#and rather apathetic about everything. Especially since she's far from home and away from her family who's currently in London

[kay9leo]

"Lumos."

The skies were blue that day. A clear blue sky.

A perfect fall day to play outside.

Now light is what we have to remember you by.

[snowywrites]

Monika x Fem!reader

summary: fluffy fic of Monika and the reader on the reader's birthday.

word count: 2.4k

As far as birthdays go, this one wasn't really anything too special. Well, maybe you're being a little too cynical. After all, last year you hadn't really gotten to spend your birthday with any friends- you'd been preoccupied with getting home to watch the newest season of your favorite anime.

This year, however, Sayori had managed to get you into the Literature Club, and it had, not to be dramatic, changed your life. For better or worse, that was yet to be seen.

"Y/N, is everything okay?" Sayori asks expectantly, bright blue eyes examining you with bewilderment.

You focus back on the present, giving your friend a reassuring smile. "Yeah, sorry! Everything's great." And you aren't lying; today for the club meeting, Natsuki had brought cupcakes for everyone to share, Sayori had actually not realized what day it was and so gave you a 'birthday hug,' Yuri had given you a copy of one of her favorite horror novels as a gift, even signed by the author, and yet...

You can't help but give a very small sigh. "I just kind of miss Monika, I guess."

Sayori, Natsuki, and Yuri all exchange glances in their respective chairs at one of the club tables. They then all focus on you with varying expressions: Sayori with mischief, Natsuki with exasperation, and Yuri with knowing amusement.

"What? Don't look at me like that!" You squeak defensively, feeling your face begin to heat up at what they were implying. "I only meant that it's- it's weird being at a meeting without our club president! T-That's all." Not that this could be called a meeting per se- more like a celebration between friends.

Sayori giggles at your reaction, and you hear Yuri whisper to Natsuki, "The lady doth protest too much," which elicits a snort of laughter from the pink-haired tsundere.

You groan, standing up abruptly from your seat and smoothing down your school uniform a bit, self-conscious all of a sudden. As your embarrassment dies down though, you feel a wave of affection for your fellow club members. As much as they tend to tease you about your little crush on Monika, they had made your birthday really special this year, and you were grateful. "Anyway, thank you guys again for everything! I had a lot of fun," you say earnestly, deciding it was probably time to wrap up and head home.

Sayori bounces up to join you, and you bid your farewells to Natsuki and Yuri, gathering up your things and heading out of the classroom.

Sayori glances back to make sure that Natsuki and Yuri are in fact walking away, and then she reaches out to stop you. "Uhm, Y/N...?"

You pause to look at her expectantly, unsure of why she's much less energetic now than she was a few minutes ago. "Yes?"

"I-I was actually supposed to tell you something," your best friend begins, uncharacteristically quiet. You wonder briefly why she hadn't mentioned this before... maybe she had been debating on whether or not she actually wanted to tell you whatever it is, considering how the words are practically being dragged from her at this point. "Ah, well, Monika asked me to, that is. The reason she couldn't come to the Literature Club today was because she was stuck at a meeting with the student council, but..." Sayori exhales in what could be a sigh. "She did still wanna see you for your birthday, so she hoped you could stop by there and wait for her."

You stand there in the mostly empty hall of the school, puzzled at why this news would bring such a reaction from your friend- especially when it makes you feel so fluttery inside. "Oh!" You try not to let it show, but you're fairly certain you're lighting up like a Christmas tree. "I see. Thank you for telling me, Sayori!"

As you turn to leave, you feel Sayori reach out to touch your shoulder, but she retracts her hand quickly. When you look back at her, she's her old self, giving you a big smile. "Yeah, I guess you're gonna go see her, huh? Well, I'll catch you later, Y/N!"

Before you can respond, Sayori dashes off, forgetting to wish you a happy birthday.

Well, that was weird. Then again, Sayori's been pretty off lately whenever you and Monika are involved.

The thought of the brunette is enough to make you forget all about whatever might be troubling your best friend, and you make your way through the school to the student council room with a giddy spring in your step. They must not be out yet since the halls are pretty deserted still.

You risk taking a peek through the little glass window on the door, and your hunch is confirmed. Students belonging to the council are all sitting in a circle of chairs, discussing... well, school-related business stuff. You aren't really sure what they do, exactly.

You catch sight of Monika at the head of them, naturally because she is the president, but you aren't expecting to see her with such an expression.

Usually, Monika seems to you warm, open, patient, and friendly... but here, she looks... not even bored, but more like she's utterly apathetic towards all the conversations going on around her. You've never seen her so uncaring, to the point where she seems almost irritated by the presence of everyone in the room with her.

Maybe she's having a bad day? The thought makes you a bit sad, and you find yourself wondering if she would even want to see you. Do the others in the council even realize she's so unlike herself?

As if to answer your silent question, one of the other students turns to Monika to say something, and when they do, the familiar expression you're used to your club president wearing slips back with ease onto her face. She listens attentively to whatever it is she's being told, and then she smiles and nods, commenting something you can't hear in return.

You watch the exchange, too fascinated to stop watching even if you do worry someone might notice you peeking inside for such a long minute. As soon as the student turns away from her, Monika is once again the picture of discontentment; you even notice her tapping her nails listlessly against the surface of the table they're all seated at.

The sound of the doorknob rattling causes you to leap backwards in shock, stumbling slightly over your own two feet. The meeting must be over, because someone is stepping out, and then another, and then you're hurriedly dodging out of the path of the entire student body as they file out, talking and laughing with one another as they head down the hall, eventually leaving you alone.

"Y/N?"

Looking away from their retreating figures, you face Monika and find her as she always is with you- curious emerald eyes and a friendly air about her. "Ah- hello," you greet her, trying not to sound as awkward as you feel about your... let's be honest, spying.

"I wasn't really sure that you'd show!" She exclaims, startling you with a sudden hug.

You've actually never gotten a hug from Monika, although you have a ton of hugs to compare hers to- Sayori throws herself at you pretty much daily, and hers tend to be suffocating, always too tight and lasting a bit too long.

From Monika, though? Her hug, despite making your head spin and your heart skip a beat, makes you feel so safe, secure... she's so warm and you can't help but be enamored with whatever perfume she uses.

Unfortunately, you're too stunned to return the embrace in time before Monika pulls back from you, and you could swear she has a faint blush on her cheeks. She doesn't apologize for her impromptu action, though, and you're glad for that.

"Why wouldn't I?" You ask, dumbstruck.

She studies you for a few seconds, and you get the idea that she's trying to detect if you're being serious or not. Eventually she says, "Oh, nevermind that! I am glad to see you, though. I have something I wanted to give you."

'Please refrain from saying something really stupid and cheesy like, 'the best gift you could give me is just getting to see you on my birthday,' you think to yourself. "A gift? You really didn't have to- or, I mean, you shouldn't have-! Not that I don't appreciate it, though...!" You don't typically struggle so much with your words, but you're still a little off your game after the lovely hug. It's like your mind is foggy, your tongue is twisted, and you simply can't think straight. Which isn't really new when you're around Monika, but today it's impacting you even more than normal. Maybe because you two are all alone for once, not surrounded by Sayori, Yuri, or Natsuki, or even any other students for that matter.

Monika gives a soft laugh. "I wanted to. Technically it's two somethings rather than one," she admits.

You find your mind racing as it tries to go over the potential possibilities. A book like Yuri? That would be very fitting, since you'd befriended Monika through the Literature Club.

You watch as she takes a gift box out of her bookbag, offering it to you with a sweet, "Happy birthday, Y/N."

God, you're definitely blushing. Like, fierce blushing. Either that or the school suddenly decided to turn fifty heaters on all at once. 'Geez, pull yourself together!! Act normal!' You internally berate yourself. If there had been any doubt before, it was all erased in this one instant- you were head over heels for your club president.

"Awh, thank you! It's nice of you." You accept the gift, examining it momentarily. As expected of the class star Monika, the box itself is wrapped perfectly. It's even your favorite color, with a matching ribbon tying it shut. Whether or not you're a sentimental person, you recognize that this is the sort of memento that could easily be kept for a long, long time. You glance back to your friend. "May I open it now?"

Monika nods. "Please do!"

You feel her gaze on you as you carefully untie the ribbon and open up the gift box to see what's inside.

She was right, it is more than one thing. They sort of go together though, you realize as you lift one of the presents up to admire it.

In your hand is a necklace. The chain is a light silver, and the pendant contains a pretty stone in the shape of a heart. The stone shimmers slightly as it reflects the light of the school hall.

"It's so pretty...!" You breathe.

"I'm glad, I thought it was pretty too," Monika says. She sounds calm, but when you glance at her you think she's ecstatic, but the expression is gone as soon as you blink, leaving you to wonder if it had been your imagination playing tricks on you. "It's your birthstone, did you notice?"

You hadn't noticed until she'd pointed it out, but it was indeed your birthstone. Monika is just... so very thoughtful. It's really no wonder she's so popular. "Thank you so much!!" You chirp, still somewhat surprised that she would go so far just for a birthday gift for you. You hadn't known her personally for very long, after all.

You set the necklace back down inside the box to bring out the other gift, another accessory- it's the same color as your birthstone necklace, but it actually reminds you of something else.

Yes, it's a big bow similar to Monika's own. If you were to wear it, it could even look like she and you were matching. You could just be reading too much into things, though...

"I.. love them. So much." You have an overwhelming urge to put your thoughts onto paper in order to give Monika the proper thanks that she deserves for being possibly the most generous person in existence, and because you feel like you're failing miserably at voicing just how touched you really are by these gifts. "I almost want to get you something in return...!"

Monika shakes her head in amusement. "It's your birthday, not mine." A contemplative finger rests on her chin as she adds, "Although... there is something you could do for me. If you wouldn't mind, of course."

Perplexed, you respond without giving yourself a chance to think about it. "Anything!"

You're rewarded with an affectionate smile from Monika, but it seems as though she was expecting that to be your answer.

She extends a hand for the gift box that you've already set both the bow and necklace back in, inquiring, "May I?"

Wordlessly, your intrigue piqued, you hand it back to her. She takes the bow out first, stepping closer to you.

It's not foolish of you to have been anticipating a kiss- even now you could very easily initiate one if you so chose, because of how terrifyingly close Monika is to you as she gently pulls your hair back for you, tying it back with the Y/FC bow and even brushing a stray lock of hair from your face after she does so.

While you're struggling to recover from your short-circuiting, Monika takes the necklace and places it around your neck. The brush of her fingers sends sparks of static against your skin, and you feel as if time is standing completely still, and it's just you and her in this world.

The faint click of the necklace as it clasps shut is what brings you back to reality, and all too soon Monika is stepping away from you again, still close but at a much more reasonable distance away.

She appraises your appearance and then smiles softly. "As I thought."

Is she being mysterious on purpose or does being around her just happen to kill your brain cells? "E-Eh?"

"You look lovely, Y/N."

The compliment makes you want to bury your face in your hands in the futile hopes of hiding your blush, but by now it's probably too late for that.

You stutter out your thanks, desperately trying to mend your scattered thoughts, and she once again wishes you a happy birthday, reminding you as well to bring your poetry assignment to the club meeting tomorrow.

As she's leaving, you realize you never got the chance to ask about the strange behavior she'd exhibited during the meeting with the other students.

[yoursinfulurges]

AntiHero

[The Venom Within] <- read part one here.

Description: The events that soon followed your emotional downfall turns dark and horrifying after Hydra gains possession of your freedom. 

1/2 of part 2

Warnings: Abuse. Kidnapping. Angst. 

Disclaimer: In this story' venom has no conscious and is simply just the readers alter, or the readers inner thoughts and insecurities. This takes place after civil war time. So Endgame and Infinity War never happens.

____________ 

You huffed inaudibly, hearing your stomach roar from starvation for the fifth time this minute. You had only gotten twelve blocks away from the tower, which was still very much visible when you turned back. Annoyingly so, you tried to avoid any peripheral contact with it, in fear of changing your mind and running straight back. 

Even trying your very hardest to block out any childhood memories spent there from coming back to you, as the last thing you needed was for more tears to be shed. You felt eerily deprived of sensation, and you didn't know if it was because of the cold New York air or the fact that you left a part of you behind back in that tower. The one capable of deciphering the many layers of the overwhelming apathy you ever so felt reside within you. 

The one able to comprehend and break down your other feelings that remained intacted, yet almost seemed brain dead. As if not computing the sitution that had happened moments ago, defying how your tense heart truly ached. Feeling as though you were just a walking body, an empty shell of the person that once was. You knew your inner subconscious was protecting you from added trauma, and was doing the best thing it could by preventing you from feeling the complexity of it all and only allowing minor details to slide. As said feelings would only send you into a spiralling depth of anxiety.

 And only god knows what would happened if your emotions alone suddenly decided it was time to have a panic attack at this very moment. Despite being greatful for the somewhat unorthodox coping mechanism that was forced upon you, you were at war with yourself. Almost angry that you couldn't process the overwhelming wave of sensations, having to submit to the black cold solitude of your mind till your brain finally decides to open up and evaluate just how badly the damage was to your mental health. 

But till that happens your soul was left to wonder and yield in confusion instead of settling on one dependent emotion.... 

You were conflicted to no doubt. 

You were angry yet, if tried hard enough and dug a bit deeper, pass the wall you built around your heart, you found yourself strangely at peace. Contradicting the forefront frustration you had with the profound perplexity of the situation, confusing you once more. As a part of you almost beams at the sudden calmness that over came you, in contrast to your outbursts merely an hour ago. 

Sure, you felt a myriad of miniscule emotions coincide you, tiny enough not to affect you in any way shape or form, or take away your apathetic structure, (thankfully so). And you knew that you were definitely far from okay as of right now, especially since you were somewhat going through an existential crisis. Yet in a funny defiant kind of way you were fine. It was as if your amygdala had froze, preventing you from registering everything that had happened. Forcing you to rerun the moments leading up to here in order to get to the bottom of what your true emotions and opinions were. 

You made it out of the tower unnoticed, given the fact that you dressed a lot more muted than you'd normally do. Nobody would think that it was Y/n Stark under the hood of one of Steve Rogers' old jacket. Your clothes weren't exactly ideal, but you were in no position to complain, you acted in a panic and grabbed whatever was on the way to the exit. 

That being Natasha's grey hoodie and Steve's oversized leather jacket. Both laid untouched, draped over the abandoned conference room chairs. You saw it the moment you stepped out the elevator, peering through the glass walls just to confirm whether it was really their's. It was a given that the room hadn't been cleaned out yet, being that it had been months since anyone has been in there. But then again, only a few people had conformation to that area of the tower. 

Without thinking, you had scanned your hand onto the access pad, and before you knew it, the glass door slid open. A decision you silently curse yourself on now for doing, since there was no doubt about it that Friday had already informed your dad that your last digital encounter was going into that room. You knew how incredibly smart that AI was, so you even made it an effort to take the route with less cameras. Even purposely running around the building, going to useless area's to confuse her in the future before sliding pass an unsupervised emergency exit. 

Despite the fact that it was 1:30 AM, the streets of Manhattan was as lively as ever. Though there was a lot less traffic at this time of the night. It gave you comfort to know that you weren't completely alone walking the streets. You may be skilled in hand-to-hand combat, but at the end of the day, you were still a girl, and that fact alone made you a clear target for some. 

And you doubt you could put up much of a fight, especially with how starved weak (and not to mention injured) you were. You had to be weary of who was around you at all times, stick to crowded areas yet be inconspicuous enough not to be spotted by cameras. As you knew for a fact that Friday was most likely scanning the area. 

Though despite how stress driven the situation was and how fidgety you felt, you weren't completely wandering lost, you had a destination set at mind and it gave you all the hope that you needed to keep moving onward. That location being the small little Chinese restaurant tucked away at a back alley passage seven blocks away from where you were. As you were quite close with the owner, being a regular weekly. So you knew for a fact that if you asked she would let you stay for a couple of days without hesitation. The small cozy family owned business reminded you so much of your old home, back when you still lived with your mother. 

After that night- or more so week spent with Tony, your mother had decided it would be best to stay put in China for a while. Delusions of starting something more than just a hook up with the oh so' brilliant Tony Stark flooded her mind. She wanted to be at arms reach for the man and stay exactly where he left her. Tony told her multiple times over the course of seven days that he'd be back for her, but he never came back... 

As weeks went by your mother had come to the realization that those words were merely nothing but empty promises and drunken slurs. Thus feeding her resentment for the small little child that grew inside her. You weren't a native of China but you were born and raised there up until age eleven or twelve, when your mother passed from cancer. Your childhood for the most part was dry and barren of any affection, having to submit and be degraded to being your mother's personal maid. Despite the mistreatment you had to endure, you couldn't exactly complain because you weren't exactly suffering. You had a roof over your head and all the food and water you could ever want, not to mention access to education. From a young age you had always shown signs of carrying the infamous Stark gene, harboring a profound skill to grasp and master any subject thrown your way. At the age of only six you were already capable of speaking three different languages; English, Chinese, and French. You had all characteristics of being a Stark. 

Except of course the looks.... Which was primarily why Tony didn't believe you were his child to begin with. You knew from the age of twelve that you looked more like your mother rather than your dad, but the contrast was blatantly eye striking next to the man whom was supposed to be your father. You had your mom's features more not to mention her complexion, being that your mother was [your race]. 

(If you're white then imagine y/n is paler or tanner than Tony, I'm Asian so....) 

You had never forgotten the most pivotal and accurate representation of your relationship that unfolded the day you first met... 

🕸🕷🕸 

You ran towards the man stood a few feet away from you, letting go of the woman's hand. Your face beams displaying a blinding smile as you ran towards Tony. 

"Dad!" 

You screamed in joy running towards the male engulfing his mid waist with your arms. The man looked down at you in a fright, his brows furrowing together as he looked at the Stark family lawyer and the social worker. 

He gently yet assertively pulls your arms off of him, not sparing you a glance as you looked up in question. 

"Are you sure she's mine?" 

Your heart drops at that moment as all becomes clear... The smile no longer present on your face as you looked down and distanced yourself away from Tony. Something no one took notice of. 

"We've already done a DNA test on her sir and she's yours..." The social worker lady spoke timidly, clutching her files tightly. 

"Well do two more tests, god damn it!" 

Tony screamed causing you to flinch slightly. A prickling sensation of shame washing over you as you watched him begins to pace, rubbing his face with the palm of his hands in distress. 

"Come here sweetie, let's go get you something to eat, you must be hungry from your flight." 

A woman with ginger hair spoke lightly as she forced out a smile, extending her hand for you before glaring at the man when you took her hold. 

"I want a cheese burger...." 

She nodded briefly, pulling you away from the scene and straight towards the elevator. 

🕸🕷🕸 

And at that day was when you realized that things were only going to get more complicated from there. Because the first moment that you both met, he had already decided that he didn't want you. 

Though contrary to his primal feelings, you were very much aware of your fathers attempts in searching for you, even though it had only been forty five minutes since the fight. It was reassuring but, you weren't in the mood to awe about it. You were still mad at him, and had zero plans of forgiving him any time soon. Or returning any time soon... You wanted him to worry and loose sleep, it was petty but it would be a mere compensation for the suffering he put you through. 

You brush pass a halted group of people, no more than twelve, lightly shoving pass them irritably. Slightly annoyed with their odd behavior, as they all seemed to be watching something you couldn't care less about. You let out an inaudible scoff, as you walked passed them. Your attention devoted to unwrapping the bubble gum you had in hand. Harshly shoving the minty treat into your mouth before putting your bandaged hands into the pockets of the leather jacket. You heaved in relief, finally giving your roaring stomach a somewhat rest after fourteen hours of starvation. The gum was probably months old by now since you found it in Nat's hoodie, but you couldn't care less. It was only meant to sustain your hunger for twenty more minutes. 

You walk at a leisurely pace, stopping slightly to push the pedestrian button at the cross walk. You watched as multiple cars pass by, rolling your eye irritably as you hear the crowd of people gasp in awe again. You normally weren't so easily agitated, but you're currently having a hard time figuring out just what your new normal would be from now on... Tapping your foot on the concrete pavement, you wished time would speed up. 

"What do you think is happening up there?" 

"Who knows" 

"Maybe he's just testing out his new suits.' 

With that, you freeze all movements. It was as if everything stilled at the command of one word. You were scared shitless of all the possibilities it could be, not knowing whether you were willing to look or not, but your anxiety was killing you. Feeling it increase at every breath, taunting you like marionettes on a string, dearing you to look, only to scream no just afterwards. With an in take of air, you pushed back those thoughts and slowly, you turned to view what all the fuss was about. Gasping in shock and horror at the sight infront of you. 

He was insane. 

There stood the Stark tower tall and proud, being lit up like a firecracker with multiple yellow streaks of light ejecting from the building. It looked as though hundreds of missiles were being fired into the air, contrasting the twilight sky. Even with the skyscrapers that surrounded the tower, the sight demanded all the attention. No, those weren't missiles...  

They behaved too smart to be simply just that. And you knew better than to dismiss them so easily. Multiple flew in every direction, some swirling around the tower, and others going straight up. There was at least two or four going north and south, while a dozen takes off headed east and west. It looked as though someone was celebrating New Years early, and doing so extravagantly, except it was the middle of fall... 

The sight was beautiful you couldn't deny that, but you were confused as to what exactly that could mean. Was it meant for you? Was he calling you back? Was that his version of an Amber alert? Or maybe they celebrating that you were finally gone... Images of Pepper, Tony, and Peter celebrating your leave quickly flash through your mind, stabbing you in the back ones more. Quickly, you shake them out of your head, returning your attention once again to the event in front of you. Your brows pulled together in question before it officially clicked. Hitting you hard like a brick, demolishing the wall of protection you built around yourself to stop the flood of overwhelming emotions. Feeling a small tug in your chest, the numbness that guarded your heart slowly dispersed as anxiety crept up your spine. 

He had unleashed the entirety of his Iron Legion's to search for you. 

All 108 suits.... 

Without thinking, you quickly crouched down, seeing one flying low into the street, right towards you. Your hood fell from a gust of wind as your hair blew all around. You screw your eyes tightly, covering your ears at a loud swooshing sound invading your eardrums. Thankfully, it flew pass you. You ignored the cheering of the crowd, quickly trying to run and sprint into an underground sub station. Turning back one last time, only to be greeted by more iron suits taking off from the tower. You frantically focusing your eyes, seeing a blue and red figure swinging from a far. 

      Peter....  

As luck may have it, he swung left, following a completely different road. 

And with that, you ran. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, frantically looking for the 99th street substation opening so that you could hide underground. 

Cut short gasps of panic erupt from your mouth as you hurriedly ran across the street. You closed your eyes tight, feeling tears forming and falling down your face. Oh no, not now... Cold frost bitten air hits your skin as you maneuver yourself around bystanders. Not now, not now, not now. The tears fell more frequently as you squeezed your eyes shut once more. 

You were not going to send yourself into and anxiety attack, not now, and not because of this. 

Your running comes to a halt as you stand exactly where you're supposed to be, eyes quickly looking around in search for the station opening. 

There! 

In a fright, damp cold sweats engulfs your body as you enter and ran down the steps, out from above ground sight. You jump over the turnstile, panting from the tiredness as you took note of how soar your legs were becoming. You gulp, chest rising and falling rapidly as you looked around to see if anyone saw your odd behavior. And to your surprise the station was completely empty, odd... Though that could very well be because the scheduled 1:40 train had just took off fifteen minutes ago. You moved with hesitation and weariness as you looked around for any person in sight. Silently, you plopped yourself down onto a steel bench, trying desperately for your breathing to calm down. 

You didn't know how long it had been or how much time passed since you've sat down, but you stayed put fidgeting for what seemed like hours. Your thighs bounced anxiously as you kept an eye out for any short of movement, the dimly lit grimy station gave you an on edge feeling and it didn't sit right in your stomach. You felt like you were being watched from all sorts of corners and you shook it off as anxiety but something told you to stay guarded. 

Your ears would perk from time to time, hearing loud gusts of winds and cheering from above ground, ensuring the fact that your father's search party wasn't going away anytime soon. 

You hear movement coming in, snapping out of your haze as you felt a presence sit beside you. You peer up meekly in curiosity before gasping in shock and horror at who the person was. 

      Brock Rumlow.... 

"Long time no see little Stark." He spoke voice raspy and sinister as you cringe at the sight of his face. There, half of his profile was burnt and agitated red as one of his eyes was completely titanium white, you figured he was blind there. Wanda really did a number on him as you all suspected that she had killed him.... 

Little Stark.... That was something only Fury called you... 

You swallow in fear as you notice five more men appearing suddenly. You suddenly felt incredibly hyper aware of the situation, your vision tunneling as your heart rate increases. This was really happening... 

"I've waited a long time for this kid... knock her out!" 

Before you could scream in distress a throbbing pain consumes the back of your skull, and then everything turned black...

_____________

I owe you guys an explanation, and to put it simply, I was depressed and felt unmotivated so I took a lot of time to myself... I wasn't aware that so many people were expecting a follow up to a stupid little story I had written in April... I am without of words and am absolutely overwhelmed by the amount of support and love you all have given me. Yet the feeling of being pressured to write came with the notion of so much positivity, thus tainting it. I can't promise when the second half of part two will come out, but know that it is coming......

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[the-lone-witch-and-secret-room]

I'm currently working on a fic that's set a few years after Amity breaks away from her parents' grip and is forced to ask her father for help with repairing something. Would it be accurate to portray him as more apathetic to everything around him, like a more cynical Rick Sanchez?

Anon, I feel a bit bad interfering in your creative process, but… please don’t write that. I’m sure you have good intentions, but this whole concept is extremely harmful, as you’re putting Amity into a very dangerous situation.

Amity is canonically a victim of emotional abuse from both of her parents. (Maybe I’ll cover their separate roles in the abuse their children suffer more in-depth at some point, but for now, in short: emotional abuse often works via words, sometimes actions, but it can also be the lack of action that’s abusive—the former of which is Odalia, the latter Alador falls under, for the most part.)

Having Amity break away from her parents grip is a healthy, important step for her. DON’T have her reach out to her father again, especially not because she needs something from him. That’s super, super dangerous. Their power dynamic has always been heavily imbalanced towards her father. Having her crawl back to him because she needs something from him gives him power to hold over her. That she needs something so desperately she’s forced to interact with him, as you said, means he has a lot of power to hold over her in this situation. Alador’s whole thing is that he pays little to no attention to Amity outside of how she can be useful to him, p.e. using her to network when she’s six, and recognizing her potential to become coven leader and therefore an access to more power for his family. As far as we know, he’s never been there for her when she needed him, and I don’t see how this would be different—unless he finds a way to benefit from it somehow, which would be even more dangerous.

Considering how much her parents have hurt her, and the implication that Amity has recognized that hurt rather than continued to accept her parents’ excuses of calling the abuse “tough love” since she’s emancipated herself and essentially cut contact with them, there’s nothing that could break that could be important enough for Amity to force herself to interact with her father again. She’d exhaust every other possibility to fix whatever it is, but she wouldn’t over her dead body go back to her abuser to ask for help, especially not because as a neglecting parent, Alador is specifically someone she could never rely on for help.

That’s a behavior she might be at risk of falling into right after cutting contact, but if it’s been years, she’s had a lot of time to put everything she suffered through as a child into a different perspective. She has a healthier environment in Luz and her friends and potentially other mentor figures that aren’t parental, depending on whether for example Lilith is in her life at that point—Eda and Camila probably would be through Luz. She knows which people she can rely on, and which she can’t and doesn’t want to rely on.

From how the ask is worded I’m guessing you didn’t plan for the whole incident to go over very well (even though that’s a little hard to tell without more context), but even so, I’m asking you to please rethink the general concept.

If something is somehow important enough for her to ask her abusers of all people for help, there’s no telling how much she’d let them get away with in regards to how they treat her if she really needs their help that much. She might even have to force herself to walk on eggshells around her abusers, since she can’t risk pissing them off while she needs them. You can probably see how that’s an issue.

If you really want to write a fic about emancipated Amity interacting with her parents, put her in a situation where she is in control, rather than her parents. If it’s Alador and Odalia that need/want something from Amity instead of the other way around, Amity can refuse their request, and even if she doesn’t initially, she can cut them back out of her life at any given point during the story. She doesn’t have to put up with any bad behavior from her parents. The second they overstep a line she drew, she can cut them off again, and the whole thing is over. There’s still dangers to this situation, of course (it’s important to keep in mind that it’s not uncommon for abusers to pretend to be better people for a time, only to fall back into their usual behavior as soon as they have the victim back in their control), but giving Amity control over the situation and hence the means to end it whenever she wants to is an entirely different setup than her going to her parents for help, and essentially giving them back the means to control her.

I highly recommend checking out the story Make My Home Inside Your Heart by @whatisurowlpolicy regarding how to handle adult Amity around her parents, but the main takeaway from me here would be, plain and simple: Do not put an emancipated abuse victim into a situation where she’s forced to rely on her abusers for help.

Edit: I am not saying abuse victims can’t write about their experiences, I’m sorry if that came across that way. Longer explanation in my reblog but essentially just if you write something like this without personal experience, especially as a beginner writer, there’s a high chance you’ll accidentally end up causing more harm than good. This is one of the topics that I firmly believe you shouldn’t be covered at all if it can’t be covered respectfully.

[salemroleplayhq]

❝The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.❞

MEET…

Jillian Swann

Age: 30

Birthday: August 20th, 1991

Gender/Pronouns: Cis female, She/Her

Hometown: Salem, MA

Length of time in Salem: All of her life, except for the 3 years in which she was away for college and seven months in a mental health facility

Occupation: Freelance Artist & Muralist / Bartender at Rockafellas

Faceclaim: Laura Harrier 

THEIR STORY

tw: mentions of major depressive disorder, anxiety, postpartum depression, suicide attempts, fire

An only child, since infancy Jill most closely resembled her mother, though the resemblance didn’t stop there. Her mother was also Jill’s namesake — Jillian — but to avoid confusion the nickname ‘Jill’ or ‘Jilly’ were the names deployed most often to give her a better sense of individuality. She was raised with little austerity. Her mother was a high end jeweler and her father was a therapist. She had a double bed adorned with silky materials of the highest thread count, took long hot showers in the mornings and lavish baths in the evening. Pressure was put on maintaining an orderly appearance. Manners instilled, always. With strict guidelines to be followed within and outside the home — she was a child, thereby she must listen to those above her. Their daughter was to be seen and not heard, not to speak unless spoken to. Whether or not Jill’s quiet disposition is a result of her parents’ ingrained teachings, or if it was in her nature to begin with cannot be determined for certain. To avoid any unnecessary conflict, Jill was cautious never to do anything reckless that would put even a single strand of her hair out of place.

Her family may have been affluent, but even though technology installments were in abundance around the house — from cable TV to being given a personal iPhone at nine years old — she always showed an inclination toward more tangible forms of entertainment. More often than not her spare time would be occupied with long-winded outings to the library, teaching herself embroidery or knitting projects or skipping rope tricks. As an only child, her imagination became her closest companion. Inventiveness kept her boredom at bay, but it also made it impossible for her mind to ever be a peaceful and silent place. She took a liking to fiction and poetry books and art the most. She was thrilled by the way the right set of words could miraculously make sense of the big feelings she felt but didn’t dare speak about. She thrived off of what was obvious; the practical and evidential. Situations with a clear cut beginning and end that couldn’t be mistaken for something else. With art, she was able to embody everything that she had felt inside — what words couldn’t appropriately convey. ‘I don’t belong here. Nobody wants me. I don’t feel normal.’ Accordingly, nothing frustrated her more than having no idea where to begin when dealt with something that wasn’t so readily apparent or visible ( more often than not this equated to one category only: her feelings ). Winging things wasn’t her style — planning and perfect organization was. With poetry and art — with the attractive rhythmics of prose, and the curved painted brushes — she could suddenly adapt to any moment, turning anything that felt too overwhelming into something small and manageable ( destroyable, even — much of her first personally works ending up shredded or burned in the fireplace ). It was a comfort to find that even if an explanation didn’t exist, she could simply make one up herself by inking it down on a fresh piece of paper. This was a hobby she kept private, though she was passionately devoted to it. Each night filling a page or two, whether in a notebook or a sketchbook, until every few months she had a full book and had to start a new one.

Growing up Jill was very level-headed and had a natural talent for leadership. She was never boastful or power-hungry, but taking charge of chaotic situations came like second nature to her. She wasn’t shy of being in the spotlight, not because she ever wanted the attention but because she sought to benefit the bigger picture always. If there was a recognizable error she’d often be the first to analyze it without a bias to intervene with her perception, making her able to step in to adjust it until perfect form was achieved. She was considered mature for her age by most of her superiors — teachers and parents alike — never giving way to thoughtless impulses and seemingly unable to be offended. A teenager who possessed a gift concerning genuine empathy and kindness. Jill and her ego seemed to exist on opposite sides of the spectrum. Critique and praise rolled off her back one in the same. She was a quick learner, always eager to have new content to peruse. She loved questions, for there was always an answer. It was safe territory. As curious as she was in pursuits of knowledge, as a whole she was very reserved and well balanced and not at all spontaneous. She became a safe haven for many of her lost high school peers, but nobody had ever seen the deep inner turmoil she had wrestled with all of her life; that emptiness, that sadness, those thoughts that told her she wasn’t good enough. Despite being plagued by anxious voices, she tried to push on, at times self harming when it felt like it was too much.

When it mattered most, art saved her — especially after the fire. She was a creative through and through, but it was the self portraits of a woman losing her mind that allowed her to look at herself in a completely different light. Though she tried not to think of it much ( she couldn’t remember what exactly had happened even when she consciously tried ), Jill was unsure if she was relieved to have made it out of the fire. To her own life, she was apathetic. Yet, when she finally met Lachlan she had put up a good front — “thank you,” said with a warm smile that failed to reach her eyes; she had recognized him from their school, “for saving me.” As a result, she fell more into her creativity and further away from the her peers. Jill’s artistic talents were obvious to anyone on the outside looking in, expressed in her handiwork in her talent for choosing attractive fashions and creating hair styles at the girl’s sleepovers. Indeed, Jill had a great talent for styling clothing, sewing and braiding her friends’ hair as well as any professional hair stylist. But it was a duty rather than something she felt in her heart. The need to look pristine, whispering urgent nothings at the back of her head. Writing and painting was what she truly longed to do, but making a profession out of something anyone who could hold a pen or paintbrush could do seemed impossible.

Once Jill honed her ability, she began to submit her work into local competitions. Being able to be a freelance artist as a job seemed far fetched, but it was all she enjoyed spending her free time on — using real people as her subjects, sketching what she really saw, and uploading her work in the hopes that it would sell. The inspiration fueling each canvas was endless.

Taking two years to herself after graduating high school — allowing herself to build up various art equipment, a growing portfolio, and history of recurring clients that helped spread her name around — at 21, for the sake of improved credibility, it was with bated breath and hardened determination that she finally felt she was prepared enough to dare to apply to local universities offering a BFA degree in art. When Jill received an acceptance letter from FIT, it felt like an affirmation the direction she was headed wasn’t purposeless. Though usually careful about keeping her emotions withheld, she couldn’t help be feel thrilled at having seemed to have found her true calling.

Until three years into her studies. The stresses of college had overwhelmed her, and she found herself swallowing a bottle of pills in her sorrow. When she awoke, she had been back in Salem, her mother by her side — and Jill had turned her head, letting the silent tears flow down her cheeks out of shame. Moving back with her family had been hectic. Her deep depression and suicidal thoughts lingering but she had promised her parents that she would never hurt herself again. Instead, she spent her days in various forms of isolation, to locking herself in her childhood bedroom for days, to sitting on the balcony quietly nursing a cup of tea. It was the first time that she had purposely avoided writing or drawing.

As all things, with time was supposed to come healing. Over the years, Jill kept up a regular notebook habit despite how pointless it seemed — it was a freeing outlet that calmed her anxious thoughts. Within those pages she catalogued original writings as well as jotting down lyrics, sayings, quotes, and eavesdropped phrases she heard whilst out and about. Clearcut beginnings and ends were her favorite thing. Anytime the she was confused or disturbed by the people around her, she’d retreat to process it silently on a page. Unless she was at work around those her age, she was surrounded by adults. Neither were particularly easy to make sense of, so many a notebook went filled. Though she still managed to maintain her “Jill of all Trades” persona for her relatability and kindness, people had still spoken about her as the deeply troubled young woman as a result.

Her depression left her deeply afraid, and she became somewhat of a recluse most times because she couldn’t bear the whispers. Then she met Gabriel, an older man who had stopped in Salem for business, and it had changed everything. The casual fling began and ended without much fuss. It was a stress relief, nothing different than the glass of wine or smoke she ingested when particularly stressed. Jill preferred living alone, in all aspects. Romance was never appealing, neither was having to belong to someone, or adhere to any sense of domestic behaviors. Long term relationships were foreign territory for her simply because of her deep depression, and it was always a relief to find someone on a similar wavelength. A couple months after their fling drew to a close, Jill found it wasn't as easy to shrug off as past exchanges when she discovered she was pregnant. Something within her knew she wouldn’t abandon the life growing inside, even if it threw off every perfectly crafted plan she had.

Nine months later Jill was the mother of fraternal twins, Gabe always by her side. For a while it seemed like they could make it work out — a possible bond and a growing love for each other. Then the postpartum symptoms had hit, and just like that, their blossoming relationship was thrown right into the garbage after Jill had attempted to take her life once more in the midst of a breakdown. Having been sent to a mental facility some ways out of town immediately after, Jill has just come back to her hometown after seven months — desperate to heal.

PERSONALITY

+  empathetic, personable, creative

-  stubborn, perfectionist, naive

Jillian is played by CLEM.

[myfanfictiongarden]

Night, Day, and Everything In-between- POTO fanfic

It is long past midnight and through the thick walls of the building one can make out the distant toiling of bells from Notre Dame. There is no moon tonight to light the streets and so a nearly eery silence lays over the opera house and its tenants. If it weren’t for the torches and gas-lamps to light the many passages and corridors on its nearly countless floors, she knows  the unending paths through the opera house would easily turn into a labyrinth, each corner filled with more shadows then the other- not even counting the secret passages and underground maze. As it is, she makes her way along the changing rooms to her own quarters without so much as a minute of thought. Living for years inside this walls she knows every single corner by heart. Nearly every single corner.

As always before a great premiere there were many things to be discussed and arranged, sometimes those meetings between the opera inhabitants and employees could last deep into the night, and she as the one responsible for the dancers liked to always be good informed. Some would call her strict, but she liked to say she was well organised. That is why she left the two little girls sleeping alone. It were two now, although she had only one daughter. 

She is only a few steps away now from her lodging when a familiar whisper stops her.

“Don’t enter now, you’ll spoil their fun.” It is the voice of the only inhabitant of the Opera Populare that knows more about it secrets than her, and like a ghost he moves along in it, a shadow as blinding as night itself.

“And how, Monsieur, do your know they are not sleeping like well-behaved children?”

“Because while the maman was away, the papa kept an eye on them. And their merry little voices were hard to ignore. Let them have their fun.” She can’t help it but let out a loud sight at this. This little play has started a few weeks ago when she had brought the orphan girl to live with her and Meg, a step she had made out of Christian duty to give the poor child's father peace of mind in his last hours, but her companion in the shadows had immediately jumped on it as a way to start one more of his make-believes. She would be the mother to both, he the unseen guardian to the orphan. A perfect fantasy. But a fantasy nevertheless.

A many would have fainted in fear to hear shadows talking to them like this, but not her. The corridor is far too dark to see, she can only make out the dark silhouette of him standing not far away from her, the whiteness of the plaster mask seemingly floating in midair.

They had already lead this discussion about his new fancy, his new game. What else can a man learn growing up in the shadows of the opera then plays and illusions? And having known him for years it is hard to deny him a wish of such innocent nature. Yet, she can’t help but make one last attempt at his reason.

“It is far too late for little girls to have fun. They should have been asleep by now.”

“The restrains of life will corner them soon enough. For now let them tell each other stories of magic. The new one has laughed for the first time since arriving here.”

It is true that the little orphan Christine, daughter of the late Swedish violinist, had come nearly apathetic to the opera. It is no wonder, with the loss she had suffered, and still, to see a child of 7 to loose interest in life so much was more than heartbreaking. The only thing that had kept her living were the visits to the chapel, the idea to be able to speak to her beloved father once more. The idea which had made Antoinette’s companion in the shadows form his own ideas. 

“Your investment is really touching, mon ami, but-“

“But what? Haven’t I been careful this past weeks? Didn’t I promise to be careful? Didn’t I promise she would never feel forgotten? Didn’t you promise me to allow at least the illusion of me being a wanted human being?” His voice has gotten harsh from emotion while their conversation had minutes ago started nearly playful, and that was one more thing she often missed to avoid- missed to avoid him remembering just how lonely life on earth can be. Living hiding in a theatre could make one eccentric with time, but there are worse fates out there in the streets for those unwanted.

“She had no one when you brought her here, she barely knew some French. Now she started to open up to your Meg. Let me only watch over her. Allow me sometimes to comfort her. Let me at last imagine how a life I can never lead could look like. Please, Antoinette.” He was pleading now. He had never asked her for anything with so much emotion, and Heavens know he could had asked much through all these years.

Nearly as silently as he could move she advanced towards him, her slender ballet figure now inches from his tall person.

“Have it your way. Just promise me you’ll be careful, Erik.”

….

The sun is shining warm and bright through every window and every open hole in the grand opera's many floors, its countless inhabitants busy as bees and the cacophony of voices sounding just like it. Summer is the time when things would quiet down a bit, but even though that time was approaching there were still sold out nights to be performed at, to be dressed and to be staged. Yet, every stage-men, seamstress, dancer and performer, all looked forward to time for a bit more leisure. 

In the dormitory under the roof where the female dancers lived, the place housing more then two dozen ladies of various ages, the heat kept getting harder and harder to bear, and so one afternoon after rehearsals many of them were lazily resting on their iron-wrong beds, some using fans to cool themselves, others giving in to the despair of the heat. The burning sun turning the attic into an oven. What was usually a place of chatter and gossip now was heavy with silence of exhaustion. But to one of them it seemed not to matter.

With her 12 years, Christine belonged still to the youngest girls in the dormitory, but by the age of 10 both her and Meg had grown too big to share a tiny sleeping place in Madam Giry´s privat quarters, so for both the dormitory it meant. Never in her young life had she been so constantly surrounded by so many people like since arriving under the wing of Madam Giry. Although, the phrase “under the wing” would have been in in a way misplaced for there was not more attention given to her then to the other girls, or even Meg. There was no denying that Madam took good care of her and loved Meg, but she had a strict hand and everyone, especially the older girls, could feel it. Nevertheless, Christine- although very young in age- could not but feel grateful towards Madam for giving her a roof to sleep under. She liked dancing very much and Meg was her best friend. Still, at times she couldn’t help but feel lonely. There were rare occasions when she would join in conversations with the other girls, their joys and dreams were so different from hers.

While thinking all this she had descended many stairs and the air was already getting cooler. Her agile feet had carried her down, down many flights of stairs, down along all the way to the chapel. By now the air was not only cooler but also damp, damp from moisture from the walls and stuffy from the many candles burning. Christine didn’t mind.

It is a rather tiny room, but to her it's one of the dearest of places. In this country people look a bit different to religion, different then in the far north from where she came from, and she had got used to it after the many visits to church on Sundays, yet here in this stuffy forgotten chapel her heart feels at home. She doesn’t have another one anymore.

Resting her head on the cool surface of the stained glass window she remembers how, upon arriving in the opera house, she had caught bits of hushed conversations, conversations she couldn’t understand and only with time grabbed their meaning. They had talked of how she seemed to suffer from melancholy, rather unusual for such a young child. It is odd how she couldn’t understand them talking when she came here although she used to know the language quite well after living in this country till then for nearly two years. Yet, when her papa was gone the language seemed to be too, and it had only come back slowly. She remembers how they came to France, just the two of them, always the two of them. They were on a concert tour and then he had been offered a teaching position at a rich family's house. The younger of two sons was to learn the violin so she and her papa made many visits to that grand house. She liked to watch her papa play the violin, liked to hear it. She liked the boy he was teaching, they were best friends. Fondly she remembers him, and wonders if he remembers her too.

Her eyes begin to itch and tiny tears stream down her face.

Dry your eyes, my child.

With the back of her hand she dries them away while something between a sob and a lough escapes her lips. 

It's him. The Angel. 

Her young heart feels sadness lifted from her very being. She isn’t alone. It takes only two steps before she is by the candles, kneeling down, lighting a new one, clapping her hands, and feeling perfectly at peace.

…

It is a clear sky, the colours slowly changing from light to oranges and purple, advancing towards the deepest shade of night blue. Stars will soon be alight. There is not a single cloud merging the view, windows glitter in the setting light, shadows slowly spread along the many streets as people linger around them, each in their own pursuit. Night is close by.

He is standing on the roof-top of the grand Opera Populare, on a terase between the changing stores, well hidden behind one of the decorating statues, nothing more than another shadow. No one can see him here. It has been for long one of his favourite spots when he wished to partake in the everyday life of the Parisians around the opera house. Not that their woes and sorrows could touch him who had experienced their most cruel side- but at times he had a wish to at least imagine what a life among them could look like.

This, however wasn’t the only reason of why he stood here today in the early autumn breeze. His eyes suddenly caught sight of a group of young girls advancing slowly towards the opera house. Young ballet students of various ages returning from a day-long excursion to the countryside outside the cities edges, one of the rare occasions of change in their rather strictly organised daily routine. Their familiar white dresses and blue capes, their youthful light step and their ribbons in hair, joyfully returning from a day of fun. It is only the students that went out with their instructor, the grown up ladies were free to move around as they pleased. 

As they come closer and closer he dares to peak out of his hiding a bit more, the shadows now too deep to make anyone suspect someone on the roof. The girls are now close enough to make them out clearly and there is one he wished to see. The curly head of 11 year old Christine was among them, right at her best friends side like usual. Her curls have partly come loose from her ribbon, her laughter ringing brighter then anyones else’s. A few moments more and the little group is already inside the building, just as the street lamps are lit. He steps back again and is gone in the darkness of the shadows.

It had been an idea he had long thought of when the little orphan had been brought to the opera house. Now, being poor or an orphan or both was nothing special inside the walls of the opera house, few of its inhabitants were anything else. What had first catched his attention was the fact that this particular orphan was the child, the only child of a most talented and too early deceased young Swedish violinist. Her father had been a true artist and genius, and never lived to see his upcoming fame. The other thing though that made him feel drawn to her was the loneliness she had shown and one he could feel with. The melancholy with which she had first come, the countless hours she had spend in the tiny chapel, the desperat attempts to at least in some way reach her beloved papa through prayer. And rather than leave her trapped in silence he spoke to her. First he had feared he might scare the rather tender little being, yet she had been only a bit startled at first and calm ever since. Her child soft voice had spoken of an Angel to come her father had promised her, spoken with such earnest believe that it had left him in awe of her little heart. It had kept him thinking until he made up his mind. 

What harm can there be to comfort such a lonely heart? What crime in making someone feel not forgotten? What easier play for him, who knows every single corner in this building, then to remind a child that she is not alone but watched over and cared for! The many a hour he had thought of ways to deliver an Christmas present to make the days less dull, the joy on her face upon finding in the chapel a little whistle shaped as a bird with her name on he had carved out himself, the pink ribbon and hair-clip and note sheet that followed in years. She had a talent for music and he found joy in whispering her instructions and following her impressive progress.

Years went by like this, spring followed winter, autumn followed summer, and round again it went, the days seemingly flowing over into each other. Time looses meaning in the closed off world of the opera's walls. For him, it could have gone on like this forever.

One night, it is late evening, he walks along one of the many secret passages, when a person in the chapel makes him stop. He is standing in a passage between the chapel and outside walls close to the grated window that had so long ago given him entrance and shelter. It is dark but for the few candles illuminating the scene, and for a moment it looks far too sacred for any human eye to see. It is a young female figure that kneels there, the ankle long skirt having replaced the short one of girlish days, a plain black ribbon on top of the long curly hair, hands clasped in pious prayer, the cheeks flushed in the light blush of young womanhood to come. 

It was Christine.

That night he hadn’t spoken to her, he had actually forgotten that he was about to take a walk in the deserted streets and rather reminded stuck on his spot for many hours after she had left, wondering what had came over him. He didn’t attempt to see her for many days after. When, a few weeks later, he watched the rehearsals from a hidden place far above the scene like he often did, and saw her among this low-lifes of actors and dancers and stage-hands, it stuck out to him how she seemed to be too noble to be among them. The female dancers with their pedestrian manners disguised him, the dandy actors with their huge egos made his blood boil. She, on the other hand, shone more the brighter.

This thoughts troubled him. His heart ached with a yearning he had never felt before, a song had entered his mind he very much wished to ignore. Hadn’t he been close to happy until now? Collecting a fine salary from the superstitious manager, turning a cave into a lavish lair, roaming the secret passages and opera by day, at times the streets by night, and always composing at his hearts desire? Wasn’t he glad to be able to comfort a lonely child, contempt to play the invisible surrogate father when life had had closed that door forever for him? Wasn’t he her friend, her angel, her guide, guardian, teacher? 

More than once did he repeat this words in his head, yet no matter how often he did they could nothing to stop the other ones that somehow always found a way to sneak right into it. For days he would avoid the stage, roam the streets at night unaffected by harsh weather, ride off to the countryside where no human had ever sat foot or hide in the darkness of his lair. When it didn’t improve his condition he would do it all over again. He felt restless and wild. The mirrors in his abode seemed to mock him even more than before, and wishing to find peace he often sat down to write and compose, but nothing would help. There was only one melody to him now. He knew he had found music in the most sublime and pure form. Her face would appear in ink among his compositions, and haunt him in his dreams. Her voice would ring in every single corner, and ring in his ears.

It was music like he had never heard before- and he wouldn’t let it go.

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

AN: Trying to fill out some missing years we didn't get to se in the story that led to the events of the movie. Also, I was very much inspired by this story.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Beyond a Seasonable Doubt

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: T Word count: 7478 @spideychelleweek​

Spideychelle Week Day 2: Soulmate AU

Summary: Peter's been living in winter for 17 years. A single smile from his soulmate would bring him into spring. Today, he finally has a real conversation with MJ, the girl he's pretty sure is the one.

Every day, Peter Parker wakes up certain of three things: that he won’t leave himself enough time to finish his cereal, that he should dress for snow, and the (probable) identity of his soulmate.

Ok, the first one’s not a certainty per say―sometimes he has microwave oatmeal or blueberry toaster waffles―but the second one’s been true his whole life. Every single day, for the past seventeen years and change, he’s been swaddled for winter weather. Could be January when he’s three years old and his puffy snowsuit looks totally appropriate as his mom pushes him down a slushy sidewalk in his stroller. Could be August 10th just last year and he’s wearing a woolen fisherman sweater (inherited from his Uncle Ben) and two pairs of socks to his own birthday pool party. Until his soulmate is confirmed, he won’t be part of the regular changing of the seasons that, up to this point, he’s only heard about and seen pictures and video of. For all intents and purposes, in Peter’s world, it’s winter. Some people say the date they’re stuck on bothers them. Personally, he doesn’t know how it could, since he’s never known anything different. You just have to layer up and get on with it.

His arm’s deep in his backpack, feeling around for the scarf he could swear he stuffed in there yesterday, as he walks into the kitchen. It’s a rare day; both Happy and May are at the table, working from home today. With ambivalence to the inevitability that he’ll be dumping half of it in the sink, Peter starts in on his Cheerios. He’s less apathetic about watching his dining companions. They haven’t had the easiest path, so he studies them for clues. May’s first soulmate was Uncle Ben. That’s not up for debate. Within 24 hours of when they met, the seasons adjusted themselves and two more people joined the rest of the world’s matched soulmates in enjoying the proper rotation of the earth around the sun. After Ben’s death, May told Peter that the seasons continued to change for her, but they slowed. Once a couple of years passed, there was a noticeable lag. She fell out of step with the world. When Happy came on the scene, things got back on track. Voilà, soulmate number two. From what Peter’s read, it’s not that unusual to find another soulmate if you lose your first, but honestly, he’d be happy just to get one.

May and Happy are dressed for mid-spring.

“Rain today?” Peter wonders, spooning Cheerios into his mouth.

“It’s holding off for now,” his aunt informs him.

When he turns to look out the window, there’s a cottony haze of thick snowflakes, like all of Queens is having a pillow fight on the rooftops. He sighs with acceptance rather than despair. Nothing was going to change overnight. It couldn’t, not without her, whoever she is. (He thinks he knows.)

“Cool.”

He leaves in a rush, slopping milk into the sink, and pulling on a hat.

A season isn’t much of a clue, but that’s not exactly how everyone experiences their pre-soulmate life. Instead of cycling through an entire spring, for example, and then starting again, each person exists in the weather as it was on the day their soulmate was born. The universe was kinda against Peter from the first. Snow, in his mind, goes with winter, but of course, in their New York climate, snow isn’t trapped between the boundaries of December and March. It wasn’t until he got his second clue that he figured out the first. The second clue was that this one girl would never smile at him. Soulmates need to smile at each other. That’s it. Just smile and everything else falls into place. No more dressing for the same temperature every day or involuntarily shivering when they see people in shorts and t-shirts in a world they observe to be covered in snow. Most people who haven’t found their soulmate yet smile a lot, trying to catch everyone’s eye, in the hope of locating the right person, so the fact that this one girl refused to smile at him (and continues to refuse) made Peter curious―curious enough to do some research to find out her birthday. End of November. Meaning autumn, not winter. He checked the weather for the year he was born, assuming he’s got the right girl and they share a birth year. Bingo. Big cold front, unexpectedly heavy snowfall that day. Plus, this girl dresses like it’s the peak of summer, which fits with when his birthday is, and he’s never seen her wear an outfit for cooler weather or hang around with any one person in particular (soulmates, especially those his age, tend to cling).

So, the third certainty. Peter’s pretty sure he knows who his soulmate is. What he doesn’t know is why the hell Michelle Jones won’t smile at him.

―

Every day, Michelle Jones wakes up certain of three things: that the inevitable sweat patches in the armpits of her uniform shirt will aid her in bullying Coach Wilson into letting her sit out during gym, that Peter Parker is her soulmate, and that she’d really prefer that he wasn’t.

People think she’s rude, which is maybe correct in the effect she has on them but not in the intention of her actions. She doesn’t like acting a certain way because it’s how she’s supposed to act. She doesn’t like etiquette, she doesn’t like rules, and she doesn’t like soulmates. Doesn’t want one, doesn’t need one. It’s an opinion adults condescendingly informed her she’d grow out of―as if accepting that she’s being denied free will is the kind of thing she’d mature into―until she quit voicing it. People love the system as long as they believe it’s working for them. What’s childish, as far as MJ is concerned, is placing complete faith in something as pervasive as soulmates simply because it seems too big to fail. That expression always makes her think of the Titanic.

She knows it’s not the cotton candy fantasy everyone wants to believe it is, and she’s not just disillusioned because she wakes up to a heatwave every day and has to carry deodorant with her all the time. Like most people, she was born the child of two soulmates. They met, they smiled, they took the soulmate bait, hook, line, and sinker. And then, even though they loved each other and got married and made MJ, her mom became mildly depressed. Her doctor thought it was the consequence of the seasons. MJ’s dad was a late-April baby, so maybe her mom was just one of those people who took longer to get used to variations in temperature and hours of daylight. The doctor thought she’d snap out of it when winter ended and nice weather came again. The problem was that MJ’s mom packed up and left in February. MJ’s never going to know for sure if it was the weather that made her go, but she does know that the soulmate bond wasn’t enough to make her mom stay. It taught her that, if a person’s determined enough, they can override destiny.

So she’s thankful to her mom, wherever she is, for that.

Based on her motives for distrusting the soulmate influence, the reason she doesn’t want Peter should be because she doesn’t want anybody, but no, it’s him in particular that MJ’s pretty much convinced she could do without. He’s smart, funny on occasion and mostly by accident, and he’s experienced family tragedy that’s different from hers, so they could connect over their messed-up pasts without too much overlap. All of that is more than she wants to deal with. If the universe attempted to shack her up with some trust-fund-having, loafer-wearing, future-frat-house-keg-meister, she could’ve worked with that. She would’ve smiled at the silver-spoon-suckling to confirm they were soulmates, then let that puppy-dog trail her from protest to protest while she told him when to pull out his chequebook and how many zeros to put down. There would’ve been a clear, Robin Hoodian purpose to that relationship. There’s not a point to Peter, besides him being someone she could very probably, very quickly fall in love with. Obviously, she can’t do that because soulmates are bullshit and true love is a con and long-term monogamy is a doomed enterprise.

…And she’s going to be late for her first class, Biology. Ugh, Peter always does this to her―intentionally walks slow to try to trick her into catching up with him. All that does is make MJ take a longer route and misjudge how quickly she needs to move. She wishes he’d knock it off. He’s backed off on a lot of other things for her sake (that’s an assumption based on observation because, of course, she’s never initiated a conversation with him), like sitting across from her in the cafeteria and dropping out of marching band (he plays trombone, she plays euphonium, and the brass section was too cozy a space for successfully avoiding someone). That second one was a waste because she was about to quit anyway, so now neither of them are in it and the whole band’s off balance. Too many fucking flautists. If Peter would commit to doing one or the other―pestering her or ignoring her―that would be convenient, but he’s inconsistent and she’s annoyed.

Oh, here’s another thing that happens every day: MJ hopes her displeasure will protect her from the urge to smile at the adorable, well-intentioned pain in her neck that destiny wants to tie her to until one of them drops dead or, marginally less dramatic, runs out on the young family they’ve created. It really pisses her off that Peter seems like he’ll be a great dad in another decade or two.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, when she finally makes it to Bio and slides behind the lab desk in front of his.

“Kiss my ass, Parker,” she mutters back.

He’s the reason for the sweat running down her spine. MJ pinches the front of her t-shirt and flaps it away from her skin, trying to stimulate enough airflow to make it through the period.

―

“You could trick her into smiling at you,” Ned suggests. They’re sitting together at lunch and Peter has a glumness hangover from MJ ignoring him (again) that morning.

“Babe,” Betty admonishes.

“Babe, he’d only feel bad if MJ really is his soulmate. If she’s not, then at least they know for sure and they can quit being weird with each other.”

“I’m not being weird with her,” Peter objects. “I’m just being nice! And I told you, I know it’s her.”

“You get that feeling?” Ned checks. “That warm feeling like I got the first time I saw Betty’s beautiful face?”

“Aw, babe!”

Their arms are already linked as they eat, but now Betty lays her head on her soulmate’s shoulder. If they get much closer, she’ll be in Ned’s lap, at which point Peter will have to make himself scarce. Though love is cute, it’s also kind of an affliction with a lot of messy symptoms.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing anything wrong!” he blurts out in frustration, jabbing at the salad May made him for lunch. “How could we be so incompatible?”

“You’re not though,” Betty counters. “You’re totally compatible.”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even taken the first step.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t think of it as the first step,” Ned suggests, being all wise.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked cautiously.

“Babe, you couldn’t be more correct,” Betty gushes. Peter sighs impatiently. He shouldn’t―they’re trying to help him―but it’s hard having paired up friends while his own soulmate stays just out of reach.

“Elaborate please,” he prompts.

He shifts in place and shivers when he accidentally moves out of the space his butt’s been warming. Meanwhile, here are Ned and Betty in their lightweight sweaters and sneakers. Peter’s boots clomp under the table.

“Well,” Ned posits, “isn’t confirming you’re soulmates more like the final step? You’ve done your waiting and now you get to be together?” Betty kisses his cheek in agreement.

“Maybe,” Peter allows.

“If you accept that confirming your bond isn’t the very next step, then you can start considering what is the next step. What do you think that might be, Peter?” Betty asks.

“I should… get MJ to tell me why she isn’t ready or interested in confirming it. In a respectful way that doesn’t pressure her,” he adds when Betty narrows her eyes judgementally.

“And how do you plan to achieve that?”

“Babe,” Ned intercedes, “let’s give him a minute to think about it.”

Peter tries to do that while he finishes his lunch. There are a lot of vegetables in here and they’re seasonal, just not for the season he’s experiencing. May’s always trying to load him up with vitamin-rich foods, since most of his day’s snowy; the clouds clear for a while around the time he gets out of school, allowing him some sun on his face as long as he doesn’t dawdle or land in detention. That train of thought makes him realize that detention would be the perfect place to talk this out with MJ, except that he’s against Ned’s plan of tricking her into becoming his soulmate and making sure she landed in detention with him would probably involve tricking. He knows she used to hang out there voluntarily from time to time, but not since they became aware of their connection. Now, she seems to avoid any place she might get stuck in and be cornered by Peter.

Ugh! He’s so ready to love and be loved! It’s super awesome to have people to love and worry about and have breakfast with. Love and breakfast are precious, in Peter’s opinion, and so is time. Getting enough of it isn’t something to be depended upon. After his parents and then Uncle Ben, he can’t trust quantity―he gives and gets quality love these days. He doesn’t know everything about Michelle Jones, but he’d like her to understand that, the irreplaceable value she represents to him. If she’d just be a plain envelope, he’d do all the work; put on the stamp, write out the address, compose the note it would hold. Right now, she’s like a sheet of paper, he guesses, one that they fold up into an envelope. She hasn’t been cut out or had that gross glue strip applied and it seems like it might be a long time before she’s ready for a letter or, like, a Happy Bar Mitzvah card. MJ might not want to be his envelope person, or she just might not know the things he could be for her (glue-licking, stamp-applying, Mazel Tov!-writing). If she at least knows, then he’ll concede that he’s done everything he can. If she knows, it’ll hopefully be enough for her to make a decision. Peter can’t force her to decide in his favour, but even if she understands and decides that she needs another five years before she wants to talk to him about the probability of their being soulmates and maybe revisit the smiling thing, he’ll know something too. Waiting is really tough.

―

“Don’t smile at me,” Peter requests, both hands up, when MJ shuts her locker to see him standing there.

She rolls her eyes. Nothing about the one person she’s actively avoiding hanging out at a place she has to be makes her want to smile. Did he decide that if he couldn’t be her soulmate he’d settle for being her stalker?

…Probably not. He’s way too good a person for that. Seriously, she tries to make these made-up accusations stick to him, but he’s just not that guy. That doesn’t mean she accepts, likes, or appreciates this latest move to get her attention.

“Are you trying reverse psychology now?” MJ demands.

“I’m just trying to make it extra clear that, whatever your reasons are for not smiling, I respect them.” He shrugs his shoulders and she glances down at the lunchbox he’s carrying. She wonders what he ate today.

“What if I’m not smiling because I’m plotting a bank heist in my head? Do you respect that? Do you respect theft, Peter?”

His expression is so satisfyingly startled that she almost does smile. No, fuck this. There are only ten minutes or so left in the lunch hour and she can wander the halls until the next class starts. She goes to step around him, but their shoulders brush and she feels something. It’s more aggressive than the welcoming warmth the bond (that’s what she attributes it to) usually makes her feel when she sees him. This is pure affection and it’s really hard to put her back to it. MJ pauses, facing away from Peter, and she’s almost got the new feeling under control when he turns and starts walking beside her.

“I think we can figure this out,” he says eagerly. Dammit. His enthusiasm for learning is one of the traits she finds most attractive in him. Can’t he just lay off with that fucking fated appeal?

“I think I already have,” she shoots back, not looking at him. “The universe wants to play sock puppets and guess what? We’re the sock puppets.”

“Look,” Peter says. He’s shockingly persistent today as he jumps in front of her and catches her eye. “We don’t have to play by its rules. We can make our own.”

“You wanna be with me?” she asks point-blank. Her chin jerks up instinctively when she questions him, eyes appraising. Either the question or the blunt stare makes him blush.

“Yeah, I, I think I probably do.”

“You want me to fall in love with you? For us to get married? Live together? Have kids? Me and you against the world, forever?”

“Maybe?”

“Well, you can’t just want one thing, Peter,” MJ tells him. Her fingers grip hard at the books in her hands. “There’s no shallow end of the soulmate bond. Its plan is not for us to casually date and let things plateau if it doesn’t work out.”

“But it would work out.” Poor thing looks confused.

“Says who?”

He shrugs.

“Everybody.”

“Check your sources.”

She hangs a left into the girls’ bathroom before Peter can respond, but he’s waiting in the hall when she returns.

“You can’t ignore it,” is the first thing he says to her, pushing off the wall. This time, MJ plants her feet.

“Or you, apparently, if you keep stalking me.”

“I’m not trying to. I just want us―”

“To talk,” she finishes for him. “Which is pointless. You’re not going to gain any ground with me, Peter. I have no ground for you to gain on this issue.”

“Maybe, if you told me why you won’t smile, you’ll feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

“You do not. You’re trying not to let someone care a lot about you when it’s guaranteed that they would. He would. I would,” Peter rambles. He takes a deep breath and looks her firmly in the eye. “Isn’t that, like, the one thing everybody wants? To be able to count on someone caring?”

“I’m not broken just because I don’t want what everybody wants,” she bites back, feeling herself flush with annoyance and, beneath that, embarrassment at being assessed.

“I would never call you broken,” he swears in a quiet voice. He is not going to make her tear up right now. She’s softening though, she can feel it. Stupid sincere soulmate. “I mean, if anything, I’m broken, so I could never judge, even if I wanted to. I know people try hard to find their perfect match, but I feel greedy sometimes with how badly I want it to happen to me. I know it’s not fair to you, I’ve been coming to terms with―”

“You’re not broken, Peter. Wanting someone to love you doesn’t make you broken. Or, if it does, then most people are. You’re not alone just because you don’t have me.”

Clearly, the time to stop herself was one sentence sooner. Because the jerk smiles at her and the next thing she does is agree to discuss this further after school.

―

There was something she said, while they were talking after lunch, that has him considering their potential as platonic soulmates well into third period. That’s what soulmates are for some people―they want all of the kindness and support of the bond with none of the romance, and the universe gives them what they need. When MJ said that stuff about marriage and babies and forever, Peter began contemplating whether they could achieve the third thing without the first two. Almost immediately, he ruled it out. He knew what attraction felt like. Sure, being soulmates was probably influencing him towards MJ, but she wasn’t the only person he found attractive. He used to have a crush on Liz. One day, when his Business class was on a field trip and it rained, he saw Flash with all the product washed out of his hair and was attracted to him (right up until Flash made a few loud comments about getting ‘Penis’ out of the cold weather before he shriveled up).

The conclusion he comes to is clear: Peter’s definitely hot for MJ. While marriage can wait, falling dizzily, hopelessly in love―and properly, in the kind of love they could have with their soulmate bond confirmed―is something he can only ever half-heartedly postpone. He wants to give her presents with love on her birthday. He wants to hug her and feel a new kind of complete. He wants to be her Valentine.

When Peter sees MJ hanging back to wait for him once the final bell rings, he’s relieved. Then tense. Not screwing this up might literally be the most important thing in his future. Trying to reassure her that he isn’t planning some sort of ambush to force a smile out of her, he suggests they talk someplace where other people will be around. She flat-out refuses to go to a coffee shop with him because it would be way too date-like. (Yeah, he gets that, picturing an awkward moment in which he attempts to pay for both their orders, or their shoes bump under the table.) They agree on the gym, where the girls’ indoor soccer team is having practice. Together―him in flannel-lined jeans and her in shorts―they thud up the bleachers to sit at the very top. MJ catches her foot and Peter notices that, when he instinctively reaches out to steady her, she shies away with a regretful look on her face. He really doesn’t expect her to explain, but then she does as they sit down.

“It does something to me,” she says, jerking her head as though to reference their near-contact.

Peter shrugs.

“Yeah, me too, but I’ve never been trying to avoid that feeling. I’ve gotten used to, like, um,” he stammers, “leaning into it. But I’m sorry. I won’t touch you.”

“Well, you know that I have the opposite habit.” MJ takes a deep breath, and Peter gets the sense that this would be the moment for her to be vulnerable with him and explain why she works so hard to ignore him. Ultimately, volunteering that information appears to be too much of an emotional effort. She decides to ask, “Is that something you’re interested in knowing more about?”

“Anything you wanna tell me,” he says quickly. He’s been waiting forever for this opportunity. “You can ask me things too. Open book.”

“I’m… not used to just spilling stuff about my life.”

He considers that.

“Why’d you say yes to this?”

She sighs and leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Then, she cups her face in her hand and turns to meet his eye.

“I’m tired of the way seeing you is always such a big deal. The bond says it’s wonderful and my brain hates it. I don’t want to be so torn all the time.”

“So…” he begins uncertainly. “Which outcome are you hoping for? Thinking I’m wonderful or hating my guts?”

The speed with which MJ turns her face away from him makes him wonder if she’s hiding a smile. He wasn’t trying to be funny.

“Quit twisting my words,” she requests, straight-faced as she stares straight ahead to where the soccer players are booting around what looks like an oversized tennis ball. “I didn’t say I hate you.”

“Just your brain.”

“Mhmm. My brain hates the idea of you.”

“MJ,” Peter says earnestly. She looks at him. “Why?”

“You control my whole life!” she says abruptly. “I’m sweating from climbing these stupid bleachers because of you. I have the urge to smile right now, when I’m irritated, because of you. Your existence tells me what to wear even when I’m not with you and how to feel whenever I see you.”

“I’m sorry―”

“And I can’t even seriously blame you because it’s not actually your fault!”

The girls’ team has quit weaving and shooting the ball, heading and passing it. Peter gets that MJ wanted a public place, but now he knows they’re being eavesdropped on. He’s quiet, though not because of the potential listeners; he doesn’t want to stop MJ from saying whatever she might tell him next. He’s been longing to hear her thoughts for ages.

“And that’s just, like, surface stuff!” she huffs. She’s flushed. If he could hold her face between his hands, the warmth might stay with him all the way home while he trudges along the sidewalk, ploughing snow aside with his shins.

“Please,” Peter says softly, “tell me more. Tell me anything you want.”

―

She went into it knowing she wouldn’t be allowing her soulmate to make her smile, but MJ didn’t anticipate letting him see her cry. He’s so open and she’s fortified her defenses against this topic for such a long time. Apparently, that’s enough for discussing her emotions and fears to make her crack like an egg. Peter doesn’t rush her or tell her that her feelings are the wrong feelings and the whole time he watches her face with a startling amount of attention. Has anybody looked at her like this? Really looked at her? Ever? She feels like a mom would’ve, but she can’t remember if her mom did. And that’s who she’s talking about, that’s the part of the story she’s at, when she feels the tears dribble out and tilts her head to let them drain away over her cheek. God, this is embarrassing. At least the soccer team packed up and left before she felt her throat getting thick.

“I don’t know if I’m still just letting my mom decide whether or not I get to be happy,” MJ admits, face wet until she catches her tear tracks with the back of her wrist. “I’m trying to do this, ignore the soulmate bond, for me, but maybe… I don’t know…”

“You’re forcing me away from you?” Peter suggests.

“Yeah. I’m abandoning you before we can get attached.” Somehow, this dork has Kleenex in his backpack and hands her one. She blows her nose hard, then crumples the tissue in her hand. “Pretty fucked up.”

“Ok, this is gonna sound really stupid, because we’re not even together, but I don’t think I’m the kind of person who could leave you.”

“You can’t promise that though,” MJ says―so, so quietly. She wants her words to run away and hide under the bleachers with the dust bunnies.

“Would you rather have nothing?” he asks.

Coming from someone else, she’s pretty sure that would be an ultimatum, some kind of threat to accept him as her soulmate now or never get another chance. Peter asks it with as little agenda as he’s asked everything else, easing her through her memories and her dreads.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“Can I tell you something? I’m not sure I could be with someone whose goal was to resist getting or giving love. I mean, I’ve heard everything you’ve told me and I can see why you’ve been dodging the soulmate thing, but if you get to look way ahead and worry about things that are only possible and far in the future, like me leaving you, then I get to look ahead too.” He pauses and she nods to indicate that, yeah, that’s fair. MJ thinks this is very brave of him, stepping out of the situation for a second to consider what he might need later when what he wants is to be with her right away. “I don’t wanna be left either. I don’t want you not to be able to overcome the idea that soulmates are bad and wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter if you think that in general, but if it’s a part of our relationship, then you’re always going to be expecting things to end. It would be like you were trying to think your way out of it instead of enjoying whatever we could have. And what we could have, by the way? I don’t think the bond has anything to say about that. Does it encourage us to get together? Yeah, sure, fine, it does and we accept that’s how it works. Once we are together though, isn’t the rest on our terms?”

Finally, Peter takes a longer breath and some of the intensity fades from his expression.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he notes. “I know I talked a lot. Are you gonna say something?”

“Just that you sounded smart and it’s pissing me off.”

He gives her dry joke a sad smile.

“Losing people sucks.” His voice is like a rock falling, falling, falling through deep water. “For as much as you don’t want me to make promises, I know that I’d try really fucking hard not to lose you. You can’t hate me, or your brain can’t hate me, for that. It’s the human element of this whole thing, which should be the part you like, since you’re so anti-destiny.”

Looks like Peter’s raised his own spirits enough to offer a conspiratorial little smile at the end there.

“Another repulsively astute point,” she says flatly and watches his smile broaden. Fuck, it makes her heart feel like a marshmallow that’s melting onto a s’more and simultaneously being stretched until it tears into sticky ribbons.

He checks his watch and gets to his feet.

“I gotta get home.”

“Did I miss the soulmate-decision deadline?” she teases. Feels weird. She stands too and they clomp back down to the gym floor.

“No! God, no, I wasn’t trying to rush you by looking at the time!”

“Parker, I’m messing with you. Chill.”

She eyes his winter clothing.

“Or maybe don’t. Looks like you’re chill enough already. Sorry for being born during a blizzard. My dad told me he and my mom barely got to the hospital in time for me to not be born in the car, the roads were so bad.”

Peter appraises her right back.

“Sorry for being born during a heatwave. I wish I could ask my mom what that was like, but you already know about my parents.”

��Shit, I didn’t mean to start comparing…”

“No, I know,” Peter says. “I miss her, but it’s not always the worst, having a certain moment make me notice that I could’ve learned something from her here. It’s actually easier to appreciate than forget, even if it’s sad for a little while.”

“If I promise to try it, will you cut it out with the insightful bullshit?”

Instead of answering that question, he springs something else on her.

“For the record, I know the only reason you didn’t smile at me is because you were trying so hard not to.”

Immediately, MJ turns her back on him and smirks as she heads for the far exit.

―

Peter’s seen a lot of snow. Almost all the weather he’s ever seen is snow, and even at the point in his day when the snowfall takes its lunchbreak, there’s over a foot on the ground and dense grey clouds up above. He thinks it’s crazy how snow fills people with wonder―mainly in Christmas movies and holiday episodes of TV shows. The way he feels about snow is probably how people living in late-spring-to-early-fall weather feel about grass. It’s just there, the base layer of their environment.

Except tonight Peter has his blind up, watching the thin sprinkle the blizzard has slowed into catch the light from other people’s apartments, a clean, meltable glitter. He’s tired and can’t sleep, but it’s a quiet comfort of sleeplessness, not the kind where he stresses and twists around between his sheets. The weight of the day keeps him flat on his back in bed as he thinks it all over. His feelings, MJ’s, the satisfaction of finally having a long talk with her, the biting pain of seeing her cry. In his mind, since he first guessed it might be her who’s his soulmate, he’s been tailoring their love. Their potential love. He didn’t know what it would look like before having her to mould a concept around. Learning that she was probably his soulmate, studying her, Peter decided they were meant for a slow love. Love would be something that slipped gradually across them, like pulling up the sheet on a bed or stepping into a long summertime shadow.

He’s surprised at the kind of love MJ envisioned; from the berth she gave it when she talked that afternoon, it sounded big and powerful and immediate. Faster than an avalanche, ringing through their lives louder than a thunderclap. He wanted them to confirm their bond soon so that unhurried love could begin to develop and she was afraid that the second they started would be the second they were swept away. No wonder she avoided him, Peter thinks. The love she anticipated would equal an act of god and he isn’t ready for that either. He turns his face away from the direction of the window and stares at his dark ceiling.

Peter has plenty of forceful love in his life―he can’t consider it enough forceful love, because there’s no such thing as enough love, is there?―thanks to May. She took on the mom-ish role of caring for him after his parents were gone, then the single-mom-ish role of raising him into approaching adulthood without Uncle Ben. While her aura is soft, her whole attitude has been very roll-up-your-sleeves where he’s concerned. May faced down his extreme need for parental TLC like it was a battle and continues to love him fiercely, even if his steadily increasing age and Happy’s calming presence temper her a little these days. So Peter’s covered in the department of that kind of love. He hopes his forever person doesn’t feel the need to bombard him with a truckload of love from the start; it would make him feel pitied, somehow, like they were putting all their effort into making up for the fact that he doesn’t have parents anymore. Peter knows he doesn’t have parents, he doesn’t want or need to be smothered to make up for their absence.

This chance (it still isn’t a solid thing) with MJ could let him grow into devotion. He’s kinda longing to know what that feels like. The theoretical adjective he’d attach to it is normal. Whatever the universe’s input here, Peter really believes the most normal thing after confirming their bond would be to allow things to develop however felt right. And with the bond backing them, technically anything they do would be right, right? He wants them to grow up together and grow into each other. He doesn’t want MJ to be the bond or a love lightning bolt, zipping down to fry him. The assurance that they’ll fall in love is enough to start. It’s an invaluable forecast, as dependable as the weather he’s been experiencing all his life.

When his phone buzzes on his nightstand, Peter feels as though he’s being retracted like a telescope―thoughts way far out in space drawing back to his building, his bedroom, his body. He rubs his eyes with his knuckle as he looks at the screen.

So… you were unexpectedly deep today, MJ’s text reads.

They never exactly exchanged numbers, but he got hers from Betty one time and saved it just in case. His heart beats faster at the thought that maybe MJ did the same.

And you’re still mad about it? Peter guesses, tapping out his reply.

Oh, you are up.

There was a lot to think about, he tells her honestly. Why are you still awake?

Because the day you were born must have been the most humid day of the year. It’s too hot to sleep.

Also, MJ tags on, that crap you said about thinking.

―

She lets her phone drop onto the thin cotton sheet of the mattress and uses its light to help her see as she rips nervously at the skin around her fingernail. Texting Peter wasn’t even really a thought―she just found herself doing it, surprised by how natural the instinct felt and despite the fact that she really doesn’t reach out to people. That she would reach out to the one person she was utterly vulnerable in front of less than 12 hours ago is something MJ would never have expected of herself. But she’s let him in this far.

And you decided to talk to me about it? Peter finally responds, postponing further anxiety.

I know. My boundaries are completely fucked after this afternoon. I might never be able to bottle up my feelings again. Hope you’re happy, loser.

Well, Peter texts, you don’t have to do that. If you need to empty the bottle every once in a while, I get it. I can be your glass. Or your straw?

You want to suck up my feelings? Like some kind of feelings-vampire?

God, she is fucking this up so severely. He’s going to wish she’d just kept ignoring him instead of caving to his persistent friendliness and that look he gets that’s all eyes, totally impossible to say no to. Amazingly, her last stupid text isn’t enough to make him say he’s going to sleep now, or worse, not respond at all.

Just a feelings-relief, he corrects. Unless you like the idea of the feelings-vampire better.

You don’t need to bend to my will like that, Parker. Suddenly, MJ’s kind of angry.

Don’t give me what you think I want just because you feel bad about seeing me cry, she continues. Or because you think you can make this work by doing whatever I want. Never appease me.

I care, he says simply.

Wow, she feels like a jerk.

Because destiny told you that you could take that care and trade up for the promise of eternal love? she snarks back, apparently not quite done with the jerk thing.

I had no idea texting you would be even more fun than talking in person.

Is he… is he being sarcastic with her? MJ smiles at her phone. Incredible.

I’m fun in all mediums, she says, not having a clear idea of what she means and looking forward to Peter trying really hard to interpret it.

Knock knock, is his response.

Who’s there?

Ummmm idk.

‘Ummmm idk’ who?

No, I seriously don’t know, he says.

MJ snorts in confused laughter and shifts around to find a cool spot on her sheet; she wasn’t lying about the heat.

Why would you send me the beginning of a knock-knock joke with no joke? she asks.

I thought I’d think of the rest of it in the moment. I know that’s dumb. It just felt like we were maybe in a zone there and I wanted to keep it going.

Relax. I’m not going to strike you out for one ill-conceived knock-knock joke.

What about two?

I wouldn’t test your luck, MJ counsels, still smiling.

She can see that he’s composing a reply, but she beats him to it: I was thinking about what you said about destiny. Actually, what you said about the opposite of destiny, the thing about the human element.

And?

She can practically sense his tension as she holds her phone in her hand.

I think it’s a good thought. That two people can still make a relationship theirs.

Ned said something to me today.

How unusual.

Shut up, Peter quips back. He said that confirming you’re somebody’s soulmate is like the last big step.

Oh?

Yeah, I think he’s totally wrong.

So do I.

Replying that way felt like a huge leap and yet, MJ took it. It doesn’t take long after that for her to start getting tired, blinking long and slow until she’s only opening her eyes when her phone vibrates against her fingers. Peter says he’s tired too and they wrap the conversation up. There’s a suggestion of seeing each other at school the next day. It shouldn’t have any special meaning―it’s a throwaway farewell, less than a promise―but she reacts to it with her last bit of focus. See you in the morning, are her exact words.

She cranes her phone out over the side of her bed with her arm, then lets it go just a little too far from the floor. Probably fine, though it clatters against the surface. Protected by the night and her closed eyes, MJ feels around inside her mind, looking for the taut tug-of-war rope that should be telling her that, one, she doesn’t want to meet with Peter because he’s probably her soulmate and soulmates are a lie and a scam, and two, that she does want to meet with Peter because he has a cute smile that he shows her even when she doesn’t give him much reason to. Then she thinks about how much she prefers first steps to last steps.

―

He could be a clone. He could be a clone in a programmed world, living his programmed life the same every day, but with, like, fake memories that fool him into believing in variety. Because he does believe in it. Today, Peter wakes up and change seems possible.

There’s snow on the ground outside and he has to get his socks on before putting his feet on the floor and he’s eating his breakfast too slowly and the way his aunt and Happy are dressed says it’s still spring. Peter asks about rain. May says, “Any time now,” and keeps reading the paperwork she has folded open on the table as she scratches absently at her arm.

“Amazing,” Peter replies, meaning it, as he picks up his bowl and slurps the rest of his cereal until milk runs down his chin.

His aunt glances up to give him a funny look. He’s pretty sure it’s not about the milk, but there’s no time to ask. If he hurries, he’ll leave ahead of his usual schedule, thanks to this new breakfast hack. He wants to get to school. School is such a great place to be.

Peter races out of the apartment and down the stairs like he’s 10 minutes late instead of 3 minutes early. It’s in the building’s entryway that he gets a feeling. Four feet from the glass door that he sees her standing on the sidewalk, snow she can’t feel partway up her mostly-bare legs. Pushing the door open when she quits looking away down the street and stares straight back at him instead. When MJ smiles, Peter smiles back. It could be a life-changing moment, or it might just be a reflex. Because they started to let each other in, he’ll probably never know the answer. Anyway, why does there only have to be one?

“I’ve been waiting,” she says. “I thought you’d be down sooner.”

He laughs self-deprecatingly.

“I tend to cut my timing kinda close in the morning. You wanna get going?” Peter jerks his head to the side.

“Yeah, we should. You’re probably getting cold just standing there.”

With his timing slightly off, they’re ahead of schedule for the bus he’s usually running to catch, so they decide to walk up to the next stop. As they approach the intersection, the light changes to yellow.

“We can beat it if we run,” Peter suggests, trying not to strangle himself by catching his scarf as he hikes his backpack higher on his shoulders.

But MJ goes, “Wait,” so urgently that he stops at the corner.

“What is it?”

“I thought I just…” With a puzzled expression, she extends her hand, palm up. Not towards Peter, but away from him. “…felt a raindrop.”

They lock eyes.

“You want my coat?” he offers. MJ smiles again.

“I’ll let you know.”

[vgckwb]

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 40: Out of the Dark

Friday after her shift at the convenience store, Ren got a call. She answered it. “Hello?”

“Hey kid” Iwai said on the other end. “I’ve got a special job for you tonight. Meet up at the shop, and do as I say, OK?”

Ren was puzzled. “No offence, but an older gentleman calling a young girl, such as myself, and asking her to do as he says isn’t a good thing usually.”

Iwai sighed. Ren giggled. “You know I hate dealing with cops as is. This kind of thing would only attract more unwanted attention.”

“I know I know,” Ren said. “I just like yanking chains.”

“Would that be why you got arrested?” Iwai said, turning it on her.

“Nah” Ren answered. “I only pull chains when I know I can get away with it.”

“Figures” Iwai said. “Just meet up at the shop.”

“I’ll be there in a few,” Ren confirmed. “Later!” She hung up and headed towards Untouchable.

“Good. You’re here” Iwai said. “So you do wanna do as I say?”

Ren smiled. She liked it when people were quick on the uptake. “Well, I could fight you, but I don’t think the police would be on my side.”

“Heh” Iwai laughed. “You could probably murder me and get away with it as far as the police are concerned.” Iwai stood up. “In all seriousness, let’s go.”

“Huh? Where are we going?” Ren asked.

“There’s this diner nearby,” Iwai explained. “I’m meeting someone there. I just need you to hang back and call me when I give the signal. I’ll even pay for your food… Provided you don’t order too much.”

“Question” Ren asked. “What’s ‘the signal’?”

“…That’s fair,” Iwai said. “I’ll just cough. Is that OK?” Ren nodded. “Good. Now let’s head out.” They headed towards the diner. “Alright, I’ll head in first, and then give it a few minutes before I head in. Sit somewhere close by. Oh yeah.” Iwai went through his pockets. “Here’s your spending money.”

Ren nodded. “Thanks.” Iwai nodded back. He walked into the restaurant. Ren let some time pass and followed him in. Ren spotted Iwai and sat at a booth close by. Once seated, she placed her order, and got out a book to make it look like she was studying.

A few minutes later, a man walked in and sat with Iwai. “Hey Mune. What’s the occasion?”

“It’s been a while,” Iwai answered.

“Feeling sentimental, eh?” the other guy asked.

“Well, I also heard some noise about Tsuda when some cops came by,” Iwai said. “I just wanna make sure everything is going OK.”

“Ah, good ol’ classic Mune” the guy sitting across from him said. “Always willing to uphold the oath.”

“...If there’s anything I can do…” Iwai pressed on.

“Heh. You know you’re always welcome to come back” the man said.

“...You know I gave up the life,” Iwai insisted.

“Right…” the other guy said. “Well, if we do need anything, we’ll let you know. After all, you’re our brother, right?”

“Of course,” Iwai said. He coughed. Ren, overhearing all of this, pulled out her phone and called Iwai.

“You feeling alright?” the other guy asked.

Iwai drank some water. “Just a little parched. His phone went off. “He checked it. “I gotta take this. It’s business.”

“I understand.”

“Hello?” Iwai said. “I see.” He placed his hand over the receiver. “Hey, I’m going to need to cut this short. Someone’s trying to mess with me.”

“If you give us a name, we can assist” the other guy said.

Iwai looked at him sternly. “I’m a skilled business professional. I can handle this.” He got back on the phone and started to leave. “OK now, where were we?” Once he was outside, he switched his tone. “OK, stay on the line, but don’t say anything to arouse suspicion. If he leaves, tell me.”

The other guy got out his phone and proceeded to make a call. “Hey Tsuda. It’s me, Masa...Yeah, that meeting Iwai wanted to take. Apparently the police are already looking at us...Right...Of course...No, that's fine...Yeah, it’s probably that deal from the beginning of the year...Huh?...No, you know Mune. He’s just saying this to honor the code. Although he is interested in helping out, provided he doesn’t do anything uncouth...Yeah...No, of course you can handle it…”

Ren got another drink. “Thank you,” she said. The man looked over to see she was also on her phone. Ren panicked slightly, and tried to cover her tracks. “Right, so, your day sounded lovely dear. As for me, I just got off work at the convenience store, and now I’m having dinner while studying...Yeah…”

The man, Masa, turned back to his conversation. “Nah, it was just some girl talking with her significant other...Yeah...Anyways, don’t worry about it...I’ll look into how much the police know, while you think of something for Mune...Yeah...Talk with you soon...Bye.” He hung up, finished his food, and left.

“He just left,” Ren told Iwai, over the phone.

“Alright. Good job” Iwai said. “I’m guessing he gave you a look.”

“Yeah,” Ren said.

“Still, that was some quick thinking,” Iwai said. “I guess it’s a good thing I hired you. If you had ran into Masa on your own, he might have tried to sweep you up into his deal. Although I’d like to think you’re smart enough to avoid that.”

Ren giggled. “Thanks.”

“I’m gonna look into what they’re doing,” Iwai said. He paused. “You know, it’s nice to have someone assisting me like this again. Ever since I’ve been on the straight and narrow, I haven’t had much in the way of assistance. I guess I thought I was used to it. But thank you. I couldn’t have done this alone. I think I’m starting to like you a little more. Enjoy your meal.”

Ren smiled. “Thanks boss.”

Hanged Man-Munehisa Iwai: Rank 2

Ren hung up, finished her meal, and headed home.

On Sunday evening, Ren got a call from Yoshida. “Hello?”

“Hello?” Yoshida said from the other line. “Is this Amamiya-chan from the restaurant?”

Ren giggled. “Yes.”

“I see,” Yoshida said. He sighed. “I’m glad I got the right number. Hey listen, I’m working on a speech tonight, and I was wondering if you could come and assist me.”

“Sure thing” Ren answered.

“Great! I’ll be out by Central street” Yoshida answered. “See you soon.” He hung up.

Ren headed to Central Street to meet up with Yoshida. Once she got there, she tapped his shoulder. “Mr. Yoshida?”

“Ah, splendid!” Yoshida said. “Perfect timing. I still have a few minutes before I go on. So, why don’t we chat for a bit?”

“OK?” Ren said, cautiously optimistic.

“Good,” Yoshida said. He sighed. “While I appreciate the help, I do have to ask: Why are you helping me?” Ren was caught off guard. “It’s just, there are other politicians out there with a more solid foothold in the political world. I’d figure you’d rather place your bets on a winning horse over me.”

Ren looked the man over. He seemed sincere, but a little doubtful of himself. Yet he continued making speech after speech. Ren smiled. “I told you before, I like your message.” Yoshida was stunned. “You stand up for the people. You want to assure people that the government can help them, especially if they can’t help themselves. I can’t help but admire that. Besides, you can’t count out a Dark Horse candidate until the race is over, right?”

“BAHA!” Yoshida said. “You’re quite right. I suppose the impossible COULD happen. Hm. Thank you.” Ren was taken aback. “For assuring me about my message. I wasn’t sure people were listening. So it’s nice to see that people are. Even if they can’t vote yet.” Ren smiled and bowed politely. “And how serendipitous is this: Tonight’s speech is about a couple of Dark Horses in our world today. Are you ready?”

Ren nodded, but then paused. “Um, what exactly am I doing?”

“Oh, right,” Yoshida said. “Well, basically for now you’re going to hold up these cards that advertise what I am speaking about for the evening. I might ask you to assist me in other ways in the future.”

Ren nodded. “Got it.”

“OK!” Yoshida said. “I’m just about on. Grab that sign and let’s go!”

Ren nodded. She went over to grab the sign Yoshida asked her to. When she read it, she was jolted a bit. “Tonight’s Topic: The Rumored Phantom Thieves.” Well, at least we have some attention. She grabbed the sign and headed to position.

Once they were in place, Yoshida began speaking. “People of Tokyo!” A small crowd began to circle around him. Although Ren noted that they mostly seemed apathetic and just wanted a way to kill time. “Tonight I wish to talk to you about the Phantom Thieves! Those rumored vigilantes that have recently sprung up in the city.”

The crowd’s attention was piqued. “While their existence may be unknown, we have to ask: If they are real, why did they show up in the first place? Shujin Academy, the place they made their mark, was home to one of the most heinous scandals I’ve even seen. Students felt unsafe in the very place they should be welcomed.

Furthermore, the person making them feel unsafe was a highly respected member of society; which would make it difficult, if not impossible, to tell someone. They had no other option BUT these rumored Thieves. They uncovered a dark truth surrounding the school, and managed to put a stop to it, which is why people are taking note of them, and some are even showing their support.

However, as a politician, I know that for every one cruel deed you find, there are ten more still lurking in the shadows. The Phantom Thieves arrived because no one else was willing to help! But we can’t continue to rely on the Phantom Thieves forever! The government’s job should be to unearth these dark truths and stop them. Yet the powers that be are doing nothing.

That is my pledge to you! If you elect me, I promise to shed light on the darkness. And I will continue to fight for you all! Thank you.”

The crowd was murmuring. Ren noticed that they started to take interest. However, one man walked up and said “Psh. Chasing headlines to garner support? Don’t pretend like you’re nothing but the No-Good-Tora! I bet those thieves would come after you next!”

“WHA!” Yoshida said, in shock.

Ren was incensed. “HEY! That’s Mr. Yoshida to you!”

“Oh wow!” the man said. “You managed to convince someone to work for you. I wonder how you managed to swing that.”

Ren was seething. Yoshida took a deep breath and motioned Ren to stop. Ren was confused and looked at him. “It’s alright,” he said, nodding at her. He turned to the heckler. “My apologies. As you noted, she IS new. I’ll talk to her about all of this.”

“Hmph” the heckler said. “Whatever.” He walked off.

Yoshida sighed. He addressed the crowd. “Thank you everyone. And I’m sorry about the slight interruption. But please, do take my message to heart.” The crowd once again murmured, and then dispersed.

After they left, Ren and Yoshida met behind the wall. “Well, tonight could have gone a bit better…” Yoshida remarked. “...But it could have gone worse as well. Thank you.”

Ren as a tad confused. “That guy though…”

“Bahaha!” Yoshida laughed. “I’ve been a politician for quite some time now. I’m accustomed to the occasional heckler. But it’s important to remember to let cooler heads prevail.”

Ren sighed. “You’re right.”

Yoshida smiled. “Although I would have been lost had you not stood up for me in the first place.”

Ren was delightfully surprised. “Oh, thanks.”

“Truth is, I have a bit of a troubled past,” Yoshida explained. “And whenever someone brings that up, I feel weakened. But I’ve learned my lessons, and I’m trying to do what’s best for the country now. And that has to involve not letting naysayers get the better of you. Although, I have a bit of trouble in that area. Still, you being here tonight helped me focus quicker. Because I know someone was listening, and if I gave into my worst instincts, they might learn to do the same.”

Ren smiled. She then shifted around. “So, um, your speech… Do you support the Phantom Thieves?”

“Hmmmm” Yoshida pondered. “Well, as I said, I like what they did, but surely there has to be more we can do. The Phantom Thieves can only do so much for us. And their appearance in general is a bit worrying. If they’re our only hope, then the country is heading in a dark direction.”

“I see…” Ren said, taking note of this.

“What do you think of them, Amamiya-chan?” Yoshida asked.

Ren was a little caught off guard, but gave an answer. “Well, I can’t help but be biased,” she said. “I mean, I do attend Shujin, and I have been the target of that man’s actions, as well as several of my friends.”

“Oh my!” Yoshida said, shocked.

Ren smiled. “But it’s because of that that I believe you.” Yoshida was confused. “It’s hard to trust anyone after going through something like that. There are people with a vested self-interest that only look out for themselves, even if they tell you otherwise. But you’re different. When you say you wish to help people, I can tell you mean it. And I want to be there with you to make sure your message gets heard.”

Yoshida smiled. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Amamiya-chan. I’m looking forward to continuing working with you.

I am thou... Thou art I… Thou hast acquired a new vow...

It shall become the wings of rebellion that breaketh thy chains of captivity.

With the birth of the Sun Persona I have obtained the winds of blessing that shall lead to freedom and new power.

Sun-Toranosuke Yoshida: Rank 1

After that, Ren and Yoshida headed home for the evening.

[iamfallinforeverything]

First Love (3/4)

Sorry that it took me so long, but the past few days were actually more stressful than I thought. Anyway, here it is finally. Hope you like it 🤗 Also there is def going to be a fourth part. I wanted to finish this little series with this part then it would have taken me even longer to finish that part and I didn’t wanted that 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries, The Originals (Kol Mikaelson) 

Summary: The rest of the Mikaelson family learn about your little problem with leaving the property.

Words: + 1.9k (I missed 2k by just a few words 😒)

Warnings: swearing, i can’t think of anything else tbh 

Last Time: 

I didn't really remember how I got into the room either. All I knew was that Elijah had helped me. And after that, it was all just a blur. Damn alcohol.

And please, don’t ask me where the stupid blanket went that Elijah put around my shoulders because I don’t have a fucking clue.  

***

When I woke up, my head was pounding. I've rarely had such a headache. But I knew exactly what helped to relieve a headache. Hopefully there would be something like what I needed.

Exhausted, I stretched and looked around. Slowly the memories of yesterday came back. So my mood sank somewhere in the area of the earth's core. I had absolutely no desire for what was coming to me in the near future. Ha, especially how should I explain to my parents that I was stuck here? Hopefully someone of my ancestors had already done so. I don't know how, but maybe I got lucky.

Why were my ancestors such assholes anyway? I hadn't done anything bad to them. Yeah okay, except for asking for help and maybe I had been a little bit naughty and ungrateful once or twice for the life I had. But who hadn't sometimes?

Defeanded I finally got up. I had no choice anyway and I needed something for the headache. Besides, if I ever wanted to be free again, I had to find a way to turn the Mikaelson siblings back into humans. And somehow I would have to convince Niklaus that being human wasn't as bad as he thought.

Surprisingly, I even wore yesterday's dress. It had just changed back to its original color. My father's spells didn't last very long. In the trunk of my car there should theoretically still be my suitcase. Maybe I could bring it here with a simple bringing spell.

A small gust of wind opened all doors for the transport and a few minutes later my suitcase was in front of me. So my car was open again. Thank God. It wouldn't help me though.

Quickly I changed my dress for my favourite trousers and top, slipped into some socks and put on my favourite shoes.  I combed my hair once and breathed deeply.

At some point I had to get out of this room anyway. It's best if I just get it over.

One last time I went through my hair and made my way out. I immediately heard voices from downstairs and made my way there. I had to get through it now.

Carefully I went to the room where the voices came from. Immediately everyone became quiet when they saw me. Everyone was there, even Kol. Somehow my heart became heavy when I saw his smile disappear when he looked at me, but I just pushed that feeling aside. Right now I had far worse problems than understanding this strange situation with Kol.

"What does the little witch still want here?" Niklaus asked and pointed at me with a downward hand gesture.

"She can't leave.", Elijah replied and smiled at me friendly. At least someone.

"Pardon?"

"My ancestors bound me to this property. I can't leave until I've fulfilled my promise.", I explained.

"Oh, wonderful." mumbled Finn, rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm off. Your problem."  

I rolled with my eyes. Finn was definitely someone who was extremely annoying. I'd like to turn that jerk back into a human being. Maybe then he wouldn't be such an asshole anymore.

"So now we get to entertain the little witch and help her destroy our lives?" Niklaus asked and looked at his brothers.

"She's stuck here. Either way, she's not getting out of here. We can help her find a way back out. We owe it to her.", Elijah replied.

"You and your stupid honor feeling Elijah.", Niklaus rolled his eyes. Kol was completely silent and looked apathetic to the floor.

Silently I looked back and forth between the brothers. They were wildly arguing. As if I had chosen to be stuck here. I could think of at least a thousand things I would rather do than rot here on this property. Let's be realistic. Finding the cure for vampirism was very unrealistc. How many witches had tried and failed before me? Why should I of all people be able to find such a cure?

At some point I just turned around, annoyed, and left the three of them behind. I didn't care. So I need to help myself. I left the building and wandered around in the garden. Maybe I should call my parents first before I did anything else.

I looked for a quiet place and got my cell phone from my pocket. That would be fun for sure. I sat down in the grass and dialed my mother's contact. With trembling hands I held my cell phone to my ear.

"Y/N?", my mother answered the phone.

"Mommy.", I started crying as soon as I heard her voice.

"What happened?"

"I'm stuck here. Our ancestors tied me to the property and I am too weak to break the spell. I can't leave, mom.", I cried.

"Why? What happened Y/N?"

And then I told her about yesterday. About Esther and the Mikaelson siblings. About my promise and about Maila.

"Oh Y/N... "You've really screwed yourself, my love.", was the first thing my mother said.

I laughed and wiped the tears from my cheeks.

"I know.", I replied.

"Good. I'll talk to our circle now and get back to you, okay? Don't be afraid, you are strong. You can stand up to them if you have to."

"I know, Mom. But I just want to go home."

"I know, honey, I know. I'll help you. We can do this."

"Thanks, Mom."

"See you later. Call you soon."

"See you later, Mom.”

She hung up and I took my phone from my ear and put it next to me. I took a deep breath and wiped my face. Only I could shit like that.

***

A little time passed and I was still bound to the Mikaelson property. And I hadn't really gotten any further with that either.

I had the spell that Esther cast back then. I knew what she had used and what she had bound the spell to, but it didn't really help me.

I didn't have an antidote or a removal spell.

Elijah helped me where he could. He would get me ingredients, talk to other witches, update my parents. I had made friends with him and he was the only one I trusted here. I had not seen Finn since he left on my first day here, which I was very happy about. Klaus avoided me and with Rebekah I had already made the one or other girls evening. I got along well with her, but I could not really trust her that much. She was too loyal to Klaus for that.

And Kol was a whole other situation. I could still feel this weird bond between us. It was like our souls were bound together in ways that made no sense. Why would a witch's soul be sired to a vampire's? Who would do such a thing?   Besides, soul spells were terribly complicated and hard spells. They always involved a great sacrifice. Who would willingly make that sacrifice? It was stupid. Anyone who cast a soul spell was just terribly stupid.

But today was my father's birthday and I was still stuck here. I couldn't be there and they couldn't get to me. I was bound to the property and my family was kept away. They couldn't even come close. I couldn't even see them through the barrier. Fortunately, there were other ways to see my family's faces. It was already dark and I was standing outside in the garden, one of my favorite places here. I held my mobile phone up to my face. My parents smiled into their camera and showed me everyone. It was nice to see everyone, but I just wanted to go home even more.

There had to be another way. My ancestors were little beasts, but they weren't thtat cruel. There was a loophole, there always was. I just had to find it.

After my parents and I hung up, I wandered around the garden a bit, helped some sick plants and just enjoying the fresh air.

But some time later I spotted Kol. He was standing in front of a flowerbed with an old type of flower. They were my favourite flowers and I often stood in front of the field myself.

I don't know what it was, but something drew me to him. I had a strong need to be near him.

Carefully I walked towards him and just stood next to him. That was enough for me, even if it did not calm this annoying desire.

Kol sighed when I came to stand next to him. He could feel it as well as I did.

"You are so different from her.", Kol sighed without looking at me. I knew immediately that he meant Maila.

"What do you mean?", I asked.

"You look like her. Everything about you looks like her, but your personality, what makes you who you are, is so different. She was quiet, withdrawn, good. But she could also rebel, stand up for what she felt was right, fight for what she loved."

I could do that too. Kol just hadn't seen it yet because he always avoided me.

"And you are so different. I can't describe it, but your whole personality is different."

"Is that bad?"

"No. It's just...", he didn't finish, instead he turned away from me and ran a few steps towards the house.

I could feel the soul spell right away. My heart immediately grew heavy and contracted in pain.

"Stupid soul spell.", I gasped and put my hand on my chest, right where my heart was sitting.

I looked at Kol. He had a posture similar to mine. Once you gave in, it was hard to take your distance again.

"You feel that too?", Kol asked and turned to me. Just the fact that he looked at me made my heart lighten again.

"Yes. I'm pretty sure it's a soul spell. Someone has bound our souls together so we can find each other again in every life."

"In every life?"

"There is more than just this Kol.", I smiled at him.

He just sighed and came one step closer. My heart became a little lighter again.

"There was nothing like this enchantment between Maila and me. It never felt that way between us. So why is it between the two of us like that?", Kol became angry.

His whole look and nature changed. He stood up straight, stuck out his chest and pulled his eyebrows together.

"I don't know. Soul spells require great sacrifice. Not many practice these spells."

And then it looked like a light was switched on. Like someone had found the last missing piece of the puzzle

"Of course.", he muttered and shook his head.

His posture loosened again. I relaxed, as well.

And then he just disappeared. Fucking vampire speed. But this time my heart didn't hurt. Kol had a different intention this time with his disappearance.

I waited a moment for him to return. He didn't come back.

Sighing, I turned around and looked into the field of flowers in front of me. No flower was like the other and that is why I loved this kind of flower so much. Every flower was different, unique, but somehow they were similar.

I wonder what kind of "enlightenment" Kol had before he left. I would probably never learn about it anyway.

But who the hell would link our souls together? Who would bind us together? Especially why?

And then it clicked for me as well and I wanted to kick my own ass. That I didn't think of it before.

[alexiethymia]

Gintama and Family [anime and manga spoilers]

I have already found religion, but then I have also found Gintama

I cannot adequately explain the feelings I have for this show, how it made me cry, and laugh, so much, and fall in love with it so quickly. The combination of heartfelt emotion from impactful lessons interspersed with snorting my drink through my nose due to the crass humor and then followed by gross sobbing. 

I’ve said it enough times, but previously the only anime that could make me feel those full range of emotions, sometimes all at once were One Piece and Full Metal Alchemist. But where One Piece is about reaching beyond the horizon, following your dreams, and looking toward the future, while FMA is all about finding peace and accepting your past, I think Gintama is simply about the present, living day-by-day the only way you can. It doesn’t have to be grand. You don’t always have to be positive. You can live life feeling as if you have no dignity or goal, but live in the present as best as you can, since as Gintoki said, life will only get worse haha. 

But seriously, I’m a sucker for found family stories. 

You have Gintoki, as a child, who had no hope and no future, surviving among corpses, but not living. He eventually finds a teacher, but really more of a father, or that father finds him. You’re not sure where it starts, with Gintoki or Shoyo-sensei. In Shoyo-sensei’s words, they raised each other. Both solitary creatures who had reason to be scared of humans or hate humans or not just care about humans, but they found each other and they were each saved, and everything begins from there. 

Gintoki finds sibling disciples. Katsura and Takasugi become like brothers to him. They eventually end up burying their fellow students. He finds more brothers-in-arms in the war, Sakamoto and Kurokono. He ends up losing his father. By his own hand at that. And then he even ends up losing the brothers he saved.

Most of everyone at this point would have given up, broken down, cursed the world. Imagine the guilt and the loathing he must have felt at that point in his life. But small acts of unrelated kindness saved him, in a way in response to his own. Saving a little’s girl’s life. A promise made. Being saved by an executioner. An old granny’s kindness. Another promise made. 

He of all people should be one of those to hate the Amanto the most, but he takes one in and treats her like a little sister or a daughter. Family becomes a sukonbu-loving amanto and her monster dog god, a megane and his older gorilla sister, a robot meido, a neko auntie, and a baasan. Speaking of Shinpachi and Tae, I love the sheer number of family relationships/sibling relationships shown in Gintama: Kagura and Kamui and Umibozu and Kouka, Sougo and Mitsuba, Tetsuko and Tetsuya, Shigeshige and Soyo, not even counting the side characters, and how blood-related or found family both are shown to be as equally important. Shinpachi and Kagura, though blood-related they may not be, they look out and protect each other. Shinpachi is a weak feeble human who wouldn’t recover from sword wounds or gunshot wounds as quickly as Kagura but you’d lose count of the number of times he shields Kagura with his own body and protects her the way Kamui once did. 

So many people have lost a family member, but found family again. For Otose, despite not having kids, how must she have felt to have found Gintoki, especially as she would have been reminded of Tatsugorou. The same thing for Gengai who lost his son, and then besides Ginnoji, gains Tama and Kintoki, and the rest of his robots. Even robots and the bonds made with them aren’t treated any less than those with ‘humans’, though even the meaning of that is very subjective in this show. 

Despite losing Takasugi, Katsura is still there. As someone’s who’s been there with Gin since almost near the beginning, it’s so important that he’s there and he understands and supports Gin in his own Katsura way. He has Elizabeth and his Joui faction. He even comes to care for Shinpachi and Kagura, the same way Gin does. Sakamoto is there too with Mutsu and his Kaientai. And even Takasugi has his Kiheitai. No one ends up truly alone. And the four of them, the choices they made and the paths they walked on, no one can truly say which one was ‘correct’. Gin may seem apathetic, not caring about the fate of the nation and all that. But, it’s just that he doesn’t care about the unimportant things, but for things that matter, he care so much, it seems as if he’ll sink from the weight of it. But he still shoulders that burden. 

Don’t get me started on the Shinsengumi, and the bond between the Shinsengumi and the Yoruzuya, how the Shinsengumi are a found family of their own and how perhaps Gintoki gains a bash brother in Hijikata and is reminded of his petty rivalries with Takasugi and how Kondou sometimes reminds him of Shoyo, how home for Gintoki is now where his family is and home wouldn’t be home without them, a certain terrorist, a monster duck, a gorilla officer, a sadist, and a mayonnaise lover, how the Yoruzuya saved and protected the Shinsengumi, and now how the Shinsengumi sacrificed two years each with their own burdens (Hijikata despite his pride being demoted, Kondo despite his love for Otae going through with a political marriage, Sougo doing the dirty jobs he doesn’t want Kondo and Hijikata to do) and their own existence just so they could help rebuild the Yoruzuya

The bond between Hinowa, Seita, Tsukuyo and the rest of the Hyakka, how the story doesn’t shy away from the darkness of Yoshiwara, and amidst that, paints a beautiful story of motherhood

There’s also Sacchan, Zenzo, Kyuubei, Hasegawa and the rest of Kabuki-cho. And speaking of Sacchan and Zenzo, the friendship they’d formed, along with the rest of the Oniwabanshu, with Shigeshige. Soyo’s friendship with Kagura and Nobume. Nobunobu’s with Katsura and Sakamoto. How the barrier between the supposed ‘rulers’ and those to be ‘ruled’ are shattered, and how those who were supposed to be at the top learned the most due to these friendships. 

Nobume and Isaburo’s father and daughter relationship. And despite losing Isaburo, the connections she’d already made are still present, along with other connections through Shoyo. For Gintoki he learns he has a kouhai-deshi, a younger sister fellow student. 

Oboro, despite the tragedy of his life, dies not alone. Takasugi learns they have a senpai-deshi, an older brother apprentice. He honors the last wish of the first student of the Shoka Sonjuku. 

Gintoki shouting that he never lost anything. See he’s far from perfect, lazy, unmotivated, having scrupulous morals, probably a diabetic by now, but he makes a damn good father-figure or older brother or teacher, because he also learned from the best, just as how Shoyo learned from him (and Oboro) and through him, how to be ‘human’. Gintoki doesn’t fight to be the strongest, or for some lofty goal, or for something noble like changing the country. In fact, he’d rather not fight at all and just read Jump. He just fights for what he wants to protect, but see, he kept on making so many bonds that they grew wider and longer intertwining so many people, that it was only a matter of time that he would become the center of a country’s rising and falling. 

The word love doesn’t get thrown around at all, but you feel it deeply the emotions each of these characters feel for the family they may have lost, still have, gained, reclaimed, or found. Kagura reclaiming her blood family with those tiny hands of hers, and it doesn’t matter earth brother or blood brother or earth father or blood father, love isn’t an expendable currency. It only multiplies the more you give of it. Pirako wanting to reclaim her father, making mistakes along the way. Pirako and Jirocho atoning together. Gintoki realizing that perhaps he never lost Takasugi at all. 

How could a corpse-eating demon child ever have foretold that although he may be surrounded by death now and it would continuously haunt his footsteps, he would eventually be surrounded with so much love and bonds and people in the future? 

[go-foxes]

01/BASICS

Full Name: Indigo Dahlia Hayes Nickname: None. She picked her name, so use it.  Birthday: December 3 Gender: Trans Female Sexual Orientation: Bisexual, but currently privately questioning the whole “attracted to men” part. Astrological Sign: Sagittarius (Sagittarius II, The Week of the Originator). Scorpio Moon.  Spoken Languages: English; she likes languages, and has picked up a little bit from the places she lived growing up, but isn’t super conversational in any of them. Birthplace: Bethesda, Maryland Relationship status: Single 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: references to transphobia

02/PHYSICAL TRAITS

Hair Color/Style: Blonde, as a base, but she frequently colors it. Pink is a particular favorite, whether it’s her whole head or just the tips.  Eye Color: Blue Face Claim: Hunter Schafer Height: 5’10” Tattoos: She has a simple flower tattoo on her ribs, which she got in boarding school shortly after she turned eighteen.  Piercings: Two holes in each ear.  Unique Attributes: She vapes, and she chews a lot of gum. If she’s not doing one or the other, then it’s probably Exy practice. 

03/PERSONALITY TRAITS/TYPES

Positive Traits: Creative, independent, fun-loving, adventurous, intelligent Negative Traits: Irresponsible, impulsive, indecisive, flighty, rebellious Hobbies/Interests: She’s a dabbler. There are a lot of things that she enjoys, or knows how to do passingly well, but few that she’s truly committed to, or truly exceptional at. Before she played Exy, she played soccer. For awhile she was really into Tarot cards, and she still pulls them out sometimes. She’s a passable singer, and was in a few musicals in her youth. (No, there is no surviving video proof.) Exy is maybe the thing she’s stuck with the longest, because she found it at a time when she was sick of being so inconsistent, of being everybody but herself. It suits her rebellious nature, her desire to command attention—especially now that she’s back to striker.  Major/Minor: Undeclared, but considering Modern Languages. Insecurities: She has a hard shell: she lives large and loud, like she doesn’t care if people like her or not. Sometimes needlessly provocative, like she’s daring them to dislike her. She doesn’t want to waste her time with fake people, the people who will just put up with her if she isn’t too disagreeable, and so she’d rather weed them out. She’d rather be alone, then surround herself with people who she only thinks are her friends. And if someone’s going to dislike her, she’d rather it be because of something she did, rather than something she is.  Quirks/Eccentricities: She likes mimicking people’s voices and accents—not to their face, and (usually) not mocking them, but just trying them on for the fun of it. She usually prefers sitting on the floor to sitting in a chair, and won’t sit up straight/normally in a chair if she is in one. She has strong opinions about just about everything—a preferred seat on the bus, whether she gets the bed closest to the door or the window on the road (the window, obviously)—and she will make them known.  MBTI Type: ESTP, “The Entrepreneur” (Entrepreneurs are full of passion and energy, complemented by a rational, if sometimes distracted, mind. Inspiring, convincing and colorful, they are natural group leaders, pulling everyone along the path less traveled, bringing life and excitement everywhere they go.) Enneagram Type: Type Seven, “The Enthusiast” (Sevens cope with the loss of Essential guidance by using the “trial and error” method: they try everything to make sure they know what is best. On a very deep level, Sevens do not feel that they can find what they really want in life. They therefore tend to try everything—and ultimately may even resort to anything as a substitute for what they are really looking for.) Moral Alignment: Chaotic Neutral Temperament: Sanguine

04/FAMILY & HOME

Immediate Family: Caroline Elizabeth Chandler (Mother), Edward Michael Hayes (Father), David Svoboda (Half-Brother, never met) How do they feel about their family?: She thinks she’s probably supposed to be sadder about the divorce. But the thing is: her parents weren’t any warmer, or more demonstrative when they were married. They were just married. Sure, it was harder to treat her like baggage then, something to be passed back and forth between them, the last tether to each other they couldn’t get rid of, but she’s over that now. They didn’t want her, either of them, not really, but she found freedom in that. She learned how to want herself. 

Her parents may have been miserable married to each other but, to her, they don’t really seem that much happier for not being married to each other. Privately, she thinks they might just be miserable people. Ambitious, in the way that Indigo is supposed to be but isn’t, but ultimately empty inside. 

The thing is, though, that it could be worse. She knows that. Her parents didn’t kick her out, of refuse to support her transition, or anything that happens to tons of kids less lucky than she is. But then, her parents have always been good at the kind of problems money can solve. And then, they’ve always been shit at everything else. They’ve never had much patience with her; they’ve always thought that she’s too much trouble, just too much in general, and this felt like no exception. When she tried out a few names before settling on Indigo, they didn’t have much patience for that, either. Heaving their sighs, like she was asking them for far too much by asking them to keep up.

Her father’s only gotten more important as she’s gotten older. He’s an Ambassador now. He didn’t marry the woman he cheated on her mother with, fathered a child with. Just another woman he disappointed. Another child he didn’t really seem to want, but one gotten rid of much more easily than Indigo. She hasn’t met her half-brother, and she has no desire to. Her father hasn’t married anyone since, either. His girlfriends, though—of which there have been many—just seem to get younger, a fact that Indigo doesn’t hesitate to inform him is gross. Her mother dates too, but she keeps dating men like Indigo’s father, like maybe she’ll one day find the man that he was supposed to be. Someone from a good family, someone steady. Someone loyal. She hasn’t found him yet.  How does their family feel about them?: She knows they think she’s trouble. That she acts out for no reason. She knows what she was supposed to be: someone serious like them, who cares about status and power, who goes to Ivy League schools, who networks, who will go into law or politics or something suitably prestigious. She’s none of those things. She’s loud, she’s brash, she’s free-spirited. She plays Exy for right now, and she has no idea what she’s going to do after. She also doesn’t really care. 

She knows that appearances matter to her parents, and so they act like family matters. They’ll always open their doors to her, even as they shake their heads at her antics. They’ll always ask her about school, make polite conversation, even if they never seem all that interested in her answers. It’s been a long time since she’s expected anything more—if she ever did.  Pets: Her mother has a dog, that she got when they moved back to the States, a big Bernese Mountain Dog named Denali. He’s getting on the older side, and he’s indisputably her mother’s dog: following her around the house, paying attention to Indigo mostly only when her mother is nowhere to be found. Indigo is clearly second best, but she’s often roped into being a dog walker when she’s home.  Where do they live?: Her mother lives in Bethesda, Maryland. Her father currently lives in Indonesia, where he’s serving as the Ambassador. She usually switches between them for breaks, but now that her father’s a very long flight away, she’s been spending more time at her mother’s, much to Indigo’s disappointment.  Description of their home: Everywhere she’s ever stayed with her father since the divorce has been a guest room, houses and apartments impersonally furnished for use by diplomats, who are more than used to moving around, making homes quickly in new places. Her mother’s house is the one that her parents bought after they got married, when they still lived in the States, the one that Indigo was born in. It’s a large, stately home in the suburbs with a big landscaped yard. On the inside, it doesn’t really resemble the home she remembers from her childhood, because her mother went on a huge redecorating and refinishing spree after the divorce.  Description of their bedroom: Her room in her mother’s house is the one room that hasn’t changed much. And that isn’t really a good thing, because Indigo has changed. It might as well be a guest room like the ones she stays in with her father, for all that it feels like her. Her bedrooms, for the past several years, have been dorm rooms: and she likes covering those with pictures, of herself and friends or of art prints, decorating with crystals and string lights and candles that are technically against the rules. She’s pretty messy, with her clothes especially, and she always takes up way too much counterspace with her makeup.  

05/THIS OR THAT

Introvert or Extrovert? Extrovert Optimist or Pessimist? Optimist Leader or Follower? Leader Confident or Self-Conscious? Confident Cautious or Careless? Careless Passionate or Apathetic? Passionate, but her passions tend to come and go. Book Smarts or Street Smarts? Book Smarts Compliments or Insults? Won’t hesitate to use either.

06/FAVORITES

Favorite Color: Pastel pink Favorite Clothing Style/Outfit: Most everything she wears is hyper-trendy, and hyper-feminine, with an edge. She came of age in boarding school, and it shows in her style: a lot of pleated skirts and knee-high socks, school-girl style as seen through some provocative pastel kaleidoscope. She dresses to be noticed, in a somewhat over-the-top way that you’d expect to see on Instagram but not in your 9AM lecture, but she carries it off with confidence. She likes pink and other pastels, glitter, and platform shoes that make her even taller than she already is. And while you’d expect her to enjoy press duty for the attention, she hates that when the cameras are on her she’s sweaty and in her gear and without makeup on, without the armor of her carefully-curated image.  Favorite Bands/Songs/Type of Music: She’s pretty well-versed in music, but likes a lot of girl-driven alt-pop: Mitski, Lana Del Rey, Lorde, BIllie Eilish.  Favorite Movies: She really likes trashy TV, whether it’s scripted or not scripted, from The Bachelor to Riverdale. Same with movies: the worse the better.  Favorite Books: If you ask her, she only reads her horoscope.  Favorite Foods/Drinks: She’s an adventurous eater and will try anything once. She especially likes sushi and anything spicy. She drinks tea more than coffee, and she loves kombucha.  Favorite Sports/Sports Teams: Exy, but she follows college Exy more than she does the pros. She also likes women’s soccer, and occasionally hockey.   Favorite Time of Day: Nighttime. She’s often sleepwalking in morning practices, and is a big nap-taker.   Favorite Weather/Season: Winter—she’s lived in a lot of hot places, and she always misses snow Favorite Animal: Elephants

[airbender-dacyon]

Life and Kataang Week Delays

So I’ve been thinking about writing up this post for a while now, but haven’t had the chance until today.  Its part explanation as to why there were so many delays and inconsistent updates with Kataang Week and part cathartic exercise for me personally.  If you’re curious about what happened, feel free to read. I think this is more for me than anyone else, but like I said, it also serves as something of an explanation for how I poorly handled Kataang Week this year. 

Before I get into the details, I’d just like to give a huge shout out to everyone who has offered me kind words and support these last several weeks.  It means the world to me.  And I sincerely apologize if I forget a name or two; @kristallioness @thecaroliner @the-rosey-one @s-n-arly  @mindatworkk and @secretsecrettunnel 

And thank you to everyone who participated in Kataang Week or helped spread the word that it was still happening.  

If you’ve followed my personal blog for a while, you know I’m prone to hiatuses due to personal life or more likely, my anxiety/depression.  And while I can more or less manage that outside of the internet, my online presence suffers.  I spent far too long as a recluse back in 2013/2014 hiding away from friends and family in real life by retreating into the internet.  I have no desire to return to those days.  So despite my best efforts, much of this year I was unfortunately unable to maintain a consistent presence on tumblr. 

The source of much of that anxiety was my former warehouse job, which I just very recently left. The work itself was not terrible, but after the first few weeks it transitioned from a 40 hours per week job to 50-60 hours per week.  The mandatory overtime, combined with family obligations, left me with very little time to focus on my personal life.  The pay wasn’t as great as previous jobs I’d held, the benefits were crap, the management was more concerned about hiring new employees than retaining current ones, and overall the experience just left me physically drained and apathetic towards the job/company.

Additional anxiety came from working towards entry into graduate school, just prior to starting said former job.  Although I was accepted into the graduate school of my choice, I still have plenty of work to do before the semester starts in a few weeks.  Again, most everything in my life was put on hold or pushed back thanks to that warehouse. 

And although my exact area wasn’t directly affected, Southwest Ohio has been dealing with a lot this year.  Several tornadoes tore through the region, heavy rains affected farming and roads for weeks, and much more recently, the shock of the mass shooting in Dayton. Again, while none of these have directly affected me, I personally know friends and family who were affected. And while we were fortunate to not have friends or family lost in the Oregon District, we are saddened at the loss of life and terrified at how quickly such a tragedy came about, especially in an area we imagined was welcoming and safe. 

All of what I mentioned above was plenty to deal with, but I think I would have probably been able to keep up with Kataang Week/tumblr had I not been dealing with the grief that I am. 

Around February/March, I learned that an old high school classmate and friend committed suicide. I scrambled to try and remember when we had last spoken and realized that – with the exception of possible, since deleted conversations on facebook – we likely hadn’t talked since graduation several years ago.  I have vague memories of them – I know what they looked like, their voice, their general attitude and personality – but whenever I try to really remember events or exact memories, I draw blanks.  And I think that hurts me as much as actually losing them because in a sense, I’d already lost them in my memories before I lost them in life. 

On a similar note, I’ve learned about other friends I’ve known from high school and college and how some of them have changed and… I’m not sure what hurts worse on that front – uncertain if we’re really friends anymore or that I discovered these developments on my own/they didn’t trust me enough to tell me directly.  Some of them I lost when I became a recluse in 2013/2014, others I don’t really know when.  And I know people grow and change through life, but it hurts all the same.

Within days of hearing about my classmate’s suicide, I learned my last living grandparent – my grandmother – had passed away.  She had suffered from Alzheimer’s/dementia for about five years now, declining with each and every visit until other relatives managed to move her to a nursing home to provide her with better care.  I hadn’t seen her in well over a year by the time she passed due to the distance to travel to where she lived and the next loss I’m going to talk about.  I cried after the fact, but up to and during her funeral, I just felt numb.  

It was these losses that caused the initial delays for Kataang Week this year. 

For almost the last two years, the greatest obligation in my family life was to visit another relative – a member of my immediate family – who was suffering from a rare disease. 

My mother was misdiagnosed with Parkinson’s some years ago and she fought valiantly to maintain her life despite the rather aggressive onset of the disease.  By the time she was reliant on a cane, she had to quit her job and apply for disability.  The next year, she was reliant on a walker; less than a year later, a wheelchair.  As her motor control and strength were taken from her, so was her mind in bits and pieces. She became confused and forgetful more often, slurred her speech and lost her voice some days, among other symptoms. My father and I did the best we could to make our home accessible to her, but eventually even in a wheelchair she became largely reliant on the two of us. 

My Dad shouldered most of her care and for far longer than he probably should have.  After speaking with a neurologist about the possibility of a surgical procedure (deep brain stimulation, I believe – known to help ‘reset’ the brain for Parkinson’s patients and give them independence and motor control again for another 5-10 years), we were informed that my Mom wasn’t actually afflicted with Parkinson’s. 

The disease she actually suffered from is known as Multiple System Atrophy (often referred to simply as MSA) and presents itself as ‘Parkinson’s on steroids.’  It is much less common than Parkinson’s and there is no cure.  After symptom onset, those afflicted with MSA live for an average of 7 more years before succumbing to complications (most often respiratory related) resulting from the disease. 

Eventually it became too difficult to care for her at home and we moved her into a nursing home. So when I was home from school or off work, I spent as much time as I could with my Mom in her new home.  As a result, 10 hour days followed by several hours at the nursing home didn’t leave me with much time for tumblr/Kataang Week this year. 

She sometimes had enough strength and mental aptitude to move herself around in her wheelchair, other times she was still reliant on family or staff.  She made new friends and eventually came to accept her situation.  She knew she was declining and often wondered what she had done to deserve such a cruel fate.

Within the last year, she became almost entirely confined to her bed.  She didn’t have the strength to sit up long enough in a wheelchair for anything other than short trips through the nursing home for her personal hygiene.  On days she was more mentally ‘with it,’ more aware of her situation, she was very depressed with her situation.  The best days were when she could hold conversations and laugh, despite everything. However, the good days increasingly became fewer and father apart.  She began to eat less and simply stare at visitors. 

After almost two weeks of staring with little talking and poor appetite, I had a good day with her.  She was smiling and talking with me.  She ate a decent dinner that evening.  We laughed at funny commercials on the television and family stories.  It was a good day.  I thought things were going to start looking up, getting better.  I wish I had stayed with her longer that night.

I don’t think she ever spoke more than a few words after that night.  The poor appetite and vacant staring returned, interrupted only by an occasional spark of consciousness or smile.  Within a week of that last good day I spent with her, hospice told us she was likely not going to live much longer; she passed not even a full day after hospice told us that.

We had been living in a state of perpetual grief as we watched her slip further and further away these last several years.  But to lose her so suddenly still cut deep.  We were also relieved that she didn’t have to suffer anymore.

My Mom’s rapid decline and death happened in the final weeks leading up to Kataang Week. I tried to get things situated well enough for the week, but I failed.  I appreciate everyone’s support and patience this year and Marie for helping out when I needed it most.  

 o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

TL;DR - Work, weather, and deaths of friends/family piled on the anxiety/depression and delayed Kataang Week. 

So if you’ve taken the time to read all of this, I thank you.  I feel a little lighter now that I’ve written it all out.  And if you made it this far, I’d just like to say – the next time you see your parents or a loved one you haven’t seen in a while, give them a hug.  Tell them you love them.  You never know how much longer you’ll have with them.  Sometimes the death of a loved one is sudden and unexpected. Sometimes it’s an inevitability you’ve feared for years.  Either way, it hurts like hell. 

To end, I’d just like to wish all my mutuals, friends, and followers – and their loved ones – long, healthy, and happy lives.  And again, thank you all for your boundless support and friendship.

- Dan

[imaginesfordayss]

Worth It

Summary: You’re a rogue vampire passing through the Cullen territory, and you find yourself drawn to their curious way of life and a certain red haired vampire. 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 4.3k

Also on AO3

It had been a long time since you’d had to run from a group of vampires trying to kill you. Actually you were almost sure this was the first time, and you had to say you were doing pretty well, all things considered. Coven of vampires on one side, pack of wolves on the other side. You were still alive, so regardless of what happens you were counting it as a good day.  

Currently you were sprinting through the thick Washington brush, doing your best to evade the two species. They had been chasing you for a little over 4 minutes now which was like 3 days in your mind and despite you using their own protection treaty against them you were proud of your defensive tactics. You had been watching them long enough to know that there was this imaginary line that neither would cross, and that served you well as you ping ponged from one side to the other.

You were well into the forest, currently on the wolves’ side when one of them, a massive black one, slid in front of you. You faltered, scrambling backwards and dashing to make a break for it to the other side of the line. There was a stream in the middle and you hurled yourself over, only to be practically clothes lined by a blonde girl with a surprisingly nasty right hook.

You hit the ground hard, fracturing your right shoulder. You cursed and rolled over, scrambling to get up. The rest of the coven cornered you as you finally found your footing and you backed up against a old tree. You cursed again.

It was a tense for a moment, each of you holding your breath as they stared you down and you desperately looked for an escape. You could hear the wolves growling from the other side of the stream, and you took comfort knowing they wouldn’t cross over. If you had to pick which group to plead your life with, you’d rather it be the odd vegetarian vampires.

Finally the man you had guessed to be the leader spoke.

“These lands are protected under treaty,” The blond man growled, “You cannot hunt here.”

You knew that. You had been lurking in Forks for close to three months, but it’s not like you were going to be telling Blonde Dad™ that any time soon.

It was only supposed to be a brief trip. You had heard some rogues in Canada talking about a place in Washington where the sun didn’t shine as often, and how easy it would be to walk in the daytime. At that point you were getting tired of acting like a character from a cheap halloween movie, so you jumped at the chance and made the long run to Forks.

When you first got there you could immediately tell the town was already occupied by a coven, but you were shocked to find them a permanent fixture in the sleepy town. You lurked around for a few days observing them. From what you gathered, the blonde man acted as a doctor while the five younger looking ones attended high school. They baffled you, the Cullens. You assumed that maybe they were using the hospital and school as a hunting ground, but their eyes were a honey gold and you had yet to see them hunt within town. That was justification enough to stay and observe them.

One week turned to two and suddenly you had been there for a month, just watching the family and their daily lives. It was definitely stalker behavior but you tried not to think about it.

Your talent aided you greatly when it came to watching them. In your human life you excelled at sneaking around and remaining unseen when it suited you, and now in your immortal life you gained the ability to shield your scent. This let you get close to them, hovering just out of a sight so you could get to know them better. Especially the red head.

He was beautiful. Which wasn’t a shock considering what he was, but you could tell even in his human life he was turning heads wherever he went. He was the only one in his group that wasn’t paired up and you could tell this made him a bit lonely. He spent a lot of time in the woods surrounding the house, often times reading or listening to music, but you had caught him staring into space once or twice seemingly contemplating his long road of immortality and it took everything in you not to reveal yourself and offer company.

So you stayed longer and managed to go unseen for another month until you finally slipped up.

It was an accident really. You hadn’t fed in a few days, trying to keep your hunting ground well away from Forks as to not give away your presence. So you were already on edge when you stumbled upon the group of teenagers camping in the woods.

They were drunk and loud and one of them tripped in the middle of the night on his way to the bathroom, splitting open his forehead and you attacked without thinking. When morning came and the rest of the group found their friend missing it was all downhill from there. The Cullens weren’t stupid and figured out that there must be supernatural play when the victim was found to be drained of blood. Then the hunt began.

They were in the forest almost every day, looking for the murderer and it got increasingly hard to avoid them. Soon the native tribe from La Push got involved and you had your first experience with werewolves. Which was another thing that shouldn’t surprise you but for fucks sake, werewolves? Really? Jesus.

You only made it a few days before they found you, chasing you far into the woods before you managed to hide. In hindsight you should have just stayed away, but you hoped that after a few days they would let their guard down and you could go back to stalking in peace. This time however, you caught the attention of the wolf pack and barely escaped with your life. You waited another week before coming back this time and even managed to lurk around for a few days before both groups ambushed you and you realized you might be stupid for antagonizing them.

Now you were surrounded by six angry vampires and who knows how many wolves and scrambling to find a way out. The blonde was clearly waiting for a response from you and you wracked your mind for something that wouldn’t get you torn apart.

“I’m not hunting.” You said stupidly. They all sent you a dubious look.

“You killed a boy a few weeks back.” Blonde responded.

“Yeah,” you fumbled, “That was an accident.”

He scoffed and you shook your head, “No no really. I haven’t hunted here except for that one time. He caught me off guard.”

He studied you for a moment, “How often do you visit this area.”

You shrugged, “I’ve been here for a few months. I’m just,” You paused, looking for the word, “visiting?”

“A few months?” A boy that reminded you of a mack truck spoke up, “We would have noticed if you had been here a few months.”

You held back a smile, proud that they hadn’t realized your presence, “I’m really good at hiding.”

You finally looked to your red head then, noticing he was studying you intensely. If you could blush you would be under his stare. His eyes flicked to the other blonde boy and he subtly shook his head. You tensed, suddenly wondering if they didn’t believe you.  

“I’ve been watching you,” You blurted out, trying to make them believe you, “You don’t hunt the humans and you live with them and go to school and work in a hospital.” You paused, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

The blonde leader studied you for a moment, trying to catch a lie, and suddenly relaxed his stance, giving you a slight smile. “Well, the polite thing to do would get to know us up close,” He stepped forward and held out his hand, “My name Carlisle.”  

Shocked you hesitated before shaking his hand, “(Y/n).”

“(Y/n),” He said, “We’d love to sate your curiosity if you’d like.”

“Carlisle,” The red head protested.

“It’s alright Edward. (S/He)’s just curious.” Carlisle said, waving him off, “(Y/n) if you’d like to follow us home we can speak in a more comfortable setting.”

You glanced at the rest of his family. Red head and both of the blondes were looking at you like they’d rather rip your head off and be done with it. The pro wrestler looking guy seemed apathetic, and the short girl with the pixie hair looked suspiciously excited. You figured they wouldn’t try and kill you with their dad calling the shots so you agreed.

The wolves followed you back until you veered from the line and ran to the Cullen house. Red head went over to the line once you got closer and apparently placated them cause you heard them trampling away a few minutes later.

You had never risked getting close to the house before, so as you slowed down to a walk on the edge of the clearing you realized just how massive it really was.

Windows made up a lot of the structure, and it looked both modern and old at the same time. Carlisle opened the door and motioned for you to follow him. You heard a few of his family splitting off behind you, probably going to eavesdrop on you from afar to make sure you didn’t try and kill their dad. Red head and the short girl followed you  as you entered the house.

As soon as you walked in you realized that one of their group was missing when they tracked you through the woods, and you suddenly came face to face with her. She walked from the back of the house and managed to not look surprised.

“You didn’t tell me we were having guests Carlisle.” She said kindly.

“This is (y/n),” He replied, “She’d like to know more about our way of life. (Y/n) this is my wife Esme.”

Esme stepped forward and shook your hand, “Lovely meeting you (Y/n), welcome to our home.”

“Thanks for having me,” You said softly, taking a look around the house.

“If you’ll join me in my office this way,” Carlisle said, breaking you out of your study and lead you upstairs.

His office was what you would expect from a doctor, filled floor to ceiling with books and awards and the like. It was painfully clean and you felt bad for ruining his carpet with your mud covered boots and dusty jacket.

“This is my son, Edward, and my daughter, Alice.” Carlisle said, sitting down and gesturing to the two teenagers looming behind you. You dumbly gave them a half wave before sitting down in the seat across from him.

“So,” Carlisle began, “What would you like to know?”

You faltered, searching for the right words, “How do you do it?” You asked finally.

“How do we resist?” He clarified. You nodded

“It’s not without effort,” he said, “and it’s taken a lot of time and practice.”

“How long have you been doing it?”

“Since the beginning.” He stated.

Your eyebrows climbed high, “You’ve never drank from a human?” You asked incredulous.

He nodded, smiling slightly at your surprise, and told you his story. Hunting vampires in 1600′s London, being changed in a raid, despising what he had become, learning he could feed off of animals and keep what little humanity he could, training his mind and body to resist the scent of human blood. You listened with rapt attention, hanging onto his every word. You had only been changed a decade or so ago, a college party gone horribly wrong, and you were fascinated by Carlisle’s centuries of life.

“Eventually I began to seek companionship. Not many vampires shared my views on preserving human life and this made finding one difficult. I realized that I would have to create another vampire if I were to find someone with my philosophy, but I was hesitant to force someone into this life. I was working in Chicago during the Influenza epidemic when I met Edward.”

Surprised you looked over to where Edward was leaning against the door. He regarded you curiously and you felt an unexpected rush of affection for the boy, “You created a son.”

Carlisle looked surprised at your word choice, but nodded, “Yes. Edward and his parents were in the hospital where I was working. His mother asked me to save him on her deathbed. So I did.”

“That’s sweet,” You said smiling, and relaxed a bit into the seat.

Suddenly Edward went rigid and turned his golden gaze on you. Shocked, you stared back. An awkward moment passed between the two of you before his eyebrows raised in shock.

“You’re a shield.” He said.

“A what?” You shot back, suddenly defensive.

His brow furrowed as he studied you like a science experiment, “How old are you?”

“I was changed at 19,” You said, “But I’m technically almost 30.”

“Who changed you?” Carlise asked.

You shrugged, “I didn’t know him. I barely remember what happened that night.” They waited for an explanation, “I was at a party, it was New Years and I was drunk. This guy was there and I remember talking to him and going out to his car. The next thing I remember was stumbling through the woods and an animal biting my leg. There was a lot of pain and someone was moving me and people were yelling. I woke up a few days later in a basement in some abandoned house, a vampire.”

“That’s awful,” Alice piped in, “What did you do?”

You fiddled with your jacket sleeves, “I was thirsty. The neighborhood was under reconstruction or something so it was mostly empty. I wandered around outside until I smelled a few construction workers a block away.” You paused, “I didn’t even know what I’d done until it was over.” You felt oddly inferior admitting you slaughtered a bunch of humans your first time while Carlisle was able to resist. You barely knew the guy, but it felt like you had disappointed him.

Alice approached you and rested her hand on your shoulder, squeezing lightly, “It wasn’t your fault.”

You smiled at her, “Thanks.” You continued, “Afterwards I holed up in one of the houses for a few days. I was terrified. I had no idea what I was or what was happening to me. I was convinced it was all a bad dream. The police showed up investigating the murders and I had no choice but to leave. Over the next few months I generally figured out how to live. I thought about going home, but I was scared I would hurt my little brother or my parents so I decided against it. I was in the North for a while, Canada mostly, and I met a few people like me. I traveled with them for a while and they helped me learn a lot about myself and how to use my abilities. They wanted to go South to look into the vampires armies down there, but I like the calm so we split a part. I was alone for a few years before I met a couple that told me about this place, Forks. They said the sun didn’t shine so often and I had started to hate only being outside at night, so I came here.

When I first saw you all I was going to leave, but I saw you in town and you never hunted the humans and you went to school and you have a life here. I’d never seen anything like it and you fascinated me. So I stayed.”

“We never even realized you were there.” Carlisle said not unkindly.

“I can hide my scent,” You explained, “Sometimes it happens involuntary like when I get nervous or scared, but I can control it too.”

“That’s why I can’t read your mind.” Edward said.

“You can read minds?” You asked, shocked, “Dude that’s so cool.”

Alice laughed, “Every vampire brings something of their human life into their immortal life. Edward can read minds, Jasper can manipulate emotions, Emmett is stronger than usual, I can see the future, and you brought your ability to hide.”

“What, you can see the future? That’s so cool!” You cut her off, “I’ve never met anyone else with talents like me.”

“Not all talents are as obvious as mind reading,” Carlisle explained, “You are able to repel other people's talents. Edward can’t read your mind and Jasper doesn’t seem to be able to feel your emotions either. It seems you repel other talents.”

“I didn’t know it went that deep.” You said. You looked over at Edward, “So you can’t read my mind at all?”

“For a moment, you let your shield down and I could hear you. It seems to be tied your emotions because the second you got nervous it went back up.”

You nodded, already knowing this, “It’s my way of protecting myself. If I’m in danger it hides my scent and I guess my thoughts so no one can find me.”

Edward looked impressed, “That must come in handy often.”

You preened under the compliment, “Yeah it’s gotten me out of a lot of tight spots.”

Alice shot you a knowing look and you quickly looked away, addressing Carlisle, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home. I’m sorry I’ve caused your family trouble, but I never meant to harm anyone here.”

Carlisle nodded, “I understand and you’re forgiven.”

You could feel your conversation coming to a close and you desperately didn’t want to leave. You wanted to know more about Carlisle’s life and all the things he’s seen. You wanted to learn about Edward and Alice’s talent. And above all else you didn’t want to be alone again. This was the first time you had actually spoken to someone in months.

“I want to learn.” You blurted, “I don’t like killing people. I don’t like not being in control of myself. I want to go outside and be around other living things without worrying that I’ll snap.” You paused, taking an unnecessary breath, “What you have here, the life you’ve built, is something I could only dream about. Please, you have to teach me.” You begged.

Carlisle startled at your emotional response, but didn’t outright deny you. He looked to Edward and they had a brief silent conversation. Edward’s eyes flicked to Alice for a moment and you realized the short haired girl looked to be barely holding in her excitement.

“It won’t be easy.” Carlisle finally said, “It takes a lot of patience and willpower, and you won’t notice improvement for a while.” You nodded eagerly, “There will be mistakes,” he continued, “And you have to let us help you if you slip up.”

“I can do it.” You said eagerly, “I want to be alive again, or at least as much as I can be alive now. Trust me Carlisle, I can do it.”

A smile played on his lips at your eagerness, and he nodded, “Okay.”

Alice squealed and threw her arms around you, “Welcome to the family, (y/n)!”

You laughed and patted her awkwardly on the back, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

She pulled back and glared playfully, “I can see the future you know. I wouldn’t bet against me.”

“I don’t know if that’s comforting or threatening.”

“Think of it as both.” Edward said.

Carlisle stood and you followed suit. “There’s a guest room downstairs that you can have for the time being.”

“Oh, I don’t need a room. Thank you though.”

“You’ll need a place to put your stuff.” Alice said, “And everyone needs a space to call their own.”

You smiled shyly, “I don’t have a lot of things. I stashed a backpack a few miles from here that has a few things from my human life and a change of clothes, but that’s it.”

“Well,” Alice said, “That’ll change soon. I can have one of the boys grab your backpack.”

You were going to protest, but Edward caught your eye and shook his head wryily. Apparently Alice was going to take some getting used to.

Later, Alice introduced you to the rest of the house’s occupants and sat with you as you settled your measly belongings into the house. It was the most socializing you had done in months and you felt a bit overwhelmed. The sun set and Jasper finally swooped in and stole Alice’s attention, giving you a reprieve from her chatter. You made your way outside and surveyed the grounds. The Cullen’s yard was massive and backed up to a natural stream that ran through the forest. You could hear the Cullen’s murmuring in the house and paired with the trickling of the stream you felt at peace. You jumped the stream easily and wandered into the surrounding brush.

About an hour passed before you felt eyes on you. You tensed and slid your shield up, scenting out to find where the presence was coming from.

“Edward?”

You turned to where you figured the boy was hiding, and sure enough Edward slid from between the trees. You quirked your eyebrow, “Were you spying on me?”

He glared, “I wasn’t spying. I was making sure you weren’t trying to run off.”

“Why would I run off?”

“You learned a lot about my family today. It wouldn’t do us any good if you ran off and told a bunch of people.”

You scoffed, “I only really know three people in this life, and two of them are in Louisiana doing god knows what with a bunch of Trump supporters. Trust me, I won’t be running off any time soon.”

Edward laughed before smothering his smile, “Still, just in case. We don’t really know you, even if Alice says convinced otherwise.”

“That’s fair. And turnabout is fairplay, I spent plenty of time watching you.” You said offhandedly.

“You watched me?” Edward asked.

“Uh no,” You said stuttering, “No I mean like when I watched your family and stuff.”

He regarded you suspiciously, “I don’t think so.” He was smiling slightly so you could tell he wasn’t really mad.

“It just,” You shrugged, “You seemed lonely, out here by yourself.”

“I’m not lonely,” Edward said, a bit too quick, “I have my family and I’m surrounded by humans almost every day. If anything, this is my time for peace and quiet.”

“But everyone has someone,” You protested, “And you don’t.”

He shifted, uncomfortable and you realized how rude you were being, “I’m sorry, that was rude.” You said.

“It’s alright,” He said, “You’re not the first person to worry about me.”

The way he said it made you think about Carlisle and the way he looked at him. He probably worried about his son and his happiness.

“Just not interested in companionship?” You asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

“Just haven’t found the right person.” He said.

“I guess that’s fair,” You said, “No use in settling with someone for eternity if they aren’t the one.”

Edward’s gaze softened, “Yes exactly.”

His eyes were making you feel all weird and not-blushy and you turned away, gazing out at the moonlit forest instead. There was no denying your attraction to the boy, but you tried your best to put it out of your mind. You made sure your shield was firmly in place lest he hear your not entirely innocent thoughts.

“What about you?” Edward asked, breaking the silence.

“What about me?”

“Being alone,” He said, “Why haven’t you joined a group or found a mate.”

You contemplated your answer before speaking, “I want to be normal again.”

He nodded, sort of getting what you said but you explained nonetheless, “Most vampires want to hunt and fight and do whatever for forever, but I just want to live again. I want to go back to college and meet someone who won’t deposit me in the middle of the woods to get murdered and get my degree and just be normal.”

A brief silence ensued and you wanted to take back your words for some reason when Edward’s soft reply came.

“Me too.”

Edward hit you again with that timeless gaze and you were caught in the gravity of his gold eyes. You could see the same loneliness that plagued you for months in his eyes. This time he looked away first, shifting slight .

The two of you sat in a sort of comfortable silence for a while. You wanted to hear him talk again, but couldn’t find the words.

“When was the last time you fed?” Edward asked, ending the quiet.

“Not for a few days now. Why?”

“I can take you hunting if you’d like. There’s a place a few miles from here that’s a great place to start.” He offered.

“Hunting animals,” You said skeptically, “I guess there’s no time like the present.” You turned to him and made a general gesture towards the forest, “Lead the way.”

Edward smirked, “Try and keep up.” And he took off.

You gasped at his playfulness and took off after him, both of you laughing.

The next few months were going to be hard and possibly awkward because that seemed to be your default state nowadays, but if it meant you got to run through the woods with a red haired boy and his too bright smile-- it just might be worth it.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

If you're still doing animorphs reviews, #43 or #45?

(I’m not sure I have thoughts about #45 that I could articulate right now without just screaming Eva’s name for a page and a half, so…)

#43. The Test

Short opinion: The characterization of Tobias we get in this book is so awesome that it is a huge cryin’ shame every single other Animorph is so hideously mischaracterized. 

Long opinion:

I’ll get back to the extreme strangeness of everyone else’s behavior in a second, but first I want to talk about how much I love and adore Taylor as a character (I hate her as a person, obviously, but that’s why I love her) because of how well she serves as a foil for Tobias.  Not through being similar to Tobias, but through being so wildly unlike Tobias.  I know that teeechnically foils have to be similar to one another to draw attention to one another’s differences, but a big part of what’s so great about Taylor is that she and Tobias have nothing in common.  As I mentioned, it’s striking they don’t even understand each other, and they never start understanding each other no matter how much time they spend together.  Taylor’s a rich kid from a position of privilege who will do anything to have power over others, and she and Sub-Visser Fifty-One can’t even tell where one ends and the other one begins anymore.  Tobias has never known a day of security in his life, is motivated foremost by his desire to keep his friends and family safe, and—through Taylor’s interrogation of his decisions in #33—has come to a place of certainty about who he is, regardless of the paradox of being “half human, half bird, half andalite” (MM3).

Tobias’s opening narration will forever fascinate me.  He’s focused on the moment—find food, get shelter, maybe help this lost kid—and almost absentmindedly informs the reader that he’s a shapeshifting alien fighter who, by the way, is battling life-destroying PTSD.  In this moment he reminds me of Ivan calmly informing the reader that “with enough time, you can get used to almost anything.”  Because the true horror of Tobias flinching away from the kill even as he needs it to survive, being unable to escape the sound of Taylor’s voice in his mind, and apathetically wondering whether he’ll get himself killed if he doesn’t pay more attention to the present is it’s all so ordinary to him.  He still cares, he’s still distressed… but he’s also used to it.  Because with enough time, you can get used to almost anything.

Although every Tobias-narrated book ever written has a lot more introspection than the others (especially Rachel) tend to display, this book clearly shows just how much Tobias does in fact “live too much of life inside [his] head” (#43).  Yeah, he heroically saves a kid from drowning, and yeah, he risks his friends’ freedom to do it because he has to talk to some civilians to make it happen… But that whole incident feels, well, incidental.  Because the whole time that’s happening, Tobias is also giving us insight that we’ve been craving literally since the first book: he’s telling us the story of how he became trapped in morph, from his own point of view.  I continue to be surprised by how often fellow fandalites miss the crucial flashback at the beginning of this book when characterizing Tobias—and on some level I’m not surprised at all, because it really is a diamond in the rough.

It’s impressive as hell that Applegate (or whichever ghost) manages to give us the whole narrative without offering a single simple answer to the question of “Did Tobias become a nothlit on purpose?”  Instead, it seems that the best answer we (or Tobias, for that matter) will ever get is “it depends what you mean by ‘on purpose.’”  The way Tobias tells it, he had a few minutes in there where he could have risked dying—or worse, becoming a controller—for an okay chance at getting out of the yeerk pool cavern in time to demorph, and that he just decided it wasn’t worth his life and/or freedom to try and go back to that life.  But he’s not sure if he made the decision out of cowardice, being unwilling to die at the time.  But he’s not sure if he made the decision out of bravery, being willing to sacrifice anything to continue to fight.  But he’s not even sure himself if he had a choice at all, given the circumstances.  But he’s not sure whether he made the right call, even to this day.

I absolutely love that this explanation is so nebulous.  It feels wildly realistic, because that’s how we as humans tend to explain our own high-stress decision making.  Watch an interview with anyone who ever spontaneously dived into a fire or a river to save a total stranger; when asked “why did you do it?” the individuals tend to shrug and go “I dunno, seemed like the thing to do.”  Tobias probably doesn’t know for himself if, given everything he knows now, he’d go back and make the same call again.  He does know that at the time he had no idea what he was getting himself into, because that kid who chose to become a hawk rather than facing another day at home with his abusive dirtbag uncle had probably never “struck, embedded, and squeezed. Drained life instantly…” just to get breakfast (#43).  Anyway, Tobias might be inclined to agree with Taylor’s low opinion of himself—but he knows who he is.  He has no delusions.

And that self-certainty is enough to carry him through confronting Taylor all over again.  He knows he’s scared.  He knows that she hurt him, and that he’s probably never going to recover from that trauma.  He hates that she has managed to leave a mark on him, but he feels more pity and contempt than fear toward her.  Despite all of that, he’s not desperate.  There’s nothing he needs, and no one he needs to impress.  Therefore, he has power where Taylor has none.

This book also serves to give Tobias a glimpse of how far he could get from humanity using the taxxon as a sort of über-hawk.  Because once again: there’s an alien that needs morphing, and Tobias is the first one to do it.  I love the motif of Tobias being the one to morph andalite, Tobias being the one to acquire a nartec, Tobias being the one to figure out the nesk and mercora, Tobias having the relationship with the hork-bajir… Because Tobias doesn’t quite belong anywhere or with anyone.  He spent his entire childhood moving around the country, and he spends the entire series moving flexibly between identities.  He can get under Taylor’s skin just as much as she’s under his, because they might not understand each other but they still see each other’s weak points.

Anyway, that’s what’s awesome about this book.  The reason I called that opening narration a diamond in the rough before?  Boy howdy is nobody else in this book in character.  We’ve got Jake callously dismissing Tom’s existence when Cassie suggests they at least check whether he’s in the yeerk pool before they blow it up, everyone on the team being not just okay but gung-ho about killing several thousand yeerks and hosts, Rachel trying to save Taylor’s life, Ax being blasé about nearly eating his friends, Jake yelling at Ax for bumping into him, Rachel “more kindly” telling Ax it’s not his fault Jake yelled at him, Cassie rage-quitting the team because she disagrees with their decision rather than trying to persuade people to change their minds, Jake apparently not caring at all that Cassie cares enough to rage-quit, Marco thinking that the idea of killing hosts is not just okay but funny, Rachel being devastated that Cassie injured a few humans when she apparently didn’t even kill any of them… 

Okay, first of all, contrast the Animorphs’ actual responses when they really do blow up the yeerk pool to this nonsense.  In #52 they hesitate to set off the bomb until they have no choice, and afterward even Marco and Ax are devastated beyond words by what they’ve done.  Secondly, Rachel and Jake both spend so much of this book acting so weird that I ascribe to Cates’s Baker Street Irregulars-esque theory that they’re both acting for Taylor’s benefit just like they do in #22 for David’s benefit and this isn’t their real behavior.  Of course, I have a less charitable explanation for why Rachel is repeatedly described as “gentle” and “kind” as she wrings her hands over the horror of it all, while Jake is described as “harsh” and “domineering” while he snaps at anyone who so much as looks at him the wrong way, one that casts a side-eye at the ghostwriter and wonders about gender stereotypes…

But let’s be charitable and just assume that Jake and Rachel are only pretending to be their Supreme Leader and Female Who Knows Her Place selves, respectively, in order to make Taylor think that their team is less cohesive than it is.  Or just stop reading this book after the first 15 pages.  Either way.

[accidently-happens]

A New Story

A Short Story

It is original. There is no aspects of other’s work in here as far as I know.

This is part of a short story series I started while traveling. It isn’t anything too special but it’s helped me feel more confident in my writing ability. If there’s any mistakes or confusion, let me know! The asks for this blog have been turned on.

I’ll occasionally share the drawings I’ve done of the characters 😋

It might get a little… uneasy… later based off of what I’ve already got written but enjoy!

Word Count: 3,303

Warnings in tags

All my characters

Death’s Death

What would you say if I told you that the Greeks and Romans were the most accurate about deities? Not as the creator of the universe but rather a group that had control over an oddly specific thing? For example, I, Nekes, had control over death. What does this mean? I kill people by touching them. I can tell when and how someone will die. I have the deathly knowhow. This is especially funny since my younger brother, Vitus, is major life. He said I give off a depressing aura. I told him he smelled of life and he went to take a shower. So, ha.

He tries to get us to hide ourselves. Easy for him. He just has to shower often and keep his hair long. I can’t be near people without them feeling like something’s wrong with me. Except for the others of course. Especially the lifes. They both counteract my aura. Our cousin Letcha is minor life. This might get confusing. Let me explain. I’m death. My younger brother is major life. My younger sisters are Timi and Shimi, sound and good endings respectively. Our cousin Dekins was weaponry. His sister Kilns was  flora and fauna. Their younger sister was Letcha, minor life.

Out cousins Merccie, Sotpa, and Neurs were siblings - in that order, first two being girls and the last being a boy - that were, in the same order, thanks & good tidings, love, and knowledge. A girl who might be my cousin from the other side was beginnings, Genesis. Then a family friend Travis was the gatekeeper.

Did that make sense? I’ll leave a list or something just in case. Moving on.

Today was the first day of school. Bad? Oh yeah. Very bad. I had a note from my parents, who were both aware and unaware of the reality of us children, that said I was to be in a seat away from the other students and closer to the door. My mom was a doctor but nobody knew that so it was a two in one. Score. The teachers were confused but never argued since I stood the right distance that they could tell something was up with me and not to be pressed but they didn’t feel any effects. Besides, a doctor’s note was hard to argue, even if it said I had “a contagious disease that could cause almost instantaneous death.” Emphasis on almost. I’ve been working hard to keep myself in check. If I really focus, I can touch someone for a couple minutes or not make everyone within a two-foot radius feel depressed and hopeless but not at the same time. Considering how it’s taken me the six years I’ve dealt with this, that’s pretty good since I’ve also had to not let anything bother me. Kids at school started calling me apathetic and dull. If only they knew…

Vitus snapped his fingers in front of my face. I snapped out of my day dream. It was our monthly gathering and I had dozed off. Again. Except for Genesis and Kilns, everybody else looked indifferent. This happened often enough. I’d probably doze off again as soon as Timi started talking. I hate her. Correction, I despise her.

“Nekes, if you’re going to sleep, do it at night,” I saw Dekins point at me aggressively with his pointer, “you need to be 100% here.”

“Give her a break, Dekins! Neko hasn’t been sleeping good for the last few weeks!” Genesis stood to my rescue and used the nickname she gave me, though, she didn’t have to bring my insomnia up. Whatever. I tried to not show the blush that wanted to burn my face. I felt Kilns shift, her way of telling me my aura was going through the life shield. I mumbled a sorry and focused on my emotions, bringing them back down into locked boxes.

“It’s fine, Gen, he’s right…” I mumbled to her through my jacket.

She glanced at me worriedly.

“Alright but,” she sat down and leaned towards me and whispered softly, “but I’m here for you so just let me know okay Neko?”

I nodded, “What did I miss out on?” Vitus sighed and pressed the bridge of his nose.

“We were discussing what to do about school. We need a good way of hiding our auras and other side effects.”

“I don’t. I just have to wear my-”

“Shut up Travis. You’re fine. It must be easy when all you have to do is hide a key-”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were so aggressive, Kilns,” interrupted Timi, filing her nails with a rather large file.

“Oh hush you.” Timi stuck her tongue out in an effort to be sarcastic without words, squeezing her eyes shut (here have an emoji that accurately describes this face: 😝 hehehe). Kilns went silent, leaning closer to me and forcing me to pull my aura tighter around me. This is when two-year-old Neurs spoke up.

“Nekes, your aura is the strongest and most problematic to hide because of the side effects of your presence.”

“Yeah I know… ’m working on it…”

Everyone looked at me with a look saying “really?”

“I need to leave… I might come back… just keep chatting without me… no Gen, you need to stay.” I added as Genesis got up to follow me as I headed out of the void room. I needed to let myself go for a while without others. She nodded and sat back down in my chair, leaning on Kilns who put an arm around her.

I quickly left and headed to an area of the void outside the void house that I visited often. While there wasn’t anything ever alive there, death was in the air and it felt like things had died. I didn’t notice a thing. It simply felt like home. Well, more than where I was raised in.

“Back so soon?”

I shrugged and sat in the middle of the death bubble. Nobody could hear me or come see me. They’d die no matter who they were.

“… suppose so…”

“What’s getting you so down, Death?”

I hesitated in telling the voice that always accompanied me while I was near highly concentrated areas of ‘magic’ even if it wasn’t mine.

“…nothing that concerns you…” I felt the voice smile.

“Are you sure, Death?”

I nodded.

“Oh Death. Stop lying to yourself,” it felt like hands came and rested on my shoulders, “Just let me-”

“No. Stop asking me.” I shrugged the feeling off me and dropped my emotional facade, my eyes changing from a dark blue to a near neon blue that glowed in the midst of the darkness that surrounded me. My face showed all emotion that I’ve been hiding for too long a time. I cried from sadness and anger. I gripped my arms so tightly that they started bleeding from my nails puncturing my skin as though feeling eyes on me. I felt anxious and terrified. I screamed out my confusion and horror at what I became. I sat and vented until I passed out, dreaming of what it’d be like if I wasn’t Death.

I woke up hours later. I knew the meeting was over. I couldn’t sense their life essence. I felt one. I didn’t want to talk to her, but I knew I’d have to. I trotted out, my clothes becoming a hooded sweatshirt, a pair of tights, and a short skirt. I pulled my hood up and pulled a navy blue scarf from nothing and hide the lower half of my face.

“What do you want Merccie?”

“To know if you’re okay.”

“…’m fine.”

She seemed unpersuaded. I chose not to care. I kept walking. She sighed and followed, jogging by my side.

“Look, Shimi says she can’t see your end. You know what that means?”

I stayed silent, tilting my head down to hide my face more.

“You… You do know?!? What?!? Do you-?!?”

“I can’t care not should I.  I’m death and caring hurts others. My emotions hurt others. Now, leave me alone.”

I opened a doorway to reality as it was known six years ago, stepping into my room. I had finally gotten my own room almost six years ago. It was technically an entire house. It had everything I might need to live in a zombie apocalypse which I know now will never happen. More likely, I’d get all of mankind killed. Or worse. Expelled. I smiled. That’s a good joke. I might have to tell the others that one.

I opened a cupboard, out of cereal… okay looks like I’m not having dinner tonight. I stumbled to the living room area. I fell face first onto the couch and sighed. I turned my head towards the TV.

“What’s up Gen?”

Genesis jumped from her position by the door and hit the door.

“How’d you know I was here?”

I got up and went to her. “You’re both loud in breathing and have an aura that is similar to the lifes.”

“…umm… in English please?”

“Magic,” I stood up and walked back to the couch, sitting with an ‘oomphf.’ She followed and sat close by me. My aura wasn’t being held too tightly and she was definitely in it’s range.

“You’re going to-”

“Nekes.” She was being deathly seriously. She never used my real name, especially when it was just us, and she never interrupted. I stared wide-eyed at her, afraid to say anything.

“Why are you hurting yourself?” she made eye contact and held it, “Why did you let this start?”

I looked down and pulled a knee up, not wanting to respond. I knew she’d find out. It was a beginning and that’s her thing.

“Neko… please tell me… I know good starts and bad beginnings but I don’t ever know why. I need you to tell me why.”

“….sorry…”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? 'Sorry’ is it? That’s the only explanation I get?” She sounded exasperated and… worried? She moved closer and I backed away, my touch might kill her right now. She persisted. She ended up laying on top of me, her warmth sinking into my cold form as she held my face. Hers being right above mine. She could see. She saw the tears silently and emotionlessly falling from my very dark eyes. She understood what it meant.

“I can see it… your pain… why do you hide it, Nekokonooo?”

My eyes lightened a little at the nickname she used when we were only alone. She smiled.

“Please tell me Nekokonooo? Please please pleeeeaaasssse?”

Funk she’s cute. My eyes grew lighter and dropped back to the dark color. I sat up, pushing her into my lap, and sighed.

“Since I can’t say no when you make that face-” at this, she blushed and smiled more “-I’ll tell you.”

She nodded and tried to maintain a serious face. She failed and laughed. It sounded like fairies flying through a sun beam. I smiled for a second.

“Even though you don’t seem to be affected by my aura too much, it affects the others but it affects the mortals worse, “ We called those not a owner of an oddly specific thing mortals cause we can, “I sense their deaths moving forward in time. Their life shortens for every second they’re in my aura. If I touch them, they’ll die. If I touch another of us, they get deathly ill. Even you are affected by my touch. I can feel it.”

She lost her hopeful & glad expression and found a more thoughtful & mournful one. I kept talking, finally having a way to let this out.

“I don’t go to funerals because I’m afraid that all I do is make people feel worse. That makes sense though because I’m Death. Why is that though? Why am I Death? Why couldn’t I be something- anything else? Who picked death as my realm? If I were to-” I was cut off as Genesis put a finger over my lips. She looked up and whispered a small thing. A seemingly insignificant thing. Except, it was all I ever needed to hear.

I woke up and found myself wrapped around Genesis on the couch. I carefully got up from around her. If her parents found out… Shed. I’d be so dead. I spliced a portal to her room, across the country, and listened for signs of their knowing. It didn’t seem like it. Fortunately. I went back and picked her up. In all the fanfics I read, it’s called 'bridal style’ but I’m not sure why. I’ve never been to a wedding. If you ask me why… what are you, an idiot?

I lifted Gen through the portal and placed her onto her bed, hoping her parents weren’t able to sense that I was in here. I caressed her cheek and jawline, moving hair away from her peaceful face. I sighed. I moved back through the hole in space, looking at her while I closed the portal. I turned back to the house. The one I live in. The sorta room. The “you make us feel depressed and sick so please stay here and don’t visit us okay thanks” room. I turned to the room I was supposed to sleep in but turned it into a pocket in space-time. It was much bigger than it should’ve been allowed to be, according to physics anyway. I waltzed to the section that had little of me and lots of everybody else. In other words, if people wanted to talk with me, this is where we would chat. Someone was there. I opened it. It was Vitus. Did he know?

“Why was she here?” Uh oh.

“Sorry who?”

He sighed. “You know who I’m talking about. Genesis…?” He said it like a question.

“She doesn’t come in. She wasn’t here. She hasn’t visited me in-”

“Nekes, why are you lying to me? I can sense her life force in there.”

Well, sprinkles.

“Nekes…”

“She wasn’t here. Go away.”

“Nekes. Don’t you funki-”

“Fudge. Off.” Then I slammed the door in his face. He yelled at me through the door as I walked away, moving away and to the the furthest room from the meet-and-greet door so I wouldn’t hear him. I landed on the couch and waited for his presence to go away. I wasn’t ready to deal with him. Or anyone. Unfortunately, it was a school day. Or rather, fortunately. It means he left. A lot sooner then he would’ve otherwise. I shouldn’t be going to school. Even though it was the second day of school. I can’t control my aura enough. I grabbed a phone and texted Mom that I needed her to call me out an excused absence. She asked why within the minute but she got no response. I assumed she called the school. I curled up on the couch with my knees to my face, my emotions trying to be free. I refused. I got up and spliced a one-way portal to Genesis’s room. She was awake now. She wasn’t aware I was watching. She never suspected that I watched her when she wasn’t around me physically. At least… I don’t think so?

She had changed into a simple outfit, one that I had given her. It was a shirt that read “Start Starting” and everyone laughed and found it odd that I let her take a selfie with me, even more so when they saw a genuine smile on my face. That never happened, certainly not anymore around them. Anywho, she was… sewing? I wasn’t sure what since it looked recently started. It was a lot of dark blue. My brain decided to shut off and the portal shut with a pop. My last sight was Genesis turning around and looking directly at me as I passed out.

I squeezed my eyes before opening them slightly, left more than the right. People were talking… about me?

“Go home Genesis, you’re parents-”

“I don’t care about what they think, Vitus. I’m too worried about KoKo!”

“She’s not dying, especially if the ending I saw is gonna happen-”

“What ending…?”

“I really don’t want to talk about it. I never should have brought it up. It’s overshadowed by less happy ends for Nek-”

“Tell me, Shimi.”

“Trust me. Not yet. Not all endings should be shared with those affected by it.”

There wasn’t a response. A different voice.

“Hey, Genesis, Nekes is awake.”

I heard someone’s - probably Gen’s - head whip around.

“If that’s another prank Travis-”

“It’s not. Look.”

A few steps. A face blocked the light in my face. I heard Shimi grab Travis and leave the room. My voice was like nails on a chalkboard.

“Gen… don’t cry…”

She sniffled and hugged me, bringing certain things to my attention. I groaned in pain. She backed away. I moved a hand to my chest. She made a sharp intake in breath as my eyes opened wide.

My entire chest was bandaged.

When I pulled my hand away to look at it, it was red and slightly blue.

“Wh-what happened?” My voice was full of horror and fear.

She must’ve shrugged.

“Not sure but when you were spying on me - something we need to talk about - you seemed to have gotten… well shot. By a gun. We can’t get the bullet out and it’s making you bleed more and more.”

My hand started shaking. I felt the cords that were attached directly to my heart and soul (it’s how we knew we were “owners” of something). My other hand went to my head. More lines connecting to machines to keep me alive. Death was on the verge of death.

“H-how l-long?”

“Only three hours but…” she mumbled, “it felt like years…”

For three hours, the world had no death. For three hours, Travis had to deny me entrance to my own realm. For three hours, I was going to die. I cried.

Only days later after I was able to wander again and I was in my deathful area in the void did I realize that someone had undressed me. I panicked.

Who had seen my chest? My arms? My neck? Whoever it was, knew. They knew. They knew the one secret I’ve been hiding. I hid it from everyone, including Gen.

“Uh ooohhh~ Someone knows~” The voice was back. It sounded different.

“What did you do? Did you shoot me? Why? What did I ever do to you? Who are you? Are you even real? Am I talking aloud to myself? What is even going on? I’m so confused. Someone help. I need help.” I rambled nonsense. I said nothings. There was no point in what I was saying. I was making it worse. How could I make it worse? Easily. I went from flailing around to punching things to laying on the floor crying. Adding to my collection. My collection of scars. Scars that ran from my fingertips to my neck to my hips. They were all accidents. They show up after every fit. Everytime I let emotions go, I got new scars. I was waiting for them to show up on my legs and face. They might this time.

I heard the voice. Laughing. It was laughing at me. I decided I was going to kill it. My eyes were glowing blue, tinted red and turning a stronger red by the minute. A scythe appeared in my hands, three, four, five times my size. I swiped it all around me. It hit nothing. I dropped it, realizing I had consciously summoned it. I fell to my knees and cried into my hands, feeling my nose bleed. I looked up at the sky. I sobbed. I wept. Death couldn’t take the stress.

Here’s the list Nekes promised without permission squints

From Nekes point of view:

~ Nekes - Death

~ Vitus - Brother - Major Life

~ Timi - Sister - Sound

~ Shimi - Younger Sister

> Dekins - Cousin - Weaponry

> Kilns - Cousin - Flora and Fauna

> Letcha - Cousin - Minor Life

+ Merccie - Cousin - Thanks and Good Tidings

+ Sotpa - Cousin - Love

+ Neurs - Cousin - Knowledge

* Travis - Family Friend - Gatekeeper

= Genesis - Cousin? - Beginnings

Each point mark represents a different family. They’re in oldest to youngest order within the families and Nekes isn’t the oldest on this list.

[wahbegan]

Gather ‘round, children, while i begrudgingly hyper-analyze everything in the THIRD IT (2017) trailer

You know the drill by now i’m putting a read more here because even if i try to be brief which i’m going to try it always ends up failing soooo yeah

1. So it opens with something very similar to the MTV first look, with Stan’s frankly fucking depressing Bar Mitzvah speech that should really concern any adults present, and several similar shots to that trailer. The one thing is we see Bill and Bev engage in a bit of flirty pre-teen eye contact at the watering hole, and Stan’s bit about “you think the universe revolves around you....but that isn’t true” COULD be foreshadowing some of the more cosmic themes in the story

2. This looks like probably The Losers making their blood oath? Idk when else they stand in a circle and join hands like that and it’s definitely after the bullies have broken Eddie’s arm due to his cast. Now the LOSER with a V scrawled over the S isn’t from the book i don’t think but i assume the LOSER was put there by the same bullies who gave him the cast in the first place and someone i’m guessing Bev probably put the V over it

3. The red balloon floating out from behind the Warner Bros logo is a nice touch

4. The couple in the car is just a random couple illustrating ITs control over the people of the town, making them apathetic to the ghastly shit going on actually i think they were in the book too, they just drive past when Henry’s trying to carve his name into Ben’s stomach and a red balloon floats up in the backseat minus the red balloon i think that is a pull straight out of the novel

5. I WAS TOTALLY RIGHT ABOUT PENNYWISE’S EYES A HA!!! They in my first breakdown i said i thought it looked like they were doing the thing where Georgie sees his eyes as yellow at first and then It changes them to blue to gain his trust and this basically confirms it. Also first sample of Pennywise’s voice and it sounds pretty durn spooky

6. The shot of the empty storm drain makes me think that rather than pulling his arm off which would be extremely gruesome even for a hard R horror movie and more importantly hard to do without showing ITs transformation, which is only hinted at in the book as something soul-shatteringly horrifying, they’re probably gonna like It grabs Georgie’s arm, he looks in fear and starts screaming his head off, his screams cut off, and it’s implied that It dragged him bodily down into the sewers. That’s also later in the trailer Bill says something about “another Georgie going missing”, which seems to confirm that. That would also explain why Georgie’s “ghost” in later scenes has both arms intact

7. So Mike’s talking about his grandfather (Mike is the like town historian of the group and i’m glad they’re keeping that intact cause they totally ditched it in Fukunaga’s script), which is interesting cause it’s actually Mike’s Dad in the original that passes on the lore of It and talks about the Black Spot burning down but since the setting’s been updated to the ‘80s, it makes sense that they’d change it to his grandfather. Anyway, while Mike’s talking about that, you can see the Bangor Maine statue of Paul Bunyan that later comes to life and attacks Richie Tozier in the novel, which is a nice touch

8. Ben in the library, now i earlier talked about how Ben it’s weird that It makes Its presence known here, because in the book it’s just kind of there’s a little bit of foreshadowing with the librarian reading the Billy Goats Gruff to the children, but for the most part it’s just like Ben being a kid and writing the poem for Bev. Now this kind of explains why, apparently he’s actually doing some research on It, which i mean makes sense they’re gonna have to cut out some of the longer just like character establishing scenes or mix them with scare scenes to make it into a 2 hour movie, even if they are only doing half. Anyway, the articles he’s looking at reference the Kitchener Ironworks explosion, the event that sent It back into hibernation in 1906, and the Silver Dollar Massacre, the event that woke It up in 1904. 

9. Woodcutting of It, which seems to....in going back to what i said before True Detective and Beasts of No Nation’s Cary Fukunaga wrote a script treatment for It a couple years ago and it fell apart due to him trying to shoehorn in really bizarre and fucked-up scenes of sexual violence involving children but they are taking elements of that and inspiration from it, it looks like and anyway in that script (which you can find online with a bit of digging) Ben is the town historian instead of Mike, so especially since the projector coming to life scene seems to have taken the place of the old picture book from Mike’s Dad coming to life scene this is probably where the book with the history of Derry is introduced in the plot is instead of being from Mike’s Dad, it’s just a book Ben finds in the library. I personally don’t like it cause i really, REALLY want like Mike to basically be 100% the Haunted House Historian of the group because otherwise his role is like.....y’know Token Black Kid(TM) but anyway no opinions yet just analysis moving right along

10. Georgie’s “ghost” with a red balloon leading Bill down into the basement it looks like i was right and first of all this does confirm it’s in the Denbroughs’ basement, but it looks like i was right and this is how he first encounters It, rather than a picture of Georgie leering and winking at him and then bleeding all over the place which i mean from a cinematic perspective makes sense it’s more dramatic leaves more room for tension to be built. Then again, they could also be doing both, with the picture being sort of a lead-up scare to the basement, i mean it looks at the beginning like Bill is in Georgie’s room i’m just guessing based on the wallpaper when he notices the wet tracks leading downstairs

ALSO i didn’t catch this until now but Bill is holding and subsequently drops a lego turtle which is a nice reference to the novel, although apparently according to Muschietti, that’s about the only reference we’re getting to The Turtle which....hrrrngggg

11. Pennywise attacking Bev in her bathroom. Now, she is wearing the same shirt as she is in the blood/black liquid geyser scene, so i assume it’s right after that she doesn’t appear to have anything on her but it wouldn’t very well be....see i’m having trouble with the chronology here because it doesn’t really make sense for It to grab her and THEN she hears voices in the sink, but...all i can think of is after in the book after she hears the voices and the geyser comes out and she sends her dad away, she cleans up the bathroom and sticks a tape measure down the drain trying to see how far it goes, and then It grabs it and starts running with it and laughing and then lets go and it snaps back and the end’s covered in blood and It talks to her again. This could be right after that or instead of that, that’s the only place i can think of it fitting in. Like the tape measure snaps back and she goes to leave and Pennywise is right there OR fake-out, she sticks the tape measure down nothing happens....nothing happens....nothing happens....and it looks like you’re in the clear and then Pennywise is right there which could work

12. If you pause at the shot of the gang in the street, you can still see a huge gash on Ben’s stomach, and Bev’s face looks a bit fucked up too. Now Ben’s in a different shirt than he is when Henry cuts him, and it’s not an H, plus Henry lifted his shirt up, it’s just a huge gash, which makes me think this is right after the werewolf scene at 29 Neibolt Street. Okay yeah i just looked and they’re all in the same outfits they’re in in that scene, so. Now what’s weird is Eddie doesn’t...appear to be with them in this shot? Unless he’s just off-screen, idk what that’s about cause we clearly see him going in with them and inside, maybe he just left the gang to go home first cause of his mom, i dunno.

13. Betty Ripsom’s sneaker, as seen in the MTV first look, one of Its first victims

14. Henry Bowers flicking open a switchblade standing next to his mailbox pretty much confirms my theory that that’s what him walking towards the red balloon was about. His face is a bit fucked up, probably his Dad’s doing. Now in the book there’s no one incident with his abusive father that pushes him over the edge, it’s just told in backstory that he’s a war vet with PTSD and possible brain damage who’s been abusive to Henry his whole life and only shows him approval when he’s doing terrible, horrible things, but they really don’t have room to fit that in the movie, so they’ll probably just have one scene of his Dad going apeshit on him and this’ll be right after that (also kinda like Fukunaga’s script)

15. Couple shots of It in the sewers, what’s weird here is that in what appears to be the basement to the house on 29 Neibolt Street, there’s a well entrance? Which isn’t exactly present in the novel i don’t think but would explain how It gets from the sewers up into that house and why It likes to haunt it so much

16. The woman right between the shot of the well and the shot of the pharmacist, i believe is Eddie’s emotionally abusive Munchausen by Proxy-afflicted mother based on her description in the book but idk i’d have to look at the cast

17. Gotta be honest, right about here the trailer starts moving too fast for me to follow effectively and there’s some stuff that i can’t really place, even if i pause, but i’ll do my best. No idea what the red glow is. I don’t think The Deadlights given that they’d all be shrieking and insane or dead

18. It seems to be standing behind plastic curtains like they have in slaughterhouses here? I have no idea why, nothing like that in the novel, although Mike’s Dad owns a slaughterhouse in Fukunaga’s script, so idk that could be it. I hope not honestly and it doesn’t really look like anything real, It just looks like some bizarre dreamscape It’s conjured up. It is worth noting i forgot until just now, but one of Its forms the actor credited as playing it is credited as “The Butcher”, so that could be right before It transforms into that form to hunt....someone at some time, idk when or who. Also Its eyes seem to be going full Deadlights here so i’m guessing whoever It’s hunting doesn’t make it out alive

19. I’ve been racking my brain since i first watched the trailer like two hours ago and i have no earthly idea why the hell Bev’s floating. I can’t even....begin to guess. I mean floating could be....it could be this movie’s way of visualizing someone partaking in The Ritual of Chud, which Bev never does in the novel in either Ritual so this would be a radical departure but idk i wouldn’t mind somehow i don’t think that’s what it is though, especially since the spider’s nowhere to be seen. I have no idea what it is, but...one thing that does come to mind is it could be...ugh in Fukunaga’s script which it really looks like they’re sticking with in large part more and more at least the first draft of it which is...look it’s mainly the subsequent draft that’s weird and gross and shitty but i wasn’t crazy about the first draft either and one of the reasons i wasn’t is because in Its lair, rather than a giant spider, they go into this weird room where physics stops applying and they float up these waterfalls that go up to the ceiling and there’s this upside-down pool with a big one-eyed starfish monster at the bottom/top of it that’s supposed to be Its true form and i.....really, REALLY didn’t like that and her floating up like this could be something similar to that and they’re all gonna float up to wherever Its true form resides which once again i’m hoping is not the case

20. Looks like Mike’s being attacked by several pairs of burnt hands here, it looks like down in the sewer, so i think it’s safe to assume that’ll be Its preferred form when trying to terrorize him, which makes sense seeing as how his Dad (or i guess Grandfather in this) is the one who tells the story of the people who burned in the Black Spot

21. The Losers screaming and trying to pull, who is that? Eddie? Out of the sewer idk not much to go on

22. Probably how Pennywise first shows himself in the house on 29 Neibolt rather than jumping out of an exploded toilet drain, which is fine. WHAT I LOVE is that his upside-down contorted position, besides being creepy as fuck, seems to imply he’s gonna do some kind of Exorcist spider-walk out of the closet, which would be awesome foreshadowing

23. The long, creepy female arm reaching out behind Bill doesn’t correspond to any of Its known forms, but is probably this mysterious “Judith” we’ve heard teased at in production who’s said to be absolutely horrifying.

24. Andres Muschietti has said in no uncertain terms that It’s not going to turn into any “classic” monsters in this movie, including the werewolf, but It’s definitely turning into something Werewolf-esque here. I mean, well to be fair It specifically turns into The Teenage Werewolf in the novel/mini-series, and It could just be that he meant It wasn’t going to turn into that, It still turns into some kind of werewolf. Or it could be that Muschietti was straight-up lying WHO KNOWS

25. I have....no idea what the hell is around Ben’s neck here. I’ve paused and been staring at it, but....I was thinking maybe spiderwebs but it doesn’t really look like it? And also they’re so thick and sticky in the book that if you touch one when you try to pull away you leave flesh behind, so that would be...problematic to be wrapped around his neck. It also doesn’t really look like spiderwebs? More like ragged material from Pennywise’s clown costume? Actually, it could also i mean The Werewolf and The Mummy were the two forms Muschietti explicitly stated It would NOT be taking in this movie, but this definitely looks like those could be mummy wrappings around his neck so idk maybe explicitly saying “he’s not gonna turn into a werewolf or a mummy” was a deliberate misdirect and this is some kind of version of the mummy encounter

26. Stan getting grabbed by Pennywise. The background is pitch black and he’s in the same shirt he’s in in that shot in the MTV first look where he looks terrified that i theorized was the standpipe, so this is i mean i’m pretty much 100% sure it’s the same scene, the question is whether i was right about it being in The Standpipe. But seeing as how it’s pitch-black and all and drowned kids are still scary, it probably is, i don’t see why they’d change that scene

27. I think this is Patrick Hockstetter at the end with the fire? Idk in Fukunaga’s script he’s a pyromaniac and his most notable scene from the book has him lighting farts on fire in the junkyard, so it’d make sense and it looks like Owen Teague more than anyone from what i can tell. Anyway, he looks completely terrified, but he also looks like he’s down in the sewers, which means they’ve definitely changed at least some aspects of his death from the book which i’m a bit upset about because that scene was....infamous and revolting and genuinely disturbing. Oh well

28. Finally, the scene with Richie Tozier in the room full of clown dolls. Not sure where this would fit in, as it’s an entirely new scene, nothing like it in the novel, the mini-series, or Fukunaga’s scrapped script. I thought maybe it would be Richie’s encounter with It instead of getting attacked by the statue since that could definitely come across as camp, but they definitely still have the statue and idk why if they plan on ditching that scene, unless it’s just as a little nod or they plan on doing something more subtle with it. Then again, when Richie runs into the statue, he’s running from Henry Bowers and his gang, who chase him through a toy store so actually yeah it definitely could be during that part and the statue will be put to different use, maybe giving him a subtle little taunt or wink after he’s escaped the clown doll room.

I know there are things i didn’t talk about, but it’s because they’re shots from the other trailers which i’d already discussed

Oh yeah, speaking of which, if you want, you can check out

My first trailer breakdown My second trailer breakdown And my crash course in Pennywisology 101