#hope you like it? it's choppy and i wrote part of it at 1 am

[flannelpunkcalum]

Ayo 👀 I was hoping to get a ship ♥️ First off though I wanna ask, what are you like? I can give a proper ship in return then c: But anyway here I go, about to take up your ask box because what are short answers (Also I have a face page if you wanna check that out too) : 2. I love romance, but too much mushy stuff lowkey freaks me out and tbh I have a hard time being romantic myself but I can get pretty romantic if I really wanted to ya feel? It’d just be in more unexpected or unusual ways

3. She’s hilarious and chill af. She’s the realest out there and always has my back god bless 6. Going to a carnival/fair and then going back to one of our places to get drunk and watch netflix sounds chill/fun tbh 7. Closer by Nine Inch Nails bYE or After the Party by The Menzingers 8. The closest thing I have to a type is being a sucker for either - green eyes | black hair | blondes | curly hair 9. My aesthetics usually either consist of pastels, reds, black&white, or spacey stuff .  18. Traveling and art. I would pursue it relentlessly because I’m an artist and every field of art intrigues me and so does the world 20. Not well tbh. I’m complicated and all over the place. I’ve been told many times that I’m hard to actually read and figure out even though I appear otherwise 21. That soulmates exist 25. I love rainy weather and thunderstorms. I love the smell of rain and how the world looks when it’s gloomy. To me it’s beautiful, calming, and cozy 🖤 

Um first of all you’re cute and second of all I think Ashton is kind of the obvious answer here??? Even before I saw him on your blog I knew. You’ve both got that big artist energy and I get super heavy “no small talk” vibes... like within thirty seconds you’d be discussing the heat death of the universe or the collective unconscious or something

Y’all remember that tweet Ashton did about “starting an online romance with you”? I feel like that’s how this starts, like he’s following you and you’re following him and one day on one of your posts he leaves a comment about how he's been loving your comments and posts… you’d message him privately saying how much that meant from him and he'd mention your glowing presence again… someone would definitely use the words “beautiful mind”... And suddenly you're each other's “2am thoughts” buddies, the “this street art made me think of you” friends, and he feels like he can talk about anything with you but doesn't feel pressured to and that's such a gift. You know that person? He's yours and you're his, and for a while that's enough, until he realizes he wants you completely.

The thing about him being so chill to talk to, though, is it's easy until it isn't. You're both complicated and I feel like the moment you didn't feel comfortable sharing something with him he’d know and it would drive him wild. It must be terrible, right? Some big secret that could eat him alive. What else aren't you telling him? In the moment, it would make him feel so powerless and angry and sorry he'd go all sullen and pick a fight. It’s akin to him throwing a tantrum. He knows he's not entitled to your every thought, but can he help it if he wants to be a part of everything in your mind? “You tell me everything, how the hell is this any different?” Maybe you get riled, end up shouting back at him, saying something you don’t mean. When you both calm down, he apologizes, and a fight like that doesn’t happen again. But in the moment, it’s a lot.

I feel like the absolute best dates for you guys would be museum dates; from the Louvre to MoMA you two would make that shit your playground. He’d love to take pictures of you in front of huge works, love to make jokes about some 16th century guy’s face in his portrait he sat 75 hours for, love to explore the galleries silently with you with one hand in your back jean pocket. Maybe you guys would get tipsy on wine after, talking about what you saw and what you love, and you can’t look me in the eye and tell me there wouldn’t be at least one painting recreated for Instagram. Here’s what I think; so much in Ashton’s life is a performance. Half his time is spent with one eye looking for the camera. But honestly I think the exception would be his love for you. 

I feel like Calum would have a crush on you because he’s kind of branching out and I think he’d like someone to challenge him artistically and intellectually

......and if you DO wanna do a little ship for me the most important facet of my personality is that I’m a very big nerd (I’m studying molecular biology) and that I make fun of everything? To answer a few of my own questions: 2 I am such a bad romantic. slow dancing in the kitchen is all well and good but that doesn’t really mean anything when times get tough. I am a hideous flirt, though. 9. I like to describe my personal style as “nerd in a teen chick flick after her personal style is transformed by the cheerleader, but then she realizes she needs to stay true to herself”. 17. Mantis shrimp. 26. Big ugly jacket, leggings, and low cut shirt baby!!! sorry I don’t really know what I’m saying so no pressure or anything 

[hacked-by-jake]

Hi yes hello I just got away from someone who I think was stalking me and I am freaking out and know I will continue freaking out for several days. Would you kindly write something where MC is in the same situation and Jake helps them in some way? He doesn't have to physically show up if it doesn't make sense storywise he can just talk to MC and tell them to go someplace public or whatever and help keep them calm. I don't know. Thank you.

Take you home.

>Part 2

Summary: Jake helps you when you’re being followed by a stranger on your way home at night.

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: MC is being persecuted and the person has no good intentions / Light swearing.

⚠️A/n: Okay, first of all, I’m really sorry you had to experience this. I very much hope that you are well / that you are better and everything is okay. If you want to talk to someone you don’t know, feel free to write to me.❤️

>>So, then, of course, please take all care of yourselves! Be careful and when you get into a situation like this, find someone who can help you quickly. People on the street, ring a bell even if you don’t know who lives there. Ask for help and draw attention to yourself. If you are alone, there are almost now numbers everywhere you can call if you happen to be on your way home or wherever. Save this number to your phone and get help there. Or call the police, even if it seems exaggerated to you, but at such moments it is not exaggerated.<<

To the Story: I started writing this but realized in the way I wrote it that I didn’t feel good about it. So I decided to write another alternative. Alternative 1. I have left both alternatives there, it is marked. The beginning and the end of the story are for both alternatives. However, Alternative 2 is a little more fictional, while Alternative 1 is a little more serious (if I can say so). I just felt Alternative 2 wasn’t serious enough for this really serious subject. Nevertheless, I left alternative 2 inside to maybe / hopefully leave a little bit more good (more cute etc.) feeling.

So, and at least: In this story, the perpetrator is a man. But I would like to point out that it is not only men who do this. This can happen to all genders and all gender can be perpetrators!

Now, I hope you will like it and I can help you a little bit with it or that it will calm you down a little. Thank you for your request and always be careful. Stay healthy.

Sorry about the mistakes.

"See you tomorrow" you call laughing and wave goodbye to the others once again. You put both hands deep into the pockets of your jacket and make your way home in a good mood. You and the others have all spent a nice evening in the Aurora. Actually, the others wanted to drive you home but you said that the fresh air will do you good because it is always very warm and stuffy in the bar. "Good night, MC" says a friend of Phil who is coming toward you and only now enters the bar. "Bye" you smile.

You breathe deep in the fresh night air, which is more than good for your body and your mind. You close your eyes and enjoy the silence for a moment. Nothing can be heard far and wide. No cars, no people, not even ravens crowing. A beautiful and clear night in Duskwood.

Your way home is fortunately not so far. From the Aurora about 15 to 20 minutes walk. Quietly you mumble your favorite song and whistle the music in some places. Until you see a black shadow across the street.

You turn your gaze there and see a man, dressed in dark, looking around. His eyes are flashing in the light of the street lights and you quickly turn your gaze away again. From the corner of your eye, you can see that he’s moving across the street to yours. You’re twisting your eyes, not pleased. Of course, you don’t want to say right away that this man is a bit weird just because he changes sides of the road but nevertheless you have a queasy feeling. It’s no secret you have to be careful.

Just for your own safety and to calm your mind, you turn left on the next street. It is not really a shortcut, the way remains the same, but enough to avoid him. But when you notice the quiet steps behind you also turn into the alley, you become really uncomfortable. You are getting closer to your apartment and thus to the edge of the forest.

Not many people live here anymore. After Hannah was found and the case solved, many people moved away from here and when you moved to Duskwood, you found your apartment in the edge of the forest.

Since there are really not many people living here, you also know that the probability that the man has to go exactly this way is low. You try inconspicuously, turn your head backwards to look over your shoulder. It seems to you that the man has accelerated his steps, which automatically makes you run a little faster too. Of course he notices your look.

"Wait a minute," he calls and your heart stops for some knockers. Quickly you look straight again. Speed up your pace again. Don’t want to get panicked and hectic, yet you can’t resist your mind that immediately tells you 'run' "You don’t have to be afraid," he shouts behind you. A goose bump spreads on your body and a wheeze leaves your lips.

Your mind goes crazy and your body immediately enters survival mode. You’re starting to go faster, panicking of the strange man.

You thought Duskwood left those dark days behind.

"You don’t have to run away!" he calls again and you tighten your jaw muscle. It’ll still take a little to get to your apartment. Again you look back, see that the man has come even closer, also runs very fast. The houses and apartments around you are all dark, people are sleeping, no one would wake up. And then you get the idea.

Jake, the only one of the others who lives near you is Jake.

When he moved here, he moved into an apartment about four blocks from you. Further downtown, it has become difficult to find anything. You pull your phone out of your pocket and open the phone immediately. You always have Jake on speed dial, so you can call right away. Afraid, you press the phone against your ear. Your other hand wraps tightly around the pepper spray you own since there was the Man Without a Face.

'Pick up, pick up, pick up'

"I just want to talk to you!" calls the creepy man from behind and this time you can not hold back and the first sob leaves your lips.

"Hello, MC?" you hear Jake’s astonished voice. Of course, he doesn’t expect you to call him at 2:00 a.m. "Help me" you whisper quietly, your voice is a squeak, panicked, anxious, desperate. "What’s going on?" Jake immediately sounds alarmed. Immediately notice that the situation is serious. "A man has been following me since the Aurora, he wants me to stop," with deep sobbing you explain the situation. "How much distance is between you?" Jake asks calmly. "About 7 or 8 meters, but every time I run faster, he runs faster too!" you answer. You hear loud rustling from Jake. "Okay, MC, you just have to stay calm, don’t hang up, I’m already on my way" You agree, mumbling. "It won’t be long before I’m with you," insured, and you hear fast paces echoing through the phone.

"Stay now!" the man shouts loudly and you flinch. He sounds much more aggressive than he just did, impatient and annoyed.

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

>>Alternative 1

"Hurry up, please," you beg Jake.

"Stay calm, okay, MC? Put me on speaker" he orders and tries to keep his voice relatively quiet so as not to make you more nervous.

You do what he says and unlike what you expected, he makes a request for a video call. You take the call and put it on speaker.

His face appears and you immediately feel a little more safe. You keep the phone further away from your face so that the man behind you can also see that at least someone is there who can see you." I’ve got your location, I’m on my way to you. It’s only two streets away," Jake says aloud, briefly holding a second phone in front of the camera where your location is displayed. Even if your pursuer may not be able to see it, the gesture counts.

Carefully you turn back and take a look again. For your joy, his steps have already slowed down and a little more distance is between you.

"I don’t need a minute until I’m with you, MC," Jake informs you and you nod relieved. You wipe the tears from the cheeks that have calmed down a bit and breathes trembling deeply before you look behind you again.

The man changes sides of the road.

"It works" you breathe and nod wildly with your head, in relief.

You see the man walking the other way, in the opposite direction of you. He has given up, seems to have noticed that you're safe now.

"Stay there," demands Jake, "I can see you," he informs you, and you look to the right, into the street next to you. In fact, you see the hacker running towards you, but now also slowing down his steps.

"Oh God," you croak relieved, lowers your phone and run towards him. From afar he stretches out his arms and you throw yourself into his embrace. <<

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

>>Alternative 2

"Hurry up," you plead. You’re accelerating your steps more and more. Jake answers something, his voice is blurry, choppy and distorted.

Quickly you look at your screen. No signal. Your phone has no signal. It’s a dead zone.

You hear as Jake asks about you, also difficult to recognize. The first tears run down your cheek and burn into your skin.

Slowly everything starts to turn, from the panic in you. It all feels blurry, imaginary and not real. But unfortunately it is real. "Shit!" you hiss as your screen turns black. Jake has to hurry!

"Stop!" the man calls again and suddenly you hear firm and fast steps behind you. Without looking, you know he start running. And without hesitation you start running as well. It feels like there’s a loud sough in your ears, like an old radio is losing the signal.

Your surroundings become blurred, out of focus and you feel as if everything is pulsating around you. The houses are getting closer, it feels like it’s getting darker around you, It’s like the sky is getting even blacker. And the only thing booming in your head is 'run, run for your life' You can’t prevent a weepy whining from coming out of your mouth followed by a loud sob. You try to blink the tears in your eyes away to see something but it doesn’t work. The more you try, the worse it gets.

Your lungs are starting to burn. Stitches in your sides make this run unbearable. You lift your legs higher while running to reduce the risk of stumbling. Just focus on running and breathing. The steps behind you are not to be heard, like this mute everything feels. "MC" you hear it calling from somewhere, can not arrange the voice, your mind imagines that your persecutor knows your name. But then, suddenly, you see, out of the alley next to you, an arm coming out fast. He’s reaching for your upper arm. It’s so fast, you don’t even have time to scream. You get ripped around and hit against a back hard.

In the first moment you want to fight back, defend yourself, to kick around you but you quickly recognize the voice as Jake’s when he says "I’m here, MC, everything is good". Full of pure relief, you wrap your arms around him from behind, "Thanks God" you sigh and press your face into the soft material of his sweater. Jake’s hand reaches for yours and puts it on it calmly as he builds up tall in front of the man. You don’t want to look at this guy, you don’t want him to see you.

"Can I help you?" Jake asks in a deep and dangerous-sounding voice. You never thought he could speak like that, so angry that his voice is almost shaking. You hear how the other man’s steps have finally stopped, "No, everything is fine," he grumbles.

"Then fuck off now" Jakes hisses aggressively and takes a step forward. You will be pulled along and wrap your arms even more tighter around him.

"It’s all right, man," the other one grumbles and really seems to turn around to leave. Jake doesn’t move a bit, his whole body is tense, he is under high tension, you feel how tense his muscles are. Feel how trembling his breath escapes.

When your persecutor finally disappeared, Jake takes your arms off his belly and turns around. Without a word, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you tightly against his body. Your mind finally realizes that you don’t need to be afraid anymore, you start crying again, but this time out of relief and happiness.<<

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

You start crying hard, crying against his chest, his arms holding you tight, protective.

"It’s all good, MC," he whispers, and his voice sounds like he’s about to cry too. You’re pressing so tight and close against him that you’re afraid you might crush him, but you have no control over it. And he doesn’t seem to mind.

"It’s all good, MC, I’m here now, you’re safe, I take care of you. He can’t hurt you anymore, and he’ll never be able to hurt you," he whispers, pressing his lips on your forehead.

"You’re safe," he keeps confirming that everything’s okay now. Does not let go, holds you and gives you stability and safety.

"Thank you" you whimper and bury your hands in the fabric of his sweater.

"Don’t thank me, there’s no reason to thank me, everything is fine," he easily walks away from you to look at you. Lovingly and carefully he puts his hands on your cheeks to wipe the tears from your cheek with his thumbs.

"You’re safe, okay? I’m here"

You nod, try to calm down and stop your tears." You’re coming with me, all right? You’re sleeping in my apartment today. You don’t have to be alone right now. And you can stay as long as you want," he suggests, and You exhale with relief, glad you don’t have to be alone.

"Thank you" you croak again and again he kisses you lightly on the forehead.

"Shall we go?" he asks cautiously and you agree.

Jake takes your hand into his, and slowly you start on the path that luckily is not far.

"You never walk home alone again, all right? You can always call me and I’ll pick you up. And if you want to walk, then I’ll come and we’ll go home together"

You don’t contradict him, you’re happy about it. Never want to walk alone again.

"I got his data from his cell phone, and we know who he is. Tomorrow we’ll see what we can do," he tells you, and you try to smile a bit.

-

When you two gets home, he picks out some of his clothes for you, a shorts and a T-shirt. You take a warm and soothing shower while he makes you a cup of tea.

Together you lie down, he holds his arms open for you and holds you tight and takes care of you until you fall asleep.

🌹🎭❤️

[uglifish]

How do you write long multi-chapter fics without losing steam or motivation?

Hey guys!

Been a while since I made a post answering all the FAQ’s in my inbox, and this is the one I get the most, so here goes my answer/advice:

▽ structure and continuity 

(and i still struggle with this lmao its an uphill climb)

1) outline or map out your story path. if it drags and you find yourself getting BORED with your writing or where the story is going, its time to stop, step back, and evaluate.

completely write out the storyline in short-hand nonsense as fast as possible, because its for you only, so go back to fill in the details later. if you want to see what MY outlines look like...... -embarassmentttttt-

Here’s a screencap from underwater chrysalis.

if you’ve read that story, you can probably recognize this scene was an entire chapter, but it was 5 nonsense sentences in my outline.

2) if you can sit down for X hours and write out the outline from start to end (yes, end of the story) then you have a solid skeleton to polish up :D

3) don’t worry about chapter splitting just yet. get it all out first

▽ Marathon time

1) set aside time for yourself to write it out. Find time for it at least once a week or once a day if you can manage that! DON’T leave it sitting for 2+ weeks--unless that’s your creative process--and if it is, and you recognize you get stuck here, leaving the fic alone for more than 2 weeks = abandoning the fic?? then proceed to this step→

go back to it and read it over and over, right up until the point where you stopped, ask yourself questions about where the characters are going (refer to your outline)/ why the characters are doing X scene ...etc (is there tension? is this part boring? why have you stopped writing? tired? take a nap:)

2) know when to ignore (writing) advice. and i wish someone had told me this when i first started marathon fic-writing. advice is great but its not a cure-all and maybe you’re exhausted from trying everyone’s suggestions. literally you do you, but keep an open mind to learn along the way.

3) if you run into a problem, like wanting to change an ENTIRE scene that will  affect the ending of your story, stop writing and go back to your outline. you’re wasting your own time this way. write to get to an ending.

4) know that there are formulas to long, captivating stories. its like a curve that goes up and down. (find a formula that works for you!) for me, it’s: scene start tension scene escalating tension resolve tension but then another conflict + 2 conflict + 1 romance = long 3 chapter scene :D scene resolving 1 conflict, romance + 3 yay! scene adding to conflicts and romance above tension resolution? another tension or romance resolve? which slowly helps taper to an end (which i still struggle with)

5) have fun! you’re exploring this character, this universe, don’t get too stuck up your own ass about stuff and let things go. if you finished a scene and re-read it, hate it, don’t give yourself crap about it. if you’re happy with it one day and unhappy with it another day, figure out why or just let it go. Your goal is to write as much as possible to finish your story to the outline you wrote. if you get hung up on the stuff in the middle, you’ll never reach the finish line.

▽ I’ve finished my multi-chapter my pile of crap. Now what?

1) don’t look at it, don’t even think about it. congratulate yourself and go to the beach :D get yourself a coffee and socially-distance-hang-out with your friends

2) 1 - 3 weeks later, re-read it ALL with fresh eyes. don’t tell your friends about it, don’t link it anywhere for feedback. it’s still ALL YOU right now.

3) re-read it round 1: edit it grammatically and for bulk. if you still hate that random interaction you added in, delete it entirely and set it aside. fix all grammar issues and add to more descriptions if some are lacking.

4) re-read it round 2: a week later with your own fresh eyes, make sure everything flows. did you say character X had a green shirt in ch 3 but in ch 4 they were wearing a blue shirt? fix that :O might be a genuine mistake, either you forgot or got up to leave your fic for 4 days and (forgot)

5) re-read again round 3: a week after that, read it again and find it for more errors, add more flow if some scenes have a choppy transition, and start to split it into chapters. Find natural breaks in your writing (or cliff hangers!) and cut them there. 6) recruit a friend! Ask someone you’re ok with baring your soul to and make them read your slightly less steaming pile of crap, which is now a polished turd. hopefully your friend will tell you it IS a polished turd and is OK for posting, or that you still mentioned green shirt character is wearing a blue shirt (again) in ch 56 and you missed it :P

7) post and run, or save it to re-read again 6 months later

i’ve been doing the post and run thing for a while if im medium-proud of my shiny turd, or if im really insecure about it, i’ll sit on it for even a YEAR before i even breathe about it. its not that i hate it, its that i feel it could be better and if i’m continuously writing during that time, I can go back to look at it with fresh(er) eyes.

▽ things to think about / stuff to ask yourself while writing:

- why am i tired (of this, of it?) know yourself and know your limits. if you’re tired (physically, of writing) learn to differentiate that from being mentally tired.

- who are you writing for? a friend’s bday gift fic? submission into Fanfic Award-Winning Novel Writers Club? A novel manuscript to Random House? Nanowrimo? your fandom rare-pair discord server? ....yourself?? and then figure out your motivations for the tone of your writing :D

- i suck at writing X (a violent action scene, smut, small-talk in elevator scene), so i’ll just skip it... no. if you think your story needs it, make your best attempt at writing it and then go back to edit it. you’ll be happy you pushed yourself to write it.

- i’ve never done X (been to a hotspring in Japan, gone hiking in extreme weather, gone on a blind date) how would i know what it feels like? Try your best to envision it or use the wonders of the internet to learn about it. Research is your best friend to express realism in your writing :D

aaaaaaaaaaaand that’s all i got for now :O

*btw you know what works for you as a creative mind, this is all stuff that works for me and I hope you found it helpful!

thank you for reading this super long post, and feel free to PM me if you need a “get me unstuck” buddy in your writing process :D

xooxxo Ugli

[littleoldrachel]

i am burned out (i smell of smoke)

okay, look. I wasn’t gonna post this until it was FINISHED because i am trying to learn to actually finish my wips. but. the world is sorta falling apart and i hope that maybe i can help even one person feel temporarily less anxious about it all. 

i wrote this for @gumnut-logic‘s birthday and am now over a month late, so! good! (so sorry nutty, you’re so incredible at blessing us with your words, i just wanted to do something nice for you since you’re so so good to us)

my love for virgil tracy + my silent lurking in this fandom have brought this about. i never thought i’d be writing thunderbirds fanfiction and yet. here we are (my father would be so disappointed in me).

this is my first time writing these characters, as will become painfully clear. pls be nice to me, i am fragile lol. i am horribly aware that my virg is probably too ‘floppy’ as per your post, nutty, so sorry in advance! this is me whumping your boy emotionally and mentally, but i’m gonna fix him, i swear! there are five parts (i have written the first three). 

virgil is always written as being very good at taking care of his mental health, and it occurred to me that some of the best people at this have had to learn to be that way, and so I guess this is an exploration of that? anyway, have some virgil aggressively loving his family. 

brains isn’t in this and kayo isn’t much either sorryyy. oh my GOd shut up, here you go:

i am burned out (i smell of smoke) [on ao3]

summary: in which virgil falls apart, learns how to put himself back together, and realises he doesn't have to do it alone.

word count: 2.8k ish (part 1/5)

warnings: mental health issues

timeline: i suppose this is set in early TAG verse?  jeff is missing and nobody is Coping Well.

happy belated birthday, nutty!! <3

i.

He isn’t quite sure where it began. Somewhere between three back-to-back rescues, pulling a child’s body from thick, black mud, and failing to reach the scientist before smoke ravaged her lungs, a weight settles in his chest that none of his usual coping mechanisms can shift. 

To say it’s been a hard week would be an understatement, but then again, they’ve had hard weeks before. Any time a rescue mission turns into a recovery mission, they all feel it - how can they not? - but this time, this time is different. 

Perhaps it was seeing the kid’s mother break down completely at the sight of such a small corpse. Perhaps it was the abuse hurled at him and his brothers by the scientist’s girlfriend for failing to rescue her soulmate in time. Perhaps it was sheer exhaustion and pain, perhaps it was feeling ribs break under the force of his CPR efforts, perhaps it was knowing that in spite of it all, it wasn’t enough. 

It’s like he can’t quite draw a full breath. Like his throat has half-closed and tears are creeping at the back of his eyes, but neither is willing to break the damn. It’s the heaviest kind of emptiness he’s ever known. 

And so Virgil forces it away - or if not away, then at least to one side - whilst he takes care of brothers who need to talk about the horrors they have just witnessed and the fresh guilt they now bear. He’ll take care of himself later (probably) and then he’ll finally be able to shift that god-awful weight on his lungs. It’s fine. 

*

Alan is easy enough to handle; Virgil’s pedestal will never be as high as Scott’s or John’s but he’s still Alan’s big brother, and Alan feeds on reassurance and praise. Virgil knows that both Scott and John will be in later to check on their youngest too, but for now, Alan needs him. 

“You did well today, kiddo,” Virgil says, leaning against the doorframe to Alan’s suite. His littlest brother is lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. 

Alan blinks slowly, twists to meet his eyes. Overly-bright cornflower blues meet steady browns and Virgil catches the tremble of Alan’s lower lip with an aching heart. 

“You did, Allie.” Virgil strides across the room and has Alan scooped into a hug within seconds. “All those people are gonna wake up tomorrow because of you.”

“It doesn’t feel like enough, Virg,” whispers Alan. “So many people didn’t make it.” 

“I know.”

(The weight on his chest and struggle to breathe will never let him forget it). 

Alan sighs, rests his head on his brother’s broad chest. “I just - I keep remembering her face. When she realised I couldn’t save her. I close my eyes and she’s just - there.” He closes his eyes and digs the heels of his palms into them.

He’s so young. It’s not the first time that Virgil has had doubts about forcing this responsibility on a teenager, but it is the first time Alan’s watched someone die in his arms and none of Virgil’s carefully crafted words will change that. Especially not now, whilst the pain is raw and jagged and demanding to be felt - no, Virgil and his brothers will be helping him to untangle this over the next few weeks.

“Wanna play something?” he asks instead. 

The response is less enthusiastic than usual, but soon Alan has a fragile smile on his lips as he thrashes Virgil’s Princess Peach with Waluigi (and so what if Virgil deliberately chooses the tracks he knows he’s shit at just to make Alan chuckle when he falls off Rainbow Road again?). 

*

His water-loving brother won’t be so easy (though of course, there’s nothing easy about watching someone so young trying to carry the weight of the world). Still, Gordon is at least predictable in his frustrated misery and rolls his eyes as he sees Virgil coming towards the pool with a towel in hand. 

“I’m not in the mood, Virg,” he calls, before hurling himself underwater and sinking to the bottom of the pool. 

It’s Virgil’s turn to roll his eyes, but he kicks off his shoes, sits on the poolside and dangles bare feet into the water, waiting. When Gordon finally emerges from the water, annoyance flickers across his face at the sight of his waiting brother, and he turns, kicking away from Virgil with a powerful breaststroke. 

Virgil waits until Gordon’s swum four lengths before speaking. “How are you doing?”

Gordon’s perfect rhythm barely falters as he grabs his brother’s leg and yanks, pulling Virgil into the pool and immediately swimming away. Virgil shakes the water from his hair, internally cursing his stubborn-ass younger brother and treads water until Gordon reaches his end of the pool again. 

“How many lengths is that?”

Gordon ignores him, switching fluidly into butterfly stroke and splashing away from him once more. 

Virgil can’t help but sigh; his limbs are aching and his chest is heavy and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed. But his younger brother is hurting - emotionally, sure, judging by the way he’s slicing through the water like it’s done him wrong, but physically too if the minute winces are anything to go by. (And Virgil can’t stand it). 

The next time Gordon comes by, Virgil is ready. He seizes his brother around the middle, and bodily drags him to the edge of the pool. He doesn’t often use his size and strength against his brothers, but this time calls for it. Once out of the water, the fight goes out of Gordon, and he staggers, murmuring “ow, ow, ow, ow.”

“Come here, you idiot.” Virgil pulls Gordon into a shady spot by the loungers, and begins helping Gordon stretch out overworked muscles. Gordon hisses as Virgil presses down on his calf muscle. “Sorry, Gordo.”

“S’okay.” Gordon glares up at the sky. “Just stupid cramp.”

Rolling his eyes, Virgil shakes his head. “Yeah, that or the fact you’re reliving your Olympic training after having been up for forty-eight hours straight.”

“You know if you keep doing that, your face will get stuck.”

Virgil pulls a hideous face, then grins in response to Gordon’s laugh. It feels good to smile, it shifts the weight on his lungs the tiniest bit. 

“Flip over and I’ll do your back.”

“Virgil Tracy, you’re a goddamn saint,” Gordon declares, obediently flopping onto his stomach. 

There��s a pause whilst Virgil runs expert hands over the rock-like knots in Gordon’s back and Gordon melts into the mattress. When Virgil next speaks, his voice is gentle even as his hands dig in: “You know that punishing yourself isn’t going to bring them back.”

Gordon tenses then sighs. “Damnit, Virg. Can’t a guy get a massage without psychoanalysis?”

But his voice is a great deal lighter than it would have been even half an hour before.

*

His wrists are aching by the time he drags himself out to the cliff edge where Kayo likes to perch. 

His brothers have different uses for this particular stretch of rock: Scott likes to end his morning runs here by stretching in the breeze off the waters. For John, it’s a spectacular place to stargaze, not least because it’s so very quiet and dark up here. Gordon can often be found diving off these rocks, cheered on by Alan, much to the constant stress of their oldest brother, who attributes more than seventy percent of his grey hairs to this cause. 

For Kayo, it’s a watchpost. Her stormy eyes skim the horizon for non-existent threats, calculating, calm, controlled. And after a bad rescue (or three), she sits and waits for hours at a time, gazing into choppy waves and brilliant sunsets with the loneliest eyes Virgil has ever seen. He’s supposed to sit with Kayo in silence until she tells him what she needs from him, be it a hug, his presence, or just distance. 

This time, she makes it clear the moment he pads towards her, fading into the rocks like she was never even there. Distance, then.

*

John is possibly the hardest to handle of all his siblings, purely because he’s the hardest to get a hold of. John knows Virgil’s antics only too well, knows that a meaningful conversation about how he feels is coming, and has therefore made himself scarce. 

 Virgil sighs as John misses (read: rejects) his third call in a row. Two can play at that game, Jonny.

Instead, he dials straight through to EOS. 

She answers him immediately, as usual. “Virgil. I have been anticipating your call.”

“You have?”

“You have all had unsuccessful missions. You always call after missions with a body count.”

Virgil swallows, fresh guilt rising in his throat, and forces it back down. 

“Please can you put me through to John, EOS?”

“Of course, Virgil.”

Silence for a second, and then John’s hologram appears. His red-headed brother is studiously avoiding eye contact, hands darting over controls in an anxious pattern.

“This isn’t a good time, Virgil, I’m busy rerouting some calls to local emergency services, and-”

“John.”

“-and there’s a call from Tehran that really needs me, so if that’s all-”

“John.”

Silence. 

“How long since you last ate?” 

John’s eyes meet Virgil’s and he looks away at once. “Uh… this morning?”

“Negative,” EOS chimes in, “last intake was twenty-six hours ago.”

John’s jaw clenches. “Thanks, EOS.”

“John, you need to eat.”

“Smother Brother.”

“I’m serious.”

EOS pipes up again, “John also needs to rest. He has been operating for twice the recommended period of time.” 

John glowers, but says nothing.

“Don’t make me set Scott on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Virgil raises his eyebrows and John sighs loudly in frustration. “I will. I will. I just - thinking about food makes me feel nauseous. Like…” He swallows, looks away. “Like I’m eating mud.”

The sharp hurt in Virgil’s heart twinges violently and he wishes more than anything he could wrap John up in a bearhug and stop the world from hurting him. “What if I’m here whilst you try?” he asks softly.

Another sigh. “Fine. But only if you eat something too,” John says. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that your stomach was growling even louder than Two’s engines on the way home.”

“Smother Brother,” Virgil’s voice is hopelessly fond, even as he goes to make a sandwich that he can’t face eating (which for him, is a bad sign - he who has forced down Grandma’s inedible chilli through sheer willpower and love). The bread is hard and tasteless, the filling bitter. He chokes down a half slice, focusing instead on the fact that his younger brother is carefully chewing at his toasted bagel, eyelids heavy. Eventually, John’s shoulders slump, and his head lolls back into slumber.

His work here is done. 

Well, almost -

“Hey, EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?” 

“Can you put that playlist I made him on a loop?”

“Of course, Virgil. Venus Bringer of Peace is now playing.”

There. 

*

His oldest brother is hurting. Virgil doesn’t need ESPN or whatever freaky connection Gordon and Alan accuse them of having to know that. 

There was a death toll, and therefore Scott will be hurting. Every life lost becomes a personal fault for the man, and nothing Virgil says or does will change that. They have this argument every two or three weeks, increasingly frequently as the months since their father’s disappearance have ticked into years. And he’s so very tired of rehashing the same words over again and again, he’s so tired of being utterly powerless against his brother’s borderline suicidal recklessness, he’s so tired of his uselessness in convincing Scott to stop treating his life like some replaceable trinket.

(So very, very tired).

And yet, Virgil stands in the doorway to his father’s office, bracing himself for yet another battle with his older brother.

Because taking care of the idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic is what he does best - especially when said idealistic, brash, self-flagellating workaholic least wants it.

Scott is hunched over the desk, poring over debriefs with an almost-empty glass of something amber in his left hand. Virgil makes a mental note to re-encrypt the code to the drinks cabinet - Scott had cracked it far too quickly last time, but he doesn’t stand a chance against John…

“Hey, Scott,” he finally enters the room, but his brother doesn’t even spare him a glance. Virgil takes the seat opposite him - the one he used to sit in as his father waxed lyrical about his dream of an elite rescue organisation (it hurts) - and waits. 

After five or so minutes, Scott looks up blearily, blinking in surprise. “Virg? What are you - when did you-”

“It’s gone midnight, Scott. We agreed you wouldn’t do this anymore.”

A muscle in Scott’s jaw twitches. He’s wound tight from alcohol and stress, and it hurts Virgil to see it.  “I have to get this done.”

“Not at one am, you don’t.”

“Don’t start, Virg, you know debriefs are essential - you know I have to - to -”

“To what?” 

“What?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you have to get done? What’s so important that it can’t wait till you’ve at least slept?”

Scott breaks - quicker than usual (thank you, whiskey) which is a relief, because Virgil’s energy is down to its last droplets; hell, it’ll be a miracle if he even makes it to his room after this. 

“To figure out where we fucked up! To explain to the fire services that we did fuck-all for their rescue efforts! To figure out why I wasn’t fast enough to get to those children! I have to - to know,” he flings himself to his feet and begins pacing. “Fifty-four people died today, that’s fifty-four lives we should have saved, and I have to know why we failed so it never happens again.” He slams both hands down on the table, scattering papers to the floor. His eyes are wild and slightly bloodshot, and Virgil’s heart aches for the pain in those cerulean blues. 

The fight leaves Virgil’s spirit, because for once, he’s having a hard time reconciling his own failings with the number of bodies he’s pulled from mud and rock today. Usually, he is the first to reassure his brothers that they did all they could. But on a day like today, with the weight of whatever-it-is on his chest, it’s just not good enough. 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to leave Scott alone in his pain. 

“What can I do?” Virgil asks quietly, and Scott stares at him. 

A pause. “Just - just be here,” Scott allows at last, sinking back into his chair. 

“Always,” Virgil says, and he means it, even through the fog of this exhausted, low, heavy feeling. 

“You okay?” Scott says, looking him over with a frown, and Virgil curses internally, because of course, Scott notices what none of his other siblings have. 

“As much as any of us are right now,” Virgil answers, as honestly as he can. Scott clearly doesn’t quite believe him, because he keeps shooting Virgil surreptitious glances laden with concern, but he lets it go. Perhaps he too lacks the energy to fight him on this. 

(It’s not enough and Virgil knows it. It’s not enough to stop his brother from working himself into an early grave and it’s not enough to blame poor construction work for the collapse of a tower block when he should have been able to save them).

(He’s not enough). 

*

He’s exhausted. He had thought he was shattered before, but now - 

The heaviness in his chest is a gaping wide hole, and the edges are raw and ragged from trying to hold himself together. His throat closes and clogs, but the tears won’t come, even as misery wells inside of him.

He looks blankly at the piano he sometimes uses to pull himself back from edges like these - edges that plunge down, down, down into an abyss he daren’t explore. Only the tug in his chest isn’t there. The canvas on his easel remains blank, his paintbrush untouched. Hell, even the idea of a nice, hot shower has him cringing at the effort and self-care involved.

What the hell’s the matter with him? 

He can’t quite explain it, and for one usually so attuned to others’ emotions, this awful lowness is startling. Because it’s more than lowness, and it’s more than heaviness - it’s more like a complete absence of feeling, an emptiness that he doesn’t know how to name. 

Perhaps, it will shift in the morning. Perhaps, this is the consequence of pushing yourself to over-exhaustion and beyond, and then expelling what little energy remains to support your loved ones. Sleep will help, Virgil tells himself. Rest makes everything better, you will be better in the morning.

[halberdierminister]

July Monthly Goals Check-In

1. Write 250 Words Each Day Well, I started out very faithful to this. But sometime around the middle of the month, I got pretty choppy. I honestly don't know exactly how many days I skipped. I'm gonna try to write a fair amount today when I can and hope that it is enough to make up for it. Which is fine. It has been an otherwise very productive month in many other ways, so I cannot be too upset about it. I may start running a wordpress blog with a friend of mine, and if I do that may keep me more on track with these.. We shall see. We shall see.

2. Read 55 Books This Year I finished reading 55 books in May! Last month I read 10 more books. THIS month, however… I read 31 books. That brings me to a total of 97 books read for the year!!! A lot of them have been VERY short books. Lots of poetry collections, manga volumes, graphic novels, etc etc etc. But not exclusively!! I was hoping to get to 100 books by the time I wrote this but the last couple days, I have not been able to make the magic happen. But that's fine! That's TOTALLY FINE. This will be a very significant get, but I have months to get over that hump. By the time you hear from me on this goals check-in next month, I will undoubtedly be decently well over 100 books, and I can talk about why that personally feels so good then!

3. Get A Full Time Job I did not get a full time job this month. BUT. I applied to 38 full time jobs. Got a bunch of rejections. HOWEVER, I have scheduled EXACTLY ONE JOB INTERVIEW so far so that is good news! And that would be a VERY good job if I were to get it! Some of these jobs are actually pretty exciting things and I feel confident for the first time in a while that I might actually find a good job IN MY CAREER PLAN!!!! Also I almost lost my part time job but the library director was able to convince the village to let me stay on as a substitute, and it has paid off surprisingly well. I've been working two to three shifts a week on that, which is more than any of us expected. So I guess what I'm saying is I am making good progress again and I hope I can have something positive to report by the time I'm thirty. Eugh.

4. Move Out Speaking of being almost thirty. I really do not want to be here. If I get the job I interview for, I would be able to move in with my friends in Milwaukee just about as soon as possible. So that is good news. Every day it gets more tempting to just say "screw it" and live down there. But that won't help me find a job. And the job really is the important thing.

5. Drink Less Soda I mean yeah. Occasionally, I drink-a the soda. But not too much. I am good at drinking less soda than I did last year or the years before that. That's because I would have several sodas each day, to the point where it worried some of the people I know.

6. Get Something Published Just found out that I'm getting something else published today! So that is one new poem published this month! I also had my fic in the Lalonde Zine come out, but it turns out that the Lalonde Zine was more of a shared Google Drive folder than an actual zine. Maybe I should offer to compile the zine into one document? I should do that. That would be a good thing to do and it would give me a lot of experience with doing that, something I haven't really done in a while. So the practice would do me good! And then I would feel better saying that I got published there too. But yes so besides the Lalonde fic, I have had two poems published in zines, one poem published in an online literary journal, and one fic published in an online fanzine this year! If you include the articles I wrote for school newspapers, I have gotten at least one thing published every year for the past fifteen years. If you don't count the articles (or the Lalonde fic yet), I have had 30 pieces of fiction and poetry published since 2005! That's pretty neat! I want even more though!!!!!! I found a publisher's website that accepts unsolicited manuscripts. I'm going to try to put together an honest to god actual collection of my poetry, one bigger than either of the two digital chapbooks I have made. I have a friend who is a professional editor -- not of poetry, mind you, but I might be able to convince her to give it a shot -- and I would honestly hire her at full price to take a look at it. I actually will need to seek a lot of feedback from a lot of people, so if you want to read a document full of a bunch of my poetry, lemme know and I will show you what I've got when I've got something.

7. Finish Writing A Legitimate Businessman Finished in April! No new news. But just because I completed this goal doesn't mean that is the end of it! I do still have the sequel to work on, even though I haven't done any of that this month. And one of these days I am going to get around to sitting down with the printed copy and a pen and editing the shit out of it so that I can write draft #2! I think I'll probably throw draft #2 up on wattpad (why not?? I've been curious about that website and know absolutely nothing about it) and maybe I'll make a nice looking e-book out of it that I can distribute on noisetrade or itchio or something! I wonder if I could get it printed on demand or something. Obviously not for profit. But like, maybe I have friends I want to send a nice printed copy to.

8. Write More The Revelation of Takaya According to Jin Finished in Februrary! No new news. A friend of mine has offered to bind a copy of it when he has access to the materials, and I think that'd be dope as hell. I ought to work on compiling it into a nice document. I don't know if that's what he would need. He would probably want to do that work himself. Sometimes I think about the concept of making an illustration for it? I don't know. I can't draw. But I might not need to draw for the thing I have in mind. Really I should be consulting with him on that. Ah well. Either way, I hope that ends up happening. That would be so friggin cool.

MINOR GOALS

9. Finish Playthroughs Of 1. The Legend of Zelda Breath of the Wild: Finished in January! 2. Persona 1 Main Quest Good Ending: I didn't do anything on this whooooops. Getting into the second half of the year without once having touched it. I ought to get back to this. 3. Pokemon Sword: Finished in March! 4. Pokemon Let's Go Eevee: Finished in February and March! 5. Persona Q2: I have finished the fourth dungeon and gotten to The Twist!!! It's weak. This really is the kids' version of a Persona game. Minus like… the fact that it's still rated M for partial nudity. There was exactly one moment of horror and even that was like… just a bit scarier than The Nightmare Before Christmas. But I did some of the side quests and those are actually decently fun. So I have the final dungeon left. I just wanna sort of power through this. I'll worry about completion when I do new game plus, whenever that might be.

10. Record More Ukulele Videos I did not do this. I want a new microphone. These are not inherently related things, as I do have a microphone already. I have everything I need to do this. I just haven't done this. And I would like a new microphone. Also, an amp for the uke would be nice. I should text my old coworker, see if he still has one to sell.

11. Record Let's Plays Neither did I do this. How could I? My parents think video gaming is the Devil's Lettuce. And they are always home. They would notice if they heard me talking to my computer. And that is assuming that I had something I could play on my computer that anyone would want to watch. I need a better computer. A gaming computer. An editing computer. I'm lucky that these are the same thing.

12. Duolingo? I was SUPER gung ho in the end of June and the beginning of July, but before too long I petered out. I've used a couple streak freezes and have really been doing mostly the bare minimum to not drop out of the emerald league. But I've got a streak of about 208 days, and that is nothing to sneeze at! Do I feel like I'm learning? I dunno. But I am at least interacting with Spanish just about every day so that… that's got to be helpful, right? right?

This was over one thousand five hundred words. Wait! Sixteen hundred exactly.

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

I feel like my writing is too choppy. Like I’m writing from one action to the next with nothing in between. I think it’s jumping around to much and isn’t really that smooth. It could just be a writer critiquing their own work too hard but I’m not sure. Any tips to avoid this or make it less choppy?

How to Write a Smooth, Rhythmic Narrative

A lot of people have trouble with their writing style, especially new writers who haven’t been practicing for long. The words come out choppy, the sentences jolt and stutter, and the words never seem to fit quite right.

Usually, this goes away with practice. It’s like how artists have a style that they settle into when they’ve experimented for long enough.

This post is to help anyone who may be having trouble with their writing style or perhaps don’t even have a writing style at all!

1. Vary the Number of Words and Syllables in Your Sentences

This is probably very surprising; technical things like this aren’t usually a part of writing, but there’s proof that it works!

I could go rambling on and on about this for several paragraphs, but I don’t think I could explain it better than Gary Provost.

Provost was an American author who published a ton of stuff on how to write (You should really check them out if you like my blog!), and his works had a huge impact on my writing style and the way I look at narrative.

Here’s an excerpt from one of his books:

See how simply changing the amount of words can make the sentences so much richer and more exciting to read?

It seems daunting the way that Provost explains it, but I’ll make it easier by telling you to think of it like this:

You know that voice in your head that reads everything aloud? You know how you can hear the words echoing in your brain like someone is reading them for you, even though you’re not actually hearing anything?

When you write very uniform sentences, it makes that voice in the reader’s head sound like it’s a boring teacher that’s droning on about some sort of abstract concept, but when you change it up, it becomes more like a conversation than a lecture.

Basically, write like it’s a conversation. People don’t talk like robots; write like how a person would talk. Imagine the rise and dip of their voice as they read the words aloud in your head.

If you’d like more examples, look back at all of the text I just wrote after the Provost excerpt. You’ll see that, even in a Tumblr post, I am using varying sentence structure to captivate my audience.

2. Placement Dependent Clauses and Independent Clauses

Even if you can’t grasp the concept of changing the number of words in your sentence, the way you place the clauses can change up the whole rhythm of your story and make the sentence structure more diverse and interesting.

If you don’t know what a dependent or independent clause is:

The order of these things within a complex sentence can give your story a diverse rhythm that the readers won’t find boring.

Here are some examples. Dependent Clauses are in bold.

-

Although she was old, his grandmother wanted to do the laundry.

His grandmother wanted to do the laundry, although she was old.

-

Despite not studying for the test, Jamie passed with flying colors.

Jamie passed with flying colors, despite not studying for the test.

-

Even though Billy likes pie, Holly loves pudding.

Holly loves pudding, even though Billy likes pie.

-

Since her mother died, Amy’s been upset.

Amy’s been upset, since her mother died.

-

See how these sentences, despite having the same words just switched around, sound completely different?

There’s more complicated sentences to work with and better examples, but I’m having trouble coming up with them, so you’ll just have to learn on the fly.

These are all the things I can think of right now, so I hope this helped!

[raevenlywrites]

Last line mega-tag

I have more last line tags than I can hope to catch up with, so I'm gonna give you guys a super long excerpt I wrote yesterday and am super proud of. Thanks for the tags (some recent, some not so recent), and tagging you all right back: @converginglives @silvertalonwriteblr @cirianne @chaos-reign @indecentpause and @carrotgirl-1

Putting this below a cut cause its huge (for me)

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YOU KNOW WHAT? NO. FUCK IT. I AM NOT NOT POSTING THIS JUST BECAUSE I CANT MAKE A READ MORE TAG ANYMORE. ITS MY BLOG AND I CAN POST A SUPER LONG EXCERPT IF I WANT *falls down dead*

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He leaned against the rough brick, closing his eyes and focusing on the sensation. Tiny pinpricks marched up his back. The dusty smell of hot concrete filled his nose, and the flowers and alcohol of something Trish wore. He reached his hand out, squeezing gratefully when her warm hand filled his. His phone rang, cradled to his ear with one shoulder. His free hand ran along the lines of mortar. Neat, orderly rows, slowly giving way to decay. Rough brick. Straight edges. Man made.

The link clicked open, Bo's easy " 'llo?" filling his ears. James's chest caved in with relief. He filled it with another breath. Another. Bo said his name, light questioning in their voice. James's eyes blinked open, lost for a moment in the weird, sharp-edged haze of his shifted eyes. He closed them again.

"I'm at Halmi's," he said, the evenness of his voice surprising him. It sounded from across a great distance, a forgotten echo ringing back from an impossible chasm.

"Stay with me. Sit down if you need to. Breathe."

Bo didnt ask any unnecessary questions, like what happened or why isnt someone there helping you. They knew it didnt matter, really. Not half as much as getting James back in command of himself. This was what ei'dens were for.

"I can't stay--"

Something at the edge of James's throat caught, snagging the word as it came out. His eyes stung and he didny understand. Trish's voice sounded in his ear, low, small. Right.

"I have someone with me, xa'den. I need help."

He could feel Bo nodding through the phone, reassessing the situation.

"Is anyone hurt."

Jared.

"No."

Jared had Halmi, and Uncle Greg. Or he didn't, and that didn't matter now. Jared was not part of this moment, between him and Bo. Jared was--

James was crying. When had he started crying? Dragging a fist across his eyes. He swallowed hard, clutching Trish's hand for all his worth. Too much. Too much. She was xa'den, not like us, not one of us. She couldnt take his full strength. He needed to pull back.

He started to pull away but her hand squeezed at his, showing him he hadnt been squeezing as hard as hed thougjt he had. Okay. Okay. He could do this. He was still okay, on some level. He just had to find it.

"James!"

Bo's bark through the phone carried the command of an ei'den, and the concern of someone who'd had to repeat themselves several times. James snapped back to attnetion with a sharp bark of "Here!", spine going tall and straight against the brick. His breath came in a choppy, ragged drag, and he felt the rawness of a throat tight with emotion. He was scared for Jared, and already mourning him. Shit.

"Scramble some people to Halmi's. I dont know how bad it is but I know it's not good. She and Greg are both already there."

"Alright, we will. It'll be taken care of, James. How can we help take care of you?"

"Talk to me."

His breath blew out in a long sigh, pushed from him as he eased back against the brick. His thumb rubbed against the back of Trish's hand. His eyes closed against the threat of further tears. Later. Later.

[im-basically-logan]

Happy Density Day!

haha get it cuz the formula for density looks like a heart. I still dont know how to title things. Analogical V-Day fic anybody? (quick note- sorry if the pacing is sorta weird??? idk how story writing works. personally my favorite part is the last few paragraphs lmao)

Summary: Logan wants to give Virgil a poem for Valentine’s Day, but wants to make it as perfect as possible. Either way, Virgil loves it. Words: 2,796 Ship: Analogical, Royality (tho, it’s only briefly mentioned and analogical is the focus) TW: Kissing, sleeping at bad hours, uh... Patton tackles Roman playfully at one point Please send me an ask/message if I need to add a trigger. Genre: Fluff!!

@riverbendover @nokatai-realm @crowsketches @living-on-the-virge

It was about 3 days before Valentine’s Day and as much as Logan would usually show nonchalance or distaste towards the holiday, he’s been Virgil’s boyfriend for 8 months now. He wasn’t going to brush off their first Valentine’s Day. He was going to make the perfect card for his Virgil even if it meant he didn’t get any sleep that week. Well, that was an exaggeration and Virgil would probably ask as to why Logan’s sleep schedule had suddenly done a 180. But nonetheless, Logan was going to make a nice little card.

Logan started out with printer paper as a planning stage, wondering what to actually put in the card. He went through scribbled out drawings, minimalistic pictures, telling Virgil how beautiful he was, and finally settled on writing a poem. He was good at those. Usually.

His trash can in his room began filling with balled up clumps of paper which were drafts that he deemed not good enough.

“Clothes are dark as space,  but eyes as bright as the stars. I hope-- No.” Logan mumbled the poem out loud to himself, then crumpled up the paper, threw it to the side, and started anew. The side of his hand was turning gray from being left-handed and the graphite of the pencil he was using. “I cannot describe to you how much I love you. It was a revelation when I had discovered my feelings for you. Like when Newton discovered gravity. It was fundamental to understanding life as you are fundamental to me understanding emotions…” He tapped the pencil against his head quickly, trying to think. It sounded… Like something. It wasn’t too bad, but he decided to trash and rewrite it again. It was probably just fine, but Logan was a perfectionist.

He began writing a bit more before deciding to create the decorations on the light purple construction paper he found for the actual card. He had the equation 128√e980 written along over the spine while the card was flattened. The equation was supposed to be read while the card was closed and turned a certain way, and it would read “I love you” from being folded in half. He found the little trick while looking up ways to say I love you to a partner. In pen he neatly wrote inside the cover of the card the beginning to his poem to Virgil. The beginning was the only thing he was happy with at the moment, but he would add more later. He checked his watch and read 11:30 pm. He sighed, put his materials away and went to bed. Although made sure to put the card neatly into the drawer of his desk. It was only 2 days before Valentine’s Day and he barely had anything! He wanted to keep working on it, but also sleeping was important and he and the others were working on getting a full night’s rest. Besides, Virgil would badger him in the morning about it and he couldn’t have his boyfriend find his surprise.

Logan went through the next day rather smoothly: Nice comebacks to Roman, reminding Thomas of important events, and of course a few nice kisses with Virgil in the middle of it all. Patton always grinned if he caught them and Roman always teased them until Logan mentioned it was almost Valentine’s Day.

“We are allowed to have physical affection, especially around this time of year, correct?” Logan asked Roman, raising a brow with a pouting expression.

“Well I suppose so, but… You two are such nerds!” Roman responded weakly, unable to come up with a witty reply. Patton butted in, putting his arm around Roman’s shoulders.

“Now, don’t be mean, Roman. It’s your time of the year, isn’t it? Valentine’s Day! A day of Roman-ce.” Patton laughed and Virgil, who was leaning slightly against Logan, snickered. Logan sighed with a very small hint of a smile while Roman rolled his eyes with a laugh. He exited with Patton, most likely about to go on an adventure or brainstorm. Logan, although, had a pit in his stomach as he was constantly reminded Valentine’s Day was just around the corner.

Such terrible planning on my end… He thought, biting the inside of his mouth before kissing Virgil on the head as they went to do their own separate things for now. He sank out and went to his room, relieved to find it just as it was when he left it. He hadn’t taken out his trash yet, but he assumed Virgil wouldn’t go digging through it at least and see the drafts. Checking his watch, which read 8:30 pm, Logan pulled out the drawer and took out the card. He drew a little density equation on the back, coloring in the little heart that the symbols for mass over volume created. He then opened the card back up, rereading the beginning of the poem he kept from a draft.

“I don’t believe I’ll be able to explain my love towards you. Like how it is a mystery as to the true way the universe was created despite the many theories. How the chances of us existing together may have been smaller than a quark, But we managed to exist and come together.” Logan sat down at his desk and began writing a bit more, once again mumbling the words to himself as he wrote. “Your mind can be as far away as a galaxy,

but I’d travel the light years.

You’re a fundamental element in my life, Like gravity to planets and stars.” He bit the bottom of his lip, unable to think of anything else to add. “I can’t even write a simple poem…” He murmured to himself, dropping his pencil. He kept his head up with his left hand, trying to think. There wasn’t any specific pattern or rhyme to the poem. It was purely just him rambling about how great Virgil is in metaphors about space and science. Would Virgil even enjoy that? He created a small, curvy border with a blue pen on the inside of the card, but cringed as he looked back to the unfinished poem. Then he put another line. “I am and always will be unable to express how much I care for you.” It was true, but the poem felt too short and he barely had an idea on how to end it. He wrote on the other half of the inside of the card “Happy Valentine’s Day, Virgil. Love, Logan”, drew a simplistic galaxy on the front, and went back to his previous position of laying his head atop his hand. Instead of coming up with any ideas, Logan somehow fell asleep on his hand. He took his nap for about 4 hours, waking up at the superb hour of around 1 am and his head ended up on the desk with his hand still upright. Great. Only 1 day until Valentine’s Day and he was barely done with his card. He dug his hands into his hair in frustration. It should have been easy to write a poem. But no it was going to be difficult and now he was tired as hell. He decided to create the blue borders on the outside of the card while waiting for the others to get up. After finishing the border, which did look rather nice, he put it back in the desk drawer and went to sleep in his bed this time. Although he didn’t fall asleep immediately. Of course not. He was thinking about what Virgil would think if he barely had anything to give. The poem was pretty choppy… he should rewrite it again. What if Virgil didn’t even want a card? Would chocolates have been better?

Luckily, Logan didn’t stay up late enough to question anymore as he crashed into sleep while thinking about Virgil. Said side must have felt Logan still being awake because he made his way into Logan’s room having woke up early himself. It was dark so he couldn’t see the trash can of the Valentine’s drafts but he could feel his way over to Logan’s bed and curled into his chest almost like a human-sized cat. Before going back to sleep, he kissed Logan’s cheek and put his head half on some pillow and half on the mattress with his head lying against the top of Logan’s chest. He didn’t mind sleeping like this, in fact if he was resting next to Logan on just a mattress he’d be content like that as well.

In the morning, the actual morning of about 7:45 am, Logan found a Virgil sleeping next to him. He sighed dreamily, then remembered that he still hadn’t thrown out his god damn drafts yet. Logan tried to move as subtly and quietly as possible to not wake Virgil. He eventually got out of  bed and moved the plastic bin under his desk quickly as he heard Virgil shuffling on the bed. Then he went back over his bed, kissing Virgil’s forehead.

“Virge? C’mon, it’s almost 8 o’ clock,” Logan said, looking at his watch. Virgil was awake, but he kept his eyes closed as he replied,”I don’t wanna.”

“Patton’s making french toast.” “5 more minutes.”

“We both know that means 5 more hours, metaphorically and even literally at times.”

“Shush, nerd.” Virgil eventually opened his eyes and got up, his hair messy and partially standing. Logan smirked at the other’s appearance, holding out his hand for Virgil to take. So Virgil takes it gladly and they move on with the rest of their day.

Logan had barely any opportunities to work on his card but while there was a short lull he managed to write a few more lines. “You’re nothing short of breath taking. A star should be named after you. No, a galaxy.”

He stopped as he felt a presence in his room. It was Patton. Oh thank god. They both headed off to the commons to discuss with the other two about the big day tomorrow.

“What are you two doing?” Roman asked Virgil and Logan. They both shrugged, but Logan of course, had a small gift to finish.

“Why are you asking?” Virgil replied. “What are you doing, Princey?” Roman was about to respond when he was suddenly tackled by Patton on the couch, letting out a boisterous laugh.

“Well of course, romantic things! Anyways, I thought you’d both at least say something like spending time with each other.” He continued as Patton got off and sat next to him, a wide grin on his face.

“Well that’s a given, isn’t it?” That was Logan, who quirked a brow.

Virgil shrugged. “Sure. We can just chill out here since Romano and Patton are probably going to the fantasy realm or whatever.”

Logan nodded as Roman scoffed at the seemingly mundane idea. He said it was such a boring thing to do on Valentine’s Day, but Virgil didn’t mind.

They all went off to do their jobs and then night time came around again.

Logan was rushing through his notes after playing a game of 52 pickup with his slang vocab cards which he foolishly dropped while hurrying back to his room. He closed his binder with satisfaction after looking at the schedule, putting it away in a separate drawer from the card, which he took back out of its hiding place. He was clueless as to what to add. It had barely any stanzas. Logan tapped his pencil against the table, making a fast paced clicking noise.

“Ughhh!” The logical facet sighed, his mind totally blank. “I should have gotten more hours of sleep.” He looked at his watch: 10:40 pm. He could still finish it by tomorrow. Logan, although, was holding his head up with his forearms, consciousness blinking on and off. He decided, if anything, to add just one more line he could think of. Everything else was decorated and he could finish it after taking a quick nap. He wrote it down slowly due to fatigue, but still tried his best to make it look neat.

“I love--”

Then somehow passed out while writing with a pen. Though, Thomas used to do that at times so was it really that surprising? He was out cold for a while and even slept past 8 am.

“Logan?” Virgil called, noticing Logan’s absence in the morning from the commons. Then Virgil finally found his boyfriend’s head resting on his desk with a nicely decorated card next to his right arm. He noticed the still full trash can of paper and then picked up the card. He didn’t read the inside yet, wanting to see the other things first. He noticed the equation “I love you” message first and chuckled at such a nerdy detail. Then he found the density formula on the back and smirked. How had he been so blessed as to have had such a caring nerd in his life?

Virgil finally opened the card to see the partially unfinished poem on the left flap and a nicely written closing on the right. He saw his name, so this must’ve been for him.

“I guess he didn’t finish…” Virgil concluded out loud to himself, but he really wanted to read the poem. Logan had written him previous poems and he absolutely loved them. So he read it aloud, mumbling the words under his breath.

“I don’t believe I’ll be able to explain my love towards you. Like how it is a mystery as to the true way the universe was created despite the many theories. How the chances of us existing together may have been smaller than a quark, But we managed to exist and come together. Your mind can be as far away as a galaxy,

but I’d travel the light years. You’re a fundamental element in my life, Like gravity to planets and stars. I am and always will be unable to express how much I care for you. You’re nothing short of breathtaking. A star should be named after you. No a nebula. I love…”

Logan had woken up as Virgil was reading the second to last stanza, although wasn’t completely aware of his surroundings yet.

“Morning, dear,” Logan greeted with a yawn, adjusting his glasses and hair as much as he could. He was calm and tired until he saw what Virgil had in his hand and then he was fully awake in an instant.

“I… did you read that?” Virgil nodded slowly, hoping the logical facet wasn’t upset. They sat in silence for a few moments before Virgil, surprisingly, broke the silence.

“Um… I really liked it, actually. Really.” He gave a genuine smile, moving to plant a kiss on Logan’s messy hair.

“Really?” “Yes, I did.” “It’s not even finished or--” Logan almost tripped over his own feet trying to sit up from the chair. It was way too early for this. (It was almost 1 pm).

Virgil laughed as Logan struggled to stand up and move, eventually falling onto his bed face first before slowly turning himself around and sitting up. Virgil made his way over to the bed too with much less stumbling, sitting down next to Logan.

“I assume this-” Virgil pointed at the word “love” at the end of the poem. “-is supposed to say ‘I love you’, right?”

Logan looked at Virgil deliriously for a few seconds before practically diving forward and kissing him. Virgil almost let go of the card, but held on and melted into the kiss, smiling as he did so. Then they both fell backwards onto the bed in suppressed giggles.

“I’ve never seen you this giddy,” Virgil commented teasingly.

Logan pointed an index finger straight up as in an objection. “In my defense, I’m very tired.” They both broke into laughter again. After a few minutes of Logan waking up, he had Virgil give him the card to finish writing out “you” and then gave it back.

“I love it, Logan.” He looked at the now fully visible trash can of drafts. “Man… I wish I made something.”

“It’s okay Virgil, you yourself are enough,” Logan replied, pecking Virgil on the forehead who look assured enough for now.

They eventually made their way downstairs, Virgil still latching onto the card, and had their first Valentine’s Day. It consisted of Virgil constantly complimenting Logan’s card and poem, making him blush, and Logan constantly saying how amazing Virgil is, making him blush as well. They cuddled on the couch and watched a few documentaries about space and other oddities.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, dear.” Logan presses a kiss to Virgil’s lips for the millionth time today.

Virgil smiles into it and responds,”Happy Valentine’s Day, nerd.”

[spideydaddyboy]

The Red Sweatshirt P1

Hey everyone! So I know I haven’t been active lately on this fic and I decided to repost it closer to the second part I am posting just a few minutes after this. If you are new to the fic:

Post Hawkmoths defeat

Aged up 16-17

This was supposed to be a one shot between Marinette and Adrien, but instead of the fluff I was going for it turned into some angst! I wrote that first part around the time I created this blog, and then about a few months ago decided to rewrite the entire thing and add chapters and details to it! 

My writing is trash but enjoy!

(LINKS OF NEXT PART DOWN BELOW)

~

Hawkmoth was gone and Marinette was back to being Marinette. There was no need for Ladybug and Chat Noir anywhere. Even for the little crimes, Chat wouldn’t show up. Luckily Marinette could rely on her other partners, Queen Bee and Rena Rogue, or else she’d be drowning in petty thefts and robberies all day long. Even so, she held an emptiness without her leather clad partner, incomplete; and she hated it. When Master Fu had relayed the choice Chat Noir had made, it stung that he didn’t feel he could confide in Ladybug. Even though she couldn’t understand the base of his decision, she did understand one thing-Chat Noir wanted nothing to do with Ladybug anymore.

“Tikki,” Marinette murmured, her kwami flew from her hiding spot to rest on her holders knuckles. “Do...do you think it’s time for me to give up my miraculous? Give them back to Master Fu?

The red spotted bug looked concerned, “no not yet. You never know when Paris might need you against another super villain! And maybe-!”

“Wouldn’t it have already happened by now? It has been nearly a year and a half since we’ve defeated Hawkmoth and nothing big has happened! Chat Noir obviously gave his miraculous back-”

“You don’t know that Mari!”

“-so what’s the point of keeping mine?”

The bluenette yanked open the trap door leading up to her balcony and marched outside, the humid summer air and a light sprinkle of warm air washed over her face, “where could he be Tikki?” She whispered, an ache throbbed in her chest and she feared she was suffering from a breaking heart.

“If it makes you feel any better Marinette...he hasn’t given up his miraculous...I can sense it and he’s closer than you think.”

The dusk began to settle over Paris like a dark cloud, like Marinette’s grief settled over her heart. The loss of a hero, a partner, and a friend. Taking down Hawkmoth was supposed to be a joyous victory for Ladybug and Chat Noir, but it seemed to benefit them the least.

“Tikki,” Marinette whispered as her tears began to mix with the rain on her lips. “Spots on..”

~

“Adrien?” Natalie called through a closed door, “would you like to run to the Dupain-Cheng’s bakery with me? I am picking up some croissants and you can get those macaroons you like so much as well!”

A muffled response strained through the thick wood, “...when?”

“In about twenty minutes or so...would you like to go?” Natalie gave an eager and hopeful reply, “your friend Marinette, you could visit her, Sabine mentioned she misses you.”

Adrien sat up on his bed and blinked in the darkness of his bedroom, “she said that?”

“Well y-yes-”

“No did Marinette actually say that?” He ran pale slender fingers through his choppy blonde hair.

“Um...Sabine-”

“Then no.”

Natalie became frantic, her voice strangled and clipped, “she also mentioned Marinette’s been miserable with Alya’s internship taking up all their time to spend together, she’s stuck in her room all day, just like you-” a pause as Natalie bit her tongue at her word choice. “I-it sounds like you could both use a friend right now.” She recovered.

The model mulled over his decision as he absentmindedly rubbed his ring out of habit. Plagg gesticulated wildly and swung his arms at the door, but Adrien only shook his head as of to say ‘not right now’. He had left his friends so sudden, of course they had to have understood, he was now related to Super Villain numéro un of Paris. Before, Adrien had been aching to get out of his house, to do new things and meet new people, and he did. He met Nino, Marinette and Alya, his best friends. He had met Ladybug, the love of his life, but now that the world knew of his families freshest secret wound, he had yet to leave his house publically. Of course he’d have Nino over every once in awhile, and he still modeled for his father’s dying brand, but other than that he’d become a household mystery. Adrien Agreste; boy turned ghost.

“You gotta get out and do something kid…” Plagg patted the blonde’s cheek and hid behind his mound of fresh camembert.

“What was that Adrien?” Natalie strained to hear through the door and startled him.

Small green eyes peeked over and stared into Adrien’s, “just give me a minute Natalie and I will meet you downstairs.”

~

Ladybug was soaked from the rain as she swung rooftop to rooftop, aimlessly searching for something she knew she wouldn’t find. With every slap of her feet on concrete, it reverberated through her bones, and numbed the pain she was already feeling. Out of subconscious she found herself at the Agreste mansion, and stared at the huge cold structure that haunted her nightmares. She could see it now, that day that she had discovered Gabriel Agreste’s secret. Her, Alya, and Nino had been over for a group assignment. Although it had been decided Mr. Agreste was off the suspects list, Rena Rogue had thought differently. Marinette had gotten a call from Rena, and since Alya had gone to the bathroom prompting a hold on the project, Marinette found it appropriate to take the call outside the hall. The fox rambled about a secret room in Gabriel’s study and told Ladybug to get over there ASAP. Marinette checked to see if the group had kept working on the project but Alya was still taking her time in the restroom as usual.

When she had joined her other partner in the dark eerie viewpoint, she had called on Chat Noir, but he had missed her call, so she left a message. Their investigation didn’t last long as Gabriel(as Hawkmoth) discovered them, and seeing the love of her life’s already cold father as the number one super villain in Paris made her stomach turn over. A battle ensued to which Chat Noir and Queen Bee joined, rather annoyingly late. It was in the final moments that Ladybug sensed a vulnerability in Gabriel Agreste she had never seen before, in an exchange between him and Chat Noir. A flash of remorse, guilt, maybe, but only for a moment as he ripped the ring off of Chat Noirs finger with a sickening crack. Chat’s transformation dropped, but all Ladybug could see was red, the red of her yoyo wrapping around Hawkmoths neck and slamming him into the ground where he levitated. The brooch was easy to take from the limp fashion mogul and it was over. Ladybug felt light, but when she turned to share the victory with her partner, he was gone.

The slam of a door woke Ladybug from her daydream, and below she watched as Natalie made her way to the iconic silver Agreste car from her early lycée memories. Behind her shuffled Adrien, dressed in a bright red sweatshirt with the hood flipped up and covering his golden hair. It had felt like forever since she had seen her crush, but instead of a flutter of the heart, a pang of guilt stabbed her in the stomach. As if he had sensed her sudden ache, he turned his eyes up to where she stood on the rooftop over, green met blue. They stood there for what seemed like forever, but was only a couple of seconds. Natalie called Adrien to the car and with a tight face he turned away, a similar feeling piercing his side as he slid into the  car. When he looked back through the gate to his partner, she was gone.

Part 1  Part 2

[marauder--harder]

Methods of Torture- A Remus Lupin Imagine (Part 2 of The Torturous Year)

A/N: Guess who’s back bitches! Yep, I finally got my shit together and wrote the next installment for y’all. It is a doozy. Over 3.5 k words here. I don’t know what happened, and it honestly isn’t perfect but I am just too excited that I don’t want to tweak it any longer. So sorry if it is kind of choppy in some areas. I also wanted to thank you all for being so patient with me. I hope to keep writing every day, although I am moving into my dorm in 2 days so we’ll see. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy! 

Previous Installments: The Torturous Year. (Part 1)

Throughout the next few weeks after your return to Hogwarts, you tried to get control over yourself. It was a battle that you were determined to win because ‘no, you do not like him and even if you did, this needed to stop.’

So you did your best to ignore the spike of your heart rate whenever his arm brushed against yours in the halls, or how your hands grew clammy whenever he would lock eyes with you in the late hours of the night. Although, dear Godric did he make things difficult for you. The boy had methods of torture lined up for you, in every detail of his body.

You learned quickly that he had also spent most of the summer abroad in France. He had a brief summer fling with a local muggle girl there, which no you were totally not jealous of. James teased his friend often about how great this French girl must have been to instill confidence in their now resident lover boy. You ignored the new found nickname for him, and the thought of a young, pretty, maybe slightly older French girl wrapped around Remus. Instead you focused on asking him about the other aspects of his time in France, like the mountains and the muggle shops. You asked him in great detail about Paris, and if it really was as amazing as every muggle book described. Luckily however, Remus, nor any of the others, didn’t notice that he had to repeat his adventures in France to you a couple of days after he had told the boys on the train. Where your brain was when he mentioned it the first time, you were hoping not to think about.

Although, over time you couldn’t help but realize that whatever happened in France with his fling must have been quite a trip for Remus to come back looking and acting the way he did. He was definitely not the same boy who left the Hogwarts Express with you just three months ago. All the boys had noticed his change too, as it tended to be a subject of teasing for Remus.

When Remus walked into Divination and had to duck, he earned the brief nickname of ‘Jolly Green Giant’ from Lily. The others not understanding and Lily having to explain the tale only made his teasing that much worse. You had noticed that his cheeks had dusted an attractive shade of pink, highlighting his newly found freckles.

James had also taken to the habit of using Remus whenever he was trying to get something from someone. For the longest time Peter was used as the way to weasel their way out of numerous detentions with his soft features and nervous, could-do-no-wrong look. However, this year the boys made Prefect Remus try because “Moony, I swear with your sparkling eyes and innocent smile, nobody can say no to you.” And it worked too. Remus tended to get them off the hook more than any other year that Peter tried. Whether it was smiling innocently at teachers or accidentally charming both female and male students, Remus got good at wiggling his way out of punishments for the whole lot.

The most notable thing about Remus’ change was his newfound strength. You didn’t notice it at first, maybe a few months after you had started the school year. By now you had been able to find a way to suppress your blushing and rapid heartbeat around the young boy, until one afternoon after Charms.

Professor Flitwick had asked Remus to help him with moving some boxes around after class and without hesitation he lifted them, moving them across the room. You watched with the rest of your friends, and a few other swooning girls, his biceps strain under his uniform and his jaw tense when his hands slipped slightly. It was only after he returned did you realize that your mouth was hanging open slightly, actually gaping at the ease in which he moved the heavy boxes.

“You know mate,” James had started, clapping Remus on the back lightly, “I know you want to show off and everything, but I think Flitwick meant that you were to use magic for that.”

Remus just continued to pack up his stuff, ducking his head to try and avoid the obvious blush travelling up his neck, across his cheeks and to the tips of his ears.

“Oh, sod off. I didn’t think about it. It wasn’t that big of a deal. They were just a couple of boxes with some textbooks in them.”

James laughed and pointed across the room, near the door, where a few girls had stayed behind to watch Remus’ show. “Tell that to your fans.”

Remus’ brows rose in slight astonishment and grew more red.

The rest of the group, still teasing him slightly, started to make their way out of the class; and when you hopped off your stool you noticed with a shameful amount of embarrassment that your legs were actually shaking slightly.

You stood there, absolutely mortified. The rest seemed to notice your absence and turned in confusion.

“You coming, Y/N?”

You cleared your throat and nodded, willing yourself to control your own body when you took a step. Your knee strained slightly, but held and you breathed out a small sigh, thanking all the gods you could think of. You truly didn’t understand what your issue was this year, as you kept telling yourself that Remus was still the same boy you had been with for the past six years. You needed to get a grip.

Once you fell back in place with the others, Sirius noticed the slightest flush in your cheeks. Leaning in closer, he grinned and whispered, “need a big, strong Moony to carry you there, love?”

He laughed when you tripped over your own shoe and stumbled slightly.

Thankfully for you, you had ceased to notice anything more about Remus for the next few weeks—until after the full moon.

It was during your visit the morning after his transformation. You had made it a habit for almost a year now to see that he was safe a few hours after sunrise each month. The boys would be in bed, resting after their long night when you’d sneak into the Hospital Wing. For the first few months Madam Pomfrey kicked you out, constantly scolding you about not letting Remus get his well needed healing time; but after your persistent nagging and repeated sneaking, she let you stay.

Most of the time Remus would be asleep, although there were many of mornings where he’d swear up and down that he wasn’t even tired and wanted to talk to you. The two of you would talk, filling him in lightly on the classes that he missed. Yet, after a few hours you would always notice that his eyes would begin to droop as he fought to stay awake. That’s when you decided that you would read to him.

“I’m not trying to get you to sleep, Moony, I promise!” You’d insist.

He’d smile tiredly and roll his eyes, both of you knowing full well that it was exactly what you were trying to do. “Okay, Y/N, then you better choose a good book.”

And you did, reading to him every morning, the two of you would go through book after book. Sometimes it would be muggle novels, other times astronomy books or magical stories. It got to a point, where both of you would almost look forward to the morning after each full moon. It was some sort of twisted comfort that you got in each other’s company.

This month, you decided to surprise Moony. bringing him his favorite muggle book, first edition; a gift that took months of searching and saving up for. Yet, when you pulled back the curtain to his bed, you stilled and dropped the present with a slight thud.

“Remus,” you whispered, as you watched Madam Pomfrey continue to wrap his bare chest to dress his wounds. He had a long gash from his left shoulder, across his collarbone, down to where you presumed would be his navel, as he was covered in a white dressing that wrapped around the lower part of his torso. You took in the many scars across his chest and arms, and quickly felt the stinging prick of tears behind your eyes.

At the sound of your voice, both Remus and Pomfrey turned toward you. Remus’ eyes quickly averted yours as his cheeks grew red with embarrassment. Madam Pomfrey, however, turned so she shielded him from you slightly, before standing taller.

“Ms. Y/L/N!” she started, snapping your eyes from Remus’ form and turning to the now slightly red faced woman in front of you. “I do recall saying many of times that you may visit Mr. Lupin each month after I have given him a thorough inspection and deemed him suitable for visitors. Don’t you?”

You slowly nodded as you tried to focus on what the older nurse was scolding you for, and not the growing concern you had for Remus. The scars on his chest ranged from looking red and angry to a ghostly white, which contrasted greatly against his newly tanned skin tone. His skin that looked smooth and soft, compared to the rough scars and his gash that quickly formed a deep pit in your stomach.

“Well then, Ms. Y/L/N, I would think that you should wait outside until I tell you otherwise?”

You blinked once, then twice, and shook yourself back into reality. “Yes, uh,” you stammered, suddenly embarrassed for the scene you were causing and the amount of discomfort you knew Remus was in, “I’m sorry Remus, I-I’ll just be waiting in your office Madam.” Without a response from either of them, you turned and rushed to her office as quickly as you could.

Once there, you stopped and closed your eyes, willing yourself to think about anything else besides Remus. You’ve seen him after the full moon for nearly a year now; this by far not being the worst that he has been. You recalled the moon that Remus had fractured his wrist in two places, or when he got the scar that is now a faint white line across this bridge of his nose.

Yet, when you saw Remus sitting there, you couldn’t help but feel the deep pit in your stomach grow. The way his shoulders tensed when he realized you were there, and how his muscles twitched under the hands of his caretaker made you feel equal parts concerned and flustered.

After what felt like an eternity, Madam Pomfrey finally returned, looking slightly tired and relieved. She made no acknowledgement to you, just turned and started tidying up her office space.

“So,” you started, “is he usually like that when he comes in?”

The question made her still, and look up at you. For a few moments neither of you said anything, just staring at one another. Madam Pomfrey studied you for a long while, before smiling ever so slightly.

“You seem to care for Mr. Lupin quite a bit, Ms. Y/L/N. He is very lucky to have a friend like you.”

You shrugged, looking down at the floor. “He has the rest of the boys too. It’s not just me that cares about him.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, her smile growing. “This is true, my dear. Yet, I haven’t seen the boys come in here every morning just after sunrise to see him, now do I?”

You shook your head, thinking to yourself that you wish you could do half as much as the boys do for Remus. “You never answered my question.”

Slowly her smile faded, and she took in a deep breath. “There are months where he has come in much worse condition than this. However, it seemed as if the strength in which he injured himself has increased; and with the maturity that he has hit this past holiday,” she trailed off, and you couldn’t help the faint blush that rose to your cheeks at the mention of his change. “I am afraid that the full moons are going to be a lot more difficult for Mr. Lupin in the future.”

You nodded; and sighed, feeling your heart break for Remus. "Thank you, for being honest with me. May I see him now?”

Madam Pomfrey nodded, resuming her cleaning of her desk. “Yes, you may. Although, I must remind you that he does need his rest so please keep your visit short.”

Turning, you walked to her door and paused, your hand still on the handle. “Madam Pomfrey?” You asked, and she stilled again, turning towards you.

“Yes, dear?”

“It’s easy, isn’t it?”

The older woman furrowed her brows in confusion, “I beg your pardon, but what’s easy?”

You smiled softly, “Caring about him. You don’t even notice it, when you first start to. You just, sort of, do. He’s a very easy boy to care about.” You turned, looking away from his curtain, back to the older woman. “Don’t you think?”

A smile that you have never seen graced Madam Pomfrey’s face, and you briefly noticed how pretty she was in her growing age. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N, that I do.”

With another nod and a smile, you turned and walked over to Remus’ bed. You cleared your throat loudly before peaking your head through.

“Is it safe?” you asked, eyes closed and grin wide.

Remus rolled his eyes and smirked, “I think it just might be.”

“Might be? Well, who am I to enter a fair gentleman’s chamber without knowing that he is properly covered?” You teased, opening one eye and looking around before dramatically whispering. “I may just be attacked by his dragon nurse.”

Remus laughed heartily, throwing his head back as you stepped in. “Just get in here, my knight in shining armor.”

Picking up the book you had once dropped on the floor, you smiled and waved it in his sight. “I am here to rescue you, after all.”

Remus’ eyes widened, his smile dropping along with his jaw as you handed over the book. “This is my favorite! Please tell me you’ve read this before.”

You smiled, and shook your head, “I haven’t but maybe you could read it to me this time. Now that you have a copy. I hope you don’t mind, actually. It’s a first edition, totally legit. And I know Christmas isn’t for another few weeks but I thought that it would be a good idea to give it to you now, because we always do the book thing. Maybe I should have waited…”

Remus just simply laughed, harder and harder until he was wincing and clutching his stomach. “Calm down, love.” he wheezed and you instantly found yourself fighting yet another blush. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Y/N.”

“Anytime, Moony.”

There were a few moments of silence between you before Remus broke it, saying, “well, let’s get you educated on the best book you will ever read, eh?” He shifted slightly, trying to sit up and quickly winced in pain.

You reached out, lightly pushing him back onto the pillows. “Easy there. I don’t want you busting that open and having dragon Pomfrey come yell at me.”

Remus sighed and looked up at you sadly. “How am I supposed to read to you then?”

Taking the book from his hand gently, you gave him a playfully wry look. “I thought you liked my voices?”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, staring up at the white ceiling above him. A strange look passed over his face, all teasing gone.

“That’s not what I meant.”

You knew that the full moons were always a difficult time for the boy and this time around, you could feel the frustration and defeat rolling off of him in waves.

“Hey,” your hand slowly traced down his arm, to rest on top of his hand before giving it a gentle squeeze. “You can read it to me some other time. Right now, we can just talk; or you could get some rest—”

“No—” he cut you off, and you could feel his hand tense into a fist underneath your hand. “Please, don’t go.”

You smiled and pulled up a chair to sit in, before resting your hand back on top of his. “Then let’s talk.” There was a pause, where you glanced down towards his bandage. Madam Pomfrey’s words replayed in your head, over and over again; and you began wondering about how he fared each full moon. Over the months you had stayed with him, you tried not to ask much about his condition in fear of upsetting him. Although, finally seeing the severity of his wounds first hand, your mouth seemed to catch up with your mind before you had any thought to stop it.

“Does it—does it hurt much?”

Remus sighed gently, before shaking his head, “no, not really.” After a few moments he added, “you know this isn’t really what I had in mind when I meant ‘talk.’”

Paying his half teasing no mind, you pressed on, “do you usually get that hurt and I just don’t see it?”

It was as if your brain had lost all connection with its filter, as you asked question after question. You barely even registered the shameful prick of tears as they welled in your eyes. “I mean, how could I not have ever noticed? You always seemed so fine; exhausted and a bit beat up, but fine. A-And this isn’t fine, you know, like that has to be painful. Have you just been hiding it? Because, the marauders and I, we’re your friends; you don’t have to hide that stuff from us.” Suddenly you paused, and furrowed your brow slightly, still staring at his torso. More tears welled in your eyes, and you feebly fought them back.

“Of course, maybe the boys always knew about it. They are with you after all, so it only makes sense that they know; but that means that you’d be hiding it from me. Which technically you have every right to; you don’t owe me anything, let alone information about the thing you hate most. But I would have thought that we were close enough...

“And how long exactly are you in pain after? I mean, you usually come back to class a few days after the full moon; but that doesn’t mean anything. You’d totally be the type to come back even if you were in pain. You’re not in pain, are you?”

Brows furrowed and head tilted, Remus looked at you. “Hey,” your eyes finally met his, tearing away from the white of his bandage to meet the green of his eyes. “I’m okay, Y/N, really. See?” He took your hand in his and pulled it up to press lightly against his bandage. You felt the steady thrum of his heart under the wrappings, and tried to match your shaky breathing to it.

Neither of you said anything for minutes, as you closed your eyes while trying to calm yourself. Remus stared at you, however, a small smile on his face as he realized the depth of which you cared for others.

He didn’t see this side of you often, and he recalled that the last time you got this worked up over someone was when Sirius had broken his collarbone after a nasty fall during quidditch last term. You had screamed at him for a solid three minutes straight before storming off, tears in your eyes. He also noted that this was one of the only times he had ever seen you cry. Presumably you probably cried over Sirius’ broken bones but left after Sirius tried joking that you were going soft on them.

After a few minutes, you slowly opened your eyes to find Remus staring at you intently. You felt your cheeks grow hot under his gaze and feebly tried to hide your embarrassment at your outburst. “So,” you started, clearing your throat and sniffing twice, ignoring the obvious fact that you had just been crying. “You’re fine? Like, this isn’t a normal thing?”

Remus couldn’t help but smile slightly and squeeze your hand gently, “I’m fine. I’ve seen worse, but if you want me to be honest I have a feeling that the wolf is getting stronger. There will probably be a lot more moons like this, but nothing I can’t handle.”

You frowned slightly, yet couldn’t help but remember what Madam Pomfrey had said. It wasn’t just the wolf that got stronger, nor it a shock that he got this hurt, if the sudden toned muscle in his human form was anything to go by.

“Well,” he chuckled, trying, and failing to hide his grin, “I didn’t realize there was much of a change, Y/N.”

You paled and looked up at his now grinning form, watching his eyes dance with what you could imagine was only boyish pride. You groaned softly and took in a deep breath, covering your face with your hands.

“Please don’t tell me I said that out loud.”

Remus only answered with more laughter that made your cheeks flame even further. Picking up his book, you smacked his leg with it lightly, earning a slight yelp from the werewolf laying next to you.

“Just for that, I’m reading this book on my own.”

His laughter stopped abruptly and gaped at you, “hey! That’s my gift!”

“Yes, it is; but, I think you may just have to wait for Christmas for it now. You’re not being a very good boy.”

Fighting another grin, he cleared his throat, “are you saying I’ve been naughty?”

Eyes widened and another three smacks landed on his thigh, punctuated by each word. “Remus John Lupin!”

“Sorry, sorry! Is this my spanking?” Laughter could be heard now from both young teens until it was interrupted by a very angry nurse, scolding the two for causing a ruckus in her infirmary. Turning to you, she explained that no amount of caring will jeopardize the healing of her patient, so you had to leave.

Nodding your head, you turned to Remus and leaned in, whispering in his ear, “trust me, Moony, you don’t want to see the spankings I give actual naughty boys. Merry Christmas.”

You set the book on his lap gently, before pulling away and gathering up the rest of your things. As you left, you smirked, thinking about the amusing blush left on Remus’ cheeks and how maybe you could torture Remus just as much as he tortures you.

Torturer: 0

Tortured: 1

Tag List: (if you’d like to be tagged, let me know!)

@gondorgirl01 , @dare-to-dream-about-1d 

[maryanntorreson]

How writing about difficult experiences can help you take back your power

Thoka Maer

I have a question for you. Have you ever seen something and you wish you could have said something — but you didn’t?

And I have a second question. Has something ever happened to you and you never said anything about it — but you should have?

I’m interested in this idea of action — of the difference between seeing, which is the passive act of observing, and the actual act of bearing witness.

Bearing witness means writing down something you have seen, something you have heard, something you have experienced. The most important part of bearing witness is writing it down; it’s recording. Writing it down captures the memory. Writing it down acknowledges its existence.

One of the biggest examples we have in history of someone bearing witness is Anne Frank and her diary. She simply wrote down what was happening to her family and about her confinement and, in doing so, we have a very intimate record of this family during one of the worst periods of our world’s history.

You too can use creative writing to bear witness, and I’m going to walk you through an exercise that I do with a lot of my college students, who are future engineers, technicians, plumbers — basically, they’re not creative writers. We use these exercises to unsilence things we’ve been keeping silent. It’s a way of unburdening ourselves.

It’s 3 simple steps:

Step 1: Brainstorm and write it down

I give my students a prompt. The prompt is “The time when …” and I want them to fill in that prompt with times they might have experienced something, heard something or seen something and they could have said something or intervened but they didn’t. I have them write a list as quickly as possible.

I’ll give you example of some of the things I would write down:

- the time when a few months after 9/11 and two boys dared themselves to touch me and they did - the time when my sister and I were walking in a city and a guy spat at us and called us terrorists - the time way back when I went to a very odd middle school and girls a couple of
 years older than me were often married to men nearly double their age - the time when a friend pulled a gun on me - the time when I went to a going-away luncheon for a coworker and a big boss
 questioned my lineage for 45 minutes

There are times when I have seen something and I haven’t intervened. For example:

- the time when I was on a train and I witnessed a father beating his toddler son and I didn’t do anything - the many times when I’ve walked by someone who was homeless and in need and asking me for money and I walked around them and I did not acknowledge their humanity

The list could go on and on. Think of times when something might have happened sexually, times when you’ve been keeping things repressed, and times with our families. Because our families — we love them, but at the same time we don’t talk about things. So we don’t talk about the family member who has been using drugs or abusing alcohol; we don’t talk about the family member who might have severe mental illness. We’ll say something like, “Oh they’ve always been that way,” and we hope that in not talking about it and not acknowledging it, we can act like it doesn’t exist, that it will somehow fix itself.

Your goal is to write down at least 10 things, and once you have those 10 things, you’ve actually done part one, which is to bear witness. You have unsilenced something that you have been keeping silent.

Step 2: Narrow it down and focus

What I suggest is going back to your list of 10 and picking 3 things that are really tugging at you, three things that you feel strongly about. It doesn’t have to be the most traumatic things but it’s things that are like, “Ah, I have to write about this.” I suggest you sit down at a table with a pen and paper — that’s my preferred method for recording but you can also use a tablet, an iPad, a computer, just something that lets you write.

I suggest taking 30 minutes of uninterrupted time, meaning that you turn your phone off, put it on airplane mode, no email. If you have family or if you have children, give yourself 20 minutes or 5 minutes. The goal is just to give yourself time to write.

You’re going to focus on 3 things — you’re going to focus on the details, you’re going to focus on the order of events, you’re going to focus on how it made you feel. That last one is the most important part. I’m going to walk you through how I do it.

The first thing I feel very, very strongly about is that time when a couple of months after 9/11, these two boys dared themselves to touch me. I remember I was in a rural mall in North Carolina and I was just walking, minding my business.

I felt like people walking behind me were very, very close. I was like, “OK, that’s kind of weird, let me walk a little bit faster.” They walked a little bit faster too and I heard them going back and forth —  “No, you do it” “You do it” “No, you do it.” And then one of them pushes me and I almost fall to the ground.

I popped back up, expecting some type of apology and the weirdest thing was they did not run away. They actually stood right next to me and I remember there was a guy with blond hair and he had a bright red polo shirt and he was saying “Give me my money, I did it, man”, and the guy with the brown hair who had a choppy haircut gave him a $5 bill. I remember it was crumpled, and so I’m like, “Am I still standing here? This thing just happened. What just happened?”

And it was so weird to be someone’s dare and then also not exist at all. I remembered when I was younger and someone dared me to touch something nasty or disgusting. I felt like that nasty and disgusting thing.

The second thing I feel very, very strongly about is the time when a friend pulled a gun on me (I should say former friend). I remember there was a group of us outside, he had run up, and he had the stereotypical brown paper bag in his hand. I knew what it was. I’m a very mouthy person and I started going off. I was like, “What are you doing with that gun? You’re not gonna shoot anyone. You’re a coward. You don’t even know how to use it.”

I kept going on and on and on and he got angrier and angrier and angrier and he pulled the gun out and put it in my face. I remember every one of us got very, very quiet. I remember the tightness of his face. I remember the barrel of the gun and I felt like — and I’m pretty sure everyone around me who got quiet did too — felt like this is the moment I die.

The third thing I feel very, very strongly about is this going away luncheon and this big boss. I remember I was running late and I’m always late; it’s just a thing that happens with me. The whole table was filled except for the seat next to him. I didn’t know him well; I had seen him in the office. I didn’t know why the seat was empty; I found out later on why. So I sat down at the table and before he even asked me my name, the first thing he said was “What’s going on with all of this?” and he gestured at my head. I thought, “Do I have something on my face? What’s happening?”

Then he asked me with two hands this time “What’s going on with all of this?” And I realized he’s talking about my hijab. In my head I said, “Oh, not today.” But he’s a big boss — he’s like my boss’s boss’s boss. So for 45 minutes I put up with him asking me where I was from, where were my parents from, my grandparents. He asked me where I went to school, where I did my internships, he asked me who interviewed me for that job. And for 45 minutes, I tried to be very, very, very, very, very polite, trying to answer his questions.

But I remember I was making eyeball “Help!” signs at the people around the table, like “Someone say something, intervene”. It was a rectangular table, so there were people on both sides of us and no one said anything, even people who might be in the position to do so, bosses. No one said anything. I remember I felt so alone. I remember I felt like I didn’t deserve to be in his space. I remember I wanted to quit.

So these are my three things and you’ll have your list of three things. Once you have these three things, you have the details, you have the order of events, you have how it made you feel, you’re ready to actually use creative writing to bear witness.

Step 3: Pick one and tell your story

You don’t have to write a memoir; you don’t have to be a creative writer. I know sometimes storytelling can be daunting for some people but we are human, we are natural storytellers. If someone asks “How is your day going?”, we have a beginning, a middle and an end. That is a narrative.

Our memory exists and subsists through the act of storytelling. You just have to find the form that works for you. You can write a letter to your younger self, you can write a story to your younger self, you can write a story to your five-year-old child, you can write a parody, a song, a song as parody. You can write a play, you can write a nursery rhyme, you can write it in the form of a Wikipedia article.

If it’s one of those situations where you saw something and you didn’t intervene, perhaps write it from that person’s perspective. So if I go back to the boy on the train who I saw being beaten, What was it like to be in his shoes? What was it like to see all these people who watched it happen and did nothing? Or I could put myself in the position of someone who was homeless and just try to figure out how they got there in the first place. Perhaps it would help me change some of my actions, perhaps it will help me be more proactive about certain things.

By telling your story, you’re keeping it alive so you don’t have to do anything; you don’t have to show anyone any of these steps. But even if you’re telling it to yourself, you’re saying this thing happened, this weird thing did happen. It’s not in my head. It actually happened and by doing that maybe you’ll take a little bit of power back that has been taken away.

The last thing I’m going to do is I’m going to tell you my story. The one I’ve picked is about this big boss and I picked that one because I feel like I’m not the only one who has been in a position where someone has been above me and been talked down to. I feel like all of us might have been in positions where we felt like we could not say anything because this person has our livelihood, our paychecks, our jobs in their hands and times we might have seen someone who has power talking down to someone and we should have or could have intervened.

By telling this story, I’m taking back a little bit of power that was taken away from me. I have changed the names, and it happened a decade ago. It doesn’t have any happy ending, because it’s just me writing down what happened that day.

This is how I use creative writing to bear witness.

At Lisa’s Going Away Luncheon

I want to ask my boss’s boss’s boss if he’s stupid

or just plain dumb after he takes one look at my hijab

and asks me where I’m from in Southeast Asia.

  I tell him that it’s New Jersey, actually,

and he asks where are my parents from,

and my grandparents and my great-grandparents

  and their parents and their parents’ parents

as if searching for some Other blood,

as if searching for some reason why some Black

  Muslim girl from Newark wound up seated next to him

at this restaurant of tablecloths

and laminated menus.

  I want to say “Slavery, jerk,”

but I’ve got a car note and rent and insurances

and insurances and insurances and credit

  cards and credit debt and a loan and a bad tooth

and a penchant for sushi so I drop

the jerk but keep the truth.

  Tell me, he says,

“Why don’t Sunnis and Shiites get along?”

“Tell me,” he says, “What’s going on in Iraq?”

  “Tell me,” he says, “What’s up with Saudi and Syria

and Iran?” “Tell me,” he says, “Why do Muslims

like bombs?” I want to shove an M1 up his behind

  and confetti that pasty flesh and that tailored suit.

Instead I’m sipping my unsweetened iced tea

looking around at the table, at the co-workers

  around me; none of whom, not one,

looks back at me. Rather they do the most

American things they can do:

  They praise their Lord. They stuff their faces

And pretend they don’t hear him.

And pretend they don’t see me.

This post was adapted from a TEDxUCincinnati Talk. Watch it here:

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sakinah Hofler is an award-winning writer and a PhD student at the University of Cincinnati in the English Program. Formerly, she worked as a chemical and quality engineer for the United States Department of Defense. She’s an advocate for infusing the arts into our daily lives.

This post was originally published on TED Ideas. It’s part of the “How to Be a Better Human” series, each of which contains a piece of helpful advice from someone in the TED community; browse through all the posts here.

How writing about difficult experiences can help you take back your power published first on https://premiumedusite.tumblr.com/rss

[septic-heart-and-mind]

“Mystery” - “Who Is He” (Antisepticeye Fic) Pt 2.

Part 2 of my new Anti fic! Thank you to @watermelonsinmyattic @steffid101 @geekygirl0816 and @emeralddoesthings for reading part 1 and for the positive feedback! Hope you enjoy this just as much! :D

Jack’s POV

I had so many questions going around in my mind. By the time the medics had arrived to the house, I was awake and I felt fine. No pain, nothing. All I had was confusion about what was going on - not just that day, but every day for a while. I’d had a lot of terrible headaches and I sometimes acted out of character. For a start, I snapped at people much more easily and often than usual; for some reason, my head hurt a little when I got annoyed. No matter what doctor I went to, no-one had a clue what was happening to me. I hadn’t told them about him yet, because I was scared that they would think I was crazy. Only Signe knew, and even then she didn’t know who he was. To be fair, neither did I. Since my unexplained seizure, I was kept in hospital while they ran some tests - but none of them were conclusive of anything. Eventually, they discharged me as I was perfectly well enough to go home and it seemed as though there was nothing wrong with me anyway. But Signe and I knew that there had to be something; we were just baffled that no medical professional had been able to find it.

“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” I said worriedly as we entered our house.

“No-one does,” Signe sighed.

“I’m just not myself anymore,” I stammered, my breathing accelerating. I felt dizzy so I had to sit down in the living room straight away.

“You’ll be okay,” Signe reassured me as she sat by my side and put a loving arm around me.

“What if I’m not?” I hurried, “What if I’m never okay?”

“We can’t think like that, darling,” she responded caringly, “We need to be positive.”

“I can’t,” I gasped. I felt suffocated - but the harder I tried to breathe normally, the more difficult it was and the faster it became.

“It’s alright,”  she said softly as she stroked my head.

“It’s not, it’s not,” I panted as my chest and throat tightened. I shuddered when I heard the noise again. “What is that?” I stuttered fearfully.

“What?” Signe replied disconcertedly. I heard it again, louder this time.

“That,” I uttered shakily. She remained perplexed and concerned. I was hearing it so loudly that it scared me that she couldn’t hear it too. As it sounded a third time, I looked around but I never saw what the source of it could possibly be. “Don’t you hear it?” I panicked.

“No, what are you talking about?” Signe answered anxiously. My dizziness got worse and I clutched my forehead, shutting my eyes so that I couldn’t see the room spinning. “Babe?” I heard her say, although her voice sounded blurry to me. “Are you alright?” Her words began to sound choppy, intermittently broken up by the noise, like my mind was an old, broken computer. “Seán, can you hear me?” she worried as I hadn’t been responding to her. Her voice began to hurt my ears. Every word she uttered stabbed me and I didn’t know why. My normal self found her voice to be more beautiful than a perfect song, but now it was like everything was out of tune. “Talk to me, please,” she fretted. Piercing.

“Go away…” I stammered.

“No, Seán, I can’t just leave you like this,” Signe trembled.

“Go - away…” I gasped again.

“I am not leaving you,” she insisted lovingly, yet the words were like needles in my ears. Suddenly I was no longer dizzy, but the noise was louder than ever and my eyes were on fire. But after a long few seconds, it all stopped. Yet somehow I still felt that I wasn’t entirely me. “Seán?” Signe said with a shaking voice. I opened my eyes to look at her, and I felt no love for her whatsoever. She clearly saw me differently, too, because her eyes were filled with fear. Why was she suddenly so terrified of me - and why did I enjoy it? She turned her head away from me, but then she focused on me in the mirror. It caused me to look at myself there, and I was taken aback by what I saw. My eyes were pitch black, while my skin had drained of its colour. This person or thing that I saw reflected was not me, but I didn’t know who it was or could be. I was suddenly afraid of myself and the noise returned; I turned to my girlfriend who still had terror in her eyes, and I wanted to cry. I loved her so much again. I fell the floor and everything went black.

I woke up in hospital. As soon as I realised where I was, I was frightened and confused. Signe was right there by my side, and she started caressing my face gently.

“Shhh, it’s alright, sweetheart,” Signe soothed me affectionately. “You’re alright, darling. You just had another seizure.”

“Why?” I cried.

“Aww no, shhh, don’t cry,” she said softly, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” I shook my head tearfully. “You’re gonna be alright, I promise.”

Signe’s POV

Once I’d managed to get him to calm down, he soon fell asleep again because he was exhausted. I gently kissed his forehead, before going to find someone to speak to. But no matter who I asked, they just had no idea what was happening to my Seán.

“Somebody must know what’s going on,” I cried out.

“We’ve ran a lot of tests but they just don’t show anything,” the nurse replied with concern. “I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

“How can something be this wrong and no-one can find why?” I questioned exasperatedly.

“We don’t know, Miss Hansen,” she answered apologetically, “We don’t know.”

“What about that noise he hears?” I asked fretfully. “Does that mean anything?”

“He hasn’t mentioned that,” she admitted, “What noise is it?”

“I… I don’t know,” I replied. “And him… who is he?” I continued.

“Who?” she said confusedly.

“That’s what I want to know…” I stated worriedly. “He talks about him… how he can’t escape him… but who is he?” The nurse appeared to think for a few moments about what I’d just told her.

“Do you think he could be hearing a voice?” she asked me.

“He could be,” I stammered. “But that noise… it’s something else…”

“They may be connected, though,” she suggested. “I’ll send someone to talk to him, see if we can find out what’s happening.”

“Thank you.” I returned to Seán, who was still sleeping. The sound of me sitting back at his side seemed to be just enough to wake him. He slowly opened his eyes, and slightly smiled when he saw me. I smiled back fondly, caressing his face. “I’m still here,” I said gently. “It’s gonna be okay. Someone’s coming to talk to you.” The smile faded from his face and his forehead creased. “Don’t be scared,” I reassured him, “They just wanna help you.” We waited nervously in anticipation, not knowing what was going to come of this. It would be worth it, if it could even begin to unravel this mystery. Eventually, a man who was in his fifties (at least) entered the room. He held a notepad and pen in his hand.

“Hello,” he greeted us with a warm smile, his friendly eyes looking at us through his glasses. “I’m Doctor Green. You’re Mr. Mcloughlin, yes?” he checked, looking at Seán.

“Yeah,” Seán replied nervously.

“I’m a psychiatrist, I was sent to come and talk to you,” he informed him. Seán immediately looked anxious. “It’s nothing to worry about, I just want to ask you a few questions to see if we can work out what’s happening.” I took hold of Seán’s hand, and he squeezed it with worry. I caressed his hand gently with my thumb to try and calm him. To seem less intimidating, Dr. Green sat down to the other side of Seán’s bed.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Seán stuttered.

“Not at all,” Dr. Green answered kindly. “I’m not here to judge you, I just want to help.”

“We’re all on your side, babe,” I reassured him caringly.

“So, what is it that you’ve been hearing?” he asked.

“It’s… it’s like…”Seán began. “Static…”

“Okay,” Dr. Green replied as he noted it down. “Any voices?” he continued. Seán paused, visibly nervous to answer. He gulped, and took a deep breath.

“Just one,” he struggled to say, fighting back tears. As Dr. Green wrote it down, I held Seán’s hand a little tighter and he did the same back.

“You’re doing really well,” I praised him softly.

“What does this voice say?” Dr. Green enquired. Seán was trembling now as he thought about it. A tear began to roll down his face. I rubbed my thumb gently against his hand again. Before he could answer, he curled forwards in terrible pain with his hands to his forehead, before passing out. We still hadn’t been able to get to the bottom of this mystery, and now I was worrying about him all over again. Every time this happened, I wondered if he would wake up. I feared that I’d never get my Seán back. If he did wake up, we would have to find out what it was that he - this voice - had been saying to him. Maybe then we could figure out what was going on and put a stop to it. I couldn’t lose Seán to this voice, and I couldn’t bear to see him suffering like this anymore. Whatever was happening to Seán, we had to find out. And fast.

[eddycurrents]

For the week of 23 April 2018

Quick Bits:

Abbott #4 gives us the penultimate issue to the series, dropping all the pieces together to put Abbott on the path to discovery what is going on with all the death and paranormal stuff. The layouts from Sami Kavelä just elevates the storytelling to the next level.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Aliens: Dust to Dust #1 is a fairly visceral beginning to this new min-series written and illustrated by Gabriel Hardman (with colours from Rain Beredo). It starts in terror as Maxon begins seeing violence outside his window and finds a facehugger attached to his mother, and just explodes from there with the colony world of LV-871 overrun by xenomorphs. 

| Published by Dark Horse

Avengers #690 brings both “No Surrender” and this volume of Avengers to an end, serving as a coda to the series, tying up some loose ends, saying some goodbyes--especially as many of the X-Men characters seem to be going back home--and setting up some of the things to come. This has been a great story, with some wonderful art along the way, that well-encapsulated this era of the Avengers while presenting a fairly widescreen epic. 

| Published by Marvel

Big Trouble in Little China: Old Man Jack #8 is the big confrontation with Ching Dai and it’s...not what you’d expect. Great art as usual from Jorge Corona.

| Published by BOOM! Studio

Bloodborne #3 is filled will existential dread. Particularly with the idea of that unknown, unseen terror hanging above your head, waiting to pounce. And of monsters being everywhere.

| Published by Titan

Cyber Force #2 continues the slow burn rebuilding and reintroduction of the team and their antagonists, with this issue mainly focusing on Velocity discovering the extent of her powers and revealing the updated version of Killjoy. Like the first issue, much of the story is similar, but the details get fleshed out a bit more and the look of the characters tends to be a bit different. It does highlight the differences in comics storytelling between today and twenty-five years ago. What used to be told in a handful of panels or a throwaway line now takes half an issue.

| Published by Image / Top Cow

Deep Roots #1 is another stellar debut from Vault, with absolutely gorgeous artwork from Val Rodrigues and Triona Farrell. The story...is a bit Swamp Thing-y, but not. It’s strange. Dan Watters excels at strange.

| Published by Vault

Doctor Strange #389 continues this necessary chunk of the “Damnation” event, revealing how Strange exited the depths of hell in order to get back to Las Vegas. Its structure is a bit odd, given that it’s actually told as a flashback, breaking with how the arc has been presented up until now, and it skips over what actually happens in Damnation #4, but it’s still entertaining. Donny Cates adds quite a few bits of reactive humour and the art from Niko Henrichon continues to be astounding.

| Published by Marvel

Doctor Strange: Damnation #4 concludes the event. I’ve enjoyed it overall, with some great moments spread across the constituent parts, but the main series itself has been told in a fairly oblique manner, leaving important details up to the tie-ins of Doctor Strange and Johnny Blaze. I don’t mind, personally, but if you’re only reading Damnation, it would feel a bit choppy. I am hoping that the tease of more Midnight Sons bears fruit. Some great art again from both Rod Reis and Szymon Kudranski. 

| Published by Marvel

Dungeons & Dragons: Evil at Baldur’s Gate #1 returns the adventuring party home and has them scatter almost immediately, leaving Minsc and Boo to find their own misadventure about the city. Being Minsc and Boo-centric, Jim Zub opts for a story that’s a little sillier than usual, but it’s very welcome.

| Published by IDW

Exiles #2 is a rather fun comic, finishing up the gathering of the team, as they hop from realities under threat from the desiccated corpse version of Galactus that is the Time Eater. The differing realities that Saladin Ahmed is playing with here transcends earlier versions with the inclusion of Wolvie, allowing for a radically different interpretation and style of comics not often included in these kinds of reality hopping stories. It gives a nice bit of comic relief and allows Javier Rodríguez to further flex his artistic muscle. Between stylistic changes, layouts, and panel transitions, this is a damn good looking comic. Rodríguez, Álvaro López, and Chris O’Halloran are making the art as adventurous as the story.

| Published by Marvel

Gasolina #7 returns with Amalia and Randy hiding out and playing house with Amalia’s nephew, who is still somehow alive with one of those alien bug things in him. It’s still kind of weird how Sean Mackiewicz is presenting this mix of oddities with a more standard crime narrative, where the aliens/whatever-they-are are just about the least important thing. It’s a nice approach, drawing out the more “normal” aspects comparatively.

| Published by Image / Skybound

Grass Kings #14 drops one hell of a bombshell in this penultimate issue. Matt Kindt, Tyler & Hilary Jenkins are ensuring that this series goes out on a high note.

| Published by BOOM! Studios

Hunt for Wolverine #1 is a pretty good start to this event, even if ultimately the premise of Wolverine missing--when he’s been hopping around the Marvel Universe just missing anyone--is a little ridiculous. I mean, if he still has an Infinity Stone, despite the recent flowchart in Infinity Countdown #2, it makes a bit of sense, but otherwise... Anyway, Charles Soule, David Marquez, and Rachelle Rosenberg put together a great lead story, setting up the mystery of Logan’s missing body, and it remains to be seen how and why he actually came back. The second story, from Soule, Paulo Siquiera, Walden Wong, and Ruth Redmond then essentially sets up the spin-off series with the different teams looking for Wolverine.

| Published by Marvel

Ice Cream Man #4 serves up another cone of seriously strange horror. Like if you made beer-flavoured ice cream and topped it with bits of chocolate-covered grasshopper. This one features an outing between an estranged friend and the friend’s deadbeat dad after his funeral and it just gets more bizarre from there.

| Published by Image

Jeepers Creepers #1 is not something I ever expected to see. Although the first two movies were relatively successful, at the very least as cult horror flicks, I would have thought the surprisingly released third film and Victor Salva’s reputation killed the chance of this as a viable property that anyone would want to associate with. But here we are. In any event, Marc Andreyko pens an interesting story. Aside from the nods to the films like the Creeper’s truck, we mainly follow a grad student as he searches for connections between the Creeper and Aztec mythology. Not a bad premise, even if it feels like it’s coming from left field. The art from Kewber Baal, with colours by Jorge Sutil, is also pretty nice.

| Published by Dynamite

Kill or Be Killed #18 takes a bit of a sidestep as we head toward the series’ conclusion. I love when Ed Brubaker starts laying out the steps in a crime, or in a case as it were, and this issue follows the task force assigned to solving Dylan’s murders, especially in the wake of the death of the copycat they closed the case with. It’s interesting how the clues are presented and followed and as usual Sean Phillips and Elizabeth Breitweiser make it look gorgeous.

| Published by Image

KINO #5 begins the second arc, changing tone a bit as the series takes a darker turn with ChrisCross taking over the art duties here. Gone are the throwback styles of old comics and now we’ve got some stranger things as Alistair Meath has realized that he’s in some sort of simulation or...something. It’s an interesting shift, even with the introduction of Meath’s family in the real world, as the series seems to take on a more realistic, and slightly darker, tone, even though the real world sequences aren’t much different from what Joe Casey wrote in the previous issues.

| Published by Lion Forge / Catalyst Prime

The Mighty Thor #706 is a beautiful farewell to the Lady Thor, with some drop dead gorgeous artwork from Russell Dauterman and Matthew Wilson. This is a wonderful capstone to Jason Aaron and Dauterman’s run with Jane Foster and it will be interesting to see where Aaron goes next with the continuing war of the realms and the return of Thor Thor.

| Published by Marvel

Moon Knight #194 features some really nice guest art from Ty Templeton as Max Bemis pens a tale about a particularly dark period of Marc’s childhood. It’s a good single issue story dealing with some very heavy subject matter.

| Published by Marvel

Pathfinder: Spiral of Bones #2 features some really nice art from Tom Garcia and Morgan Hickman, as the story shifts to Valeros’ predicament of being dead and being mistaken for a particularly nasty individual. I enjoy how Crystal Frasier is expanding upon the Pathfinder concepts for the afterlife and Valeros’ situation is fairly funny, even if dire.

| Published by Dynamite

Sacred Creatures #6 was worth the wait. I know this series doesn’t get a lot of press, and often slips its schedule, but what Pablo Raimondi and Klaus Janson are crafting here is some pretty heady stuff, with reinterpretations of biblical epics and an entirely different take on the Nephilim and the Seven Deadly Sins (of which we learn there was an eighth this issue, Vanity, although vanity is usually just an example of pride). It’s good, it’s dense, and it’s beautifully illustrated.

| Published by Image

Strangers in Paradise XXV #3 keeps Katchoo on the path to find Stephanie Kelly. I love Terry Moore’s humour and this issue has it in spades.

| Published by Abstract Studio

Thanos Annual #1 is a collection of mostly dark humour stories of Thanos as told by a motley crew of creators, including the recently departed Thanos creative team of Donny Cates and Geoff Shaw, and a number of other luminaries like Al Ewing, Chris Hastings, Frazer Irving, Katie Cook, Kieron Gillen, and more. It’s a fun set of stories, also serving as a bit of bridge to the forthcoming Cosmic Ghost Rider mini-series.

| Published by Marvel

Witchblade #5 goes deeper in the darkness that has rooted itself deep within New York City’s underworld as Alex investigates a dirty cop, unveiling a web of corruption. We also get a really nice reveal at the end of the issue.

| Published by Image / Top Cow

X-Men Blue #26 unleashes more of Miss Sinister’s Mothervine plan across the world with secondary and tertiary mutations occurring, along with old depowered X-Men regaining powers. This feels bigger than something that’s just confined to one X-book, which is a testament to the level of storytelling Cullen Bunn is bringing here. While there are timeline quibbles, especially with Venomized going on currently that has already brought the original five back to Earth, it is entertaining to see Polaris’ new team in action.

| Published by Marvel

X-O Manowar #14 is one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking things you can read this week. Matt Kindt, Ariel Olivetti, and Dave Sharpe return Aric to Earth, but not to home.

| Published by Valiant

Other Highlights: All-New Wolverine #34, Archie #30, Babyteeth #10, The Beef #3, Black AF: Widows & Orphans #1, Crossroad Blues, Cult Classic: Return to Whisper #2, Days of Hate #4, The Despicable Deadpool #299, Factory #2, Giles #3, Harrow County #30, Hillbilly #9, Hit-Girl #3, Incidentals #8, Invincible Iron Man #599, Jim Henson’s Labyrinth: Coronation #3, Legion #4, Lockjaw #3, Lumberjanes #49, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers Annual 2018, Now #3, Old Man Hawkeye #4, The Pervert, Peter Parker: The Spectacular Spider-Man #303, The Prisoner #1, Reactor #3, Redneck #12, Regression #9, Rick & Morty #37, Saga #51, Shadowman #2, Sheena: Queen of the Jungle #8, Songs for the Dead #2, Spider-Gwen #31, Star Wars: Darth Vader #15, Star Wars: Doctor Aphra #19, Throwaways #13, Venom #165, Venomized #4, The Wilds #2

Recommended Collections: The Damned - Volume 2: Ill Gotten, Dead of Winter: Good Good Dog, Fear Agent: Final Edition - Volume 1, Goldie Vance - Volume 4, Hack/Slash: Resurrection - Volume 1, Heavy Vinyl, Jessica Jones - Volume 3: Return of the Purple Man, KINO - Volume 1: Escape from the Abyss, Lazarus Sourcebook Collection - Volume 1, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers - Volume 5, Spirits of Vengeance: War at the Gates of Hell, Star Wars: Darth Vader - Volume 2: Legacy’s End, Stumptown - Volume 2: The Case of the Baby in the Velvet Case

d. emerson eddy wonders.