#dude i can't read any fic i wrote about them anymore because of how my view of them changes

[cutter-kirby]

well fellas i thought about chara dreemurr for one second and now i need to replay undertale

[amyisherenowitsokay]

*stares very aggressively , I’m foaming from the mouth.*

Howdy-hey! I’m here to pester you abt your works! So I reread “From your memory” and I was like wowza and then I wondered…

What was your inspiration? That concept was just entirely new to me and in the good old year of 2011 I was practically ascending bc I was so invested in the story and it was actually the first fic I ever read from you. (and I fell in love teehee) So what made you write that or inspired yo to do so? Did you have an original storyline that was scrapped, and or changed ?

You don’t have to answer any of this if you don’t want to btw :)

I answer all my asks (eventually lmao) fish! Especially yours!

Long answer under the cut because I'm incapable of giving a short answer. Information about my own fics are constantly on the tip of my tongue ready to be spilled out at their first opportunity, and I'm incapable of resisting.

From Your Memory was actually genuinely inspired by the song mention in the A/N of the first chapter, which is Paramore's Ignorance. This is also where the title comes from.

"I'm not the same kid from your memory Well now I can fend for myself"

I listened to the original and acoustic version on loop. Basically what happened in teenage me's brain did was have an animatic in my head about how this song could figuratively apply to a fanfiction, developed the premise, and went from there.

This is gonna be really funny to explain because there's like legitimate scenes developed around individual lyrics in this song.

Ignorance sounds and sounded a lot to me like a dialogue. It sounded, to me, like one person was saying some parts, and one person was replying in a sort of escalating argument, but at least one party was 'ignorant' (huehuehuehue) of all the details about why they were even fighting in the first place. Based on that premise, the song will (hopefully) make more sense. I'm going to write the lyrics 'assigning' lyrics between two people, and tag them (1) or (2), depending on who I am is talking/replying, with 1 being Zim, and 2 being Gaz. I vividly imagined two people interrupting one another while fighting, hence a lot of the weird breaks.

This is gonna be so convoluted and I'm sorry ahead of time lmao.

Lyric Breakdown

(1) If I'm a bad person— (2) You don't like me (1) Well, I guess I'll make my own way (1) It's a circle, a mean cycle (1) I can't excite you anymore

Just on that dialogue, it's basically like. Zim starts off the story blaming himself for not being there when Gaz was injured, and wars between doing the easiest thing for Gaz, which is to shut up and pretend not to know her, or what he wants, which is to tell her the truth and re-involve himself in her life. Gaz is meanwhile obviously oblivious to his turmoil and is like "why are you even talking to me, you hate me." Zim of course originally chooses to aid her from the sidelines, but he's not happy about it. He essentially is "not allowed" to involve himself in her life anymore.

(1) Where's your gavel? Your jury? (2) What's my offense this time? (1) You're not a judge, but if you're gonna judge me (1) Well, sentence me to another life

Zim's resentment about the situation continues, especially with Dib being irritated about Zim choosing to keep secrets and forcing him to go along with it. Gaz is still like "dude what the fuck is your problem??" while Zim continues to be extra pissy, wishing things were different.

(1) Don't wanna hear your sad songs (1) I don't wanna feel your pain (1) When you swear it's all my fault (1) 'Cause you know we're not the same (no) (2) We're not the same (no) (2) Oh, we're not the same (1) Yeah, the friends who stuck together (1) We wrote our names in blood (1) But I guess you can't accept that the change is good (hey) (2) It's good (hey), it's good

At this point, Zim's dealing with being incapable of helping, desperately wanting to help Gaz, but not actually able to do so. He's just constantly watching her suffer without ever being able to help ease her pain.

Mentally, this was also just more arguing, but with Zim being forced to swallow the fact the meaningful friendship and borderline-relationship he and Gaz had developed is gone, and she's not interested in developing a new one the way he is. Things are different now. They simply aren't friends. He's done nothing for weeks but try to save her life, has had her literal blood on his hands, and now it doesn't even matter. He's got to move on, and he's got to continue to convince Dib that their situation has changed, and his idea is for the better. Lacking context, Gaz meanwhile is like dude take your angst and fuck off. She's also trying to convince herself that whatever is clearly happening behind the scenes, it doesn't matter, and she's better off keeping her head down.

(1) Well, you treat me just like another stranger (1) Well, it's nice to meet you, sir (1) I guess I'll go (1) I'd best be on my way out (2) You treat me just like another stranger (2) Well, it's nice to meet you, sir (2) I guess I'll go (2) I'd best be on my way out

(1) Ignorance is your new best friend (x2)

This is also another parallel back and forth, with Zim still coming to terms with Gaz genuinely not knowing their formerly intense, meaningful relationship. It's more resentment about what he lost. It's meant really sarcastically and snidely. Gaz, for her part, means it really literally. She doesn't have any relationship with Zim aside from 'that guy my brother hates,' and blows him off.

And of course, "ignorance is your new best friend" is pretty straightforward in its meaning. Gaz isn't Zim's best friend anymore, and all she has to keep her company is her new amnesia.

For this next part, queue Membrane (3). The really fun part is after this analysis, if you wanna go back and listen to this song nearly entirely from a Gaz vs Membrane perspective, it also can fit! From a Membrane-centric perspective, if you think of Membrane as he sees himself (aka not in the wrong), needing praise from the public, shrugging off criticism since it's "for the greater good," etc with Gaz (and Dib) shoving back at his preconceptions, it's easy to hear the dialogue. But continuing on, this part was mentally Membrane for me:

(3) This is the best thing that could have happened (3) Any longer and I wouldn't have made it (3) It's not a war, no, it's not a rapture (2) I'm just a person, but you can't take it (2) The same tricks that, that once fooled me (2) They won't get you anywhere (2) I'm not the same kid from your memory (2) Well, now I can fend for myself

This was more later in the story and/or right before Gaz lost her memory during her confrontation with Membrane, where Gaz knows what's going on, and Membrane's trying to convince her to cooperate anyways. Membrane is convinced this isn't something that needs to be difficult, while Gaz is warning him that she's dangerous now, has backup, and isn't going just hand over her independence at his whim.

Further Development

From that context, you can see that the story just kind of happened from there. I filled in the gaps. Why was Zim so mad at Gaz, and why wouldn't she know why he was mad at her? Originally, I wasn't sure who the (3)rd person in the lyrics was that Gaz was fighting with, but to me, it sounded like an authority figure. There's not a lot of those in the IZ universe, let alone one that Gaz would legitimately be threatened by, and eventually, it started to sound like an argument with someone gloating, and then someone who didn't even notice their gloating was actually cruel. They'd also have to be someone who Gaz knew since she was little. Someone she was invested in. Someone exactly like Professor Membrane. But then what would Gaz be arguing with dumb, well-meaning Professor Membrane about?

And thus, a metamorphosis occurred:

This is a meme I made awhile ago for my Discord friends when we discussing From Your Memory. It also makes me laugh every time I see it because it's really spot on to the vibes.

I started to consider the angle that Membrane was actually the bad guy, which, when you consider how many times 'evil mad scientist who think they're in the right' was fed to kids as a trope (and still is, tbh), it was an easy jump. And THAT was when the story really started kicking in.

This was around the time I started to hear the 'Dib is a clone' theories. If Dib was a clone, why couldn't Gaz be? If you were a scientist whose entire life was dedicated to advancement for the betterment of mankind, why would that just be relegated to advancement in technology? Why wouldn't someone just a liiiiiiittle off find themselves stumbling right into advancing the evolution of mankind as a species, too?

So then Gaz and Dib became experiments. And if you were going to make a boy and a girl, you could argue it'd just be the typical white picket fence dream of having a son and a daughter. But if you're me, and grew up in a religious environment, the creation of a man and woman as a pair sound less like siblings and more like Adam and Eve. And that's where the whole 'Gaz is an angel with wings' things came from.

The origin of evil!Professor Membrane was mostly that I thought that no one would ever see that twist coming, but reading back through it, I can definitely see small-me taking digs at my own super-scientist parent lmao.

Evil Membrane is also so incredibly fun just in and of itself. Professor Membrane is the guy above all guys in Invader Zim. He's respected, well-loved, commanding, imperial in so many ways.

I simultaneously started formulating this idea that Gaz had amnesia to keep her from being too OP and dunking on everyone. So the story pretty much fell into place after that. Obviously, the amnesia had to be caused by Membrane, to reset his 'experiment.' Dib and Gaz, as his own form of Adam and Eve, were abominations. Abominations tend to be malformed in some way, meaning they were imperfect creations. Dib was first, and therefore more of a prototype. It'd explain why he lacked Gaz's powers, why she tended to be smarter, stronger, etc in the show.

I also deeply loved the idea of Zim being in love with Gaz, while Gaz is completely indifferent in a way that was atypical than usual ZAGR stories (including MHNY). Zim wasn't fantasizing for a relationship that could be, but pining for a relationship that had been. It made their will-they-won't-they dynamic painful instead of lovey-dovey-ooey-gooey-sentimental, and ya bitch is always down to mix a good dollop of pain into my stories lmao.

Changes Down the Line

This one I'm gonna preface with to anyone reading this: don't go digging through my reviews. I'm too old and my bones are too tired to stir up shit, or incite drama.

I lost focus/desire to finish this story somewhere around I think when Gaz got kidnapped the first time (ch 19ish). I had a whole (now lost to time/deleted) chapter of her being in a warehouse, losing her shit, and breaking free via her powers.

ORIGINALLY, in a world where that version of the story happened instead of what's published, this was going to lead to Gaz being an actual, active threat to humanity incapable of controlling her powers. There was going to be a scene where Dib has to really debate on killing his own sister, or let her destroy the world in a fit of grief. Zim and Dib turned against one another because of it, with Zim fully willing to let her destroy as much of the Earth as he needs to as long as she stays alive.

It was undecided whether or not I was going to make Gaz kill Membrane, or just get really close. Most of the end of From Your Memory was me winging it and losing steam, so I was going back and forth on it.

However, I did know Dib would eventually manage to get close enough for the 'moment of truth,' so to speak, but find himself unable to actually kill his little sister. That moment of humanity would snap her back to cognizance. She'd realize just how much both Zim and Dib care for her in their individual ways, and sort of collapse. They'd eventually disappear, and the rest of story would play out pretty similarly to the published ending (assuming Membrane didn't die).

This all was scrapped legitimately because of one singular review.

Someone, and I genuinely do not remember who but I vaguely remember getting into it in my A/N's with them a few times, wrote this really rude review about how predictable the story was getting, and wrote out basically that it was obvious that Gaz was about to have a power freakout, how played out that was, blah blah blah. In 2011/2012 however, I was like 15, so instead of rolling my eyes and/or patting myself on the back for leaving enough narrative hints that the entirety of my story could be devised from what was already published, I got really mad lmao.

So in an effort to not be 'predictable' and prove that person 'wrong,' I deleted the entire chapter and rewrote it to what's now ch 20. That whole storyline was gone just cause one review really rubbed me the wrong way on the right day lmao. I think there's even an A/N even at the end of 20 that mentions offhand the scrapped rewrite.

As a reminder, this fic was finished over 10 years ago. I am not interested and would in fact be really irritated by anyone digging up the review to go harass someone who probably isn't even active on fanfiction anymore (I mean god, is anyone? Lmao). But that is what happened, and it is relevant to the question, so there.

Additionally, I was debating on writing out a few prequel chapters and inserting them somewhere in the story. Maybe 1 - 3(?) chapters written out, with a beginning, middle, and end of how Zim and Gaz's relationship developed. Like a lot of small, detailed flashbacks of when Zim first started treating Gaz, some middle bits when they stared falling for one another and really began to allow themselves to lean on one another, and then the final kiss scene, just before Gaz lost her memories.

I don't know quite remember where I intended to put that. I had vague ideas of Gaz being knocked out, those 1 - 3 chapters of flashback, and then her 'waking up' right after she slips into a coma, back in the present. These chapters were never written, partially because I couldn't figure out where to put them, and then by the time I got to scenes that could work for that kind of transition, I was really burning out with the story and just wanted to be done with it.

.

I think that's everything! Hopefully somewhere in this mess was a cohesive answer that answered your question! If I missed anything specific you were looking for, please let me know, and I'll be happy to answer! <3

[scyllas-revenge]

💘🎙️🌈

Thanks for the ask!!

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

I've actually been planning to go back and do some light editing to the first ten chapters or so of Burn Like Cold Iron. No changes to the plot or really significant edits, but I wrote those parts in 2016 or so and my writing has improved a lot since then.

But other than that? I'm pretty happy with everything else I've posted- that or I just can't be bothered to worry about them anymore.

🎙️which one of your fics would you like someone to make a pod-fic of?

Well Burn Like Cold Iron is my only long fic, so I think I'd say that by default. Although I'd also love an audio version of What Could Possibly Go Wrong? which is my four-chapter TRSB fic from last year. I'm really proud of that one and I think it would read out loud pretty well, considering the fun dialogue and the sheer amount of dramatic irony I've squished into it.

🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?

Hmmmm I've answered this one already, but I have a new answer this time around! The Ent-wives in Burn Like Cold Iron gave me so much grief. Gah. That's what you get for starting a fic without outlining the entire plot first. I'm really proud of how I worked the Ents back into the fic (and how the whole thing is ultimately going to pay off 10 or so chapters down the line!!!!) but it's definitely hiding a lot of panicking and grief behind it because UGH those tree dudes gave me a hard time

[sociallyawkward--fics]

HEY BACK AGAIN. idk how long its been cuz mobile is trash but me n my friend were talking abt how we were in a lot of the same fandom spaces as kids. Sanders sides being one of them. n i was like..... Long shot but do u know sociallyawkward--fics.. n at first they were like no i dont think so.. but then they looked u up n went OH MY GOD YEA??? ill send u a screenshot off anon but i told them we were friends n they said it was like finding out i knew a celebrity LMAO -H (ironic considering theyre prob more popular on ao3 than u😭 they briefly turned back into a 12yo fanboy)

its still so crazy to me ive known u for so long n met him like 3-4 years ago worlds collide ..... Also u can post this though im off anon if u want idc -H

ALSO. since im here. idk if i ever told u my age but when i sent my first ask to u i was probably 11. maybe 10 even. im turning 18 in a couple months now. its hard to bring myself to read some of the asks (ok most of the asks) i sent u over the years bc i was an incredibly anxious and awkward autistic kid. But u always treated me with so much love hahakjs at the time i was rly struggling n had very few friends n AS MUCH AS IT MAKES ME CRINGE TO LOOK BACK ON u were honestly the only older person i could talk to n it rly meant a lot lol. im so much more confident n comfortable in myself than i was all those years ago n ik i dont send u asks nearly as frequently anymore but tbh even if eventually its only once every few years ill always think back on u so fondly n gratefully. Neway i literally hate being sappy so ill shut up here but yeah. Thanks n such -H

ALSO IDK IF UR ACTIVE ON AMY SOCIAL MEDIA RLY?? BUT IF U R I CAN GIVE U SOME OF MY SOCIALS mostly i just tweet abt my day occasionally on twitter but i also have a sideblog where i post art. just thinking that maybe then i wouldnt have to be like 'and heres a quick summary of the past 8 months' n u could check up on me whenever instead of only seeing me when i send asks😭 -H (its also so less formal cuz when i send in asks u Gotta respond whereas if i post 'just ate a kickass burger' u can just. Like it. idk idc either way but lmk ^__^)

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

I'VE BEEN MEANING TO ANSWER THESE FOR MONTHS SINCE I'VE BEEN USING TUMBLR AGAIN AND MY LACK OF OBJECT PERMANENCE HAD ME KEEP FORGETTING I AM SO SORRY 😭😭😭😭

dkjfhkdhf omg that is so wild that you have a friend who also knows about me dkjfhdsf Sanders Sides (back when it was waaaaay smaller of a fandom lol) was the first (and tbh only, really) fandom where i had any real level of "popularity" as a fic writer, and i fed off that high for SO LONG lol -- hearing that people were obsessed with my work, both then and now after the fact, is genuinely so surreal dfkjhdjkfh like. i am just Here, i am just Some Dude who wrote some words that got them weirdly popular at 17-18 dkjsfhdkjfh (also cuz i try to gather all your asks into one post, you continue to remain anonymous just cuz i copy-pasted them into the post in the same order they were received lol)

Dude it is CRAZY that you are almost 18 (or, by the time i am finally managing to answer this with my Bad Brain Powers procrastinating it so long, already 18) -- I looked back and I was 18 when you sent your first ever ask to me dkjfhdf that's so wild. I am so honored that you saw me as an older person you could come and talk to, even if it was just through anonymous tumblr asks for the past 6+ years lol. I always think of you fondly too, and I am so proud of you for the way you've grown up and grown into your confidence

ALSO YOU CAN TOTALLY SEND ME YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA djfdjdsjkf you can absolutely send me any of your socials!!! I know your main blog because you've sent some asks without it (have I ever remembered to follow it??? I meant to but I can't remember, this is also a Brain Forget-y Accidental Procrastination thing), but I would LOVE to see your art sideblog and def feel free to send me your twitter!! I have not opened my twitter in like. 3 months, because i was having Unhealthy Habits so i tucked the app into a pocket out of site and stopped using it for a while, but I am doing better now and would definitely open it back up more often again to see what you were up to

Also!!! You can always feel free to DM me on any of my blogs/sideblogs here on tumblr, too! You don't have to wait to send an ask (though I love receiving asks from you, don't ever feel like you have to stop even if we connect elsewhere!), you can always DM me on any of my blogs (or on any other socials we may exchange, too!)

[clearwillow]

Hi! 😊 For the ask game: 🍓🥤❄️🌸

Hi @briefphilosophernight!

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

Oh god it was probably back in high school, I think? Somewhere around 2002-2003 cause I hadn't graduated, but I was reading a lot of fic at the time and thought "I don't see why I can't try". The very first one I ever wrote (it was LotR) was based around part of a dream I had, and I turned it into a oneshot (something I fail to do anymore). There was always plans for a second oneshot to follow it but the inspiration didn't hang around.

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

There's this Gundam Wing fic that I keep thinking about doing a reread of. (I know it's not IY but I'm so behind on IY reading I'm scared half my tbr list is deleted...)

Deprogramming by Scarlet Eve (FFN)

[Complete] Tucked away in old files, Heero discovers something about himself that Dr. J tried to hide, but made Heero who he was during the wars. But once the secret is discovered, already volatile world relations become worse, putting strain on the ESUN and those involved. Heero must stop it before the peace and structure Relena worked to create comes crumbling down.

There's one particular scene with Heero by himself that sticks out the most to me. It's kinda dark if you really think about it, but it works so well for his character. And I've never been for or against Trowa but he had me raging at my kindle when I first read it. Like I get why he was making those choices, but dude.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

You know...I don't know? I guess the first one that comes to mind would be the enemies to lovers plot in Break Me, because InuKag are barely going to be civil when they first meet. They've both got a lot to work through, and when things start to turn it's going to be very satisfying...until it isn't. As for who would write it best, I have no idea, cause there's always something about it someone else would change. Inuyasha would be human (and that's frowned upon apparently), he wouldn't be the shy boy like in canon but a cockly billionaire that wears women on his arm like watches. Kagome's not much better; she's really gonna be a bitch, but she's got good reason. Money has made her spoiled but she's dealing with a lot of hurt. This was a fic that was supposed to have been cowritten but now it basically sits in my wips folder until waves of the mood to add to it strike me. So I don't know of who would write it best that's not the person I'd have been writing it with.

🌸 ⇢ do you have any pets? if you do, post some pictures of them

I answered this one here with the pics of Gidgit and Louie 💜

[mooosicaldreamz]

(1) help! i don't know if i'm gay or not!! i don't have anyone to talk about this so im so sorry to dump it on you. you might not even answer this and that's ok bc i can't expect you to feel comfortable in answering. i won't be offended. i just need someone to read this. i read so much wlw fanfiction. i feel so comfortable being in fandoms that support wlw. when i masturbate i see myself as the guy pleasuring the girl.

(2) that line in your latest fic “animal” really stuck out to me, the one where lena was in the club and she goes “there was no disgust, only wonder.” that line is how i feel towards the lgbtq community. i have a few gay friends but i feel like im supposed to have more to be considered a “true member.” i feel like im a fraud bc i don’t dress like a gay person bc i don’t even know what that means. but i love being around women. i want to be around women for the rest of my life.

(3) i feel more comfortable around women than i do men. i’ve had a boyfriend in the past and that was not a good experience and ive been told i can’t jump to conclusions just because of one boy. i always want to kiss a girl and be with a girl but i feel like my attraction isn’t valid bc i haven’t been with a girl ever before. im so fucking shy. it sounds strange to say but i feel so goddamn ugly. too ugly for any girl to want to be with me. i just want to know that im not crazy.

(4) sorry for the spam! tl;dr, i feel in my heart of hearts that women have a special priority in my life that i just can’t put into words. i just don’t know how i fit in with the lgbtq community or if they’ll accept me, because i don’t “look” gay and i don’t have a lot of gay friends. if i want women to be my priority in life, does that make me a lesbian? gay? i like men bc sometimes they’re pretty, but that’s it. what the fuck does this mean? i’m terrified of being wrong about myself.

(5) for now i have no label for myself. i’m not straight. but i don’t even know if i’m allowed to be gay. thanks for reading. i know this was a lot. i don’t want to feel so confused anymore. i reached out to you bc i love the way you wrote lena’s journey in the “animal” fic. i feel like i have a lot of wonder for the lgbtq community as of now, but i’m dying to know if i have a place there or not.

i’m going to break down my response into little digestible numbered chunks which are hopefully somewhat helpful/reassuring

1) okay first i think i’d probably like to say that i am by no means an authority on what it means to be gay or bi or in general of the community~ so you know. don’t take me as word of god or anything.

2) you don’t have to know if you’re gay or not. when i was about 16 i started reading wlw fanfiction and realized i was like……super into it and it spiralled out from there for me. i’ve known ppl who have known they were for certain gay or bi since they were 10 and i’ve known ppl who’ve figured it out in their 20s and 30s. you don’t HAVE to know a damn thing. and it’s okay if you’re not gay too. people grow and change throughout the entirety of their lifetime and you have time to figure yourself out always and forever.

3) there are no rules to being gay (there are also no rules to being straight), so you don’t have to be a certain way ever and if anyone tells u you have to be then they’re stupid. you don’t have to dress a certain way or act a certain way to be anything. you can be you. you don’t have to fit into an exact category to be gay. you don’t have to have gay friends to be gay either. when i was working thru my major identity issues while i was a teenager, i didn’t know anyone who was gay either. there’s no rules in this way.

4) you don’t have to have been with a girl, either - theoretically, at some point, every gay woman has never been with a girl, but that doesn’t mean that who they are and how their attractions work aren’t valid. the very existence of your feelings mean that they exist and are valid. if anyone tells you you can’t be gay because you’ve never been with a girl tell me their address and i will punch them.

5) people who say that you shouldn’t base your opinion on dating dudes on one experience are stupid and are misunderstanding the root issue. if you want to date dudes, date dudes, and if you don’t, then don’t. that’s how simple it is. if you want to date women, then date them. you don’t have to have an exact label. just do you.

6) on a similar note, i can’t label you for you because that would be dickish! it sounds to me like you’re struggling with your identity and i support you exploring and understanding yourself. idk if you wanting women to be a priority in life means that you’re gay because only you can define that for yourself. ftr, i also think dudes are pretty. i would maybe date one 1 out of 10 times, but i still pretty much define myself as gay. and that’s cool. 

7) i want to address specifically your sentence "i’m terrified of being wrong about myself” because i really truly believe that no one can be wrong about themselves. you are yourself, you are the one who gets to make the rules about you and what you are and who you are going to be. you literally cannot be wrong. there are stupid ppl in this world who might tell you you have to be a certain way to be any one thing, but that is false. you can be what you are. that’s that. for real. i know i sound like a fuckin self-help book but i don’t care, it’s the facts. i understand about societal pressures and shit but when it comes to your mind and body, you are the owner of you. so you can’t be wrong about it.

8) you are super allowed to be gay. there’s no test. no one checks you at the door at pride and makes sure you fit in.

9) it’s okay to be confused. i, a person who has been pretty aware of my interests since i was 15, am still confused. you don’t have to know everything about yourself before you let yourself try something. in fact, there’s a likelihood you won’t know a damn thing until you try. i recently learned that i like red peppers! i thought for YEARS that i hated red peppers. i thought for a long time that dating a girl would be weird and uncomfortable because i thought - stupidly - that dating a girl would just be different than what love or dating was supposed to be. and it’s not. i tried it and i like it and i’m happy. but you also don’t have to like it once you try it.

10) the tldr version of my response to your questions is this: you can be you, whatever that is. you don’t have to fit a label or pass a test. it’s okay to be uncertain and anxious and confused; there are tons of people who have gone through things like what you’re going through. i’m one of them. so don’t be afraid. there is a place for you in the lgbtq community if you want a place. 

i have NO idea if that was helpful. but for real, i’m with you and support you, okay? you are valid whatever way you are. 

[corvid-knight]

Can't Stop Won't Stop

Hoo boy.

Instead of an attempt at a real summary, I'm just going to say a couple things here. One, this is an old fic. Either the second or third homestuck thing I ever wrote. Two, this was written when I was in maybe the shittiest mental state I've ever been in, so like. It's kind of straight out wish fulfillment ("hey I hate my life love me" kind of thing.) (Also I swear things have gotten a hell of a lot better since I wrote this. Like. Don't worry.)

There's self-harm in this.

There's also a rare instance of me writing Dave rapping. I'm still very proud of that even if it sucks.

Nobody dies and there's no blood spilt. I promise.

(Read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031870)

You are DAVE STRIDER. You're alone in your room, in the dark but for the glow of your computer screen. You're still wearing your shades, though—you always wear the shades, partly because your best bro John gave them to you, partly because you don't like people to see your eyes, and partly because your eyes are hella sensitive to light. Of course, if anyone asks, you wear them because you are the coolest dude on earth.

Not that that's saying much anymore. You, John, Dirk (not your Bro, no matter how much he looks and talks and acts like your Bro he's not), and Jake are probably the last male humans in this universe. And it's your fault, isn't it? You started the game that ended the world.

You push your shades up onto your forehead, rub your eyes, and settle them back into place again.

John's called you a hero, but you're...

You started the game.

You were too afraid to kill your own sleeping self and go godtier.

You were too slow and weak to help your Bro.

You started the game, and that's the one that repeats in your head, all the splintered versions of yourself murmuring it because in everything that you've done that's the thing that haunts you. You invited John into this, you entered as his server player, you were the one who didn't see the danger until it was too late, you were the one who ended the world. You were the one who killed everyone, really, John's dad and Rose's mom and your own Bro, and everything that followed was a result of what you did.

You are anything but a hero.

You shake off the dark thoughts, for a moment at least, and open a new tab in your browser, pulling up the question forum where you left a question. It was simple enough: Is suicide considered either Heroic or Just? In other words, if you're godtier and you kill yourself, will it take?

You went full-on anonymous. Plain black text, no username or anything. Nothing to show who you are.

There's a reply. Five words, in off-yellow text: dont bee a fuckiing iidiiot.

You stare at the words for a moment, then type in a placating reply: It's just a question. Don't get all uptight, dude.

You know who uses that color and quirk, but this forum seems to exist in a half-dozen timelines at once, and you've gotten answers from past and future versions of your friends before, so it might not be exactly who you think it is.

Before you even finish that thought, another message comes up: ii'm not beeing uptiight, youre beeing 2tupiid. death fuckiing hurt2, and the people you leave beehiind get hurt even wor2e.

Your fingers move across the keyboard, spelling out your thoughts and hitting the enter key before you can think about what you're saying: I deserve it, death can't hurt any more than living does, and no one cares enough to be hurt when I do it.

Reading your words onscreen, you realize that you wrote "when" instead of "if." It's really the first time that you admitted, even to yourself, that you're going to go through with this.

While you're still considering that admission, more words come up: 2top. just 2top, ok? ii dont care how much you thiink people hate you. even iif you think there i2 no one out there who care2, there ii2 2omeone, 2omewhere, who wiill cry when youre gone. dont you fuckiing dare hurt your2elf, 2triider.

You puzzle over the last word for a minute before you see that it's supposed to be your name. When you get it, you freeze for a second, then type: I'm not Strider. I don't know who you're talking about.

This time the reply comes back almost immediately: come on dude. we both know ii'm capable of traciing you back, and you diidnt exactly cover your track2. and ii mean what ii 2aiid. iif your hurt your2elf, youre hurtiing everyone who know2 you, and ii'm countiing my2elf iin that. ii dont have enough friiend2 to lo2e another one, dave.

"Damn it," you mutter. "Don't make this about you, Sollux." You type in: You don't know me.

You're about to close the tab and shut down your computer for the night, but before you can move the cursor to the X, another message comes up: 2triider, ii know you better than ii know my be2t friiend. ii know what iit'2 liike to know that your friiend2 are goiing to diie, and have to 2tand iidly by and do nothiing. ii know what it'2 like to 2ee your lu2u2—or parent, whatever—diie in front of you. ii know about your brother, ii know you thiink you kiiled hiim, and ii'm here to tell you that you diidnt.

You hit each key deliberately, but not as hard as you want to: dont talk about bro to me.

You wait for the answer this time, and it does come: you diid nothiing wrong. there wa2 nothing any of u2 could have done to 2ave hiim. to 2ave any of them. ii know, dave.

Your lip hurts from how hard you're chewing on it. It's a stupid nervous habit that Bro trained you out of when you were ten, and you've only started doing it again since he's been gone. You type: Shut up. You don't know anything about it, you weren't there.

The screen stays static after your text comes up, and you stare at it, biting your lip and praying that no more yellow text will come up, that you'll reach the point when you can shut down the computer and walk away. You think of walking into the bathroom, opening the cabinet in the dark and reaching up to the back of the top shelf, feeling around for the still-sealed box of razor blades—

But more words are appearing, under your last ones: ii kiilled my mate2priit wiith my own hands. my lu2u2 diied a2 ii watched. the giirl that could have been my mate2priit 2tepped iin front me and diied takiing a hiit that wa2 2uppo2ed to kiil me. ii wa2 almo2t 2 where you are now, and iit took a hell of a lot of repiitiion2 for my friiend2 2 get thii2 through my thiick 2kull: no matter what you diid or thiink you diid, you dont get to pa22 judgement on your2elf. you are not your own judge, jaiilor, and executiioner. you are not.

You stare at the screen. You honestly don't know what to say to that, what arguements you could use, because half of you can see the truth there.

After a moment, more words come up: 2triider? you 2tiill there?

"How can you know me this well?" you ask, leaning back and pulling your shades off, letting them dangle loosely from one hand, and in the same breath you say, "You don't know shit."

More yellow text comes up: goddammiit 2triider

"I killed everyone," you say, and every bit of your soul believes that statement. You let the shades slip out of your fingers, onto the floor, as you tip the chair back, finding perfect equilibrium and balancing it on two legs. "Every one of my friends, over and over again."

And more: dave fuckiing an2wer me

"I'm worse than useless." You close your eyes. "When I die, at least I can't kill them again."

You'll get up. In a minute, and you do mean in a minute, but suddenly you're tired and you want to sit for a sec. When you get up, you'll go into the bathroom. No need for the lights—you know where what you need is, and you know where the shower is. You can turn the shower on in the dark, that'll wash most of the blood away and make it a little less disgusting for whoever finds you.

Someone shouts—a hoarse inarticulate battle cry—and, from the sound of it, slams a battering ram into your door. Startled, you overbalance the chair. "Shit—" You swallow the rest of the sentence as you hit the floor, bite your lip, and taste blood.

The door's locked, but whoever's pounding on it doesn't seem to care, and after a second blow something splinters. For a moment, even the low light from the hallway is too bright, and you have to blink a few times before you can recognise who it is in your doorway.

Whoever it is short and dark, with nubby horns that almost hide under the artfully messy black hair. Karkat Vantas, you realize a moment before he starts shouting.

"Strider! Fucking answer me!" He sounds angry, he always sounds angry, but there's a current of worry underneath the anger that you've never heard from him before. "Dave!"

"Did you just break my door down?" You sit up, fingering your lip. It hurts, and there's blood staining your fingers when you take your hand away. "Haven't you heard of knocking?"

"You—" Karkat looks past you, higher than your head. At the computer screen behind you. "Fuck..." And he strides across the room and kneels next to you. "Sollux messaged me. He said he was afraid you were going to do something stupid."

"I'm fine." It's a lie, you can hear how bad a lie it is as you say it. You fumble around on the floor, looking for your shades in the faint light from the hall and from your computer. After a second, your hand brushes against them, and you scoop them up. Before you can put them back on, Karkat snatches them out of your hand.

"Don't you fucking lie," he growls, reaching back and setting them on the desk, out of your reach. "Don't you distance yourself like that. What the fuck are you thinking? You can't just die, it doesn't work like that. How the fuck do you think the rest of us are going to feel?"

You wipe your mouth again, and look at the faint streak of red instead of at Karkat. "I'm the reason you can count 'the rest of us' on your fingers," you point out quietly. "You'd be better off—"

"Fucking nooksniffer bulgebrain wriggler," Karkat mutters, and puts his hands on your head, the hollows of his palms at your temples. He pulls your head up, forcing you to meet his strange eyes, shockingly yellow and black with no sclera, framed by shadows darker than his grey skin. His hands are warm, further reminding you how alien he is. "Stop talking like you're fucking expendable. You're a person, not some piece in some cosmic fucking game, and you're not fucking killing yourself."

"I—" You have some arguement, you have it half-planned in your mind, but he runs his hands upward through your hair, like you're some small animal he's petting, and the strangeness of it—the amazing gentleness of his hands, so much at odds with his anger—drives everything else out of your head.

Karkat makes a noise that isn't anything like a word, just a incoherent expression of anger. "What do you humans even do without horns?" he mutters. "I don't fucking get how you people calm each other down. I...fuck." He takes his hands out of your hair—you find yourself oddly sad about that—and sits back on his heels, dragging one arm across his face. When he takes it away, you realize that he's close to tears. "I'm no fucking good at this shit," he says, reaching out with one sharp-nailed finger and wiping a last bit of blood off your lips. "I got fucking lucky last time, one time, and now Sol texts me...he knows how I feel about you, he knows I couldn't stay away and let you..."

"Wh-what?" Something about him is incredibly calming, it always is, even when he's shouting; it's like he's some soothing drug, making you feel like everything is almost all right. But sometimes, you find yourself listening to his voice so closely that you miss what words he's saying. He can't have implied what you inferred. "I don't—"

"You need a moirail, or a fucking matesprit," Karkat says bluntly, "and I wish it was me. And don't give me that 'not a homosexual' shit—number one, it doesn't make any fucking sense, and number two, I've seen how you look at Egbert." He shakes his head, meeting your eyes for a second and then looking down. "You...fuck, I don't know."

"I...this isn't about John. None of this is about him." You feel your face heating up, a blush that you know lights your albino skin like a traffic light. Karkat's right: you look at John, when he's not paying attention, and you had a crush on him, when you met him and before you met him, and you love him and always will, like a brother. But he isn't interested in you as anything else, and you know it, and the peeks that you sneak add up to nothing more than one more guilt to be thrown upon a pile already sky-high. "I never said I was straight—"

"I don't know what that means." Karkat shrugs.

"It means..." Staring at his lowered head, you get an urge to touch him, to feel the heat of his skin, and instead of finishing your sentence, instead of thinking of all the reasons you shouldn't, you reach out and run your fingers through his black hair. It's soft and a little tangled, and as you move your fingers you brush against one of his stubby horns.

Karkat makes a sound like a soft growl, deep in his throat, and his eyes snap up to meet yours. There's pain on his face, pain and sorrow and fear and hope and desire all snarled up together. He reaches out, laying his hands gently against your head again, letting his fingers get tangled in your white hair. He closes his eyes, growling so softly that it can't be called a growl, so softly that he isn't growling, he's...he's purring.

"Karkat," you say, connecting the noise that he's making with his name and forgetting everything in your life except this ridiculous coincidence, this lingual joke across two universes. "Karkat, like a fucking cat, you're a cat, oh my god—"

Karkat lets you go, brushing off your hands as you start to laugh. Fifteen minutes ago you were alone in this room, ready to end everything and force a personal game over, and now you're laughing at a dumb pun that no one in particular created. And that thought makes you laugh harder.

"You really know how to ruin the moment," Karkat grumbles, crossing his arms and looking away from you.

You're still laughing as you lean forward, put one hand under his chin to turn his face to you, and kiss him.

He hesitates for a second, barely long enough for you to fear that you're wrong to do this—and then he wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer and kissing you back.

Karkat tastes like salt and sweetness, like something foreign and exotic, something that you've been looking for your entire life and never found before now. His teeth are smooth as you run your tongue across them, nubby like his horns but wickedly sharp, sharp enough to make you feel like you're on the verge of cutting your tongue, that kissing him is flirting with danger like you'd love to flirt with him. He's growling—or purring—again, and it feels like your head is resonating with it, with him.

You slip your hands up under his shirt, touching his skin. Sliding your hands across his chest, feeling the ridges of his ribs, his heart beating faster than yours ever could.

Karkat moans, exhaling into your mouth, then pulls away. He doesn't let go of you, though. "Wait," he says, and you get an unreasonable flash of pride at how out-of-breath he sounds. "No...no pailing, okay? Not tonight. You...you need something to look forward to, and you need to sleep."

He shifts his grip as you're parsing that sentence, then stands up, lifting you like you weigh next to nothing. The pure shock of it holds you still for a moment—he's tiny, he barely comes up to your shoulders, how can he pick you up this easily?—and then you twist in his arms. "Karkat, c'mon, put me down—"

"Would you fucking cooperate?" The door to your bedroom is ajar; Karkat kicks it open and carries you through, depositing you unceremoniously on the bed. "There; you're down." He flicks on the light, then pulls his shirt off over his head, folding it in a few quick motions and laying it on top of your dresser.

"What are you doing?" You sit up, flicking hair out of your eyes.

"You think I'm gonna leave you alone?" Karkat glares at you, crossing his arms defensively in front of his chest. "And come back tomorrow morning, and find you fucking dead? No fucking way. Move over."

You don't, but he sits down on the bed anyway.

"Karkat—" You stop yourself. Take a deep breath, hold it for a second, let it out again. You don't know why you're arguing with him; you don't want him to go. "Okay."

And you do something that you wouldn't do if it were someone else sitting there, if it were John or Dirk or fucking anyone but Karkat—or if you hadn't seen the oh-so-faint scars covering his chest and back like spiderwebs, only a shade paler than his grey skin. You pull your shirt off, wadding it into a ball and tossing it off the end of the bed. It takes all of your self-control to keep your hands at your sides, to not cross your arms and try to hide what's on your skin.

"Wow." Karkat's tone is soft, not pitying but maybe a bit sad. He touches you lightly with one long-nailed finger, starting at your shoulder and following the tracery downward. "What are they from?"

Usually, you don't talk about your scars. Usually, you don't even admit they exist. Now, you take Karkat's hand and guide it to the worst and most noticable one, the thick vertical line dead center of your chest. "This one's from Jack Noir. When he...stabbed me. Killed me." You move his hand upward, to one running diagonally across your shoulder. This one's thinner, but longer as well, and you can still remember when it happened. "This one, I was sparring with Bro, and one of us fucked up. Probably me." To the other side, lower, a horizontal cut that's faded to almost nothing. "The first time I ever practiced with Bro, I didn't realize that blades bounce, and he...he didn't know I wouldn't know that."

Karkat pulls his hand down to your stomach, brushing his fingers against the close-set ladderwork of horizontal scars there. "How about these?" His voice is unspeakably gentle, so much so that he doesn't sound like the Karkat you know, and you know he already knows the answer to the question.

"Those—" You have to stop for a second. You've never admitted this, not to anyone, and as far as you know no one knows. "Me. Those are from me, okay?"

Every one of those cuts is for a memory of your Bro. After he died, after you knew he was gone, you sat in the dark and you went through your mind, searching out reasons you shouldn't miss him. For every one you found, you cut another line into your skin.

There were so many reasons.

When you turned the light on, you were kind of surprised by how much blood there was.

You're shaking.

Karkat growls in what sounds like annoyance, and stands up. You watch him, afraid that he's going to leave but somehow unable to call him back.

He steps over to the light switch and flicks it off. Your night vision is awful, and as soon as the room goes dark you are, effectively, blind, but you can hear the mattress creak as he sits down.

"Lie down, Dave." That strange gentleness is still in his voice, and as soon as you do what he says he rolls over next to you, putting one arm across your chest like an anchor.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, and you don't even know what you're apologising for.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It's okay. Go to sleep."

"I love you." You don't know why you say that. It's true, but you've never said it to anyone before, not that you can remember; you've always been too afraid to say it.

"Yeah. I love you, too, if it means what I think it does." Karkat sighs. "Go the fuck to sleep, Dave."

And you close your eyes, and you fall asleep, with Karkat lying warmly against you.

You are KARKAT VANTAS, and you can see a little better that Dave can in this darkness, which is to say that you can just make out vague shapes. You watch Dave in the dark, feeling the rythm of his breath slow and stabilize, fall into a calm pattern. He's asleep now, and you can stop worrying. For a minute, at least.

You're not going to leave him here. You're not going to go to sleep, either. Ever since this game started, ever since you first loaded that fucking game into your computer, you've been plagued with intense nightmares. Even before this all started, you had trouble sleeping sometimes; now that you're almost afraid of what waits for you in your dreams, you often stay awake until you physically can't keep your eyes open any longer.

And you don't like human-style beds all that much. Recupracoons make so much more sense.

You run your fingers across Dave's scars again, lightly enough that you won't wake him, starting with the worst one—Jack's—and working your way outward in a widening spiral. His scars show up so much worse than yours—human skin must not heal as efficiently as troll skin. Either that, or Dave's been hurt almost to the point of dying, over and over again.

You don't want to believe that, but you could—Dave looks and talks tough, seems cool and polished, but when he lets his guard fall, he's so fractured and fragile that it hurts your fucking heart. He's like no one you know; if he'd been a troll, he would have either been culled by now or been selected to train as an elite soldier. You'd like to believe the latter, but you honestly don't know.

And he's not a troll, anyway. He's human, uniquely beautiful and alien, different from you and from everyone you've always known. He is like a reflection of yourself in a cracked mirror, like the other half of everything you are.

You're barely awake, at this point. The realization alone should be enough to banish sleep, but all you can find the energy to do is mutter, "Fuck it," and squirm a little closer to Dave.

His skin is cooler than yours, you think as you close your eyes. Like a highblood's, or maybe not a highblood...Terezi? Equius? Not Gamzee, if you remember right (which you might not; it's been so long since you've touched Gamzee, and that though brings a pang of guilt), warmer than Gamzee's skin but only by a little...

You're still contemplating blood tempature when you fall asleep.

Sleep is as big a mistake as you knew it would be, fraught with blood like a liquid rainbow, pain that's only a shadow of what pain can be but still hurts like fuck, memories that are undeniably your own (no matter how much you'd like to deny them) and memories that are hellishly familiar and yet bewilderingly not-yours. Part of the time you know that you're dreaming, but you still can't force yourself awake.

When you do finally wake up, you do it with a stifled whimper, your hands closing convulsively on—

Flesh. Dave's shoulders. At some point, you moved even closer to him, draping yourself over him and curling against him, and now you're pretty fucking sure you just drove your fingernails deep enough into his skin to draw blood. And you're still in the grip of the nightmare, unable to breathe deep enough to apologise, unable to do anything other than shake and cling to him.

"Bad dream?" Dave's whisper is barely loud enough to be heard over your own heartbeat. "I know how that is."

You breath as deeply as you can, shedding some measure of the unreasoning fear, growl, "I'm fucking fine," and immediately regret saying it.

Dave is silent for a second. "Fine," he replies, thoughtfully. "I know I'm not fine, and I don't think you are, either. Not really. But that's okay." One of his hands comes up, stroking your hair but staying well clear of your horns—even though he's not troll, he seems to get that there are times when horns can be touched and times that they definitely should not be. "Right?"

You can feel the vibration that'll become a purr starting in your chest, and it makes you feel even more ashamed for snapping at him. "I'm sorry," you mutter.

Dave considers that for another long moment, fingers combing absently through your hair. When he speaks again, it's not in a whisper but in a low voice that has a cadence that you've heard from him before, when he's rapping with someone else. "So fine my line between loving and dying, in the nick of time you arrive and you strive to keep me alive, don't let me take a dive, you know you saved my life, broke me out of my strife, brought me relief and taught me belief with the words that you weave—" He runs out of breath, inhales sharply, and keeps going, although his voice goes a bit hoarser with every word, "Karkat, please don't leave, you're what I need and without you I'd bleed: words, blood, and pain, colder than death's reign, I would go insane, you're all that can tame the storm in my brain—"

Dave's voice cracks, and he stops rapping. You can hear his breathing, though, ragged and uneven, as he fights not to cry.

"Fuck," you say softly. You can feel your own tears on your face. "Oh, fuck, Dave, fucking..." There are no words, nothing you can find to say, so instead you reach out in the dark, finding Dave's face and wiping tears away as gently as you can. You're so bad at this, always have been, and you're afraid that you'll do something to hurt him worse as you try to comfort him.

Without even thinking, you run one hand through his hair, feeling for horns and not finding any. Dave sighs shakily as you mentally curse yourself.

"Don't leave me," he says quietly, and his voice breaks again on the second word. "Please—"

"You're fucking kidding me." You lean forward, pressing your lips against his forehead for a brief second. "I'd rather cut off my right hand than leave you alone, Strider, and don't you fucking forget it."

He exhales sharply, a gasp turned inside out, and pulls you down just a little, just enough that your mouth meets his. This kiss is even better than the first time, if that's possible. It lasts what seems like forever and like no time at all, and this time Dave's the one who breaks it.

"Are we—are we still on 'no pailing?'" he asks, and you can hear a wicked smile in his voice. "Because if we are, I might be about to have a problem—"

"Fuck that," you tell him, and find his mouth with your own again.

And he is smiling, and you swear on your soul that you won't ever let him stop.