjusted his glasses, pressing a button on his laptop that advanced the slides. “It’s an interesting definition, in my opinion. Like many things in Psychology, it is almost infuriatingly vague. How do you define ‘extreme’? How do you define ‘irrational’? Oftentimes, that label is determined by society, science, and our therapists. However, I believe you can argue that phobias are the most rational thing of all.”

Annabelle rubbed her arms, suddenly cold. These auditorium classrooms were always freezing. 

“The concept of aversion is heavily rooted in evolution and biology. Anyone here ever eat any bad shrimp?” He didn’t wait for a response. “The smell of seafood probably made you sick for weeks afterwards. Our bodies are primed to detect poison, just as they are to detect danger. Phobias rooted in modern, abstract concepts - clowns, elevators, airplanes - are easy to extinguish. But phobias rooted in real, present, perpetual dangers, the sort of dangers that threatened the lives of cavemen, are far more difficult to ignore.” 

Despite herself, Annabelle found herself awake. She found herself listening. 

“Snakes. Heights. The Dark. Dogs, bears, large animals. Storms, driving, insects.” Mr. Sims’ looked up at the auditorium, and Annabelle could have sworn that he was looking right at her, he was looking at her. Annabelle’s breath caught, her heart thumping in her chest - a little differently than it used to. “Spiders.” 

A horrible clicking echoed in Annabell’s ears. She was afraid that it was her. 

Then he looked away, and the spell was broken. “Phobias are one of the most powerful and motivational forces in human evolution. Like mental illnesses, pack bonds, and emotional needs, the perceived weaknesses of the human mind can frequently be some of the most powerful forces that allow the survival of the human species. It isn’t a bug, it’s a feature. I find that a useful way to think of humanity, and of ourselves: that our weaknesses can make us very strong indeed. Next slide…”

If Mr. Sims said anything after that, Annabelle didn’t hear it.

She didn’t pay any attention to anything he said until the end of class, when she shrugged on her cute little silver backpack and merged into the stream of students filtering out of the classroom. A few students had stayed behind to talk to Mr. Sims, and he appeared wrapped in conversation with the giggling girls, but somehow he picked her out of the thick crowd. 

“Annabelle?” Mr. Sims asked. “Stay after, please.”

So she leaned against the long sweep of desks, left with nothing to do but squint at Mr. Sims as he spoke with another student about the requirements for the upcoming paper, wondering why he looked so familiar. 

All of the other students had assumed he was in his late twenties - “total DILF”, they all inanely assured her - but Annabelle wasn’t so sure. Despite the already graying hair, small glasses, and severe expression, she really wouldn’t put him any older than 23.

Maybe his greying temples were hair dye. Or stress did that to you, right? Annabelle squinted. But when Annabelle looked closer, if she really focused, then she really wasn’t sure it was his hair color at all. 

So she looked closer. Her eyes had been itching for the past week. She had caught her skin flaking and peeling, and instead of pink raw skin underneath there was hard and scratchy black necrosis. Her eyes itched now, as if they were striving to split apart, and if Annabelle only let them then they would burst. And as her eyes itched in a horrible, visceral pain, she thought that maybe the white at Mr. Sims’ temples was the thin, sticky webs of spider-silk. 

“Annabelle? Are you alright?”

She snapped back to attention, fairly embarrassed. She had been zoning out more in the past month than she had her entire life. Her older siblings had said that college would be rough, but she hadn’t known it would be this rough. This wasn’t like her. None of this was like her. 

“I’m great,” Annabelle said reflexively. All of the other students were gone, and Mr. Sims was staring at her over his glasses. “Sorry. Is this about my test…?”

“No. You did quite well on your test. Best in the class, actually.” Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if this was a compliment or important. “Is that why you’ve been so bored in class?”

Ah. Busted. A rare thing for Annabelle. She affected a faux-abashed posture and expression. “Sorry, Mr. Sims. I’ve been staying up ‘til two every morning trying to get my homework done on time. If I’m ever going to go to med school…”

“I thought you were a poli sci major,” Mr. Sims said cheerfully. Annabelle fought a shudder - how did he know so much about her? This class had 200 students.

“Double major,” Annabelle said blithely. “I’m sorry about sleeping in class, I’ll manage my time better. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, yes.” Mr. Sims waved her apology away, as if that wasn’t what he had been looking for. Then what had he been looking for? “I’m afraid I had somewhat of an ulterior motive for speaking to you today.” He leaned in a little, pulling his glasses down, and his foggy grey eyes - same color as the grey at his temples - focused solely on her. Annabelle made her eyes bigger, and she leaned in too, adjusting her posture so she looked smaller. “You’ve been doing very well in class. I actually wanted to invite you to a meeting. About...oh, your potential for med school. I’m excited to see you succeed. I think you could do quite well in whatever field you choose, and I’d like to help. It would be just us, of course.”

Ding ding ding. Annabelle affected a giggle. “I could totally use the help! Like, in your office? Or, like...lunch, or…?”

“I was thinking dinner, actually,” Mr. Sims smiled. “How’s Bombay Bicycle Club?”

Restaurant and bar, with a casual yet dignified atmosphere. Not formal enough to put up anybody’s guard, but nice enough that a freshman girl could feel treated and be impressed. Most importantly, it was popular among the businessman crowd and almost nobody on campus visited it. Annabelle used it herself to meet up with her sugar daddies all the time. 

For a brief, strange moment, Annabelle felt as if he did - but of course he didn’t. But it wasn’t impossible. But if he knew, then why wasn’t he blackmailing her? Was the blackmail for later, once he got her alone? This was probably a power play, getting her off balance by insinuating that he knows but not being explicit about it. He’d probably pull out the blackmail, ‘I’ll ruin your reputation you slut etc’, once they actually got there. Not that he could - Annabelle had contingency plans - but she would have to be careful to actually record him propositioning her anyway. Worst case scenario they had a MAD situation, best case she could squeeze him. Probably not for very much money, since grad students were poor as dirt, and she didn’t exactly need him to boost her grades...get him to slip her the test key and sell the test key? That could work. She could probably get him to strategically cut grades, which was a service that Annabelle could probably sell to students with a grudge…

But then Mr. Sims smiled at her, as if he knew what she was thinking, and Annabelle realized that she had been silent too long. She wanted to come off as panicked, maybe desperate, definitely flattered. 

“Sure!” Annabelle said, barely having to feign the anxious creak in her voice. “What time? I have night classes, so…”

“Next Friday at six,” Mr. Sims said instantly. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me too.” Annabelle affected Smile #35 - shy virgin. Mr. Sims’ grin widened. Annabelle silently put aside the ‘Catholic schoolgirl’ outfit for Friday. “See you then!”

She turned around, gave him a shy smile, and bounced off. She had just opened the heavy door out of the room when she heard him speak again, freezing her in her tracks. 

“Oh, Annabelle - how is the study with Dr. Bates going?”

And his question panicked her so much, made her heart change rhythm and made her skin itch as if something was straining to come out of it, made her eyes itch and crawl and burst, that every calculated move went out the window. She didn’t answer his question, didn’t even give an excuse - she just ran out the door, bright purple vintage boots thumping against the linoleum, breath catching in a chest where she was no longer sure she even had ribs. 

Most of her was already calculating. She was already two months into uni, she had to start establishing her power base. The minute her sorority accepted her she’d have greater access to money, popularity, and influence, but she needed reach with the administration too.  Mr. Sims was her in. This was a good thing. 

But part of her was disappointed, because she had liked him, and she felt a little used. Feelings of disgust, as strong and vivid as in her nightmares, rose in her chest. She squished far down in her chest, familiar with the feeling and effortlessly repressing it.  

Annabelle was good with disgusting things. 

She had another session with the Arachnophobia study on Monday. Which went fine. It was fine! She didn’t wake up that morning so sick with nerves that she almost threw up. She didn’t stare at her email inbox for thirty minutes, begging herself to cancel and drop out of the study. Nope. 

She distracted herself by befriending all of her roommate’s friends and dropping faux-concerned gossip about how cranky and anxious Irene’s been lately, have you noticed she’s been blaming me for how badly she’s sleeping? It was really super sad, frowny face, how do you think I can help, frowny face frowny face frowny face? 

So Annabelle went to the Arachnophobia study (it was fine), had increasingly realistic and vivid nightmares about her chest caving in and a nest of spiders crawling out of her chest and eating her eyes, and slept through class. It was all fine. 

She should have gone to Oxford. It still made her a little bitter. She had been smart enough to get in, but she hadn’t been smart enough to get the full scholarship. She couldn’t afford it, so instead she was stuck in University of Surrey, where dreams went to die. Future politicians should go to Oxford. Yeah, Surrey had some peers and Parliament members, whatever. She needed better, Oxford and awards and money. From there, from some swotty school or another, it was easy street. Annabelle deserved easy street, and she deserved Oxford, and it just wasn’t fair -

After another three am nightmare, Annabelle blearily scrolled through her sibling groupchat. Barney was doing great in med school. Tricia had posted her maternity photos. Wow, look at that, Robin had gotten a commendation at his law firm. Whatever. 

No hope of distinguishing herself in the world. No hope of distinguishing herself in her stupid family. She was smarter than any of her siblings, brighter and better than those doctors and lawyers and accountants, but nobody cared. Mum and Dad were living their retirement in comfort and cooing over their grandchildren, finally rewarded in old age for all their hard work. 

If Annabelle dropped off the face of the earth, nobody would even notice. 

It should have been a depressing thought. The idea that nobody cared about her, not really, that nobody knew the real her. But somehow it just made her heart beat faster in excitement. 

The idea of disappearing from all of this, of cutting herself free from a thousand threads that brought her plummeting down to earth...in the cold hours of that dark morning, to an eighteen year old terrified and alone in uni, it was a siren song. 

It was a siren song that sounded, oddly, like the chittering and scuttling of a thousand tiny bodies, but Annabelle was learning to look beyond that. 

By the time next Friday rolled around, Annabelle was considering breaking her self-imposed rule against drugs and popping a Xanax. But that wouldn’t help her exhaustion, the persistent bone-deep frazzled sensation of going a week on almost no sleep whatsoever, so she settled for an espresso as she wriggled herself into a tight, slinky plaid dress paired with a puffy olive green windbreaker. She wasn’t sure if she owned any clothing that was made after 1990 - a habit born from a childhood of shopping from thirst stores, and continued voluntarily into high school when she started making her own money online fleecing suckers. It was her, so much as anything was. 

“Hot date?” Irene asked, bending over her Physics textbook without looking up. She glanced at her vibrating phone, scowling. Poor baby - her friends were staging an intervention. “New guy or old guy?”

“New guy,” Annabelle said vaguely, carefully picking out a bold red lipstick - or did that seem too forward? Should she go for a natural look? “If I’m not back by midnight call the police. I’ll text you a picture of his car.”

“Roger.” Irene flipped a page of her textbook, oblivious to the fact that she was one of the few people Annabelle genuinely liked. Not enough not to screw with her, but she liked her. “He’s not good enough for you, something something.”

“Darling,” Annabelle said, winking into the mirror, “nobody is.”

She hoped Irene believed it. She didn’t. 

It wasn’t a frequent occurrence that Annabelle wished she was stupid, but today she wished she was stupid enough to take a power nap during her ten minute Uber ride. Her mind felt frazzled and frayed, as if it had been taken out of her scalp and spread out with a rolling pin onto a floured countertop. She felt as if she was melting, her vision spiralling into fractals or blurring out. She wanted to sleep. God, she’d do anything for some sleep -

So she blared Bad Romance in her frayed earbuds instead, clutching her iPod Touch tightly, pulling herself together. Gaga, give her strength. 

By the time that she tipped her driver, effortlessly found Mr. Sims’ car in the parking lot of Bombay Bicycle Club and texted Irene the license plate (Volkswagen, obviously), she had dragged herself into focus. She stapled on her confident posture and walk - no, we’re going with ingenue today, make it shy and hesitant - and slipped inside the restaurant, making a show of holding her clutch tight to her chest and looking around with big eyes. 

She saw him instantly. He was sitting in a corner booth, head down and texting on his phone with a half-smile. The corner booth was poorly lit, light dampened by the wood panelling and soft leather seats, and half of his face was draped in shadow. 

Great. She had even arrived ten minutes early just so she could pick a brightly lit, intimate little table in the center of the room. This guy - he was almost like her. He was almost like her, but he was better. 

Annabelle fought the urge to grind her teeth. She smiled instead, waving cheerfully until he raised his head. He smiled back at her, wriggling his fingers, and Annabelle wove around the tables until she could slide into the seat across from him. 

“This is cozy!” She said brightly. “Thank you so much for inviting me out, Mr. Sims. It’s been ages since I got away from my books -”

“Oh, cut that shit out,” Mr. Sims said, bored. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Annabelle’s mind shut down. Error 404, blue screen of death. 

“I’m sorry,” she said pleasantly, smile frozen on her face. “What?”

But Mr. Sims just shrugged listlessly, slumping against the cushioned wall. His expression was no longer fond, indulgent, haughty. He just looked bored now, as if he was too tired and underpaid to deal with eighteen year olds. “I don’t want to sit through this entire dinner fending off flirting. We have actual business to talk about, and I am uninterested in beating around the bush when there’s no point. You aren’t even subtle.”

“Excuse me -” Annabelle started, enraged, but Mr. Sims put up a hand and cut her off. 

The change was instant. On a dime, Mr. Sims straightened his posture, swept a finger through his hair to transform it from slicked back professor type to windswept, adopted a friendly and casual expression, and leaned in as if he was happy and excited to be sitting with Annabelle. In a moment he dropped ten years. Barely a second after his transformation the waiter approached them, holding a notepad, and Annabelle realized with a start that he had noticed the waiter coming before she did. 

“How are you two doing tonight?” the waiter asked politely, smiling at the both of them in a rote routine that Annabelle remembered from her own days waitressing. 

“Doing great!” Mr. Sims said, and even his accent was different, closely matching her own. He glanced back at Annabelle, nothing but open and friendly. “Mum says get whatever you want, dork. It’s on her bill, so let’s run her out of house and home.”

Instinctually, Annabelle shot back, “Aren’t you old enough to take me out to eat with your own money, loser?”

“Not with your stomach!” Mr. Sims laughed, and the waiter chuckled along too. Mr. Sims effortlessly rapped out an order for the waiter, before Annabelle even got a chance to look at the menu, and when she floundered Mr. Sims just rolled his eyes and ordered for her too. It was, somehow, her favorite food. 

He waited for the waiter to move onto the next table, eyeing him carefully, before he let the persona drop. Mr. Sims sagged again, dropping the friendly act, sizing her up from half-lidded eyes. 

“How did he even believe that,” Annabelle said flatly. “We don’t look anything alike.”

“White people will believe anything,” Mr. Sims said, rolling his eyes. “I have the Belgian government convinced I’m an Iraqi scientist and most high profile Australian celebrities think I’m Egyptian royalty.”

“...does Egypt have -”

“Nope.”

Annabelle was beginning to feel a little like the star actress in the school play who got upstaged in every way by the villain’s performance. Nobody did what she did. Nobody did what she did, but better. 

“Don’t feel insecure,” Mr. Sims said, as if he could read her mind. “I’m a good actor, and I’m excellent at reading people. But I can’t plan or plot like you do. I’m shit at thinking three steps ahead, much less thirty. You can keep plots and schemes going for years - decades, even, if I were to guess. I’m not sure how someone as competent as you can have self-esteem issues.”

Annabelle bristled. “You try having nobody care about you for - how do you even know that shit about me?” Something terrible occurred to her. “Are you some kind of stalker, Mr. Sims?”

Mr. Sims shuddered in real disgust. “It’s Jon. And no, of course not. You just aren’t as subtle as you think you are.”

Yes, she was. She was subtle to everyone on the planet - everyone save, maybe, Jon. Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Jon said immediately. 

“Liar. Everybody wants something.”

“I’m here altruistically,” Jon said, the perfect picture of innocence. “Really. I’m here to help you, Annabelle.”

“You are stalking me.” Annabelle leaned forward, but Sims didn’t move. “Are you even a real graduate student?”

“Absolutely not. I’m twenty three, I got my Psych degree last year and I’ve been bouncing odd jobs since.” Jon shrugged, as Annabelle felt silently vindicated. Nothing about this man acted like a twenty three year old - she remembered her siblings at twenty-three, there was nothing adult about them - but it was probably just another persona. She wondered how far she’d have to scratch to get to the real Jon Sims. 

“So you were just at Surrey to spy on me,” Annabelle said slowly. “I don’t know what country you’re from, but in England that’s definitely stalking.”

“I’d call it scouting,” Jon said. The waiter dropped by to place their drinks on the table - Jon had gotten a mule for himself, and he had ordered water for Annabelle in a move uncharacteristic for a sketchy guy. He waited until the waiter left to continue. “Call me a recruiter.”

“For who? What kind of job recruiter teaches a class for two months just to get to me?”

“How’s your study with Dr. Blake going, Annabelle?” Jon said, almost randomly, and Annabelle shut up. He must have seen something in her eyes, because a sharp little grin stretched in the corner of his narrow and sharp face. “Thought so. What do you dream of, Annabelle? In the cold corners of night, what fears come to life in the dark recesses of your mind?”

Maybe, Annabelle thought inanely, this was a dream too. Just an extended nightmare, one she hadn’t woken up from. It felt like that: distant and strange, hyper-real and unreal. This strange man sitting in front of her, who swapped faces so easily even Annabelle couldn’t keep up, was far too out of place to truly exist. 

Or maybe he was the first real person she had met in a very long time. 

Jon continued talking, as if she had responded. Maybe she had. “I am not a hero in this story. If I was, I would have come earlier. I would have deleted your name from the pool of subjects, and I would have made it so that you never got that call.” Jon looked away from her for the first time, letting a little sadness show on his face. “I couldn’t. No - no, I could have, I simply chose not to. You’re important, Annabelle. And I didn’t want to rob you of something that you may grow to treasure. I’m afraid that the choice you make now may not be much of a choice at all - but, perhaps, there is still a chance. At the very least, I would like to make this transition a little easier for you. It is a terrible thing, to have to do it alone.”

That…

“That was so vague it was completely meaningless.”

Jon barked a laugh, strangely delighted. “It’s not fair to speak in circles to somebody who’s gone a week without sleep!”

“But you’re doing it on purpose,” Annabelle said, too dead inside to feel mad.

“Oh, absolutely. I am not taking the risk of taking you on at full power.” Jon smiled at her, as if they were friends sharing a joke. “I saw what you did to that Walker boy in secondary.”

Despite herself, Annabelle smiled. “Hear he gets out on parole in five.” Something else occurred to her, a bit belatedly. “You are stalking me!”

“Does a spider stalk the fly that strikes a string on its web?” Jon asked cheerfully. “Or is it simply investigating an encroachment into its territory?”

“Does that mean that you’re going to eat me?” Annabelle said archly. “Thought you said you didn’t want to fuck me. Rude, by the way.”

Almost hilariously, Jon wrinkled his nose. “Sex is a waste of time, resources, and my attention. Can’t imagine why people are so obsessed.”

“I know, right!” Annabelle burst out, before she could help herself. “Do you have any idea how much money I get a month from guys just to talk to me? It’s like they’re aliens! Why do people fuck or date if it’s not to manipulate someone?”

“Right! It’s ridiculous.”

It was the first time anybody had ever agreed with her on that. It was the first time she had even told anybody she felt that way. For a brief second, Annabelle felt connected to Jon. It was the first time that happened in...a very long time. 

Jon was the first person Annabelle had ever met who was like her. Everybody in Annabelle’s life had always been either useful or useless. Jon seemed above that, somehow. To be beyond utility, to exist on your own power...what did that look like? To be the powerful, instead of the powerless?

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how many puppet strings Annabelle tied around her fingers, she was never powerful. Not really. She was eighteen, from a nothing family, and no matter how many molehills she made herself queen of she would never rule the mountain. She couldn’t get as far as she wanted with what she had. The only reason she had even volunteered for the stupid Arachnophobia experiment was because she needed to crush out weakness in herself, erase the hidden flaws in her mind.

But Jon said her flaws were strengths. What made her weak could be turned into power. 

Annabelle needed more, more, more. She needed everything, if she was to have anything. She needed what Jon had. 

Everything Annabelle said had a purpose. Every word she used was chosen carefully, every little gesture or body language was calculated. She said nothing without thinking, and she could do it so quickly nobody even noticed. Jon would notice, a con man as perfect as she was.

Let him. Give her two straight days to sleep, and they’d have a real battle of wits. In the meantime, she just had to pick her questions strategically.

“What am I turning into?” Annabelle asked, after a half-second of rapid thought. “Who are you? And what do spiders have to do with any of this?”

Jon smiled again broadly, grey eyes dancing with a barely hidden delight. “You’re fully aware that these are all the same question.”

“Then answer them. You said you’re here to help me. Then help me.” Annabelle narrowed her eyes. “We’ll negotiate a price later.”

“This one is a freebie,” Jon said. He leaned back, face fading into the shadow of the dim yellow light of the hanging light. “You’re turning into something much akin to myself.”

In the darkness, Annabelle saw Jon open his eyes. And his eyes. And his eyes…

All eight of Jon’s glittering black eyes shone in the darkness, straining her own and making her head thump. It was wrong, outside of humanity or reality, and it felt as if the very sight was straining the fabric of her delicately maintained life so tight it would tear. It felt as if it was tearing her, right in two, ruining her forever. Her eyes felt like they were going to burst out of her head. 

She didn’t want to know what would replace them. But she had the feeling that she already did. 

“Then what,” Annabelle gritted out, “are you?”

“I am the eldest and most treasured Son of the Mother of Spiders,” Jon said. He smiled at her, just a little, almost apologetic. “Sorry about that. I know you’ve always wanted to be an only child.”

Ah. Duh. Obviously. She should have known.

“...do I want to know who the Mother of Spiders is?”

“Your mother, should you choose to accept her,” Jon said cheerfully, leaning back into the light, and his face was normal again. Human as ever. Strange and foreign as ever - possibly everything, possibly nothing. “I know you aren’t strictly in the market for adoption, but you may not have much of a choice. You’ve felt her scratching beneath her skin. She’s going to tear out of you, and soon. Did you know some species of wasp lay their eggs in the body of spiders to provide food for the grubs?”

“During the next experiment,” Annabelle said dully, already filtering out Jon’s useless tidbits of information. That was a guy who spoke for the sake of hearing himself talk. “That’s when it’s happening. When I’ll...change.”

“Yes. It’s a painful process,” Jon said, and it was almost apologetic. “My own happened when I was fifteen - quite young, all things considered. I still remember the sound of my bones snapping as -”

“Don’t.”

“Of course! Anyway, I thought I’d make sure you had...to use the psych term, informed consent, before you entered the crucible. Our - my, sorry - Mother often foregoes true consent in our operations. The beauty of nature!” Jon laughed, as Annabelle felt sick. “Agnes wanted to put together a pamphlet, but then we let Gerry go wild on the clipart and...well, it’s better if I just explain. I can’t give you the full story now, but I’ll tell you as much as your mind can comprehend.”

Annabelle wasn’t sure she could even comprehend this. It was so much, and she was so tired. She had just heard that her body was going to rupture like a cocoon and give birth to a giant spider that may or may not also be her, and all she could think about was the fact that she wanted to go back to bed. Somehow, all she could ask was -

“Why?” She asked, so stupid and pointless, as if she was stupid, as if she wasn’t her at all. “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s like I said.” In the dim yellow lighting, Jon’s eyes glittered pure black, and in that brief and stupid second Annabelle felt as if they were the same in that way. “Nobody should have to go through this alone and ignorant.” Then the moment was over, and his eyes were a human grey again, just left of normal. “Besides. Siblings stick together, right?”

“I hardly need more siblings,” Annabelle snapped. 

“You’re about to lose seven of them real soon,” Jon promised, extremely worryingly, “so I’d take what you can get right now, Annabelle.”

“Are you going to kill -”

“Unfortunately, you may have to fake your own death!”

Then their food came, and Annabelle received her first lesson in the class of hard knocks. 

They talked for hours. It took hours, to even just get a picture of the story. Jon was patient, answering every question, and Annabelle strained so hard trying to fight through her exhaustion, trying to understand the answer, Jon’s motivation in answering it or what he could be leaving out, that by the end of it she felt as if she had run a marathon. She had never felt so tired in her life, in the most dangerous situation in her life, with the most dangerous person she had ever met. 

By the end of it, Irene was texting her to ask if she was dead, and Annabelle was falling asleep at her chair. Jon cut an end to their conversation when he slid out his wallet, covered the bill with a black Amex card, and slid a business card against the table. Annabelle squinted down at it. 

The text in the center just said [FREELANCERS]. That was it. She stared at it.

Underneath the vague word, she saw a phone number [555-555] and an email [[email protected]]. Annabelle looked up to stare at Jon. “Are you for real?”

“Almost never,” Jon said cheerfully, “but the card will make sense when it needs to. Let me take you back to your dorm, alright? You can get some sleep in the car.”

If he was a creep, she was dead anyway. Annabelle didn’t bother arguing. She grabbed her jacket and got in the passenger seat of his car, and true to his word Annabelle drifted asleep almost immediately. She even felt as if the ride took longer than ten minutes, as if he drove in circles just waiting for her.

For the first time in a week, Annabelle slept uninterrupted, and had no dreams.

Annabelle wanted what Jon had. 

And a week later, she took it. 

Shivering in an alley, clothing ripped to shreds, her own skin hanging off her triple jointed limbs, she dug out a creased and torn business card. She had been worrying at it intensely over the weekend, staring and it and clenching it tightly as if it was her only lifeline. It was, of course. But Jon had known that.

The card looked different now. The text now looked handwritten, but with a beautiful and old-timey slanted handwriting. It now just read: 

‘To Annabelle, with love. From your new friends Gerry, Jon, and Agnes’. There was a number underneath, and Annabelle frantically dug in her tattered leather jacket pocket to draw out her cracked phone. 

Annabelle hated taking favors from people. Everything she had, she had fought for herself. She would scrape, borrow, beg, and steal whatever she had to. But, when it came to siblings...maybe, then, it was okay.

Dizzily, as Annabelle let the phone ring, she thought: this is my supervillain origin story. 

The thought sent a slow smile crawling across her inhuman and warped face. 

Sounds like fun. 

#AROACE ANNABELLE RIGHTS #tma #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #the magnus archives fanfiction #annabelle cane #jonathan sims #web!jon #realized while writing evilcon that annabelle was seven while jon was twelve #and that their sibling relationship must be a NIGHTMARE #anyway i'm trying to convince myself not to write a web!jon agnes and gerry fic where its basically a leverage au #and i am failing miserably #so i wrote this instead of that #GRIFTER!JON AND IN THIS ESSAY I WILL #my writing

[magpiefngrl]

Hi. Im sorry you are hurting. Im feeling a similar way myself currently and it sucks. If you're up to it im really in the mood for a drarry soulmate AU. Maybe a red string of fate? No pressure tho. Hope you feel better.

Hello!

Thank you for your wishes <3333 I’m better, thank you: writing fun drarry ficlets helped. It gave me a lot of joy to write this one, and I hope you like it!

Eighth year, 1.3k, Mature, unbeated.

*****

When Blaise offered Draco a potion that would make him discover his soulmate, Draco only drank it to humour him.

‘There’s no such thing as soulmates,’ he said, twirling the blue vial. The potion inside gave off a strong smell of iodine. He wondered if it was a harmless Muggle medicine or an illegal hallucinogenic drug—both real possibilities where Blaise was concerned.

Blaise was leaning against the frame of his bed. ‘There is. That’s how I learned that Padma is the love of my life.’

Draco scoffed. ‘It’s all right to say you’re smitten, you know. You don’t have to justify it with metaphysical mumbo-jumbo.’

Blaise’s eyes flashed. ‘Just drink it and you’ll see it.’

Draco couldn’t be arsed to argue; he drank it. ‘And now what?’ He deposited the vial on his bedside table.

‘Now fate will contrive that you meet them, and when you see your soulmate, they’ll glow.’

‘You mean my soulmate is at Hogwarts? Out of the entire world? How ridiculous! What if my soulmate is a Brazilian underwear model?’

‘Well then your Brazilian underwear model will somehow, through mysterious circumstances, find himself at Hogwarts tonight.’

‘What a load of bull,’ Draco said and gathered his school bag. ‘Come on. We have Intelligent Plants at Greenhouse Six. Hey, maybe a plant is my soulmate? I could swear my ficus winked at me the other day.’

Blaise didn’t look impressed or amused. ‘You’re mocking now, but you’ll eat your words.’

He followed Blaise out of their dorm, his chest heavy. He didn’t want to tell Blaise the real reason he didn’t want to know about soulmates. It’d be so disheartening to be in love, desperately yearning for a person, and then to get confirmation that he wasn’t the One. That someone else was, someone that perhaps you hadn’t met yet. Even if it was better in the long run, Draco didn’t want the pain of disillusionment. He didn’t want to know the right bloke for him when his heart ached for the wrong one.

Because there was no way that Potter was his soulmate. They’d barely had a conversation these days that wasn’t fraught with tension, weird looks and awkwardness. Potter—who, in former years, had been capable of returning Draco’s jibes with sharp wit—was tongue-tied around him. Avoided looking at Draco even.

It hurt. Potter’s distance hurt, and Draco had no idea how to bridge it. He distracted himself by thinking about their next class when he froze a few metres from the greenhouses. He’d forgotten to bring the ingredients Professor Sprout had asked them to for this lesson. Curse Blaise and his stupid potions!

‘I need to go back,’ he told Blaise and strode back to the castle without another word. He crossed the Entrance, silent and empty now, and was about to head to the dungeons when he saw the school’s psych-healer walk his way. Oh no.

Luckily, she hadn’t seen him, her attention on her folder, and Draco glanced around him in panic and dashed inside a broom cupboard. He shut the door firmly and leaned his forehead on it, trying to listen to her footsteps fading away.

‘What are you doing here?’ said a voice behind him.

Draco froze. Honestly, this day couldn’t get any worse.

He turned around. A weird glow hovered in a corner, which illuminated the silhouette of Potter’s head. Draco’s heart—the traitor—thumped giddily. He swallowed. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I…er…. was looking for something.’

‘So am I,’ Draco hurried to say.

Murmurs came from outside. Draco pressed his ear to the door and groaned. Dr Bells had stopped right outside their door and was talking to someone—McGonagall probably.

‘You look like you’re hiding,’ Potter said.

‘So do you,’ Draco replied.

‘Maybe I am.’

Draco’s eyes adjusted to the darkness and he could see Potter a little more clearly, shrouded in that golden haze. ‘What’s that around your head?’

Potter glanced above him. ‘What thing?’

‘That— oh dear Merlin!’ Blaise’s words shot through Draco’s brain like a lance: your soulmate will glow.

‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, yes,’ Draco answered quickly, his heart hammering in his chest. Was Potter…? Was it possible? Draco’s breath came shallow, his lungs straining for air. They strained harder when Potter left his corner and leaned on the door beside Draco. He put his ear on the door, then glanced at Draco with a half-smile.

‘Hiding from Dr Bells?’

In his confusion it didn’t occur to Draco to lie. ‘Yes. She keeps asking me to go see her and talk to her.’ He mimicked the counsellor’s voice. ‘ “How about a chat, Draco? I haven’t seen you in my office yet. How about you tell me about your worst nightmares and biggest shames and—”.’ Draco bit his lip. He hadn’t intended to say all of that and waited for mockery or laughter.

But Potter looked serious. He still leaned beside him, his face turned towards Draco. ‘I’m hiding from McGonagall. Same—well, similar reason. She wants me to make plans about the future, decide on my next few steps, and—’

He didn’t finish his sentence and Draco didn’t hurry to fill the silence. They stared at each other in the dim golden glow. ‘I can’t stand people being understanding,’ Draco confessed. ‘Helpful. Kind.’

‘It’s pity,’ Potter said. ‘It infuriates me. People checking in on me all the time.’

Draco was distantly aware that, outside, the conversation had ended, and he could leave. He remained where he was, breathing quietly, side by side with Potter. ‘All you want is to be left alone,’ he whispered.

‘Yes,’ Potter said, voice equally low. Then, he lowered his face but glanced up at Draco through his lashes. ‘Well, maybe not all alone.’

Draco swallowed. He kept his eyes on Potter’s, desperately trying to keep his knees from collapsing. His voice rasped only a little. ‘You want someone by your side.’ Potter nodded. Draco continued, ‘Someone who’s not kind, though.’

‘No,’ Potter said, coming closer. ‘Not kind, not understanding, not helpful.’ He’d stopped an inch from Draco’s lips, his breath hot. ‘I want someone who’s fierce. And clever. And a bit rude. And—’ he stroked Draco’s cheek. ‘Resilient.’

The word loosened something inside Draco’s chest, and he propelled himself forward. His mouth fell on Potter’s, his hands pulling him close. Potter kissed him back enthusiastically, making small, painful sounds, as if it hurt. And perhaps it did hurt: to be granted this joy. Draco found himself pressed against the door, Potter’s thigh between his legs and Potter’s hot hands under Draco’s shirt. He kissed him breathlessly, relentlessly, savagely, while a voice inside his head rang with joy: soulmates!

Late that evening, Draco lounged on his bed, his skin flushing at the memory of Potter—Harry, sweet Harry—kissing him and stroking him and gasping in his ear. He looked up to see a disgruntled Blaise enter the room.

‘What’s up?’

‘Daphne’s sister, that annoying Sixth-Year, got a hold of the potion, tested it and said it was a tiny strain of Felix Felicis with some other shit which would make someone’s pupils dilate when they saw the person they had a crush on? I didn’t understand it, but—’

‘You wanted it to be soulmates.’

Blaise sat heavily on his bed and held his head with his hands. Almost inaudibly, he said, ‘If we’re not soulmates, Padma might fall out of love with me.’

Draco sat up. ‘Well, then you’ve got to treat her right, don’t you? But if it helps, I did meet someone today. Under unexpected circumstances. Perhaps there is something in that potion; something that hints at fated love.’

Blaise cast a sideways glance. ‘Your Brazilian underwear model?’

Draco leaned back on his pillow with a smile and a half-hard cock. ‘Someone better.’

***

Please note that it’s my fervent belief that therapy is a godsend and that finding the right therapist can be life-changing for everyone. I’d urge everyone who can afford it to seek some therapy, esp during difficult times. The attitude of these two idiots in the fic isn’t an example to emulate. (although it’s, unfortunately, quite realistic.)

#drarry #drarry fics #my stories #not on ao3

[spectrumed]

3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they’ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that��s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

#neurodiversity #neurodivergent #autism spectrum disorder #autism #aspergers #mental health

[x-files-imagines]

For Each Other

Request: I am SO psyched to find an X Files blog!!! 😘 Could you do one where reader always calls him Mulder because she heard he didn't like his name, but then months after they met he asks her to call him Fox, cause he liiiikes her?

Summary: You’ve always called Fox Mulder by his last name, but things are about to change...

Pairing: Fox Mulder x Reader

Warnings: this is hella fluffy

Word Count: 946

A/N: Anon, thank you for this request -- it was such fun to write! Who else gets overwhelmed whenever they see Mulder in his glasses or a turtleneck?? I don’t know about you, but this gif is making it hard to breathe oml. Anyhow, enjoy! x

Mulder never told you not to use his first name; you just always knew that he didn’t like it, so he never had the need to tell you in the first place. You had the fortune of making the mistake of referring to him as “Fox” once or twice while talking with your coworkers, and then with Skinner, prior to meeting the agent himself, so that habit was quickly put out.

Perhaps Mulder was surprised when he realized he wasn’t going to have to explain that he preferred his last name over his first to you, unlike everyone else he had  had the chance to meet. You couldn’t be sure -- you were too nervous in the first couple weeks working alongside him and his partner (now your partner as well), Dana Scully. With her, you comfortably referred to each other by your first names.

But several months had passed since being assigned to work alongside Agents Mulder and Scully and, of course, aliens and demons and other paranormal life forms aside, you had fallen into a routine and developed a strong rapport -- a friendship, even -- with your fellow agents.

That being said, you couldn’t deny the growing colony of butterflies that had taken residence in your stomach since you began working on the X Files, and it didn’t take a lot of guesswork to trace that growth back to a certain dark-haired, stormy-eyed agent with a smirk that made your heart race and a wit that made your tongue tie in knots, who sometimes wore wire-rimmed glasses or turtlenecks, both of which made you swoon a little each time to see.

But you were very professional about these feelings of yours, of course. You couldn’t let your silly little work-crush get in the way of work-work. Besides, there was no way the agent of your eye reciprocated any of your feelings, right?

“Morning, Y/l/n,” Mulder’s voice rang from his office as you walked down the hallway. You rolled your eyes, making the rest of your way down the hall, and stopped in the doorway, arms crossed, brow raised.

“How did you know it was me?” You asked.

“You have a much softer step than Scully,” he shrugged. He was leaning as far back in his chair as he could go, a no. 2 pencil poised between his two index fingers. His sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, and you made an effort not to look too much or too long at his arms. Instead, you strolled into his office and moved to pick up the file sitting on his desk, but Mulder dropped the pencil in his lap and snatched the file before you could touch it.

“Hey!”

“It’s a surprise,” Mulder replied, wearing his signature cheeky grin as he waved the file out of your reach.

“Mulder!”

“Actually,” his tone now entirely different. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, deliberating over his next words. You took this moment of contemplation to your advantage and leaned across the desk to grab the file. Mulder, however, was still too quick and jumped out of his chair and his reverie, moving further out of your reach.

“No, no, no, no,” Mulder said, setting the file on the cabinet behind him. He slowly and deliberately walked around his desk so that he was standing without anything between the two of you.

“That actually reminds me… there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about, Y/n,” he said softly, searching your eyes for something. He took a step forward, and your eyes widened at the sudden close proximity. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, and you flushed slightly, despite yourself. Mulder noticed this, as well as your suddenly shifty gaze, and took this as a positive sign. He took your hand, and when he spoke next, his voice was much softer and much deeper than before.

“Y/n, you’ve called me Mulder since we met; I never had to ask you to avoid my first name. But, I’m finding more and more that you’re the one person I wish would call me by that name. I like you, Y/n. I really, really do. And I don’t usually let myself get so carried away by these kinds of feelings, because they’re always so transient, or, at least, in the past they’ve always seemed so transient. But you’re different, and-- I-- well-- if you let me kiss you, will you also call me Fox?”

You were speechless, and your heart hammered in your chest. Again, Mulder -- Fox -- searched your eyes for something, but you were so caught up in the shock of everything to give him the sign he was looking for. Fox laughed nervously, shook his head, and began taking a few steps back.

“Sorry, Y/n, I should’ve--”

But you snapped out of your stupor right then, realizing you were no longer standing toe-to-toe and his hold on your hand was slackening. “Get back here, Fox,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him back. His face immediately brightened upon realizing that you, indeed, shared his feelings. You laughed lightly at his burst of happiness. Fox pulled you closer, arms encircled around your waist, and you snaked your hands across his shoulders and around his neck. The two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, overwhelmed and a little dazed, unsure of whether any of this was really real. But it was, and you knew it was as soon as you felt his lips on yours. Fox’s touch was all you needed -- and your touch, all he needed -- to know that, yes, this was real, and, yes, you were each other’s.

#x files #x files imagine #x files one shot #x files drabble #fandom #fandom imagine #mulder #Fox Mulder #agent mulder #mulder x reader #reader insert #request #The Truth is Out There #imagine x reader #cute #hella cute #fluff #so fluffy I nearly suffocated #I am such a sucker for this stuff #enjoyy

[queenofallwitches]

an update and primer:

so the last winter was weird. I had a complete breakdown, went into psychiatric hospital for 40 days in total. two seperate times.

learnt a heap of new things, met a tonne of cool people and had amazing conversations and few fights but overcome my own demons by that.

brain speaking-I have a scarred brain stem and neurological disorder is not a mental diagnosis, but a neurological disorder, proven by MRI scan, ADHD.

also damage to my basal ganglia, and prefrontal cortex.

neurological diagnosis means ADHD is not a "mental" health issue, as some believe, rather a neurodevelopment disorder caused by structural differences in the ADHD brain.

other neurodevelopment disorders include: Tourettes, Autism, Cerebal Palsy, Dyslexia and other Motor and Intellectual Disabilities. (Which recieve, in my view, a lot of insight, media information and stigma reduction by the advocacy networks surrounding these types of disability).

Over the last few years Autism has been over everything, I've seen mainstream media cover Tourettes and yet ADHD is still HUGELY misunderstood, misconceived and misrepresented in media, be in from the angle of documentaries, personal insight of a "typical" case, films, tv, and other media.

one of the first things my dr told me was "in females it rarely presents as hyperactive red-cordial OD child"

which is what my mother BELIEVES, that is because I have an adopted cousin with the ADHD dx who was that growing up, but the representation I'm told is also divergent for women with a higher IQ score than the average IQ. I come in around 142 and tested 123 at age 3 when I was unable to focus, pay attention and had severe trauma. I tested 142 in grade 8.

I'll share my experience as a female who is intellectually gifted, with higher IQ than average, and an adhd brain:

I've been told gifted and talented "genius" children are harder to diagnose because the symptoms present differently, we hide it better (camouflage) and our focusing can be "faked" by mediocre efforts of academic success.. this is true, I would do the assignment the Sunday night hours deadline, last minute, or have my parents half do it for me, plagiarise it (fuck I've killed my whole academic career now) copied but changed my words

from old 1970s encyclopaedias I KNEW they couldn't cross reference (I went through 15 years of school never studying doing homework or assignments and still had top grades).

I literally did not listen, and spent my classes planning the end of the world survival strategies with my GT friend who, basically helped me with my calculus and hard fucking maths, which was the ONLY 50 minutes of the day I put attention into my work.

now I'm going to be heading back to full-time study in the coming months, I get anxious as the pressure of a Bachelor level degree, and the pressure it takes me to perform, is enough to break me down. I've been advised it might be wise to start light (like a basic vet style diploma) and then build up, which is logical, but I keep thinking I'm meant to be doing my thesis by now. which is the kind of pressure one gets as a kid who is told repeatedly, "your intelligence is exceedingly the average and you can do ANYTHING you want"

I wanted to be an astronaut, a storm chaser, and an architect, a town planner and then a journalist. I always held to being a "FBI agent" or spy (I wonder why). so when I found psychology is really a blend of all these things, I kinda found a niche in a psych and social science double degree. but I'm thinking my academic career is LIFELONG, and due to the fact I also want to work in my field alongside my many written thesis coming, I'll be in academics for a long time. I may fail a few things, which I have to come to terms with. I do not fail easily, or readily, but I'm a perfectionist type-a academic who will put my whole life on the line to achieve "merit". I get exams, I get assessments, I read journals super-easy, I talk the talk and walk the walk so well psychologists who are at masters level compliment me on my "knowledge".

when it comes to mental health and trauma, I will always have the personal attachment, called lived experience, which will make failure and burnout, 100 percent realistic. I have to boundary up, bootstraps on, and prepare that yes, my personal "bias" will probably be entwined in this.

which is why I'm looking at the social science for the statistics and thesis writing side of things, and the counselling for the trained therapist side. either way, the degree of counselling requires so much self-insight, and then the social-science will back me away from personifying it. the other choice is criminology, which leads to forensic psychology, which is eternally fascinating. my main concern is the pro-pedophile content Ill be up against, which will look at the anatomy of a shoplifter akin to the devil, and leave the pedophile in the DSM-5 dx "paraphilia" box.

I'm not joining or jumping to anything.

either way I've got 2 year of credit, a heap of pathways and a lot of "academic momentum" from all my life being aimed to be "academic powerhouse". I went through my files and found a lot of awards I'd won in my high school, and top place in the competitions we would be entering in. I remember feeling so sad if I had a "credit" vs a distinction or high distinction, only to see now, a credit in university maths in year 9 is a skillset I don't have anymore so, good on me. or a credit in English, or Science at that age was pretty impressive, considering these tests were random and not studied for.

just a general skills assessment only the top 30 kids in the year were to take on a year by year basis and put out to vet from the top universities and taken by other kids in the same grade around the state.

it puts so much focus on my intelligence, because it's primed to be that way, I know that is true. I know I feel good being academically successful and it gives me a feeling of "achievement" but is it really for me?

I also found 2 letters from my local politicians offering me job placement, work experience and I was 1/4 kids in my 10th grade graduation tom get the letter, and due to my behaviour I pissed ALL the idiots who bullied me off. I was "too pretty to be a nerd" "too smart to be pOpUlAr".

so I made a group of misfits, who are all highly intelligent, creative and my group had the ONLY gay male in the school AND THIS IS BEFORE YOU FUCKING RETARDS MADE IT "COOL". he was bullied badly, so fuck you, you fucks claim "liberalism" but I bet you were the type of idiot who bullied guys like him in high school while you pretended to like my chemical romance and fake cut yourselves. I hate you all, forever.

my grade was full of idiots who were fake emo, who left the scene the moment the scene changed to dub-step and club music. I was there, watching you all, like sonny Moore, went from FFTL to that dubstep skrillex shit he started in 2009.

I dated you, hooked up with you and I went to your gigs. I know who was real and who was fake. I met some of you years later and realised the more emotive ones were the less "alternative appearing".

I can say 1/10000 emo guys from the 00s were genuinely Into the music and scene for the right reasons based on my dating history and this can and will be analysed statistically using SPSS one day to prove a lot. I've had too many relationships from each sub-culture and I have had 4-11 males at a time per public "output" of my energy pursue me over life.

I'm not being cocky when I say I have a long line of "suitors" and its banked back about 50 men. it's been a thing I've avoided as it seems to grow based on my body shape, attitude, appearance, so I am currently out of touch with dating scenes, no interest to try that ANYWAY, given the fact that I have had so many LONG TERM relationships ANYWAY. I can't see another one going well, and at this case, I'm living with an ex but we never went on conventional and now our families label this 3 things: "asexual", "polyamorous" and "open relationship". I'm also "bisexual" but this all to humans outside, looks ridiculous on paper. (wild orgies and lots of swinging or some stupid sex magick probably is what J brother literally thinks we do).

bc humans are intrinsically designed to need to label things they don't understand. we share a lease, not a relationship, and fucking polyamorous, I WISH. there are no girl-girl-guy 3 some, or orgies, or sex magic parties.

this has changed the attitude and perception of this "relation' which Is non-romantic, non-sexual. he can date and likely, will, as can I , and I likely won't date.

I would say 14/15 have had ADHD, or other mental illness and or trauma. which means to me, nothing at all.

I think this "open book" non romantic relationship style of "friends and roommates" not sexual.

attachment is misunderstood by others but works well fro my adhd, meaning I'm not expected to marry, or be a wife in any capacity. he is free to do what he wants, as I am, and open communication is a novel frontier I brought into this in the start, and stayed with for the duration. we fight, but I fight with a lot of people in my life over many petty things. also down to my adhd, I believe, I have rejection sensitive dysphoria, which makes me hypersensitive to rejection, perceived or real.

im not sure if this is trauma or adhd or both. but

I have used sexuality as a weapon in many relationships but it cannot or will not be used here, so I have had to resort to uncovering parts of myself which I never knew, which will stay with me even if he decided to marry and wife up in 5 years, which I'm okay and expecting him to do, and I would much rather that then be trapped in a situation where I cannot be that "wife/mother archetype" as I'm too "femme fatal/other-woman/sex-laced seductress and siren" a "FWB, unicorn, drug buddy, hook-up where im a therapist" or "intellectual and cognitive mind-bender work-study obsessed woman".

both at once and many types of human, including one who is a full-time ceremonial magician of 7 years. I will drink, drug, fuck, fight like males and still be more feminine and high maintenance than 89% of women. I grew up a tomboy and don't mind getting into fun, adventure based situations, like hiking, or anything adrenaline, I would only be reluctant to eat weird shit.

I also have many "neurological" issues including ADHD, and trauma which causes a rupture in the average human and I dating.

I'll tell you how many men have said "you are the unicorn" and then realised what that means, I went as far as canvasing the PUA world back in 2014 after reading the game, a book on PUA, which is essentially, pick up artistry, based on NLP and hypnosis. I did this after reading the copy my ex in 2008 handed me before we dated saying "I gave this up for you". it took me years to open the book, buy when I did I truly believed the only way I would fall in love again, was through PUA. that failed in so many ways but gave me a training foundation for men who were candidates for that, I have trained up J, and the way that sounds is BAD. I know, but I got a lot of value myself, I just don't see it how I wanted to see it.

but that was my original intent, and I achieved this he knows that, knew it was happening and evolved for the best self.

I am thinking we can modulate this into a business model for how I was operating in the BDSM world was mainly psychological, not physical.

I get told all of is incredibly intimidating (I am told) to women and men.

I don't really care anymore, because people have always seen this part of me in the wrong way ANYWAY, but I own who I am NOW. which is what I needed ANYWAY. so it cannot be stolen again, and sexual healing has come from abstinence ironically.

I also don't care what or who is trying to tear up my relations, toxic or not toxic, all people around me will be on a healing journey by default, or cut out of my life, for I am radiating that energy so brightly its impossible NOT to feel that pull.

I will drag your shadows into the light, and make your secrets spin from your lips into my consciousness. its not what I do but its what is design.

I make your weaknesses mountains to climb over. you cannot hide from these in my presence, I won't be this controlling or obsessive female who wants 24-7 attention as I have a life full of meaning without love or sex. I don't want to be wined, dined or expensively gifted, unless specially requested.

I don't want love letters or romantic declarations, this isn't some femnazi bullshit, but it triggers me. I appreciate the efforts and won't make you feel bad about your insecurities, for mine are probably 30 x more pronounced.

I appreciate small things, that most males won't or don't know how to do. like remembering things I've said and being thoughtful. or knowing my silence isn't personal, or a game, but a protective wall. I've had songs sung too me, guitars played, songs written, or things made in ways that are heartfelt. but I've always had them used against me too. so it is the context. I value time, energy, conversations of depth and reciprocal exchange. I also value trauma understanding, my alters and fragments being accepted and valued as me as a whole and a person who is not afraid, or scared of stupid stuff like sensitivity, emotions, feelings as raw as my own. men feel intensely too, lol.

but will only give oral sex 100 times before I don't recieve it, I can communicate now so that wouldn't happen.

but I won't be a bitch about this stuff. I am extremely feminine and care in ways other people, do not, I forget nothing people tell me, so it can be a reward or reverse uno card pull in a fight, but I am not evil or deviant in my relations. I react, depending on how you treat me. I don't need your money, or providing source of income to be okay as I am my own queen, however sharing resources is okay to build something. I don't need to be seduced, but will need to be shown a person is trustworthy.

few cross that.

that will always be time-endurance and testing. there are ground rules I don't play with, or play games. or like being forced or forged into something I'm not. I know abusive and I know safe, and I am a psychology expert, trained psychotherapist and study humans for fun, so I'll always be analysing things.

and I know red flags and I know ego, I know how to placate and please and pleasure, but will only do so, for a bigger and better reason than the mere act of seduction. which is without value and transactional to someone like me, I won't lie.

and I know every tactic in the book, for the book was written by someone like me, many lives ago, and my karma is being burnt for that book.

in terms of walls, I have many, may it be called a maze. or labrnyth.

I will teach you things you never thought you'd know, and change your life in ways you won't ever be able to go back to before. I will blow your mind, sexually, emotionally, intellectually, on all levels, and I'll make your friends and family love me.

I'll bring your walls down and you won't be able to understand this, because you don't understand me, and thats ok.

but I'll always understanding you and make your life better because thats what I do anyway, and people talk to me about things I will never share, as I keep secrets. I am jealous, of everything but, only because I am attached in a disorganised way, and working on that.(I won't even mention how man women or men don't know basic psychology of themselves). I also am a therapist , for my friends and family too.i should not be , but I am. I care, I listen, If you think I'm not listening, I'm still listening. sometimes I interrupt, because I have ADHD and I am horrible at resolute planning, or being "normal". but I don't want to be normal anyway. I need you to recognise and understand my shit, for that is what I do for everyone in my life, and I have helped more than I receive.

I'll probably accidentally give you therapy, but thats fine, because you will uncover your depths and find meaning in this. it's not something that goes bad unless you are fundamentally, evil, even the most abusive relationship I was in, was benefited from this process. yes he's still narcissistic, but he is self-aware. and did I benefit, never, just know the anatomy of self-proclaimed narc and I still can't hate him. will get my civil claim one day.

I will fuck your mind without meaning too. but thats because I fuck my own mind. but the meaning is made in the man- some find this highly offensive or personal (its not). I fuck minds by my own overthinking, or over perception on many levels of reality. so join the ride, or don't come along at all. because once the rollercoaster is in motion, I have no control of what may or may not happen. it's purely experimental.

I am experimental.

and the women who are judging me, are not any better.

look within, and shut the fuck up. self-improve and quit this jealous divide and conquer bitchiness. I HATE gossip, bitches, snitches and fakers.

I look to other women who are intellectually, physically and spiritually "individual". and find value in superior status to my own, which is something my narcissistic ex taught me.

I look for mentors, and teachers and people who will teach me how to improve myself, which I am fearful to reconnect after something is amazing and I can't give anything back of positive value. I am sorry I am working on that.

I won't devalue those below me, but I also need to be mutually benefiting from a relationship.

I dont drag people down, I may disappear if I feel I am doing this by mistake. I am flakey as fuck, and sorry for that. its anxiety and lack of perfectionism, so I am wrong and bad for this. I can change. will change.

if you can find value with my relation, personal professional or romantic, we can move into a symbiotic beneficial agreement based on mutual "terms". but many won't or cannot see this, nor do I impose my bullshit into the lives of randoms at this age.

I don't care if this is cruel, it's real.

I value loyalty, compassion, self-insight/awareness, someone who understands all parts-spirituality, metaphysics while still having intellectual & logical & analytical brain-sight.

I enjoy music, magick and learning new things.

I do not care about appearances I dont think ive dated based on one time. I do value connections and chemistry which is far-few between, I hate fakers. I smell insincerity miles away. but I do respect women who are well-presented, or beautiful, with hair beauty and makeup, I can't do this shit well, so I look up to those who are in professions who do it like art. I find them to be genius level queens who scare me.

I call out bad behaviour and make people uncomfortable if they are repressed. I will change you without even meaning too, I don't even need to date you. its just my presence, over time, amplified by the intensity of the dynamics.

I don't want simplicity, but I also don't need over complexity.

I value passion, independence, creativity, curiosity, problem-solving, deep-disscussions, shared adventures and some occasional risk-taking (lol), sensuality and sexuality for a common cause beyond physical pleasure. I like being taught but not micromanaged. I need my own independence, and need to be trusted with that. I hate being scolded for that like a child, or being pushed to change my ways to conform to societal values. which I will push back and refuse to do. which is not healthy. I don't adult like many others do, but I try to proceed in other ways. and learn to adult like normal people, accept me.

I also value myself, and how I can be celebrated, enhanced and improved vs. the opposite.

I give space, and have boundaries, and understand human psychology, sexuality and relationships in ways few others unless they are trained, can do.

I value MY time. so you can have space to value YOURS. I dont need to be in anyones pocket for a long time. I love being alone, and being around people who are stimulating, but draining people will be drained out of my life quicker than I intend. I am sorry for the people who felt I disappeared, when I was only trying to be 'fair', if I feel I'm a bad influence, I will work on myself until I'm not. I'm still working on it.

I also use this psychology awareness, to enhance communication, connection. you may or may not become an accidental guinea pig. I will be upfront that I am experimental, but that is part of the buy ticket and take the ride. lets work together. not apart.

I am coming from a place of love, and love is what I feel for my animals, which you will be adopting as children.which I want to stop experiments being done on. I love love, in all ways, but hate cruelty of animals and children, violence and suffering. I dont advocate justice, because I find life is fucking cruel, unfair and unjust. by default, so I focus on myself. what can be changed, and what I am able to do in my own locus on control. I will always find myself drawn to the outsiders, the misfits, the vagabonds, the misunderstood. I want to help people who are society, or socially, disadvantaged by trauma and mental illness, but only when I have ability to help myself.

it's a journey.

I will not date anyone who is cruel to animals, outside of specify magical sacrifice, there is not any place for that. nor will I date or fraternise with anything or anyone linked or associated with pedophilia. I won't judge anyone on anything that are outside animal cruelty and pedophilia. I don't and haven't. I keep on good terms with every ex, bar 1 whom I only apologised too this year. it felt good to do that. I change my behaviour.

I am open, but also highly attuned to both logical, factual, empirical , scientific worlds, and spiritual, intuitive, psychic and the "collective unconscious". I walk in both these realms, and I am "conventionally attractive". which puts a lot of pressure on me, to be "stupid". I am always dumbing myself down to fit into normality, but I look ridiculous if I do that so I peacock my intellect.

only to be misconceived.

I give up because I no longer care how anyone but MYSELF can see ME. I won't dumb myself down , but I can enhance you UP. prepare yourself for graded education, evolution and self-growth on mass scales.sorry not sorry.

that sucks for the people who want to be living vicariously through me, for making up to lost trauma years, for family who sold me out for the success I'd bring home, or fake trauma enmeshed friends, or whatever they want or need from me. I value my time and energy, and have given that in abundance, and if you want to be with nut only "one part of me that is alters". I can't provide that now. not sorry.

I have to work on something or not be in a dynamic at all.

I no longer can switch on demand to adapt for you, it will not be effective and that upsets a lot of people. especially now I'm sober. harder to handle this, as I see the world for its ways and why it is, more vividly. I haven't had alcohol for almost 2 months, although, I could drink, I haven't.

I can't do it, anymore. it, being, faking, my selves fronting to impress. I can't. I have no more left to give, and I'm expected by everyone to be a way I can't do it in the way they want.

I will go to another year long outpatient DBT, followed by 10 weeks of A-C-T therapy, and however many ECT OR TMS may or may not help. I'm told it won't (ect) work. but TMS, is something I am open too. but I am telling you, none of this psychotherapy, that will be based on dbt skills, day therapy, intensive skills training, recommencing my studying, and resuming "life worth living" will or can wipe the traumas I've "recovered" memories for.

I will also shut the fuck up, and tell nobody about this if you leave me alone, I told that to my family, and this is open letter to the watchers, stalkers and perps who read this openly as I track the hits on here and have 200+ visits a day every day for the last month. globally. no idea how or who you are but I think its the same people who called the police for the "ayreon song lyrics" seen to be a suicide not last October.

thanks for that wake up call, I have shut the fuck up, since December, more so now. I will burn the journals, or lock them up.

my recovery is not linear, not yet fully integrated and I trust nobody so I don't think my psychotherapy will be deep, I focus on things like ADHD AND my EDNOS. and dbt skills. I won't be talking about sexual traumas.

enjoy the update, and thanks for the "attention".

I have my goals, my work, my meaning and what my life should and could and will look like, but I will not share that with anyone. that means everyone right now.

I've been tested, traumatised and terrorised to the point of not-tolerant of anyone who may bring that back, and banish the fuck out of my sphere every moment I need.

take me as I am, or watch me as I go, which I will go, where I am not wanted I will remove myself, but I will find where I am celebrated because I create that.

I will rise up against all adversity every time but that is survival and that created a resilient and brave woman, in me. who will not be destroyed or decomposed by humans who are fundamentally fucking evil.

I gift you my truth, in progression, and give up the pain of the past.

#I've seen the MRI #magnetic resonance imaging #brainstem #scarred #brain damage #adhd #attention deficit disorder; mental health research; children #ADHD brain #living with adhd #adhd woman #women with adhd #mental illness #neurodevelopment disorder #neurological disorder #brain disorder #about me #trauma #cptsd #complex ptsd #adjustment disorder #love language #complex trauma #dissociative identity disorder #trauma and adhd #trauma warrior #writing #tldr #mental health awareness #dbt therapy #therapy

[willowaudreykeyes]

Okay: I’ve watched it 4 times and here’s the things about the episode that I find interesting. Or that I’m looking too much into. You guys can all decide because idk.

- Roman seems to make alliterations when he's shocked? He's done it before, but now he's done it again and when he's surprised that Thomas 'lied' or 'tricked' the ticket person.

- Virgil has resting disappointed face even as he eats popcorn.

- Roman is very dramatic about the age thing. "He's in his thirties, he may as well be in his sixties." "Can't think of new excuses quick enough in his old age."

- "I love you" is very big words. Do not use them, or forget them, lightly around Virgil.

- Have they always been on his back so much about lying, or was it only after Janus was introduced?

- Possibility: Romans eyes actually change into hearts when cute guy appears?

- Also: Roman goes into Shakespearean when cute guy appears.

- Roman is so optimistic when it comes to love! But not about other Sides? He's rather pessimistic when it came to Virge (at the beginning) and Janus. And kinda Remus too.

- Roman has used "We don't know if he's not gay" more times then the three can count.

- Pins equals introverts way of talking apparently. I guess that makes sense, since there’s pins for almost every kind of hobby, and Virgil knows this too.

- Roman sounds rather happy when they found out that Nico likes Paramore. Supporting his emo friend and his hobbies right there.

- “The Nightmare Before Christmas” is and will always be a Prinxiety thing. Did you see those star eyes Roman gave? And how happy-surprised Virge was?

- Virgil does think about romance too. “You can live like Jack and Sally, if you want.” Kind of cute.

- Virgil has eyes like a damn hawk. He saw those pins and went full on x10 zoom on them.

- Roman’s got some adorable music happening when more clues appear.

- Sticker/Button System must be followed or Virge no happy.

- Roman is almost as good as Patton with puns, except he has to explain it. Has he done that before? I feel like he has. I feel like this is a thing but I’m not sure.

- Roman and Virgil have about the same wavelength when it came to the creepy stalking-ish part. They both cringe when Thomas goes off to the side.

- If you use a word at the end of a sentence that sounds like a name at Roman, he thinks you got his name wrong. He did it at some other point I can’t remember when but he does this. Kind of feels like a autism and/or ADHD trait? (I know I for sure get confused sometimes)

- “Great... he’s gay” “Great indeed...” “GREAT INDEED” I love them. Just gonna say that again.

- Roman has this big thing about his name and it doesn’t seem like its a thing he’s faking? He seems genuinely confused. The one that’s two above mentions it, and the way he spelt it at the trial? And how he seemed very defensive when Janus spelt it wrong? This is a thing.

- Virgil is a self-proclaimed expert of anti-social etiquette and I say he deserves that title. 

- Virgil also really likes non-verbal ways of communicating. 

- Roman does the thing where you put your two pointer fingers together and its adorable.

- Fast head nod of agreement coming from Roman here. Over dramticness? Or actual quirk?

- Roman very much freaks out when flirting goes wrong. Not just a Virgil thing. 

- Virgil be scaring Thomas with zero regrets when he lost his test that the Universe gave him.

- Virgil be very glad to admit when he’s panicking. He also has admitted when he’s anxious in the past. He knows it, acknowledges it, makes Thomas and the others deal with it because dealing with it isn’t in the job description.

- Roman’s fine with compromise! Virgil gives an idea that attempts to help the romance part, Roman’s not 100% happy but rolls with it. Besties right here (even if they don’t know it). He does have a limit though.

- Nicknames are forever with Roman.

- Virgil is on Thomas’ left side, the more ‘thinky’ side of the brain. Roman is on the right, the more ‘feely’ side of the brain. It’s kind of more obvious in the scene where they grab Thomas a lot.

- Roman really slips with his feelings when he’s stressed. He says stuff that’s usually more about his self-worth. “You’re making a mistake.” “If I am, I’ll add it to the list.” That was said under a lot of stress and frustration. He’s done it before and he’s done it again; except now they don’t address it and it’s just a passing sentence.

- pLaNt

- Virgil would rather embarrass Thomas by making him talk to a stranger, instead of the guy that he thinks is cute? I mean, its very embarrassing by the end of it and Virge barely seems affected by it.

- And now Virgil is compromising. He works with Roman to make sure that Thomas looks okay (the “check your teeth” line).

- idk wtf the sty’s thing is about. Weirdly placed anxiety over it? Or something?

- Roman is very impulsive and basically throws Thomas into the trash can when a bad thing happens in front of a lot of people. Ego was definitely hurt there. Why hide instead of run away? Did Virgil sorta influence that?

- Plans help anxiety. Pretty sure they’ve covered that topic before, but lets just do a recap in this I guess.

- Virgil is half the people on this platform “Cyberstalking... but real life”. I mean, everyone makes a metaphor that has an actual word behind it sometimes. 

- “Try Speaking from the heart” ... I expected Patton, but there has been moments before where a Side who is expected to be there, isn’t there. Logan showed this in “Moving On” when he physically left but he never REALLY left. Patton showing up to add his own words to this may have been too much for him? Or he thought it would be for the others?

- Ah crap here’s the monologue-

- First off, it’s very honest. Full on honesty. With no holding back. And it really hit the feels; but is it realistic though? (Genuinely asking I’ve never been in that kind of situation)

- Very rambly too “I honestly don’t know what I’m doing at the mall today. I don’t know what I was looking for... I guess that answers my question- The mall is where you go when you want something but you don’t know what it is because the mall has everything.” Very rambly, very nervous, very honest.

- Roman and Virgil are very... in awe? Shocked? What is this? Roman looks so contemplative as he looks at himself in the mirror and I wanna be in his brain and know what he’s thinking.

- “I don’t know a lot about anything. Least of all, myself.” Okay, Janus just pulled all the way away for a full minute and forty-eight seconds (this is 99% accurate) to just let Thomas talk and feel didn’t he? This is just complete honesty.

- Anyone would be awkward with the guy coming out of that stall. I’m awkward thinking about it and seeing it again. Moving on-

- “I gotta stop wooing strangers in bathrooms” just a 3000 word fic of at least one other time that he’s done this and I will be yours forever

- Virgil is a dramatic emo who dislikes lying. Crossed arms, waiting outside for him, looks up when he says “you know what I meant”- They’re all part of an actor your at least a LITTLE dramatic.

- Virgil has a big thing about lies and relationships. This has to do with him and Janus’ relationship somehow- It’s about Thomas’ relationships with friends and his romantic life too. He didn’t seem as annoyed about them in the ‘Lies’ song way back when which didn’t mention lying about any type of relationship.

- “Can’t have true love if the relationship isn’t built on truth.” Is this what he was thinking about in the bathroom? Its a cute line either way. 

- Okay, Roman and Janus have some kind of... something. Cause a lot of Roman’s talks about his goals for Thomas pushes Thomas into relying on Janus until Roman realises that it’s morally bad OR (as seen in the talk after the bathroom scene) when he realises that it’ll be bad for Thomas in the long run.

- “Will (D)deceit continue to be the answer to all of your problems? Is that fair to him?” HIM WHO!? Janus or Nico!? Both!? AHHHH! This could mean so much in any direction you throw it but I can’t find the dang words!! “No, he’s better off without me.” This could just be Thomas misunderstanding the ‘him’ Virgil means too or he does understand idk-

- “I was afraid you left!” *INSERT TWO SIDES SCREAMING HERE* Hahaha he’s literally screaming on the inside omg-

- “He fears things too!?” Virgil doesn’t understand how people work when he’s worked up. Duly noted.

- Roman and Virgil equals A Gay Panic

- Thomas’ first thought when panicked is to ask the guy, that he thinks is cute and has been trying to get the attention of for the last while, ‘what is wrong with you?’ ... 10/10 Thomathy

-  .Roman seems... a little resigned that another ‘chance at happiness’ is walking away? I mean, he’s super sad but resigned to his fate. That’s sad as hell. He’s USED TO THIS and I don’t like that 😢

- Virgil’s scene where he looks between, NOT Thomas, but Nico and Roman, is really well done and filled with... a lot. He psyches himself up first of, taking in quick breaths before pushing Thomas, obviously afraid but still doing it anyway. And the look he gives a very resigned Roman looks like its both guilt and sadness. Could just be me thinking that he has a ‘this is my fault’ thing.

- Full on surprise on Roman’s face when Virgil pushes Thomas. No one was expecting that.

- Carrots. The carrots brought them together. Thomas... you don’t have to eat carrots, but at least say ONCE that they aren’t all bad.

- “I like songs” you’ve also written some and sung x5 as many but okay, go with that I guess. (Is this to not brag about being a singer right away? I guess so?)

- If Nico was writing about something that happened midway through his visit to the food court, what was he writing about before that? Did he have nothing until Thomas tripped over the bin?

- “I tend to waste a lot of opportunities in my life” Then cuts to Virgil. Ouch. Direct hit on Virge...

- BRAVERY. (i’ll get back to this-)

- “Shut up, emo.” No complicated nicknames; just the easy picking. Very cute. Very yes. Roman your a sap and its great.

- When Thomas is telling Roman to ‘get out’, he sinks down and is he biting his thumb? He’s still excited. And I’m adding ‘biting’ to his list of stims.

- Virgil claps his hands.  Roman and Virgil both cover their mouths. Both yell. Manic hand movements. Virgil gets Thomas to walks around and flappy hands. (And the nervous pee too I guess?)

- OKAY. EYESHADOW. Big thing, also new. I believe that it may be him ‘growing’ as a Side. First, he believed that he was JUST Thomas’ anxiety. Then comes to term with being more then that, which helps him become a ‘Light Side’. And now, he’s learnt that ‘fear’ and ‘bravery’ can both be present at the same time and is now growing from that as well. So, his back and forth between black and purple could mean a back and forth of the ‘fear’ and ‘bravery’ aspects. Thomas about to send a bad tweet? Black. Optimistic about things ‘never being the same again’? Purple. Thomas bringing up that they just met? Black. Its a promising start? Purple again.  Purple when something optimistic, its purple. Pessimistic, its black. There’s a thing happening there.

- And also, lots of smiley Virgil when he goes purple. Brave enough to smile? Or optimistic enough to be truly happy about it?

- “Join me! No thinking!” Okay, all the ‘Roman Himbo’ stans have already gone nuts over this so I’ll keep going XD

- Roman’s first date idea is to go to France immediately and I love him for being so honestly over-the-top

- Dogs are the demons of anxiety its now a fact. They even bring out the Tempest Tongue, despite hearing the dog “thirty times a day”.

- Do not tell Virgil to relax. Black eyeshadow. Very on brand tbh. He does not relax and you should know this by now Roman.

All in all; I love them and the entire episode ❤️ 🧡 💛 💚 💙 💜

#ts spoilers #sanders sides spoilers #sanders asides spoilers #roman sanders #virgil sanders #roman headcanons #virgil headcanons #i guess? #tw caps #willowkeyes for reference #willowkeyes rants #*throws at Tumblr* imma go rb art now

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Lucien’s Revelation Date (Eng Translation)

🍒Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Note: I translated this because Lucien hasn’t been given much love on this blog 😂 I’ve actually been struggling to pin down his personality, much less like him as a character. This date seems to the most recent release on the CN server, so I thought it’d be helpful in the creation of future text post memes to properly sit down and understand his psyche. 

I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did! I hope you will too. Without further ado, please enjoy this rare Lucien content! 

A week ago, MC found out that when Lucien was still studying in the UK, he rented a small farmhouse in Hampshire which has a large manor adjacent to it. The lease expired, so Lucien needed to handle the cancellation matters in person. Given this opportunity to travel, MC happily tagged along.

At present, it is the second day that MC and Lucien are at the farmhouse. They have woken up especially early to make a sumptuous English-style breakfast.

When MC thinks that she is more or less done, Lucien comments that MC has missed the most important thing – milk tea. He takes out a small pot and pours two cups of water into it.

Lucien: Come, let me teach you how to make milk tea.

MC: Eh?

Both of Lucien’s hands encircle my waist from behind, wrapping me in his arms.

MC: … But I know how to make milk tea.

My small refutation is completely ignored. He lowers his head and plants his chin on my shoulder, leaning on me even more.

Lucien: The first step to making milk tea is to put the tea leaves in after the water has boiled.

After a while, bubbles start surfacing in the small pot. Lucien places a paper bag of black tea in my hands. He holds my hand and gently pours some leaves into the pot.

Lucien: Now, we need to wait patiently for a while.

As soon as the tea leaves make contact with the water, a light aroma permeates the air. I lean on Lucien while looking around the farmhouse with curiosity.

Even though Lucien hasn’t been here for a very long time, it appears that someone has been maintaining the place. The furniture is clean, and the flowers displayed at the windowsill are fresh.

MC: Lucien, when did you rent this place?  

Lucien: After I graduated. I was doing some research back then and needed a place where I could concentrate on writing my thesis, so I rented to this place.

He explains that there a housekeeper has been tending to the home, which is why it is still in such a clean condition. 

Considering the peaceful atmosphere and how leisurely they have been spending their time at the manor, Lucien jokes and says it’d be great if they could live such a life every day, and that early retirement doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

After breakfast, MC suggests that they spend the rest of their morning drinking tea and reading books in the attic. Lucien thinks it is a good idea, but says he needs to find something important first.

It turns out that “something important” is a time capsule – two envelopes that MC and Lucien had written a while back when they visited a bookstore. They were asked to randomly pick questions related to their emotions, answer them in a letter, and then leave it in the bookstore for safekeeping. They bring the envelopes to the attic.

MC: I remember the bookstore mentioning that we could collect our time capsules after 99 days, right?

Lucien: They did give me a call, but it happened during the time our relationship changed. I should have given them your contact details, but I was selfish. I requested that they send the letters to this address. It was to prevent me from opening your letter… and to give myself a chance. If there was ever a chance for us to return to this place, I would want to open my letter in front of you.

His voice is calm as he gives me a brief overview of what happened. After saying this, he smiles and takes a sip of hot tea. I smile gently while looking at him.

It is like having two people insist on going opposite directions, painstakingly treading through an arduous winding path, only to realise that the goal was always right there. So there’s nothing else they can do but look at each other, laugh in resignation, and quietly berate each other for being the silly one.

MC: … Back then, the reason why I insisted on us writing our letters was because I wanted to see your response too.

After all, being with him meant that I had to rationalise many little emotions I had. I had to assuage my own worries, and get used to sudden bouts of longing.

Lucien is the most difficult problem I have ever encountered. He perplexes my mind. I always end up eagerly hoping that he can give me an answer.

Seeing that I have become quiet, Lucien takes my hand in his, his low voice radiated by sunlight.

Lucien: I shall reveal the answer to you.

We open our envelopes at the same time.

I take out the question card that I had randomly picked, which had been folded several times as I was afraid Lucien would sneak a peek at it.

Written in fancy fonts on the exquisite card was the question: What did he/she teach you?

I arch my neck in curiosity, only to find that Lucien had gotten the exact same question.

He calmly takes out his letter, and on it is just three words. His penmanship reflects how the answer required little thinking.

MC: “Lack of freedom”…

After reading those three words aloud, Lucien laughs lightly.

Lucien: Why are you reading it in such a somber tone? When I was writing the answer, I didn’t mean it to be unhappy at all. Although after knowing you, I experienced being perplexed about things I had never been perplexed about in my life, for example…

He considers it solemnly, and I unconsciously stare at him, making sure to etch into my heart every sentence that comes out of his mouth.

He lets out a small sigh before laughing to himself.

Lucien: For example, what to have for lunch and dinner.

MC: Huh?

I am left stunned at his unexpected words.

Lucien: Another example would be how I can’t help but notice the flowers of Spring, the rain in Summer, the leaves in Autumn, and the snow in Winter. Another example would be how I feel perplexed when watching a good movie alone, and feeling a need to share interesting things I find with someone. The strangest thing is, even my private time is becoming less and less interesting.

During his slow-paced explanation, Lucien’s eyes carry with it a smile as he watches me and my expression as it morphs from puzzlement to amazement.

Lucien: Is my way of thinking strange?

MC: Well… In my eyes, you’re always…

I can’t seem to find suitable words to use. Rational? Strong?

MC: You look like… You wouldn’t have the same troubles as me.

Lucien captures the hesitation in my eyes, and asks seriously.

Lucien: “The same troubles”… What do you mean by that?

He uses a slow tone of voice mixed with a smile. Evidently, the real answer to this question is clear. I am about to make a joke, but sensing the anticipation in his eyes, I can’t help but tell him what is in my heart.

MC: It means no matter who you meet, what circumstances you face, where you go, you wouldn’t involuntarily think of a particular person. This kind of involuntary… lack of freedom.

Lucien: … [laughs lightly]

A leisurely smile hangs on Lucien’s lips, and he looks up at the roof. A soft white cloud is reflected in his eyes, melding with his violet, creating a sense of tranquility and brilliance.

Lucien: Yes, they are indeed the same troubles.

At this moment, I slowly reveal my own sheet of paper. Coincidentally, there are also only three words written on it.

Lucien: “Having no fears.”

After Lucien reads the three words aloud, I can’t help but laugh.

MC: Why are you using such a melancholic tone? Are you worried that I was feeling wronged when writing this answer?

Lucien doesn’t speak, but his slightly raised eyebrows reveal that this was indeed his initial thoughts towards my words.

MC: Far from it. Back then, I was thinking that no matter what we face in the future, I would be willing to face it.

I pause for two seconds, worried that I was speaking too gravely. I flash Lucien a silly grin.

MC: Well… Basically there’s nothing worth being frightened of, and I’ll be fine when faced with anything.

My relaxed tone causes Lucien’s eyebrows to crease. He avoids my inquisitive gaze and seems to be deep in thought. In the end, he responds with his usual smile.

Lucien: There is still some milk tea left, shall we bring it up?

My instincts tell me that his understanding of what I said was different from what I actually meant. I hurriedly reach out and stop him, wanting to make crystal clear what is in my heart.

Lucien: What’s wrong?

Lucien gently tucks a stray hair behind my ear and looks at me with his usual warmth.

Lucien: Is there anything else we should bring to the attic?

I hold onto his face and look directly into his eyes.

MC: When I say that I’m not afraid, I don’t simply mean not being afraid to open up to you. I mean that I’m not afraid of anything. I’m not afraid of the secrets you keep, and I’m not afraid of accepting the real you. I’m not afraid to stand with you to overcome setbacks and difficulties. And I’m not afraid of the responsibilities and costs that come with being together with you. It doesn’t matter what it is. Being able to meet you, being able to have this moment... It is enough for me.

I say all of this in one breath, and realise that my heart rate has accelerated quite a bit.

Actually, these words should have been said a long time ago. I should have told him everything that was on my mind once I was certain of my feelings…

Just like the answers that were hidden in the envelopes, my words were long overdue.

Lucien looks at me quietly, his eyes expressing shock - something I have never seen before.

A warm, bittersweet aroma wafts out of the cup, permeating the air.

After a moment of silence, he gently frowns.

Lucien: Am I a supervillain in your eyes? Why does being with me require you to summon so much courage to overcome challenges, to bear costs and consequences… Is being with me really that difficult?

He reveals a troubled expression.

Lucien: I even thought what you meant by not having fears was that you did not have the same fears as I do.

He pretends to be secretive, dragging the last few words of his sentence. I can only respond by playing along and probing further.

MC: “Not having the same fears”… What do you mean by that?

All of a sudden, Lucien pulls me into his arms, lowering his voice and speaking into my ear. His voice sounds like a cloud, gently spreading across my heart, shining like sunlight after rain.

Lucien: It means not being afraid of anything when you are with me.

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #love and producer #didn't expect his date to make me feel things #mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn

[kitty-cat-is-back]

What Am I Doing with My Life? Chapter 2

Pairing: Sero Hanta x Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Holy moly guys! I know I said this is another post, but I am still in shock about how well recieved the first chapter was! Thank you so so much everyone! Now, I just want to say before anyone asks, I have no idea how long this will be. I’m basically just writing as I go, but I do know how I want it to end! Hopefully you guys will stick around til the end! Also, let me know if I should do a taglist for this! Anywho, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 1

Warnings: signs of depression, angst (I guess), a bit of cursing

‘How did I end up here?’

You sat stiffly at a wobbly table in the corner of the cafe, staring down at your lap intensely. Honestly, this just seemed like a dream. Or a nightmare. You hadn’t quite figured out which one it was yet. You hesitantly glanced up to see Hanta at the counter, chatting up the barista with his usual big smile. He hadn’t changed at all. Well… That wasn’t necessarily true. Actually, he had changed quite a lot. His once lanky body had filled out quite nicely with age, starting at the top with broad shoulders and going down to what you would assume was a muscled abdomen, or at least that was what the tight heather grey t-shirt was telling you. Your gaze traveled back up to his face, noticing his strong jawline and how well it complemented his features. You realize you might’ve been staring a bit too long when you notice him staring back at you, amusement in his eyes, and a cunning grin. Your eyes widen a bit before promptly looking back down at your lap, your face burning with embarrassment.

Hanta grabbed both of your drinks and came back to the table, taking the seat across from yours, “Here you go! A nice, tasty water,” he teased, “Are you sure you don’t want something else? I really don’t mind paying to get you something better,” he said, taking a sip of his coffee.

You cleared your throat and grabbed the water, “No, this is fine. Thank you though…” you replied softly, taking a quick drink in hopes it would smooth out all of your awkwardness.

Sero hummed in acknowledgment and kept his focus on you, “Well, anyways… How have you been? I don’t think anyone’s heard from you since graduation!”

‘Why is he being so nice to me?’

You adjusted uncomfortably in your seat and gave a small shrug of your shoulders, “Oh, y’know… I’ve been good. Moved here to go to school, got my masters in psych, and now I’m working as a therapist essentially.”

Hanta’s eyes lit up with interest, “Wow, really!? That’s so cool! You’re basically like a doctor! You were always pretty smart back then, so that actually shouldn’t surprise me all that much… Not to mention moving all the way to Chicago straight out of high school. That must’ve been a pretty tough challenge…”

‘He’s talking as if nothing happened…’

You laughed awkwardly, scratching your cheek in discomfort, “Well, I’m not a doctor! I think that’s offensive to actual doctors who did the extra schooling. I can’t prescribe any medication, but I do provide them with therapy and advice… And I guess the move was a little challenging, but after eight years I think I’m used to it. B-But enough about me! My life isn’t all that interesting, what about you?”

Hanta quirked an eyebrow, “Me? Well… I tried community college for a semester, but pretty quickly decided I wasn’t ready to take on four more years of schooling. So I dropped out and started job hunting. Had an office job for a while, but I wasn’t very happy doing that either. It wasn’t until one night when I was out with the squad that we all, drunkenly, of course, decided that we all hated our nine to fives and wanted to work for ourselves! So we made our own company! So now we get to work on our own time, make good money, and actually have fun doing it! Plus, we get to do cool things like going on a trip to Chicago with the excuse of it being ‘marketing research,’” he stated with air quotes.

‘His life sounds great, so why is he talking to me?’

“Wow, that takes a lot of guts, but at least it all turned out for the best. Finding happiness in life and job fulfillment is something a lot of people struggle with…” you noted, briefly pondering your own work-life balance, “But you said you’re on a business trip? For how long?”

“Yea, it’s for about two weeks. We wanted to make the most out of our vacation! But… We actually have to do a little bit of work. Katsuki would kill us if we didn’t!”

“...We?”

“Oh, yea! I came with Kaminari, which was probably a terrible idea in hindsight… Actually, I was just with him walking around the city and that’s when I saw you! I thought it was you that I walked past and I just had to be sure! Thank God it was you, otherwise, I would’ve just been a crazy person yelling in the streets,” he said with a cheery laugh.

“So… You just abandoned Kaminari.”

“...More or less, yes.”

‘How can he be so carefree?’

You couldn’t help but let out a breathy laugh. You couldn’t tell if it was from actual amusement or disbelief. You felt like you had been transported back to a time when you were… happy. You felt something you hadn’t felt in years and… you didn’t feel like you deserved to feel this.

Hanta could feel something uncertain left in the silence between you, “Speaking of this, I’m sorry if you’re uncomfortable by all this. That wasn’t my intention! I just happened to see you out in the street and my legs started moving to you before I even had a chance to think of what I was going to say if I got to you. I missed you, y’know?”

‘...what…?’

At those last words, your throat clenched and your eyes began to burn with tears. You’ve kept everything locked up so tightly all these years, not letting anything get to you. How was it that a few words were able to crack your walls? The shaky breath that you released along followed by a sniffle became an instant giveaway to your current state.

‘He missed me…?’

Hanta’s eyes practically bulged out of his head when he realized what was going on, “Oh shit, I’m so sorry! I’ve made you uncomfortable, haven’t I!? Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you upset…”

‘He missed me…’

You turned your face away from him and desperately started trying to cover up your blunder, “No, no! I’m fine! Don’t apologize! I um… There must be a cold breeze that’s blowing on me. Yea, the air is just making my eyes water… I’m n-not crying! I-” you paused when you felt a warm hand placed on top of your own. Your head snapped back and met Hanta’s eyes, shocked to find a loving and gentle look in them.

“Y/N… What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears streamed down your cheeks for the first time in years. When was the last time you cried? You don’t even think you could remember. You choked back a sob and lowered your head.

‘Everything.’

“Nothing,” you started.

Hanta squeezed your hand while gently caressing his thumb over the top of it, “Don’t act like I don’t know you. We might have gotten older, but you’re still exactly as I remember you. Bottling everything up until you burst. If this is about back then, I’m just going to set the record straight and tell you outright that I don’t care. That’s in the past and I wouldn’t have chased after you today if I was mad at you. Please… Just talk to me.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to get yourself under control, but it was no use. Hanta had made a large crack in your wall and you couldn’t patch it up. You weren’t ready to bring that up just yet, but you knew he wouldn’t just let this slide. You had to come up with something…

You shook your head, “No… It’s just-” you paused and swallowed thickly, “It’s… my apartment.”

Hanta narrowed his eyes, searching for any trace of lies, “...Your apartment?”

You nodded and sniffled, using your free hand to wipe away some of your tears, “Uh-huh… It’s um… There’s no light in my apartment. I have windows, but they face a brick wall of another building. Every morning I wake up in a dark apartment and just stare at the brick wall, hoping one day it’ll just turn into a nice backyard in the suburbs, like back at home. Most mornings, I don’t even want to get out of bed, knowing that even when I leave my apartment, it’s still dark outside. I thought when I moved here every day would be a fun adventure in the big city. But… Even when the sun is shining, it still feels… dark,” you finish, realizing even despite yourself, you still opened up. Just maybe not in the way he wanted.

Hanta stayed silent for a moment, processing everything you had said. It seemed real to him, but he knew there was so much more wrong than just where you lived, “Do you even want to live here anymore?”

“It was always my dream to live in a big city…”

“Well, what’s your dream now?”

You didn’t answer.

Hanta nodded, knowing that’s all he was going to be able to get out of you for now, “So… Your apartment, huh? Well, let’s go check it out! I’ve always wanted to see what a lavish big city apartment looks like anyways!”

Your head snapped back towards him, “Wait, what? No, Hanta, I don’t think that-”

“Besides, I consider myself to be a gentleman. If something is distressing you, I have to try and fix it, right? I think that’s written in the gentlemen’s code, right?” he retorted quickly, not giving you the chance to tell him no. He had a newfound mission and he only had two weeks to do it. He stood with conviction and pulled you up by the hand he was still holding, “Well, lead the way!”

‘Not again…’

#hanta sero x reader #sero x reader #sero hanta x reader #hanta x reader #mha sero #mha #bnha #sero #bnha fanfiction #sero hanta #bnha imagines

[alchemist-shizun]

Walking the tightrope

Read on Ao3!

Word Count: 6.018

Characters: Janus, Virgil, Roman, Emile, Andy. (Patton, Logan and Remus mentioned once.)

Pairing(s): Platonic Anxceit, past platonic Royality

Warning(s): Angst, shooting mention, abuse, toxic parent, yelling, death, suicide, self-harm implication, scars mention, hospital mention, overdose, major character death, funeral, panic attack mention, breathing difficulty, self-deprecation/self-loathing, crying, swearing

Summary: Janus moves into a new town due to a tragedy and makes friends with Virgil. As he learns to support his new friend, he realizes how much life sucks even in new beginnings. When another tragedy dawns on him, he decides he's going to try to prevent this from happening ever again.

A/N: Guess what? This started out as a vent fic and then turned out to be... whatever the hell that is. Please read the warnings carefully. As much as it sounds like the saddest and angstiest thing you'll ever read, I promise that it somewhat has a happy ending. I also don't know how I managed to write 6k words, don't ask. Hope you can still enjoy!

✾

So long to all of my friends

Every one of them met tragic ends

With every passing day

I'd be lying if I didn't say

That I miss them all tonight

And if they only knew what I would say

« I know how it feels. »

« To be the new one around? »

« To be the odd one out. »

« Mh. Doesn't seem like you like it much here. »

« Oh believe me, » the stranger turned to Janus, the zips of his leather jacket clattering against the wooden table they were sitting on. « I'm going to be the first one to blow this town. »

That got a chuckle out of Janus, which made the stranger extend his arm.

« My name is Virgil and I don't usually come up to people and be all friendly, but you know, outsiders might understand how I feel better than the locals. »

« The longing feeling to just head home already when everyone else is staring at you and pointing fingers? Yeah, I get it. » the boy nodded, smiling in exchange, then he took Virgil's hand. « I'm Janus. »

« Well Janus, » Virgil wanted to laugh at the odd coincidence of roman-rooted names. « Let's have some fun in hell while it lasts. »

« Oh I already went through and came back five times. It'll be a piece of cake. »

They let their water bottles meet like they were clinking two glasses of white wine together, ready to cheer for an important occasion.

Three months into their friendship and neither had surprisingly bailed out.

« Come on, » it was dark outside and they, of all places, were making use of the kids' park's yellow light lamps. « Confession time. » Virgil sat on one of the swings and motioned for Janus to join him.

« Is that some sort of town tradition? »

« Nah, I just never got to play thirty-six questions in my golden teenage years. »

Janus got onto the swing next to Virgil, moving slowly and humming lost in thought.

« What do you want to know? »

« Anything you want to tell that comes to your mind. That's how it works. »

« This thing has rules? » Janus raised an eyebrow and watched as the other giggled to himself.

« No, I just made them up. »

He rolled his eyes, still smiling in amusement and tried to travel around his mind for any notion: as much as they had stuck together for a while, they still didn't know each other to the core.

Virgil shifted in his seat, swinging slightly thanks to his feet moving against the ground.

They started off with simple facts, how one of them had stolen candy as a kid and got away with it, how they had never watched some of the most famous movies, how they had pretty unusual interests.

Then something clicked, like a door opening for a safer, bigger space they could enter.

« I came here because we were forced to run away. » Janus let out after a brief pause.

Virgil turned to him, now all serious and focused. Careful.

« We lived in a very small town and there was a pretty brutal shooting in my neighborhood. » he sighed heavily. « They didn't catch the shooters, there were possibilities of them coming again so we were immediately gotten to safety. At least … at least the ones who survived. »

The other boy bowed his head, unable to imagine how that must have felt, leaving your childhood home without a single notice of whether your other relatives or your friends were alive or not.

« To this day we haven't gotten news from the detectives. » Janus reminisced of when he used to spend entire days with Remus and Logan. They did say they were going to hang out that day but he was too busy with homework …

He didn't want to think about it anymore.

« Your turn. » he dryly said.

Virgil got the hint and looked up at the sky as if in search of an answer; he was more debating whether or not to open up entirely like he did. Was it too early? He surely didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Yet there was like some sort of force pulling him, pushing him to say whatever came up to his mind instantly.

He decided to play it somewhat safe.

« I have some scars. »

« Oh yeah? Childhood ones? Or surgery- »

Virgil shrugged. « More like … accidents. » that was what they were. Terrible accidents he hated but couldn't help but make real.

Janus snorted, definitely not having understood the implication. « Do you need someone to prevent you from tripping over ladybugs? »

Virgil considered it.

« Actually, yes, yes I do. »

If I could be with you tonight

I would sing you to sleep

Never let them take the light behind your eyes

One day I'll lose this fight

As we fade in the dark

Just remember you will always burn as bright

It was another one of those nights and Janus was growing sick of it.

Couldn't there possibly be a way to sneak his friend out of such a horrible home situation? If only there were laws permitting something like adopting someone your age …

His phone buzzed on the nightstand and he took it immediately, words of emotional despair appeared on his chat with Virgil.

He was just so done with life and Janus could almost feel it through their chat client.

At first it didn't seem too unusual. Virgil would give him snippets of when he fought with his dad, nothing too serious.

But then he noticed the frequency with which they happened, and Virgil started trusting him enough to explain the entire conversations they had; or, better, what his dad yelled at him for either ten minutes to half an hour before he was done and let the poor boy seal himself in his bedroom.

The worst thing was while he would feel like the worst person existing in the entire universe for the entire night, his dad would already feel peaceful ten minutes later.

In the meantime, he also destroyed Virgil's psyche with every fight that happened.

Not that he cared or even realized. He would've probably laughed at that statement.

Janus was just furious.

It had been six months ever since he'd gotten to know Virgil and there was no way someone so wonderful was being treated like trash.

He picked up his phone and put it to his hear, waiting for the other to respond.

Of course, when Virgil greeted him, he could hear his broken voice like tiny pieces of glass that were already broken, being stepped on time and time again, becoming nothing but dust.

« What the hell happened? »

« The usual. » he heard him sniff. « I simply exist, but I do it wrong. »

« Virgil there's not right or wrong way to exist. »

« I know that. It's him that does not. Everytime he comes pissed off from work he just needs to take it out on any of us back home I just can't do it anymore. I was only typing on my computer, didn't even say a word and it led to him insulting me because he saw one book on the ground. »

« This is insane. He is insane and I'm going to get you out of there. »

Janus started pacing around his room.

« Please. In any way you can find, please do it. »

His heart sank at the urgency.

He still had no clue how to help, so he simply sat on his bed.

« How am I supposed to live like this for another probably five years with all the university stress I'm already going to have? »

« Does his yelling make you less motivated in studying? » maybe grounding him, finding exactly how he was affected, could help.

« I get unmotivated at everything. It's as if a depressive episode just hit you all at once while you were having a pretty okay day. I just … » there was a pause on the other side. « I really haven't told this to anyone else because I was always scared of it. »

Janus was immobile. « Go on. »

« Everytime he even just looks at me with a hint of disgust or any general negative connotation I already feel awful. And when he criticizes me to the point of insulting me it's even worse and it's like all of his negativity transformed into self-loathing in me. »

He bit his lip: he really wanted to punch a man.

« Basically, you believe everything he says. »

« In the long run it's impossible not to have all those degrading adjectives marked in your brain. But it doesn't end there. I feel so angry at myself, not because I wasn't smart enough to prevent the fight but because I can't help myself. No matter what I do, it's always going to end bad. »

« And it's not like you can talk back either. »

« Oh no, » he chuckled sadly. « I'd make everything worse. I just say nothing and wait for him to let it all out. And then … then I leave and that's where the scary part comes. »

« You mentioned it earlier … what scares you? » Janus was afraid of the answer.

« Uh, well. You know how I said that I become incredibly self-hating? It's like this ball of anger at the pit of my stomach and it's as if something inside me were telling me to hurt myself to make it stop. »

« Hurt yourself? » he really didn't like where that was going.

« I hate it as much as you do, but it's a thing I don't control. It's this part of me that keeps screaming in my head or I won't be satisfied. So I do it, I … those scars I told you about, I did them. It's the only way I have so far that quiets down my anger instantly. And what scares me is … sometimes I don't even regret it when I truly realize it. »

Janus considered what to say, he didn't want to overreact or scare him even more than how much he already was.

« Okay, I think maybe you don't regret it because you feel better afterwards, right? »

« Possibly. »

« As for it being the only solution you have. You have already considered having a distraction but it didn't work, probably. Is that because you feel like you can't do it by yourself? »

There was some silence on the other side, so he gave Virgil all the time he needed to come to terms with his feelings.

« Alone I'm sure I can't do anything. I mean, look at what kind of conditions I'm in right now. »

Janus sighed. « Then let's do this. Let's talk like this everytime you feel like that. »

« Janus- »

« Give me a code word you can text me and I'll ring you immediately. »

« J, I already did it. Tonight, I did it, I did it before I was able to write to anyone. » his voice felt choked, like he was about to cry again.

« Hey, it's okay. I'm not mad at you. The important thing is you got yourself treated. Breathe. »

After some more words of reassurance, Janus told him to lie down while keeping his phone close.

He sat with his back against the wall instead, an idea in mind.

« You like My chemical romance, don't you? »

« This is not a good time to shame my musical preferences. » he let out a chuckle. « But yes, I do. »

« Okay then, close your eyes. »

« What, is Gerard Way going to appear in my room once I open them again? »

Janus mentally slapped his arm. « Will you just work with me? »

« Alright, eyes closed. »

The boy took a deep breath, before starting to hum a song Virgil immediately recognized.

It surprisingly worked, as he focused only on Janus's voice and the way his singing differed from the original, how it was softer due to the hour, how everything felt better when you didn't think of the world surrounding you.

« Just remember you will always burn as bright. »

Soon enough, Virgil wasn't responding anymore and Janus ended the call, settling into bed as well with one horrible thought.

How long until Virgil couldn't endure that anymore?

Be strong and hold my hand

Time, it comes for us, you'll understand

We'll say goodbye today

And I'm sorry how it ends this way

If you promise not to cry

Then I'll tell you just what I would say

He should've known.

Ever since he heard a knock on the door so late at night he should have known something was wrong.

Virgil appeared on the other side of the door, looking distraught as though there had been a ghost instead of his friend right in front of him.

« I did something bad. » it was like he didn't even believe his own words.

Janus's eyes widened. « What happened? »

And then, for some reason, he seemed to withdraw.

« It's nothing- I just … Can you come out? »

Janus stepped outside, a little weirded out by the sudden request as it was almost midnight.

Talking to his friend didn't seem to be an option; he just kept quiet, he was distressed and wiping away at his silent tears, trying to not make Janus notice as he steadied himself by holding his hand.

If only he'd understood sooner.

Virgil led him to a spot, a little hill nearby the city you could reach by walking about fifteen minutes from their little neighborhood. There was none at that time, just a lonely bench.

Yet the upset boy preferred to sit on the grass.

« Will you tell me what's bothering you? »

« I just don't want to be alone right now. » Virgil responded through the tears.

Janus felt anxiety rising in his chest as he murmured an “okay” and strengthened the grip around the other's hands.

Only a beat of silence before the world came crashing down and the sky fell on their heads.

Virgil launched himself at Janus and hugged him with all the might that was left in his body. He felt arms around him hugging him back, hearing words of concern he didn't want to answer because once he voiced reality it would have become too true and he was too scared to accept it.

Tic, tac, time was running out.

« I took some pills. » he blurted out.

He felt hands on his shoulders pulling him back.

« What? What pills? How many? »

Janus's stare was unbearable, he couldn't look up anymore, it felt too heavy. Too heavy, too much.

« I don't know, » his shaking hands wiped away a tear. « All of them! » he yelled, finally. He gasped for air right after, he thought this was because of his crying, but he sure as hell knew his body was starting to shut down.

« All of them?! » he could feel the tears in Janus's voice as his grip on his shoulders tightened.

Virgil started sobbing again and brought his hands to his face. « Please don't leave. » he murmured.

« I won't. I- » Janus was shaking as well, he had just sent a text for someone to call an ambulance. What else could he do? « How long has it been since you took them? »

Virgil shook his head violently. « Too long- too late. »

« It's never too late. The doctors will arrive soon- »

« Late. It's- They won't. Not in. Time. » he wasn't able to talk properly anymore, he wasn't sure whether it was a panic attack or his respiratory system failing him. « Almost three hours ago. »

« Three … » Janus was shocked.

He was suddenly stiff. Three hours was enough for a person to die of overdose.

« I was scared to go alone … » Virgil admitted through the tears again, not looking up, fear stuck in his throat. « I needed to see you one last time. »

Janus was took over by an uncontrollable need; he took the other's face in his hands and forced him to look at him. « You should've called me. » he retorted, trying to repress the sobs.

« I couldn't. I'm sorry. » Virgil put his hands on the other's arms. He apologized again and over again until Janus told him he didn't have to and he didn't need to be forgiven for anything.

« You're angry. »

« I'm heartbroken, Virgil. You didn't get what you deserved because of the horrible people surrounding you. That's not fair! » his voice rose at the last sentence. Yes, he was actually angry, but not at him. He was many things and felt many things at once and he didn't know how to handle those feelings again.

« I don't want you to go. » he had hugged him instantly, because seeing his face meant it was happening, while looking at the dark meant absolutely nothing.

« It's okay. »

« No, it's not. »

There were sirens in the distance.

None of them said a thing in their embrace for a whole minute, their silence broken only by the occasional sobs.

« Janus- »

He could feel Virgil's heart rate slowing down.

« No. No, no- »

The ambulance was coming, they could make it.

« I love you. »

« I love you too, just don't give up. »

« I think I will … lie down. »

Virgil's head dropped on Janus's shoulder: the other moved so he could rest part of his body on his lap.

« Hey J. When you see my dad again … » Janus lifted an eyebrow, he had been caressing his friend's hair in a state of panic for the past minutes. « Tell him he can go fuck himself. »

Janus let out some laughter that almost came off as hysterical with the state he was in.

« I will. I will, Virgil. I'll punch him for you. » he promised with a broken voice.

Virgil sadly smiled at him before closing his eyes one last time.

« Remember … » he whispered, voice low and cracked. « Take care of yourself. »

One last wish.

And he was gone.

Janus immediately doubled over himself, longing for screaming right then and there, instead he kept quiet, his face buried in a dead body.

Right after, he felt two arms lifting him up, he wouldn't have been able to register whatever had happened until the day after.

Those were the doctors.

They could make it, he had thought, stupidly.

Janus could only perfectly recall one moment of that night, when, at three a.m., as soon as he had gotten into a decent mental state to go back home, he reached what once was Virgil's household, knocking on the door.

And, when Virgil's father answered it, he punched him in the face.

If I could be with you tonight

I would sing you to sleep

Never let them take the light behind your eyes

I'll fail and lose this fight

Never fade in the dark

Just remember you will always burn as bright

Three days.

Three days is all it takes to organize a funeral.

Three days weren't enough for Janus to accept that any of that had been happening.

On the morning right after his death, his mother had commented on how there were news of a student's death and how terrible they were. Then she had looked at her son's shattered expression, his red eyes and marked eye bags.

She had frowned deeply and caught him in a long-lasting hug, understanding.

He didn't remember what happened on the second day apart from him staying in bed for far longer than necessary.

And then there he was.

All dressed up for the occasion on a Saturday morning, ten o'clock in the front rows of a building for a religion Virgil didn't even believe in.

Thankfully his family was on the opposite side of Janus's seating place.

Funerals were those types of events you couldn't miss, but that you couldn't also wait to leave; you promised yourself you wouldn't cry and yet tears would pool in your eyes at any heartfelt confession made, even the most fake ones.

Anything remotely sad is able to break you down where you're on the verge of weeping.

Still, choking back tears was the usual answer.

Janus looked up when Virgil's sister stood and walked in front of the altar, she was holding a letter and a microphone with both of her shaking hands.

She began talking about her brother and their childhood experiences, all the siblings stuff one would expect. Then she mentioned the letter in her hand.

It was a note Virgil had left before meeting with Janus. Something he knew nothing about.

She wanted to read it aloud.

He zoned out for most of it, not registering her voice like he actually didn't want to know. He caught glimpses of memories of his past and present, of the real people who cared, not one mention of his dad was made.

Then he heard his name and suddenly he couldn't focus anywhere else.

« I've only known him for a little less than a year and yet he's been better than anyone I had ever met in my eighteen years of existence. »

Janus put his hands on his face. How dare he leave him like that?

« It's going to hurt. Don't blame yourself. You couldn't prevent this. It was a choice I made alone. I know it sucks and it's selfish, but I wanted a way out. I'm glad I'm getting to spend my last instants with you and that I got to meet you in time. I'll greet you on the other side when time will come. »

She looked up at him and was met with a longing look that hoped she was over and done with that. She gave him a small nod and smile, then went back to read the conclusion.

Janus wanted to laugh, laugh and cry and curse Virgil.

The rest of the ceremony went by and it was now his turn to bid his last farewell.

He knew words were useless when it came to those situations, so instead he gently leaned in and started off humming a familiar melody.

« If I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep. »

He wanted to reach out and shake him, tell him he knew he was pretending to be asleep and it was all a big prank so he could leave his family and run away.

Janus would've gone with him.

The light behind your eyes

Virgil looked like he'd taken the form of a storm cloud.

His skin gray, almost non human. Fully clothed with a suit he would've hated, Janus could hear his usual groan in his memories, which made him sadly laugh.

He looked cold and dead and too real and he hated it.

The light behind your

Janus closed his eyes only for a second.

A second in which that whole night came back to him; he felt Virgil's arms surrounding his chest, tears soaking his shirt, panic rising in his lungs.

He wished he could hold him again, take him away and let him into a safer zone.

Instead Janus's mind took him to the instant he watched as Virgil's eyes darkened, as if you could turn off a star, as if you could turn off the sun with a click.

Sometimes we must grow stronger and

You can't be stronger in the dark

When I'm here, no longer

You must be stronger and

The Monday after, Janus felt himself pushed by an incredibly strong and ardent force.

He had gone to school no problem under the aghast stare of his parents, impatiently waiting for the bell to ring for break time. Perfect, as he dared to admit they were, ideas had started to squirm in his mind ever since the funeral.

As he had gotten out of the church, he remembered meeting Virgil's sister, she had given him a hug, showing him how there was a spot in Virgil's letter she hadn't read in which he asked her to do so.

Right after that, his mother had approached him, knowing how close they were, she had uncomfortably mentioned the school therapist Virgil had wanted to meet, doctor Picani.

Emile Picani walked right past him as Janus had started going on the search for his next class.

« Excuse me, »

The doctor turned around in no time, a calm smile placed on his lips. « May I help you? » he spoke softly.

There was no way he didn't know who he was, given that the news of Virgil's suicide had ran around pretty quickly.

« Yes, I was actually looking for you. I'm Janus Dean, from the senior year, I was hoping I could ask you a favor. » there was a sort of electric buzz in his chest as he watched Emile furrow his eyebrows in interest.

« A favor? Therapy sessions aren't a favor I do for students, sweetie, it's my job. » he explained kindly.

Yeah, he didn't get it.

« That's not what I was looking for. I need another kind of help. » he tried, this time Emile simply nodded, letting him finish so he could understand.

« I know this is not the biggest city but as we've seen it doesn't mean there aren't people who need help, even with the smallest things, especially when they're young and experiencing hard struggles for the first time, »

« What I want to try to do is organize a support group made by youth for youth here in this school. I know Virgil was too afraid to actually come to you and I know there are more kids who would rather express their issues to people their age cause that's what happens everyday with online friends. »

« People understanding each other because they're going through the exact same thing at the same time, thus they can empathize so much better and feel at ease. I'm not trying to downgrade your job, on the contrary I wanted both your help to set this up and … well, I was hoping to be able to host it by myself so I'd need a hand on how I should … behave? » he finally looked up at the doctor, breathless.

Picani was smiling the widest he'd ever seen anyone do.

« Janus you are the most incredible person I have ever met. I would love to help! But at one condition: I'm going to stay with you in the first support meetings, then, when we agree you can handle it on your own, I'll leave you be. »

Janus's face lit up with hope and excitement, he sputtered out multiple thank yous and, afterwards, they set a day to work on their project and contact the school's principal to get the permission they needed.

He started walking towards a class he'd have had in ten minutes when he heard a younger voice call him. Janus turned around and found a boy he'd only noticed once or twice in the halls, he only remembered him heading for theatre club at times while he was leaving for home.

« Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with doctor Picani. My name is Roman and I just wanted to say that … well, in short I have gone through a similar thing as you are right now, some years ago. » he looked down, reminiscing of his own experience.

Had Janus lived in that city long enough, he would've known of a middle school student's suicide case, Patton Jones.

« I always had this longing feeling to do something about it but I had felt hopeless until now. What I'm trying to say is, if you need help with your idea, I'd be more than happy to assist. »

Janus hoped that Virgil had been watching over him on that day, because that was the first time he felt like the wind was blowing his way.

« Thank you, Roman. You can already come to Picani's studio tomorrow after class if you'd like. » the other boy gave him a nod. « Until then. » they exchanges smiles and parted ways.

His project was going to see the light of day and there was nothing else he would've asked for in the world right then.

If I could be with you tonight

I would sing you to sleep

Never let them take the light behind your eyes

I failed and lost this fight

Never fade in the dark

Just remember you will always burn as bright

It took maybe a month for the support group to finally be successful: at first it was only Janus and Roman, waiting for people to show up and thus chatting along with the school's therapist.

Things started off as awkward until they worked together so well that more and more people were encouraged to show up.

Christmas holidays were drawing near and Janus was nothing but amazed at how far they had come.

He had just said goodbye to his co-host, Roman, and given Emile that session's achievements when he caught someone standing in front of the room's door as soon as he opened it.

« Oh? »

That couldn't be real.

There was a definitely younger boy standing before him, hands in pockets and the same grumpy expression he used to see on Virgil's face. He … he did somehow resemble some of Virgil's traits.

Janus shook that thought off of his head, reminding himself it was probably only because of their similar clothing choice.

When he noticed him, the stranger's eyes widened.

« Can I help you? »

« No, I was just- Well … »

« Did you want to listen? »

The boy probably took that as an attack as he retreated and made himself smaller in his black hoodie.

« It's okay if so, people can come and listen and not say a word if they aren't comfortable with talking. We want it to be a safe space for everyone, without being judged. »

He seemed to consider, standing still. « Okay. I'll see. »

« Well, » the older boy extended his arm. « My name is Janus, pleased to meet you either way. »

He gave him a weak smile. « I'm Andy. »

« Well then Andy, I'll see you around or at next week's meeting? »

Andy nodded and looked down, still hunched over himself; they waved at each other and went home.

It was nothing more than two days later that Janus found Andy sitting at the same wooden table he and Virgil had met.

All those coincidences were making him both dizzy and filled with energy: he reached his new acquaintance and sat with him.

« I know how it feels. » he found himself saying.

Immediately a pair of dark eyes were set on him, a questioning look in them.

« Being the odd one out isn't fun, is it? »

« I guess. I just want to finish high school and leave this town. Living with your parents this much can be unbearable. »

There was some silence, before Janus resumed talking.

« I can perfectly understand. You know, I actually had a similar conversation at this very table one year ago. »

Andy seemed to catch on what he meant right away, he looked up at Janus for the first time, finding a confident young man in front of him.

Janus let his head rest on his palm.

« When he used to vent to me, I'd be able to soothe him with a song sometimes. I'm not saying this exact song would help you in particular, but the concept of it can. Find one peculiar song that grounds you, make it yours for when you need it. »

Andy kept watching him as he explained. He looked at him as though a guardian angel had just dawned on him. How did he know of his profound passion for music?

« And you'll see that soon, unbearable will become conquerable. » he looked at Andy with seriousness in his eyes, but spoke with a kind voice. « Remember to always take care of yourself. »

He sat up. « I will leave you alone now. » he chuckled. « B- »

« No! »

Both of them stared at each other in surprise.

« I mean, » Andy cleared his throat. « You can stay if you want. »

Janus smiled at him and nodded: sitting back down, he noticed Andy's much wider smile.

« So, what music do you listen to? »

The light behind your eyes

He couldn't believe he had come that far.

Janus walked down a street in town, a few years older, his face's structure bolder, his mood as high as ever when he was about to approach the building where his organization resided.

Which was kind of surprising as it was the anniversary of Virgil's death.

Janus was satisfied, to say the least.

He recalled a conversation he had had years prior with Emile Picani about what profession he was thinking of going for and, without missing a beat, he had answered he wished to follow the path of clinical psychology as well.

He had found his call, becoming a therapist and hoping to help as many people as he could: he now was a full time therapist, with his own studio, also visiting schools and participating in the nightly Community Support Group he had founded along Roman.

Sometimes he crossed paths with Emile and, now kind of colleagues, they shared each other's words of wisdom and finally talked more as friends than as mentor and student.

The support group had grown into a pretty big organization and he had succeeded into raising awareness at least in the town he lived in; of course, the challenge was to extend it further, but ending up on local newspapers and in broadcasting services was already a good start, along with multiple online platforms he was trying to maintain with the help of both Roman, Emile and every kid who offered their help.

Their main goal as of then was to expand the meetings to different issues so they could try and work on more specific problems instead of having a messy general one.

Janus stopped to look at the poster on the building's wall.

Some graphic design students had designed the support group flyer: it showcased mainly a picture of Virgil, since they had founded that group in his honor.

It was his favorite picture of Virgil, with his soft smile and that sparkle in his eyes he could still notice even after seeing it leaving his irises firsthand.

It didn't matter what he saw, though, cause his memory lived in him, he lived through him and he knew he would have been proud of him.

Janus looked away with an enormous sense of nostalgia and walked up the stairs.

« Just remember you will always burn as bright. »

Janus entered the building, taking with himself the light behind Virgil's eyes.

#purp's writings #janus sanders #virgil sanders #emile picani #roman sanders #ts andy #read the warnings #angst #fanfiction #sanders sides #ts fanfic

[goodshipsherlollipop]

Self-interview (but not really)

When I heard about @sherlollyappreciationweek hosting a self-interview event, I thought it would be fun to participate, so people could get to know me better as an author.  But, instead of doing a self-interview, I approached some of my readers and asked them to pose questions for me to answer.

I’m not aiming at making this about me personally.  It’s all about me as an author.  If you want to know about who I really am outside of my writing, feel free to chat with me privately.

The name of the person asking the questions will precede each section. As this interview is rather long, I will do it in two parts.

MossRose10

Q: What personal experiences or skills (in broad strokes), besides your faith, have influenced what you write about for your characters?

A: I know I see Molly differently than most people, in a more wholesome way.  When I look at her character on the show, she doesn't seem the type to have a long sexual history, but instead, seems to be someone who has devoted her life to becoming the best pathologist she can be.  I adore her character, and to be honest, I put a lot of my own traits into her - including her love of singing and faith.  My post TFP Sherlock has had his true nature restored by the events of Sherrinford.  Thus, he is emotionally stable and able to love Molly deeply. I can write him that way because I happen to have a romantic, loving husband (lucky me!). A lot of times in my married stories, I draw on experiences I've had that I have fictionalized for the characters.  I usually refer to these in author’s notes.  I also love writing about their children, and put a lot of thought and personal experience into writing for them from watching my own daughters grow.

As for the other characters, I just write them the way I feel reflects their personalities best from what I’ve observed in the show, working on fleshing out their characters more as I’ve continued 3 years worth of storyline beyond TFP. For example, my version of Mycroft has mellowed a lot and married Lady Smallwodd, and John has also become a Christian and is remarried with a son.

Q: What kinds of characters do you find most challenging to write, and what strategies do you use to write them?

A: I don’t think I necessarily have a lot of issues in writing the canon characters because I have watched the show so many times I feel I know them personally.  Probably the most challenging thing is writing for OC’s or peripheral characters I may have brought into a story that we haven't seen a lot of (like Billy Wiggins or Philip Anderson).  I must admit, I have written very little about Moriarty, because most of my stories take place after his death.

dmollyc

Q: What character is hardest to write?

A:  I kind of  addressed this one in the above answer, but I do think I'd find it difficult to write for Moriarty because I'm not sure how well I could get into the psyche of a deranged madman!

Q: Do you get any nasty reviews?

A: Thankfully, not many. Most of the negative ones are people reacting to a story out of context.  They will read a story in the middle of my chronological timeline and then complain that the characters are OOC.  When I write my continuing stories, I assume that people are familiar with the characters as I’ve written them already, so this can cause confusion.

Because of the Christian themes, I have lost readers who object to the theology I present through my characters. Obviously, I will not please everybody.

But generally speaking, people are very kind about my work when they review it, and I especially love the reviewers who immerse themselves into my world of Sherlock and Molly and embrace my post-TFP version of them.

Q: What do you like best about your stories?

A: Probably what I like best is that I've found a unique niche in the fandom in creating a whole Christian theme, and writing a lot of different stories with the same theme.  I've not seen anyone else doing that (although I'd love to see it done by others).

I enjoy writing my own continuing post-TFP happy ending for Sherlock and Molly, expanding their universe and that of the other characters from Sherlock as well.

Also, I enjoy showing Molly as someone with a belief in saving herself for marriage.  It's not going to be a popular idea for the general population, but I know many Christians can relate to that desire to keep sex for that special someone rather than experimenting with every boyfriend they date.  

I also think I do a pretty good job in writing love scenes that are steamy, but still clean, although I’m aware that some readers are more sensitive who find them too steamy.  I write using my own inner guide for how far to take things in the bedroom.  Some stories are definitely steamier than others, but there are certain graphic terms I will never use in my writing because I feel they cross the line of my own comfort zone.

Chelseamh98

Q: How have you overcome the challenges of your vision impairment?

A: This is definitely an ongoing process for me.  When I began writing, my proofreading would just consist of looking over the chapter a couple times to try to errors. I have issues when typing on my iPad because of the flat keyboard surface.  That means I often type a word incorrectly.  To help compensate for that, I have hundreds of words in my “text replacement” section, so that certain words I often mis-type automatically correct to the right word.  I have a bad tendency to hit the M instead of N or vice versa, for example.  A few months after I began publishing, someone suggested I use a text-to-speech app to help me identify incorrectly spelled words.  That did help.  I copy a chapter into the text-to-speech app and watch my chapter in a split screen as I listen to the words.  That has been a big help.  Then, this year, I discovered a free website called prowritingaid, which I now use as another editing tool, and it identifies even more spelling and grammar errors.  So now I find myself writing, proofreading as I go along several times as I write.  When the chapter is finished and I am ready to publish, I do another visual read.  Then I use the prowritingaid site as another editing step. After that, I use the text-to-speech app and listen as I read.  Finally, I copy the whole thing into Google Docs, add italics and bold type and glance through the chapter again to see if Google Docs has discovered any more errors.  It's a very long process, believe me, and it takes so much longer to do the editing and proofreading than to write! For me, the writing part is easy!

Q: Does it (visual impairment) affect the way you write?

A:  Physically, yes.  I cannot use a computer, because I need to be inches away from the screen to see what I am doing.  Sometimes I will sit at a table and write, but usually, I put three cushions on my lap and sit my iPad on top.  Over time, that method has caused me to have pretty severe tendonitis, but I have no other way to write, and it's worth the pain to keep writing! Currently, I am also dealing with frozen shoulder as part of the physical issues.

Also, I have to enlarge my text to write.  I use the Colored Note app for my chapters, set to the maximum size of 36, and when I go into Google Docs, I set the size to 25 so I can read it.

Q: What part about writing do you find the most challenging? What’s the easiest?

A:  As I mentioned above, the most difficult part is definitely the editing/proofreading process because I have to work so much harder than a normally sighted person, and it takes up a huge chunk of time.

Also, I am very particular in trying to write realistic fiction whenever possible.  That means a ton of research. For example, in my story where Molly was shot, Confronting Evil and the Truth, I researched a lot about gunshot wounds and how to care for them.  In A Honeymoon Journey, my characters went to Stratford-upon-Avon, and I researched that location thoroughly for many of the chapters.  In my latest COVID-19 series, I have followed the pandemic closely in the UK and have added many real situations that have happened there.  Research, research, research!

The easiest part is definitely writing the story itself, especially dialogue.  I can hear the characters in my head telling me what to write.  I rarely suffer from writer’s block, unless I am trying to think about how to write a mystery or crime and how to resolve it.

Aslan's Princess

Q: Where do you find inspiration? Is it something specific? Or multiple things?

A: I find inspiration mainly in two areas.  First, from watching episodes over and over and analyzing them. Second, I also find inspiration in my own life, in bringing in real experiences I am familiar with (such as pregnancy and childbirth).  Occasionally I will read a story or a review where someone tells me something that sparks my imagination. My current WIP, The Good Book, was actually inspired by a gif-set one of my readers, Penelope Chestnut showed me.  It got me wondering what would happen if Sherlock suddenly discovered the Bible (shown in TBB) in his bookcase and decided he wanted some answers about the meaning of life.

Justwritebritt

Q: What drives you to keep writing?

A: Certainly, one of the most motivating factors is hearing from readers who enjoy my work.  Readers generally have no clue what kind of power they possess when it comes to encouraging a writer to keep going.  A pat on the back is always a good thing. I wish more people could understand that.

Aside from that, though, I feel a calling from God to keep writing. I like sharing my faith through Molly (and Sherlock). My hope is that people will find my stories inspiring and encouraging.

Q: What/Who can you absolutely not write without?

A:  I cannot write without my iPad.  I use it not only to write, but to research and to watch Sherlock on Netflix.  it's my all-in-one resource!

Q: What is your favorite story you've published so far?

A: I will always love A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage, because it is the “mothership” from which all my other stories spring, but my writing technique was not great at the beginning; there’s an obvious improvement in later chapters.  But, I am also very fond of Sherlock’s Dream of What Might Have Been.  That one tells a story of Sherlock and Molly meeting in uni, and then jumps to the canon, inserting a secret relationship (and child) throughout the series canon. I put a lot of thought into filling in Season 4 backstory as well.

Q: What (in vague terms) story are you looking forward to telling next?

A: I have a few stories in the pipeline that I am looking forward to sharing.  One that steps away from the overt Christian themes is a Pretty Woman AU.  I haven't seen anyone attempt an AU for that movie, and I look forward to sharing it.  Perhaps it will spark interest with a few more readers because it isn't heavily weighted on the Christian theme scale, but is merely one of my more whimsical, creative story ideas. It is the first story I have written that combines elements from both a movie and the Sherlock narrative.

I also have a couple of one-shots that I will publish in the timeline of my WIP Journey to a New Home, one,that deals with the topic of divorce using a Biblical perspective, plus one that sheds light on the subject of depression.

End of Padt 1.

#sherlollyappreciationweek #sherlollyselfinterview20 #interviews20