#i can articulate my words in writing but when it comes to speaking i am just-

[zhongrin]

If you receive this message, it is because someone wants everyone to know how special you are! Respond by pointing out what is the most common misconception people have about you, add your own version, and reveal your extraordinary personality to everyone!

hskldjflskdfjklsd oh um t-thank you? special? me?? i'd have to say that the common misconception about me is: people think i'm special or cool or whatever, when the truth is i'm the most uncool, soggiest, boring person irl hskdjskdj

[flimsy-roost]

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[utilitycaster]

Do you think the god debate and narrative around it in C3 would be more compelling if Ludinus only focused on killing the Betrayer Gods a la Cassida? As many pointed out, the impact that Primes have on mortals is largely positive. Aside from cool abilities, they give healing, meaning and comfort to their followers. Up until very recently (Braius) we haven't seen Betrayers do much of that and their followers are, more often than not, people who would cause great harm to others.

I actually do not. There's multiple questions in here, and honestly I could probably write 5000 words on any of them, which I'm not going to do, but I will split this up into components.

First: I don't think Ludinus is the problem at all. He is unambiguously the villain, but he is always narratively compelling. It is fun to make fun of him because he is genuinely a fantastically crafted villain. When I dunk on villains who are boring, it's nowhere near as fun because all you can say is "wow what do you even do. boring-ass" whereas Ludinus is full of interesting possibilities and hooks to be like how can you be so smart and have lived for so long and seen so much and come to the fucking worst conclusions. There's a reason why people have been side-eyeing him consistently since at least his first speaking appearance in Campaign 2, if not his first appearance ever, in Felderwin, and it's because he's a great character who I hope dies horribly. So his motivations are fine. I'm not saying the possibility you suggest wouldn't be a very interesting different story, but my complaints about narrative and the gods debate do not require anything different from Ludinus, who has been a consistent bright spot within the muddied narrative by being a consistent blot on Exandria and also sometimes the moon.

The narrative and the god debate are intertwined - the issue is a dull indecision that plagues both of them - so I'm splitting this one up a little differently.

What do I as a viewer think is the most reasonable stance regarding the gods based on my understanding of the worldbuilding of Exandria?

What is interesting to watch?

And therein lies the problem. I, as a viewer, think that killing the gods is a bad idea, and I've articulated this in various spaces and am not going to write another 5000 words about it right now, but between the events of past campaigns; the events of this campaign including Downfall; who within the narrative supports the choice to not kill the gods; and the complete uncertainty regarding the fate of existence let alone mortaldom should they be killed or chased away I have come to this position. Any counter-argument tends to rely either on entirely false statements, or a nebulous "a better world is possible" without any assurances that the allegedly better world is, in fact, probable. Ironically enough, I am not willing to take a leap of faith.

But as for what's interesting to watch? That's an entirely different story. My issue with the the gods debates is that they are endless, circular, indecisive, and between the least informed group of PCs we've had by a large margin. They say the same 5 sentences in different words over and over. It's like watching a bunch of high people while you're sober. It only hits hard if you're stupid. For more on this see here and here. If Bells Hells had decided 30 or 40 episodes ago to side with Ludinus, or to try to only kill the Betrayers, or to oppose Ludinus but kill the gods? Great. Fantastic. I'm not saying I wouldn't have had my critiques of it given the worldbuilding setup as described above, but I think it would have held up infinitely better as a standalone story, at least, than it does now. My problem is that instead they had endless circular indecisive conversations during a bunch of (comparatively much more interesting) fetch quests, finally came to some kind of conclusion that gave the end game some structure and direction like 4 episodes ago, and then had yet another wrench thrown at them. And convention panels and Cooldown have consistently confirmed my suspicions about the lack of planning in the places where this campaign really needed it. In my conversations after the latest episode, multiple people independently used the term "sludge" to describe their feelings about the plot.

In actual play, I want characters who have clear conviction and make bold and decisive moves because handwringing forever in such a slow-moving medium is excruciatingly boring. Like, do I think Percy in the Briarwoods arc is making good, informed decisions that make him a moral person? Absolutely the fuck not. Do I think the story where he's shooting first and asking questions later is infinitely superior to one where Vox Machina can't decide what to do for 50 episodes? Yeah.

The god debates are ultimately a symptom of this narrative aimlessness. The lack of an answer is the problem, not what the answer is.

[paranoidomens]

stuck in my brain

trigger/content warning(s): mentions of depression, self-loathing, and hurt/comfort. i think that’s it but if there is more, please let me know

a/n: i am currently listening to stuckinmybrain by chase atlantic and had to put my thoughts into words. this is my first time writing since 2016 and i might be a little rusty. sorry in advance. please feel free to give your criticism in the comments. and lastly, i hope you enjoy :))

you were never good with expressing your emotions to people. it wasn’t something you were proud of either. trying to articulate how you particularly felt in your heart was hard, and quite a waste of time in your opinion. you trained yourself to isolate and keeps things to yourself. you were always dismissed or invalidated by people in your life when it came to your feelings: that is until noah showed up in your life.

noah has always been infatuated with you since the day he saw you. you attended a bad omens show and met him at an after party, and you both hit it off instantly. he has always been intrigued with how you look, the way you carry yourself, and how you speak. although he wonders about what your pretty little head thinks about and how you feel. he’s never the type to force anything out of you, but he does worry about you 24/7 since you guys became a couple. he feels like he’s known you for decades and also knows nothing about you at the same time. he doesn’t know how you feel or what you think about at certain times.

you’ve had a history of depression before you two met, and he knows that. he knows that you have your lower moments, but does he really know how you feel? what you think? why you feel that way? like i said, he never pushes you to talk when you don’t feel like it, however, he’s curious on how he can help you more. sometimes he doesn’t sleep much because he’s overthinking about it. he wants to help you, guide you through your highs and lows of your emotions. but you won’t let him. you can’t let him.

“love, i’m home!” noah shouted. he puts down his keys, looking for you. his eyes roam around the living room, wondering where you could be. walking to your room, he hears faint sniffles coming from your bedroom. oh no.

“love?” noah knocked on the door, opening it and seeing that you’re covered in blankets with the curtains closed. “go away.” you say. but your heart wants him to stay. you’ve always hated how you push people away when you hit a low, especially when it comes to the people you care about.

don’t go. please stay. i need help. you think to yourself.

“y/n, my love, what’s wrong?” noah softly speaks, joining you under the covers and his hands roam to your physique. “i don’t want to tell you. it’s stupid.” you whisper. “nothing is stupid when it comes to you. you know i would never push your boundaries when it comes to talking, but i want to help you. trust me when i say this.” you finally turn and face noah, and he sees your tear-stained cheeks. they’re a rosy pink, and he wonders how long you’ve been like this since he was gone from tour.

“i have been stuck in my brain recently. i don’t know how to get out of this funk. i hate this. i feel terrible for shutting you out when you want to talk to me. every since you’ve been touring, my mind keeps dragging me in a dark and lonely place. i don’t know how to stop thinking this way. i want help, but i don’t know how to ask you. ” you rant to noah, tears streaming from your eyes like an angry and rapid river. you feel vulnerable letting your lover hear about these dark thoughts that he’s never heard from you before.

“y/n… you know you can always talk to me. i want you to come to me whenever you feel too much, when you hurt too much. that’s the whole point of us being in a relationship. we help each other out when we need it.” noah strokes your face, pushing the stray hairs away. “i will never judge you. i hope you know that. especially when it comes down to how you feel. promise me you’ll start coming to me when you’re low.” noah adds.

“pinky promise?” you ask, holding out your pinky and earning a chuckle from your lover. “i pinky promise.” he says. you finish explaining and apologize for holding on to your emotions, which he tells you not to say sorry for that. you continue to work on opening up to noah more frequently. he’ll always be there for you, especially until the end of time.

sorry for the short blurb, but i hope you guys enjoyed! let me know what other types of content you guys would like for me to write! all criticism is greatly appreciated, and don’t forget to write your ideas for me to make so i can get the gist of writing again. thank you!

[imagines-to-quench-thirst]

Alternative Universe Father-In-Law

Word Count: 2,700

Summary: Bruce enters a portal by mistake, leading him to bring back someone from another universe for a nice breakfest.

Pairing: Bruce x female!reader

Notes: I enojyed the comic and the animated movie where thomas meets bruce and i had an idea to write for it. also give alfred some well desserved flowers in being a dad. #alfreddesreveshisflowers

Warnings: dad that has come back with the milk

'I am telling you, Lois. Clark is stubborn, but he has a weak spot; mention the missing turkey of '08, and he will shut up and let you do whatever you want. "

'Wait! That really works?'

'Of course, it does. I have known Clark for 7 years, and I was the witness to that crime, so just mention it: he will fall back, trust me. Now I have to go. I am home.'

'Thanks, doll!'

'No worries, bye!'

Opening the big door, you enter with your phone nestled on top of your shoulder as you held the grocery bags. Stepping into the manor, you noticed the living room where Alfred was dusting behind the plasma screen.

'Mistress y/n. Welcome back.' The cheerful butler spoke as he walked to you, grabbing the grocery bags

'Thank you, Alfred. How was your day?' I asked him, striding next to him as we entered the spacious kitchen that held the marble island in the middle, placing the bags on top of it

'My day was good. The gardener came by and took care of the bush that Master Damian had 'shaped' with his swords yesterday. Although the poor man left with a terrible mind haze after finishing the Herculean task, managing to shape it back into a proper bush, and not some rhombus as Master Damian did.'

'Do remind me to tell Damian to leave the shrubs at peace. Maybe he can use those swords' skills to cut up meat when we have BBQs.'

'That seems like a great idea.'

The two hushed and resumed their conversation as Damian entered, his smile non-existent, his eyes scrunched into a tight-knit. You turn to him, saying with a slight chuckle

'Speak of the devil. What's up, Dami?'

The child walked between Alfred and you, crossing his arms and with a deep sigh, he articulated gradually

'Father has disappeared.'

You look at Alfred, knowing fully well that sometimes Bruce disappears to follow a clue, 'He will turn up by the end of the day. Bruce is like that, don't worry, sweetheart.'

'That is true, even before his vigilante lifestyle, Master Bruce was always the one to go with no notice but always turned up when his belly rumbled.'

With a giggle nestled in Alfred's sentence, Damian spoke again, shaking his head 'No. Father and I have been working on a portal and when I was grabbing a tool, he connected two wires, which opened a portal and pulled him in. By the time I came close, the portal closed.'

Looking at Alfred with a concerned look, you spoke what you two were thinking, 'And how come you two didn't tell us about that portal?'

Damian shook his head 'I-I have no clue, y/n.'

'Okay... and do you know where the portal leads to?'

'Between our world and other 456 parallel universes.'

fuck

Sighing deeply, you look at Damian 'So we have 1 in a 456 chance of finding him?'

'Yes. So are we going?' Damina asked, ready to jump into the adventure of the chance to jump from one universe to another

'No. We aren't. Damian, I can barely turn on the TV here without asking for help. And by no means will I manage to open a portal. We only have to wait and be next to the Bat computer to see if there are any anomalies. If an anomalie happens, I know someone who can help us.' I say, looking at the small assasin child

Damian looks up at you, his eyes asking questions, 'Who do you know, mother?'

'A friend, someone I knew way before you and Bruce. Even before I met Clark.'

You look at Alfred smiling 'He will show up, right Alfred?'

Alfred responds, faying his smile 'Of course, Misstress y/n.'

While the day dragged along in a snail-pace of time, you felt yourself doze off on the bat computer, a small trail of drool leaving a trail on the keyboard that was far too uncomfortable, but when you are fatigued, anything can be a pillow, and that stiff neck fo yours is a problem in the morning.

A shift in the air moved and circled, stirring you up from your slumber. Your eyes slowly open, adjusting to the luminous light that materialized in the Batcave, the wind pushing around the whirlpool of light as a tall, a dark shadow exited out. Staying up on numb legs, you felt the same pull you felt with Bruce, a warm safe space that drew you two always closer.

'Bruce?' you asked cautiously as you paused. The shadow you saw his features, the sharp hairstyle that was always in place, his tall and muscled build that was engraved in your mind. You knew that was him. Moving to him, you felt a wave of relief wash over you but another one followed, disappointment.

'Where were you?! We were worried sick about your stupid ass! How could you not tell me that you were making a goddamn portal in the house, Bruce!' you directed your words at him, the light of the rustled and shined over his taller-than-usual figure but nonetheless, you continued, 'And don't think for a fact you went to another universe that means I will get any sympathy from me. You are sleeping on the couch for the next 3 weeks.'

As the portal began to size down the light shimmered down you step back letting yourself catch a breath, sure you were mad but you were also glad that he was alive.

With the portal gone, the shadow started to dissipate bringing back the man you loved. You waited, a small smile on your face as you heard him speak a few shades deeper than what you know 'You were right. She is a firecracker.' Stepping back few more steps at the unfamiliar tone you watched a shape move behind him tall as him, same as him, did Bruce duplicate?

Leaning on the Bat computer, ready to press the button on the keyboard to call the remainder of the Bat Family you watched carefully as one moved closer to you, revealing... Bruce, your Bruce with a small smile.

'Sorry I was gone, dalrin.''

'Bruce, what is going on?'

'I met someone along the way.' Bruce steps for you to see the man that you talked to, with one confident step the man steps to you, his features coming to light, grey hair styled in a way that not even the wind could move one strand, his blue eyes decorated with wrinkles and his smile eerily identical to Bruce's looking at them side by side it struck you

'Love, this is my father, Thomas Wayne. In the universe I stumbled upon was a universe where my father was the Batman, and I was shot that night.'

Thomas smiled warmly at you, offering a hand to shake 'It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. L/n. Bruce has told me a great deal about you.' Shaking his strong hand, you think

What a great first impression. First, I thought he was Bruce and second I gave him an earful. What a great first impression.

'It is great to meet you, Dr. Wayne. I apologize for my actions beforehand, I thought you were Bruce and wel-'

'No worries about that. It is great to know that my son has someone who keeps him in check.' He spoke as you awkwardly laughed it off.

Bruce stood next to you, placing a hand on your waist 'Let's try this one more time. Father, this is Y/n, she is the love of my life, and the woman I wish to marry and spend the rest of my life.'

It's your time to be shocked yet again. You and Bruce never talked about it, only joking about being called Mrs.Wayne but he never communicated his desire to get married. Thomas glimpsed at the two of you, Bruce stood proudly with you while you tried your best to conceal your red cheeks and shocked eyes at his claims 'You better treat her right, son.' Thomas spoke

'He does, Dr. Wayne.'

You uttered, looking at the alternative universe father-in-law as Bruce examined your expression and in that moment, he felt himself fall in love yet again with you.

'How about we grab a bite? I am sure that Dr. Wayne would appreciate a good breakfast.'

Thomas nodded his head in agreement, beaming 'I'd love that, but y/n, no need for formalities. Call me Thomas. I haven't been a doctor in decades.'

'Sure. Thomas.'

Grabbing Bruce's hand you three exit the Batcave and head to the living room.

Strolling into the living room, you smelt Alfred's mouthwatering breakfast, scented the familiar maple syrup, and took notice of the sizzling bacon.

'I am bringing our guests.' You announced and Alfred cracked a smile as he watched you bring Bruce into the dining room where Damian was already seated. Alfred placed the lofty breakfast on the table. Pivoted to Bruce switching into scolding mode 'Now, young Master, I think we could have a great and lenghty chat about what goes in the Batcave.'

As Bruce stood behind you, Thomas' voice boomed into the ear of the butler 'I agree, Pennyworth. He surely needs that talk."

Alfred froze when he heard that voice. His eyes caught onto Thomas and he felt and thought that he was dead, joining the afterlife as there was no way that the deceased Thomas Wayne was standing before him.

'Master Wayne?' Alfred weaved quietly towards the man, and Thomas smiled 'Hello, old friend.'

He spoke, grabbing the longtime friend into a bone-crushing hug. Smiling at the interaction, Damian stood from his seat, walking towards his alternative universe grandfather 'So by my conclusion…you are my grandfather?'

Thomas stepped and crouched down to his eye level, smiling 'Yes, but I am. From another world.'

'I figured as much.'

Thomas looked at Damian and Bruce, his gaze shifting from one to another 'The resemblance is uncanny. He is your and y/n's copy.'

You felt yourself freeze as you interrupted him 'Thomas, he isn't mine. I--i mean he is my son but he didn't come from my stomach. Damian's mother is a leader of a group of assassins.'

Thomas stood up, watching his son 'You cheated, son?'

Bruce shook his head 'Father, no. Damian's mother and I met before me and y/n. Damian's mother was a --'

'She is a cold-hearted assassin who doesn't care about me or my well-being.' Damian cut in, saying what he considered his mother.

Thomas looks to the side, a bit shy about this situation, thanks Bruce.

Alfred coughs dryly, breaking the tension 'Let us all sit for a nice breakfast.'

Sitting next to Bruce you saw his smile, his true smile. The one reserved for you, comfort moments you both encountered and made, a smile that told you he felt at peace.

As everyone ate you desired to ask questions your father-in-law 'So Thomas, what do you think about Bruce being this world's Batman?'

Thomas looks at you a slight smile 'I always believed in the multiverse, and I alwats hoped that in one of them my son is alive and living his life. Being Batman, I suppose, is a part of the Wayne lineage, but what I mostly hold important in my heart is that my son is happy.' And he smiles bigger. 'And I can see that he truly is.’

Blushing at Thomas' words you looked at Bruce, your eyes twinkling with love while his blue irises showered you in silent praise 'I definitely am.'

Damian whispers to Thomas 'Thanks a lot. Now they will make-out in front of us.' Thomas laughs, whispering in the exact low tone 'That's good. It's better than to fight, besides, Martha adn I were the same. Always in love, never apart.'

Bruce turns to Damian saying slyly, 'You are aware that you are across the table, and not 40 meters away, Damian. We can still hear you.'

Damian rolls his eyes, playfully but nonetheless taking his grandfather's words to heart. It is definitely better for them to be in love and not fight. 'I have to feed Bat-Cow. Y/n, will you help me? I am too short to get the ball of hay.'

Smiling you stand up, leaving with Damian. Alfred, Thomas, and Bruce stayed at the table.

'Bat-Cow?' Thomas asked, perplexed, while his hands tingled

'No worries, Master Wayne. Thankfully, it is not a hybrid of a cow and bat; it is just a plain cow with an artistic name.' Alfred spoke

'Father, stay.' Bruce blurred out, declaring the thing he wished he would receive an optimistic answer to

'Bruce... I can't. If I stay long enough, my universe will disappear. Besides, if I did.... I don't want you to grieve all over again.'

'Believe me, Master Wayne...Master Bruce still grieves to this day.'

Thomas stands up from his seat, hugging his son 'I love you, Bruce. There is no need to grieve anymore. It won't change anything. You have no idea how much it brings me happiness to see you happy with Alfred, your son, and Y/n.’ Thomas didn't let Bruce stand up, not to see the small pixel-like specs encircling Thomas' legs. Alfred noticed the scene but stayed silent.

'When I see you looking at your son and Y/n I see myself and my life I had before that night. And it makes me so happy to see it. I know that it can be better. You make me proud every day, and will continue to do so."

The pixels reached Bruce's eyesight, standing up to look at hIs father, Bruce weakly said 'Stay...please.'

'It's not me to decide but I am happy I had a nice meal with your family.'

Kissing his forehead, Thomas dissipated back into his universe. Bruce looks at Alfred a small tears escaping his eye. The two men stand up, hugging each other, leaning on this moment. Bruce wanted to talk to his father more to make up for the lost and stolen time. It was time that he wanted nothing more than to be a son again. Alfred wanted to talk more to Thomas about Bruce. To tell him how he has matured, how he traveled the world and yet came back home, in Gotham, to make the city shine brighter than ever. To tell him how Bruce keeps an engagement ring for y/n ever since she moved into the manor but is not sure when to pop the question.

Both Bruce and Alfred wanted to tell him about their path of trying to grasp at straws to find justice in this forsaken town.

Pulling away from the hug Alfred spoke, 'As you can see, your father is proud at you. And I believe that goes for every Thomas Wayne in any alternative universe.'

Bruce looked at Alfred, nodding in confirmation 'I do believe that but I also am proud of the father that raised me as well. The one standing in front of me.'

Alfred's eyes twinkled in appreciation no words needed to be spoken at that response, there simply weren't those words that could how Alfred felt in this moment.

Steps echo closer and closer as you come back, with no sight of Thomas.

'Is he gone?' You ask, seeing Bruce walk to you, a smile on his face.

Bruce nods, hugging you, Feeling a bit sad at not being able to say goodbye to your father-in-law you ask Bruce 'How are you feeling?'

Pulling away Bruce chuckles 'Good. This moment made me realize some things. About my family.'

Bruce understood. The reason he went into that portal and brought his father here, it was a shifting moment for him, a moment to bring him in a more grateful state, he knew how lucky he was to have Alfred as his father figure, his son, and you, possibly his future fiancee.

That is until he pops the question.

Hope you enjoyed it!

[teresalace]

"I won't cry for you" - Yandere Tyler Galpin x Female Reader PART 3

•Part 1 •Part 2

Words: 1699

Warnings: Mentions of torture, psychology, dysfunction yet healthy family relations if you squint.

Show: Wednesday (2022)

Summary: You've graciously or stupidly, granted Tyler a phone to call his father for whatever reason he had while you went to call yours for assistance. And since you weren't fully knowledgeable about Hydes, you contacted the only person you knew, who wasn't in prison, that had that knowledge. Your father, Alvin Gates.

• •

🥺 Sorryyyy this took forever a lot of months, planned to post this at February but got sick and many stuff happened, preparing for an interview :--D but am back in my writing mojo!/kinda, HAPPY HALLOWEEN) AND I HEARD season 2 is coming omggg I'm excited

————

"Well, well, well~ If it isn't the sweet consequence of my actions with your mother." A voice unmistakably grouchy speaks, sounding jovial with every word out.

A quick glance to your locked bedroom door before you finally said a response into the cellphone.

"You sound well, father." You mildly greeted, a tinge of a smile in your voice. To think it's almost only been a month since the last call.

"Yeah yeah it's been a while but cut the chitchat, sweetie, what do you need helping with?" You could imagine an eyeroll as your father said, always cutting to the chase.

"About Hydes." You spared no other detail and maintained calm articulation. Not that you needed to be careful with him, thankfully.

For more precaution, it's better if not even your own father knows about Tyler being in the house. You didn't want things to get out of hand.

"Ah- what about them? Did something happen that isn't supposed to–" Suddenly silence overtook the line, a thoughtful humming until he spoke again. "Don't get yourself into any unfamiliar territory, kid. That's suppose to be your mother's speciality."

So he noticed, of course he did. Better leave that to his wandering imagination than spoil your plan. A very non-existent plan at the moment.

"I don't plan to. Father, I was just curious since I kept hearing about them." True, that wasn't a lie in the slightest. "I was wondering if you'd know anything about them."

Surely he must know something.

"Hmm, you heard it from someone, no doubt. . . Alright, alright. What do you want to know exactly, kid. I'll tell ya as much as I can afford to." Sounds like mother has been keeping tabs on him.

"Hydes obey only one master, their own, correct?" You continued when father hummed a helpful tune, "would it be possible to sever the ties between a Hyde and its master."

A pause in-between your father's breathing left you suspended.

"Well. . . Got bad news for you kid, I don't know any available methods for that." He sighed gruffy like he felt bad, "sorry but can't help you with the whole severing business. It's set in stone, pretty much."

"I see. . . " You massaged your temples, disappoinment rising inside you. But you couldn't just accept this answer easily, stubbornness seemed to take hold in your heart. For what reason? You couldn't figure out.

"However–" A hoarse chuckle emerged from your cellphone. "It's not entirely impossible to say there aren't other ways of solving that problem. I'm sure you can get some creative ideas from their origins, kid. Only one thing is set in stone, Hydes only serve one master."

Father's bold hint sparked a lightbulb in your head. Their origins.

In the first place, what caused Hydes to bond an undying loyalty to their masters was–

"Sorry for not being alot of help, kid, I'm out of time for the day. Take good care of yourself, will you."

"I will." A buzz of excitement slowly crept over you as an idea began running through your mind. "You were very helpful, dad, thanks. You take care too."

"Mm sounds like you found an answer eh?" He sounded genuinely happy, making you feel much more sturdy in this new plan.

"Not exactly but I should be on the right track." If Tyler would go along with it.

"Mm so you're going to try any attempts, I see. Hah– it's hilarious how similar you and your mother's thinking is!"

Again with the comparisons. You rolled your eyes, "Goodbye, father."

"Alright alright, see ya kiddo. For now." BEEP. BEEP.

The call was over already.

.  .  .

You turned off the burner phone, picking out the block of battery from the back and saving it in your other hiding space for another time. Now you should check on Tyler, you can't afford to trust him so easily especially when his father's a sheriff. 

Quietly you went out of your bedroom, closing the door slowly so as to not make a sound. You headed down the stairs in a casual, fast pace to quickly see his state of mind.

But it's likely he isn't planning to screw himself over... Your assumption was most likely made correct when you came to see Tyler sitting slumped on the couch, his face buried deep in his hands. 

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and floor, the burner phone you gave him was nowhere in sight… Mentally noting to check the trash bin by the kitchen before you stomped down the stairs and made yourself known.

Tyler's eyes peeked up first from the gaps in-between his fingers like the leafy venus flytraps back home ever so often tempting you to closer inspect. To place your finger in there, to feed. 

He waited on your next move.

Your arms folded, hiding your hands twitching on their own for a tweezer. "Did you have a good talk?" 

What else could you really say without sounding too interested in him. 

"It was something…" Tyler did a small shrug, less energy than he's shown before, voice dulled by the cover of his fingers. "Could've gone better. I wish he didn't hang up so fast."

"What did you talk about?" Might as well see how much information he was willing to give.

A small sigh, Tyler slowly revealed half of his distraught face. "Not a lot. He wasn't interested in what I had to say… Told me to be careful." Strange of the dutiful sheriff to say but then again you didn't know what kind of father-son relationship they had.

"How are you feeling?" One of mother's favourite lines growing up that you've somehow adapted into your vocabulary. It seemed the most appropriate.

You continued watching Tyler's tensed form with a safe but short distance away, the coffee table acting as a possible shield in between you and him. Incase he raged.

But there was none.

There was something in his usual silence this time that irked you. Like he didn't fully trust you. 

You approved of that, as he shouldn't. Mutually. Especially if things ever go wrong because of him, you were ready at a moment's notice to abandon everything to do with him. 

"I… Hate him." 

The pause went on for however many tensed seconds before Tyler's hands fell onto his knees.

"Sorry sorry, I know I shouldn't be saying this… I mean I can't say I don't miss him." 

"You can say what you want. I don't mind," you said flatly, genuinely meaning it. His expressions stiff, he looked mentally pent up, thoughts practically steaming out from his ears.

"No, it's fine. You've done a lot for me already, I owe you." He grinned brightly, the dark cloud looming over from before gone in an instant, "for that phone call too."

"Sure," it wouldn't be bad to have a Hyde indebted to you.

Tyler checked the ticking clock on the kitchen wall, "I guess it is getting late… See you in the morning?"

You nodded. "Night, Galpin." 

"G-Good night! Have a good sleep." He smiled dopey, waving briskly while walking backwards to the foot of the stairs before jogging up to his bedroom. So naturally at home.

Just how eager was he to get back in his room?

 That wasn't his usual way of walking, what could he be looking forward to or hiding in there… Or he could just be relieved of stress after that talk with his father, maybe that brought about his new behavior.

Your suspicions were beginning to sound far-fetched even to yourself but then again, there was always that silver of possibility that he could be planning to rebel against you. 

So you moved fast towards the kitchen sink, tiny spikes of uneasiness pulsing through you, turning the facuet on and letting the water run loudly as you went to look into the trash bin.

Expecting to look down into a void of nothingness.

The large black plastic bag sleeved over the edge of the bin looked loose and puffy. Clearly you didn't do this, your meticulousness wouldn't allow such a lazy set up. You pat down the puffy areas, flattening the edges to allow better access in seeing what trash had been collected.

Shiny peices of black metal greet you at the bottom of the pit, tiny and almost powder-like glitter in the kitchen light. What previously used to be a burner phone now looked like the result of being in someone's clenched fist. Useful monsterous strength… if he could actually get it under his full control.

Whatever anxiety crept inside your heart disappeared as you contently spun on your heel and turned off the kitchen faucet. 

A small appreciation for Tyler as thanks to him, there's less work for you now.

You wondered why you even felt 'anxious' at all, it must've been the slight stress of knowing he could've screwed things up for you. And himself. Now that makes sense, of course since it's not as if you actually knew him personally even back in town. 

Feeling much more at peace, you headed towards your own bedroom, adjacent from Tyler's. His room barely made any noise except for the few inaudible mumbles and the faint use of his shower and the light peeking through from underneath his door. 

You never noticed before but he always had the lights turned on in there. Well, it's not as if you were the one paying the electrical bill. It was nothing noteworthy.

Once settling in your own bed and underneath your blanket in the cozy dark, sleep came easily… Until your brain jostled an interesting observation your very eyes must've slipped. 

In the trash bin, there was no sight of the small black piece. The memory card. 

The sim card. 

Despite his questionable actions, you chose to sleep, thoughts racing alongside a strange excitement building up in you. 

Oh what are you up to, Tyler Galpin.

Time was ticking. Neither on his or your side. He just didn't know it yet.

In the following morning you received a misscall from an unknown number. Father. He never contacts you first. There's nothing he needs that you could provide. It must be about the Hyde. 

Finally.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Hero

found u on AO3 and loved u immediately, your writing style is incredible and i’ve binged all your stories :) crack request popped into my mind the other day and i thought i’d share—> the pinocchio phenomenon about “my nose will grow” (i’m sure you’re familiar) except for its the sides (prob logan bc experiment) trying it on janus- “janus will be summoned” or something to that effect idk ily please never stop writing <3 – bumblebea2712

Okay, so I've been thinking about something for a while. In your fic, Silver Box, where Roman has that box labeled 'Ego' with all the positive reinforcement in it? What if one of the things that gets whispered from it is when c!Thomas told Roman "you're my hero"? Like, especially with the angst from POF/SvS Redux. Thinking about how Roman misinterpret Janus' nod as 'Thomas is lying' when he actually meant that Thomas was still the truth when calling Roman his hero again. I wanna see Janus trying to correct him and be like "that nod meant he was telling the truth, he still thinks of you as his hero, he still cares about you", etc. Just some Roman, Janus, and c!Thomas angst all bundled up with hurt/comfort. I have THOUGHTS, and so I wanted to share :3 – oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

If you're up to requests rn, could we have a Sanders Sides fic where Thomas himself is actually present maybe? – anon

Hey, would you be interested in perhaps writing a story where Logan assumes Roman is stupid because he isn’t articulate, and one day Roman has enough and is trying so hard to explain to Logan why he’s wrong but he doesn’t know the right way to phrase things so he just ends up getting more and more upset while Logan isn’t listening? – anon

Hey! I love your work (I’m definitely a Roman angst enjoyer 😅, but all of it’s good!!). If you’re open to requests, I was thinking about the control that Patton has over Roman because like,, a prince fights for honor. For good. And who decides what those concepts mean? Patton does. In some way, he controls Roman’s narrative. Anyways, h/c with Roman and potentially protective Remus. Thank you for considering!! – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self esteem issues, self doubt, slightly unsympathetic logan and patton

Pairings: gen

Word Count: 5984

"What honor is there that I can find now? What—how do I know what is right anymore? I've been behind a sword for so long, I fear…I fear I'm forgetting who I am without it." His breath comes out shakier. "And I fear…if I were to ever try to explain this to someone who wasn't you, my words would come out so clumsy they would impale me on their rusted edges." "There is nothing wrong with the way you speak, Roman. Nothing at all." "If only it were something that would be listened to."

Thomas sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, I think—is that all we're gonna be able to get done today?"

"I have no qualms about continuing, but I do not think it would be productive."

"I'm not gonna sit here and listen to you go around in circles again and again," Virgil groans, long ago giving up the pretense of standing and paying attention, his forehead pressed against the stairs railing, "just call it here and let us go."

"Now, kiddo, that's not a very sporting attitude!" Patton puts his hands on his hips. "If Thomas thinks we're all involved in this discussion, then there's no point if trying to discount your own importance."

"I'm not discounting my own importance, I'm questioning my relevance." He glares through a gap in the bars at Logan. "This whole thing isn't gonna make me think it's not worth being cautious about, no matter how much L tries to talk me out of it. I'm Anxiety. Literally it's my job to be irrational sometimes. By definition—"

"But we've previously established that you do have some semblance of logical reasoning at points, and this could very well be one of those points—"

"Okay." Thomas cuts Logan off with a wave of his hand. "I think—yeah, I think we're done. I'm sorry, Logan, but I don't—we're kind of at an impasse."

"Here's an idea." Virgil's hand flops lazily up in a parody of raising his hand. "Why don't we ask someone whose literal job it is to come up with ideas?"

Logan's nose wrinkles momentarily and he sighs. "I do not see the value in asking either Roman or Remus to weigh in on this discussion when it has nothing to do with them."

"Uh-huh, so you wanna try to do the create-an-idea thing without the Sides whose job it is to do that?"

"We are all capable of coming up with ideas, Virgil, Roman and Remus simply represent Thomas's Creativity."

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil heaves himself up onto an elbow. "When's the last time you came up with an idea for an experiment on your own?"

"Preposterous. I'm perfectly capable of coming up with my own experiments."

"Do it. Right now."

"We are in the middle of discussing—"

"No, no," Thomas says, "please, I could use a break from thinking about this."

Logan's mouth works for a second. "Very well. Let's see…ah. A spin on the Pinocchio paradox."

"The what?"

"The Pinocchio paradox. A simple thought experiment on what would happen if the character, Pinocchio, uttered the words: 'My nose will grow now.' An interesting thought, given that—"

"That his nose grows when he lies and if it does grow then he told the truth which means it wouldn't grow which means he lies, sure, sure, sure, what does that have to do with anything?"

Logan adjusts his ties and raises a finger. "Janus will now appear."

Everyone in the room pauses, listening for the telltale whoosh of a Side appearing. Which it does, a few seconds later, and Logan gets cuffed on the shoulder.

"What was that for?"

"I'm not an experiment," Janus says, a bit too amused to be an indictment, "and am perfectly capable of showing up to slap you for being an idiot."

"See? Experiment successful."

"That's not—okay." Thomas pinches the bridge of his nose. "Janus, while you're here, you might as well weigh in on this."

'"Being arbitrarily asked to choose a side with little to no context as to what the options are? My favorite." He claps his hands a few times. "What am I choosing between?"

"Would it be better if I responded to this email now, saying that I'm not available for a call for the rest of the day, or should I wait and just call back tomorrow when I am free?"

"Ooh, what an interesting dilemma. How badly will your life be impacted by a negative outcome to this call?"

"Don't fucking start with me, J," Virgil warns, studiously ignoring Patton's language, "I know you've been listening this whole time."

"Oh, you're no fun." Virgil tips him a lazy two-fingered salute and he sighs. "Very well. Thomas, do you want to respond to this now?"

Thomas frowns. "What? Isn't that what you all are here for?"

"We can manifest different parts of you trying to figure something out, but that doesn't mean you don't have your own thoughts about it that aren't us. What do you want to do?"

"This line of questioning is pointless. Thomas has established that he doesn't know what he wants and he's asked us—well, I suppose that now includes you—what to do."

Janus slides his gaze to Logan, eyes narrowing slightly. "That's awfully presumptuous of you, Logan."

"Thomas? Is that an inaccurate conclusion?"

"…I mean, not really."

Logan gestures at him. "See? There you are. Now, either we are agreeing to call the meeting here and simply wait until tomorrow, or we are going to rehash the same arguments from the past hour and quite frankly, I think there is a better use of our time."

"Why are the twins not here?"

"Excuse me?"

"The twins. The ones who are good at coming up with solutions to problems." Janus glances around. "They seem conspicuously absent from this meeting where we are trying to come up with a solution to something."

"That's what I was saying."

Logan sighs, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Alright, if you insist. I do not see what sort of valuable insight they will be able to give us, but if you all want to hear what they have to say, then I suppose I cannot object."

Thomas smiles and reaches out to summon Creativity. A moment later, Roman appears in front of the TV, wincing.

"Thomas?"

"Hey, Roman, we, uh, we were hoping you could help us out."

Roman rubs the back of his neck, glancing around the room. "Uh, sure. What, uh, what with?"

"Thomas is struggling to choose between responding to a missed phone call and voicemail with either an email today apologizing and explaining his availability tomorrow, or simply calling back tomorrow when he is immediately available," Logan says smoothly. "Which option do you think is preferable?"

Roman just blinks at him for a long second. When Logan raises his eyebrows expectantly, his shoulders hunch a little and he curls in on himself. "I, um, I don't know."

"Just as I suspected. Very well, thank you Roman, you may go."

"Wait, what?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Virgil says, sitting up, "that's not fair, he's been here, what, all of two seconds?"

"Yes, and has just admitted that he doesn't have an answer to us, which is not a productive way to continue this conversation, therefore he can go."

"Wait, Logan—" Thomas holds his hand out, silently asking Roman to stay, "can't we just—how's he gonna be able to actually give his opinion if he doesn't have time to make one?"

"Roman, are the facts I've given to you unclear?"

"Huh? N-no—"

"Do you believe you have a firm enough grasp of the situation to form a conclusion?"

"I mean, yeah, I get it, but—"

"And you still don't know what option you prefer?"

Roman's quiet for a moment, his outstretched hand slowly returning to his side. "…no."

Logan nods. "Settled, then."

"Come on, Logan," Janus says, frowning a little now, "just because you didn't want him here doesn't mean you can throw him away as soon as he's said one thing that vaguely aligns with what you wanted."

"First off, that's an incredible level of irony coming from you—" both Janus and Roman flinch— "and secondly, Roman, would you like to be part of this meeting?"

They all turn to look at Roman, who shuffles under their gazes. He keeps flicking his eyes up to Thomas, then to Patton, then to Janus, before staring back down at his hands. The buzzing of the fridge becomes oppressive. He winces and rubs the back of his neck again.

"Roman?"

"…not really."

"Then it's settled, then. Thank you for your input."

Roman glances once more at Thomas with something almost like longing before he sinks out again. Virgil, who'd been watching him closely, turns to frown at Logan. Logan adjusts his tie.

"If that's all, then, Thomas, would you still like to end the meeting here?"

"Yeah, let's…let's call it."

"Very well. I shall be available if you need me further." He sinks out.

Patton sinks out next, giving Thomas a quick thumbs-up before disappearing. Janus exchanges a brief look with Virgil before he's vanishing too, leaving just the two of them alone in the living room. Thomas puts his hands on his hips, staring at the spot where Roman was.

"So that was weird, right?"

"Yeah." Virgil grunts as he sits up, hands balled up in the pocket of his hoodie. "That…I've never seen them…do that before."

"Did Roman and Logan have a fight or something?"

"I don't think so? I mean, I've seen them argue about stuff, but they always do that and it didn't seem like it was any more, like, intense than usual, so I don't…I don't know why that happened." He shuffles. "I've also never seen Logan be that…short with Roman before."

"Yeah, like, he was here for literally, like—"

"Like two seconds—"

"And then Logan was telling him to go again. And did you notice how he kept looking—"

"At you?"

"At me, yeah, did—did I do something?"

"What? Shit, no, Thomas, I don't think that's it. I think—" he sighs— "look, he's not gonna be happy I'm telling you this, but Princey's been going through some stuff lately and I'm not sure exactly what it is but I know it's been weighing on him a lot."

Thomas frowns. "How so?"

"Well, let me put it this way: have you been daydreaming a lot more lately?"

He thinks. "Uh, yeah, I mean, I guess so, but I haven't been doing that much recently, which kind of makes sense, I guess?"

"Yeah, well, that's Princey in the Imagination." Thomas nods and Virgil gives him a pointed look. "I'm telling you that Princey's been going into the Imagination more."

"Yeah, that's—isn't that what he does?"

Virgil scrubs a hand over his face. "Yeah, it is, but not like this. Normally when he goes in, he's doing it to come up with ideas or work something out, or…something. But recently…"

"But recently that doesn't feel like what he's doing," Thomas finishes, chewing on his lip, "yeah, actually, now that you mention it, it does kind of feel…different. Like—like they're…"

"Comfort," Virgil finishes quietly when he can't quite put his finger on it, "it feels like a comfort."

"Roman's going into the Imagination to comfort himself?" Virgil shrugs. "Why?"

"Like I said, he's going through some stuff. It's not—I'm not all up on how the Imagination translates to whatever your daydreams end up being, but I don't think—Princey's not even telling us what he gets up to in there."

Thomas sucks in a breath. If there's one thing he's learned after listening to them talk about whatever goes on in the Mindscape when they're not with him, it's that Roman loves to regale them with tales of his adventures in the Imagination, even if it comes at the expense of whatever else they're doing. To hear that Roman's been going off more than usual and he isn't telling them about it? Worrying, to say the least.

"When did this start?"

Virgil blows out a breath. "After the wedding."

"Shit, that's…probably not good."

"Yeah."

They both stare at the black TV. A bit of dust gets caught in a gust from the vent and sticks to the corner.

"…he's my hero," Thomas says quietly.

"Huh?"

"He's my hero. Maybe he's…maybe he's going to the Imagination to do the things heroes don't get to do."

"Okay, you gotta break that down for me a little more."

"The heroes don't get to be vulnerable. They don't get to…to actually stop and rest, not really. They have to keep going, they have to…" Thomas swallows. When did this lump in his throat get here? "They're not—oh, god, am I gonna cry?"

"Shit, shit, shit, uh—do you want me to get Patton back?"

"N-no, no, don't—" for some reason the thought of Patton reappearing sends a bolt of fear straight through his chest and he knows Virgil feels it too, shooting to his feet and watching as Thomas stumbles back to the couch— "I—oh, god."

"Hey, hey, hey, buddy," Virgil says, voice soft and low as Thomas buries his face in his hands, "take it easy, okay? You're okay, you're safe in the house, everything's okay. I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? Just a nice, deep breath, you're okay, that's it, good, now let it out…nice, do it again…"

Virgil helps talk him slowly through the well of emotion suddenly bubbling just at the base of his throat, the breaths coming out shaky but steady. Absentmindedly, he puts a hand to his chest and starts rubbing in slow, firm circles. The pressure does something to the frantic and flighty part of him, helping to soothe him back from whatever brink he hadn't realized he'd walked to.

"Hey," Virgil calls a few minutes later, "you with me again?"

"Yeah, I think so." He takes a couple more seconds just to breathe it out. "Roman's—Roman's my hero, and I don't know if he knows that I…that I still want to listen to him."

"What do you mean?"

"Afterwards. When I—when we were all—when the stuff happened. He said that he thought he was my hero and I told him he was and then he…"

"Freaked," Virgil finishes when he can't, "yeah, I remember."

"I don't…I don't know why that made him so upset."

"Well, hey," he says when that lump starts to come back to his throat, "let's not have you worry about that right now, okay? You—let's go do something else that'll get your mind off of it. Go rewatch the Office bloopers again, that always works."

"Will you—can you keep an eye on him for me?"

"Yeah, Thomas, I can do that. Now c'mon, those bloopers aren't going to rewatch themselves."

***

Roman walks slowly through the woods as the fireflies twinkle around him. He lifts a hand to push aside a branch, stepping through the shadows to emerge onto the thin dirt path that winds through the base of the trees. As the darkness falls, the thin blue lines grow deeper, darker, blending together to weave across the grass as little critters scurry back and forth. The whistle of the wind accompanies the crunch of his footsteps as he makes his way toward the cabin.

Movement from around the side and the man emerges, wiping dirt from his hands with a rag. He looks up and smiles as Roman approaches.

"Roman," he greets, with his voice warm, "how good it is to see you."

"I see I'm a bit too late to help with the chores." He nods to the rag. "I don't mean to impose on you."

"Nonsense, old friend, nothing you do could possibly be an imposition. As it happens, I have a stew on that I won't be able to finish by myself and it would be a great favor to me if you were to help me."

Roman chuckles. "How could I refuse?"

The man holds a hand out to him as he nears, settling it on the curve of Roman's neck and pulling him close for a brief hug of sorts. Roman turns his cheek to rest against the curve of his jaw, breathing out shakily. The man lets out a comforting noise and his fingers card through the delicate hairs at the base of his head.

"Come inside, dear friend, let the fire warm you."

"The night is warm already."

"It is young still, and will grow cold," he says as he begins to lead them up the stairs, "and you look to be the type of cold that does not thaw even in the hottest sun."

"I worry for the state of the realm sometimes, if I am truly so transparent."

"Only to me, dear friend, and only because you have seen fit to allow yourself to be so with me." He's coaxed inside a modest cabin, sat at a simple hewn table as a rich smell fills the room. He closes his eyes to breathe it in, opening them again when the low thud of a bowl and tankard draws his attention. "Eat, please. You know I can't bear a less-than-full stomach under my roof."

"You're too kind to me."

"Nonsense." The hand fits itself around his head once more. "You are worth being kind to, and even more worth allowing me to care for you. Now, come on."

The stew is simple, hearty, and as filling as he could ever want. Under the table, their legs press together, boots against boots, knee against knee. The fire crackles in the hearth as the last of the light fades from outside. He can feel his shoulders beginning to relax, the line of his body growing looser, more languid.

When they've both eaten their fill and the dishes have been set away to deal with later, he sits on the floor near the hearth and stares into the flames. A warm hand lands on his shoulder and brings his head to rest against another, light touch trailing over the bare skin under his sleeve.

"What troubles you tonight, dear friend?"

"I don't want to impose—"

"Shh, none of that now. It's an honor to be troubled by your worries."

He turns his head into the crook of his neck, breathing in the smell of clean sweat, of spiced apple, of wood smoke. "I struggle to remember what it is I fight for."

Gentle nails along his scalp. "How so?"

"What honor is there that I can find now? What—how do I know what is right anymore? I've been behind a sword for so long, I fear…I fear I'm forgetting who I am without it." His breath comes out shakier. "And I fear…if I were to ever try to explain this to someone who wasn't you, my words would come out so clumsy they would impale me on their rusted edges."

"There is nothing wrong with the way you speak, Roman. Nothing at all."

"If only it were something that would be listened to."

"Hey." He's nudged until he can look up at the man's face. "You once told me that all you wanted to fight for was this. For the chance for one to sit, in the peace and safety, with those they care for, and have that be alright. Is this still true?"

"Yes. But I don't—I no longer know how to do that."

The man goes quiet, contemplative, running his fingers gently over the edge of Roman's face. The touch coaxes a lump to his throat, a tear to his eye, and the man lets out another comforting noise, pulling him closer.

"Rest for the night, please, dear friend. My bed is warm, my touch willing. You fear losing who you are without your sword? Put it down for the night, stay. Remind yourself of how to enjoy the thing you fight for."

"If only I could be as persuasive as you," he mumbles, allowing himself to sink into the warmth of the touch, "then I might never need a sword again."

He chuckles. "Well, I don't know if I can do all that much, but I have learned how to persuade you, my dear, and that will serve me well enough."

***

"Roman?"

Roman turns, spotting Janus as he trudges back from the Imagination. "What're you doing awake?"

"I was waiting for you."

He winces. "Sorry, I, um, did we have something planned?"

"What? No, no, sweetie, nothing like that, I only—I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

A chill works its way up Roman's spine and he suppresses a shudder, walking slowly to his room and opening the door. Janus follows him in, carefully closing it behind them and waiting while Roman tucks something into a drawer on his desk and sitting down.

"What's up?"

"Are you…are you okay?"

He flinches slightly. "Why, um, why?"

Janus looks pained. He glances around and seemingly comes to a decision before sinking down to the floor, crossing his legs and sighing. "You…seemed very upset after earlier, and I wanted to come and ask you about it."

"Oh, no, I'm fine, I wasn't—Logan was right, I wasn't going to be useful in that conversation."

"The one you were in for all of three seconds before you were being shunted out of it again?"

Roman narrows his eyes. "You know, it is kind of ironic that you of all people are worrying about that right now."

Janus barely has time to process how he feels about that sentence before Roman's eyes are widening and he's leaning back.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, that came out really rude, I didn't mean that."

"You did, and that's okay. No, no—really, it is okay, Roman, you don't have to pretend like I didn't hurt you—that I'm not hurting you when I do things like that. No, no—" he stands as Roman covers his face with his hands— "please, sweetie, just—just listen to me for a second, okay?"

Roman nods, his face still hidden. Janus hesitates for a moment before gloved hands come down to rest on his shoulders. He leans down and carefully, carefully presses his chin to the top of Roman's head. Roman shudders a little under the contact but stays still.

"You've been distant lately," Janus whispers, as though afraid of breaking the silence, "and that's not a bad thing, sweetie, but it's…it seems like it's hurting you. And I'm worried because Thomas isn't—I don't know what Thomas would do without you."

Roman stiffens and immediately he knows it was the wrong thing to say. "I won't let Thomas down again, I know what I'm doing. I'm just—I'm sorry I haven't been very present lately, but I'm—"

"No, no, that's not what I meant—wait, what do you mean, 'again?'"

Roman hunches his shoulders. "I know I'm not Thomas's hero anymore, okay? You don't need to keep acting like I'm—"

"Wait, wait, sweetie." Janus crouches down, cupping Roman's face in his hands. "What do you mean, you're not Thomas's hero anymore?"

"That's what you said! After the wedding, when he said—when I said—and you nodded! Like it was a lie!" He jerks away. "We don't need to pretend that didn't happen, okay? I remember, it's not like I could forget something like that."

"No, no, Roman—no, that's not what I meant, I didn't—it wasn't a lie."

Roman goes still. He stares at Janus for a long moment, long enough for a bit of a smile to come to his face, like Roman's actually listening to him. Then Roman's expression darkens and the voice that comes out of him is darker and more venomous than anything Janus has ever heard.

"Do not lie to me."

"R-Roman—"

"No." Roman pulls away, standing up, towering over him. "You will not lie to me. Not about that, not about anything like that. Use me as your puppet all you want, everyone knows I can't stop you, but I won't let you lie to me about this. Ever."

He's already fumbling to get his gloves off, surging up and grabbing Roman in a tight hug, so close he couldn't hope to get an inch of distance between them. "I'm not lying," he hisses, almost into Roman's nose, "I'm not lying about this, Roman, I'm not. Thomas wasn't lying. You're his hero. You still are."

"Stop it—"

"My gloves are off! I can't lie with my gloves off, Thomas loves you—you're his hero—"

"Stop it!" The words leave Roman in a breathless cry and Janus is left struggling to heft his weight as his knees buckle. "Stop it, stop it—stop it, it's not true, it can't be true, it's a lie—it—it has to be—"

"Why does it have to be, sweetie?" They're back on the floor, Janus smoothing hair back from Roman's flushed face, awkwardly holding him in his lap. "Why did it have to be a lie?"

"Because—because—" he sniffles— "nothing makes sense anymore. I don't—I can't—I can't do anything."

He frowns. "What do you mean you can't do anything?"

Hands come up to circle his wrists, not to push him away, just to have somewhere else to hold onto. "Princes fight for honor, for what's good. I can't—I can't fight anymore."

Not much can break Janus's heart like hearing Roman admit something like that, fewer things still can threaten tears at the corners of his eyes like the ones badly concealed in Roman's voice. "What do you mean, sweetie? Why can't you fight anymore?"

"I don't know anything! I don't know what's good, what's honorable, what's—what's right, I can't…I'm wrong, Janus, I'm just wrong and I don't—I don't know how to be right again."

"Shh, shh, shh, easy, now, sweetie, shh…" Janus hauls him closer, pressing his mouth to his flushed cheek, still murmuring comfort. "Shh…that's it, just stay here with me a moment, okay?"

"J-Janus—"

"I'm here, sweetie, I'm right here."

Roman's stifled sobs land like mines in the room, creating a mess around them as he curls up tighter, tighter still. The door to the Imagination glistens softly and he can almost hear the distant crackle of a fireplace and that alone sends him further into the fit. Janus's hands remain gentle, holding him close, but everything keeps spinning and nothing, nothing makes sense except the hurt in his chest.

He's going to cry himself to sleep again, he realizes faintly as exhaustion starts to seep through him, but then Janus is kissing his forehead again and gently shaking him awake.

"Sweetie, listen to me: no one knows what you fight for better than you, okay? You're Thomas's Hopes and Dreams, his hero—" Roman whimpers— "you do know what's right."

"N-no, I don't."

"Then who does know?"

"Patton."

Janus's blood runs cold. "Patton? Why Patton?"

"Patton's the Heart, he's M—he's Morality. He knows—he decides. I'm—I just follow." He sniffles. "And Logan—Logan, he's right, I don't—I'm so stupid—"

"That's enough, now." He runs a hand through his hair again. "That's enough, sweetie. You're not stupid. No—shh, shh, you're not. You know you're not."

"I am. I can't—I can't talk right and I don't know what I'm doing and—an' I'm just gonna mess everything up again."

Janus closes his eyes, bowing his head and taking a deep breath of his own. Cradling Roman's head to his chest, he leans down and kisses both his forehead and his cheeks, just staying there for a long, long moment. Roman's soft sobs echo gently in his ear and he tucks a stray piece of hair back from his face.

"You're not stupid," he murmurs, "you're not going to mess everything up again. You're okay. You're okay, sweetie."

Roman sniffles and shakes his head. "No, it's not. It's not okay."

"…no," Janus concedes, pulling Roman close, "I suppose it's not."

***

Not many things can happen in the Mindscape without Remus noticing, and almost nothing can happen to his brother without him showing up to knock some heads.

Case in point: when there's a tug in his gut telling him that Roman is upset, he grabs his Morningstar and sinks out without hesitating.

When he rises up in the living room, it takes less than two seconds for him to determine one: that Logan is picking on his brother, two: Patton isn't doing anything to stop him, and three: Roman is crying.

"Remus, not now," Logan sighs, "we're in the middle of something."

"You're in the middle of hurting my brother."

"R-Re?" He's got his arm around Roman's shoulders in the next moment. "W-wait, I need to—I have to—I gotta explain."

"Explain what, Roro?"

Logan sighs. "Roman has been trying, unsuccessfully, to explain that we are at fault for—"

"Ah, no." Remus throws a knife at Logan. "I didn't ask you. Shush."

"Remus! Throwing knives at people isn't nice!"

"Neither is making them cry! We're all in agreement." He tucks his head against Roman's, gentling his voice. "What're you trying to explain, Roro?"

"The—" he sniffles— "Janus said I should try—try talking to them and I said it wouldn't work but he—he insisted an' I—"

"Shh, shh, take your time, Ro, you're doing great."

"Heart. Morality. Prince. Logic."

Remus's little black heart breaks in two and he wraps his arms tightly around his brother. "Oh, Ro, it's okay. It's gonna be okay, lemme get you somewhere safe and I'll do it for you, okay?"

"You don't have to—"

"Trust me, Ro-bro, I got this."

Roman sags in his arms. "O-okay."

Remus quickly bids the Imagination to open its doors and sinks Roman out, giving him a gentle push into the forest before reappearing in the living room. He cracks his knuckles and grins.

"Alright, where were we?"

Logan sighs. "Remus, I don't—"

"Ah, that's right!" Remus throws another knife at him. "You, not listening to people who can't articulate things as well as you can! Rude and ableist, Loganberry, not a good look on you."

"I am not—"

"Roman can't articulate his thoughts as well as you can and so you think you're better than him, smarter than him, and that he's not worth listening to, is that explicit enough?" Logan opens and closes his mouth a few times but doesn't say anything. "Mm. And you!"

Patton yelps as Remus throws something at him too.

"You have a nasty habit of making Roman feel like a helpless little kid! You have a lot of sway over things like Thomas's sense of right and wrong and when you don't talk to Roman like he's your equal, you really fuck him up!"

"Language—"

"Don't fucking talk to me about my language," Remus says with artificial cheeriness, "talk to yourself about how not to give my brother an identity crisis!"

He stops throwing things, mainly because the rest of them are exploding or things he knows Roman would rather he didn't throw at them, no matter how tempting it is. The two of them slowly get their shit together, each with a different amount of regret. He doesn't really care about that, though, so long as they're not going to hurt Roman like that again.

"Good chat!"

And he sinks out to tackle Roman into Ollie's pond so they can have fun playing and not crying.

God, he loves his brother.

***

"Hey, Thomas?"

Thomas looks up and sees Virgil on the stairs. "Oh, hey, Virge, what's up?"

"You, uh, you asked me to keep an eye on Princey."

He sits up straight. "Yeah, what's—what's going on?"

Virgil sighs, rubbing his hands together. "There was a…not a fight, but some stuff happened. Turns out that Roman, uh, didn't believe you when you said you still thought of him as your hero and it…got bad."

"Do I want to know how bad?"

"Like, bad enough that Roman wasn't—shit, Thomas, no, I don't think you wanna know. Let's just say it was bad enough that he wasn't just going to the Imagination for comfort, he was going there because it was the only place he felt safe."

"Oh, Roman…"

"The fight—the thing was about Roman trying to explain to Patton and Logan how it fucked him up really badly, and he wasn't—you know how Roman's not always the best at explaining himself?"

"Yeah?"

"It—it wasn't really going well. Remus had to step in and do it for him."

"Wait, Remus?"

"Yeah, they're brothers. Remus—shit, Remus is really protective of Roman sometimes and this time wasn't an exception. Everyone's fine now, but it's…" Virgil sighs. "Logan and Patton have apologized and everybody's working on it, but I thought you'd want to know."

"How much stuff happens with you guys that I don't know about?"

"Honestly? I don't think you want the answer to that either."

"Jesus." Thomas scrubs a hand over his face. "Alright, well, thanks for telling me, Virgil. If…if there's anything I can do, let me know?"

Virgil nods and sinks out. Thomas puts a hand to his chest, rubbing in slow circles. There's a part of him that feels cold, still. Maybe…maybe he can figure out some way to help warm it up.

***

Roman wakes up to the sound of a crackling fire. He hums, rolling over, reaching for the edge of the bed, only to stop when his hands meet the thick red comforter. He frowns. This…this is his bed. He didn't fall asleep in the Imagination. So then why…?

He looks over and his eyes widen.

Across the room, tucked into a neat little alcove that definitely wasn't there when he went to sleep, is a merrily crackling fireplace. Above it, mounted on a gold plaque, is a cardboard sword with the words you're my hero written on it in red ink.

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[silverskye13]

Hi, I just came from reading the last chapter of RnS, and I am once again shaking by how strong it made me feel, which is also finally giving me the strength to ask this, finally.

How do you write compelling, logical emotions? Like, you are writing as you go, and yet I go back and everything reads with such a sound conclusion, like the characters are feeling what they're meant to be feeling, like their emotions are deeply complex and it's just, how? Are there any tips you can give?

Have you studied any writing theory, or have you got any advice on dissecting pieces of writing for improvement? Because I feel like there's oh so much I can get from "improving from writing more"

Thank you for the kind words. Gosh I'm glad the emotions all make sense. I feel like that's one of the harder things to juggle -- especially when posting chapter by chapter, where sometimes weeks go by between scenes. It gets easy to lose things.

Answers to questions [as best I can] under the cut, because I can see this getting long and rambly.

How do I write compelling, logical emotions?

Uhm! This is a bit hard for me to articulate, because writing emotions is very intuitive to me. I'm a very emotionally aware person -- generally speaking I can recognize how I'm feeling and why very quickly within myself. That, I think, helps being able to write them. But some tips that are hopefully helpful:

Study yourself Emotional intelligence aside, the best way to write feelings is to figure out what they feel like. It doesn't have to be in-depth. You don't have to psychoanalyze yourself. It is enough to be able to go "I'm nervous. My stomach feels tied in knots, my throat is dry." or "I'm happy. I feel like I could dance, there's energy I need to get rid of. I feel full to bursting." Any time you've read something and gone "Oh god, that's exactly what that feels like!" It's because someone sat down and studied it for a few minutes. Sit with the uncomfortable feelings, or bask in the good ones. Root yourself in the moment and really stew. It doesn't have to be for big life events. If a movie makes you feel excited, just take a second to describe how it feels. If a book makes you cry, give a thought to what the tears are like. The next time you sit down to write a feeling, you might not be able to remember exactly what it felt like, but you will probably remember the words you attached to it.

Emotions in real life aren't logical, but stories are If you've ever gotten really angry, or really sad, or just any Big emotion, you know they're often overwhelming and paralyzing in their own special little ways. It is so easy to get swept up in the feeling of a thing that your brain turns off, and your body does crazy irrational things, and then its hours later and you've calmed down and it feels like you'll never get that emotion back again, because it was just so... much. That is allowed to exist in a story, but writing incomprehensible feelings takes your reader out of it after awhile. We need something to stay rooted in, if only so we have a reason the character is feeling as they are. Story emotions have a beginning, middle and end that you can chart. We see what causes them, we feel them, they come down from the high, and then they get a resolution. All of that doesn't have to happen at the same time. The character can feel anger over something and it drives their progression for the rest of the book. But, if at the end of the story, we don't see a resolution, it gets harder to believe -- even if in real life, emotions aren't always nearly so neatly tied. [Depending on the type of story you're writing, sometimes you might choose to intentionally leave emotions unresolved by the end, but generally they're still addressed in a "X was still angry, and would always be, but life moves on" sort of way. As long as it was an intentional choice that thought was put into, and that's evident in the character, people will believe it on a writing/empathy level.]

Emotions keep your character relatable, so keep them reasonable Emotions are how your readers connect with your character. Its the little moments where you get into their head and empathize where your attachments grow. Being able to see not only that a character is feeling something, but also see why they feel that way, does a lot of heavy lifting for making you like a character. Even if their feelings are inherently irrational [ie. thinking your friend hates you because they don't want to hang out one day], if you know why the character would feel that way [main character has social anxiety, which has been a problem through the whole book] you can sympathize with them, and care about their struggles.

Think about body language There is so much more to emotion than just "his stomach tied itself in knots" and "his anger was a lightning strike." Emotions are movements and mannerisms. Even something as simple as pacing can convey a thousand different things: quick steps, talking with your hands, in fast circles, leaning forward, beaming [Excited, sharing ideas]. Slow, ponderous steps back and forth in a line down the hall, hands clasped behind your back, brow drawn, gaze low [Contemplative, troubled, turning an idea over and over]. Stomping, storming, glowering, fists clenched, stopping sometimes in front of the door you're pacing in front of, scowling and turning back to your solitude [angry, bracing yourself for an unpleasant confrontation, could be calming down or could be building yourself up to something]. Body language can sometimes convey more of an emotion to the reader than writing how the feeling feels can, especially in a limited POV where you're only inside one character's head.

Physical pacing to show emotion, through word choice Make. Your readers feel things. With punctuation. This is where reading poetry will really help your writing, tbh. Poetry is where punctuation gets really contemplative, really intentional, and you can use that to your advantage in prose too. My thoughts are running. You can tell they're running because I'm in a rush and the words are longer and this sentence is running just like I am. It's one step over and over and over, and ignoring periods for commas because commas feel a little more like a step and less like a hard rest -- and sometimes you do breaks because it feels like a tumble what does this make you feel? It's breathless your readers are waiting for you to stop so they can stop reading and it feels distressing like maybe it's panic or thinking too quick and -- There's something. Creeping. Up on you. A hesitant feeling, like a predator in the grass. There is something disjointed here. In the sentences. The hard stops make you pause. The longer sentences lull you into something. It feels off-balance. Unsafe. Are you scared? Hesitating? What is it, exactly, creeping? You can also get really crazy with it. A character isn't thinking clearly so y o u s ss t art b r e a k i n g up t he wo r d s. You have to be careful. It has to be legible still. But it can be bold, and it can mean something and it can be eye catching and it can be a thought without acknowledgement. Play in the space! Words are toys.

Emotions are your stakes, just as much as bodily harm is If your readers care about how your characters feel, you have a compelling tool to drive their care for the rest of the plot. It's not just bad enough that they could be physically hurt by a situation, putting them in emotional distress makes your readers distressed. This does, however, need balance. In the same way you wouldn't keep your foot on the gas in a car at all times from point A to point Z, lingering too long on one emotion when your readers are invested emotionally drains your readers. There needs to be periods of rest and happiness, to balance the periods of emotional turmoil, guilt, and apathy. If you've ever read a book and thought "Man this character is a crybaby, they never stop whining" or "this book is making me depressed. Everything keeps going wrong all the time!" the balance is skewed too far towards the sad/depressive emotions, and you are emotionally distancing yourself as a result. Something similar happens the other way, if you ever read something and feel like the characters are never in danger, or the plot isn't taking itself seriously. Everyone's tolerance for this is different, but generally speaking, adding small moments of comedy and levity to temper hardship can go a long way to keeping your characters emotionally relatable -- so many people cope with humor anyway.

Read and analyze what you like in other works For the same reason people trace a drawing when they're trying to figure out how the original artist drew it, for the same reason you first knit a pattern instead of knitting a sweater from scratch, pick up a book you love, that gets you emotionally invested in the characters, and really pick apart why you like it. Write down words or descriptions you thought hammered an idea home. Reread a scene once or twice and feel your heart squirm over it and ask yourself why? Just, sink your teeth in and analyze. It helps a lot.

And on the subject of analysis...

Have I studied any writing theory, or have I got any advice on dissecting pieces of writing for improvement?

Also kind of hard to answer! Specifically because I haven't studied much writing theory, outside of reading comprehension classes in high school that I'm 10 years removed from now. If I had to give advice, I think it would have to be from my experience which is: Read a lot and take notes.

You're correct, "practice writing" can only get you so far, in the sense that anything in a vacuum is hard to learn from. If I've only ever eaten a PB&J, it's gonna be real hard to learn how to make spaghetti. Chances are I don't even know tomatoes exist. So, read a lot, and read critically, and take notes.

When I say read critically: I mean read with your eyes open. Ask yourself "why?" as often as you can. A book makes you cry, why? Is it specific to the character? Is it because you want them to be happy or because they're going through something you've been through? A book makes you frustrated, why? Was an important plot point forgotten? Are the characters hard to understand? If so, why are they hard for you to understand? Does the author not explain their motives correctly, does it feel like you skipped a chapter? Or is it because their motives are understandable but you still think what they're doing is stupid? I recommend going back and reading your favorite book with that lens. "This is the best fight scene I've ever read!" Why? Was it important to the characters and therefore important to you? Did it wrap up a plot point well? Was it just fun watching the bad guy get beat up?

I learned how to do this first with descriptions. A few years ago I was reading Kings of the Wyld, and about halfway through the book I realized I thought Nicholas Eames was the best writer I'd ever read. That's objectively untrue, I'm sure there's some better, but it's how I felt and I wanted to know why. So I read the book again. I figured out it was because his descriptions were great. It wasn't just that I could see what was going on in my head, the descriptions told me things about the world.

"The wheat was as gold as the Summer Lord's beard." It's autumn, the wheat is ready to harvest and they have a god named the Summer Lord who is cloaked in gold. That's a lot of information packed into one sentence.

"He had learned long ago that harboring regrets was akin to stashing embers in your pockets: hopeless and bound to hurt." That says so much about the character. He has regrets, ones he's worried over so much he's learned how futile it is. And the image of someone holding onto embers because maybe they deserve that pain is poignant and relatable. We have all done something we regret.

I started writing down all the descriptions of his that I liked, picking them apart to see how they work. I like descriptors that inform you about the world, that are unique to the character, and that are rooted in the physical. I think that's successful writing, so I emulate it.

If you want to get better at writing, really study the stuff you like and ask yourself why you like it. If you can't do it in your head, if you can't just read a book and figure out what went well, write it down! It doesn't have to be a 10 page paper. Just writing "I loved X character and I think xyz reason is why" is enough to get you started. The more you practice figuring out what you like, the better you'll get at identifying and describing it. The more you know about those things, the better you can transfer it into your own work. Study can be really fun when you really dig your elbows into it.

I also think it's equally useful to do this to media you don't like. Pick a book you hate and do the same thing. Why don't you like it? Is it because you don't like the themes, or because the characters were too frustrating to relate to? Was it because the plot seemed forced? Were there plot points and ideas that seemed awesome that the author just ignored? Figure out what you don't like, what you think doesn't work, so you can figure out how to avoid it.

The thing about studying anything is: everything has rules. Learn the rules. Learn why the work [or why they don't]. That's studying.

Learning when its appropriate to follow or break them, that's writing.

This turned into a very, very long rant! Hopefully it helps :'D if not, my apologies.

[blackjackkent]

So... I was already going to write something about Hector and Karlach, and Hector being forcibly reminded that Karlach would rather die free than go back to Avernus and live, and Karlach laughing it off in the dryad's vision, and Hector feeling like shit about it.

And then this happened when I went back to camp:

"Ngh. Soldier... my engine. It hurts... I think this might be it. Soon. Thing's burning hotter than I knew it could."

"But look - we've just about made it to the city. That'll do me. Let's go protect it. Whatever happens after that is between me and the so-called gods."

"You don't think we'll find you a cure?"

"With this heat going, I can't spare the energy to think. I just want to enjoy whatever's left of this life of mine. Anyway, it could be worse. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. With who I'm meant to be with. How many people can say that?"

-------

She laughs again, grins and shakes it off, and suddenly he can't take it anymore.

"Damn it, no!" he snaps. "Stop that! Stop laughing about it, as if it doesn't matter!"

She blinks, draws back a little, startled. Hector very rarely loses his temper; the last time she saw it was in the House of Healing against Malus's terrible cruelty. Not here, not in camp, where they're safe and they're together. "Soldier--"

"Don't 'Soldier' me." Hector's jaw works and then he looks away from her abruptly, staring down at the ground. "This isn't funny, Karlach. It isn't a joke. You heard what Dammon said. If we don't find a cure, you'll die."

Karlach's smile fades. "You think I don't know what death means, Hec?" she says more sharply. "I've seen way more of it than you have. I know what Dammon said, and I also know what I said. I'm not going back, not ever. Not even to save my life."

"I know. Believe me, I heard every word when you told me." Hector's lips draw into a tight line. "I'm not talking about that."

She hesitates, puzzled. "What are you talking about, then?"

"How am I supposed to feel, when you look at me, and say you're about to die, and laugh?" He looks up at her, his eyes burning with frustration and pain. "Do you expect me to laugh too? Do you expect me to pretend like it makes no difference?"

She frowns. "No, I--"

"Because I can't," he continues hoarsely. "I can't laugh. I can't shake it off the way you can. I..." He pauses, rubs a hand down his face, desperately trying to regain his habitual control, but it feels completely lost to him right now.

"I will never, not once, tell you what decision you need to make. This is your choice. Your life. I wouldn't take that away from you." He shakes his head. "I respect you too much for that. It's your body and your soul, your free will and your choice. But I need you to respect me too, enough to believe that what you choose affects me too."

He feels his voice crack, and dashes his hand in frustration and shame against his eyes, feeling dampness in them. "I love you," he whispers, clenching his fists at his side in the struggle for control. "I love you, Karlach... so much, so deeply... I didn't know feelings like this existed in the world until I met you. I was taught to be self-reliant, to need no one's reassurance, to keep my heart wrapped up in books and faith and dust, but then I found you, and there's no going back to that. I'm lost in you." He hesitates. "As... as I hope you're lost in me."

He can see her expression twisting with emotion but he doesn't give her time to speak. It's all coming out now, everything he usually doesn't have the words - or the bravery - to articulate. "I'm not trying to change your mind. I've learned so much from you, from everything we've experienced out here - and one of the things I've learned is that there are things more important than living or dying. That there are things worth dying for. If this is yours... I won't stand in the way."

He swallows. "But I need you to understand that... I don't know what I will do without you. And when you laugh, when you act as if it doesn't matter that you will be gone... it tears my heart out."

Silence. He's run out of words and stares at the ground in front of her feet, his shoulders tight with the effort of keeping his voice steady.

When she finally answers, her voice is softer. "Dammit, I'm... I'm sorry, Hec. I really am. This, how I am..." She gestures vaguely at her own chest. "In Avernus, it was the only way to stay sane. You had to laugh about it all, or you'd go mental." She snorts bitterly. "I told you, that's the only reason I hung around with Flo. She was a bastard, just a complete motherfucker... but she made me laugh. And I couldn't make it otherwise. It would've crushed me."

She pauses for a moment and then goes on. "I don't want to die, Hec. I really don't. I never had the chance to live like this, loving someone, loving you, and doing good work, and feeling like I mean something. And I don't want to hurt you. Gods... that's the last thing I want."

She reaches out cautiously, takes his hand. He draws a sharp breath, although his shoulders instinctively relax, feeling the familiar pulse of her heat against his skin.

"I love you too, Hec," she says quietly. "You're not the only one who never thought life could feel like this."

He lets the held-in breath out shakily and grips her hand like a lifeline in a storm. "I'm scared, Karlach," he admits in a whisper. "I don't know if I can do this alone."

"You won't be alone." She smiles slightly. "We've got a pretty good group going here, now. And you're way stronger than you think. I've seen it." She hesitates. "Proud of you, y'know."

He closes his eyes and swallows desperately against the lump in his throat. "Thank you," he says softly. A pause. "I'm proud of you too, you know," he adds after a little while. "For standing by what's important to you. I want you to know that, no matter what else happens."

Her fingers tighten around his fiercely. "And I won't laugh about it, not anymore," she adds with a slight nod. "Didn't think about how it sounded to you. I won't make that mistake again."

He nods, musters a slight smile as he looks up at her. "Thank you. That's all I ask."

She steps forward, wraps her arms around him tightly, and he sags forward into her, burying his face into her neck. It's a great irony, he reflects, that the same heat which is going to kill her makes him feel so warm and comfortable in her arms.

His eyes squeeze shut against her and he lets out a single gasped breath, almost a sob. But only the one. Then he has control again, and all he does is lean into her and hold on as if his grip might somehow prevent her from ever slipping away from him.

And though he will not say it aloud, inwardly he prays for some miracle, some way out of the darkness that sits in his future when she is gone. Because he truly does not know how he will bear it.

[ddarker-dreams]

Hi! I have a question, you can ignore this if you want to but I’ve found myself really loving the way you write and the range of writing you can articulate as well. Speaking from someone who is nowhere close to that level of skill you possess, would you mind being able to explain your journey of writing, if you practiced any particular methods or anything else to get to this stage you are at right now? Unless you have been gifted the talent of writing from birth and didn’t need to try for much long or long enough to call it a journey. Could you also spare some tips and advice for someone who wants to start writing stories and what to look into/practice?

I love your work a lot and I am constantly waiting for the notification of your new posts, despite not being a writer myself I do love breaking down and analysing writing and your stories are always such good options for me to look into. Thank you so much for writing and sparing your time to produce such well done pieces of work — I felt extremely corny writing this, excuse me for this language, I promise I’m not a pimp!

THIS ISN'T CORNY AT ALL!!!! ❌🌽❌!!!!

i'm deeply grateful for all your kind words, thank you so so much 😭

i don't mean this in a self-deprecating way, but i've never considered myself a gifted or super incredible writer, i just get hype about story ideas and try to make them as good as i can. due to that, i start sweating when people ask for advice because i don't consider myself qualified... i do have a writing advice tag, but take everything i say with a grain of salt!! if it's fanfic literally all that matters is that you enjoy whatever you're writing.

i'm more than happy to share my writing journey though!! it's kinda fun to reminiscence.

i've loved reading and writing ever since i was a little lock. while thinking about this ask, it occurred to me that what i've always been the most invested in are the characters. i'd think about 275894275 different storylines with them. i didn't start writing fanfic until i was around 11 though, everything was handwritten. or in flipnote hatena.

i did a lot of fanfic writing from 11-14 buuuut then my interest in it kinda fizzled out. it wasn't until i watched hxh for the first time that i took it up again bc chrollo is that powerful. that's when i started conceptualizing HWR. i looked at my early writing folder, the first HWR fanfic i wrote was in 2016 when i was 15 ?? here's a cursed excerpt:

anyway, once i started making googly eyes at chrollo, it was gg. i've been writing often ever since.

what's helped me the most is to focus on the elements i find interesting. for example, i like fleshing out my MCs, focusing on dialogue, and developing a universe around the main pairing. because i enjoy this so much it's (mostly) always easy to devote time and effort toward it.

so i think it comes down to finding out what niches you like and working with those. some writers prefer to write with heavy prose, others are more succinct, some writers like dialogue, others prefer to be more action based... etc etc. this does require a little time if you're completely new to writing, but you know yourself best. you'll eventually pick up on what part of the story you're most excited to write.

this isn't particularly mind-blowing or anything but i hope it helps some 😭 what completely Altered my mindset was when i realized i can be as self-indulgent as humanly possible. cringe is not in my vocabulary. write a MC where every single character is in love with them if you want. write a 100k word fic about your OC being isekaid into x world. post about your f/os, draw art of you with your fav, go ham.

[earlgreytea68]

Heaven, Iowa.. if ur willing/have the time! Would love to hear some thoughts 💜

I loooooove Heaven, Iowa. I know Pete says this is a song about drinking a screwtop bottle of wine and driving off a cliff, but this is a song about drinking a screwtop bottle of wine and being in love, and staying there, in your own little bubble. That's how I read this song. It's one of those classic FOB songs with classic Pete Wentz lyrics working on one level with a perfectly expected and stereotypical interpretation and simultaneously working on a whole other level that deepens and complicates the entire narrative of the song.

Okay, so, first, that opening line: 6 AM, Mulholland Drive, "Moonlight Sonata" and I. First of all, shut up, this is so evocative in so few syllables and it kills me. Second of all, as others have pointed out, it should grammatically be "Moonlight Sonata and me," probably, unless it's intended to be the beginning of a sentence, and that's actually how I read the whole first few lines, as cut-off sentences.

Moonlight Sonata and I --

(wait, hang on, let me try this again):

First movement, you and I and a screwtop bottle of wine --

The use of the pronoun "I" instead of "me" in those phrases implies the beginning of a sentence, but the end of the sentence never comes, you never hit a verb. To me, it's like the speaker is so full of feelings that they can't be articulated, he's speaking in snatches.

Also, "first movement" is so clever, hahaha, the first eleventy million times I listened to this song, I thought it was a clever Moonlight Sonata reference, you know, first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, and then I wrote that fic based on these lyrics and Pete's sitting in the car in the fic debating making the first move and I suddenly was like, "omg first movement," like, it can also be making the first move required, who makes it, you and I and a screwtop bottle of wine will help move things along. Ugh, he's so smart about such silly little things like that all the time.

ANYWAY, then you come to honestly the sexiest image on the whole album: "I've unspooled on the floor." Ugh Pete. This always makes me think of the whole meme about how bisexual people can't sit in chairs normally. Pete totally would just sprawl out on the floor while he drinks wine. (I often write Pete sitting on the floor on my fics and now you're going to notice that, now that I've said it.) Also, though, "unspooled" is just a great poetic word there, you have an exact image of falling-apart-ness and letting-go-ness that no other word would have achieved. It connotes the unraveling of something that is ordinarily tightly wound -- that is supposed to be tightly wound -- and the unraveling causes a special kind of tangled mess, but also a loose sense of release.

"I feel so A Star Is Born" is a lot, given the plot about discovering and encouraging an incredibly talented, younger singer by a person who's already kind of a big shot. So there's that. Also the fact that Pete when writing these lyrics was around the same age as the Bradley Cooper character in the film, which makes this line feel about wondering about reputational decline and artistic legacy (which Pete thinks a lot about in his lyrics, anyway, but never in quite as tragic terms as this). The "would you read my eulogy" line fits with that "Star Is Born" reference: I'm not worth it, but will you tell everyone good things about me when I'm gone? Which also connects to: Tell me when the party ends, will you still love who I am? WHICH ALSO, in the mythology of Fall Out Boy, is a weighted metaphor anyway. In Pete lyrics, the party is often life, with the afterlife taking the place of the afterparty, so this can be another death reference. But also, inevitably parties ending make you think about "Where Did the Party Go?," and so then this becomes a hiatus reference: "When everything is stripped away and it's just us, do you still love me then?"

"I will never ask you for anything except to dream sweet of me," is just a straight-up line from a love song, which is important, because to me this entire song is a love song, and that line betrays it so very clearly. The speaker is never, ever alone in this song, there is constantly a "you and I," someone to kiss his cheek, someone to read his eulogy, someone there after the party ends. (Even when there's not a someone, there's the Moonlight Sonata still with him, and I'll get to that later.)

The chorus is "Scar-crossed lovers." I've seen people talk about how emo and goth an image that is, and I get it. The "scar" reference seems like it makes it emo-er than the usual saying, which is "star-crossed." So on one level, sure, how Pete Wentz to turn the word "star" into "scar," of course, once an emo, always an emo, etc. But I actually think changing "star" to "scar" converts a hopeless saying into a hopeful one. Because "star-crossed lovers" means lovers who can't hold it together. The original star-crossed lovers were Romeo and Juliet. Certainly not a happy ending for them. But these in this song are not star-crossed lovers. They are scar-crossed. Scars are actually healing. They are the body's kintsugi, to use a reference from another song. If you've got a scar, sure, it means you've been through something, but what it really means is you got through it. You came out the other side and you healed. These are not lovers who can't get it together. These are lovers who came out on the other side of the apocalypse.

The same multi-layered meaning exists in the next line: "I'm checking myself out forever." Sure, on one level, this sounds negative: I am gone, I'm leaving. But the thing is: What is he leaving? It's actually not entirely clear. I don't think it's the relationship he's leaving. I think it's the rest of the world. And not in a bad and depressing way. He's like, "Look, I have found something real here. You see all this nonsense, all this chaos, all this drama? I am checking myself out of all of this forever." This goes nicely with the next line: "I'm saving this all for later," which can also be read on two levels, one being, "I'm checking out of this nonsense, I'll deal with it later, I'm staying in my bubble with my love." Another being, "I am here in this bubble with my love and I am going to remember every second of this." After all, "save for later" means something you want to make sure you return to. That line, "Here we are untouched forever" also supports a positive reading of the relationship. It could be read as, "Now we no longer exist, we are only enduring in my memory," but...nowhere in the song does that seem true of this relationship. The relationship is very present throughout the song. When he says "here we are untouched forever," I think he's talking about this bubble he's retreated into, away from the rest of the world.

And that reading goes into the second verse, too, where he refers to himself as being "gone like this." This could be read as really dark, given the Star Is Born reference. But it could also be read as: I have checked out of everything and I am holed up with my love and just everyone wait to see how much they're going to miss how much I was doing and holding together. "Talking to the mirror," (I am the invisible man...) -- "Half your life you've been hooked on death." This seems like an obvious reference to Pete Wentz's reputation, but it's in quotes, like he's quoting other people, like he's telling himself, reminding himself what people think of him. Because that's not who he is.

This last bit of the second verse is so fascinating to me. "Twice the dreams, but half the love, be careful what you bottle up, the chemistry is a mess it seems," these are all negative images and negative lines, warnings and self-recriminations. And then there's that unexpected "But me, I'm still a sunbeam." Patrick is usually the sun in Pete's lyrics, the sun is usually something outside of Pete. How shocking and strange for Pete to suddenly write that he's the sunbeam, and for Patrick to give it a melodic flourish to boot. That could be Patrick giving that to him: "Don't worry about your chemistry, you're definitely loved." BUT, it could also be Pete finally, finally internalizing what Patrick says to him all the time: "YOU'RE the sunbeam. It isn't me. It doesn't matter how you feel like you're too much, it doesn't matter how much you feel like you bottle up, it doesn't matter how much you feel like a mess, you're still amazing, you're still a sunbeam." Ugh, the amount of healing in this song. Scar-crossed, indeed. The bridge could be read as flipped, from Patrick's perspective, and that works, but, tbh, that bridge can also be read as Pete closing his eyes inside the bubble he's created with his love, and there's darkness in this, but the love's glow is right there, so soothing, leading him home, a beacon. When Pete closes his eyes and shuts the rest of the world out -- there, there's the glow, giving him that little shove he needs to keep going: Shake things up, see what comes down, write another album with me, send me some words, we've got this.

This song rises to unbelievable heights by the end of it, like, it is sonically overwhelming, but then it loops around to the same soft rhyme as the beginning, Patrick crooning once again. It begins and ends with the speaker and music. In the end, the thing that has always been there for them: the music.

Also, the fact that Moonlight Sonata is the reference is so interesting in the context of Patrick being the sun in Pete's lyrics. If Patrick is the sun, that makes Pete the moon, catching his reflected glory. Moonlight Sonata, indeed.

This song is full of yearning, but at no point do I feel sad for this guy. He's gonna be okay. His love is right there with him when the party ends.

[violettduchess]

I can only speak for myself but I am very shy and socially awkward. I agonize over whether I should put a heart on someone's post because the idea of them seeing and God forbid, clicking my profile, makes me nervous. So I just lurk and don't engage (and then get anxious and guilty when I see artists reblogging things that say how much they need feedback)

Im sweating writing this to you now because I'm so nervous but you have to know that your writing to me is a lifeline. I have read so many of your fics and headcanons multiple times. I know whole sentences from things because they are so beautiful. The descriptions in your fics leave me on the floor.

I love your OCs too. They're so good and you are so thoughtful in how you treat them and their suitors.

I think you are wonderful, my favourite writer in this fandom and I pushed myself to write this so that you know that.

Wow...sometimes an ask just sort of leaves me a bit speechless.

I have to say how grateful I am that you made such an effort to reach out and explain why engagement is difficult for you. I'm sure you aren't the only one and there are silent readers who understand exactly where you're coming from.

As for what you said about my writing....I don't even know how to articulate what I feel. "Thank you" doesn't feel like enough to express how touched I am. It means so very much, especially knowing that even sending this ask was not easy. I appreciate every single word of it. 💜

[basicbatboys]

🌙 Hi! I see a lot of Jason Todd x reader fics where the reader is really confident and sexy and badass, but I was wondering if you could write something where the reader is very shy. I’m really socially anxious and awkward and sometimes I’m really quiet or I pause and stutter or say words in the wrong order when I’m nervous. I’d love to see a reader like that ☺️

Howdy sunshine! What a lovely request! I am so glad you opened my eyes to diversifying the types of readers I write for so you can look forward to more of this stuff in the future (: I hope you enjoy it! I'm sorry for how long it took me to get back to you!

________

“Is it good?” Jason asked as you took your first sip of coffee. 

You nodded, tipping the cup back and allowing the hot goodness to slip into your mouth. As you did, you realized it was way too hot and you drank it way too soon after you got it. You swallowed thickly and a grimace spread across your face. You stuck out your tongue with a plech and fanned at it. 

Jason tilted his head back and laughed. “Too hot? Why did you say it was good before you tried it?”

You shrugged and returned your tongue to it’s rightful place. “I don’t know.” 

He smiled and ruffled your hair. “You’re too sweet.” 

You smiled shyly and looked down at the ground. You never really knew what to do when Jason complimented you. You were too awkward to ever say anything back but it didn’t seem to ever bother him and for some reason that bothered you.

“Come on.” He said, taking your free hand. “Let’s go home.”

You nodded and clasped your hand around his.

___

The two of you entered the apartment, your coffee still in hand. You hadn’t taken a sip since the “incident” and you weren’t sure if you ever would. But you would feel so bad not drinking it since he had paid for it, you didn’t want to waste his money. You got in your own head, staring blankly at the cup before Jason pulled you out of the rabbit hole you’d been digging. 

“Baby? You okay?” He asked, looking at you with concern. 

“Uh, yeah.” You muttered. “I just, well, I was just thinking. That’s all. I’m sorry.”

“What were you thinking about?” He asked, stepping toward you. 

“It’s stupid, it doesn’t matter.” You replied, playing with the rim of your cup. 

Jason smiled and closed the gap between the two of you. “It’s not stupid if you’re the one thinking it. You’re the smartest person I know.”

You frowned and looked up at him. “Why do you always do that?” You asked, your tone accusing.

“Do what?” Now he was frowning too. 

“Reassure me. Compliment me. I’m so weird and bumbling and you’re so cool. I... I don’t even understand why you like me. It feels fake." A tear dripped from your eye as the honesty came pouring. You couldn't look at him. "I’m just waiting for you to tell me you were joking the whole time and you never even liked me in the first place.” Tears pricked at your eyes as you spoke, your eyes trained downward. You stumbled over your words, unable to speak clearly and directly. “I just… I feel… I… I don’t know.”

Jason wrapped a hand around your cup and took it from you, setting it on the countertop. He used two fingers to pull your gaze toward his. 

“Look at me.” He said, his voice low and soothing. “I mean everything I say to you. You are everything to me. I don’t care if you’re awkward or different, it’s why I like you. You’re a good person, even if you can’t always articulate your thoughts. You’re beautiful, even if you don’t believe me when I say it. I would never lie to you. I would never say something I didn’t mean. You are my world. I like you just the way you are. I can be myself around you. We all make mistakes, we all slip up. I like how authentic you are. You’re never pretending to be someone you’re not. You’re perfectly imperfectly you and that’s why I love you.” He dropped his hand and placed it on your waist.

Your eyes widened. “W-What?” You asked, searching his eyes for any sense that he was lying. 

You couldn’t find any. 

“I love you.” He repeated. He pressed his lips against yours and when he pulled away he was smiling. “Just the way you are.”

You bit your lip and looked away, and in a moment of rare confidence, you looked him right in the eye. 

“I love you too, Jason.”

[laputaindefrenchgirl]

and i'll forget you but i'll never forgive you.

This is love letter to Taylor's latest album, The Tortured Poets Department : The Anthology, which is an absolute masterpiece.

I don't know here I'm going exactly as I'm writing this, but I have a strong intuition that some things need to be said. I need to, at least. I spent a major part of my late teens listening to Taylor Swift's music and when Red came out in 2012, that was it for me.

The Tortured Poets Department holds the standard of greatness even higher if that was possible. It is written about all these things that we imagined, lived, went through, and survived.

Taylor is a Cancer Moon (so am I), and it is in her 8th which is linked to transformation, sex and legacy. As I studied astrology (still do), I realized that the power of a Cancer Moon is linked to feeling the absolute truth, even more as an artist. It's a powerful placement, which might seem petty to some idiots, but it is not because it's coming straight from the heart. If there's thing one thing that I love the most about Taylor, that is her powerful writing. It's incandescent, it's pure, it is real.

I'm writing poetry in my bedroom everyday, and it's both inked with my tears and drops of my blood straight from my heartbeat. I'm passionate about all that lived, am living and what the future holds for me. The words are pouring and my strong solar powerful self cannot keep it bottled up. This is selfish. This is selfless.

Back to TTPD, the fact that she wrote Guilty As Sin? is so important to me. The ? is soooo relevant because it's asking for validation. When she writes

He's a paradox I'm seeing visions, am I bad? Or mad? Or wise?

I cannot help but absolutely get it. What is imagined can be created, so am I guilty for it? It's a daily thing of what am I to do with all these fucking feelings. Sometimes I'm feeling even more culpable for not having lived any of these things, what I felt in my dreams, but it's so intense, so I question further, are they visions?

I keep recalling things we never did Messy top lip kiss How I long for our trysts Without ever touching his skin How can I be guilty as sin?

It always felt funny to me how as women we can barely articulate our fantasy without feeling a hint of shame. For men, it's different. Their obvious sexual needs uphold the eventual shame that could come with the act of imagining something that never did or will never happen. It's not to be questioned. I never truly understood why unless the fact that we are living under a patriarchy? Yet that never stopped my subconscious to be feeling the ghosts of his fingers and how they can be my salvation, I know it in a deep intricate way. It's a soul connection, it's a pretty sight, it's more and it's getting difficult to speak about it without sounding like a poetess from the 1700s or Maria Callas.

The song that instantly stood out to me in this album is Who's Afraid of Little Old Me? and every verse, oh my.

So tell me everything is not about me But what if it is? Then say they didn't do it to hurt me But what if they did?

Each time someone did hurt me, they somehow always end up using that line "everything is not about you" but what if it is, in the most heart-wrenching way? Some of us just are in the spotlight for whatever reason, and it is truly not up to us to change the intensity of the lightning. It's shameful to make us wear that burden. So yes, it is about me, it always was, and now, you want me to go away? Once you get that, there's nothing to fight for anymore.

"Who's afraid of little old me?" I was tame, I was gentle 'til the circus life made me mean

It's a thing that I feel in my heart of my heart. I don't wish anyone wrong but I have to fight back so many times, in the end they have to own the fact they made me this monster they judge. I won't let you get away with it. It's not bitter, this is justice. It's too easy for them to just break my heart time after time and then to come back as if I was what I acting the way I was for no reason. No, no, no.

You wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me So all you kids can sneak into my house with all the cobwebs I'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said?

These lines hit a little too close. I always cry in silence when I'm bleeding, figuratively or not, or/and when i cry out of pure rage they look at me as if it was a fucking play. Slurring "she's crying, playing the victim, begging to be the center of attention" and I can't help but feel theirs arrows piercing my skin once more.

Who's afraid of little old me? Well, you should be.

I have been doing multiples therapies, and I always feel stuck with the concept of forgiveness. Maybe it's so hard for me to forgive others because I have never been forgiven. My insecurities make it hard for me to really know, but all I can say is that I don't want to forgive someone who's done me dirty and who will again. Fuck you.

The Prophecy is so beautiful. Sad, sorrowful and yet filled with the purest of light. You can't help but project yourself your very own prophecy. I know mine, I know mine. And how many times did I wish to change it for the curse of my strength to dim a little.

Gathered with a coven round a sorceress' table A greater woman has faith But even statues crumble if they're made to wait I'm so afraid I sealed my fate

That faith, we're taught about in churches or any temples you'll grow with, a greater woman must have it but what comes when you can't find it? And I waited and waited and waited. I used to be afraid that I might have become the statue instead of finding the one that will make me believe in the magic of the universe.

Hand on the throttle Thought I caught lightning in a bottle Oh, but it's gone again And it was written I got cursed like Eve got bitten Oh, was it punishment?

The feminist subtext is powerful. Why is it always a woman who sins before a man could ever think of it? Silly. You think you wrapped your mind around the truth, and no, it's gone again. Pardon me sir, we are sinners, this is why we can't access to that holy view. Unless we are virgin and pure, obviously. Obviously.

I guess a lesser woman would've lost hope A greater woman wouldn't beg But I looked to the sky and said Please.

The in-between. Neither a sinner, neither the saint. Too much yet not enough. Begging is the last straw but it is human. My Cancer Moon understands that ; it is in my 9th house in my chart which the house of philosophy and wisdom. So when any sort of strong kind of emotion penetrates me, I tend to interpret it as the truth. I fight very often that idea, because it feels as if I would go mad if I do. I try to rely on others things than my emotions, but my instinct and my truth are often screaming in pairs. Please.

Down Bad is another song that hits the right spot. It caught me right on time on the already iconic "fuck it if i can't have him" because there is nothing more to say after that. Fuck it, really.

All your indecent exposures How dare you say that it's— I'll build you a fort on some planet Where they can all understand it

I think strongly that when you're in love, you don't have and don't want to anyway, justify this love to anyone but your lover (eventually). It's a sort of bonding that have been depicted, sung, written about and played, yet, when it happens to you, it feels like the very first time in the whole universe.

Tell me I was the chosen one Showed me that this world is bigger than us Then sent me back where I came from

Loneliness. So many things in the world are lonely, and love should not be one of them. Gods, could you believe that I have never been in love? I'm scaring myself. Imagine when I will be. I'm too intense.

The beats of I Can Fix Him (I Really Can) are so sexy. I felt the drums under my skin and it made insert myself into the story.

His hand so calloused from his pistol Softly traces hearts on my face

The perfect opposition, fantasy that a tough man can soften for you when he caresses your face. For some reason, I linked this to Wildest Dreams because if you know he's bad, you still want him in that golden age romantic scenario.

He had a halo of the highest grade He just hadn't met me yet

To be honest, this probably the trope that I dislike the most. The whole "let me heal him, he's bad but he will be good". If I take him bad then I don't want him to change. But I absolutely sunk into the whole vibe, the whole "what if" that I never let myself indulge in.

TTPD is about all the heartbreaks which we went through, and also the ones ahead of us. There's beauty in what is wrecked. There is truth into our secrets fantasy. There's nothing fair in being hurt for free. There's no forgiveness and yet there is healing. When you write your own story, you take back the narrative, and it doesn't have to be pretty or soft or fucking fun. It's your story and it is the greatest power of any poet or writer. You take back your power and you close the bloody seal, for now at least.

And also, let's speak about My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys because it is so sad how well Taylor spells what feeling used is like. How when they have what they want, they throw you away. So easily.

Cause he took me out of my box Stole my tortured heart Left all these broken parts Told me I'm better off But I'm not

Sometimes people eviscerate you so well that you seem to be empty after the affair. It can be a clean cut, or a messier one, but once what they took or worse, what I gave, is gone, it feels like the world is over for real. Nobody really stole my heart, but I gave it a time or two, and when they leave you empty handed, it's so ugly.

Once I fix me, he's gonna miss me Once I fix me, he's gonna miss me

Ain't that the only road to be headed on? When you try by all measures to fix yourself and when they can't grab drink your soul or eat your heart anymore, it's over. The utopian desire that this man was healing too as you are healing yourself, but if he's not? He will miss me. For sure he will. Of course he will.

I am a creative, a burning sparkling little thing, and how could you I not realize sooner that my whole life is rooted in feelings? I have been so tough on myself. Listening to TTPD is the kind of process that reminds you that it's not only you that take all these invisible bullets. We all someway do. To be able to write about is freeing. This is the only act of letting go that I know.

am i allowed to cry ?

All these emotions, made up scenarios, really love stories, the laugh of your past lovers and the mistakes done in the middle, they are the beauty of the joy and despair you can find in The Tortured Poets Department. And more.

Thank you @taylorswift for making me shine, sing, cry, heal, and for inspiring me to write my own little stories as well. They wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where I've been raised neither. I'm inspired forever. Thank you for reading if you did. Until then. xx

-Audrey

[knotwerk]

holy shit i fucking love editing. (remind me i said that in two weeks.) 

i’m working on the proper hydration series finale aka PH6. i finished writing the first draft on 4/6/24, clocking in at 85k words. and then i sat on it for a few days before rereading it, did an extremely cursory once-over edit, and sent it off to my first reader & og beta @demolitionwoman-blog (CHEERS!!!). she started working on the beta, and by the time she hit chapter 3, she made the observation that the next step in the editing process for this might not be a typical beta read, but a structure/development read, and maybe a reverse outline would be a good next step. 

and i was like, i have never heard of a reverse outline. like, i have never heard of most things, really; i just started writing fiction in fucking august 2022 and am having a FUCKING BALL learning by doing. so i googled reverse outline, read the top three hits lol, and was like OH FUCK YES. 

because i do not Outline-outline when i write. all respect to those who do!!!!!, but i just Can Not. i have tried, and i get both daunted and bored, and that combo is like fucking kryptonite to my brain. for a longer piece (or a piece that doesn’t just burst out of my fingertips in response to a gifset or bts drop or tweet or gc comment 😅), i do make a sort of vibes outline. like, i open a fresh doc and splort down all the themey ideas i’m able to put words to at that point, and i make notes on whatever beats have already formed in my head, but it’s loose and sketchy at best. and then i write and see what happens as the story unfolds, and i go back to that notes doc to sort of talk to myself about it, to update the vibe outline as i get further in my draft, etc. 

but PH6 is the longest & most complex thing i’ve written yet, so by the time i got to the end of the first draft—by the time i’d put the whole story into words—i was like, oh my god, what is this. like, has this done the thing i wanted to do, per my vibe outline, and also, what did it actually do, and is it legible (whatever that means; like far be it from me to tell the reader what they should get out of something, but, generally speaking, is it cohesive.). now that i have told the story, like… what the fuck is the story about please, and does it "work." 

so i “finished” my reverse outline yesterday and omfg it’s helping so much and it’s SO EXCITING!!!! LIKE, THIS IS HELPING ME WRAP MY MIND AROUND THE THING I DID, SO I AM BETTER ABLE TO SEE WHAT I AM TRYING TO DO!!!! AND I CAN WORK WITH THAT!!!!!

it’s like i had a bunch of kittens scrambling around in my brain and while i was writing i was like 'oh i love these kittens so much, and i really hope this story herds these kittens effectively so they slow down just enough that people can really see their cute little faces (including me, i am people)' and then i finished the first draft and was like 'ahhh did the story herd the kittens??? i can't tell, they're still moving too fast in my brain' and then the reverse outline showed up and was like I COME BEARING TUNA AND FIFTEEN CARDBOARD BOXES and now i can see the kittens better. 

and then! i slept on it last night, and this morning my brain was like, “oh, here, why don’t i just efficiently articulate the vibes and arrange them in a tidy visual diagram that reveals how they all flow through the story for you?” WHEE!!

and then i got so excited that i had to put it down and write all this instead of working on it further 

(this, which could probably use its own reverse outline lmao)

like, i’m reading Mary Ruefle’s Madness, Rack, and Honey, which is a book of collected lectures that i cannot stop screaming about and that slaps so hard i keep having to throw it across the room, and just the other day i read, in the chapter “On Secrets,” 

I used to think I wrote because there was something I wanted to say. Then I thought, “I will continue to write because I have not yet said what I wanted to say”; but I know now I continue to write because I have not yet heard what I have been listening to.

and i think the reverse outline is helping me hear it a little better, and that is fucking exciting.

[reinvent-and-believe]

do you think roy always knew he was into men or was he repressed until he realized he was into jamie?

oh anon. i started to answer this, then got inspired and started writing a fic in answer to it instead, then the fic turned into a bigger fic that's going to take me months to finish so i think it's best if i just answer the question. 😅

so thanks for asking, anon, i DO have some thoughts!!!! they are scattered and messy but i'll give it a go.

i don't know that roy has always known he's into men, but i think he's known quite a while. maybe not when he was younger - he might have known in the back of his mind that he liked boys, but he knew he wasn't gay because he definitely liked women, so that's that, no need to think about it past that, it's squared away. even if intellectually he knew about the existence of bisexual people growing up, he wouldn't have considered it an option for himself (and to be honest, i don't think it's a given that he did know it was really a thing. it was the 90s. bisexuality wasn't widely talked about. if you liked men, you were gay, and roy wasn't gay).

roy was born in 1982; he was in the academy and going through puberty and trying to figure out who he was in the 90s. things were not great for us in the 80s and 90s. i'm 8 years younger than roy kent would be, and the way i learned about the existence of gay people was aids and the rhetoric surrounding aids. and that was formative for me; it provided the only frame of reference i had as a kid of what gay people were. that was how i internalized that my queerness—the queerness i couldn't even articulate or understand—made me sick, dangerous, unclean. obviously that's not a universal experience, but it's also not a particularly uncommon one for our generation, and it takes a shit ton of work to unlearn. it would have been worse at roy's age, and i can see it being something that would shape his perception of what it means to be a queer man.

listening to roy talk about himself is fucking devastating and so telling. "sometimes i get concerned that i've been infecting you with the worst parts of me," he tells phoebe. infecting is a pretty loaded word, and it speaks to the deeply rooted shame that roy carries at the very core of his identity. we see over and over throughout the show that there's something about roy that he seems to truly believe is...rotten, repulsive. unlovable, maybe. a lot of people read roy as completely lacking self-awareness, and i get where that comes from, but i don't really read him that way. i think roy's sometimes plagued with self-awareness when he doesn't want to look, and he loathes the things he sees. he knows how he is. he knows the parts he hates about himself. and i think his queerness plays right into that.

ted lasso is, among other things, a show about masculinity, and roy's character arc throughout the show is, among other things, an arc about masculinity, so i think it only makes sense that his sexuality is tied up in that. because in his world, what could be more fundamental to your masculinity than heterosexuality? there's a shit ton of homophobia in football, and it certainly wouldn't have been any better during roy's formative years.

there's a lot you could say about La Locker Room Aux Folles and roy kent's sexuality, and i won't because this is already stupid long, but seriously, have you watched 3x09 while considering that the episode is about roy's repression as much as it is colin's? that it might be colin's coming out episode, but it's roy that functions as the episode's protagonist? that the message colin understands at the end when george hearn croons "i am what i am" is one roy can't let himself embrace by the end of the episode, not even by the end of the season ("i'm still...me"/"wait, did you want to be someone else?"/"yeah. someone better")? that colin may have escaped la cage by the end of the episode but roy's still in there?

the last thing that roy kent wants is to be what he is, and that kind of fundamental, foundational shame reads as very queer to me, feels very queer to me.

so, anyway, i do headcanon that roy sleeps with guys sometimes, at least by the time he gets to chelsea. i don't think it's particularly frequent and i don't think it's particularly healthy and i don't think he lets himself develop anything like a genuine connection, but i think it's what he's allowed himself. i think that's basically where he starts the show, occasionally sleeping with men, refusing to acknowledge it says anything about him. (i could also see him not having fucked a guy, although i like that less. regardless, i do think he recognizes he's attracted to men, even if he doesn't necessarily accept it.)

i definitely think that, when they finally get together, jamie would be his first boyfriend.

anyway, dear anon, you didn't ask for a 1000-word response to your 20-word question, but thank you for coming to my ridiculously rambling and likely incoherent TED talk about roy kent's internalized homophobia 😂