#and November where this section takes places lmao

[miastideclock]

a year with bang chan, "april 17th."

word count: 687 warnings: not edited notes: funnily enough, this is the first one i've posted on the right day lmao

january 2nd ⁺₊ february 14th ⁺₊ march 2nd ⁺₊ april 17th ⁺₊ may 30th ⁺₊ june 4th ⁺₊ july 14th ⁺₊ august 1st ⁺₊ september 12th ⁺₊ october 3rd ⁺₊ november 1st ⁺₊ december 31st

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆

int. outside at a zoo. noon.

“oh my god, look at those two!” chan practically squealed as he raised his hand to point at the two baby elephants that were stood in the pond they had in their enclosure. the two calves were filling their trunks with water, only to spray each other with it and running after each other.

“i didn’t realise visiting the zoo would be so similar to going to your dorms.” you snickered, just barely dodging the push that came from your boyfriend as his aussie came through with a playful ‘oi!’

you laughed at his reaction, but let him grab your hand despite his faux pout. he found it impossible to keep up the upset demeanour and a massive smile had soon found its way back on his face. “where to next?” you asked him as you stopped to look at a map of the zoo.

“the gift shop is right by the food court, so maybe stop there, grab something to eat, and then continue on to this section over here?” he suggested, pointing all over the map as he spoke. it sounded good to you, so you were soon sat in the food court, having lunch as you spoke about everything and nothing all at the same time.

next thing you knew you were in the gift shop, doubled over in tears from laughing. the two of you had found matching monkey-hats, and put them on as a joke. it was ‘couples’ hats, so when you stood next to each other, the monkeys on the hats were stretched out for one another, trying to kiss. you didn’t even have to say anything for chan to take the hats off of your heads and go to the register to buy them.

as you walked around holding hands, with those god-awful hats snugly on your heads, a little girl had spotted you and couldn’t hold her giggles all to herself. what you assumed would be her mother, picked her up and placed the girl on her hip, apologising for her daughters behaviour. the two of you reassured her that it was absolutely fine as the hats really were laughable. the mother gave them a warm smile and moved her daughter from her hip, over to the back of a man that was stood next to them, presumably the father. as he gave her a piggyback ride, they walked off.

“isn’t it wild that one day you get picked up and put down again, for the very last time and you don’t even know?” you spoke as you moved further down the walkway surrounded by animals. this made chan halt in his step and look at you, pretty much like you were crazy.

“now, why would you say that? now i’m sad.” chan let his legs go back to moving while you chuckled at him.

“this obviously doesn’t apply to you, as you and the boys make sure you are more above ground than you are on it at this point. never once have i been to your place without witnessing at least one member of your getting picked up.” you explained, chan nodding in agreement as you spoke, seeing as you made very valid points. “so you’re fine, i however am most likely floor-bound for the rest of my life.” what you said was not meant to be taken as an invitation, but that is exactly what chan interpreted it as.

“not on my watch!” your boyfriend announced, grabbing both of your hands and turning around so his back was facing you. he then bent down slightly and used the grip he had on your hands to pull you onto his back, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. he let go of your arms and grabbed onto your thighs instead, readjusting you slightly so he could comfortably give you a piggyback-ride.

“you okay up there?” he asked.

“splendid.” you chuckled at him, planting a little kiss on the side of his face as you couldn’t properly reach his lips.

[pretty-toastie]

...having been thinking about sir gawain again recently and remembering how much i like talking about it, have an essay i wrote about the avoidance of violence in the text for my History of English Literature class.

is it great? no lmao, i had a page count to hit. there's a lot of fluff. am i proud of it though? hell yes i am.

(quote numbers are line numbers in the Simon Armitage translation)

Unimportant Encounters—The Avoidance of Violence in Sir Gawain

Unlike an epic poem such as Beowulf, which places focus on heroic victories in combat, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, a romance poem, focuses on inter- and intrapersonal conflicts that are nonviolent in nature. In fact, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight tends to dance around violence in general, at least where Gawain is involved. In Fitt 2, the poet skips over Gawain’s encounters with various beasts, focusing instead on his encounters with people. This is because Gawain’s journey is not one of triumph in combat—rather, it is one of introspection and navigating expectations: both his and others’. The Sir Gawain poet demonstrates what the story is not by intentionally leaving out violence involving Gawain, and then emphasises it further by drawing attention to this lack: The poet references the skipped-over encounters with monsters in meta, Gawain’s interactions with the Green Knight subvert expectations, and Gawain is notably absent from the violence of the hunting trips. The poet also emphasises what the story is by intentionally focusing on the person-to-person interactions and conflicts of expectation that Gawain faces, and allowing these conflicts to dominate the story, both in terms of significance and line count.

After receiving the Green Knight’s challenge, Gawain “stayed [in King Arthur’s court] until All Saint’s Day [the first of November]” (line 536). In lines 691–739, the Sir Gawain poet tells us of the trials that Gawain undertook on his two-month journey. Compared to the seventy-four lines spent describing Gawain getting dressed before his trip, the poet relegates this entire section of Gawain’s adventure to just forty-nine lines. Further, the poet tells us that he battles many enemies “so foul or fierce he is bound to use force” (717). He mentions fights with serpents, wolves, wodwos, bulls, bears, boars, and giants, telling us that Gawain’s travels are “so momentous … [that] to tell just a tenth would be a tall order” (718–719). This description of victories almost echoes the boasts of an epic hero like Beowulf, telling of the myriad sea serpents he defeated, but unlike the Beowulf poet, who allows this bragging to take up physical space within the text, the Sir Gawain poet keeps this entire section to only about eleven lines. The poet minimises the space on the page that these encounters occupy, uses the format of a long, run-on list to add a rushed feeling to the section, and even references in meta that these stories are not important. They speak directly to the reader, telling them that it would be a “tall order” to describe these conflicts in detail, drawing their attention to the absence of such descriptions, and simultaneously implying that out of all the happenings that occur in the story of Gawain, this—this two-month journey filled with battles against numerous deadly foes—is the least important, the first to be cut.

The Sir Gawain poet also minimises the relevance and impact of violence by subverting expectations in Gawain’s encounters with the Green Knight. When the Green Knight first arrives in King Arthur’s hall, he is framed as imposing, frightening, powerful: the poet goes out of their way to describe the harm his ax is capable of doing; he speaks first in a bellow, demanding to see the leader of the hall; the guests of the hall watch him with dread, fearing that something terrible will come to pass—and yet, “expect no malice,” the Green Knight tells them (266). King Arthur even outright offers a fair fight, but the Green Knight turns him down, proclaiming “I’m spoiling for no scrap, I swear” (279). Further, even when he admits the violence he does want—a blow for a blow, a beheading for a beheading—the result is not as brutal as expected. The Green Knight, though bleeding, is not really harmed by the blow Gawain delivers to him, and simply rides off, severed head in hand, still very much alive. Then again, when Gawain goes to receive his beheading in turn, the poet builds expectations for violence. Gawain believes that he “might well lose [his] life” (2210), he describes the Green Chapel as “intending to destroy [him]” (2194), and he compares the sound of the ax sharpening to “the scream of a scythe”—a tool with famous associations to death (2202). Again, though, despite this, the beheading is underwhelming. The Green Knight does not kill Gawain—instead, he misses twice with his ax on purpose, and on the final swing his blow is intentionally “far from being fatal / … just skimming the skin” (2312). When Gawain lifts his own weapon, certain that the Green Knight will strike again to finish him off, the Green Knight chides him, telling him that with that one strike, he should “consider [him]self well paid” (2341), indicating that the Green Knight has no intention of further harm. With these subverted encounters, the Sir Gawain poet tells the reader that violence is not the point here, reinforcing the message implied in skipping over Gawain’s earlier encounters with monsters.

The poet provides yet another subversion away from violence in the hunting and bedroom scene parallels. The hunting scenes are not afraid to be violent, spending dozens of lines describing the methods by which the slaughtered creatures are processed. They use evocative, violent phrases—almost lustful in places—such as “severed with sharp knives”, “riving open the front”, “hoisted high and hacked away”, “slit the fleshy flaps”, “cleave”, and “break it down its back” (1337–1352). Myriad wildlife is slaughtered in these scenes, and in the boar hunt several of Lord Bertilak’s hounds are slaughtered by the boar’s “back-snapping bite” (1564), and even some of his men are wounded and killed. This stands in stark contrast to the bedroom scenes featuring Gawain. Besides his notable absence from the hunting scenes, his scenes in the bedroom are almost opposite to the hunting scenes. While Lord Bertilak and his men are using physical strength to enact violence, Gawain turns down Lady Bertilak’s advances in as polite a way as possible. He responds “merrily”, calls her his “gracious lady”, and asks her to “please pardon [him]” and allow him to “rise / … and pull on [his] clothes” (1213–1220). He is not tempted by lust, and the poet’s descriptions of these scenes are far from the evocative lustfulness used in the hunting scenes. Yet again, the poet is emphasising that violence does not play a role in Gawain’s journey.

Rather, Gawain navigates through social quandaries of duty using politeness and chivalry. The central plot is his obligation to meet the Green Knight and to honor the deal they made, despite it likely spelling his death. The deal itself was only made because of Gawain’s sense of duty to King Arthur—he acknowledges that the deal is “a foolish affair” (358), but volunteers himself so that Arthur will not have the obligation to participate. Additionally, Gawain takes on the deal with Lord Bertilak, and must carefully handle the advances of the Lady. The poet frames this struggle as a sort of battle in itself: Gawain “fence[s] and deflect[s] / all the loving phrases” of Lady Bertilak. When Gawain does eventually reach the Green Knight, it is revealed that these trials were a test of his character, and for passing, he escapes his fate of death. The Sir Gawain poet makes it very clear that the focus is on Gawain’s navigation of these competing loyalties; Gawain’s success in handling his clashing obligations allows him to avoid the violence of the Green Knight and return home alive. The poet also allows interpersonal conflict to dominate in line count—just as Beowulf spends most of the physical space in the text on combat (among other central themes), Gawain’s struggles with duty take up a significant portion of the text.

By allowing interpersonal social conflicts to dominate the space and significance of the text and by subverting expectations of violence and separating Gawain from the instances of violence that do occur, the Sir Gawain poet emphasises that the focus is on Gawain’s navigation of complex social situations and conflicting duties. The poet also intentionally minimizes the presence of violence. This avoidance of violence permeates the text and can be seen in the poet’s decision to skip over Gawain’s encounters with monsters, in the subverted expectations for the encounters with the Green Knight, and in Gawain’s absence from the more violent and lustful hunting scenes, as well as the absence of that same violence and lust from the bedroom scenes, making it clear that violence is not a central aspect of Gawain’s journey.

end note:

something i think i failed to make clear in the essay is why the incredible violence of the hunting scenes actually supports the idea that sir gawain's journey has nothing to do with violence. the biggest thing is sir gawain's LACK OF PRESENCE on the hunts. he does not, as an epic hero might, go along on the hunt and show off his physical prowess. rather, he stays home with the women and talks. an environment designed for violence is not one where he belongs.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Fever Dream

November was a cold month in Northern California, and one of Stiles' favorites. The Halloween sugar rush was wearing off and the holidays weren't yet in full swing, but the Christmas spirit was just starting to color the air. Pine cones and spices scented the air everywhere he went. And Mitch's cabin had a fireplace, perfect for curling up in front of to snuggle and listen to the rain. It was bliss.

"Breakfast is ready," Mitch called from the kitchen. Stiles joined him and was met with a mouthwatering stack of cinnamon blueberry pancakes.

"Yum." His favorite.

"Glad you approve." Mitch slid the last pancake onto a plate to cool off and turned off the burner. Beside the stove the crockpot was bubbling away, a truly obscene amount of meat cooking down to be made into stew for dinner. Mitch may still be a wild mountain man at heart, but Stiles did manage to break him of his tendency towards raw meat.

Stiles sidled up to Mitch and teased, "You're trying to fatten me up, aren't you?" Not that he wasn't fond of all the tasty, rich meals Mitch had been cooking this week, but even Stiles could see there was a change in his mate. He just couldn't quite figure out what it was, yet; he was probably nesting. Mitch just rolled his eyes.

"Well…." He pulled Stiles close, sliding his hands under his shirt to rest them on Stiles' narrow waist. He'd not yet fully recovered from his time in the woods, but he wasn't as starved and frail as he was when the park rangers found him. "You are kinda skinny, still."

"I'm lean, you beast!" Stiles laughed, batting at Mitch's chest. "And you know you still wanna take a bite out of this."

"Mhmm, always," Mitch agreed. Stiles swallowed thickly, his heart beating faster at the raw honesty in Mitch's voice, the desire in his dark eyes. Mitch smirked because he could hear every fluttering pulse. "Eat your breakfast."

Stiles slipped away to pour himself a glass of milk—and cool himself off before he jumped Mitch right at the dining table and those delicious pancakes go to waste, a guy had to have some standards—and didn't miss the way Mitch slyly added another pancake onto Stiles' plate.

***

Mitch always ran hot, but tonight his blood was molten. He barely heard half the things Stiles said to him, too caught up watching his lips move and imagining the things he wanted to do to his pretty mouth. At least try to be decent, Mitch told himself, fully aware that they weren't alone. He reluctantly tore his eyes away when Stiles said something to his father, going to get himself a glass of water and pushing open the kitchen window for fresh air. The small cabin was getting to be suffocating, stifling.

Stiles followed after a few minutes later when he didn't return, sliding up behind him and wrapping his arms around Mitch's waist.

"What are you thinking about?"

"You." Mitch turned in Stiles' arms and pulled the omega flush against his chest, ducking down to give him a burning kiss. A small taste of what he really wanted. "I love you," he sighed, nuzzling Stiles' check affectionately.

"I love you, too." Stiles tipped his head back with a soft moan when Mitch started mouthing at his neck, worrying a tender spot with his teeth. Stiles tangled his hands in Mitch's wild hair. "Whats gotten into you tonight?"

Mitch didn't now. He just wanted Stiles. "You should ask your dad to leave. Right now."

"Y-yeah-ahhh." Stiles bit his lip, thinking that oh god, Mitch was actually going to have him right here, right now, on the damn kitchen table if Stiles let him. The thought was more tempting that it had any right to be, especially with Mitch kissing at his neck like that… "Okay! Okay, that's enough, snap out of it."

Mitch growled a little when Stiles pushed him away—when had Mitch gotten him pinned against the counter?—stopping Mitch from unbuttoning his shirt any further. Stiles hastily redid the buttons, not caring of they were done up correctly or not. One of them needed to be levelheaded here. Or at least pretend to.

"I'm… going to be right back." Stiles hesitated, taking a second to just look at Mitch. He was more beast than man, reminding Stiles of that feral creature that fucked him through his heat in a filthy cave all those months ago, rutting with him amongst the furs and leaves. Seeing the wolf so close to the surface again did things to him. The way Mitch watched him made him feel like prey, made Stiles hesitant to turn his back on him. "Uh, don't go anywhere." It pained him to leave, but the sooner he could get rid of his dad, the sooner mitch could ravish him anywhere and anyway he pleased.

John was not impressed when Stiles skated into the living room on socked feet, his shirt buttons askew and a red mark already blooming on his neck."

"I am so sorry, but you need to go, dad," Stiles rushed, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. "We've, uh, got a thing. An urgent thing. Really needs to be taken care of like right now."

"Uh-huh." John gave Stiles a serious side eye, which Stiles returned with his own lethal puppy eyes.

"Please don't cockblock me," he said bluntly. "I'll come over tomorrow, we'll do lunch," Stiles had the feeling he would need to take the morning to recover once Mitch was done with him, "I promise. But you have to leave now, or you're gonna see some things that neither of is want you to see."

"Okay, fine, I'm going. Jesus."

"Thanks dad, by, love you!" Stiles ushered his father out the door and didn't even wait for him to get to his far before rushing back to the kitchen. Mitch had his hands clenched tight around the edge of the counter like it was the only thing holding him back.

Now that Stiles was back that restraint was unnecessary, and Mitch didn't waste any time before he was on Stiles, picking him up by his thighs and laying him out on the table.

"Oh my god, we're actually doing this," Stiles gasped. Fuck, he's always wanted to try this. He could never have his dad over for a meal ever again; he would never be able to think of anything but this.

Stiles was getting distracted and Mitch could tell. Soon enough he made sure Stiles wouldn't be able to think at all.

***

Stiles woke up in the early morning achy and sore, on a pile of soft blankets in front of the fireplace. The fire was out but Mitch was curled up behind him, keeping him warm. Stiles grinned remembering last night; Mitch could go for hours at the best of time, but it had never been quite like that in the months they've been together.

His stomach growled plaintively, reminding him why he'd woken up in the first place. Stiles carefully untangled himself from his lover and picked up a blanket to wrap around himself in lieu of clothes, padding quietly into the kitchen. The stew was still simmering on the counter, no one remembering to turn off the crockpot last night; Mitch did a good job making sure Stiles couldn't have a single coherent thought. He didn't bother with a bowl, just grabbing a spoon and taking off the lid to eat it straight out of the pot.

Soon Mitch joined him, missing Stiles' weight in his arms. He didn't have the decency to cover himself first.

"Hey," he said, his voice a low rumble against the back of Stiles' neck. It made him shiver.

"Hey yourself. How are you feeling?"

"Really good." Mitch lent down to nibble Stiles' shoulder, tugging on the blanket until it pooled at their feet. Without that barrier, Stiles could feel that Mitch was hard against his ass, and he huffed a soft laugh. If he didn't know better he would think Mitch was in rut to already want him again, but that was months away.

Stiles instead chalked it up to his own wily charms when Mitch coached him away from the counter and bent him over the table. It was sinfully easy for Mitch to slide inside him again, Stiles still wet and open from last night. He pillowed his head in his arms and curled his toes in pleasure as Mitch languidly thrust into him.

***

(Stiles does end up calling Talia, and finds out that werewolves go into rut later in the year.)

***

The rut wasn't a haze of mindless fucking. Mitch was still cognizant, in control. He just wanted, with a fierceness he'd never felt before, his desire demanding all of his attention. It was decadent.

Stiles was sleeping beside him, exhausted after days of thorough love making. Mitch was content to let him sleep, knew his mate dearly needed the rest. He entertained himself just petting his lover, sliding his hand under the blankets and running his fingers over Stiles' smooth skin.

Mitch shifted over until he was spooned up behind Stiles, nuzzling the soft tufts of his short hair. Stiles smelled like sex and sweat and them. He couldn't get enough of the intoxicating scent.

When Stiles started to stir awake Mitch smiled a bit, kissing that sensitive crook below Stiles' ear that always made him sigh in pleasure. This time was no different.

Stiles bared his neck for more, and mumbled, "Hey," his voice muffled by the pillow. Mitch hummed his response. "What time is it?"

"Early. You can go back to sleep if you want."

"Kinda hard to do with you doing that?"

"Doing what?" Mitch asked with faux innocence. Like his hand wasn't creeping up between Stiles' thighs. Mitch pulled his hand away and Stiles made a sound of displeasure, but Mitch was only adjusting to push Stiles' thighs open so he could nestle his cock inside. Stiles' eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks and he sighed a soft moan. Behind him Mitch growled quietly, a low rumble in his chest as he pulled Stiles' ass flush to his hips.

Every thrust was a slow, filthy grind that lulled Stiles until he was half-asleep. Mitch loosely curled his fingers around Stiles' cock, stroking him to a languid orgasm.

"That's it," he praised when Stiles spilled over his hand. He hummed in satisfaction, his knot swelling to lock them together, Stiles making soft little thrusts against him. "Get some sleep, darling."

"M'kay," Stiles incoherently mumbled. Mitch carelessly wiped his hand off on the sheet—they were going to need to do so many loads of laundry once this was over—and pulled the blankets over them both. He wrapped his arm around Stiles, blanketing him in a cocoon of warmth.

[honey-hippie-harper]

Infrangible

AFGHSAGHJS THIS IS SO LATE IS NOT EVEN FUNNY ANYMORE LMAO

In my defense, I stopped being a person long ago and now, in all the ways except physical, I happen to be a potato. BUT ANYWAY :’) This is for the Renegades Ship Week hosted by @greasicookies <3 (Thanks again!), for day 5, which is Maxpie. The prompt is “secrets”! <3

I had a tough time writing this because I’m going through a lot of stuff rn :’) still, I hope you can enjoy it x’ddd.

Tag list: @healing-winston-pratt @obsidianfr3sk @the-wee-woo-rita and afsghagshja @all-weather-is-bad (because this is a very...me fic lol and I think you’re already used to my sad attempt at humor haahahaah i’M SORRY AGSHJAKL) AND @lackadae because agshjs I made a reference to one of your drawings, hon :’) (I promise once again, to catch up with your content once I feel better afsghjak).

And that’s it. I hope you like it <3

When Max turned nine, he reached the conclusion that everybody forgot their early years at some point. Before, Adrian had already explained to him that wasn’t quite true, because he misunderstood Max’s statement and thought he was feeling bad about himself for not being able to recall certain things. He told him that, unlike what he thought –which was false because that’s not what Max meant- people usually couldn’t store those memories from when they were younger than three.

“Some people do.” He said. “But it’s normal if you don’t remember anything from when you were…I don’t know. Two.”

“Do you remember anything from when you were two?” Max asked him.

From the other side of the glass, Adrian scrunched up his nose. And then, obviously, he saw himself in the need to adjust his glasses.

“I’m not quite sure whether I was two or not. But I do know I was younger than five.” He started. “There was a small canal on the way to the apartment. When it rained, it would grow a lot. It didn’t have big torrents or anything, but it did grow a lot. The water usually went higher than my ankles. But the thing was…that every time  it grew, it became infested with turtles.”

He paused for a second.

“I really liked turtles.” He continued, shrugging. “My mother used to let me walk down to the water, as long as she was right behind me, obviously; one day, when we were coming back from the city, she stopped to attend a call. I got too impatient and went down alone when she wasn’t looking. The next thing I remember is that, just when I was getting up after catching a turtle, I felt her tugging me by the back of my shirt. The turtle fell on its shell.”

At that point, Max realized he had been staring at how he kept on fidgeting with his pen instead of looking him in the eye, but he continued doing so, because he didn’t like it when Adrian’s voice turned that serious.

“…She had never screamed at me like that.” He said, as if he were talking to himself and then, to erase the tension, he tried to scoff. “I don’t remember what she said, but I remember that she said it so loud I told her she was scaring the turtle. Then I started crying. Like, a lot. I think she was terrified too.”

In the end, everything turned too quiet for his liking, and Max did something his dad had advised him to do for times like these, when he just didn’t know what came next: Improvise.

“I didn’t know you liked turtles.”

“…Well, I did. I really liked turtles when I was younger.”

Max had seen a couple of turtles in his life, but not as many as Adrian had seen, he supposed, because Max had never stepped outside, except when he was a baby.

Which was exactly the point.

He didn’t have memories from when he was a baby, or a toddler. Most of the people who had come to talk to him had said they remembered events that were either too sad (like Adrian) or meaningful in their lives. Max didn’t have anything like that. In fact, his first –very blurry- memory was standing on the edge of the quarantine, with his hands pressed against the crystal, and then licking it.

According to his dads, he was between three and four (“He was three, Simon. What are you talking about?” “He was born in November.” “It wasn’t November yet.” “We had just celebrated his birthday. He was four.” “HE WASN’T FOUR, SIMON! HE WAS THREE! THREE! We were celebrating that his quarantine had just been built!” “IT WAS THE SAME EVENT, HUGH!”) and Aunt Tamaya, plus the both of them, were in the hallway. For some reason, the fact that his eyes were so huge (they were still big. But they were bigger when he was a baby) came off as odd to Tamaya. And the moment they made eye contact, he licked the glass.

Nobody knew why. Not even himself. The adults remembered it better than he did, of course, but none of them had ever been able to guess the reasoning behind it. They often expressed Max had been a very strange baby, mostly because of his lack of social skills. It’s not like he had chosen that, and it’s not like his fathers would’ve allowed it to happen if they had had any other option. But Max wasn’t willing to stand there and pretend that he knew what he was doing, either.

Most of the time, he didn’t.

He barely held any memories of the nurses that had ever been in charge of his care, but, for obvious reasons, he remembered Dad. It was always easier to remember the person who had taken care of you the most, he supposed. And Max knew, among a lot of things, that it wasn’t his other dad’s fault. Though, sometimes, he couldn’t help but blame him.

Again, he didn’t know why, but there were those days, when he needed he the most, where a voice inside of his head told him that, if Simon loved him enough, he would just sacrifice his powers to be with him. His powers weren’t that useful for combat anyway.

“Okay, but that’s kinda mean.” Adrian told him the first time he opened up about it, the night before he attended the Trials to choose the members of his patrolling team. “Pops might not have combat powers, but they’re as important as the rest of the members’. That’s why they work so well as a team, you know? Every power can be extremely helpful during a battle, as long as you know how to use it.”

Max wasn’t doing anything in particular that day. Nothing besides listening to Adrian and sitting on the floor , at least.

“But if every power is useful…” He said, tilting his head to the side. “…Why are you allowed to reject certain aspirants?”

Adrian frowned a little, not in the sense that he looked angry at Max. Rather, he was confused by the question and was trying to word the answer in a way that sounded rational.

“Because…” He gulped and clicked his tongue. “…Like I said…uhm…the Council is an extremely good team. They’ve been doing this for a while. Us, the patrolling leaders are…allowed to reject certain prodigies because we don’t have as much experience as them. And…we might not know how to use somebody’s powers, and that’s very dangerous. We don’t want people dying, do we?”

When he said that, something clicked inside Max’s brain, and he nodded in automatic. Obviously, a few years ago, a non-prodigy teacher had taught him how to read, and the moment Adrian notified him it was his year to be in the Trials, he managed to read the manual and the rules for the event, from a booklet and a pamphlet (respectively) he had asked his dad to bring for him. He didn’t get much new information, different from the one he heard on TV or the one presented in the posters. However, amongst the rules, there was a section that talked about banned powers, which contained only two categories:

-Complete telekinesis.

-Stardust modelling.

“Yeah.” Dad told him. He was bathing him in the quarantine’s bathroom (Of course. Where else?). “Stardust catchers…which….are able to model stardust, are extremely dangerous and there’s not much research about them. Nobody really knows how they work, and it would be pretty difficult for us to… handle a prodigy like that.”

“Like me.”

Dad had always had a pretty specific routine he had to follow when bathing him. If he missed or misplaced a step, he acted like would explode or something. Also, Max didn’t understand why, but ever since he started growing thicker hair, Dad became pretty strict on the fact they should take care of it so it would grow healthy. Hence why they had a full hair routine that they did in the bathtub. That day, the statement caught him so off-guard he grabbed the wrong bottle, and then, when he realized it, he was already pouring the dense liquid (that looked more like a paste to him) on Max’s head. Cursing under his breath, he placed his other hand in the middle so it would fall over his palm, washed Max’s head and started the routine all over again, before changing the subject:

“About complete telekinesis…there’s obviously a lot of research about that power. We know how to manage with that. But telekinetic prodigies are not …very accepted in our society. They’re pointed at…Frowned upon. In the worst of cases, other prodigies hunt them down and then kill them.”

In that moment, Max came to the conclusion that all that changing the subject thing had been in vain.

Because, from his part, the answer was exactly the same:

“Like me.”

And Dad didn’t like that, for he started scratching his scalp harder, accidentally.

“No. It’s nothing like you.” He said. “You’re not like that, Max. Society hates telekinesis because some evil dude decided to use his powers, his telekinesis, for awful reasons and stained prodigy’s names. You’re not like that. You’re not abusive, or selfish or evil. And I don’t want to hear you comparing yourself to him ever again. Understood?”

To this day, that was the most aggressive form of validation someone had ever given him, but Max took it anyway, because he trusted Dad, and if he had said something like that, then there had to be a clear reason behind it.

“Understood.” He whispered.

And he tried, he really tried, to believe it. But, like many other things, no matter how hard Max tried, he was still severely confused. Not that he didn’t know about the Age of Anarchy, or the parties involved in the Age of Anarchy.

The quarantine, needless to say, could get pretty boring most of the time. Max had to do a lot of things to kill time, and some of those activities involved reading books that children shouldn’t be reading. He did read some children’s books, but then he would find himself looking through history articles and books, and reading the chapters that interested him the most. For instance, he was confident he knew about the Age of Anarchy, but one thing was knowing about it, and another, different thing, was having an opinion about in regards to it.

Max didn’t know if he had something to say about the topic. If he did, it was a very incomplete idea, and it was very likely he wouldn’t be able to phrase it correctly.

The group of people Max talked the most to were adults, and those adults, especially the ones who had experienced the Age of Anarchy and somehow managed to make it out alive, refused to talk about it. As for the few children he had talked to…

Well, about them…

Long story short, they had lives.

They all had lives outside of a glass, unlike Max. Maybe they weren’t the most interesting of lives, but at least they for sure had to be more interesting than his’. They didn’t have a pre-established schedule, where a designated person would come in to feed him or extract blood samples from his body, to then take them to the laboratory. They didn’t have to hear a total of seven alarms to remind him what he had to do: Wake up and get dressed, have breakfast and brush his teeth, enter the virtual sessions with his teachers, take a shower, have his blood samples taken,  start doing his homework –if he had any- and do whatever he wanted once he was finished, have dinner, brush his teeth and go to bed, and then start all over again.

That moment, when he had spare time, would be the same one normal kids used to go out with their friends, like Adrian did. To go to the park and get themselves a scarily huge wound at the center of their knee. To live. To breathe air. To do…literally anything that wasn’t this.

Because Max was different from the many children he hadn’t yet gotten the opportunity to meet or talk to, because, obviously, they wouldn’t want to spend the whole day hanging out with a person…like him.

The only way Max could see two out of the three people in his family was through a crystal wall. And he couldn’t kiss them, he couldn’t touch them… sometimes he even wondered if he knew how their voices sounded, because, after all, Dad’s voice sounded the tiniest bit different once he crossed that infamous glass door.

He couldn’t walk through the streets of Gatlon, because, for starters, he didn’t know them. And if he dared to go out there, he would get killed on spot for having accidentally neutralized a prodigy who didn’t want to be neutralized.

Other kids had nannies whom they complained about when their parents couldn’t look after them (at least that’s the kind of things he saw on the TV shows he watched) but Max had patrol units that would move from one corner of the room to another, ready to attack anyone who came closer than necessary to him, because the only one who could take care of him in person, was Hugh.

Other kids could go out freely, without being scared of anything at all. They could get hurt while having fun with their friends and family. They could laugh until they cried with them. They could hug them, sleep in the same bed as them. They could walk their pets, go on road trips, go to amusement stores, water parks…

They could experience the current world; watch all the new events that were happening every day, in first hand.

They didn’t have to read about the past, or the people from the past to keep themselves entertained. They didn’t have the need to do that. At all.

They were living the lives Max couldn’t have, because he was too dangerous for that.

And obviously, that’s why he couldn’t just…go around asking other kids about what was their favorite bug, their favorite planet…or their opinions about Ace Anarchy, and if Pops (Simon) saying “Alec, with an A as in Abusive Swine” made them laugh.

Besides, he hadn’t even met that many kids his age. Or kids, for that matter.

He was aware Adrian wasn’t exactly a grown up, but he wasn’t a kid either, so, he usually didn’t make it into that list.

In fact, just like the banned powers in that manual, there were only two kids in Max’s list of acquaintances.

Aunt Tamaya’s first baby was born without powers, when Max was like four years old, and his dads were way too excited about it (Weird thing to brag about out loud, honestly, because all the recruits in the Headquarters were betting ridiculous amounts of money on which powers the Thunderbaby would have –Max could hear them- and one day they just heard The Dread Warden storming into the hallway, euphorically screaming “GUESS WHAT, MY LITTLE CHERUB BABY? YOUR COUSIN IS ABSOLUTELY FREAKING POWERLESS!”), for they thought Max would finally be able to have a friend who was more or less his age. Dad was the one who brought him in, two weeks after he was born. He was still tiny, red and chubby, and wrapped in his three different blankets that way, he looked like a bloated marshmallow.

Aunt Tamaya, her husband, Pops, Adrian, Aunt Kasumi and Uncle Evander were outside (as always) waiting to see what happened…and, it was extremely odd for Max to admit it, but he couldn’t remember much about that moment, even though he was already older than three. There was, however, a video taken by Uncle Evander where, if you narrowed your eyes hard enough, you could see the moment Max burst into tears right after kissing the baby’s cheek.

Neil was his friend.

At least, Max considered him to be his friend. Still, they had an age gap of four whole years, and a part of him was waiting until he was a little older so they could be on the same page. Because sometimes, when Neil couldn’t comprehend something semi-important that Max had just said, things could get pretty awkward, because there were occasions when, if Neil got too frustrated over anything, he would start crying, and his sobs often summoned his mother all the way from across the building. She never particularly tried to put the blame on Max. In fact, she hadn’t even glared at him not once, ever.

But she did choose to take him with her, into her office, or ask Adrian to babysit him while he calmed down.  Afterwards, he usually didn’t come back to the quarantine.

“It’s not your fault, Max.” Pops would tell him, always. “It’s just that…Neil...he’s younger than you. There are things that might be…easy to you, but that are super complicated to him. And you might be able to do things that he can’t, and he can’t understand why he can’t, so he gets super confused and angry and that’s why he cries and Tamaya has to come and comfort him.”

“That, and because she’s like a...very freaky bird mom who hears her children cry and comes around with her super sonic enhanced sense of hea—“

“Hugh, don’t be rude.”

Every time they had that discussion in front of him, Max could never understand why Pops said Dad was being rude. He was right, to a certain extent. Aunt Tamaya was just…being a mom.

And that’s what moms did.

At least, that’s what Max had read and seen on TV because families like his’ were…super rare to find in his cartoons or favorite books. In fact, the times when he had seen himself represented in any of the things were so few that, for the longest time, Max had this weird, messed up idea that biological men could give birth. He thought that Adrian, apart from the fact that he was the closest to him, looked more similar to Simon, and that had to mean he had given birth to him, while Hugh had been the one to give birth to Max.

One year, when Max was six, they finished Lady Indomitable’s gigantic golden statue, placed downtown. It was late June, and though the city had previously looked covered in colors, that day it just looked…white and golden. That’s the best way Max  could find to put it into words.

According to Max’s weather application, the heat was unbearable that day (good thing he couldn’t feel anything because the temperature in the quarantine was always regulated) yet, according to what he was seeing in one of his screens, a great percentage of the citizens of Gatlon were marching in the streets carrying floating lanterns, headed towards downtown where the event was being held.

The Council was standing in front of the covered statue. All of them except Blacklight, who had stayed to take care of the Headquarters, and Max could see him from where he was. They gave a speech about Lady Indomitable together, and as they started revealing the statue, Tsunami sang a song that was supposed to be one of Lady Indomitable’s favorite ones, and that Max was too young to recognize (he supposed). In his opinion, it was a cute event, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t utterly confused the moment he saw Adrian taking one step ahead to be the first one to let go of his floating lantern, which was different from the other ones, because his’ was bigger, and it had a big “I”. Besides, people waited a couple of seconds until it was stable above their heads to let go of their own floating lanterns.

It still looked cute to him, but now it looked weird as well. So he got up from his chair, and walked towards the edge, pressing his hands against the glass. He hoped that would be enough to magically catch Evander’s attention, who was, at the moment, using his chair as a swing, as he typed a number in his computer, copying it from his calculator and eating from his salad every now and then. Obviously, Max’s telepathic call wasn’t enough, and he had to knock on the glass a couple of times, loudly. Even then, Uncle Evander didn’t look up in his direction.

But he did hear him, because he did respond.

“It’s not gonna work, Maximus. I’m not getting you out.”

As a side note, Max considered telling him his full name was Maximilian and not Maximus, because that was way before he realized it was a nickname. Nevertheless, he just let it pass, for the simple reason he had better things to ask. That’s why he proceeded to knock again, instead of speaking.

“What is it?”

“I wanna ask you something.”

Evander tried to steady himself in the chair without falling on his back, and once he succeeded, he came closer to the quarantine, with his arms over his hips.

“Why is Adrian doing that?” He asked, just because he wasn’t able to find another way to phrase it, while pointing at the screen behind him; Evander narrowed his eyes following his finger, as if he hadn’t been watching the event himself from a livestream on his phone. A few seconds later, he seemed to realize what he was talking about, and bit his upper lip, before pouting barely a little.

Then, he clicked his tongue.

“Because that’s his mom. And today’s her birthday.”

And it’s not that Max was insensitive enough not to recognize that it was very sad, but at the same time those single words were enough to make the idea he had of his life fall apart. All the things he thought he had already managed to understand felt fake and incorrect, and it was so fast it almost made him feel dizzy.

“She’s not his mom.” He declared.

Evander opened his eyes very widely and, next thing he knew, was that, for some reason, he looked nervous. Which, to say the least, was very…unlike Evander. He was usually super…confident, and, in Dad’s words: “He walks with his back too straight for a person who says some dumb shit every time he opens his mouth”.

At that moment, his back wasn’t straight at all, and he kept on wiping the sweat off his palms in the suit.

“…I mean…she’s not…alive anymore. But… that doesn’t mean that…”

“Noooo. I didn’t mean that.” Max cut him off. “She’s not her mom, because Adrian already has a mom.”

He stopped suddenly. Max could almost see his brain working at full speed, trying to process the data he had just received. Then, he blinked, arching his eyebrow.

“Who’s…who’s his mom?” He asked, getting closer to the crystal, and crouching down to be at Max’s height (Evander was almost too tall for his own sake). “Do Simon or Hugh…?”

“No. I mean she’s not his mom because Simon’s his mom.” Max stated, confident enough to move a mountain with his raw determination and his bare hands, which, needless to say, did nothing but make Evander even more confused.

Not that Max couldn’t understand why.

He was a brand new, redeemed person now.

But back then he wasn’t.

“…Simon is what, you said?”

“Adrian’s mom.” Max reaffirmed.

Still bewildered, Evander gawked. Perhaps he understood where that confusion was coming from but, at the same time, maybe he was too disturbed to ask for additional information. Max didn’t know which one of the two would make him feel more embarrassed, especially taking into account the next thing Evander said:

“That is the weirdest shit somebody has ever said to me, and I’ve talked to the Puppeteer an unhealthy amount of times.”

He wasn’t the one who explained to him the way his own family worked. On the contrary, he immediately told his dads about it, and next time the both of them came to talk to him, they tried to make him understand the concept of homosexual couples.

And they failed.

Miserably.

And he was using that term, because after that talk, Max went through life for a while saying that his ethnicity was Gay, because both of his dads were gay. Over and over again, they tried to correct him, but nothing seemed to work, and Max kept on spreading the information that he was gay (something he didn’t know yet) until Aunt Kasumi decided to intervene and, for his birthday, she got him a children’s book called All in Rainbow, which, according to the information in the first page, was actually a translation from a Latin American book written by two lesbians (one of them non-binary) and illustrated by the same woman who had made the Anarchists’ and the Renegades’ graphic novels and was also a Latina.

That book was something similar to a gay encyclopedia. It was narrated by this girl named Phoenix, because it followed her throughout her school and her daily life, where she came across different people and families. After every short story, there was an informative section explaining everything in regards to the new person’s identity, including their flag, the meaning of said flag, and the explanation of certain terms. Max really enjoyed it, and, in fact, he ended up going through it more than once. When he tried to persuade Adrian into reading it too, he admitted he already had, when he was younger,  and proceeded to make a comment about how pretty the name “Phoenix” was.

It was only then that Max was able to understand how his own family worked, and how freaking inept he had sounded when he decided it was a great idea to use it as an ethnicity.

That book was, in fact, the cue for all the grown ups in his life to start buying books for him, which he was grateful for, except for the one that he, ironically enough, had gotten from Uncle Evander. Sure, he appreciated that he had spent money on that,  but Max didn’t appreciate the fact that the plot was about a dog that was sent away to a school for dogs but made everyone believe he was in jail so he could escape. The drawings were cute, but he just couldn’t find the moral of the story and he didn’t like that.

His dads, from their part, got him a book about two frogs that, at least to Max, acted as if they were a couple; Aunt Tamaya was the one of the short books without drawings.

As for Aunt Kasumi…she usually brought a lot of educational books; every time she overheard him expressing something that was making him confused, she brought him a book about it, including that time she heard him asking Ruby Tucker “So, are you always bleeding?” completely out of context.

Max supposed that it had a lot to do with the fact that Aunt Kasumi was in charge of Child Services, and she spent a lot of time with children, especially because she liked to volunteer in orphanages, having been in one herself when she was a little girl. She usually moved in prodigy orphanages, for she was one to know the poor conditions they sometimes presented.

And…to say the least, she wasn’t a woman of many words. She was very reserved with everything she did. And, besides, it was none of Max’s business. After all, he was just a kid.

But, in this case, it kind of involved him.

Kind of.

For the simple reason that there were two names in the list of people his age Max had talked to. The first one was Neil (who wasn’t even his age. He was just close to that) and the second one…

The second one involved Aunt Kasumi.

Just like people were able to overhear his conversations through the quarantine, Max was able to overhear the conversations they were having on the outside, especially when he was trying to do it on purpose.

Every time he was too bored, in other words.

Some of the things older people said were confusing, but, over time, Max had learned to store that information, so he could comprehend it better in the future. He didn’t know at what level that was healthy, yet he still did it because, literally, he didn’t have anything better to do.

During extremely busy days, the Council chose to spend the night in the Headquarters, just in case, and while they could sleep in the common room, if Pops was too insistent on wanting to be close to the quarantine, they slept in the hallway.

In Max’s hallway.

Of course, Dad would sleep with him inside the quarantine but, in order to make it feel more like a pajama party, they slept close to the edge of the “room” (if it could be called that way), so close to the Councils’ inflatable beds, they could’ve touched them if there hadn’t been a wall in between.

When they were sleeping in that hallway, there wasn’t a patrol looking over Max, because they were the patrol and, every two hours, they changed turns to stay awake. All of them except Dad, who stayed the entire night with Max. The others often got up and started walking around the quarantine according to their ages. That is, Aunt Tamaya went first, followed by Pops, then Aunt Kasumi, and Uncle Evander at the end. However, since it wasn’t like they were too used to having many hours of sleep, Kasumi and Evander usually got up at the same time and patrolled together.

That night, Max was having trouble sleeping. Dad was hugging him, which made him feel very comfortable, but, at the same time, before he wrapped his arms around him, he had been moving way too much, and that had made Max feel uneasy, because a part of him, though he knew it was highly possible it wasn’t true, was feeding the annoying worm at the back of his brain that told him he was the one making Dad uneasy. That Dad was moving and couldn’t sleep because he didn’t want to be anywhere near him. Perhaps he would’ve preferred to be with Pops. Perhaps he would’ve preferred to be with Adrian, even. Anyone but Max.

Which, again, he knew things…weren’t like that. But that little, nameless, uninvited worm was always telling him that, over and over again, determined to repeat those awful words until they made so much noise they made him cry.

And even then, when he was already crying, the worm ate deeper into his brain and told him to stop because, in the end, who was he crying for anyway?

Who was he crying for, if nobody was here to see or hear him?

That night, of course, he didn’t cry, for the simple reason that…well, he did have somebody who would hear him cry, and maybe comfort him like Aunt Tamaya comforted Neil when he was crying…

But he didn’t want Dad to do that.

Not today.

Not because he were mad at him, but because he feared that, if he did, then Dad would be the one who would get mad.

Besides, that night he got extremely busy trying to overhear the conversation between Kasumi and Evander who, the moment they got up, started talking as they walked, first at a volume so low their voices could’ve been considered murmurs, but then, with every second, the issue started escalating.

And it wasn’t that they were arguing, it was that they weren’t exactly happy with each other, nor did they seem to manage to get to a mutual agreement.

Max felt like that time he was watching a movie with his earphones on, and instead of paying attention to the plot, he kept trying to identify which sounds were dominant in his left ear, and which ones were dominant in his right ear, because Uncle Evander and Aunt Kasumi were walking around the quarantine, and the echoes of their voices were floating right behind them, making it almost impossible for Max to decipher their messages word by word.

At least, until they stopped in front of him. That is, very close to the inflatable mattresses, too. And with just one eye open, he was able to tell Aunt Kasumi wasn’t amused, with her arms so tight across her chest that way, and with Uncle Evander standing more straight than necessary (because, yes, Dad was right about that...sometimes... because Max had read somewhere that tall people had to be really careful with their posture to avoid spine deformities or have less complications when they were older) waving his –as Aunt Tamaya would’ve called them- Hot Cheeto fingers right in front of her face, in a way so aggressive she sometimes had to lean backwards not to get one of her eyes poked out.

“…and it won’t look good for the organization. It won’t look good, Kasumi. You know why?”

“Yes, Vandy. I know why. I already knew before, yet you took the time to explain it to me another seven times. I mean, thank you, I guess, but—“

“If I kept on explaining it to you, it’s because I didn’t…and I don’t know what’s not clicking.”

“What do you mean with what’s not clicking?” And she tilted her head to the side. “…Are you still talking to me?”

“Don’t play dumb, Kasumi. Especially not in front of me, because I know you.”

“Right. But I still don’t get what you’re referring to. What’s not clicking about what, exactly?”

Evander laughed in a way Max would’ve just…understood if she had decided to punch him in the face so he would stop.

“We’re a big organization, Kasumi. People talk.”

“Of course that people talk. I mean, our citizens support our cause and our government system. In fact, statistically, more than half of the population do, but sometimes there are things that… are for their own good but they will refuse to understand and accept them anyway. And that’s normal. We might be the law, but we can’t control how the masses think, you know?”

“For their own good, you say. Beneficial.”

“Exactly.”

“Beneficial for who, if you’d be so kind?” Evander laughed again. “As far as I understand, we’re talking about one single problem, from a single person. It won’t bring anything beneficial, as you call it, for our organization, or for our system…if anything, it will damage it and make us lose credibility.”

“…Why?”

As a response, he started flapping his arms around, as if he were trying to point at something invisible. Or at something that wasn’t really there.

And this time, Aunt Kasumi didn’t try to pretend she was seeing it, and remained silent until Evander realized he would have to make himself understood.

“Because…” He clenched his fists, sighing loudly, almost like he was certain he was right and Aunt Kasumi wasn’t. “Our policy. Remember that? You know, a thing that actually exists and you helped write?”

She didn’t respond.

“Our policy as Renegades, it’s that we shall keep our people safe, and that includes prodigy and non-prodigy citizens. We shall preserve their lives no matter the cost, and create a safe environment where all can coexist and protect each other. That means that no prodigy individual with questionable reasons is to be allowed to cross that gate and disturb the peace or, worse, put somebody’s life at risk.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Yes, you should be, because we wrote it, for fuck’s sake.”

“Evander, please. There’s no need to curse or—“

“…But you know what that means? It means that we can’t just…go against that policy and expect our citizens, our recruits, even, to still take us seriously.”

“Oh, but I’m following that policy because, as you might remember, we also pledged to assist anyone whose life was at risk, and people who, day by day, have to live under very vulnerable circumstances. It is our job to intervene and take them to a safer place, where their quality of life can improve, isn’t it?”

“It is, but that applies for people who aren’t dangerous to society.”

At that point, Max had both his eyes open, and he was seeing the scene more clearly.

In fact, everything was so clear, that he was able to read the confusion in Aunt Kasumi’s expression, even before she said:

“…This is a kid we’re talking about.”

“She is dangerous.”

“She’s not dangerous, Evander. She's a kid. Sure, her behavior has caused her to go bouncing from orphanage to orphanage like a rubber ball but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t be helped, that doesn’t mean we should just turn our backs at her, and that doesn’t mean she’s dangerous.”

“You know damn well her behavior’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Well, I am, because that’s the only thing that should concern us at the moment.”

“No, it’s not?”

“It is. Because she’s a kid…and, honestly, Vandy…” Aunt Kasumi sighed. “… I know we were raised thinking life is war, but… the truth is, people are not born evil. Or dangerous, for that matter. Take your time and think about it, and  you can talk to me again once you’ve calmed down, because you must be pretty much aware I don't appreciate this tone. Besides, it’s not like this little argument is going to stop me anyway.” She shrugged.

“…after all, I already talked to Hugh.”

“…And what did he say?”

“It’s not my place to tell you that. Ask him.”

Max never knew whether he had taken that suggestion or not but, knowing Evander, he just assumed he hadn’t. And, to be honest, he never asked Dad about it either. He just stood and watched how everything proceeded to go down and chaos unleashed.

Though, he had to admit, unlike what had happened with other “big” events, this one specific chaos was rather discrete. A kind of well-kept secret.

In fact, the only explicit hint that something would happen in the next few days, was the little disturbance caused by Team Frostbite (it was always Team Frostbite. Max had no idea why everyone was so…willing to put up with their…issues so much, and without hesitation) when it was their turn to patrol around the quarantine and Evander came around, holding his notepad, and muttered something to them.

“Whom?!” Genissa Clark, Frostbite, snapped immediately.

Evander frowned and, judging by the way his moustache moved, he also pouted, before turning at Mack Baxter, Aftershock, to start talking to him instead.

“Do you have any idea of what she’s talking about?” He clicked his tongue. “Like…okay, nevermind…”

When Max looked up, he saw the exact moment when Evander realized he was listening to the conversation, so he lowered his tone once again.  Yet, Max was still able to see the million ways in which Genissa Clark's face contorted and, in the end, the first second Evander shut his mouth, she declared:

“We’re not available for that. Perhaps that task should be assigned to Team Sketch or Team Peregrine. They’re always lollygagging around, it’s about time they get some real responsibi—“

“That’s a no, then. Alright. Thanks for your cooperation, Team Frostbite. Or, lack of, more likely. Do better next time, okay?”

If Max wanted to be honest with himself, it hadn’t taken him much time to realize he wasn’t fond of any of the members in Team Frostbite. Or Frostbite herself. In fact, he considered her to be almost insufferable, and, again, he couldn’t quite understand why they were allowed to boss everybody around. To a certain extent, they reminded him of the popular kids (who were also bullies) in every movie he had ever watched. They weren’t nice. Not even likeable.

Maybe Max was just very specific on the type of people he liked.

Or maybe he liked everyone and their mom, except Team Frostbite, because he didn’t know any better than that, while  at the same time he knew better than liking Team Frostbite.

But he didn’t know better than liking Margaret White, because…well…

She hadn’t done anything particularly awful for him to have an opinion as strong as Uncle Evander’s about her.

She came on a Friday.

Not that she exclusively came to talk to him.

She, in fact, arrived alongside Aunt Kasumi, who was wearing her civilian clothes –High-waisted jeans and a baby blue shirt, damp with sweat because it was hot outside- and kept leaving her car key on every table that came across her, before coming back to it to grab them.

At first, Max wasn’t able to see Margaret very well, mostly because he was distracted with his online classes, and she was taken straight to Dad’s office, along with Adrian’s entire team. And though Max didn’t see much, he was able to catch a glimpse on how Adrian kept on trying to grab her hand, and she insisted on pulling away.

At some point, he had read about that too.

The Renegades accepted recruits from ages 14 and up, talking about patrolling. However, they had a child protection program, where, basically, they assisted orphan prodigy children with behavioral issues or, though only few people liked to admit it, potential to be a part of the organization when they were older. Adrian didn’t like it and, strangely enough, out of everyone, Evander didn’t like it either. Nevertheless, Evander was one to get more aggressive when it came to child recruitment, which, thankfully, wasn’t common at all.

In fact, those cases were so rare, that they referred to them as “exceptions”. After all, children were not allowed into the Trials. As far as Max knew, they weren’t placed in patrol units. On the contrary, they were given small positions in the organization, and their paychecks were directed to their respective savings account, something that Pops was in charge of. However, they could use that money for their personal needs or something they wanted to buy, as the few children recruits resided in orphanages around Gatlon and went back there after their shift was over. Max supposed that sometimes their caretakers refused to buy them something because it wasn’t good for their health and it must be very satisfying to tell them it was their money (That’s what Adrian always did when Dad refused to buy something for him).

(That, or he went and asked Pops for that same thing).

Usually, they could have cash withdrawals just by presenting their Renegade Recruit ID because, obviously, they didn’t have an official ID yet.

And not only that. The children recruits were assigned a patrol unit with older members to look after them, or help them with anything they needed. Taking into account the conversation he had overheard, he supposed that duty had fallen on Adrian’s team (A theory that was later confirmed to be true by Adrian himself).

They were never left unsupervised, just like Max.

The day Margaret arrived, for a couple of minutes, maybe hours, Max was submerged in his own little world, and in the assignment his last teacher had told him to do. It was just him, his colored pencils, his paper sheets, his notes, his head, his hands, and the miniature planet Earth that his quarantine supposed, against the real world that he had never stepped on.

But every now and then, a little piece of the unknown, mysterious real world came running to his encounter and talked to him, sometimes in the most sudden, unsolicited way.

Sometimes it was Dad opening the door without calling. Sometimes it was Adrian pressing a new drawing against the crystal. Sometimes it was Pops, making a little “Psst” sound to get his attention.

Sometimes it was three little knocks, and the girl that was producing them with her knuckles.

Back then, Margaret’s hair was longer, to the point where she could tie it in a high ponytail, decorated with a blue bow, which combined with his orphanage uniform: A white polo, with the institution’s symbol by the right side of her chest, beneath a cobalt blue skirt with suspenders, long white socks and black scholar shoes.

He saw her and recognized she was real the first time, but Max still gave himself a couple of seconds to grasp the fact that she was really there.

Well, not there-there.

That she was there, as in, through the glass.

And she was calling him, even if she wasn’t saying anything. In fact, she was just there, eating from a chocolate bar with puffed rice. Her free hand was still over the glass.

And she was waiting.

So, he figured he didn’t want to keep her waiting anymore, and leaving his task and his tools behind, Max walked in her direction. And like it always happened, he stopped right before bumping his forehead against the hard, translucent surface.

Margaret took another bite from her chocolate, with an arched eyebrow, but she said nothing. From afar, Max hadn’t been able to really appreciate her features, but now that he was closer, he realized she was taller than him; her small, brown eyes were making her lashes look bigger; her black hair looked thicker and he was able to conclude that her skin tone was more or less like Pops’, maybe a little darker. She had a mark over her cheek, and at first Max thought it was a mole or a birthmark…until, of course, he realized that moles weren’t (or, at least, shouldn’t be) purple, and realized it was a bruise.

He didn’t ask her about it. Adrian had once told him that there were people who might not want to talk about their bruises or open wounds, not because the stories behind them were painful to tell, but because they were too embarrassing and telling embarrassing stories was an inconvenience.

“…well… now that I think about it…” He said right after. “…That’s not it. No. Not really. Sometimes your wounds’ backstories are painful. Or sometimes…you just want to keep them a secret, you know? And secrets are…sort of important.”

He believed every word.

Hence why, instead of saying something too nosy about that bruise, a little slowly at first, Max started lifting his hand up, until he reached the spot where Margaret’s was, and pressed his palm there. When she stared at his palm in confusion, Max clarified:

“Hugh five. You know?" Max giggled a little." As in… the Captain? Hugh? ...No?"

She didn’t laugh. And that was odd because Adrian would’ve.

Margaret wasn’t Adrian, sadly. And, it seemed to be, she hadn’t had an older sibling to tell her that some things just…weren’t adequate as icebreakers to start a conversation. Because, like Adrian had said, there were certain things other people might not want to talk about.

“Are you sick?” She directly asked.

Max was still “pressing” his hand against hers.

Gulping hard, he felt his throat boiling hot, almost as if it were growing blisters.

“No.” He said in a hoarse voice. “Why?”

Not pulling away either, Margaret said:

“The other day, Sister Malinda brought a very tiny baby into the orphanage. They were so small they had to take them to the medical wing.” She took another bite from her chocolate, and kept on speaking with her mouth full. “I sneaked out of my room to see them, and they were inside this little glass box that helped  keeping them alive. Sister Tam told me so.”

Max kept quiet for a while. He would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t have a little curiosity about the name, but Margaret solved everything that had to be solved even if he didn’t ask her to.

“Sister Tam was named after Thunderbird. She’s younger than the other nuns.”

He guessed so.

Aunt Tamaya’s real name had been revealed to the general public on the 13th year into the Age of Anarchy, when she reappeared after being away for months thanks to an accident that involved Queen Bee and a cliff or something like that (Max couldn’t quite understand it, and Aunt Tamaya couldn’t remember much about it either. If she did, then she just didn’t desire to talk about it). It wasn’t a fun anecdote or anything like that but, according to his dads, the name Tamaya topped the lists for the most female-assigned names for at least a year, and the same thing happened in the 20th year into the Age of Anarchy...however, by the time she was buried, the world didn’t know Lady Indomitable’s real name, and for an entire month, people used Regina instead of Georgia. When Max asked why, Dad answered that, when attending public events, Lady Indomitable used to wear a pair of shiny golden R-shaped earrings that caused everybody in Gatlon to develop mass hysteria and made themselves believe that those Rs meant Regina, when in reality, according to Lady Indomitable herself, one of them meant “Rawles”, and the other “Renegade”. In fact, Oscar Silva (Smokescreen, one of the members of Adrian’s team) had once said that one of his cousins, who lived in Mexico, had been named Renata Regina (Though nobody knew what the heck that first name was, and Oscar had a really peculiar way to pronounce Regina) because she was born a few days after Lady Indomitable’s decease.

“I knew that.” Max lied.

“Sure, buddy. I bet you did.” Margaret chuckled. And there, Max realized she thought she was too clever.

Which, he didn’t doubt she was. He wasn’t in the position to state that. At least, not yet.

But what he was in the position to state, was that, if she thought herself to be clever, then it was his opportunity to think of himself as clever too. After all, he had been reading his whole life because he didn’t have anything else to do.

If Margaret was clever, then so was he.

“You’re talking about an incubator.” He said.

Margaret looked up out of a sudden (Max hoped she hadn’t gotten dizzy). He could still see the chocolate, that at this point should’ve been mush, stored in the inside of her right cheek.

“Uh?” She asked, struggling to keep her mouth closed.

Max gulped, and tapped the surface with his fingers.

“The thing where they put the little baby. It’s called an incubator. That’s where they put pre-term babies, because they’re not ready to survive outside of their mother’s womb. Sometimes their lungs don’t work on their own, sometimes their hearts are too fast or too slow…”

“You look too old to be a baby.” She observed. “Are your powers something related to that? Like, are you a baby who doesn’t look like a baby?”

For a second, Max thought about quoting Evander that time he had boldly stated that Simon was Adrian’s mom, but he didn’t because he wasn’t in the mood to curse.

“…No. First, this is not an incubator. And second,  I’m a kid.” He answered. “I’m not a baby.”

“Then why are you here?”

The short answer was that, honestly, that was none of her business. And the even shorter answer, was:

“I can’t tell you. It’s a secret. And secrets are sort of important.”

“A secret.” She repeated, as if tasting the word. “…You don’t look like you want to be here. Are you allowed to come out?”

The short answer was still that it was none of her business. But, if he wanted to be honest, for some reason, he didn’t want to give that answer. Because, to be fair, she would find out on her own sooner or later. Because, yes, people talked, and while his dads were kind of secretive about him, everyone in the headquarters knew him. Her being clueless was just a temporary event that would vanish into thin air in a blink.

And, for some reason, he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

Maybe tell her something that wasn’t real. Maybe… tell her something that wasn’t necessarily true but that he wanted it to be. Maybe something that was more interesting than what he was, in reality; maybe something that would make the worm in his brain go away for two weeks.

"I can't get out." He finally decided. "Because this glass is infrangible."

Then, he knocked on it three times.

"See?"

Margaret tilted her hair to the side, looking like a cat.

"What does that word mean?"

And dumb as it sounded, Max felt a twinge in his stomach along with a violent wave of pride. Because, even if it was hard for him to admit it, he was hoping she would ask that.

He wanted her to ask that.

"It means you can't break it."

Margaret's eyes seemed bigger. But just as she was separating her lips to speak, somebody behind her cleared their throat.

That's when Max spotted Aunt Kasumi leaned against a wall with her arms crossed. When Margaret looked over her shoulder, she found her there too. But while Max waved at her, Margaret remained inexpressive.

"You're very far from the restroom, Maggie." Kasumi said, in a serious tone. Afterwards, she massaged her temples.

"Please, darling. Just… help me here, okay? We have to go back to the office."

And she didn't seem mad, but rather disappointed.

When it came to Aunt Kasumi, that was enough. Max knew that, and Margaret knew that too. That's why they both removed their hands from the glass, and Margaret started going away.

However, before she was too far, Max asked:

"Why are you here?"

And Margaret turned around, smiling.

"If you're not telling me, I'm not telling you." She sentenced. Then, she proceeded to imitate his voice as she said:

"It's a secret."

And for a while, obviously, it remained that way. A secret. But it wasn't long before they both knew everything they needed to know.

Margaret was integrated into the janitorial team, but, for a while, people talked about her and her powers, and Max couldn’t help but remember what Dad had told him in the bathtub, and the conversation between Evander and Kasumi.

Yet, more than scared, Max felt… something he didn't know what it was. In fact, he wasn't scared of her. More likely, a part of him felt that he knew what it was like to be her, because maybe they weren't that different after all.

People were scared of them both.

But he wasn't scared of her. No, not really.

He hoped she wasn’t scared of him either.

Maybe they could've been very good friends, even through the infrangible glass that kept him from getting pointed at, frowned upon or killed.

[sodone-withlife]

one sentence

i saw sumayyah‘s answer to an anon’s ask (so all credit for this idea goes to them) about that scene in Omnivore where Rossi is offering Hotch his gun and this thing pretty much wrote itself (which is exceedingly rare lmao), so here is something that i thought would be just a few hundred words but ended up being a really long interpretation of the Foyet arc with hurt/minimal comfort with a good amount of pre-Mortch (or you can see them as platonic, i think it’s up for interpretation). 

also, just a quick heads up, i love Papa Rossi, but for the purposes of this fic, it might seem a little bash-y towards him

warnings: quite a bit of suicidal ideation, (almost) attempted suicide, implied/referenced suicide, canon-typical violence, canonical character death

word count: 7.9k words

The highlighted words stared back at Hotch as Shaunessy’s words echoed in his mind.

A deal with the devil.

“Yes, that’s exactly right,” he told Garcia.

“Because I found it, do I get to know what it’s about?” the analyst asked, unrepentantly curious. Hotch sent her a look.

Might as well. Shaunessy’s not going to last much longer, and we���ll be called in…  “The Reaper,” he said simply.

“Like—the Boston Reaper?” Garcia lowered her voice as she named the notorious killer. Hotch nodded. “I didn’t even know the BAU worked on that case,” she remarked. 

“1998,” Hotch informed her, remembering caffeine-fueled sleepless nights and the palpable fear on the streets. “It was my first case for the BAU as lead profiler.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have a profile for the Reaper in the system, do we?”

Not in the system, no. “That’ll be all Penelope, you can go home now,” Hotch told Garcia, turning to the bottom drawer of the shelf behind his desk as the analyst nodded and left. Pulling out a worn folder bursting with papers and photos, he placed the newspaper clipping and the evidence bag protecting the contract into it. He left it to the side and refocused on the folder in front of him filled with sheets of old handwritten notes filled with annotations and crossed-out sections. 

There will be no sleeping tonight.

Early September, 1998

“You’re sending me?” Hotch was sitting ramrod straight in surprise, blindsided by Gideon’s sudden decision.

“Yeah,” Gideon answered simply, leaning back in his chair as much as he could in the cramped space and looking supremely unperturbed. “Do you not want to go?”

Hotch shook herself out of his shocked state, scrambling to gather his wits. “No—I mean, I’ll go, but—”

“But?”

Hotch carefully evaluated his words. “I’ve only been here a few months, and you’re sending me to Boston—alone—to help with the Reaper case? The case that has been going on for three years, longer than I’ve even been an agent, involving a killer that could probably put the Zodiac to shame?” 

The older agent shrugged. “I have to stay and hold down the fort since we are severely understaffed, but I’ll always be a phone call away, and you’re mainly there just to act as eyes for the both of us. You’re not working on this alone.”

Hotch stiffened as a sudden—but careful—warm touch on his hand pulled him out of the spiral of self-doubt he had been teetering over and grounded him. He brought his eyes back to Gideon and was surprised to see complete openness and no signs of deception or maliciousness that he had been forced to learn long ago at the hands of his father. 

“I’m not Dave,” Gideon began seriously, “I wasn’t the one who pulled you over here or the one you started out shadowing under, but I do talk to people. I know about your record in prosecution, in Seattle, and in SWAT, and it is very telling. You never doubted yourself before, and I have no doubt that you can handle yourself, so why are you starting now?” 

He leaned back, clearly done with the impromptu pep talk that Hotch, still frozen, figured happened once in a blue moon based on what Rossi had told him about the unit before he retired. The cramped room was silent as Hotch felt Gideon watching him struggling with internal strife. Slowly, he released some of the tension that was coiled within him, and Gideon turned back to his stack of consults with an air of satisfaction. 

“Start packing, Agent Hotchner. Boston awaits your presence.”

Late November, 1998

“Do you know what the hell is going on?” Hotch immediately asked when the call went through, pacing around his hotel room.

“And a good evening to you too.”

“Gideon.”

“What is it, Hotch?” his tone changed from dry to worried in a heartbeat, hearing the uncharacteristic urgency in his agent’s voice and the lack of nervousness that usually showed his agent’s discomfort towards using the less-formal form of address.

“Shaunessy, the lead detective,” Hotch spat out, throwing the case file that was in his hand on the bed. “He closed the case.”

“And that warrants a phone call at eleven PM, why?���

Hotch bit back a sharp retort, letting out a sharp breath. “You know I’ve been re-interviewing the victims’ friends and family, going through everything they had and lines of investigation that may have been dropped, working the profile along the way, but there have been no viable suspects, even with the accelerated killings,” he said quickly, a mess of emotions swirling inside him. “Gideon, no arrests have been made but he closed the case, just like that.”

“Remind me, when was the last victim?”

“Just over six weeks ago, a month after I got here. I know what you’re thinking,” Hotch said when Gideon didn’t respond, “that the case just went cold, but there were still things I had people following up on. It’s not cold,” he insisted.

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it, Hotch. I know you don’t like it, but the locals have point on this.”

Hotch sighed, but it did nothing to calm him down. “I know,” he said, annoyed. “I’m catching an early train back to DC, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

January 2003

“The Reaper?”

Hotch slammed the folder shut and looked up from his desk, startled. He sent Gideon a glare, glad that no one else was there to see his composure slip, but he only looked vaguely concerned. 

“It’s been just over four years,” Gideon commented neutrally. “You’ve had that folder at the bottom of your third drawer, and you’ve pulled it out at least forty different times since ‘98.”

Hotch stared up at him in a challenge. “Is there something wrong with that?”

Gideon shook his head. “Just be careful. Don’t get too drawn into the chase.”

~~~

Sighing as he rubbed the familiar ache on the back of his neck that always appeared during paperwork days and especially stressful cases, Hotch closed his battered folder of notes and opened it back up again. It was almost compulsive at this point, repeating every twenty minutes and each time with the hope something new would catch his attention.

Hotch shifted, the bedsheets suddenly feeling unbearably scratchy and coarse even through his slacks. The case details buzzed around his head incessantly, distracting him from feeling the physical exhaustion and strain caused by the lack of proper sustenance and the stress of a day filled with dead ends.

The sudden ringing shattered the silence of the room, knocking him from his focus. He got up from the bed and warily walked over to the source, picking up the hotel phone and bringing it up to his ear. 

“Hotchner,” he said out of habit, only to freeze as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up in reaction to the sudden, heavy breathing. “Who is this?” he demanded, throwing the folder he was still holding back on the bed with dread rising within him. 

“If you stop hunting me, I’ll stop hunting them.” His question about the caller’s identity went unanswered, though the cursed words of the contract spoken by the same distorted voice that was heard on the 911 calls from ten years ago was confirmation enough.

Anger flared inside him at the audacity, and he snapped back, “You think I’d take that?”

“It’s a good deal,” the Reaper replied flatly.

“I’ve misjudged you,” he said, some distant part of him wondering how Shaunessy felt when he himself got the offer ten years ago. “I thought you were smarter than this,” he was unable to help the derisive tone.

The silence was long enough for him to wonder how much he had caught him unawares with his response. 

“You should take it.” 

“And you’ve misjudged me.”

“This is your last chance,” he warned.

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “I don’t make deals. I’m the woman who hunts guys like you.” That got the reaction he was hoping for.

“There are no guys like me,” the killer growled, anger bleeding into his tone.

He scoffed. “You all think that.”

“You’ll regret this,” he warned.

It was said with such certainty that a chill shot down his spine, but it was overshadowed by his anger. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, promptly hanging up without another word. He walked back around the bed, feeling a sudden need to put as much distance between him and the phone as possible. It was with some hysterical hilarity that he wondered if the next people to stay in this room would know about what had just happened—that a serial killer tried to threaten an FBI agent into surrendering in this room.

Those feelings faded away when a terrible feeling suddenly came over Hotch as he realized the Reaper knew which hotel—which room—he was staying in.

It wasn’t unusual during their cases for an unsub to contact another person in the midst of their crimes, but the memories of Elle in the hospital bed and Morgan in the interrogation room had been seared into his brain. 

Both times, unsubs directly went after members of the team.

Unable to remain in the room any longer, he went around unceremoniously throwing his things inside his bags before leaving the hotel room. Paranoia quickly crept back into his consciousness as he quickly made his way down to the parking garage with a hand near his gun, intent on heading straight to the field office.

Only half an hour later, Hotch was staring at the glinting gold ring on the bus driver’s hand, feeling oddly detached from the situation as he was confronted with the consequences of that cursed phone call.

“6 bodies, not including the driver,” Rossi said from the back of the bus. “He put them down with a gun—or, more likely, guns—and finished them off with his knife.” 

The call had come straight to the field office, just minutes after Hotch walked into the empty conference room that the team had taken command of. A beat cop had heard a series of gunshots and went to investigate, only to see the macabre painting of blood on the side of the bus with its occupants slumped over inside, unmoving. “Arthur Lanessa’s wedding ring,” Hotch heard himself say for the other agent’s benefit.

“What’d he take?” Rossi made his way down to him in the front. 

He snapped back into the present with a sudden surge of anger. “Does it matter?” he asked bitingly, turning and storming away from the crime scene for the relative privacy of a nearby alley.

“Hey,” Rossi called in worry, taken aback by the brash response. “What’s going on with you?”

Hotch stopped some way into the alley and took a deep breath, taking his time before turning to Rossi, who had followed closely behind. “He called me tonight at my hotel room and offered me the deal.” 

“What did you say?”

“I hung up on him,” his eyes burned with the sting of tears—whether out of anger at the Reaper or himself, he wasn’t sure. “And then he does this.”

“So you think this is your fault?”

How could it be anything but? He looked away, trying to hide just how shaken he was. “It is.”

The familiar sound of the safety of a gun being released pulled his attention back to the man in front of him. “Well, here, use mine,” Rossi said, holding out his gun to him. “You convinced me. No, no, you hung up on him,” he pushed as he waved him off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You practically killed them yourself—”

You practically killed them yourself.

You practically killed them yourself.

Killed them yourself.

Killed them. 

Yourself.

You.

You did this.

You should have made the deal

Hotch flinched away from the touch of cold metal against his head only to freeze in his place, ice settling in his bones as he processed what was happening. Barely seeing the horror on Rossi’s face, he stared at the other man’s empty hand before he focused in on the gun that was resting against his own head, tilted at an angle. There were five things he knew:

I have a finger on the trigger. 

My hand is trembling. 

I am still one of the best shots of the agents that are not in a tactical team.

Make one move, fire the gun, only the hearing in my right ear will be gone and the darkness continues to creep towards me.

Make a different move, fire the gun, I’ll leave Jack the legacy of a coward and Haley the knowledge that her efforts back in high school and college were for naught.

You did this, a malicious voice in his head said, sounding oddly like his father. And suddenly, he recalled the memory of the blood droplets hitting him and the ringing in his ears the first time he witnessed a gun go off when he was nine.

Slowly, deliberately, Hotch met Rossi’s horrified and guilt-filled expression and lowered the gun from his head. Carefully measuring his steps, he moved forward and pressed the gun into the older agent’s hand, which dropped down to the side, the weight of the gun now accompanied by something unseen, something much heavier.

Not sparing him another glance, Hotch turned and walked back out of the alley.

This isn’t the time nor place to break. 

But in the end, he didn’t have a choice. 

“Foyet escaped.”

Hotch’s blood ran cold as he processed JJ’s words before he roughly placed his mug onto the desk and stood up from his chair, following JJ outside to the bullpen that was full of noise and movement.

“Guards found him in his cell vomiting blood and convulsing, they rushed him to the prison hospital,” JJ explained quickly as they made their way down the catwalk. Hotch twitched as he heard Rossi’s office door open behind him, the man coming out to see what the commotion was about.

“Get me the US Marshal’s Office,” Hotch ordered, making the executive decision to ignore the older agent in favor of getting down to business. 

“I already called Don Reilly. I offered our assistance, he said they’d call us if they needed it.”

Prentiss rushed to the trio, holding a phone up to her ear. “The Boston field office just identified documents from Foyet’s house,” she reported.

Reid approached the agents gathered in the middle of the room, holding out a printout of what looked to be a set of blueprints. “They’re schematics for the electrical, heating, and water ducts of the East Woburn Correctional Facility.”

Hotch looked at him blankly. “He had the schematics.”

“And not just for Woburn—for every jail, prison, and courthouse in Massachusetts.”

“And ten years to plan,” Rossi added, a heavy silence following as everyone turned to the TV.

Finally, Garcia turned around. “They’re going to find him, right?” she asked worriedly.

Eyes still trained on Foyet's mugshot on the TV, Hotch was completely certain in his answer. “No, they’re not,” he said, just as the memory of Foyet’s words rose to the forefront of his mind, unbidden.

If you know me so well, how come so many had to die to bring you here?

I’m going to be more famous than you realize.

“Excuse me,” he muttered, trying to get a hold of the wave of nausea that suddenly overcame him. He brushed past the team, purposely heading out of the bullpen for one of the bathrooms that was further away for the sake of keeping the team and their concern off his back.

Within minutes he was throwing up bile and the small amount of alcohol he had drank back in his office into the sink, thanking the god he never believed in that the bathroom was rather secluded so there wouldn’t be anyone catching him in this moment of weakness. His eyes burned for the second time in less than twenty-four hours—only this time, a few traitorous tears managed to escape from underneath his eyelids. 

The taste of bile was strong as he turned on the tap and splashed his face with cold water, stiffening when he heard the door swing open and closed. Looking up to the mirror, he was both relieved and unsurprised to see Morgan locking the door behind him. 

“You’ve been avoiding Rossi,” Morgan commented quietly. Hotch huffed a sardonic laugh, straightening up and turning around to face him, leaning against the sink for support. It was a familiar situation, one first started years ago when it was just them and Gideon, and stopped after the team started growing. Then New York happened and Hotch had to de-stress in a gas station they stopped at on the drive back to Quantico, and their secret rendezvous started happening again, when cases hit too close to home for either of them.

Somehow he always knows what the root problem is. “Was I that obvious?”

Morgan shook his head. “You know you hide it well. I’ve just known you far longer than any of the others, besides Rossi, of course.” He didn’t go on, waiting on the other to decide the direction the conversation would go. 

Deciding to go for complete honesty, Hotch swallowed, tilting his head up and avoiding Morgan’s eyes. “He called me at my hotel room and offered me the deal.”

To his credit, Morgan only stepped closer, face creased in concern and a hint of knowing. “I said no, and he shot up a bus,” Hotch continued tonelessly. “I lost it in an alley near the crime scene. Dave had pulled out his gun and was trying to make a point about self-flagellation, but—” he cut himself off and shook his head frustratedly.

“I don’t know what happened. One moment I was just angry, and the next moment I was aiming a gun at my head,” he met Morgan’s eyes desperately, stern facade completely gone. “I don’t know what I wanted to do—I don’t,” his voice cracked as he sagged against the sink and his trembling became more pronounced. He quickly covered his mouth as a sob tried to escape his throat, prompting Morgan to move.

It was surprising to both him and Morgan how willingly he melted into Morgan’s body when the man reached out to stabilize him, but the sensation of the embrace was oddly calming for both of them. Neither spoke as they stood in the bathroom, not even as Morgan felt his shirt getting wet from the tears that Hotch finally let fall, and not even as the crying became more audible. 

Now, they would stay in the bathroom and soak up the comfort that they offered each other. They would talk about Foyet’s taunts and what Hotch confessed later. 

But later never came, because life never waits, and neither do unsubs.

Soon, they were racing against the clock as Reid got infected with an engineered strain of anthrax

Soon, they were investigating one of the worst, stomach-turning crimes they had seen. 

When they got back from the pig farm, Hotch only asked the team for a bare-bones report of the investigation and let them leave to the comfort of their homes while he stayed behind and dealt with the rest of the paperwork and red tape that was involved because of their foray into Canadian jurisdiction. 

It was past midnight when Hotch finally left the office and entered his apartment with the intent of pulling out a glass of scotch and staying on his couch with a book, knowing there was no way he was going to fall asleep that night.  

But Foyet was waiting, and Hotch was weakened by the exhaustion and stress of two all-nighters in a row.  

That night, as his team was sleeping in their beds, dead to the world while he was slowly bleeding out and floating in and out of consciousness in his own apartment, he could only take comfort in the fact that his death sealed Foyet’s fate. There was no way Morgan the team—hell, even Strauss, or anyone in the bureau—would stop hunting his killer to exact their revenge. 

He faded into unconsciousness with the expectation that that was it.

He slowly regained consciousness to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the unpleasantly familiar beeping of a heart monitor. Fatigue settling heavily over his whole body was the next sensation that registered in his foggy mind, and then the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Where am I?” he forced out through a dry throat, eyes still closed.

“In the hospital,” Rossi, his mind told him. He opened his eyes only to close them again when he was met with blindingly bright lights, letting out a pained breath. 

“How did I get here?”

“Foyet drove you.”

Morgan. He drew in a shaky breath as dull, pulsing pain finally made itself known through the painkillers.

“Can you remember what happened?”

That’s Prentiss.

He vaguely felt his head loll to the side before the memories rushed back into the forefront of his mind. Foyet’s words, the same exact words he remembered thinking back in that alley echoed unpleasantly,

You should have made the deal.

Hotch swallowed again and forced his eyes open through the heavy fatigue. “What did he take?” he asked quietly, unwilling to delve deep into what he remembered and deciding to mentally run through the details about the Reaper case instead.

“What do you mean?” Rossi asked, uncomprehending.

“The Reaper always takes something from his victims.” you’re one of his victims now—shut up and think about that later “Do we know what he took?” 

“There was a page missing from your day planner,” his eyes flew open and he looked over at Prentiss as she continued talking, “in the address section, the Bs.” 

No— “What did he leave?” Hotch asked, eyes slipping shut as a trickle of fear went down his spine and his brain screamed out in denial. 

“I don't know,” Prentiss said, floundering.

“He also leaves something with his victims,” he trailed off in a breathless whisper, unable to sustain the volume he had been speaking at as the throbbing grew stronger.

“I looked over your whole apartment,” Prentiss told him helplessly. “Nothing felt out of place.”

A thought came to him. “Where are my clothes?” Hotch asked, slowly trying to force his eyes open again. He turned his head, watching Prentiss bring a plastic bag over to the hospital bed. Careful to avoid looking directly at his bloodied clothes, Hotch managed to pull the bulging manila envelope closer to him on his chest. 

His hands froze as his credentials slipped out and he noticed a folded paper tucked inside. Slowly, shakily, Hotch pulled them out of the envelope and carefully flipped it open. 

He sank deeper into the bed as the breath he had been holding was almost punched out of him by the sheer terror that pulsed through him, the treasured picture of Haley and Jack staring back at him tauntingly. That’s my blood, he thought blankly, staring at the red streak he knew was deliberately painted over his family’s smiling faces.

“Haley’s maiden name is Brooks,” he finally said, almost numb to the implications. “I always listed her in the Bs in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands.” 

Some kind of precaution it turned out to be. 

“He knows where they live.”

And that was that. As Hotch was stuck in flashbacks and lied to Prentiss about what happened, Morgan led the SWAT team in sweeping Hotch’s old house and picked Jack up from his playdate. As Hotch talked with Haley and failed to not think about that night in the alley with the cold metal against his head, Morgan played with Jack outside and failed to not think about Foyet using his credentials so he could continue to torture his friend boss. As Hotch remained confined to the hospital bed, Morgan watched through an upper-story window as Haley and Jack were driven off into the distance to a location unknown to anyone but a select few in the Marshals service. 

Nine stab wounds, thirty minutes down time, and six days in the cursed hospital.

The numbers circled through Hotch’s mind when he stepped back into his apartment and had to work through the panic that rose within as he stared towards the place where he knew Foyet had been hiding. 

In the end, what brought him back from the edge was when his eyes caught the new security panel that had been installed over where he knew the bullet had made a hole and the sticky note with what he recognized as Morgan’s handwriting that was stuck over it, concisely written instructions on how to use it. If he looked around carefully enough for other signs of Morgan’s presence, he could see where the section of bloodstained carpet had been replaced, and that was only because there was the tiniest spot that had been missed. 

The tiniest reminder was enough to send Hotch into a panic, but he knew there was no way he could tell Morgan about it. 

Is this what you felt like, Elle? Unsafe in your own home, having to sweep each room for fear of another one of the monsters we hunt lurking in the shadows?

Slowly, numbly, Hotch worked his way through medical leave and physiotherapy, during which everyone in his team came over at least twice, Prentiss and Morgan the most often to help change his bandages. He knew they worried, but he couldn’t summon the will to care nor the words to thank them for keeping him company and preventing the darkness in his mind from taking over. 

And maybe it was a good thing, because there were things they didn’t know, things that he lied to them about. He lied and he lied, and he knew that if he had the words, they would all come tumbling out, and what little of himself that he had left would be exposed for all to see. 

Even if Morgan had tried to take everything he might be able to use, there was still his mind, and so if he had the words, they would all know how many times he envisioned holding cold metal against his head just as he had back in that alley.

On the thirty-fifth day after he was discharged from the hospital, when they were discussing Darren Call on the plane, they came close to finding out. 

So why hasn’t he killed himself yet? Sprees usually end in suicide. If he's got nothing to live for, why hasn't he ended it?

It was much later, after a day of being on the receiving end of careful, worried glances, and overhearing Morgan’s firm declaration from inside his office that he realized his slip. 

“I’m not going to stand by and watch this man kill himself,” Hotch had heard Morgan snap towards Rossi. Moments later, Morgan passed in front of his office window and made eye contact with him, making it clear that his choice of words was deliberate. 

Suddenly Hotch was back in the alleyway with the gun pressed to his head and managed to talk himself off the ledge he didn’t know he was standing on while Rossi stood there, frozen and horrified that his brazen attempt at making a point had backfired so disastrously. His own words on the plane came back to him, then thought about what others would have seen when he walked into that house unarmed, and he understood. 

He hadn’t been thinking at all when he went in to try and talk Darren Call down, but though he didn’t have a background in psychology, there were some things that didn’t need expert opinion to be said, and so he knew exactly his action could be classified as. 

Don’t lie to yourself, you know exactly what that was.

Hotch swallowed convulsively and broke eye contact with Morgan, turning back to stare at paperwork until the other man walked back to his desk in the empty bullpen. As much as he tried, he couldn’t forget Morgan’s impassioned exclamation nor the depth of the worry that was present in his eyes when they made eye contact through the window.

Maybe that was the day when things shifted. It wasn’t a complete change—the team still hovered around Hotch in uncertain worry, his thoughts never completely disappeared, and he nearly broke down in the bathroom the day Jack turned four in witness protection after seeing what footage of his child on a playground Garcia could enhance. 

There was, however, a different air to his and Morgan’s interactions after that case. Perhaps it was a long time coming, stemming from the painful understanding that was formed that day in the secluded bathroom when they found comfort in each other.

It wasn’t news that the higher-ups were watching him again, but then he walked back to his office after helping JJ triage consult requests to see Strauss fixing him with a stern stare. The next few days he spent trying to work through the frustration of recording and justifying every decision while trying and failing not to antagonize Morgan. And so while he waited for Morgan to come into his office, he could only hope that he hadn’t managed to destroy the strange friendship that had been built between them based on their shared knowledge of just how close he was to the ledge sometimes.

I should give him more credit, I don’t know how he puts up with me sometimes, and he has more than enough reason to report me to Strauss.

“Come on, Hotch, nobody's gonna replace you,” Morgan said, incredulous at the notion of Hotch getting replaced. “Fight Strauss. I'll go to the mat for you, so will everybody else. You know that.” 

“Morgan, it won't work,” Hotch spoke over him, trying to get him to understand. “Decisions like this have their own momentum. Unless I step down—”

“Step down? What are you talking about?”

A foreign feeling Hotch recognized with some surprise as amusement wriggled its way into his consciousness as he anticipated Morgan’s reaction to his coming announcement, “I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week”

“What? No!” Hotch couldn’t stop his mouth from twitching as his feeling of amusement grew slightly stronger at the visceral reaction. “Hotch, look, yeah, ok, sometimes your actions, I may disagree with them, but it's not enough for you to leave this team.”

“I'm not leaving the team, I'm just no longer in charge,” Hotch corrected, continuing before Morgan could get in a word. “You are.”

He watched as Morgan’s jaw dropped in shock, before finally asking, “Me?” Detecting no deception from Hotch who had nodded, he continued. “Look, I had the chance to be unit chief in New York, and I said no. I turned it down because I like this team. Strauss can't just fire you like this.”

“She can reassign me, and we can avoid that if I promote internally.”

Unable to come up with a counterargument, Morgan was silent for a moment. “This is wrong,” he finally said. 

A strange thrill went through Hotch at the confidence Morgan had in him—their relationship, while slightly different now, ultimately had been built on unstated respect and the ease with which both were able to call each other out on their bullshit; it wasn’t built on such blatant declarations of trust and confidence. Hotch opened his hands, shrugging helplessly. “It's the only way to keep the team together.”

Morgan nodded consideringly before carefully eyeing Hotch. “So all of this,” he gestured between them, bringing up the tension that had built up between them in the last case, “this is why you've been pushing me so hard, huh?”

“I haven't been pushing you that hard,” Hotch denied, only to get a disbelieving look from the other man. He let out a faint smile before regarding the other with a serious look again. “Morgan, I need to know right now. Will you do this?”

He couldn’t articulate the relief he felt when Morgan finally agreed and continued to feel for the rest of the night as he introduced Morgan to the other parts of the job. Just like every other positive emotion he had felt over the past few years, however, it was short-lived, as Hotch had freed up time to dedicate to the hunt, even as he often stayed later to help Morgan get adjusted. Within months, they were called into a family annihilator case and Hotch was confronting Karl Arnold, one of the few unsubs that had continued to haunt him even after the case was closed and they were killed or incarcerated.

Of course, Arnold had to get in the last word, and oh, did he get it in. 

The cursed eye of providence, now drawn over a newspaper article about the attack months ago, never failed to create a surge of anger and fear within him, but never had it created such a storm of emotions before now. One torturous night of waiting as the envelope the taunts were sent in went through the lab, and the whole team was in the throes of the hunt, and in the process, fell victim to tunnel vision.

What if they had slowed down and remembered that Foyet worked with computers? Would they have managed to catch him at the apartment unawares? Would they have been better prepared for what Foyet had planned to do?

But there wasn’t anything Hotch could do except try and talk Foyet out of going through with his plans while trying to maintain as level of a head as possible.

“Your mother tried to protect you from your father, but she wasn’t strong enough, and you hated her for that, didn’t you? So, you decided that all women were weak,” Hotch suddenly brought up, hoping to catch him off guard as he vaguely wondered if the team was on the line, listening. 

“Those are your words, not mine,” came the grating, annoyingly blasé reply.

“What were you, nine when you killed them?

“It was a car accident. And, now that I think about it, our childhoods are eerily similar, don’t you think?” 

Caught unawares, Hotch jerked the steering wheel, barely managing to avoid crashing the car as Foyet continued. “But it was only your father who died, whereas your mother remarried.”

How—? He turned cold at the show of Foyet’s obsession, which was clearly much deeper than he or anyone in the team could have predicted.

“No response?” the killer taunted.

“My father swallowed a bullet because he couldn’t live with his self loathing or the cancer,” Hotch finally snapped, quickly directing the subject back towards Foyet. Even with the pit in his stomach growing as it became clearer that he was being toyed with, he couldn’t help but use every negotiation tactic he knew and taught at the Academy, desperately but futilely trying to dissuade the killer. 

“Haven't you gotten what you wanted?” Hotch tried, somehow having regained his composure after the unpleasant bombshell. “You've set yourself apart from anybody we've ever dealt with. You're not just a famous serial killer, you're the Reaper. We're going to study you and your methods for years and years.”

“You know what I've been thinking?” Foyet finally asked after a few moments of silence, his next words sending his heart pounding in fear. “Haley looks really good with dark hair. She’s lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her. Where's the little man?” No, don’t you dare— “Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?” 

Hotch gripped his phone tightly as he heard the ringing of another phone. “That's your wife. Hold, please—Mrs. Hotchner,” Foyet took on an accent, tone turning jovial. “Open the gate and I'll drive in.”

Open the gate? That son of a—of course.

“Aaron?” the malicious glee was back, cutting right to Hotch’s core. “I really gotta go.”

Almost frozen with fear, he pushed the car faster, heading straight towards the old house and praying to whatever deity he could think of that he could get there in time. He wasn’t sure how long had passed when he got Morgan’s call, which was confirmation that the team had indeed been listening. He didn’t dwell on it and only continued to push the car, disregarding speed limits and almost hysterically glad that it was the middle of the day and the streets were relatively empty. 

When his phone rang, it was with numb, mechanical movements that he answered, fully prepared to beg and bargain for his family’s life if he had to, only to sharply inhale at Haley’s dearly missed voice, which turned shaky with fear when she realized the danger she was in. As Foyet undercut their exchange with his maliciously satisfied taunts, telling Haley all that he could never bring himself to confess about the case, Hotch could only think about how he was just too far away, Haley, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry for lying to you about everything, I’ll never forgive myself—

But then Jack was on the phone, and the pure innocence and eagerness with which his son greeted him after months of no contact was enough to send a fresh wave of tears coursing down his face.

“Is George a bad guy?”

“Yes, he is,” Hotch answered, wanting to scream at him to just run away, get as far away from him as you can when an old memory was suddenly brought forth from his subconscious. “Jack, I need you on this case with me. Do you understand?” he tried to keep his voice steady, hoping with his whole being that his son would remember. “I need you to work the case with me.”

“Ok, Daddy.”

“Jack, hug your mom for me,” he requested, voice cracking and desperately trying to contain the sobs that were steadily building. He could only imagine the warmth his son was feeling from his mother now, potentially the last memory he would ever have of her. Hearing his son’s too-inquisitive question about his mother’s mood left him viciously biting down on his bottom lip, trying to maintain some modicum of control over himself.

“Is he gone?” Hotch finally asked, nausea joining the storm of emotions within him at the nickname Foyet had given his son.

“Yes,” Haley confirmed, letting her fear shine through now that Jack wasn’t there to see it. 

Each shaking breath was a stab straight to his core.“You’re so strong, Haley, you’re stronger than I ever was.”

Her response nearly sent him shattering into the pieces she had so carefully helped him put back together back in high school after his stepfather died.

“You’ll hurry, right?”

I can’t lie, I’m so sorry, Haley. I can’t lie to you. Not after everything I’ve already done, “I know you didn’t sign on for this.”

“Neither did you.”

Why does it have to be now that we finally talk about what caused the divorce?

“I’m sorry for everything.”

There was a short pause as Haley inhaled sharply, before leveling out into shaky breaths. “Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh.”

No, please— “Haley,” Hotch trailed off, unable to continue and almost paralyzed at the knowledge that these might be her last words because he’s too far away, I’m not going to—

“He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron. He needs to believe in love, because it is the most important thing, but you need to show him. Promise me,” she ordered him forcefully.

“I promise.”

The sound of three gunshots tore straight into his soul. 

And then he was finding Haley’s body, trying not to let the seams break when renewed rage roared to life within him at the extinguishing of the light that had been inside her and lit up every room she walked in. Minutes later, he was straddling the demon that had haunted him for over a decade, the demon that he finally caught up to but at a terrible cost and then he was punching—

I’m going to kill that bastard son of yours and I’m going to tell him it was all your fault— 

and punching—

You practically killed them yourself—

and punching—

You should have made the deal—

someone yelled his name—

Promise me.

“—dead. He’s dead,” someone was shouting as Hotch tried to lunge forward away from the person pulling him back and towards the man who killed my wife HE KILLED HALEY—

But all the fight that had been inside him suddenly disappeared, and he was left staggering backward, mouth open in a silent, rage-filled scream as someone—it’s Derek—kept a careful grip on his body, holding his shattered pieces together just long enough for him to gather his tattered seams close to his chest and fling himself away towards the stairs. 

Hotch collapsed to his knees in front of the chest, seeing no indication of any taunting messages and daring to hope that his son was—

And the sight of his son, unharmed and blinking at the sudden change in brightness, nearly sent him into a mess of relieved tears that were also tears of unadulterated grief because I got his mother killed—

He held himself together and lifted his son out of the chest, seeing all the features he got from Haley—her his hair, her his eyes, her his inquisitiveness—and struggling to maintain his weakening control as he told Jack to go to Ms. Jareau, who was waiting with open arms in the doorway to the room that had once been his office. 

Hearing their footsteps fade away and shaking with suppressed sobs, he slowly stood up, injuries that he sustained in the fight finally making themselves known as he made his way across the hall to the room he knew Haley was lying in—

He saw Morgan taking her pulse and for a moment he couldn’t help but hope that she was still—

But Morgan was pulling back and he was gently placing Haley’s right arm back on the ground and he wasn’t yelling for medics and—

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” Morgan said softly as Hotch knelt down, his trembling becoming more palpable by the moment. 

If he looked past the unseeing eyes and the blood that pooled everywhere and her lying on the floor and—

He could almost convince himself that she was sleeping. For a moment, he was almost afraid to touch her, afraid to disturb her in her sleep, but in the next moment—

He was pulling her cooling body close to his chest and burying his face into the crook of her neck, gut wrenching sobs escaping his lips as a wave of grief shattered the flimsy show of control he had put up for Jack’s sake, his son who just lost his mother because his father was addicted to the chase and I broke my promise, Haley, I’m so sorry—

She’s gone. 

The solemn silence weighed heavily on the team as they waited for Hotch to finish testifying before Strauss and the brass. They had all expressed their outrage when they got the orders to come in for their statements, only two days after their leader nearly lost everything, but there was nothing they could do.

It had been painful to watch the man who had been a protector for so long, since childhood through his teenage years and into adulthood, try to maintain the post, disregarding his own health in favor of being the earliest in the office and last to leave, spending every free moment trying to get rid of the threat to his family. It was worse having to listen over the phone as his control started to slip while he tried so desperately to save his family from a madman. 

With the sight of him savagely beating Foyet’s dead body into the ground, all vestiges of the infamous controlled facade gone, they all hoped for Hotch’s sake that Jack had found safety and were beyond relieved to see him in JJ’s arms. Reality caught up to them, however, when they watched as Morgan had to physically wrestle Hotch away from Haley’s body so she could be transported to the ME’s office.

When they got the full autopsy, they could only be glad that Hotch wasn’t there to find out all that Foyet did to his first love.

And within a year, Hotch’s family had been ruthlessly snatched from his desperate, flailing grip and torn into broken pieces before being shoved back at him, misshapen with pieces missing. 

The faint sound of a door swinging closed had them all straightening up in their seats, turning to look into the bullpen where Hotch was walking up the stairs in front of his office, only to freeze right in front of the door with his hand just in front of the door knob. 

They watched worriedly as he let his outstretched hand fall back to his side and slowly backed up from the door, almost as if he were in a trance and startled when Morgan suddenly jumped up and ran out of the room and through the bullpen towards the man.

Their confusion cleared up when they realized that Hotch wasn’t stopping as he backed up, somehow unaware that the stairs were right behind him and stumbled, only barely catching himself on the railing. For Jack’s sake, they forced themselves to stay seated but watched out of the corner of their eyes as he tried to stand back up, only for his knees to buckle underneath him. 

Before he could hit the ground, Morgan quickly grabbed onto his arms, almost collapsing himself under his dead weight but managing to lower them both onto the ground, holding onto him in a way eerily reminiscent of what he had done when he pulled Hotch off of the barely-recognizable body of George Foyet. 

Hotch was still staring at his office door as if he had seen a ghost, and it was with heartbreak that Morgan realized what it represented to him—it was the source of so much passion and temptation that had gotten the love of his life killed. Looking back at the conference room and seeing the eyes focused on the two men, Morgan carefully pulled Hotch up from the ground and slowly guided him out of the bullpen, knowing that the team had Jack taken care of.

They walked through the winding hallways and into the bathroom that he followed Hotch into the night it all started to go horribly wrong. This time, it was different and yet the exact same, and after Morgan locked the door behind them, he pulled Hotch towards him, mindful of his bruised ribs. 

Surrounded by the four walls that heard so many of their small talks and witnessed their vulnerabilities, it wasn’t long before Hotch’s eyes began to burn as he finally melted into Morgan’s protective hold when the dam finally broke, letting out a wave of pain and anguish that was only made the slightest bit more bearable by the warmth of Morgan’s his friend’s care.

But even that couldn’t make that one sentence disappear.

You practically killed them yourself.

[erascrhead]

November Ice Breaker Tag Game

loI was tagged by the lovely @bnhastanning! I’m sorry this took so long - I’ve been procrastinating all of my work and i had to take care of it before did this but now? watashi ga kita motherbuckets.

November Ice Breaker

1 - What was the last thing you were really excited about? 

Not gonna lie, things are a bit bleak at the moment, but I suppose I was very happy because I did really well on my last lesson test in my Japanese class and I raised my cumulative grade by a whole percentage! I am not very good at it but if I do decently for the rest of term I think I can make my way up to an A-, which would be really cool!

2 - What do you wish someone taught you long ago? 

Don’t be so singularly focused on your goals and responsibilities that everything else is removed from your life. Most of my middle and high school career, I was focused only on achieving what I needed academically and extracurricularly, and pushing myself beyond what I really could handle, that I ended up overworked and lonely. If it puts it into perspective, in my 10th grade year, I not only had multiple people ask me if I had taken a semester away because I had spent so much time hiding in the library, but I literally gave myself an ulcer from stress and taking on other people’s responsibilities because I had painted myself into a position where I was never allowed to refuse. While I did get to achieve beyond what I ever could have dreamed of (and I’m really proud of myself for that), theres a lot of my adolescence that I have a sort of phantom nostalgia for, and that’s something I really regret. 

Your life needs to have balance to it. Make sure you find that early on, and understand how to equally prioritize your own well being with what you want and what other’s want from you.

3 - What are some of your guilty pleasures? 

Not doing the reading for class lmao. As someone who never once skipped the reading until I graduated HS, skipping some of the reading in college, when I end up having around cumulative 500 pages per week is quite nice. I wish I had something less goody-two-shoes but I do nothing and also have zero (0) shame.

4 - What topic could you give a twenty minute presentation on without any preparation? 

There’s a couple of different things I could talk about in differing qualities ranging from classical ballet scores to a linguistic breakdown of a hamilton song, and of course I could go off about bnha for a long time, but I’m gonna go with a fun one.

My most fun answer is that I could talk about racism and race correction in Harry Potter for like three hours. Black Hermione is god tier fanon, and JKR’s attempts to race correct her make me really frustrated, not only with the problems with the action itself, but as well with the nonchalance she attempted to do it with. I have a bit of a ‘cheat’ on this one, because last year I wrote a ~5000 word academic research paper on the subject. I was already really passionate about it before that though (that’s why I wrote it in the first place); the only difference now is I can spit out narrative and numerical facts™ off the cuff, and my argument would be better organized.  

5 - What scene in a movie or tv show gives you goosebumps every time you watch it? 

I don’t really have an answer for this, which is kind of sad but also hilarious considering what my parent’s jobs are. If I had to pick something, I don’t really have a scene in particular, but the movie Amadeus (the extended directors cut edition) is one of my favorites that leaves me breathless in the best of ways. 

6 - What were some of your favorite holiday traditions growing up? 

One of my favorites is that every year since I was little, my mother and I would pick out either 1-3 new ornaments for our tree. I remember being little and walking into the Macy’s Christmas section and just being dazzled by the lights, and typically, we would pick out some white and gold porcelain birds. As I got older, are choices started coming from more small time shops, like a kiosk in hawaii or a small knick-knack shop near the place where we occasionally ski in the winter. For me, it’s really the act of going and picking out something beautiful with her that’s really nice.

A newer tradition is that every year I bake chocolate-chip bread pudding in a dutch oven. I am, unequivocally, the best baker in the family both immediate and extended, though not the best chef, and this became a hit around the time I was 15. It’s just really fun to make -- I like to belt out to Christmas songs while I bake. 

7 - What book had the most significant impact on you? 

HARD QUESTION. There’s a bunch of different ways I could answer this: the impact on the way I think, the first chapter book I read on my own that helped me discover my love of reading, my favorite example of intricate world building? I have a lot I could say. The direction I’m going to go for is the impact on my writing, and the one of the first books that really made me marvel at the beauty of words, just as they are. My two runners up are The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller and We Are the Ants by Shaun David Hutchinson, but my final answer is Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz.

Representation aspects aside (but also, yes!), this book was one of the first books that made me feel emotion for the words themselves. It’s more of a character study than it is plot driven, and as a kid who grew up loving action adventure fantasy novels, I think that’s one of the reasons it really stood out to me. I pulled an excerpt, just to give the gist:

I stared at the reproduced mural in the book -- but I was more interested in his finger as he tapped the book with approval. That finger had pulled a trigger in a war. That finger had touched my mother in tender ways I did not fully comprehend. I wanted to talk, to say something, to ask questions. But I couldn’t. All the words were stuck in my throat. So I just nodded.

One of my favorite things now is to play with words, to roll them around on my tongue and isolate their melodies, placing them in them in rhythm to a beat only I can hear, and I think that this was the first book that showed me how to do that.

8 - What weird thing do you have nostalgia for? 

So I went to a small school for all the way up until college; about 45 kids in my sixth grade class, 22ish in my homeroom/main class. There were four kids, including me, that had an aptitude for math, and understood the lessons without being taught them, and so what my teacher would do is give us the homework packet for the week and send us out to the outdoor benches next to our classroom to complete it during the period. We, being 11, would goof around Monday through Thursday and do the entire packet in the Friday period and then turn it in. Not the best teaching decision (i wish i had been taught the next year’s material tbh) but that’s not the point.

It was just a year, but those periods felt so untouchable and surreal and innocent. I remember, the school was so quiet, and it was just us, and we were just kids who were getting away with not learning math for a whole year, and it felt like the greatest victory in the world. 

9 - What's a problem you have, that might be entirely unique to you? 

I don’t know how unique it is, but the intensity with which I currently need to pet a dog is unparalleled.

10 - What are two of your favorite snacks? 

I literally eat an apple with peanut butter on a daily basis I cannot emphasize this enough i am, a slut, for peanut butter. 

There’s also this specific Costco Brand trail mix that I literally have eaten so much of that I got nauseous. We love Kirkland Signature™ up in this house.

That’s all! I’m tagging @kicheetah @teamstevesass @stark-tony @bakugox @rabbitproduce @pixie-witchery @joeytrlbiani @queenangst THOUGH NO PRESSURE and also anyone else who wants to! Have fun!!

[thereallamham]

A short Stevnel fic

I actually wrote this around November though I didnt know if I should post it anywhere or not

Actually

I don't even know if I was on Tumblr back then

I probably was but I dont friken remember bfksbfj

Anyway enjoy this slighty dark I guess fanfic

Also sorry if the writing is a bit 'eh' I wasn't and still am not the best writer lmao

---

Steven laid in bed with his ears straining to hear the sound again.

He didn't know what the sound was, but it sounded like a distant crack in a window or perhaps the sound of plates shattering.

It was nearly two in the morning when Steven first heard the sound, he wasn't sure if it were a fading noise from his dreams or if it were happening in real life, in the temple. He continued to wait for the sound for the next five or so minutes only to be met with silence apart from the wind blowing outside. Yawning, the boy curled up into his sheets and blankets and decided that it was just his brain playing tricks on him. Closing his eyes, he soon fell back asleep.

Not even ten minutes later, the crack was heard again, this time it sounded much more forceful and Steven was sure that it wasn't in his head. He slowly lifted himself off the bed, using his arms as support. Blinking away the fogginess from his vision, he slid off the mattress and into his red flip flops before gingerly making his way tawards the staircase.

He flinched, again, hearing another crack. It seemed like every time he'd hear it, it'd sound even more desperate than the last. The boy furrowed his brow, his thoughts running wild. Was it an intruder? Was someone trying to break it? Not that that'd be an issue of course, he did have powers after all. But the thought of a stranger, possibly with a weapon, breaking into his home made him nervous.

His thoughts were interrupted once he reached the bottom of the stairs. There standing in the darkness, only illuminated by the light of the moon, was the familiar outline of a thin, pink gem who was hunched over and seemed to be... Twitching? Shaking?

"Spinel..?" Steven called out softly.

He was immediately met with a sight that shook him to his very core. Spinel whipped around to face him, tears streaming down her cheeks, eyes as wide as the moon and as panicked as a deer caught in a vehicle's headlights. Her entire body was trembling and she seemed to be holding something very tightly and very close to her chest.

Her lips trembled as she tried to think of something to say, but all that she could manage were small sobs.

"Spinel, what happened?" Steven slowly approached the gem as to not frighten her, ultimately making her flinch and take a step back anyway.

Due to her standing in a different spot than before, Steven was able to see clearly that whatever she was holding against her chest, she didn't want him to see. Steven gulped and took another step forward, "Spinel, please answer me, I just want to know what's wrong."

By now, all of the drowsiness that he was feeling from the lack of sleep before had vanished and was now replaced with worry and fear.

Every step he took forward would cause the pink gem to take a step back. Steven could see from where he was standing that Spinel was starting to grow more and more panicked by the second, her eyes darting around frantically for some sort of escape.

Suddenly, she began running towards the warp pad. Steven did a double take before mentally screaming at his legs to chance after her.

"Spinel! Wait!"

The gem didn't even glance back. Her eyes were pinpointed on the warp pad and nothing else. She was nearly there until she was suddenly tackled to the ground by the person she wished so desperately to be away from at the moment.

Trying to ignore Spinel's cries for him to leave her alone, the first thing Steven went for was the object she was holding, which proved to be rather difficult. She was kicking frantically and arching herself away from him, only for Steven to wrap a strong arm around her mid section, trying to keep her still.

He eventually managed to grab her hands and rip away the object she had such a strong hold on. Steven paled, realizing that it was a large kitchen knife. With small fragments of pink glittered on the tip. Steven's hold on Spinel tightened as he threw the utensil as far away from them as possible, flinching as it clattered and slid across the floor.

Spinel continued to struggle against him, clawing and pulling at the arm wrapped around her waist. "S-Steven let go!" Steven released her for a second, but before Spinel was able to make a run for it, he grabbed her shoulders and pinned her firmly to the ground on her back.

The half gem's eyes widened in horror at realizing that his thoughts had been right. Spinel's gem was covered in scratches and cracks and chipped corners. Steven couldn't help but tear up at the sight.

He hadn't noticed that his hold on Spinel had loosened until he was suddenly shuved away from her. Spinel's immediate reaction was to get up and warp as far away as possible from here, but it seemed like her body went against her wishes. Instead of running to the warp, she took about two steps away from Steven before her legs gave in and she fell to the ground, shivering and gasping with sorrow.

Steven rubbed the back of his aching head with a groan before setting his eyes on the broken gem. She was on her side, curled up into a small ball with her fingers pulling sharply at her hair, and Steven could see so clearly that she was trying to contain her sobs.

He slowly made his way over to her, placing a comforting hand on her side, "Spinel, please," he began, "let me heal your gem before it gets worse." He begged her softly. She didn't respond. Steven frowned before sliding a hand underneath her small form and lifting her up to lean her forehead against his chest. She didn't complain.

The boy began to rub slow, comforting circles along her back, murmuring words of enlightenment to ease her whimpers.

It went on like this for a good twenty or so minutes. With Steven just rocking them back and forth while telling her over and over again that everything was okay. Spinel eventually calmed down and reduced her cries to small sniffles. Steven's mind was still focused on healing Spinel's gem, but everytime he made a move to do so, she'd cover it and burry her face into his chest. Sighing, he decided to try once more.

"Spinel?" He began quietly.

Spinel blinked but didn't respond.

"Please, Spinel. Let me heal your gem, I just want to help you."

Again, he was met with silence. Gulping and growing silently nervous, he hugged her rather tightly. "please." he uttered, more to himself than Spinel. The gem sighed and shakily pushed herself away from him. They stared into each others eyes for a moment, studying each others facial expressions. Steven looked tired, worried and confused. Spinel looked tired as well, but also hopeless and weak. She tore her gaze away from him and lifted up one of her hands to feel her broken gem. She ran her fingers over each of the cracks, fighting the urge to scratch at them and make the cuts deeper. She couldn't help but notice Steven flinch everytime she gently clawed at it.

She gulped before turning back to face him, "okay.." she moved her hand away from her gem, "you can heal it.."

Steven smiled and gripped her shoulders to pull her closer towards him, "thank you, Spinel.."

Spinel forced a smile before looking away once more, not wanting to see Steven gently press his lips onto her gem. A shiver ran through her body. And just like that, all the damage she had done was gone. She saw Steven carefully examine it to make sure that every crack and cut was indeed gone. Spinel couldn't help but heat up under his gaze.

"Do you want to come with me? To my room?" He asked, silently hoping she'd say yes. Who knows what she'd try to do while she was alone again. Fortunately, she nodded her head in agreement.

[ranger-kellyn]

11 Favorite Excerpts

In honor if it being the 11 year anniversary of the first fic I ever posted, Platinum Bound, I thought I’d list out 10 of my favorite excerpts from everything I’ve posted so far, 1 from something I haven’t posted yet, and then kind of just. Talk about it~

As always, feel free to talk to me about any of my fics, no matter how old or new~ I’m very vain~<3

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1 - Come With Me - Prologue - 03/02/2015 - Completed

A day that was supposed to be filled with sorrow and mourning had turned out to be very lovely. The cold that had long persisted since November had decided to lighten its icy grip on this one day in particular. It was almost a tragedy in itself that the weather failed to match the mood by pouring a relentless downpour. Rain was fit for a funeral. Not sunshine.

The opening to Come With Me has always had a special place in my heart, and while I know my writing has gotten better since then, I always hold up this opening as like...my premium brand, I suppose.  I love the mood the prologue sets up for Siebold’s side of the story.  Mismatched weather.  His parents having the same death date.  A sense of odd relationship dynamics with them.  Clear indication that there’s going to be a lot of conflict with Jean as shown by Diantha, Siebold’d childhood friend, who has a clear disdain towards him.  CWM may not be my BEST WORK, but it’s probably one of my favorites.  ALSO....come on...the restaurant’s name is Apple of The Earth, which is a direct translation of pomme de terre, which is French for potato.  And like???? i just get a little kick out of it every time

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2 - It Takes Two - 12/16/2014 - Oneshot

Siebold chuckled.  “A water dark type?  My, my.  You’ve already put yourself at a disadvantage. Cress shook his head.  “Don’t give away your secret ingredient just yet, Siebold.  Leave something to the imagination, please,” he teased.

If there is ONE THING I LOVE it’s writing flirty banter for these two, and this fic if full of it.  My first fic for Cress/Siebold, staking my claim on the pool noodle that is this ship.  I AM the captain of this pool noodle

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3 - Second Chances - Chapter 7 - 06/14/2017 - Ongoing

“It was supposed to be me!” . . . Shaking, she stopped herself in the front hallway.  Looking over the large, glass-famed map, she felt as though she was leaving her own body as she slammed herself against it in a last ditch effort to feel something other than emotional pain.  In an effort to put a physical wound to her emotional one. 

There’s plenty of happier lines from this fic I could choose.  Ch 10 had a section I was considering instead, but I think this emotionally charged section has always stood out for me. I like to generally characterize Cynthia as someone who is in control of her emotions, or at the very least, is very good at compartmentalizing things, but here, she absolutely loses it.  No rationality.  No seeking help.  Just raw pain.  It was supposed to be me. Because it was!  It absolutely was!  In the previous chapter you learn that Diantha had fully intended to propose to her!  But was instead manipulated by her mother and manager into leaving Cynthia.  While Cynthia didn’t know that, we do, and that makes that line so much more painful to me.  I swear.  ONE DAY.  I’ll actually finish this fic.

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4 - Fortune and Fame - Chapter 1 - 03/23/2016 - Completed

“The best part of that outfit would be taking it off.” Her mouth turns into a smile. “I should think so,” she tells you.

Second person POV is a HUGE pain in the ass, but I still love this silly little fic, and I love this silly little moment EVEN MORE.  What can I say.  I love flirty banter. This whole fic was an absolute experiment, and while it certainly could be better, considering 2POV is not something I regularly work with, I’ve never been too upset with it.

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5 - Stockholm - Chapter 4 - 06/20/2016 - Ongoing

“You’re my mission and my mission alone.  I don’t need outside help,” he tells me. I catch myself about to laugh.  “Figured you would welcome it seeing as whatever you think you’re doing to me clearly isn’t working.” He moves closer, enough for me to feel the warmth of his body, but it’s only when I think he’s looking at my lips do I come to my senses, pulling my legs up to my person, and pushing back up against the wall. “I would say it’s working just fine.”

i like to think of this fic as me playing in a sandbox.  i don’t REALLY know what i’m doing, but i’m having fun, and that’s all that matters. This is a fic I had been thinking about for the longest time.  I abandoned it back in 2016.  I don’t really remember why, but I posted the first update early this year, and I just.  I’ve been loving it since.  I haven’t played in first person in SUCH a long time, it’s just nice to play in the space, and explore a darker emotion I guess.  Game verse Commander Saturn/Dawn is always a weakness of mine

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6 - Shadows of My Heart - Chapter 4 - 02/22/2011 - Completed

Looking at Kellyn, I notice that he has taken his jacket off and is now offering it to me. Shaking my head, I tell him that I can't take it, even though I would love nothing more than to take him up on his offer. He walks closer, smiling as he places his jacket over me. Now, the only thing I hear is the sound of the rain bouncing off of Kellyn's jacket, and the sound my own heartbeat. I'd have to be crazy or dead to not be blushing right now, and obviously my pulse is still going…

if you’ve followed me for a few years, you might think this is a weird pick for me.  i complain about it a lot.  i experience a lot of visceral cringe whenever i reread it (Like i did just now searching for a section i liked) But that’s why I like it.  I love having this visible benchmark of where I’ve come from, and where my ideals have shifted to.  I’ve always written Kellyn as my Ideal Man™© and in this fic he is suCH A “NICE GUY” AND IT’S JUST. SO BAD. I’M SO GLAD I’M NOT WITH THE KIND OF PERSON I USED TO WISH I WAS WITH. This fic is, at best, clumsy.  Younger me was venting a LOT of stuff. Everything I put Rhythmi through in the fic, I was dealing with irl, and NOT handling them well.  I never recommend this for reading, but I list it here because it’s like looking in a time capsule.  

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7 - Washington Blues - Chapter 2 - 04/30/2012 - Abandoned Work

Looking back up at me, the afternoon sun shines on her face.  As if I needed to be reminded that she is very pretty.  “I believe that it is too soon to be giving a definite answer, but,” she pauses to brush some hair behind her ear, “I do believe I am going to like it here.” I nod, liking the answer she has provided.  I put my pink bag over my shoulder, and step down the stairs.  “That’s good to hear.  I do hope you come to love our little band,” I say, putting a little emphasis on “our”.  Hopefully she will start using that term as well.

This fic has been abandoned since 2012, but as I was rereading it just now, I...felt a weird urge to give it a second chance?  Marching band was my EVERYTHING in high school.  It was basically my personality.  It and Homestuck.  If nothing else, I think I might give this fic a redo, because it’s something my younger self would have loved.  I had so many ideas I wanted to explore and I think it would be a fun space to explore. Just reading it I got the most tactile memories of band camp, from the sounds, all the way down to the god awful smells.  One day I’ll give this fic another go, but probably in 3rd person lmao.  Also, it’s kind of funny.  I remember holding this fic up as like.  My Magnum Opus.  I considered chapter 1 to be the BEST thing I had written up to that point. Now? It’s so fucking D RY......and no real person talks like they all do l m a o I love being able to see how far I’ve come. 

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8 - Hindsight - Sometime Feb 2014?  - Oneshot for an old RP group

This question led him to placing both of his hands in his lap.  “I would never describe her as winter.  It’s the season she hates the most.  From what I’ve gathered during our travels together, understandably so,” he answered, not meeting her eyes. 

While this fic is OLD it holds a very special place in my heart.  I had stopped writing for a while.  For about 2 years nothing I wrote ever really panned out, and joining that RP group was literally the best thing I could have done for my creativity.  It was so much fun, and I met some truly incredible people thanks to it.  Literally, everything I’ve written since I attribute to that group.  <3 I may not talk to most of them anymore, but I have some of the best memories of that time, and I just.  Genuinely don’t think I would have HALF of what I have written now if it hadn’t been for their support.  <3

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9 - Ours For The Taking - Chapter 2 - 01/28/2012 - Abandoned Work

Killing is in the nature of almost every Pokémon, but we humans have inhibited that out for the most part. It doesn't take much to trigger the instinct though. A couple kills and then they thirst for blood.

Now i know this looks like a WACK ASS PICK.  It’s been abandoned since 2012.  It’s bad.  It’s gore.  It’s bad.  But that’s exactly why I picked it.  That, and I know it would chap Farla’s ass bc she told me years ago how awful this fic was. The whole reason my writing confidence took a blow.  I can look back and know that this fic wasn’t great, but I hate for my younger self that they were knocked down like that.  You can’t learn the boundaries of your writing until you try to push them.  Maybe I could have turned into a great gore/horror writer if I hadn’t been knocked down?  Who knows?  But because of that negative experience, I now approach all comments I leave on fics with “unconditional positive regard”.  I firmly believe if someone wants con-crit they’ll ask for it, and even then, I’m not someone who is going to offer up that criticism.  That’s not my jam.  I’m just here for a good time.  This fic may be bad, but that’s why I love it.  I love how over the top, 2Edgy4me the two chapters are. 

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10 - Getaway Car - Chapter 5 - 01/01/2019 - Ongoing

Pulling away just enough to make them look at one another, Cynthia looked her over.  She was getting more drunk admissions than she ever thought she would, and she was in no frame of mind to worry about pushing her luck.  “How did that make you feel?” she asked. She let her hand trail down her arm as she spoke.  “Grounded.  Like nothing else in the world mattered except us in that moment.  I wasn’t worried about filming, deadlines, what people might say or think, or– anything, really.  All that mattered was the calm you brought me, and how without meaning to you’ve made me feel like the most important person in the room.”

It’s no secret that Getaway Car is like.  MY BABY.  This is MY FIC.  MY BABY.  I CHERISH THIS FIC FOR SO MANY REASONS. I like venting through characters, and this fic is no exception.  But I loved writing this moment specifically, because it just...I think it encapsulates everything Diantha has been looking for.  She lives a charmed, chaotic life.  Up to that point in the fic, she’s with a man who can’t really be bothered to give her the time of day, but also can’t handle the idea of letting her go.  Without meaning to, without necessarily trying to, Cynthia makes her feel like the most important person in the room.  She grounds her, and someone who lives a star-studded life needs that.  This fic is my baby.  My everything.  It’s probably what I’m known for at this point, and I’m A-OK with that because these two are my everything.  (ALSO, I specifically posted this fic when I did to get Farla to leave me a review, and had a good laugh about it when she did.  My “bat shit crazy” plot device has ended up being my most popular fic~)

--

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11 - Namtaflu - Chapter _ - Draft from NaNoWriMo 2019

The sound of something rising to the surface of the water attracted everyone’s attention.  Turning their eyes towards the water, one by one, countless Starmie and Staryu began to surface, floating atop the water, their bright gem center’s shining in the moonlight.  “Oh, wow,” Bianca said, holding the Audino closer to herself.  "What are they doing?” Hilbert asked, turning himself so he wasn’t having to strain to look at them.  Cheren shrugged.  “They’ve always done this.” "They’re looking at the stars,” Hilda added.  “It’s what Nona would always tell me.  She said she read it in a book somewhere.  They surface at night to look at the stars, and they’ll even start blinking here soon.”  As she said it, from out in the distance, quick flashes of red began to move along the waves, reminding both her and Cheren of fireflies from further south.  Soon enough, the entire shoreline was filled with the water pokémon blinking away at the stars, almost as if they were communicating with each other, or even something else.  A few Audino continued to sit with them, everyone moved to silence by the display, afraid to make a single noise, not wanting to scare them at all and make them stop.  The display moved in waves, like a heartbeat, ebbing and flowing.  At times they were bright enough to cast a glow onto the shore, and at others it seemed like they had collectively stopped for the night. Once Broadway and Manhattan had decided to retire for the night, the group came to an agreement that it was time they retired for the night as well.  They had stayed up long past sundown, but it had been worth every second.   

I won’t be posting this fic WELL until my three current ongoing fics are completed, but this fic is pretty much everything to me.  I first got the idea for this fic back in 2013, my senior year of high school.  I wrote the first draft my first NaNoWriMo in 2014, and did a second draft of it last year.  This fic has evolved SO MUCH, but this last draft is where I’m REALLY happy with it.  I firmly believe there’s never a “right time” to write a fic, but I also believe this fic absolutely benefited from me not posting it after that first draft.  They’re almost two entirely different stories.  The original had a lot of unhealthy relationship dynamics, and this time, i decided, FUCK THAT, and now it’s a hilda/hilbert/cheren/bianca poly fic ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ I can’t wait for the day when I actually get to share this fic with the world. 

[twilightvolt]

And so, another year has come to pass.....almost. ^  ^

Remember when i said i was branching away from Digimon back when i drew up Venom fanart? y’know, “I wanted to be more than what i used to be.” that being “a Digimon artist.”

2019 was basically just that. lots and lots and LOTS of fandom hopping.

If last year was me recovering from the pain and crippling anxiety of 2017, then this year was me finally getting up again, learning to stand up and live for myself rather than in fear of those i shouldn’t care about anymore. life still hasn’t been too kind to me even though, compared to last year, we’re in a better space. but i’ll get into more detail about that while i go through everything month by month on the clock.

Before we begin, if you’d like to see the previous years, here’s the links!

2018:https://twilightvolt.tumblr.com/post/181732950569/i-kinda-was-saving-this-for-when-i-had-the-time-to

2017:https://twilightvolt.tumblr.com/post/171806337539/a-3-month-late-art-summary-featuring-art-that-i

Might wanna grab your popcorn, my dudes. this is a long one.

January: On the Web

Coming out of 2018, things were pretty ok if i remember. i don’t remember much from this month aside from a few doodles i did like this one from when Spiderverse was the hottest thing. this was one of the last things i drew in my old style. before i decided to officially change things up in the next month.

February: Gotta Kick it Up

Pokemon Sword & Shield were announced and things were hype! oh, how things soured as the months went by. lol

But yeah, this was me taking that experimental sketchy pencil style from that Smash Bros. drawing and rolling with it all the way! it’s become my new go-to style and even though it’s still hella sketchy at times, i feel like it looks better in comparison to my old ink outlined drawings.

March: The Overdrive Dweebanoids

Oh right. my old Ben 10 phase that lasted for a millisecond in 2016 returned with a vengeance. and it was glorious. lmao

It spawned an AU that i didn’t delve into much, but if i ever get that spark for my favorite alien watch bearer, i’ll get back to it.

April: True Blue Lizard Bois

My Ben 10 streak continues and i was crankin’ out art left and right for it. i luved all the “doodle dumps” i made, but this drawing was wholesome and i picked it because of that.

To some extent, this could be a comparison between my past and my present. that being Overdrive!Ben being what, at the time, was my current obsession while Digimon!Vivi was a representation of where i used to be, back when i was starting out and entering Digimon OCTs on Deviantart.

May: Return to the Realm of Sleep ~HD ReMIX

Now THIS i feel was one of the grandest drawings i’ve done this year. hell, i even made a wallpaper out of it.

like, it was just a redraw of an old drawing from 2017. but to me, it was a way to tell me just how far i’ve come since then. and i couldn’t be happier.

This was also the month i rebooted my DA after a long time of inactivity!

....Iiiit didn’t really work much, but i’m still working on it. though i highly doubt it’s worth it considering most of the ones i used to hang with there are either people i don’t wanna associate with or people who left while i was gone. seriously, it’s a ghost town there.

June: Art Fight 2019 ~Dreams Vs. Nightmares~

Ahh, my second year of Art Fight. for this year’s event, i wanted to be a tad more grandiose. like drawing up this banner. i like being extra and stuff even if it kills my drawing hand, so yeah. lmao

...

Florida thunderstorms are friggin’ terrifying. idk HOW anyone can get used to that.

July: - BREAK DOWN -

Oookay, it was hard picking my favorite attack this year cuz i pretty much was satisfied with all of them. but i had to go with this attack because the artist i drew it for was someone i really admired for years and i’m just happy i could finally have an opportunity to draw them something. like, i luv how it came out, so yeah.

This was also the month i forced myself to finally do the thing and let go of the constant fear i felt towards certain people i used to hang with. while remembering 2017 will never NOT hurt, i can’t let that fear rule over me forever. i have to take control and not let it stop me from doing what i want. and that’s exactly what i did.

August: Ricky ~Sapphire, Emerald and AlphaSapphire

Oh yeah! after Art Fight ended, i returned to Pokemon randomly cuz i wanted to go back to my roots for a moment. revamping Ricky, formerly Ragna, and Yagami was something i’ve been meaning to do for awhile and it reignited a waning love for a series i started growing distant towards since Gen VII.

I used to really like Ricky’s old design even though i barely ever used him. but i guess this just shows how much more original i’ve gotten in terms of character design. ^  ^

September: Heartbeat Inferno

Now, i haven’t really talked much about what’s been going on life wise for most of this post, but trust me when i say irl, things weren’t really.....happening. like, it’s hard when you live (or rather, lived now) in a place with little job opportunity and you have NO experience whatsoever. the lack of progression must’ve hit something in me, so the week i drew this was me just....shifting moods, feeling everything at once. one day i’d be agitated as hell, the next i’d be so depressed i took a some odd hour nap and didn’t wanna get out of bed. like, for most of this year, i haven’t felt this stressed out and frustrated with myself. so this sudden crash was kind of....unwelcome.

But this drawing was a fresh change though, if i’m being honest. i’m not usually this uncaring about how clean the coloring job is, but i like it! i’d choose that other drawing i did for my friends’ birthdays, Skirmish at the Cable Club, but this one had a more personal drive behind it.

October: - PAPERMOON -

beastarsbeastarsbeASTARSBEASTARS--*COUGH COUGH AHEM* I MEAN....hai. :D

Continuing with my Pokemon shenanigans, i drew this big piece which was something i had in my head for years now, but never actually acted upon it cuz i always felt it was too big of an idea to work on. i’m happy i’ve managed to capture what i envisioned originally.

As for interests, i’m sure most of my current followers can deduce that i quickly shifted gears to Beastars as soon as the anime was released and so far, i regret nothing. it’s spawned a metric butt ton of new art from me and the way i see it, this phase ain’t stopping as long as this series continues. brace yourselves fam, i believe i’ve finally found the successor to my Digimon phase. lmao

Like, damn, i had a tough time choosing art for this month. i was stuck between this, - SMILE/WILD SIDE - and Slip Into Madness. so many good drawings i was satisfied with, y’know?

November: The Future is Now

I was SO planning on putting something else here, but then suddenly i just kinda had this urge to redraw that uggo gouache painting of Miyagi from highschool. and it turned out so good that i had to. like, really. lmao

As with the redraw of Dream Drop Digital’s key art, it was a reminder of how far i’ve come since then art wise. and i feel like i’ve accomplished so much this year because of it. ;w;

December: Winter Lights

And now we’re back to the present time. after over a year or so of living in Florida, we’ve moved once again back up north a bit. yet another clean slate, but things seem to be looking up despite the rather large bumps in the road the past week or so. lately i’ve been feeling that seasonal depression starting to set in, but i think i’ll be fine as long as i stay positive. cuz y’know, it’s not being happy all the time. it’s just knowing that things will get better someday.

One of the other reasons i drew this drawing was cuz i REALLY wanted to have something Beastars related on this clock. this series (and Legoshi in particular) really inspired me, so i had to leave a wedge open for my boi.

Looking back at the beginning of this decade (as 2020 would mark the next one), i realized that the 2010′s were basically me becoming more artsy. finding enjoyment for a new hobby that quickly became something i’m now more passionate about than video games which i didn’t think would EVER be the case.

Funny enough, it all started in the RP section of a little forum for an MMO called Wizard101. i was only in middle school at the time and, to tell you the truth, i had no idea i’d be going at it for this long. thought i’d just do it on the side but not really delve into the art world more.

But despite all the trips and falls, fandom drama or otherwise, i wouldn’t change anything if it meant i wouldn’t have the friends who’ve stuck by me in the aftermath of those times.

I may not be really succeeding in much, but it’s the small steps in life that matter most in the end. these past few months in particular was me getting fed up with feeling sorry for myself for not doing the things i was interested in in the past, getting over my regret and making plans for starting something new even though i know i’ll suck at first and not worrying so much about how others might perceive me.

And just like how life was changing for our resident grey wolf this first season, mine seems to be doing the same. and i believe this decade ended on a better note than i thought it would during the past couple years leading up to this.

Here’s to a new decade! ^  ^

~ For a future I want to believe in. ~

[purplesurveys]

631

General Randomness What's the weather like right now? It’s very bright and sunny out, but January is typically one of the colder days of the year so I’m not feeling uncomfortable right now. It’s the perfectly chilly temperature I would have liked to have all year long. What are you currently sitting on? I am sitting on a chair at our dining table, which is usually where I take surveys. How many times have you brushed your teeth today? Just once.

When did you get up? I’ve been up since 8, but didn’t get out of bed until 10.

Have you been in a vehicle for more than 45 minutes today? I haven’t been in a car at all today cos I’ve only stayed home. Angela invited me to go out for some drinks but I didn’t feel like drinking or being out today, so I’ve been home the whole time.

Where is your best friend? I think Angela is at home but I’m sure she’s getting ready to go out for the aforementioned ^ drinking. I’m not sure where Gab is. How many days until Christmas? Oh wow, barely missed it, chief. There are 355ish days left, I’m guessing? Have you kissed someone today? Nope. Is your mom over 50? No, and she still has a year to go. How old were you 7 years ago? I was technically 14, but was about to turn 15 in a few months. Do you know what 'C'est la vie' means? Yep. In Gen Z lingo, it essentially means, ‘it be like that sometimes’ lmao. Do you usually take showers or baths? Showers, because we don’t have bathtubs and also because I find it much more efficient anyway. I only take baths when I’m out of town, in a fancy hotel, and want to pamper myself with bubbles and fancy body wash. What kind of bottoms are you wearing right now? I’m wearing shorts just meant for the home.

Are you wearing anything red? Yes, the pair of shorts I just talked about. What was the name of your first pet? I didn’t keep track of my first goldfish’s name but a good guess would be Goldie. I wasn’t a very creative kid, so I wouldn’t be surprised if that turned out to be right. Do you live in an apartment? Nope. I’ve been living with my parents under their roof. What color is the floor in the room you're in? Cream-ish. What was the most irritating thing to happen to you today? My thesis professor being a headache to talk to. I am genuinely baffled at how she was able to secure a very high position in my university’s administration, considering how erratic she can get. How do you feel about your most recent ex? She’s great. Do you wish at 11:11? No. Do you wish on shooting stars? I would, if they often visited on this side of the world. But they don’t, so. Do you wish on dandelions? No. There aren’t a lot where I live. Are you drinking anything right now? Mmm no, not at the moment. I finished my coffee a little while ago and while I want to make a second cup to keep myself awake, I have an early morning tomorrow so I’d want to sleep early tonight. It’s back to work for me, ugh. About how tall is your father? Not too tall. He’s like, 5′5 or 5′6.  How old is your oldest living grandparent? I only know the age of one grandparent, and that’s my 73 year old maternal grandmother. I don’t get to see my paternal grandparents a lot cos they live quite far, so with that comes my insufficient knowledge about them.  Do you know anyone who has lived to be 100+? Gab’s great-grandmother, but she passed away last November. Have you had your birthday yet this year? Nope. There’s been a mere three days into the year, so very few people would already have had their birthdays hahaha. Do you read your horoscope on a regular basis? No. You do you, but I was never a fan. It’s also a pet peeve when people use their star sign as excuses for their shitty behavior. “Sorry I acted up, I’m a Scorpio,” “I hate everybody because I’m an Aquarius,” “I ghosted them because I’m a Cancer” no it’s because you’re a bitch, Karen. Do you like the color yellow? I hate it a bit less than green (my least favorite color) only because I love the song Yellow by Coldplay and because mustard yellow isn’t that bad of a color. Are you an aunt or uncle? If my friends start having kids soon, then I’ll be an aunt. Why is your best friend your best friend? They both understand my weirdness and all my quirks and never made me feel like I was being judged. What is your hair like at the moment? Tbh it matches my top pretty well so as frizzy as my hair is at the moment, it still looks good with the tank top I have on lolol. How many times have you donated blood this year? Zero. I’m scared of needles, and even if I get over that phobia I wouldn’t be able to donate anyway because I’m underweight. Are you wearing any jewelry? No, not right now. Are you a video-gamer? I wouldn’t call myself that. I play GTA just to be a law-abiding citizen and not actually do the missions lol, I get tired of playing The Sims after ten minutes, and I only play a handful of Nintendo games. Who got married at the last wedding you went to? My mom’s brother and his then-fiancee, now one of my favorite aunts except for the facts that she’s a hardcore Duterte supporter and Marcos apologist. Do you like Chinese food? Yep, it’s one of my favorite cuisines. How far is the nearest Walmart? I can’t walk nor drive to it, that’s for sure. Have you ever been a designated driver? I’m always DD by default because I’m the only one among my friends who has a car other than JM, who also has a (much bigger) car but is terribly low-tolerance and will absolutely pass out. I get tipsy easily as well, but I sober up real quick and always make sure I’m 100% back to reality by the time I drive. Which means that I typically have to stop drinking earlier than the rest of my friends, but so long as that means I get to take everyone back home safe, it’s okay with me. What is something that always brings tears to your eyes? My mom yelling at me. Who is your 20th phone contact? My contacts aren’t numbered thus I’m too lazy to count manually. Do you have any plans to get a tattoo? It’s not completely off the table, but I’ve definitely toned down my original plans of getting tattoo sleeves and getting myself generally covered a la CM Punk (and I have to tell ya, I’m so glad I grew out of that phase). These days I prefer to have small tattoos to memorialize significant people or events, and some of my plans include my dog’s pawprint and a plate of nachos. Or a new piercing? Probably not. What would your name be if your last name was the color of your shirt? Brown. If you could find out how you would die, would you want to know? Yes. I hate the unknown and would rather be certain, no matter how ugly or nasty the certainty holds. Do you make your bed regularly? Every morning. Do you look forward to the weekend? NO. I have a 2-day meeting for my 2-day weekend. I am so dreading it. I just want to stay a lazy couch blob for another week. How much do you know about the mechanics of cars? I know how to turn a car on, go forward, reverse, brake, and open my gas tank... and that’s about it. Has anyone ever told you you should be a model? Model and beauty queen, yeah. How old was your mom when she had you? She was 26, but was turning 27 that year. Do rainy days get you down? No. I thrive on rainy days lmao. Who is the artist/band you're listening to at the moment? No music keeping me company at the moment. Do you ever take aspirin when you 'feel a headache coming on'? Not aspirin but I take a Biogesic. I dunno if those two or the same thing or not. Is there a calendar in the room you're in? Nope. Do you prefer to be in a relationship or be single? I’ve been seeing a person for technically six years, so now I prefer a relationship after being accustomed to having one for so long. If you're single, do you wish you were in a relationship? Have you ever had your heart broken? Sure. Do you live within an hour of the beach? No. I’m very far away from the beach :( How do you like your steak? Rare or medium-rare. Were you born in the 1980s? I was not. A Few Firsts What was the first sound you heard when you woke up? I woke up to the sound of my mom calling me on my phone. I was half-asleep and didn’t feel like answering, so I muted it and went back to sleep. I feel guilty now that I remember, but she didn’t call back or text me so it probably wasn’t a big deal. Who was your first best friend? It was a girl named Kaye from kinder. We were good friends for like two years, and then we got sorted to different sections in Prep and drifted apart after that. Who was your first boyfriend/girlfriend? I’ve said her name so many times on these surveys already. Y’all know. Who was your first date to a formal dance? I haaaateeeeed the idea of asking guys out and being in a relationship for most of high school, so I made sure I only asked my cousin for my prom. How bad was your first break up? Pretty messed up. There was a lot of tension and resentment and confusion in the beginning. Throw in my grandfather’s sudden death and me taking the UPCAT, and you have my mental health completely rattled! What was your first favorite movie? High School Musical, for sure. How old were you when you had your first kiss? 16. What was your first trip to the emergency room for? My platelet count was really low, I was in danger of getting dengue, and had to stay the night at the hospital. Then there was sticking the IV onto my wrist, upon which I made a complete scene in the emergency room and thrashed and kicked around while my (very frail) grandma (sorry, Lola) tried to hold me down with a lot of patients watching lol. Where was the first place you went today? The kitchen. Who was the first person you saw? My sister, I think. What was the first thing you thought about when you woke up? I wondered why my mom called, realized I was too sleepy to care, and went back to bed. Do you remember the first time you spent the night away from home? Yupppp. I was in third grade, my club had an overnight camping thingy as its culmination activity, and it was the first time ever that I was allowed to spend the night somewhere else. I remember being around a campfire, roasting marshmallows for the first time, having to share a sleeping mat with Katreen, and her kicking me in her sleep.

Where was your first big vacation to? Boracay. What was your first job? None yet. I’ll make sure to update you by the end of the year. What was the first thing you had to drink today? Coffee.

Some Lasts Where was the location of your last kiss? My girlfriend’s car, when she dropped me back at my place. How old was the last person you kissed? 21. What was the last movie you rented? I’ve never experienced renting a movie, which definitely confirms my status as a Gen Z kid lmao. But I can tell you that the last movie I watched was Knives Out. Where was the last place you went? Other than around my house, we went to church last Tuesday night for New Year’s Eve mass. What was the last restaurant you went to? Yabu. Who was the last person to call you? My mom, this morning. Who was the last non-relative you spoke in person to? Gabie. What was the last thing you bought? I got dinner from Yabu, haha. When was the last time you drove more than an hour somewhere? December 14th. That evening was INSANE. It was Saturday + Christmas traffic, and it took me two hours to travel from Antipolo to Rita’s place in Makati. JM and I drove separately cos we were a big group - his drive took FOUR hours. Why did you last get angry? My thesis prof was doing us so fucking dirty and I couldn’t do anything about it. What color was the last vehicle you rode in? Blue-green. How long ago was your last birthday? NIne months. When did it last rain? It drizzled a little bit yesterday. What was the age difference between you and your most recent ex? A month and a half. When was the last time you used a dictionary? Maybe an hour ago for a word I used in a past survey lol. Mini iPod Shuffle: Don't Cheat, Use Whatever Song Comes Up, No Matter How Ridiculous (I have several playlists, so I’ll just use the Spotify-curated playlist made for Gab’s account called Your Top Songs 2019 hahahaha) My love song: Love song - Lana Del Rey (Wow.) My fight song: Swim Against the Tide - The Japanese House My break-up song: New Light - John Mayer The song for when I'm sad: Money - Leikeli47 The song for when I'm angry: Constant Conversations - Passion Pit My song to have sex to: Bad Girls - Tennis The song about my ex: Just the Same But Brand New - St. Vincent The song about my best friend: Juice - LIZZO The song about my crush: Seventeen - no rome My 'feel good' song: Venice Bitch - Lana Del Rey The theme song of my life: Formation - Beyoncé I literally know four of these songs, which I’ve since bolded just so y’all know that I have no idea what the other seven songs are and if they make sense with the situations at hand. Gab clearly uses her account more than I do, which should be the case anyway lmfaoooooo.

[mautadite]

october book round up

19 books this month, which brings me to 125 for the year, and i’ve officially completed the yearly challenge! :) a little later than last year, but still earlier than i expected. i don’t imagine that i’ll read as much as i did last year, but i can still get a good bit done in two months i think. this month was pretty much just different flavours of romance, once again all audiobooks.

poison kiss - ana mardoll ⭐️⭐️⭐️ mixed feelings about this one. urban fantasy/paranormal with a neat setup and world building, but i feel like the author didn’t tell the story in the most effective way? not enough time spent on certain sections, time skips that were not needed, too many flashbacks. the poly romance was really sweet, though i didn’t much care for the love at first sight aspect when the third character was introduced. but this was a good book overall, with a unique plot and cast; might revisit the series.

the best boy ever made - rachel eliason ⭐️⭐️⭐️ very cute coming of age/ya romance. a conservative country girl is at first shocked when her best friend comes out as trans, but she slowly finds herself becoming his biggest champion, and then falling in love with him. took me a while to warm up to it bc i found the protagonist to be kind of obnoxious. and some of the later plot events were kind of ham-fisted. but i definitely liked it, mostly for sam and how good and kind he was.

i wish you all the best - meason deaver ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ BRUH I’M CRYING IN THE CLUB. this was a really fucking sweet ya romance. the main character finds themselves homeless after they come out as nb to their parents. they move in with their sister, enroll in a new school, and find themselves making friends with (and slowly falling for!) a literal ray of sunshine. this was great, another one of those books i wish i could have read when i was younger. dealt with coming out, depression, anxiety and first love, had great writing, and i’m still thinking about how great the ending lines were.

the neighbour - gerri hill ⭐️⭐️ eh... a book that COULD have been good (woman with a stunted career as a writer moves back home to take care of her ailing mother, finds herself falling for the rich lesbian player next door) but both main characters were so thoroughly unlikable lmao. judgemental, snooty, made jokes about harmful things, kind of elitist... there was one aspect of this book that i really liked (the main character changed careers later in life and it wasn’t seen as a failure, just moving on) but otherwise this was a disappointment.

the turner series - cat sebastian ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ historical romance!!! always a fave. this was a pretty fun series; first three m/m, last one f/f. a bit of mystery and intrigue in all of them, good humour, and a great cast of characters through and through. the second one was probably my favourite; one of the mcs suffered from anxiety attacks in an era where there was a lot of wrong information about mental health, and his love interest (a cheat and a scoundrel) ended up being the best thing that happened to him. although now that i’ve said that i just remembered how very much i love the third book’s protagonist (the rake, to be specific). standout character for sure. the last book has a dear place in my heart bc even though you can tell that the author doesn’t often write f/f, and it was a pretty short novella, it’s still historical lesbians, and i eat up historical lesbians with a spoon. (i could make a pretty bad joke here but lo and behold; i have GREAT self control.)

the secret casebook of simon feximal - k.j. charles ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ when k.j. charles is good, SHE’S REALLY FUCKING GOOD. this is a paranormal-mystery/romance book styled after the adventures of sherlock holmes (if you must know one thing about me it’s that i’m a slut for acd holmes, don’t fucking @ me), set in the very universe itself. not quite a pastiche but close enough, and it was so well written, with great world building around the magic and paranormal events, great characters, GREAT ROMANCE. told as stories published by robert, simon’s biographer and lover. i adored this and will definitely reread.

puppy love romance - georgia beers ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a trio of f/f novels centred around an animal rescue, and the women who work and volunteer there and fall in love there. each of these novels was really sweet, grounded in a way that i like for contemporary romance, and they all had adorable dogs in them. and i feel like beers really knows her way around plotting and pacing a novel, especially small town romances. but i also had pretty sizeable nitpicks for each of them lol. part of it is that i just got tired of beers’ writing style (as you can see, i took a break between the series). this is such a weird complaint but oh my god she uses too many adverbs lol. also there was always an emphasis on how amazingly stunningly gorgeously beautiful all six women were and it got so tiresome. idk who wants to read about women who are physically perfect all the time, but it’s not me. and one half of the romantic pair in each book (lisa, emily and sydney, in that order) had attitudes that i found obnoxious and were not resolved and i felt bad for their girlfriends having to deal with them. a fun read all in all, but some of those things rubbed me the wrong way, and i’m ready to take a break from this author. 

bound series - ava march ⭐️⭐️ a resounding meh. historical m/m romance that wasn’t bad, but there wasn’t anything great about it. i only read these like maybe a week and a half ago but i’m struggling to remember details. there was bdsm, which i didn’t hate, but i also didn’t care. the plot was bleh, the sources of conflict were weak, and one of the dudes was kind of an asshole. /shrug emoji

reverie - eliza andrews ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ god... GOD. the ride i took with this book was like... a really sexy butch took me out to dinner, wined and dined me, and in the very last course she leaned over and spit in me food. the premise: a woman on the run from her abusive ex-husband settles into a small town where she find herself drawn to the only out lesbian in town, a sweet butch ex-marine, and her mysterious nurse of a neighbour. this book was soooooooo well written, so well crafted, so moving, so beautiful. a paranormal mystery that actual kept me guessing. i was ready to name it the best f/f book i read this year, if not the best romance period. and then the ending. the FUCKING ENDING. i’ve rarely been so let down in my life. i’m looking at the four stars i gave this and wondering if i should go lower because SERIOUSLY. thinking about it is getting me kind of upset. this book could have been SO good. uuuuuugh. 

brothers of the wild north sea - harper fox ⭐️⭐️ this is tricky because like. this book was definitely like, not good lmao, but it was good enough that i almost feel guilty giving it 2 stars. this is a historical romance that takes place more than a thousand years ago between a viking and a monk. it wasn’t badly written, probably wasn’t historically accurate but i mean, i don’t care. but it was too long, i didn’t care about the characters, it was badly plotted, and just really confusing overall. i think harper fox is great at writing romance, but all other aspects of this novel fell flat.

escape velocity - anah crow, dianne fox ⭐️⭐️⭐️ sci-fi m/m romance. a linguistic researcher and a pilot struggling with his religious beliefs fall into a whirlwind romance. pretty cute. i found it too short as i find most novellas, but i think the authors did a lot in relatively few words. definitely wish there was more worldbuilding. kind of hope the authors have plans to make this a series.

nowhere ranch - heidi cullinan ⭐️⭐️⭐️ a sweet romance between a farm hand and his boss. i didn’t think i’d like it much, but it was pretty enjoyable! very simple writing stuff that fit well with the gruff, no-nonsense, trying to shut everyone out protagonist. i really liked him; identified with him a lot, and his journey into opening up, dealign with his anxiety and self-worth issues. and the romance was sweet (though oooof, some of the sex scenes were too much). the book went from being really raunchy to really domestic and i kind of liked that. the resolution came a bit too quick, but i enjoyed it nonetheless.

that’s it for october! still currently unemployed, waiting for the people i signed a contract with to call me. since i don’t want to dip too much into my savings i’ve been doing odd jobs here and there, and might take a more steady part-time job in the meantime? all of that to say: i probably won’t be reading as much in november. i’m currently reading the first book in the spencer cohen series, and not... really loving it, lol, so i might pass on the others.

[gionamim]

BRIANNE TJU,  CISFEMALE, SHE/HER.  —  looks  like GIONA MIM is  attending   AURORIA UNIVERSITY  in  auradon.  they’re  the  NINETEEN  year  old  child  of MADAM MIM,  which  means  they’re  from  THE ISLE OF THE LOST.  heard  they’re  SOCIABLE  &  LOYAL,  but  can  also  be  RECKLESS  &  FORLORN  ;  we all have our bad days.  people  normally  associate  them  with  LETTING MUSIC LEAD YOUR BODY , MUSHING A PIE ONTO SOMEONE’S FACE , STOMPING AROUND IN BOOTS TOO BIG TO FEEL POWERFUL ,  CLOSING THE DOOR SO NO ONE SEES YOU WISHING ON A STAR —  

hello hello !!! it took me way too long to plan this child but now that she’s here im so excited for her !! pls if u like cabaret, magic, baking, and bitching, then step right up !!!

[ PROFILE ]

NAME: giona giulietta mim

NICKNAMES: gg

AGE: 19 

HEIGHT: 5′1″ (smol)

BDAY: november 2 ( scorpio! )

BIRTHPLACE: camelot

DEATHPLACE: .....camelot

FEATURES TO NOTE:

vk colours: pink and green and black

tattoos of constellations dotted and lined on her left calf: the lyra, and scorpio

dotted by herself

she has no pulse, no heartbeat

she doesn’t bleed

body temperature is cold

her skin heals quicker than average, if damaged

DOESN’T LOOK ‘DEAD’ (no dead skin, no disconnecting limbs)

she actually looks pretty perfect lol thats the star in her heart ayyy

when she’s truly happy*, she glows (like a halo around her head)

*truly happy = well ..... it’s a case-by-case basis

ON THE ISLE: it wouldn’t have been a full halo ... just more like a sparkle in her eye 

[ BACKGROUND/ SUMMARY AT THE END OF THIS SECTION  ]

madam mim has always been an average witch, but the way she gains excessive power momentarily is by eating the hearts of other witches, wizards, and magical creatures. this was how she fought merlin, way back when. and when she was defeated, she was furious, distraught, ashamed, embarrassed, but mainly furious

she spent years trying to find the perfect heart to consume, the one that would give her the ultimate power to defeat merlin once and for all (petty bitch)

she REALLLYYYY just hated losing and its SO PETTY BUT SHE LETS IT DRIVE THE REST OF HER DAMN LIFE

and it took her years and years. TOO LONG, in fact. because by the time she found one, the creation of the isle of the lost had been found, and she was running out of time.

she figured out that the way to beat merlin was to use his own tools against him: LOVE, BELIEF, GOODNESS. and she was losing power, so there were no pure hearts to be found easily (though snow white had plenty of children, they were too heavily guarded), so she sought other means. 

she studied the lore of stars. she charted, planned, and waited for the next fallen star. it is said that if you were to consume the essence of a star, you would be filled with the purest magic of all, an everlasting, and sustaining magic. 

a week before she’s meant to be thrown into the isle, she finds a star. 

but it’s not all she thought it would be. the essence of the star was so pure, it was fading in her evil hands. in its raw form, it refused to be consumed, let alone touched, by her. so she wrapped it up in a cloth (its light already fading slowly), and scurried away, seeking another way to keep the star and ultimately eat it. 

bear in mind this is all just to defeat merlin 

she experiments quickly, using millifractions of the star and testing it on different creatures: she finds out that if she chooses the little woodland creatures and let them eat the heart -- and she eats their hearts...she’s awashed with the intense magic. 

but how to find a large enough heart that will stay alive all these years in the isle? she decides to find her child. the child she abandoned decades ago, the one where she can’t even remember where she left it. 1 year old, wandering the woods, died in the cold of winter. but she knows where it would have gone -- to the land of the dead.

and there, she finds a wizened old skeleton (elder gutknecht) telling her that she simply cannot take the dead out as she pleases -- but madam mim uses the last of her magic to find a way and now she finally has a capsule in which to keep the essence of the star

she keeps it in her daughter’s heart. and as soon as it is in there, the girl comes back to life -- well, an almost-life. she has no blood rushing through her veins, no heartbeat. she doesn’t feel pain or exhaustion as a living girl does. 

on the isle, mim begins a MIM’S MUSICALE -- a cabaret show and dinner theatre. giona is the cleaner and the waitress, as soon as she was old enough to carry a tray of food and a mop&bucket. it helps when your child’s half-dead and somehow seems more energetic at night. 

this is where mim’s ego truly thrives bc even tho she’s lost her shapeshifting powers, its still like 7 nights a week, ppl going to HER place to watch HER perform (like they have a choice lmao)

probably gives herself awards

fast forward to 12 yrs old: mim is settling into isle life but still impatient for when she and the other villains can break out. she hears giona singing while washing the dishes from the night before. the girl can sing. and, yes she was losing patrons bc mim’s performances are just too abstract for ppl to like (clearly). so she forces giona to become the new act. makes her perform, sing, dance, every night. 

mim almost forgets that there’s a star in this girl’s heart. she almost forgets, until she sees those small moments when giona’s in the kitchen, when she thinks mim can’t see her; baking a small cupcake from whatever ingredients she could find, and though there’s no magic allowed on the isle ... there is still something unnaturally bright about that girl. and she hates her for it. 

this ‘goodness’ and ‘purity’ thing is very merlin-y and she HAAAAATES THAT

HATES SUNLIGHT, HATES BRIGHTNESS, HATE, HATE, HATE!!!

BLACK SORCERY IS IN !!! MERLIN IS OUT !!!!!

so she works giona to death (sort of). and tells her she’s ugly. and bullies her into low self-esteem. 

16 years old: mim is getting more restless about being trapped in the isle. she decides to take action again. she begins to teach giona the mim magic, which is hexes and jinxes and shapeshifting, and ofc, a hatred for merlin. 

but by this time, giona’s made up her own mind about her life. and she won’t let her mother live it. 

SUMMARY: giona was dead and brought back to life with star-essence that mim put inside her heart, so she will eat the heart when giona breaks her out of the isle and then she’ll use that star magic to destroy merlin and be considered the greatest sorceror once and for all mwahahahaha. also the star thing is a complete secret, mim hasn’t told ANYONE and giona has no clue about the glowy thing.

WHAT CLOSE FRIENDS OF GIONA WOULD KNOW:

she has no heartbeat, her body is sort of cold, doesn’t bleed, doesn’t need as much sleep

probably if they’re the kind of friends that like ... are genuinely good for each other lmao, they probably saw a bit of giona’s ‘glow’ when she’s truly happy

[ PERSONALITY ]

100 bad bitches can’t tell me nothin’

still a sort of mini-mim because giona also has a very short temper and is prone to just .... never letting things go lmao 

hates her mother: found out at a young age that actually, she’s not ugly, and she’s not stupid and she starts to drown out mim’s nagging and bullying

but still, in the middle of the night (bc for some reason she feels more active at night and cant sleep), she hears her mother’s voice in her head and cries herself to sleep

loves music & shows & plays & acting & performing:  but hates being forced by her mother to do everything. she hates being forced to sing by someone, she hates being told what to do

hate hate hate !!!!

loves to bake: little cupcakes and muffins and baked goods, and cookies ofc, and bread, she loves to make all kinds of bread and pastries. at least, that’s the dream. on the isle, she’d be lucky if she could find clean flour. so far, she’s only made cookies and tiny cupcakes.

these foods are only reserved for her friends, and they are all SWORN to secrecy that they will never tell her mother

loyal to a fault: once she feels she can trust you, she will never let u go. it’s ride or die. growing up with a mother hell-bent on hating her, she began to appreciate the few friends she made on the isle, and will do absolutely anything for them

still tho she’s like ..... she’s a bitch first and a friend later 

loud as hell and speaks her mind and would probably get a tattoo that says NO RAGRETS.

loves magic: CAN’T WAIT TO USE HER POWERS AND TURN INTO ??? A BIRD ???

doesn’t know anything about her heart: all she knows is that her mother tells her to keep herself safe, otherwise all that “business of trying to bring you back to life will be for nothing”. 

so yeah, she knows she was dead. but she just believes her mother used necromancy to bring her back, and it clearly didn’t work the whole way because she’s not fully alive

but you wouldn’t even know it unless you tried to find a heartbeat

[ how they feel about heroes/villains ]

giona only hates one thing for sure that is her mother lmao

merlin ???? will be fun to see but like otherwise doesnt give two shits, will probably praise him and send him a cupcake to thank him for defeating her mum

operates on a “if you mess with me, i will mess with you back” basis

doesn’t want to join any squads that plan to ‘ruin auradon’ because to her its just hakuna matata bro let it go why can’t you just be happy we’re actually here ?? lets fuckin run away !!!

[ CONNECTYONS ]

from the isle:

VKs who regularly came to MIM’S MUSICALE and saw her perform! she will hate the reminder ty 

MIM probably also hired a few weekly performers, ppl who performed once a night so if ur muse was a performer on the isle pls hmu !!!! 

VK friends that giona met and has them try her tiny baked goods 

they must love the cupcakes and cookies OR ELSE >:(

now in auradon:

those who know magic, who would investigate/recognise why she glows when she’s ‘truly happy’ and tell her that she’s a STAR and that her mother is probably planning to EAT HER

DEAD PEOPLE TO BOND WITH OVER BEING DEAD 

women/nb to squad up with and go shopping with and basically pls give her a girl squad she will fight anyone for you and you can do each other’s nails and just MAKE HER TRULY HAPPY W REAL FRIENDS AAHHH

someone to show her the kitchens :0 and take her grocery shopping :0

MAGIC PPL TO TEST-DRIVE MAGIC WITH. i’m talking fun duels, and pranking people pls.

musicals ?? to join ??? where she can finally play the roles she wants to play, and sing the songs she wants to sing ??? amazin

[ MAD MIM MAGIC ]

shapeshifts into any animal !

shapeshifts their size ! can be teeny-tiny or gigantic

shapeshifts their features to look a little different ??? like can look hideous, or more beautiful, or taller, or with bigger ears -- but can’t change into a whole other person

potions and hexes and jinxes take more concentration, but she can do it

[ NOTES / STAR THINGS ]

oKAY SO !!!!

the star part is greatly inspired by Stardust, the movie, especially the part about her glowing when she’s truly happy

mim is essentially growing her child to one day be able to eat her heart, gain the infinite powers, and defeat merlin

but since giona is the star (over the years, the star became a part of her heart), rather than someone who consumed it, the magic works differently for her. so she glows, and she heals easily, and she is awake more at night. with giona, the star ecomes a way of being rather than a power-source.

if her heart were to be taken out, she would go back to being dead, with no hope of a second life as an undead or zombie, because the star is the only life giona actually has. once it is gone, she is nothing.

giona can still do all of madam mim’s typical magic ! shapeshifting is the big one, and her thing is pink-green coloured animals. 

[hrvyk-a]

✩  *   STUDY :   HARVEY  +  ROSALIND .

okay so one of the bigger... cringe moments of part two is the random / sudden relationship between harvey and roz. it’s not because i have an issue with them, they actually have really great chemistry ( prob bc they’re dating in rl but i digress ). it only has to do with the timeline of this entire season. i remember being sixteen and i don’t think anyone would’ve been chill with a best friend dating an ex less than two months after they broke up...  especially when you consider how emotional the break up had been. what teenager is that mature? lmao

anyway, i don’t completely hate the idea of them being together, but it would honestly have to happen years down the road. i’m just going to explain my reasoning and divide it up into sections so hopefully this makes sense. asldkjfasdf

i. TIMING

so the entire first season takes place from the last week of october through sometime in late february / early march. harvey and sabrina said ‘i love you’ to each other for the first time at the end of october and were very happy and in love until the whole clusterfuck of tommy’s death happened. lmao the night they broke up was maybe late november / early december, since it was a short time after thanksgiving. this was not harvey’s decision. he was willing to start over but sabrina wanted to keep her distance because she was afraid of what signing the book of the beast would change. obviously their feelings were still there and neither one wanted to move on from the relationship.

now during the winter special, harvey and sabrina share a few scenes where it is very clear that the wounds were still raw and needed to heal. he loves sabrina but is not ready to trust her world or her magic. anything close to it only brings back the ghost of tommy. they still need time, he still needs time. during christmas break is most likely when harvey is starting to spend more time with roz and ( then ) susie. they only got closer when sabrina gets more involved at the academy, having less time to spend at baxter high.

jump to february, when harvey and sabrina are making out in his room, most likely about to have sex for the first time. when she pulls away and their argument begins, it’s clear he was ready to get back to the ways things were. harvey is still not over sabrina. he only says as much. he’s upset with how she keeps pulling him back in every time it looks like he could be free of her. now jump to harvey asking out roz to the valentine’s dance a short time after that moment with sabrina. jump to their first kiss and suddenly starting to date. jump to harvey saying ‘i love you’ to roz like a week later or something. lmao jump to the last scene when they’re cuddling with sabrina across from the table. honestly lmao what........... why???

ii. LOVE

for my portrayal, i’ve been going with the idea that, before sabrina, harvey had never said ‘i love you’ to anyone ( aside from family but obviously that’s different ). i also headcanon that they had been dating for about a year before he said it for the first time. harvey is someone who is cautious, takes his time so it was especially jarring to see him dropping the L-bomb after like lmao a week or two of dating roz. FOUR MONTHS after saying it for the first time to sabrina. two months after his break up with sabrina. this is really just rephrasing what i wrote in the other section but it’s important!! it’s odd. i’m not a fan. it really added a whole extra layer of what the fuck to this arc.

iii.  CANON DIVERGENT

if / when roz blogs start showing up and interacting with me, i just want to say that i do not ship them in this current timeline. i can understand why they gravitated towards each other. harvey was heartbroken and the only people who could somewhat understand what he was going through were roz and ( then ) susie. they were around to comfort him, they were all a comfort to each other. it’s easy to slip into something that makes you feel good when you’re hurting. and that’s what roz was to harvey.

for the sake of canon threads, i will and do acknowledge their budding romance but it’s after their first kiss that they realize they’re much better off as friends. it is one of those awkward, yet funny moments where they kiss and it feels like there might be something between them but it falls flat and they just laugh. harvey does not need another girlfriend he needs friends who support him, who support each other.

this is all i will acknowledge as far as a romance between these two!!!!!!!! please don’t ask me to ship them because i won’t. i might be open to it in a college setting or maybe senior year at the earliest. anything before than that is a big no for me. there’s so much that would need to happen for them to feel comfortable enough to begin an actual relationship. time is a huge factor in this. feelings between harvey and sabrina have to move to something more platonic, a place where they genuinely care for each other but any hint of romantic feelings have long since been gone.

[absolutebearings]

depressing saturday musing

just thinking about all the stuff i used to do when i was young that i now have zero access to as an adult riddled with chronic and mental illness. like i used to be in marching band in high school, and it was one of those intense drum corps style groups where you do an actual 10 minute show with fancy marching + playing music, and i would absolutely not be able to handle this today -- 2 weeks of pre-band camp where we learn all the music (i had to ride my bike 5 miles to get there) + 1 week long band camp with constant marching and music rehearsals and only a few hours to rest in the evening + 1 hour of rehearsal a day at school, + extra 3 hours on wednesday evenings + performances at football games friday (often in the blistering cold because this was november in michigan) + competitions on saturday, and sometimes those competitions required us to drive hours and hours across the state. and i absolutely loved this shit as a teenager, i could not get enough. my sophomore and junior years i had feature solos, there were 6 in the junior show and it was just exhilarating, we did the state finals in this massive football stadium in detroit, hearing the reverb smack you in the face after a huge band soli, with bells pointed up, it gets in your bones. remembering it gives me chills. 

then i think about music school both in michigan and illinois and how much energy it takes just to keep up with the rehearsals, especially if you’re in multiple orchestras and chamber groups. let alone the energy you need for solo practicing + the energy it takes to cart your instrument all over campus. i’m incapable of this now, i just don’t have the fucking energy. if i had managed to finish my degree when i had the chance and the physical capacity, this would be a much different post -- i still wouldn’t be able to participate in professional life as a musician, but at least i would have finished my education, gotten a physical stamp on it. but that’s not possible for me now. 

i mean god, when i was in high school i used to do this traveling orchestra thing during the summer, where we would tour europe for 3 weeks, and i dont need to tell you the schedule for these tours was insane,1 week of orch camp before departure with all day rehearsals and sectionals + daily rehearsals once overseas + desperately cramming in sightseeing per 2-3 day stop + bus rides across country lines that sometimes took 36 hours x10000 on the year where i went as a counselor and had to wrangle all the kiddos on these various excursions and performances (plus the extra honors string quartet rehearsals lmao!!!) + navigate airports and public places with very rudimentary command of french and german

and i loved all this stuff so much, i was grateful even in the middle of it, i loved being able to participate 100%, give it everything and see myself improve bit by bit, and see a world so different from my own, with centuries of history in the stone. i love the physicality of playing cello, of walking through the wooded paths of the camp with my heavy hard case on my shoulder, never having to worry that i might crumple under its weight in the 20 minutes it’d take to get to rehearsal. and i saw so many wonderful things and DID so many incredible things, like climbed the alps, played haydn in the esterhazy palace, wandered through cities and towns over a thousand years old. contrast with today, where pain and fibro fog is bad, and it took most of my spoons just to take a freaking shower. can’t even sit in a computer chair without feeling like ass. a 3 hour trip north for a weekend away at a convention completely wrecked me. i’ll never be able to do things like that again. i’m endlessly grateful i got to in the first place, and i’ll have those incredible memories all my life, but tinged with the fact that i can never go back

i used to be tough. i used to swim in lake michigan in the middle of march, when the ice started to break up. i got my solo sailing license at age 7 (in a dinky little sunfish but even so). i took daily walks and went for miles, sometimes even went jogging. i could run a 7 minute mile with no specific training. there was always so much to see where i lived, so much lakefront. i used to go cross country skiing by myself when we lived in northern michigan, when we had 10 acres of property behind our house. i’d glide through the forests, exploring, listening to the trees creak in the still air. i played lead trumpet in jazz concerts with whooping cough, marching shows with numb hamburger meat for lips, orchestra concerts with bursting blisters over my calluses. i’m so fucking frustrated today that i can’t do anything like this anymore. i feel trapped in this body, and i can’t get out. year after year, the walls press in. 

the only thing keeping me from completely losing my mind is that i can still write. i’ve lost so much but my greatest passion is safe. and i dont want to entertain depressing panicked speculation that whispers ‘it’s safe for now’. i dont know what i can do to protect writing, i can’t lose writing or i’m nothing. 

[kaylabliss]

Since I'm posting again...

I figure I'll post about why I've disappeared from Tumblr for about a million years. I missed all you people that I don't actually talk to but enjoy seeing posts from.

This year has been total shit. I don't know what my last "update" was, but I doubt anyone else will remember either.

I'm finally on ADHD medication (as of November), which has made a very slight difference in my ability to function. However, I'm thinking of asking for something different. I'm on Adderall XR, and I'm wondering if Vyvanse would be more helpful. It costs twice as much, but if it helps, it would be worth it.

Despite taking daily amphetamines, I've gained even more weight and I'm at my highest weight since pregnancy. (I'm not taking Adderall for weight loss, of course, but it would have been a really nice side effect. I have little to no appetite, but I still eat way too much because depression anxiety and laziness.)

In January, we found out Toys R Us was closing. My partner has been a supervisor there for ten years, so this was a pretty devastating blow for us. His last day was in April. Fortunately, he was only unemployed for about a month. In the week after TRU closed, he helped a local mom and pop toy store owner move some shelves that they'd bought from the TRU liquidation. That got his foot in the door, and now he's actually making more money there than he was at TRU.... To the tune of an extra $250 a week. Better yet, they love him. And his boss? Small world, he was my favorite patient at my old job. So we're going into this with me already knowing and liking his boss! And a fun bonus: when new movies come out, they rent out entire rows at the theater and all the employees and whoever they want to invite can go see it. Eric went to see Solo with them-- I've been trying to convince him to go out and do things with people for literally our entire relationship, so I was THRILLED about this. Also, the store sells mostly older collectibles, so when he saw what his toys were worth, he was psyched. He sold two of his old action figures this week for $400, and he gets 60% of that on consignment.

The salary increase and extra money is great, because in February, my car broke down. The transmission died, and as it was a POS 1996 Lexus, it would have cost four times what the car was worth to fix it. So we've been sharing a car, which has been difficult, but thankfully both our jobs close at 8 and we're right across the street from each other. While he was still at TRU, he was sometimes getting off around 10, which meant keeping my daughter out way too late. But now we can start saving for a down payment on a car, and actually afford car payments without having to live on ramen.

Also in February, his mom was diagnosed with lung cancer. This has been hard. Last week, she had her final surgery to remove the cancerous mass from her lung. She came home on Thursday and she's doing well. Aside from the anxiety over her diagnosis, this has been hard in about a dozen other ways. She had some moments where she was legitimately scared that she wouldn't get to see Shilo grow up, and this was made even harder when she lost her hair. She looked different, and Shilo acted scared of her. I don't know if she was having trouble recognizing her or what. And then to top it off, they've always been pretty well off financially and have always been able to help out their kids when needed-- including us. But there was a lot of things their insurance didn't pay for, and they had a $100 copay for each radiation treatment for six weeks. We haven't needed help with money, thankfully, but under normal circumstances they may have been able to help us get a new car. They also missed their granddaughter's graduation in Texas, which I know was disappointing. Eric's unemployment was actually helpful though, because he was able to stay home with Shilo for the greater part of his mom's chemo and radiation.

All that aside, there have been a lot of daily stressors and disappointments for me. I don't know how much I should really go into here, since someone could stumble into my blog.... Eh, I think I have it locked from public view, so.

One of the biggest things that bugged me was my mom. I didn't get to see her for Christmas because on Christmas eve, it was more important to her to go pass out coffee at a local men's shelter. (I know it sounds noble, but sometimes I wonder. She's wound up dating several of the men there.) I had to work on Christmas day. I didn't see her until the end of January at my niece's birthday party. She didn't bring Shilo's Christmas presents with her, because we had planned to do lunch before the party but neither of us felt well enough for it, so she decided not to bring the presents. I brought her and Lily's presents, because I knew it could be a while before we could get together, and it was already a month late. After that, she said several times she would come over with them. One day, she had told me she was going to be down the street at Walmart and would drop by... She actually called me from Walmart to ask me for diet advice.... And didn't come over when she was done.

In May, she finally just brought the presents to me at work, because she was at a dentist appointment in the same complex I work in. I didn't ACTUALLY see her until last week.

In all that time, she knew about all the crap I've been going through, and she hasn't checked on me one single time. In fact, the week after my car broke down, she called me to brag that she had traded in her perfectly good, brand new car for an even newer car. This was particularly infuriating to me, because I was busting my ass working overtime and working every single holiday and I was barely making rent (forget any chance of getting even a cheap functioning car), but she's on SSDI and is taking on this huge car payment for literally no reason.

Then, when we finally did get together and go to lunch, she spent the first fifteen minutes listing every celebrity who has ever @ her on Twitter (despite me saying repeatedly "I have no idea who that is" and showing zero interest in the discussion because c'mon), talked about herself the whole time, and didn't ask me any questions about how things are going. When I did manage to get a word in, it was about Shilo's behavior at school, and she took over the conversation again to tell me about this place where you can drop autistic kids off for a few hours (but they're not even a licensed childcare facility, which makes me nervous, and they don't list their prices on their website which means I can't afford them). They also have family classes and actives and whatever, but still, I'm sure I can't afford them.

One of the things that really hurt me though? She had been "too busy" to see us for nearly six months, but she had time to make a 400 mile round trip to the other end of the state to spend time with my high school roommate and her children... Two weekends in a row, including on Mother's Day weekend. But yeah, too fucking busy to see her own daughter and granddaughter. When I tried to confront her on it, she was really blasé about it and deflected the conversation.

And? She didn't tell me that she broke up with her boyfriend months ago, and was not living where I thought she was living. In fact, I'm pretty sure she straight up lied to me about it, because she sent me what appeared to be an accidental text about moving, and when I said "wait what, you're moving?" she said "oh yeah from one trailer to the other" (they were living in a trailer park where you can only stay six months due to the sewage system or something, so they bought two trailers so they could move to the second every six months).

It's all made me feel really alone. I miss my grandma, because she never would have treated me this way. My mom is the only "family" I have, and she has zero interest in being part of my life.

Anyway, done with that section.

Shilo has been very violent at school, to a point where we actually got TWO behavior referrals in one day (a slip explaining her behavior and consequences-- usually involves missing recess, having to eat lunch in the principal's office, and/or writing an apology letter). It's been frustrating, and I haven't been sure what to do since I work so much and have my own issues with executive function and lack the ability to keep a stable routine. I'm hoping next year will be better, and I'm going to get a behavior intervention plan added to her IEP so we can figure out WHY she acts this way instead of just trying to correct the behavior after it happens. They do try to circumvent the behavior, mostly using social stories before transitions and things, but I don't think it's working.

Another big thing is that I got my IUD removed, and while I'm pissed about having a real menstrual cycle again, I'm shocked at some of the effects the IUD had on me that I didn't even realize. It turns out it was really dampening my sex drive, and portions of my personality. Suddenly I was interested in sex again and attracted to anything that moves lmao. An increased sex drive is a bad thing for me though, which I won't go into here.... But in short, let's say that it's caused some hurt feelings due to rejection.

So yeah, that's most of it. If you actually read my wall of text and whining, thanks! You're a champ.

[panticwritten]

Tag Game - 10 Questions x 3

I was tagged by @kclenhartnovels, @luminahart, and @yourbitchystudentwriter for this one, and I’ll answer all 30 questions in this one post! That way I don’t spam anyone’s dash and I also only have to think of 10 questions instead of 30 when I’m done haha.

Thank you so much, you three, for tagging me! I love these questions!

Rules: The Rules: answer these ten questions, create ten of you own, then tag ten people.

I’ll answer the questions under the break!

Round One!

1. What is your OC’s biggest pet peeve?

I’ll just answer for the three OCs of mine that have shown up in Breaking Furnace so far!

Sawyer hates unexpected changes in plan and unnecessarily repetitive noises. Like. Stop knocking after a couple seconds, they promise they heard you. Please condense those hundreds of tiny short messages into one longer one the pings are gonna drive them crazy.

Connor has a problem with people bad mouthing Sawyer, if you didn’t get that from Chapter 5 of Breaking Furnace lmao.

Dominic is touchy about topics dealing with family (”family is so important!” “you can always turn to your family!”). Basically, keep your perfect family narrative away from him or he’ll be forced to remind you that his father was the leader of a human trafficking cartel, which certainly won’t ruin your day as much as you’ve ruined his.

2. What book that you’ve read did you wish you had written, or think you could have written better?

Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh man this is a hard one. When it comes to wishing I had written a book like “Dammit, I wish I’d had that idea!” I would probably say Rot & Ruin by Jonathan Maberry. I still haven’t finished that series, but DAMN that was a good zombie book.

If it’s like “Wow, that’s a good concept but bad execution” hand me the rights to Twilight and Fifty Shades. Please let someone make these relationships healthy and not completely terrifying. Please.

With both, I think I would say Hunger Games. Like, the execution wasn’t BAD, but I read those books and see places where like. It could have been better. Better plot decisions could have been made.

You took Rue from us, Collins, why did you have to take Prim, too?

3. Which OC is smarter than you? What research did you have to do because of it?

Oh boy.

Notably, Jay is smarter than me. I haven’t written a ton with them in it so I haven’t had to do much research at all. They were created through a cloning process in which the Cube was manipulated to make them smarter and able to synthesize information faster than should be possible imo. They don’t have much formal education because of their unusual upbringing (see: Dominic’s father’s trafficking cartel), but they have sizable knowledge in biology, biochemistry, engineering, bio-engineering, nuclear sciences, psychology, pharmacology, computer sciences, geology, topography, and have been doing a lot of research into the way the Cube works (specifically the memory sectors). They’re also continuing looking into cloning. There’s a ton I’m missing but like?? I don’t really think I’m welcome in their labs these days haha.

Also, J (not Jay, easy mistake) is a lot better at thinking on their feet than I am haha. They’re like a prodigy with a sword, grew up learning how to fight and lie. I would die in a fight, whether with fists, swords, or any other weapons. And I’m only a good liar when I take too long to respond to a text/email.

4. If you were doing immersive research for your book, where/when would you have to travel?

I’ll do this one for Savior/Destroy, 100 Shades, and TS because those are the ones that doesn’t take place in a concept of a place. BF and SORH both take place in concepts because of the nature of those daydreams. 

For Savior/Destroy, I would really just need to be a fly on the wall of business happenings (same for 100 Shades, ugh), to get a feel for how that field actually works. There’s a lot you can’t research online effectively.

For 100 Shades, I would really need to spend some time in Seattle and Denver. I know little to nothing about either area, and I’ve been putting off research since I’m not writing it yet.

Trollhunters: Subverted would suck because I would have to go on a nice timeline trip starting around 500 BCE in what is now Bulgaria. There’s a lot of running around in that general area for a time. Starting around 1400 CE, I would want to be in Britain. Also, it would be nice to know exactly what happened at Roanoke. And knowing exactly how the woods were in southern Oregon and northern California in the 1600-1800 would be rad.

5. Which character is most like you?

I’ll say. Other than the characters that are me.

Humphrey. He’s nice and sweet and kind of bad at lying except for that one thing that he’s been lying about for so long that it doesn’t even feel like a lie before. My daydreaming is just a much more innocuous secret than his. And he had to switch schools in the middle of a school year, he struggles with mental illness, he’s really not good at talking to people.

The thing is, he doesn’t write and he likes math so who the hell does he think he is?

6. What is your favorite scented candle and why?

There’s like a blood orange Glade candle that I smelled at Target the other day?? It was really nice, but i haven’t really let myself think about scented candles since I’m not allowed to have candles at all in my dorm (doesn’t stop me from having some tealights for my altar but eh).

I like incense, though, and I love voodoo (because it smells like chocolate and death. like, in a good way) and fizzee pop (because it’s like the scent version of carbonation). Coconut is my favorite for writing because it’s the one my sister and I burn when we have writing parties, so it’s just one that I like.

7. Do you have a bookshelf or library? What’s your ideal library look like?

I have a bookshelf over my bed with all of the books I brought to university with me. If I could have my ideal library, like, think Beauty and the Beast scale library full of informational texts, classics that I’ll probably never even read, ongoing series. It should have a faint scent of dust and paper fresh off a printer. There would be a full section for all the books published by the folks in the writeblr community.

It should have an air of being similar to how the Gryffindor common room is described as feeling.

Everyone would be invited to come and complain about writing whenever they want to. It would be warm, with tea and coffee provided in the very back where the books I don’t remember buying are shelved.

8. Who is your biggest tumblr fan of your writing?

Oh man. I would be stuck between maybe?? @breakeven2007 or @jade-island-lives. You two have responded to so much of my writing, and it’s so cool. I know there are others, and I’m gonna take this opportunity to thank all of y’all so much for everything. It means a lot to get these tags and to get responses to things that I’ve written.

9. What tv show/movie has influenced your writing the most? Or, which series do you wish you could help write?

Honestly. Probably. Pokemon. I grew up watching that show and it probably has a lot of influence on how I form stories and how I view different kinds of conflicts.

I want there to be a Harry Potter TV series and I would 100% want to help write it.

10. How do you feel about fanfiction of your work?

Fuck me up.

Round Two!

1. Describe your WIP in such a lamest way possible.

An idiot gets themself thrown in prison because they regret not killing someone.

2. Describe your WIP in the most epic way possible.

A group of friends return to a nightmare of their past to face it head on, but nothing is what it seems. Most of the group has ulterior motives and the monsters lurking in the shadows have plans of their own.

3. What do you usually wear when you write?

Gay clothes. Because I’m gay.

In all seriousness, I have a hard time getting into the mindset of writing if I’m not wearing my ring (which I got from a candle, it has a connection with the Trollhunters daydream), my nostalgia necklace (has my pentacle, a charm from a friend when I graduated, and a vial of my cat’s ashes), and my string of keys (my daydreams tie heavily in with keys and it feels wrong to write about them without the keys on my person). Loose, comfy clothes are also a plus but not a requirement.

4. What part of your story do you enjoy writing the most (action, dialouge, description etc.)? Why?

I like writing tender moments and dialogue. Like, I love writing scenes between me and Connor. I love finding the balance between what needs to be said and what should be left unsaid.

5. Do you prefer to write female or male protagonists? Why?

I prefer to write nonbinary protagonists, but that’s just because I’m nonbinary haha. I don’t really write women, men, or nonbinary folk any differently. 

6. What are your plans for your WIP after you have finished writing it?

I kind of want to get it bound so I can have physical copies of it, even if I’ll never be able to publish it.

7. Have you, or would you participate in NaNoWriMo?

I have, sort of. I never got more than a couple thousand words in, but eh. It was fun. My projects just weren’t viable for a quick-write. I want to try again in the future, but November is just such an inconvenient month. It’s the worst month of the year for me, and I don’t see myself being able to work through that enough to write a 50,000 word novel in a month.

8. What do you enjoy the most about your genre?

Haha, that would make it sound like I stick to one genre. I think a lot of it has mystery, thriller, supernatural, and urban fantasy qualities, though, so?? I love the flexibility. “They separated their consciousness from their body?” sure, it’s my universe so that can happen.

9. What was your favourite read of 2017?

I didn’t really read a lot in 2017, which is tragic. My favorite book of the year was The Square Root of Summer by Herriet Reuter Hapgood. I had to race the clock to read this one because I started reading it really close to the end of my senior year. It was so good, and it surprised me in a million different ways. The protagonist had to admit to herself her own shortcomings in the process of facing an uncertain future, an old childhood friend, and crazy physics.

It was a great book, and if you like YA novels without all of the unacknowledged unhealthy relationships I would really recommend it.

10. What are your hopes for your writing in 2018?

I want to finish Breaking Furnace, goddamn it.

Round Three!

1. What inspired your current WIP?

Breaking Furnace is inspired by Escape From Furnace and the daydreams I’ve had in that universe. I have no idea?? Why this universe is the one I got fascinated enough with to live through the events of the original series in different ways 8 times, though, so that’s whatever.

2. what would you describe your writing style?

According to my roommate, “Almost cynical. It’s like the dark parts of your brain mixed with your humor and have this big fucked up baby. But in a good way. Like, a really good way. Like, you wouldn’t actually stab someone, but you would.”

And I think that’s beautiful.

3. What is an Au that you would love to see written about your OCs?

Literally anything where they are happy. Just let them have peace.

4. tell us a funny writing story.

Okay, so. I have a couple.

I’m sure we all remember the ‘eghit’ debacle, when I was trying to type ‘height’ and realized I needed to go to SLEEP.

And also that drunk writing party. Where I drank a single Mike’s Harder Lemonade (not to be confused with the much wimpier Mike’s Hard Lemonade). And really underestimated how much alcohol was in it.

So, here’s the whole story.

My mom doesn’t like cranberry juice, and I poked fun that she had cranberry Mike’s Harder Lemonade. And out of that conversation I obtained permission to have it. So, my brilliant self decided that since sober me, exhausted me, and depressed me can’t get any writing done, maybe tipsy me could.

And I ended up practically chugging it because I drink everything way too fast. And so I was writing, doing some outlining, and after I started to fuck up way more than I wanted to I actually went and checked how much drinking that in less than an hour would raise my BAC and it p much drove me over .04 so I laughed at myself for a solid ten minutes then went to sleep.

When I looked the next day, I wrote a paragraph, outlined ~4 pages of content, and a lot of it was good. If you can discount the typos.

5. do you listen to music while you write? if so what kind typically?

I do! When I’m writing new content, I listen to playlists I’ve made for each of my projects. When I’m editing, I listen to a classical Pandora station because I can not have words in my ears counteracting the words in my eyes.

6. when did you start writing?

A year or so after my sister started writing (or, when she started letting me read her writing), so maybe fourth grade?

7.who’s you favourite OC?

HHHHHH probably Connor. Definitely Connor.

8. who’s your least favourite OC?

Dominiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiic

9. do you prefer 1st 2nd or 3rd person perspective?

First person. I haven’t written in third person in awhile, and I’m assuming I would still not hate it, but I like being in a character’s head.

I write in second person if I’m writing creepypastas, which I haven’t done in a couple years.

10. uhhh….IDk just talk about anything wip or writing related, you decide!

I! Am really excited about getting to the point in Breaking Furnace where it completely breaks from the plot of the original series. I grew so much throughout this daydream, and it’s gonna be really cool to share that with everyone. 

I really don’t want to spoil anything, but I also really want to talk about everything to do with Breaking Furnace.

Alright!

I’ll tag @panismightier, @breakeven2007, @jade-island-lives, @perringcentral, @angrymagicgirlmarsette, @vwritesfiction, @christinawritesfiction, @cadewrites, @happyk44, @lux-scriptum, but definitely don’t feel obligated to do it!

My questions for you!

1. How much research do you put into your projects, usually?

2. What do you draw the most inspiration from?

3. Favorite candy? How about your OC’s?

4. What are your OC’s star signs, and do their personalities fit their sign?

5. Which OC(s) secretly still have stuffed animals? Which one(s) have them, not so secretly?

6. Does your space have to be clean for you to write/draw?

7. What kind of view would you like to have from your desk?

8. Do you have an OC that doesn’t like to talk about their past? What do they have to hide?

9. Daytime writer or nighttime writer?

10. What trait do you least like in your favorite OC?