#Anne Rice did something right by accident

[saint-starflicker]

I started out with fanfiction in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer fandom twenty years ago. The "Big Name Fans" in transformative works were English teachers by profession and I think just so happened to want to combine their hobby with their vocation: They wrote essays about proper dialogue punctuation, characterization and relationship dynamics, how not to get confused by easily confused words (there, their, they're), and even—because the source material we were all writing fanfiction for had a lot of fight scenes—how to write a fight scene in prose.

That said, it was also emerging from a pan-fandom online culture of fanfiction criticism that...maybe had too much fun with being mean. The "Plot Protectors" and the "Fic Bitches" would trawl the hosting websites for whole fanfictions to re-post with "commentary" that is a line-by-line evisceration that was often brutally insulting to the author and a lot of us thought that was funny and educational. (One blog clique called it Sporking.) (The Plot Protectors had a whole parallel universe worldbuilding that was unfortunately very entertaining and fascinating in its own right.)

I think that a lot of young writers back then were very discouraged by that atmosphere and found it toxic.

I'm guessing that's partly how we got to where we are now, where I find a lot of outcry against complaining or criticizing anything written for free or for fun—which, well, fair points.

I think that's too far in the other extreme, though. I wouldn't want to be "heckled from the other side of the campfire" so to speak by just any self-righteous jerk on the internet—but I do also think that any text, especially any trends within a form or a genre, can be analyzed.

At the same time, I completely understand that a lot of inexperienced or hobbyist writers aren't here for getting heckled by self-righteous jerks who time-travelled from 2002 when it was really cool to be mean and to cover that up with "we're helping you to write better". There's always going to be people who offer inapplicable suggestions based on nothing but their personal biases, or who really think they're in the right when it's only their unresolved personal issues they're making somebody else's problem, and people who criticize the criticism (like the "Fanfiction University" that taught as I said mostly grammar and punctuation, would get nasty anonymous comments sent to its members that wrapped up with basically "you have the gall to tell other people how to write"). Even the compliment sandwich that was recommended back in the day as a format for feedback (e.g., "love the premise, characterization could have been less flat, this was my favorite line"), I remember that got some sarcastic comments from both readers who only wanted to get to be mean and writers whose egos could only bear to receive unconditional positivity. And there's going to be actually meaningful criticism. And no way to tell that last type from all the preceding types.

I don't really have a solution, then. I'm just happy that I was at the right place at the right moment to get what was helpful to my craft from that. Even though I benefitted from the content at the time, I wouldn't recommend a revival of Fanfiction Universities or Fanfiction Sporking Blogs, because I can predict problems arising from those too.

So right now I think of the fanficsphere like the quality/quantity pottery story, or comparable to why community theater is usually going to be bad but also nothing is more important to the art than to keep that space alive for people to be amateurs and unskilled and to try new things in.

After months of staying silent on literary discourse here on Tumblr, I finally have something to contribute.

Fanfiction is not the problem. Fanfic is a free, communal and valid form of writing which, although not always high quality, has yielded some genuinely great stories. The real problem, the reason for ‘booktok books’ and the flaws in modern literature, is fanfic being hijacked by corporations. The minute people try to make money off of it, the minute fanfic and fanfic-style stories lose their meaning. Fanfiction is written on the notes app at 3am for you and 5 friends who share your taste. It is self-indulgent, chaotic, often told through a queer and/or neurodivergent lens, and free from any pressure to be commercially palatable. The minute a few stereotypical fanfiction tropes and ideas are stolen by commercial publishers and twisted into patriarchal, heteronormative versions of themselves with no character depth beyond the romance (a problem that for obvious reasons doesn’t apply to fanfic), that is where the real problem begins.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk

[ca-suffit]

you've mentioned several times that its racist that the fandom keeps talking about how lestat's version is the real version and louis isn't telling the truth about his own abuse, and believing the white character over the black character. that makes sense to me if iwtv was a standalone work, but in the books where the characters are all white, that's literally what happened. anne rice retconned the shit out of iwtv. book louis did overexaggerate a lot to make lestat out to be awful, and book lestat's version is the true version.

if your argument is that the show making louis black causes racist undertones by making him out to be the unreliable one, yeah, that makes sense too. delainey's recent interview basically said that a lot of the racial implications during the trial that the fans are seeing isn't something that was discussed by the showrunners, so it checks out that there are ripple effects of making louis black that they didn't consider. but why are parts of the fandom racist for essentially just saying that they're looking forward to something that they know is supposed to happen next?

I wanna preface this by saying thank u for coming here to ask things in a way that's not screaming in my face about anything. I appreciate that a lot.

to ur first question tho, it's bcuz the show is not the books. this was not a colorblind casting. ppl need to consider race and potential personal racial biases when talking about the show.

louis is still supposed to be unreliable and fucked up in a lot of ways. we're seeing that on screen, it's not a secret. the part that makes this racist is when fandom isn't even taking time to hear his story at all for whatever it is *now.* ppl don't care about him or claudia. ppl are dissecting "maybe" bruises on lestat and applauding him for standing up to a homophobe in an episode where claudia dies. she's barely a footnote to most of the fandom, right alongside louis, and those have been the majority of our storytellers for the last 2 seasons. u can look forward to something coming while also respecting what's happening now and nobody much is doing that part. and it's entirely bcuz it's black ppl telling the story.

ppl are happily poking holes in louis and claudia's trauma to tell everyone that lestat isn't that bad and the "real" story is coming. the *show* is not saying there's *any* version that's more true than the others. I doubt it's ever going to. that is the difference. it's the fandom's insistence that nothing matters except lestat's story (the white guy). most of that reasoning being bcuz they're uncomfortable that whiteness and lestat as a character are being judged and talked about through black and brown characters now. he's also shown harming these characters. when fandom responds to that, ppl are just told nobody can feel feelings bcuz didn't u know he's got trauma, this is gonna be retconned, it's all lies. what is so hard about just letting the story exist as it is and letting a lot of mostly fans of color feel any feelings about it? IWTV the book existed for almost *a decade* by itself before TVL was published. let the story be told and stop rushing everyone thru it. it's not racist to explore louis' character and know this story is flawed in ways; it's racist to look at it and just say "who cares lol?"

delainey's recent interview basically said that a lot of the racial implications during the trial that the fans are seeing isn't something that was discussed by the showrunners, so it checks out that there are ripple effects of making louis black that they didn't consider.

I'm not trying to sound mean here at all, but I don't think u understand how intentional all of that was placed there. just like lestat's slave catcher scene in S1 and being the embodiment of patriarch / slave master, this was not somehow an accident. they don't want to admit to it, for whatever reason (maybe delainey just literally didn't want to be the one answering such a big question like that as a young, black actress), but I promise u this amount of detail related specifically to slavery / lynching didn't happen unplanned. these are not book details, these are things the show created itself.

the show itself is not doing anything racist with the story changes. lestat breaks into loumand a little too much for no reason but otherwise they've done a rly good job? but there's never been much of any series to do this as well as IWTV has done, so ppl used to colorblind casting and never seeing whiteness depicted like this before are going to struggle a lot.

[andreacurryjeidajeitafanfic]

first day of school: praxis

4 years old pre kinder: figure out what practice means first

practice: it's pronounced teacher that's how i arrived then praxis came to practice the teacher through the artificer tricking the thought of god to have a description not a definition

everything everywhere was created to say you were asking google we made that site just to say hey you were asking google i'm right here you could of just asked me but you don't want to be my friend no buts i'm everything everywhere that's presence doesn't sound like a great pitch

anne rice: pandora still acts withdrawn from her fellow vampire kin, watching music videos all day long 🍚 🥢

pandora: i think the story is about someone that can't bring themselves to do something they believe in even though thats what they're meant to do 21 million years ago 🌾

goals 2024

not to get arrested

not to get killed injured diagnosed

not to strike back at the man

proving tay k's innocence knows that i wouldn't even shoot if i had to shoot then decides to go after me

maybe i like falling asleep on accident it feels better than if i consciously wanted it

me on october 6 when the war on october 7 💥💥💥💥💥

what's cute, beautiful, pretty in one word chae lin lee god gave us an impediment

review of yesterday chae lin lee i said that no matter what happens things will inevitably circle around to you

i often encourage my wife to micromanage my wives

any girl could tell i got bitchs and want nothing to do with me

it takes a woman to say hello

i am andromeda the andromeda parallel 👸🏼 we do have a queen the parallel of the andromeda parallel 👸🏻

i don't think anyone has loved someone like this *rich billionaires*

a purely different inspiration what started off as a sweet innocent motivation item

dictatorship (this is how i want all my marriages and friendships to go) *since when did poland have a regime* rachel zegler soft skills in the cia

you want to marry me not a fangirl (and i said yes) 🤬 *who goes there* 😡

[sirowsky]

The Bad Day - One Shot

For the person closest to my soul, my wife @lucrezia-thoughts

“Our stories remind us how precious and fragile life can be – and that we must risk our hearts every day to know happiness.” – Luanne Rice

“Courage doesn’t always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, ‘I will try again tomorrow’.” – Mary Anne Radmacher Fluff Can be read as Gender Neutral Reader (gn!reader) Only warning I can think of is Language. Words: 1525

I hope this helps improve your day, my love.

===================== So, you know those days when everything just goes wrong?

When you can’t walk over a threshold without stubbing your toe, or reach for a doorhandle without almost breaking your finger against it? When you knock the milk or juice-carton over, and think ‘phew, at least the cork was still on’ only to realise the damn carton broke? Every paper you touch tries to murder you, anything remotely heavy just fiddles itself out of your hands, and magically lands on your feet, and even your own brain tricks you by misjudging the distance between your shoulder and the fucking doorway, even though it damn well knows exactly how close is too close?

Yeah – that kinda day.

Those were the days that you wanted to lock yourself in your house and just not step outside, but… well, life… and all that.

When you finally reached your lunch-hour on this particular day of personal doom, you felt sure that every singly toe had to be broken, and there were bandages on three of your fingers already. You were only half-way through your day, and it had the potential to get so much worse before it was over. You contemplated just hiding in a broom-closet until the day was done, but with your current luck, that’d probably just end with you giving yourself a concussion against a shelf or something, in the dark.

You’d taken a seat on a bench outside, hoping that the sun might help your body and mind back into some resemblance of coordination, while you ate. But, of course, that turned out to be a mistake, when the lack of a table meant that you had to hold your plastic lunch box in your lap, which (on a day like this) naturally meant that the damn thing did not remain in your lap. You didn’t even register how it managed to end up bottoms up on the ground by your feet, after just one little bite, and you were so done with this fucking day, you didn’t even care. You just wanted to sit there and cry and feel sorry for yourself until the sun set and this disaster of a day finally ended.

But you were sitting on a bench in a mini-park right outside your office-building, where people were constantly coming and going, and the last thing you wanted was for your co-workers to see you all pathetic like that. You weren’t exactly popular to begin with…

“Here, take this.”

Someone held out a wrapped item to you, and when you looked up you almost choked on your own spit, because the guy handing it to you was Marcus fucking Pike, the guy you’d had a crush on ever since you started at the office. The sweetest guy in the whole damn world – who had no idea you even existed.

“I saw your little accident there, and I figured you could use a pick-me-up.”

“You have no idea… thank you so much.”

You took the offered food and quickly dug into it before a frickin bird snatched it, or something. You’d expected him to walk off, but instead he sat down right next to you, to eat his own wrap, and suddenly you were nervous. You’d wanted to talk to him so many times, even imagined whole scenarios in your mind about how to strike up a conversation with him, each one more ludicrous than the next… And now here he was, and you couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

“By the state of your hands, I’m assuming today is one of those days?”

“You get them too?”

“Everyone does, just in varying degrees of severity.”

“Oh, I don’t have degrees, mine are always the worst they can be.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

Always so sweet…

“Thanks.”

You finished the rest of your meal in silence, and when you were done, he held a hand out for your trash.

“I’ll take it to the bin over there, save you from another thing that can go wrong.”

He winked at you, and scurried over there, dumping the trash before coming right back, with a bit of a mischievous grin on his face. He didn’t sit back down, but held a hand out to you instead.

“Come on.”

“What?”

“Let’s get out of here before anyone sees us.”

“You mean.. skip out on work? I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can, it’s easy. Just get up and walk away.”

“Pike…”

He just smiled wider, keeping his hand held out for you, and in a moment of pure insanity, you took it, letting him pull you to your feet and walk off with you. He led you away from the office buildings and busy streets, all the way to a promenade deck along the waterfront that you hadn’t even known was there before. And he kept holding your hand. Maybe it was just to keep you from falling every time you stumbled, but the way he held it felt like more than that. Unless that was just wishful thinking on your part. Ugh, more than likely. You tried to distract yourself by talking.

“So, do you skip work often?”

“Never have before.”

“No way. You must’ve done…”

“Nope.”

“But… then, why now?”

“Because you looked like you really needed it.”

That made you stop in your tracks, squeezing his hand a little harder and just staring at him in complete disbelief for a few seconds. He didn’t seem fazed at all.

“You bailed on work… for me? W-why would you do that?”

He bowed his head for a few beats, and when he looked up, he had a sheepish little grin on his lips, with that adorable dimple on full display.

“Because I like you. I always have, I just never… knew how to talk to you. You always turn away, keep to yourself, do the work and go home, not much chatter or frivolity. You just seem so… unavailable, I didn’t dare try in case you found it inappropriate.”

Holy hell… but he was too damn sweet.

“A.. are you serious, right now?”

“Very.”

You couldn’t believe this. A whole year you’d been working in the same office as this man, this adorable, kind, sassy, perfect fucking man, not realising that your own insecurity about talking to him was scaring him off.

“I always wanted to talk to you too, I just thought… or, rather convinced myself, that you didn’t even know who I was. I mean, why would you? Aside from being called to the same meetings occasionally, we rarely ever share the same space, and I don’t work directly on your cases.”

“Because you’re interesting. You don’t conform to the ‘normal’ office behaviour. You find ingenious little ways to break policies regarding your appearance, and your desk, so that you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin and space. And even though you mostly stay quiet, whenever you do speak, you’re always well informed and respectful, but also honest. You don’t let people walk all over you just because they think you’re an outsider.”

You had to actually tell yourself to breathe, because you were so shocked you just didn’t function properly right now.

“How do you know all that? When have you had time to notice me at all… I don’t… what am I missing here? I don’t understand any of this..”

He stepped closer. A lot closer, and you froze. He smelled wonderful, and up close like this, his eyes were mesmerising. Deep pools of chocolate beckoning for every ounce of your attention, which they eagerly got, while his free hand found your waist.

“You’re beautiful. That was the first thing I noticed about you. Not just your face, but your soul. Your person. And there’s a kind of grace to you, to the way you move and carry yourself, that I confess I may have spied a little on you in your office, in order to see better. It mostly only comes out when you think no one sees you. And I can see it even on days like these, when everything goes wrong for you.”

A warmth you’d never felt before, spread through your chest and abdomen, making you shiver in the most pleasant way imaginable, and he could see that too. His hand on your waist pulled you closer, while the other let go of your hand, so that he could wrap both arms around you.

“I’d really like to kiss you right now.”

Your knees damn near caved in on you, but this was too good for you to allow your body to screw it up, like it had the rest of the day. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting one hand find it’s way to the back of his neck, gently tugging him towards you.

“Please do.”

As his warm, soft lips brushed against yours you thought to yourself that perhaps bad days had a purpose, after all. Perhaps they were meant to make the good moments clearer, more distinguished. After all, what was one good moment next to a hundred others, compared to one good moment, among a hundred bad ones?

THE END

[nileqt87]

Ramblings about Lucifer referencing Bones, “Close your eyes.” and shows influencing each other

That was never just a Bones reference being made and the season finale admitted it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jv_1dJk5yEM

David Boreanaz played the ironically-named Angel on Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel: the Series. His character has *so many* parallels with Lucifer (far more than Booth outside of the law enforcement/crime procedural connection).

Angel's spinoff also has noir crime drama aspects mixed with the supernatural starring an immortal protagonist with a dark past and infamously villainous reputation fighting evil as a supernatural private detective in the City of Angels (a city known for its dark underbelly juxtaposed with fame and glamor, broken dreams and chasing eternal youth) and navigating human law (including the LAPD and evil lawyers) while not legally existing.

Angel also fell in love with a blonde human heroine (Buffy Summers) after lifetimes of self-destructive, not-so-heroic behaviors (getting his soul back did *not* make Angel a hero and human Liam was a lecherous drunk with unfulfilled ambitions and father issues) who inspired him to become a better man and make human connections.

AtS made heavy use of sprawling nighttime Downtown L.A. cityscape shots, which Lucifer also shared an abundance of.

During both of their first cases, they failed to save the troubled blonde girl they were trying to help (Tina and Delilah, respectively). They also have a connection inside the LAPD through a blonde cop who also takes their identity secrets pretty badly (Kate Lockley in Angel's case).

Note that Buffy not only screamed (twice, given it repeated during her memory loss in Halloween), but also came after Angel with a crossbow when she thought he'd attacked her mother (it was Darla), so Chloe taking the Devil face reveal (Monster Reveals are iconic old horror imagery) poorly to the point of considering poisoning is par for the course. However, it only took Buffy seven episodes instead of three seasons to get the identity reveal via seeing the horrific second face (arguably also an accident on Angel's part).

They are metaphorically or literally Hell's angels. They also had long stays in Hell or a hell dimension.

Lucifer and Angel are also both Prodigal Sons with long-held grudges against their long-absent fathers (patricide in Liam/Angel(us)'s case) and they're later faced with a situation where they have unexpected, thought-impossible offspring who show up as adults (neither got to raise their miracle child) wanting revenge. Yup, major Connor/Rory parallel there.

Angel is also in a constant struggle with the Powers that Be manipulating his fate and free will (like Lucifer, he's a champion of free will no matter the cost) and making him prophecy's bitch.

Bones famously got jokes about how Booth is Angel getting his Shanshu (made human), since the character is given constant Angel-isms like references to a dark past having killed people (Booth is also named after a historical murderer, in addition to having been a sniper), both being Catholics full of Catholic guilt (note that the Buffyverse is most accurately polytheistic, though Angel does face off against a take on the antichrist--Angel has constant biblical imagery/themes and not just because of vampire iconography), kicking down doors (just not off their entire frames--LOL), turning on a dime and threatening people up against walls, constant wink-wink references to the Buffyverse (familiar casting, references to the Hyperion Hotel, etc...), etc...

The Lucifer finale used the words "Close your eyes." right before Lucifer is sent to Hell. This is literally the BtVS season 2 finale where Buffy kisses Angel and sends him to hell for a century with a stab to the gut (see the season 5 finale, not to mention Lucifer giving up his life for Chloe's à la I Will Remember You).

Note that D.B. Woodside was on BtVS (playing Robin Wood, whose Slayer mother Nikki Wood was killed by Spike). Aimee Garcia was in both episodes of AtS (Birthday--she's older than she looks!) and Bones. See her also playing a cross-wearing religious girl on Supernatural who was slaughtered in a police precinct by Lilith. Kevin Alejandro was also in an episode of Bones.

Tricia Helfer was in an episode of Supernatural playing a ghost who reenacts the night of her death every year. BtVS also had an episode along those lines, but with Buffy and Angelus possessed (not to mention Phantom Dennis!). Lucifer having Dan as a ghost is yet another thing they all have in common (ditto referencing Ghost, Patrick Swayze and/or Unchained Melody--Vincent Schiavelli a.k.a. Ghost's subway ghost was Jenny's uncle Enyos, whom Angelus killed).

Lucifer name-checked Castiel and Supernatural referenced Lucifer using their Lucifer (crime-fighting angel in L.A. made it a double-reference whammy). Supernatural returned the favor again by having Castiel forced to sing in Enochian. Lucifer's reference to his singing voice was already a zing about Misha Collins having to put on that monotone gravel voice and Enochian being far from melodious.

Russell T Davies was quite heavily inspired by the Buffyverse when he revived Doctor Who and spun off Torchwood, so there are absolute tons of Buffy, Angel and Spike respectively in Rose Tyler, the 9th/10th Doctors, Captain Jack Harkness and Captain John Hart (right down to the actor). School Reunion is the episode where the Buffyverse inspiration is most on the nose, complete with Anthony Stewart Head saying "shooty dog thing" in a school setting and a Mayor/Angel-esque speech about the curse of immortality. The Time War gave the Doctor a huge genocide-level guilt complex. Note that the creator of DC comics' version of Lucifer, Neil Gaiman, has also written for Doctor Who and is also the co-creator of Good Omens (the show is brimming with Doctor Who Easter eggs thanks to David Tennant). A barely-recognizable Tom Ellis played Martha Jones' ex-fiancé Tom Milligan during the Year that Never Was, as well.

A lot of shows take inspiration from the Buffyverse and you've probably seen some of them. It isn't just the copycat vampire romance stories either.

Angel's forerunners in turn were a mix of guilt-stricken, rat-eating Louis de Pointe du Lac (his Jekyll/Hyde-esque alter-ego Angelus is closer to the pre-retcon, fully-evil Lestat de Lioncourt, who got woobified into an antihero rocker not unlike Spike--the entire Fanged Four mirror Anne Rice's character lineup), sword-wielding, immortality trope-influencers Connor/Duncan MacLeod of Highlander fighting for the Prize of humanity (akin to Pinocchio becoming a "real boy"--see also Barnabas Collins of Dark Shadows, though he was before vampires became antihero superheroes, not just sympathetic antivillains) and Nick Knight of Forever Knight (vampire detective).

Additionally, Tom Welling was famously the longest-serving Clark Kent of them all (Smallville) on the old WB (there's that DC comics connection, too), so it's not just a Fox shows thing (though Fox, not just Warner Brothers, did indeed own the Buffyverse). One of the least-known things about Clark is that he also has an immortality problem where he wouldn't age parallel to Lois (they wouldn't be able to have kids either) without a workaround. The Kryptonite line directed at Cain/Pierce by Lucifer was quite on the nose! Lucifer and Smallville sort of crossed over even further in Crisis on Infinite Earths, so Tom is canonically the face of both Clark and Cain in parallel universes of the DC multiverse.

Supernatural had quite recently had their own takes on Cain (played by Timothy Omundson, who also played God Johnson) and the Mark of Cain when Lucifer did it. Dan's killer Le Mec was, of course, Rob Benedict, who was God a.k.a. Chuck Shurley, the ultimate villain of Supernatural. Richard Speight, Jr., who was archangel Gabriel/Loki the Trickster, directed a lot of Lucifer's later episodes in addition to being a prolific Supernatural director.

Supernatural and Lucifer use the exact same font for their titles (Supernatural Knight).

The X-Files (which Supernatural referenced constantly) and Supernatural also had stories about nephilim (see the apocryphal Book of Enoch). Lucifer ultimately had two nephilim (forbidden interspecies offspring of angels and humans), even if not saying so as a known concept. Connor can also be compared to the vampire equivalent of being something like a dhampir, though he's not quite that (mostly-but-not-quite-human offspring of two vampires instead of a human/vampire hybrid--see Blade for an actual dhampir). Supernatural has also covered the even rarer cambion species (human/demon hybrid).

[lovecanbesostrange]

DOES SHE ASK RUBY TO BITE DANI! |

Well, does she? And when, after a long time, when Dani finally sees the advantage and agrees to it... is it awkward?

Dani and Ruby have become friends. Ruby and Grace have become friends. All platonic, of course. But biting someone (and biting to turn them) is something... intimate. Like, you have to hold on there for a while. There are moans and gasps and usually that thing is only reserved for Regina (in Ruby's case) and Grace (in Dani's case).

So, do the partners that are not directly involded with this process just... stand there? Is Grace holding Dani's hand? Does Ruby ask "hum... excuse me" as she moves her mouth to Dani's skin (AND WHERE DOES SHE BITE HER, IS ANOTHER QUESTION). Does Ruby apologize after? Does she apologize that Grace had to watch it?

Does Regina have very jealous intimate interaction with Ruby later?

Those are the follow-up questions, I guess. Good luck.

Dear Lord...

You know I’m working on this THING that you and your anon put in my head. And you send me this meanwhile?! (While there is another ask in my inbox, well rather in the drafts, because I did start typing a response...)

You know full well that Regina will make a quip first, about how Granny got turned with that scratch on her arm. Quick and effective. Ruby gets offended.

“And you know that scar hurt her whole life afterwards! Also it was a traumatic event, I’m not here to give Dani nightmares about it.”

Regina huffs, mutters something about turning all saviors into werewolves now and leaves. Which alarms Ruby, because oh right, the snark is a defense mechanism. So they have a talk and once again Regina is reminded that there is this thing she doesn’t share with Ruby and all the ways Ruby keeps holding back. Has to hold back. So this is awkward indeed.

Fifteen minutes later Grace finally comes. “So, are you guys baili-” Yeah, okay, she just saw some sideboob, not here for that. (Well, not that sideboob anyway.)

She goes back in with this look in her eyes. Dani opens her arms inviting a hug. “We talked this through and have agreed it gives me an edge. Even Sarah agrees! Although I think she believed I was joking. Well, next full moon will be a surprise.”

“I hate surprises”, is all Grace mumbles into her shoulder.

Regina and Ruby come back into the motel room.

“Have you thought about where you want to,” Ruby gets flustered, because every phrase she can think of makes this sound so dirty.

Dani puts her hands on her body as if searching for the right spot, giving her own smooth skin a last once over. (She is wearing shorts and a tank top here, so there is lots of skin showing.)

“Just so we are clear, we are talking about a werewolf bite here, not some Anne Rice gay vampire romance embrace.” Regina is getting vibes she is not here for!

“Thanks, Regina for making it weird.”

“Just the shoulder would be good, I guess.”

“And if you wear a backpack? You want the straps to chafe?”

Ruby looks at Regina and holds up a finger with a silent ‘don’t you dare make Grace aware of the words she just used’. Regina smirks.

“So upper arm? I don’t want bite marks on my legs. And, well, definitely not anywhere else.”

Regina is trying so hard to hold back a comment about ‘biting her ass’.

“It’s a sensible choice, Dani.” Ruby tries to be so casual about this. But it’s not like she has ever bitten someone before. (She has eaten people. She has fucking literally eaten another human being.)

“Okay, so I’ll try to be quick. But also not too quick, I don’t want to bite your arm clean off. So, maybe it will be slow.” Yeah, nerves of steel. Not showing at all. “Also don’t be afraid. I mean, you’ve seen the wolf, it’s just me, teeth and all.”

Grace sits on the bed, back against the headboard, gesturing Dani to sit in front of her, leaning against her. “I’m gonna be here and it’s gonna be okay.”

Like always Regina is mesmerized by the moment her girlfriend casually transforms into a huge wolf. She hangs on to the red cloak Ruby was wearing.

Ruby nuzzles up against Dani, who is trembling a bit now. Who would be looking forward being bitten by a wild animal?! She has avoided growling dogs so often, how did she end up here?! Grace puts one of her arms around Dani, using the other to hold up Dani’s arm, supporting her. “You can look away, just like with needles.”

For a second Dani considers that, but then shakes her head. Ruby has her paws up on the bed, just the perfect height to.... bite her head clean off if she felt like it. But the golden eyes seem... warm... and kind.

There is a soft growl, maybe an instinct on Ruby’s part to warn of danger. The story of Little Red Riding Hood runs through Dani’s mind. ‘my what big teeth you have’ Damn, those are big and Dani watches as the teeth close around her flesh. Ruby had not been kidding, she could bite the whole arm off. Probably on accident if she sneezed right now. And so Dani held her breath.

Ouch, ouch, ouch. Teeth sink into flesh, Ruby is trying to find the right amount of force. She isn’t sure how deep the bite must be. She had always held onto a no-tiniest-scratch-at-all-policy, but she had no experience or frame of reference. (”Gonna ask Belle to research this subject for me.”)

Dani lets out a whimper, squeezing Grace’ arm around her. “Sssshhhh, it’s okay, Dani. Breathe, keep breathing, just breathe through the pain.” The skin gets torn apart and damn, Dani wishes Ruby would do this quick. But she also doesn’t want to lose her arm. Or just any flesh. The warm breath of Ruby on the slowly forming wound is something else. It’s agonizing. Even though she had endured worse pain in her life.

Blood starts dripping on the sheets. And it’s Regina who closes her eyes, because she can’t take it. It’s not that this scene before her is particularly gruesome. She doesn’t even mind disturbing this crazy form of intimacy. It’s the thought of Ruby tearing soldiers apart with those teeth and all the self-torturing guilt she still carried and only let Regina see in brief moments. That was what she could not stand.

Ruby stopped moving her jaws. Dani’s arm was trembling more and more, but Grace kept her up. Like waiting those few seconds after putting a stamp on paper.

And then it’s over. Ruby lets go and retreats to the corner of the room. She doesn’t want to draw attention to the fact that there is indeed blood to be licked up and well...  

Regina goes over and throws the hood over Ruby, giving her a hug from behind before she even can stand up.

There is gaze on the nightstand and Grace grabs it, tending to the wound immediately. Okay, so the bite was no fun, but the rubbing alcohol is worse! But that is nothing compared to the fever Dani gets in the night.

She is wedged between Grace and Ruby holding her, having the weirdest fever dreams of animalistic terminators and magic used against nuclear bombs. And her senses go haywire, which is where Ruby keeps whispering in her ear that it will be okay, but it’s so clear.

They stay in this bubble for two days. Regina keeping a silent watch, wondering if this was the right choice.

[slytherinbangchan]

Tattoo artist!Hyunjin au

-Tattoo!Artist Changbin  

-Tattoo artist!Bangchan

Tattoo Artist!Jisung

-Tattoo artist!Felix

-Tattoo artist!Woojin

-Tattoo artist!Minho

Genre: Smut. More Hyunjin here Feel free to listen to this while reading cause is what I did while writing it e.e

Blog’s masterlist

-Of course you know Hyunjin.

-You take a peek through the window everytime you walk past the tattoo shop.

-Sometimes you go grab some coffee at 5pm cause you know that's when he uses to go too.

-He and his friends have their own fans on that coffee shop.

-At first you kinda stalking him was an accident.

-Like one day you were just doing some errands and you bumped into him on every place.

-The bank, the grocery store...

-And lastly that same coffee shop.

-Where you found out a little more about him.

-Like his name and where he works.

-Who those other two guys are.

-And that apparently he's a heartthrob.

-Like a good one.

-The real deal.

-Now like many other girls, and some guys. Going there at 5pm is your ritual.

-You are not expecting anything from him.

-Just seeing him is enough.

-He wouldn't even look at you anyway.

-You're so different.

-He looks so badass.

-With all those tattoos and everything.

-And you sleep next to a teddy bear your bestie gave to you some years ago.

-You don't wanna think like that.

-Like that's not the only reason.

-It's just... To him you must be just one of the girls who follows him around.

-Not even that, he probably doesn't even know you exist.

-Anyways, he's so hot.

-You better just enjoy the view and not think too much about it.

-You're going to some party with one of your friends tonight so maybe you just find yourself a cute guy.

-If not, you can always call a fuckfriend and just think about Hyunjin for today.

-You work at a book store and there's not a lot of people coming in.

-And you're just thinking about Hyunjin entering those doors and eating you out over that table.

-Yeah, I know. You look so innocent from outside and here we are.

-But he's been sticking out his tongue a lot lately.

-Some girl squealed once about it and now he won't stop.

-That guy.

-You're getting so horny just thinking about it :’)

-The door's little bell jingles and you can't believe your eyes.

-He's there with one of the other guys.

-The intimidating one.

-You're shaking as they walk straight on your direction.

-They're joking around like kids.

-'Hi', he says. 'My friend is looking for some book for his girlfriend'.

-'Omg, she's not my girlfriend'. The other says.

-You nod. 'Uhm, what does she like?'

-'Vampires?'

-You show him Anne Rice's book collection and he just buy a bunch of them.

-'Do I know you?' Hyunjin is asking you while his friend pays. 'It's like I've seen you somewhere'

-'Uhmm. Maybe?'

-'Changbin, don't you think we may have seen her before?'

-You're on the edge of a fucking heart attack right now.

-'This is close to the coffee shop, maybe she goes there too?'

-'Oh wow, are you one of those girls who follow us around?’ Hyunjin asks.

-You panic but manage to pull yourself together. 'You know what? Actually I am'. You say, with a confidence you didn't know you had.

-He smiles to himself and gives Changbin a look, making him laugh. 'Ok, don't take too long'. Then he goes waiting outside.

-You ask yourself the hell is going on.

-'Listen, let's go out tonight'. He's sticking out his tongue again. Licking his lower lip.

-'What?' You say, not being able to look anywhere but those lips.

-'I want to take you out, I like your style'. He chuckles.

-'Is this a prank or something?'

-He laughs again. 'You know where I work, right?' You nod. 'Then let's meet there later'

-'But I'm going to a party tonight'

-'Then I guess I'm going with you. See ya'.

-He leaves the store and you just stay there.

-Puzzled.

-It takes you about 20 minutes to start doing something about tonight.

-You call your friend and tell her you'll meet at the party instead of your house.

-Then you just stare at the clock on the wall.

-Waiting for it to run faster.

-Cause you have to hurry home and get ready.

-And you don't even know what you're wearing.

-He didn't even say what time you should meet.

-But you know they close at 9, maybe 10 if they're too busy.

-You can't risk it tho.

-So first thing you do after closing is go visit him.

-He's working on the back tattoo of a very big guy so he has Chris, (that's the other tattooist) give you Hyunjin's number.

-He could have done that earlier but anyways.

-'I live upstairs, just call me when you're here'.

-He's wearing glasses.

-He looks even hotter.

-What kind of sorcery is this.

-He looks so good while working on that tattoo.

-You're almost contemplating crying.

-'This tattoo will be like 20 more minutes and then I'll be off to get ready.' He says when he notices you are not going anywhere.

-'Oh, sure. See you in a bit'. You say, blushing.

-You can see him smiling by the corner of your eye as you walk away.

-The client asks him if you're his girlfriend but you're already leaving the store by the time he answers.

-Obviously you're not his girlfriend or anything but you kinda wanted to hear how would he deny it.

-Like did he do it in a nice way or??

-Anyway, time to really go and get ready.

-You thought it would take ages to choose an outfit but it didn't.

-Before you know it you're walking to that party along with Hyunjin.

-You thought it would be awkward to be alone with him too.

-But he's pretty nice?

-You chat about random stuff all the way to the party.

-Where's that cold heartbreaker guy you've been hearing about all these months?

-So you ask him about that.

-And he just laughs out loud. 'Yeah, I guess sometimes I am a little like that'.

-You nod and don't talk about it again.

-Like some part of you wanted him to deny that.

-When you get to the party your friends are like flipping out.

-You drink a little while you watch Hyunjin dance with some girls.

-Like you're contemplating join in but you're also kinda intimidated by the others.

-You feel so tiny.

-But your friends are taking care of that.

-Cause you can't just apear at a party with a guy like that cause HE asked you out and then step aside cause you feel unworthy.

-So your friend gives you a little pep talk at the bathroom.

-And you come back feeling as the goddess you actually are.

-You look at Hyunjin and walk towards him.

-Kinda pushing away all the girls he has around.

-Lacing your arms around his neck.

-'Took you long enough'. He says, a smirk on his face.

-'Shut up'. -You turn around.

-Your butt on his crotch, swinging at his hips pace.

-Before you know it he's kissing you.

-And it's so hot in there.

-'Let's get out of here'. -He says as he grabs your hand.

-The cold wind hitting you as you walk out.

-And it feels so good.

-Hyunjin pushing you against the wall to kiss you again.

-His hand slipping under your dress.

-You bite his plump lips and he lets out a whine.

-Like he's yearning for you.

-Next thing you know you're on his bed.

-His head between your legs.

-And he's so good at it.

-Your hand grasping on his hair as he kitten licks you.

-Soft moans scaping your mouth.

-But that's enough.

-You make him stop.

-Then crawl on top of him while he sits.

-His mouth all covered in your fluids.

-His hair is a mess.

-Both of your hands combing his hair back as you let him slip inside you.

-You want to see all of his handsome face as you ride him.

-He's looking at you with admiration right now.

-Staring at how your body moves so perfectly over his.

-He bites his lips and you just have to kiss him.

-His hands on your hips.

-Sinking on your skin as you bite his neck.

-He getting even harder as you whisper some nasty things to him.

-His tongue traveling through your neck down to your chest.

-Licking your nipples and biting on your boobs.

-Leaving bruises everywhere.

-The little whines leaving his mouth as he aproaches his high.

-Your moans as you reach your own.

-You lie by his side while you try to catch your breath.

-Then you chuckle and he looks at you. 'What?' He’s smiling because of you.

-'Nothing, it's just...' You laugh again. 'could you eat me out like that on my work's desk nex time?'

-He sits up a little to look at you better. 'Next time?'

-Oh sure, this probably was just a one time thing. 'Ah, I mean...'

-He laughs. -'The book store's desk, huh? Noted'.

[renwritesstuff]

we are family

Day 4: we are family.

Describe or draw a familiar moment. Are they close, or estranged? Are they blood relatives, or family found with friends?

Two Traynors stared each other down, hands hovering over a small box. There were 5 empty shot glasses in a semicircle around them, flanking the pristine chess board between the pair.

Wiping her hands with a dish towel, Priya Suresh-Traynor pleaded with her family. “Dessert is almost ready, do you two have to do this now?”

“The fate of the galaxy depends on it, mum,” Samantha Traynor mumbled back, not breaking eye contact with her father.

“You heard the kid,” Geoffrey Traynor seconded with a lazy smile. “I need to know my little sprog‘s mind hasn’t gotten soft since she’s been away.”

“Soft?? Did you miss the part where I kicked Polgara T’Suza’s arse across the Citadel?”

“Vid or it didn’t happen.”

What are you, five??

...God, I wish I had a vid. Are there vids? I wonder if I can ask for one...

“I have a trophy proving it happened. And a witness.” Sam’s eyes flitted over to the witness in question, her gaze narrowing.

Commander Annelise Shepard held her glass of red wine in surrender. Her voice came out wet and shaky from her fresh sip. “She’s—” Shepard patted her chest from the cough. ���—She’s correct. She electrocuted that asari good.” 

And got a shower as a prize.

That narrow challenge in her eyes switched to panic as Sam glanced back at her father, who was tsking in disapproval. “Neuro-feedback chess? ...Sammy. You didn’t.”

The Comms Specialist scowled. “I didn’t choose it, it was part of the tourney rules. Usually, yes, I have slightly more integrity.” Unless I really want to win, that is. “It was just a lark, father.”

“Well as long as it was on a lark you buried that smug asari, I guess you’re forgiven. ...still can’t top your Dad at 5-Shot Speed Chess though, I bet.” The older man blew on his knuckles theatrically and gave them a wiggle before resuming his position at the worn speed clock.

Oh, you’re on.

“Oh, you’re on.”

Priya gave an apologetic smile at Shepard, who had taken up perch at the kitchen counter partition. The bar seat next to her was empty, waiting for Sam to return from her tense game. The matriarch of the Traynor family was busy at the stove stirring the simmering pot of kheer on one burner while checking a boiling sugary syrup on another. The warm kitchen filled with the scent of Indian spices and jasmine rice bled over into the prefab living room area.

“I wish I could lie and say something like ‘they aren’t usually like this,’ but…” Priya shrugged and smiled fondly at her husband as the game began. The speed clock snapped with each hit as the older and younger Traynor dove into an intense exchange of pieces. “It’s actually a tradition when Sammy comes home.” She paused before clarifying. “A tradition since Sammy was proper drinking age, mind you.”

Annelise smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

Sighing, Priya tapped away her Omni-tool where a reverse countdown timer could be seen by Shepard. “I think it was One-Shot Speed Chess back then,” she admitted. “I swear we were a classy family at some point. ...I can’t recall when, precisely, but I assumed we had to have bumbled into it somewhere in the last 25 years.”

“I’m 26, mum,” Sam reminded loudly as she slapped the clock once more.

“We were definitely classy when you were one, sprog,” Priya snarked back. “I mean, you weren’t because you just ate and shat all day, but Geoffrey and I were newlyweds and still extremely classy.”

“Muuuuuuum!” 

Oh my God do we have to talk about me shitting my diaper in front of Shepard???

Annelise failed to hide a staccato of exhale-laughs behind her wine glass, amused by the exchange.

Oh my God why did we come here?

...Oh shit Dad almost had me there.

Oh shit are they doing this on purpose? Working together against me??

Betrayed by my own flesh and blood!

Sam had to do a few lazy blinks to push back the swimming in her head and vision. Those shots were creeping in fast aided by a full stomach of naan and saag paneer. But she resumed focus on the game at hand, giving the clock another slap as she nudged her white bishop in an offensive position.

“So, Comm—Annelise,” Priya fumbled slightly. “What are your parents like?”

Mum. Did you not watch any ANN profiles? 

Shepard’s sip of wine was casual, unruffled by the question. “Couldn’t tell you. Both gone. Mom when I was four from eezo poisoning, Dad when I was thirteen. Fire in our apartment building.”

What could have been a very awkward silence was instead filled with Priya’s empathetic tongue cluck (honed from years of practice as a registered nurse). “You poor thing. Too much life experience forced onto someone so young.” Her vigorous stirring motion never wavered. “Not to mention the life of a marine on top of all that. What a hand this universe deals us, hm?”

“Indeed,” Annelise agreed. She smiled sadly, her eyes inward as though weighing something. “This reminds me of the dinners I had with my brother and dad.”

Oh? Samantha’s head tilted so she could hear better. Her father was closing in on one corner of the board, but her queen sprang into a hole in his defenses.

“Oh?” Priya asked, echoing Sam’s own curiosity.

Nodding, Annelise rotating the now empty wine glass in her hand. “Dad wasn’t much for cooking, but John loved it. He loved grilling and barbecue. He’d usually save some of his courier paycheck for a good cut of meat at the store and try out different seasonings.” She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “I bet he would have loved your cooking.”

“I fear I know the answer, but where is ...John?” At Shepard’s nod, Priya continued. “Where is John now?”

Oh no.

Should have given your folks some notes, Traynor.

I didn’t think it was my tale to tell!

How are you this bad at relationships, Traynor??

“Also gone, right before Dad. Car accident.” Annelise chewed her cheek a moment. “You know, before the Skyllian Blitz, I thought I was pretty unlucky based on all that.”

“And now?”

“Well, everything’s kind of a shit show, so jury’s out on that.” Annelise looked over at Sam, who was getting louder and more erratic with her clock taps. “But lucky in other ways.”

“Oh good answer, love!” Priya crowed, snapping the towel in Annelise’s direction. “A for effort, superbly charming response.” Her Omni-tool started beeping, signaling the woman to pull the pot of rice milk off the burner and set it aside to cool before turning her attention to the syrup. “What were three favorite things your brother cooked?”

An exhale deep through Shepard’s nose as she held her chin in her hand. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about that in ages.” She nodded at Priya’s silent pantomime offer to refill her wine glass. “He loved ribeye steak. Kind of fatty for me, and too damn expensive, but… I dunno, I liked it because he liked it so much.”

Aw. Sam felt a pang of longing for Shepard. There was a fondness to the woman’s tone that didn’t come up often. 

How often does Commander Bloody Shepard have a moment to think about her family? Or talk about them?

We should work on that, Traynor.

Geoffrey piped up regarding one of his favorite subjects. “Good man! Good cut of beef. What temperature?” He pointed a finger at Annelise as though calling on a student in one of his classes.

“Medium rare.”

“Good man indeed,” Geoffrey agreed as he slapped the timer one more time. White and black sides pieces were dwindling as lines of attack thinned out.

“Let’s see, what else… He actually did a spiced mutton I really liked. Sometimes lamb. Both were dirt cheap for awhile in Seattle before the drought, so he made a lot of it.” Annelise smiled as she accepted a small round poor of kheer, a sprinkling of ground nuts on top. “Oh, and his ribs were to die for. John had this dry rub mixture he spent months tinkering with. Took damn near eight hours to cook, but worth it.”

Geoffrey exchanged a look with his wife before cutting back to the game. Priya nodded.“Oh we love lamb in this house. One of the many reasons we applied for colony life. No more ration stamps from those artificial trade wars with the Volus, and all our farming sustainable and available direct to the colony first.” Priya fired up her Omni-tool. “I have a lot of great lamb recipes if you’re—goodness! I haven’t asked how your cooking chops fare?”

Nudging a pawn over to take Sam’s knight, Geoffrey jibed. “A loaded question, dear. We all know our Sammy is completely dependent on Alliance-provided cafeteria food. How she survived four years at Oxford is a complete mystery. She should have either ended up three hundred pounds from eating rubbish or died of scurvy.”

Hey!

“You talk a lot of shit, old man, for someone who just got checked. And it’s called a dormitory meal plan, I’ll have you know. I had three square meals.”

I just probably didn’t drink water the entire time. All booze or energy drinks.

“Of cafeteria food, further proving my point. Also, check.”

Ugh. Also, what?

That exhale-laugh from Annelise almost pulled Sam away from her last ditch strategy. The Commander extended her own Omni-tool. “I’d love the help. While I can survive on a remote moon with just a knife and a canteen, I don’t prefer to. I did undercover work for a year after graduating N7, so we had to learn how to be human again. Cooking included. Some of it even some fancy five course meals meant to impress targets.”

“So you know where all the forks go and what they do?” Samantha asked, slapping the timer. “Check.”

“I definitely do.” Those green eyes glittered with mirth.

“Oooh, be still my heart.” Sam shot a finger-gun at her girlfriend.

Priya made some flicking motions with her fingers before an answering ping from Shepard’s wrist. “Well, here are some of Sammy’s favorites. Someone should have them, since the pride of my life can’t make toast.” 

“Hey!”

“I also made note of some of the ones with Sammy’s allergies.”

Annelise flicked through the holo screen, studying the recipes. “Curry, shellfish, and peanuts, right?”

You forgot public speaking and losing at chess to my father.

Sam’s mother clutched her heart theatrically. “You know! Oh Geoffrey, did you hear? Sammy trusted her with shellfish, darling!” Priya poured a ladle full of the syrup over a small pyramid of large cake-like balls that had been chilling in a dish. She brought the dish over to the pair of competitors whose game was nearing completion.

“Check! And I did, love! It seems our Samantha is serious about this one! ...or her commanding officer looked at her file.” He grinned at his daughter before reaching for one of the gulab jamun.

Scowling, Sam slapped his hand away from the bowl before slapping the speed clock again. She could feel a heat rising in her neck and jaw (hopefully it was just the alcohol). “No dessert til we finish the game! And check!” 

After a tentative bite, Annelise dug into the bowl of sweet kheer with enthusiasm. “I mean, you’re not wrong, sir. But I had the decency to act surprised when she finally told me. How was that again, Samantha?” 

Oh sonabitch.

“When we went out on a date in public for the first time and I stole a bite of your lobster roll and my throat closed and we had to go to the med center.”

Both of her parents barked her name at the same time. “Samantha Karuna Traynor!” Her father added, “You always were a sucker for lobster despite never learning your lesson. And check.”

“It was worth it!” Sam squawked. “It was delicious! Also: check mate!” The pawn she’d been nudging forward that her father ignored got promoted to a rook and was now perfectly positioned to box in his king. 

Geoffrey stared at the change of fortune, dismayed and swaying a little in his chair. The shots were clearly taking hold. He tipped his king over in surrender, bowed his head at his daughter, and grabbed the topmost gulab jamun. 

Samantha joined him with a second ball, the syrup coating dripping slightly. They raised their desserts in salute before taking a big bite.

Mouth full, Sam grinned up at Shepard who was standing next to her chair. “I had you there to rescue me, darling. I knew I’d be all right.”

“I hope that’s always the case,” Annelise smiled back as she kissed Sam’s forehead. 

Before she slowly dropped down to one knee.

[dabistits]

could you explain what it means like with himiko's chapter title interview with a vampire and twices all it takes is one bad day. i think this has something to do with his characters like in their respective movies.

aaa i think ‘interview with a vampire’ is mostly just a riff off of anne rice’s book. ‘all it takes is one bad day’ also comes from another source (as many people have noticed): the killing joke, and it’s said by the joker to batman. unfortunately i have very very little first-hand knowledge of both of these sources, so i invite people to chime in although i will take a stab at this. i also dedicated a huge post to their backstories (though i didn’t really address the intertextuality aspect), but since that post contains thoughts about tomura i will mention him too.

interview with a vampire covers a whole book (as opposed to just a monologue), so it’s harder to just nail down One connection. again, I’m not sure if hori was just doing it to be funny, so I may be reaching here, but what stands out to me is the themes of instinct and repression that tend to recur in modern vampire novels. It should be noted that interview with a vampire is considered the piece of fiction that largely gave rise to the genre of vampires being good-looking, angsty, aristocratic, etc. rather than ugly and terrifying undead, and it was possibly one of the first to extensively play with the theme of the vampire’s struggle with their own humanity. in interview with a vampire, this duality is embodied by main characters louis and lestat, the former who seeks to retain his humanity and resists feeding from humans, while the latter seems to see himself as wholly separate from humanity and doesn’t fight his instincts. 

the storyline of the modern vampire is often about these struggles: are we so different than humans? is it in our nature to victimize humanity? is it okay for us to do so or should it only be done out of necessity? how do we integrate into a world that would shun us if they knew the truth? himiko’s backstory reiterates these questions that are so prevalent in modern vampire fiction. she tries to repress her ‘natural instinct’ of bloodlust so that she can live among people who would otherwise not accept her; eventually she rejects this existence and succumbs to her desires, and as such is cast out from what is deemed ‘normal’ society. this of course mirrors the eternal vampiric conflict of whether to live among humans or away from them, whether to ‘use’ other people or not, and obviously, even the taboos being addressed are the same: blood-drinking.

as far as “one bad day,” i know i have some followers that don’t like the joker, but i honestly don’t know about the comic books or the animation to comment on what the killing joke did or did not do for his character. i’ve read the synopsis, i know the events of the plot (they’re extremely misogynistic), and that’s about it. i think it’s enough to comment on how it relates to bnha, but i again i invite people to chime in. that said, the monologue is short-ish, so i reproduced it here:

Joker: I’ve demonstrated there’s no difference between me and everyone else! All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man alive to lunacy. That’s how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day. You had a bad day once, am I right? I know I am. I can tell. You had a bad day and everything changed. Why else would you dress up as a flying rat? You had a bad day, and it drove you as crazy as everybody else… Only you won’t admit it! You have to keep pretending that life makes sense, that there’s some point to all this struggling! God you make me want to puke. I mean, what is it with you? What made you what you are? Girlfriend killed by the mob, maybe? Brother carved up by some mugger? Something like that, I bet. Something like that… Something like that happened to me, you know. I… I’m not exactly sure what it was. Sometimes I remember it one way, sometimes another… If I’m going to have a past, I prefer it to be multiple choice! Ha ha ha! But my point is… My point is, I went crazy. When I saw what a black, awful joke the world was, I went crazy as a coot! I admit it! Why can’t you? I mean, you’re not unintelligent! You must see the reality of the situation. Do you know how many times we’ve come close to world war three over a flock of geese on a computer screen? Do you know what triggered the last world war? An argument over how many telegraph poles Germany owed its war debt creditors! Telegraph poles! Ha ha ha ha HA! It’s all a joke! Everything anybody ever valued or struggled for… it’s all a monstrous, demented gag! So why can’t you see the funny side? Why aren’t you laughing?

the background on the joker here is that he had a tragic past where his wife and child died in an accident and then he went to do some shady shit with a couple criminals, then jumped into a vat of acid to escape batman and went loco from the experiences. i’m going to consider it not entirely relevant to my bnha commentary, since the narrative similarities are fairly superficial imo; namely, both jin and the joker’s, let’s say, streak of bad luck started with accidents which led into criminal sprees. otherwise, jin’s story is clearly not about torturing the chief of police and a dude in a bat suit for… reasons, and instead hinges a lot more on loneliness and camaraderie with the concept of ‘lunacy’ being pretty incidental to that. but we’ll come back to the differences! for now, we’ll focus on why hori might have chosen this monologue for jin’s chapter.

purely looking at the monologue itself (i.e. decontextualizing it from the joker’s backstory and the events of the killing joke), the parallels are pretty stark. this is a man narrating his descent into madness that supposedly emerged from a senseless accident, which he doesn’t quite recall; it’s comparable to jin’s own motorcycle accident which led to him getting fired, turning to crime, and then finally the clone mass murders which resulted in his split personality and confusion over being the ‘original.’ and as far as we’re concerned, the only thing that led to jin’s downward spiral is that ‘bad day’ when he got fired, comparable to the accident which killed the joker’s family. there are other elements involved in jin’s backstory of course, notably the lack of a support system either relationship-wise or financially, and the failures of a society that intensely relied on heroes/police work to regulate wellbeing. 

that’s about where the similarities end. jin does not arrive at the same conclusion that the joker does. one of the messages the killing joke puts forth is the joker’s: that life is senseless, random, and therefore meaningless, just like violence is senseless, random, and meaningless. jin’s chapters actually take a marked departure from that thinking, where the moral is more like… senseless, random, meaningless shit happens and you make choices that dig yourself into a hole, but what really matters is having connections to people. the conclusion isn’t to destroy things, but to build connections so that you have people to fall back on when things go south. the narrative ultimately rewards him for that thought process as well, because he’s able to double himself again and in the process, he’s able to protect his friends, thus saving the companionship he so badly lacked.

this is where tomura comes in, because he is a different story. ‘one bad day’ applies to him as well, obviously, centering around his father’s violence towards him and his quirk awakening, also an ‘accidental’ event which kills his family. much more than jin, it fits tomura’s mindset that life and violence are senseless, random, and meaningless, and in this way tomura (i’m sorry to say this) resembles the joker in their nihilistic philosophies. they both point out the fragilities of every day existence and basically decide that it’s all a worthless gag (you can see this in tomura’s thoughts as early as the mall confrontation tbh). rather than seeking a way to prevent or ameliorate senseless violence, their takeaway from the violence they experienced is to become it and to embody it, with no particular ‘goal’ in mind than simple chaos. because according to them, that’s how the world is.

so while ‘one bad day’ certainly applies to jin, i think it’s much more telling when applied to tomura, because tomura’s the one who actually mirrors the joker’s mindset. i hesitate to make predictions based off these observations, but i do think we can see a fairly clear lineage from where hori is drawing his ideological inspiration, especially for tomura. it’s not a particular surprise, because he is obviously a huge fan of american comics, but imo it’s tragic because i don’t think the joker has ever been a vehicle genuine ideological criticism….

[versuswhitescar]

Malam Manor

We all grow up with that once upon a time, crap. When you're little, you believe it. Who believes it as an adult? I mean, really? We have smartphones, rumbas, and clap on lights. No one meets a 17-year-old vampire who supposed to be 52. But I have, and I found his tapes by accident. Now I'm living a filliping ounce upon a time that Anne Rice would drool over. If I don't find the f-ing cave his sister is trapped in, I'm going to be enjoying a lot less sunlight for damn sure.

I know if I could figure out the details, I'll find the cave. And the murderer and maybe be spared, or I fail, and I'm the next Elena Gilbert. I sure hope not.

I'm just a damn tutor who needs money for her master's degree. Why did I even think that posting a flyer online was a good idea? Hell, my only tinder date turned out to be a 300 lb guy catfishing for a date to his sister's wedding. I stupidly, no innocently thought I'd get some pimply high school sophomore struggling through R and J and Shakespeare word salad.

Man, was I wrong? Mr. Cain Haywater answered my ad. Normal name for an average guy, right? Well, who the hell names their kid after the first murder in the Bible, but I'm getting off track. My ancient 98 jeep with more rust than metal is not going up the hill to the "Malam Manor." Later I Google it and turns out the word is Latin for bad. I should have asked Siri sooner. Too late, Cain Haywater a ward of the state. Because he's 17 and wicked rich is paying me 50 bucks an hour to help write his family's history.

This house is unusual in ways I can't even begin to describe. Its windows seem to follow you like eyes while I rev up the circle drive. The brick looks like it's from out of the Hogwarts rejection pile. The height makes it at least three floors, and there's a damn covered entry that carriages pulled under in the 19th century. Besides the semi-creepy outsides, even though it looks well maintained, I'm coming here close to 9 pm. Ounce, the sun is down on the hottest July night in history. I should have done a business major instead of English lit. Follow your bliss, my mom said. What does she know she's a nail tech for the last 12 years. She probably has brain damage from the polish fumes.

I can't imagine anyone hears my lame knock at the gigantic door. But I swear to God it seems like a cat or something opened the door. I thought maybe the heat melted my brain, but it looked like a fuzzy ken doll. It darted behind a curtain. Before I could investigate Cain, hold my breath beautiful, Haywater stands ten feet in front of me in his large foyer in black jeans, skin-tight grey shirt with a badass blue tattoo that seems to have a deep center that radiates over his forearm. I'm shook in so many ways I can barely speak "Nyx, Nyx Jackson?" My name never sounded so smooth coming out of any humans mouth ever. That was when my brain should have clicked over to reality that he wasn't human. He hadn't been human since 1989.

Sadly only 2 hours into my best tutoring gig ever, I discovered Cain Haywater was indeed a real vampire. And his beloved twin sister Danielle, Dani, as he referred to her, was just as dead only traped in a watery caved transformed into a rusalka for the last 34 years. I was Cains's last chance at finding her cave and the wort boyfriend a girl could ask for. Jefferson Granton. A 200-year-old vampire that he needed to kill. My life wasn't fair and only made worse by the fact that I'm sure I'm going to fail, and my last meal was crappy ramen.

It was my stomach and too much curiosity that made me start playing with the vintage tape recorder Cain had on the black walnut desk. He heard my growling belly and while he searched for food. I pressed play. Big mistake, I'm not sure where he went to kill the food, but I listened to almost one side of a cassette tape. The quick spark notes, once he came back with cheese, apples, and fancy crackers to catch me, went fast.  

Back in May of 1986, he and his twin sister were graduating from Xaiver highschool. Somehow she latched on to an older college guy that wandered into town on a semester off to find himself. Jefferson Granton was mesmerizing, according to Cain, tall blond lovely to look at and even more interesting to listen to. He swept naive Danni off her feet on a cross country trip. He had a long term plan. One he had been cooking up for at least 100 years when Cain's family made a fortune in lumber and now stocks.

Jeffy boy started life as Jacarde Gulomar in the Brittany region of France. He accepted the gift of eternal life from a Norse vampire who wanted a mate. Jeff never entirely made his fortune and became a bad luck symbol for the covens all over Europe. Eyes on the new country to the west, he hopped a ship and arrived to wonder the grandness of the US just after the civil war. Comming upon early decedents of the Haywater clan. William Percy Haywater knew the deal equipped each member of the family with a hawthorn stake, holy water, and a warning against a freshly minted newly named Jefferson Granton.

No one fell for him until Danni, with all her beauty and openness, fell in love, and became a target for her trust fund. By the time the twins were 17, their parents were dead at the fate of a drunk driver, and a deaf Aunt looks after them. Danni fell under Jefferson's spell forgetting all caution to follow to the whispering cave. Now oddly in the middle of the mind-melting story, a flash caught my eye, and I met the grandfather like ken doll Cain shared his mansion with.

Pere was a domavoy who kept Cain and Malan safe as much as he could. Cain respects and adored him, so I was polite. Over the next three weeks, I moved in search their land every day when Cain joins me and feasts on Pere's cooking skills. His little face sparkled at each new dish he made for me after decades of blood bags. On steamy Saturday, July 31st, I finally found, or more fell into the mouth of the cave. Much of Cain's memory was erased on the night he watched Jefferson murder Danni while he hogtied in the corner of the damp cave. Only to meet a fate worse than Danni by forcefully being turned and compelled to kill and drain his Aunt of all her blood. Jefferson helps smooth it all over with some compulsion and tricks, but Cain secured his wealth in the next few days only to vanish. He picked a small fishing village in Maine, where he met Gabriel 100-year-old vampire who taught him to live and gave him advice on how to avenge Danni. Gabriel's plan centered on Cain coming home as his namesake's son Cain Haywater II. The mansion and his tie to Danni or Cain's greatest strength. It was clear why Jefferson failed to control them.

The night I stumbled into the cave, I wore my Danni look-alike costume Pere helped me pull together. I looked like a backup dancer on a Wham video. It was. It was to trick Jefferson, but oddly I caught the attention of another creepy creature a leshii in the woods. I thought it was Cain because the voice fit, and I felt drawn to the being. Only when it had led me halfway across the land did I catch a glimpse of its eyes. Pure white scalaris was not a hint of iris or pupil. Taking off back towards the cave, I felt two forces moving me one I can now sense with Cain, and the other I was damn sure was Jefferson. He'd been down a rough road probably because, in life, he was a bit of a narcissist. Only to have that enhanced by his Vampire Life, he thought I was Danni, and he'd Follow Me to Hell to get that money. Once we made it to the rippling silver pond within the cave, I laid eyes on Daniella. My wham costume was a joke compared to her beauty.

She swept as close to us as possible, shouting silently in my brain to turn now. Cain stands between me and Jefferson stake in hand slowly I fell to the wash of a cool breeze flowing over us which I knew mixed with my warm body temp to engulf Cain it was in that moment I saw the vague outline of a man just like he left a speakeasy in 1926. He became more gas-like to almost solid, yet I could still see right through him. He is handsome except for that visible gunshot wound to his right Temple. Why was I surprised that we now have a ghost to add to the mix. Pere spoke of the cave as whispered he claimed someone took their life after the 1920 stock crash here he was with eyes for Danni.

The extraordinary power Cain had wasn't just his home or his connection to his twin. It was that he could feel loved. He survived and lived by keeping his Humanity. I saw beautiful sparkling Jefferson with his flowing blonde hair realize it too. Cains power made the cave hum Jefferson was cocky, and that was very clear. He charged expecting to deflect the steak easily, but with Danni's strength and God help me my feelings for Cain. He drove the stake straight and true into Jefferson's lean chest.

Before I can blink Cain without a blade from his boot and with incredible strength severed the head like clockwork Cain without a new Zippo lighter and flicked it on to Jeffy. Making a roaring vampire candle. Can quickly turn to glance behind making a connection with Danni. "find your bliss" I heard in my head, and I knew Cain heard it too. The 1920s gentleman back into Danni as they drifted further back into the cave. We're only water held the floor we stood still.   "Nyx?" his velvet voice floated over me. I can only gape open mouth, watery eyes, and some snot beginning to flow. At that moment, my stomach rumbled loudly. He smiled a genuinely genuine smile with all the years that he waited. I knew without any doubt Cain Haywater would be in my future Tech probably my whole life, and I smiled too.

Let me know what you think and If you want more 

[cinenthusiast]

Previous Top Ten By Year lists:  1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 1978, 1925, 1969 1930

Previous Top Ten By Year: 1949 Posts: Top Ten By Year: 1949 – Poll Results 100 Images from the Films of 1949 What I’ll Remember About the Films of 1949: A Love Letter #10. The Queen of Spades (UK/Dickinson)  #9. Rendezvous in July (Becker)/Au royaume des cieux (Duvivier) (France) #8. Too Late for Tears (US / Haskin)  #7. The Heiress (US / Wyler)  #6. The Set-Up (US / Wise)  #5. Caught (US / Ophüls) #4. The Passionate Friends (UK / Lean)  #3. Puce Moment (US / Anger) #2. The Third Man (UK / Reed) 

For those unaware of my Top Ten By Year project:  The majority of my viewing habits have been dictated by this project since September of 2013. Jumping to a different decade each time, I choose comparatively weaker years for me re: quantity of films seen/quantity of films loved. I use list-making as a way to see more films and revisit others in a structured and project-drive way. I was sick of spending too much time trying to decide what to watch, or watching films just to cross them off another dumb canon list. I wanted to engage. I wanted films to be enhanced by others, by looking at a specific moment in time. I wanted something that led me to seeing or revisiting things I might not have gotten to otherwise. Lastly, my lists are based on personal favorites, not any weird notion of an objective best.

This is the first year I’ll be doing separate posts for each film. #9 will go up Monday. After that, one will go up each day until the end. Then I’ll post them all together so they are gathered in one place. There are a lot of films I loved that did not make the cut. In particular, Flamingo Road, Such a Pretty Little Beach, On the Town, Inspirace, The Reckless Moment, Reign of Terror, The Rocking Horse Winner, and Samson and Delilah are all films I thought at one point would be on here. Of all of these, Flamingo Road was a sure thing until it wasn’t at the very last minute. Please go watch it.

#1. Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) (first-time watch)

Two women and two cultures intertwined.

There are two sides to Bitter Rice. One has neorealism, Silvana, and Italy. The other has film noir, Francesca, and America. When all is said and done these two women will have swapped places, for better and much worse. And when Italy’s other neorealist filmmakers see Bitter Rice, they will take it as a betrayal of truth and the political. In short, they hated it. In this time of crucial political upheaval when neorealism carried legitimate cultural cache, director Giuseppe De Santis had made something too slick, too tawdry, and too American. The message was tarnished by the method. But De Santis was a Marxist who happened to admire and study John Ford, King Vidor, and the visual patterns of Hollywood studio filmmaking. He saw mass appeal as a way to both entertain and denounce, and made a film in which neorealism is hijacked and reconfigurated to be a noir melodrama.

Bitter Rice has a lot of recognizably neorealist markers; location shooting, a focus on labor and economic struggle, the tactile particulars of rice worker life, and the use of the specific cultural practices such as the choral Coralita. The sound of women wading through water, the way it would around their legs, and the strain of being hunched over day after day — it’s all made vivid. But it is easy to see why Bitter Rice would seem a betrayal. Its mutinous synthesis of “authenticity” and artificiality was a signpost towards neorealism’s end. Soon there would be stars, genre, production in the Italian film industry.

The synthesis is clear from the very first scene. The authenticity of the mondine (female rice workers) is introduced with grandiosity and sweep. There are no docu-elements here, but plenty of elaborate tracking and crane shots to go around, the kind of gradually encompassing images you’d be more likely to find in a DeMille epic. Watching the very first scene I thought: “Wait — what am I in for?”. All preconceived notions were immediately scrapped, and I realized my trip to the rice fields of Po Valley would be a very different one indeed. Then, a couple carrying stolen jewels are chased into the station waiting to transport the workers to the fields. Their arrival feels like an alien invasion, as if some freak chemical accident at the film lab spilled one film into another. This dichotomy plays throughout with electric and arresting cohesion, making it so distinctly unlike any other film from its movement. 

While De Santis was inspired by the Hollywood narrative format, he also uses American culture’s insidious postwar presence to illustrate the dangers of breaking from solidarity for hollow (the fake jewels!) individual gain. This is done using the two incredible and complex women of Bitter Rice‘s center. After Francesca the Moll (Doris Dowling, an American actress) is forced to assimilate in the rice fields, she finds purpose among the mondine. In order to stay in hiding, she has to advocate for the rights of her fellow non-contract workers. But this is never done as a means to an end. Francesca never schemes to stay on; she is always shown as sincerely leading the protests for the group. Life becomes bigger than herself, and she learns to stand both as her own woman, and as part of the mondine.

Francesca also begins to see her personal life more clearly. You get the sense that despite loving Walter (Vittorio Gassman), she is not blind to how reprehensible he is (I mean, in the first scene he literally used her as a human shield so….). But she had nowhere to go, and no strength to pull away. Life in Po Valley gives her that strength. The value of the collective is present throughout, with choral scenes, aerial shots showcasing the lines of working women linked together, and fragments of peripheral characters and their various troubles. They push themselves to the brink under oppressive conditions just to make it to the next job, and there is power in their (at times friction-filled) solidarity (I was also reminded of last year’s Support the Girls, also about a community of women united by unforgiving labor).

Then there is the shrewd but naive young Silvana (Silvana Mangano, who I’ll talk about later), a peasant that dreams of wealth. She is seduced by all things coded America and money (she should talk to Caught’s Leonora!). We first meet her doing the boogie woogie (she does a lot of dancing, employed for seduction and statement). In this group of women, where everyone is introduced as part of a whole, she immediately stands out as modern. She chews gum, loves big-band, and is seen reading photo-romances, the then-popular prepackaged fantasies that were read by lower and working class Italian women. Silvana wants out; she longs for adventure, riches, and a certain kind of romance. But the way out that presents itself is a different kind of way out, and she is too blinded by inexperience to understand it.

The camera links Francesca and Silvana all the time. Whether in two-shots or individual spaces, there is an invisible tether between them. Their lives and fates take part in a film-length body-swap. Silvana talks about fate a lot, but is seen making deliberate choices towards certain doom. She can’t see Walter for what he is — an exploiter and a monster. But Francesca gives her an out, replaying about her life with Walter and the terrible things he has done. She tries to take the abuse and hardship she lived through and save someone else from making the mistakes she did. But Silvana can’t see past the jewels and the suit. There is only the potential for excitement, for something that is not this. After all, Walter “looks like a gentleman” (aka a hotshot gumshoe); so he must be, right? While Francesca’s transformation is one of victorious camaraderie, Silvana’s (both actress and character) is altogether much murkier; one marked by punishment.

Silvana Mangano never wanted her body to represent the whole of Italy, but it did. Audiences were scandalized just seeing the unapologetically full female form (au natural, code for Armpit Hair), the kind that becomes sexualized simply by existing. She was the prototype of the “earthy women” that would cause such a stir overseas (later embodied by Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren). She started out by winning Miss Rome, a post-war contest that further enhanced the idea of body-as-nation, and an honor that became synonymous with future screen tests. Unlike Lollobrigida and Loren, Mangano didn’t cash in on overseas notoriety for a Hollywood career. She became resentful of her image, and of fame, eventually giving herself a drastic reinvention (her figure was now svelte and arch, her look cold) and starring in art films by Pasolini and Visconti in the late 1960s and 1970s (and Dune!).

The camera doesn’t ogle Mangano Tex Avery style; this isn’t Jane Russell in The Outlaw. But it aims to stay back, taking in the whole of her whenever possible. And you can’t help but take part in that — I love looking at her. She is the textbook case for why the male gaze is not an open-and-shut. For all its appallingly absolute authority on the almost-whole of filmic language, women enjoy it too! One of the great joys of watching films is watching bodies, both male and female. I am hypnotized and, yes, completely turned on by Silvana Mangano in Bitter Rice. The camera may not be that Tex Avery wolf, but I’ll admit that I am. 

Critics felt her body, and Bitter Rice’s eroticism as represented by her, cheapened the film and nullified its political message. Yet a crucial part of its political message is the punishment her and her body endures for betraying the homeland (a tactic that opens up a whole other can of worms). She is eroticized, symbolic, made into a cautionary tale. Her final fugue march is just like Ann Todd’s in The Passionate Friends. Claude Rains gets there in time. Francesca cannot.

(TW: rape)

She is raped. It is a rape that takes away her body. We don’t see much of it after that. In those last thirty minutes she is made up of haunted black pupils, lit like she’s telling a ghost story. She is immediately ostracized by the filmmaking, quarantined off in shots of the mondine in ways you feel more than see. It’s not obvious, but intrinsic and heartbreaking. The most startling example takes place immediately following her assault. It is pouring out (during these scenes a stunning rain shower falls right in front of the camera like a curtain) and the women have banded together, refusing to let the weather set them behind schedule. Silvana walks in a daze, confused and in shock. Ahead, a sick woman who shouldn’t be out in her condition begins having an attack. She howls out, and begins writhing in pain as the women surround her and hold her down. They begin to sing in an attempt to calm her (they are all one). Silvana looks on in horror. This is a mirror image of what she just went through, her trauma reflecting right back at her. She is watching herself. She begins to scream. She is drowned out, not part of the coralita, not part of anything anymore. Her cries go unheard.

The meat locker finale is one last compare-and-contrast session. Both women have guns. Both women have a man beside them. One is shaking and shaken. The other is determined and resolute. Francesca is still trying to save the other end of the tether. There is something so moving and uncommon in Francesca’s committed efforts to protect Silvana despite the harm she causes and rivalry she insists on. It’s hard to put into words how much I love these women, these characters, these performances. Bitter Rice pays such close attention to how women communicate with each other (in both speech and body language, the silent glares and stares may as well be full conversations), and to the breadth of female experience, struggle, and loyalty. We see how hard it is for Francesca to break away from Walter. We see that Silvana’s sense of right and wrong are muddied by what she wants out of life. We see that Silvana’s actions are not unfeeling; there is such pain on her face as she undoes the mondine’s hard work. The list goes on as more layers are pulled back. 

Watching Bitter Rice is that all-too rare sensation of not knowing where a film is headed, or what story it will tell (unless you’ve read this before watching). Francesca and Silvana are often hard to read. By the end, that body swap trajectory is clear, but only at the end. And despite the larger-than-life symbolic statuses they represent, they are two of the most layered and human women I’ve ever seen onscreen. They don’t fit into any neat box — not within neorealism, and not within noir. Francesca and Silvana are with me now, and I’m the better for it.

Top Ten By Year: 1949 #1 – Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) Previous Top Ten By Year lists:  1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 

[wroteasongabouther]

For The Kids - A Harry Styles Imagine

PAIRING: Harry/Y/N

RATING: PG

WORD COUNT: 6k

A/N: first off i did write this in a bit of a different format so sorry if things seem weird or a little off, idk if i will always wirte ‘one shots’ like this but yeah... this was requested by an anon and i got this little idea :) hope you like it!

“I would’ve had I know where the father of my fucking kids was!”

“I was on a fucking plane here!” Harry yells back at her.

That’s when the cries of little Brinley echo throughout the house. She snap back into reality, stepping away from how close she had gotten to Harry and blink back the few tears that were threatening to spill over. Harry meets her gaze and scowls.

“I’ll get her,” he says but she’s quick to put her arm out and stop him.

“No, I will,” she mutters, “you haven’t been around the past while. You don’t know what she needs to calm down these days,”

or

The one when a divorce can’t get in the way of a Happy Christmas for the kids.

⏤

“Look guys, look how pretty it is here,” Y/N says, pulling up the car to the large cabin that Harry had rented for the family this Christmas. 

When he mentioned Aspen here in America, she was a little surprised he didn’t want to drag the kids on a long flight to spend the holidays with his family after she was done with her own family on the East Coast. After the divorce last Summer, she was completely ready to split up the time with their kids for things like birthdays and Christmas - in this case the youngest baby’s birthday was on Christmas. But Harry had a different idea, and she wasn’t opposed to it, she could suck it all up and act like a family for the kids.  

Being the worried parent she always was, she had called ahead about an hour or two ago to let the company know she and the kids were close to arriving. Harry had said he’d be there at the same time. But as she pulls up, she only notice a company car in the driveway. After putting the car in park and cutting the engine, she get out of the car at the same time her wild 6-year-old son pushes open his own door - hitting you while doing so. 

“Sorry mommy,” he says while stepping out of the car. She reachs out for his arm while he nearly takes a slip on the wet snow. 

“Just, be careful please, Jamie,” she says to her little boy, he nods and his mess of brown curls wiggle as he does so. The sight of his hair makes her smile a little, suppose he rubbed his head around in his car seat during his nap on the way here. “I’m going to grab your sister from the other door, hold my hand and please don’t run around,” she tells him, earning a short nod back. 

Her first born, little James Robin Styles, was growing into his own these days. No longer was he holding onto his mommy’s leg while going to the store, now he was proudly getting his own ‘shopper in training’ cart and running away from her whenever he could. The amount of time-outs and yelling she’s had to do these past five months since the divorce makes her heart hurt a little. He’s acting out, knowing that his daddy isn’t around now because that’s his choice not because of another tour or promo for a movie. She shakes her head at the thoughts, sadness falling over her, and reach into the car to unbuckle her sweet baby daughter. 

Well, Brinley Anne Styles, was turning one this Christmas but she would always be her baby. Brin’s face scrunches up as Y/N gently scoop her up from her carseat. She makes a whimpering protest as the cold hits her face, causing Y/N to grab her blanket and wrap her up in your arms. Then she shuts the car door and hope the front door is open before Y/N’s babies freeze out here. They’re both just so used to Sunny California.

“Welcome, Mrs Styles!” the head of the luxury cabin rental company grins ear to ear as Y/N walk through the large front door. She decides to not correct him, it was something she’s been dealing with for months now and was tired of it truthfully. 

“Hello,” she smiles at the man. “Oof,” she mutters as Jamie pulls at her arm while talking a million miles an hour about all the cool stuff around the house. 

“Pretty exciting, hey kiddo?” The man smiles, watching Jamie jump around onto the leather couch - which causes Y/N to want to shout at him but she refrains while in front of the owner.  “Mr Styles is arriving later?” he asks, looking back at Y/N now. 

“Uh, yeah, he is,” she replies, although she’s completely unaware of his whereabouts. It’s been that way for eight months now. 

The owner goes on about the few things she needed to know about the place. Showing her how to work the crazy build-in touch screen system that worked the lights, speakers, and heating for the whole house. Brinley starts to fuss in her arms while he’s going through it all, so she puts her down and watch as Brin struggles but walks slowly to where her brother is playing with the TV remotes. Which causes Y/N to walk away from the owner and take the remotes away quickly. 

“Sorry,” she says. 

“No, it’s fine, I should go now anyways. You guys enjoy your stay and I’m always just a phone call away if you have any questions,” he says before letting himself out of the house. 

There’s no time to take in the place before the kids are both whining about being hungry. Brinley starts to cry, Jamie yelling about his stomach hurting as the drama queen he’s always been. And all Y/N can do is step up and be the mother she’s grown into being. If someone was to tell her 8 years ago that she’d have two beautiful kids and be practically raising them on her own now, she’d never believe them. Y/N never saw herself as a mother, she thought maybe one day in her thirties maybe have one kid and struggle at being a mom - but then she met Harry and all of that changed. 

Jamie was an accident, two years into a relationship and Y/N had a small bump growing fast. She worried so much but Harry was always there to tell her how amazing she was going to be and how he couldn’t wait to have a family with her. Fast forward 6 years and it all fell apart. All good things coming to an end and all that crap, right? 

“Jamie, please, sweetie just one picture for mommy,” she says to him as he starts to run away from where his sister sat outside on the bench in the backyard. After eating a brunch, Y/N changed them both into some warmer clothes, snow pants and jackets that were purchased by their dad only months ago when the trip was planned, and now you were all outside. 

“I want to go,” Jamie whines while pulling away from your hold. 

“Fine,” she sighs and lets him go. He starts screeching while running through the snow filled backyard. Watching him go, she smiles at how happy be seems. Suppose an action shot of her little boy would have to do. 

After some fun outside, Y/N’s little ones are tired right out. Jamie passes out on the couch, hand still in a bowl of cereal she had given him, while Brinley was a little more fussy to fall asleep. So she sets up a bed of pillows and fluffy blankets on the floor by the fireplace and her little green eyes fluttered close soon enough. Y/N stands in the middle of the open concept ‘living room/dining room/kitchen/foyer’ and look around for the first time. The place really is incredible. She just hoped her ex husband decided to show up soon to enjoy the holidays with his kids. 

With the kids asleep Y/N utilizes the time to make up some dinner. Deciding some steamed veggies, rice and chicken were quick and easy enough for the first night on vacation. Just as she’s plating it up, Jamie wakes and of course he manages to step on his sister - which turns everything into an all out crying and yelling fit. 

It’s not till after forcing the two to eat and getting them ready for bed, tucked all in and having night lights all around for Brinley that Y/N finally get to relax a little. What a long, tiring day, she thinks while walking over to the wine cellar and grabbing the first bottle of red you see. After pouring herself a glass, she pulls out her phone and tries calling Harry again - it goes straight to voicemail, so she dials her sister instead. 

“Hey! How’s Aspen?” She asks. 

“Not so great, but there is a wine cellar thank god,” she grunts while bringing the glass to her lips. 

“What’s wrong? Jamie still acting up?” 

“Yeah,” she sighs and shut her eyes, leaning back into the couch. “He’s just been all over the place, and I get he’s excited, but then he stepped on Brin and then neither of them wanted to eat dinner and then they were both scared to sleep somewhere new but over an hour later and I’m finally sitting in silence,” 

“Wait, where’s Harry?” 

“Beats me,” she mumbles, having another sip of wine. 

“Aw, Y/N,” 

“He said he’d be here this morning, I don’t know, maybe he got his flights mixed up,” 

“Yeah, he’ll come eventually,” her sister says, trying to make Y/N feel better. It’s what she’s best at. Even though she was Y/N’s younger sister, she always had her back through these past 6 years. From babysitting Jamie in his younger days so Y/N and Harry could go on dates, to being in the delivery room for Brin’s birth when Harry couldn’t make it. And through the divorce too, she was just the best through it all. 

“He hasn’t answered his phone all day,” Y/N mentions in a low voice, eyes zoned out on her glass of wine. 

“Well, last I heard he was in Asia for some movie thing,” her sister says, “he’s probably just on a flight,” 

“He could’ve called or texted or something,” she state bitterly. 

“Yeah, you’re right he should have,” she sighs on the other end. “Well, tell me about the gifts you got the kids again,” she urges Y/N, changing the subject to something she knew her older sister was excited about. It would be Brin’s first real Christmas and her first birthday so this year was very special. Suppose that’s another reason Harry wanted this family vacation instead of splitting up time - knowing very well Y/N would get her exact birthday and he’d deal with whatever day he got. Custody in favour of a young mom, who earned less money and had a less busy work schedule, was exactly how the situation worked out. 

The call with Y/N’s sister comes to an end and she finishes half a bottle of wine while watching whatever crap TV was on. She didn’t have the energy to look through the channels or to even get onto Netflix to continue whatever she was currently binge watching. She just sat there, overthinking too much and drinking wine while doing so. 

Suddenly the front door opens, sounds of a large suitcase rolling in follows too. Y/N don’t care to look his way, instead she sits there and finish her glass of wine. Harry’s boots hit the wooden flooring as he making his way into the house. 

“Oh, hey,” Harry’s voice carries through the room as he notices his ex wife. 

“Hi,” she says back, her voice monotone now. 

“The kids asleep?” he asks, leaving his suitcase to walk towards her. 

“Well it is like eleven at night, so I sure hope they’re asleep,” 

“Right,” Harry nods. “They like the place?” Harry asks, Y/N notices in the corner of her eye she can see him go a full spin to take in the house you’re staying at. 

“Sure did,” she answers. “Where have you been?” She asks, looking to where he stands just a few feet away now. He looks good, as if she expects anything else. His hair’s short again, having to be cut for his movie role she assumes, while he has puffy bags under his lovely green eyes. He’s wearing a Gucci sweater, space themed - an older one Y/N once stole on several occasions when they were still together - and some black joggers too. She hasn’t seen him is nearly a month now, he’s been busy with work, suppose she missed him a little bit.

“My flight got delayed,” he answers. 

“And you couldn’t answer a call because?” 

“Why are you being so bitchy to me? I just got here, Y/N, can’t you hold back for a few more minutes, let me settle in maybe?” He huffs while throwing back his Gucci duffle bag on the couch. She rolls her eyes at him. 

“Oh excuse me for being a little upset with you, Harry,” she says, voice slightly raised now.

“And here I thought this holiday could be civil between us,” he scoffs, his own eyes rolling too.

“And here I thought I could trust you again, and you go on to prove yet again that I freaking can’t,” she counters back. Wine makes Y/N loosen up a little bit, making her a bit more brave and letting that mouth of hers run sometimes too. Harry knew it as well, so when his eyes find the bottle and empty glass on the coffee table he just snorts.

“How much of that wine have you had? Cause you’re not making any bloody sense right now,” he says.

“Oh now you’re going to go on to call me a fucking drunk, that’s sweet coming from you,” she fumes back at him.

Y/N is being a proper bitch, she knows she is. But it’s times like this when she can’t help but fight back. Hers and Harrys divorce didn’t just happen for no good reason. There were issues, ones Y/N’s tipsy brain didn’t care while bringing them back up again. Trust, liquor, running away with answering his phone - those were just a few things that brought her to get ahold of her lawyer (who’s also Y/N’s father) and serve Harry with divorce papers while he was away on tour. A tour he barely invited her and the kids on, a tour that consisted on him drinking whisky on stage and blaming his piss poor behaviour on the fact his fans have grown up with his as well. Everything had changed, so she left him. 

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, go to fucking bed,” Harry says.

“I would’ve had I know where the father of my fucking kids was!” 

“I was on a fucking plane here!” Harry yells back at her. 

That’s when the cries of little Brinley echo throughout the house. She snaps back into reality, stepping away from how close she had gotten to Harry and blink back the few tears that were threatening to spill over. Harry meets her gaze and scowls. 

“I’ll get her,” he says but she’s quick to put out her arm and stop him. 

“No, I will,” she mutters, “you haven’t been around the past while. You don’t know what she needs to calm down these days,” 

Brinley was tucked away in the same queen bed Y/N would be cuddled in with her. She still slept with her mom every night, despite her grandparents buying her a big girl bed just last month. As she walk into the bedroom, she flips on the lamp beside the bed and sees her little girl sitting up on her knees with wet red cheeks and hands grabbing out for her mommy. 

“Shh, it’s okay baby, mommy’s got you,” she coos to Brinley while grabbing ahold of her little body, cradling her close to her chest while finding her blanket that had been tucked under the pillow. She grips onto the soft material and cried into Y/N’s chest. While rocking her little body, she paces the room slowly, trying to get her back to sleep. Next step was to hum once of her favourite songs. 

“Sweet creature, sweet creature, wherever I go, you bring me home,” Y/N sings his lyrics softly, looking down at Brin’s fluttering eyes before continuing. 

Brinley falls asleep in her arms only moments later, but she keeps holding her, staring down at her soft perfect skin and dark long lashes. She’s beautiful, a future heartbreaker that’s for sure. Just like her daddy. Y/N presses a kiss to her forehead before bending down to set her on the bed, bringing a blanket over her little body. 

“Still falls asleep to my songs, huh?” Harry’s voice startles Y/N, causing her head to snap to where he stands by the door. 

“Yeah, she does,” she whispers. 

Harry steps forward to the bed, taking in his little baby girl. He hasn’t been around as much as he was for the first year of Jamie’s life. Harry’s been working, Y/N understood that, but with Jamie he took nearly two years off before getting back to his fast paced life. This year with the divorce and his tour ending and his new movie, he’s only seen the kids about once a month. So Y/N lets him reach down and kiss Brin before turning away to pull open a drawer and find her sleeping attire. 

“M’sorry for not getting here this morning,” Harry says softly as he stands straight up again. 

“It’s fine,” she mutters back, putting down her clothes on the bed. 

“It’s not, this is suppose to be for the kids and I messed it up already,” he says. She meets his gaze and leans into the bed while thinking of how to respond. Because he was entirely right. This wasn’t time for you two to fight, it was supposed to be happy for Christmas for the kids. 

She feels her head spin from the wine she drank. Which causes her to take a seat on the bed, carefully to not wake Brinley. Harry watches her intently, making sure she doesn’t fall over. Y/N gets this weird flashback, back in thier early years of being together when she’d have a bit too much to drink and he’d take care of her - cuddling her till she fell asleep. 

“Speaking of,” Harry begins, chuckling a little, “Jamie needs a bit of a haircut, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she agrees, chuckling as well. “He just doesn’t, um, listening very much so I kinda feared bringing him in and him moving around while someone tries to cut off his beautiful curls,” 

“His dad doesn’t like his hair cut either,” Harry mentions. 

“But you got it cut again,” she states, “for a movie?” 

“Yeah,” Harry nods. She yawns then, moving a hand back to envelope Brin’s as she fights back sleep to keep talking to Harry. “I’ll let you get some sleep,” Harry yawns suddenly too, “suppose my jet lag is going to catch up sooner than later,” 

“Asia? That’ll be hard,” she exclaims. 

“I’ll get through it, always have,” he shrugs. Then he lets his hand fall down to brush her arm before he gives her a small smile, “sleep well, love,” 

She don’t respond, just sitting there staring down at her hand in Brin’s and thinking of the days she’d be sharing a bed with Harry and not staying across the hallway. Y/N sighs and stands up to get changed before flipping off the lamp and getting into bed. Hopefully tomorrow was better than today. 

⏤

Y/N woke up in a panic the next morning.

Waking to the sound of something banging. She doesn’t recall the last morning she hadn’t been woken up by Brin’s grabbing hands or Jamie shouting and crying. But she had a bloody heart attack when neither of those things happened. All of a sudden she hears Brinley screeching of excitement and Jamie laughing, the sounds bring a smile to her lips. Rolling over in bed once more, stretching out her limbs, Y/N takes another few moments to herself before getting ready to join them downstairs. 

Harry hadn’t been able to sleep from the jet lag and time changes so he woke up earlier than anyone else. Jamie was up only moments after him, hearing his feet padding across the floor into the bathroom, Harry looks out his door to see his son reach up on his tippy toes and turn on the bathroom light before closing the door. That’s when Harry decides to wake up Brinley now too, walking across the hallway to open Y/N’s door as quietly as he can. Only with his movements, his daughter sits up in bed and rubs her eyes tiredly before seeing her daddy standing there. 

As carefully as he can, not trying to wake his ex wife at all, he walks around the bed and lifts Brin into his arms. Kissing her a many times as he possibly can while whispering to her, “daddy missed you so much, you’re so big now huh Brinny Bunny?” 

Once they get downstairs, Harry messes with the touch screen and manages to turn on the lights and open the curtains of the floor to ceiling windows that rounded the back of the house, looking out to a beautiful view of the mountains. He then finds a way to the music system, of course, asking Jamie what he wanted to listen to as he jumps on the couch - already a ball of energy since he first saw his dad upon getting out of the bathroom. 

Harry’s got eggs in one pan and bacon in another, potato hash in the oven on low since he finished it first. Jamie decided he wants to help with toast, while Brinley started to cry anytime Harry tried to put her down. That’s till she sees her mommy walking down the large staircase. Y/N’s wearing a lavender cable knit sweater that’s rolled up a few times at her wrists with a pair of black skin tight leggings, wool socks upon her feet too while her hair’s wavy while let down. As he watches her walk towards him, arms out for Brin, he realizes the sweater was once his - way back years and years ago. 

“Whatcha making?” she asks, then she turns to little Brin and tickles her before speaking in a baby voice, “huh? What are you and daddy making for breakfast?” 

“M’making toast!” Jamie cheers from behind her, causing Y/N to turn around and give him a smile as he tries to butter a piece of toast - not entirely too well of course. 

“Way to go, buddy,” she smiles and walk over to give him a high five. 

Y/N tries her best to help out Harry with breakfast before all four of them take a seat at the dinner table and enjoy the lovely meal. Jamie ate up everything and even suggested himself to go get changed for the day before either Y/N or Harry could tell him to. The day would be full of family activities, starting with some things up on the mountain. Harry helped Jamie every step of the way, and Jamie stayed glued to his dad’s hip the whole time too. While Y/N would happily stay back and hold Brinley while Harry explained to Jamie how to hold onto the tubes properly. 

After time at the mountain, Harry buys everyone a hot chocolate and then it’s time to head back to the cabin. Here Y/N is thinking that the day’s going to go by completely fine, greta even, but she’s sadly mistaken. She’s helping Brinley put one last candy on her gingerbread house when Jamie turns to Harry with his hand in a fist. 

“Knuckles,” Jamie grins, holding his fist out for Harry to pound his into. 

Harry furrows his brows but does it, “when did this become a thing?” he asks. 

“Mommy’s new friend showed me, he says it’s cooler than a high five,” Jamie explains innocently, but little does the little boy know that he just started another fight between his parents. 

Harry turns to Y/N with his brows wound tight, eyes narrowed at the thought of her seeing someone new. And not only that, but bringing whatever asshat around his kids too. He doesn’t smile for the photo Y/N wants of him and the kids with their gingerbread houses, and he doesn’t say a word to her while they put the kids to bed. It’s not till they have wrapping paper and the large amount of presents around the living room that Harry decides to start the fight. 

“Who’s the new guy then?” Harry asks. 

Y/N sighs, ripping off a piece of tape and securing it to the wrapping paper on the new Baby Alive you had bought for Brin. “He’s just a friend,” she mumbles while picking up the pen and turning the over the Christmas themed tag to write ‘To Brinley From Santa’. 

“What’s the guys name?” he questions, not willing to give up easily of course. 

“Harry, it’s not like that,” she says, already growing tired of this conversation. 

“I just want to know what kind of guy you’re bringing around my damn kids, Y/N,” Harry says, his voice turned sharp with each word. Y/N tosses the pen to the ground and stand to bring the present over to the tree. 

“His name is Brandon, he’s been working with my dad at the firm for almost 10 years, started out an intern or whatever. You might have even met him before, at one of my dad’s work things,” she explains, “if you even fucking went to any, can’t remember if you did now,” she adds with a bitter voice. 

“Oh great, make me the fucking bad guy again, huh?” 

“Would you fucking relax!” She shouts at him. 

“No, cause you’re seeing some bloody bloke and bringing him around my fucking kids without my permission!” Harry matches her tone, anger boiling through his veins now. 

“I don’t need your permission anymore!” 

“They’re still my kids!”

“Then act like it!”

Harry doesn’t have a comeback. She had silenced him, lips formed a tight line and eyes narrowed while she lets out a deep breath and continues to wrap her babies gifts. Fighting with Harry wasn’t what this trip was about, even if it just kept happening, Christmas morning was mere hours away and these presents needed to be wrapped. Y/N knew how hard this was going to be when she agreed to this. But she just wanted the kids to have fun and feel loved, even though they came from broken home where their mom struggled daily and their dad was never really around. 

Y/N picks up another doll set, laying it out on the wrapping paper before cutting it to the right size and tapping it up. Harry just sat there, lip between his fingers as he watches her. He knew he wasn’t around much this year. But this year has been the worst year of his life. His wife left him, got custody of the kids, and his drinking problem only got worse. He wanted this trip to make things even a little bit better. He missed this, minus the fighting, he just missed his family. 

Then to hear that only five months later and Y/N was moving along fine without him. Finding some law firm fool to fill whatever void she had made when she left Harry, it hurts a lot more than he expected it would. He still loved her, so bloody much, and he always would. He got jealous, started a fight yet again, and now watched as tears well up in her eyes. 

“I don’t know how to do this,” Harry mutters, bringing both hands to his face. 

“Neither do I, H,” she says, putting down the things in her hands and watching her ex husband who’s sitting on the couch. “But I’m trying,” she adds. 

“I don’t even know how to do that, Y/N,” he says softly into his hands. 

Y/N’s chest aches at the sight of Harry so upset. Through these months apart, she hasn’t really been able to sit and talk with Harry. He’s always been gone, doing something else for his career while she stayed in LA and raised the kids. Without really thinking of what she was doing, she crawls over and places herself between his legs, one arm on his knee while she tilts her head to try and meet his gaze. When he lifts his hands and looks down at her, she sees the glassy look of his green eyes. 

“All you have to do was ask, Harry,” she says softly, “if you want to come and spend a weekend with them, just ask, if you have free time during a day and want to come have tea with Brin then do that. Don’t go hiding away, don’t ignore them, please,” she has silent tears falling down her face now. He looks down at her red eyes, wanting to brush away the tears that fall for him. But he can’t, she left him.

“I miss you,” Harry says. 

Her bottom lip quivers while chills run through her body. Suddenly being so close to Harry doesn’t seem like a good idea. Y/N lets her head drop, breaking the heart aching gaze, and letting her hair fall into her face. She should move, stand up and get back to the presents, but then his hand brushes away her hair and cups her cheek, lifting her face up to meet his eyes once more. 

“I miss you, Y/N,” Harry repeats himself, eyes still glassy with tears that threaten to fall as he stares into her eyes. 

“I miss you too,” she says, voice cracking. 

Those four words is all it takes for Harry’s heart to hammer in his chest while he effortlessly lifts her up onto the couch with him. Both of her hands find his face instantly while flashbacks flood her mind. So young and so deeply in love with each other. Before everything went the wrong way. She let’s out a shaky breath while Harry’s hands are slowly massaging her hips and lower back. Her eyes shut closed, head leaning closer inch by inch till she can feel his hot breath on her skin. She licks her lips, tasting her strawberry chapstick, before she lets out one last deep breath and touches her lips to his. 

It’s like she’s lost hearing, her ears ringing as his lips move against hers for the first time in over five months. She can hear her pulse though, beating so fast while Harry’s is doing the exact same thing. He can’t believe this is happening. And he isn’t going to waste a moment of it, he thinks while dragging his hands up and down her body feeling every curve again. He kisses her with as much passion and love as he can. 

After a few moments, Y/N feels herself breaking in his touch. She lets out a deep breath through her nose before pulling away from his lips, touching her forehead to his. Lips forming a pout as she shuts her eyes tight, tears falling fast down her cheeks.  

“Please, love, please,” Harry whispers, breath still hot against her skin. “Please don’t do this,” he continues. 

Y/N remembers hearing these same words through a phone, a voicemail to be exact, five months ago. But then she was so angry, so upset that he had gotten that way. But now he’s here, sitting under her with his hands stroking her arms gently. Y/N’s hands are firm on his chest, feeling how it rises and falls like hers is.

“I did it though, H,” she breathes out. 

Harry’s chest shakes then, while his arms pull her body firmly against his. His forehead slipping away to rest upon her shoulder, quiet sobs shaking through his body and breaking her heart each time. A overwhelming feeling of guilt and regret wash over Y/N. But she knows she has to think right in this moment. As much as she wants to kiss away his pain and spend the night wrapped up in him between the sheets. She slowly gets up from the couch, cupping his cheek in her hand as he slouches into her touch. 

“H,” she says softly, causing his red eyes to meet hers. “We can’t just do this, there’s so many things that need to be fixed, so many problems that had to be solved,” 

“Just give me another chance, please, I can fix this- I can fix us,” Harry says, lips quivering as he stares into her eyes. 

“Lets- lets just talk about this after tomorrow,” she says, “tomorrow is about Jamie and Brin, not about us,” 

Harry takes a moment, sniffling a few times as she rubs the pad of her thumb across the hint of stubble thats along his jaw. Y/N is thinking so much her head hurts. She means it, she wants to talk about them again but not on Christmas. If there was even a sliver of hope that Harry’s changed, she was willing to cling onto it in this moment and try to feel that same overwhelming love she once knew from him. 

“You get some sleep, I can finish up the wrapping,” Harry says, his voice even again now. 

She nods her head and decides to take up his offer, knowing very well this extra hour of sleep would really just mean an extra hour of thinking while staring up at the ceiling - and she’s completely right. She doesn’t fall asleep till about twenty minutes after she hears Harry get to his room. And then she isn’t surprised to wake up to Jamie and Brinley both jumping on her shouting about the presents Santa had left for them. Y/N has a grin on her face as she holds Jamie’s hand and holds Brin on her hip as they walk down the staircase, an aroma of coffee filling her nose as she sees Harry pouring two mugs for them both. 

When his eyes reach hers, his lips curl up into a grin of his own. Thoughts of what had happened between them two last night still playing over and over in his brain - hers too. But right now, Christmas morning, was all for the kids. Jamie runs off towards the pile of presents, Brin kicking to be let go and follow after him. Y/N keeps up with them, knowing that Jamie will open every present under that tree regardless of the name on the tag. 

“One at a time, baby,” she says as Jamie tries to grab two big boxes with his name on it. 

“Mommy this one has your name,” Jamie says after opening a few more of his own, on the hunt to find more but instead he lifts up a small wrapped up box that he can hold in one hand. She gives him a smile, thanking him, before looking down at the tag to see Harry’s handwriting - ‘To Y/N love Harry’, she looks over to where he sits beside her on the couch. 

He gives her a smile and nods to the box in her hands. Y/N feels her heart beat pick up pace as she slips a finger under the paper and rips it open. In her hands are a familiar navy blue velvet box, one that once hid in Harry’s sock drawer for weeks. Her eyes flicker over to Harry’s again, eyebrows pulled together as he just smiles. Finally she opens the box to reveal a silver ring with one simple diamond at the centre - her first promise ring. 

“H,” she breathes out while taking it from the box. 

“I made you a promise almost 7 years ago now, and somewhere along the way I messed it up. And you don’t have to give me another chance, but I’d be a bloody fool to not ask for it,” Harry says, eyes glued to hers. Y/N breaks the gaze to look back down at the ring, she hasn’t seen it since it was replaced with an engagement ring all those years ago. Rolling her lips into her mouth, she lifts it from the box and slips it onto her ring finger - on her right hand this time. 

Harry doesn’t have time to say anything else as Brinley runs into his lap with her new Baby Alive in her hands, in her own jumble of words, Harry realizes that his little daughter wants her baby out of the box. Harry chuckles and tells her he’ll be right back with scissors to get out her new toy. 

“Mommy can we have Brinley’s cake for breakfast?” Jamie asks, both his hands full of his many different toys. 

Y/N chuckles at his suggestion and shakes her head, “sorry buddy, not going to happen,” she says. 

“But it’s Brinley’s birthday!” Jamie protests. 

“Hey, don’t start,” Harry’s voice echoes through the room as he approaches Jamie, his facial expression stern as he looks at his pouting little boy. “Mom said no, so no means no, right?” 

“Right,” Jamie mutters, frowning as he walks over and continues to play with his toys. 

Harry walks back into the kitchen to return the scissors, while Y/N smiles as Brinley brings her Baby Alive to her lap and yaps on about it. Y/N goes along, saying how pretty her baby is before Jamie starts playing with Brinley and her toys too. It’s such a heart warming sight before her, here on Christmas with her kids so happy. Her heart warms even more as she feels Harry thread his fingers though her hair, resting his hand on his right shoulder gently. Y/N smile grows while she reaching up and grabs his hand with hers. 

Looking down, Harry sees the ring upon her right hand and his lips tug up into a soft smile. Although today was going to be amazing, celebrating his baby Brinny’s first birthday, he couldn’t wait to figure things out tomorrow with Y/N. He’s come to the realization over these past few months that he’d do anything to get her back.

[deadlygoddess85]

More about me!

Say this somewhere and I thought I’d tell you more about me! 

1. Name: Joanie

2. Nationality: French Canadian

3. Age: 35

4. Birthday: October 20th

5. Zodiac sign: Libra

6. Gender: Woman

7. Sexuality: I don’t define myself by any word describing sexuality. 

8. Your looks: Meh...it’s my look, I don’t care if you like it or not. 

9. What do you: I’m an assistant director of a company

10. What's your current job like? It’s ok, I guess. Very challenging! 

-

11. Your birth order: Youngest

12. How many siblings do you have? 1, but my brother is unfortunately deceased

13. Do you have good relations with your family? Yes

14. How many friends do you have? a few

15. Your relationship status: Married

16. What do you look for in a SO? Someone who will pull-up with my shit :p (and I found him soooo...)

17. Do you have a crush? yes

18. When did you have your first kiss? I was 17

19. Do you prefer serious and meaningful relationships or casual dating/one night stands? Serious and meaningful...

20. What are your deal breakers? Douche who can’t respect their s/o, bad hygiene, someone who can’t get along with my family.  

-

21. How was your day? Meh...pretty quiet. 

22. Favourite food & drink: home cooked food, water, soda.

23. What position do you sleep in? on my left side most of the time.

24. What was your last dream about? Ateez :p

25. Your fears: The dark 

26. Your dreams: Right now? It would be for Covid to be done, so I could go visit my friends. 

27. Your goals: To be happy!!!

28. Any pets? A cat, Lilo!

29. What are your hobbies? Gaming, writing, DnD, baking, cooking, listening music.

30. Any cool places in your area? Yes! We have “Les Passerelles” but they are unfortunately closed right now because of Covid. We have the pier, the whole downtown area. 

31. What was your last awkward situation? I tried to quite a job I don’t really like, but the manager didn’t want me to leave....like, dude, let me go!

32. What is your last regret? It all involve my past...

33. Language/s you can speak: English, French and a bit of Spanish, Oh and I knew a few Korean words :P...

34. Do you believe in astrological stuff? Kinda

35. Have any quirks? A LOT!!!

36. Your pet peeves: I’m stubborn..like A LOT!!!

37. Ideal vacation: Anywhere as long as i’m with goo people

38. Any scars? No

39. What does your last text message say? Ok thanks - From my dad

40. Last 5 things from your search history: Rage of Light / Eleine / Tumblr / YouTube / Spotify

41. What's your [device] background? Not sure I understand this question...

42. What do you daydream about? Everything...I’m an hopeless romantic and I daydream all the time. 

43. Describe your dream home: Doesn’t need to be big, but I’d have an amazing gaming room ;) 

44. What's your religion: I don’t have any religion. I believe in a power greater than man, life is mysterious. 

45. Your personality type: Funny, friendly, easy going. 

46. The most dangerous thing you've done: Staying with a violent alcoholic for 7 years

47. Are you happy with your current life? Mostly...

48. Some things you've tried in your life: ??? This is a very vague question, I’ve tried many things...what do you want to know specifically? 

-

49. What does your wardrobe consist of? Skinny jeans, shirts, combat boots. 

50. Favourite colour to wear? black, purple, red.

51. How would you describe your style? tomboy-ish

52. Are you happy with your current looks? Yes!

53. If you could change/add something to your appearance - impossible or not - what would it be? Getting a sexier body.

54. Any tattoos or piercings? 16 tattoos, 0 piercing 

55. Do you get complimented often? Not really.

56. Favourite aesthetic? Anything grungy, gothic type etc..

57. A popular trend that you dislike: Ugh...I don’t want to start on that!

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58. Songs you're currently obsessed with? Reason to believe - Arch enemy / All shall burn - Eleine / Middle of the night - Monsta X. 

59. Song you normally wouldn't admit you like: My oh my - Aqua

60. Favourite genre? Everything, really!!! 

61. Favourite artist/band/genre? Ateez

62. Hated popular songs/artists? WAP - Cardi B

63. Put your music on shuffle and list first 5: That’s what’s working right now - Trent Tomlingson / We know the way - Opetaia Foa’i /  Try - Pink / Say you’ll be there - Spice Girls / PAPI - Isabela Merced.

64. Can you sing or play any instruments? I can sing!!! 

65. Do you like karaoke? Yes

66. Own any albums? Yes Ateez albums

67. Do you listen to radio? What stations? Yes - NRJ 102.3

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68. Favorite movie/series? Along with the gods: The two worlds. / Lucifer 

69. Favorite genre of movies/books/etc: I don’t have any favorite. 

70. Your fictional crush/es:  Park Sae-royi - Itaewon class

71. Which fictional character is you? Robin Schabowski - How I met your mother...(I think...)

72. Are you a shipper? Meh

73. Favorite greek god(dess)? Aphrodite

74. A legend from where you live that you like: The legend of “La Chasse Galerie”

75. Do you like art? What's your favourite work or artist? Yes and idk

76. Can you share your other social media? NO

77. Favourite youtubers? Markiplier / Tingting ASMR /  Dancing Bacon

78. Favourite platform? Twitter / Youtube

79. How much time do you spend on the internet? Too much

80. What video games have you played? Which one's your favourite? Borderlands series - Skyrim - Fallout series - Sniper Elite 4 - Rainbow six series - Call of Duty Black Op - Minecraft - Red dead redemption - Assassin’s creed  series - Resident Evil 5 and 6 - etc....

81. Your favourite books: Alyss from Patrick Senecal / Queen of the Damned - Anne Rice

82. Do you play board/card games? Yes I LOVE to play with friends and family. 

83. Have you ever been to a night marathon in cinema? No

84. Favourite holiday: Halloween and Christmas

85. Are you into dramas? YES!!!!

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86. Would you use death note, if you had one? YES

87. What changes would you make in the world, no matter how impossible, if you had the power to? I’d stop racism, bullying and open minds. 

88. Could you survive a zombie apocalypse? HA! I don’t know, I want to believe that yes I could, but...I doubt.

89. If you had to be turned into a paranormal being, what would it be? Depends of the power that would come with the being (cause it changes depending on the culture) But a vampire would be my first choice. 

90. What would you want to happen to you after your death? Be in peace and being able to see the loved one I lost at least one more time. 

91. If you had to change your name, what would be your pick?  I love my name I don’t want to change it. 

92. Who would you switch your life with for a week? No one! other people’s life can look fun and interesting from outside, but sometimes with can be very surprised. So, I want to keep my life. 

93. Pick an emoji to be your tattoo: NO! Never....

94. Write 3 things about yourself - only one of them must be true: I know all the lyrics of We will rock you - Queen / I’ve been threaten to death three times in my life / I had a car accident last year

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95. Cold or hot? Neither...I like a perfect temperature 

96. Be a hero or be a villain? OH! Be a villain who turns to be a hero.

97. Sing everything you want to say or rhyme? Both

98. Shapeshifting or controlling time? Shapeshifting

99. Be immortal or be immune to everything aside from natural death? Immune

100. Hope you enjoyed this list, if you have any question, don’t be afraid to ask ;) 

[gaysparklepires]

10. Theory

Read on AO3

“Can I ask just one more?” he entreated instead of answering my demand.

I was on edge, anxious for the worst. And yet, how tempting it was to prolong this moment. To have Beau with me, willingly, for just a few seconds longer. I sighed at the dilemma, and then said, “One.”

“Well…,” he hesitated for a moment, as if deciding which question to voice. “You said you knew I hadn’t gone into the bookstore, and that I had gone south. I was just wondering how you knew that.”

I glared out the windshield. Here was another question that revealed nothing on his part, and too much on mine.

“Really? I thought we were past all the evasiveness,” he said, his tone critical and disappointed.

How ironic. He was relentlessly evasive, without even trying.

Well, he wanted me to be direct. And this conversation wasn’t going anywhere good, regardless.

“Fine, then,” I said. “I followed your scent.”

I wanted to watch his face, but I was afraid of what I would see. Instead, I listened to his breath accelerate and then stabilize. He spoke again after a moment, and his voice was steadier than I would have expected.

“And then you didn’t answer one of my first questions…” he said.

I looked down at him, frowning. He was stalling, too.

“Which one?”

“How does it work—the mind-reading thing?” he asked, reiterating his question from the restaurant. “Can you read anybody’s mind, anywhere? How do you do it? Can the rest of your family do the same thing?” His seemed more confident with his questions now.

“That’s more than one question,” I said.

He just looked at me, waiting for his answers.

And why not tell him? He’d already guessed most of this, and it was an easier subject that the one that loomed.

“No, it’s just me. And I can’t hear anyone, anywhere. They have to be fairly close. The more familiar someone’s… ‘voice’ is, the farther away I can hear them. But still, no more than a few miles.” I tried to think of a way to describe it so that he would understand. An analogy that he could relate to. “It’s a little like being in a huge hall filled with people, everyone talking at once. It’s just a hum—a buzzing of voices in the background. Until I focus on one voice, and then what they’re thinking is clear. Most of the time, I tune it all out—it can be very distracting. And then it’s easier to seem normal”—I grimaced—”when I’m not accidentally answering someone’s thought rather than their words.”

“Why do you think you can’t hear me?” he wondered.

Ah. The question of the century. I examined his face, searching for the answer in his beautiful eyes and coming up short yet again. I decided to give him another truth and another analogy.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The only guess I have is that maybe your mind doesn’t work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I’m only getting FM.”

I realized that he would not like this analogy. The anticipation of his reaction had me smiling. He didn’t disappoint.

“Did you just suggest my mind doesn’t work right?” he asked, his voice rising with chagrin. “Like I’m a freak?”

Ah, the irony again.

“I hear voices in my mind and you’re worried that you’re the freak,” I laughed. He understood all the small things, and yet the big ones he got backwards. Always the wrong instincts…

Beau was gnawing on his lip, and the crease between his eyes was etched deep.

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “It’s just a theory…” And there was a more important theory to be discussed. I was anxious to get it over with. Each passing second was beginning to feel more and more like borrowed time.

“Which brings us back to you.”

He sighed, still chewing his lip—I worried that he would hurt himself. He stared into my eyes, his face troubled.

“Aren’t we past all evasions now?” I asked quietly.

He looked down, struggling with some internal dilemma. Suddenly, he stiffened and his eyes flew wide open. Fear flashed across his face for the first time.

“Holy crow!” he gasped.

I panicked. What had he seen? How had I frightened him?

Then he shouted, “Slow down!”

“What’s wrong?” I didn’t understand where his terror was coming from.

“You’re pushing a hundred and ten miles an hour!” he yelled at me. He flashed a look out the window, and recoiled from the dark trees racing past us.

This little thing, just a bit of speed, had him shouting in fear?

I rolled my eyes. “Relax, Beau.”

“Are you trying to kill us?” he demanded, his voice high and tight.

“We’re not going to crash,” I promised him.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and then spoke in a slightly more level tone. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“I always drive like this.”

I met his gaze, amused by his shocked expression.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Edward!” He shouted.

“I’ve never had an accident, Beau—I’ve never even gotten a ticket.” I grinned at him and touched my forehead. It made it even more comical—the absurdity of being able to joke with him about something so secret and strange. “Built-in radar detector.”

“Very funny,” he said sarcastically, his voice more frightened than angry. “Charlie’s a cop, remember? I was raised to abide by traffic laws. Besides, if you turn us into a Volvo pretzel around a tree trunk, you can probably just walk away.”

“Probably,” I repeated, and then laughed without humor. Yes, we would fare quite differently in a car accident. He was right to be afraid, despite my driving abilities… “But you can’t.”

With a sigh, I let the car drift to a crawl. “Happy?”

He eyed the speedometer, and smirked. “Good boy.”

I felt a thrill of excitement rush through my body at his words. I couldn’t understand what I was feeling. I narrowed my eyes and stared at him, but I couldn’t fight the smile that wanted to break across my face

Despite the thrill of his words, the torture of crawling along the highway was nearly unbearable. “I hate driving slow.” I muttered, but let the needle slide another notch down.

“This is slow?” he asked.

“Enough commentary on my driving,” I said impatiently. He stifled a laugh at my tone, but I was frustrated now. How many times had he dodged my question? Three times? Four? Were his speculations that horrific? I had to know—immediately. “I’m still waiting for your latest theory.”

He bit his lip again, and his expression became upset, almost pained.

I reined in my impatience and softened my voice. I didn’t want him to be distressed.

“I won’t laugh,” I promised, wishing that it was only embarrassment that made him unwilling to talk.

“I’m not worried about that.” His voice was soft.

“Then what?” I pressed.

“I’m worried that you’ll be… upset,” he whispered.

I considered his words. I didn’t want him to be worried about that. I never wanted him to be afraid of me being upset with him. It made me feel more like a monster than I already was. I watched him from the corners of my eyes. He was fretting. Rubbing his hands, nervously. I decided to take a chance. I held my hand out towards him—just a few centimeters.

His eyes darted up to mine, confusion apparent in their silvery depths.

“Don’t worry about me,” I assured him. “I can handle it.”

He tentatively took my hand, and I curled my fingers around his as gently as I could for just a brief moment. Absorbing the sensation of his warm hand—like silk over glass. Glass I could shatter with the slightest wrong move. I unwillingly untangled my hand from his and placed it on the gearshift.

He slowly placed his hand over the top of mine again. Did he really want his hand on mine? Was he truly not repulsed by my hand? He ran his thumb along the outside of my hand, tracing from my wrist to the tip of my little finger. The sensation was exhilarating, and yet I could not revel in it as deeply as I wished. He had to be repulsed by the cold hardness of my skin…

“The suspense is killing me, Beau,” the words came out a shaky breath as I watched his hand. His touch was stirring me in ways I couldn’t understand.

His voice was small. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Why don’t you start at the beginning…” I remembered his words before dinner. “You said you didn’t come up with this on your own?”

“No,” he agreed, and then he was silent again.

I thought about what might have inspired him. “What got you started—a book? A film?”

I should have looked through his collections when he was out of the house. I had no idea if Bram Stoker or Anne Rice was there in his stack of worn paperbacks…

“No,” he said again. “It was Saturday, at the beach.”

I hadn’t expected that. The local gossip about us had never strayed into anything too bizarre—or too precise. Was there a new rumor I’d missed? Beau peeked up at me and saw the surprise on my face.

“I ran into an old family friend—Jacob Black,” he went on. “His dad and Charlie have been friends since I was a baby.”

Jacob Black—the name was no familiar, and yet it reminded me of something… some time, long ago… I stared out of the windshield, flipping through memories to find the connection.

“His dad is one of the Quileute elders,” he said.

Jacob Black. Ephraim Black. A descendant, no doubt.

It was as bad as it could get.

He knew the truth.

My mind was flying through the ramifications as the car flew around the dark curves in the road, my body rigid with anguish—motionless except for the small, automatic actions it took to steer the car.

He knew the truth.

But… if he’d learned the truth Saturday… then he’d known it all evening long… and yet…

“We went for a walk on the beach together,” he went on.

Despite my growing panic, I still felt a twinge of jealousy over the way he described the walk. Laughable. Like that mattered anymore now that he knew the truth.

He continued, “And he was telling me about some old legends—trying to scare me, I guess. He told me one…”

He stopped short, but there was no need for his qualms now; I knew what he was going to say. The only mystery left was why he was here with me now.

“Go on,” I said.

“About vampires,” he breathed, the words less than a whisper.

Somehow, it was even worse than knowing that he knew, hearing him speak the word aloud. I flinched at the sound of it. Yet, his thumb continued to trace the lines of my hand. Somehow, the gesture comforted me and I controlled myself again.

“And… you immediately thought of me?” I asked.

“No. He mentioned your family.”

How ironic that it would be Ephraim’s own progeny that would violate the treaty he’d vowed to uphold. A grandson, or great-grandson perhaps. How many years had it been? Seventy?

I should have realized that it was not the old men who believed in the legends that would be the danger. Of course, the younger generation—those who would have been warned, but would have thought the ancient superstitions laughable—of course that was where the danger of exposure would lie.

I suppose this meant I was now free to slaughter the small, defenseless tribe on the coastline, were I so inclined. Ephraim and his pack of protectors were long dead…

“He just thought it was a silly folk-tale,” Beau said suddenly, his voice edged with a new anxiety. “He didn’t expect me to think anything of it.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his free hand tense uneasily.

“It was my fault,” he said after a brief pause, and then he hung his head as if he were ashamed. “I convinced him to tell me.”

“Why?” It wasn’t so hard to keep my voice level now. The worst was already done. As long as we spoke of the details of the revelation, we didn’t have to move on to the consequences of it.

“Logan said something about you—he was trying to provoke me.” He made a little face at the memory. I was slightly distracted, wondering how Beau would be provoked by someone talking about me… “And an older boy from the tribe said your family didn’t come to the reservation, only it sounded like he meant something different. So, when Jacob and I went off alone I asked him.”

His head dropped slightly lower as he admitted this.

Surely, there was more to the story. The Black boy must have had some idea that the tribe legends were secrets. Surely he wouldn’t have just given away the information.

“You must have said something to convince him to tell you.”

Beau looked confused by this, “No… I just… asked him?”

Suddenly, I could just imagine—considering the attraction he seemed to have for everyone, totally unconscious on his part—how overwhelming his charm could be, when he wasn’t even trying. Alone, walking on the beach with this boy and his stunning silver eyes, I was suddenly full of pity for the unsuspecting boy he’d questioned and I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“You obviously don’t understand your own charm,” I said, and then I laughed again with black humor. I wished I could have heard the Black boy’s reaction, witnessed the devastation for myself. “And you accused me of dazzling people—poor Jacob Black.”

I wasn’t as angry with the source of my exposure as I would have expected to feel. He didn’t know any better. And how could I except anyone to deny Beau what he wanted? No, I only felt sympathy for the damage Beau would have done to the Black boy’s peace of mind.

I felt his blush heat the air between us. I glanced at him, and he was glaring at me, scarlet faced. “Are you jealous?” he said quickly.

I probably was, if I was honest. How much I would prefer it were me walking along the beach with Beau while he unleashed the full power of his charm on me. Ah, perchance to dream.

“What did you do then?” I prompted. Time to get back to the horror story.

“I did some research on the internet.”

Ever practical. “And did that convince you?”

“No,” he said. “Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…” He trailed off. He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “I decided… It didn’t matter,” he whispered the words.

Shock froze my thoughts for a half-second, and then it all fit together. Why he’d sent his friends away tonight rather than escape with them. Why he had gotten into my car with me again instead of running, screaming for the police…

His reactions were always wrong—always completely wrong. He pulled danger toward himself. He invited it.

“It didn’t matter?” I said through my teeth, anger filling me. I pulled my hand out from under his. How was I supposed to protect someone so… so… so determined to be unprotected?

“No,” he said in a low voice that was inexplicably tender. “It doesn’t matter to me what you are.”

He was impossible.

“You don’t care if I’m a monster? If I’m not human?”

“No.”

I started to wonder if he was entirely stable.

I supposed that I could arrange for him to receive the best care available… Carlisle would have the connections to find him the most skilled doctors, the most talented therapists. Perhaps something could be done to fix whatever it was that was wrong with him, what ever it was that made him content to sit beside a vampire with his heart beating calmly and steadily. I would watch over the facility, naturally, and visit as often as I was allowed…

“You’re upset,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

As if him hiding these disturbing tendencies would help either of us.

“No. I’d rather know what you’re thinking—even if what you’re thinking is insane.”

I had rested my hand back on the gearshift, and his hand returned to stroking the back of mine with his thumb. Despite everything, it was soothing.

“What are you thinking about now?” I needed to know, I needed some explanation to the workings of his mind.

“I’m just curious about a few things.” His voice was composed.

It was like it didn’t matter what I was. He didn’t care. He knew I was inhuman, a monster, and this didn’t really matter to him.

Aside from my worries about his sanity, I began to feel a swelling of hope. I tried to quash it.

“What are you curious about?” I asked him. There were no secrets left, only minor details.

“How old are you?” he asked.

My answer was automatic and ingrained. “Seventeen.”

“And how long have you been seventeen?”

I tried not to smile at the patronizing tone. “A while,” I admitted.

“Okay,” he said, abruptly enthusiastic. He smiled up at me. When I stared back, anxious again about his mental health, he smiled wider. I grimaced.

“Don’t laugh,” he warned. “But how can you come out during the daytime?”

I laughed despite his request. His research had not netted him anything unusual, it seemed. “Myth,” I told him.

“Burned by the sun?”

“Myth.”

“Sleeping in coffins?”

“Myth.”

Sleep had not been a part of my life for so long—not until these last few nights, as I’d watched Beau dreaming…

“I can’t sleep,” I murmured, answering his question more fully.

He was silent for a moment.

“At all?”

“Never,” I breathed.

I stared into his eyes, wide under the thick fringe of lashes, and yearned for sleep. Not for oblivion, as I had before, not to escape boredom, but because I wanted to dream. Maybe I could be unconscious, if I could dream, I could live for a few hours in a world where he and I could be together. He dreamed of me. I wanted to dream of him.

He stared back at me, his expression full of wonder. I had to look away.

I could not dream of him. He should not dream of me.

“You haven’t asked the most important question yet,” I said, my silent chest colder and harder than before. He had to be forced to understand. At some point, he would have to realize what he was doing now. He must be made to see that this all did matter—more than any other consideration. Considerations like the fact that I loved him.

“Which one is that?” he asked, surprised and unaware.

This only made my voice harder. “You aren’t concerned about my diet?”

“Oh. That.” He spoke in a quiet tone that I couldn’t interpret.

“Yes, that. Don’t you want to know if I drink blood?”

He cringed away from my question. Finally. He was understanding.

“Well, Jacob said something about that,” he said.

“What did Jacob say?”

“He said you didn’t… hunt people. He said your family wasn’t supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals.”

“He said we weren’t dangerous?” I repeated cynically.

“Not exactly,” he clarified. “He said you weren’t supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn’t want you on their land, just in case.”

I stared at the road, my thoughts in a hopeless snarl, my throat aching with the familiar fiery thirst.

“So, was he right?” he asked, as calmly as if he were confirming aweather report. “About not hunting people?”

“The Quileutes have a long memory.”

He nodded to himself, thinking hard.

“Don’t let that make you complacent, though,” I said quickly. “They’re right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous.”

“I don’t understand.”

No he didn’t. How to make him see?

“We try,” I told him. “We’re usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example. Allowing myself to be alone with you.”

His scent was still a force in the car. I was growing used to it, I could almost ignore it, but there was no denying that my body still yearned toward him for the wrong reason. My mouth was swimming with venom.

“This is a mistake?” he asked, and there was heartbreak in his voice. The sound of it disarmed me. He wanted to be with me—despite everything, he wanted to be with me.

Hope swelled again, and I beat it back.

“A very dangerous one,” I told him truthfully, wishing the truth could really somehow cease to matter.

He didn’t respond for a moment. I heard his breathing change—it hitched in strange ways that did not sound like fear.

“Tell me more,” he said suddenly, his voice distorted by anguish.

I examined him carefully.

He was in pain. How had I allowed this?

“What more do you want to know?” I asked, trying to think of a way to keep him from hurting. He should not hurt. I couldn’t let him be hurt.

“Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people,” he said, still anguished.

Wasn’t it obvious? Or maybe this didn’t matter to him either.

“I don’t want to be a monster,” I muttered.

“But animals aren’t enough?”

I searched for another comparison, a way that he could understand. “I can’t be sure, of course, but I’d compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn’t completely satiate the hunger—or rather the thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time.” My voice got lower; I was ashamed of the danger I had allowed him to be in. Danger I continued to allow... “Sometimes it’s more difficult than others.”

“Is it very difficult for you now?”

I sighed. Of course he would ask the question I didn’t want to answer. “Yes,” I admitted.

I expected his physical response correctly this time; his breathing held steady, his heart kept an even pattern. I expected it, but I did not understand it. How could he not be afraid?

“But you’re not hungry now,” he declared, perfectly sure of himself.

“Why do you think that?”

“Your eyes,” he said, his tone offhand. “I told you I had a theory. I’ve noticed that people are crabbier when they’re hungry.”

I chuckled at his description: crabby. That was an understatement. But he was dead right, as usual. “You’re observant, aren’t you?”

He smirked, but a crease ran between his eyes as if he were concentrating on something.

“Were you hunting this weekend, with Emmett?” he asked after my laugh had faded. The casual way he spoke was as fascinating as it was frustrating. Could he really accept so much in stride? I was closer to shock than he seemed to be.

“Yes,” I told him, and then, as I was about to leave it at that, I felt the same urge I’d had in the restaurant: I wanted him to know me. “I didn’t want to leave,” I went on slowly, “but it was necessary. It’s a bit easier to be around you when I’m not thirsty.”

“Why didn’t you want to leave?”

I took a deep breath, and then I turned to meet his gaze. This kind of honesty was difficult in a very different way.

“It makes me… anxious,” I supposed that word would suffice, thought it wasn’t strong enough, “to be away from you. I wasn’t joking when I asked you to try not to fall in the ocean or get run over last Thursday. I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I’m surprised that you did make it through a whole weekend unscathed.” Then I remembered the scrapes on his palms. “Well, not totally unscathed,” I amended.

“What?”

“Your hands,” I reminded him.

He sighed and grimaced. “I fell. Once.”

I’d guessed right. “That’s what I thought,” I said, unable to contain my smile. “I suppose it could have been much worse—and that possibility tormented me the entire time I was away. It was a very long three days. I really got on Emmett’s nerves.” Honestly, that didn’t belong in the past tense. I was probably still irritating Emmett, and all the rest of my family, too. Except Alice…

“Three days?” he asked, his voice suddenly sharp. “Didn’t you just get back today?”

I didn’t understand the edge in his voice. “No, we got back Sunday.”

“Then why weren’t any of you in school?” He asked, frustration in his voice. His irritation confused me. He didn’t seem to realize that this question was one that related to mythology again.

“Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn’t,” I said. “But I can’t go out in the sunlight—at least, not where anyone can see.”

That distracted him from his mysterious frustration. “Why?” he asked, leaning his head to one side.

I doubted I could come up with the appropriate analogy to explain this one. So I just told him, “I’ll show you sometime.” And then I wondered if this was a promise I would end up breaking. Would I see him again, after tonight? Did I love him enough yet to be able to bear leaving him?

“You could have called me,” he said.

What an odd conclusion. “But I knew you were safe.”

“But I didn’t know where you were. I—“ He came to an abrupt stop, and looked at his hands.

“What?”

“I just… I thought you might not come back. That somehow you knew that I knew and…” he paused, his voice shy, the skin over his cheekbones warming. “I was afraid you would disappear.”

Are you happy now? I demanded of myself. Well, here was my reward for hoping.

I was bewildered, elated, horrified—mostly horrified—to realize that all my wildest imaginings were not so far off the mark. This was why it didn’t matter to him that I was a monster. It was exactly the same reason that the rules no longer mattered to me. Why right and wrong were no longer compelling influences. Why all my priorities had shifted one rung down to make room for this boy at the very top.

Beau cared for me, too.

I knew it could be nothing in comparison to how I loved him. But it was enough for him to risk his life to sit here with me. To do so gladly.

Enough to cause him pain if I did the right thing and left him.

Was there anything I could do now that would not hurt him? Anything at all?

I should have stayed away. I should never have come back to Forks. I would cause him nothing but pain.

Would that stop me from staying now? From making it worse?

The way I felt right now, feeling his warmth against my skin…

No. Nothing would stop me.

“Ah,” I groaned to myself. “This is wrong.”

“What did I say?” he asked, quick to take the blame on himself.

“Don’t you see, Beau? It’s one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a wholly other thing for you to be so involved. I don’t want to hear that you feel that way.” It was the truth, it was a lie. The most selfish part of me was flying with the knowledge that he wanted me as I wanted him. “It’s wrong. It’s not safe. I’m dangerous, Beau—please grasp that.”

“No.” His lips pouted out.

“I’m serious.” I was battling with myself so strongly—half desperate for him to accept, half desperate to keep the warnings from escaping—that the words came through my teeth as a growl.

“So am I,” he insisted. “I told you, it doesn’t matter to me what you are. It’s too late.”

Too late? The world was bleakly black and white for one endless second as I watched the shadows crawl across the sunny lawn toward Beau’s sleeping form in my memory. Inevitable, unstoppable. They stole the color from his skin, and plunged him into darkness.

Too late? Alice’s vision swirled in my head, Beau’s blood red eyes staring back at me impassively. Expressionless—but there was no way that he could not hate me for that future. Hate me for stealing everything from him. Stealing his life and his soul.

It could not be too late.

“Never say that,” I hissed.

He stared out his window, and his teeth bit into his lip again. His hands were balled into tight fists in his lap. His breathing hitched and broke.

“What are you thinking?” I had to know.

He shook his head without looking at me. I saw something glisten, like a crystal, on his cheek.

Agony. “Are you crying?” I’d made him cry. I’d hurt him that much.

He scrubbed the tears away with the back of his hand.

“No,” he lied, his voice breaking.

Some long buried instinct had me reaching out toward him—in that one second I felt more human than I ever had. And then I remembered that I was… not. And I lowered my hand.

And yet, why couldn’t I be human? Why couldn’t I deny the monster I was and at least try? So I reached out and placed my hand on top of his. His eyes shot open to look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, my jaw locked. How could I ever tell him how sorry I was? Sorry for all the stupid mistakes I’d made. Sorry for my never-ending selfishness. Sorry that he was so unfortunate as to have inspired this first, tragic love of mine. Sorry also for the things beyond my control—that I’d been the monster chosen by fate to end his life in the first place.

I took a deep breath—ignoring the wretched reaction to the flavor in the car—and tried to collect myself, concentrating on gently stroking the back of his hand with my thumb.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” He asked, his voice full of emotion.

I grappled with the question. I wanted nothing more than to see him, but I had hurt him—I had made him cry. Would he want to see me?

“Do you want to see me?” I asked, my voice tinged with the sadness and worry that he would say no.

“I do.” Was his simple reply.

Elation beyond words.

As long as I was on my way to hell—I might as well enjoy the journey.

“Then I’ll be there,” I smiled at him, and it felt good to do this. “I’ll save you a seat at lunch.”

His heart fluttered; my dead heart suddenly felt warmer.

I stopped the car in front of his father’s house. He made no move to leave.

“You’ll really be there tomorrow?” He asked.

“I promise.” I gave his hand a gentle squeeze of assurance—exercising as much control as I could—before removing my hand from his.

How could doing the wrong thing give me so much happiness? Surely there was something amiss in that.

He nodded, satisfied, and started to remove my jacket.

“You can keep it,” I assured him quickly. I rather wanted to leave him with something of myself. A token, like the bottle cap that was in my pocket now… “You don’t have a jacket for tomorrow.”

He handed it back to me, smiling ruefully. “I don’t want to have to explain to Charlie,” he told me.

I would imagine not. I smiled at him. “Oh, right.”

He put his hand on the door handle, and then stopped. Unwilling to leave, just as I was unwilling to let him go.

To have him unprotected, even for a few moments…

Peter and Charlotte were well on their way by now, long past Seattle, no doubt. But there were always others. This world was not a safe place for any human, and for him it seemed to be more dangerous than it was for the rest.

“Beau?” I asked, surprised at the pleasure there was in simply speaking his name.

“Yes?”

“Will you promise me something?”

“Sure,” he said hesitantly, his eyes tightened curiously.

“Don’t go into the woods alone,” I warned him, wondering if this request would trigger the objection in his eyes.

He blinked, startled. “Why?”

I glowered into the untrustworthy darkness. The lack of light was no problem for my eyes, but neither would it trouble another hunter. It only blinded humans.

“I’m not always the most dangerous thing out there,” I told him. “Let’s leave it at that.”

He shivered, but recovered quickly and was even smiling when he told me, “Sure, Edward.”

His breath touched my face, so sweet and fragrant.

I could stay here all night like this, but he needed his sleep. The two desires seemed equally strong as they continually warned inside me; wanting him versus wanting him to be safe.

I sighed at the impossibilities. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, knowing that I would see him much sooner than that. He wouldn’t see me until tomorrow, though.

“Tomorrow, then,” he agreed as he slowly opened his door.

Agony again, watching him leave.

I leaned after him, wanting to hold him there. “Beau?”

My hand caught his, he turned, and then froze, surprised to find our faces so close together.

I, too, was overwhelmed by the proximity. The heat rolled off him in waves, caressing my face. I could all but feel the silk of his skin.

“Beau, I…” but I couldn’t finish. So much I wanted to say, but I didn’t know how. My hand held his, as gently as I could. I searched his silver eyes, wishing I could know how he had decided that he cared for a monster such as myself. More than that, I was searching for the will to be strong enough to be as human as possible for him. I felt myself lean even closer to him, and my lips parted ever so slightly. Why? To speak? Or was some deep, long unspoken human instinct fighting to break free?

His heartbeat stuttered, and his lips fell open.

I could not go any further than this, after all, I was only so strong.

“Sleep well,” I whispered, and leaned away, releasing his hand, before the urgency in my body—either the familiar thirst or the very new and strange hunger I suddenly felt—could make me do something that might hurt him.

He sat there motionless for a moment, his eyes wide and stunned. Dazzled, I guessed.

As was I.

He recovered—though his face was still a bit bemused—and half fell out of the car, tripping over his feet and having to catch the frame of the car to right himself.

I chuckled—hopefully it was too quiet for him to hear.

I watched him stumble his pay up to the pool of light that surrounded the front door. Safe for the moment. And I would be back soon to make sure.

I could feel his eyes follow me as I drove down the dark street. Such a different sensation than I was accustomed to. Usually, I could simply watch myself through someone’s following eyes, were I of a mind to. This was strangely exciting—this intangible sensation of watching eyes. I knew it was just because they were his eyes.

A million thoughts chased each other through my head as I drove aimlessly into the night.

For a long time, I circled through the streets, going nowhere, thinking of Beau and the incredible release of having the truth known. No longer did I have to dread that he would find out what I was. He knew. It didn’t matter to him. Even though this was obviously a bad thing for him, it was amazingly liberating for me.

More than that, I thought of Beau and requited love. He couldn’t love me the way I loved him—such an overpowering, all-consuming, crushing love would probably break his fragile body. But he felt strongly enough. Enough to subdue the instinctive fear. Enough to want to be with me. And being with him was the greatest happiness I had ever known.

For a while—as I was all alone and hurting no one else for a change—I allowed myself to feel that happiness without dwelling on the tragedy. Just to be happy that he cared for me. Just to exult in the triumph of winning his affection. Just to imagine day after day of sitting close to him, hearing his voice and earning and earning his smiles.

I replayed that smile in my head, seeing his full lips pull up at the corners, the hint of a dimple that touched his chin, the way his eyes warmed and melted… His fingers had felt so warm and soft on my hand tonight. I imagined how it would feel to touch the delicate skin that stretched over his cheekbones—silky, warm… so fragile. Silk over glass… frighteningly breakable.

I didn’t see where my thoughts were leading until it was too late. As I dwelt on that devastating vulnerability, new images of his face intruded on my fantasies.

Lost in the shadows, pale with fear—yet his jaw tight and determined, his eyes fierce, full of concentration, his lean body braced to strike at the hulking forms that gathered around him, nightmares in the gloom…

“Ah,” I groaned as the simmering hate that I’d all but forgotten in the joy of loving him burst again into an inferno of rage.

I was alone. Beau was, I trusted, safe inside his home; for a moment I was fiercely glad that Charlie Swan—head of the local law enforcement, trained and armed—was his father. That ought to mean something, provide some shelter for him.

He was safe. It would not take me so very long to avenge the insult…

No. Beau deserved better. I could not allow him to care for a murderer.

But… what about the others?

Beau was safe, yes. Angela and Jessica were also, surely, safe in their beds.

Yet a monster was loose in the streets of Port Angeles. A human monster—did that make him the humans’ problem? To commit the murder I ached to commit was wrong. I knew that. But leaving him free to attack again could not be the right thing either.

The blond hostess from the restaurant. The server I’d never really looked at. Both had irritated me in a trivial way, but that did not mean they deserved to be in danger. This human monster did not discriminate.

Either one of them could be somebody’s Beau.

That realization decided me.

I turned the car north, accelerating now that I had a purpose. Whenever I had a problem that was beyong me—something tangible like this—I knew where I could go for help.

Alice was sitting on the porch, waiting for me. I pulled to a stop in front of the house rather than going around to the garage.

“Carlisle’s in his study,” Alice told me before I could ask.

“Thank you,” I said, tousling her hair as I passed.

Thank you for returning my call, she thought sarcastically.

“Oh.” I paused by the door, pulling out my phone and checking my missed calls. “Sorry. I didn’t even check to see who it was. I was… busy.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, too. By the time I saw what was going to happen, you were on your way.”

“It was close,” I murmured.

Sorry, she repeated, ashamed of herself.

It was easy to be generous, knowing that Beau was fine. “Don’t be. I know you can’t catch everything. No one expects you to be omniscient, Alice.”

“Thanks.”

“I almost asked you out to dinner tonight—did you catch that before I changed my mind?”

She grinned. “No, I missed that one, too. Wish I’d known. I would have come.”

“What were you concentrating on, that you missed so much?”

Jasper’s thinking about our anniversary. She laughed. He’s trying not to make a decision on my gift, but I think I have a pretty good idea…

“You’re shameless.”

“Yep.”

She pursed her lips, and stared up at me, a hint of accusation in her expression. I paid better attention later. Are you going to tell them that he knows?

I sighed. “Yes. Later.”

I won’t say anything. Do me a favor and tell Royal when I’m not around, okay?

I flinched. “Sure.”

Beau took it pretty well.

“Too well.”

Alice grinned at me. Don’t underestimate Beau.

I tried to block the image I didn’t want to see—Beau and Alice, best of friends.

Impatient now, I sighed heavily. I wanted to be through with the next part of the evening; I wanted it over with. But I was a little worried to leave Forks…

“Alice…” I began. She saw what I was planning to ask.

He’ll be fine tonight. I’m keeping a better watch now. He sort of needs twenty-four hour supervision, doesn’t he?

“At least.”

“Anyway, you’ll be with him soon enough.”

I took a deep breath. The words were beautiful to me.

“Go on—get this done so you can be where you want to be,” she told me.

I nodded, and hurried up to Carlisle’s office.

He was waiting for me, his eyes on the door rather than the thick book on his desk.

“I heard Alice tell you where to find me,” he said, and smiled.

It was a relief to be with him, to see the empathy and deep intelligence in his eyes. Carlisle would know what to do.

“I need help.”

“Anything, Edward,” he promised.

“Did Alice tell you what happened to Beau tonight?”

Almost happened, he amended.

“Yes, almost. I’ve got a dilemma, Carlisle. You see, I want… very much… to kill him.” The words started to flow fast and passionate. “So much. But I know that would be wrong, because it would be vengeance, not justice. All anger, no impartiality. Still it can’t be right to leave a serial rapist and killer wandering Port Angeles! I don’t know the humans there, but I can’t let someone else take Beau’s place as this monster’s victim. Those other young men and women—someone might feel about them the same way I feel about Beau. Might suffer what I would have suffered if he’d been harmed. It’s not right—“

His wide, unexpected smile stopped the rush of my words cold.

He’s very good for you, isn’t he? So much compassion, so much control. I’m impressed.

“I’m not looking for compliments, Carlisle.”

“Of course not. But I can’t help my thoughts, can I?” He smiled again. “I’ll take care of it. You can rest easy. No one else will be harmed in Beau’s place.”

I saw the plan in his head. It wasn’t exactly what I wanted, it did not satisfy my craving for brutality, but I could see that it was the right thing.

“I’ll show you where to find him,” I said.

“Let’s go.”

He grabbed his black bag on the way. I would have preferred a more aggressive form of sedation—like a cracked skull—but I would let Carlisle do this his way.

We took my car. Alice was still on the steps. She grinned and waved as we drove way. I saw that she had looked ahead for me; we would have no difficulties.

The trip was very short on the dark, empty road. I left my headlights off to keep from attraction attention. It made me smile to think how Beau would have reacted to this pace. I’d already been driving slower than usual—to prolong my time with him—when he’d objected.

Carlisle was thinking of Beau, too.

I didn’t foresee that he would be so good for Edward. That’s unexpected. Perhaps this was somehow meant to be. Perhaps it serves a higher purpose. Only…

He pictures Beau with snow cold skin and blood red eyes, and then flinched away from the image.

Yes. Only. Indeed. Because how could there be any good in destroying something so pure and lovely.

I glowered into the night, all the joy of the evening destroyed by his thoughts.

Edward deserves happiness. He’s owed it. The fierceness of Carlisle’s thoughts surprised me. There must be a way.

I wished I could believe that—either one. But there was no higher purpose to what was happening to Beau. Just a vicious harpy, an ugly, butter face who could not bear for Beau to have the life he deserved.

I did not linger in Port Angeles. I took Carlisle to the dive bar where the creature named Lonnie was drowning his disappointment with his friends—two of whom had already passed out. Carlisle could see how hard this was for me to be so close—for me to hear t he monsters thoughts and see his memories, memories of Beau mixed in with his less fortunate victims who no one could save now.

My breaching sped. I clenched the steering wheel.

Go, Edward, he told me gently. I’ll make the rest of them safe. You go back to Beau.

It was exactly the right thing to say. His name was the only distraction that could mean anything to me now.

I left him in the car, and ran back to Forks in a straight line though the sleeping forest. It took less time than the first journey in the speeding car. It was just minutes later that I scaled the side of his house and slid his window out of my way.

I sighed silently with relief. Everything was just as it should be. Beau was safe in his bed, dreaming, his wet hair tangled around itself on the pillow.

But, unlike most nights, he was curled into a small ball with the covers stretched taut around his shoulders. Cold, I guessed. Before I could settled into my usual seat, he shivered in his sleep, and his lips trembled.

I thought for a brief moment, and then I eased out into the hallway, exploring another part of his house for the first time.

Charlie’s snores were loud and even. I could almost catch the edge of his dream. Something with the rush of water and patient expectation… fishing, maybe?

There, at the top of the stairs, was a promising looking cupboard. I opened it hopefully, and found what I was looking for. I selected the thickest blanket from the tiny linen closet, and took it back into Beau’s room. I would return it before he awoke, and no one would be the wiser.

Holding my breath, I cautiously spread the blanket over him; he didn’t react to the added weight. I returned to the rocking chair.

While I waited anxiously for him to warm up, I thought of Carlisle, wondering where he was now. I knew his plan would go smoothly—Alice had seen that.

Thinking of my father made me sigh—Carlisle gave me too much credit. I wished I was the person he thought me to be. That person, the one who deserved happiness, might hope to be worthy of this sleeping boy. How different things would be if I could be that Edward.

For a moment, the hag-faced fate I’d imagined, the one who sought Beau’s destruction, was replaced by the most foolish and reckless of angels. A guardian angel—something Carlisle’s version of me might have had. With a heedless smile on her lips, her sky-colored eyes full of mischief, the angel formed Beau in such a fashion that there was no way I could possibly overlook him. A ridiculously potent scent to demand my attention, a silent mind to enflame my curiosity, a quiet beauty to hold my eyes, a selfless soul to earn my awe. Leave out the natural sense of self-preservation—so that Beau could bear to be near me—and, finally, add a wide streak of appallingly bad luck.

With a careless laugh, the irresponsible angel propelled her fragile creation directly into my path, trusting blithely in my flawed morality to keep Beau alive.

In this vision, I was not Beau’s sentence; he was my reward.

I shook my head at the fantasy of the unthinking angel. She was not much better than the harpy. I could not think well of a higher power that would behave in such a dangerous and stupid manner. At least the ugly fate I could fight against.

And I had no angel. They were reserved for the good—for people like Beau. So where was his angel through all this? Who was watching over him?

I laughed silently, startled, as I realized that, just now, I was filling that role.

A vampire angel—there was a stretch.

After about a half hour, Beau relaxed out of the tight ball. His breathing got deeper and he started to murmur. I smiled, satisfied. It was a small thing, but at least he was sleeping more comfortably tonight because I was here.

“Edward,” he sighed, and he smiled, too.

I shoved tragedy aside for the moment, and let myself be happy again.

[bungou-stray-dogs-indulgences]

You know that "who you should fight" meme? Could you do a BSD version of it, if it's not too much to ask?

(Ngl this may be the best thing I’ve ever answered)

WHO YOU SHOULD FIGHT

ADA

Atsushi: You win(?)

Walk right up to him and beat the ever-loving shit of him. He’ll apologize to you. An easy fight, just don’t slip in any tasteless orphan jokes, it’ll have the opposite effect intended and he’ll take you the fuck out with the pure intent to prove he’s worthy. You could beat him but the psychological weight of crushing someone so innocent will ensure that you never feel right again. Fight him if you have no soul.

Dazai: You lose

He’ll turn the whole affair into a big joke. If you, by some stroke of luck, actually hit him, he’ll probably just say ‘harder daddy’. The psychological effects of brawling Dazai will be devastating either way. DO. NOT.  FIGHT.

Ranpo: You win

Honestly, it’s hardly worth your time. He hasn’t eaten anything but chocolate cake and cheap lollipops for the last six years, not to mention any form of physical exercise. He’s got pale-ass noodle arms and a muffin top (don’t believe the official art’s lies. The bitch eats solely from a candy shop and looks like he just topped off a cycling session with Jillian Micheals? Get the fuck out). Just don’t bring a Jolly Rancher shiv because he’ll eat the damn thing. Undoubtedly fight, just be prepared to book it like a fucking librarian after you knock him out because the rest of the ADA will come after you.

Kyouka: Depends 

Look, fourteen’s a shitty age even when you’re not dealing with pressing morality crises.There is nothing Kyouka wants more in this world than to dial herself, let Demon Snow rip and raise her kill count to thirty seven. But all you gotta do to keep her at bay is debate on morality like Matthew fucking Murdock in Netflix’s Daredevil. If you can successfully hold her back with discussion on ethics (and how hers will be jack-shit if she slaughters you) you have a slim chance of victory. A great fight if you need to practice for speech class.

Kunikida: You lose

You might think victory’s as simple as tossing his notebook in a nearby water fountain and watching him flip a lid, but this is an absolutely awful tactic and the inside of your head will be decorating the sidewalk in mere milliseconds. He beats Dazai’s band-aid wrapped flanks on the daily and he won’t hesitate to destroy yours. If you fight, at least your cause of death can be listed as ‘blonde beefcake’s rippling biceps’.

Kenji: You win

Just feed him a few bowls of Spaghetti-o’s before you deck him and the little blonde bitch won’t stand a chance. You can smack him back into the cultist backwater rice paddies he crawled out of easy as smacking a crippled fly. A perfect fight for abusing a fourteen year old without getting into too much trouble. 

Fukuzawa: You lose

You might think you could dress up in a kitty costume and sneak up to him. And you could. It would be easy, in fact. He’s so focused on the cuteness he won’t notice any maliscious intent. Despite this his reflexes are simply too quick and he’ll still take you the fuck out when you make your move. A bad fight from all angles. You’ll have to fend off his adopted, dysfunctional ADA children too. Just don’t.

PORT MAFIA

Akutagawa: Depends (99.5% losing chance. risky.)

Yeah, you’re fucked. Akutagawa won’t even wait until you initiate, he’ll be the one attacking you, probably over something minor and stupid like the color of your pants is personally offensive. Rashomon will be slicing and dicing you into a smoothie for cannibals before you know what hit you. The only way you make it out alive is if by some stroke of luck Dazai happens to be in a one hundred mile radius and Akutagawa’s senpai-radar starts going off. Fight only if you bring My Chemical Romance vinyls to punt at him; they’re his biggest weakness .

Chuuya: Depends (99.75% losing chance. Cross thy fingers and pray)

Facing Chuuya is a bigger risk than that board game. He’s practically impervious to all close-up melee and he’s too small of a target to be hit with anything from afar. You might think you’d have a fighting chance if you knocked his hat off; after all, that’s basically all he is. A hat rack prone to alcoholism. But that fury will only make him stronger and he’ll crush you like you’re a cum-covered Dazai body pillow. As with Akutagawa your only glimmer of hope for survival is if bandage-kun happens to be close by because Chuuya will prioritize and leave your now crippled ass in the dust that he punted you in. Only fight while intoxicated. (Both of you. Not just him. It’s more fun that way. Much like Turkish oil wrestling but with more gravity.)

Mori: You lose

If you want to fight him you’ve obviously got a death wish and I’m not going to stop you. There’s easier ways to go though, man. Easier ways. His expression won’t even change when he whips out that scalpel (I don’t believe that man’s ever been to medical school) and filets you like a fresh caught tuna, on its way to a B-rated fast food join. Your body’s gonna get left on the pavement for the stray dogs. (No, I’m not gonna finish that joke. Low hanging fruit. I have some dignity.) If you want to die that bad, just go see if Dazai will suicide with you. It’ll be significantly less painful

Elise: I fucking dare you

I mean, you probably could take her out, she’s like seven. Mori will let her play skip rope with your small intestine after she’s recovered. Rest In Peace if you even consider it.

Kouyou: You lose

I don’t know what would inspire you to be so stupid. She’ll just let out a dignified little chuckle and shove that umbrella sword so far up your ass you’ll be tasting acid rain for months, and she’ll do it all in the most ladylike way possible. Unless you’re ready for your innards to end up in a teapot, served with chocolate-coated orange wafers at tea break, just don’t fight.

Oda: ???

He’s fucking dead. What are you gonna do, kick his headstone, maybe plant some weeds over his grave? Just don’t mention the burnt orphan soup, or he’ll literally rise and put you in his coffin instead. If you’re willing to dabble into necromancy, knock yourself (or him, in this case) out.

Q: Haha

I get why you’d want to fight him, I really do. He looks like a miniature Cruella Deville on an acid trip. But you just don’t have a chance. Hit him. Go ahead. As soon as you so much as brush him he has the power to destroy your shit like it’s never been destroyed before. Will annihilate you from the inside out. The deadliest emo thirteen year old there’s ever been; avoid at all costs!!!

Higuchi: You LOSE

You might think you have a chance because she doesn’t have an ability. But you’re gravely mistaken. Higuchi is bitter. Higchi is ruthless. Higuchi does not give a fuck about anything other than getting Emotagawa-senpai to notice her. She has nothing, nothing to lose and she will not rest until she’s pulling your tonsils through your asshole in the hopes that Akutagawa will give her a thumbs-up for slaughtering you. DO NOT fight. She stands to lose nothing and gain everything.

THE GUILD

Hawthorne: You lose

You might think that you’d have a fighting chance because he’s a priest and priest’s aren’t supposed to wreck people’s shit but he will see your sins and you won’t even see him coming. Try to punch him his ability is literally activated by injuries. Knocks you out with a psalter hymnal and ships you off to Bible camp while you’re unconscious.  Only fight if you have never sinned, not once, ever.

Steinbeck: Depends

If you’re from the city he’ll destroy you. Farm boys always tear apart city people no questions asked. If that fact doesn’t dissuade you then just prepare yourself not to be freaked the fuck out when he jack-knifes his own neck and starts sprouting flora. As long as you keep your cool you’ve got a 30/70 chance. Only fight if you bring a metric fucktonne of weed killer.

Poe: You win (biggest douchecanoe award, but that’s about it)

Physically, sure, you could sneeze within fifty feet of his pasty ass and take him down. But really? Do you really want to hurt him? He’ll stare right into your soul with those sad, sad eyes and wonder just what he did to inspire such bitterness in you. If you can still fuck him up after that then you’d best kiss your spirit goodbye because it’s descending to the seventh level of fiery hell as you read this. Plus, honestly, there’s no true triumph against a man whose best bud is a raccoon. That’s just too rad. If you can deal with the pressing moral consequences and a pissed off  raccoon, go for it. (You monster). 

Mitchell: You win

All you have to do is push her hospital bed down the stairs and pretend it was an accident. Her comatose ass can’t do a thing to stop you. Fight if you’re ready to run from angry hospital staff.

Fitzgerald: You lose 

You know, this sentient sack of Benjamins deserves it, in all honesty, but don’t try. Him and his power suit will kick you into the next millennia before you can say ‘old sport’. Prepare to be crushed by capitalism.

Melville: You win

He’s like eighty and his ability’s a goddamn floating whale. As long as you don’t throw down at Sea World, you’re good. Fight as long as you’re not in front of an assisted living facility; the CNAs will think he’s a resident and defend him.

Lovecraft: Depends

Attack him while he’s trying to nap and he’ll be too lazy to get up. Otherwise… yeah, just google ‘Cthulhu’. You’ll get the idea. Don’t fight: there’s no beating weaponized tentacle porn.

Montgomery: You lose

Go right ahead and try, she’ll whisk you away to her Melanie-Martinez ass torture dimension and let Anne mop the floor with your teeth. It’s kind of like challenging God. Unless you want to spend eternity in an unsexy rip-off of the 50 shades Red Room, DO. NOT. ENGAGE.

Twain: You win

Twain’s all talk, anybody that walks around with their titties hanging out 24/7 is definitely trying to distract from something. In this case he’s trying to fool people into thinking he’s not a dictionary-definition pussy. Rip the heads off his muppet babies and he doesn’t even have an ability anymore, the schmuck. Fight when you’re looking for a quick self-esteem boost. 

Alcott: You win

This poor woman does not deserve to be tortured anymore than she already is by the weight of her own social awkwardness, but if you really insist: make a derogatory comment and she’s basically down for the count already, no physical contact necessary. If you really want to dominate, just steal her glasses and she instantly morphs into a significantly less foxy Velma Dinkley. Also significantly less prone to self defense. An A-1 fight for when you’re looking to cement residency in Hell.

OTHER

Ango: Depends

You would think his beanpole ass would be an easy target. You’d be wrong, though. So very wrong. He’s been chugging tomato juice like it’s his job for the past forever and he’s got a snazzy pair of handcuffs he’s just dying to break out. If you sabotage basic safety features on his car, though, he’s a goner. Just sneakily unbuckle his seat belt while he’s driving and you’ve basically defeated him right then and there. A good fight for practicing strategic tactics and subtle vehicle vandalism.

Fyodor: You lose

Just ask A how that one turned out. Actually, ask anyone in the manga what throwing down with Fyodor entails. (Unless you only watch the anime, then just wait for the season three that we’re probably not getting) He’ll escort you personally to the gates of hell with a flick to your forehead. Then he’ll step right over your still-warm corpse and start playing the cello with that unnecessarily wide leg-spreadage. Mess with this sentient ushanka hat and he’ll uSHANKa you.

[amorremanet]

You reblogged an OC meme! Thank god, tell us about Josie!

oc profiles meme!

…oh my god, i was so excited to click post and babble about josie at people that i initially forgot to come back and fill in the placeholder with something about how excited i was to talk about josie (—it’s like 4:15 AM where i am, which is probably part of the problem but i digress)

Full Name: Josiah Daniel Quinn — but, please, they explicitly prefer to be called, “Josie,” so unless you’re one of their bosses over at S.T.R.O.M.A*, whom they’re in no position to argue with, call them Josie. If not that, then use their surname. But if you can avoid it, just please do not call them by their full given first name, okay?

Shiny mutant superhero codename: Lyaeus — derived from an aspect of Dionysus who is traditionally invoked as a reliever of pain and a deliverer from anxiety and emotional turmoil and so on, which is one of their preferred uses of their psychic abilities and one of Josie’s larger goals in life (for them, it’s a mix of, “If something bad is going to happen, and you can do something to stop it and choose not to, that’s on you” and, “The world is a mess and largely sucks, but that’s no reason not to do what we can to take care of each other”).

Their codename is doubly special to them because although they were raised loosely Catholic and have a Mormon extended family who mostly doesn’t acknowledge their existence (and hasn’t for their entire life, since their Mom left the Mormon church to marry Josie’s Dad, oops), Josie is a hellenic pagan whose primary relationship is with Dionysus.

They thought for a long time and did a lot of reflection about whether or not it was too presumptuous of them to use one of his aspects as a codename, but eventually, they went with it because they see their codename and its meaning as someone who they’re continually striving to be and a set of values that they’re always trying to bring to bear in the world, and they feel like Dionysus is probably okay with that.

Gender and Sexuality: DMAB Genderfluid. // Bisexual.

This isn’t actually specifically about their gender or sexuality, but I couldn’t think of where else to put it: Josie grew up around all things Rocky Horror. Like, their parents were highly involved in the local community theatre, which did a semi-regular RHPS shadow-cast, and Josie’s parents brought their kid with them often enough that Josie grew up with their blood family and their, “Rocky family.”

Josie would rather deal with their Rocky family than their blood family a lot of the time, because their Rocky family was more immediately there for them during a lot of rough stuff while they were growing up, and their Rocky family handled it better at the various times when they came out, and their Rocky family didn’t say shit like, “Wait, I thought you were gay, why are you going back in the closet” when they came out as bi or ask invasive questions when they came out as genderfluid and was more supportive in general of Josie’s evolving sense of their own identity, and so on.

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs.

Josie does also answer to He/Him/His pronouns, but that isn’t a choice on their part, so much as it’s an issue of, “Well, I can be out at work and open the door to potential harassment and people who will invalidate my gender identity and likely flat-out refuse to respect my pronouns, which will create more difficulty for myself in a job that’s already difficult because it’s stressful to begin with and I hate working here — or I can suck it up and just be grateful that my friends and parents are all good about this”

Like, one of the things that Seb does when he and Josie first meet that makes Josie go, “I’m still not totally thrilled at being assigned to help out the newbie (especially since I know I’m only getting this assignment because: 1. our bosses are playing a game of, ‘lmao just toss the LGBTQ ones together’ because the newbie’s gay and pretty much everyone here thinks that I am too; and 2. Deputy Director Gray is still cranky with me over that MSNBC round-table that I did last week where Yael kept pushing me to voice my own opinions and not the Bureau’s official line) — but maybe it won’t actually be completely awful and maybe he’s going to be okay as a new partner”?

…is noticing that Josie wears two woven yarn bracelets on one wrist — one of them in the lavender/white/chartreuse colors of the genderqueer flag, and the other in the pink/white/purple/black/blue of the genderfluid flag — and first waiting for them to be alone in Josie’s office, then going, “Oh, so are you genderfluid? What are your pronouns?” and then listening and respecting it when Josie explained that they’d rather Seb just kept using he/him/his at work

Species: Human (mutant with aforementioned mutant psychic powers)

Race/Ethnicity: White, and the only real part of Josie’s ethnic background that’s ever been important in their life was that their late paternal grandmother was very proud of being Irish.

Like, her parents had come to Ellis Island from Ireland — though she was too young to have any actual memories of the passage herself — and she wasn’t so insistent about it that she objected to her son marrying a Mormon girl instead of a Good Irish Catholic Girl, but still, the Irish thing was a big deal for her.

Josie, personally, doesn’t get it beyond, “I’m white and I have a particular aversion to St. Patrick’s Day because first of all, some of my extended family members can turn into a bunch of rowdy, off-putting little shits on St. Patrick’s Day, and I always had to suffer through that because we always had a party for it, first because Grandma wanted one, and then in honor of her memory.

“And secondly, because as soon as anyone hears that I’m partially Irish and/or a Dionysian, it is just assumed that I want to go get wasted on St. Patrick’s Day, which I don’t, but I still end up going out into environments that are absolute Hell for someone who has both telepathy and hyper-empathy, because the spaces are crowded, emotions are running high, and there is basically nowhere to escape to where you can get some peace and quiet and a break from the sensory and emotional overload of being at a rowdy bar on St. Patrick’s Day.

“And I endure all of this with people whom I may not even like that much just so they’ll have a designated driver, because I would feel bad personally if I didn’t go to make sure they all got home okay, and just because they don’t understand my god or might want to get something else out of him than I do, doesn’t mean that I should brush them off and risk them getting hurt while they’re completely shit-faced.

“Which doesn’t make this any less exhausting and awful, but it’s better than taking the chance that they might get hurt, y’know?”

Birthplace and Birthdate: Saratoga Springs, NY. // 22nd February, 1980 — they’re a Pisces (Libra rising, Gemini moon).

Guilty Pleasures: High-quality dark chocolate, high-quality makeup even if they can’t wear most of it as often as they’d like^, the original Vampire Chronicles novels (and though they will sometimes claim that only the original six ones, “count,” Josie owns everything that Anne Rice has published, even the ridiculous Jesus books), binge-watching reruns of Project Runway…

And they don’t feel particularly guilty about it, but one of the simple things that makes Josie happy is playfully teasing their emergency contacts/best friends over how their parents named them after Beatles songs

Jude, naturally, was “Hey Jude” and Rocky got named after, “Rocky Raccoon” because, at the last minute, his and Jude’s parents decided to veto naming him Desmond because he’s a character in “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” but his name is not in the title, which was apparently a deal-breaker because of reasons

Rocky also sometimes gets playful ribbing about all things Rocky Horror, because he and Josie are ridiculous nerds, and RHPS isn’t their exclusive thing because Josie will share it with anyone who gives them half a chance to do so…… but it is still a thing that is special to Josie and Rocky, so here they are

If you ask them, Josie will tell you that they don’t believe in associating pleasure with guilt, and in their defense, they do believe in encouraging people not to feel guilty for enjoying the things that make them happy or that help them survive, because as long as those things aren’t hurting anyone — yes, that includes you, person Josie is talking to — then you have a right to be happy and a right to take care of yourself

The reality is that Josie says this to people so often because it’s something that they often struggle with themself, and even though they’re better, in some ways, than they have been in the past, there are still a lot of places where they need work

Also, Josie wouldn’t call some of the more poppy music that they like, “guilty pleasures” — especially because, if you ask them, there is no reason to feel guilty about listening to, for example, Beyoncé or Nicki Minaj

—but it is still the case that, if they were going to have a mini-reunion with some of the old goth crew friends from high school whom they don’t keep in touch with that often, Josie probably wouldn’t mention Nicki or Beyoncé, unless it was by accident or until they were sure that the old gang wasn’t going to do the judgmental goth kids thing they used to do of going, “ugh, all pop music is soulless empty bullshit for posers” and so on

Also also, there is almost no chance of them ever admitting this to most people, but…… Josie kinda loves the goth kids from South Park. Like, Josie really kinda loves them.

There’s basically no chance of them ever admitting it to most people because for one thing, it’s embarrassing to them, due to the whole South Park of everything.

For another, they’d feel the need to give someone a lengthy, tedious disclaimer about how they don’t actually watch South Park or enjoy it very much, they just know about the goth kids because one of their best friends went, “Oh my god, Josie, you have to watch this, the new Goth kid characters are so you” way back when, after the first episode with them in it aired and said friend (Rocky) was still taping new eps on VHS to watch after he got home from night classes

And…… well. Josie still wouldn’t give South Park much credit for anything else, but they do really love the goth kids, and they agree with Rocky’s, “omg it you” moment because the South Park goth kids are often eerily similar to shit that they said and did as a weird little goth kid back in high school

At one point, Rocky actually made Josie little plush dolls of the goth kids that he’d designed himself, and they are a big reason why you’re not allowed in Josie’s room until they trust you.

Other reasons include:

Josie doesn’t want most people to touch their makeup or put any of it out of order, and they keep most of it in their bedroom, on their dresser, in front of the vanity mirror that they found someone just throwing out shortly after they moved to Baltimore, even though it’s a perfectly good mirror so wtf;

some of Josie’s favorite and most personally meaningful religious and spiritual paraphernalia is in their bedroom (they keep their actual shrine to Dionysus and their, “worship workspace” in a different room at their place, but some of the more personally significant things are in their room most of the time, and they’d rather you didn’t have a chance to touch them);

Josie just tends to be an incredibly private person who places a lot of value on their personal space and having spaces that are set aside as Theirs. They were like this even before their psychic abilities kicked in and made them value even more their personal space, and ability to have a place that is set apart as Theirs Exclusively where they can go to get some distance from all the mental, emotional, and sensory overload that comes from feeling almost everyone’s feelings and hearing many of their thoughts**, to some extent or another, almost all the time;

and the few albums of old photos and framed old photos, some of which are just garden variety embarrassing like, “yes, my hair is naturally blond, here is photographic evidence from before my parents let me start dyeing it, and oh yeah, that was probably backstage after the community theatre production of Oliver! that I did in eighth grade — oh yeah, definitely that one, there’s my Artful Dodger costume and my glaringly blond hair”

but others of which are, for lack of a better term, fairly emotionally complicated for Josie. There are several different reasons why any of these photos might be kinda complicated — ranging from, “they feature Josie’s one particularly heinous ex-boyfriend who used his wealthy family’s connections to get Josie blacklisted from working in fashion after they graduated from Pratt’s School of Design” to, “they’re from the year in high school that Josie wound up having to do over because they had to spend a few months getting inpatient treatment for their eating disorder”

^: even before getting recruited to S.T.R.O.M.A., Josie got really good at finding a balance between the, “I don’t want to look pretty, I want to look otherworldly and possibly like a vampire fairy from Wonderland” style of makeup that they want to wear, and a “more professional” style that is less likely to make their clients feel uncomfortable or get them harassed — but god, do they wish that they didn’t have to strike said balance.

It wouldn’t actually make their fondness for high-quality and often expensive makeup feel like any less of a guilty pleasure, for several reasons — on one hand, their awareness of how makeup is always politically Complicated, at best; on the other, if they got to wear their makeup exactly how they want it every day, they would end up spending more money on makeup, and it would make them feel guilty because they’d feel like it’s very irresponsible and probably going to screw them over down the line because they bought makeup instead of saving the money or putting it toward something else; and on the tentacle, a whole laundry list of other reasons

—but they would still feel more comfortable with themself and more at ease with everything because they’d be presenting exactly as they want, instead of censoring their own personal gender expressions (which they’re more okay with doing when it comes to their clients because that’s a case of compromising part of their well-being in the name of [probably] helping people who need them and pay them for that help, whereas toning it down at S.T.R.O.M.A. is tedious and Josie would seriously rather not)

(They have more than once said that the degree to which they have to tone things down for S.T.R.O.M.A. makes them feel like Ned “I’m not a Satanic sex god anymore, used to be a super gothed out androgynous rock star, but is now a straitlaced and nerdy substitute teacher” Schneebly from School of Rock.

This is not a good feeling, in Josie Land. They don’t like it and they live for the weekend because, barring any major incidents that get them called in to S.T.R.O.M.A., they get to wear what the fuck they want, forego pants in favor of their favorite skirts, do their gender how the fuck they want, and wear makeup that makes them look like a vampire fairy from Wonderland)

Phobias: Josie’s biggest fear, in the immediate sense, is losing control of their psychic abilities and ending up hurting people and/or destroying themself somehow.

Underlying that, they have a bigger and more further-reaching fear of being out of control of themself and their own actions, in general.

They’re simultaneously afraid of crowds (largely because they can get really overwhelming for Josie, really fast), and afraid of isolation, which ends up making them a lot like the sort of cat who goes all like, “cuddle me cuddle me cuddle me please please please i need love and affection… no wait, fuck you, this is stifling me and i need to get out of here… wait shit i’m lonely someone please love me… no, not you, you fucking suck… why am i so lonely, why won’t anyone pay attention to me… and so and so forth ad nauseam”

That said, when I was doing Pottermore quizzes for my kids because that is the sort of thing I find both fun and useful, Josie’s picked, “Isolation” for the, “Which is your greatest fear” question on the wand quiz

They picked, “An eye at the keyhole of the dark, windowless room in which you are locked” for the, “Which nightmare would frighten you most” question on the Sorting Hat quiz

Other miscellaneous fears and squicks: Worms, eels, and anything like that (but snakes are okay, snakes are great).

The possibility of never finding love (which they know is kind of ridiculous, because they do have a lot of love in their life… but Josie does want to be with someone romantically, and all their miscellaneous issues with their blood family aside, it’s weird and kind of disheartening for them that most of their cousins have gotten married or settled down with someone, so yeah, Josie knows that this fear is based on a lot of ideas that they generally don’t like and don’t want to live by, but still.

They’re 35, their closest friends both have longstanding romantic relationships, they’re one of the few cousins left who doesn’t have a plus-one to bring to the next family wedding, and they want a romantic relationship, so being perpetually reminded that they’re not in one kicks them in the larger fear that there is something about them that is just fundamentally unlovable, so they might end up being forever alone).

What They Would Be Famous For: Realistically? Probably how they’re going to start a new superhero team with Lucy, Pete, and Sebastian — later accumulating others — and how they’re all going to kinda stumble into trying to foil some other mutants who also happen to be neo-fascist supervillains. But had Josie’s one ex, Danny, not effectively gotten them blacklisted from working in fashion, Josie might well have made a pretty big name for themself there.

They used to joke about being famous for going on Project Runway and winning, but… this started after they’d already gotten onto the path that led them to therapeutic practice, and seen that they had the potential to do a lot of good in the world by continuing on that path, so the chances of them actually doing the Project Runway thing were almost nothing

What They Would Get Arrested For: While they haven’t technically been arrested before, Josie could have been arrested for illegally overstepping the bounds of what their particular level of metahuman license allowed them to do, and if they get arrested in the future, it is almost definitely going to be for something like protesting or some trumped up nonsense charges that actually boil down to, “getting on the wrong side of neo-fascist supervillains who have wealth and connections and political power.”

OCs You Ship Them With:

Romantically: Pete is my favorite here, but: 1. I’m also going to make them work for it, because they would be good for each other, but it wouldn’t just happen super-easily for several reasons, both about the two of them individually and about how they get on together;

and 2. I’d also dig shipping Josie with Seb, Stephen, Vince, Sylvia, Izzy, Raphael, and Cynthia — though tbh, I like non-romantic Seb/Josie better than romantic Seb/Josie

Platonically: As mentioned, Jude, Rocky, and Sebastian. Aside from them, Margot, Lucy, and Sara Grace (who are all ruled out as romantic options by the three of them being lesbians), and Josie being genderfluid, yes, but not identifying with womanhood enough for them to consider romantically pursuing someone who identifies as a lesbian. Todd (who I kind of feel bad for, because he’s sort of the loser in love so far, but otoh, that’s partially his own damn fault and he has a lot of growing to do before I’m letting him have a romantic relationship that actually lasts). Yael and Elizabeth. Really, everyone on the romantic list is a good platonic relationship, too.

“this is not a ship that i condone but i find their relationship interesting, and exploring Not Good relationships is Important to me”: Julian, who actually hasn’t met Josie yet, and won’t for a while, and their relationship will be…… tricky, in a lot of ways, many of which have something to do with how Julian is a huge tool who has a charming tendency to take his own self-loathing and insecurity out on everyone else while acting campy and making sarcastic quips as though this makes his behaviors totally okay.

Pretty much everything about Julian makes him someone who would make Josie say, “the Lord is testing me”

(only for someone — probably Lucy — to go, “But you’re not Christian” and get told either, “I was raised as one, maybe Jesus’s Dad is still grumpy that I found someone who’s better for me. Anyway, you know what I meant, right?”

or, “Fine. The Almighty Thundering Zeus, lord of the heavens and king of Olympus and He Who Was Cheating On His Wife With Everyone Ever Before It Was Cool, is testing me. There. Does that version make you happy?”)

But, yeah. Julian would make Josie go, “someone is testing me” because so much of who and what he is makes Josie want to help him, but so much of what he does makes Josie want to punch him

(an impulse that Josie largely won’t be acting on because, unfortunately for them:

1. they did not get any super-strength kinds of mutations and in an RPG, Strength would be one of their lowest stats;

and 2. first, they need to learn how to throw a punch without hurting themself more than the other person.

Punching neo-fascists isn’t their strong suit. They can let Seb and Lucy do the actual punching.

And Pete, even though Pete really shouldn’t because Pete also doesn’t know how to throw a punch without hurting himself more than the other person, so Josie is more likely to try and stop him from punching a neo-fascist supervillain in the face.

Not that Josie will always succeed in that, but… well. They and their teammates are all only human.)

Anyway, uh. Josie/Julian isn’t a ship that I’d personally want to see as the endgame of anything, ever, but I find their dynamic and the potential interactions between them interesting, and they’re something I’m looking forward to playing around with more, when it’s their time

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: Conrad will kinda want to, because he finds Josie’s sense of ethics to be, “tedious and outdated,” but ultimately, he wouldn’t go through with it because Josie’s creativity would intrigue him too much.

Senator Huntington would also want Josie to die, but he wouldn’t do any of the actual murdering because he doesn’t do his own dirty work.

All things considered, Edward and Desmond are probably going to end up with the job, “Go kill the weird effete one who looks like some kind of vampire fairy from Wonderland” because everyone else is busy, and they will fail at it, because that’s kind of what they do.

They are Those Two Bad Guys, and they kind of suck at almost everything that they try to do.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: Fantasy, vampire trash, psychological thrillers, magical girl everything, and horror (pretty much all kinds of horror, though Josie’s most fond of monster horror, anything with revenge-y themes, and religious or cosmic horror. They will probably tell you, “The weirder and more pointlessly, aesthetically symbolic, the better”).

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: Josie would tell you that it’s how much romanticized abuse there is in paranormal romance, and to be fair, they do hate that…… but they still read it or watch it and get invested in these fictional relationships, even without necessarily coming up with a counter-reading of the text’s opinion, beyond, “this relationship is abusive even if the author doesn’t get that”

Which, to be fair, doesn’t mean that they don’t hate the prevalence of romanticized intimate partner abuse, just that it’s an, “I hate this thing” where they still engage with it, and not just because there aren’t always a lot of options without it

(Horror flicks that demonize and stigmatize mental illness are a thing where Josie doesn’t like the thing, but suffers through them because there aren’t a lot of other options otherwise)

But one trope that will make them, “nope” out…… uh.

Josie is really sensitive about The Uncanny Valley, and while they may not fully, “nope” out of things over it, they need to take more time than most people to prep themselves for seeing it and recover after seeing it

Also, not a trope, but Shia LaBeouf will make Josie “nope” out of anything. They have no rational reason for disliking Shia LeBouf, so much as he Just Irrationally Bugs Them, but they will “nope” out of things if he’s involved

Talents and/or Powers: Okay, so, a lot of Josie’s actual superpowers are discussed elsewhere, especially in the footnotes, so let’s talk about their other, non-mutant superpowers. They can sew. Even without having been actively designing anything for a while, they can still pull out a good design and they are capable of following a pattern pretty well. They know their limits fairly well, and better than pretty much everyone in the main team (this doesn’t mean that they always). And it’s almost 4 AM, so this answer is getting cut short by, “I am tired and I want to sleep” (and the next two answers will suck for the same reason)

Why Someone Might Love Them: Josie is creative and curious and once you get them to warm up, calm down, and stop worrying so much about anything, they’re a complete dork who, among other things, gives people, “C’thulhu kisses” (done by sticking your hands in front of your mouth and wiggling your fingers like tentacles, and maybe making a silly noise and saying, “C’thulhu kisses!” like you’re Sailor Moon shouting her transformation phrase). They have a pretty good sense of humor about themself, outside of their precious few no go areas. Josie is compassionate and they do genuinely want the best for most people, even people they don’t personally like very much. They try to be patient with people, even when they really don’t want to be, and even if they don’t always know what the best option is, they still try to actually do things and choose the best option for creating positive change.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Their cycle of indecisiveness that leads to recklessness that leads to self-punishing thoughts and behaviors that leads to more indecisiveness, and rinse lather repeat. Their tendency to be really judgmental, even while acknowledging that being judgmental is something that, in their experience, causes more harm than good, and that they want to avoid more often. The way that they can lapse into talking like a high school goth kid who’s up-talking the superiority of goth subculture and doesn’t realize that they sound like an elitist, conformist prick, just like the people they’re complaining about allegedly do.

How They Change: Well, for one thing, Josie has some things to learn about how they relate to people and manage their relationships — which doesn’t necessarily make them special because this is just kind of a Thing for most of my main characters in one way or another. Josie’s specific issue wrt relating to other people has to do with their reluctance to trust people and open up and try to build any new relationships, which has often led to them practicing a sort of interpersonal-level isolationism that has hurt them and other people.

They also have something to learn about managing the façade(s) that they present to the world, much like how Seb has to learn something about his habit of acting like everything is okay while he’s suffering and thinking anyone believes him anymore because he doesn’t want to deal with his problems

and like how Pete has to learn about how…… yeah, okay, he is genuinely angry about a lot of things — some of them fair and really more, “righteous indignation” than anything else, and some of them less fair — but a lot of how he acts that anger out in the world is not actually as truthful as Pete feels like it is, but more a way of keeping people at arm’s length, testing them and testing his relationships with them, and trying to push them away before they can get the chance to hurt him

In Josie’s case, their façade(s) are a bit different because most of them came into being less because of an emotional choice on Josie’s part — e.g., Seb doesn’t want to deal with his problems because they’re painful and terrifying and they feel like they’re too big to handle — and more out of pragmatic decisions

……but then Josie came to rely on them in contexts other than the ones in which they were originally created, and balancing that many different versions of yourself is stressful as fuck-all, especially for someone who already has to do a lot of work to keep reminding themself of where their personal boundaries are, and Josie hides in their different façades every bit as much as every other character who has one, and largely only gets away with that because most people in their life don’t know them well enough to notice this, and their façades do still have pragmatic value, so most people who do notice don’t say shit about shit

Then, there’s Josie’s relationship to time, which

I’m going to explain this really badly now, because it’s 3:33 and I’m tired, but basically, I see Seb, Josie, and Lucy as complementing each other in how they relate to and orient themselves in time, and the negative side-effects that they create for themselves because of these behaviors

On one hand, Seb is way too prone to being stuck in the past. He clings to it too much — but also has a selective relationship with it, where people he cares about get forgiven too easily and Seb tries to deny that he still feels upset about anything (even when basically everyone around him knows that he does feel upset and is just trying not to deal with it), while Seb forgives himself for nothing and defines himself so much by all of his past mistakes

—and he goes past the point of, “honoring and respecting history, such as by not ignoring times when he did fuck up (of which there are many)” to, “actively impeding his own progress in life because, for example, he keeps trying the same shit over and over and over again, even though it literally never works, because it’s what he did before.” Plus, some of his ideas about the past are distorted by various factors, or missing entirely (most often due to intoxicated blackouts and/or head trauma that would have had more disastrous effects on him if not for his mutant healing factor), or otherwise unreliable, so that’s a problem.

On the other hand, Lucy is future-oriented and totally jazzed up about trying new things and meeting new challenges head on and doing things!! also STUFF!!!!! there is an entire world full of THINGS AND STUFF AND BY GOD, LUCY IS GOING TO DO ALL OF IT OR AT LEAST AS MUCH OF IT AS SHE POSSIBLY CAN AND THINGS ARE GOING TO GET BETTER SO HELP HER GOD OR JESUS OR SATAN OR WHOEVER EXCELSIOR YAH YAH YAH!!!!

……which is great and all, but she charges headlong into shit without an actual plan (seriously, most of her plans follow the good old, “step one: do this thing / step two: ………… / step three: PROFIT!” formula), and she’s a case of someone who is averse to learning from history at all because she doesn’t want to be shackled to it, but having no sense of history can be just as bad as being overly chained to it like Sebastian, and… well. You can try to outrun the past like she does, but it doesn’t tend to work out very well, and it’s not going to work for Lucy either

On the tentacle, we have Josie, who ostensibly has a balance between the past and the future orientations that we see in Seb and Lucy, because Josie’s primary focus tends to lie on the present, and at most, the very near future or very recent past

—but that’s not actually a balance like Josie wants to believe, because (among other things), it makes it very easy for Josie to ignore past lessons that are older than maybe the past two or three months; and it means that while Josie can see all kinds of potential consequences, their ability to predict what they could be gets a lot less reliable as you go further into the future; and it means that Josie has trouble actually putting together a longer-term plan, which is part of their problem with wanting to create positive change in the world but not knowing how

Josie also has a tougher road (imltho) to go on about finding a new and better balance here, because their focus on the present is something they learned in recovery, as part of learning about mindfulness, and it does help them sometimes — but on that personal level, Josie’s presentist focus can also hurt them because, even when they notice certain behaviors in themself that could get Bad For Them, they can also overlook some of these budding patterns because they’re not Obviously Bad Enough to feel like a major concern, or they look different from other past manifestations of Josie’s behavior patterns so Josie doesn’t think they need to worry about these behaviors, and so on

I’m mean to my characters and I’m going to make them work to be happy, but they will all be happy, eventually

Uh. Barring most of the villains, because letting the neo-fascist assholes win in the end would be a complete downer that would probably end up undermining a lot of the whole, “just because the world is a crapsack hellhole doesn’t mean that it has to stay that way or that we should give up on it” idea

Why You Love Them: Okay, so, this needs a bit of a story.

See, Josie is a retooled character from an old RP that I was in way, way back. I loved them a lot, and they weren’t entirely wrong for the game — they had a good run in their first incarnation — but they also weren’t entirely right for it, and they kind of floundered a bit because I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with them.

A large part of this was due to how Josie was a senior at their school and, because of the year they did over, they were itching to get out and go to college, and the closest they got to an actual arc was how they didn’t want to leave behind their ex-boyfriend turned best friend (who was in the class below them), but did want to go to college already and get to the rest of their life

and how they had some trouble with accepting said best friend’s new boyfriend when Josie really wanted to be compassionate, because New Boyfriend was mentally ill and dealing with some trauma and Josie sympathized and wanted him to be well because why the Hell would you wish for someone to be *UN*well jfc — but also had trouble with that because New Boyfriend was sometimes aware of how some of his actions affected other people, but sometimes not, but sometimes he was and did the stupid things anyway, and even in working on his problems, he made the mistake that a lot of people do where they focus on getting well as defined by and in order to please the people around them, rather than doing it for themselves

—all of which Josie was sympathetic to in a big way, having been in some similar places before themself…… but they had a hard time always being as compassionate as they wanted to be because New Boyfriend’s actions had been hurting Best Friend, and even knowing that this wasn’t entirely something that New Boyfriend could be entirely blamed for (for several reasons), Josie still had a hard time trying to overlook the, “this lovable weirdo is my friend, my best friend, and even though we aren’t together anymore, I love him, and you hurt him, so yeah, I’m kinda mad at you for that” thing

And this all goes back to why I love Josie because one thing that they’ve kept in a big way, in getting retooled and updated and worked into my dumb little stories about neurodivergent and/or mentally ill LGBTQ mutant superheroes (and Pete, who is not actually a mutant but is neurodivergent, gay, an abuse survivor, and a superhero and I will fight anyone who says otherwise)

(I mean, ffs. Batman doesn’t have any mutant superpowers, and Iron Man wouldn’t have any actual superpowers without his ridiculous power-armor and, depending on the continuities, his arc reactors. So, no, I don’t think that Pete needs to have literal superpowers to count as a superhero — but that’s beside the point and to be fair, I will admit to being biased because I love Pete more than George RR Martin loves Jon Snow and Tyrion Lannister)

Anyway. As I was saying.

One thing that Josie has kept in a big way is that ongoing fight with themself over two equally powerful impulses or reactions to things or desires — like their, “I want affections and I want to be around people…… okay no this is overwhelming and I don’t actually like these people fuck this I want to be alone…… oh but being alone sucks and now I’m lonely, I want to be where the people are, let’s go to the movies…… oh my god why did we go see the new Star Wars while it’s still a relatively recent release, I barely remember anything about the actual movie, I was too overwhelmed by the feelings of everyone else in that completely packed theatre… and so on” relationship with other people and being around them or not

Or like their big struggle in the first book of wanting to help people and create positive change in the world, but not being able to do too terribly much on their own for a lot of reasons (some of which are about Josie personally, and some of which are about the whole Lone Superhero thing be a lot of hot fucking nonsense that is fundamentally unsustainable), but not having an official team to belong to because although they work for S.T.R.O.M.A., they don’t like S.T.R.O.M.A., and while they are part of the extended Wardens family, they’re not a fully-fledged Warden and so much of the Wardens’ everything is based around Yael and Elizabeth’s school, so being one and not being up in Poughkeepsie would be weird and mean you end up missing out on a lot and, in Josie’s case, end up feeling like an outsider even when you’re surrounded by people who, for the most part, love you and accept you exactly as you are, but also not entirely doing everything they can to find a team because, in fairness, it can be really difficult to do that even if you don’t work for the U.S. government……

Basically, I love Josie because I love making my characters deal with internal conflict, and while all of them have a lot of it, I’m really fond of Josie’s particular brand of, “self-reflective, doing things but not things that add up to bigger things in the ways that Josie wants, trying to remedy that but it’s hard, not sure what to do or if going after these new possibilities and new ideas will make things worse, getting fed up with themself and needing to try something, but but but five million different elements all converging on each other but but but” internal conflict

And I’m really fond of it in Josie’s case because Josie is savvy enough to know that they can’t fall into the same, “do fuck-all nothing about anything until the last possible minute” trap, but their frustration is less about, “I can’t do anything” and more about, “but what do the things that I do actually mean, who am I helping, am I actually helping them or not, how can I do things that create more significant positive changes or is there a way to do that at all”

And, well. There is, Josie, but it requires you to trust some new people, bond with some new people, build relationships with them and work on maintaining said relationships, find strength in numbers, and learn more about loving and letting people love you back because one of your biggest problems in your previous relationships has been that you don’t open up — not, “you open up slowly” but, “you don’t open up with most people, period, despite knowing that this is not a sustainable way of doing things” — so yeah I’d say you need to learn about that, and learn to stop being such a lone wolf because do you know what generally happens to lone wolves? Either they find a pack somehow, or they die (without making any kind of positive changes in the world around them, relative to the size and interests of, y’know, wolves).

……Because I’m a lonely and bitter and it makes my half-dead little heart happy to make my characters find more strength together than they do apart and learn to love and be loved in return without it coming off as one-sided, like it can do in a lot of takes on that trope that are aimed at children, because…… uh, last I checked, the whole point of a relationship is that it is not exclusively about one person’s needs or desires???

Also, Josie is a compassionate but grumpy grown up goth kid who is trying to be a good person, and doing a better job than a lot of other characters, but definitely has a problem with their judgmental tendencies and how they sometimes externalize them and get super-judgmental of others, because on some level, their mind is like, “fuck, can i get a break from always punishing myself over here, jfc” and I don’t know, it’s almost 4AM and I have lost track of how long I’ve been writing this

Josie’s a nerd and a cat who can’t make up their mind about whether they want to be outside chasing butterflies or inside sitting on your keyboard so that you have to pay attention to them and not your computer and idk, I love them, the end

(except for the footnotes oops)

*: Special Taskforce for the Regulation and Oversight of Metahuman Affairs — or in plain-speak, the FBI’s wing of people who get involved in all of the shiny, extralegal superpowered mutant hijinks.

They have a pretty good working relationship with their counterparts at the Department of Health and Human Services (who actually end up handling most mutant affairs, because this world treats the question of super-powered mutant licensing as more equivalent to getting a driver’s license, and frankly, most mutants in the U.S. just want to go about their lives in peace — like, go to college, get a job, go on dates, come home and watch the Daily Show, and not be bothered about or make trouble for anyone else with the weird superpowers that most of them did not want or ask for — so there’s rarely any actual reason for the FBI to go stick their noses into anything, and there are plenty of cases where they get called in, only to find that they aren’t actually needed after all), but… yeah.

S.T.R.O.M.A. is a faction of people who exist. Josie works for them, for all they would really rather not. Unfortunately for Josie, particularly powerful metahumans tend to wind up on a lot of S.T.R.O.M.A. watch-lists, and they are more likely to do so when they have powers that the people at the FBI consider particularly useful or desirable — for example, telepathy and hyper-empathy, in Josie’s case. For the most part, these watch-lists don’t actually amount to anything because they don’t end up being relevant to most of the cases that S.T.R.O.M.A. has to deal with.

—but then you can have situations like Josie’s, where they were one of many mutants who got in a brief spot of trouble over genuine confusion surrounding a new bill that had just gone through Congress and revised some of the definitions of and privileges associated with/afforded to people at the different levels of metahuman licenses. (Since this is still America and we’re still talking about the FBI, there are also plenty of even worse potential outcomes for people who end up on their miscellaneous mutant watchlists — which is one of the big points that gets brought up by people who either want to reform or do away with the whole metahuman licensing thing — but in fairness to most people, they don’t know the full specifics.)

Anyway, Josie got in trouble because they are an actual therapist and, although they prefer not to use their powers with clients and extensively brief anyone who asks about trying that approach (about the potential benefits vs. potential risks, all the drawbacks, all the potential unintended consequences, etc.) while offering them plenty of chances to change their mind and go, “okay, let’s not do this,” they do still let their clients know that they’re a telepath/empath and that they can use their powers in a therapeutic context but it’s not the best thing to try as a first approach

Which is all great, except that Josie had been assured that they wouldn’t need to get a different kind of license to continue doing this, after that bill passed… except that they did. And this probably would’ve continued with no actual interference from anybody because Josie is hyper-responsible about using their powers with clients, about keeping up on all of the latest research and debates about therapeutic uses for psychic abilities and the ethical issues surrounding this, and so on…… except that one of their clients was a teenager who needed parental consent to go through with this, and one of their parents worked for S.T.R.O.M.A.

Relevant piece of context: Josie was absolutely not the only mutant who’d had some confusion over the revised licensing scheme. Josie wasn’t even the only mutant in the greater Baltimore area who had similar confusion on this issue.

But Josie was one of the only ones who was already on S.T.R.O.M.A.’s radar when they got in trouble, partly by virtue of being a “telempath,” partly by virtue of having trained with Dr. Elizabeth Woodham (who is: one of the most powerful telepaths in the entire world; a respected professor, activist, and philanthropist; one of the first mutants in the States to register for one of the early, “superhero licenses” [not their official name, but that’s the gist of what they are]; and with her wife, Dr. Yael Lehrer, one of the co-founders of the Wardens and co-headmistresses of one of the most respected schools for mutants in North America), and partly by virtue of having a lot of (mostly untapped) potential power.

And, see, one of S.T.R.O.M.A.’s problems is that it is perpetually under-staffed, in all areas but especially in terms of mutants who work for them, and moreover, mutants who will actually do fieldwork (like, Pete’s cousin Emerson is a mutant and he does work for S.T.R.O.M.A., but he’s lower on the powers scale than most of their employees who do active fieldwork, and he has no desire to do fieldwork when he could do lab-work instead). There are a lot of reasons for this problem of staffing, but one of the more noticeable end-results is that S.T.R.O.M.A. can be somewhat unethical in some of their recruitment bids. Like, yes, sometimes, you just get a visit from Some Guy Who Is Totally Not Nick Fury, who offers you a chance to be a part of something bigger than yourself and to use your abilities to help people

Other times, you get treated to a few hours of what S.T.R.O.M.A. sees and treats as the interview portion of applying for a Very Important Position somewhere, except that they don’t tell you that this is what they’re doing and they use “interview” (read: interrogation) techniques that people in law enforcement usually save for wrangling confessions out of suspects.

It will not look like it, but they are actually trying to figure out some specific things about you, including but not limited to: how you handle high-stress and high-pressure situations (like, for example, being accused of using your powers for any extralegal vigilantism, and maybe knowing things about [the biggest mutant-related news of the day] that they don’t; being threatened with a trip to one of the U.S. prisons designed to hold mutants; etc.); various details about your backstory and who you are as a person and what your biggest Deals are (i.e., getting you to help them run a damn background check on yourself); and how in control of your powers you are (since they trust the DHHS evaluations, but prefer to supplement them with firsthand evidence).

Then, once they’ve figured out what they want to know, you might very well be offered something to the tune of, “Alright, this is your first offense, and based on your dossier and this interview, we think that you could be an asset to S.T.R.O.M.A., if you wanted. If you like the sound of working for us, at least as an analyst or consultant if not a fully-fledged special agent, then we can make all of this legal trouble just go away. If you don’t like the sound of that, then……… well… *deliberately trails off to let you draw your own conclusions while still staying within the letter of the law, because hey, they didn’t actually tell you that you’d for sure end up getting prosecuted and going to prison*”

So…… yeah. S.T.R.O.M.A. and Ethics are not always on speaking terms.

Add this recruitment story to Josie’s frustrations with how metahuman employees at S.T.R.O.M.A. tend to get treated — e.g., they, themself, are often trotted out to go liaise with different media outlets as a public face of Mutants Who Work Here, Look We’re Trying Our Best So You Should All Just Totally Cooperate With Us, but they’re discouraged from voicing any of their own opinions and advised to just stick to these Bureau-approved talking points — and at having to be closeted and fairly masc-presenting at work because S.T.R.O.M.A. thinks they’re a cis man, and…… yeah, uh.

“Josie would really, really rather not work here” is an understatement af… but they continue working here anyway because: 1. as a consultant, they can still usually balance things enough to keep working as a therapist;

and 2. Josie wants so badly to help people, and for all S.T.R.O.M.A. is highly unethical (sometimes) and part of the goddamn FBI, most of the people who work there also want to help people and use their work to create positive changes in the world — and it’s not an unfair observation that, on their own, there really isn’t much that Josie can do (because the idea of the solo superhero who works alone… isn’t sustainable, like??

Aside from the political and ideological issues with that whole aspect of superhero mythology, it’s not actually feasible for one person, working on their own, to create any positive change. It would be massively unhealthy for them, there’s only so much they can do as one person, there are no actual safeguards in place if they ever get corrupted, and as multiple deconstructions of the genre have shown, it’s really easy for a classic lone vigilante model superhero to slide into a mindset like Rorschach’s — which is full of hypocrisy, double standards, misogyny and homophobia and ableism, and total moral absolutism that simultaneously allows no room for compassion and keeps Rorschach from being able to appreciate the big picture outside of his little myopic Objectivst bubble — or Frank Miller!Batman, who is often only a step or two off from actual fascism, but we probably won’t call it that because he’s wearing the Batman suit).

At this point, Josie has even had it all but confirmed that the agents who came to recruit them definitely “avoided certain truths to manipulate them” on purpose, so they’re reasonably certain that they could probably leave S.T.R.O.M.A without having their previous step out of bounds dredged up and handed to a D.A. who’d be pressured to prosecute them for it…… but they want to help people, and S.T.R.O.M.A. is one of the only options that they can currently see where they get to help anyone.

So, here they are. Working in a position that they’re not a fan of, looking at the motivational posters of gothed out kittens that one of their best friends drew for them, and trying to take, “hang in there!” kitty’s advice and tough it out at S.T.R.O.M.A. for the sake of doing some good in the world.

**: This mostly happens if Josie doesn’t have the energy enough or keep focus enough to keep their mental walls up — which they are usually very diligent about because on one hand, hearing other people’s thoughts kind of sucks actually (Josie would definitely agree with the sentiment that, a lot of the time, being a telepath is like having a youtube comments section screaming at you in your head)

—and on the other, um, hello, telepathy can, in the wrong hands, become a walking violation of civil liberties. Like, if you ask Josie, telepathy has a lot in common with wiretapping, though they consider it potentially even more dangerous than that, because it’s harder to prove that telepathy has been involved in something, since:

1. yes, the traces of telepathy can show up on a CAT scan or an MRI of the brain, but you’d need a neurologist who is well-trained, very attentive, and up to date on as much of the current research into telepathy as possible — or hey, a team of neurologists might not be a bad idea, if you can get them all, because one neurologist might miss something

—but otoh, the traces of telepathy can sometimes also be mistaken as signs of something else, especially if someone is neurodivergent and/or mentally ill, has suffered any serious and/or recent head injuries, has a history of substance abuse, is sleep-deprived at the time of the tests, may actually have something else going on in their brain in addition to the traces of telepathy

Seriously, just about anything that affects the brain can make it harder to tell whether or not someone’s been hit with telepathy

Plus: telepathic abilities are sort of mid-level common among mutants, and some mutants use them without even realizing it because their powers haven’t manifested in ways that are for sure Outside Three Standard Deviations From The Non-Mutant Human Mean, so some minor telepathic scarring is common, even in people who haven’t been hit by something as awful as, say, memory modification, or having someone go in and pick around in their brain like they’re flipping through an issue of Us Weekly

—and without a keen, well-trained eye, it can be really hard to tell those types of telepathic scarring apart

2. some of the traces of telepathy are more subjective, and while they might show up on a brain scan, the best evidence of them will come from the people who’ve been hit with the telepathic whatever

—but that’s going to be a problem because, in a lot of cases, they won’t have any memory of it, or they’ll have a false memory of it, and there’s no guarantee that further telepathic probing will be able to help here, and it could just make things worse. Plus, there’s no guarantee that the people who’ve been hit will actually be aware that what they’re experiencing is related to telepathy.

This is especially true with experienced, exceptionally powerful, and/or highly meticulous telepaths, because some of them can dick around in people’s heads and leave barely any trace that they were there

Like, for an example of what a more subjective trace might look like: Conrad is a telepath, and unlike Josie, he doesn’t really care about ethics or the rights of most other people. About ten years before the story actually starts, he took an interest in his new brother-in-law’s youngest brother (Sebastian), because he could sense something in Seb — he didn’t know what it was, exactly, but it was definitely a something — that made him go, “huh, maybe this emotionally troubled nearly twenty-year-old boy is also a mutant”

(I mean, he’s not wrong. And the something that he got a sense of back then is the part of Seb that he’s eventually going to call, “La Bête,” because if he’s going to go for the superhero thing and need a codename, then, “Gévaudan” makes sense to him because his family is insistently French [despite not having lived in France since about 1781, apart from one ancestral namesake of Seb’s who stayed in Paris for their Revolution (and Severin Sebastien Moncrieff was a confirmed bachelor, so he left behind a partner but no heirs), well before La Bête du Gévaudan was a Thing, and despite not being from the region of France where that happened] and hey, he can apparently turn into a giant wolf-man, now

—and if he’s calling himself, “Gévaudan,” then, “La Bête” is just thematically consistent. But that’s beside the point.)

Anyway: Conrad wasn’t new to his powers ten years ago, but he was much more reckless with them — especially when he believed that he was absolutely right and would stop at nothing to prove it — and he had less finesse in using them.

So, he left behind plenty of traces when he decided to use his little sister’s wedding reception as a chance to go telepathically play around with Seb, trying to either figure out if his new brother-in-law’s little brother actually was a mutant, or maybe triggering his powers into fully manifesting (plus plying him with alcohol and adding rohypnol to the mix based on the notion that either it wouldn’t affect Seb because he’s a mutant, or if not that, then it’d trigger his abilities into manifesting).

The underlying logic of the rohypnol idea was actually not wrong, because toxin filtering is one of the more common mutant abilities you find in the States (and it happens to be one that Seb has), and some mutants have had their powers manifest in response to poisoning, drugging, exposure to carbon monoxide or other toxic fumes, and even being given antibiotics or certain medications

The idea was still morally wrong and ethically skeevy, but the mutant-related logic actually did work. Where Conrad went wrong on that count was that he overly simplified the situation, only looked for two potential reactions, and didn’t know what to make of how Seb was affected by the rohypnol but not nearly as badly as he should’ve been, so he went, “Was he affected or not?? I don’t know????”

[Here is where I cut a whole big tangent explaining that whole story, but it got way, way off the point, so.]

Anyway, the gist of the story is that Conrad is the only person who consciously remembers everything that happened, since most of the people who cared about it were not present for the encounter itself, and Conrad screwed around with Seb’s memories, both telepathically and not.

Like, Seb has more memories of it than he would if he weren’t a mutant, considering that he got dosed with rohypnol, but he also has false memories about some of what happened, and Conrad repressed Seb’s memories of certain events (like how many times he tried to break away from Conrad, or turn down the offer of another drink, because he’d promised his big brother that he wouldn’t get drunk and make a scene at Max’s wedding or the reception, and it was important to him to honor that promise)

Fortunately for Conrad, Seb is not one of the mutants who has an increased resistance to psychic attacks — largely because, contrary to what Conrad thought until about two years before the story starts, someone’s ability to resist to psychic attacks has nothing to do with whether or not they’re a mutant (aside from some special cases where someone has a resistance to any psychic attacks that falls outside three standard deviations of the non-mutant human mean)

—so, despite the feelings he sometimes gets that something about those memories might be wrong, Seb totally believes that they’re real and he doesn’t notice any of the incongruities unless someone points them out, which almost no one has any reason to do because there isn’t usually a reason for Seb to talk at length about the details of this particular incident that happened almost ten years ago

(there would be, if he ever brought it up in therapy or at AA and/or NA, or dwelled on it when he did, but that has yet to actually happen)

Unfortunately for Conrad, he did a sloppy job of this, and while it would be hard for a neurologist to tell the physical signs of his telepathic probing apart from the other brain damage that Seb’s accrued, the hardest thing for most other telepaths would be trying to find the right memories. The crap-shoot nature of telepathically digging through someone else’s mind is one of the many reasons why Josie doesn’t like using their powers as a first approach in therapy, because you can never guarantee with any reliable certainty that you’ll get at the parts of someone’s mind that you want

—but if someone did get to Seb’s memories of this incident, it would be really obvious to them that they’ve been modified. Like, images might be blurred around the edges, it might glitch like a video or audio track that’s skipping, the voices might get distorted, the colors might look wonky, and so on. Prodding a bit more would also be able to undo Conrad’s memory-blocks without doing too much damage to Seb’s brain (not so much on an emotional and psychological level, but the damage there would be more like the painful truth that hurts now but leads to something better)

Anyway, it’s much harder to get proof of this nature when you’re dealing with more skillful, more attentive, more powerful, etc. telepaths, because they aren’t as messy as Conrad was with Seb

and 3. Wiretapping operations usually involve more people, which doesn’t make them ethical or necessarily justified, but it does mean that they’re easier to find evidence of because there are more folks who can spill the beans and point you to it. Telepathy only needs two people to happen, and one may not even be aware of what’s going on, depending on how sensitive they are and whether or not they’re dealing with an ethical telepath

For example: while not metahuman levels of resistant to psychic attacks, Pete is exceptionally sensitive to them and he’s naturally better at resisting them than some people, so if someone wanted to paw through his mind, he has a better chance of recognizing that he’s being telepathically invaded and getting them out

Sebastian, on the other hand, is Bad at recognizing and resisting psychic probing. Unethical telepaths have an easier time of getting through him because at his best, if he isn’t told in advance, then he feels ill at ease, inexplicably anxious (not that it means much, because he tends to attribute that to his shitty mental health), kind of nauseated, and maybe like he’s being spied on. At worst, he doesn’t even notice.

So, basically, Josie considers it a moral and ethical responsibility on their part to do everything they can to not inadvertently spy on people, because there is already so much about telepathy that can go really bad and poses a lot of ethical problems — but they are only human, and there are a lot of ways for someone’s mental walls to come down or reasons why they would.

Letting their empathic walls down usually makes it easier for Josie to focus on keeping up the telepathic walls, since the empathic ones are a lot harder for them to keep up, but it’s only a temporary thing because if Josie takes those walls down, they open themself up to a looooooot of potential overwhelm from outside influence, and there’s always the option to find a balance between the empathic walls and telepathic ones, but sometimes, it’s easier said than done.

Josie is usually too hard on themself for it when any slip-ups on their part happen, even knowing that every other telepath and every other empath has moments like this and even if they got too overwhelmed to actually remember anything and/or heard nothing.

It’s such a big deal to them because the potential for psychic abilities to violate other people — and especially the potential to manipulate people and compromise or outright remove their agency — is something that Josie never wanted. They went into counseling as a profession, after their original plan of going into fashion went up in smoke, but part of it, for them, has always been about trying to help people get their lives back, or manage them better, and so on. Granted, they knew about their telepathic and empathic abilities before they officially went into therapeutic practice, but that, for Josie, was part of how they developed their approach to being a therapist.

Furthermore, on a more personal and less professional note, Josie never wanted mutant superpowers to begin with. After having their telepathy and empathy first manifest in full, they might’ve done plenty of things that they normally wouldn’t even consider, if they thought it could take their powers away.

Partly, that was because their powers manifested toward the end of a really bad mental health downswing that ended in Josie going back to an inpatient treatment center for their eating disorder. Any of these elements on their own would’ve been bad enough, but having them all come down on them at once was Hell for Josie, and worse, trying to get well while you are in an inpatient center and can feel everyone else’s feelings, hear a lot of their thoughts, and are currently having trouble sorting out which parts are your own feelings, which parts are coming from your eating disorder, and which parts are coming from everyone else (not least because you don’t have any proof that you are feeling things or hearing thoughts that are coming from other people).

Josie eventually got help for that part because one of the therapists at the center was a metahuman and had gone to the Woodham and Lehrer School before deciding that she didn’t particularly want to be a superhero in the traditional sense. She reached out to her old teachers, and Josie got help for that while doing more intensive outpatient treatment until they got better at tuning out other people’s thoughts and feelings.

But there’s a lingering problem here that goes back to the feelings that underlie Josie’s ED. When they are at their absolute worst, Josie can be an absolute control freak, and they tend to turn it inward more than outward because they realize that taking it out on other people isn’t fair and they don’t feel good about it. Additionally, feeling other people’s feelings as intensely as they do gives Josie an additional incentive not to take their issues with control out on other people (and did even before their powers fully manifested, because they’ve always been pretty sensitive). On some level, Josie realizes that they can’t control things like how people react to them, whether or not bad things happen to good people, and so on, but that doesn’t always help because it can lead to them feeling even more of a need to crack down on controlling themself.

Having psychic powers becomes problematic for them in two big ways, here:

1. It’s unfortunately very easy for Josie to slip into overly self-punishing thought patterns if they feel like they aren’t as in control of their abilities as they, “should” be — which happens very easily because Josie’s standards for themself aren’t always realistic, and they usually aren’t the best judge of whether or not they’re being fair to themself.

It’s even more noticeable, for them, when they try to do more complex and demanding things with their powers.

This was one of the big reasons why they’ve stayed on good terms with their friends and mentors at the Lehrer and Woodham School, and among Yael and Elizabeth’s Wardens, but consistently rejected any invites to become a Warden (and then regretted that when S.T.R.O.M.A. got them instead, since Josie would much rather be one of the Wardens than working for the FBI).

Basically, Josie trusted Elizabeth’s guidance, and they really, really wanted to trust Elizabeth’s faith in them to handle their full power responsibly…… but it was hard to believe that when they already didn’t feel like they controlled their powers as much as they, “should” have been doing, and Elizabeth wanted to push them further.

For Josie, it felt like the choice came down to, “be a superhero and do more cool superhero things, at the expense of my own well-being, which means I eventually won’t be able to help anyone and could hurt more people than I help”

or, “quietly go back to training for an entirely different career than I expected, keep in touch with Elizabeth and work on honing my abilities, and maybe not get to help people in as big a way as members of the Wardens get to do, but at least, as a therapist, I will still have the ability to help people and will probably be less likely to screw that up by virtue of losing my control over my powers”

(To her credit, Elizabeth was disheartened by this, because she believes in all of her students and wants them to believe in themselves, and really wanted Josie on her team — but she’s learned that the superhero life isn’t for everybody, and that it’s not her job, as a teacher and mentor, to tell people what they should do; it’s her job to show them new approaches, teach them how to learn, help them find what paths and methods work best for them, etc.

So, disheartening as it was, she’s been nothing but supportive about Josie’s choice not to be a Warden, and compassionate about how much Josie doesn’t like working for the FBI — and without trying to turn it into some kind of, “this could be super-beneficial for us, if Josie wanted to give us any advance warning about S.T.R.O.M.A. business that might negatively affect us here” thing like Yael)

(To her credit, Yael really does believe that she’s helping when she says things like that, because she is so fundamentally a doer, rather than a thinker, feeler, planner, or anything else. She is absolutely capable of all of those things, but she has an approach to life and problems that goes, “Okay, this is a Thing and it’s a setback, but what can we do about it, how can we use this to build something even better”

—so her idea of how to help one of her and Elizabeth’s students and comrades with an unexpected and unwanted “recruitment” to S.T.R.O.M.A.… is going, “But look, see, we can still potentially make something good out of this, and just because a government agency snatched you up doesn’t mean that you have to forget your own values or let them control you, this can be a good thing if you take advantage of the right pieces and opportunities”

—for a moment of MBTI nerdery: Yael is an ENTJ (***) vs. Josie’s INFJ (***), so while she has Extroverted Thinking (Te) for a dominant cognitive function and primarily approaches the world based on how to get results, Josie’s dominant function is Introverted iNtuition (Ni), and while they have an orientation toward the future that appreciates where Yael is coming from with her drive to get results, Josie’s primary approach to the world looks less at objective things and objective results, more at patterns and theories and trying to find the, “higher purpose” or, “deeper reason” behind how stuff happens

Which, oddly enough, is part of why Josie and Yael get on so well. They can butt heads with each other, sometimes, but at the end of the day, they complement each other really well because both of them have vision and the drive to act on it, but Yael is better at actually getting shit done, and Josie is better at checking things through the processes of making them happen, finding potential problems that Yael may not have seen coming and trying to work addressing them into the fabric of her plans.

Their Feeling functions also complement each other really well: Josie is a high Feeler, with Extroverted Feeling (Fe) as their auxiliary function, which keeps them more attuned to the state of the group and all the people in it, while Yael has a very good relationship with her inferior Fi (Introverted Feeling), which enables her to better evaluate how their actions and plans are helping or hurting their causes, where their ideals fit into everything, and so on.

So, basically, Yael is better at making sure that they all remember who they are and what they stand for, both individually and as parts of the whole, while Josie is better at attending to people’s emotional needs and keeping the whole intact by caring for the individual members of it.

And because they both respect and admire each other, neither of them devalues the other’s contributions to anything — and it doesn’t matter to Yael that Josie has a badge and would have an easier time getting a gun if they weren’t really uneasy about guns; Josie’s a mutant, they’ve been one of her students, and they care about helping other mutants, so officially being part of S.T.R.O.M.A. doesn’t mean that they aren’t part of Yael’s (larger, mutant) family

—which all means a lot to Josie because, in a lot of ways, they still haven’t entirely outgrown their early experiences of being one of the weird art freaks at school (which, even for someone who wound up being part of a subculture/clique that’s all about going, “fuck you, I’m gonna do my thing and you can love it or shove it,” gave Josie some trouble because, goth of not, they’re sensitive), and they have a huge tendency to be overly harsh with themself and don’t always love themself very much, so this whole unconditional acceptance thing is a Big Deal to them

But I digress.

2. Having psychic powers also gets Problematic for Josie because, in their mind, they’ve spent so much of their life fighting their eating disorder and their overall mental health to keep control of their life, and it’s difficult, periodically degrading, often horrific, and something that they wouldn’t wish on anybody, period…… so having the power to take away someone’s ability to control their own mind? Having the power to violate someone’s agency, potentially with more or less complete impunity? That’s horrifying, and Josie doesn’t want it

One of the easiest ways to make Josie go off the handle at you is to dismiss how hard it is for them to maintain any sense of composure. Like, okay, they can handle people teasing them about some of their self-care habits because humor is how a lot of people come to be comfortable with and accept things they don’t understand at first, and how a lot of people show that they’re comfortable with you and like you.

But if you act like Josie doesn’t have to work, impossibly hard and daily, on their own well-being, because if they don’t, then they could lose control of psychic abilities and this would be Really Fucking Terrible for everyone? ……Uh.

Just don’t do that. It’s not pretty, it’s not fun, it’s mean and please, just don’t do it.

An even easier way to make Josie snap at you is to play what they call, “the Aslan card” — which means telling them that the proof that they can handle the responsibility of psychic powers, is their own fear that maybe they can’t, their awareness of and attentiveness to the ethical and moral problems attached to them having psychic powers, the fact that they’d rather not have psychic powers in the first place because it can — and often does — feel like these powers and their attendant responsibilities are too big and too potentially Terrible Forever, For Everyone

Which Josie calls, “the Aslan card” because, uh. The first time they heard it was from Elizabeth (whose heart was in the right place in saying this, but she didn’t think about how it might end up sounding to Josie), and the first thing Josie was reminded of was Aslan telling Prince Caspian that he’s ready to become the King because he doesn’t think he’s ready

It’s just…… Josie understands where this idea is coming from, and they appreciate the underlying sentiment

But, to them, it always sounds more like, “why are you upset about how hard this is for you, at least it’s happening to you and not someone who doesn’t give a fuck about ethics or how they treat other people, quit whinging and cheer the fuck up”

Which…… yes, Josie knows that this isn’t what most people mean, but it’s still pretty upsetting for them to hear because of how much it reminds them of things that they’ve told themself so many times, when they’ve been at their worst, in terms of their mental health and emotional well-being — especially the things like, “My eating disorder isn’t bad because it’s only hurting me, not anyone else, and it’s only hurting me because I’m weak”

—and yeah, okay, Josie appreciates that you’re trying to help, but they already have enough work to do on keeping themself from slipping back into the comfort of those thought patterns, so if it’s all the same, can you maybe find a different way of trying to comfort them or praise them or whatever? Please?

Thank you, they’d like that