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psychreviews2 · 9 months ago

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Case Studies: Little Hans - Sigmund Freud

Little Hans

In the early 20th century Sigmund Freud was under pressure to provide evidence to support his theories from client cases. With Dora, Leonardo Da Vinci, and Daniel Paul Schreber, Freud explored similar themes including bisexuality moving between heterosexuality and homosexuality where both environmental challenges, hormonal changes and sexual opportunities availed themselves. And for males, Freud described an intimidation or castration complex where sexuality is affected by traumas of pride. His emphasis on these themes continued with Little Hans, The Ratman, and The Wolfman. With Little Hans, Herbert Graf, Freud was at a disadvantage because he had not yet developed the skills to be a great child Psychoanalyst, so he relied on notes from parents to record their kid's thinking and behaviour patterns. "While I myself supervised the overall plan of treatment and also intervened personally on one occasion by talking to the lad myself, the treatment itself was carried out by the little boy's father." Freud admitted that "...no one else could have persuaded the child to admit so freely to his feelings and nothing could replace the expertise with which the father was able to interpret the utterances of his 5-year-old son: the technical difficulties of carrying out the psychoanalysis of so young a patient would have been insurmountable." Herbert was the son of Max Graf, the music critic, and Olga Hönig who provided most of the material for the analysis. "His parents, who were both among my closest followers, had agreed to bring up their first child with no more constraint than proved necessary to maintain decent behaviour, and as the child developed into a cheerful, good-natured and bright little boy, they proceeded quite happily with their attempt to let him grow and express himself without intimidation."

Infantile Sexuality - Freud: http://psychreviews.org/sexuality-part-2-infantile-sexuality-sigmund-freud/

Sexual theories of children

One of the theories that Freud had to defend was his theories of how children developed sexually before puberty. In Freud's time it was more common to believe that sexuality only begins with puberty. Analysis of a Phobia in a Five-year old Boy, was published a few years after his Three Essays on the Theory of Sexuality. Freud's Oral Phase coincides with breast feeding and an early sexual organization. The review of Little Hans takes place in the period of the Phallic phase, around ages 3 - 4, when children obsess about the penis, sexual differences between men and women and early sexual theories, like that of the stork. Children can be direct with their questions, with parents in most cases misdirecting them with inaccurate answers. Freud recounts notes from Hans's parents:

Hans, aged 3 3/4: 'Daddy, have you got a widdler too?'

Father: 'Of course I have.'

Hans: 'But I've never seen it when you get undressed.'

On another occasion he watches with fascination while his mother undresses at bedtime. She asks 'Whatever are you looking at?'

Hans: 'I'm just looking to see if you've got a widdler too.'

Mummy: 'Of course I have. Didn't you know that?'

Hans: 'No, I thought because you're so big you must have a widdler like a horse's.'"

Freud then moves to the castration complex where early masturbation is punished. "At the same time [Hans's] interest in widdlers is not just theoretical: as we might surmise, it stimulates him to touch that organ as well. At the age of 3 1/2 his mother catches him with his hand on his penis. She threatens him: 'If you do that, I'll tell Dr. A. to come and he'll cut off your widdler. What will you do then when you have to widdle?'

Hans: 'I'll use my botty.'"

"He responds without any sense of guilt as yet, but acquires on this occasion the 'castration complex' that is so often to be inferred from the analysis of neurotics, even though without exception they strenuously resist any acknowledgement of it."

Hans continued noticing penises everywhere including on giraffe's, a cow's udder, and horses.

"I draw a giraffe for Hans... He says to me, 'You must draw his widdler.' I reply, 'Draw it on yourself.' At this he adds a new line to the picture of the giraffe, which at first he leaves short but then adds another line to it, remarking, 'His widdler is longer than that.' Hans and I walk past a horse which is urinating. He says, 'The horse's widdler is down below, like mine.' He watches his 3-month-old sister being bathed and says pityingly, 'Her widdler is really really tiny.' He is given a doll to play with, and undresses her. He looks at her carefully and says, 'Her widdler is only really tiny.'"

Sibling rivalry

"...brothers ought not to pursue honours or powers from the same sources but from different ones. ~ Peter Walcot paraphrasing Plutarch (Moralia 486 B & C)

Hans's father Max describes the reactions of his little Herbert with a new inclusion to the family. "Hans is very jealous of the new arrival and as soon as anyone praises her, finds her pretty, etc., he replies scornfully: 'But she hasn't got any teeth yet.' For when he saw her for the first time he was astonished that she was unable to speak and assumed that the reason she could not speak was because she did not have any teeth. In the early days after the birth he finds himself having to play second fiddle, of course, and suddenly comes down with a very sore throat. In his fever he is heard to say: 'But I don't want a little sister!' It takes about six months for him to get over his jealousy, after which he becomes as affectionate towards Hanna as he is conscious of his own superiority." Here we have the sources of jealousy being insecurity over sources of pleasurable attention and the cure coming from the older sibling being able to find their own superiority to regain security. As long as the child cannot find their own distinctive superiority there will be continued resentment based on the feeling of being replaced by the younger sibling. Conflict is reduced when different talents are developed within different siblings then the conflict can only be escalated again if parents stupidly refuse to acknowledge the value of those different talents and start picking favourites. This lesson extends outwards beyond family to the economy. A peaceful society is one where all the world's cultures are able to trade differences with each other in such a way that as many individuals in society gain a sense of security. Economic crashes and limited varieties of industries can create jealous and envious tensions in the world. These tensions can create war, revolution, and even more subtle problems like chronic unemployment and psychological problems. Freud quotes another older child in his notes in the paper as saying of his younger brother that "the stork can take him back again."

Envy and the Greeks: A study of Human Behaviour by Peter Walcot: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780856681462/

Jealous Pets: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k_D84wPZ9BU

Bisexuality

"Hans's 5-year-old cousin is here on a visit. Hans, now 4, embraces him continually and during one of these tender embraces and says, 'Oh, I do love you.' This is the first instance of homosexuality that we shall encounter in Hans, but certainly not the last. Our little Hans is apparently the epitome of all the vices! We have moved to a new apartment. (Hans is 4.) A door leads from our kitchen to a narrow balcony, from which one can see into the apartment on the opposite side of the courtyard. Here Hans has discovered a little girl of 7 or 8. Now he sits on the step leading to the balcony waiting to adore her, and will sit there for hours. At 4 O'Clock in particular, when the little girl comes home from school, we cannot keep him in the room, nor stop him from taking up his observation post. On one occasion, when the little girl does not appear at the window at the usual time, Hans becomes very agitated and plagues the servants with questions: 'When is the little girl coming home? Where is she?', etc. When she finally appears he is ecstatic and cannot take his eyes off the apartment opposite. The passion with which Hans embarked on this 'love at a distance' can be explained by the fact that Hans has no little playmate, boy or girl. Frequent contact with other children is obviously a necessary part of a child's normal development."

"Shortly afterwards we leave to spend the summer in Gmunden and Hans (4 1/2) now has company. His playmates are our landlord's the next-door children, Anna (10) and two other little girls whose names I cannot recall, who are about 9 and 7. His favourite is Fritzl, whom he often embraces and assures of his love. On one occasion he is asked, 'Which of the little girls do you like best?' and answers 'Fritzl'. At the same time he is very aggressive towards the girls, swaggers and acts the man, embraces them and smothers them with kisses, which Berta for one very much enjoys. One evening, as Berta is coming out of the room he puts his arms round her neck and says in the sweetest of voices, 'You're so lovely, Berta'; however, this does not stop him from kissing the others and assuring them of his love too. He is also very fond of Mariedl, another of the landlord's daughters who plays with him; she is about 14, and one evening as he is being put to bed he says, 'I want Mariedl to sleep with me.' When he is told, 'She can't do that', he says, 'I want her to sleep with Mummy or Daddy, then.' He is told, 'She can't do that either, Mariedl must sleep downstairs with her parents'."

"On the following occasion, too, Hans said to his Mummy, 'You know, I should so like to sleep with that little girl.' The occasion gives rise to great amusement, for Hans behaves just like a grown-up in love. For some days a pretty little girl, about 8 years old, has been coming into the restaurant where we have lunch, and Hans has of course immediately fallen in love with her. He is constantly turning round on his chair to look at her out of the corner of his eye; he goes over to stand near her and flirt as soon as he has eaten, but goes bright scarlet if anyone catches him at it. If the little girl returns his glance he immediately looks in the opposite direction, covered in shame. His behaviour occasions hilarity, of course, in all the restaurant guests. Every day when we take him into the restaurant he asks, 'Do you think the little girl will be here today?' When she finally comes he goes as red as any adult in the same situation. On one occasion he comes over to me, quite blissful, and whispers in my ear: 'I know where the little girl lives. I've seen her go up the steps in such and such a place.' While he may behave aggressively towards the little girls at home, here he is altogether the platonically languishing beau. This may have something to do with the fact that the girls at home are village children, while this one is a lady of refinement. I have already mentioned that he once said he would like to sleep with her."

Freud's male homosexual theory

Freud continued his theory of male homosexuality by connecting early sexual theories of children where everyone is expected to have a penis. When the penis is then made the prime importance of sexual pleasure, associated with the loving connection of the mother, later discoveries of the vagina and clitoris lead to a disappointment. The desire for a "woman with a penis", as Freud puts it, moves to the new object which is feminine looking male. Of course Freud is in the early days of sexual orientation psychology, but some clues to biology appear in his review of Daniel Paul Schreber's book that show that stress and age related hormonal changes can also affect an adult's sexual orientation even if they were married to a woman and had regular sex with the desire to have a baby. [See: Daniel Paul Schreber: https://rumble.com/v1gu84v-case-studies-daniel-paul-schreber-freud-and-beyond.html] The complexity of sexual orientation is only starting to be unraveled. There are patterns but many people have very individual experiences with their choice of sexual objects and some of confusion has to do with ignorance of biology. At this point in time Freud sticks with his theory of the fluidity of objects and doesn't posit a homosexual drive, or instinct. Instincts for Freud are biological drives to action. "It is quite inappropriate to single out one particular homosexual drive; it is not a peculiarity of his drives that distinguishes the homosexual, but his choice of object." Here Freud pushes a desire for better sexual education of children. Freud says "Hans is homosexual, as all children may very well be, quite in accordance with the undeniable fact that he only knows of one kind of genitalia, genitalia like his own."

Freud then observes Hans's exploration of other girls where he's more bold in some cases, or remains at a distance with yearning. His desire to sleep with them connects with his desire to be in bed with his mother, and Freud even equates the term to "sleep with someone" as an adult term that comes from childhood connections of sleeping in bed with mummy.

Baby wants Blue Velvet - Isabella Rosselini and Dennis Hopper: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=senNDipdmPo

Little Oedipus

Freud also asserts that when there is a "paucity of other objects of love" children can revert, for example, back to their mother. This hints that Freud's theory views sexuality as something that looks for convenient objects. If parents are the only ones around, then children target their desires towards them. When other children are around, then new targets are made. For example, during summer months in "Gmunden, when his father's alternating presence and absence drew his attention to the conditions that determined that longed-for intimacy with his mother. Later...when Hans could no longer count on his father's going away, the wish was intensified until its content was that his father should go away for good, should be 'dead'." Yet there was some ambivalence toward his father as Freud describes. "Hans feels an intense love for the father against whom he harbours a death-wish, and while his intelligence may lead him to query this contradiction, he is still obliged to demonstrate its reality by hitting his father and then immediately kissing the place where he had hit him." His father recounts...

"Hans, 4 1/4 years old. This morning his mummy gives Hans a bath, as she does every day, then dries him and pats him with talcum powder. As she puts talcum powder around his penis, taking care not to touch it, Hans says, 'Why don't you touch me there?"

Mummy: 'Because that's dirty.'

Hans: 'What? Dirty? Why?'

Mummy: 'Because it's not decent.'

Hans (laughing): 'It's fun, though.'"

"Being helped to do a widdle, which involves unfastening the child's trousers and taking out his penis, is obviously a pleasurable activity for Hans. When they are out on a walk it is of course mainly his father who helps Hans in this way, which provides an opportunity for his homosexual tendencies to become fixed on his father."

"Yesterday, when I took Hans for a wee he asked me for the first time to take him behind the house so that no one could see, and added, 'Last year, when I did a widdle, Berta and Olga watched me.' I take this to mean that last year he enjoyed it when the girls watched him, but doesn't any more. The pleasure of exhibitionism is now being repressed. The repression in real life of his desire to be seen - or helped - by Berta and Olga when he is doing a widdle, explains why it has turned up in his dreams...Since then I have repeatedly observed that he does not wish to be seen when doing a widdle."

"Hans (4 1/2) is again watching his little sister being bathed and starts to laugh. Asked, 'Why are you laughing?' he replies, 'I'm laughing at Hanna's widdler.' 'Why?' - 'Because her widdler's so lovely.' Obviously this is not what he means. Hanna's widdler actually struck him as funny. This is incidentally the first time he acknowledges the difference between male and female genitals, instead of denying it."

Cat showing ambivalence with licking and biting (3:28): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S6yngs4woPw

Equinophobia

As the analysis continued Hans's father noticed a phobia begin in his son. "Sexual over-excitement caused by his mother's caresses is no doubt at the root of the problem, but I am at a loss to identify the immediate cause of the disorder. The fear that a horse will bite him on the street seems connected in some way to fear of a large penis - you will recall from my earlier notes that he was aware at a very early stage of the horse's large penis and came to the conclusion that, as she is so big, his mother must have a widdler like a horse's." Freud makes some connections to a dream of Hans's where he loses his mother and is not able to nuzzle with her. This is conflated with the large widdler he assumes his mother has and his hope that "when I get bigger my widdler will grow too." Freud concludes "that he has constantly made comparisons in the course of his observations and remains deeply dissatisfied with the size of his own widdler. He is reminded of this defect by the big animals, which he dislikes for that reason. Since he is probably unable to become fully conscious of this whole train of thought, the painful feeling is transformed into anxiety, so that his present anxiety builds as much on his earlier pleasure as on his present aversion. When once a state of anxiety has been created, anxiety devours all other feelings; as repression takes its course and those once-conscious ideas to which strong feelings have become attached move more and more into the unconscious mind, all the associated emotions may be transformed into anxiety." The repression to not think about the distressing thoughts is motivated by the desire to stop the anxiety. Reminders in the world that connect back to thoughts of a small widdler, including the memory of the threat of castration by the mother, and more recently his first knowledge that girls have different genitalia, and the possibility that he could be widdler-less like them, creates a phobia over any reminder of inferiority. The horse becomes a trigger for anxiety related to inferiority.

Further questioning led to a memory of a horse collapsing while shopping with this mom. Hans imagined that the horse could both bite him or collapse. Freud interpreted the collapsed horse being the father dying so Hans could take his place, but at the same time there was an ambivalence because he also loves his father. Mixed with memories of seeing children hop up on horse driven carts and onto loading ramps, Hans fantasized a danger of the cart moving away just as he hopped onto one and send him crashing down. The horse, or the father, is the incest barrier to the mother. "Behind the original expression of anxiety, the fear that horses will collapse, and both of these, the biting horse and the falling horse, are the father who will punish him because of the wicked desires he harbours against him."

The End - The Doors: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LsQtnBu3p7Y

Freud talked to Hans and laid out the characteristics of the horse compared to his father. "...I offered him a partial interpretation of his fear of horses: his father must be the horse, which he had good internal reason to fear. Certain details that aroused fear in Hans, the black around this mouth and in front of his eyes (moustache and spectacles, the prerogatives of the adult male), seemed to me to have been transferred directly from the father to the horses. With this explanation I vanquished the most powerful resistance in Hans to conscious recognition of his unconscious thoughts, since it was his own father who was taking the role of his physician. From this moment on we had conquered the summit of his condition, the material flowed abundantly, the young patient showed courage in communicating the details of his phobia and soon intervened independently in the course of the analysis."

Fecal birth

The parents finally gave in and provided a basic sexual education talk to Hans. "On 24 April my wife and I enlighten Hans up to a point by explaining that babies grow inside the mummy and then are brought into the world like a 'plop' by pushing them out, and that this causes great pain. In the afternoon we go out in the street. He is clearly much relieved, running after carts and carriages, and his residual anxiety is betrayed only by the fact that he does not dare to venture far away from the main entrance, and cannot be persuaded to go for a longer walk at all." Afterwards Hans showed an interest in being a mummy and having children. He imagined his friends being his children, including an imaginary friend Lodi. His play eventually changed his role to become the father and then eventually he bestowed the honor of grandfather and grandmother to his parents. The heavy weight of the cart being pulled by the horse in Hans's memory had further symbolic significance for Freud. "We learn that Hans used to insist on accompanying his mother to the lavatory and that he did the same thing with Berta, who represented his mother at the time, until this was discovered and forbidden. The pleasure derived from watching a beloved person perform such functions corresponds to the 'confluence of drives' / instincts of which we have already seen one example in Hans's behaviour. Hans's father finally turns his mind to the symbolism of plop, and recognizes an analogy between a heavily laden cart and a body weighed down by faecal matter, between the way a cart drives out of the gateway and the way a stool is released from the body." The birth of the baby is treated as a "plop" like when defecating. By use of imagination towards his parents Hans resolved his conflict with his father and mother. Later after puberty Hans will have to take his dream of being a parent and choose an object outside of the family now that he accepts that different people have to be chosen.

Influence through the power of suggestion

The main controversy with Freud's analysis of Hans is the use of his parents as mediators. Shockingly, Freud opens up a can of worms in his paper that goes even beyond it. He makes the excuse that children are less likely to lie than adults, but his main reservation is damaging. "The analysis of a child by his own father, who is steeped in my theoretical views and tainted with my prejudices, is altogether lacking in objective value. A child is of course suggestible to a very high degree, as regards his father, perhaps, more than any other figure; he will allow any words to be put in his mouth out of gratitude to a father who pays him so much attention." The power of suggestion can hardly be better described than that. It presages Freud's later work and object psychology. The reason why most people have voices in their minds is from the rewards and punishments, the giving and withholding of attention from parents, caregivers and powerful people. It's a form of conditioning where suggestions are imitated by children, and adults, to secure attention from others as a reward. This is a weakness that can be exploited by predators, confidence tricksters, cults and advertising. Any attachment wound or emptiness is open for exploitation. With enough repetition children and adults follow the family culture and the wider culture of the world. Even when the original influences are gone, the conditioning remains in the person, motivating actions unconsciously until these attachment needs are brought to consciousness and healthy sources of satisfaction are pursued. If you want to know why you are talking to people in your mind? It's because you want to get agreement and positive attention from them in real life. Real life requires an unreal world to think in, rehearse and strategize in order to make decisions in the actual world. There are also terrible people imitated in our minds and the mind creates stress as if they are really there. They inhibit our choices and we can become like them if we believe their behaviours are rewarding enough to imitate. This is the dark side we all have to fight with and defeat. The real ghosts are impressions in our mind. A fifth column that doesn't always have your best interest at heart.

Luke Skywalker's vision of himself as Darth Vader: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jTcLiEI3Wdg

Cult psychology: https://rumble.com/v1gvih9-cult-psychology.html

Thankfully the observer awareness in meditation can heal these influences, desires for attention, and can help to remove the identification with old cultural habits. It can provide, what Freud would later call the "I" or Ego, opportunities to make choices with a sense of play and authenticity in different directions. When people are conscious of their attachment weaknesses, they are more likely to vet choices and compare them to decide which is better, creating a more independent mind. Any basic meditation pursued for a period of time will have interruptions showing the types of objects imitated in the mind. This includes just being mindful while walking and seeing triggers and memories happen in real time. Being able to breathe through them, relax them and release them will be important to create more independence. The importance of this insight is that cults can appear anywhere there is exploitation. Followers need leaders and leaders need followers. Religious or secular sources of these suggestions that leaders provide, including psychoanalysis, all can fall under cult-like appeals to authority, where a leader is always to be believed and a follower obeys. Watching our attachment wounds and deficits can protect us from predators, especially the friendly looking ones, who are watching from a distance.

Slow boat to China: The Master - Philip Seymour Hoffman and Joaquin Phoenix: https://youtu.be/SeNU4axJOjw

How to motivate yourself - Freud and Beyond: https://rumble.com/v1gv3zl-how-to-motivate-yourself-freud-and-beyond.html

The Wolfman and other cases - Sigmund Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780142437452/

Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/

#littlehans #sigmund freud #casestudies #psychoanalysis #phobia #equinophobia #psychology #Castrationcomplex #oedipus complex #envy #sibling rivalry

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tayne-dot-exe · 1 year ago

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This is probably a lot more just me watching way more movie video essays than movies but I think we can come out of this era of devalued storytelling understanding art better than ever. Like I guess by nature you can only get so much depth from anything made for the mainstream super broad appeal, but as someone who was into cinemasins and tvtropes type stuff in high school I think as a society its not for nothing for people to have started asking pedantic questions about things that happen in a movie, and then see the movie industry react as if theyre trying not to have those questions asked, and have people go "ohhh maybe all that stuff isn't the point of the story that we're really here for. What are we really here for" and in a way we thought the answer to that was "we want character complexity" and the movie/tv industry answered that with characters who are a little too self aware of their problems in a way that also is kind of what we "asked" for but not what we really need.

Like this is simultaneously a failure of how media literacy is taught and art under capitalism blindly seeking what audiences want through trial and error, but I think its valuable to see for yourself why something is needed by seeing what happens when you strip away what you thought was unnecessary.

#tayne newsletter #and like not to get into ai art discourse but i think ai writing vs human writers could be insightful #about what art you want that is more dependent on all that has come before #or if you played around with it finding out how much of art is curating #similar to the pedantic thing i think its a way to learn for yourself that a huge part of art is deciding what you don't need to include #the mona lisa does not continue out of frame

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wonderful-writes · 3 years ago

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Presume

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tom thinks you’re too pretty to be any good at academics. You can imagine his shock when he’s proven wrong.

Word Count: 2k (2,097)

Author’s Note: The idea for this fic was given to me by @bellaswansrealgf. It was such a fun topic to write, so thank you so much bae for coming up with the idea! I’ll definitely be using more of your suggestions in the future.

Tom Riddle found himself becoming increasingly irritated. How could Professor Slughorn possibly expect him to work with a partner? What kind of fool did Slughorn think he was? Tom was perfectly capable of completing his project himself, and it was rather insulting for his professor to assign someone to help him. And not just anyone. Slughorn had assigned you.

You, the pretty girl, were in no capacity an ideal partner. You were friendly and charming and surely too bubble-headed to know a thing about potions. You were probably irritating and selfish and vain, too. Tom would have rather been partnered up with the clown from Gryffindor than with you.

“Tom, right?” you asked as you took a seat next to him. You were dressed in neat robes and had nicely styled hair. You probably spent all morning on it.

“Yes,” he replied curtly without so much as a glance your way. He began flipping his textbook to the desired page and scanning it with his eyes.

“I’m Y/N,” you introduced.

Tom ignored you as he continued to read the page.

“So, what kind of potion do you think we should make?” you asked him, opening your own book.

Once again, Tom didn’t bother to look up or respond.

“Hello?” you tried again.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Listen, I know potions is probably not your area of expertise, so it’s best if you just sit there and let me work.”

“Excuse me?” you asked, surprised at how this stranger could claim to already know you without having ever spoken to you. “How would you know if I’m not good at potions?”

Tom scoffed. “If you haven’t noticed, you don’t exactly look like you’d be much of an academic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned, starting to get offended.

“Well, I’m the best in the class,” Tom said like it was the most natural thing to come out of his mouth. “Professor Slughorn probably sent you here so that I could babysit you. You can’t be any good if you need me as a mentor.”

“I don’t need you as a mentor,” you told him. “Professor Slughorn wanted us to work together for this assignment.”

“Like I said,” he replied, turning back to his book, “maybe you should let me handle the assignment.”

You were beyond aggravated. How could someone who barely knows you make such assumptions about you? You were more than adept in potions, and it was unfair of him to shut you down without letting you prove your skills.

“You realize this assignment is worth 25% of our grade, don’t you?” you asked him as you crossed your arms.

“Precisely,” he answered. “Which is why I won’t let you mess it up.”

You had never met a more arrogant person.

“If you’re going to be this way,” you declared, “I’ll just ask Slughorn if I can work alone. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience the great Tom Riddle.”

Tom breathed a sigh of relief as you packed your belongings and walked away. You were attractive, sure, but you were also annoying. He was glad to be rid of anyone who didn’t let him take charge.

Slughorn allowed the two of you to work separately. To Tom’s approval, you set up your station far away from his. He almost pitied you. It couldn’t be easy for someone like you to complete an entire project by yourself. People like you only cared about their appearances or what the latest gossip was. There was no way you could make any of the complicated potions on the list of options for the assignment without help.

By the end of the week, Slughorn had finished grading the students’ potions and their accompanying essays. Tom, ever so confident in his abilities, was shocked when he didn’t receive a perfect score.

“What did I do wrong, Professor?” he asked after class had been dismissed. “I could have sworn I didn’t miss anything.”

“You forgot to crush the bay leaves before you put them in,” Slughorn explained. “But not to worry, my boy. You chose a highly complex concoction. It is almost guaranteed that any student who attempts to recreate it will forget at the very least one step.”

“Did anyone else choose that potion?” Tom wondered.

Slughorn nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“And did anyone get it right?” Tom asked. He was doubtful that anyone in the class could have succeeded at something he failed to perfect, but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“That’s for me to know, my boy,” the teacher answered. Seeing the frustrated look on Tom’s face, he chuckled and added, “Just know that you shouldn’t judge your partners so prematurely.”

Tom spent the majority of the night ruminating on Slughorn’s words. Could it be that you were the student who had gotten the perfect score on the potion he had attempted? He refused to believe it. Slughorn must have been referring to another student, one that Tom was paired with in the past. You couldn’t possibly be the partner in question.

It had been weeks since Tom came in second for the first time in his life. He convinced himself that it couldn’t have been you who bested him. Of course, he speculated who the true victor could be, but he couldn’t put his finger on who in the class could be worthy of such high marks.

Eventually, the time came for the annual examination preparation. Professor Slughorn’s students were assigned a series of practice exams to help them prepare for the actual ones. Each practice test focused on a different area within potions, and it was the students’ job to be well-versed in all of them.

At the beginning of every week, a new practice exam was passed out, and the grades for the previous week’s exam was posted on a roster at the front of the class.

Tom never bothered with making a show of checking his grades, knowing fully well that he would always be at the head of the class. But with the newfound knowledge of a possible competitor, he couldn’t quell his curiosity.

Making his way to the front of the room with the usual throng of Slytherin boys, he displayed no sign of concern. Why should the best in the year have to worry about some halfwit who ran into a bit of luck one time?

His air of indifference was quickly squashed, however, when he approached the posted practice exam scores and saw that his was the second highest. Second? That couldn’t be right. Tom Riddle never came in second. Who was first? Who could feasibly best Tom Riddle at a potions examination? The most brilliant student in all of Hogwarts, and in his best subject too?

He was horrified beyond comparison when he saw none other than your name at the pinnacle of the score sheet.

You.

Impossible. There was no chance that the bubbly girl with the face of an angel, er, a moron, could ever have received such excellent marks.

He’d seen you around, and you were most definitely not the kind of girl who cared about your performance in school. You were always smiling with your friends or tucking your hair behind your ear or dazzling a crowd with an extraordinary story. When you weren’t smoothing down your clothes or checking your made-up face, you were befriending the professors, something only stupid people needed to do.

So how could you have gotten a higher score than him? There must have been a mistake. He would have to ask Slughorn about it after class.

As he walked back to his seat, he glanced at where you were positioned, a table not too far from his own. You had already started on your assignment for the day, making quick work of the cutting and crushing of ingredients. Sure enough, you were dripping with the grace and beauty of someone who most likely didn’t know the difference between reed and foxtail.

How could one possibly be proficient in any academic subject when they looked like that? You probably spent more time shining your shoes than studying for exams. Then how did you beat him, and twice?

He watched you work for the remainder of the period. To his surprise, you were doing everything correctly. You never added a drop too much or a sprig too little. You stirred with precision and knew what color to look for in the brew. You seemed to know exactly what you were doing. Were you truly more intelligent than he had originally presumed?

Still unconvinced, he approached Professor Slughorn after dismissal to question the scores from the most recent exam.

Slughorn only sent him a mysterious look before answering, “Everything is as it should.”

After the third week of coming in second place, Tom decided that it was enough. It was time he put his troubles to rest and find out for himself what sort of witchcraft was in play.

“Are you cheating?” he abruptly asked you the moment you took your seat. Professor Slughorn was not yet in class, giving the students ample time to converse before lessons began.

Startled, you stared back at him. “What?”

“You must be receiving help on your practice exams or at the very least borrowing notes from someone,” he stated matter-of-factly. “So tell me. Who is it?”

You had had enough of this arrogant git’s behavior. “What makes you think I need help? Is it so hard to believe that you are not the only person in this room who can do well in school?”

“Well I- you see, you’re not exactly the sort to put much thought to academics,” he defended.

“And what sort is that?” you questioned.

“You know, the vain, pretty lot,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’d imagine you spend more time on your appearance than on your academics.”

You gaped at the boy before you. “You think I’m pretty? And before you go on, my appearance has nothing to do with my drive to excel in scholarly affairs. I’ll have you know I’m more than capable of receiving just as good of marks as you are, despite what you think.”

“Then work with me on today’s partner project,” he challenged.

“Excuse me?�� The last thing you were expecting was for the high-and-mighty Tom Riddle to want anything to do with you after his blatant rudeness.

“If you’re truly as good as you say—”

“You mean as good as the scores prove,” you cut in.

Tom rolled his eyes. “If you’re really that good, show me. Demonstrate your skills on today’s potion, and I’ll believe you.”

So the two of you spent the class working together on the assigned potion. Tom made sure to stand back so that you could have the freedom to do things on your own, silently hoping that you would make a mistake. But you didn’t.

Your potion was perfect. There was not an herb out of place or a drop not potent enough. Everything was as it should.

You had clearly proven to Tom that you were a skilled student, worthy of his second glance. You only hoped that the self-righteous twat would realize not to judge people before knowing them.

“While I hate to admit my own shortcomings, you were right,” Tom conceded.

You smiled at his admittance. “Thanks, Tom. I’m glad you learned something from this experience.”

He had expected to feel more disdain at the fact that he had finally found his match. He was waiting for annoyance, jealousy, some spark of rage at being second-best. But all he felt was a strange sensation.

You were quite honestly brilliant, and he couldn’t remember a time when he genuinely thought that about a fellow student. You were quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and unafraid to back down from a challenge. You stood up to him despite barely knowing anything about him, other than that he was a royal pain to you. And, not to mention, you were quite a sight to behold.

It was no secret that Tom kept to himself more often than not. Sure, he had a group of peers who respected him — whether out of fear or genuine liking is up for debate — but he never got to know anyone on a personal level. He never let anyone get too close or see him for someone other than the shining pupil with big plans. But, for once, he wanted someone to share his genius with.

He intended to make you that person.

—

Part 2

#tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle fluff #tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle #tom riddle fanfiction

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ruby-whistler · 3 years ago

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There are three types of misinterpretation of c!Dream in my opinion; and by that I mean anyone's take ever, whether it's a c!Dream anti or a c!Dream apologist or a c!Dream enthusiast. That's right, I'm making an essay about how in my mind everyone is wrong. This is how I lead debates please don't unfollow me-

1. misunderstanding or overdramatizing evidence

c!Dream apologists; g-guys. I'm not saying he isn't traumatized, but look. I really used to believe he was just everyone's victim and hurt and mentally unstable, and I'm not saying he isn't at all, but I changed my mind because I feel like the evidence doesn't,, point that way at all. Your emotions are valid, but your takes are very removed from what the rest of the fandom thinks because you take little hints and try to make them into some big angsty point within canon.

The evidence we have proves he is more ruthless than anything; even the content creator says that. He doesn't say why he does progressively more ruthless things, and he does say it's for his ideals and out of good intentions, but he doesn't say anything about him being hurt into doing it.

I'm not saying he isn't hurt. But making analysis of an entire character based on something that is barely supported by canon isn't the way I roll and I feel like it's one of the reason why people assume all c!Dream apologist are going to woobify the character,, because some of them really do that.

I don't mind portraying him as hurt by what's happened in canon, because that is a completely safe conclusion, but jumping to the victim side of the scale seems a little bit like painting a completely different picture than what actual canon says. (Note: talking about pre-Pandora c!Dream here.)

There is tragedy in someone being driven by the environment, circumstances and themselves deeper and deeper into corruption, but it feels like by only considering that the entire character is limited to one side of the argument.

I like to also see the side of him that will hurt people because he thinks he has to, because he wants to succeed above all, the side that will ruthlessly murder and manipulate and be calculative and clever and even self-destructive about it because he believes that'll get him towards his ultimately selfless goal.

That's my morally complex bastard.

A lot of people seem to be mistaking or ignoring that for the sake of saying he is just... hurt and that that is an explanation of his actions, and even though they don't use it as an excuse, it feels a little cheap.

And here we come to the core of the problem: an emotional vs. rational explanation for the character's actions.

Because the thing is, with enough evidence, you will see that nearly (we'll get to that in a bit) everything he does can be explained rationally. Everything is connected, everything is the most logical and efficient and merciless route straight from point A to point B, because c!Dream is fascinatingly smart when you look deeper into it.

He knows what he's doing. He knows his actions are awful, and he doesn't care - not because he would be some evil person, but because his mindsets cause him to justify such things, and mindsets are more complicated than feelings.

There is a lot to explore in that direction of the character, but that is material for another essay.

In short, people seem to enjoy removing all of his agency in favor of explaining his actions emotionally rather than from a rational standpoint which results in inaccurate analysis.

Do I think it is completely understandable he attacked L'Manberg?

Absolutely.

Do I think c!Wilbur painted him as a villain to benefit his own power?

Yes.

Do I think he utilized the villain persona as an intimidation tactic and often went overkill with no regard for anything but accomplishing his goals and that he slowly became more and more willing to do bad things of his own accord because he became determined and distrusting of the world to the point of committing horrible actions?

100%.

Analysing that part of the character is the most interesting part, when you consider it - and an important one as well.

2. ignoring evidence

c!Dream antis; please. Stop saying he doesn't care or explaining his actions with obsession or assigning him personality traits or motives that he literally doesn't have in order to demonize him I beg of you.

It's so many basic and easily debunkable assumptions that can be explained with what we actually know of his motives. People will ignore both canon and the authors' words to paint him as some monster with no nuance, which he is not.

We only know so much about him, but people will ignore and deny even the little bit we have for the sake of making him the literal personification of evil and erasing the fact that he is a complex and human character. Just accept he can be accurately analysed beyond hate and let people do it if you don't want to do so yourself.

3. assuming the evidence we have is everything you need to determine a final approach and that nothing outside of the presented evidence exists when certain details prove otherwise

c!Dream enthusiasts; this was the only and biggest problem I've had since being introduced to much more rational interpretations of the character - which is emotions, and one of the biggest reasons why c!Dream gets dehumanized in the first place; the fact that we have little to no showcase or explanation of them in canon.

You see, c!Dream is a reserved character. He likes withholding his plans, withholding his feelings and information from the world.

However, since all we can really get out of watching his actions alone is the rational side (and that is deliberate by both the writer and the character, narratively and personality-wise) people slowly begin to assume there is no emotional side to his actions at all.

Which I find,, untrue. Between the people who erase the rational side of the character and those who erase the emotional side, there is little middle ground, but I don't really find either of them right either.

Because neither would be an accurate representation; just because he doesn't actively showcase his feelings doesn't mean he doesn't have them, and the few inconsistencies that are too small a detail for us to put everything together show that he does have an inner emotional world beyond what we see.

The character does work beyond what we know, and expecting that everything can be explained purely by rationality because that's all we see of him seems a little bit jumping the gun.

It leads to a less person-like view of a character who in reality simply doesn't like showing people the way he feels, and I don't really find that fair to him. It is best to accept there are things we can't say for sure, or to say an emotional interpretation can also be valid at times.

It is both important not to deny him agency and not to deny him the ability to be genuinely hurt by others or changed by his environment.

Both of these can coexist, especially in

the correct interpretation

Ok this is a joke.

I have literally no idea. I'm just throwing stuff at the wall and seeing what sticks - he confuses me beyond belief. The only person who knows about both the emotional and rational side of the character enough to have their interpretation unquestioned is cc!Dream - but when we do try to find answers, it is important for us as well that we do not ignore any aspects or possible aspects of the character, because that is the only way to get useful results out of our analysis.

Sorry this was crit of basically every take about the character I have ever seen but I needed to get my thoughts out.

#dream smp #c!dream #ask to tag as crit #long post #idk i'm big on the c!dream pos #but woobification & dehumanization & demonization are #all equally a problem in the fandom #with the character

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oswinsdolma · 3 years ago

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Yes, it's nearly 2.00am (because that's apparently the only time I have inspiration to write essays) but I've been thinking a lot about this lately and wanted to get it off my chest, so here you go:

The main goal of Merlin becomes disturbingly fractured along the way, which opens up the gaps for the prophecy to seep through instead of following the expected channels, but it can essentially be boiled down to three key elements 1) build albion; 2) decriminalise magic and 3) save Arthur, but when all is said and done, we never really see any of those objectives achieved.

Now, there are a few reasons for this, both from a writing perspective and a plot perspective. The first, and one of the most obvious, is that this show loves irony. I won't go into a lot of detail here because I've already written a whole ass essay in this very subject, but in a nutshell, you can look at this from two perspectives: firstly, it's important to establish that this technique is purely about the angst: it's the writers' way of provoking a reaction from an anguished audience, but it's foreshadowed just enough to make it more painful than it is shocking. Alternatively, there is the more plot motivated irony in that it genuinely makes a good story. Irony is a technique that has been used for thousands of years, not just because it provokes a reaction from the audience, but because it allows you to explore your characters in greater detail than before, riddling them with hidden juxtapositions and internal conflicts that are never resolved quite in the way you expect. The irony in Merlin is the epitome of this, with the whole motif of Arthur needing to die for his reign to begin. It is a classic example of the simultaneous despair and hope that mocks you from the shadows.

Following this, there is another force at play that deals with half truths and seemingly imperfect contradictions, and that's prophecy. It's not really a secret that I have very strong feelings about prophecy and its effects on all the characters, Merlin in particular, and the fact that fate and destiny are such key themes in Merlin both makes perfect sense and wants me to smash my head into a brick wall. Prophecies are another common trope that often go hand in hand with irony (think Oedipus Rex, Macbeth, The Iliad, all that doomed hero shit that I inexplicably adore), the key to their influence over the plot often lying in how they usually come true in the most unexpected of ways. This links back to that initial theme of irony, but this isn't what makes me angry: what is infuriating is that prophecies tend to come true, no matter what, and most of the characters seem not only to know this, but to let it take their autonomy over their respective fates, driving them to disaster.

Let me elaborate: especially in season five (I'm assuming just for the added fall at the end), Merlin talks a lot about how "one day, things will be different". He tells sorcerers that one day they won't have to hide. That one day, they won't have to live in fear of who they are and what others think of them. And Merlin is right: while it is not explicitly stated, it's generally established that this is one of the things Merlin should actively be working towards. But here's the kick: except for a few specific circumstances, when has Merlin ever actively tried to change Arthur's mind about magic? Yes, he has taken a few opportunities, like with Dragoon saving Uther's life, or with the Dolma's final request, where he has encouraged Arthur to rethink his choices, but otherwise, his support has been lukewarm at best. Instead, his primary concern was always saving Arthur, so he can become the king the magical world hoped he'd be, but he left out a crucial part, trusting in the prophecy to fill in the gaps. He knew it would come true, but it was, almost predictably, in the one way he never dared to expect.

And in a twisted way, there's that thread of irony again: Merlin thought he was saving Arthur so he could one day become the king who would see magic as a force for good, but instead, he created someone who was merely a survivor. It was Kilgharrah who said it first, and he who would mention it last: they are two sides of the same coin. But as willing as Merlin was to give his life for Arthur, and vice versa, he was never really ready to give him his mind.

Another interesting thing to note is Merlin's fixation on the "Saving Arthur" lens of the prophecy over the "Restoring Magic" part. Now, there are a ton of ways you can look at this, depending on how far along the scale of Queer Analysis you are, so I'm going to try and address a couple. At one end of the scale, you have the fairly simple and very believable "merthur" take. This basically boils down to the fact that Merlin and Arthur may or may not be deeply in love with one another, and that drowns out any voice of reason that may unfold. This is actually fairly canon compliant, particularly looking at incidents such as the Disir, when Merlin chooses Arthur over his and his people's freedom, though that choice was clearly, in hindsight, misadvised.

At the other end of the spectrum, there is the idea that it is the work of Kilgharrah, Gaius and other responsible figures in Merlin's life when he was new to his role in destiny, who reiterated at every occasion that Arthur must be protected at all costs. This may have ingrained into Merlin's thoughts and influenced his decisions from here on out.

Between those two points, there is a grey area, and I am of the personal opinion that neither extreme entirely satisfies the situation. For me, I think the characters in question are far too complex to have such simple motivations, and that the true reason lies somewhere between the two: Merlin undoubtedly cares for Arthur, and while at the start, his actions in protacting Arthur may have been driven by other (largely superficial) motives, over time, their mutual affection blossomed to the point where certainly the more personal quests were motivated not by need, but by love. However, there is a divide here, and while the line in the sand smudges from time to time, it never really disappears: a lot of instances in which Merlin is trying to help Arthur are entirely overshadowed by destiny, and in time, Merlin comes to accept that Arthur and Destiny are, in fact, one and the same, and this is where that ever-present tragedy lies. For all he truth in here, Merlin doesn't get everything quite right: he sees Arthur as a balance that needs to be protected, without fully realising that he doesn't just have to keep the sides of his equation in equilibrium, but he actually has to start solving them if he wants them to endure.

Having just said all that, sometimes I decide to fuck over complexity for a few hours purely because I am a shameless merthur hoe.

Also, can you take a moment to please note that this last section is highly subjective and it is completely up to you as to what you decide!! This is just my opinion and you're welcome to agree or disagree at any point.

So, aside from the Angst Factor™ and twisted character development, why was the main goal never fulfilled? Unfortunately, that is a question far cleverer people than me can only speculate, as the writers alone know the answers, but I'm going to give my opinion a shot. Honestly, there is something beautifullly poetic about something that never ends, or ends when there could be something more. Humanity has struggled with endings-and beginnings- since it learned truly how to think, because that kind of finality, that inkling that there might have been nothing before and after something else is incomprehensible. In leaving Merlin in a place where the next point was uncertain, the writers left the story open for us. In depriving us of that catharsis, they effectively made sure that the story would never be over, not until we want it to be. And yes, it was painful. I can't think of an ending that was more heartbreaking than that curious mixture of closures and openings all at the same time (hell, I could write a whole essay based on this concept alone!), but it was also a gift, ironically like that of the prophecy itself in that we can choose what we want to do with it, safe in the knowledge that there will be a happy ending again, one day.

In summary, we might not be left with catharsis in the way we wanted. We might not have got the happy ending that could also have stretched on and on indefinitely. But we were left with something else, something equally beautiful as closure, but in the complete opposite way. Amongst the remains of allwe had hoped to build, Merlin left us hope.

#sorry for the inevitable ineloquence here i am absolutely knackered #bbc merlin #merlin #merthur #i'm going to regret this in the morning

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hyuckssunchip · 4 years ago

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Blooming Pt. 1

Pairings: Jisung x Reader, ft. nct dream, lucas (honorary member of dream)

Words: 7.5K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), angst, fluff

Synopsis:

Love isn’t as easy as it seems, Park Jisung is an advocate of that. A blooming relationship that has prematurely ceased can be re-sparked years later, or can it? Will Jisung be able to overcome his fears in order to succeed in what he deems love?

Part 1 | Part 2

Freshman Yr.

Hey Jisung,

I know that this is kinda random and I only have the guts to do this now because I probably won’t see you again but here goes. I think you are a really sweet and cool guy and I wish I had gotten to know you better, probably because I had a big crush on you... I just thought I would send this to you because I know it’s nice to know and it’s probably a little bit of a confidence booster. (I also kinda wanted to get this off my chest). Sorry for the essay and you don’t have to respond to this if it’s awkward … I hope you stay safe especially with what’s going on right now

You held your breath, panicking at the loading sign on your phone. Welp, it was too late now.

You were pacing back and forth in your living room, nail very much in your mouth as you bit them anxiously.

“I just sent it.” You breathed out, “Oh my god, I just sent it.” At this point you were nearly in tears you were so nervous.

“That’s good. It’s like one a.m. though, so don’t be too worried if he doesn’t answer right away.” You nodded into the receiver, and although your best friend couldn’t see you, she still understood your silence.

You had called your best friend earlier to ask for her advice about the guy you had told her about months ago. It was the last quarter of school for this year and you finally had the courage to confess to him.

Your best friend Megan was a little bit more experienced than you and she laughed when you had told her you wrote drafts, and you promptly sent it to her.

“He’s not writing back.” You told her, staring intently at the screen, refreshing it every few seconds as if that would make him answer.

“Well of course not, you literally sent it ten seconds ago. Besides I told you, it’s late, he might just reply in the morning.” She sighed at your panicked state.

“Oh my god! He read it.” You bit your lip, staring at the numbers below your text.

“Oh.” She giggled, “Cute, he has read receipts on like you.”

You barely had time to comprehend what she had said when you gasped out, “Oh my god. He’s typing, he’s typing! There’s bubbles.”

She laughed, “Wow, that was fast.”

You weren’t exactly paying attention to her, focused very much on the bubbles that were still there. Then suddenly they stopped.

“They stopped.” You felt the need to relay everything to her.

“That’s fine, he’s probably just reading over it.” You nodded, trying to convince yourself. But you couldn’t because nothing ever came. It was almost 25 minutes later that you heard the familiar ding of your phone.

Hey Y/N! thanks for letting me know, it really is not easy but rip coronavirus really is kinda messing with everything. i think you’re a really nice person and if circumstances would have allowed, i would have wanted to get to know you more too. everything is kinda hectic rn and i wish you the besttt and stay safe too!!

Immediately you called Megan again. “It doesn’t look good…Listen to what he said.” You read the text, heart dropping with every word you read.

“What are you talking about? That’s a good thing. Y/N he said he wants to get to know you better too. That’s sweet. I think he’s just keeping it open though, cause there’s not much you guys can do anyways.”

“Yeah.” You tried to not let out how dejected you were, but it was clear to her.

“Hey don’t worry about it. If he doesn’t like you then he’s not worth worrying over.”

“Right.” You pouted despite what she said making sense. “Look I’ll call you later, I’ve got to go now.”

“Okay, Y/N, don’t stress too much about it, okay?”

You hummed back, mumbling out your goodbyes.

The moment you hung up, you threw your phone on the bed, falling next to it. You sighed, trying not to overthink everything.

That’s why you confessed now, so that if you were so badly rejected, you wouldn’t have to see him again. Right?

You groaned, closing your eyes, hoping that sleep would make you feel better. Or perhaps you would wake up and find that this was all a dream.

You woke up and of course with habit, the first thing you did was look over at your phone. You rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, grinning at the screen.

You weren’t thrilled that it was in reality a dream, but on the other hand things had become very real very fast.

NOTIFICATION

Park Jisung 5:18 a.m.

oh, are you still going back to school next year?

You smiled at the text, heart immediately choosing to beat faster than you would’ve liked. With a glance at the clock you realized it was 8:07 a.m. and you couldn’t stop yourself from replying the moment you saw it.

yeah, i’m planning on living off campus tho… are you gonna live off campus too?

You panicked, staring at the screen, knowing damn well that he wasn’t about to reply at 8 in the morning. You had to restrain yourself from calling your best friend that very moment, you were in a happy mood and waking her up would not keep that.

The entire day you were buzzing, constantly checking your phone for new notifications. For the first time you understood what phantom texts felt like. Every couple of minutes you were sure that you felt a text, but alas it was your imagination.

It wasn’t until 4 p.m. when a real text came through, ringing loud and clear. You had turned your ringer on and off, making sure that it was working just in case.

yup! I’ll be living by the shopping complex in downtown. how about you?

Restraint was not easy for you, and you replied after a few moments passed. Megan had constantly told you to let at least a few minutes pass, but you couldn’t help it. Besides, read receipts were not in your favor.

Conversation seemed to come really easy to you, and after an hour of texting non stop he said he had one more final to take.

You understood and immediately felt bad, realizing that you had taken up precious study time for him. You wished him good luck and spent the rest of the night relaying every detail to Megan over the phone.

Little did you know that that conversation would be the last for a long time.

3 months later

It was time for a break. And what better way was there than a small kickback with your best friends after midterms?

“I brought the good stuff.” You were startled, laying on the daybed of your other friend, Camille’s room. It was the perfect spot for a kickback. A couple hundred feet from the main house, and completely stocked with all that you needed.

You sat up glancing at the armfuls of alcohol Megan had snagged, don’t ask how she got it.

You giggled at the thought, watching as Camille helped unload. “Let the games begin.”

“Truth or Dare Y/N?” You groaned, turning away from the both of them.

“You know I hate this game.”

Megan didn’t let up. “Camille has a pond.”

That was enough information for you. You took a glance out the window, noting that it was freezing outside. You were not taking a chance on her intentions. “Truth.”

“Boring.” She sang, but nevertheless had a question set. “Have you talked to that boy since the last time you called me about him?”

You grumbled to yourself, taking a shot and grimacing. “No.”

“Why not?” Camille asked, reaching for the bottle still in your hand.

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t know, I’m too much of a coward to text him now. But he could text me first too you know. Especially cause I took the first jump. It’s probably because he doesn’t like me.”

You sighed, staring at the bottle again, tempted to take another shot.

“I’m sure that’s not the case.” You missed the look Megan shot Camille, already coming up with a new idea.

In the end you caved, choosing that perhaps another shot could bring you happiness. But it just burned your throat.

“Megan truth or dare?”

“Dare, duh.” You watched the proud look on her face.

“I dare you to… snapchat that dude that sent dick pics to fuck off.” Camille said, watching Megan’s face contort into delight.

“Hell yeah! It would be my pleasure.” She giggled, and you noticed that she was feeling the alcohol as well.

You felt the need to roll your eyes again.

“Done. And blocked.” She tossed her phone in the middle of the group with satisfaction.

“I don’t know why you just didn’t block him right after he sent them.” You commented, chewing on a gummy worm.

She just shrugged, “I don’t know, it was kind of fun I guess. Anyways. Camille, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Do you really only see Carson as a friend?” Camille sputtered at the question, spitting out a bit of juice.

“No, I see him as a brother. That’s disgusting, besides he’s dating Bailee.” She shook her head, working to clean up the mess.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t like him.” Megan muttered, before dropping it and turning back to you.

“Y/N truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You mumbled out, not really paying attention.

“Come on, do at least one dare. It’s not fun if you only answer truth.” She whined, pushing another cup of jungle juice towards you.

You hesitantly sniffed the cup before taking a sip. A moment of silence passed as they waited for you. You let out a deep sigh, “Fine, dare. What do you want?”

“I dare you to text him.”

You froze, you knew that’s what she was going to say, but you were so out of it that you let it slide.

“You know I can’t do that.” You answered, wide eyed.

“It’s a dare.” Megan nodded at the window, insinuating the punishment.

“No, I really can’t. I’ll give you my phone though, but I can’t do it.” You dug the phone out of your backpack and tossed it next to hers, which she grabbed immediately typing in your password that she had memorized.

“Deal. I’ll just start it, then you can keep the conversation going.” You waved her off, choosing to drown yourself in as much alcohol as you could in hopes of forgetting that this happened tomorrow morning.

“Done. I just sent hey, with like three y’s and a smiley face. Not the emoji though.” Your mouth dropped at her.

“That’s so not me though. You know I use emojis, and I don’t do the all, heyyyy thing. He’s gonna know.” She just shrugged, sliding the phone back to you.

You sighed, staring at the empty screen, the other two returning to the game.

But it was three minutes later when your phone dinged, a text from Jisung lighting up your screen.

“Is that him?” Camille asked, peeking over at the screen.

“Yeah. I don’t wanna read it though, you do it.” You pushed it away, pulling your knees into your chest.

“I got you.” Megan paused. “See. Guys like the hey thing. He did it back, I don’t know what you were talking about, he’s totally into you.”

You grinned, crawling forward to see for yourself. The phone dinged again seconds later.

“Ooh, that’s hot. I like it when a guy texts in multiple bubbles, it shows they just text you what they think. They’re not planning it out or anything.” Megan commented, already typing in a response for you.

You watched over her shoulder, glancing at Camille who was doing the same.

“Is this good?” You just nodded back, sitting back on your heels to take a break.

“Oh, wow. That was fast. He texted back.” Although she sounded impressed, she frowned at the text.

“What? What is it?” You asked, panicking at her expression.

“Nothing. He’s just… dry. Was he always a dry texter?” She asked, handing the phone back to you.

“No? I don’t know, I didn’t think he was dry, we texted for like an hour straight that one time.” You mumbled, looking at the phone disappointed.

“Well he seems pretty dry to me. Maybe you should text him, maybe you were right, my texting was too different from yours.” You bit your lip and nodded, trying to come up with a response to him.

You didn’t know if it was because you were drunk, or that he could tell you were drunk, but while the conversation did get slightly better, he seemed dry to you as well. It was after twenty minutes of texting that you couldn’t keep the conversation any longer. You became frustrated at the dwindling conversation.

You had chosen to contact him again after three months of ghosting each other, and now he was making it difficult to carry a conversation. Maybe he really doesn’t like you. You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. Fine, you thought, you weren’t reaching out anymore. You didn’t want to be seen as pathetic, you could catch a hint. He just didn’t like you and was being nice. If he did actually like you, he could reach out to you.

This didn’t stop you from thinking about him for the month following the drunken incident.

2 years later Junior Yr.

“I swear if you’re late for this one too, I’m not setting you up on anymore blind dates!” You winced at the sound of your roommate cursing at you.

“I’m going!” You yelled back, slipping out the front door before she had a chance to attack you again.

You managed to close door without hearing what ever else she had in store for you.

Your keys jangled as you quickly tried to lock the bright red door, giving it one last tug of reassurance when you turned on your heel to find your car.

“Oof!” A body collided with yours, you were partially, well mostly at fault.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I should’ve paid more attention. It’s just, I was in a bit of a rush…” You trailed off, finally getting a good look at the other person’s face. “Jisung?”

He simply stared back with a blank look on his face, mouth hung slightly open. “Y/N?”

You hated how your heart quickened at the sound of your name from his lips.

“I-I… wow…” You stuttered out, not quite able to act as natural as you had hoped. “Do you live here?”

“Uh… yeah, I live next door.” He pointed to your left, and when you followed his finger sure enough it was right next to your apartment. You missed the way that he looked you up and down, gulping at the sight of you in years.

“Oh. Wow, what a coincidence, I guess.” You laughed out nervously, hands playing with your lanyard.

“Yeah.” He nodded back, not really making eye contact. Not that you were trying either.

“Well…”

“Yeah.”

There was an awkward silence between you two, and you cleared your throat to break some tension.

“I was actually on my way out, so… I’ve got to get going. But I’ll see you around.” You put on a fake smile that didn’t really reach your eyes, and shot him a wave before rushing off to your car. Once under the safety of your car, you sighed and tried to discreetly glance at the boy you hadn’t seen or thought of in years.

You shook your head, starting the ignition. It’s time to forget him, you told yourself, besides I’ve got a date waiting for me right now.

It wasn’t until Jisung was positive you could no longer see him, having driven off minutes ago, that he threw his head back and let out the deep breath he didn’t know he was holding. The blush he had been so desperately holding out finally came over his face, as he felt the heat burn his ears.

He had just begun to forget about you, from time to time, pausing over your conversation stream. Although it was torture, every once in a while he would read back all the texts, hating the way that they abruptly stopped. On occasion, mostly when he was drunk, but there were times when he was sober, he would even type out a text but fail to send it.

Jisung was never the outgoing type, he envied those who were. Those that could just strike up a conversation and carry on like it was second nature. But it was hard for Jisung. It took work and energy, and sometimes he didn’t have that. It was stressful and scary to Jisung.

It was a godsend when you reached out to him years ago, claiming so boldly your feelings for him. He wasn’t going to admit it, but then he had asked for his friends help in responding. It was Mark’s wishy-washy personality that had unbeknowingly sent your mind in circles that night.

It was Haechan’s straight-forward nature that had forced him to text you at 5 a.m. the next morning. He was tired of hearing about Jisung’s concerns as to why you didn’t reply earlier, complaining that if he was that worried just text her.

So he did.

And it worked.

It worked so well. That hour he had spent texting you had butterflies dancing in his belly. He had never felt happier or more connected than at that moment. It wasn’t until his alarm rang, notifying him that he had five minutes until his last final did he stop smiling.

He was more than disappointed when nothing came out of the conversation. Of course he knew that it wasn’t just your fault, after all he had a phone, he could text you too.

And he tried, he really did. Multiple times. But every text he drafted was soon deleted and so the conversation ran dry. That was until three months later, May 16th.

But you always seemed to catch him at a bad time. It was Saturday, but his professor had given him an extension on his paper and it was due at midnight.

Your first text came at 10:58 p.m.

It took all he had not to answer the text, and eventually he did cave. But as much as he wanted to focus on you he couldn’t, after all he had begged his professor to extend his deadline, he had to finish this.

Maybe that’s why this time you didn’t seem so responsive. Maybe that’s why this time it only took twenty minutes for the conversation to end.

Maybe that’s why, after it took him forty-five minutes to respond to your last text, you left him on read.

“What’s with the long face dude?” His best friend, and housemate asked, slapping his back passive-aggressively.

“Nothing. And I don’t have a long face.” He pushed back, shoving him softly out of the way.

“Who was that? At the front door?” Jaemin asked, shoving a cookie into his mouth.

“No one, just someone I knew.” Jisung muttered back, reaching out to steal one from the jar.

“Just someone I knew.” Chenle mocked back, leaning against the wall of the kitchen. “Right. We all could see the look on your face, that’s not just someone you knew.”

Jisung shrugged. “She was a girl I was texting.” He tried to pull it off nonchalantly, but it was evident to his housemates that it wasn’t nothing.

“Shit. Was that that girl you were talking to freshman year? The one you were head over heels for?” Jeno asked, grabbing a seat on a barstool, his laptop tightly in his grip. It was obvious he was working on something.

“Y/N?”Jaemin asked around the crumbs that filled his mouth.

“Ew. Gross. Have some manners dude.” Renjun said shoving Jaemin off the counter where he was perched, “And how many times do I have to tell you not to sit on the counter, that’s not sanitary. We have chairs for a reason.”

Jaemin made a face, but still moved to take a seat next to Jeno.

“Yeah.” Jisung frowned at the rest of the guys. “Did I make it that obvious?”

Renjun laughed, pulling a plate out of the cabinet. “You just talked about her everyday for a month. But no, not that obvious.”

“You should talk to her again, does she live close by?” Jeno asked, typing away at his computer.

“Yeah, she’s… uh… she’s our neighbor.” He rushed the last bit out, knowing that they would take advantage of the situation.

“Ooh! Our Jisung’s little girlfriend lives next door guys!” Chenle cackled out, “Guys, this is fate. And it’s our job to help out.”

Jisung scowled at him, knowing that Chenle meant what he said, “No. Guys leave her alone. Don’t make things weird. We’re going to be neighbors for the rest of the year, I don’t want to have to avoid her.”

“Avoid who?”

“Haechan, how many times did I tell you to give me that key back?” Renjun asked, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

“Too many.” Haechan shrugged, letting Mark close the door behind him. “You can have this one back though, I’ve got two more copies at my apartment.”

Renjun threw his hands in the air, “I give up.” He picked up his plate of leftovers, opting to sit at the bar next to Jaemin.

“Who are we avoiding though?” Mark asked, settling against the wall next to Chenle.

“Y/N.” Chenle said, giving Mark a knowing grin.

“Y/N? Wait isn’t that...?” Mark furrowed his eyebrows, sporting his signature confused face.

“Uh-huh.”

“Why are we avoiding her?” He asked, turning to Jisung, who had been awfully quiet.

“We’re not.” Jeno spoke up, finally shutting his laptop. “We just found out she’s our neighbor and Jisung doesn’t want us to do anything about it, cause he doesn’t want to avoid her.”

Haechan grinned, pulling out a glass and filling it up with water from the fridge. “So you still like her?”

“No.” There was an empty silence. “Yes.”

Jisung sighed at the commotion his confession caused.

“Well, don’t you think it’s our duty, as your friend, to help you out? After all, I feel like I am very invested in this budding relationship. I did help send the text that set things in motion.” Haechan boasted animatedly, accidently spilling some of his water, which he wiped up with this sock.

“No. I don’t think that it’s your duty. And please stay out of it?” He all but begged the rest of the boys. Much to his dismay, none of them looked like they were swayed.

Jaemin clapped his hands together standing up, “Okay, how about some neighborly cookies? Everyone likes cookies.”

Jeno rolled his eyes with a smile, but stood up anyways. “Sure I’m down, but no more of those peanut butter ones, those are shitty. Can’t we just do chocolate chip?”

Jaemin frowned, digging through the pantry cabinet. “You’re lucky we’re out of those. Chocolate chip it is.”

Haechan strolled towards Jisung, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “How about we get drafting then?” He snorted, “I think a nice love letter should do it.”

Jisung shoved him away with more force than necessary, “Get off me. And no. Stop it with the love letter thing, I was drunk and sad okay?”

Mark butted in before the two of them would really start fighting, “Actually I don’t think that’s a bad idea. I think she’d like that, like, slip it in with the cookies or something. Just say you’d like to see her again, and hang out.”

Renjun stood up, placing his dishes in the sink, “Dude this is why Jisung sent mixed signals in the first place, ‘i’d like to see you again’, ‘let’s hang out’. Can you get any more confusing than that?”

Mark frowned and cocked his head, opening his mouth to retort, but Haechan beat him to it. “Then what would you say Renjun? ‘Oh how beautiful your eyes compare to a midsummer’s eve. May I court you this evening?’”

Renjun glared at him. “You’re not funny. And no. I was going to say, just tell her it was a missed opportunity. That you’d like to take her out on a date now that you can.”

Jisung shook his head violently at the sound of that. “How am I supposed to do that? That’s way too straight forward, what if she says no?”

“Dude, she likes you. Remember? She sent you that text. And if her feelings aren’t there anymore then… well… I don’t know. But the chances are low.” Jeno tried to reassure him, not doing a very good job of it.

Jisung sucked a breath in, ultimately letting out a hissing noise.

“Trust me on this one Jisung. I make a mean cookie, we’ll just head over there later today and rekindle whatever you two have.” Jaemin cooed at the boy with a big smile.

“Right. Like I can trust all of you.” He muttered to himself, choosing to escape to the confines of his room.

“So… how was it?” Your roommate asked expectantly, a far change from the way she was speaking to you earlier.

You shrugged, “I dunno, he was nice I guess.” You shook your head. “I don’t know why you guys are all pushy on this stuff. Like I get it, but it’s weird trying to date someone that I’ve just met you know?”

Your roommate Alex just shook her head, waving you off. “Whatever, so did you like him or not? Is there gonna be a second date?”

You laughed at her, she was way too invested in your non-existent love life. “I don’t know, I think so. He was sweet and stuff, but like I said it’s weird.”

“Well, that’s the furthest you’ve gotten so far.” You sent her a glare. “I’m just saying. You always either end up leaving the date, or never seeing them again.”

“Shut up, I don’t-”

You were cut off by the sound of the doorbell ringing. Alex and you exchanged glances, you weren’t expecting anybody.

She stood up, grabbing the bat next to the door, that your mother insisted you bring, ‘just in case’.

You huffed, moving past her, “You know, you could just look through the peephole.” You leaned forward squinting into the door, only to find a group of boys that seemed your age.

“Who is it?”

You pulled back, tilting your head, “I don’t know, just a group of guys.”

You unlocked the door, peeking out through the crack slightly, and you were greeted very enthusiastically by the boy in front.

“Hi!” He grinned, showing off a perfect set of pearly whites. He was waving very aggressively with his free hand, the other seemed to be holding a plate of cookies. “I’m Jaemin! We’re neighbors.”

After his quick introduction he shoved the plate towards you, never letting the smile leave his face.

“Uh… hi?” You weren’t quite sure what to say.

Luckily Alex did, “Hi, I’m Alex and this is Y/N. That’s so sweet of you.” She smiled back, taking the plate from you. “Do you guys want to come in? We can crack them open right now.”

You stepped back, watching the trail of six- no seven guys just stroll into your apartment.

“What the hell?” You muttered to yourself, closing the door softly behind the last boy.

“Hi Y/N.”

You looked up to see Jisung again, and you took a slight step back, startled at the sight.

“Jisung. Oh.” You barely let out.

“Sorry, we didn’t mean to overstep or anything. The guys just wanted to meet you… all. They wanted to meet all of you… cause you’re our neighbors, and all…”

You blushed realizing that he had heard you comment, completely ignoring the way that Jisung was stumbling all over his words.

Haechan took no time in introducing himself, and taking the honor of introducing everyone else as well.

“I’m Haechan, this is Mark, Jeno, Chenle, and Renjun. You already know Jaemin, and I’m aware that you already know Jisung.” He grinned proudly after gesturing to each of the respective boys.

“Jisung?” Alex asked, eyebrows raised. You hadn’t told her about him. For one, it never came up, and secondly, it’s not like it was anything important now. That was years ago, you didn’t feel the need to inform her of every detail of your life, like him.

Haechan cocked his head, “Yeah. You didn’t know they knew each other?”

You furrowed your brows at him. “And how do you know that?”

Jisung shyly raised his hand next to you, embarrassed that he was outed for spilling the details to his friends. “Sorry, that would be my fault.”

You turned slightly, mouth dropping at his face, “Oh. I didn’t mean it like that. I..I- That came out wrong. I’m not mad or anything, I was just shocked.”

You bit your lip feeling guilty about the way he responded.

“Anyways.” Jaemin interrupted the awkward silence. “We just wanted to say hi and stop by. Maybe we can all hang out and stuff and be neighborly.”

He grinned, looking around at the group.

“Right.” You nodded slowly, “Thanks for the cookies, and it was nice meeting you all.” There was a forced smile on your face, but none of the boys seemed to notice or care.

Eventually the boys filtered out one by one, and you closed the door, sighing against it.

“They were nice.” Alex said, taking a bite in a cookie. “Oooh, and these are hella good.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, moving to sit on the couch.

“Why do you look like that? You don’t like them?” She asked, grabbing a glass for milk. “You and Jisung already know each other though. By the way, how do you know him?”

You rubbed your hand over his face. “It’s a long story.”

“Well, I have the rest of the day.” She sang back, taking a seat on the cushion next to you.

And so, now that Jisung was back in your life, you were left no choice to fill her in.

“Damn! That’s awkward as hell.” Her eyes were widened to the max.

“Yeah, I know. But I didn’t want them to feel super weird, cause you know, neighbors right? I just can’t believe my luck though.” You sighed leaning back, slouching down.

“Yeah, but do you like him though?” She asked, to which you whipped your head towards her.

“What?”

“Do you like him? I mean this could be really good for you. Actually it’s a win-win for everyone here. I can stop forcing you on blind dates and you can date the boy you’ve been pining after for years.” She shrugged like it was obvious.

“Okay, I have not been pining after him for years, and we’re not going to date just because I liked him two years ago. I mean, didn’t you get it from what I told you? He doesn’t like me.” You tried to shut her down.

“What are you talking about? Did you see him today? He couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.” You frowned at her observation. You didn’t remember it the way she did, every time you looked at him, which wasn’t that often, he was desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

“No he wasn’t.” You nevertheless blushed at the idea.

“Ooh, you’re blushing! Someone has a cru-ush!” She raised her voice, and you slapper her.

“Shut up, they’re right next door remember? They’re our neighbors.” She simply winked at you.

“And no I don’t.” You added as an afterthought.

The small restaurant was bustling with energy, something the boys loved.

“Dude, why haven’t we been here before?” Mark asked, eyes wide with excitement, smacking Haechan’s shoulder unnecessarily hard.

Haechan tried to move away from him, but to no avail.

“I told you, Jeno always said this place was pricey.” He muttered back, giving in when he realised Mark’s habit wasn’t disappearing anytime soon.

“We shouldn’t have trusted Jeno’s cheap ass.” Renjun snorted, “The prices here look decent.”

“Hey!” Jeno tried to defend himself. “I’m a college student, everything is expensive.”

Jaemin threw an arm over Jeno’s shoulder, trying to comfort him. “Let’s just grab a booth.”

As they trudged down the busy pathway, Jeno spotted a familiar face.

“Hey isn’t that Y/N?” Jeno asked, elbowing Jisung in the side. But Jisung was already aware of your presence, he had been the moment they stepped into the restaurant.

“Don’t point.” Renjun slapped the boy’s hand down.

“I wasn’t-”

“Shut up.”

“Wait… who’s that with her?” Jaemin asked the obvious, slurring his words at the end, as if just understanding the situation.

It seemed as if you were on a date, and Jisung’s heart dropped. It felt like his entire world came crashing down, like any and all hope he had in you went out the window.

Of course you would have a boyfriend, it’s been two years since you last talked, and it’s not like you were even an item. You texted for an hour.

Jisung closed his eyes for a second, but the picture was still searing in his brain. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he told you that he liked you.

“I guess we didn’t think about that. That she could have a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I mean it has been two years.” Mark nodded, agreeing with Jaemin.

“Guys, not helping.” Renjun said between gritted teeth.

Jisung bit his lip, silently running over the image of you.

Is that your boyfriend? How long had you been dating? Was it after he ran into you? If he asked you out then, would that be him?

He had so many questions he wanted answered, but he would never get them.

Chenle pulled his arm roughly, trying to drag him into the booth. “Jisung you’re staring. Try not to make it so obvious.” He teased.

Jisung quickly averted his eyes, choosing to sit where he could watch you from his seat. His stomach felt queasy, maybe that was a bad idea. Suddenly he lost his appetite at the sight of you smiling so widely at something funny your date had said.

Mark glanced up from his menu, staring at Jisung who was now downing his water. He elbowed Haechan who was concentrating on the menu.

“Dude, say something.” He hissed at him, trying to get Haechan to lift the mood. But for some reason, today of all days, he wasn’t having it.

Haechan just shrugged, shaking his head, “What do you want me to do?” Then he went back to his menu.

Mark bit his lip nervously, feeling uncomfortable at the sight of Jisung so anxious. He shot a look at Renjun who understood and at least tried to spark up conversation.

“So Jeno, who’d you come here with again?” He asked, an attempt at diverting attention from the elephant in the room.

“Uhh… some girl…” Jeno mumbled back, blushing furiously.

“Jeno’s blushing!” Chenle shouted out, his loud voice carrying across the restaurant.

This had Jisung cracking a smile.

“Dude, not so loud.” Jeno groaned out, sinking into his seat. He turned to glare at Renjun, “Did you have to bring that up?”

Renjun shrugged, but sent a small apologetic smile. ‘Sorry’ he mouthed at the embarrassed boy.

You had Chenle to thank for alerting you of the group’s presence. You pulled away from your conversation with Lucas and craned your head to get a glimpse of your neighbors.

“Do you know them?” Lucas asked, following your gaze.

“Oh, yeah, they’re my neighbors.” You said back, tearing your eyes from their booth.

“Yikes, they’re kind of loud.” He chuckled, “That must be rough on you.”

You gave him a smile, accompanied by your own giggle. “Lucas, in case you didn’t notice, you’re loud.”

He let out a fake gasp, holding his hand against his chest, “Me?”

You laughed, “Lucas, on our first date you thought we had so many complaints about the ‘loud dude in the booth’ that they asked us to leave.”

He frowned, “It’s not my fault my voice carries. And I have a very pleasant laugh, they should’ve been happy to hear it.” He pouted, “But we got ice cream to make up for it.”

You bit your lip, holding back your grin at the memory. “Yeah and it was freezing out.” You paused watching his expression, “But it’s never too cold for ice cream, besides, I wouldn’t have gotten your jacket out of it. And by the way, I’m keeping it. It’s soft.”

He smiled widely, immediately agreeing with you. “I’m just gonna use that excuse to see you again.”

You returned his sentiment, it wouldn’t be all that bad to meet Lucas again. You seemed to enjoy yourself every time you met.

“Oh. Jisung, hey.” You let out surprised.

“Hi.” He smiled at you shyly, staring back at you.

“Hi.” You blushed at the awkward tension between the two of you.

You turned and locked the door quietly before facing your neighbor again. “I was just heading out.”

“Right.” He mumbled, retreating back towards his apartment.

“I was going to the bookstore to pick up some things…” You trailed off, watching his expression, “If you’d like to come…?”

You immediately regretted your offer, ducking your head to hide your embarrassment. “You don’t have to, that was-”

“Sure.”

You froze, quickly snapping your head to meet his gaze.

“I uhh… have some things to take care of too.” He stumbled over his words to accept your offer.

“Oh, okay.” You smiled shyly at your feet, a strange feeling in your stomach turning.

You nodded in the direction of campus, trudging forward slowly at first to let him catch up. Soon enough the two of you were keeping pace.

A few minutes passed before Jisung cleared his throat, “So what are you getting from the bookstore?”

You nodded to yourself, “I have a textbook I ordered. It’s ridiculous isn’t it? How insanely overpriced it is, and it’s not like it’s even possible to pass the class without it. I mean I’m paying enough for college, now I have to pay on top of that.” You took a breath and chuckled nervously, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to rant on you.”

Jisung grinned at the way you were so worked up, “No not at all. I totally agree. It’s a rip off, I mean why not just make it part of tuition, we’re paying enough as it is.”

You nodded, “Right? It’s not right to make it required, like I could totally pirate it online, but if the professors make our homework using the online site to turn it in, that’s not even an option.”

You sighed exasperated, and missed the look on Jisung’s face. He seemed to enjoy the way you raved on about something as simple as a textbook.

You paused at the sound of his laughter from beside you, and you turned to look at him with a smile, enjoying the sound.

It was a fifteen minute walk to campus, and another five to the bookstore. And before you knew it the building was looming over your heads.

Jisung jogged a few paces before you, reaching for the door. You paused, watching as he stood aside, holding the door for you.

You blushed, perhaps, as they say, chivalry isn’t dead. “Thank you.”

You reached your hand up, pressing your cold fingers against your burning cheeks, an attempt to chase away the color.

“So which class is it for?” He asked, looking around, and thankfully not noticing your heated face.

“Economics.” You replied, lifting your head in search of your department.

The two of you wandered around for a few more moments, not searching particularly hard for the book in question.

“Look, introduction to Korean Pop Music.” He laughed, pointing at the textbook. “Can you believe there’s a whole course on that?”

You smiled, looking. “I dunno, it seems interesting. Besides, there’s classes for classical music, and pop music, why not K-pop?”

He nodded back, giving you a glance.

“Here, economics.” You mumbled out, walking down the long corridor. You ran your fingers along the spines of all the books, stopping at the familiar title. “Jesus, 98 dollars.”

He frowned, sidling up next to you.

Sighing you reluctantly pulled the book off the shelf. “Ready?”

Jisung looked at you under heavy brows.

“You’re going to get it?”

“It comes with the online version. I mean I have to get the online portion, might as well get the hardcopy for free with it.” You nodded towards the check out, stepping towards the staircase.

He followed in suit, stuffing his hands in his pocket. He ran into your back after you stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering something.

“Oh, didn’t you have to get a book?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, “Oh yeah.” At that moment he reached out and grabbed what seemed to be a random book from the closest table, but you chose to ignore it.

He raised the book, and gave you a smile.

Your eyebrows shot up, “Introduction to the female reproductive system?”

Jisung suddenly turned very pale, as he tried to play it off. “Yeah, ummm… for my biology class.”

You grinned, nodding like you believed him. But you chose to continue up the stairs, unable to watch as his face contorted. While you weren’t looking he quickly flipped over the cover, gulping at the sight of the price.

“80 dollars?” But he shook it off, trudging after you.

“Anything else for you?” A boy around the same age as you was checking you out.

“Nope, that should be it.” You smiled, fumbling around with your purse to find your wallet.

“Economics huh? Are you a ManEcon major?” He asked, leaning towards you slightly, ignoring Jisung who had arrived nearby.

You looked up from your bag, “Huh? Oh, yeah ManEcon. You?”

Your hand was still deep in your back when he replied. “Same, I’m a Junior, I managed to switch in last year.”

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, “Was it difficult?”

“No, I mean I knew I wanted to switch early on, so I already was taking the classes I needed.”

You nodded back, “That makes sense. Have you taken macro yet? I’m signed up this quarter but I’m a little nervous.”

“I had Zeggert last quarter, she was pretty good.” He smiled, nodding, “She likes it when people go into office hours, really tries to help.”

You cracked a smile of your own, “No way, I have Zeggert. Thank goodness, I’m definitely going to use her office hours a lot then.”

You took a moment to successfully dig out your wallet, sliding him your card.

“That’s good, well, I’m here basically all the time. So if you ever need help, you know where to find me.” He winked at you, returning the card.

You murmured out a quick thanks, and stepped aside to let Jisung pay for his books.

Jisung didn’t take long, and you noticed that he was particularly cold with the cashier, who in turn wasn’t nearly as friendly with him as he was with you.

“He was kind of flirting with you.” Jisung mumbled out, picking at the brand new spine of his unneeded textbook.

You glanced at him, stepping through the door that he once again held open, not knowing how to respond to him.

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” He asked under his breath as you caught up beside him.

“What?” You shot him a puzzled look.

Jisung raised his eyebrows, “Your boy...friend?” He slowed his words, questioning them himself.

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You let out, not pausing in your steps. The same couldn’t be said for Jisung.

He jogged slightly to catch up. “But your date…?”

“My date?” You asked, now choosing to stop and face him. You shook your head, confused, “What date?”

“The- the guy you were with at the restaurant Wednesday.” He studied the sidewalk intently, flustered at his confession.

“You saw me?” You leaned down slightly, trying to catch his gaze.

“I-uh… I mean I didn’t mean to watch you. But we just happened to go to that restaurant.” He mumbled, choosing to walk forward and escape the situation, but you quickly caught up.

“He’s not my boyfriend, I mean, we were on a date, but he’s not my boyfriend.” You felt the need to defend yourself, or at least clear things up. Although you didn’t know why you felt the need.

“Oh. A date.” He mumbled. He was overjoyed at the fact that you weren’t dating anyone, but couldn’t help but be disappointed at the mention of a date. From what he remembered, you seemed to be enjoying yourself then.

The silence grew until you reached your doorstep. It had taken Jisung fifteen minutes to decide, fifteen minutes to pluck up the courage he needed.

“How about a date with me?” Although he refused to meet your eyes, you felt the genuinity.

Part 2

154 notes · View notes

durmstrange · 4 years ago

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Blow Your Mind - Fred Weasley

Hello and welcome to another Fred Weasley fic! This is inspired by Blow Your Mind by Dua Lipa. Hope you enjoy!

Plot: “enemies” to lovers trope (enemies in quotes because its more of a rivalry to lovers trope)

Word count: 2,208

In all honesty, you thought Fred Weasley was the most stubborn, annoying, and insufferable person you had ever met. His cockiness, his blatant disrespect and disregard for rules, and his superior attitude drove you absolutely mad. Ever since first year, when the two of you started fresh at Hogwarts, you couldn’t stand him. From his initial prank on you, which was only a dung bomb released in the dormitory you shared with Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet, his close friends, you could barely stand the mentioning of his name at times.

Unfortunately, he was very much in your life. Angelina and Alicia were your closest friends, and also good friend with him. George Weasley was kind to you, typically only being an accomplice to Fred’s pranks on you, not the mastermind behind it all. The relationship you had with Fred was rather complicated, as neither of you truly hated each other. You weren’t exactly friends, either. Rivals, at best.

You had thrown such a fit after his first prank that you soon became the target of his tricks then, as he found it so amusing when you were worked up. Over time, you began getting back at him. It was rather elementary tricks you’d pull, like putting a bucket of creature droppings above his door, nabbing all his clothes from his dormitory, spare a too small sweater, and hanging them in the courtyards, or even sabotaging his pranks on others. All through the years, you kept your revenge to yourself for the most part, and Fred was clueless as to who constantly tricked him in return, and typically pinned it on Lee or George, never suspecting you, as far as you were aware.

During your fourth year, Fred began to prank you more than ever. In fact, his pranks were getting more and more complex, earning the least bit of respect from you. One prank you’ll remember for the rest of your life was right after the Halloween feast. You had stopped in the library for a moment, finishing up a final essay for the night. Fred must have been following you, as when you finally left the library and headed towards the Gryffindor common room, you stepped on a tripwire, immediately making your blood run cold.

Blue dye rained down from above you, coating your uniform, white shirt and all. You could hear Fred cackling from up the hall, but you were too busy wiping the dye from your face. “Fred Weasley, I am going to end you!” You took off down the hall after him, leaving a trail of dye down the corridor.

For weeks after that, your hair remained a brilliant shade of blue, not fading until almost Christmastime.

Just a week or so later, Fred found his bed sheets, pillows, and blankets all strung up in the Astronomy Tower, flying in the wind like a flag for all of the students to see. You could recall his fury as he blamed Peeves for this prank.

During your fifth year, you decided to step it up a notch after Fred’s constant pranks. He had began creating his own prank devices, so his work was rather sporadic and creative than years prior.

One morning, as you sat with Angelina and Alicia in the Great Hall, your fingers drummed against the table as you were lost in your thoughts. There were thousands of possibilities flying around your mind as to what you could do to embarrass Fred in front of the entire school, but one particular idea stood out to you. A small smirk formed on your lips as you settled on your plot.

After a few moments, there was a small jab in your side, bringing you back to your friends. “What’s that look for?” Angelina asked hesitantly as she looked at you skeptically.

You looked up, fighting the smirk that was forming on your lips. “Oh, nothing. Just thinking about the upcoming match,” you mumbled in response as you reached forward for a muffin from the large plate. “Can’t wait to see what’s in store.” Just as your hand reached the muffins, the entire plate jumped and the muffins exploded, sending bits of muffin all over your robes, your face, and in your hair. A gasp left your lips as you flinched back. Immediately, your voice roared through the Great Hall as the other students began to laugh. “FRED!”

Angelina and Alicia had bits of muffin on them, but nothing like the crust that covered you in your entirety. A groan came from you as you wiped at your face. “About time she quieted down. I don’t know how the two of you can listen to (Y/N)’s mouth all of the time,” a smug voice spoke from in front of you. Your eyes wandered up, spotting the red headed devil standing in front of you, across the table, with his arms crossed over his chest. He was lucky he was out of your reach, or else you might of strangled him at that moment.

The laughing in the Great Hall wouldn’t subside. You, however, fought back the tears forming in your eyes. “If you don’t like the way I talk, why am I on your mind then, Fred? You’re always playing tricks on me, so you must like the way I say your name,” you replied cooly as you stood and brushed off your robes, but it was no use. “Just wait until you see what’s coming.”

“I’m so scared,” Fred taunted you as you stormed away from the table. “Pathetic she won’t even fight back.” His voice loomed in your ears as you shoved through the hall with your head held high, ignoring the other laughing students.

~.~

“I know that look,” Hermione said to you as you stood in the stands, your arms over your chest and a smirk remaining on your lips. There was an unsure look on her face that only made you all the more proud of your work that was soon going to be shown. “Harry said you borrowed his cloak last night.”

You laughed gently, pushing your Gryffindor scarf over your shoulder. “I did. Was up half the night, actually,” you confirmed to her as Madam Hooch stepped out on the field, the wind about blowing her broom from her hand. The crowd cheered at the sight of her. “Rather windy today, isn’t it?” Your voice was smug as you smiled into the wind.

Hermione let out a soft breath and held a nervous look on her face. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw teams stepped out on the field, forming a circle before mounting their brooms. The students roared at the teams, but you remained silent, your eyes on a single player. “Watch Fred,” you instructed Hermione as you leaned your hands on the railing in front of you, a haughty look on your face.

Hermione did as she was told, as did Ron, who listened in on the conversation. “Since when do you pull pranks?” Ron asked aloud, but your eyes watched Fred as he ascended from the ground.

“Always,” you answered shortly as the wind whipped at his cloak. Just before Madam Hooch started the game, you watched your hard work shine.

The faux layer of Fred’s cloak broke loose, as you had only tacked it in place with three stitches, revealing large pink letters across the real crimson red material, spelling out “(Y/N) IS THE PRANK QUEEN” on the entirety of his cloak. Each letter was hand stitched in place, accounting for your lack of sleep, and making it nearly impossible for the lettering to come off in the wind. The crowd erupted in laughter, the Gryffindor team joining in, at least those who could spot the words across the ginger’s back.

Madam Hooch started the game regardless of the distraction, and Fred realized the crowd was howling at him. A confused look formed on his face as he glanced around, trying to figure out why, and after a quick visit from his twin brother on his broom, Fred twisted to spot the bit of pink writing he could see on his own back. His eyes shot the crowd, spotting you in just a moment. You had expected him to be furious, but there was an amused and incredibly happy look on his face. You gave Fred a contentious wave and wink, earning a quick head shake from him before he took off, joining in the game.

Despite the distraction of Fred’s mainly pink cloak, Gryffindor won the match and a party ensued in the common room. With a drink in your hand, you leaned against one of the desks and chatted quietly with a fourth year, who was praising you for your prank. As the team entered the room, your smile turned to a smirk as the fourth year ran off to greet them all.

You remained back, allowing all the other students to greet the players, and waited for Fred to find you, because you were sure you were going to get an ear full.

After about twenty minutes, the team dispersed into the crowd, finally able to break free from the congratulating. You watched as Fred spotted you, a smirk coming onto his face. You moved to sit on the desk, your feet swinging above the ground with a prideful smile on your lips. “Well, do a spin for me! Let me see my work,” you instructed him once he was close enough to hear you. With your finger, you did a spinning motion, only making his smirk grow.

Regardless of the hard feelings you shared in the past, Fred turned, allowing you to see your work on him. “Prank Queen?” he asked incredulously as you giggled, covering your mouth and he turned to face you. “You’ve got a lot of catching up to do before you earn that title, you know.”

You mocked being offended. “What? My years of pranking you means nothing?”

Fred looked confused at your words. His smirk faded as he came to terms with what you meant. “You mean to tell me it was you? The buckets, the bedding, the clothes, all of it?”

Proudly, you nodded. “Those and every unsolved prank in between,” you confirmed as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I suppose I’m not so pathetic after all, am I?”

For a moment, Fred was at a loss for words. It wasn’t often that he got like this, but for this moment, looking at the person he hurt and tormented for the last four years, he couldn’t find the words to properly express how he was feeling. “You’re bloody brilliant,” he finally stammered out, his face red at his own words. “I knew it!”

A gentle blush formed on your face. “Well, the games have only begun, Weasley,” you teased him as you reached forward, taking the edge of his cloak. “Listen, if you leave me with this for the night, I’ll remove the stitches and get the lettering off,” you told him and ran your finger along the Q in ‘QUEEN’.

You released his cloak, looking up at Fred. “I think I’ll keep it on, actually. I’ve got a spare one I can wear for games,” he explained with a crooked smile.

You laughed, shaking your head at him and swinging your legs once more. “Whatever you say, Fred.” You rolled your eyes and sipped your drink as he leaned against the desk next to you.

“You were right, you know.” Fred’s words lingered in the air, making you tilt your head to the side in confusion. “I could listen to you say my name all day,” he murmured low enough for you to be the only to hear his words.

His voice rumbled in your head as your face grew warm. You held the cup to your lips to hide the smug smile on your lips. “Are you coming on to me, Fred?” Your own voice was low and sultry, and you waited his eyebrows raise.

“Is it working?”

For a split second, you weighed your options in your head. Before you could process much of your own thought process, your words fell from your lips, “Rather well, actually.”

Fred smiled, taking your chin in his hand and turning your face so that you had to look at him. His large, calloused hand caressed your cheek as he caught your lips in a kiss.

From across the room, George leaned against the wall with his arm around Angelina, watching his twin kiss her dorm mate. “Do you think she finally told him that it was her pranking him all these years?”

George chuckled, pressing his lips to the side of Angelina’s head. “He was starting to catch on, anyways,” George admitted with a faint smile. “The last one, where she took all his cloaks and hung them on the suits of armor, they came back spelling of her perfume.”

Angelina snickered quietly. “I’ve got to admit, that was my doing. While (Y/N) had all his cloaks in our dorm, I sprayed a few of them in hopes that he would catch on.”

George raised his eyebrows, impressed with his girlfriend. “Well, it was only a matter of time before they got together.”

durmstrange’s Taglist: @starlightweasley @theweasleysredhair @whiz-bangs78 @hufflepuffgirly @tonksichu @toomanybandstocare @mentally-in-northern-italy @alwaysasadaesthetic @through-the-little-door @clandestinecherry

Weasley Twins Taglist: @wand3ringr0s3 @kpopgirlbtssvt

#fred weasley #Fred Weasley imagine #Fred Weasley fanfiction #Fred Weasley fanfction #Fred Weasley one shot #fred weasley fanfic #Fred Weasley oneshot #Fred Weasley love story #Fred Weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #Fred Weasley fluff #Fred Weasley enemies to lovers #hogwarts #Hogwarts fanfic #Hogwarts fanfiction #harry potter #Harry Potter fanfic #Harry Potter fanfiction #durmstrange

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whump-town · 3 years ago

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You Worry Me

Pairings: Emily & Hotch

Summary: college au things, Hotch checking himself into a mental hospital for the weekend

Warnings: child abuse, mental health struggles, abuse, suicide attempt, drugs, alcohol

When Emily asked him if he wanted to get an apartment with her she had expected far more hesitation than what she was met with. It’s not that she doesn't have other people to ask but when she really has to think about it he’s the only person she wants around like that. She’s content with his silence and his strange but enrapturing bouts of… oddness. She’s already thrown up in front of him (bad stomach flu she refused to admit was as bad as it was) and stood guard so he could pee behind a dumpster when they’d walked to the store at midnight for cigarettes and energy drinks.

She finds the courage to ask him on the front lawn of campus, stretched out on their backs ignoring their work and just photosynthesizing. Closing their eyes in silent enjoyment as spring tries to peek through winter's tight grip. When she turns to look at him the words just come tumbling out and she waits for his reaction. She’s not sure why she’s expecting anything other than that predictable crooked smirk but it still shocks her. He turns his head, lifting his arm to shield his eyes as he does so. Mostly, he just wants to know where he came in the line-up. How many people told her no before she came to him?

The honest answer is none but she smirks and tells him four and he laughs that deep goofy laugh that he does and she doesn’t know why she was nervous he’d say no. With a tired sigh, he nods and that’s all it takes-- they’re sharing an apartment.

He carries her clothes up to their floor, leaves her the pillows and her comforter for her to drag up. He’s exhausted by the time he’s got her things sitting on her bedroom floor but goes down to the beaten old pick-up truck his mother let him borrow to get his own things. Informs her with one of those long crooked fingers to worry with her own things and leave him to get his own. She resigns herself to listening but only because she’d seen his load and knew her help wouldn’t really quicken the whole six, small, boxes he has.

On his third trip she’s had enough and with a dramatic sigh she shakes her head and stands right in the doorway to his room. “No,” she says, crossing her arms. “No, I refuse to believe this. There’s no way you’ve read all these books.” She’s watched him carry three boxes of books into this apartment and not just boxes with things like thrown in he’s got them stacked to take up as little room as possible in these boxes. They’re heavy, he’s sweating and they keep coming.

With a sigh he leans down and sets the box currently in his arms down on the floor. “I read,” is his very complex answer. Aaron Hotchner has a way with words and she’s come to know that well. He shrugs, pushing at the hair slicked with sweat against his scalp. “I have read them… all of them.” Most of them more than once.

Books are the only thing he’s ever had. When he’d packed up for college all of the room had been taken up by these books. His clothes fit into one box but the books, he made room for the books. Every year, for as long as he can remember, his mother would buy him a book for his birthday. He got a job in town to have money to buy books to try and stifle his insatiable hunger (and his up-and-coming smoking habit).

She looks down at the box he’s just placed down, sighing when she sees that atop a pair of jeans there’s another book. Sherlock Holmes, she recognizes easily, and she shakes her head. “You know,” she steps out of his way and he heaves the box back up with a grunt. “My mother asked if I thought you’d kill me.” He falters mid-step but doesn’t stop. Carries the box to the others and sits it down heavily. He turns and finds her watching him with that quizzical, intuitive frown of hers. “You’re big but I think I could take you.”

He huffs at that, shaking his head and sliding past her so he can get his other boxes. She has no worries about him hurting her and strangely she hadn’t even considered that he might hurt her until her mother had mentioned it. Besides, she knows just enough to never truly worry. He’s the boy who vomits when he gets angry - if he shouts he’ll end up curled around the toilet shaking with a fever. He’d never hit a soul and if he did, she can only imagine the penance his body would conjure up as punishment.

But he huffs and she hears it.

She jumps on his back as he’s setting his box down on the ground. He moves just a little, stumbling under their combined weight. “Emily,” he warns, doing his best to not react. He knows how she is. She wants him to get rough, to hook his arm under her leg and yank her around. If he acts unbothered she’ll leave him alone. She’s far too much like having a little sibling around again - a sobering and, yet, comforting notion.

She does get bored and quickly. “I’m gonna go see Eric,” she informs him, slipping down off his back. He grunts and it’s just the wrong sound and she falters for a moment. Aaron’s met Eric and she’d thought they got along well but… she’s started to second guess that a little more every time she mentions either to the other. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she adds apprehensively. Catches on to move the conversation on and away from the subject of her boyfriend but she still finds herself hovering by his doorway. Chewing her lip and anxiously asking, “do you mind if I bring Eric Wednesday?”

He just looks down at the box he’s sorting through, back turned to her. He shakes his head, sighing, “I don’t care what you do Emily.” He does care, deeply, but he looks back at her for only a brief moment. Sad brown eyes begging with her to not push, to not make him talk about this more.

With a nod, the conversation is over.

Wednesday night he smokes the pot that Derek passes to him without a second thought. It’s been burned down to the last few puffs, the heat from the lit end burns his fingers tips but he still puts it to his lips. Pulls from what little remains of the blunt as if it’s oxygen itself, a mask over his face meant to level him out. Maybe it will. The heat sinks down into his lungs and he ends up doubled over, spit drooling over his lips. Laughter bubbles up around him and a hand rubs at his back, Emily, he knows but only by the way that her perfume stings his nose he tries to breathe through the assault.

“Give it here before it burns out--”

Emily takes the blunt from his fingers and passes it to Eric. He’s an asshole and they all hate him but they love Emily and if they want her around then they have to deal with him. It’s safer to have him here, where they can watch him. He won’t dare hurt her in front of them -- but is that not what he’s doing when he leaves bruises across her face like constellations? Sends her back to them so that they can dab makeup over the Milky Way and breathe reassurances over Orian’s Belt when she falls into a hug.

Emily pulls him back upright, guides his head to lilt to the side as he sags against her. He can feel Eric’s fingers near his collar, the possessive hand he keeps on Emily at all times. A silent reminder of the power he holds over them all. Emily kisses his temple, oblivious to the mental war happening on both sides of her.

Derek reaches over and smacks his thigh, and encouraging little maneuver he means to comfort Aaron with. Aaron has checked out, arms too heavy to push away from all the touching. Can’t worm out of Emily’s arms or Derek’s comforting hand on his leg. He feels nothing past the tip of his nose. Not Emily’s bones underneath his cheek, her body carved down by Eric’s harmful comments about her weight and the coke he supplies like it’s a love language. Not Derek’s hold on him, the fear he can’t express but feels deep within his churning stomach, that Aaron’s slipping away and they’re all just bystanders to his eventual suicide.

Thursday night he’s woken up by Emily sneaking into his room, the soft click of a glass of water being sat down on his nightstand and the clatter of pills finding their way beside it. She presses her fist into his sternum, applying pressure where he feels like he’s coming unraveled. It’s like her hands are grasping his strayed ends, holding him together like a shredded kite until she can pull the fabric halves back together. “Okay,” she breathes, failing to provide him with steeled calm. His heart is beating so hard against her hand she’s afraid to let go. Her understanding of medicine is narrowed to just knowing you’re not supposed to put a bandaid on a burn. Kids can still have heart attacks, maybe not the over-worked, a little heavy-set dad kind caused by blocked arteries but he’s got the stress level and something certainly isn’t right.

He wakes up alone, doesn’t remember when she left or if she came at all. His only clue is those pills sitting in the perspiration of the now lukewarm water on his nightstand. He can’t move just yet, force his hand out to obtain the pills but he’ll wake up again in a pain-filled haze moved only by such intense pain that he fears sitting still another moment will rip him in half. The pills are slimy as they sit on his tongue and leave their bitter medicine laced into the gulp of water he manages. He’ll turn back over onto his side, pull his knees to his chest, and hope he doesn’t throw them back up.

He writes an essay in the haze of the Rizatriptan six hours later. His brain is only half-working, thoughts jumbled together or not there at all. The migraine lingers, fingers made of cotton muffling the world in a spirling nothing. It’s a similar feeling to being high, the haze is just too much but he has to write this paper because his professor won’t give him another extension -- he would if he knew Aaron needed one but he’s already asked once so he won’t do it again.

Friday the panic sets in.

Everyone is watching him.

Nobody likes him.

Why is he here?

Starfished out on a picnic blanket, Emily is spending her Friday out of the apartment. Armed with a water bottle filled with Vodka, a quilt, and a cooler full of popsicles they stumble their way through the unplowed field behind campus. Spencer hates the bugs and he holds tightly to Emily’s belt, making sure to step where she does as they trample through the too-high grass. Like broken dolls, they fall onto the quilt, familiar with one another enough not to care how they land in the tangle of limbs.

“Emily?”

She hums, not opening her eyes. The sun will remain stubbornly risen for a few more minutes and until it sets she’s trying to soak in every second of its warmth. Until it falls behind the trees and they’re bathed in the moonlight.

“Do you want a drink?”

She opens her hand, holding it up in the general direction of Derek’s voice. The water bottle finds her palm, slightly warm from sitting in the sun and in their laps as it makes its rounds. It feels oddly light but she doesn’t comment. The vodka stings down her throat but it’s familiar and it’s nearly as warm as the sun itself falling down her body.

“Where’s Hotch?”

She passes it to Penelope before laying back down, closing her eyes. “His psychiatrist put him on -” suddenly she can’t remember what it’s called. “Clom-something --”

Spencer looks up, understands this is a place for him to jump in. He feels overwhelmed with his excitement as he helpfully adds, “clomipramine! It’s a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, SSRI is the short-hand. It increases levels of serotonin in the brain.” He shifts himself, turning closer to them and away from where he’d been watching the blanket's edge for potential bugs trying to crawl near him. “It has the same side-effects as most SSRIs: drowsiness, intestinal upsets, decreased libido, changes in appetite--”

“Woah!” Derek sits up, suddenly paying attention. His eyebrows are scrunched together, alarmed. “He can’t… He won’t be able to like get it up?” He looks at Spencer and then at Emily. “That’s what libido means, man. How’s not being able to have sex going to help him not get all… gummed in the gears? Stuck in his head?” Aaron’s having a hard enough time, it hardly feels like ruining his sex life is the solution to that.

Spencer shakes his head, trying to understand how they’ve moved from facts about antidepressants to Hotch’s sex drive. “What?” If he took a second to think about it, he’d be blushing too hard to even bother with that statement. “No, the brain--”

“Spence,” Emily warns softly. Hotch might not be here to stop them from talking about his sex life but she is and she doesn’t want to talk about it. Besides, it’s none of their business. They’ve seen how bad things can get. “Hotch is basically a nun,” she reminds them. And it’s true. Before anyone diagnosed him, before he even knew something was wrong he wasn’t nearly as adventurous as her or Derek. “He didn’t come today because despite the--” she motions at Spencer.

“The clomipramine,” he supplies.

“Yes, the that, it doesn't work. He has a new psychiatrist, though, and he wants to run through some old stuff again.” She shakes her head, “a stronger dosage and a better plan. I don’t know, I guess we’ll know in another month. He’ll either end up in the hospital again or he’ll be fine.” She shrugs, “right now he’s locked himself in his room.”

There’s a low murmur of understanding and Spencer’s eyes go back to the edge of the blanket. They all remember what happened the last time he had to change medications. Emily had called JJ, the dead of the night making their intensely private and scary conversation seeping with the darkness’s own mixed intensities. Aaron had taken some bad drugs from a guy he didn’t even know, stumbled home, and passed out in his and Emily’s apartment bathroom. Where she found him seizing, choking on his vomit.

They didn’t and couldn’t see him for seventy-two hours, the mandatory hold from the hospital because they ruled it an attempted suicide and Aaron didn’t even try to put up a fight and say it was something else.

Friday night when she stumbles home he isn’t there.

His room is empty -- bedsheets are thrown back as if he left in a rush and his desk lamp still on. She feels that fear sink back into her, throat tight and mind racing, but the bathroom door is open, his pills still meticulously organized in the cabinet over the sink. Even his toothbrush is in the dish. So wherever he is, he won’t be gone long. She stills warns the others, asks them to look out for him or to, at the very least, expect his imminent arrival.

Derek offers to drive around and look for him.

Emily lets him do it, give him something to do -- he would have done it even if she told him it was unnecessary. She’s fairly certain she knows where he is.

Sure enough, she gets the call Monday morning at 7:30.

He does this every once in a while. As often as he can without them enforcing a longer hold, without it going on some sort of record that might prohibit getting a job. She doesn’t really understand why. He hates the mental hospital. Complains that it’s freezing cold and he hates the entire function and yet, here she is spending her Monday morning picking him up. This makes only about the fourth time since she’s known him but how many times has he just made the decision to walk? How many times hasn’t he called her to pick him up?

“You have got to stop walking here.” She rolls the window down first, shouting out at him as she pulls to a stop. He looks better than he had Friday morning when she invited him out to the field with the rest of them. She’d barely managed to get him to sit up, feeding pills between his pale lips, and then pulling his blanket back up over his shoulders. Shutting the blinds and leaving him a glass of water. Maybe she should have just offered to take him then, she’d known with hindsight this is where he would be.

He opens the backdoor without saying a word, crawls into the backseat, and curls up across the seats. He’s wearing a sweatshirt they must have given him, shoes not even on just held by the tips of his curled fingers. They land with a thud on the floor and all the response she gets is a pair of grippy socks landing on her passenger seat, the wordless thanks for picking him up… again.

“Class or home?” she asks, pulling out of the parking lot.

“Class.”

She did bring his bookbag with her, it’s sitting on the floor beside her own, but she will not be taking him to class. He recognizes that when she pulls out of the exit when she turns left instead of right. He grunts but doesn’t say anything, opting to curl further into himself. Protecting his head from an unseen threat.

The rest is practice. He’s foggy from the medicine they give him, always something different from what he’s taken. It’s meant to bring him down, strengthen his haze, and keep him calm. To shut his mind up -- and it’s good, it really does work. It just makes him so exhausted.

“Get your big butt--” Emily has to help him get into his bed and just as he’s about to apologize -- mouth hung open and his eyes squinting as he tries to force sluggish thoughts through a brain that hasn’t worked in days -- she climbs up after him.

His head hits the pillow and his mind goes blank, can’t even form the “I’m sorry” trying to trip its way out of his mouth.

Within seconds she’s laying down beside him, wiggling down under the covers and pulling them up over them. “Derek was pretty pissed you left again without telling us,” she whispers. It takes her a moment but she leans back up and pulls the blinds down, shuts the light from outside from coming in. Then she’s right back beside him, head on his chest. “You’ve got to stop doing that, Aaron. It’s-- It’s--” cruel.

Breathlessly he whispers, “sorry.” It’s all he can manage, drugs still heavy in his bloodstream and eyes forced shut, to move his hand to her back. To try and convey more than what he’s capable of with words that he didn’t mean to scare her. He just scared himself.

She turns her face into his sweatshirt and lets out a little sob, holding onto him. “I think I’m going to break up with Eric.” She’d come up with a thousand reasons Aaron would have disappeared, even as logic dictated where she knew he was. Her fear covered everything until she was sat wondering if she was making things worse for Aaron. His anxiety and migraines and everything else. Was she adding to his stresses or helping?

Coming home and having to ask him to relive parts of his childhood for her… Having him dab foundation over her bruises with his tremoring hands knowing he was thinking about his mother. That he was thinking about doing this exact exercise on himself, covering bruises his father left across his own face. Dabbing blood away and whispering empty, useless promises.

“Okay,” he whispers.

His mother had offered him that same lie a thousand times. She’d drawn lines in the sand and washed them away the next morning with the reconstruction of a wave -- thin cold fingers touching a bruise and asking what happened. As if she hadn’t watched. As if she hadn’t picked him up off the floor and hidden him away in his room, draping her body over his.

“I mean it,” she whispers, her tone mixed with conviction she doesn’t have.

“I know.” He’ll pretend to not remember this conversation when she goes bar crawling with Eric Thursday night. He’ll avoid the other’s eyes when they look at him for some sort of explanation, why she’s taken by her promise this time. But for now, he’s tired and he’s warm and he feels safe. He’ll call Spencer and Penelope later and apologize for blowing off the plans they had to watch Doctor Who, act like they all don’t know where he’s been.

“I love you.”

He squeezes her hips, gives in to his exhaustion. “I love you too.”

#abuse #child abuse #alcohol #suicide attempt #mental health #drugs #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss

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aiyexayen · 4 years ago

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So uh that essay about how Wei Ying takes after Yu Ziyuan? I am LISTENING

There were two things that really made me start to think about this, one was this tweet which says, "You know what we don't talk about? Wei Wuxian getting his cry-laughing from Madam Yu" and this incredible ChengXian video which sets their relationship to the tune of When Doves Cry and wrecks me every time I watch it (I just watched it now when I went to get the link and I'm whimpering).

As to the first matter:

seems fairly conclusive.

The second matter:

maybe I'm just like my father, too bold maybe you're just like my mother-- she's never satisfied

Was there this much meta thought put into one line of lyrics in a video set to When Doves Cry? Hard to say. There is now, though! Because dang, what a line. Essay under the cut.

There's a (valid) tendency to pull out the ways Jiang Cheng is more like his mother, and the ways Wei Wuxian is more like Jiang Fengmian, especially where their relationship is concerned.

Jiang Cheng wants proof of care through passion, through a willingness to fight. He will provoke and poke at things better left lying, with no shame and no regard to who else is around, dredge up old hurts and old grudges and old matters even if they're long buried or long forgiven, so long as he thinks it will get him the reaction he's looking for.

He wants Wei Wuxian to fix things by rising to the bait, rising to the challenge, giving him pushback when he says blatant lies, showing him that his shige still thinks he's worth it.

This is terribly unhealthy, of course, don't do this at home kids, but it's one of my core Jiang Cheng Truths.

Jiang Cheng shows that he cares in turn by being willing to fight, by pouring his emotion out even if those often end up as negative expressions. He's messy and unrestrained when he feels things, not all of which is from his mother--a lot of that is just Jiang Cheng--however, you can see the way he tries to rein in his emotions when he's embarrassed about caring or is trying to pretend that he doesn't care. Whether it's pretending to shrug off Wei Wuxian and walk away when they have a problem, or trying to rein in his temper at Lan Wangji on Dafan Mountain. Because from his mother, he's internalised the message that to engage in the fight is proof of care, so the opposite is also true.

And oh, when he hurts, he seeks to hurt back. That's very Yu Ziyuan of him.

Wei Wuxian, meanwhile, frequently defaults to calming and placating with Jiang Cheng. Not as much as Jiang Yanli does--but more on her, momentarily. We see Wei Wuxian complain at Jiang Cheng to not get riled up, tell him he's being stubborn and just to accept the peace offering, etc. The difference is that, at first, with Jiang Cheng, a lot of that is just general pouty childishness and Wei Ying-ing, general sibling shit.

Plus, he was still willing to fight/express himself fully. They fought a lot. He always ran after Jiang Cheng, always roped him into expressing himself, always let Jiang Cheng fight it out. He understood, at least intuitively, and he didn't back down. The benefits of having grown up together, and of being an older one/middle sibling in the dynamic.

But when things really started to break down between him and Jiang Cheng, when the conflict was much bigger, much more grown up, much more real, Wei Wuxian started modeling his behaviour even more on Jiang Fengmian in regards to Jiang Cheng, possibly seeing more of Yu-furen in Jiang Cheng and responding the way that felt natural.

(Also, a lot of his own guilt and depression/apathy/intent to die and assorted other issues came into play at roughly the same time.)

Thus, we see Wei Wuxian start to turn down Jiang Cheng more often, and back off. He shrugs it off or rejects it when Jiang Cheng reaches out, and he stops reaching out himself. He tries to placate Jiang Cheng, tries to defuse him, tries to send him away. Some of this is because he cares and is trying to show he cares by taking himself out of the situation; some because he's trying to maintain his lies; some because he just doesn't have the energy to deal with this anymore.

After Wei Wuxian is resurrected, by which point he's done what he perceives as the worst things to Jiang Cheng, this intensifies. Jiang Cheng provokes him beyond reason, lashes out, starts fights, sneers, and Wei Wuxian almost rises to the bait but he stops himself. He lets Jiang Cheng be angry and he shrinks himself down, he backs away, he disengages. A decent portion of this is Wei Wuxian himself, and his faulty perspective on the situation and on Jiang Cheng's anger and complexity of emotion and intent. Some of it is lingering relationship modeling off of Jiang-shushu and Yu-furen's relationship. Either way, he's definitely "being the Jiang Fengmian" in the situation.

Additionally, Wei Wuxian tries quite actively to model himself off of Jiang-shushu's good qualities, which is understandable given that this was his primary benevolent adult figure and liked him quite a lot. We see it in the way Wei Wuxian teaches, the way he instructs with archery, the fact he prioritises archery to begin with, the way he expresses kindness the way it was expressed to him, through encouragement or noticing people who are down and out. Things that Wei Wuxian, at least, attributes to Jiang Fengmian's character (I'm trying so hard not to make this a Jiang Fengmian salt post) even if a lot of that is just his own outlook on life at the end of the day.

But all of these kids were around both of these parental figures/people of authority. This is most clear in Jiang Yanli. We see the way she's become a mediator figure between her parents when they're upset with each other and understands them both.

She takes all the kind intent and patience and willingness to placate and calm from her father, and adds in the knowledge and understanding needed to actually use it interpersonally. She's more open with communication, can identify the heart of an issue, and effectively diffuse a lot of tension. She has middling success with this with regards to her parents, but a lot more success with her brothers. It helps her see eye to eye with Wei Wuxian, and share that spark of playfulness between them too. It helps her understand why Jiang Cheng says things the way he does, and what he means.

We also see Jiang Yanli reveal herself to be the steely, fiery daughter of Zi Zhizhu when someone attacks what is hers. She is just as much her mother's child.

So, too, Jiang Cheng is his father's son. I think this is true much more when he grows up and inherits the sect and has held it for some time in the wake of tragedy. We see evidence that he's become a well-regarded leader, and for all we see cool, flashing, calculating glares and bitten-back sneers, we see worried disciples fussing over his health. We see a mild manner that was learned, and an authority that has accrued with time, and a self-assuredness when dealing with his peers that seems more modeled off what we see of Jiang Fengmian than of Yu Ziyuan.

Jiang Cheng is a match for Zidian, through and through, but he is also steady and determined and bold, good at making and keeping allies, or else how could he have achieved the impossible in rebuilding his sect? He learned to take some of his mother, some of his father, find something left over of himself out of the wreckage of his life, and meld it all together.

That brings us to Wei Wuxian. I had, at the time of first seeing that tweet, showed it to a friend who said:

Are we gonna talk about how Wei Ying gets his cry-laugh from her? Are we gonna talk about how he learned that intense glare from her, too? Or his tendency to act swiftly and decisively even when it might not be the actual best course of action? Or his violent protectiveness of his siblings?

Inspired. And yes, we are.

Yu-furen was a figure of absolute strength in Wei Wuxian's life. Uncompromising, unyielding, impressive as hell. She had the capacity to inspire deep loyalty and was fiercely protective over things that were hers. Her son, her daughter, her family's reputation, her sect, her home, her disciple. (Yes, even Wei Wuxian was hers, too, she made quite the point about that.)

Wei Wuxian is very easygoing. But when he decides something is his, whether that's a duty or a person or whatever, it's his to protect, it's his to do anything for, even cause a scene, even start a war, even lose allies or his own life. It's one surefire way to get him to fight no matter what headspace he's in.

You can see Jiang Cheng realise/remember this in real time in the Ancestral Hall, when he can't get a rise out of Wei Wuxian by talking about himself and his family, and that stings, but he's desperate to get a rise out of him somehow, and immediately he sets in on Lan Wangji. And it fucking works. That's what gets Wei Wuxian to almost fight him. If he'd posed a real threat, and if a whole bunch of other complicated psychological shit wasn't part of the mix for everyone involved, there would absolutely have been a fight.

Wei Wuxian latched onto the Wens, yes, and they were his, too, but they weren't the only ones. Lotus Pier was his, as was Jiang Cheng. Yunmeng Shuangjie was not just a pipe dream, and Wei Wuxian's loyalty was not simply easy to sway. Yunmeng Jiang's strength, their reputation, their future, and Jiang Cheng's along with it were always on his mind.

He lied, and fought, and even left and took himself out of the picture to that end. For Jiang Cheng, and for his ability to carry on. In so many ways, Wei Wuxian absolutely took so much of his perspectives on that from Yu Ziyuan, for better or worse.

Uncompromising, unyielding, even when turned on himself. Never satisfied, always pushing for more, for answers, for solutions, for the right path, even in his own frequently easygoing and curious ways. Unhesitating, across the board. Even if it meant his own life, or his core.

There is nothing wrong with hesitating. Hesitating, worrying, being uncertain, trying to think first, trying to find the right path, and then being able to find it, or choose it anyway, is such an act of courage. That's a quality Jiang Cheng has in droves. He hesitated, when he saw the Wen soldiers coming for Wei Wuxian. And then he chose to sacrifice himself. For Wei Wuxian, there was no hesitation whatsoever. No forethought. No choice, really. Just go. I think that's very Yu Ziyuan of him.

I had to go digging to find that message my friend sent me, and I'll conclude with my response:

If we're going to talk about how Wei Wuxian is like Yu-furen, then we'll have to talk about how Yu-furen knew that. Or at least, the only parts that she ever had cause to see in him while she still lived. How he was hers even if he wasn't her son. How Fengmian's lazy favouritism was intolerable in this way, too, in the way it sowed discord where there didn't need to be any, and was a barrier between her and the things that should have been more fully hers. How the farewell at Lotus Pier was more of a betrayal than she intended. How she thought she and Wei Ying met over more even ground at that moment, because she knew he loved Jiang Cheng as much as she did, in the way she did. How she expected more from him than for him to give parts himself up in such a horrifying way. How she underestimated the actual damage that had been done. And if she'd survived to see it, she just might have been truly horrified.

#a rambling essay but an essay nonetheless #the untamed meta #my meta #character analysis #i'm sure i missed some stuff but the essay was getting so long #and it's long past the due date #like i didn't even really talk too much about any potential influences on other relationships in their lives #but meh #these are just my takes on the characters #not some hard and fast rule or universal truth i'm trying to claim #i just love them #yu ziyuan #zi zhizhu #jiang fengmian #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #wei wuxian #wei ying #jiang yanli

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a-nice-and-interpretive-fanzine · 4 years ago

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[ID: A cream-colored banner that says "A Nice and Interpretive Fanzine: essays and art about the meanings we've found in Good Omens." There is a photo of a book page with a key on it behind the banner text. The photo source is rosy_photo on Pixabay. /end ID]

A Nice and Interpretive Fanzine: Information Masterpost

Welcome!

This is a zine for those of us who love the subtle, complex work that is Good Omens, and who’ve enjoyed the thoughtfulness of the fandom as people interpret how the many moving pieces of the story come together, creating a slightly different meaning for each of us.

To put it simply, it’s a book full of the fandom’s own analysis and commentary about the Good Omens TV show, enhanced with illustrations from our brilliant artists.

This zine is analytical in the sense that all the writers are expressing their own nonfiction thoughts and feelings about the show, rather than writing fanfic, but it is not meant to be heavily academic. Anybody who likes to pick apart the series and discuss it should be able to enjoy it.

The zine will contain essays by fans who are passionate about analyzing and interpreting different parts of Good Omens - the characters, the plot, the writing techniques for the book and script, the cinematography of the TV show, the popular content of the fandom itself. Accompanying these essays will be black and white illustrations from our artists.

How are you organizing this process?

May 1-May 15: Everyone submits their application to do writing or art through a Google form. Behind the scenes, I’ll be setting up a separate email and Discord.

May 16-20: Applicants will be screened during this time.

May 20: I’ll email everyone to let them know the outcomes of their applications. The final participants will get a link to the Discord server for the zine (totally optional, of course).

May 21: If there’s any clarification or solidifying of ideas that needs to happen, I’ll contact you and discuss with you by this point. This is also when artists will be matched up with essays.

May 22 to August 14: This will be a period of just working on our essays and art. The Discord chat and Tumblr will be there for support and for exchanging ideas!

August 15: Participants need to email their full works to the zine’s email address by this date. No special formatting is needed; I’ll do that in InDesign.

August 15 to August 31: I’ll be putting the zine together in InDesign.

September 1: Preorders will open.

September 30: Preorders will close.

October 1: The zine order will be placed!

October 15: Assuming all goes well with printing and shipping, the zines will be shipped out in waves starting on this date. If the printing or shipping from the manufacturer is delayed, then shipping will just start ASAP.

Writer Application HERE Artist Application HERE Asked and Answered Questions on Tumblr The Fanzine's Page on Twitter

Read below for more detailed information about the zine in a Q and A format!

What are the specifications for the zine contributions?

For writers, I’m starting with 3k words or fewer per essay (approximately 10 pages at the size of this book). This depends heavily on how many participants we actually get, so it may change!

For artists, I’d be looking at black and white works, 300 DPI, 5.5 x 8.5 inches or smaller. If your art is supposed to fill up the entire page (i.e. no white space), please make it a total of 5.75 x 8.75 inches with nothing too important around the edges to account for bleed during the printing process.

Can I submit an essay to this zine if I’ve already posted it on Tumblr?

Not as you’ve already posted it. We don’t want to just copy/paste the exact thing that hundreds or perhaps even thousands of people have already read.

However, it IS fine and maybe even a good idea to take the same thought from your post and refine it, preserving your same thesis. For example, a lot of Tumblr posts are just us fans jotting down 5 or 6 paragraphs of random thoughts at 2 AM, but some of them are really cool thoughts! Expanding them and turning them into a bona-fide Essay would make those posts into excellent zine chapters. And you can copy small pieces of your own language as long as the whole thing isn’t just pasted word-for-word.

How long do essays have to be? Is there a limit?

With the number of writers we have, I've calculated that each person should ideally keep their essay to about 6000 words. There is wiggle room.

There’s no real minimum for your contribution; some analytical ideas are really good but can be expressed concisely, so it’s okay if your essays only come out to a few pages typed. For reference, with our book size, a page is about 300 words.

What happens if the zine sells a lot and you end up not only breaking even, but turning a profit?

It’ll go to charity. While I’ll ask the participants what they want to do for certain if we do make enough money, my suggestion will be donating it to Alzheimer’s Research UK in honor of Sir Terry Pratchett.

I’m not really comfortable calling this a “charity zine” up front since I simply don’t know if it will raise a significant amount. For the most part, I just want the thing to physically exist, which means breaking even, and don’t want to make it more expensive for buyers than it needs to be to afford the printing costs.

What kinds of essays are you talking about? What could be included?

In short, any analytical thoughts about the Good Omens TV show - and possibly even the fandom as it interacts with the show - are possible inclusions for the zine.

To expand a bit, think about the meta posts you see floating around Tumblr. Often these involve analyzing characters, or picking up on patterns in the plot. Sometimes fans use their own background knowledge to write posts about the significance of certain costume choices or the way music plays into each individual scene. Some posts examine the ways the series approaches gender, while others might discuss ways that the characters present as neurodivergent. That’s how diverse the pool of possibilities is for subjects in this zine.

How does art come into this?

Images will be black and white, to match the bookish mood of the project overall. Images can range in size from a half page to a full page.

I’m planning to talk to the artists and authors and loosely pair artists with essays that appeal to their personal interests.

I know how to illustrate a story, but how do I illustrate an essay?

There are infinite answers to this! I’ve seen some beautiful symbolic artwork in the fandom already (e.g. a number of takes on Aziraphale munching on an apple with Crowley in snake form curving around him), and there are tons of symbolic motifs to draw from, but these are not the only options. An artist illustrating an essay about cinematography, for example, could draw a well-known scene from an alternative angle. An essay about Heaven as a capitalist corporation could be illustrated with a cartoon of Gabriel giving some sort of excruciating PowerPoint presentation. A character analysis could be accompanied by a simple portrait. And on and on. I’m not interested in limiting the possibilities by trying to make a list, but just know that there are many and you don’t have to make it complicated if you don’t want to.

If the writers can reuse their essay ideas, can artists reuse their drawings?

Similarly to the writers, if you already have an interpretive drawing that you’re in love with, artists can use the same ideas and the same fundamental composition that is present in their own existing work. However, it has to be redone in some significant way. Whether it’s taking something you drew in 2019 and redrawing it using an updated style, taking a sketch and turning it into a lined and shaded piece, or redoing a full-color drawing so it presents more strikingly in black and white, it shouldn’t be identical to the thing you’ve already posted.

So how are you choosing participants here?

It’ll be based on what people are interested in writing about (or illustrating). I’ll be looking for people who are passionate about their essays, but I’ll also be looking for variety. It all depends on what people want to offer, so I won’t know for sure what it will look like put together until everyone’s application is in.

For artists, I’ll be trying to figure out whose style looks like it would adapt well to illustrations in black and white, and also who demonstrates an interest in the same subjects as the writers.

If we don’t get a lot of applicants, I’d love to simply include everyone, but I can’t commit to that without knowing for sure how many people are involved.

Do I have to use a formal writing style to participate?

No. You should use a style that makes your thoughts and ideas as clear as possible, but as long as it’s understandable, you can also get a little artistic with it. You can “write like you speak,” though perhaps in a more organized way. You definitely don’t need to worry about stylistic rules like not using the first person. This is not academia.

Is this zine going to center only on Crowley and Aziraphale?

That remains to be seen! It depends on what ideas show up in the applications. There will be a lot of the ineffable partners for sure, but whether the whole zine will center on them or whether there’s plentiful stuff about other characters will depend on what the participants suggest.

Do we have to agree with all your personal interpretations of Good Omens to be in the zine?

No! In fact, I’m assuming that a number of essays will contradict each other, too, and that’s perfectly okay. The zine is a sampler of fan interpretations meant to inspire, not instruct. It’s not “Here’s a fan-made guide on how to understand this TV show,” it’s “Look at all these moving parts and how many meanings we can find in them. What does it mean to you?”

However, there are some basic rules and assumptions by which I’m working here.

I don’t personally have the energy to include essays that are highly critical (“negative”) in this zine. It’s analytical but also meant to be fun.

I’m pretty focused on the TV adaptation. This isn’t “no book analysis allowed” but just that the essays will end up being weighted toward subjects that apply to either the TV show or both the book and the show.

Each writer should focus on making their own points over disproving other fan interpretations. If you’re writing in an expository style, it’s normal for the essay to contain rebuttals to opposing ideas, but these should be minor supporting points, not the heart and soul of your essay. For reference, I’d say the majority of meta I see floating around on tumblr would follow this rule just fine.

Essay ideas that seem to contain bigoted or exclusionary sentiments will not be accepted (no TERFy stuff, for example).

What kinds of editing will go into the zine? Are you going to argue with us about the contents of our writing?

While I might ask you to elaborate on certain points in your writing or clarify your thoughts about your subject, I’m absolutely not here to ask you to change the thesis, opinions, or headcanons on which your writing is based. If I really have a problem with your initial idea, I’ll tell you that up front and politely decline the contribution.

While formatting the zine, I’ll make minor edits if I think I see a typo or misspelling, something small and obviously unintentional. As with any other zine, your content won’t be changed without consulting you.

Is this a SFW zine?

Yes. If people want to discuss sexuality in a theoretical way, like erotic subtext, that would be allowed. There are canon references like Newt and Anathema’s moment under the bed that might come up, too. But there will be nothing explicit, and since these are essays instead of stories, there will be no “action” going on between characters. Let’s just say sex isn’t a forbidden topic, but it will be like discussing it in English class.

As for other topics that could make the zine NSFW, like gore or extreme language, I don’t think they will be an issue. Some dark topics, like abuse by Heaven and Hell, may be discussed, but they will be warned for, and these are not stories, so you aren’t going to see violent actions playing out.

Will there be any “extras” like charms or stickers?

I’m not sure yet. I’m most inclined to keep it simple, because of the nature of the zine, but would be open to including some bonus items if there’s an artist who’s really passionate about it.

With that said, I am pretty committed to making a hardcover edition of the book available, in addition to the standard softcover version.

You’re doing this with only one mod?!

Yes. I personally find it easiest. While I’ve worked on multi-mod projects in other domains and adore all of my co-mods, it’s a little bit different when it’s a project with this many moving pieces that includes real-life components like printing and shipping. Though there are a lot of individual things to be done, I am experienced with all of them, so it’s less overwhelming to just take on the whole project. That way, I know exactly what needs to be done and when, and there are no issues with assigning tasks.

What qualifies you to run this zine?

The résumé answer: in fandom, I successfully solo-modded a large not-for-profit zine in the past, the @soulmakazine2018, and while I can’t speak for the whole fandom, it definitely seemed to be well-received. <3 In real life, I’m a case manager and this involves coordinating and communicating with a lot of different people including my 100-person caseload, budgeting services, and filling out all kinds of paperwork on the fly, all skills that can be imported into zine work.

The practical answer: well, I’m the one who decided to start this project, so if you like the sound of it, you're stuck with me. I say with encouragement and enthusiasm that if you’d like to do a different take on a commentary zine, you should absolutely do it.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #fanzine #good omens zine

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