#but that's significantly easier to work on if i feel okay with my environment

[anaalnathrakhs]

throwback to when my parents would cut out the internet at night. and i told them "hey can we not, this doesn't help me sleep it just makes me watch tv bored out of my mind or straight up bang my head on the walls". and they still did lmao because if the solution doesn't work then the problem should try harder to be solved maybe.

[toointojoelmiller]

today I can't stop thinking about Joel & Ellie & love

This is the thought spiral I've been on today instead of doing my actual job. PS this is sad because I'm sad lol.

Pt 2 spoilers btw.

Marlene has feelings of fondness for Ellie, at the minimum. Clearly she feels a connection to her as the daughter of her best friend. She gets her into a safe environment while she continues her Firefly work. Marlene isn't a monster. She wants to do good for the world. She cries at the idea of having to kill Ellie for the cure. To her, she is feeling a form of love towards Ellie.

She realizes that Ellie and Joel have bonded, and assumes that Joel also feels love for her. So she believes she can understand his pain.

But she obviously does not have parental love for Ellie. She doesn't view Ellie as her own.

Neil Druckmann has spoken in interviews before about how one elements of the themes explored in TLOU came from how he experienced parental love as something that was completely unimaginable until you experience it for yourself - how the love that a parent has for their child practically blocks out everything else and makes you irrational and crazy sometimes. And has also mentioned that many fans who he has encountered who are in the Joel Did the Right Thing camp are parents who say 'I would do exactly that for my kid'.

Joel has experienced the insanity that comes with having and loving a child, and the pain and insanity of losing that child. It destroyed him.

Marlene has no. idea. what. that. is.

She thinks she knows what he is feeling, underestimates Joel significantly (two guards???), and all the fireflies get squished.

An interesting idea explored in the story of Pt 1 and Pt 2 combined is that love opens our eyes AND it severely blinds us. Love saves us AND it destroys us. And sometimes the only way we fully appreciate the power of love is through the grief that comes when we lose it.

❤️‍🩹 💔

Okay.. now think about this idea of different experiences of love and pain giving us blindspots re: being able to actually understand each other, combined with ...

The "love me the way I want you to" motif.

This is so so heartbreaking to consider regarding Joel & Ellie's relationship breakdown, Ellie's grief spiral, and how she finally escapes it.

When she's young, she isn't capable of understanding just how much Joel loves her. She doesn't have the ability to see his actions at the hospital as an act of love. She thinks that if Joel truly loved her, he would have shown it the way she wanted it to be shown - which at that time she believes is letting her be sacrificed for the cure.

When Ellie loses Joel and knows she will never have him in her life again, she is ripped open by the pain. NOW she actually can somewhat appreciate how unbearably painful letting her die would have been for him. And as she's feeling the pain of his death, and thinking to herself every minute of the day "I would do anything to go back in time and save him", she can finally understand why he did what he did.

She also has JJ with Dina after Joel's death, giving her more perspective on the parent-child dynamic still - both personally, as she certainly has played an active role in caring for him, and also through being part of Dina's motherhood journey, seeing her insane love for her baby.

She knows that Joel experienced some version of that with Sarah, and lost her (which she already knew was traumatic for him but now can understand). And it's this added layer of guilt for her, because Ellie knows she was pissed at him and blamed him and cut him off for not wanting to go through that agony again.

The grief she feels is SO painful that she needs to try to find a way to run from it. The only way Ellie knows is to do the same thing Joel did when he lost Sarah - try not to think about it, try to ignore it, try to bury it in something else... like going on some crazy rage fueled revenge mission.

Just like it was for Joel, anger is easier to feel than grief. Anger makes her feel like she's DOING something. The grief just makes her feel like she's going to die.

She does things she hates herself for and she thinks it's out of love. And unfortunately for her, because she IS a kind and empathetic person with a good heart, she can't avoid that things aren't actually as black and white as the anger-brain and desire to avenge Joel wants her to believe.

She's constantly being confronted with the reality of how others have a "person" just like Joel was hers and she was his - and both her and Joel have killed many, many of those people. Her sense of justification with the rage mission is eroding, even if she doesn't want it to and tries to hang onto it.

And she loses more and more of herself, because avoiding the pain of her grief also means she needs to block out thinking about the positives about her bond with Joel.

She can't even draw his face because it hurts too much.

When she sees Abby trying to save Lev, obviously paralleling her and Joel's devotion to each other, it just shatters her ability to keep trying to stuff all of the confusing awful feelings into a box they don't fit into. She's too physically and mentally and emotionally exhausted to keep fighting it. She just gives in to whatever the hell the grief is going to make her feel.

To me, Ellie's 'Joel on the Porch Flashback' moment is her heart and soul finally letting in the grief, with all of the pain and all of the love together. That's the thing about grief. Letting yourself fully feel it brings undeniable clarity about the love that created it.

She is finally able to accept and think about their bond in all of it's complexity. Even though she can't deny all of the imperfect and even terrible (rip humanity lol) and messy parts to it, and even though she wishes she did so many things differently when she still had Joel with her, she is able to finally let herself remember and feel how special and unconditional and undeniably good the love they had for each other was.

And that makes her realize that this isn't how she shows Joel love. This isn't what Joel would want for her. All he would want for her was to live a healthy, long, peaceful life full of love. The way to show Joel that she still loves him is by doing just that.

And while she is clearly still insanely depressed and heartbroken and traumatized at the end, I also think that her leaving the guitar in the empty house is a bit of a gesture she is giving to Joel to say "I get it and I'm going to try to live like you want me to - I'm not going to let loss break me."

sigh.

P.S. I actually emotionally can't handle the guitar thing even when I try to cope with a nice spin so I actually just pretend she comes back for it eventually at some point lol.

did this even make sense? idk.

[monsterfucker-lisa-swallows]

i need your buffy autism essay PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

okay prefacing this by saying this isn't my exhaustive thought on the matter but i just got home from work and watched 3x01 and 3x02 for the millionth time but that gave me many thoughts

so imo reading buffy herself as autistic is probably the least interesting take to me, though arguments FOR SURE can be made for her and cordelia taking the common autism girlie route of getting super into hair and makeup to make masking easier (also cordelia is very blunt and no one in buffy talks like an nt)

so buffy as an autism metaphor functions very similar to the intended queer metaphor but works on additional layers. buffy is alienated by this big secret that she keeps, one that sets her apart from other people and gives her an additional burden. buffy's "gift" is both something that actively keeps her from functioning in normal life (leading to social impairments) and gives her additional skills and responsibilities. when buffy steps out of line or experiences adverse emotions due to her traumas, everyone steps up to tell her that she's gifted and should act her age and be responsible. she is not allowed to just be a kid, but will not gain the sort of skills required to be a functional adult. her school career suffers because she can't keep up with classes, even though she's very bright there is always some function of her slayerness that keeps her out of classes (this was, indeed, my school experience as well).

her parents cannot understand her. joyce tries, but her attempts to parent buffy as if she's a normal child with normal problems always backfires. hank summers doesn't do much of anything at all. as a child with a clueless mother and an absent father, i related extremely to the little glimpse we got of buffy's parents arguing about her before their divorce. "you just can't discipline her" is a thing i'm sure many autistic kids grow up hearing their unsupportive parent say many times before eventual abandonment. parental disappointment is common, and parental abandonment is unfortunately extremely normalized by nts because they sympathize with parents who want nothing to do with our "challenging behavior". my stepfather was very like ted and i know many in our community had to deal with abuse very young while having everyone around them disbelieve.

buffy constantly asserts how normal she is. it's this tenuous mask that she holds onto, wanting to be like other girls and fit in. she feels this enormous pressure to fit a mold that she's not terribly good at fitting into, yet when these abilities are stripped from her in "helpless", she can't help but feel useless. robbed of not just her identity, but that which makes her useless to the people around her. this mimics autistic burnout in a very real way.

buffy struggled significantly in her relationships, drawn to men who were older and often treated her poorly. this is also an unfortunate pattern we have to deal with as a community.

buffy's struggles with school extend til she becomes a college drop out just as i did. even when she tries to reenter that environment, she finds herself out of her depth. (the whole time speeding up fiasco has happened to me before.)

idk if this is more of an autism experience or an older sister experience but being given a lot of expectations very young and then having to watch your younger sibling being babied is very relatable. so frustrating.

and let's not even talk about her career. everyone talks about buffy's potential, but no one talks about how her slayer traits keep her from achieving that potential. social impairment, isolation, trauma, as well as not exactly being on a normal circadian rhythm. her calling leaves her with less time in the day to make money, and when you mix this all together you get a recipe from shitty minimum wage jobs, like the one i have. she's not valued for the skills she has (the council didn't pay her after all), so she's forced to subsist on crumbs. the bills pile up and her depression just gets worse as she feels buried underneath all these responsibilities that she can't keep up with. it often feels like no one is helping, and when people get frustrated with her for being overwhelmed they end up leaving in order to "help" her. (also retail time loop is real i've experienced it many times even at my current job.)

many characters in btvs read as neurodivergent to me. willow and xander are adhd. fred, tara, anya, and my beloved oz are definitely autistic. like i said i'll take arguments for why or why not people feel buffy and cordelia are autistic, because i feel that's way more up for interpretation. but i find it interesting how many unique neurodivergence metaphors can be found in this work. willow has definite rejection dysphoria and her magic addiction can be likened to an adderall addiction that started as self medicating for enhanced performance (very similar to buffy's feelings of being useless without her slayer powers). fred was trapped in a hell dimension and when she came out she drew on the walls and stayed in the house and seemed a little childlike for a while until she figured things out. tara grew up under adverse circumstances while being punished for her unique traits, then slowly grew into her own once she embraced that part of herself. anya has been alive for thousands of years yet never learned how to successfully socialize in fluent human. oz is very protective of his friends but finds it hard to verbalize how he feels. he often feels like what he has to protect people from is a manifestation of himself.

(i can also go into buffybot and april but we all know how robot metaphors work by now. also this analysis brought to you by my meta about how illyria is a depression metaphor.)

i could go on and on. and it's after midnight, which means i have to go on patrol. but i feel like i gave you a picture of why i've felt like i doubly relate to this character as a queer autistic. it's this sort of feeling like i never fit in and was burdened with expectations i never asked for and always felt scapegoated when anything would go wrong. my biggest frustration with the show was that everyone turns everything into buffy's fault all the time when many times it's the other characters who caused buffy to react that way ("if you leave the house don't even think about coming back", or the Riley Situation). sometimes there was equal blame to be had, but people really always made it buffy's fault for everything. it just always felt so personal.

anyway she and peter parker should date

[ancaliime]

someone made me really angry today, i didn’t realise how much until I was home and venting about it to myself, so i journalled it out and there were some key points.

the first is that I really need to work on my reaction to shaming, or perceived shaming.

it’s something that always makes me angry but that anger might happen in the moment, I’ll fly off the handle and be super defensive and sharp, or it’ll catch me out so that I kind of quietly respond, feel hurt and upset by it, and then later angry too. either way, I’ll also really shut down with someone who I feel is shaming me, especially publicly. to clarify, I’m totally okay with having things pointed out that I need to work on or am doing wrong and I’m totally okay with being wrong, or in the wrong. I will always take constructive - and that’s the key word here - feedback or criticism onboard. it’s when something is actually shame, or that I perceive it as being shamed, that I really have problems processing it. perceived shaming in a public setting is also more likely, these days, to elicit a fly off the handle reaction.

it’s... not something that I think is out of control, but it is something that I’ve been noticing more lately, especially because I work in such a high pressure environment and we are, currently, under significantly more pressure than usual. I’ve taken slight to things that, when I think about it, aren’t meant as a personal attack or shame towards me - it’s just hard in the moment not to take it that way when it’s a comment about my team for example, who are trying their absolute best to catch up but have had so many unfortunate things happen to them. I’m especially defensive of my guys. but, yeah. I know the reason I have a particularly hard time with shaming: my childhood. and I know that now I have a voice, one that I use constantly, it’s easier for me to defend myself but a lot of the time I still lapse into that shame-space like I did as a child, where I was hurt and upset and embarrassed - especially because a lot of that shaming was deliberately done infront of other people.

nonetheless, I have to work on it. I need to remember to always take a moment before reacting, and think about how I want to react. today was because someone made a really audacious comment to me that, to be fair, both my manager and another colleague thought was outrageous and it was something that elicited the quieter reaction. but I wish I’d taken a moment to process and say what needed to be said. both ways I want to have that moment to react properly. because sometimes, especially when it is real shame or judgment, you have to say it. but I really need to work on how.

[robininthelabyrinth]

a lot of people in fandom have this idea that nie sect is some super progressive place and if only MY had dealt with the CQL captain guy better then he'd have had every opportunity to advance and be accepted but it didn't happen for him because he was too sneaky? hiding his 'real' personality? or something like that? what are your thoughts on this bc mine rn are teetering between 'yeah maybe' and being a bit annoyed at the way fandom has decided nie sect is actually perfect and can do no wrong

Okay, so the tone of this question is weirdly aggressive for whatever reason, but let me share my thoughts anyway.

First: the Nie sect is clearly not a place that is wholly lacking in the usual types of biases found in the cultivation world, including specifically against people with "questionable" backgrounds, i.e. Meng Yao's mother being a prostitute. We know this from there is bullying, name-calling, etc., both in the cave and, in CQL, from the captain. This is all bad.

However, this is modified by two things: the fact that there is ample evidence that this is the same everywhere else in the cultivation world (and is indeed worse, including for example in the Jin sect, per novel canon), and the fact that despite this, Meng Yao has managed to significantly advance his career at the Nie sect. Nie Mingjue stood up for him, took measures against those he saw as looking down at him, promoted him and treated him as his right hand man advisor - in CQL, we see him entrust him with his younger brother and listen to him over his own best instincts. He trusted him.

In a system where blood and birth is everything - Meng Yao isn't going to be made an heir to Nie sect because, well, he's not a Nie - Meng Yao has basically reached the highest pinnacle of what is possible to achieve with pure merit. Is there still a hostile work environment? Yes, because that's the culture they live in. But Meng Yao has Nie Mingjue - the big boss - backing him to the hilt. In CQL, we literally see that Nie Mingjue will start yelling at people he learns are putting Meng Yao down because of his birth.

That's the key point here - Nie Mingjue can't do shit about the stuff that doesn't get reported to him. From a modern corporation perspective, Nie Mingjue is basically doing all you can ask for: he's providing the correct tone from the top, he's ensuring that people who violate that are swiftly disciplined, he's modeled a better example through promoting and trusting Meng Yao, and he's provided a route for future complaints by establishing that he is willing to listen to Meng Yao's judgment.

Does that immediately make everything perfect for Meng Yao? Of course not! Nie Mingjue is fighting upstream against not only his own sect's culture, but the entire cultivation world's. But he's doing the best he can, and that, at least, is more than we see anyone else doing. (In CQL, Lan Xichen does something similar by personally modelling acceptance of Meng Yao, though notably, he doesn't take any action to punish those who were mocking him, which in CQL he had the right to do as sect leader. This makes being nice to Meng Yao a personal trait of Lan Xichen that others are encouraged to emulate, which is a good start, but doesn't go as far as Nie Mingjue since there's no reason to stop looking down at Meng Yao if you don't happen to feel like it.)

Conclusion: the Nie sect is a pretty good place to be at for someone like Meng Yao, as available places in the cultivation world go. While gaining acceptance would not happen immediately, there is no reason to think that it wouldn't happen eventually.

Now, onto your point about Meng Yao being "too sneaky" or showing his "real" personality being the issue - the issue, at heart, is not about whether Meng Yao was faking his sweetness. It's that Meng Yao chose not to tell Nie Mingjue about the captain's bullying, despite having previous evidence that Nie Mingjue would likely take his side against bullying, and instead chose to MURDER THE GUY. To be clear, in the modern corporate environment, even if you have a really hellish hostile work environment, even if you think your boss would side with the other guy over you and there's no point in making a report (which isn't the case here), even if all that is true, murder is not an appropriate response.

But it's not a modern corporate environment, it's the cultivation world, where murder happens a lot more casually - well, guess what, even if murder is okay (and it's not), do you know when it's pretty obviously NOT okay? In the middle of an attack on the sect by an enemy.

You don't really come back from that. Sorry. Doesn't really matter what your personality is, if you're willing to do that, you're out at best.

Where Meng Yao not showing his "real" personality comes in is actually later: he pretended to be righteous and just, just the way Nie Mingjue likes people to be (and that's totally okay because righteousness is an act not an intention; as long as he acted righteously, he was righteous, and who cares whether it came to him naturally). But maybe if he'd shown Nie Mingjue his true self, it wouldn't have been such a shock when he murdered a man in cold blood, and would have made it easier to forgive him later.

(I sincerely believe that part of Nie Mingjue's trauma at Meng Yao's action is the discovery that his trusted advisor, someone he thoguht of as a friend, wasn't at all the person he thought he was. I've compared it in the past to discovering that a good buddy of yours commits domestic violence - so often, you get people going "I never would have expected it from them, they were so nice to me" and are shocked and horrified because they feel they should have known, they should have seen signs, they should have figured it out.)

But the key thing here is - when your trust in someone is broken, it's broken. Nie Mingjue knows that Meng Yao isn't what he thought he was, and yet, for the rest of their relationship, Meng Yao persists in continuing to act as if he was that sort of good person...and gets pissed at Nie Mingjue for not believing it. Why should he believe it? Nie Mingjue wants to forgive him and to try to build a relationship with the person Meng Yao really is, and Meng Yao won't let him because he wants Nie Mingjue to go back to not having ever looked behind the curtain. Which is, of course, impossible.

If Meng Yao had been up front with who he was, maybe Nie Mingjue would have known to look for what Meng Yao wasn't telling him and been able to help prevent everything. Maybe he would have extended more sympathy to Meng Yao for the actual act of killing the guy. Maybe they could have made up again later.

Maybe not.

But what is inescapable is that Meng Yao's own decisions are what cost him his position in the Nie sect, and nothing else.

[goblinconceivable]

braindump: betty/daniel

I’ve been living with them for a while, notes taken, a few stories significantly started but there’s a gelling issue, which I’m hoping is at least partially down to a lack of proper braindumping.  So, in no particular order and certainly not comprehensive:

Frankly I also got too hooked on the last 2 eps, which is likely where I’m blocked.  It’s an abrupt emotional twist for them (esp Daniel), and in trying to make sense of that I’m losing focus on the 4 previous years.

- I’m a little bit obsessed in the scene where Betty tries to convince Matt she’s fearless by pointing out her bang-less-ness.  And then runs into Daniel, who is at that moment half brain-washed, but yet when she asks about her fearless quotient his response is immediate and natural and entirely lacking in irony: “no bangs.”  It’s a tiny little moment that shows how well he not only knows her, but understands her.  Without judgment, without fanfare.  Were I to have a husband, this is the sort of response that would confirm I’d married the absolute perfect guy for me.

- They’re too close for mirroring to be an important indicator, but there are two scenes that stand out in this vein: the first is when Betty thinks he may have pushed Christina down the stares and steals the video.  She’s backing out the door, and he follows, matching her step for step.  I love the direction choices because from her perspective there’s a sense of menace, Daniel as potential villain is stalking her.  But from his guileless perspective he’s talking to her and if she’s moving, so is he.  The second is from the penultimate, talking about Trista, where Betty’s rolling back and forth and he moves with her, rather than simply turning his head.  It signals his full engagement in the conversation, seeking her attention, and is why the scene plays as flirting rather than their normal banter.

- That bulletpoint was getting a bit long, so second point on the flirting is that it plays against Betty shutting down the conversation “none of my business,” leading to the fight over involvement in each other’s personal lives, leading to the revelation that they know each other at that deep personal level so very, very well.  Which was a very clumsy leadup to Daniel’s revelation during Hilda’s wedding speech, that could have been handled so much more deftly but those last two eps were quite rushed, I don’t know when they found out about the shortened season but it feels like they’d planned for more space and had to jab in exposition.

- Becaaaaause: they narratively broke his ‘aha’ moment onto “know you better than you do” while the strength of the message is really in the “do anything to protect them.”  Which is, I believe, where they cut to his softened expression.  Not coincidentally, this is precisely what a lot of fan-readings of the characters focus on: Daniel will do anything to protect Betty.  Bobby might have said he’d throw himself under a bus for Hilda, but Daniel HAS done that for Betty- in fact literally doing so would probably have been easier than publicly shouldering the blame for the Tornado cover and giving away the profits.  Due to the fact that he had time to consider the consequences and did it anyway.

- Which is tidy segue into an admission that I’m flying mostly blind on the Molly arc because I basically skipped all her scenes, but it’s my understanding that Daniel doing this was a pivotal moment for them.  Ie, she was impressed that he did this thing.  I mean, I really appreciate that he spent the whole press conference scene looking for Betty, so the show in no way undercut their relationship.  But then they very clearly built the Molly relationship on the foundation of not only the man Daniel had become due to Betty, but choices he was making in large measure for Betty: it’s not that he saw Betty beaten down and resolved the situation: he was upset but lost, she yelled at him, and THEN he resolved the situation by taking the bullet.  Did I break grammar by ending up with two colon’d clauses in the same sentence?  It’s a braindump, ain’t gotta be pretty.  XP

- Quick sidebar that the same thing happens with Alexis.  She was expecting to come back to one brother, but then listens in on his pep talk with Betty and finds she’s returned to a different brother.  This may be where I got the “an assistant” phrasing, if so, my bad.  But basically, she was impressed with Daniel’s actions, not understanding that it was Betty specifically inspiring his actions.

- Follow that a step further and did Molly ever acknowledge how important Betty is to him?  Legit question.  I think her line here was about him doing it “for an assistant” (?) rather than even “his assistant,” establishing Betty as a non-entity for her.  (Quoting a summary but I think I’m in the ballpark.)  And I’m sure I’d have read about it somewhere if she brought Betty up during their discussion on who he’d date when she was dead.

- Just one last note on Molly, (okay it’s a multi-part though it veers off her as a character) but a possibly incorrect beef is that I hate the Daniel/Molly relationship because there’s no interesting or even real conflict?  It’s perfect?  I’m supposed to think this is magical “true love”?  Molly has apparently been engaged for years to a man she doesn’t really love (and um... that’s lazy not strong), and helps inspire a vengeance filled betrayal by her ex because she’s so awesome everyone loves her?  But she comes out squeaky clean because any emotional cheating on her part is balanced and thus “justified” by Connor falling for Wilhemina.  And then the only “conflict” is that she’s dying, and is perfect throughout it?  That’s...  weak.

-That poem thing WOULD have been an interesting point of conflict but it was resolved by Betty’s intervention, rather than within the relationship.  Which actually is an incredibly interesting beat.  The problem with that being it’s so entirely consistent with the role Betty plays in Daniel’s life that it’s treated as just another beat, as if it doesn’t MATTER that a fundamental moment of intimacy and growth of vulnerability in Daniel’s very important romantic relationship is a door opened by a third party.  There’s a strong argument to be made for something but I broke off to write the next point and now can’t remember what that strong argument is.  I might remember later.  It may have had something to do with Molly being a stepping stone in Daniel’s arc, but the cult-thing was so long and dominating that it didn’t work, it tied him too tightly for too long and coinciding with a loosening of his relationship with Betty there was flailing.

- Quick one: Daniel’s fast-forwarded and time-bounded relationship with Molly is the analog to Betty’s time-limited relationship with Henry.  Which is a discussion I would like Daniel and Betty to have.  Esp. noting that Betty and Henry had issues they worked through together (ice cream foreplay being one.)

- Player!  So going back to a happy place, when Betty’s on the phone trying to fix the apartment situation and the camera pans onto Daniel just leaning against the doorway: this may be a legitimate little moment of “squee!”  There’s so much denial in his laid back attitude at Player, but I still love watching how the informality of the environment reflects in the informality with Betty.  He gives her free reign, and there’s many answers to “why,” and I (almost) don’t want to go into them because I totally adore how this Daniel is basically a College!Daniel only he’s latched onto Betty, who, meanwhile, is just being Betty.  OMG how different his life would have been if he’d met Betty in college...

- Okay I actually don’t feel like going into whys, it’s just an arc to enjoy.  With a small mention of how he TOTALLY was playing with the MODE book and handed it to Betty knowing she’d understand and use it to get them back in.  Such a crazy subtle manipulation, to the point where I’m not sure it wasn’t almost entirely subconscious on Daniel’s part.

- The YETI recommendation letter.  What I love is that this is another time when Daniel fvcks up, but fixes it, and more importantly displays competence and ingenuity alongside authentic caring and effort.  Here’s the thing: YETI wanted Betty, even if it was just a quota thing (which it wasn’t entirely, at least one of the board was generally enthused.)  So all that was necessary was to have them re-label her as from Player.  Daniel knew this and did this.  And told Betty that.  BUUUUT that point was purposefully (by script and character) overshadowed by the gesture of the lengthy rec letter he put significant time into.  Whose real audience was... wait for it...  Betty.  He even did a second draft!  Which is more time and effort and a cleaner product.

-  Also flaking on her practice run.  I also enjoy how he (finally...) bounced back into the office clearly having forgotten her schedule, but having mentally shifted from Molly-space into Betty-space.  He’s enthused, he’s engaged, he’s sort of bantering and I’d like to see where that scene would have gone if she hadn’t immediately gotten the acceptance call.

- So there’s this moment somewhat early on, pretty sure when Betty’s taking the writing class, and wants Daniel to give her feedback.  And he’s all “why?,” coming from his “I don’t actually know what I’m doing” place.  She responds that he’s her friend and wants to know what he thinks.  And he does a little double-take at that word.  Because until that point Daniel totally sees Betty as HIS Friend, and they’ve referred to each other as friends, with a little “f,” and he believes that.  But it wasn’t until this moment that he even considered that HE might be HER Friend.  Presumably because he doesn’t believe he has anything to offer her, beyond the power he holds as EIC and her boss - ie, “here run this show” and other such responsibilities.

- Which is a recurring theme.  Pronounced on relationship stuff especially.  When she asks him for input on the Henry vs Gio situation, when she’s trying to date the playwright.  His response is always “I’m in no position to offer relationship advice/judgment on relationships.”  He sorta dodges the first and is permissive on the second.  I don’t know where to go with that so I’ll leave it (for now).

- When  he was supposed to be in Rio, Betty wasn’t even at MODE, she was working for the “enemy,” and he was sending her regular postcards?  First, they’d have been postmarked in New York and presumably with local stamps, so I’m not 100% on Betty not cottoning on.  But it’s super cute that he was thinking of her when he was incommunicado with literally everyone else.  Did he want her to figure it out (subconsciously)?  It’s an act of reaching out, but also of convincing: he’s created a fictional narrative of being in Rio, fed and embellished by the media and swallowed by coworkers, but it’s through Betty that he’s establishing the fiction in a definitive way.  He wants HER to believe it, because if SHE believes he’s there and having a good time, then he can believe it too, with a small piece of his imagination.

- Same convincing as in Player.  BTW, how did all those messages on her phone work?  He was 99% totally hiding the situation from her.  a) why wouldn’t he just call her from his phone, as he always did in the past?  b) he was creating another fictional space.  Where her “number” was literally on a post-it on his temporary assistant’s monitor.  It’s all play: “call Betty” happens many times, and every one is the act of doing it while knowing that he’s not really doing it.  c) Betty does not point out that he should have been confused he never heard back, or more to the point, that he never heard her voicemail message.  d) he was in a state of limbo waiting for her to come back, nothing is real until she does.  At which point there’s lovely dramatic tension since he both wants her to fix it and get them out of there, and wants to draw her into this new reality and thus make it feel viable.

- 100th Anniversary edition.  I love the idea that he’s hep on her writing his bio because he needs her name, at least, to be next to his.  His identity as EIC is predicated on her being his partner, and needs that shown, even if it’s functionally an “in joke” because it’s not like she can be featured.  In musing over his thoughts while flipping through the book right before deciding to quit, I usually come back to a realization of the transience of the role, but I want it to be a gutpunch of how he assumed, without being aware, that Betty would be next to him in picture, and that’s what they were heading for.

- I’ve actually got through most of my notes, so just a couple more.  Daniel is super impressionable.  He did what Becks told him to in the pilot.  He did what Natalie told him in the cult-situation.  Both against his better judgment - his look after Betty when he kicked her out for being “drama he didn’t need” - that’s the same look when he told her to clock out and was dragged off by the not-16-year-old.  I’m too tired to go check the pilot, but assuming similar look there.  He does what he’s told by anyone telling him to do something, but he WANTS to be rescued from the bad influences, who are so often so forceful.

- Final scene: okay so it turns out quick a lot of my thoughts are trying to understand Daniel.  His growth is blatant and deep.  So a second round will be more Betty-focused.  ‘Cuz I identify strongly with her and don’t have a lot of surface questions about her motivations, but I’m LOST on side of the romantic coin.  And plus she deserves a close look regarding how she grows during the series.

- I watched at least part of the reunion and very much like how AF answered the question of the final scene versus what EM says.  Because I think they each, as actors, see it from the perspective of their characters, which means it was played authentically and grants insight.  AF basically says that she saw it as Daniel coming to say thank you, and how it came down to Betty teaching him that he was good enough.  Which came across a little funny because her phrasing implied they’d never talk or see each other again or something and that’s an alarming finality.  But also implies that Betty really did see moving to London as a significant parting of ways, something that started as soon as she became an editor and their relationship changed.  Probably before.

- She then challenged EM as to why Daniel didn’t say goodbye (as if she didn’t know and hadn’t thought about it?  I’m guessing this was panel performance: asking the question “in character” and throwing the question to the other relevant actor.)  But anyway, EM’s answer was “Because things were just starting.”  Which is blatantly a shippy answer, and he even explains Daniel’s “revelation” as when he “really saw Betty for the first time through and through.”

- At some point in these things you’re like: oh but I thought of something else, and only stop when your brain falls asleep.

- I thought of something else.  And then I forgot it.  My brain is failing!  But not yet failed.

- After Betty gets her braces off there’s this scene near the end, at the shoot.  Daniel sees her and crosses quite purposefully to talk with her.  He wants to banter and share this exciting moment with her.  And the scene goes a little strange when Betty kinda goes “yeah, going now bye.”  I expected more eye contact, a big smile, more conversation.  That’s Betty.  That’s them.  But instead it’s a little awkward so Something Is Happening Here.  Is she self-conscious?  Did she see and hear something in Daniel’s look and comment right after she was detached from the bra and isn’t at this moment comfortable with him?  Is this all fallout from her dream in which she and Daniel slept together/he thought she was a bad person/rejected her only they chose not to explicate this/cut a useful scene/thought I’d get that right away but I’m obtuse?  I don’t think it’s the last one because while I can be horribly obtuse, I don’t think it was coded.  But that’s what the obtuse would say.

- At any rate they don’t pick up on it again, next scene (next ep) they’re back to normal.

- But Daniel does immediately chase after Amanda and let go of her.  Which is payoff for his convo with Betty earlier where she sort of disdainfully asks if he WANTS a more serious relationship with Amanda.  I did sort of wonder if he actually does, but Betty’s judgmentalness is what convinces him he doesn’t.  Usually I’d say Betty understands him so well she knows he doesn’t, but they’re not as close at this point, Betty is living her own life much more, so I dunno.

- But I don’t actually think Daniel was falling for Amanda, or that the show wanted us to think that was ultimately a viable path.  Because of that moment when he’s in a car, calls Amanda, says “I really need to see  you” and she turns him down.  It parallels his text to Betty when Molly died.  One text and Betty came over.  This was an actual distressed voice convo and Amanda doesn’t care enough about him to be there, which is really great development for Amanda even though we don’t see her!  She previously went after Matt when he was in jail, she’s interested in Tyler here, she’s not totally pining for Daniel!

- Daniel of course was using Amanda and their earned if mild emotional intimacy as a crutch, trying to fill the space Betty left.  Also note when Amanda turned him down for sex and he stayed to “hang out,” - this is not supposed to be an analysis of Amanda but I wanna note I like that moment because it felt like she was pleased to think she wasn’t just sex to him, while still being over him romantically. Because she does care about him.

- Or for pete’s...  I have this bad habit of writing notes which I later look at and am like... “huh?”  This is a fic idea, from Daniel’s POV: “Betty had moulded him, often by sheer force of her iron will, into being a man who almost deserved Molly.  And he'd turned right around and become a man who would never deserve Betty.”  And I DON’T REMEMBER WHAT THE SECOND HALF MEANS.  Specifically.

- Wedding dancing.  Happens twice.  Hilda’s wedding, we know what that is.  But at Daniel’s wedding.  I like that he wasn’t 100% Molly focused, ‘cuz, shipper.  And I know why the show had Matt cut in, because gotta keep things moving.  But isn’t it a thing that you don’t cut in on the groom/bride?  It’s their day.  Daniel just sort of nonverbally asks Betty if it’s okay (to leave her with Matt), but can’t help a) thinking he was a bit put out and b) want Molly to see his expression looking at Betty and have some sort of “aha” moment where she - do Molly and Betty have any scenes together?  I don’t remember seeing any and I think I did skim through all the eps, but I need to do that again.

- Ooh, one of the things I forgot en route!  I like that Betty has revolving love interests, because that’s textual argument for Betty never having feelings (romantic) for Daniel.  Which is super, super important in this iteration of the story.  There’s a couple moments - pilot and the first bridge scene - where she arguably has a momentary crush, which quickly settles into a developing platonic relationship.  

- Jump back to Daniel finally seeing Betty as a true equal = romantic feelings.  It’s a thing.  Look my brain is deteriorting and wording is hard!  So there’s two sided imbalance throughout.  Daniel always saw Betty with this veneer of youth, and a great deal of his use for her is helping her ��grow into the woman she’ll be.”  And that’s the roadblock in him seeing her as a romantic possibility.  Which was initially quite awesome because he was sleeping with people younger than her, even the “she’s actually 20″ girl was younger than Betty.  And yet always saw her as in many ways more mature and competent than her.  And double-yet he still saw how much further she could, and would, grow.  His belief in her knows no bounds.

- Meanwhile Betty sees him as...  someone who’s also becoming.  Who has great potential.  Bullying him into it if necessary.  And because he’s guided by her, she can’t crush on him, he’s like her pet.  Were she to have a crush, much less fall for him, it would have been horrifying.  She needs to have a moment when she sees him as a true equal, someone who - look, everyone is always still growing so it’s not like he needs to be fully formed, and it’s a little murkier what the moment would look like when she finally sees Daniel “for the first time.”

- ‘cuz as noted, Betty has been there for pretty much every important moment of growth and crossroads in every facet of Daniel’s life.  Whereas Betty consistently had many things and relationships in her life Daniel was not involved in.  She’s always been way more self-reliant (not the word I wanted, is there one that starts with c?)  It’s why they did sort of need to peel away through a chunk of S4, because Daniel needed to learn to cope without Betty propping him up, because it’s like a Miranda-thing:

- “I don’t need Gary.  But I want him.”

- Daniel has to be able to be find without Betty before Betty can see him as a viable romantic partner.  She has to see something she never has before.  Daniel saw that the seedling he’d been protecting was not only strong enough to survive on its own had grown up and bloomed (process begun early in the season when he was being overprotective and she shut that down).  For Betty...  I guess Daniel...  ...  .....  it didn’t happen in the show.  As EM noted, for Daniel, the ending was the beginning.  Because his moment isn’t leaving MODE, that’s just the corresponding moment to Betty shaking him off.  His moment is further down the road when he puts into practice everything he’s learned and ...  something answered in fanfic because it’s spec and I’m tuckered.

[charliesradiodemon]

Sick Day (For artemisnightingale216)

Hello my friends! I’m here today with my raffle winner, @artemisnightingale216‘s fic! The prompt I was given by my lovely winner was to write about Alastor getting sick and Charlie takes care of him whereas shenanigans ensue hehe.

I hope you enjoy the fic artemis! This one was truly very very fun to write!

Fun fact: You don’t catch a cold from being wet and cold. The lowering of your body temperature from being wet and cold allows whatever virus you might've picked up a chance to thrive! Normally your body fights off viruses and germs you pick up every day before you even feel the effects of it. But when you do get sick with a cold, your body develops a fever to try to kill the virus in your body because they don’t do well at higher temperatures! It also happens that we also don’t do well at higher temperatures and that’s why we take fever suppressants when we have a fever! So we don’t die!

What was a bit of rain anyway?

Alastor had strolled through much heavier storms where he’d trudged his way through the mud and wind. He’d withstood hurricanes and floodwaters and braved the harsh elements on the way to work. A little drizzle wouldn’t hurt.

In fact he’d often reveled in the cool relief the rain gave him. Hell was often hot and dry- nothing like the muggy heat of New Orleans. When it rained it gave him a sliver of what he thought he’d never miss. 

He hummed through the light drizzle, sticking his head up high to let the light drizzle tickle his skin and breathe in the smell of fresh rain on the dry pavement.

The moment of peace and reminiscing got cut short the moment he got onto the hotel’s property. What was a drizzle suddenly became a downpour, instantly soaking him where he wasn’t moist yet.

And still he did nothing about it. He was already wet, it was far too late to rush for cover and preserve any hint of dryness. With a shrug he continued to casually walk up the paved path and up to the door, completely unbothered by the ruthless downpour.

He walked through the door to find Niffty and Charlie at the bar, chatting up Husk.

As soon as they heard him walk in with a squelch in his step, they snapped their head to the door. To his surprise, he heard two women gasp once they got a glimpse of the soaked man.

Charlie was first to rush up. “Al, you’re soaking wet!”

The smaller demon followed behind only after zipping out to grab a mop. “And dripping all over the floor!” Screeched Niffty who’d already popped up behind Alastor, mop in hand. She set it aside and opened her arms behind him. Alastor moved to unbutton his coat and shrugged it off his shoulders into the waiting girl’s arms with a wet slop.

The one-eyed demon made a sound of disgust. “You could’ve at least wrung this out first!” She dashed out the door Alastor had just come through, muffled ranting still audible behind the wood and glass.

Alastor chuckled and shook his head. “The little darling works hard doesn’t she?” He looked back to Charlie. “Just got caught up in a bit of rain. Nothing I haven’t braved through before!”

Charlie crossed her arms and shot him a worried look. “Al, you gotta get dry right now! You’re gonna catch a cold!”

Alastor waved his hand as he walked by her, each step leaving a careless trail of raindrops behind him. “Ah don’t worry about me, I’ve been through much worse dear. Have you ever tried dragging a body through a hurricane? Well it sure helps wash the blood away, but it certainly isn’t a walk in the park!” He laughed heartily and continued through the lobby. He nodded to Husk in greeting, who didn’t react nor move at the greeting.

Charlie followed behind, careful not to slip in the little puddles. “It’s still pouring out there and you’re still wet!”

He shrugged in response and stepped into the waiting elevator without a second thought. “Do apologize to Niffty for me, will you?”

“Please just shower or something at least?” Charlie called to him.

He chuckled lowly, amused yet touched by her silly concern. “For you? I’ll consider it.”

The doors closed and whirred harshly as it pulled itself upward.

Alastor got dry as Charlie had asked. With a snap of his fingers, the dripping immediately halted and any trace of moisture was off of him. He could have done it before walking in, sure, but he enjoyed keeping Niffty on her toes.

Charlie’s concern hung onto him. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had any genuine concern for his well being. All of Hell knew he didn’t need it. But it certainly was a nice change and made him feel a warmth he couldn’t explain.

Charlie was always warm. Everything about her was warm and it often made him giddy. Her doting nature was naively adorable and Alastor found it to be one of her most charming qualities. She truly was a breath of fresh air.

For her concern, he felt the need to do something for her in return. It felt natural to and oddly enough he always felt the need to do things for her even with nothing in return. It was certainly unlike him and while he’d been trying to understand his odd feelings and behavior, he didn’t mind it.

‘I should whip up breakfast for her tomorrow for her trouble.’

Alastor cringed as the elevator dinged sickly and opened the doors with an equally sickly scraping noise.

‘Maybe I should fix the elevator for her instead.’

Once he stepped out of the elevator, he swiftly turned and snapped his fingers. The old piece of machinery rumbled and creaked for a few moments until shadows began leaking out from the cracks of the elevator’s doors. 

Satisfied, he turn to walk to his room and wonder how elated Charlie was going to be once she found out the elevator was finally fixed after all these months. 

Until a chill ran down his spine, sending a cascade of shivers.

But he thought nothing of it once he recovered. He was just out in the rain, it was natural that he’d feel a bit of a chill.

———

Charlie stared out the window as she sat in the kitchen alone. It had poured only the night before yet there seemed to be no trace of moisture anywhere. Just as there seemed to be no trace of activity in the hotel.

Though it was typical for the arid environment and heat of Hell to dry the pavement after the rain, it wasn’t quite a typical morning at the hotel.

Not that it was bustling to begin with, but it was too quiet that morning. Angel had already left for the day, Vaggie was out grocery shopping, Niffty busied herself with daily chores and Husk was still passed out behind the bar. And while that was fairly normal, someone else was missing.

Alastor still hadn’t made an appearance. Usually he’d already be in the kitchen whipping up breakfast for himself, or anyone around when he was in the mood to do so. He would  join Charlie and whoever else was around for breakfast every day, and yet he still wasn’t in the kitchen yet.

Charlie went up to his room once she finished breakfast, noting how suddenly silent the elevator was. Where once she feared for her life on it, it functioned without a hitch. 

Turning her attention back to Alastor, she walked up to his door. She knew she should probably leave him alone, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong especially after how he showed up soaking wet the night before. 

She gently knocked on the door. “Al? You there?”

There were a few moments of silence. Nothing.

“Al?” She called once more, only slightly louder this time.

The door swung open, showing a fully dressed Alastor. “Can I help you, sweetheart?”

Charlie immediately noticed how his under eyes were darker than usual. “Are you okay? You weren’t at breakfast and-“

She paused when she watched Alastor's increasingly red face twitch. His expression tensed, smile seemingly more toothy and hard set than usual. “Al?” Charlie asked, concern increasing by the second. 

After a moment, Alastor relaxed and nodded. “I’m just fine! Fit as a fiddle! Just running a bit late! Now if you’ll excuse me.” He slammed the door in her face, leaving her stunned.

Not even a second later, she heard a sneeze.

‘I knew it!’

Fueled by her need to help whilst swallowing her inhibitions, Charlie opened the unlocked door and poked her head in. “Al, you’re sick aren’t you?” She asked, shooting him a concerned look.

“What makes you say that?” He asked before turning his head and sneezing into a handkerchief.

“The sneezing, the red face and the bags under your eyes maybe? I bet you have a fever too.” She walked in fully and closed the door behind her. Cautiously, she approached him.

Alastor sneezed once more into his handkerchief. “Quite the little detective aren’t you?”

She chuckled. “The best of the best! Now-“ she approached until she was right in front of him. “lemme check your forehead.”

Alastor huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. “Yes mother,” He bent over slightly to make her task easier. “Though I don’t believe this is necessary.” His eyes fluttered closed the moment he felt the significantly cooler touch of her hand rest on his forehead and took a breath of relief.

“Not necessary? Al, you’re burning up!” To his displeasure she removed her hand and hastily got back to the door. “Get back in bed, I’m going to get some stuff to help. I’ll be right back!” She rushed out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Alastor standing in the middle of his room.

Charlie’s heart raced as she made her way back down to the kitchen. She placed her hands on her cheeks to try to cool her burning face. ‘He was so close... and I touched him!’ She exclaimed in her head. ‘I actually touched him and he let me.’ she gasped, staring down at her hand as if she’d kept the touch as a souvenir. 

Once the elevator dinged, she shook her head violently and briskly walked her thoughts off on her way to the kitchens. She needed to take care of him, not linger on her silly crush. He needed her this time and she needed to get her head on straight. “Okay, stop that Charlie! Focus!”

It didn’t take her too long to get Razzle and Dazzle to make a simple broth for Alastor. As much as she would have loved to make it herself, she knew she would find a way to burn the water if she tried to.

On the tray she carried she had a bowl of soup, a glass of orange juice and fever suppressant. Now that she was outside his door again, her stomach was in knots. Once more she shook her head and took a deep breath. 

‘Focus Charlie!’ 

With one hand balancing the tray, she struggled to knock on the door. “Al, I’m back!” She called.

The door opened on its own for her; no doubt Alastor using his powers when he shouldn't be. Taking the gesture as an invitation, Charlie walked in and smiled as she found Alastor under the covers of his bed. “I’m glad you got back in bed. I got you some stuff to help.”

She approached the bed and set the tray on his bedside. “Can you eat on your own?” She asked as he wordlessly sat up.

Still red in the face, he shot her a mischievous look that sent her heart flying. “I could, but I’d much prefer if you fed me yourself my dear.” He teased, only half- joking. 

Charlie felt her cheeks flare up again. “I j-just remembered I needed to do something! Make sure you take the medicine!” She stammered as she stepped away and got to the door. “I’ll be back to get your tray!”

Before he could reply, Charlie slammed the door and quickly walked off once more, desperately hoping that Alastor couldn’t hear her heart beating out of her chest.

“The fever’s talking. That’s it,” she took deep breaths as she stared down the hallway, walking quickly yet firmly. “Okay. I’ve got work to do. Gotta get back to work and don’t think about it!”

——-

When Charlie did return later that day, she found Alastor peacefully asleep. He didn’t respond when she knocked nor when she entered and approached him.

‘He’s still smiling.’ she mused, cracking a small smile. She watched his face, noticing the droplets of sweat on his forehead.

Carefully she hovered her hand over his forehead, feeling even more heat radiate off of him. ‘His fever hasn’t gone down yet!’

She pulled her hand away, only to be grasped by a quick hand.

“Hmm... Charlie my love, I’ve been waiting for you...” Alastor said, without opening his eyes. “You feel so cold... Let me warm you up darling...” he said breathily as he pressed the back of her hand against his sweaty cheek.

Charlie felt her heart pound as if it were trying to free itself out of her chest. As many times as this had happened today, her heart could have given away by now. “A-Al, go back to sleep. You’re saying some crazy stuff.” She chuckled nervously, trying to pull her hand from his.

But his grip was too firm. “I’m wide awake...” He slurred, sleep-drunk before falling asleep once more. His breathing became even once more, confirming that he fell back asleep.

Charlie continued to pull at her hand, but Alastor’s iron grip on her kept her from moving.

Sighing, she knelt at his bedside and rested her head on the mattress in defeat. She let her cheek rest on his mattress and stared up at his slumbering face with a sad smile. “You’re just saying all that cuz you’re sick. I know you don’t see me like the way I see you. But that’s okay.” She took a long breath as she watched him sleep. It was now mid afternoon and though she had things to do, she didn’t care. She would rather just sit there and pretend a little longer.

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

When Charlie finally woke, she found herself laying in bed- with Alastor’s gaze on her.

“Ah!” She jumped up with a shriek and ungracefully rolled onto the floor.

Alastor peered over his bed to look down at her from above. “Well that was unnecessary,” he snapped his fingers and watched as his shadow immediately slid to Charlie’s side and scooped her unexpecting figure up into its arms.

Before Charlie could do anything or even react, the shadow gently slid her back into bed next to Alastor. “Do be careful doll.”

“Why was I in your bed?” She asked, confused by the gesture.

Alastor laughed as if it were a silly question. He propped himself up on his elbow. “You’ve already forgotten? Good golly darling I can’t believe you’d forget those pitifully sweet words you whispered in my ear. You seemed so downtrodden and disappointed.”

Unfortunately for her she did remember what she said to the supposedly sleeping man. Once she did, she stared at him in horror. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Well I was getting there, but fortunately I’m a very light sleeper. The moment you began speaking you had my attention! When you nodded off, I pulled you into bed and you were clinging to me like a newborn to its mother!” He chuckled.

Charlie rolled over so her back was to Alastor, bringing her hands up to hide her tomato-red face. “Damn it Al, I-I-“

“You don’t seem to be very happy about this arrangement. Am I not being clear enough?” He asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Charlie jumped at the contact and allowed him to gently pull her to turn onto her back. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m returning your feelings dear, simple as that. No deal or ulterior motives behind it.” he said plainly without a hint of radio backing his voice. His smile was closed and soft, but his gaze remained hard and intensely fixed on her.

She paused, avoiding his eyes. “Do you still have a fever?”

Alastor shook his head. “Thanks to you I believe I’m well. But if you would like to check...” he slid his hand from her shoulder and down her arm to her hand, leaving goosebumps behind. He gently grasped her hand and brought it to his cheek.

“Well?” he asked, cheeks tinted red but smile steadfast. 

“Your fever’s gone.” she replied absentmindedly. 

They stared at each other silently, Charlie’s hand still pressed against his cheek. Her eyes trailed from his own ruby red eyes down to his lips before flicking back up to his eyes.

“Charlie?” Alastor asked.

Charlie blinked. “O-oh I uh, should go back to my room. It’s morning isn’t it? I-I need to go get ready for the day!” Quickly she pulled her hand out of his and practically rolled out of bed, this time to her feet. 

Frantically she scanned the room until she found her shoes and quickly slipped them on. 

Alastor sighed in slight disappointment, wondering if he did something wrong. 

He looked down to the sheets under him to find her bowtie partially under the comforter. “Forgetting something?” He asked, catching her attention.

She froze with a squeak before turning. “I-uh.” she started, her cheeks a violent red. 

Alastor cocked his head in confusion at her odd expression. “Darling are you going to-“

Charlie cut him off when she bent down and clumsily pecked his cheek, nearly crashing into his face. Not a moment later she pulled away and straightened stiffly. “Thank you for everything and I’m glad you’re better! I’ll see ya later Al!” She nearly sprinted out the door, leaving Alastor frozen in place.

After a moment, Alastor let out a breathy chuckle and picked up the bowtie that she’d left behind. He reached over to gently place it on top of his nightstand before rolling over to lay flat on his back.

His head was in a dizzy fog for most of the day yesterday but he could clearly remember it all. 

She helped him willingly. She truly cared about his well being and went out of her way to care for him in his time of need. When was the last time anyone actually cared for or about him? 

Knowing she was the one voluntarily caring for him sent his heart into a frenzy whenever he thought about it yesterday. If he didn’t know any better he would’ve thought that he truly was physically in worse shape than he initially thought!

But when he heard those words leave her lips he finally realized what exactly this feeling was. Through the fog everything finally clicked into place and seemed clearer than ever. While holding onto Charlie’s hand he thought of his mother and how he felt about her, how much he loved her and how he’d only ever want her affections. It was definitely a pure feeling he’d nearly forgotten, but found it once more in a foolish ancient demon of all things.

Alastor hummed to himself as he rolled out of bed, not feeling 100% yet but oddly feeling lighter than ever.

[yeenybeanies]

A Little Lost

it’s star wars day!! what a fine day to have my heart torn from my chest with the clone wars finale :’) WELL THIS IS VERY OLD LMAO it’s been in my drafts since may 4th i did not proofread this & i probably will not do so until tomorrow EDIT i have proofread it & made my tweaks & it is Good To Go :>

star wars | rex & pomfree ( oc ) 

4,395 words

mild language warnings

reblogs > likes!! feel free to leave comments in the tags!! thanks!!

Breathe! Air and dust and dirt rush into his lungs. The clone jolts, consciousness returning like a punch to the face. If only it was a simple punch that knocked him out, though. That would have been way less painful . . ..

Soft grunts and groans fill the air as the clone trooper pulls himself from the him-shaped indentation in the dirt. He can still stand. He can move his arms and his back and his neck. Nothing seems broken ( miraculously ), but everything is sore regardless.

“ This is Captain Rex; can anyone hear me? I was––– ”  static. He looks down to the comlink on his forearm, all the buttons smashed and broken. Useless. He grimaces, then turns his attention to the surrounding jungle. Where is he? Where’s the ship? . . . Where is his helmet? A cursory glance at his immediate surroundings shows no signs of the blue-painted headgear.

Rex stands up with a final groan and takes a few steps, searching for signs of––well, of anything. Smoke, blaster fire, voices, tracks . . .. The ship was going down, and he fell out of it before it crashed. Surely it’s not too far off. He curses a little under his breath; the jungle canopies of this planet are too damn high and thick for him to be able to see anything more than a few feet away. The only option now, as far as he can see, is to start walking in the direction he thinks the ship landed in.

“ Hello? Anyone out there? ”  Even cupping his hands around his mouth doesn’t help his yells travel very far. The jungle is tight. It’s a hassle just to walk around. Rex grumbles as his boot catches on a ground vine for the umpteenth time. He hasn’t tripped yet, but––ack! Spoke too soon. Just seconds later, he’s snagged again, and falls forward, onto his hands and knees. Teeth clenched, the trooper slams a fist into the spongy jungle floor, allowing his frustration to vent for just a moment. How the hell is he going to get out of this one?

Calm. He needs to be calm. Getting mad isn’t going to solve anything. ( Blast, he sounds like a Jedi. ) Rex takes a breath and tugs his foot free yet again. He shifts himself into a crouch, runs a hand over his short, blond hair, and tries once more to assess his surroundings. In every direction, there is just more jungle. But––oh? He catches a glimpse of white amidst all the green undergrowth to his right. One brow raised, Rex pushes his way through the brush to investigate. He parts the vines and leaves and finds . . . yes! His helmet! At least something is going his way in this god-forsaken jungle. Rex leans forward to pick the familiar item up, silently praising that he managed to stumble across it ( literally ). As he brings it to his head to put it on, though, a startled cry makes him jump. Rex looks up to see a little . . . creature dangling from the helmet lip. It screams when it looks at him, and he yelps right back, immediately dropping both it and the helmet. The latter clatters to the jungle floor, but the former––unexpectedly, the former drifts down in a much more controlled manner, gliding on thin membranes––or perhaps clothing––between its arms & legs. It lands a few feet away and stares up at Rex, eyes wide.

What the hell?

Rex stares back for a long moment. It . . . isn’t running away. It’s not attacking either, though. It’s a curious-looking little thing. It looks almost human, though significantly smaller––maybe five, six inches tall at most. Slowly, tentatively, Rex kneels down to retrieve his helmet, though he doesn’t take his eyes off of the creature.

“ Easy now . . . ”  he says, hoping to placate any potential hostilities.  “ Not gonna hurt you. I’m with the Grand Army of the Republic. ”  Hell, he doesn’t even know if the damn thing speaks Basic.

“ You are a clone. ”  Ah. So it does speak. Rex blinks, a little surprised, but nods his head. The creature looks up, way up to the high canopies.  “ You came from the crashed ship? ” 

“ Huh––erm, yeah. Yeah, I, uh, fell out of it. Did you see where it landed? ”  A spark of hope flares up in his chest. This little critter might be the key to finding his comrades!

They shake their head––a gesture that nearly goes unnoticed due to their size.  “ Knocked me down from the top when it came through. Best way to see would be . . .. ”  They point up. This time, Rex follows their gaze, confused. 

The top? This thing was at the top? The trees have to be a couple hundred feet high! How could they have gotten all the way up there? So many questions flood the trooper’s mind, but he shakes his head. Focus.

“ I gotta climb all the way up there? ”  The very thought is daunting. ( Really, how could something so small make it up there? ) Rex gives the creature a disbelieving look, but they just nod right back at him.

“ It is the best chance, ”  they assure.  “ I need to go up too. It’s dangerous down here for us. I need to get back home. ” 

Rex narrows his eyes.  “ So what you really need is for me to take you up there. There’s no benefit at all for me. Just a waste of time. ” 

“ No! ”  The creature waves their little hands, alarmed.  “ No! You really can see! And it’s easier to move up there! ”  There’s obvious panic in their voice, but Rex isn’t sure if it’s because of him, or because he might leave them. He rolls his eyes and takes another look up the giant tree trunks.

One thing is for certain: he cannot see anything down there. Flares wouldn’t go above the treetops either, so they’d be useless from the ground. Rex contemplates, tossing the idea around in his head, and wrinkles his nose when he reaches a decision.

“ Alright. I’m going up there. I’ll take you too, but if this turns out to be for nothing, I’m gonna drop you back down. ”  It’s an empty threat––something the little creature quickly picks up on. They beam up at him, looking just elated. Rex dons his ( now unoccupied ) helmet and . . .––well, he isn’t sure if he should just grab them, or if he should go about carrying them some other way. Thankfully, they solve the problem for him. They’re fast; they race to his boot and scale his leg like it’s nothing, and then the rest of him, all the way up to his shoulder pauldron. He wasn’t expecting that, but . . . it works.

“ Right . . .. Hold on tight. ”  Rex pulls a blaster from his holster and attaches an ascension cable. The lowest branch on the tree before him is . . . still pretty damn high up. His grimace deepens; he isn’t sure that the cable is long enough to reach, but he takes aim and shoots. It flies out with a hiss, racing parallel to the trunk for a good few seconds before . . . yes! It just barely reaches  the branch’s underside. Were Rex a few inches shorter, he’s not sure it would have made it. 

One last check to make sure the creature is secure on his shoulder ( somehow they seem even smaller up close ), then Rex starts the climb. He has to pull himself up the trunk a few steps so he can secure the cable to his belt, but then he’s able to activate the wench that gradually pulls them up.

“ So. ”  Even with the wench, it’s still going to take a while to scale a tree this tall. Rex keeps his eyes upward, but he does nod slightly towards his company.  “ Got a name? ” 

“ Yes. I am Pomfree. My friends call me Pom. ”

“ Pom. My name’s Rex. You, uh . . . you said you live up in the canopies? How’d you get up there to begin with? ”

“ Oh, my kind comes from up in the treetops. We are many tribes that have always been up there. Those that fall to the floor . . . ”  Rex feels them shudder,  “ usually they do not come back up. It is dangerous. And impossible for us to climb so far. ”

“ No kidding . . .. ”  Rex isn’t sure he would be able to climb this thing without an ascension cable, let alone someone like Pom.  “ You can glide, though, right? ”

“ Yes, but . . . ”  they pull one of the membranes from their sides––Rex can now see from his peripherals that it is indeed clothing––and show a stitched-up tear, presumably recent.  “ I tore it on a branch in the confusion, and I hit my head shortly after, so . . .. ”

So that’s how they got to the ground. Rex feels a pang of sympathy for the little creature. He knows all about being thrown into hostile environments, but he’s a soldier. Pom, he imagines, is not.

“ Why are you here? ”  Their question pulls Rex from his thoughts. He shoots them a glance, a brow raised under his helmet.

“ Told you: I fell from my ship while it was––– ”

“ No––why are you on our planet? We are not a part of the war . . . are we? ”  There’s a twinge of fear in their voice––something Rex is, unfortunately, quite familiar with. This terrible war has ravaged many planets.

“ Erm . . . well, the Separatists have established a fort here, despite your apparent neutrality, so we’ve come in to deal with it. ”  That’s putting things a little lightly. He doesn’t really want to scare Pom more.  “ It’s pretty far from here, though. Don’t think you’ll be seeing any part of it anytime soon––if at all. ”  Hopefully. Civilian casualties happen, but Rex still would like to minimize them wherever and whenever he can.

His answer seems to calm Pom, if only a little. They look up the cable that’s pulling them along. They’ve almost reached the branch. Once Rex gets a hold on it, Pom moves to somewhere a bit more stable so the clone can have his full range of motion and climb his way up to the branch’s top. It’s easier said than done; the damn thing is thicker than Rex is tall. He nearly slips once, and gets both of their hearts racing. He does assure Pom that he’s okay and he’s got them, and manages to make it to the dorsal surface. Thank God the bark is rough and filled with handholds.

They’re not even halfway up the tree, though. Rex cranes his neck, looking up at the vertical distance still ahead of them, and sighs. The droop of his shoulders makes Pom scramble for a moment to maintain balance.

“ This . . . is gonna take a while. ”  Dismayed but determined, the captain readies his cable again, takes aim, and shoots for the next-nearest branch, way high up. It’s going to take, he suspects, at least three or four more cable trips to get up to where they need to be.

Pom is fairly chatty, full of questions. Rex answers what he can. Being an older clone, he’s a bit more aware of the universe around him, and of the nuances of the war. The little being watches him with those wide, curious eyes, soaking up all he has to say. It’s cute, in a way; Rex just wishes he had more to tell them than stories and news about violence and suffering. He’s sorry that the war has come to this planet.

Once they reach the underside of the second branch, the two rinse and repeat as they’d done with the first. Rex expels a breath bordering on exasperation as he looks upward. Only now are they about halfway up the gigantic tree. He notices that, at their current height, their surroundings look different than they had on the jungle floor. It’s brighter, if only marginally so. The foliage is comprised more of leaves and vines, as opposed to the heavy roots and trunks and ferns on the jungle floor. Rex pushes past a curtain of moss as he walks along the bough, searching for another spot to aim his cable.

“ Wait. ”  Pom knocks their little fist on the side of the trooper’s helmet.

“ What? You see something? ”  He does not like the sudden worry in their voice. Reflexively he rests a hand on the hilt of one of his blasters.

“ No, I hear . . . –––get down! ” 

Rex ducks just in time. Mere moments after their warning, a beast erupts from the foliage, its claws and teeth just barely missing his head. Rex crawls forward a few feet and twists onto his seat. Whatever it is, it seems to be only about half the size of a man, but it is mean. It looks like an alien cross between feline and reptile, and sports two sets of climbing arms and a smaller set of what appear to be prey-grabbing arms. He doesn’t get to observe much more of it before it launches at him, all arms outstretched. Rex falls backward, letting the beast sail over him again. He quickly flips himself over and jumps to his feet, ready to move, when a sharp cry brings his attention back to his passenger. The little being clings to his pauldron, legs flailing. Dammit. He’d nearly forgotten about them in the–––

“ Look out! ” 

Rex throws up an arm just as the beast reaches him, its teeth clamping down on his gauntlet. A few reach his skin, but he pays it no mind, much more distracted by the claws slashing at him.

No . . ..

The beast isn’t aiming for him; it’s aiming for Pom! The little one yelps and struggles to maintain their hold amidst the panic and the pandemonium. Rex shoves the creature off with a heavy knee to its gut and, without really thinking, grabs Pom. They squeak and struggle in his hold, but he keeps firm. He turns and dashes to put some distance between them and the creature while its still recuperating, his free hand aiming the cable launcher upward. There isn’t any time to pick an optimal branch; he selects one that looks suitable enough, shoots, and starts ascending as soon as it hooks in.

“ I’ve gotcha, kid, ”  Rex says,  “ that thing isn’t gonna–––augh! ” 

Sharp pains pierce the flesh between his armor. The beast jumped up after them, and has its claws dug into his left leg. With both hands occupied, the trooper can only curse and kick at it, quickly growing desperate to shake it off. It’s not interested in him in the slightest; it’s trying to climb him to reach Pom, now held as far out as possible.

Bastard. Rex grits his teeth and rams his heel into the creature’s face. His grip on the blaster is starting to slip; he needs to ditch this thing fast.

“ Pom, I’m gonna throw you, ”  he says. He doesn’t give the little one any time to protest before he launches them upward. Their fear-filled yell doesn’t sit well with him, but he’s left with one hand free to grab his other blaster. He shoots the beast in the shoulder, making it shriek out in pain, and pistol whips it right along its temple. Its claws unhook from his person, leaving it to fall a few feet and land bodily onto a branch below. It’s still alive, but stunned, and hopefully convinced to leave them be. Rex watches it for a second, then snaps his head upwards, eyes searching the foliage.

“ Pom? “  He doesn’t see them, which sends a pang of worry through his brain. They fixed the tear in their gliding suit; surely they managed to slow their fall . . . right?  “ Where are you, kid?  That thing’s gone now. Pom? ” 

The longer the silence persists, the more unsettled Rex grows. He stops his ascent and pulls himself up the cable enough to hook it to his belt, then looks down to the branches below. The creature is nowhere to be seen, but the same can be said for Pom.

“ Hey, Pom! Come on, kid! Tell me you’re alright! ”  What if they fell back to the floor? What if the thing ultimately managed to snatch them and run off? Dank Farrik, what if–––

“ Rex! ”  The tiny voice snaps his attention upward. Relief washes over him when he spots them perched atop a branch several feet above him. They jump, gliders spread, and drift down towards him. He meets them with both hands outstretched, giving them a platform to land on. Immediately he can feel the shivers coursing through their body. Another pang spikes in his mind. Carefully, he draws them nearer.

“ Pom, I––listen, kid, I’m sorry. I should’a given you some more warning. You alright? ”  Other than their pallid features, they don’t look any worse for wear physically. They nod, still shaking.

“ It’s––n-no, I am okay. I am just . . . I have never seen a grekesa up close . . . and I never want to again. ”  They pull their gliders in and sit in his hands, hugging their knees to their chest. Rex presses his lips together. It does make him feel a little better to know that his actions didn’t scare them so much as the beast. As a soldier, he’s faced things far worse than that  “ grekesa, ”  but he recognizes that he is both battle-hardened and far to big for most things to make a meal out of. Pom would be but a snack.

“ I’ve got you, kid. We ought’a keep moving before another one shows up. “  Were that to happen, he’d drop the bastard where it stands. Rex deposits Pom onto his shoulder where they quickly huddle up to his neck, and resumes their ascent.

Pom is much quieter now, but, after a few minutes, Rex feels their tension start to ease. A part of him wants to reach up and comfort them, but he’s not sure how he’d do that. What, would he rub their back or shoulder with his finger? Give them a little hair ruffle? How would he comfort someone so small?

“ Thank you, ”  they say, drawing Rex from his thoughts.

“ Hm? What for? ” 

Pom shrugs, though the gesture goes unseen.  “ For saving me from the grekesa. For helping me get back home. ”

A tinge of warmth fills the trooper’s heart. He shakes his head.  “ Don’t mention it. In fact, don’t thank me just yet; we still have a ways to go before we get to the canopy. ”

As they climb ever higher into the treetops, Rex takes note of the drastic changes in scenery. The difference between the jungle floor and the upper levels is like night and day––literally. While the floor was quite dark, at this height, there isn’t nearly as much foliage to block out the sunlight. Something as simple as a bit of sun has Rex feeling more optimistic that he’ll be able to see his fallen ship when they reach the top.

Once they reach their next branch, Rex pauses a moment and removes his helmet. He’s mindful of Pom as he does so, careful not to jostle them too much. He fishes into one of his pockets to retrieve a rations bar. All of this crashing and climbing and fighting with local fauna has his stomach growling. Before he takes a bite, though, he breaks off a piece and offers it to his companion, who gratefully accepts.

“ Shouldn’t be too much longer, ”  Rex says after swallowing down a few bites.  “ One more good placement of the cable and we’ll be up near the top. Any of this starting to look familiar to you? ”

Pom finishes off their piece of ration, then stands up on the trooper’s shoulder, one hand to his neck for balance.  “ Hmm . . .. Not really. I have never left the canopy before. But . . .. ”  They leap from their perch, gliders unfolding. They drift over to a cluster of leaves on a neighboring branch. Rex watches with one brow raised as they inspect the branch, looking for who-knows-what.

“ Aha! ”  They declare. They hold up a leaf that, to Rex, looks like any other dead leaf. He blinks, confused.  “ This is from my tribe! We must be approaching one of the lower villages! ”

“ That leaf . . .? ”  He tilts his head, still lost.  “ How do you know it’s not just . . . some leaf? ”

“ Because! ”  Pom jumps and glides back to Rex, who holds out a hand for them to land on. They hold up the leaf to him.  “ Each tribe grows special leaves that we graft onto trees to mark our territories. This one––see these? ”  they point to the veins in the leaf, which swirl in intricate patterns.  “ Over the generations, my tribe has designed this pattern and color. It is unique to us. ”

“ Uh hunh . . .. ”  Rex squints. Upon closer inspection, it does stand out. However, other than the color––a bright red to contrast the greens––he wouldn’t think anything of it. Then again, this isn’t his culture; he wouldn’t think to think anything of it.  “ That’s good news then. Means we’re gettin’ somewhere. ”

Pom beams up at the trooper. They scurry along his arm, back to his shoulder, and settle down for the continued journey. Rex finishes off the last of his ration bar, replaces his helmet, and takes aim at another branch. This one, he hopes, will be the last stretch. He clips himself in and activates the wench, thus resuming their ascent.

It doesn’t take long for Pom to point out more markers of their tribe. There are carvings and paintings in the bark, more clusters of leaves, and even a few abandoned homes––all of which would have gone under Rex’s radar were he alone. The more he sees, the more he realizes how resourceful Pom’s people must be to live up here.

The excitement and wonder come to a grinding halt, however, when the ascension cable lurches. Rex only has a moment to realize what’s happening before it comes loose. After a brief fall and an undignified yell, he manages to catch himself on a branch, hands clinging to the bark and legs dangling.

“ Dammit! Pom, are you––– ”  He looks to his shoulder to find it unoccupied. He isn’t given any time to process this, though. A sharp smack to the side of his helmet draws the trooper’s attention to his left, where he finds four little humanoids, each armed with a slingshot.  “ What the hell . . .? ”

“ Stop! Leave him alone! ”  Calls a familiar voice from up above. Pom drifts down, landing atop Rex’s helmet.  “ He is my friend! ”

The four beings pause, each of them looking shocked and confused.  “ Pomfree? Is that you? ”  One asks. All at once, they rush forward towards Rex and Pom. He has to stop himself from flinching as they scale his arms and shoulders. The one that spoke clambers up to meet Pom on his helmet where the two embrace. Rex feels . . . awkward.

“ We saw you fall into the dark beyond! ”  The one––Rex assumes them to be the leader of the group––says.

“ I did! I fell all the way to the floor, ”  they say.  “ I tried to stop myself, but I tore my wing and hit my head and then I woke up down there. This one––– ”  they pat Rex’s helmet,  “ helped me back up. He saved me from a grekesa too! ” 

Though he can’t see any of the little ones from where they are on his person, he can feel all of their eyes on him. Rex clears his throat.  “ Er, hi. I hate to break up the reunion, but do you mind letting me pull myself up? I don’t really want to stay hanging here. ” 

Pom is the first to disembark. The others are quick to follow. Once they’re all off, Rex hauls himself up to straddle the branch. He breathes a sigh of relief, and rolls his shoulders to work out some of the stiffness from holding himself in place.

All five of the little beings stare at him. Pom is the only one that does not look wary. Rex can’t blame them, he supposes. He clears his throat again.  “ Right. I am Captain Rex of the Army of the Grand Republic. It’s true, I met Pom down on the jungle floor. “

“ He is good, ”  Pom insists, though their companions do not seem fully convinced. They huff and approach Rex, frowning. They climb up onto his thigh and gesture to him.  “ Show your face. Let them see you. ”

With some hesitancy, the trooper complies. He pulls his helmet off and tucks it under his arm. This somehow feels even more awkward.

“ Look, I don’t want to cause you any more trouble than we already have. I’m just trying to find my squadron; Pom told me I’d have a better shot at seeing where they landed up here. Only fair I bring them up with me. ”

The four regard him with scrutiny, then huddle up to whisper amongst themselves. Every few seconds, one of them glances back at him before returning to the conversation. Rex grimaces.

“ Well, Pom, I think this is where we’re gonna have to part ways. ”  Gently, he scoops the little being off of his leg and sets them down on the branch. Before he can pull his hand away, though, they catch his thumb and wrap their arms around it. This, he realizes, is the closest thing to a hug they can share. He glances to the group, all of whom are staring at him again, then gently lets his fingers curl around their back.

“ Hey now, no need for any waterworks, kid, ”  he says, mustering a half-smile.  “ Glad I could get you back to your people. You be good now, alright? ”

Pom gives his thumb a squeeze before letting go. They take the leaf they’d kept from when they’d first found signs of their tribe and place it in Rex’s palm.  “ Thank you, Rex. I am sad I cannot do more to help you than wish you luck in finding your own people. ”

“ Don’t worry about it. ”  His half-smile grows into something softer, more genuine. Fingers close around the leaf, then he pushes himself to stand. The four new little ones retreat a few feet, and Pom joins them after a moment. Rex offers a small wave, then puts on his helmet and tucks the leaf into one of his pockets. He takes his blaster and launches his ascension cable to a higher branch.

Pom is home. That’s good. Now he needs to figure out how the hell he’s going to keep the war away from them and their people.

[freddieofhearts]

Bye bye, dears (for now!)

I know there have been a lot of rumours and some posts about me leaving, so here I am to set the record straight and say a quick ‘au revoir’. This post is long, and I don’t expect everyone to read the whole thing—if you just want information on how to keep in touch, or about access to my removed fics, scroll to the bottom. ⬇️

*

Why are you leaving?

Firstly, of course I’m not leaving Freddie. This is just an ongoing hiatus from the social side of fandom, because while I have some incredible friends here, who have done all they can to support me and have made this experience wonderful in lots of ways—it’s also true that the social space has become more and more toxic for me.

I get a wild amount of hate. Despite never having my ask box enabled on here, people create new accounts just to message me and tell me all the problems in this fandom are my fault, that I’m faking being sick, that I should kill myself, that I’m fat, etc. I also very regularly get hateful comments on AO3.

Obviously I realise that I’m not the only one who receives these cruel attacks, but it’s become increasingly hard to handle them—especially as some people (‘real’ accounts, not faceless anons) do continue to blame me for wider problems in the fandom. It makes me feel consistently sad, anxious, and paranoid, so that I can’t focus on anything Queen-related that I enjoy.

More pressingly, it’s affected my mental health, which is—imperfect at the best of times. As I’ve occasionally alluded to in older posts on this blog, I have a history of anorexia, OCD, PTSD, and some other overlapping issues. Most people who know me in the fandom are also aware that I’m ‘clinically extremely vulnerable’ to Covid-19, significantly immunocompromised, and have been isolating at home for eleven months.

The combination of all of these things + the constant toxic messages has really been triggering me, and leading to an uptick in disordered behaviours, which my body cannot sustain. Every new instance of hate from an anon—every time there’s another indication of groups in the fandom wanting to ostracise me further—my reaction is deeply self-punitive and unhealthy. Ultimately I need to be out of this environment for, at least, a protracted period. My therapist, my partner and my close friends in the fandom support this decision.

*

So, what went wrong?

In 2019, I expected to be an absolutely tiny blog in the Queen Tumblr landscape. The fandom was already well-established, and I have never worked to ‘build a following’ on here—I think I’ve linked my own fic a maximum of three or four times!—in fact, more or less the opposite. As I mentioned above: ya girl is nutty as a fruitcake. As a result, I often avoid extremely niche things in daily life which cause severe anxiety for me, Relevant examples here: I never look at my timeline. I never intentionally look at my follower number. Yup, it’s strange, I fully admit it, but it’s best for me to go with these things—usually. In Queen fandom, however, this avoidance both of analytic stats and of most direct engagement led to some problems... My followers grew without me realising, and way more people were reading my blog than I was aware of. I was still in a—“Wow, this fandom is very frustrating, and rife with ableism, racism, etc., so how do we fix this???”—mindset, and I wanted to share my opinions, sure! but I also thought I was sharing them with 15-20 like-minded people.

Now, intent is not impact, and I recognise that I was brusque, didn’t phrase things particularly sensitively, and absolutely did hurt some people by criticising the fandom so freely. I still regret this—and I regret just as much the fact that some assholes have used my criticising the fandom on my own blog as implicit justification for attacking authors. I have said on here many times that I don’t condone that behaviour—but I also think there’s some truth in the presumption that these anonymous malcontents felt my critiques somehow ‘permitted’ them to engage in abuse. For the first few months, though, I genuinely had no idea there was a link at all—and so I was initially slow to condemn this abusive behaviour in public, because I was taking it for granted all authors agreed it was shitty. It took someone directly telling me (shoutout to @a-froger-epic) that people had identified a connection between my posts and the anons, before everything fell into place.

I would like to offer my apologies to the fandom at large for not being more quick on the uptake about this, because I feel that had I realised sooner that these people were taking ‘inspiration’ in some way from me, it might have been easier to put a stop to it. It does seem that there is still a lot of confusion about whether I support them and which of their views I agree with. Let’s be 100% clear on this: I do not support the anonymous commenters on AO3. At times there is some, limited overlap between parts of their views and parts of mine, but even that is less than you may think—I often see anonymous comments from so-called ‘Freddie fans’ that I substantially disagree with.

Perhaps even more importantly: I do not support anyone who sends anonymous hate on Tumblr.

*

What’s all this about ‘overlap’ with the anons?

Let’s do a mini-summary of the myths vs. the truth. There are views I hold which are genuinely unpopular in the fandom—but which I own up to completely, and have never tried to hide in any way. I’ve never needed to use anonymous to share my opinions because I’m completely open about them! What people who don’t know me tend to have ‘heard’ about me, though, is usually a drastic distortion of my real opinions.

What people think I think:

- Freddie should never top.

- It’s okay to send anon hate if someone writes Freddie ‘wrong’.

- It’s more important to correct ‘wrong’ portrayals than to respect other writers.

- It’s inherently wrong to be more interested in band pairings than canon pairings.

- Freddie should be overtly written as a r*pe survivor/victim (and not doing this is wrong).

- Freddie should be overtly written as having an eating disorder (and not doing this is wrong).

- Kink fics are wrong.

What I actually think:

- I believe Freddie did have a strongly defined sexual identity with marked preferences, but I don’t think Jim Hutton lied when he said that Freddie topped. I believe Freddie did top, but this isn’t the time or place to get into my thoughts on why/when/how much. I do believe that my analysis of the sources relevant to this subject is as historically accurate as one can reasonably be in matters of sex (where historical accuracy will always be particularly limited and imperfect)—but I don’t think it’s morally wrong to write Freddie as topping more than he probably did.

- I don’t believe there’s only one ‘right’ version of Freddie (all others being ‘wrong’). I do believe it is possible to be more right or less right—but I’m also conscious of the fact that this scale of value is not one by which everyone measures fanfiction. As a result, then, I don’t think that any perceptions surrounding ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ justify sending anonymous, non-constructive criticism, or outright hate.

- I do believe constructive criticism is a good thing. I welcome and appreciate it myself; I have received it on my fics in Queen fandom, and it has made them better. I have been in writing workshops which included very forceful criticisms, and the value of such feedback has been intimately and immediately part of my life as a writer for years. However: in this case, I have accepted that my opinion differs from the general community preference, and so I no longer offer any constructive criticism (outside private beta-reading). I haven’t changed my view, but I’ve changed my practice to align with community norms.

- I do not think any single, individual writer has a personal responsibility to write about Freddie Mercury in any given way. That ranges from including the more distressing topics to which I’ve devoted attention (such as trauma)—to concentrating on ‘canon’ pairings like Jimercury—to, even, focusing on Freddie at all.

“Now, that doesn’t sound like you, @freddieofhearts,” you might be thinking. And I know it doesn’t; I think something I’ve done a poor job of articulating is the difference between how I view each individual fan—namely, as free to shape their creative experience at will, even in ways that I might find distressing or offensive; even in ways that you might find distressing or offensive—and the way I view the Collective. I think people have interpreted some of my critiques of ‘Queen Fandom’ as meaning something like: “You-in-particular, a specific Queen fan, are doing it wrong and should change everything about how you do it; also you don’t really care about Freddie.”

And—that’s not it. What any given fan, as an individual, does, isn’t a problem. And that can be true alongside—concurrently with—a multivalent critique of how the fandom is lacking in representation of Freddie’s life, with all that that (wonderful, deservedly celebrated, but also profoundly traumatic) life entailed. I still hold that view; I still have myriad problems with ‘the fandom’ (structurally, collectively, historically and presently—from the 1990s to the 2020s). Some of what I want to work on (away from the social life of fandom) is expressing those critiques with greater nuance, in ways that can’t be misinterpreted as shading any particular fanfiction author or subgenre of story.

In brief: I haven’t changed my mind, but I think Tumblr is an untenable environment in which to discuss the things I want to analyse, especially as there is an ever-present danger of hurting someone.

*

Can we keep in touch? Where is the fic?

I will drop by this account periodically to check out posts that friends have sent me, so you can always sent me a private message to ask for my contact details on the other app that I’m using now for fandom friends. Multiple Freddie conversations and projects are going on over there, off-Tumblr, with a much ‘gentler’ environment and no bad actors—I personally love it!

All my fic has been downloaded and saved. I don’t want to deal with constant harassment on AO3, but I’m happy to share a copy with anyone who missed it and wants to read/re-read something. I also saved everyone’s lovely comments and thoughtful con-crit, so none of that has been lost or erased.

Thank you to everyone who welcomed me to the fandom, made me think, taught me, shared with me, sent me into fits of the giggles, collaborated with me creatively, and otherwise made this one hell of a ride! Love you all. ❤️

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Outside the Wall

Part 19

Hey guys, very short, laid back chapter. I finished up writing my timari spitefest work and then immediately had a 6 month old puppy brought into my life. She likes sleeping on my hand. If you guys want, I'll post a picture of her, but the point is that writing may slow down significantly due to training and cuddles. Sorry this is almost more of a filler.

Wonderfully patient CLOSED taglist: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Walking through the portal, Jason took in the sight of his team dropping their transformations one at a time, taking no mind to the kid who walked in behind him. Guess it didn't really matter. What are the chances he would recognize them in any manner that mattered? Plus, they wanted the kid to feel comfortable here. That he could trust them.

Marinette walked over to him, barely glancing at the awkward Robin standing out of place.

"Alright, reprieve is over. You'll never adjust to your body this way," she said with an apologetic smile, lacing their fingers together and both loosening their crushing grip on their bond they'd been holding for the last two hours. As they both relaxed their minds, they slipped back into their own bodies, souls settling happily into their rightful place. 

Placed properly, Jason turned towards the Robin in the room, offering a lopsided smirk, "Welcome to the shitshow."

He shuffled his feet, "I don't plan…"

"On staying. Yes, we know Timothy. It's okay," Marinette helped him out, smile soft.

His shoulders tensed and narrowed eyes stared them down, staying quiet.

"Look, replacement, we're not trying to intimidate you or anything. We know Bruce's identity. Comes with being one of his charity cases, you know? It's not difficult to figure out which kid ended up in his care next," he intoned, trying to help Timothy see their lack of intentions towards revealing his identity.

"We only thought it fair you should be made aware of what exactly we know. I imagine it would be quite unsettling to think you had the upper hand on us only to find out later that we knew the whole time," Marinette chimed in next.

They watched as his face screwed up with an off put expression only to nod his assent, "That would bother me more, yeah."

"My name is Marinette," she put her hand out towards him, waiting patiently.

"Tim," he carefully shook her hand, staying almost formal despite the informal correction, "So the part about you getting stuck in the former Robin's body during his death. That's why you share the madness you mentioned before?"

"Lazarus Pit insanity. So fun. Definitely recommend," Jason decided to butt in, noticing the way Tim focused on Marinette the moment they switched bodies, "we were both dipped in a way, though she got the short end of the stick. My body, her soul."

"So some of it transferred due to it contaminating her soul then?" Tim asked, finally looking at him.

"Pretty much. Splitting it up this way makes it easier to handle," Marinette answered.

Tim seemed to consider this for a moment, "why are you answering me so willingly?"

"What purpose would hiding it serve?" He countered, receiving a surprised silence in response.

"I'm sorry you had to witness that out there. I'm sure that couldn't have been pleasant," Marinette slowly brought her hand to his shoulder, leaving plenty of time to move if the kid decided the contact was unwanted. When Tim allowed it, eyes still almost glaring, she smiled up at Jason and led the boy further into the room while he followed behind.

Zeroing in on where Marc stood on the phone, he gave a curious look only for Marc to end the call and curiously glance at the screen before turning back to the room at large, "That was Alfred. He can't make it here for a few days due to the giant man baby that's currently throwing a fit, but apparently someone else will be coming by tomorrow to speak to you two," This was partially directed towards Tim, but mostly to himself, "Said one would know her as a bat, the other as the eye in the sky."

"Barbara's coming? Oh great! It's been entirely too long since we've seen her!" Mari perked up, "did he say when to expect her?"

"Around eleven," they easily replied, picking their way over towards the trio, "sorry about holding you down by the way. Couldn't let you get caught up in that mess. My name is Marc," was directed at Robin.

"So… you were the mice?"

"They were the mice, yes. I'm Juleka. I was the one who brought you to the portal."

"The fox then, and you were likely the cat?" Tim directed towards Kagami.

"Kagami. In the next room over is Chloe."

"The one who opened the portal."

Jason felt a strange sense of appreciation for how quickly Tim placed the identities together. As well as a sense of dread. This kid was too bright, too sharp, based on what Mari told him, to be so easily fooled by Bruce. To not see how toxic that environment was. What happened to his replacement to make him so willing to overlook it all?

At this point a small hand slipped into his as Chloe introduced herself to the boy, having entered the room a moment before. Looking down, he took note of Damian huddling closer to him, watching the scene unfold.

"Another one?" The kid grumbled, tightening the grip on his hand and looking none too pleased, "I know you said I'd have to adjust to new people, but isn't this a bit much?"

"I don't know, kid, you seem pretty accepting of me," Jason tilted his head, watching the kid stiffen slightly, a blush overcoming his face.

"I hadn't realized you changed back yet," Damian replied, though he remained gripping his hand as they watched Tim interact with the others, "Will they all leave already?" The kid added, drawing his eyes back down to the uncomfortable shifting. Glancing at the clock, he figured he might as well indulge Damian every now and then.

"Chloe, lead the herd, would you?" He asked, maintaining eye contact to get his point across.

"Alright you lot, time to head out. Surely Robin won't be too comfortable around all of us for very long."

There was a touch of an argument over this, but eventually the team picked themselves up around the apartment and headed out, saying they might stay away for a few days. Jason caught the grateful smile on Marinette's face and took his small victory in how Damian pulled him back a little when he moved, as though afraid he might leave as well. 

When the apartment quieted down and everything went still, he took a deep breath and led the kid over towards the kitchen, feeling Marinette move behind him to follow. He set a pot onto the stove and filled it with milk to heat up, turning to look through the cabinets while it heated up, "Have you ever had Hot Chocolate, kid?"

"You mean melted? Once. I was given a piece to hide, but it melted a bit," Damian answered, sounding disappointed, though at only having it once or having to admit letting it melt, he wasn't sure, "Why?"

"Not quite what I meant. But I'll take it as a no. We're gonna have some tonight then," Jason responded, pulling down a bag of milk chocolate chips. They'd have to do. He pulled his hand up to ruffle the kid's hair, chuckling as he yanked back with a sneer, shuffling over to duck into Marinette's side, who'd been holding easy conversation with Tim all the while, carefully not commenting on the way the Robin pulled off his mask carefully and was beginning to calm down now that there weren't as many people. Jason chose this moment to eavesdrop, now that he no longer had to occupy Damian.

"Why's the new one still here?"

"Damian, this is Tim. He needed a place to stay."

"Why does it have to be here?"

"The same one who wronged Jason and I has wronged him as well. I imagine being around people who understand his position and won't judge him helps."

Jason chose to speak up now, "Marinette took you in when you had no one. When the two of you understood each other and felt connected for it. That's how you came to be family. He and I have a similar understanding."

"So he is family to you?"

"Nah, think more like when you first met her."

"You are… Wanting to protect him despite not personally knowing him. Instinct."

"Now you got it," he responded, pouring four mugs of the beverage, ignoring the calculating gaze between his shoulder blades. Then went about handing them out despite Tim's reassurance that he was fine, "drink it or don't, won't bother me either way, but I'm not going to leave you out."

Damian remained silent up until this point, observing the young teen curiously before passing his final judgement, "okay, as long as he sticks with you," the unspoken threat to keep away from Marinette did not go unheard.

"No one will take your place in my heart, little one. That place was created for you. If I become close to anyone else, they'll have to find their own place. Yours is occupied," she assured, as they both pretended not to hear his unbelieving grumbles. That lesson would be learned with time. 

Through it all, Tim kept to himself, sipping slowly and watching their interactions. Jason couldn't know what the boy thought, but if he had to wager a guess, he probably felt suspicious over how open and honest they were. Confused by their relation to Damian, but unsure if it was safe to ask. Likely, the teen just wasn't sure what to make of it all and wouldn't for quite a while. 

It'll take time and reassurance, probably even multiple visits from Alfred and Barbara to convince Tim that this was a safe place for him, but they had time to spend.

[saladejin]

Call An Uber? | 04

BTS x Reader | idolverse au, uber driver!Reader, translator!Reader |  Fluff, flirting, super slow burn, angst and hurt/comfort, mature themes and eventual smut

Summary:  Your normal life with a normal, yet inconsistent job gets drastically changed when your dreams come true. Sounds boring right?

What happens when all of this occurs, but you’re still doing something you love AND getting a large sum for it? Now there’s something to think about, and it’s definitely not what you’re thinking.

Warnings: Implied mental health struggles, anxiety and slight panic attack

Word Count: 2.9k 

< masterpost >

  »»————- <<prev | next >> ————-««

  Another three days passing brought forth another fresh steaming pile of emotions. 

I was due to start my job at Bighit in the following week, and had been dropping in to meet with Bang PD and the staff regularly since the initial signing of the documents. Its only purpose was just for me to get to know everyone, since I would start off in the company playing a major role, and for me to get comfortable in the environment. PD-nim knew I was not used to working for such large and renowned companies, and I was so happy he had taken that into consideration.

Another meet-and-greet done today, and I was trembling. 

I didn’t know why it had all suddenly decided to drop on me now, but my only solace was the splash of vivid crimson sitting out in the otherwise monochrome carpark of the building. I yanked open the car door with shaking fingers and all but fell into the familiar leather seat, my breathing uneven from the tightening within my chest.

Don’t get me wrong at all, the company was absolutely amazing, and so were all the staff and their immediate hospitality. Bang PD was like a second father to me already, and I’d even had him ruffle my hair once today after he’d somehow managed to laugh at one of my jokes. His assistant, which I now knew as Chang Soojin, or just Soojin-unni as she had told me to use, was becoming a reliable colleague and friend pretty quickly too. I had met many members of the staff, including the co-ordi noonas, managers, stylists etc. Even a group of interpreters who specialised in specific languages.

Hence why they employed me so quickly, I’d thought to myself after finding out they only knew English and Korean.

There was that one Spanish interpreter, who had been absent on the ‘fateful day’, but he was now doing fine and had profusely apologised to me afterwards. I felt bad for the guy, as I probably seemed like a warning replacement if anything of disarray was to happen again.

Bighit can be bloody scary, damn.

My breathing had evened slightly, but stress was still causing my head to become a mess of jagged scribbles. So much had changed in my life recently, and even if it had an overall positive effect, my mind was still left reeling. This was the kind of sudden responsibility that made me want to revisit my childhood days, to let go of being an adult and to be surrounded by nothing but carefree bliss.

A light rapping on my car passenger window tore me from my strangling thoughts. I gasped, squinting my eyes to glimpse at the darkly clothed figure before sighing. The person had thoroughly frightened me, and I wasn’t very happy about it. They crouched down to look in, and when they saw I was making no move to stop them, they pulled open the passenger door hesitantly.

“Is this Uber operating?” Yoongi softly asked.

I was still irritated that my precious alone-time had been ruined, after going through quite a bit of anxiety about my life in general, but I couldn’t bring myself to refuse the impassive man at the moment. After even more thought, I concluded that having someone to talk to would in fact help me the most right now. When I nodded slowly, sighing again in an attempt to regather myself, he lowered his head in gentle understanding.

“Uh, if it’s a really bad time I-”

“No, Yoongi. Wait is it even okay to not use honorifics? Should I call you oppa?” I shook my head, my voice steadily gaining life again from how croaky it sounded before. I hadn’t cried, but I was definitely on the verge before he’d made his appearance.

Yoongi settled into the passenger seat holding a lidded coffee cup. He was dressed in dark but flowy clothing, and I questioned his sanity briefly considering how hot it was outside. It was mid-afternoon at the moment, but we both didn’t seem to have schedules planned.

“Even though I’m not against it, I feel like dropping the honorifics would work better for you. I won’t get offended,” he hummed, sipping his coffee. I noticed how tired his eyes were under the cap he wore, and instantly felt bad for being annoyed with him before. He adorned a black mask too, but it was sitting under his chin to make talking and drinking easier.

“Did you also want coffee? I could offer to get you one.”

His sudden question caused me to blink in confusion. Then I realised I had been eyeing the cup in his pale hands quite intensely. His dark eyes were blank and his pale blue-white hair was slightly roughened from the breeze outside. Trying not to fawn over him, I broke out into a strained chuckle while my hands came up to slap my cheeks in embarrassment.

“No no no, I wasn’t…Ah I’m sorry, I just have a lot going on at the moment.” I decided to let the cat out of the bag with another sigh. He may as well know what was going on behind my outwardly apparent emotions. I didn’t even know how I was meant to hold a decent conversation when my insides were such a nervous wreck. I knew I would build myself up again eventually, but he just happened to catch me at a vulnerable time.

“Yeah, I could tell,” he started. “I followed you out because I saw you running out here shaking like a leaf. I guess it sounds kind of creepy when put like that.” He shrugged, eyeing the dashboard of my car while I just tried to take in his quiet observation.

“No, actually I appreciate it. You haven’t even met me yet…ugh why am I doing everything backwards right now?” I rested my head onto the steering wheel, positively exasperated. Yoongi and I had never even held a conversation before, but here I was acting like a total idiot and making him worry about my mental health.

“Don’t worry about it, you’re all I hear about these days.” He sighs with a groan, letting his head roll back to rest against the leather headrest. My own curiosity was tickled.

“Really? Let me guess, ‘the crazy Uber chick who somehow managed to get herself involved with shit that didn’t concern her’?”

He laughed silently at that, the gummy smile melting my bundling insides into a puddle – and suddenly everything was alright.

I didn’t have to have everything in my life figured out right now, I just had to make the most of my time with these amazingly driven individuals who had undoubtedly captured my heart. Alongside this job which was actually my passion to begin with.

I didn’t even know how I hadn’t freaked out over the fact that the Min Yoongi, worldwide famous producer and rapper, was sitting in my car. He was sitting in the same seat the Park Jimin had sat in about a week and a half ago. I needed to shut down my brain before it began to burn a hole into the back of my skull from overworking.

“That would be funny, but no, definitely not. I just wish the young ones would let me sleep, but they’ve been excited. I swear I’ve already met you ten times at this point.”

I snort in amusement, absolutely loving how blunt he was about the whole situation. Too many people, since I had arrived in the country, were overbearingly polite and careful with their words. I was not used to it at all, and it made the ‘foreign’ experience all the more jarring. Yoongi probably understood this to an extent, so I was grateful he tried his best to be more casual right away.

“Look, can I start driving? I just need to clear my head a bit. Maybe I can introduce myself properly.” I exhaled loudly, my nerves significantly calmed since chatting a little. Even though I felt terrible at the thought, I couldn’t help but be grateful that it was Yoongi who had paid me a surprise visit instead of one of the others. His presence was somewhat reserved and I had trouble reading the guy half the time, but his company was the type I needed instead of something loud and overwhelming.

“Sure, I did kind of barge in so you can continue with whatever you were doing.”

You mean almost having a mental breakdown?

“But I do want to actually meet you, because if I have to hear your name around the dorm one more fucking time without knowing who you are, I may just snap.”

I laughed loudly, his grunt-worthy words causing amusement to roil around in my chest. I figured I would question him about exactly what was said a bit later. For now, I just needed to relax and ease my worries, and driving was my channel for exactly that. I started reversing out of the carpark with silence finally befalling the car, grateful to finally leave behind the line of black company vans surrounding me. I found it ominous if I was completely honest. Engulfed by the view of several identical black vans was a little unsettling when the only car I was used to was Red.

When did I even decide to name my car? It’s such a boring name too.

“Well, I can start by saying my name is (L/n) (Y/n). (Y/n) is fine, and you already known I don’t care for honorifics. I’m from (Y/c), and I landed a job at Bighit Entertainment by letting two of your band members hitch a ride. Ultimately escaping their foreseeable deaths.” My dramatic tone increased the longer I spoke, and I could see the corners of Yoongi’s lips turning up gradually.

“That sounds about right. Jiminie told me you were a big fan, but it turns out you are really collected when you see us. I appreciate your efforts, but feel free to let it out if you need.” He tilted his head with a smirk, his ‘Genius Suga’ persona surfacing within the span of two whole seconds. I just bit my lip to contain another amused giggle.

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not one to freak out after the initial shock. Most of my extra-ness is of the internal type, I’m afraid.”

He shook his head in mock disappointment, eventually flashing me that endearing expression where his lips stretched across his whole face. I covered my cheeks with one hand to stop my bubbling amusement from erupting.

“Stop please, or I’ll crash!”

He simply sipped his coffee, smirking again at my reaction. I knew I hadn’t actually doused his ego, but his antics still aided in lifting my spirits higher and higher. As I tried to figure out where I wanted to drive, Yoongi pulled out a small notepad full of scrawled notes and scribbled out lines.

“Well, you already know who I am, that much I can guess. Now that we’ve met, I can tell those kids to shut up and do something useful,” he continued. Even though his tone was full of complaint, I knew he loved every single one of those boys wholeheartedly.

“Where are they now?” I asked through a smile, glancing down as the rapper flicked through his notepad to the page he had last used. “Practicing more, at least I know Jiminie, Jin-hyung and Jungkook-ah are. We’ve got a big concert and a comeback soon, so everyone is riled up.”

“Yeah, that seems like a packed schedule for at least a few months. I’m really excited for what you guys have in store though, it seems too unreal that I actually get to see everything behind the scenes for the first time in my life,” I sighed out in awe, thinking about a possible new album and new content. How could I even go about it normally when everything was different? Wait, was I going to get a discounted album? I surely hoped so.

Yoongi looked at me carefully before making a few notes in his notepad, his fingers working the pen deftly through long and hardened experience. His ripped black jeans were tighter than I initially thought they were, but my attention only went there because he was tapping his foot rhythmically as he wrote.

“Lyrics?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow in his direction and diverting my attention. I drove towards the outskirts of Seoul, hoping to find somewhere quiet and peaceful to settle for a bit. The time had essentially flown by, but I was sure the sky wouldn’t darken just yet.

“Yeah, just the usual. I help write a lot of songs, and lyrics always just flood into my brain at the most random times, you know?” he murmured, flicking backwards to another page and filling in another empty space.

The realisation that I was driving somewhere random and unknown hit me suddenly, and I briefly wondered if taking Yoongi with me would end up costing me my job all too soon. I was quickly reminded of a similar occurrence with two maknaes, one that caused the managers and Namjoon to lose their absolute marbles.

“Um, I was gonna drive randomly around the area, but I just realised that your managers would skin me alive if they knew I took you with me. Does anyone know you’re with me?”

Yoongi looked up, his eyes, which were once laser-focused on his lyrics, now scoured into my own and I gulped suddenly. His long, dark eyelashes were always beautiful, but they were even more mesmerising in person and this close. They contrasted so nicely against his milky skin that I almost lost focus on the road again.

I may just crash and kill someone one of these days. Customer or not.

“I texted a few people,” was all he said before returning to his notepad, and I shrugged indifferently. He was an adult, and he could make his own decisions. I just hoped I didn’t cop any roastings for it later on.

“Would I be able to show you something?” he then asked.

I glanced sideways, catching him picking at his nails with his teeth apprehensively. It seemed he was stuck on something to do with a lyric, but I didn’t know how I could possibly lend a hand. His lyrics were always so impactful and flowed so nicely. How could I form my own opinion when everything I’d heard from him so far was nothing less than beautiful?

“Yeah? Did you need another perspective?” I probed, willing my feelings of disbelief down into the depths of my subconscious.

“Well, I’m trying to tie together my verse in one of the new songs, and I almost have it. I want someone fresh to have a look.” He held out the pad and I pulled over onto the side of the smaller road. We were now definitely nearing the more ‘picturesque’ side of Seoul anyway, and the city fell away behind us as my eyes scanned over Yoongi’s handwriting. The last line struck a chord deeply within me.

“This is real you, and this is real me” – which one is “you”? Which one is “me”?

“Wow, this really hits hard,” I breathe, reading over the snippets of the verse he had written again to fully absorb what was going on. The whole thing was emotional, and raw. I could imagine his voice rapping hard to form these thoughts, the angry and hurt emotions seeping in.

“I can feel the struggle through the lyrics. It’s like you’ve been through a false love that you threw yourself into after believing it was true...a betrayal of sorts, I guess?” I met his eyes again and grew a little confused when a chuckle of irony fell from him. It must have been some joke I didn’t understand.

“I’m glad you feel so much from it.” He blinked. “I’m actually going to try a different technique with this track, so expect some changes from my usual style.”

He then smiled again, taking the notepad before I could catch any glimpses of the other notes. I couldn’t contain a soft huff of annoyance. “You’re not just gonna tell me?”

He deadpanned before parting his lips to respond. “Just because you work for Bighit doesn’t mean you get every special privilege.” I almost reeled at the thought of bothering him with my question, but he only smiled again while tucking his notepad away.

“Plus, you’re a fan, so my goal is to keep it a secret for as long as possible.”

“Mean,” I grunted, pulling out onto the road again so I could start to head home. The sky was darkening, and I knew there were only so many boundaries I could push before I crossed the line. Yoongi seemed to know this too, but he avoided addressing the subject for some reason.

“Where do you want to be dropped? I’ll have you know I’ve been charging you handsomely for this Uber service,” I muttered, still pretending to be pissed off at him for hiding information.

“I’ll buy you a coffee next time, I promise.”

          Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved

tagged: @l4life​, @joyful-jimin​

[robogreaser]

This is a Long Time Coming...

It’s been a relatively hard task to sit down and make sense of, well, a lot of things as of late. I could chalk it up to the state of the world, but it’s been troublesome for significantly longer than that.

Long Story Short Version: I’ve been in a hell of a place, mentally, physically, and otherwise.

The proper story is a hell of a lot more involved than that and I know damned right well it’s going to take me a fair bit to explain myself and my various professional and social failings over the past... while. I’m gonna try to contain this under a read more, of course, but I apologize to mobile users if tumblr fucks that up.

Okay. That took a fair more bit of effort to figure out than I remember. Which, I suppose, is a fair enough bit of a segue into one thing that’s happened to me.

Tumblr has been deteriorating.

Whether I like to admit it or not, tumblr has been my go to social media platform since... 2011. Yeah. I’ve spent the vast majority of the decade here. I’ve seen a lot. Sure, I’ve lurked elsewhere, but I really cannot stand the interface and nature of a lot of other social media, especially the likes of twitter. Unfortunately for me, this place has been in constant decline for years now at this point. It extends well beyond the porn ban, but that’s a whole separate discussion.

I’ve lost touch with a lot of people I care about, some vanishing into the ether, some ghosting me, some just drifting into other communities or onto other sites. I’ve come to terms with the majority of this. It’s been happening for a while. It’s the very nature of digital relationships. It hurt, and I do think it’s contributed to a fair bit of stress and depression that has resulted in my... withdrawal from online spaces. It’s not a major factor, but its here, it’s present, it’s a factor in all of this.

I’ll be honest in that, well, I’ve tried to make this post several times over the past several weeks and months. It’s hard. Talking about my issues, using ‘I’ and ‘me’ so much in a post... it’s a bit jarring. But I’ll try to suck it up.

It’s been ten years (god I fucking hate time) since I’ve graduated high school. Yeah. It’s a fair thing to say that, on reflection, that’s incredibly jarring. The vast majority of that time has been... relatively unstable. I spent a fair few years working on my book and my publishing journey, now all but scrubbed clean from this blog (more on that later) and... well... Trying to be an adult. I’ve applied to, gotten accepted, and had to withdrawn from my dream school twice in this time. I’ve had a fair few jobs, nothing worthy of my resume, and lost all of them in one form or another, whether being fired for retaliating to my shitty work conditions, or, well, quitting for the sake of my own health during this pandemic. There has been a lot of family troubles. I’ve been through a lot of... ‘varied’ living situations, some horrendous, some just stressful, some, like now, actually really good compared to the others. And for the past few years in particular, it’s been constantly one thing after another, nonstop.

In short, progress is slow, but it’s happening. I don’t care to delve into a lot of these sorts of personal details lest this get to a ridiculous length, but that’s the short of the stuff I’d rather gloss over.

I’ve been on a health... Let’s call it a journey. I’ve been on a health journey. Over the past few years I’ve gone through the long processes of being diagnosed with ADHD, discussing my options regarding my depression and anxiety, and finally getting myself on a medication regimen that works. And then, because the health care system is a joke, I was without insurance. I had been off my medication, an absolute lifesaver and release of burden on my garbage tier brain, for eighteen months. Until last week. I think it’s fair to say, between my revolving door of living situations, employment, and then being un-medicated in a continually more stressful environment... That this is the main reason I’ve been absent. I’ve had no focus. There were weeks where I had no drive to do anything outside of routine that others depended on. I had not only gone back to how I was before situating my mental health, but in some ways, found a worse state.

Finances have been slowly eating away at me. I had been working a part time retail job until November, which made decent enough money, but not nearly for the amount of work and responsibility I was handling. I got fired. I found work with one of the big, corporate postal services. The pay was phenomenal, but it began to actively destroy my health, mainly physically, but also mentally, especially considering I was working a graveyard shift. Eventually when I began having prolonged health issues there, and then a whole lot of the symptoms of covid-19, on top of them turning me down for an entry-level position outside of the package handling, I had to quit. This was shortly after the lockdowns, in early April, and I refuse to look back despite people like my parents insisting on me trying to get work there again. Sure, the pay was phenomenal compared to anything else I had until then, but I cant continue to sacrifice my health. As of now, I’m unemployed, and... well...

I’m working on my commission queue. It’s art. It’s stuff I’ve owed friends (luckily those who are incredibly understanding and good to me) for an embarrassing amount of time, even before moving to and from Oklahoma at the end of 2016. I’m terrified of being the person who is known for taking commissioners’ money and running.

I know, I’m not good at giving updates. I’m not good at a consistent work schedule. I’ve had numerous tech failings over the past few years that constantly slow my roll on any progress I have made. Hell, I’ve had files corrupt despite being two thirds of the way complete when transferring from one computer to another. I’ve lost my cable for my external hard drive. I’ve had my tablet go to hell and back multiple times. But I am working. I am trying. I am sitting down as often as I can between looking for work and managing family nonsense to try and get my workload tidied up.

Which... brings me to my next point. And one I’m rather... ashamed about.

I have used trello, infrequently, since taking on a large load of commissions, and despite not being faithfully updating it and checking back on it, and using it to it’s fullest potential, I had kept, at the minimum, a list of all the work I did owe people using it. Well. Dumbass me attempted to use a mobile app. In short, in an effort to try and make myself tech literate and allow me easier access to my queue, I ended up deleting it. Somehow.

I’ve gone through and slowly flagged all my paypal notices and various emails concerning my commissions. I’m putting it together again. I’m trying. Granted, I am damned sure I am going to be missing someone, somewhere, somehow. I know it. I’ve got a shit brain, and despite my need for organization and minimalism, I don’t put it past me to have missed something along the way.

If you have commissioned me, please, do not hesitate to reach out and contact me regarding your commission. I owe every last one of you a massive apology for my continued failure to produce what you have paid for.

More likely than not, I have a wip already started somewhere, and if not, I have a slew of reference and thumbnails already compiled together somewhere on my computers. I am not ignoring this work. It’s been painfully, embarrassingly slow. It’s been one obstacle after another. But I have every intention of doing this work, and, likely, upgrading the quality of the finished piece past what my commissioners have paid for simply because I do feel bad about the wait time.

I have been inexcusably unprofessional. I know this and I am working as best I can with the time and resources I have to correct it.

In a similar vein, as I mentioned before, I have slowly been cleaning up my rather unimpressive publishing attempts. I’ve gone through and cleaned this blog recently, deleting reference to my work by name and the process of trying to get myself published. I may have missed a few posts here and there, but for the most part I would like a clean slate in regards to building a social media platform surrounding my written work. And this is the part where... I am probably going to be the most upfront and honest with you reading this than I have been publicly before.

I am not ashamed of who I’ve been online these past ten years or so, but it reflects only a sliver of my personality, a sliver of who I am as a whole. I catered to a very specific subset of who I am in pursuit of finding acceptance in communities much larger than myself. I’ve learned a hell of a lot about myself in that time. I figured out what’s important to me, my health, my sexuality, my relationships and my long term goals. I’ve found a very important group of friends. I’ve found people who understand and empathize with a lot of the things I have been through, experience, and am at my core.

But the fact of the matter is, this hypersexual, sci-fi aesthetic-oriented, very open person is only a singular facet. And it is not nearly enough of a reflection of who I am, or who I want to be as a professional, public adult. Will I always be gay for robots? Yes. Will I, when time permits and creative energies are present, continue to make nsfw art? Absolutely. Will I always have a toe dipped in erotic literature and the like? Most likely.

But a lot of me, a lot of my emotion and strife and feelings regarding most things in the world, are completely separate from this. It’s separate from me liking porn on twitter or having a homestuck roleplay blog. It’s separate from who I am in real life, with my boyfriend or with my family or with my work. And I have been dwelling on this, sincerely, for a while. I need to allocate more energy into my life. The separate life offline and online too, where I am pursuing an actual professional career, because, at the end of the day, I want to be an author. I want to have a career telling stories. And, in my time online, I’ve found a lot of skeletons in authors’ closets, the kind that really put mine to shame, and the kind that will always be a footnote to their work. You know the ones.

I want my creative work to speak for itself. I want people to be able to enjoy what I do without a specter, without my time and energy having to explain to a future audience why it is I had explicit thoughts about x,y, and z. I want to be able to write a book, write many books, and have people enjoy them without a footnote about me, a person with a sexual life and a history exploring it through years of depression and isolation, clouding it. It’s not fair to my work. It’s not fair to a future reader. It’s not fair to me.

I’ve got several social media accounts made and slowly coming to life that I need to spend more time with as I try and pursue this new, second leg of a very long journey into publishing. I’m not going to link those here, now or in the future. It’s likely a few people I know and trust have access to them. But I am, effectively starting over from scratch trying to build a platform as a writer. And it’s hard. Juggling that, alongside all of the things in the world today, alongside family and my relationships, alongside my commission queue? It bears down on me and if I didn’t have experience handling more than one thing at a time, I might trip up more frequently. Hell, I forget to post and use those new accounts regularly.

But I’m trying.

I’m not moving away from my current social circles or hobbies or anything like that. I’m not abandoning any fandom or friends or communities. But I am going to be trying to balance myself more thoughtfully moving forward, past just commissions, past just writing.

I’m here. I’m moving forward, slowly but surely, and I am making an effort to improve.

[catsafarithewriter]

“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m ninety percent sure you grabbed the wrong person." 

A/N: I immediately thought of this post with this concept a la haunted house attraction, ironically before we started discussing Disney’s Haunted Mansion on Discord. Anyway, human AU (for reasons that will be clear), enjoy!

x

This was the last time Haru would let Hiromi talk her into something. 

“It’d be fun,” she’d said.

“Different,” she’d promised.

“Exciting,” she’d wheedled. 

So far, the only point Hiromi had been right on was different. If she had included dark and cold, she would have had three for three. 

In her designated nook of the haunted house attraction, Haru lurked. She was rather good at lurking, she reckoned, and would be capable of lurking for a good few hours longer. Which was just as well, since that was what this summer job was paying her to do. 

She resisted the urge to scratch her nose. The face paint itched something awful and hadn’t lessened, despite what her supervisor had assured. A monochromatic design of black and white had sunk her face into skeleton outline; simplistic but effective in the gloom of the corridors. At least she hadn’t had to apply the fake sores and open wounds that Hiromi - albeit rather gleefully - had needed to administer.

The shuffling of feet and shushed voices announced the arrival of her next victims. She hunkered down into her shadow an watched as the guests - a young couple with the guy making a show of going first - rounded the corner, waiting until they were just passing before giving a pointed cough. 

The lights flickered, momentarily illuminating her face and its otherworldly makeup, and there was a scream as the guests fled onto the next corridor, dissolving into giggles as they vanished. 

Haru couldn’t help herself she grinned as she returned to lurking. Okay, maybe Hiromi hadn’t been entirely wrong. It had its fun moments. 

x

This was the last time Baron would let Louise talk him into something. 

In hindsight, admittedly, the haunted house attraction would probably have been a little more enjoyable if he hadn’t taken it upon himself to stand between Muta and Toto in their group lineup. If anything, it had forced the two to shout louder at each other. 

“And I’m telling yer we’re going the wrong way!” Muta snapped. 

“It’s a haunted house. There is no wrong way,” Toto retorted. 

“If we keep going this way, we’ll jus’ end up at the beginning.”

“Do you have fluff for brains? Obviously the entrance is that way.”

“Children, children,” Persephone chided from the front. “Right now the scariest thing is how loud you two can bicker. Shut up and let the ghosts do their job.”

Louise tilted her head back to shoot them a glare. “Also we’re leading and we’re going this way.” 

Baron decided against mentioning that he had already seen one designated scarer, but they’d raised an eyebrow at the raised voices and had evidently agreed with Persephone’s assessment. 

They turned a corner and the corridor dropped into deeper darkness. Their pace slowed, senses heightening in the absence of sight. Suddenly he was aware of his hands curled around Muta and Toto’s, the shallow breaths of his companions, the shuffle of feet, the tap on his shoulder–

He froze. Muta walked into him. Toto was pulled to a halt. 

“What’s the holdup?” Muta hissed. 

“Something tapped my shoulder,” Baron whispered. 

The lights flickered into momentary blaze, but all he could see were his friends and the crossroads in the house ahead. His sister gave a tug and issued them slowly along. 

“At least it was polite ghost,” Toto offered. “It could be worse; it could have actually tried to scare us–”

The lights flickered again and everything happened at once. A shape leapt from the darkness, a blur of movement, the face of death, the roar of something animalistic and feral, and Baron lost both hands of his companions. In the passing light, he saw the others scatter down the split corridors like something out of a Scooby Doo skit and he grabbed Muta’s hand and hauled the tailend of their team after the vanishing shadow of Toto. 

He slammed into a dead end. Okay, maybe it hadn’t been Toto. He leant against the wall, still holding Muta’s hand on instinct, breathing hard and feeling a little foolish, when he realised a few discrepancies about the hand he held. 

For starters, it was significantly smaller, palm fitting comfortable in his instead of dwarfing it, the fingers slimmer and less comparable to sausages than usual. 

It was also wearing a skeleton glove. 

He looked at the hand. And then slowly up to its owner. A skull stared back. It grinned, because skulls are always grinning, but he was fairly certain, even in the dim light, that he could see the corner of the scarer’s real mouth twist into a smile. There was the shadow of a dimple along their left cheek. 

It occurred to him that if he could see the dimple of their smile, he was probably too close for comfort. He tried to step back and immediately hit his head on a low beam. “Uh,” he managed eloquently. “Hello.”

“Hello,” the skeleton replied, the voice higher than expected and now he could definitely hear the smile. “Not to be the bearer of bad news,” she said, “but I’m ninety percent sure you grabbed the wrong person.” 

x

Haru felt a little bit bad for her overreaction. 

Not a lot. But a little. 

She had been planning to only tap a few shoulders, cough a few times, maybe lurk in the light - but at the dismissive ‘actually trying to scare us’ comment, she’d - without any real conscious thought - decided to up it a notch. Or several. She hadn’t imagined it would go down so well. 

Or that, in the confusion, one of the guests would grab her hand instead of their friend’s. She stared at him in the confines of the dead end, feeling rather confidence with the mask of her face paint. 

“Not to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m ninety percent sure you grabbed the wrong person.”

He grinned nervously. “Only ninety? What about the other ten?”

“I don’t know. You might have a thing for cute skeletons.”

“I might, but I don’t.” 

A beat passed. They were still standing intimately close. 

“So,” he said, “what do we do now? Is there a precept for this sort of thing?”

“Well first,” she answered, “you let go of my hand.”

“Ah.” He released his hold, running his freed hand sheepishly through his hair. “Sorry. I… don’t suppose you could get me back to my group, could you?”

“Do ghosts go boo?” She cringed almost immediately after saying that. “Sorry, I’ve been here too long. Yeah, uh, please hold.” She stepped back, hitching a walkie talkie from the depths of her costume. “Machida? Machida, you there?” She held it away from her ear as a cacophony of laughter crackled through the speaker. “Machida, stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry,” her coworker replied. “I’m so sorry, but you should have seen your faces!”

“Trust that to have been caught on camera,” she muttered. Louder, she added, “Machida, I’m looking for this guy’s group. Can you tell me where they are?”

“Sure, give me a moment.” There was the clack of keys as he cycled through the cameras. “Two guys, two ladies, the guys have been bickering for the past ten minutes?”

“That’s them,” Baron said with a sigh.

“Got them. Okay, they’re in Room F, the zombie cage.”

“Fantastic. Have Hiromi keep them occupied, I’ll drop him off there.” She flicked the speaker back into her pocket and turned to her accidental companion. “We could go the long way, but I have a shortcut. How do you feel about tight spaces?”

“Depends on the context.”

“In a totally non-murdery-way.”

“Oh. I’m good then.”

“Great.” She grabbed his hand before she could think twice, and pulled the hidden staff door open. “Follow me.”

x

Sickly green safety lights lay low along the staff back corridors, bathing the narrow walkways in a glow that made Baron think of preserved museum specimens. The scarer wove her way though with practised ease, as if she wasn’t surrounded by a Frankenstein-background reject, hand still curled surely around his. 

“You can’t scare easily if you work here,” he said, searching for something to break the silence and detract from the creepy environment. 

She gave a snort. “I’m not actually a huge fan of horror movies. I didn’t sleep for a week after watching The Signalman.”

He watched her outline silhouetted by the safety strips. Like that, it was easier to see the curve of her face and bypass the skeleton decal. “They why do this?” he asked. 

She shrugged. “It pays. It’s different. And my friend kind of talked me into this.” She glanced back. He focused on her eyes and not the skull design. He wondered what she looked like without it. “How about you? Are you a fan?”

He chuckled. “It’s not my preferred genre. My sister dragged us all along, but I’m fairly certain she just wanted an excuse to hold her girlfriend.”

The scarer laughed. “Does she need an excuse?”

“No, but she’s an opportunist. She’ll take any opening.”

“And so she dragged the rest of you along.”

“She has a penchant for that.”

“Apparently it’s a family trait,” she said, and Baron reddened at the reminder of what had got him into this mess to begin with. 

“Miss, I am sorry for–”

She waved it away. “Honestly, no worries. It’s the funniest thing to happen to me all day. And it’s Miss Skeleton to you. Ah, here we are.” She clicked to a halt by what appeared to be another section of wall until she slid it back to reveal a haunted house room beyond. “Your group should be just round that corner.”

His feet didn’t move. They should have, but they didn’t. “Miss Skeleton,” he said with a small smile at the amendment, “regardless of your good humour, I still feel somewhat responsible for this situation.” He considered. “Ninety percent responsible.”

He saw the grin now for sure, even hidden beneath the layer of makeup. “And the other ten?”

“Well,” he said, “you are the one still holding my hand this time.”

She released him with a sheepish aura. “Just making sure you get back safely. Didn’t want you accidentally befriending another monster while you’re here.”

The open door waited for him, but he still didn’t move. “May I know the name of the monster I’ve already befriended?”

“Was Miss Skeleton not good enough for you?” she teased, and she gave him a gentle push out into the room. But before the door slid shut, she hesitated. “But my friends call me Haru.”

“Humbert,” he replied. “But my friends call me Baron.”

She grinned. “I’ll see you around, Baron.”

[kbstories]

Here’s the second part of the gift exchange, this time for wonderful @zieglider. They wished for birthday fluff with Jack!

Bound To Be Made

Tags: Charthur, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Birthday Fluff, Arthur and Charles Being Good Uncles, Soft AF

Inspired by this beautiful fanart by @themightynyunyi 💮

>>Read on AO3!

☕ Commission me on ko-fi!

Jack starts, “Uncle Arthur...”, and whatever will follow those two words, Arthur knows he won't be able to resist that hesitant-yet-hopeful tone of his. He glances down from the map he's studying to wide, almost-pleading brown eyes.

John's eyes, and God knows Arthur couldn't ever say no to those, either.

“What is it, Jack, hm? You doin' okay?”

The boy's reply of “Yeah, I'm okay” is a little too quick, a little too quiet to be genuine. The twist to Arthur's heart is familiar by now; these days, he barely has time to even dwell on the fact they're dragging a child along on this hellish ride, much less on a possible solution for it.

And yeah, Shady Belle is a step up from camping out in the wild. With the sunken bones of its previous occupiers and the hissing of alligators just a few yards away, it doesn't exactly make for a child-friendly environment by any definition of the word.

Pushing aside his musings for later, Arthur takes his hat and kneels, lips pulling into an automatic smile as Jack visibly perks up. A moment later and the kid laughs, reaching for the brim of Arthur's hat that threatens to slide down and over his face.

The worn and hole-ridden leather looks all the more rough against his short, unscarred fingers. Arthur tugs the hat into place.

“'fraid you'll have to grow into it some more, heh.”

Jack doesn't seem to mind one bit. “Can I keep it, Uncle Arthur, can I?” His excitement dims immediately after voicing his request – gaze dropping, he shuffles his feet. “Maybe until Dad comes back?”

Arthur fights to keep his expression open and friendly. Oh, Jack. “Wouldn't dream of takin' it away. Ya know what? I was 'bout to do some rounds, check the perimeter and such. Wanna tag along, partner?”

If Jack's eyes were wide before, they are positively huge now. He nods eagerly, “Okay”, and adds “partner” after a beat, trying out the word in Arthur's drawl.

Arthur chuckles and flicks the hat, drawing a protective “Hey!” from Jack.

*

It is perhaps no coincidence that they come by Abigail first. Her worried look turns to relief when she catches sight of them, and then to dutiful delight when Jack shows off his new hat proudly.

“Well, ain't you a proper cowboy now”, she says with some fondness, nodding at Arthur and mouthing a thank you. Arthur mimics a tip of his hat, the gesture feeling significantly less smooth without it.

“What are you boys up to, then?”

Arthur catches the subtle warning in her glance and shrugs, “Just takin' a lil stroll around camp with my new assistant here”, and returns Jack's grin with a wink. Abigail looks between them and sighs despite the smile on her lips, plain as day.

“Just be back before dark, 'kay?”

Jack beams. “Okay, Momma! See ya!”

Arthur huffs, “Aaand he's gone”, watching the boy run off towards the horses. “Don't ya worry, Abigail. I'll take good care'a him.”

The happy facade crumbles a little. Abigail's smile is tired, then, even if she reaches out to pat Arthur's arm. “Oh I know, Arthur, you always do. 's just–” A glance behind, beyond the flaps of a too-empty tent. “Well, John ain't back from that job yet, and Jack's been takin' it kinda hard. Don't know what Dutch is thinkin', workin' the boy's father today of all days...”

And again, it takes considerable effort to keep a grimace off his face. Shit. Arthur knew when he wrote down the date in his journal earlier that he was forgetting something – last year around this time, with John gone and Abigail struggling, he'd taken Jack on a ride out with Boudicea, both to give his mother a break and get the boy's mind off things.

Of course back then it'd been easier to wander about and enjoy nature. Now, they couldn't even take a gander out of camp without the law scenting the air like the bloodhounds they are.

But today shouldn't be about that: Jack deserves a day off from all this stress they've been putting him under lately, and maybe this time, the wait for his father will be worth it. Arthur's willing to believe in some miracles.

Taking Abigail's hand, he squeezes just long enough to stop her from worrying a hole right through her bottom lip. Abigail blinks at him, exhales, her shoulders losing some of their tension.

There's a whole 'nother conversation swirling in her eyes; Arthur nods, later, 'kay?, and she rolls her eyes and shoos him away, calling “Have fun now!” after him.

Jack is long gone by the time Arthur's made his way over to the horses – only Kieran is there, tending to one of their draft horses with the usual care and dedication, and he merely glimpses at Arthur's searching look before pointing further into camp. Arthur mutters a “Thanks, Duffy” that makes the other give him a grateful smile and yeah, maybe it's finally time Arthur stopped calling him O'Driscroll once and for all.

A sweet melody leads him to Javier, whose fingers don't pause in their dance over trembling guitar strings even when his lips pull into a knowing smile and he nods towards Pearson's wagon. There, he finds Hosea, buried up to his nose in the pages of The Shrew in the Fog but Arthur has barely breathed a word before he jabs his thumb over his shoulder with a good-natured, “keep up, Arthur, will ya?”

It's with some relief that he finally, finally makes out the familiar curve of his hat on an equally familiar mop of tousled brown hair; it swiftly turns to surprise at the sight of Charles right next to Jack, muscular arms crossed and eyebrows drawn together as he searches the horizon for–

“Ah, there you are”, Charles says in lieu of a greeting, voice vaguely amused at how out of breath Arthur is. “Your hat grew legs and ran off without you. Figured you wouldn't be far behind.”

“I could kiss ya right now”, Arthur replies with a hand on Charles's shoulder, wiping the sweat off his brow with the other. “Hey, Jack. Got started without me, huh?”

Happy as a clam, Jack waves from where he's sitting on the trunk of a tree, “Hey, Uncle Arthur!”, legs bouncing against the withered wood. There's a bunch of flowers on his lap, a colorful array of wildflowers by the looks of it.

“You've been busy. Can I see?”

The makeshift bouquet is held out to him – Arthur sits on his haunches to take a closer look, making out daisies and dandelions and popcorn flowers and even roses. He lets out an impressed whistle, “Quite a collection you got there”, and Jack beams under the praise.

“I wanted only the pretty ones. Uncle Charles helped me pick!”

“That so?”, Arthur asks quietly, catching Charles's startled blink... because of the nickname? The thought makes him smile, his chest warming with emotion. Kids aren't exactly Charles's strong suit – due to inexperience, not lack of talent, Arthur is sure – but it's clear he tries, for Jack.

“Did you tell Uncle Charles it's your special day today?”

That seems to jolt Charles out of it – he blinks at Arthur, then at Jack, hesitantly joining Arthur's side in their spontaneous little circle. “Happy birthday, Jack”, he says simply, tone a little less severe than usual, lips quirked in a small smile.

Despite the quick reply of “Thanks, Uncle Charles”, Jack's grin dims a little. Charles throws Arthur one of his looks that seems unaffected but is downright alarmed by his standards, and there's no time to explain the whole sordid tale with glances and gestures alone.

Arthur clears his throat to dispel the awkward silence looming above them. “So”, he prompts, giving the flowers back to Jack. “What do ya wanna make with 'em? Another necklace, or maybe one of them, uh... crown-like things?”

Here's the thing about Jack: somewhere along the way, he learned not to say the things he means, and to weigh his options carefully before expressing what he wants. Arthur can practically see the little gears in his head turning and there's one fleeting glance at Charles before the kid shrugs and mumbles, “I guess.”

Well, that won't do. “C'mon kid, ya know Charles an' I ain't the judgin' kind. And we can help. Owe ya a present anyways, ain't that right Charles?”

“Uh-huh”, Charles agrees without missing a beat and yeah, this is why Arthur loves the guy.

Considering the offer for a moment, Jack blinks up shyly through his lashes – a look that would give Cain a run for his money in the puppy eyes department any day. Finally he straightens his back and says with newly-found resolve: “Uncle Charles.”

Charles goes stiff as a board beside Arthur. “...Yes?”

“Can I put them in your hair?”

He's pointing at Charles; Arthur follows his line of sight to the long braid draped over his right shoulder and winces a little. The man is very particular with who gets to touch his hair (the list of those allowed beginning and ending with Arthur) but again, there's no hesitation before he hums his agreement and reaches up to undo the gracefully interlaced, sleek strands.

It takes a few minutes to get settled during which Jack critically checks and sorts every flower into different piles, asking for Arthur's advice here and there, and Charles combs through his loosened hair with his hands. Their eyes meet and Arthur can't help a teasing smile, going soft, old man, and gets a fond eye-roll in return.

Gone is the shy little boy once they get to it: There's a sort of determined concentration to Jack's gaze as he watches Arthur demonstrate how a simple braid works, Charles's hair gliding soft and easy between his fingers, and the random flower he puts in one of the folds by way of example is instantly picked out again.

Arthur raises his hands in surrender, “Okay, young man, I'll stop messin' with your plan”, and is promptly ignored by Jack, who places a single pink-colored rose in a sea of black with all the care in the world.

Charles is back to his ever-patient self as he sits cross-legged and relaxed, and after a while, Arthur decides to take a page out of his book and just... let the kid do his thing. Soon enough he finds himself leaning shoulder to shoulder against Charles, journal on his knees and pencil in constant motion: Jack's focused stare under Arthur's hat, dark strands balanced on the tip of childlike fingers, the delicate curl of a rose's petals–

“What do you think, Uncle Arthur?”

Looking up, Arthur chuckles at the overly skeptical expression on Jack's so very young face. He pats Charles's knee, just a little longer, before scooting over to Jack's side of things and... Oh.

“Well I'll be–” Arthur blinks, keeping his mouth from gaping with some effort. “Jack, this is really somethin'.”

There's an unexpected level of taste to the placement of the flowers, a gentle mixture of white and pink that contrasts quite nicely with the black of Charles's hair and the rough texture of his blue shirt. The man in question turns his head to glance curiously over his shoulder.

“How's it look?”

Beautiful, Arthur wants to say but he bites it back in time. “Wait, I'll show ya... You okay with me sketchin' this, Jack?”

“Sure!” Jack's voice is full of pride. Then, more confident than before, “Can I watch?”

Oh, he can feel Charles's attention snap to that question instantly, even if he doesn't move a muscle. Usually, it makes Arthur too self-conscious to have someone look over his shoulder while he draws but, well, it's Jack's birthday and there's no way in hell he'll ruin that happy look on his face.

“Okay then. Let's see...”

*

The sun is crawling towards the horizon when Arthur remembers his promise to Abigail and, with Jack sitting on his shoulders like a king on his royal steed, all three of them stroll back to camp just in time to hear the thundering of hooves in the distance.

“Sounds like Old Boy”, Charles says with something akin to satisfaction in his voice, and Arthur nods, smiling up at Jack.

“Look who's here, huh? C'mon, say hi to your dad.”

The moment he sets him down, Jack starts running towards his parents' tent – however, after a few steps he turns around and, before Arthur can ask what's wrong, Jack is hugging him tightly around the waist, “Thanks, Uncle Arthur”, and again, “Thanks, Uncle Charles”, as he does the same with Charles too.

Then, very reluctantly, he takes Arthur's hat and holds it out to him, comically large in his hands.

Even knowing the boy as long as he does, Arthur feels his heart turn to goo until it threatens to drip between his ribs. “Keep it for now, kid”, he mumbles, ruffling Jack's hair. “Just give it back tomorrow, hm?”

Jack nods happily and dashes away.

Arthur watches him go for a while before glancing at Charles, who looks miles away in his head. Carefully, he pushes a stray flick of hair behind Charles's ear, his fingers brushing the flowers still tangled in his braid.

“Want me to get these out for ya?”

Leaning into his palm, Charles's eyes are back in the present and locking with Arthur's.

“Mh, nah. I kinda like 'em.”

>>Read on AO3!

[business-owners-guide]

5 Ways To Maximise Your Personal Energy Supply

5 Ways To Maximise Your Personal Energy Supply

Different governments, officials, environmental agencies exhort us to conserve the energy we use in order to save the environment and sustain our continued existence on the planet.

On a personal level I think that we also need to know how to conserve, focus and maximise our own personal supply of energy. We unconsciously dissipate and waste our energy on people, situations, thoughts, attitudes and events which do not serve us well. This leaves less space and energy for creating and attracting the kind of abundance that we want in our lives.

Interestingly enough I've also found that as I conserve, focus and thereby maximise my energy, I tend to use less energy on craving and acquiring "stuff", but more energy focusing on what is truly important to me, thereby helping the environment.

So here are 5 Ways to Maximise Your Personal Energy Supply.

1. Release Resistance

Releasing resistance will affect a profound change in your level of energy and how you view the world. Resistance often feels as though we are going against ourselves in order to satisfy some internal authority or a myriad of "should s" "ought" and "have tos". It takes a tremendous amount of energy to be resistant.

Related feelings and behaviour include: procrastination, using willpower and discipline to effect change (otherwise known as "I Have To Struggle To Achieve What I Want"!), stubborness, inflexibility, wanting to be right rather than happy (a very popular one:), holding onto self limiting beliefs way past their sell by date.

Releasing resistance can be as easy as just making a decision to let go of whatever you are holding onto. Energy therapy also helps release resistance at a very deep level.

2. Reduce time watching TV

Watching TV unconsciously is very exhausting. Haven't you noticed that when you watch TV continuously and do little else, you become extremely tired? That's because you are merely a passive recipient of information that you're not fully engaged with. On an energetic level, taking in all of those rays from the TV (similar to a computer) is overstimulating on a physiological level. Of course while you are watch TV, it means that you're not doing something more productive.

Am I saying that you stop watching TV altogether? No, but to be more selective and watch only those programs that you are engaged with. I'd also say that stop watching the TV news - all of that manufactured fear really affects you on a cellular level. I find that my mindset, moods and overall energy improve significantly when I watch less TV.

3. Consciously create vacuums

Ever heard of the saying: "Nature abhors a vacuum". If you clean out an area of your life, you are giving the Universe a message to bring in something to replace it. This is otherwise known as energetic and/or physical clutter clearing. Start with either. Most people find it easier to start with clearing out the physical which has an effect on their energies. You are consciously creating the space for change to occur and inviting what you want into your life. This is much much easier than efforting to make things happen.

4. Avoid/deal with Energy Vampires

One of the quickest ways to get an energy boost is to disassociate yourself from those with those whose energy drains you. It is very effective. Unfortunately, it also becomes a little more difficult if they are your partner, member of your family, work colleagues or boss. It helps to develop a stronger set of boundaries and energetic protection, so that they are less likely to affect you in this way.

5. Create quiet time for yourself every day.

Not to do anything (unless it relaxes you), but just to clear and refresh your mind. We are human beings, not doings. There are times when our crowded schedule and minds don't allow space and time for the creative to be welcomed in. Einstein liked to go sailing in the afternoons after working in the morning. Okay, most of us don't have this opportunity, but you get the point.

If you only do one of the above, then your life will undergo a profound change.

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[strangespacedebris]

magickal self-care: taking control of your sacred space

Living with mental illness can be rough in a lot of different ways. It can do a number on your energy levels so that even the most basic tasks feel like pushing a boulder up a hill. One of many areas of life where this can show itself is in the condition of our living spaces. For me anyways, the more severe my symptoms are, it's safe to say the shittier my room looks. Every surface and drawer cluttered with junk, laundry on the floor, the bed, draped over everything (is it clean or dirty? who knows, smell test). Dirty cups and dishes, the works. Just the sight of it would make me feel worse, it's all so much, where would I even start? What was the point, anyway? It'd just get dirty again.

For me, keeping my space clean became a lot easier when I tied it to my spirituality. That's not to say it never gets a little out of sorts, or that I don't slack off sometimes during rougher periods, but it's now a thing I'm conscious of and so it rarely, if ever, gets as bad as it used to. I’m certainly not suggesting that turning self-care into a spiritual experience is a perfect cure for all your problems, or even that it’s for everyone. But it’s been a gamechanger for me, and if you’re struggling, looking for any little scrap of help, and your beliefs lean a similar way, maybe you’ll find this as helpful as I have.

Do I sound like a mom yet? Still need convincing? Here's some witchy reasons to take care of your space!

You are a result and extension of nature / the universe. Loving and showing respect for yourself is loving and showing respect to that higher power. You have value even when it’s hard to remember that, and you deserve to live in a clean environment. Show the same care to your room that you would your altar and tools, your plants, your pet's space, or anything else you consider precious and worthy of the effort.

Most of us know how important energy is to our work. What kind of energy does your room give off? Is it draining, exhausting to look at? How does it make you feel when you really see it? Clearing away those vibes with incense, crystals, and prayers alone ain't gonna cut the mustard if you've got clutter everywhere for that negative energy to latch on to, boo. Get that weight off you so you can charge your battery to the max.

Getting in the habit of maintaining the balance of your room builds discipline, which can bleed over into other areas of your life, including your witchcraft. There's a lot of things in life that aren't fun to do, but enrich our lives (and our magick!) when they're done. Discipline is a muscle, and it's possible to strengthen it even with the added challenge of mental illness. This is a great way to give it a workout.

The end result is you have a clear and positively charged space where you start and end your day, no matter how the rest of it goes. A place where you can feel grounded and centered just walking into it. Your sacred space, just for you.

Yeah, yeah, sounds great, but what if your room is beyond help, right? Where's the hacks and tips?

Don't worry, I gotchu.

First of all, again, I know how hard it is to even find the energy to clean when you're already mentally low. The good news is, your room is not beyond help, and you don't have to do it all at once. Unfuck Your Habitat was a big help for me, and can be modified to whatever level you're at. If you can only do it for 5 minutes at a time, if you can only put one thing away before needing a break, that's still a victory.

Open your window, if you have one. If it's too cold/hot out, at least pull back the curtains and let the sun lend you his energy for your cleaning endeavors.

Make this a ritual in and of itself. Light some cleansing incense or herbs, meditate or ground and center yourself, declaring your intention before and after you start, pray to your deities or higher power for help, whatever you gotta do to make this shit Official.

If you're like me, debris and laundry are the two main things making your room look worse than it really is. Do a quick sweep of your room and throw all the immediately obvious trash in a bag. That's all. Take a break.

Take all the dirty dishes to the sink. That's it. Take a break.

Put your laundry in either one pile of to the side somewhere, or one for clean and one for dirty if you can tell the difference. That's it. Take a break.

Looking a bit better already, right? Now pick a starting point. I like to start with my bed. Make that shit, with clean sheets if possible, since this is a magickal cleansing ritual, remember. If your altar is in your room, you might find it mentally easier to start with that, if you're already used to keeping that in better shape than the rest of your space. Maybe you want to start with the pile of laundry you just collected, since it’s there taking up half the floor. Just pick whatever seems to be nagging for your attention the most, as there’s a high chance this is your intuition showing the biggest drain on your mental energy or the path of least resistance to help get you rolling.

Whatever starting point you choose, bit by bit, work outwards from there, doing a little at a time as your energy levels allow. Remember to take breaks!

As you're putting stuff away, consider your items. Do you need it? When was the last time you used it? Is it sentimental? Does it bring you joy? If you don't have a good reason for keeping it, consider donating, gifting, or throwing it away. Purge all that chaotic and purposeless energy from your space.

It's okay if it takes you more than one day, or one week, or longer. This isn't a race. Just try to do a little more whenever you can, being mindful of what you've already cleaned, and eventually you'll get to whatever your standard of peak clean is.

Okay, you've slowly but surely chipped away at this mess and now it's clean, or at least significantly better than it was. Great job! I know for so many of us, it takes a lot to get to this point, so give yourself a bigass high five. What now? How do you maintain this?

Love any reason to do some spellwork? Cast a protective spell over your room! Magickally and officially declare this your safe space. As this is something deeply personal and unique to you, I encourage you to write your own, but you can also work with a spell written by someone else as a template if you're not sure how to write your own. Just decide what purpose you want your room to serve for you according to your needs and personalize it for that. Do you want it to be calming? A charging hub for your creativity? A space primed for your dream work? Work towards that.

Make this a weekly habit! Maybe you don't have to cast a circle and complete a whole-ass ritual every week (unless you want to) but dedicate a specific time to physically and spiritually cleansing your room. If once a week feels like too much, then every two weeks, once a month, whatever you can realistically commit to. If you're into magickal timing, I prefer to do this every Saturday to give that cleansing energy a boost, but you can choose a timing that aligns more with the vibe you want your room to inspire in you rather than the act of cleaning itself.

Change how you think about your room! Like we should show love and care to our physical bodies as containers for our spirit selves, we can also show love and care to our rooms as a container for our physical selves. Like Russian nesting dolls! Because my altar is in my bedroom, I like to think of my room as the sort of temple where my altar resides, which really helps me to internalize the idea of keeping it in shape for the sake of my spiritual practice and wellbeing.

Most importantly remember, building new habits is hard, even without mental illness. It’s okay if your cleaning is half-assed sometimes (or all the time). It’s okay if you skip a week, or two, or three. Don’t beat yourself up for being human, and especially don’t beat yourself up for having an illness that makes things harder than they have any right to be. Perfection isn’t the goal here. Even the smallest bit of effort, when you can afford to give it, is more than none.

Just do what you can, and (at least in my personal experience) it will get easier with time to do a little more. A year ago, I could only manage five minutes of very sluggish work and then I was a couch monster for the rest of the day. Now I can blaze through my whole room in 10 minutes or less when I do it consistently, and even wash the dishes afterwards, holy shit! You might even catch yourself becoming more conscious even between your designated cleaning times by putting your laundry in the hamper instead of tossing it on the floor, or taking the 5 seconds that was easily Too Much before to carry that empty cup to the kitchen. And sometimes, you still won’t, and that’s okay too.

Give yourself the love, patience, and forgiveness to grow stronger with time. Celebrate even your smallest victories, and trust in your journey. You got this!