#but yeah nobody in those “courses” thinks of giving proper examples of what the potential employer wants to see

[fwoosheye]

As long as they cannot protect artists/writers from having their labour stolen (especially smaller creators who cannot afford lawyers), and ensure there are rules in place to ensure it's used ethically (preventing creation of revenge porn, preventing big corps from using it so they don't have to pay professionals eventhough that totally can, etc) I will not even consider working alongside ai

"artists should learn to work alongside ai, not fight against it!!" absolutely not. tosses you in the labyrinth of agony.

[skadventuretime]

Shadow Crowns

Welcome to Chibi!Reverb 2020! This is my piece with the incredibly skilled @drowsystar, who not only came up with this bomb-ass idea but drew incredible things for it, too. I only wish I could have written you the proper 70k fic this idea deserves.

Rating: T

Warnings: Cursing

Read: AO3

Art: Link

“Another glorious day for his majesty the shut in.” Star yanks the curtains just a bit so that a sliver of late afternoon sunlight shines directly onto Kid’s closed eyes.

The bedroom is cavernous. Stone walls and floors hold a damp chill in the air that no number of thick carpets or tapestries can really dispel, and wrought iron bookshelves line all of the room’s circular walls. They’re filled to the brim with well-cared for leather tomes of all shapes and sizes, but mostly their slightly acidic scent makes Star want to sneeze.

“Ah yes, my faithful knight, ever at my beck and call,” comes the prince’s muffled voice.

The curtains snap close and return the room to its former pitch darkness. Star feels the slippery tendrils of the prince’s shadow magic slide over his wrists, his back, his throat, a not-so-subtle reminder that his life could just as easily be snuffed out.

It was kind of hot, not gonna lie. Too bad business and pleasure don’t mix. 

“I will remind you not to disturb my slumber again,” the prince says. Star assumes he rolls over because that’s the sort of arch thing he’d say as a way to end the conversation, but he hears the muted sounds of feet hitting carpet instead. There are still no candles lit nor magelight summoned, but that’s because the crown prince is a master of shadow magic and likes to flaunt his perfect dark vision whenever he gets the chance.

“You shouldn’t be slumbering so late in the day anyway, your elevatedness.” Star inches back towards the curtains because if the prince thinks he gives up that easily, he’s got another thing coming. The sliver of daylight at the edge of the thick fabric cuts off abruptly, like the shadows were thick and solid. Whatever; his princeliness is probably just standing there to be stubborn. A little light will clear things up—

Sunlight stabs him in the eyes as the blinds fly back open. “How unusually perceptive of you,” says the prince, now across the room on an overstuffed low couch, a book cocked at an obnoxiously relaxed angle in one hand. He’s fully dressed and there’s not a trace of his night clothes; maybe that’s what all the dark was for. “What brings you here at this unusual hour? Isn’t it time for you to pester the palace guard about sparring matches again?”

Star waves his hand. “I got bored when nobody could disarm me. Hey, let’s go to the market today — there are supposed to be fireworks in the plaza after sunset.”

The prince looks up from his book with an eyebrow already bent at precisely ‘are you an idiot’ degrees. “The main plaza? In the center of the city?”

“Yup.”

“The one with traders from all over the world?”

“That’s the one.” 

“With huge crowds and unlimited rooftops for an assassin to spy from?”

“For the crown prince, you sure are pretty stupid about your own kingdom, huh?”

The book closes with a crisp smack. “For a bodyguard, you sure are an idiot. Do you really think you could keep me safe from the literal hundreds of possible angles a potential assailant could reach us from? I know father hired you on your merits as a swordsman, but he clearly didn’t give your head close enough scrutiny.”

“Come onnnn, it’ll be fine. You haven’t left this room since I was assigned to you three months ago. You need a little sun, get some fresh air.”

The prince exhales and recrosses his legs, a tell Star has learned means his patience is running thin, but in all honesty he doesn’t seem to have much to start with. “Ah yes, the shadow mage needs sunlight. Truly your minutes of education trump the years I’ve spent honing my craft.” To punctuate his words, the room fluctuates between grey scale and daylight, but each flash of the former has contorted figures that get closer in Star’s peripheral vision. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a prodigy or whatever,” Star says, blinking away the grotesque afterimages. “But seriously, you really stay in here all day?”

“It’s for my safety,” the prince replies, his voice heavy with something Star can’t quite place. “I’ve told you this before. It’s why you’re here.”

Star walks over to the window and looks down at the city below. Neat stone buildings unfold like nesting dolls from the castle’s fortified walls, on lower ground than the castle proper. Another wall encircles the central part of the city on even lower ground, and in the distance straw covered roofs make up the final, outer ring. It’s on that level that the festival is taking place this evening, far from the imposing iron and tomb-like stone of the castle. 

It’s also where, if everything goes to plan, the prince will die. 

“Exactly, it’s why I’m here. You’ve been safe so far, no one’s tried to kill you at all since I’ve been around!” 

“I never leave this wing of the castle.”

“Which is why you need this. Come on, they’re going to have all kinds of great food and entertainment and—“ Star lowers his voice, “I heard that the work of that brainiac scholar you’re always crying about will be sold there.” 

The prince stands up abruptly. “Eibon’s work will be there?”

“Yeah, that guy. Heard it from some of the organizers themselves at the pub last night.”

He hadn’t, really. Star just knows that the prince will do anything to get his hands on work by the contemporary scholar Eibon, something to do with shadow and light magic protection. It’s all above his attention span and pay grade. 

Pain seizes his chest and a snarled HURRY UP BRAT rings in his ears for a split second. Though he knows it’s invisible, Star can feel the rune etched into his soul. The only reason he’s free at all, alive even, is because his loving father saw fit to give him one last chance to redeem himself in his family’s eyes. But like any dog, Star has to be kept on a leash, and over the last few weeks these intermittent pain reminders have gotten more common. Papa dear must be getting impatient despite the regular correspondence. 

Star tunes back into the prince giving him a critical look. “Sorry, indigestion. You know me and those firecracker skewers.”

The prince curls his lip. “Naturally. All right, if there’s a chance to procure more of Eibon’s writings, then there’s nothing else to be said. Meet me here in one hour with everything you need to be stealthy but effective in a fight. I’ll weave a shadow disguise of course, but the ones I’m worried about will be able to see through it. Am I clear?”

“As a mountain spring,” Star says. He leaves before the prince can add any other fussy demands to the list and walks along the stark stone hallway towards his chambers on the other side of the prince’s. 

Well, he finally did it. It’s taken months to get to this point, but tonight’s his first real shot at completing the mission and being freed from his father’s grip. It took him weeks of painstaking deception to lie his way into the right circles to get a pulse of the city’s underground, but it was worth it to become part of the whisper network of assassins. There will be a group of shadow mage trained assassins at and around the market tonight, and he already has an ironclad alibi lined up. 

It should be a happy occasion, but instead he feels antsy, like he didn’t do enough pushups before his morning run. Whatever, it’s probably excitement, even though excitement doesn’t usually leave him with a sense of dread. 

Star splashes some water on his face from the shallow bowl next to the bath for just that use, and spends the next hour sharpening and cleaning his sword. And daggers. And throwing stars. Sharp edges are a man’s best friend, after all. 

The sun is just dipping below the horizon when the two of them set out. Because the prince is technically not allowed to leave the castle, Star has to play lookout while the prince weaves a very complicated piece of shadow magic that allows them to pass the various entry guards without detection. 

The magic feels cool and slippery on him, like he’s veiled in silk. It’s strangely intimate, too, with echoes of the prince’s soul woven through. Magic is like a sixth sense, an extra way of knowing, and Star quite frankly doesn’t want to know anything else about the man whose assassination he’s recently planned. That his magic tastes like packed snow, for example, or makes Star’s own shadow magic crackle at his fingertips eager to be unleashed.

“Stop thinking so much, it’s unbecoming,” the prince whispers from a pace behind Star. Star makes a rude gesture over his shoulder and walks a little faster; whatever else this magic does, it’s a little too close for comfort.

They have passed the most heavily staffed guard towers and just slipped past the mid-tier gate into the lower circle. The crowds are heavier here and the buildings more tightly packed, leaving plenty of narrow alleys for them to slip into should they decide they’re ready to become visible again.

“Hey, do you know where you’re going?” whispers the prince. 

Something in his tone makes Star turn around. The prince’s eyes are wide and glittering with the reflected light from the many torches lining the street. He’s looking with such rapt attention that it’s almost like-- 

“Wait, you’ve been here before, right? Like before there was a bounty on your head?”

The prince blinks and it’s like a door closes. “No, of course not. I wasn’t allowed out of the castle proper. I was just making sure you knew because you have the attention span of a small rodent and I didn’t want us straying far from the event. Remember, we’re going in, getting some scrolls, and coming out.” 

“Yes, your supreme nitpickyness.” 

Star leads them down an alley a few blocks further in so the prince can undo his magic. They’re both dressed modestly in simple cotton cloaks so they don’t attract attention, and the prince has modified his features enough to look like a bad caricature of himself. Anyone without the ability to detect shadow magic will be none the wiser. 

Most of the crowd is gathered near a huge bonfire a few streets down at one of the openings to the market square, where scores of merchants and stalls are lined up. Star can hear faint music of at least three different varieties playing, and the smell of frying fat and savory spices hangs heavy in the air. A quick scan of the buildings around the square doesn’t reveal much, but his night vision is already ruined by the bonfire and a trained assassin wouldn’t be so easy to spot, anyway.

Not that it matters, he reminds himself. The whole point is for the prince to bite it.

“So where is the scholar with Eibon’s writings?” The prince has his cowl up despite the illusions he wove and looks distinctly out of place.

“Beats me, these sorts of things are never very organized. We’ll just have to find it!” 

The prince wrinkles his nose. “Fine. But let’s be efficient. We should start from the west and comb east, with the bonfire being the center point.”

“Ugh, do you ever relax? This is a festival, lighten up, go with the flow, have some fried food.”

“I have never once in my life ‘gone with the flow.’”

“And it shows.” 

The prince throws his hands up. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Lead on, I cannot wait to see what unnecessary trials we must endure and how much ground we recross with your barbaric method.” 

Star grins. “Now we’re talkin’!” 

He leads the prince past the bonfire and into the market proper. The music is louder here, and the merchants manning the closest stalls begin to call out to them about the superiority of their wares. 

“Now we begin looking for your fancy ink on paper.”

Star knows the exact writings aren’t here, of course, but it’s strangely fun to lead the prince around like this. He’s like a baby goat, all leg and headbutts, but also kinda cute.

“Come with me this way,” the prince says imperiously. A booth with a giant mallet and a man asking to see who is strong enough to ring the bell has caught Star’s eye though, so he says, “One sec, let me just do this real quick.” He tosses a coin to the man, rolls his shoulders, and grabs the mallet.

The bell makes a satisfying ding when the slider hits it. “That’s right, I’m amazing. Hey pri--er, hey Kid, did you see that?” Star looks around for the person he’s ostensibly body-guarding to no avail. “Hey, where are you?”

He heads back down the closest stall walkway and scans the crowd -- nothing again. He does the same for the other two closest walkways and feels something like panic burning in his chest. Did the assassins get him already? Is his job over? Why does he hate the thought of that?

“There you are, you oaf,” calls a familiar voice from behind him. Relief floods his system; the prince is safe.

“Where did you go?” Star says, rounding on him. “You’re supposed to stay by me for protection, remember?”

“You’re not doing a very good job if you can’t even keep track of your charge,” the prince replies archly. “Here.” He extends a skewer of steaming, dripping meat that smells faintly of chilies.

“Uh.” Star accepts it and looks from it to the prince and back again. “You went and got…?”

“Firecracker skewers. Didn’t you say you like them? Unlike you, I remember what people tell me.”

Oh. Oh no. The baby goat brought him meat on a stick. This wasn’t in the assassination manual. “Yeah, I uh, I do. Very tasty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the prince replies and holds up a skewer of his own. 

“Wait, that might be a bit--”

The prince removes the top chunk of meat with a neat bite. He chews for a moment, swallows, and then starts coughing. “Pain--water--why do you like this?”

Star dashes over to the nearest food stall and gets a huge pocket of fried dough. “Here, take a bite of this, it might help.”

The prince pulls Star’s hand closer and takes a bite without grabbing the dough for himself. “Why would you subject yourself to this?” he gasps after a few more bites of fried dough. “I mean, I suppose the after burn is somewhat pleasant, and the flavor is acceptable once you can taste again, but really, there are more elegant ways to season meat.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not up to your impeccable palette. Come on, we got scrolls to find.”

Star leads them around the western half of the market, laughing at the prince’s obvious fascination with it all. They try a few more food items and look at a few more booths before the hairs on the back of Star’s neck begin to stand up. He might not have done the kinds of hardcore training he was subjected to growing up recently, but his instincts are still on par. They’re definitely being tracked; looks like the fun is over.

“Hey, let’s look at the east side of the market,” Star says, his chest getting tighter. The east side has a few more quiet alleys the prince could be grabbed in. Better to get this over with quickly.

“Okay,” the prince says, and that simple word almost stops Star dead in his tracks. They’re having a civil conversation! The prince listened to him! The doubt in his gut twists his insides up.

They lightly browse a few stalls on the other side while Star becomes more and more conflicted. The more he thinks about it, the more he doesn’t want to kill the prince after all, consequences be damned. But what about his father? What about this thrice-damned soul window his father inflicted on him? If he can’t deal with that, he won’t be able to hide his treachery for very long anyway.

Any further deliberation is cut off by a cry of, “Scrolls! Scrolls! Get your scrolls here!”

The prince perks up and heads over immediately, making Star have to almost jog to keep up. The merchant is at the edge of the square, half wreathed in shadow, and -- oh shit, they’re walking right into an ambush aren’t they.

“You said you had some scrolls?” the prince says.

The merchant gives him an oily smile and says, “Yes, right this way, sir.” He gestures to a chest at the opening of an alley.

“I don’t think we should--” A hand comes around Star’s mouth and cuts him off. He reflexively bites down and slams his elbow back, freeing himself while his would-be captor grunts in pain. “Kid, look out!”

The prince jerks around just in time to see another man emerging from the alley behind him. With a flick of his wrist, he binds the man in coils of shadow and tries to jump away from the merchant, who has now revealed a wicked dagger.

“Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” he croons before lunging at the prince.

Another coil of shadow stops the attack and it looks like the prince is in the process of doing something more complicated when his entire body goes rigid and the merchant snaps free.

“Another shadow mage,” gasps the prince. Star knows he could leave right now, escape himself and leave the prince to be murdered, but his heart isn’t in it anymore. It was the damn meat, he tells himself.

“I’m on it,” Star says, reaching in and down into his own shadow magic. Dark flames wreathe his blade from hilt to tip, blowing in a wind not from this plane. He focuses and sees the thin threads holding the prince in place. But before he can act on it, a third mage appears and begins preparing something nasty.

“Do something,” wheezes the prince, and if that isn’t a challenge, Star doesn’t know what is. He dives into a roll to dodge a thrown dagger and cut the first thread imprisoning the prince. This puts him in range to kick the merchant in the chest and send him flying.

“Chill out princess, I got this,” Star says with the cockiest grin he can muster. He dials up the intensity of his shadow flames and sends them in an arc to push back the two mages in the alley, and on the end of that stroke cuts the remaining threads binding the prince. “You good now, or do you still need me to do literally everything for you?”

There’s that glare that can boil ice. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.” The prince’s eyes seem to get blacker and the alleyway flickers in and out of grey scale. 

“No way, you’re not getting all the glory for this one.” Star leaps back in to punch one of the mages across the chin before the prince’s terror magic makes the others run screaming away from them.

“Well, that could have gone better,” the prince says. He sounds shaken, even though he doesn’t look like he has any big injuries.

“Yeah, I think it’s time we got back to the castle. Had enough fun for a week or so.”

“Remind me never to listen to your idea of fun ever again.”

“You say that now, your royal meat-on-a-stick-ness.”

The prince rolls his eyes and begins to reweave the invisibility illusion. “Shut up and lead us home.” 

“See now you’re talking sense, because I won’t lead us into an obvious trap.”

As they bicker on the way back to the castle, mostly in whispers and unconscious shadow magic pulses, Star’s worries about what will happen to him fade. He’s never been one for thinking too far into the future; for now, he’s got a grumpy prince and a belly full of meat, and there will be plenty of time for the rest. Later. Much, much later.

[inanawesomewave]

FIRST THING I NOTICE IN A POTENTIAL PARTNER? THE AUDACITY.

Hi, me again, and today I’m here to talk to you about dismissive/avoidant attachment style. Get comfortable and steel yourself, because if you have this attachment style, I’m about to make you feel very seen, and this is only because I had to endure this recently when I was bored and idly doing online quizzes about my own brain because I might not be able to emote healthily, but I sure as heck can over-intellectualise the feelings I should be having whilst I’m distracting myself by doing online quizzes instead. 

Attachment Theory was formulated and popularised in 1958 by psychoanalyst John Bowby, and supposes that the first attachments we make (with whoever our caregivers may be) will form the blueprint of the attachments we do or don’t form over the course of our adult lives. My therapist said to me that these attachments begin to be cemented into us when we are pre-verbal, and I thought - well that can’t be right, but sure enough before we can speak we are of course seeking attention and affection from our caregivers with smiling, crying, babbling, cooing, clinging, following etc, and how those behaviours have been responded to will tell us how we should or shouldn’t attempt to attach to others. It’s worth reading up on, if you’re interested in that kind of thing, and I recommend the Strange Situation Experiment in which attachment theory was explored in infants depending on how they responded to being with a parent, without a parent, with a stranger, and alone. 

So when I was doing all these online quizzes, I learned a bunch about myself. Did you know I have lots of dark triad traits? That I might be a narcissist? That I am possibly a sociopath? I know, news to me too. I had to sit down. I also learned that if I were a tyrant I would be Col. Gaddafi, and that i have more masculine traits than feminine ones. I have an oral-aggressive personality type, and also: I have a dismissive/avoidant attachment style. And that’s what I want to talk about today, because if you’re reading this blog, you possibly either have it or you care about someone who does. 

Dismissive/avoidant types typically grew up without a secure base of safety at home. We had to meet our own emotional needs because it was more reliable and less painful than repeated rejection from our caregiver, and we have disconnected from our own needs for closeness as a means to avoid the shame of feeling dependent on anyone but ourselves. I relate to this hugely, and now I know what my attachment style is, I can pinpoint exactly where I have gone wrong in my close relationships, and why I find it hard even now to really get close to anyone. So, what are some things a dismissive/avoidant person might do? I’ve made a list of mine, and I’ll talk you through some examples. I hope this will help you understand yourself, or the sociopath in your life who seems to be extremely stubborn when it comes to guarding their own love in a miserly way. No judgement: I am that miser. 

I will undervalue the importance of anyone’s feelings but my own. I accept I have a complex emotional world, I just don’t find it very easy to access it, communicate it, or assume anyone else has it. Maybe this was because my mother was very cold and emotionally insincere, or maybe it’s because I was always told I was, but that’s the truth. Yes, it’s selfish, but it’s how I’ve always gone about things. Example: arguments in which I rant about my feelings being ignored or dismissed whilst, you guessed it, I refuse to address the emotions of the person who is currently being told how my emotions are being dismissed in quite a heavy-handed way. Not cool.

I have very little space in my emotional world, and I therefore expect perfection in that space. I live by a secret code of etiquettes and ethics that for some reason I have forgotten to tell anyone else about because I had thought for a long time that the way I thought was normal. I thought everyone had these standards that I have, but really they’ve been tricks and pitfalls that partners have fallen down. It’s never been intentional, I just think that things are done a proper way and a wrong way; acceptable or unacceptable. I didn’t realise this for a long time, but I am really good at enforcing what I believe is acceptable, in a wholly unacceptable way. This is why I nitpick and find faults in others, it’s a good way to keep someone at arm’s length. 

I say I don’t want commitment whilst silently fully committing to someone without ever letting them know. I have refused to move in with a partner until I have had nowhere else to live and it was the only option left. I had a fiancee who proposed to me four times before he got a yes. I wanted to say yes the first time but I didn’t. Why? I didn’t want him to get too close. It felt like an invasion. Traditionally, when I enter a relationship, I’m the asshole who says, “look, it is what it is, yeah?”. I’ll talk about my disdain of marriage and cohabiting, and then I’ll casually move in and tell you it’s purely logistical. I will be with you for years, maybe a lifetime, and I’ll act completely like this all happened because of chance and circumstance. I will even believe this myself. 

I don’t really want to share my feelings with you. I don’t know what they are, I don’t know how you’ll react, I don’t know how they’ll come out and I don’t know what you’ll do with them. It’s much easier and safer for me to keep it all in and then just blow up when you haven’t secretly guessed what they are. You had to guess because I couldn’t tell you, because I didn’t know. You think I’m disconnected from you? You should hear how disconnected I am from my own self. 

I will dwell on the past instead of focussing on the future.  The future hasn’t happened and I don’t know what it holds. The past is concrete; I have lived it and learned from it. Normally what I’ve learned (perhaps wrongly, because of our old friend confirmation bias) is that all my fears and suspicions are correct and nobody can be trusted. That’s solid, I can take that to the bank. I will very much live in the past where we were briefly unhappy instead of looking to a future where we could be endlessly in love because it feels unrealistic to me -- love feels unrealistic to me. 

I’m much better at sexual closeness than emotional closeness. The sex will come first, then the feelings, perhaps. You wanna bone down? Nice. Me too. Do you have any fantasies you never explored before? I bet I know what they are, and I bet I’m into it because there’s a reason I sought you out. I could sense it. I want to never get out of bed, I want to do all of it all the time. For some reason it is much easier for me to feel extremely close and connected to you whilst we are having sex than it is moments later when you are lying next to me wanting to cuddle. I have a healthy relationship to sex, let me be clear -- I’ve always felt perfectly fulfilled in casual set-ups, even one-night-stands. Early on in relationships we’ll do it all. Our relationship will survive for a very long time if the sexual connection is good, even if the emotional one is a shit-show. This is a closeness I feel safe with. Find another time to tell me you love me. You probably don’t even mean it, is what I’m thinking. By this point I’ve fooled myself that you’re in some kind of sex-trance, that I’ve merely fucked you into a relationship you didn’t want to be in. So I’ll tell you that you’re free to leave. I’m told this is hurtful, because if you’ve developed feelings for me, I never saw that coming. I promise. In fact, when I’ve had my “first times” with people I know I might end up loving, I’ve had to be some level of drunk. Not blind drunk, but enough to ease my nerves. I can’t be sober in that environment, I need Dutch courage. And, once the sex disappears on any level, I’ll begin to pull away completely because after that, I begin to believe we are merely friends, and if we are merely friends, then what’s even the point? 

I will sabotage a relationship when vulnerability is required of me. This one is quite standard and kind of explains itself. When I find I’m getting very close to someone, when talks need to be had, I make a lot of jokes and when the jokes run out or the person I’m having this intimacy with isn’t laughing, I’ll just dip out in any way I can, and it’s much easier for me to frame myself as the villain because then you’ll hate me and that’s a good job done -- if you hate me, you won’t want to get anywhere near me ever again. I’ll get drunk and say awful things, or I’ll stay out with my friends all night, or stop answering the phone. For this same reason, I don’t tend to love personal displays of affection because then I’m being vulnerable with you in front of everyone. Again, I don’t think any of this is warranted, and I’m not making excuses. I’m just explaining. 

I am prone to pining after a partner I have already discarded and have inexplicably begun to idealise. Okay, this is a very hard one to write but I’m going to just write it and I’m going to give an explanation from a personal experience I had that I regret and do feel remorseful about.  I used to date someone I fell in love with. He was the first person I’d ever really felt immediately attracted to, someone I could identify very quickly that I was in love with, and that hadn’t happened to me before. I had been in two very long, very serious relationships before him, with people I never felt especially close to. They were a fine example of what they describe as “parasitic lifestyle” in the DSM-V criteria for ASPD: it’s not that I didn’t care about them, but the benefits outweighed the costs - they gave me a place to live when I had nowhere to go and gave me the basic affection I craved. But they both felt like some kind of arrangement after not very long, and whilst I did initially care, I stopped caring, but didn’t leave. I had nowhere else to go so I played the part. It’s worth mentioning too that the first person turned out to be horribly abusive.  Then this new man crashed into my life and he was everything I didn’t know I wanted. Our connection was immediate and he had very real, very sincere love for me that he had no issues whatsoever communicating. He’d write me poetry and songs, he was happy to slip into a submissive role completely consensually as I took the dominant role. On paper and in life, it was perfect.  We broke up a few times and the first time was because... I can’t explain it. I was head over heels in love with him so one morning when we woke up together after a night of cuddling and talking and laughing, I asked him to leave and not come back. I feel pained about this on reflection, because I remember the look on his face. He left. He got drunk. He drunk-called me. His brother reached out to me. His friends started looking at me with contempt because I had hurt someone they really cared about just months after he told them how happily in love with someone he was with someone he felt was perfect for him, and after I had been making it known that I felt the same. I just told him to leave, and he did, and for whatever dumb reason, he came back. And we were happy again, for a time.  He ended up sleeping with someone else after about a year of me doing everything to push him as far away from me as possible on an entirely subconscious level, because I really thought at the time that we were vibing really well. I know the night he did it, and it was the night I told him to leave me the fuck alone and never speak to me again after an argument that we were both raging through (I’m not going to pretend he wasn’t also without his demons, it’s why we were attracted to each-other, after all), the argument was specifically to do with my tendency to push him away after all he’d done for me. And he was right, completely. He’d done a lot for me. And for some reason, I had a massive problem with that. I had become suspicious to the point of paranoia, accusing him of all sorts. I remember telling him how stifled and suffocated I felt, I wanted to know why he was moving so fast (and was he? Really? No, not at all). So, after a long weekend of yelling and crying and frustration and “is this the end?” talks, it reached a peak and I told him to just get the fuck out of my face and stop with all this pressure and bullshit. He went out. He got blind drunk. He fucked someone else. And that still somehow came as a surprise to me, after all, the sex was non-stop, so what could we possibly have had to really worry about? But he had a point when he said I was talking fucking nonsense with all this talk of being stifled. Because when I ended up moving in with him, he gave me my own room because he understood my need for solitude. We would spend most nights together but sometimes I’d need to slope off to my own space, he was seemingly fine about it. When he drove me places I would sit in the passenger seat sometimes on the phone, sometimes just listening to my music with my earphones in. He understood. He said he knew I was an anxious person. I’d sit there ignoring him and occasionally letting him know I was still there with a smile and he’d smile back. Sometimes when we went out walking to the shop or whatever, I felt I had to walk a little bit in front or behind. Not because I didn’t want to be close to him, but I was falling so hard for him that I needed to protect myself via isolation and any desperate grabs for independence I could find. We argued a lot. I started most of those arguments, and sometimes when he fought with me out of sheer frustration, I saw this as petulance and dismissed it completely. When he did cheat, I felt heartboken, but weirdly vindicated in walking away. This was the break I needed from loving and being loved. We broke up for good this time, and what followed was two years of me and him sneaking around behind future partners’ backs to continue sleeping together. And here’s the kicker -- when we were no longer in a relationship and merely having affairs together, I had no issues whatsoever telling him how much I loved him and how much I wanted to be a positive influence in his life, help him through his own neuroses, hold his hand through his own mental health struggles, care for him and protect him. So long as we had this casual relationship, I could finally reveal to him how I felt. I ended up in a terrible relationship after him and I was much happier staying in that terrible relationship with someone who also was very avoidant (though he was also fearful, so had bouts of clinginess and neediness whereas I was more likely to run away). In fact, the person I ended up settling with was also high-key abusive, but so long as I had my ex to run to, I didn’t mind. I had my cake and ate it too -- I had the fucked up security of settling down with someone completely inappropriate, and the escape route of sleeping with someone I was absolutely crazy about. And whenever he, the real love in my life, asked me if we could start again, I was able to play my trump card, the thing that got me out of the commitment: you cheated on me. It was almost too perfect, that I had this perfect excuse to never get close to him again and, in doing so, I could be as close to him as I liked. He took this opportunity too, and we just went on being in love for another two years. We’d go away together, talk about our future, name our kids, plan the wedding we were never going to have. I proposed to him when I was dating someone else. He said he couldn’t take that offer if I wasn’t going to be with him (which is... extremely reasonable). I saw this as another vindication: aha! You just rejected me! I NEVER have to commit EVER AGAIN! And what did I do when everything went to the shit? I idealised him. I pined. My God, I lived in my memories. I never stopped thinking about him. I wrote a fucking book about how much I loved him and had it published. My biggest writing credit to date, dedicated to this one person. This weird bout of romanticism I suddenly had for someone I had spent years pushing away and, someone who inexplicably took this pushing away for what it was. He’d even say things to me like, “why are you so frightened of loving someone?”, “why won’t you just let me love you?”, “what happened to you?”, “what can I do to support you?”. He understood the small things, like the time he wanted to take me away for the weekend and said to me: “I’m just going to leave you in charge of planning where we go to eat for all the meals” because he knew I needed to have that control and he was fine with it, and when I was endlessly boring the hell out of him thinking out aloud about why this restaurant would be good but this one would be bad and this one doesn’t have a menu available online and this one is okay but it’s too far from the hotel and all of that relentless, constant meaningless babble revolving around ultimate control, he just laughed and said: “I’m being patient with you because I understand you”. And he did. And I loved that. And sure enough, I hated that. Time to do something unpredictable, probably. And the wily fucker always saw it coming. The burden of reciprocated understanding, love and patience, right? What a bother. 

*heavy sigh*

And I hinged on this lost love for a long time. It felt like pain, it felt like a void. I felt like, with him gone, I might never love again. In my head we’d had this windswept romance that never faltered. I seemed to forget all about the non-stop arguments, I began to understand his infidelity, I excused it, I loved it, I loved him unconditionally once it had all crashed and burned to the ground. So then why did I love him this much after it was all over? So I could continue this cycle of dismissiveness and avoidance. If I was in love with the past, I’d never need to love anyone ever again or let anyone love me. I could resign myself to a lost history and refuse to get close on the grounds of being hung up with my emotional baggage. I used the disaster of that relationship to sabotage future attempts at closeness. I used him as the benchmark to how lovers in future should treat me -- with what, a masochistic acceptance of my push-and-pull approach? It’s terrible, and I hate it. But that’s how that went down. I think a lot about the love I gave to him in spades right before it all went away, and whilst I know in my heart he knew that I really did love him, I will never stop regretting that I didn’t just make it easier on us both.  *** I know deep down that my mistrust and disdain for personal relationships, romantic or otherwise, is borne of a fear that I don’t truly believe my own needs are worthwhile or even real. I find myself doing it with friendships, I get close to someone and in my head I start finding fault with them, and I have to stop and ask myself: has this person really done anything that bad, or am I looking for excuses to just not like them? And why am I doing that? Is it because yet again I pride my solitude over anything else in the world? Because my inner monologue is always going crazy with thoughts such as: you don’t actually need anybody, where has needing anybody ever got you before? You’ve got to protect yourself, nobody else will do it for you. Keep some of yourself to yourself, it’s unwise to share who you are with anyone. If you get too involved you will end up disappointed. And, whilst we’re on it, why is this person demanding all my time and energy? What’s wrong with them? What’s their game? I don’t love me, so why do they? What do they want from me?  And I know it’s because I was over-controlled and under-loved as a child, teenager, into adulthood, by my mother. She didn’t like me having friends or partners, would chide me for spending time with anyone but her, and whenever I loved anyone else (such as my father), she would go to great lengths to try and blacken that person’s name to me with lies and accusations, try to give me reasons that this person was in fact perverse, hateful, not to be trusted. I carried that into my adulthood, I let it control everything about me. It made me extremely suspicious of any intimacy and closeness and, just like my relationship to empathy, there is a large part of me that will always believe the expression of interpersonal love is some kind of scam designed to catch idiots like me out, and I must always be on my guard. For years I had a folder on my phone full of incriminating screenshots of conversations I’d had with those close to me, people I actually loved, because I never knew when I would need to hit back against them. I needed to have evidence that anyone who loved me was as my mother told me they were -- perverse, hateful, not to be trusted. I deleted that folder when I began therapy, and when I resume therapy again very soon, I have a new goal: I need to learn how to love people and let them love me. No pretending this time, no mask. Teach me how to actually do it. Because I cannot keep hurting the people I love just for loving me, or worse, because I love them. There is no goodness or acceptability to lashing out at those who love you, it’s abusive. It’s completely wrong. There’s no excuse good enough. But now I know why I do it, and I can go fuck myself if I think I’m passing this onto my children. I would never push them away or treat them as my mother did, but they still cannot learn from my example. 

So, there it is. My dismissive/avoidant attachment style, and how it looks, and what it’s done. I hope this helps anyone with this attachment style understand themselves, and anyone who loves anyone with this attachment style to understand them -- not so you can put up with it, but so that you can just leave if you need to. After all, if someone is pushing and pushing for you to go, then we should not be surprised when you go. It’s what we’re aiming for.

[quickeningheart]

Eighteen

   Charley draped her arms over the back of the sofa, sipping her coffee as she watched her cousin race back and forth, preparing for her first day of school. Vinnie sat beside her on the couch, and Modo and Throttle were in the kitchen, taking surreptitious glances around the doorway as they cleaned up the breakfast dishes. All three mice seemed completely mystified by Alley’s behavior.

    When she headed down the hall, abruptly stopped halfway, and turned around to make a beeline back to her bedroom, Charley couldn’t take it anymore.

    “Alley. Alley!”

    The frazzled blonde screeched to a halt, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. “What?”

    “Will you please relax?” Charley held up her mug with a grin. “You’re makin’ my coffee very nervous.”

    Alley blinked, then broke into a sheepish grin of her own. “Sorry. It’s just … I’m nervous. And excited. And nervous.”

    “What’s the big deal?” Vinnie scoffed. “It’s just school. Ain’t that a normal thing around here?”

    “It’s not just school. It’s college. It’s like … like jumping from the little leagues straight into the big ones!” Alley protested.

    “That’s right, boys. Our little Alley has to put on her big girl panties now. She’s playin’ with the grownups,” Charley teased.

    “You, shush!”

    A pair of balled-up socks was launched her way, almost landing in the mug. Charley managed to catch them without spilling too much coffee, and tossed them back. “And why are you taking an extra pair of socks?” she asked curiously.

    Alley blinked down at them, then threw her arms into the air. “I don’t know!” she wailed as she stomped back to her room.

    Charley leaned her forehead against the couch and laughed.

    “Is she gonna be okay?” Modo asked with amused concern.

    “Don’t worry, big guy. First day jitters.” She offered a reassuring grin. “We all got ‘em. College is kind of a big deal, and I think her parents are expecting a lot from her, especially her mom.”

    “Did you attend college?” Throttle wanted to know.

    “Hmmm.” She finished off her coffee; Vinnie instantly got to his feet to fetch her a refill, and she offered a grateful smile along with the mug. “Sort of,” she replied to Throttle’s question. “I graduated high school a few years ahead of everyone else my age, and I took some courses at a local technical school, just to supplement my knowledge and get an official business degree. I’ve always known what I wanted to do, though, and I already had the work experience, thanks to my dad and uncle. So I never felt the need for the whole college thing like Alley’s doing. Still, I do know how it feels, moving out on your own for the first time and all. It is exciting, and kinda scary. Nobody’s there to hold your hand anymore, ya know?”

    “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll always hold your hand when ya need it.” Vinnie plopped down beside her, handing her the mug and taking her free hand to press a soft kiss into her palm. His red eyes glowed with impish humor as she blushed at his charming actions. Throttle and Modo looked at each other knowingly and grinned.

    Alley made a reappearance, dragging a large, rolling backpack behind her that looked a bit like a miniature, bag-shaped version of her van. She set the gaudy pack by the stairway.

    “Are you bringing your entire library?” Charley asked, amused.

    “They’re my textbooks. And my computer.”

    “Do you need all the books? That’s a lot of extra weight to drag around. What classes do you have today?”

    “Lessee … Schedule…” Alley frowned. “Schedule…?” She patted herself down, eyes widening. “Schedule!” She turned on her heel and made a mad dash for her room, much to the amusement of her audience.

    “Girl’s gonna give herself a stroke before she makes it out the door,” Throttle observed with a chuckle, shaking his head.

    She reappeared with a thick yellow envelope and her phone. “I need a favor. Can someone take my picture? Mom demands pictures of my first day. I’ll never hear the end of it if she doesn’t get any.” She offered the phone with a pleading expression.

    Laughing, Charley held out her hand, but Throttle intercepted. “Stand with her. I’ll take one of you together,” he said.

    “Great idea!” Alley grabbed her cousin by the arm and hauled her to the bare wall. “Say cheese!” she teased, giggling at Vinnie’s snort.

    Charley stood stiffly and managed an awkward smile, clearly not used to being in front of a camera. Alley, on the other hand, snapped off a playful pose, flashing a double thumbs-up with a brilliant grin, hamming it up with practiced ease. The flash went off, and she relaxed, accepting the phone from Throttle. “Thanks!” She studied at the picture. “Hey, this thing has a great camera. Charley, why do you look constipated?”

    “Oh, shut up.” The mechanic laughed as she delivered a playful shove.

    “Is someone honking outside?” Modo rumbled, head cocking to the side as he listened. They fell silent, and in another moment, the faint sound of a car horn drifted in through the open window.

    “Oh! That must be Chex.” Alley slipped the phone into her pocket. “She’s giving me a ride to the campus today since we have some of the same classes.”

    “Not Chris?” Charley slid her a coy glance.

    “I think he would’ve, except Chex beat him to it,” Alley replied with a laugh, hoisting the heavy bag onto her shoulder.

    “That was nice of her.”

    “Nah. She only offered ‘cause she’s hoping I’ll convince one of you guys to give her a ride on your bikes.”

    They all stared at her. She flashed a hopeful grin. “Just one? Doesn’t have to be far. Around the block, even. Oh, and when I say ‘one of you’, I’m pretty sure she means you, specifically.” She turned her smile on Modo, who straightened at the sudden attention.

    “Why me?” he asked, confused.

    “Oh, I dunno. Maybe ‘cause you saved her life? And she’s got a serious case of hero-worship as a result?”

    He looked flustered as Throttle and Vinnie snickered behind his back. “I’ll, uh, think about it.”

    The horn sounded again, sounding even more impatient. “Alright, I’m comin’!” Alley huffed to no one in particular as she bounded down the stairs.

    The four of them stared after her for a moment, before Charley sniggered. “So,” she began amicably, “bets on how long it takes her to figure out she’s not wearing shoes?

     ~*~*~*~*~

    “You’re such a blonde,” Chex snorted as Alley slid into the passenger seat of the little, silver-blue Accent (after scrambling back up the stairs to retrieve her shoes amid hoots of laughter from the peanut gallery).

    “Yeah, yeah. Just drive,” she grumbled, hauling her heavy pack into the car with her. “Sweet little ride, by the way. I sorta figured you'd drive up in a hearse or something.”

    “Don't I wish.” Chex pulled a face. “The step monster gave it to me. Said I needed a reliable car that’s good on gas mileage.”

    “She gave you a car?”

    “Yeah, she’s the type who likes to buy her way into the hearts of children.” Chex sniggered. “Hey, a free car is a free car. I just make sure I park it way back so people don’t see me in it. It totally does not fit my image.” She was silent a few minutes, before sliding Alley a sideways glance. “Sooooo … did you ask ‘im?”

    Alley laughed. “He said he’d think about it. Keep badgering him; I think you’re wearing him down. He's not the type to turn down a lady's request.”

    “Sweet.”

    “Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Since we were speaking of step monsters, Chris said yours works a lot with jewelry appraising and stuff. Do you think she could help me and Charley out? We got some antique jewelry and loose gems and wanted to try and sell ‘em, but we need to know the value and find buyers and stuff.”

    “Yeah? What do you got?”

    Alley opened the front pocket of her bag, withdrawing the sapphire and diamond necklace Stoker had left behind. “Here’s an example.”

    Chex’s eyes widened as she took a good look; quickly turned her attention back to the road when someone honked loudly. “Holy shit, is that thing real?”

    “As far as I know.”

    “Where’d you get it?”

    “It was a gift from Stoker.”

    “Some gift! And you say there's more?”

    “Yeah. I guess precious gems and stuff aren't worth much to the mice. Stoker got what he needed from 'em—like the gold and most of the diamonds—and handed the rest over. Good thing, too, 'cause Charley could really use the money they'd bring in.”

    “She in trouble or something?”

    “Or something. Can't really talk about it. But do you think your step-mom could help out?”

    “Yeah, sure.” Chex shrugged. “I guess you can try and arrange a meeting with Victoria. I’ll give you the number to her office and tell Chris to let her know you’ll be calling. She'd probably be more open to helping if the request comes from him. She doesn't like most of my friends.”

    Alley didn't quite know what to say to that. “Well, thanks, that’ll be really helpful. I'm sure Charley and the guys'll be grateful, too.”

    “Cool. Think it’ll earn me some points toward scoring a ride?”

    Alley laughed and rolled her eyes.

     ~*~*~*~*~

    Chex showed Alley the most direct way to get to the main campus through Chicago, warning her to leave at least two hours ahead of time to avoid any potential delays such as mid-town traffic jams. Most of the professors did not take kindly to tardy students, and wouldn't let her into the class if she arrived late, no matter what sort of excuse she had. Luckily, they had no such issues and made it to the campus with plenty of time to spare. They parted ways in the parking lot with promises to meet for lunch, as their first classes were in different buildings. Alley used the opportunity to give herself another lightning tour of the campus; now that the maps had all been switched back to their proper places, it was much easier to figure out where she was. She also made a mental note to check out the secondary campus in the middle of the city, where her first business classes would be held the following day.

    However, it shortly became apparent that she wouldn't be taking those business courses any time soon. Or any of her other courses, for that matter. No sooner had she signed in on the roster and chosen a seat, the young student assistant taking attendance called her back to the desk.

    "Sorry, Miss Davidson, but your name isn't on my list," he began, his bored tone suggesting that this wasn't the first time he'd had to make this announcement to a new pupil. "This is Music Composition 101. Check your schedule."

    Alley clenched her teeth, annoyed by the insinuation that she'd gone to the wrong class. "No need. I know my schedule," she replied with as much politeness as she could muster. No need to take it out on him; he was just doing his job, after all, and she didn't doubt he'd already had to send other students on their way to the correct classrooms. But she wasn't one of them, darn it!

    At his obvious skepticism, she pulled the thick envelope from her bag and riffled until she found her schedule, handing it over with pursed lips. "Right there.” She tapped the page. “Music Composition at ten o'clock. Room 317."

    He glanced over it, handed it back with a shrug. "Must be a scheduling error. You'll have to take it up with the office." He went back to his roster, a clear dismissal.

    She stared at him. "What, you mean … now? But class is about to start!"

    He shrugged again. "Sorry, but the rules are if you're not on the roster, you can't attend the class. Better get it figured out and make sure there aren't any other conflicts." Seeing her expression, he softened. "Look, Professor MacDougall is running late today. Her kid has an ear infection or something and her nanny just quit on her. I'm taking over for her until she can get here. The class lasts two hours. You can probably get it sorted in more than enough time. Come back with a note from the office, and I'll let you sit in the remaining time. If Professor MacD shows up, I'll explain the situation."

    "Yeah, okay. I'll do that." Alley wasn't very happy with the solution, but at least he was trying to help. She hoisted her heavy bag and started for the office, grumbling to herself. What a way to start off her college career!

     ~*~*~*~*~

    "What do you mean my scholarship's been revoked?"

    Alley gaped at the secretary, wondering if she'd started hallucinating for some reason. Delayed effects of Stoker's miracle cure, by chance? She would skin that mouse alive when she saw him again!

    The secretary—Her name was Mary, Alley recalled—was clearly uncomfortable with the conversation, tapping away at the computer and nervously adjusting her wire-framed glasses. "Um, you see, there has been some discrepancy with your SAT scores—"

    "What kind of discrepancy?" Alley growled. "I passed those tests with more than enough points to earn my scholarship! I studied my ass off to get those scores!"

    "Please lower your voice, Miss Davidson." Looking distressed, Mary adjusted her glasses again. "You see, I am very sorry, but there appears to be some … concern over how you … acquired your high scores."

    Alley's eyes narrowed. "I. Studied."

    "Are you certain that is the only way you passed?"

    She felt like she'd just been kicked in the gut. "Are you actually accusing me of cheating?"

    Mary cleared her throat. "Please, lower your voice," she repeated, more firmly. "The fact is, through most of your academic history, your scores have always been … less than spectacular." She adjusted her glasses yet again; Alley was sorely tempted to rip them off her face and stomp on them. "Yet you managed to pass your SATs with scores that put you within the top fifteen percent of the entire country. That is no simple feat. You must realize how … suspicious it all looks."

    "Slacking off does not make me a cheater," Alley hissed. "I was just lazy. I never cheated on anything in my life! And I'll have you know that in my last two years, I completely turned it around, got As and Bs in all of my classes. Or does that not count for anything?"

    Mary pursed her lips, then calmly swiveled her computer monitor until it faced Alley. Puzzled, she gave it a cursory glance. And then her jaw dropped as what she was seeing registered.

    It was her permanent school record. Only it wasn't. All four of her high school years were displayed clearly on the screen, except that for two of them, the high scores that should have been there seemed to have been replaced with grades that could only be described as abysmal. Even her art and writing classes—her favorite subjects in school—barely covered passing ground.

    "Are you kidding me?" she screeched, ignoring the secretary's glare. "With scores like that I wouldn't have even passed high school, much less made it into college!"

    "Yes, that is exactly my point," Mary replied primly.

    Alley massaged her temple, where a headache was steadily forming. "And you seem to be completely missing mine," she growled. "Those are not my grades. I've been … set up or something!"

    "Why would anyone set you up?" The secretary looked more than a little skeptical.

    "I don't know!" Alley threw her hands into the air. "Maybe some bored student decided to play a mean prank and picked me at random. It happens, right? That thing with the maps? And it's not like computers can't be hacked or anything!"

    "Our system security is top-notch. Not just anyone can break into it." Mary looked offended at the very suggestion; Alley decided that mentioning how easily her cousin could probably break in wouldn't really help her case at the moment.

    "Then it's some bizarre glitch in the system," she muttered, struggling to think of any answer. "I took those tests a year ago. If I'd really cheated, wouldn't someone have figured it out way before now? I mean, I was in here with the dean's kids last week filling out forms! Remember? Why didn't you bring up this situation then? It sure would've saved me a lot of hassle now."

    Finally, a hint of doubt in the secretary's eyes, before her expression firmed. "I am very sorry for all of this trouble, Miss Davidson. I promise I will look into the matter and see if it can be resolved in a satisfactory manner."

    "And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Can I go back to class?"

    "I'm sorry, but that just isn't possible at this time. As I said, your funding has been revoked. All of your classes have been canceled. Until this situation is resolved, policy states that you cannot attend this school."

    Alley started to panic. "But keeping my scholarship depends on me maintaining my grade point average! If I can't attend those classes, I'll flunk out by default, and I'll lose it all anyway, even if I manage to get it back! It could take weeks to get it all sorted. It'll all be for nothing!"

    Mary was sympathetic but unwavering. Alley realized she would be getting no more help out of her, turned and trudged from the office as the churning mass of dread, confusion, and defeat sat like a sick lump in her gut.

    All she could think of was how in the world she was ever going to explain this to her parents.

Next

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 5

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 5 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: This is a new chapter (chapter 6 on Ao3) 

———————————————————————————-

It is fine, at first.

Lisa is overjoyed to see Len, dumping a back-breaking number of mechanical engineering books on the kitchen table and coming for an unexpected hug, basking in being the only one in the world that Len freely allows that privilege (Mick's on probation). She tells him all about life in college, about half studying and another good half partying, which is about what Len expected.

Mick makes them food, too, which makes them both shut up for a while in order to eat it all.

The real sign of good cooking: no one's got anything to spare to talk 'cause they're too busy enjoying it.

"Any boyfriends?" Len asks, jumping the question on her. "Or girlfriends?"

Lisa gives him a look that says he's not anywhere near as subtle as he likes to think he is. "One or two," she says, rolling her eyes. The days where she used to tell him about every crush and attraction are long since past. "No one I'm bringing home to meet you and Mick yet."

"Aww, but I wanna scare a boyfriend," Mick protests, grinning. "It'll be fun!"

"No, Mickey," Lisa says tolerantly.

"But it's practically my thing – well, after fire anyway – to scare people," Mick says, grinning. "Jumping out and going 'boo'."

"Save the ghost humor for Halloween," Len tells him, shaking his head.

He spots Lisa frowning out of the corner of her eye, but by the time he looks at her it's gone. Len figures she'll tell him if it's important – god knows he has enough weird triggers that he doesn't want questioned.

Len offers to clean up – "Who are you and what have you done with my brother?" Lisa jokes; "You should've seen him before you got here!" Mick tells her, the traitor – and they retreat to the living room to watch movies.

Still, she seems uncomfortable sometimes, like there’s something she wants to say but isn’t saying.

Len lets it be. If they’re going to fight about something – and they probably are, he’s not doing anyone any favors by pretending they're not; he and Lisa always find something to clash about, largely because he sees himself as taking care of her and she sees him as being overbearing – they may as well have a few fun days first.

It comes to a head a few days later, when Lisa comes home from shopping earlier than expected. Mick's out grocery shopping again – he wasn't wrong about college student appetites – and Len's working on some tentative heist plans and idly arguing with Julie and Daniela about male privilege of all things.

It’s Julie’s fault. She was a college student herself, so Len asked her what she learned so he might have something to talk about with Lisa. Then it turned out she was a gender studies major and then, of course, Daniela jumps into the fray with her perspectives about how privilege changed when she transitioned genders and suddenly Len is arguing about things like intersectionality (they defined it for him) and whether passing privilege is a real thing and whatnot.

So, really, it’s actually Lisa’s fault in the end, her and her college-attending ways.

Not that she’s taking gender studies classes.

…that he knows about.

“I’m just saying,” he’s telling Julie. “You can’t just talk about feminism like the only person you’re dealing with’s a white girl, okay? Life don’t boil down to ‘closest to normal’ ranging to 'furthers from normal' like a math problem ‘cause there ain’t a normal you can use as a baseline, it's only considered normal 'cause most of the people doing the talking are white – oh, hi, Lisa!”

“Lenny,” Lisa says, and her voice is just that kinda weird he’s been noticing. “Lenny, what’re you doing?”

Len looks down at the blueprints he’s outlining onto tracing paper. “Uh,” he says. “Work? You know? That thing I do to get money?”

He’s never hidden what he does from Lisa, at least ever since she got old enough to understand that “breaking into houses like Santa does” wasn’t actually legal and that Len was both Jewish and unaffiliated with the North Pole.

(Lisa’s mom and dad are both Christian, so Len guesses she is too, but since he was the one that did the majority of her raising, he did what he could to teach her what he knew, so she’s got a nice well-rounded religious education: Judaism-by-proxy at home and Christianity from the nominally non-religious public school. He’s never been sure which one she prefers.)

“Not that,” Lisa says, rolling her eyes. “I can tell those are bank blueprints –” Hedge fund with a nice big safe, actually, but whatever. “– I meant the talking bit.”

“Oh,” Len says, flushing a bit. “It ain’t nothing, really.”

Lisa crosses her arms. “Isn’t it?”

“Really, it ain’t,” Len says, then thinks about the benefits of completing your education and being a good example. He's been studying up on grammar to try to make Lisa, at least, come off as less of a slum kid. “I mean, it isn’t. It’s just – it ain't - you see - oh, all right. I wanted to know more about what college is like, so I asked, and then Julie started in on the gender studies stuff, and, well, she’s just plain old wrong about some of that shit, like Daniela and I were explaining –”

“Lenny!” Lisa shouts, and she sounds distressed. “I don’t care what you were talking about, I care about the fact that you’re talking to an empty room like there are actual people here!”

Len gapes at her.

“Oh, crap,” Julie says, and disappears.

“Yeah, I’m gonna –” Daniela says, backing off rapidly. “Uh. Good luck with this.” And then she disappears too.

Useless, both of them.

“But –” Len says, totally staggered by Lisa's accusation. It's totally out of the blue. “But - I – it ain’t an empty room!” He pauses. “Well, it wasn’t, until they chickened out and ran away.”

Traitors.

Lisa puts her face in her hands. “Lenny,” she says, and she’s actually upset about this. “There’s nobody here.”

“Well, yeah, because –”

“And there was nobody here when I got here, either,” Lisa continues. “Lenny – have you ever considered that this might be a problem?”

“Well, yeah,” Len says, because the unquiet dead are always a problem. Plus there’s that whole dying young thing… “But, I mean, not recently.”

“It’s one thing to have imaginary friends when you’re little, Lenny, and even talking to them,” Lisa says, straightening up and grabbing his hand, pulling him over unresisting to the couch in the living room. “But you’re not a little kid anymore, okay? And I’ve noticed you talking to them sometimes, when you think I’m not paying attention, in the hallways or in other rooms.”

“But –” Len starts, but falls silent when she glares at him. He has no idea what to do about this utterly bizarre line of attack; he’d been expecting fighting with Lisa on any number of subjects, ranging from his criminality to his ‘wasting his potential’ like she said sometimes to, hell, not going out enough or failing to treat Mick right. But his ghosts?

“Lenny, I went to check your medical records,” Lisa says.

“Instead of shopping?” Len tries to joke, but she’s not having any of it. “Lot of broken bones there, Lisa; you shouldn’t be looking at that sort of thing.”

Lisa nods, biting her lip. “Yeah, I – noticed. That. It was…”

“Don’t start,” Len warns her. Lisa’s had a few jags where she’s tried to apologize for being their dad’s target sometimes and for what Lewis did to Len when he stood between them, but Len’s tried time and again to set her straight on that: he’d do it all again, a thousand times over, and not regret a minute, and at any rate it wasn’t her fault that their dad was a piece of shit. As long as she didn’t do anything stupid like try to go see Lewis in prison, Len’s happy with the way things are now, and the past doesn't matter.

“Right,” she says, and shakes her head a little to clear it. “But that’s not what I was looking for. Why didn’t you tell me you used to get seizures?”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” Len says, puzzled. “They don’t bother me no more.”

Well, not unless Mick slips up on the job, but even then, Len’s got enough friendlies to fight off the unquiet dead. As he'd told Lisa, it’s actually been pretty good recently.

“Seizures can be a symptom of other neurological problems,” Lisa says.

“My proper lil’ college girl,” Len can’t help but say fondly, even though it makes Lisa give him another look of death. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“Lenny, you ever think that maybe you’ve got, I don’t know, schizophrenia or something?”

“Not once, no,” Len says, blinking.

“And I’m not saying you’re crazy or anything –”

“No, because that’d be rude,” Len says. “Schizophrenia’s a recognized mental illness, but mental illness and crazy ain’t the same thing and conflating ‘em is derogatory and leads to bad shit.”

Now it’s Lisa’s turn to blink at him.

“Mr. Crabtree used to teach special ed,” Len offers weakly. “He had strong feelings on the subject of ablest language, okay?"

“Mr. Crabtree.”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“The one that died fifteen years ago.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Before we ever met either of ‘em.”

“Yeah…”

“Lenny, if this is about the con you pulled on Mrs. Crabtree to convince her to take me in…”

“It wasn’t a con,” Len says, scowling and sitting up straight. “I mean, it was a little bit, ‘cause he didn’t say anything about taking you in in specific on his own, but he was all for her doing something with the money other than talking to stupid mediums who didn’t even tell her anything he was really saying –”

“Lenny! You couldn’t have talked to Mr. Crabtree, because he’s dead.”

“He was a ghost,” Len says, even though it's really a technicality; Mick calls himself a dead person all the time. “I talk to ghosts, not to dead people. Once they’re passed on, they’re gone.”

“You don’t actually have the ability to talk to ghosts, that’s my point – delusions like that are a pretty common symptom of schizophrenia, too –”

“Lisa, I ain’t schizophrenic. I’ve met schizophrenics, okay? I’m not. I just talk to ghosts, it’s different, it’s –”

The door opens and Mick comes in with the groceries – less than usual, Len notes – and blinks at both of them.

“Damn, you are arguing,” he observes. Julie or Daniela must’ve gone to tell him. “You two ought to stop that – or is this a ‘Mick don’t get involved’ type argument?”

“Mick, don’t get –” Len starts.

“No,” Lisa jumps in. “Mick, come here. I need your help to explain to Lenny that his ghost thing isn’t really a thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“That he can’t actually talk to ghosts! Tell him it’s not a real thing!”

“But it is,” Mick says, puzzled.

“Thank you!” Len exclaims.

Lisa glares at both of them.

“It is,” Mick protests. “What do you think I am, chopped liver?”

“Damnit, Mick!”

“Lisa – ” Len tries to start.

“No, damnit!" Lisa shouts, and now she's glaring even harder. She's pressing her lips together hard; it's obvious that she's really upset about it. "I’m an adult now, you guys can stop with your stupid Mick’s-a-friendly-ghost thing that you did when I was a kid, it’s not funny – I’ve figured it out, you know!”

“Figured what out?” Mick asks, blinking. Len’s glad he asked it, because it was right on the tip of Len’s tongue to do the same.

“I know you had to hide Mick from Dad,” Lisa says impatiently. “And you didn’t want me to spoil it, so you told me he was a ghost and that’s why he ‘disappeared’ a lot, so that way if I talked about him, everyone would think he was my imaginary friend and wouldn’t question it too much.”

“Uh, no,” Len says, because while that is a brilliant scheme, it is not actually one he’d thought of. “It’s because he was a ghost. And he disappeared a lot because I hadn’t gotten the hang of keeping him around yet.”

“Mick, you can’t seriously still be enabling this –”

“Right,” Mick says. “Lenny, I’m gonna shove some back to you; I need manifestation, not pure-solid.”

Len nods and feels the little spark of static electricity that he always gets when Mick gives back some life – a most un-ghostly act. Just more proof that Mick's perfect, he supposes.

“What are you talking about?” Lisa asks, frowning.

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m a ghost, Lisey,” Mick says, and walks straight into the couch.

Into, meaning his now visible-but-intangible feet keep going well past the point the couch starts.

Lisa shrieks and jumps up to her feet.

Mick crosses his arms and gives her a look, his latter half mostly concealed by the couch that he’s standing in the middle of, his ghostly body just immaterial enough to go through instead of over. “Ghost,” he says. “Apparition, manifestation, dead person. Someone who ain't passed on. I died in 1936, Lise; Len and I went to the Hall of Records and dug up my original birth certificate and death certificate. I died in a fire along with my whole family in a farm out by Keystone.”

“We didn’t lie to you,” Len says, looking at Lisa with as earnest an expression as he can manage. It's important that Lisa understands this. “We never did, I swear. I see ghosts, and I talk to them, and I met Mick in juvie, ‘cause they built a juvie on top of where his family farm used to be, and I brought him home. And I really was talking to Julie and Daniela earlier.”

Lisa puts a hand to her mouth, which is quivering. “You’re a ghost,” she says blankly.

“Yeah,” Mick says.

“And Lenny, you – speak to ghosts? For real?”

“Yeah,” Len says.

“And Mr. Crabtree –”

“There’s a reason I was able to pull all that personal detail stuff out,” Len says. “I wouldn’t have conned anyone I was gonna leave you alone with, not really. How’d you think I did it?”

“Guessing,” she says. “Reading micro-expressions, good luck, stalking – I don’t know – anything but real ghosts!”

Len shrugs helplessly.

“You were really talking to – what did you say – Jessica and –”

“Julie and Daniela,” Len says.

“So there are dead people hanging around all the time?”

“That’s not a nice thing to say about Mick,” Len says automatically, then caves when Lisa glares at him. “Not all the time. Right now they’re keeping their distance because they’re cowards.” He raises his voice a bit for the last bit and directs it towards the hallway.

Sun-hui floats in regally and gives him a look.

“Except you, Sun-hui,” Len corrects himself hastily. “You were just busy elsewhere.”

“Sun-hui?” Lisa asks, but it’s curiosity, now, not the worry that’s been eating at her the last few days. Len hadn't even noticed how tightly she'd been carrying herself until now, when all the tension is suddenly released.

“Her kids wouldn’t let her see her grandkids before she died,” Len explains. “She’s keeping an eye on them anyway. She’ll probably pass on when the last one gets settled.”

“My eldest grandson, Seung-gi, will be married soon,” Sun-hui says proudly. “He has found a good wife, a love marriage, no matter how my daughter-in-law seeks to drive her away. I have left her an envelope with money, for good luck.”

Len conveys this to Lisa, then adds, “Technically, I left her the envelope. Apparently the groom’s family is supposed to give money to the bride and Sun-hui’s kids weren’t doing the job because they're dicks, so I broke in and put it there. She cried about it, good crying ‘cause she’d just about given up hope for something like that, and then showed him, and then he told her his grandmother was dead and then they both cried about it. Super awkward. Glad I didn’t stick around too long.”

Lisa stares at him.

“…what?”

“Our Lenny’s a bit of a softie,” Mick says, amused, pulling himself out of the couch now that his point had been made and settling down next to Len, arms touching so that he can pull out enough life to solidify again. “Not that he’d admit it.”

“Literally none of what I just said makes me a softie,” Len objects, but somehow that’s the thing that makes Lisa start laughing so hard she’s nearly crying and throw herself into the couch between him and Mick, snuggling into both of them like she thinks she’s still five and will fit.

“I was so worried,” she says, eyes shining brighter and wetter than she’d ever admit to. “Oh, man, ghosts – I can’t believe I’m saying it’s a good thing, but I’m so happy it’s just ghosts –”

“Hey,” Mick protests, but not really. “I’ve got a mental illness; it’s not like it’s the end of the world. My shrink says –”

“You have a shrink?” Lisa says.

“I insisted,” Len says with a shrug. One of the first few times he'd dropped by to see Lisa at college, he'd found a flyer offering psychological therapy or some such and promising discretion; he'd figured there was no harm in it. Turned out Mick liked it, a lot, so Len made him keep going.

“You got a dead guy – no offense, Mick – a shrink?”

“None taken,” Mick says.

“Lisa,” Len says, long-suffering. “I ain’t sure if you’ve noticed, but Mick’s more of a long-term sort of a dead guy.”

“We prefer living-challenged,” Julie pipes up from the doorway, Nora standing by her side with a faint smirk.

“You do not,” Len tells both of them firmly, because they're just the sort of people to start in on that. Julie seriously, Nora because she's actually a giant troll. “Don’t you dare make that a thing.”

“Why don’t you set up shop as a medium?” Lisa wants to know. “Seems like you’d be a shoo-in, make tons of money.”

“It’s not like a light switch,” Len protests. “It’s not like I can root around someone’s cupboard and pull out the right ghost, y’know? I meet what ghosts I meet, and that’s it. Also, I ain’t a medium. That’s different. They’re creepy.”

“Oh, well. Would have been fun: the Snart Medium Show – watch the man who speaks to ghosts!”

“No,” Len says.

“Lenny’s Lifeline for the Living Impaired,” Mick offers.

“No!”

“Leonard and the Ghosts,” Lisa suggests, grinning. “Len’s Line to the Unliving.”

“Guys,” Len says, shaking his head. “No, no, and no.” He pauses. “Besides,” he says grudgingly. “It’d be called Snart’s Spooks.”

“I like it!”

[hellyeahheroes]

Looking Back at 2016- Best Supporting Series

While you can cast your votes for Hell Yeah Teen Superheroes Awards 2016, I’ll be taking look back at the year behind us and see what would be my picks for the listed categories, as well as musing in general about books in each. Today we’ll take a look at series about adult characters, who had used young heroes in supporting roles.

This year, in general, was full of books that were fitting in that group. While Marvel had only few such titles, DC got on the roll with Rebirth, where suddenly it seemed like every book about an adult went “Doesn’t he have a sidekick?”. Duke Thomas was used heavily in both Batman’s books, Jonathan Kent in Superman’s, Emiko Queen in Green Arrow, Wally West in Flash… you get my point. Quite frankly that was the best way for DC to go, considering one of the goals of DC Rebirth was to reestablish a��sense of legacy and history that have been lost with the dawn of the New 52.Not to mention family being one of its central themes. As such it was really hard to narrow this down to those few titles that I felt deserve the most recognition. Again, these are my personal picks and if you feel that I’ve missed something, feel free to argue… or cast your own votes in the awards proper.

The first title I want to mention is one that seems to be getting the least attention. Published under DC’s Young Animal imprint, Cave Carson has a Cybernetic Eye had only just started, with three issues released in 2016. However, said issues were undeniably a blast. Gerard Way’s brand of weird combined with cartoony, retro style of Michael Avon Oeming, managed to create something that has a feel similar to Venture Bros (especially with Wild Dog, who would probably fit on Venture Bros pretty well), only less interested in taking apart the tropes of classic comics and cartoons in favor of just enjoying them. Cave Carson, one of the most obscure DC characters ever (they’ve literally picked him because he had the smallest entry on “Who is Who in DC Universe?”) not only must confront his past and stop people who want to tarnish his legacy for profit (or more nefarious goals) but also repair relationship with his teenage daughter, Chloe. It’s the stranded, but still able to be mended bond between those two that provides a sense of normalcy between everything weird the book is throwing at us and Wild Dog’s antics. I put it on my list to also represent those few books that started to late (Nova vol.7, which would also qualify as a solo/shared book, depending on how you look at it) or introduced teen character too late (Power Man & Iron Fist, whose last two issues of 2016 added Alex Wilder to the cast) to really have a winning chance in voting, but deserve acknowledgment.  

The next title that needs to be recognized for what is it stands on the opposite end of the spectrum. Firmly grounded in real life and tackling real problems, Captain America: Sam Wilson is one of the most controversial titles of 2016. Which occurs in a way that I cannot help, but find really ironic. Sam Wilson tries to be Captain America for the people, who doesn’t shy away from talking about a different subject and sharing his views. And media made him into their favorite punching bag. Conservatives are lambasting him constantly, accusing of “dividing this country” for taking side…which usually means taking a side they don’t agree with. Helping with hacker Whisperer to expose S.H.I.E.L.D. illegal facility to detain supervillains without a trial? “He aids traitors against the government!” Taking down a bunch of racist hunting down immigrants on the borders to sell them as subjects to a guy who is in equal parts Doctor Moreau and Joseph Mengele? “He is attacking good citizens keeping our borders safe!” Going after corrupt supervillain corporation that was backing those racists? “He is destroying honest business and all work positions it created!” Trying to intervene in a conflict between Americops, who are basically police brutality incarnate and citizens of Harlem they’re beating up for minor offenses? “He is attacking our protectors and aiding criminals and thugs!” And at the same time, he cannot really win either. When he tried to resolve the problem with Americops peacefully it escalated into a brawl and teenage superhero Rage accusing him of selling out. Nobody talks about the moments he succeeds, but everyone brings up the slightest misstep, big or small or not even a bad move at all, unless you can spin it as such. And the irony comes in the fact that this is exactly the treatment the book has gotten from the audience. Fox News went apeshit over Sam beating racists on the borders. Lurk through Spacebattles or 4chan or any other site and you’ll see endless legions of manchildren whining about how corporate supervillain Viper is an obvious Trump parody or how Nick Spencer claims all cops are evil. At every step, this book is lambasted for lacking nuance subtlety or moral ambiguity as if any of those things were needed here. And yet people who should be talking about this book only pay attention to it when they can bash it as well. Yes, I’m talking here about last week’s issue with “SJWs parody” (by the way, one time the book took a jab at liberals in 2016? Turned out to be a robot and ploy by Hydra. So maybe give a guy a benefit of doubt?). I’m sorry, but when was this entire publicity when the book introduced new Falcon, who is a Latino-American illegal immigrant who likes leaving food and water on most dangerous routes from Mexico to America? When it was when he made an issue about Misty Knight hunting down a criminal who was using robots to make sex tapes of superheroines to ruin their reputation? When it was when Sam Wilson made a speech at Jim Rhodes’ funeral, about how much of an inspiration to black community he was? Oh right, everyone were too busy over the fact that Sam had a meeting with Black Panther, Storm, Luke Cage, Monica Rembeau, Misty Knight and Nick Fury Jr. before the funeral, either accusing the title of being racist to show so many black superheroes know each other or accusing it of being racist because, and I quote, “Tony should be there!”. It makes me sad this title gets so little love, despite how often and unapologetically it speaks against current problems and isn’t afraid of siding against the system or the “centrism” it’s now being accused of supporting. And because of prominent roles played by Falcon, Rage and during Standoff also Kobik, it qualifies here and deserves a recognition.

The next title on the list caused much less controversy. In fact, it’s being celebrated by pretty much everyone interested. Deathstroke. A triumphant return of legendary Christopher Priest to the comics mainstream after 9 years long absence, that fixes the unholy sea of shit that the New 52 was for Slade, Rose and Joey Wilson. Not everything it does is flattering to the characters – Jericho, for example, is trying to get back into the closet, something that has already been pointed out to be clearly caused by his daddy issues. But this is also why the book is allowed to get away with it. It’s an unapologetic portrayal of Slade as a destructive force who damages everyone he touches, whenever he wants or not and it explores both the impact he had on Rose and Joey as well as their complicated relationships. At the same time it is possibly only comics in the big two that is doing a serious, gritty (and I mean here real gritty, not the “GUN! MURDER! FIGHTS! SEX!” misunderstood gritty that comics tried to do since the 90s) mix of military drama and spy thriller as it examines Slade’s past and how it constantly comes back to haunt him and his family. The book is great at juggling many plotlines and tones, so one moment we can have a serious military story about Slade, followed by Rose kicking asses to lighter moments with Joey.

While Captain America: Sam Wilson was lambasted by the media and Deathstroke was allowed quiet existence with well-deserved critical acclaim, our next book is somewhere between them. Undeniably a critics’ darling, it had caused some backlash over the treatment of at least one character. The Vision. Dark, depressing tale of Vision and his newly-created family that mixes a heavy drama with psychological horror in science fiction dressing. The book focuses heavily on the family, as they struggle to salvage as much of the crumbling normality they’ve built. Because of it I had a hard time deciding whenever to qualify this book here or as an ensemble title (as even the title can be read in two ways). But in the end, even when he doesn’t do much at given issue, Vision is the one the emotional weight revolves around. It’s his obsession with normalcy and emotional neglect, that contribute to Virginia’s progressively worsening mental state, which also impacts Vin and Viv. It’s only with the addition of Victor Mancha, Vision’s more human brother, that we can realize how damaged Vision himself is. Of course, the controversial treatment of Victor by this book was something we’ve been discussing several times by now and I had to establish my position on the issue more than once. I still feel that the direction the book has taken Victor in id not ruin the character and had potential, which is why I find the decision to kill him to be one big disappointment in an otherwise excellent title. Despite that one blunder, however, Vision remains one of the best titles of the year. Among many good titles helped put Tom King’s name on the map, while also having an unusual, beautiful art by Gabriel Walta.

And finally the last book in this category and also the one I think I’ve enjoyed the most. Superman. Alongside its sister series, Action Comics, the book establishes return of pre-Flashpoint Superman as a prominent figure in DC Universe, while also exploring a completely new direction. Superman is now not only married to Lois, but they also have a son. Young Jon Kent is a fun character, who is learning about responsibilities that come with his powers and legacy of being the son of Superman. Of course he is lucky enough to have Clark and Lois, who are fantastic parents. Clark, or Superdad as fans came to call him, proves to be a loving father, who understands how hard it is to grow up with superpowers, so he tries to ease this for Jon as much as he can. Together they visit Dinosaur Island in heartwarming tribute to late Darwyn Cooke and punch evil Kryptonian robot in the face. Not to mention how Clark and Bruce put their sons in a boot camp to teach them some teamwork. Even when the book lacked Jon’s presence, as was the case in the last story of 2016, Supermonster, it still managed to emphasize on him and how important he and Lois are to Superman. It did so by contrasting Clark and Lois’ love with a relationship between Frankenstein and his Bride, whose marriage fell apart after the death of their son. The book establishes Superman as a family man and in doing so reveals a whole new field of stories to tell about the same Man of Steel, that many people have called boring for years.

So, these are my picks for the best titles with teen heroes in a supporting role of 2016. Do you think I’ve missed something or something didn’t deserve the praise? Tell me in comments and reblogs. And remember you can vote in for the awards, by sending my asks, fan mails and submissions.

[jimmycrowlikeswebsites]

New Post has been published on https://jimmycrow.com/things-people-hate-about-your-website/

Things People Hate About Your Website

Re-post from the  blog

You love your website. We get it. And why wouldn’t you? After all, you have put in hours and hours and sometimes quite a bit of money into bringing it into the world.

As a consequence, any insult hurled into its general direction is taken personally (and the perpetrator called a doo doo head – or worse). How dare they say bad things about your baby!?

However, I hate to break it to you, they might have a point. And in your heart of hearts, you know it, too. For weeks your bounce rate has been climbing, conversions are falling and your reputation dwindling. All the signs point to the need for a change.

Consider this an intervention. To open your eyes to the truth, in this article we will list all the things people hate about your website and that makes it hard to use, confusing, badly designed or simply out of date.

Ready to take of the rose-colored glasses and get to work on your website’s flaws? Then let’s go.

Here’s What Your Visitors Probably Hate About Your Site

Still here? Alright, now it’s too late to turn back. Let’s see if you recognize your site in the points below.

1. Your Site is Too Slow

People have never been as impatient as they are today. We want everything and we want it now. Especially on the web. I know you think that once people know how fantastic your site is, they will gladly wait for it to load. But that’s just not true.

47% of customers expect a site to load within two seconds. 40% will leave after three. Yes, one friggin’ second makes that much of a difference. In fact, Amazon found that one second delay in page loading would cost them $1.6 billion per year. That’s right, one second!

As a consequence, slow page loading times are one of the best ways to annoy the heck out of people (especially on mobile). It’s one of the things people most hate about websites. So much so that it will keep them from coming back.

Luckily, there is plenty of things you can do, from changing hosting providers and reducing the code to optimizing images and more. Even luckier, we have detailed article on this very topic.

2. It Doesn’t Look Good on Mobile Devices

Having a mobile optimized site is mandatory in today’s Internet. Nobody likes to use the old zoom-and-pan technique to consume your content. Neither do they like hitting the wrong menu items because your buttons are just too darn small.

Is there a quicker way to get people to rage quit your site? Probably not.

However, it’s not just human visitors. Search engines are just as annoyed of websites that fail to deliver an adequate mobile experience. In fact, Google goes so far as not even show websites in their mobile search results that they deem unfit to use with phones and tablet.

So, your existing users will quit your site while Google will stop sending you new ones. Sounds like a lose-lose situation to me. Time to stop being annoying and fix it already. This article will help you do so.

(By the way, a good step in the right direction is to use a mobile-optimized theme. Divi is one such example.)

3. It’s Littered With Popups

Popups can be a very effective tool for building an email list if used the right way. However, if not, they also have the potential to be the bane of your user’s existence and send your bounce rate soaring.

Nobody wants to close a welcome mat, normal popup and a slide-in form just to get to the content. If that is you, no wonder people are disgruntled with your site.

Keep in mind that there are other websites out there that don’t do the equivalent of yelling at their visitors. Plus, the back button is just a click away in every browser.

I’m not saying don’t use any pop-ups (you want to build an email list after all), I’m just saying be smart about it.

Take advantage of technology to stop showing returning visitors the same ads (especially if they have opted out before). Use exit intent to have to serve pop-ups only when they are about to leave or at least give them a time delay.

Or run A/B tests to find out which of your calls to action are actually effective and double down on that. Your visitors will thank you.

4. Your Website is Stuck in The 90s to Early 2000s

Look at the image below and tell me what’s wrong with it:

  Hopefully, you can see it right away. The site looks like the person who built it learned web design on MySpace in 2004. Nice blast from the Internet archive, right?

However, don’t be the fooled. That is a website advertising an actual company and its services today! Of course, that is an extreme example and I don’t think your site looks like this. However, if it contains some of the design hallmarks of that same era, it’s time to rethink if you are not sending visitors away screaming.

Blinking GIFs, elaborate animations, flashing ads and other eyesores – just say no. They are distracting, annoying and in most cases not furthering your goal. If your site fits this description, you have found the explanation for the hate mail your receive.

5. Two Words: Stock Photos

Do you know this woman?

Image by Ariwasabi / shutterstock.com.

I see her literally everywhere. My wife and I actually have a running gag to point her out whenever we spot her. I have noticed her advertising everything from gyms to dentists to opticians.

That’s what happens when everyone uses the same stock images. Businesses (and websites) become indistinguishable from one another. A death sentence in marketing.

Plus, many of these images are cheesy, generic, non-genuine-looking and other unflattering adjectives.

Yeah, none of us actually work here. Image by Pressmaster / shutterstock.com.

Of course, you should use images in your content. And there are are exceptions (for example these).

However, stay away from stuff like above. It makes your company or website look as generic as the images.

A much better idea is to use unique images or stuff people can’t find elsewhere. For example, the Art of Manliness blog uses old vintage photos. Custom illustrations are another option. If that is not your thing, at least try to use real photos of your employees or clients.

6. Bad, Overly Optimized or Too Much Copy

Depending on how old you are, you might still remember the bad old times of SEO. Back in the day, when the motto was “the more keywords, the better”.

You would find pages with the same key phrases squeezed into every possible nook and cranny. Or copy that sounded as repetitive as the jokes in bad sitcoms.

Thankfully, search engines have caught on and punish people for said behavior. Yet, unfortunately, not everyone else has.

If you are one of those who still engage in keyword stuffing, it’s time to cut it out and get with the times. Read up some SEO copywriting tips, learn how to write in a way that is engaging and creates a connection instead of using marketing speak. And exchange your long prose with some multimedia! People only read 28% of your text anyway.

7. A Bland “About” Page

Especially if you are running a personal blog, the about page is usually one of the most frequented pages of a website. Visitors care about the person behind the writing and want to learn more about them.

However, this also contains the chance for failure. An impersonal about page filled with industry drivel that says nothing with a lot of words makes no emotional impact and puts people’s brains to sleep can quickly become one of the things people hate about your website.

To avoid this scenario, focus on language that people actually use, tell a story, connect. Also, make sure everything is up to date, including your contact information.

8. Your Site Structure is Non-existent

Little is as annoying as a badly structured website. People come to your website to accomplish a goal, not wander around like a labyrinth (unless they are minotaurs, who are pretty Internet averse).

Two of the most important factors for site structure is site navigation and internal linking. Get one of them or both of them wrong and your visitor’s annoyance level will show a sudden spike.

Consequently, when it comes to navigation, make sure you first map out the route you want your visitors to take. Only then can you create a proper way for them. After that, give them directions via headlines, copywriting, calls to action and a clearly labeled (and not overstuffed) navigation.

As for internal links, make sure to link between pages on your site that are topically related. The point is always to enhance the experience of the visitor, not run a smart SEO scheme. In the same vein, don’t overdo the anchor text!

And for heaven’s sake, check your site for broken links!

9. Your Titles and Headlines Suck

Titles, especially blog titles are an important part of copywriting. They are usually the thing that pulls people in – or pushes them away.

Page titles also create expectations. That’s a good thing if you can fulfill them, however, an equally bad one if you don’t.

Imagine you had read the headline of this post, expecting for the author to tear you into you about your website flaws and all I’d end up doing is mollycoddle you. That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?

The point is, don’t do the old bait-and-switch and stay away from click bait practices. It will only annoy people and send them the other way.

For tips on how to craft compelling titles and headlines, check this article.

10. Multimedia on Autoplay? You Gotta Be Kidding!

  Who hasn’t had the experience of opening a bunch of tabs and suddenly having one of them play an unsolicited video or sound file in the background? And who here thought that was a good thing? Nobody. Especially in the office environment without headphones.

If your site does that, keep in mind that closing a tab is much faster than looking for the mute or stop button on your video. Whoops, there goes another visitor, never to return.

If you do have videos on your site (and there are good reasons to do so), make sure they are voluntary to play, not mandatory. Or, at least take a page out of Facebook’s playbook and play them on mute.

11. Two-site Syndrome

Even if you don’t know the term, chances are you have experienced two-site syndrome before. It’s when a company’s information website and e-commerce area are built with two different platforms.

For example, when you find yourself on a shop built with Shopify that takes you to a WordPress.com site when clicking on the blog button. It totally disrupts user experience and looks plain unprofessional. Say goodbye to your conversion rates!

The good thing is, with WordPress there is absolutely no reason for the divide. WooCommerce and other e-commerce plugins integrate seamlessly into the platform so you can have everything in one place.

What Things Do You Hate on Websites?

As parents of our web presences, we idealize them. We think they can do no wrong and there’s never been a better website out there.

For that reason, it’s often hard to fathom that others have a different opinion. Yet, your analytics might indicate just that.

The points above are frequent things people hate about your website and websites in general. If you recognize yourself in those points, for the sake of all of us, take some remedial action.

You will find that, even if your site changes a bit, you will still love it. Only this time others will share the sentiment.

Source: Nick Schäferhoff for Elegant Themes Blog