#Me writing something so normal but making it 10 times more dramatic and angsty:))

[darlin-collins]

"you're so cute!" i said, as i picked him up from my side to lay him on top of me

"you're adorable!" as i gave him head pets

"cutie look at meeeee" i said, guiding his big, round, green eyes to land on mine

Then i saw it

Big, round, green eyes..

I saw him again..

The orange fur truned into black in my head

My eyes went wide, the arms holding him went loose, and he heard a sound, gravitating towards it, he left me to my scared memories

[izukusjuicythighs]

bkdk fics i read because was it ever casual

Horikoshi keeps feeding us bkdk crumbs like wtf??at this point they HAVE to be canon bkdk hospital kiss confirmed I was izukus freckle ALSO IM KINDA IN A BLOCK RN whenever I finish a fic my yappin brain always has something to say but rn its real quiet so uh🤡

left me no choice(but to stay here forever)

summary: Izuku learns early on in life that the people he loves will always leave him.

So when Kacchan asks him to be his boyfriend, Izuku kisses him and starts grieving for the inevitable.

words: 6,925

chapters: 3/4(updating)

notes: im quite aware that its a bitchy move to inflict pain on ppl but jm gonna do it anyways lol READ THIS AND WEEP I literally wanted to gorge my heart out and then slap all of my love into izuku idk it evokes complicated feelings??normally hate reading unfinished fics BUT THIS!!gave me a life changing experience within 7000words dammit

be my good luck charm

summary: See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest traveling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

words: 6785

chapters: 1/1

notes: cute lil oneshot for yall cuz mha fans r in dire need of fluff rn yknow why🤭 how to date a hottie101 by bkg: set ur crush on fire to show ur undying love(WRITE IT DOWN WRITE IT DOWN)

Barberries and Variegated Knotweeds

summary: The Fight Another Day Agreement is a required legal document for all professional heroes. In the event of a life-threatening injury and the hero and their proxies are unable to respond on their behalf, medical professionals may do whatever it takes to keep the hero alive.

For Izuku, whatever it takes means removing flowers from his lungs, forcing him to forget about the love of his life. The aftermath leaves Izuku bewildered at the sight of a man with spiky blond hair and red eyes the color of Japanese barberries.

words: 19,286

chapters: 4/4

notes: YET ANOTHER HANAHAKI FIC WITH IZUKU WHUMP I just love seeing my favs go through it🤠I've read so many hanahaki fics ud think I'd be used to it but NOPE THIS SHIT HAD ME ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT was ready to downgrade 1 dimension to solve this shitstorm myself

If It's You

summary: “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me,” Katsuki said. “You did not just ask me—me—to try and date your loser step-brother.”

He wasn’t even going to say Deku’s name out loud. Wasn’t giving him the time of day, even in a conversation about him. That weird awkward virgin was not worth his precious time, and certainly not what Kirishima was suggesting.

“But Bakugouuu,” Kirishima wailed, hanging off Katsuki’s arm with monster meathead jock strength. “My dad said I can’t date if Deku doesn’t date. Do you understand what that means?”

“Less chance of knocking someone up and creating more of you in the world?”

words: 16,863

chapters: 1/1

notes: 10 things I hate about you but make it bkdk I LOVE THIS SHIT angsty dramatic misunderstanding high school aus are my JAM also somewhat gives off from the sidelines vibes so if ur into that defo read

Down the Red Line

summary: His mom is the first person to know about it. She finds out when Izuku asks ( in a very cute three-year-old way) why can’t he see the red line that connected him to Kacchan in the last picture they've taken. The one where they were about to enter Kindergarten on their first day.

"Red line?"

"Yeah, Mamma. This," Little Izuku says, raising his pinky finger to show her the thing tied to it.

Izuku has been able to see the red strings of fate since birth. It's no surprise that his is connected to Katsuki.

words: 7,804

chapters: 1/1

notes: one of my absolute favs since 2021 MAKES ME SO FUKCIN MAD I have to put my phone down and contemplate life for a few mjns while reading it but it's so good??my red string is tied to thjs fic pls

[uglypastels]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by: @eddiemunsons80sbaby 💖💖

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

My main posting site is tumblr, on which I have 387 titles in my masterlists, (443 individual writing posts if seperating multi-chaptered stories).

Then i've reposted 40 of these titles on AO3 and 10 on Wattpad.*

*Counted since 2018

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

40 fics - 518,511 words total

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I've written for MCU (actors) and co, the Irregulars, Stranger Things and One Piece (live action).

4. What are your top 5 fics?

I'm going by individual posts, not accumulated interactions through series.

Following the Herd

"Wearing His T-Shirt" blurb

"Overcoming the Nerves" blurb

Heaven and Hell

The Special

5. Do you respond to comments?

I always try my best to reply as soon as possible wether its an ask, reblog or comment. (Excluding wattpad, as i see that more like people annotating their reading and generally don't want to bother them. But i do always read them and appreciate them, and if something stands out or if someone comments a lot i will respond)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ooh i once killed reader off dramatically lol ("Car Crash" blurb) but I think the general reader's concensus would be Caught Me Slippin' , which I didn't even intend to make that angsty, but people cried (allegedly). And honestly, while i apologise for the emotional damage, i do take it as the highest compliment to be able to evoke such feelings.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of my stories are quite happy and i'm not sure how to rate "happiness".

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I am actually surprised how scarce the hate is, and usually in the form of anons, because I always expect people to hate me. But thats on insecurities. Honestly, writing on here has always been amazing.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes. I hate it tho 😫 like, love smut in theory and concept but it's a bitch to write.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I love a lengthy and extended au, often inspired by other works (Not Wholly Evil is basically Stranger Things x Pirates of the Caribbean) but i think the only clear "crossover" i (remember to) have written would be Murder on the Dancefloor ??? which would be a tom holland x Strictly Come Dancing crossover lmao. I do often think about tv show crossovers in concept tho, but doubt i'll write any.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yup. Shit sucks.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, but it was done without my permission and uncredited (which is still stealing!!) so that sucks.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I've dabbled in co-writing, haha, several times avtually, but for one reason or another, none of the projects were ever published. Would love to one day actually fully co-write something with someone on here.

14. What's your all time favorite ship?

Ngl, i'm not sure I have one. Probably why all of my stories are 'x reader'.

15. What's a WIP that you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

At this point I think this about every single one of my WIPs and that's writer's block for ya.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hmm...i'd like to think the expression of emotion, showing how characters feel. And maybe world building- or thats at least my favorite thing in AUs. Maybe also details (either motives, references or foreshadowing)

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm horrible at pacing. Always feel like i go too slow with the plot and then suddenly too fast and its all a mess, especially when it comes to series. Also just general knowledge on things; i feel like i don't know enough things to write about when it comez to daily and regular life, or even how to normally interact with people so that makes things hard when trying to be realistic. I also feel like i don't know enough words??? So things get really repetitive.

Oh, and this is also an aspect of writing- i'm horrible at getting feedback in the form of proofreading. It makes me physically sick having someone go through my work like that, and I barely do it myself. Which may result in some horrible typos/mistakes. And i do apologise profusely for that. Believe me, if you caught a mistake in my fic, i still think about it to this day.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in different languages?

Its always better if the writer is familiar with the language. Things you're comfortable with writing translate over better to the reader. It's like in movies/tv, its always better when you have an actor speaking a language they actually know. And if you don't know it, 1) ask yourself why are you writing it then and then 2) better research the hell out of it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

My first fic, that has since been deleted for a long time, was on wattpad and it was for a youtuber lmao. (peak 2013/15 era, thats all i'm gonna say)

20. Favorite fic(s) you've written?

From my most recent, in no particular order:

Following the Herd (eddie munson)

The Special (Sanji)

Not Wholly Evil (Eddie Munson)

Biggest Fan (Buggy)

Headlights (Eddie Munson)

This was so much fun to do at 4/5 am haha. Thank you for the tag again. Here are some peeps i'll be tagging (no pressure) 💜

@mydearzero @spiderrrling @eddies-house @elvendria @josephfakingquinn

[manonblaqkbeak]

Fire and Ice

hello, hope you’re all doing well. i’m doing a double feature today since its the 20th here in aus. so todays fic is for day 19 and 20 (like, if u squint lol).

its a lil bit more angsty then i planned for it to be in the beginning, but its got some fluff at the end. (also, again, i borrowed the 10 month pregnancy plot from acotar)

1.9k words

enjoy!

The bathroom tiles were cool against Aelin's clammy skin as she slowed her breathing. As she willed herself to stop feeling so dizzy.

Four months into her first pregnancy and Aelin soon came to realise what the worst part of pregnancy; the morning sickness.

Or, as Aelin liked to call it, 'whenever it rutting happened' sickness. Morning, midnight, dawn, she often found herself running towards a bathroom, emptying her stomach loudly for the whole damned kingdom to hear.

She was aware of the rumours flying around, that there were friendly bets going throughout the city as to whether or not Terrasen was going to have a prince or princess (apparently, the majority were betting for a boy, but Aelin didn't care what she had, as long as they were healthy), but neither her or Rowan confirmed the pregnancy, and so the rumours stayed as gossip, until she and Rowan were comfortable enough to officially announce it.

Aelin wanted to wait because of how hard it was to conceive—it had taken her and Rowan over three years to be successful, and while she knew that three years wasn't that long, it was still hard when nothing happened—and was scared that if she said it out loud, then something horrible would happen. She hadn't even told her friends, although she knew that they knew; the rumours would have reached them. She appreciated that they hadn't asked either of them. Other than Rowan, the only other person that knew of her pregnancy was her personal healer, Magnolia. Other than Yrene, the demi-Fae was a healer than Aelin felt comfortable around, because even after a decade later, she still had nightmares about her time in Maeve and Cairn's cruel hands, the never ending chain of healers coming to fix her so she could be tortured again and again.

Rowan wanted to wait because of everything that happened to Lyria and their child. There were many nights when Aelin would wake up and find Rowan just watching her, his hand against her slowly growing stomach, and not only could she see the pain in his eyes as he thought back on what happened all those centuries ago, she could also feel it, like a living thing. Aelin knew that Rowan did his best to stop her from sensing his dread, but she wasn't a fool, and she would have known how he was feeling even if they didn't have the bond between them, even if she was miles away, she would know.

The bathroom door opened and Rowan was helping her up, his hands warm and gentle against her clammy skin.

Aelin was far too tired to ask if one of her handmaids called for Rowan after Aelin ran from their shared closest and into the bathroom, or if he felt her distress through the bond.

It was probably both. She would ask once her head stopped spinning.

Resting her head against her mate's chest, Aelin breathed in his scent, letting the pine-and-snow of him calm her senses. His strong arms wrapped around her, his tattooed hand running up and down the length of her spine as his right hand was a steady presence against her lower back.

How long they stayed like that, Aelin wasn't sure, but once her head stopped spinning, she rinsed her mouth out to get rid of the pungent vomit taste that was lingering. Once satisfied that the taste was gone, Aelin let Rowan lead her to bed—not the closest.

“Rowan—” she started to say, but her husband cut her off.

“That was a strong one, and Magnolia said that it's best to rest afterwards.” So he felt it through the bond, then. “I'll take over, and you can stay in and read that book you've been eyeing all week.”

She should say no, that she was fine, but a day of rest did sound nice and probably something she desperately needed without knowing it—and she really had been wanting to read the book that Dorian had sent her the other week (which she had to write a detailed review of when she sent it back. It was one of her favourite past times, especially if it was a book that Dorian loved, but she didn't particularly like, because his response to her review was always the most dramatic thing that always made her laugh).

“Fine,” Aelin said, “I'll rest and you can go deal with Head Teacher of the Academy.”

Rowan groaned at the mention. The Fae male that ruled the magic school was nice, but just so damned pedantic that he had a say about everything. And everything was falling apart, according to him, despite the fact that the school was built only five years ago. “I swear,” Rowan grumbled, “that if he complains to me that the school halls aren't the right shade of brown, I'll throw him out the window.”

Aelin laughed, because she had said the same thing when the male had come around complaining that the roof tiles were crooked last month and she had sent Rowan to check on said tiles (and what a surprise to absolutely no one that the tiles weren't at all crooked), but that wasn't enough for the Head Teacher, when he came back the next week, he wanted the tiles replaced.

If he wasn't so damned talented and good with children and running the school, she would have had him fired for being a nuisance. But unfortunately, neither she or Rowan couldn't just get rid of him because he was annoying.

“Make sure that your shirt is tucked in neatly, or you'll get the same speech about cleanliness like last time.”

Rowan flared his nostrils at that, but said nothing as he got up and changed his crumpled tunic for a fresh one—not at all tucked in—and began his fussing.

Truthfully, she was surprised that he lasted that long.

He left her a glass of water, and a pitcher full of the liquid on her nightstand, and the bowl of seasonal fruit next to it. Next was opening the balcony doors to let in the fresh air, and then the fluffing of pillows and straightening of the quilt and bed sheets—Aelin may have teased him a little by saying that the sheets were too tight, and then too loose, having to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as he huffed at her ever-changing mind, until she decided that the sheets were just right after five minutes of readjusting.

Aelin watched it all with a small smile on her face, even as she grumbled about his fussing tendencies—but she knew he did it from a place of love, and that he wanted her and the baby to be comfortable.

He even went as far as to check her forehead, and gave her a wash cloth to freshen her up from her earlier sweating. At least she was already in a cotton nightgown and didn't have to get changed—although she knew that if she had too, Rowan would have brought the clothes over himself.

Once he was satisfied that Aelin was comfortable, he left with a kiss on the lips and a promise that he would see her once he was free, Aelin cracked open the book, but fell asleep thirty minutes later with an unexpected headache, a hand on her stomach.

X X X X X X

It was a rare day when Rowan had an empty afternoon, there was always someone to see, something to do, someone to write back to, that when Rowan finished his meeting with the Lords and Ladies of Terrasen and there was no one waiting for him in the audience chamber, Rowan was the first to leave the meeting, needing to check on Aelin. He hated how pale she looked when he left, but when he spoke to Magnolia quickly, the skilled healer told him that it was perfectly normal, but she would check in on Aelin to make sure that everything was okay—and since he wasn't called for during any of his meetings, he took that as a sign that things were fine.

The fact that the bond was quiet also assured him. He had tugged on it during at some point when one of the Lords was rambling, and he got a tired tug back, effectively telling him that Aelin was sleeping. So he let her be, and he sat in his worried state alone.

Rowan was excited for the baby, to take this step with Aelin, but Gods, he'd also hadn't been this tense, this paranoid that something was going to happen in so long. Rowan didn't think he'd feel like himself until he held their child in his arms, but Aelin still had six months to go.

And sometimes...sometimes he found himself wondering about the child he lost with Lyria. What they would have looked liked, if they would have been tall and broad like him, or slim like her. He also wondered how long their child would have been safe before Maeve claimed the child, having them trained to be a warrior like Rowan, or if Maeve would have cast them aside like she had done to Lyria, who Maeve saw as nothing but a pawn to use and toss aside.

His thoughts kept spiralling, his mind going from one thing and another, but stopped when he heard the sloshing of water and a relived sigh once he got closer to his rooms. He made his way through the space and soon came to the bathroom where Aelin was resting against the porcelain tub. Her skin was a light pink from the hot water, but otherwise looked healthy.

Rowan just stood and watched her for a moment and let the contentment from the bond wash over him. The steam danced through the air, carrying Aelin's scent with it, and the indescribable scent of their child within her.

“Are you going to stand there all afternoon?” Aelin asked, her eyes still closed, “or are you going to join me?”

Rowan decided to join her, managing to hold back his wince as he made contact with the boiling water—how Aelin found the hot as hell water relaxing he would never know.

When he was comfortably behind her, Aelin leaned against his chest, and took his hands and placed them against her growing belly.

“Magnolia visited me a few hours ago,” she said. “She says that soon the nausea will pass.”

“Good,” he said, letting the words settle in him.

Rowan was about to lean back against the bath when Aelin's fire filled the air in thin ribbons, moving as smoothly as water as it flew past him. His own magic moved in response, and soon his ice and wind joined her fire, going around the room, filling it up with the differences in temperature. And from the tub, a water butterfly the size of Aelin's palm lifted into the air, its movements delicate but strong as it came towards him. Aelin turned to look at him, her brows furrowed lightly in concentration.

The butterfly came to rest on his nose, and then exploded in his face.

Aelin laughed at his incredulous expression. Rowan shot forward and flicked water in her face, and soon almost all of the bath water was on the floor as they splashed at each other back and forth.

Rowan's troubles melted away with his ice and Aelin forgot about all of her nausea and stress temporarily.

Aelin couldn't wait to meet her baby, and she knew that Rowan was the same.

Six months couldn't come soon enough.

[shipsgaysfordays]

7, 10 and 17 for the fanfic ask game?

(the plot of the first fanfic you've ever written, coming up with titles, favourite line you've ever written?)

Thank you so much for asking<3

7 is a difficult one for me, what I think is arguably the first fanfiction that I remember writing is something that I honestly do what to anonymously post someday because it’s one of the few long works that I’ve completed. Without giving too much away, it was a musical script (all the songs are shitty lyrics with no chords because I don’t really do music well) and it was very much a dark comedy. I was inspired by this idea my best friend had had in creative writing club, and so my idea was kind of a sequel set in the same world as her’s. I’m unsure if it’s fanfic simply because there’s not very much basis on like a fandom or things like that, it’s more random popular characters, but I had a lot of fun with it.

Arguably the first true fanfic that I did was some small thing I wrote on here for wolfstar, or if you count twitter roleplay then I did do that for a few months in 2021 in a fandom I choose not to name.

10 depends, a lot of what I’ve done lately have been responses to those wolfstarmicrofic prompts so the titles aren’t too difficult since I can simply title it the same as the prompt (my favorite title I ever did is when I wanted to do the same prompt twice and decided to title the second “Reasonable 2: Electric Boogaloo”). Titles not based on prompts mainly just come from the dark recesses of my mind, I normally come up with titles soon before posting it, but there has been one WIP that I’ve been making that is explicitly based on a title because I was texting with my friend and she wrote something wrong and it was far too funny for me to not do something with it.

17, oh I have a really hard time narrowing that down, I think I like my work better whenever I’m able to write comedic, like I write so much dramatic angsty shit but more often that’s venting (though there’s actually 1 fic that I wrote that may look like venting but surprisingly is not) and I feel like whenever I do comedy it could possibly make people smile (if the jokes land, honestly I wouldn’t know if they do of course)

Anyways, some of my favorite lines:

 Remus’ eyes widened. No, no, no, no. They couldn’t have. Chocolate is sacred to him. “PADFOOT WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO THE CHOCOLATE???”

 “Look, look, look, look,” Sirius held their hands out in front of them, “It’s okay Moony, I wouldn’t do anything more than good fun. You’re gonna laugh, I know it.”

 “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU–”his shouted was interrupted by laughter, his own uncontrollable laughter. That bastard.

(Olive Branch)

Love isn’t known for being reasonable, or at least that’s what books seem to indicate. But fiction is fiction and the real world has more rules. Society and all that.

(Reasonable 2: Electric Boogalo)

 “Can I ask you another question?”

 “No, this question is already one too many, you’ve filled your quota for today good sir and I will need some compensation for this,” Sirius smirked.

(Painting On Your Crush Can Be A Bit Awkward)

As Remus continued silently fuming at a poster, Sirius coughed for a second and finally spoke again, “Sooooo Moony…are you having a staring contest……with a poster…of the moon? Don’t blink now, I think you might just crack him. YES, the moon blinked, YOU WON, MY CHAMPION, MY HERO! Siriously though love, can you look at me please?”

(Moons All Around Him)

[asthmark]

❝ not alone ❞, l.ty

synopsis → “you know, every reset we’re supposed to forget everyone and everything but no matter what i can never seem to forget how happy you make me.”

word count → 2.5k

warnings → angsty!!! the plot may not make sense since it’s literally 1 in the morning oops

a/n → i hope this concept makes sense and it isn’t too confusing or messy!! if it is just shoot me an ask i would be more than happy to clarify :] anyway i actually like the outcome of this but i am too tired to go back and reread it all for any mistakes so i just hope google docs has my back lol gn everyone

7:00 A.M.

the alarm you set for every year at the exact hour goes off at its appointed time, much to your dismay. the mere sound of your phone beeping has a knot forming in your stomach. you wished it would stop, that everything would just stop but that was beyond unrealistic. in fact, you felt foolish for even letting yourself think like that. no matter how badly you wanted things to change, they never would. you would have to endure the same things every year.

you had struggled to fall asleep the night before, that exact thought on your mind and the dread of facing the following day eating away at you. you had only managed to get some rest because of taeyong, who held onto you tightly and caressed your hair as he whispered sweet words to ease you into much needed sleep.

but the day was here now and there was no amount of romantic words or tender touches that would change that. there was absolutely nothing either of you could do about it.

you lean over towards your nightstand to turn off the alarm and taeyong stirs when he feels you begin to shift around in his arms. you lay beside him, staring up at the ceiling as he slowly begins to wake up. he yawns and stretches his limbs out on the mattress which was routinely for him. this would usually be followed by him trying to give you a smooch only for you to squirm away, giggling as you complained about his morning breath.

it is not one of those mornings.

8:09 A.M.

you end up having cereal for breakfast, another big switch up from your routine. normally, you two would browse the internet in search of a recipe that looked promising and try your best to recreate it. you would end up with flour, sugar and dirty dishes all over the place but you never cared. then you would sit at the couch, happily enjoying the finished product and chatting with the tv playing softly in the background.

that morning you sit at the dinner table silently, the cereal in your bowls going soggy before either of you had made a dent in it. you had lost any appetite and from the looks of it so has taeyong.

“you should eat.”

you glance up at your boyfriend. he isn’t eating either, instead he focuses on dipping his spoon into his cereal, bringing it above the bowl only to let it fall back in again. you put your silverware down. “i don’t think i can.”

he hums softly, agreeing with you. “are you nervous?”

it went without saying that you were both terrified. but you know he’s just trying to make conversation. you just nod your head anyway.  

10:31 A.M.

you and taeyong move to sit on the couch, turning on the tv so you don’t have to bear anymore uncomfortable silences.

even the newscaster looks down in the dumps, as expected. her voice lacks emotion as she speaks about the forecast, knowing nobody would be taking genuine interest unless it was to get their mind off of the current situation.

what did she expect? the world was restarting, people weren’t going to care about the weather.

“now, for the ongoing events,” says another news anchor. “as we are all well aware of, today is the annual reset. businesses worldwide have closed, most people opting to spend the day with their friends and family and we advise any viewers to do the same. talk to your loved ones about the memories you’ve made in the past year and write down the things and people you do not want to forget.”

you turn to taeyong only to find his gaze is already focused on you. you don’t hesitate to grab the hand that rests in his lap and intertwined his fingers with yours. neither of you say a word as you go back to watching the television, taeyong giving your hand a reassuring squeeze every so often.

12:46 P.M.

by noon, you and taeyong had begun cleaning your apartment, making sure it was well organized so that the next day you could focus only on getting settled in to your, essentially, new lives. you do the standard dusting and vacuuming along with similar around-the-house chores. while going through the closet, taeyong finds a shoe box full of polaroids you two had taken throughout the years. there are dates and other additional notes scribbled in sharpie on every single picture so your post-reset selves could read about the details of each photo since you would not be able to remember it. he calls out your name, smiling brightly when he sees your face light up as you fondly look over your shared moments.

“i’m so glad we got that camera,” you say, shifting through a stack of the photographs.

he nods. “probably your best idea yet.”

you find a picture of him giving you a piggyback ride and coo. it’s quite blurry but you can clearly see the huge grins on your faces. “look at us.” you hand him the photo. “we look so happy.”

he makes a noise of agreement, staring lovingly at the image. “you know, every reset we’re supposed to forget everyone and everything but no matter what i can never seem to forget how happy you make me.”

“quit it.” you shove his shoulder, smiling sadly as you attempt to blink away the tears forming in your eyes. “i don’t want to cry right now, there’s still so much work to do.”

“it can wait.” he opens his arms and that’s all it takes for you to break. you crawl into his embrace, sobbing softly into his chest. it tugs at his heart strings. he tucks his chin above your head but you still notice how his shoulders shake and quiet hiccups escape his lips.

3:28 P.M.

once you and taeyong get tired of being confined to your apartment, you decide to go out for a breath of fresh air. you walk around aimlessly and your final destination turns out to be olympic park. as expected, it’s quite empty since as you had heard on the news, everyone was spending their last couple hours with those they loved in private.

you take in the beautiful scenery and if either you catch sight of a pretty rock or blooming flower, you will stop to pick it up and carefully place it in your pockets for safe keeping. you had found that they served as good reminders of all the time you spent together. in fact, there are many more of these mini souvenirs in your home, decorating your shelves.  

“hold up,” says taeyong suddenly.

when you look at him his eyes have zeroed in on something on the ground. he kneels down and picks up a smooth rock. you can’t help but notice the familiarity of it’s color.

“pretty, right?” he says, dropping the item in the palm of your hand. “it matches your eyes.”

you smile at him, finding his attention to detail incredibly endearing. you hold on to the rock, feeling its curves with your fingers until a cluster of chrysanthemums catches your attention and you have to free up your hands to pick one. you decide on a yellow one and present it to your boyfriend.

“here,” you say. “for you.”

“hey, aren’t i supposed to be the one giving you flowers?” taeyong asks but he takes it from you anyway.

“you’re supposed to give flowers to people you like,” you say. “and i like you.”

“you like me?” he asks, gasping softly. “how embarrassing.”

you go along with his joke. “don’t you like me too?”

he shakes his head and makes a face. “no way... i love you.”

you shove his shoulder. “so cheesy.”

he can’t argue with that so he just nods and chuckles as he tucks the chrysanthemum into his dark locks of hair. at seeing this, you raise the polaroid camera round your neck toward taeyong and he, already used to it, automatically poses for you. he puts his arms over his head, curving them into a kind of crooked heart. he gives an open mouthed smile only resuming to his normal position when he hears the click of the camera. you and him share a laugh once the polaroid picture develops completely.

“oh god, i look ridiculous,” he comments. “please get rid of that.”

you only give him a sarcastic, “yeah sure” and continue walking.

you two never got rid of pictures, no matter how ridiculous or unflattering they were. you agreed that every moment you shared counted and deserved to be remembered.  

although, they never would be.

5:45 P.M.

you chew on the cap of your pen, massaging your aching hand. you had been writing for almost an hour and you had your cramping fingers to prove it. despite the discomfort, you aren’t one to break tradition. the ‘things i love about you’ list was an ongoing thing you and taeyong had been doing for... ever. they definitely came in handy if either if you wanted to read about what the other was like in past years.

“everything good over there?” taeyong asks, from the other side of the couch.

you shake your head. “this is too hard. i have no idea how i’ve kept this up for four years.”

he puts a hand over his heart. “wow, i’m that hard to love, huh?”

“you know that’s not what i meant,” you say, glaring. “i just have so much stuff to say about you, so much stuff i want future me to know.”

he nods, solemnly. “i get it. i don’t want to leave out a thing but it’s kinda hard to fit a year’s worth of feelings and emotions into a couple pages.”

your let your head fall onto the couch. “why do you have to be so lovable?”

taeyong points an accusing finger at you. “i could ask you the same thing! you’re the most wonderful human being on the planet, if i try to write everything i love about you my hand will fall off!”

you sit up to stare at him. he looks genuinely offended by your ‘wonderfulness’. you pick up your pen and paper.

adorably dramatic, you write.

he scoots closer to you, exclaiming, “hey, what did you just put!”

you hug your notepad tightly to your chest. “no peeking!”

7:12 P.M.

your boyfriend hands you his letter with hopeful eyes. unlike the lists that had been made hours earlier, these writings had been in the works for quite some time. there are letters you and taeyong had written for each other dated all the way from 2016. that was also the year the first polaroids you owned were from so you both assumed it was when you had begun dating. if you ever want to have a good cry, all you have to do is find those letters.

in them, there are heartfelt words for the other person’s eyes only describing how they felt around them, why they were so special, among other sentiments. most importantly, though, you always included why you would never forget the other person. of course, one could say how ironic this was considering that forgetting was what the reset was all about but nevertheless, it was reassuring to read. it made your love seem unbreakable; something so strong it defied the impossible.  

you give taeyong your letter, feeling somewhat nervous. he doesn’t hesitate to open the envelope carefully. he slowly removes your letter from inside and you mirror his delicacy. the pair of you sit in absolute silence as you read the words off the pages.

my y/n,

what an amazing year it’s been with you. i know i say that in every letter i write but it’s really true. i never wrote things like this before you came along. only the basics—my name, who my parents were, my birthday, etc. you know, things like that. frankly, i had nothing else worth remembering. but now i do. you’re my whole world, the only thing i truly know and i am convinced i could not be any happier or luckier.

i don’t know what a life without you is like literally but i wouldn’t have it any other way. the situation the world faces with this whole reset mess isn’t ideal and i’ll oftentimes think of what a normal life would be like. even then, in this perfect universe, you’re still by my side.

i still wake up next to you.

i still spend every waking moment with you.

i still fall asleep with you in my arms.

you are still my everything. i am convinced you always will be.

many people avoid love or close relationships nowadays knowing that at the end of the year it’ll all be erased no matter what. how dumb is that? they don’t know what they’re missing out on. having a partner is nothing short of a blessing and you’ve taught me that by being with me every step of the way. sure, forgetting our past together doesn’t get any easier and neither does writing these letters but i���d write a million of them if that’s what it took to have you by my side.

i can only hope you’ll continue being there for me and give me something worth remembering in future years.

you are the light of my life and i can’t wait to fall in love with you again.

yours truly,

taeyong

the tears stroll down your cheeks and drip down on to the paper in your shaky hands. you use your sleeve to try and wipe them away to the best of your ability without smudging the ink. taeyong finishes reading your letter moments later, placing on the coffee table and only staring at you with a distant look in his eyes.

your voice comes out in a whisper. “are you okay?”

he nods, sniffling but his shiny eyes say otherwise. “can you maybe just... hold me?” his voice cracks along with your heart.

he ends up with his head in your lap, your fingers pulling and tugging at his soft hair. you have a couple hours left but you wouldn’t be opposed to leaving the year in this exact position.

11:59 P.M.

taeyong has made it clear he wants you to be the first thing he sees when you enter the new year. so, you spend your last minute getting into a position that will allow that.

you end up sitting sit cross-legged across from him. he’s in the same position and in the small distance between you, your fingers meet. the hold he has on your hands is so tight his knuckles have turned white. his eyes bore into yours and although he doesn’t say a word, his hazel orbs let you know it’s all going to be okay. you repeat those words to yourself.

it’s going to be okay.

it’s going to be okay.

it’s going to be okay.

“i love you,” you blurt.

he only has a couple seconds to respond.

“i love you, too. if you’re going to remember one thing, let it be that.”

[theriverpersonshadow]

Lamia Drama Part 10

DND PLANNING IS HERE AT LAST. >:D

I don’t think there’s anything impenetrable to non-DnD fans here... But here’s some basics on the classes anyways:

Monks are fast and good at fist to fist fighting, barbarians are tanky berserkers, sorcerers have inborn magic, druids have nature magic, clerics have god-granted magic, warlocks make pacts with patrons, fighters just got good with weapons and standard melee fighting.

Again, I’ll tag and link properly later, gotta go get foooood. But nothing majorly angsty anyways.

Previous Beginning Next

           Keith took a deep breath as everyone settled around the table, hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. A mixture of excitement and nerves were bunched up inside his soul and he hoped Alex couldn’t feel it, though she seemed genuinely clueless so far. Either that, or a far better roleplayer than he anticipated. The tip of his tail was sweeping back and forth on the floor as he scratched lightly at the insides of his pockets, desperate to find some way to dissipate some of his energy. Still, he wasn’t going to start until everyone was settled in.

           It was a round table, easy to see everyone. Keith had offered Alex a spot on his left. Oozy was sitting on her left, then Nikolai, then Liam, then Hux, then Keith. Trousle had claimed the middle of the table.  

Most had already gotten their drinks ready, but Hux was buying some chips from the vending machine… Or rather, he was convincing Nikolai to buy him chips from the vending machine, given that he was the one who actually had a paycheck. Alex had bought herself a tea from the vending machine and Liam had prepared his “Health Potion” which was really just an extra-sour red cherry slushy. Also…

“I’ve brought you all some snacks, no need to thank me,” Liam said, plopping a Tupperware full of chocolate and peanut butter no-bake cookies on the table. He crossed his arms and smirked, head held high.

Alex did a double-take, looking at her bag, “When did you…?!”

Keith stifled a laugh, “Liam, no.” He was pretty sure Alex intended to share those anyways, and his own mouth was already watering, but still.

           “Liam yes!” Liam said, cackling dramatically.

           Hux already had a cookie in his mouth.

           Nikolai lightly swatted him, “Ask first…”

           “What,” Hux said through a mouthful of cookie. “They’re to share.”

           “I mean, yes… Go ahead, but not gonna lie, I’ll probably eat way too many by myself,” Alex said, grabbing a cookie.

           “See?” Hux said.

           Nikolai rolled his eyes and politely took one – he didn’t care much for sweets, but wouldn’t turn it down. He gave one of the smaller globs to Trousle, and Keith took that as a go-ahead. It practically melted in his mouth, cocoa and peanut butter melting into a sweet cream as the oats gave it just enough weight to count as solid matter. It was deliciously rich, not over-sweet, but still very much a dessert. He was tempted to reach for another, but maybe he should hold back…

           Well Alex has already gotten a plate and taken four, so no reason he can’t have another…

           “How did you do that by the way? I didn’t even hear the zipper,” Alex said, looking to Liam.

           “A great hunter never reveals his secrets~”    

           “He’s sneaky, you have to watch out for him,” Nikolai said. “But speaking of which, I was actually thinking of trying out a rogue…”

           “Daaaang. Playing against type?” Hux said. “Ain’t like you to be anything but a healer.”

           Nikolai shrugged, “I figured I’d give it a try.”

           “Respect,” Hux said. “That said, I’m making a Totem Barbarian.”

           Trousle rolled his eyes, “You never play anything else!”

           “It works, don’t it?”

           “It’s boring!”

           “I have to agree,” Liam said. “It’s like you’re just playing the same person every time…”

           Keith decided to cut in before this could get ugly, “Let him play what he wants.” If Hux wanted to play the same character with a name change, then let him. It’s a game, might as well have fun with it.

           “Thank you,” Hux said.

           “Alex, what’re you thinking?” Keith said.

           “I mean, I’ve got a lot of characters I could maybe use? Do you have a setting in mind, or…?”

           “Go nuts dude,” Keith said. “As long as it ain’t completely broken, I’m down for most things.”

           Alex’s face lit up. “In that case… Gimme a minute here.” She pulled a notebook from her bag and started scribbling furiously, making little bullet points, rambling in words, all sorts of things. It was a chaotic, disorganized mess, and Keith could absolutely feel the excitement pouring off of her, making it even harder to sit still. Apparently she felt the same, her foot was shaking a mile a minute, and any time she wasn’t writing, her pencil tapped against the page.

           Trousle slithered over, peaking at her notes, and Liam leaned over smiling like a cat with a canary. They were probably happy to have another roleplayer at the table.

           Hux, however, was glaring at Alex’s foot, “Can… can you not? Like, that’s kinda distracting.”

           “Hmm?” Alex said. “Ah… sorry. Which part?”

           “Stop shaking your damn foot.”

           Alex nodded, crossing her legs. Keith bit his tongue – it was a reasonable request, but he was tempted to hiss at Hux. He dug his claws into the insides of his hoodie instead, feeing the fabric catch and finding the little hole he’d worn in his left pocket. It didn’t feel like enough, he wanted to move, wanted to do something to let out some of this pent up energy – since when did he have this much anyways?

           Alex started rocking in her chair, making it clack as it hit the floor – it was off balance – and some of his anxiousness subsided as he listened to the steady rhythm of clacking.

           “… dude,” Hux said. “That’s not any better! That’s actively worse!”

           Keith was tempted to tell him to shove it up his ass, but thankfully Nikolai spoke first, “Just let her. No one else is bothered, are you?”

           “Nope,” Keith said.

           Trousle and Liam shook their heads.

           “Fine…”

           “Do you want me to do this somewhere else?” Alex said.

           “Yer fine,” Keith said. “Whatcha thinking about anyways?” Change the topic…

           She perked up a little at that, looking over her notes, “I was thinking maybe a warlock contracted out by the Fey? That seems kinda obvious though, so I figured, why does it have to be a warlock? I’ve already made a lot of those anyways.

           “So, like… Here’s another idea. Maybe my character got traded away as a kid? Like a changeling sort of thing! They’ve lived with the fey for a lot of their life, but didn’t have the magic they did since they’re just a normal human. But they’ve had some opportunity to learn since, y’know, they’ve lived in fae realms. I’m thinking maybe the magic infected them somehow and they ended up a wild magic sorcerer? Or maybe got CURSED and ended up a sorcerer! And maybe they’ll meet the person who replaced them one day, and they’re used to contracts and stuff, and, uh…

           “It’s still kind of rough. I put this together in, like, five minutes guys.”

           “I think I can work with this…” Liam purred. “I want to play the changeling that replaced her character in the mortal realm.”

           “OH THAT’S REALLY COOL!” Alex squealed, bouncing in her seat.

           “Dude, you can’t have all the fae abilities, y’know that, right?” Keith said. He tended towards rule of fun, but there still had to be SOME boundaries…

           “I’d be disappointed if you did! At least, not right off the bat. My character’s been raised as human and only knows of the mortal realm. Perhaps a fighter… With shades of sorcerer. We can work it out.”

           “I like it! I might change my class though, is that okay?” Alex said. “I’m not really sure which to use for this…”

           “Can I be a fairy companion? Maybe I was sent to watch over Liam’s character and that’s how he started finding out about his heritage? Or to protect him? Maybe he’s important!” Trousle said. “I can take healer and support! Maybe a cleric? Or a druid! Yeah! A druid!”

           Keith grinned, these guys were putting it all together themselves! “Y’know what, go for it!” This was practically writing itself…

           “In this case… I think I’ll play a rogue who specializes in shady political dealings. Particularly fey contracts,” Nikolai said.

           “Sounds perfect to me.”

           “I, uh… I work for Nikolai’s dude. Contracted barbarian, I guess,” Hux said. Roleplay was never his strong suit.

           Keith nodded, “I’ll get to drafting stuff…. And Oozy?”

           … Oozy yawned, waking up from a half-doze. “Hmm? Oh… sorry. Yeah, I made one while you guys were talking.” He slid a character sheet over.

           Keith raised the ridge of his eye-socket, “A gnome monk?”

           “Yep. It’s gonna be terrible.” He grinned, a twinkle in his eyes. “Or more accurately… A G’nome G’ninja.”

           “Pffft. Perfect,” Keith said.

           Looks like they had a campaign.

[rokutouxei]

in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

-

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t “get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

[imnotrevealingmyname]

For fanfic writer questions: All. Of. Them. Alternatively: 15. 21 and 25

Lmao 😂😂😂😂❤️❤️❤️❤️ I'm doing all of them.

1. Phone, on Google docs. My phone is an absolute mess.

2. Fanfiction? About two years ago. Don't ask about original stuff. Oof

3. Loki fics, poems.

4. Both? Both. Both is good.

5. Terrible. Ok I'm kidding, I'd describe it as poetic, in a way? Overly poetic is good, ig. But it's also overly dramatic- something I hate seeing in people. Which makes me a hypocrite, ig. Lmao.

But in all honesty, I'm pretty flexible in my writing. Even while writing poems, I can easily shift from writing about EXTREMELY dark stuff (trust me, you don't wanna know) to something light and fluffy, which is a good thing, I guess? But it also feels a bit suffocating sometimes because I have a habit of reading my stuff from the POV of a reader, once I'm done with writing it. So I try to make it as bearable as possible. People nowadays don't always like intense stuff, and since I'm a freaky gal who started reading Shakespeare in third grade, it becomes difficult for me to give up my very intense style of writing. I probably don't make sense, but, uh. Whatever. Point is, I'm not perfect.

6. Random stuff. Seriously. My cupboard can set me off in a writing frenzy- most of the time,however, I don't even know what inspiration is. I meet her very infrequently- so infrequently that she's very forgettable :')

7. No? Sometimes? A couple of my fics were inspired by songs, I suppose. I also unpublished one, if I remember correctly.

8. The title. Oh god, that always makes me lose sleep. And also, the descriptions. Either I'm overly descriptive, or I end up writing a whole one shot in less than 300 words. Why Am I An Idiom is going to be the name of my autobiography, if I ever write one. (And yes, it's is Idiom. Long story.)

9. I don't really have any fixed place for writing. I've been known to write poems in the bathroom, so

10. Do I have a current WIP? I honestly have no idea what I'm doing with them. All I've been writing lately are one shots.

11. I don't count, but I have over 45 drafts

12. If you're talking about fics, then there's this fic I wrote, called Alien Ardour, a few months ago. I unpublished it due to several reasons, but I honestly love it. Also, I really like my one shots Scandalous and Silenced.

13. Like in total? What's 63+48+9? And it's ongoing.

14. Loki. Duh. And death. I love writing about death :')

15. OCs if it's multichapter, reader insert (NO Y/N, PLEASE, TAKE THAT AS FAR AWAY FROM ME AS POSSIBLE) if it's a one shot.

16. Repetitive question.

17. The Soul Trade. A few chapters were for aesthetics, but ok.

18. Loki. Only Loki. And uh.... Drarry. That's my fricking OTP.

19. @caffiend-queen. I love several other authors but she's always the first to come to my mind when I'm asked this question.

20. No

21. Coffee shop AU 😂 I don't even regret this

22. Idiots to lovers

23. 2 years. Fun fact: my first fic was a Drarry fic. I love it so much that it's still on Wattpad, even though I've not updated it in like a year.

24. Haven't we all?

25. Motivation? Who? What? Okay I'm kidding, I read fanfics. Seriously. Either I reread my own and edit them to sorta get back the feel of writing, or I end up reading a new fic. Smut who?

26. I was eight when I started writing, for heaven's sake. I don't remember.

27. If you're talking about fanfiction, then it's definitely @ohhhmyloki and @latent-thoughts (Tumblr won't let me tag y'all, for some reason). I used to write before I read their works but I quite literally began my journey with smut after reading their fics. And I don't think any of my fics written before that even exist anymore. But if we're talking about writing in general, then it's O Henry and Bernard Shaw. Maybe Gerald Durrell. Did I mention that I love Gerald Durrell?

28. Loki.

29. Idiotic. Messy. Freaky.

30. Um, I don't really wanna say this, but it's Just A Kiss Goodnight. It may be my most 'famous' fic, but it's definitely not the best. For one thing, I wrote it in less than a week, and I haven't edited it. And there's no fucking smut. I'm not saying that smut is necessary to make a fic good, but it doesn't have any intimacy in it. It's definitely not boring, I'll give it that, but it's childish.

31. Wtf is the difference

32. What kinda question is this

33. One shot? Depends. I can be freaky fast and write one in less than fifteen minutes, or I can take literal weeks to finish one.

34. Dude, what's the normal font in android? I have no idea. But one of my favourites is monotype corsiva, when I'm on my laptop.

35. Both.

36. I don't

37. All of my works, oof 😂 well, no. But there's this fic I've written, called Let's Get Drunk Together. And another. It's called Three Isn't A Crowd, After All. Cringy af

38. Smut. Dark poetry.

39. WHY ARE SO MANY QUESTIONS REPEATED? It's idiots to lovers, ffs

40. On Tumblr? Average is 60, I think.

41. Yes

42. Writing.

43. All the time

44. Yes

45. I can be as thirsty and smutty as I want without being judged, bless fanfiction.

46. The "WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO MY HEART WHAT ARE YOU DOING AHHHHHHHHHHHH AND WHY AM I SO AROUSED AT THIS TIME OF ALL TIMES AND WHY IS THIS ANGSTY GIVE ME FLUFF" feeling. Not to brag, but I'm very good at that.

47. I can do anything and everything I want. I can make a unicorn fuck a werewolf and nobody will judge me. Or maybe they will.

48. Yes- Wattpad and Ao3.

49. Google docs, word.

50. Fucking Y/N. Like, not literally fucking Y/N, but uh- I mean, I'd totally fuck my clone? But Y/N isn't me, I hate Y/N. And I hate people who just comment on your fic to promote their own fics. We write for your happiness, please at least do the courtesy of appreciating that and not disrespecting our efforts. Most of us spend nights lying awake to give you stuff to read. And also, people who just comment to say,"Update," two minutes after you've just updated. That's RUDE.

51. High school AU

52. Cock, pussy, salacious, sepulchral, pulchritudinous....... I don't have a one track mind I swear

53. Giggled. FUCKING GIGGLED. I don't understand WHY people have this tendency of writing,"she giggled," and,"he chuckled." I don't know why but GIGGLED sounds like something not EVEN a simpering schoolgirl would do. I don't giggle. Not once have I seen peeps who write GIGGLE associate GIGGLE with men, which is something that I find very disturbing and sexist. Call me biased, go on. But I might not even have been here now because I'm from THAT orthodox and sexist a family, and if they'd been any more sexist, I'd have been killed after birth, so don't even dare to come near me with a ten foot pole if you're sexist.

54. Well, yes, I think. I certainly don't hate it, or I wouldn't write.

Dang, I spent over half an hour writing that. Hope that made even an iota of sense.

[multi-fandom-imagines8]

The Joke’s On You

Request: I saw that you're in a dean mood!! Would you be willing to write a fic where it's game night in the bunker and Dean loses to the reader? His ego takes a hit and he's kinda grumpy, but at the end they make up? Can be fluffy, angsty, smutty- pick your poison ;). Requested by Anon.

Word Count: 1514.

“Who’s winning?” Cass came back with some snacks.

“Till now, it seems like Y/n is” Sam informed him.

“Hey, I heard that. The game is not over yet” Dean said.

“Everyone is betting on her, though” Sam added.

“Come on, have a little faith in your brother Sammy”.

“Dean, you’re great in many things, but games aren’t your strong suit” Mary reminded.

“Mom? Not you too” Dean sighed.

“I believe in you, dean” Cass showed support.

“Thanks”.

“You don’t wanna go to war with me, angel” you warned.

“She’s right. You don’t. That was a stupid move” Sam agreed.

“Never ever challenge me, Winchester. You will lose” you smirked.

“We’ll see about that, Y/l/n”.

“Aand checkmate. I win, you lose!” you teased.

“Shut up! It’s not fair”.

“Life isn’t fair”.

“Thanks Dean. Now I have to give everyone 10 dollars” Cass whined.

“This is what happens when you stand against me” you shrugged.

“I’m going to bed” Dean defeatedly said.

“So soon? It’s not even 10 yet” Mary replied.

“Don’t you want pizza or beer?” Sam offered.

“Nah, I’m good. I’m just tired” he lied.

---

“Morning” Sam greeted as Dean entered the kitchen in his grey robe and grabbed a beer.

“Where’s everyone?” Dean asked.

“Mom and Jack are on a case in Wyoming and Cass is sorting out some problems in heaven” Sam informed him.

“And Y/n?”.

“She’s probably still sleeping”.

“Ugh, so she’s here?”.

“Yeah. why?”.

“Nothing. We should wake her up” Dean knew how much you loved sleep and wanted to get back at you.

“Why?”.

“You found us a case, haven’t you?” Dean saw that Sam was on his laptop and came up with this idea.

“Mhm.. not really. It was just a normal murder in St. Louis”.

“Says who?”.

“Dean, what are you getting at?”.

“Nothing. I just think there’s a case and we should check it out”.

“Dean I’m not going to sit in the car with you for eight hours because based on hunch there may or may not be a case”.

“But Y/n doesn’t know that. So, what we’re gonna do is wake her up and tell her there’s a case in Missouri” Dean planned.

“So that’s what it’s all about. You getting your revenge. I’m not gonna lie to her, but I won’t interfere with whatever you’re planning on doing. Just don’t tell me and I’m still not coming with you” Sam was like most times; neutral.

“But you’re gonna wake her up, right?” Dean knew it was best not to come near you when you’re sleeping.

“No, that’s on you too. I’m gonna go grocery shopping, so I won’t have to face her. Good luck!”.

Dean rubbed his hands before knocking on your door “hey, Y/n? You awake?”. There was no answer. He knocked again but this time louder. There was still no answer “alright, I’m coming in”.

He opened the door and you were sleeping in a weird, funny position. He had to contain his laughter in order to take a picture.

He came closer but was still afraid of you. He poked you and took a few steps back, but there was no reaction. He poked you a second time and nothing changed. He got tired of waiting and shook your shoulder “Y/n wake up!”. This time you did, but in turning to face him, you slapped him “oh, it’s you!” you rubbed your eyes to see better.

“Ouch! Get dressed! We have a case” he instructed.

“So, what kind of case do we have? And where’s everyone?” you came out of your room prepared with a bag full of guns and other weapons.

“I’m thinking probably ghosts. They’re not here. It’s just you and me” he lied.

“Okay, hand me the reports or articles”.

“You don’t believe me?” Dean looked offended.

“What? No. I just thoug-”.

“Great, we have no time to waste. Let’s go!”.

“Alright, so the case-” before you could ask any questions he put on some of his music and turned up the volume so he couldn’t hear you.

“Okay” you muttered to yourself.

---

“Can you turn down the music a bit?” you asked nicely, but he pretended not to hear you “Dean, turn down the music” you shouted.

“Sorry, can’t hear you” he lied.

You turned it off and turned to face him “you hear now?”.

“Did you really have to do this?” he groaned.

“What’s wrong, Dean?”.

“Nothing’s wrong, why would you think that?”.

“You’ve been awfully quiet. You never just listen to a song and not sing along”.

“I’m just not in the mood. Can we leave it at that, please!”.

“Dean Winchester is not is the mood, who would’ve thought! Fine”.

---

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore. Something is wrong and I can feel it. You haven’t sung to your favorite songs  or talked to me the entire way. So, are you gonna tell me or do I have to torture you to get it out of you?” you gave him a choice.

“I told you nothing is wrong!”.

“So, the latter it is. Where should I start?”.

“How about nowhere?”.

“Why are you grumpy?” you poked his right arm.

“Hey, stop that!” he ordered.

“Or what?”.

“Or we’re gonna die. I’m driving”.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Firstly, since when are you afraid of dying. Secondly, you never pay attention while you’re driving- not that much attention”.

“Well, I-... shut up!”.

“Talk to me!” you ordered.

“I’m not in the mood!”.

“Ooh, so it has something to do with me? Hmmm…. Is it because I accidentally slapped you this morning?”.

“We both know it wasn’t an accident and no!”.

“Come on, tell me. How else am I supposed to fix it if you don’t tell me?”.

“There’s no fixing it. What is done is done”.

“That bad, huh?”.

“Worse” now he was being dramatic.

“Wait… don’t tell me it’s because of what happened yesterday” you laughed.

“Nooo” he lied.

“It totally is. Oh my god, you need to grow up” you mocked.

“You’re not making things better, you know”.

“So, why did you take me with you if you’re mad at me?”.

“Because I wanted to annoy you. I know you hate waking up early. And there was no one else available. Sam didn't want to be involved in ‘our drama’ as he calls it”.

“I see. How do I make things right?”.

“You can’t. It’s too late. You should’ve thought about that before you beat me”.

“Apple pie?” you offered.

“Yeah, that’ll make me forgive you”.

“I thought so” you shook your head.

After you arrived at the crime scene, Dean made you ask all the questions and question the witnesses, which took more that a day.

“Don’t you have something better to do?” you were reviewing the evidence and what everyone said while Dean was lying on the bed watching some stupid cartoon and laughing.

“What?”.

“Maybe come help me or go to a bar or something. There’d be a lot of girls” you suggested.

“Nah, I’m good here with you”.

“You mean you're good with not helping me and annoying me”.

“Yeah, sure whatever you wanna call it”.

---

“I mean we’ve looked everywhere. There’s nothing. Maybe we’ve missed something. Maybe it’s not a ghost. I’m gonna call Sam, maybe he’ll see something that we can’t” after not finding anything the second day, you were frustrated after everything you’ve done.

“No, no, no. There’s no need to call Sam. He doesn’t know. We have all the information here”.

“We don’t have anything. And you are not even useful. So, I’m gonna call Sam”.

“Hey, how’s everything going? I’m gonna send you some stuff of a case we’re working on. See if you can find something that we’ve missed” you called Sam and Dean stood next to you waiting anxiously to find out what Sam is gonna tell you.

“So, I gather that he hasn’t told you yet, has he?” Sam asked.

“Tell me what?”.

“Y/n, you have to talk to Dean. See you soon!” he hung up on you.

“What did he say?” Dean questioned.

“We need to talk”.

“About what?”.

“Sam said you haven’t told me about something, so what is it?”.

“Dammit Sam. He can’t keep his mouth shut for once” he sighed.

“So?”.

“There’s no case” he admitted.

“What?”.

“I wanted to get revenge for the day before yesterday”.

“Seriously?”.

“Uh-hm” he nodded.

“So we drove her for nothing?”.

“Technically”.

“So let me get this straight, you punished yourself by driving all the way here and wasting two days just to get back at me for winning fair and square?” you crossed your arms.

“Yeah. wait, no I didn’t punish myself. You see, I knew there was no case but you didn’t. So, the joke's on you, HAH!”.

“Dean… do the math”.

He stopped for a minute and thought about everything he’s done “Son of a bitch!”.

“Yup! So, I got a pie but I guess there’ll be none for you after all” you shrugged.

“No, wait, please!”.

Tags: @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @berruneko09 @spnwinchestersd​ @simonsbluee​ @capsheadquaters

[spellnbone]

Edgar writes the Theatre & Arts Column for the Daily Prophet. His philosophy is that if someone has a voice, they have to use it to do good; this means that on the one hand one has to push art to its limits or even further, and on the other hand one has to make those voices heard which don’t have a platform yet.

Edgar’s Introduction to Theatre

Much like most families with comfortably filled wallets, the Bones would take their children to the theatre on the weekends quite often. Most of the children adored it but also took it somewhat for granted -- which made the culture shock of moving to England only worse. There are theatres in Hastings, yes but they are small and not at all as dramatic and colourful as what the Bones had grown to know in Mexico. They lacked imagination! And since there was no theatre club at Hogwarts either, it was only on his first trip to London at the age of thirteen that Edgar rediscovered his love for this art.

After that, he began reading and loving play-scripts more than novels, eventually writing down his thoughts, comparing, analysing, interpreting with fervor and a very new, strange sensation growing within him: passion. For someone who found interest in literally anything he encountered (except Quidditch), it was a surprise to many to see Edgar so into something (though one might not forget that his new love for theatre came around the same time as he was beginning to grow apart from Amelia). His friends from school might still remember that one of the best ways to get Edgar talking in a social situation was by expressing a badly thought-out opinion about theatre. Suddenly the shy boy who so often was accused of boot-licking would throw himself into passionate speeches about love, death and every other grand topic of life inbetween.

(One of his favourite topics, that is, urban legends he loved to ramble about for hours was Mundungus Fletcher. Each and every article covering the fiasco was bought six times and each and every time Fletcher’s photograph was cut out and glued to various surfaces; Edgar’s notebooks, the under-side of the topbunk above him, the walls in his room at home. It was the same grotesque-fascination-turned-unstopple-obsession that the Muggle play Cats had about ten years later).

It was during this time also that Edgar began reading the news. Initially he only ever snatched the arts section (despite its terribly boring focus on mainstream theatre), he’d eventually also begin reading the other articles, finding himself growing more and more educated and opinionated about political topics, too.

His passion ended where the stage began, though. He never tried to direct a play, write one himself, or -- Morgana forbid! -- tried to star in one. He was quite content to be but an observer. However, after graduating and leaving England to finally go back to Mexico, he fell in love with an actress of a small travelling troupe (and shortly after with her brother, the director), and before he knew it, he was travelling around the world with them.

When he came back to England, he wrote for the hebdomadal East Sussexian Wizarding paper, simply because the owner was a good friend of the Bones family and needed someone to fatten up the paper with some think-pieces. Edgar neither saw his calling in that nor ever made a name for himself, he was mostly just passing his time, trying to figure out what he really wanted to do with his life. It was only when he met up with Ainsley Abbott again around his 19th birthday that he began considering journalism as a proper career. She’d told him that the Daily Prophet was looking for a new arts columnist and remembered that he had always had a thing for theatre.

London’s Theatres

Contrary to movies, most other Muggle art isn’t completely disregarded by the Wizarding World. Of course one will always find some bloodpurists who think that all magicless art isn’t worth their time, but the more commonly agreed upon opinion is that when it comes to old-fashioned art, Muggles aren’t all that bad at it. The Daily Prophet has therefore always covered the Wizarding Westend as well as the Muggle Westend productions, giving the former more attention but never discriminating between them all too much. They are, after all, similar in many regards: the leads will most likely be traditionally good-looking, born and raised in this country and culture, and introduced to the director by personal connections. The themes of the plays perpetuate conservative values and ideals and have to please the broadest audience possible, therefore not contain any smut or controversial themes.

They’re usually even located in the same buildings as the Muggle theatres, either in magically hidden back halls or underground:

“Two, reserved on the Daily Prophet.”

The lady behind the counter, despite looking just like the other ticket vendors next to her, gave it a nod and handed them their keys. They were small little copper things, meant for a one time use of a door that was titled: “Staffs Only”.

Muggles had this thing to believe that theatres were haunted. The possibility of that, considering just how few people actually died in such places compared to normal apartment houses, were slim, and the idea absurd once you knew what truly caused the mysterious whispers, the unexplained floor-board creaking, and distant moaning: A second theatre down below. Wizarding. Vibrant, crowded, cheerful.

Not having even yet reached the first floor below, the music already met Edgar and Amelia. The chit chat was lively, and unlike the Muggle theatre above, time had not changed the customs of exhibitions and shows here: Roasted-nut sellers were walking around with their goods on a tray hanging down their neck, a fire-spitter was entertaining a group of kids in a corner, and on the stage stood one of the actors, cheering and shouting blurbs about the play in an attempt to motivate the audience. No seats but on the upper balconies, were ladies sat whose robes were so fluffy and wide that their companions for the night attempting to sit next to them probably needed to shout to have their words heard.

The idea to even pay attention to those independent artists who always seem angry or angsty, who always seemed so desperate to speak up about issues that no respectable Wizard would care about? It was unheard of by the general Wizarding Public who didn’t have a great variety of news outlets.

It was only when Edgar accepted his job as the new arts columnist that the ‘Off Westend’ productions -- that is, the exhibits shown in garages, the plays held on rooftops, the stories told by otherwise drowned voices -- were finally given a platform through and by the Daily Prophet.

Edgar’s Own Private Resistance

For about eight years now, Edgar’s been publishing little articles of about 300 to 500 words a day which are usually reviews and recommendations, as well as longer think-pieces on the Sunday edition. They’re all signed E.V.Bones (or at times solely E.V.B when the space is spare), much like his letters, so it all depends on the wit of a person whether they know who is writing the column or not. It’s earning him 6 to 10 galleons per piece, that is 40 to 70 galleons a week, which (at least in modern equivalent) is 210 to 350 pounds a week, so he’s not poor but also far from becoming rich with this. As of now, he never considered changing his job, though. Partly due to the fact that he gets to see all sorts of plays for free, partly because he usually does all his work at the office only once a week (usually a 12 hour work day) and has the rest of the week to deal with Order business. But most importantly he’s still at the Daily Prophet because it allows him to fight this war in his own, quiet terms.

Upon reviewing a play, Edgar always asks two questions: how does this further the progress of art, and how does this further the progress of society? While the opinions in his writing are always expressed quite subtly (as otherwise, Edgar’s arch nemesis Kenny Mack, his editor and son of the Daily Prophet’s current owner, will simply censor out what might be too controversial for the general readership), they’re never suppressed or gentle, certainly never excuse conservative, problematic productions.

(It was because of one of those harsher reviews of his that he met the then-adored Lydia Avery, who he had equated to a piece of morning toast -- something you thoroughly enjoy in the moment itself but would never crave if hungry or a somewhat interesting person. Most of his review had been about the blatant racism of the play, though, and and yet, while up until this day Lydia might still be upset about it, Edgar never left their conversation with anything other than appreciation for her. He’s well aware that actors are a symptom of an ill society, not the illness itself.)

The idea that he could use his job for something bigger, something good, came the night after Ainsley had suggested he take the job at the Daily Prophet. “Me?” he had asked over a cup of tea, not even 20 years old then, not yet in the Order, not yet jaded and made brave by war, not yet used to the idea that every helping hand counted, “Reviewing art for the whole of Britain? Why would anyone care about what I have to say?” “They don’t,” Dell had replied in this earnest way of his, “but it’s not about you anyway. It’s about them. There’s people out there who have no one who listens to them, even though they have something to say, even though so many others want -- no! need! -- to hear what they have to say. It’s not about you. It’s about them. And you’re the one who’s going to make sure they’re heard.” “But the Daily Prophet? It’s so conservative.” “Not your column, it won’t be. Not if you write it.”

What his brother Dell was saying and what Edgar grew to understand over the years, was that there are so many Muggleborns and Halfbreeds out there who never see themselves represented in a positive, hopeful light in stories, or at least by the actors telling those stories. The mainstream theatre productions simply do not care to show such representation, to tell such diverse stories. It’s the back-alley theatres that dare to break the rules of what is acceptable, to break the norm, to help society and art evolve. And Edgar hopes that by writing about this, more people will be able to realise that they’re not alone. That there’s others like them, out there, everywhere. That despite the way the (relatively neutral) Daily Prophet reports it, Voldemort doesn’t have that many people on his side, at least not compared to just how many people are against him. By drawing attention to those smaller plays and their values, he helps to grow and foster a community where like-minded people can meet and share their opinions and realise that they’re not alone at all.

And thus, Edgar had accepted the job, his agenda of political nature, safely tucked between 8 and 11pm, and sometimes also during matinées.

[basic-cable]

Fic Rec Bingo

I saw this making the rounds on Twitter and decided I’d like to try it (mostly because I enjoy going back through my list and reminiscing about the ones I love but haven’t read in a while), but didn’t feel like Twitter was the best place to post mine. I’ve got both Dreamwidth and Pillowfort, but I haven’t really used them. This is probably the kind of thing that should go there, so maybe I’ll post it there, too. We’ll see. 

Anyway, I only read in four fandoms, so maybe my recs will be boring to most people. But they’re good stories, and maybe there are even some people out there who haven’t read them. 

I don’t expect any reblogs or anything, but maybe people will see it and decide they’d like to take part, and then there will be more fic recs out there making the world a better place.

I put them under a cut because the descriptions and stuff take up so much space.

1. A fic you love without knowing the source material Take the Pieces and Build them Skywards by quarterturn Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 44,816 ** Explicit ** Character Death Gerard's not happy with his life, but that doesn't mean he's particularly thrilled when he wakes up dead. To add insult to injury, he finds out that instead of crossing over, he's been chosen to join the ranks of the grim reapers. Things get more complicated when he falls for one of the living, a waiter named Frank Iero. And just when everything finally seems to be falling into place, Frank's name shows up on the list of souls to be reaped. Loosely based on the TV show Dead Like Me.

I don’t know anything about the TV show Dead Like Me; when I first read this fic in 2009, I had never even heard of it. I’ve wondered since then if I like it even better because I don’t know anything about the source material, but I’ll never know.It made me laugh and cry; it’s an emotional roller coaster, and I love it.

2. A fic with a premise that shouldn’t work but does

An Inexplicable Occurrence of Angels by stele3

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 35,192 ** PG-13 ** No Warnings

I've messed with the band timeline, clearly. This is set in summer of 2005... but it ain't the Summer of Like. This is a story about second chances and gutting through your own failures, but never letting them defeat you. Take that, bitches.

Frank (Frank!) is a literal angel, okay, but there is not a thing I don’t love about this story. It’s angsty but still manages to be cute and charming as fuck, and the characterization is great.

3. A fic you’ve reread several times

Seeds by thesardine

Sherlock ** Gen, supposedly ** 5,475 ** PG-13 ** No Warnings

In a fit of boredom Sherlock plants some seeds, may or may not eat one cracker, and definitely waxes dramatic on the sofa for a while.

Sherlock struggles with a bit of depression caused by boredom, and accidentally discovers a hobby he slowly learns to allow himself to enjoy. I love this a lot; the author takes us into Sherlock’s headspace, so you’re painfully aware just how much he needs a distraction, and how much better off he is with John in his life.

4. A fic you still remember many years later

In Care Of by Fangs_Fawn

Harry Potter ** Gen ** 45,319 ** PG-13 ** Child Abuse

During the summer before sixth year, Harry finds an injured bat in the garden and decides to try to heal it...and an unwilling Snape learns just what kind of a person Harry Potter really is.

Between the Dursleys getting what’s coming to them, and the redemption of Harry, Snape, and Dumbledore in each others’ eyes, this story has really stuck with me through the years.

5. A comfort fic

Nature and Nurture by earlgreytea68

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 203,273 ** Mature ** No Warnings

The British Government accidentally clones Sherlock Holmes. Which brings a baby to 221B Baker Street.

Thousands of words of fluff. Literally. There’s not a lot of conflict in this story, which makes it a great comfort fic when your mind is too busy or real life is too depressing.

6. A cathartic fic

The Quiet Man by ivyblossom

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 157,369 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

"Do you just carry on talking when I'm away?"

Post-Reichenbach John is walking the line between fantasy and reality, choosing to stay with the Sherlock in his head rather than deal with the reality where he no longer exists. He eventually manages to attempt a normal life, but he’s bored and basically sleepwalking through his days, so when Sherlock finally reveals himself, it’s the best kind of relief. They go after the last remnants of Moriarty’s web, in hopes of a second chance at the life they should have had together.

7. A fic you’d print and put on your bookshelf

Saving Sherlock Holmes by earlgreytea68

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John Mycroft/Greg ** 139,494 ** Mature ** Underage

Okay. So. This was literally supposed to be, like, three or four chapters as a prologue to the show. Sort of a "what happened in the Holmes childhoods to make them the way they are today." That's why it's set in the time period it is, because I thought I was eventually going to leave them to go on to the show. And then...I got a bit carried away and thought, Here I have established the two young Holmes boys. Now what happens if, instead of making them wait twenty years, I give them everything they need to fix themselves right now? Forty-three chapters later, you have this story.

To be honest, I would like to have most of my favorite fics in book form, with actual pages, that I could pluck from my actual shelf and sit and read without the glare of a screen between us. But I do enjoy the feel of this story, and I do believe it would make a good actual book.

8. A fic you associate with a song

Unholyverse by bexless

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 186,764 ** Explicit ** Violence & Character Death

“He thinks I have stigmata,” Frank said, because what the fucking hell, it couldn’t get any worse. He might as well just lay it out.

“Oh, well,” said Brian into his hands. “Of course.”

Every time I so much as think about this series, MCR’s Heaven Help Us starts playing in my head.

9. A fic that inspires you

Turn by Saras_Girl

Harry Potter ** Harry/Draco ** 306,708 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Frankly, I love every single thing this author has ever churned out, but this one is my very favorite. Harry gets a glimpse into what his life could have been, and a chance to make big changes he desperately needs. 

10. A fic that brought you on board a new ship

So, So Fucked by Anonymous

Bandom ** Pete/Patrick ** 12,565 ** Mature ** No Warnings

Pete accidentally "outs" himself and Patrick on Good Morning America. Only problem? They're not gay. What now?

I was reading strictly in Harry Potter at the time, and wasn’t interested in bandom at all, but my best friend was doing betas for someone who was writing in bandom, and she ended up getting into it and then wrote this one, and kept calling me about it to bounce ideas around, and the story was so cute, and Pete and Patrick were so cute, and I suddenly found myself totally invested. Honestly I think it may have been one of the best things that ever happened to me.

11. A fic you wish could be a movie

The Anatomy of a Fall by novembersmith

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 107,525 ** Explicit ** Violence & Character Death

The unholy union of a high school AU and a ghost story. Gerard's life takes a strange turn when his family moves to a small town in Vermont and he discovers the locals aren't all what they seem to be. Also includes: unexpected nature walks, murder, pining, improper treatment of crime scenes, a number of bone-related puns, high school bullies, and a short-range shrub named Ferdinand.

This story has excellent imagery that I think would work really well on the big screen. Plus I can’t even hear the name of it without my heart doing flip-flops.

12. A fic that led to you making friends with the author

Seven ficlets for Valentine’s Day Part VII by RedOrchid

Bandom ** GSF ** 1,042 ** Mature? ** No Warnings

Panic-as-cleaning-equipment-AU Valentine's Day GSF.

I technically don’t have a fic for this bingo square, but this one comes close, I guess. The author was already in my larger circle of friends, but we didn’t actually talk to each other? She wrote this crack ficlet around the same time we started talking to each other more, and I still vividly remember it because of the genius involved in turning band boys into literal cleaning equipment. The line “Ryan bristled” has stuck with me to this day.

13. free space

Elf ‘Verse by mokuyoubi

Bandom ** GSF ** 103,247 ** Explicit ** Underage

Modern AU where Ryan is a famous poet, and he and Spencer are fiercely private and insular and stupidly co-dependent until Jon shows up and effortlessly breaks down all their walls.

Or

Wherein Brendon and Frank are Christmas elves who, inspired by Will Farrell movies, venture into the real world to become rock stars. Or something of that nature.

I’ve got a lot of love for this universe for various reasons, but it’s also fun and heartwarming and honestly, I don’t really need anything else.

14. A fic you’ve gushed about irl

Harry Potter and the Battle of Wills by Jocelyn (and her mum)

Harry Potter ** Mostly Gen ** 137,385 ** Basically PG-13 ** Character Death

Harry mourns his godfather as the war finally begins in earnest, bringing tragedy and new struggles for all those on the side of Good. If they hope to win, all quarrels must be set aside, new alliances must be forged, and Harry Potter must find the courage to face down dark wizards, his own emotions, and a destiny he did not choose. Snape blows his cover as a spy to save Harry from Voldemort.

This begins after Order of the Phoenix, and the story and characters read more like canon than any other HP fic I’ve read, so because of that and because it’s so, so good, I like to rec this one to people who are new to fandom.

15. A fic you associate with a place

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi

Harry Potter ** Harry/Draco ** 57,582 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

Wiltshire! I’ve never actually been there, but this author is really good about details. The story is also lovely and funny.

16. A fic that made you gasp out loud

Home is a Name by Arsenic

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 39,314 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

MCR Clinic of Love. Companion fic to Wednesday Night Boys.

Okay, so this one is actually a sequel, and the first installment, Wednesday Night Boys, should 100% be read first. It must be said, though, that while the sequel doesn’t have any warnings, Wednesday Night Boys is about the Panic! kids as prostitutes, and has warnings for graphic violence, rape/non-con, and underage sex. The MCR guys work at the free clinic, and Home is a Name focuses on them. They’re honestly both gorgeous stories.

17. A fic you found at the right time

real or not real by thearkdelinquents

Anne with an E ** Anne/Gilbert ** 11,587 ** PG ** No Warnings

“I could do it.” Gilbert said, looking straight ahead.

Anne stopped. “What?”

He turned to look at her; they were just outside Green Gables now. “I could do it. I could court you.”

“What- We- You- I- You don’t like me like that.” Anne sputtered.

Gilbert smirked at her. “Well we could pretend. I could court you and be your fake boyfriend.”

For one of the few times in her life, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert was speechless.

-

a fake dating fic but it's basically just a shirbert To All The Boys I Loved Before au.

I really, really loved Anne with an E. When the final season was released, I spent a weekend binge-watching the entire show, and then it was over and I was bereft, so I decided to see what was available on Ao3, and I found this, and it was exactly what I needed. And now I have another fandom.

18. A fic that you would read fic of

Left by lifeonmars

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 45,153 ** Mature ** No Warnings

John Watson is left-handed.

He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

In this universe, all right-handed people have some kind of power, or ‘knack’, most of which are mild and easily categorized. Sherlock’s is rare and believed to be the only one like it in the world. John is left-handed, part of the 10% of the population without a knack. I would read all kinds of fics of this fic.

19. A fic that made you laugh out loud

What to do When Your Flatmate is Homicidal by hyacinth_sky747

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 58,650 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

Sherlock takes Molly's advice when dealing with his dangerous flatmate.

Heartwarming and hilarious. I laughed a lot.

20. A fic with a line (or two) that you’ve memorised by heart

A Necessary Requirement by Bexless

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 3,759 ** Mature ** No Warnings

Right, here is the extremely silly storylet I wrote BY HAND on holiday. On PAPER. With a PEN. My god. The things I do when I'm separated from my beloved net. It is set during the Summer of Like (Warped '05, for those of you who don't know) and is basically a product of my reaction to various pictures of Gerard groping himself on stage, which led to me obsessing about his dick and what it might look like. As usual, I chose to work this obsession out through Frank.

This fic could have gone to multiple other squares, but I am not usually the kind of person who can quote lines from things, and I have many lines from this story committed to memory. I’ve read it multiple times, because I read it every time I need a pick-me-up or a good laugh. Or if I’ve read something scary and I need something lighter before I can actually get up and move around my house...

21. A fic that gave you butterflies

Pretty Much A Sex God by adellyna

Bandom ** Spencer/Jon ** 3,985 ** PG-13 ** No Warnings

Jon and Spencer’s first date.

The Jon in this story is so soft and warm and fluffy and his character makes my heart and stomach do weird things.

22. A fic that embodies something you value in life

A Marauder’s Plan by CatsAreCool (Rachel500)

Harry Potter ** Harry/Hermione ** 865,520 ** PG13 ** Violence/Death/Underage

What if Sirius decided to stay in England and deliver on his promise to raise Harry instead of hiding somewhere sunny? Changes abound with that one decision...

ALSO

Harry’s New Home by kbinnz

Harry Potter ** Gen ** 318,389 ** PG-13 ** Abuse

One lonely little boy. One snarky, grumpy git. When the safety of one was entrusted to the other, everyone knew this was not going to turn out well... Or was it? AU, sequel to "Harry's First Detention". 

In these two stories, Sirius and Severus throw everything they have into creating the best possible world for Harry, as he is their number one priority, because that is exactly how parenthood should be. 

23. A favourite AU

Performance In a Leading Role by Mad_Lori

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 156,714 ** Explicit ** No Warnings

Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?

This has got quite a bit of schmoop, which isn’t usually my thing, but this story is so, so good, and I always love stories that describe Sherlock realizing and appreciating how extraordinary John is.

24. A fic you stayed up too late to finish reading

Collared by VelvetMace

Sherlock ** Sherlock/John ** 83,028 ** Explicit ** Violence & Rape/Non-Con

In a world where the British Empire is still strong and slavery is her economic backbone, John has become a terrorist for the abolitionist movement. He is caught by Mycroft, enslaved, and given to Sherlock for training. The goal: To test a new kind of slave collar with the power to break even the strongest willed fighter. One that will make even John learn to love being a slave.

Dubious consent, and humiliation. I remember staying up very late reading this one, even though I had to work early the next morning. I just couldn’t put it down. 

25. A fic that made you feel seen

Buy Handmade by jjtaylor

Bandom ** Frank/Gerard ** 18,755 ** Mature ** No Warnings

He knows something else is going to happen; his life isn't always going to be this. He just doesn't know what has to happen for that change to come, for him to wake up and become an artist with an Etsy page and a home studio, and to never have to see a cubicle again.

This is the story of my heart. I have felt Frankie’s feelings and thought his thoughts, and I love that he does something about it, and I love Gerard so, so much. I first read this in 2009, and my love for it has never wavered. I could have used this one for a good half of the bingo squares, but it’s the only one that could go here.

[trueishcolours]

My siblings and I accidentally write a Ron/Victor Krum 4th year fix it fic in the group chat

Isabel: guyS

Rewatching goblet of fire

And I have to say

How amazing would it have if

It was a LOT less gendered

And also

If Ron and Krum had got together instead of Krum and Hermione

Thomas: Oh yeah there's so much Gender  

Isabel Ron already basically has a crush on Krum

Would have been great  

Thomas: idk, he's more jealous of him in my opinion  

Isabel: Nah

He has the action figure

He says he's an artist

It's definitely there

Thomas: Tru 

Clare: I mean on a superficial level I liked the Hermione/Krum part because it made me relate that a girl who is usually uninterested in 'feminine' things might still have some anxieties and take some interest now and again, and 'this super hot guy will like You, the Nerd' is standard wish fulfilment, but honestly I could take it or leave it. A grumpy feminist could equally well read it as 'EVEN smort girls like Hermione want to be feminine REALLY uwu'

And that would be a boring analysis but the whole feminine versus not argument is boring and not what we're here for

Anyway

The Krum drama kicks off the Romione subplot and honestly I hate Romione as a ship, to me it feels forced from beginning to end

But Ron/Krum would tie in really nicely to the whole character arc for Ron that JKR started in the first book and then forgot about where he evolves into an amazing intelligent badass without noticing it

Picture: He is dooting along, vaguely bummed because he's nothing special compared to his older bros, then in book four he realises wait he DOES stand out from others because he's gay/bi/whatever but he's not sure he WANTS that because standing out for being a minority is a fucking hassle but by the seventh book he is war hero, chess master and gay icon and vaguely confused about it

Hell, you could even have Hermione go to the ball with Krum, get her girly character development in and have Ron freak out and both of them /assume/ it's about her when it's not

It would just

Be better Thomas: Queer theory saves the day once again

Clare: :D  

Isabel: JUST BASICALLY RON, ALL THE TIME, WITH A BETTER CHARACTER ARC

Thomas: I love this  

Isabel: Honestly decades later I am still just so salty about Ron's lack of development, hell, anti development. I just want everything for him

Clare: Like, not to make it automatically angsty just because it's gay but Ron being Not Straight ties in so well with his typical theme of qualities that he think make him less than Textbook Perfect actually being his great strengths (I read a great analysis that Ron actually achieves all his brothers' goals without trying or noticing)

Ron just utterly stalls as a character in the books

And Harry is a shitty friend to him by the end

She kind of pulled it back with his deathly hallows arc but it was bungled and could have come across as just bashing him

Isabel: HE IS. Ron is so taken for granted.

Clare: God, Ron is SO much less of a dick if his yelling at Hermione in book four is coming out of Sudden Repressed Realisation, not just 'woman I like is doing something I don't like'

Isabel: I watched film 4 last night and just everyone??? Is so horrible to each other??? All the time??? I swear in the books it's so much better handled

Other reasons why bi/gay Ron headcanon is important: - most masculine of the trio/ has a million big brothers so dealing with toxic masculinity/ bucking queer stereotypes in there too - an extra 'fuck you' to the whole pure blood thing which I reckon is really homophobic as it means your bloodline won't get continued or some shit - Krum coaching Ron on Keeping in bad English. Tell me it's not cute. - Ron's a linguist (he learnt parselmouth on like 2 listens)!! Tell me he wouldn't learn Bulgarian?! - just, chaotic bilingual Quidditch talk, all the time, forever?!

Clare: UM your pidgin Quiddich is now my new fave headcanon forever????? You're SO RIGHT Ron is smart, he's just not academic. He would DEFINITELY pick up a language fast if he was using it to talk to his boyfriend/about quiddich

Isabel: EXACTLY

Clare: Plus all the stuff you said about toxic masculinity and purebloodism.

MAKE THE SUBTEXT TEXTUAL, YOU COWARDS

Isabel: #giveRonaBoyfriend2k18

Also not around for the lowkey weirdness of Ron and Harry dating CANONICALLY IDENTICAL AND BORING non white girls to the Yule Ball

I know that you can overdo all this stuff but seriously the fuck

Clare: It is a bit odd and icky   

Isabel: Ok so this is what happens

Krum asks Hermione to the Yule Ball and it's like she gets her cute moment with him

But then instead of spending the whole evening being a whiny bish Ron shows un-JKR-characterisation-characteristic maturity and puts a brave face on it and talks to them both

He's upset but doesn't full on ruin their evenings

And then Hermione after the ball, (gradually realising with slight horror that she and Krum actually have literally nothing in common) kind of keeps... asking... Ron to hang out with them

And at first Ron's like lol no way am I third wheeling

But then the temptation to hang out with his literal idol becomes too strong

And he and Krum start hanging out independently of Hermione

(who's probably in the lib helping Harry study for the second task at this point anyway)

The weather is still too cold for Quidditch

Ron thinks

But somehow Ron ends up playing anyway

IN THE SNOW

WITH VICTOR

HE'S GETTING COACHED BY AN ACTUAL WORLD CUP FINAL SNITCH CATCHING PLAYER AND HE IS NOT CHILL

Clare: Hoooooly fuck this is perfect

(except he actually is because it's like -10 and snowing what the fuck Krum) Ron putting his big boy panties on and dealing during the ball, leading to him actually having an in with Krum via Hermione

I love the dynamic of Hermione just...awkwardly asking her friends to hang with them...just to break the silence...

Isabel: YEAH EXACTLY

And then them all actually having a nice evening

Clare: I mean the point of Krum with her was to get that 'YASSSS I'm dating a hot guy!' moment WHILE ALSO showing how easily it fizzles, so nothing needs to change there

Hermione could even do her 'ugh, quiddich and BOYS' routine

Isabel: Awkward because of course it is awkward what is a teenage party without angst but also, fun

yeah exactly! the slow dawning that fuuuuck, I've just brought another stupid quidditch boi into my life oh god why

Clare: Ron still knows more about the history of the game and all the technical terms than Harry so has more to talk to Krum about

Isabel: And then you know Ron and Krum stumble back into the castle with Ron wearing Krum's hat à la Chad and Ryan, and Skeeter doesn't bat an eyelid because it doesn't fit her trashy narrative

Clare: RIGHT I've got to sleep I'm getting a cold but I love this

Isabel: ok go sleep

OK ONE MORE POINT

we almost certainly get the insanely awkward 'think you're in luurve Ron' or 'lol if you love Krum so much you should date him not Hermione'! moment from either Fred or George or maybe Ginny

And there's just a kind of... missing step moment

Clare: I think all of them would do that

I mean they're pretty mean to Ron anyway, especially about love

Isabel: Exactly they're all horrible but MAYBE this would teach them!!

Clare: Exactly! It would rip the rug out from under them and they'd be like wait shit

Isabel: We are actually mean to Ron... a lot

Clare: Especially because in this timeline Ron still gets the hassle from his sibs but unlike in the main timeline where he is just butt monkey forever he has the trump card that he's got a boyfriend who's a world famous quiddich player

Like, if you're Fred, George, Ginny or even Molly you can't really come back from that reveal. Ron wins.

Isabel: Krum actually being a laser focussed guy who gives people he cares about 300% of his attention

And middle child syndrome attention starved Ron just soaks it up like a blooming Icelandic kid under a sunlamp

Ron win evertiem

Clare: Yeahhhhhh. Being a prodigy who's trained from such a young age he's got to nail that work life balance and it's like 90% work 10% life but that life is INTENSE, he's seen too many people lose their relationships because they won't switch off their metaphorical phones during dates, he gets one (1) month a year and about three (3) important people and when it is Person Time it is PERSON TIME

Right bed for eal I'm dying

Isabel: BED FOR EEL

UGH ALL I WANT IN MY LIFE IS THE 50K+ SLOW BURN QUEER 4TH YEAR REWRITE

BUT I LEGIT DON'T HAVE TIME TO WRITE IT AND I DON'T TRUST MYSELF TO GET RON POV RIGHT ANYWAY

Clare: Bebs I wish you could write it

The raw chemistry my goodness

I ship it now

Is there going to be 'you are treating me like an idol not a real person please stop' angst at any point?

Isabel: OF COURSE THERE IS

Clare: Also Krum is like 'I knew I could trust you because you are bffs with Harry Potter and you treat him like he's totally normal you must be so mature and cool he is so so lucky to have a friend like you

Or well, Krum insecurity that people only like him because of his celeb status anyway

Which is probably why he went for Hermione in the first place because she didn't give a shit

'WOULD WE EVEN BE TOGETHER IN THE FIRST PLACE IF IT WASN'T FOR QUODDICH?'

'... I love you.'

'Bro I wouldn't care if you were the worst player in the world as long as we both are fans of the sport together.'

'Bro.'

Isabel: BRUH

Also can I just ask...?

What happens in the second task??!!?

It's already messed up enough under that lake, love triangles all over the place

This would just be the final straw that resulted in everyone just shrugging and teaming up

Clare: Holy shit

Krum just doots along, takes Ron and goes

Harry's like...wait what...OK...um I guess Hermione and Ron are equally important to me so I'll just take her kk

Isabel: Krum and Ron appearing on the surface of the lake like 'fuck'

The most dramatic declaration of intent ever

Turning yourself into a shark and rescuing them from the bottom of a lake

Clare: Everybody in the stands is SHOOK

Dumbledore like dang I did not predict this

With their hair soaking wet they are both at maximum hot

Isabel: Rita Skeeter's quill combusts

Clare: Krum doesn't point her out as a beetle in Hermione’s hair he's too busy with Ron

Isabel: Yeah she's like where is my gossip at??? Nothing is happening over in Hermione's hair

But yeah I feel like Dumbledore would be like, oh darn, looks like I'm gonna have to show queer solidarity with Ronald Weasely or something

KRUM AT THE BURROW VERY SERIOUSLY COMPLIMENTING MOLLY ON HER FOOD AND ASKING FOR BRITISH RECIPES AND WINNING HER OVER IN A TRICE

Clare: Would Krum charm Molly straight away though? He's very surly and shy and, in the books, not very handsome. Wouldn't Molly start out yikes who is this quiddich yob my son has taken up with?

Ginny on the other hand. Comes out as bi a couple of years later, tells Ron she only started to realise thanks to his example, apologises for being a dick about his love life

Isabel: Yeah I guess actually

I think Molly can get fierce

Clare: She's probably got a bit of pure blood/homophobic anxiety that she cloaks as objections about THIS PARTICULAR boy

Isabel: Either she loves you and adopts you right away or she is like /pulling shotgun down from the shelf/

EXACTLY

She's like

Blaming herself, oh I should have paid more attention and NOW look what's happened

Poor Ronald, always neglected

And Ron's like... mum... this is great

I am happy

Is not problem

Clare: Ron is like I AM NOT DOING THIS FOR ATTENTION JESUS CHRIST

I mean he's probably enjoying having the attention of a quiddich super star and I bet he'd even enjoy the celebrity status of The Boyfriend a bit (best friends get sidelined but romantic partners are news) but he's not doing it FOR attention

Isabel: Yeah, and I think the suggestion that he is would just make him so mad

First confused and then mad

Oh the ANGST

Clare: Especially since that's Krums biggest anxiety

Isabel: Mr Weasely would be chill. I feel like in this whole equation he is the chillest

Clare: What would Percy say? Would social climbing or doing the done thing win out?

Also the attention thing is a way for parents to make their child's relationship all about them. Oh you want me to LOVE you more! No mum I'm growing away from you this is normal

I think Ron would get jealous around Bill and Charlie because they'd swing in all oh our brother is rebellious and has a cool boyfriend? Well we are cool rebels also welcome to the family Victor

Isabel: Yeah... I think Percy is probably pretending to be chill with it and being a bit smarmy to Krum then says something awkward and homophobic and it's worse than if he'd just said it straight up

Clare: I think a lot of Liberal but still pure blood families would take the line of, 'it's fine that you're gay...because you're the sixth son so your blood line isn't in danger and making a socially advantageous match is probably more important for you anyway! And Ron is like Y I K E S

Isabel: Yeah exactly, well I suppose you have enough sons Molly amirite

What do we think about the Krum family?

Are they just happy that their son is forming human relationships

Clare: Hmm. How do they feel about celebrity? Do they think Ron is Not Good Enough or are they actually quite a normal family and are glad Krum has an ordinary guy to keep him grounded?

Isabel: I kind of don't want Ron to have to deal with random Bulgarian disapproval

I think maybe a quite normal family who had a kid who was a genius and has been at boarding school/ travelling for years and years

Maybe Krum already came out to them so that drama is in the past

Clare: Yeah and when he brings Ron home for dinner they're just delighted that Krum is home at all and that he's happy

Yeah maybe he did

He's probably had a lot of time to introspect because of his image and maybe he's an only child?

Isabel: And Ron speaks accented but ok Bulgarian by this point and they're like !!!

Clare: I think one aspect of the large family thing that WOULD affect Ron is its just that much harder to have a private word with your parents so confiding about yourself, especially when you're not 100% sure, just isn't part of the family culture

And there's no time for introspection when you're jockeying for position with six siblings

So Krum is out to his parents while Ron isn't even out to himself

Plus Krums just that bit older

Isabel: No, when you ask for a word it's all 'yes Ron' a bit exasperated

Clare: Krum’s family are just delighted that Ron speaks Bulgarian and is a normal guy who likes their son for himself

Isabel: Maybe they have some kind of cool engineery job and Ron goes out the back and is like well my dad likes cars I will try and help

Uses his mathsy chessy knowledge

Clare: Re. Homophobia I think it is important that it's not all YOU'RE GOING TO HELL like the Muggle brand but instead is very focused on producing pure blood children. Also with the smallness of the pure blood community I bet there's a lot of, not official arranged marriage, but kind of assumed marriage, like in Pride and Prejudice or what may have happened with Prince William and Kate, like, there's three girls your age who your family's on speaking terms with who aren't your first cousins and it'll massively throw off everybody's plans if you don't marry one of them

Yes Ron helping with engineering

Isabel: Headcanon of the Krums as magical engineers with a side passion for quidditch

Clare: I bet he picks up arithmancy that way. Can't learn it in the classroom, can learn it in the garage. And he comes home from the holiday able to actually help his dad with the car and thenceforth Mr Weasley is on board

Isabel: Yeah exactly... they're a bit 'sigh ok this means you're not gonna marry bertha from the bakery but hell at least it's not a veela'

Clare: Also wizarding society is inherently conservative, they haven't even updated their writing system, so anybody doing anything different is looked askance at unless they can play themselves as a genius eccentric like Dumbledore

Isabel: So yeah then Ron turns out to be WHOLESOME af and Krum’s family are like... ok fine. this is fine. In fact yay!

Ok I have to go do some work but this has been almost as good as having the fic itself

Clare: Maybe I'll put a summary on my tumblr and see if anybody wants to adopt it

[velkynkarma]

Oooh for the ask meme how about all for Routine Maintenance??

All? Right, then. *cracks knuckles* Routine Maintenance it is! There’s a lot of questions, so most answers will be under the cut. Got a question about a fic? Ask!

1. What inspired this fic?I had just gotten into the Voltron fandom the month before and spent most of that time greedily digging through the archive for anything gen (there wasn’t a lot of it). I found some good gems, but the one thing I really wanted to see and hadn’t was a story about Shiro dealing with his prosthetic arm. There were plenty that covered the “mind control” style story-line, or dug into the angsty flashbacks of how he got it in the first place, but none of them went into ongoing day-to-day life of just...having an alien prosthetic forcibly attached to you. You know what they say--if it doesn’t exist, make it yourself! So that’s what I did.

2. Where did the title come from?It came specifically from Hunk’s part of the story (which was first), all about literally maintaining Shiro’s arm and teaching him routines for it. It’s also a phrase. And it seemed to fit!3. What part was most difficult?Probably any emotional moment in the fic (most notably in chapter 6). I can do medical research, I can write action, but bringing in feelings is just hard.4. What are you most proud of?A lot of little things, really. I like the painterly descriptions of Lance’s chapter. I like how I managed to convey phantom pains in Pidge’s chapter. That entire last chapter was just a behemoth to organize but I think it came out really well. 5. What do you like best about this fic?I like the overall concept. Even as far back as S1 we knew Shiro was a character with a disability, who lives with it but doesn’t let it stop him, but nobody ever really explored it. I’ve had people thank me since writing it because they had something to relate to, and I’m glad I was able to do the theme justice.

6. What do you like least about this fic?That it’s still the one I’m known for the most. Routine Maintenance was my first foray into the fandom and was written almost 2 years ago now. I’ve learned a lot since about both the characters and about writing, and on a reread there are parts of it that feel weak. I have much stronger fics that have much better defined themes since, but Routine Maintenance is still usually they one I’m known for.7. What’s a reference you’ve made that no one has picked up on yet?Honestly, I don’t think there are any, if we’re talking non-Voltron media references. I tend to avoid things like calling out movies, books, comics, etc when writing fanfiction, since it can sometimes alienate viewers who haven’t engaged with that other material. 8. What’s a bit that sums up your take on a character?From the last chapter of Routine Maintenance:

He’s never been more proud of any of them. And he’s not going to let them down, not now. As frayed and on edge and exhausted and in pain as he is for all the same reasons, they’re looking to him now more than ever for stability and support. Their entire world has just been violently smashed into the ground and thrown upside down like the shipwreck that had taken them there, and Shiro is just about the only thing they have left to cling to so they can try and stay standing. He’ll hold on for their sakes until they’ve regained their own footing. He owes them that much. So he stands guard over them, in a very literal sense. What’s left of his right arm his throbbing, his ribs protest, his head hurts, and his whole body aches with soreness and fatigue, but he refuses to sit, not even when Hunk begs him to take a break. He stands guard over his fallen crew members, ever vigilant, keeping an eye on the odd colored trees and the Galra wreckage. If an enemy comes he is their only real line of defense, and he does not intend to let anything hurt his crew further than they’ve already been hurt. Most important of all, no matter how scared he is for all of them, he maintains his outwardly calm and controlled appearance. He talks as normally as possible to Hunk and Lance, repeatedly reassuring them every time they start to look more nervous or afraid. He checks on Keith and Pidge regularly, and despite his growing concerns when neither wakes, and when Keith grows steadily paler, he keeps his expression neutral. And inwardly, the entire time, he begs, please let them live. Please let them all make it out of here okay. Please don’t let me lose one of them again.

Honestly, I feel this sums up Shiro in a nutshell, even now several seasons later. Shiro’s exactly the type to hold himself together and project outward confidence and control no matter how badly he’s falling apart inside. Most of the actual fic is about him getting caught in this and the others helping him, but when they need that support, he’s going to give it. 9. Favorite line(s) of dialogue? Two years later I’m still stupidly pleased with the pun I slipped into the middle of a dramatic situation in the last chapter:

Lance shudders at the words, and his hand tightens on Shiro’s. “But if…if it isn’t—I can’t—I can’t be a paladin without—I can’t even go home like this—““Shhh. Lance, calm down. Listen, even if it does come to that, and I’m not saying it has, it’s going to be okay. There’s no way in hell any of us would leave the leg of Voltron without a leg to stand on, okay?”Lance’s lips actually twitch slightly at the wordplay that he might have enjoyed more in any other circumstance. Shiro suspects it’s a shock-fueled, scared smile more than anything else. “R…right.”

Honestly it’s always the first line I think of, even if I know there’s more serious conversations and good dialogue elsewhere in the fic. I still just think of Shiro making a dumb joke to calm Lance down about the horrible thought that he may have just lost a leg.10. Favorite line(s) of prose?Lance wins out on this one too. My favorite descriptions happen in chapter 2:

But the bitter end’s getting closer. It’s already dark and difficult to see, and his eyes are still stinging in the mineral-crusted water, but he can tell his vision is starting to get blurrier and grayer around the edges. His body tries to force him to breathe again, and he chokes slightly with the effort of not. His right arm is starting to throb at the port from the tugging strain the prosthetic puts on the connection point of his flesh. Spots start to dance in front of his vision, bright streaks that seem to bob through the gloom as they get steadily bigger before his eyes…No, he realizes after a moment. It’s getting harder to think, harder to focus, due to the lack of air, but he comes to the baffling realization that those spots aren’t actually spots at all. It’s not his vision failing due to a lack of oxygen; there’s really something moving through the water, coming towards him from above, trailing teal streaks through the gloom. At first his thoughts conjure hazy visions of phosphorescent fish he’s seen in documentaries and aquariums, and it takes his weakening mind a precious long time to remember he’s not on Earth anymore, and he doesn’t remember seeing any wildlife like that so far. It takes him even longer to make out the white patches through the murky darkness of the ocean, dulled to a more grayish color in the near lightless water, but after a moment he’s able to make the connection—teal light strips and white patches. Paladin armor. It takes him longer to make out the color, because the blue melds so well into the ocean. Lance is only a few feet away before Shiro recognizes him, largely in part due to the way the helmet’s mask lights up his face just slightly in the darkness. 

I honestly just loved the entire description of Lance just appearing out of the gloom of the dark water and Shiro taking a while to realize what he’s seeing because he’s so close to passing out. This entire scene had a very painterly feel in my head and I loved trying to transition that to prose. 11. Where there any points where you were trying to do something specific with sound, vocabulary, or rhythm? I’m basically always doing this--that’s my writing style. I did have fun with vocab/rhythm in Pidge’s chapter, though, specifically with the phantom pains. Shiro describes trying to clench and unclench his hand a lot, but I deliberately kept from making it clear it’s due to phantom pains at first. I wanted to make it confusing on purpose, since by all accounts it’s confusing in real life, so I didn’t want to draw a distinct line between Shiro recognizing his metal hand was different than the phantom hand that’s all in his head. The reader should end up understanding what’s really happening at the same time that Pidge does as a result, even though the story is from Shiro’s PoV. The same thing later too, when trying to describe the sensation of fixing the problem.12. Imagery that is important to the fic, either while composing or in the fic itself? Again, imagery is always big for my writing style, and there’s too much in the fic to go into the details. How about we talk imagery themes instead? Several readers have noticed that Shiro rescues everyone in chapter 6 in the same order they help him in chapters 1-5. What less people notice is how each of the ways they help Shiro are also reflected in counter-point in the way he saves them:

Hunk helps him with a non-functional arm that was full of sand and grit while Shiro can barely move it. Shiro later frees Hunk with an arm that is still able to function despite having been impaled, while Hunk himself can’t move.

Lance reaches out to Shiro in an unreachable location and the first way Shiro recognizes him is by the lights on his armor. Shiro later finds Lance by the same lights, and reaches him in an unreachable location in turn. The arm that dragged him down is now the only thing that can lift up the weights now dragging Lance down.

Pidge helps Shiro with his phantom pains, by providing a solution that’s so simple and so close, and yet so far away. Later on, Shiro has the same problem rescuing her: she’s just out of reach, and just beyond his range of senses to be able to tell if she’s alive or not. He even tries to use a different arm (in this case, directing Lance’s) to solve the problem, to no avail.

Pidge actually has a second subtler one too: during her chapter Shiro recognizes he can’t actually feel or register his Galra arm as ‘his’ and tends to think of it as an object. At the time, it’s disappointing. During the very start of chapter 6, Shiro’s Galra arm is impaled, but he finds it doesn’t really bother him (or hurt him), since it’s just an object, it’s not really his.

Shiro tries to warm both himself and Keith with his Galra arm and warns Keith not to touch it as it will burn him badly, although this doesn’t work. Keith has to help keep him from freezing to death. Shiro later rescues him by using that exact thing he warned Keith about to save him, and it’s an exact parallel from freezing to burning.

13. How many drafts did the work go through?It’s hard to say. I don’t really have separate drafts in the traditional sense. I reworked the outline at least 1-2 times because that’s standard for me, and I probably spent a week editing the final results. But for the most part nothing too much changed. 14. Where you listening to anything while writing the fic? If so, what?Hah, I was listening to the Voltron soundtrack, actually. On repeat. 15. What were you most worried about during the composition? If I was handling disabilities right, and if chapter 6 in particular was a little too bloody for the fandom. With the former, I did plenty of research of course. But since I’m not an amputee nor do I have PTSD, there was always that little voice in the back of my head muttering, “You better hope you’re doing this right.” With the latter....it’s always hard to tell when going into new fandoms how well they’ll handle extreme injuries or wounds. Some fandoms eat it up, and in others it will get your fic basically ignored. I wasn’t really sure where Voltron fell, and chapter 6 does get pretty brutal, between Lance and Pidge being crushed, Lance’s compound fractures, and Keith needing to be cauterized. Keith’s scene in particular I wrote and re-wrote half a dozen times and I was extremely picky about the vocabulary used, because it was a very tricky line to write it in such a way that I was conveying Keith was suffering, but that Shiro wasn’t torturing him and wasn’t happy with the situation either. That meant adding some more emotional comfort aspects, which I am bad at. The whole thing was just a difficult mess and I basically wasn’t sure about it right up until the point I actually got comments talking about those scenes specifically. 16. If you used a beta, what did you agree or disagree on?I don’t use a beta, so nothing!17. Did anything surprise you during the writing?It got a lot longer than I initially planned on. Especially that last chapter. This really shouldn’t have come as a surprise though.18. Were there any alternate versions of this fic?Not really alternate, but Parasite Knight was a scrapped concept for the +1 part of the 5+1 idea (originally, with the whole team helping Shiro). But it didn’t seem to fit the theme of the 5+1, since the +1 tends to turn the theme on its head, so I went with the current version and recycled the idea of a soul-eating arm for another fic. Turns out that was a good idea since Parasite Knight turned into a beast of a fic in its own right lol. I did also shuffle a few characters around from their original plans. Before I’d decided a chapter about sinking due to Shiro’s heavy arm was going to be a thing, Lance was actually slated to be the one helping Shiro with frostbite (since his Lion has the whole water/ice connection). But Lance fit better for a drowning theme, and Keith ended up taking over the frostbite theme instead. That never actually started to get written, though.19. Were any parts written under the influence?I don’t drink or do any kind of drugs, so nope. 20. What did you learn from writing this fic?No real writing technicalities. I was able to verify I was handling disabilities well, based on readers’ feedback (something I’m always cautious about if I don’t have any background in the disability in question--I like to treat these situations as respectfully as possible, but sometimes it’s just hard to know if you really are without any scope of understanding). Honestly what I learned the most was that there was a niche in this fandom that I was actually welcome in. Many times I’ll write 1-2 fics in a fandom and that scratches the personal itch. But there’s never really any response from the fandom itself, so I move on to the next interesting thing. But Routine Maintenance had such overwhelming feedback, in a couple cases from some big names in the gen corner of the fandom, that it was encouraging enough to actually make me stick around. And in sticking around, THAT’S where I really learned more technical writing skills. So I guess RM didn’t teach me anything specifically, but it made sure I stuck around enough to learn things anyway. PHEW! That’s a lot of questions! Got a question about a fic? Ask!

[vivavinni]

March 17th, 2018 KC - Mental Me.

Today I don't have anything inspirational to say. I am not in love. I am not politically charged (though I should be.) I'm not even sure I can successfully organize what's been going through my mind, but I need to give it a try.

I saw and shared this post on Facebook today:

This post is so closely relatable. I was the kid who survived multiple suicide attempts; I vacationed in multiple hospitals. I am now the adult who feels ill equipped, unprepared and lost.

My dad died when he was 26 years old, I was 6. Growing up, for me, was much different than most of my friends. My mother was a single parent my entire life. We were always moving, paycheck to paycheck. She did everything she could to keep a roof over my head and keep me alive. We are lucky enough to have a supportive foundation. Our family is a good size, very loving and strong. (This is something I never let go of.)

During years 6-10 I dealt with a good amount of anger and sadness. A great deal of my young childhood is a blur, however, I know for certain I was difficult. I remember I needed certain things to go certain ways to feel mostly comfortable in my skin. (Example- my socks had to be folded over perfectly and fit inside my shoes just right, before I left for school. If they were crooked or slightly uneven I would have a meltdown.) I was and always will be chubby. Even then, I had a lot of small and large insecurities that worried me constantly.

Anxiety, what a friend. He sits right next to Depression, she's always crying about something and obsessing over death.

After years spent fighting my mom about going to counseling meetings and follow ups for learning how to grieve after your best friend and father dies, we thought, "maybe the worst is over..." That was not the case.

A few years passed, maybe age 10-12, and I refused to continue counseling because I didn't understand why I had to do it when none, or most of my friends didn't. I didn't want to be so different, but I was and always will be (and that's okay now). Life seemed relatively normal, I had to adjust to having a new baby sister (which was difficult at first, life moves on). I established a few good friendships and mostly excelled in school. Family gatherings were always a highlight. I was fortunate enough to go on a few very cool vacations to new places which is great fun!

Now, at this point it seems light, happy and chipper, however, I grew up with an obsession with death and all things strange and dark. Keep this in mind. I was weird but hey, I made a couple weird friends so it wasn't too terrible. My favorite shows at this time were CSI: Las Vegas and Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. I also loved gory horror films, thrillers and weird anime. Neat!

Let's fast forward to year 2005, September (already a stressful and emotional month after 9/11/01, my uncle Marc lived only ten blocks away when that occurred but survived well and helped with clean up,) I was a month away from age 14, I believe, I was emotional. I was becoming; I was confused, awkward, angsty, dramatic and a little crazy. Found my way to cope with my friends Anxiety, Depression and new friend Hypermania by way of experimenting with different forms of self harm. You guessed it, I was a cutter and I dabbled in an assortment of substances.

I digress, it's September in 2005, my baby cousin is turning 3 years old, he's gonna have a party! I had the option of staying the night with family or staying with a friend, I chose my friends. The night before my baby cousins birthday party, my uncle Steve (baby cousins father and also my father figure), went to have a beer with someone he thought to be his good friend in need. He, tragically, was wrong. This man shot my uncle twice in the back, as well as committing other atrocious acts before attempting to flea the state.

This event spiked a long downward spiral which eventually led to an uphill battle and this very moment.

I was devastated. My whole family outraged, distraught, grieving, but together. Mental me, lost sight of 'together'. I was lost. I felt alone, hopeless, a nervous wreck, and guilty for choosing to stay with friends instead of family. This turned into depression and suicidal ideation, attempt. I was done, loss of purpose, "what's the point?" Extinction.

My first full hospitalization came after months of self-destruction. It was a very unpleasant experience for me. I was admitted to Research Hospital in their youth psychiatric care unit. They cut my favorite shoelaces off my favorite pair of shoes, striped me down to nothing, heavily medicated me, and told me not to worry. Most of my experience is veiled and distorted by medicine haze. However, I distinctly remember the nurse who was in charge of pm phone calls to home tell me, "I've seen a lot of kids like you, you'll be back again," or something to that effect. After my interaction with her all I remember was turning autopilot on to get myself out of that hospital as quickly and smoothly as possible. I said I felt better, "The meds must be working, I'm working on my steps to release, I'm ready to go home." I lied. I lied my face off. I wasn't ready, the meds weren't right; fake it til you make it out, right?

I stayed in out-patient for a little while with different doctors, different medicines. Faking it to make it. I eventually stopped going and stopped medication. I went through counseling on and off. And continued to self-harm and experiment with different substances. School, to me, was pointless. I stopped showing up, I skipped, got into trouble and eventually made the decision to drop out. For me, school was useless anxiety on top of my generalized anxiety, depression and hypermanic episodes. I was trouble, I was troubled. (Mom, I am so sorry for putting you through so much on top of everything we went through together.)

My mom and I had always had a rocky relationship. It was difficult to relate and be open with her. I'm not entirely sure why it took me so long to figure out she was always on my side and wanted what was best for me. I have some ideas why, but at this point in time they aren't pertinent because now I do have a very strong bond and great deal of respect for her. She loves me unconditionally, as I do her. Through ups and downs and hospital visits we became best friends. I am so grateful for it.

Since the loss of my uncle, I began the journey of my diagnosis and treatment but, not before finding out that my father died of a genetic heart condition called A.R.V.D. My grandma was diagnosed with it as well and has been treated and monitored. I decide, with my mom, that testing for this heart condition was important. In and out of hospitals I went! I was put under multiple stress tests in different variations (one of them I was put under anesthesia for.) Eventually, a temporary heart monitor was placed in my chest for further testing and then I lost insurance.

Here I am! Mental me, years later, without insurance and a dead heart monitor in my chest that should probably be removed soon.

Years have passed. I was hospitalized again after several years of self-harm, destruction, medicine and indulgence. Somehow, I met a few good friends and partners along the way that stayed by my side and helped me after this much brighter stint in the KU Med psychiatric ward.

My KU experience was much more helpful. I took it seriously and learned a great deal about myself, my issues, coping techniques; I learned and accepted that sometimes, hospital visits are necessary and beneficial to mental health and well-being. I knew after that visit that when I am at the point of severe or suicidal ideation there is a safe place to regroup, learn and get better.

Friends, it has taken years and years on this journey to get to this exact moment- Where I am the adult who may be a bit behind because I never planned to make it this far. Here I am! Mental me!

I have been off medications and out of hospitals for nearly four years. I've been through therapy and could always use more of it. It can be helpful. Reach out! Seek the help. Sometimes it will be easier than others to take that step, I know, but keep reaching. Find health coping that works for you. We are not alone even in our most isolated darkness.

When I started writing this I said I didn't have anything inspirational to say because this is all just a piece of my story. I think it's time for me to start sharing it. This is not finished because my story isn't over. And it's true, I never thought I would make it this far, but here I am, MENTAL ME! Let's keep going.

The darkness is temporary, the struggle is constant and the fight is forever. Please, keep fighting, help me fight.

With all my love,

-V

#stayherewithme #stayherewithus #suicideawareness #believeinstayinggold #artsaves #evenifitkillsme #keepreaching #seekhelp #TWLOHA #love #life #selfcare #selflove #beyou #getweird

[ultraspideysense-blog]

Just One Dance Pt. 1 (Peter Parker Imagine)

request: “Can you do an imagine with Peter and Reader where they are just messing around until te reader says "I will give you 50 bucks if I can take you to Christmas dinner and tell my family we're together.They always ask if I'm dating and I can't have that conversation again." Peter says yes they go they do a great job but Peter ends up liking her she does to and they end up a relationship. Sorry it us so long thanks you ! Love your writing!!!” (requested by anon)

short summary: after you find yourself making a hasty bet with flash about getting a date for homecoming, you need Peter to help keep your end of the bargain. (this will be a multipart series partly bc i’m tired and partly bc i wanna develop this more)

length: 2k words 

warnings: some swearing & it’s so teen angsty i’m sorry i truly am aaaa sorry 

A/N: i kinda loosely followed the request bc like it really gave off a “im in my mid-20s and my old fashioned ass fam thinks ppl need to be married by now” so i kinda edited a bit to be more realistic amongst teens hope it worked soz it’s short but it’s gonna be a series

You were always stubborn. A lot of people called you a bitch for it, but you just called it taking no shit from anyone, and never backing down from a challenge.

So when Flash started running his big mouth during homeroom at your expense, it took everything in you not to smack him in the face. You tried to ignore it at first, as you worked on your calculus homework, you truly did. But Flash always liked to get a rise out of you because he knew he could get under your skin.

“And here we are, a mere 48 hours before homecoming, and a true tragedy lays in our midst. The resident ice queen, Y/N, is the only one in the school without a date,” Flash said dramatically to his group of friends.

Rolling your eyes and immersing yourself in the world of integrals, you gritted your teeth and tried to tune him out like you usually do. But he wasn’t finished.

“I mean, it’s a miracle that she hasn’t frozen the entire student body with her gaze like Elsa or some shit,” he joked. His group of friends laughed at his lame joke as you dropped your pencil on your homework.

“Why don’t you just shut it Flash?” you said, a death glare making its way onto your face.

“If that’s your special, twisted way of asking me out I’m gonna have to say no, babe,” Flash said with a smirk on his face. You glared at him with disgust.

“As if I’d want to take your ratty ass to homecoming. I think I would actually rather be run over by a bus. It really does sound like a more pleasant time,” you fired back.

“I doubt you could even get anyone to go to homecoming with you even if you tried. Everyone’s too scared to come within 10 feet of you anyway aside from Michelle, you’re worse than the plague,” he said with a mock shudder.

“Way to use an outdated joke from the 1400s,” you muttered with a dismissive wave.

"Still doesn’t change the fact that nobody would dare to go to homecoming with you,” he sneered. You scoffed.

“Please, it’d be much easier for me to get a date than you. At least I wouldn’t have to beg and plead someone like you did.” Flash’s confident demeanor slightly wavered for a moment before he quickly regained his cocky attitude.

“Alright then, Y/L/N, if you can somehow get some actual creature that goes to our school to go to homecoming with you, this $100 bill in my wallet is yours. And if you fail, you owe me $100,” Flash said with a wicked grin, his hand outstretched to shake in order to seal the deal. “And Michelle doesn’t count.”

You ignored it and merely nodded, determination in your eyes. “You’re on, Thompson.”

The bell rang signaling the end of homeroom, and you shoved your abandoned calculus homework into your backpack. Shooting one last glare at Flash, you exited the room and moved through the masses in the hallway to make it to your next class.

When you got to PE at the end of the day, Coach Wilson had everyone pair off to do sit ups. You naturally gravitated towards Michelle, one of your few friends and one of the few people that wasn’t immediately put off by your less than sunny exterior.

The two of you had a silent agreement to always stick to the far right corner of the gym, where Coach Wilson never seemed to look, so you could just sit and do nothing in peace. Some days the two of you would talk, other days you’d leave Michelle to her book and you’d do some homework. Today was a day for talking.

“Did you finish the calculus homework for tomorrow?” you asked Michelle. She nodded.

“Barely,” Michelle replied with a roll of her eyes. “This homework’s getting more and more ridiculous.” she said with a shake of her head.

The small talk continued for a few more minutes before you felt the need to bring up your small, somewhat expensive dilemma.

“So I need a date to homecoming,” you sighed. Michelle raised one of her eyebrows in curiosity.

“I made a stupid bet with Flash and to make a long story short I need a date for Friday or I’m about to be $100 poorer than usual,” you said with a grimace.

“You never do back down from a challenge do you?” Michelle asked with a grimace. “I’ll go as your date, problem solved.”

You shook your head. “Terms of the bet, I can’t take you. Has to be somebody else.” Michelle looked at you pensively, then took a brief scan of the students in the gym.

You layed down on your back, fiddling with a loose thread on your shorts as Michelle continued her search. You’d been thinking of available, decent people and drawing up a mental list, but kept running into a wall. Brandon from Chemistry had the flu. Paula from English already had a date. And so on with differing excuses for each person.

“What about Peter?” Michelle suggested after a period of silence. You raised yourself up into a sitting position.

“Parker?” you asked slowly. Michelle nodded at you, gesturing her head in his general direction. He was partnered up with his friend Ned, doing a set of sit ups with ease. You cocked your head to the side wondering when the shy nerd had bulked up as the rest of the class struggled.

“Really?” you asked, considering it for a moment. He was alright if your memory served well, but you’ve never actually had a conversation with him, or seen him outside of any of the classes you had together.

“Yes, really,” Michelle replied. “He doesn’t have a date, and Ned does, so he’d be awkwardly third wheeling the whole time. And everyone knows he’s been pining after Liz, but she’s already got a date. So that sort of leaves him at a stalemate,” she explained.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you considered your other options. You sure as hell weren’t asking any upperclassmen or any freshmen for that matter, and out of the sophomores your options were very limited. And out of those options, Michelle was right. Peter did seem to be the most desirable candidate, if you could even call him that.

“I guess I’ll ask him,” you said, slightly defeated. It wasn’t as if you had a real problem with Peter, but he wasn’t exactly the type of person you saw yourself hanging out with. In fact, you couldn’t remember if the two of you had even held a conversation before. But by the end of gym class you strengthened your resolve, and told Michelle you’d meet her at her locker afterwards so the two of you could catch the train together.

Peter was huddled closely by Ned, the two of them deep in conversation as they made their way out of the gym. You jogged a bit to catch up to them, doing a miniature prayer to the gods that Peter would say yes to your request.

“Hey, Parker,” you called out confidently. Inside you were quaking a bit, but you ignored it as you saw both his and Ned’s heads turn around in confusion.

“Y/N?” Peter asked carefully, his best friend standing silently next to him. He looked around as if there was some possibility that you were talking to somebody else.

“Yeah, I’m talking to you,” you said with a slight laugh as he finally made eye contact with you. Now that you had his attention, the words seemed to be stuck on your tongue. You’d never actually asked anyone out before and it was proving to be harder than you anticipated.

Peter saw your worried facial expression. “Is everything alright? You don’t look too well,” he started. His eyes widened for a moment. “Not that you look ugly or anything, honestly on the contrary you’re very pretty.” His eyes widened again as Ned hit him softly on the arm, a signal to tell him to stop talking. 

You didn’t even register his stumbled, scattered response as you tried to get the words out of your mouth. You were normally confident in anything and everything you set your mind to, but right now it felt like there was word vomit in your mouth itching to break free but couldn’t. Another awkward pause ensued until the words came barreling out of your mouth at a rapid pace.

“This is probably going to sound really stupid and you’ll probably say no or something but would you possibly maybe kind of, sort of want to go to homecoming with me?” you said quickly, all in one breath. Your face turned beet red as you awaited a response from him.

He cocked his head quizzically as did Ned, who was still standing next to him. 

“W-what?” he asked, not quite hearing everything that you said. He made out the word “homecoming,” but he wanted to make sure that you were actually asking him out.

“Did you want to go to homecoming with me? If you don’t have a date already,” you inquired, a bit slower this time. His mouth opened and closed a few times, an adorable smile making its way onto his features before he could formulate a proper response in English.

“I, uh,” he started slowly. You were hanging on to his every word, it felt like an out of body experience to be this nervous. Your tough exterior was whittling in the face of adversity, something that rarely happened, especially where feelings were concerned. 

“He would love to,” Ned finished for him. Peter nodded quickly and gave you a thumbs up as he shot a grateful look at his best friend. Relief flooded your features.

“Okay,” you said softly. He nodded again and gave you a grin. Ned looked like he was ready to burst with excitement.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” He nodded at you again as Ned started to lead him away towards the boys locker room to change.

You gave him a small nervous smile as he shyly waved at you while walking away. As soon as Ned thought they were out of earshot, he let out a triumphant yelp and started shaking Peter by the shoulders.

“Dude, you actually have a date for homecoming!” he all but squealed. You heard every word of it, but decided not to call either of them out on it as you exited on the opposite end of the gym. Peter muttered something in response, but you couldn’t make out what exactly he said. Even though it was an impromptu proposal, you were still kind of...excited at the prospect of going with him? 

As you opened the double doors to walk the path to your locker, Michelle was waiting for you on the other side instead of at her locker.

“You saw and heard everything didn’t you?” you asked her. She nodded. You rolled your eyes, not surprised that your ever observant best friend had stuck around to see you make a fool of yourself firsthand. She’d never judge you or call you out on it though.

“Why didn’t you tell him it was a bet?” she asked you, a slight frown gracing her face. You stopped walking as you realized what you had just done. 

“It didn’t...come up?” you offered. You truly hadn’t meant to keep that a secret from Peter, but in the midst of your nerves that was exactly what happened. Your heart started to drop a bit as you thought about how excited Ned looked, and how flustered Peter was when he accepted.

“I didn’t mean to not tell him,” you trailed awkwardly. “I’ll tell him next time I see him,” you finished with certainty. Michelle gave you a look.

“You know it’ll be a lot harder to tell him later rather than doing so when you asked him?” she explained. You gave her a pointed look.

“Of course I know that, like I said it wasn’t intentional to leave out the fact that I was asking him because of a bet,” you said defensively. Michelle put up her hands in a mock surrender as the two of you made your way down the empty hallways.

“I’ll tell him tomorrow,” you promised out loud, more so to yourself than to your best friend.

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sorry the beginning kinda sucked and also so did all of this but anyway lmk what u think & pls feel free to berate me LOL if u wanna be on my permanent tag list lmk and i’ll post part 2 when i get the time to write it love u guys