#i have a week to finish 2 other short essays

[silverislander]

symptoms disorder is causing symptoms of a disorder to me once more. shocking and tragic. who could have predicted this

[dinogoofymutated]

So I'm warming up to the idea of Cable now with this new animation style. And now I can't help but imagine a mutant reader seeing him shirtless for the first time 👉🏽👈🏽. Maybe she's helping him treat a wound he cant reach on his back and he's too worn out to rely on his telekinesis for it. Sure she knows that he has a metal arm. Techno-organic viruses were nasty business. But she never imagined she'd get to see the stark contrast of metal and flesh up close. Just a tender moment where she gets to see him at his most vulnerable. Preferably sfw. Sorry if this is too long winded or specific. Really love your writing and enjoy what you share with us regardless if u choose this one or not 🫶🏽

SFW!Cable/GN!Reader OOOOGHHHH when I tell you I have been thinking about this since you sent me the ask!! I've been dying to write this but forced myself to follow a schedule :( I've never really been a Cable girly but this scenario has been in my head non-stop! I just hope this fic does the same to others!!! Speaking of which, I hope this isn't too OOC for him! This also might get a pt 2 with some smooching 😘

Read pt. 2 Here :)

-Ps- Heads up, finals week is coming up for me and I have a lot of essays and work to do. my writing is sadly going to slow down a bit. I don't think I'm going to close requests for now but it's not out of the realm of possibility! TWs: Can't really think of any. Gross depictions of techno-organic shit. As always, Reader written while picturing fem! but no pronouns mentioned. The reader is short in this one, sorry to all my Amazonian friends.

    Prime sentinels were like wasps. Squashing one could be relatively easy with the right tools, but it was difficult to handle multiples at once. It had been a rough day, and your ears were still ringing from the sounds of blaster fire when you got to the safe house. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, body exhausted from overusing your mutant powers. Bruises are forming all over you, and despite the pain and soreness, you know you got off easy compared to Cable. 

    He’s got an arm slung around your shoulder, using you as a crutch as you help him limp over to the table- although you’re sure you’re not a very good one, too short for him to properly lean on. His gun clanks on the floor as he sits, grunting as the movement sends shooting pains through his body. You can tell his left arm is aching, the techno-organic virus fighting to beat the telekinetic powers keeping them still. You weren’t the only one who overdid it today, but you also weren’t the one who had to keep a virus from eating you alive.

    Once Cable is settled, the routine starts. You cautiously make a round through the safe house, making sure blinds are drawn and entryways secured. Usually, the task was split between the two of you, being faster and safer than it would be alone- but he would take it over when you were badly hurt. It was only natural that you would do the same. You feel the sting of anxiety and worry in your heart. Cable had saved your ass today. He had done so many times, but normally the fighting wasn’t this extreme. You had been stupid, and he was suffering the consequences. 

    A series of pained grunts lead you back into the kitchen once you’ve finished, and you can tell Cable is pissed just by the tone of them. You’re facing his back when you walk in, noticing the large red stain that spans across the width of his shoulders. You try to hide the worry on your face as you approach him. He has the medkit sprawled out on the counter, sorting through the various items in it.

    “Can’t believe this thing doesn’t have a damn mirror.” He grunts. You hum in response, looking him over before examining the items on the table.

    “What do you need a mirror for?” You ask, voice coming out a little hoarse. You clear your throat, must be from the smoke earlier. Cable sends you a look, tossing his head towards his back. You mouth an “oh” before looking at him, unable to hide your worried expression. You’d seen him stitch his wounds up with his telekinesis before, when the fight was all guns and no powers. An action like that was child’s play for someone of his capabilities. For him to actively avoid it, and the way his arm seemed to be bothering him more than normal… It made you worried. It made you feel guilty. 

    You look down at the suture kit, open on the table from where Cable had unzipped it, and then look back at him, wordlessly asking. He gives you a cautious look for a moment, before it shifts into something much softer. He doesn’t bother nodding, choosing to simply take his shirt off instead.

    You blush a little but quickly get to work, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. They’re too big for you, meant to fit Cable’s sturdy hands instead of your own smaller ones. You try not to get distracted by the sight of him shirtless as you pick up what you need and get behind him. The air has shifted between the two of you, forming into something a little more intimate. Something that builds itself on words unspoken, truths that neither of you is quite ready to communicate yet.

    His back is broad and beautiful, dotted with scars and bruises. The gash on his shoulders is from a stray blast, starting at the top of his left shoulder and ending at the lower shoulder blade of his right. 

    You’re not sure if you had been ready to see the cut-off between flesh and metal.

    The cords of metal attach to the skin of his shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. They sprout from underneath the skin, winding against each other in a way that makes no clear sense to you. The top layers of skin are rough, keloid scarring having formed at the impasse of skin and metal. It's horrific, the way the virus has both eaten and forced its way under the skin. The top of the gash is somewhat deep, the deep inner cording revealed by the wound cutting through the top of his skin has you unable to look away despite the horror that has taken you.

   “I can feel you staring, you know.” Cable’s rumbling voice causes you to snap back to reality.

    “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trail off, not fully able to place the words. He sighs, and you mistake it for annoyance. You quickly get back on track and begin to disinfect the wound. Cable hardly flinches as you do so. You’re overly cautious as you stitch him up, focusing on each stitch being perfectly placed. You know they wouldn’t stay for long. Cable had a habit of tearing his stitches. You hope that maybe you’d be able to keep that from happening this time.

   You place both hands on his shoulder blades when you are done. The nerves have worn off as the pseudo-doctor in you took over. You’re trying to examine the stitches, but find that your attention keeps being drawn back to that stark contrast of his shoulder. If Cable notices, he doesn’t say anything. You glance at the back of his head, trying to gauge what he’s feeling. 

    Your left hand drifts a little. Cable shudders as your thumb gently traces that line of scarring, the metal of his arm feeling extra cold compared to the heat of his skin. You’re waiting for him to say something. To tell you to back off. To grumble and shake you off and avoid speaking to you like he used to when you first started to work together- when he was so determined not to get attached. 

   But he doesn’t say anything. Not at first, anyway. The tenseness of his shoulders slowly gives as the gentle touching morphed into more purposeful touches, working the stiff muscles- what was left of the organic ones, anyway. 

    It’s intimate. It’s quiet. It’s… nice. Part of you wishes it would last a little longer. Part of you wishes he would let you touch him like this more often. 

    Cable stiffens again as the thought crosses your mind, recoiling away from you. He stands suddenly, turning around to face you. His towering stature used to make you nervous out of fear. Now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. Part of you had forgotten about the glimpses he takes into your mind. A flicker of anxiety ignites when you realize how much he might have seen. The two of you just look at each other for a moment, his brown eyes hard compared to the softness from earlier. You hadn’t meant to think so much. You didn’t think he was horrific. It was the virus. What it was doing to him. The energy and effort it takes out of him. That was what scared you.

    Cable was used to the stares. The horror. Most recoiled at the sight of his flesh. It only made sense to him when you did too.

    But Nathan… Nathan wasn’t ready for the depth of your thoughts. The care in your eyes. He wasn’t ready for the depth of his own feelings. The ones that cause such a storm within him. The ones that cause him to be stupid. The ones that make him focus more on saving you than the goal of every mission.

    “Is this… Are we okay?” You ask. He didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the fear that has swelled within you. Most of your emotions were always written on your face. It made things easier for him when he didn’t have to search for your thoughts. That hardness in his eyes softens yet again, and he glances away for a moment. 

    “... Yeah.” Is all he says. His heart feels light when you finally smile at him, even though an underlying nervousness still resides behind that smile. You let out a relieved sigh, and he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Instead, he sits back down. He faces away from you, giving you the space to finish taking care of the wound on his back. 

    You don’t realize how late it is until you’re finished, and the mess on the counter has been cleaned and contained back in the medkit. The two of you sit together as you eat. The food isn’t great- consisting of an MRE that’s not exactly as advanced as the futuristic weapons and technology would lead you to believe. He doesn’t say anything when you lean on his shoulder, or when your breathing evens out, having fallen asleep on his side.

  The aches and pains don’t really bother Nathan as he carries you to bed, but the thoughts of you, your feelings, your thoughts… Those keep him awake longer than any wound would.

[waterloggedsoliloquy]

mutual 1: sorry the update for my webcomic this week is a bit late! i really had to rush it so it prolly looks really sloppy lol [some of the most sophisticated comic art ive ever seen]

mutual 2: call me uterine lining the way astarions cervix got me bleeding profusely

mutual 3: do you think nanowrimo will give me a posthumous pity publishing deal if i mention it in my suicide note

mutual 4: okay fine i finally started revolutionary girl utena

mutual 5: does columbo know the service he did for butch lesbians. for all of us

mutual 6: wish you were here [blurry picture set of conifer woods in early autumn evening, taken as if frantically running down a winding trail]

mutual 4: im pretty hardy i dont need the trigger list but thanks for looking out for me guys

mutual 7: good morning lovelies another day the wizard tried to best me and another day i successfully locked him in the spare bathroom lol hope u like drinking shampoo fucker

mutual 8: here is a zip of every yuri manga scan i have and here is a backup in case i get dcma'd. the himejoshi lifestyle will never die

mutual 9: i wish i could go back in time to the shinzo abe assassination and ask to hold the doohickey

mutual 10: here's my essay on how wanting to be loved is the same as wanting to be eaten. three paragraphs in you'll find out that this is 100% tied to an obscure beauty and the beast manga i've been reading lately and how much i want to fuck the beast

mutual 4: oh thats why there was the trigger list.

mutual 11: YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN THIS BATHROOM FOREVER

mutual 12: why do i have to defend my thesis to people i dont even respect. im not dickriding you just give me the degree

mutual 13: its just me and this scab ive picked into my scalp against the world

mutual 14: my little dragon got glazed and is ready to go into the kiln! everyone wish him good luck!

mutual 3: nvm i am a beautiful genius. perhaps the most beautiful genius of all

mutual 15: i think we should give david lynch rpgmaker and whatever happens happens

mutual 16: kpeyboaatrds brpokem gpuys

mutual 17: also heres my work in progress glossary of mixtec words! i still have a long way to go but i love being able to preserve my roots even in this small way

mutual 4: i just finished the black rose arc. question: what

mutual 18: i need emet-selch to be my wife

mutual 19: i need glados to be my husband

mutual 20: visited the ocean today!!! <3 beach pics!!! there is a darkness growing within me

mutual 21: the forms for my legal name change came in. pls vote in this poll of what my middle name should be: Dill Pickle (Dickle for short), Optimus Prime, Tumblr User Gorgonicteratologist, Smeve

mutual 22: just finished my 100th book of the year! this weeks read was the uses of enchantment by the psychologist bruno bettelheim,

mutual 23: reeses penis butter cups lol

mutual 4: i need to hunt akio for sport

mutual 24: oouugghhrgh. hot. dog.

mutual 25: your favorite character or fictional other would want you to brush your teeth and wash your face so you're well rested and wake up feeling refreshed! make them proud!

mutual 26: being a delivery driver isnt the worst job ive ever had but i do keep wondering what itd be like to drive off into the wild blue yonder one day and not come back

mutual 27: weird dog? [phone picture of critically endangered stork]

mutual 28: i think the two phone line polls in front of my house are having a lovers tryst. no way to prove it tho

mutual 4: WHAT

mutual 29: while you bitches are balduring your gates or finalling those fantasies im doing what a REAL gamer does. playing a b tier rpg that came out in 2004 for the 18th time

mutual 30: ^ real. hamtaro ham ham heartbreak is a masterpiece of interactive art. im not even going to call it a video game at this point

mutual 4: THAT'S HOW IT ENDS?! ANTHY?

mutual 31: can you help me pick which drawing looks better: 34% overlay or 36% soft light?

mutual 32: new video essay out. its called disability in video game narratives: final fantasy 14's most reliable fault. i churned the script out over an all-nighter and my mic crapped out halfway through but by god i did it

mutual 33: my new zine bundle is out! if you buy it you also get a discount on all my game jam games! i really cant wait for you to play them!

mutual 4: yall should watch revolutionary girl utena

[leilakisakabiri]

request: Hi can you do where the reader is wearing Gavis hoodie and she accidentally stains it and starts freaking out. Thank uuu and i love ur writing

I Got You (Gavi)

Summary: You need Gavi to come help you after you get yourself into a bad situation.

Warning(s): None

A/N: Thank you so much for the request and for your support! Requests are open. Currently working on The Promises We Keep Pt 2. Also, guys if I haven't done your request yet, don't worry, it probably means it's gonna be a long one.

Word Count: 3.1k+

Masterlist

It was a Saturday night in Barcelona, and you were holed up in your room, feet tucked under you, a knitted blanket over your shoulders as you read over the words in front of you for the hundredth time.

While the city was alight with people getting drinks, dancing, and laughing, you silenced your phone, closed your blinds, and put your headphones on to quiet any outside noises. 

You had decided to stay in this weekend, caught up in writing an essay for your criminal law class that was worth 50% of your grade. Safe to say you did not take it lightly. You had been hunched over your computer for the last nine hours, brain numb and fingers aching as you had tried to come up with a thesis and strong argument for your essay. You had blocked out this weekend to finish the essay, letting everyone know ahead of time not to contact you unless it was an emergency, including Gavi. 

Gavi had been gone for the last couple of days, traveling around Europe for the last leg of La Liga, and he had been adamant about spending as much time with you as he could once he got back - before his summer schedule kicked off. However, that hope was quickly cut short when you informed him you most likely wouldn’t be able to see him at all this weekend due to you being stuck finishing your essay. 

Although he had tried to convince you to change your mind, bribing you with the idea of endless cuddles and then promising to be as silent as possible while you wrote when his first idea didn’t work, you relented, knowing that having him around would be a major distraction, one that you couldn’t afford. 

“I’m sorry Pablo I don’t think I can this weekend. What about Monday?” You asked hopefully. 

He sighed over the phone, his face pulling into a frown, “I can’t. We’re leaving Monday morning for France.”

You bit on your lip, feeling bad, “I’m sorry I just really need to focus this weekend.” 

He nodded, “I get it. It just sucks. I wanted to see you at least once before I’m gone again. But it’s fine – I’ll survive.” He replied dramatically. 

You grinned, “Well I’ll miss you Pablito.” 

“I already miss you.” 

The smile on your face only grew as your heart warmed at his words, “I’ll text you if anything changes. Have a great game, I’ll be watching.” 

He gave you a wink, “Damn gotta show off now that my girls watching.” 

You giggled at him, “Bye Pablo.” 

He mocked your tone playfully, “Bye Y/n.” 

That was last week, and now you were nose deep in your essay, textbooks scattered around you as you looked for possible quotes to strengthen your thesis. You had been so busy scanning the words on the page that you hadn’t noticed your phone buzzing non-stop next to you. 

Once you saw the glow of your phone screen curiosity got the better of you and you flipped it around seeing you had eight missed calls from your best friend. 

Your eyebrows knitted in confusion, it was almost two in the morning, she would for sure be at a club right now, happily dancing the night away with your friends, so why was she consistently calling you? 

The phone buzzed once again and this time you were quick to answer. 

“Hello, Gia, what’s going on?” 

Her voice was slurred on the other end, but you could sense the panic regardless, “Y/n? I don’t know where I am, I was with the others but then I went to the bathroom, and I then couldn’t find anyone anymore. And this guy won’t leave me alone-”

“Gia, where are you? I’ll come get you.” You cut off her rambling, already rushing to put on your shoes, essay long forgotten. 

She hiccupped, “I’m at Macarena. I’m sorry no one else answered.” 

“No, no problem at all. I’m coming right now, Gia. Don’t move. I’m glad you called.” You comforted her. 

The club was only a twenty-minute walk from your house, and seeing as you didn’t have a car or the time to wait for public transport, it was your best option. 

You cursed yourself for not answering sooner as you rushed to get your keys, grabbing a random hoodie on the way out. 

Although summer was beginning to creep into Barcelona, the nights were still chilly with cold winds rushing through the area. 

You sped through the streets, walking with purpose as you finally reached the club. You were severely underdressed for the club wearing a random hoodie and yoga pants. You saw the line for the club was still extremely long, wrapping around the corner and you knew you had no time to waste. 

You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself, you were never one to break any rules or ask for any special favors, but now seemed like a good time to start. 

You walked up to the club bouncer, ignoring the nasty look the guy at the front of the queue was sending you, “Excuse me. I need to get in right away, my friend is inside alone, and I need to help her.” 

You heard the guy next to you scoff. 

The bouncer looked at you unimpressed. “Sorry sweetheart. You want to get to her, you have to wait in line.” 

You relented, “Sir please, just look at my outfit,” you said gesturing to yourself, “clearly, I’m not here to party, I just need to get my friend and leave. You can even come with me!” 

He gave you an apprehensive look, taking in your appearance, “I can’t leave my post.” 

You groaned, “Fine, then can someone else escort me? I can literally call her right now. She’s not in the right head space.” 

He squinted his eyes at you, “You look familiar.” 

It finally clicked. This is where you had gone with Gavi and his team, celebrating after they had won a final a few weeks ago. They had treated you like royalty, blocking off a whole section just for you, the club owner even making an appearance to congratulate the team.

You didn’t like to use the fact that you were dating a well-known athlete as a way to get special privileges but if it meant helping your friend then you would do it. 

“Yeah, I was in VIP a few weeks ago. I know the owner, so please let me in.”

“What’s his name?” 

You racked your brain trying to think of that night, “Santiago. It was Santiago!” You replied, finally remembering. 

The bouncer gave you a once over before he finally nodded begrudgingly, “Fine – but be quick.” 

You heard the other people in line begin to argue but you quickly thanked the bouncer, rushing inside, not wanting to wait long enough for him to change his mind. 

God bless Gavi.

The place was packed, bodies pressed together so closely that you had to squeeze in between heavily making out couples and groups of friends to make your way to the middle. The strobe lights were going crazy, changing every few seconds to the beat of the music. There was a DJ booth twenty feet above the crowd playing EDM Spanish music and the crowd was going insane, chanting along. 

You hit your head on your forehead as you realized you forgot to ask her where she was. 

You pulled out your phone, letting out a breath of relief when she answered, “I’m here Gia. Where are you?” 

“I’m at- I said no, stop, I’m at the bar.” She huffed. You felt your anxiety rise, who was she talking to? 

“Ok, I’m coming.” 

You pushed through the throngs of people, finally spotting the bar, seeing her leaning against the counter, hands flying as she argued with someone. 

You walked towards them hearing the tail end of their conversation, a bad feeling in your stomach.

“Gia!” You yelled, coming to stand next to her. 

She gave you a relieved look, falling into you, the effort of standing up being too much. 

You caught her, hugging her back. 

“Oh wow – two for one. I got a buddy that would love you.” 

You steadied Gia looking up to see the guy she was talking with giving you a smirk. 

You held his gaze, annoyed, “No thanks. We’re leaving now.” 

You went to turn but he caught your wrist pulling you back, the drink in his hand sloshing,

“Woah, don’t go yet, the fun’s just getting started. Look my buddies are in VIP we can hook you up.” 

You yanked your hand away, giving him a disgusted look, “First don’t touch me. Second, we’re leaving.” 

“You’re not leaving.” He persisted. 

You raised an eyebrow, “Fucking watch me.” 

He reached for you again, but you were prepared, grabbing his hand, and flinging it off you, as you weaved into the crowd, ignoring his shouts. 

You let out a breath as you stepped outside of the club, grateful for the cold air after sweating through your hoodie in the packed club. 

You adjusted your hold on Gia, holding her waist as you started the trek back to your apartment. 

She stumbled over her steps as you walked, giggling, “Oh my god Y/n your bleeding!” 

You gave her a confused look, dragging her, “What?” 

She giggled again, reaching for your hoodie, “It’s coming from your stomach, look it’s red!” She pointed at your shirt. 

You looked down and you stopped in your tracks, breath hitching as you began to panic, “Oh shit Gia I’m wearing Gavi’s hoodie!” 

She stopped as well, letting go of you as she plopped onto the ground, staring up at you,

“So?” 

“So? He’s going to be so mad at me. That dick spilled his drink on me. This is a white hoodie – who knows if it will come out?” You stressed.

“It’s-" she hiccupped, “fine.” 

You shook your head, “No It’s not it’s his favorite hoodie, I didn’t even realize I was wearing it. Fuck, I have to clean as soon as we get home.” 

You started walking before you realized she wasn’t following you. 

“Gia?” 

You turned around to see her slumped against the sidewalk, eyes closed. 

You rushed to her side, shaking her, “Gia? Gia, are you okay?” 

She hummed, “I don’t feel so good.” 

“Can you walk? We’re almost halfway there.” You asked, helping her sit up so she was leaning against you. 

She groaned, “I’m going to throw up.” 

You looked around anxiously, unsure of what to do. You had left the main strip of clubs and restaurants, and were now on a back road, walking in an area that was dimly lit and that you weren’t too familiar with. 

“I can call an Uber.” 

You reached into your pocket, cursing yourself as you realized you had forgotten your wallet in the rush to get to the club. 

“Shit, I don’t have my wallet. Do you have yours?” 

“Antonio.” She groaned, leaning her head against your shoulder. 

You let out a huff, contemplating what to do. You attempted to get her to stand up once again, desperate to get out of the area, but she couldn’t stand, and you weren’t strong enough to carry her the rest of the way. You chewed on your lip debating a solution, but you didn’t want to do it unless it was the absolute, last, last resort. 

You spent the next five minutes calling all your friends, but no one answered. You groaned, frustrated, knowing you had run out of options. 

You heard your friend beginning to doze off and you shook her, “Gia stay awake.” 

She moaned, “Y/n I really don’t feel good. I don’t know what’s wrong.” 

Your finger hovered over the contact, and you finally pressed it, feeling the guilt build inside. 

It rang seven times before going to voicemail. You called back. 

On the third ring, the line finally connected, 

“Y/n? Why are you calling me so late?” Gavi’s voice was thick with sleep, his words murmured. 

Hearing his voice sent a pang of relief through you, and suddenly you didn’t feel so alone,

“Gavi I’m sorry. I really need your help.” 

He was up in an instant, wide awake, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m stuck in the middle of the road with Gia. She got drunk and I went to get her but now I’m worried there’s something wrong. She can’t get up and we’re all alone. I don’t have any money. I called our friends, but no one answered, I-I didn’t know what to do.” You rushed out. 

You heard his breath accelerate on the other end of the line, “Ok don’t worry baby I’m coming. Send me your address, everything’s going to be okay. Just stay on the phone with me.” He reassured you. 

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you, “Thank you so much Gavi.”

You heard his car door open, “Anytime. If anything happens like this again you call me first, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

You stayed on the phone with him, rubbing Gia’s shoulder to comfort her, readjusting her whenever she began to doze off. 

Finally, you saw a familiar car pull onto the street, and you waved your hands, trying to get him to see you. 

The car made a quick turn and then Gavi was rushing out, a worried look on his face, 

“Oh thank god you’re okay. I was so worried.” 

“I’m so sorry for waking you. Thank you for coming.” 

“Y/n stop apologizing.” He said, helping you carry Gia to the car. 

Upon feeling that she was being lifted, her eyes shot open, “Y/n what’s going on?”

She glanced over to her left seeing Gavi before she turned to look at you, it took two seconds for her eyes to widen and then she was whipping her head back, “Gavi? The hell y-you doing here?” 

You giggled at her abruptness, “I had to call for help.” 

She turned to you, snuggling into your shoulder affectionately, “You’re the best Y/n. She was a rockstar today.” She spoke, as you both pushed her into the car. 

Gavi raised his eyebrow at you as you both got in, “A rockstar eh?” 

You rolled your eyes, “She’s just spewing nonsense.” 

Gia groaned in the back, hands clumsily coming to slap your shoulder, “Ehh don’t lie Y/n. You should have seen the way she talked to those guys – even I was scared.” 

You saw Gavi’s grip on the steering wheel tighten, his posture stiffened as he looked over at you,

“Guys? What guys?” 

You opened your mouth to reply but Gia beat you to it. 

“This one guy, he kept trying to get me to come with him, but then Y/n was like no way we’re leaving, and then he started hitting on her, but then he tried to grab her, and she karate chopped his hand! He was so embarrassed!” 

You felt yourself blushing at her recollection of events, “I did not karate chop his hand!” 

“Yes, you did. It was like in midair when he was talking about his friend that liked you, and then I blinked, and it was gone!”

“Did he try anything?” Gavi’s voice was hard, as he looked at you.

You shook your head, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, “No don’t worry. We were fine.” 

You felt his body relax under your touch, and one of his hands came to grip your own, “You should have called me sooner. I’m sorry you had to deal with that asshole.” 

You felt your heart flutter at his words, “Don’t worry I handled it. But thank you, next time I will.” 

Soon you were pulling up to your apartment and hauling Gia up your steps. 

“I really wish we had an elevator right now.” Gia groaned as she was being half pulled, half carried up the steps. 

You made eye contact with Gavi after hearing her statement, and you had to bite your cheek not to laugh out loud, 

“You and me both G.”

Finally, you reached your apartment, and all let out a sigh of relief as she fell onto your bed, passing out almost immediately. 

You cringed as you saw her head land centimeters away from the sharp edge of one of your textbooks. 

You reached over, clearing the space so she was able to sleep without the risk of a concussion. 

You looked up once the area was cleaned to see Gavi looking at you intently, a weird expression on his face almost like he was stuck in his thoughts. 

“What? Is everything okay?” You asked unsure, looking down at yourself. 

That’s when you realized. 

You were still wearing his hoodie, the one that had a massive red stain on it now thanks to the jackass at the club. 

You had completely forgotten about it. 

You quickly apologized, “Gavi I’m so sorry. Gia called and I was so worried so I grabbed the first thing I could find – and then the guy kept grabbing me and had this drink – anyways,” you let out a huff, “I’m really really sorry, I can buy you a new one.” 

Gavi stared at you in surprise, shocked by your outburst, “Y/n relax. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry I know how much you love this sweatshirt.” 

Gavi shook his head slightly smiling, you were just so adorable, and he physically couldn’t hold back the words he’d been dying to say any longer, “I love you more though, so it’s fine.” 

“Wha-what?” You stumbled over your words, clearly not expecting such a big revelation.

“I said I love you.” He said it with so much confidence, almost like he was reciting a fact, something that couldn’t be changed, and you melted a little at how sure he sounded. 

You didn’t know what to say, your brain still playing those three words on a loop. He loved you. He had said it first. 

The silence stretched on and now it was his turn to get nervous, “Is that okay?”

Your mouth was still open in shock, but you quickly recovered, 

“Yo-you love me?” Your voice cracked. 

“Well, yeah… why would I not?” He asked, eyes locked on yours.

You shook your head, a smile gracing your features as you took a step closer to him, “I love you too, and I’m sorry-”

He cut you off with a sweet kiss, pulling you closer into him, as he slid his hands under the sweatshirt, fingers gently squeezing the soft flesh of your hips. 

Your lips moved in sync and your hands went to play with his hair, gently tugging. 

You heard him let out a groan and you bit his bottom lip instinctively. 

He pulled away out of breath, a dazed look in his eyes, “Joder, you can ruin all my hoodies if this is how you apologize.” He muttered breathlessly. 

You rolled your eyes, smiling as he brought you back into him for another kiss. 

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I refuse to do anymore work on the group project we already missed the deadline for, but can still submit?

I am extremely tired of being walked over and doing all the work. I'm a 3rd year uni student and multiple times I've been the main person doing group project work. The latest example is what prompted this ask. Our task was to do a discussion and then write an essay based on it, the group consists of 4 people including me. We talked for 10 minutes at the end of last week and a little bit yesterday. We did the majority of the work yesterday as well.

There are 14 points/questions we need to cover. Multiple people not only are advised to, but must cover the same questions so there's substance to be worked with. While the rest of the group covered some, it's insufficient and I did the majority of the work on the first half of the questions and all of the second half. A worked on 4/14 questions (pretty short answers), B also did 4/14 questions (one longer answer, three pretty short answers), C wrote 2.5/14 questions (2 medium length answers, one single sentence answer) and D, me, did 11/14 (mainly long answers with a couple of shorter ones).

After I made a Google Doc to make communication easier, they submitted their answers and basically ghosted me. I asked multiple times for help but was met with silence or jokes about checking the grammar and typos later for me. Again, we don't have enough substances to work with, the essay CANNOT be completed with what we have so far.

And here's where the issues get deeper. I asked for someone to at least look at what I've written down so far multiple times, proofread it if you will. Silence. I know for a fact A and C were FREE and could've continued working on the project, while B might or might not have been at work. Finally C said they'll do it. We were left with less than an hour to wrap it up and submit it before the deadline at this point.

2 minutes after saying that they'll read it, they sent me a "it's great" message. They shameless lied to my face.

I was inside the Doc the whole time and no other users were shown to be viewing the page, let alone reading 3 lengthy paragraphs in 2 minutes.

At some point during the day I was so desperate, I was ready to delete all I've written, comments, intro and first few paragraphs of the essay, everything and beg to join a different group. But a friend managed to calm me down and I didn't go that route.

I can't write to the professor and explain the situation to him, it's just not an option, that's not a practice in my country when the subject only consists of lectures and the professor has to look after 100+ students. My last hope is tomorrow morning those 3 will see the newest messages of me asking for help to finish it and will help me. If that doesn't happen, well...

What I can do is say fuck it and give them the same treatment they've given me – ghost them, don't do additional work on the questions and essay and take all of us down for not finishing and submitting the final project. I don't really want to do it and fuck up our grades (we have no idea how important this homework is for the final grade) but I genuinely see no other way. So WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[thecurioustale]

My New Book Is Out! | Tokens of Zeal

My new book is out!

Buy it! Buy it now!

That's right: In secret, on January 2 of this year I began writing a book of essays. Some of you may know that I have an online journal, which I created in the summer of 2003 when I was just 21 years old and have kept up with ever since. For my new book I went back to the journal and read through it, entry by entry, drawing out excerpts of interest that became conversation pieces for 81 various and sundry essays reflecting on my past life and past thoughts.

The essays are short, often very short. They are less challenging than my usual writing, I would say. My purpose was not to advance my personal frontier of philosophy and intellectual thought in 2024, or to reach a niche audience of deep thinkers, but instead to reflect sincerely on some things I've seen along the way and muse upon how my thoughts have changed and stayed the same over twenty years.

I mention this to you because I am a bit worried that anyone who reads this book might think there's not much to me as an author, and might be dissuaded from reading my works of fiction when those books eventually come out, so I'll lampshade that by adding that I wrote this book in two-and-a-half months. Make of that what you will. I told myself I wouldn't self-sabotage the book by needlessly saying negative things about it, and I am proud of it, not only the fact that I finished it at all, let alone so quickly, but of the actual contents too.

This book is "Volume 1" in a hypothetical series, as it doesn't cover the entire twenty years of the journal but only the first four months, from August to November of 2003—at which point the essays had reached "book length" (lol). So really this book is a snapshot of my life in the latter half of 2003. At that time, I was fading out of college due to financial hardship and other issues, and did not realize that I would never (as yet) return.

I have been wanting for years to go back and reread my journal, and writing a book out of it was the perfect impetus to finally do it. I think a few things stand out about the Josh of 2023:

First, my principles have remained remarkably consistent, but my awareness and understanding of the world has grown drastically, and so those same principles have led me over time to some different policy views and worldviews on some things.

Second, I was a 21-year-old arrogant block of cheese, full of hormones and self-conviction, and that definitely shows up at times in ways that I simultaneously am not proud of and yet which I admire for their sheer gall. There is something very magnetic about the old me which doesn't exist anymore.

Third, following up on that point, it was pretty inspiring and encouraging to revisit the old me, with all that native optimism and drive. I don't express those qualities anymore because life has worn me down and also because I have come to recognize that humanity's problems are a lot more stubborn and irremediable than I thought. By glimpsing into the past, I couldn't help but be cheered on by the old Josh's proud, utopian sense of human inevitability. It lifted my own spirits in the here and now!

I made the mistake of announcing the book on Patreon right after I finished writing it, i.e. back in mid-March. Then I had to wring my hands every week about how post-production was taking longer than expected. Between the irritating realities of formatting a book in software not properly equipped to format a book (never write a book in Google Docs), the complexities of my detail-oriented manner and strong vision regarding the cover design (and engaging for the first time ever with modern generative AI, and having to learn those ropes), and sustaining illnesses and other life priorities and so on, it would take me another two months in all to finally reach today, where I can now publicly declare:

The book is done! It is for sale right now. It is called:

Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age

(Caption: Book front cover of Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age, by Joshua Calars.)

You can buy it through Amazon in either paperback or e-book format. (I recommend the paperback version for aesthetics as it is much truer to my design vision for the book's layout and appearance, but my profit margin is actually a dollar bigger with the e-book version, so really just go with whichever version you prefer.) It is available in the US as well as in basically all the other countries that Amazon has expanded its publishing service into. If you need help finding a link to a particular version, give me a ping and I will point you there (if there is a "there" to be pointed to). This is my second published book, following Prelude to After The Hero in 2015, and the first book to be published in print.

If you do read it, first of all thank you! It's an honor that you would take the time. Second of all, I would love any feedback you care to offer. That's not a platitude either; feedback is hard to come by and I really would be interested in anything you have to say, good or bad. You can e-mail me, DM, reblog this, drop an ask, or tag me in an independent post. Whatever you like! Feedback will help me greatly when I eventually get around to writing Volume 2. And feel free to leave a review on Amazon, whether good or bad (though hopefully you enjoy the book); I am told it pleases The Algorithm. But most of all, if you enjoy the book, tell someone about it! Your word-of-mouth is currently 100 percent of my advertising budget, lol.

That's all. I wrote a book; it took four-and-a-half-months; it's done now; and it's the first time I've ever gotten to hold a book that I wrote in my hands as a physical thing, and that's pretty neat.

[luv4kokafox]

Wow how do u get the motivation to study like this?

I actually get this question a lot, so I’ve tried to put some tips together that help me to stay concentrated for as much time as possible! 🙏

Here's how I do 3-5+ hours of revision each day on top of school*:

1. Set achievable goals

Everyone falls into the trap of thinking they can do more than they think, but ultimately it just makes you feel bad :( There’s nothing worse than feeling unfulfilled at the end of the day because you haven’t “completed your work.”

They best thing you can do is write out your tasks that need to be completed, ordering them in terms of priority and then get cracking! It’s important to note that forcing yourself to do work will never help, it’ll just make the work looked rushed and won’t be your best, do what you can and don’t feel disheartened if you leave something uncompleted for now!! (finish it eventually, ofc ☺️)

2. Don’t put work over your other needs!

I’ve heard some people say that they’ve put off snacking/drinking and hanging out with friends just so that they can study. I can almost 100% guarantee this will just make you more upset!! If you want to go out, go out. If you want to snack, go get a snack! Don’t ever put off your needs for some short term work when we both know you’d be a lot happier talking to your friends 🩷

I know that out there, there are some people who will tell you they forget to eat or drink when they work. Please do not let this influence you. Everyone works differently, and their way is not healthy.

3. Time management

Setting up a revision timetable, with time blocks or not, can really help you to set out an idea of work you’d like to complete! Make it colour coordinated!! Stick it up in your room, or throw it on your home/lockscreen for a reminder!

Everyone works a little differently, for example, I do have a timetable, but I don’t use it in extensive detail. If something else has higher importance, I’ll finish that. If I know that working on a subject really won’t “help” at the time (I’ll go over this later 😋) then I’ll ignore it. It's helpful to have the idea, but don’t restrict yourself to just what you've written on the timetable!

4. Apps!!

I've also found it helps to have a non-academic goal to work towards! I use an app called “Flora” to set time goals and write to-do lists that helps me to get through the nights. For each task I have, the app plants a virtual tree or plant in your garden! You can customise the garden, the title of your tasks and each plant that you grow. The best thing about this app is that it restricts apps on your phone (you can choose which ones!). It acts as a massive deterrent to spending time on your phone and helps you to focus on your work! You can also work with friends and grow trees together, completely free :)

There are many apps like this, Flora is just the one that I use. Take some time to find one just for you!! (flora is the best tho <3)

5. Choosing the right focus

So you have some homework due in a couple of days, an essay next week and a project due in in a month. You're really not feeling good about the homework and the essay just really isn't up your street right now, but that project? You wanna do that! And thats fine!! It's never good to miss deadlines and procrastinate, but if you feel like doing that work now will just lead to it being rushed and feeling incomplete, leave it until later on! Forcing yourself to do a task might make you relieved when you're finished, but it's no way to cheer yourself up.

By all means, don't miss deadlines because of this! You should always try to complete assignments right as they're set rather than leaving them until last minute. Getting compulsory work done leaves more time for you to be yourself, work on your own ideas and have that extra edge above anyone else!

*3-5+ hours on top of schoolwork is a big commitment. I understand this, and everyone is different. Please do not think that this is how much you should be doing, or how much is what makes a "good student." Do what feels right for YOU.

That's all from me, if anyone has any other questions on how I revise or how to revise, ask away! <3

Have a good day everyone!

[wqnwoos]

mj tagged me in this like 2 weeks ago but i’m just abt getting round to it. thank u @yoongiphoria

favourite colour: i have so much to say on this subject but to keep it short - green and purple. not together, but separately.

last song: hand me downs (mac miller)

currently reading?: i recently finished blue sisters, am currently reading upstream (mary oliver), self portraits (osamu dazai), essays in love (alain de botton) and rereading the secret garden (frances hodgson burnett)

currently watching: also love next door! and rewatching anne with an e

currently craving?: a hug from four very specific people (sister, best friend, other best friend, niece). also water i am so dehydrated

coffee or tea?: coffee!!!!

IDK WHO TO TAG if u see this. you’re tagged. pls do it 💗

[bagginshieldweek24]

Bagginshield Week 2023 - Guideline, Dates, Prompts

Welcome all to Bagginshield Week 2023, an event meant to inspire creations surrounding the relationship between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakeshield! Keep reading below the cut to find out how to participate, when will it take place, and what are the prompts!

What is considered as Bagginshield for the purposes of the event? Any kind of relationship between Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield, whether that be platonic, romantic or sexual, so long as said relationship or the interactions between these characters are the main focus of the work you create.

Is there one specific incarnation of the characters/story that we must abide by? Not at all, you can write them following the lines of the book, the animated film, or the live action trilogy, and even add your own flavor to them. As for the story, you may observe either canon, or make it as canon divergent or alternate universe as you wish (prompt notwithstanding).

Are other pairings featuring Bilbo or Thorin welcome? Yes. So long as Bilbo and Thorin remain the focus of the work, you may include any other background pairings, other relationships (of any nature) that feature Bilbo or Thorin, and polycules/open relationships. I find it perfectly understandable and more than acceptable if you wish, for example, to develop a platonic relationship between these two characters, while also hinting at either of them having a romantic relationship with someone else. Different strokes for different folks.

What mediums are allowed? Are there any minimum requisites for completion or participation? Officially speaking, all mediums are allowed and there aren’t any requisites , since the purpose is to simply inspire more creations of this pair, but the following minimums are encouraged -

Art: 1 sketch.

Fiction: 250 words.

Commentary: 250 words.

Podfic: 5 minutes.

Edits/manips: 2 pictures.

Gifset: 2 gifs.

Moodboard: 4 pictures.

Playlist: 5 songs.

Any other mediums you can think of are more than welcome! If what you wish to create in (animation, cosplay, embroidery, essay, poetry, video edit, you name it) isn’t mentioned above, is simply because I couldn’t even begin to conceptualize what could be considered a minimum for it or wasn’t entirely sure if what I had in mind would work out. You’re more than welcome to drop any comments on other mediums in the ask box, and to participate just as freely as anyone else! Again, these minimums are suggestions, after all!

Event Specifics

Date: June 4th - 10th. 2023.

Two extra days (June 11th and 12th) will be available to post/finish creations.

There are two prompts to chose from or combine per day.

There are two alternate prompt sets (regular and whump), with five prompts each, which you can exchange or combine with any daily prompt.

For those posting in Tumblr, you must use the tag #thilboweek23 to have your post reblogged. For those posting in AO3, a Collection will be set at the beginning of the event. For those who may post somewhere else or would prefer remaining anonymous on Tumblr, you may: make a short Tumblr post to promote, request me to share your work through the Discord server (that is still being set up) or an ask through Tumblr, or send me an email with the link to your work through an account I will share later (I’m afraid I don’t have Twitter or Instagram accounts, sorry).

Prompts

June 4th: Fairytale AU | Domestic June 5th: Bilbo in Erebor | Piercings & Tattoos June 6th: Pride & Prejudice AU | Blade/Sword June 7th: Nautical/Pirate AU | The Moon/The Sun June 8th: Ghibli AU | Hobbit Culture June 9th: Erebor Never Fell | Flowers/Flower Language June 10th: Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies | Haunted House/Castle/Palace

Regular Alternate Prompts: Courtship | Secret Relationship | Thorin is an Errant Smith | Meeting the Family | Enchantments/Spells

Whump Alternate Prompts: Believed to be Dead | Nightmares/Hallucinations | Silence | Left Behind | Hidden Injury

[enn-jay]

Can u share your list with us so we can know what to expect

Always happy to talk about my writing! 😁

So this is the list I'm working on atm. I have no idea what order they will come in as I just work on whatever takes my fancy and sometimes a new idea comes in and takes over - which is what happened with Treacherous and Is It Over Now? As I've said before, I get very little time for writing, sometimes as little as 2 hours a week, so I do what I can. Luckily, I have the amazingly supportive @emmainldn cheering me on constantly, otherwise I'd probably never get anything written!

Haylor fics currently in the pipeline:

The Very First Night - about the first time they got together in March/April 2012. I started this before Treacherous but it's got similar vibes, so might end up taking a backseat for a while as I used a lot of my ideas for it in Treacherous. I do have other ideas for it though so it will probably happen eventually. It's a bit more angsty than Treacherous as it goes a bit "rust that grew between telephones-y" later on.

Just A Little Bit of Your Heart - Sequel to Midnight, late 2014ish. Harry wants to be with Taylor properly but she's keeping him at arms length and he's not very good at communicating. Angst and possibly no/little smut which is weird for me! This is almost complete and will probably be posted first.

Cruel Summer (working title) - Summer 2016 (possibly, not 100% decided on the timeline). This one will be open/ongoing episodes/hook ups and is literally just an excuse to write smut whenever I want without having to think of a proper storyline.

A Million Little Times - this is the big boy. Long series fic where Taylor is with John when they meet but Harry falls for her anyway. Over the years they hurt each other a million little times but they can't seem to stay away from each other. This will be split into two halves and I'm not posting until the first half is nearly done, so don't expect it any time soon, but if I go quiet, I'm probably working on this. I'm pretty sure it will be worth the wait.

Passports in Footwells - Break up fic Dec 2012/Jan 2013 - Chronicals the little mistakes and misunderstandings that leads to them breaking up even though they still love each other. Heated arguments, full angst, almost definitely some smut too. This one is only a couple of sentences long atm but I can see it zooming past the others cuz I'm really excited for it. I like writing pain.

Vigilante Shit - Current Harry watching a TikTok of Taylor performing Vigilante Shit at Eras. Very short but about finished, I've only not posted this because it's so short and I'm wondering if I need to add something else or make it part of a series or something.

5 Reasons Matty Healy Hates Harry Styles and 1 Reason He Doesn't - haylor from an outsiders perspective looking in. A very jealous outsiders perspective. Inspired by an incredibly interesting 1 hour video essay I watched about Matty having one-sided beef with Harry Styles. And Robbers by The 1975. I'm well aware noone asked for this fic but the idea came to me practically half-formed one day. 😂

I Can See You - Vmas hook up! - Someone suggested this the other day, but there is a scene in A Million Little Times which I think is set at the vmas so might include it in that...if not though I will write this at some point because 🔥🔥🔥.

[ninja-muse]

September is birthday month, if anyone's wondering why my acquisition of books appears to have slipped again (picture #2). At least I'd read nearly all of them before they joined my library shelves, and Winter's Gifts, well, it's really easy to read an Aaronovitch novella within a day or two of acquiring it. Especially since…

September was also week-vacation month, which is part of how I made it to 13 books read but very little explanation for my read-from-TBR-shelves stack (picture #1), only two of which I read on holiday. The two short ones I read in the gap between "finished the latest Book Of Substance" and "started the official Vacation Stack", and Digger was one of my 2023 goals so I decided to check that off. Baking Yesteryear was a surprise/accident. I was telling a coworker how much I enjoyed reading the library's copy and they said, "hey, while you were off, we got a copy too damaged to sell…". And one has to treat oneself in birthday month.

(Vacation was good, in case you were wondering. Camping, so no wifi, so lots of outdoors and reading time and charming rodent shenanigans.)

My biggest regret of the month, by which we mean less regret and more mild bookish panic, is the number of reading copies I appear to have taken home. I have one for Menewood which I'm planning to get to once I finish with My Roommate is a Vampire, and the rest of them were, well, um. Look. When your store buyer and random publishers send you books you'd enjoy and your coworkers finish reading ARCs you've been interested in, things happen, okay? At least at this point a lot of the books are coming out next year, which probably doesn't bode well for my 2024 TBR but that is a future problem.

Also, not doing great at my goal of reading a Canadian author every month. This is the second (?) month in a row I've failed on that front which, yes, is why I'm reading a Canadian author right now. (Also it's one of those ARCs a coworker finished with.)

Beyond the bookish stuff, there's not much to report. I've written a good bit and am surprising myself by how much I can write on my phone during a commute. Had a good birthday. Ate good food. Got fun things. Dealt with slightly more chaos at work than usual. Finished the last season of Great British Bake-Off aired in Canada and am looking forward to starting the Canadian version tonight.

How was your September?

And now without further ado, in order of enjoyment…

Evidence of Things Seen - Sarah Weinman, ed.

A collection of true crime journalism tackling recent social justice issues and big-picture flaws in the justice system.

8/10

multiple #ownvoices essays by BIPOC authors

warning: the usual things one would expect to find in true crime journalism

Infinity Gate - M.R. Carey

A scientist, the multiverse, AI, and the nature of humanity.

8/10

Nigerian and Moroccan POV characters

warning: slavery, fire, xenophobia, war, torture, violence

Thornhedge - T. Kingfisher

Toadling confronts the knight bent on entering the sleeper’s tower.

8/10

Arab Muslim secondary character

Digger Unearthed - Ursula Vernon

A wombat’s tunnel takes her to a very foreign land. She would like to go home please—but there are gods.

8.5/10

Baking Yesteryear - B. Dylan Hollis

Tried and true recipes from the past century.

9/10

🏳️‍🌈 author

The Fragile Threads of Power - V.E. Schwab

Seven years after Red London was saved, some people have moved on and others are still picking up the pieces. And some are asking whether the king deserves to be in power.

7.5/10

POV characters of colour, 🏳️‍🌈 POV characters (gay), 🏳️‍🌈 author

Winter’s Gifts - Ben Aaronovitch

Agent Kimberley Reynolds investigates a case with “unusual characteristics” during a Michigan winter.

7/10

Ojibwe secondary characters

Lud-In-The-Mist - Hope Mirrlees

A bourgeois father tries to save his children from the plague of fairy fruit—which is hard, since it doesn’t officially exist.

6.5/10

warning: classist, misogynist, generally unkind to the disabled and mentally ill

A Long Day in Lychford - Paul Cornell

Something is wrong with the borders around Lychford and the local coven has to put things right before people get hurt.

7/10

Black British main character

warning: mild racism and xenophobia

The Vaster Wilds - Lauren Groff

A servant girl flees her colonial town for the dubious safety of the wilderness.

7/10

protagonist of colour, mentally disabled secondary character, incidental Powhatan and other indigenous characters

warning: racism, misogyny, rape, disease, starvation, murder, death of a child

Board to Death - CJ Connor

Ben turns down a suspiciously good deal on an old board game. Then the dealer turns up dead on his doorstep.

6/10

🏳️‍🌈 main character (gay), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (gay), 🏳️‍🌈 author, #ownvoices

Starter Villain - John Scalzi

Charlie inherits a supervillain empire, complete with a subscription mega-laser, spy cats, and enemies.

6.5/10

The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices - Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins

Two friends go on a holiday to northern England.

7/10

Currently reading:

Like Every Form of Love - Padma Viswanathan

A writer digs into the strange, complicated story of a man she befriended in a marina.

🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (gay), Indo-Canadian author, 🇨���

warning: domestic and child abuse

My Roommate is a Vampire - Jenna Levine

There’s a room-to-rent in Cassie’s low, low budget. The (hot) guy renting it acts like he’s from the 1800s. Surely he’s just quirky.

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (gay)

Music from the Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century - Richard Taruskin

A history of early written European music, in its social and political contexts.

Stats

Monthly total: 13 Yearly total: 100/140 Queer books: 3 Authors of colour: 0 Books by women: 5 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 0 Off the TBR shelves: 5 Books hauled: 6 ARCs acquired: 12 ARCs unhauled: 4 DNFs: 0

January February March April May June July August

[kyndaris]

Whole Again - Part 2

It's great fun when a short story you write ends up becoming a huge behemoth of a story. Given I'm still uploading Toymaker on my FictionPress and Wattpad (those being scattered.wind and kyndaris, respectively), though, it does seem appropriate to provide some relief through completely different stakes and characters.

That said, I've been writing up a whole new fantasy story (rather than the continuation of Lacet and Idana's adventures - even though I do have the beginning chapter in my head). Of course, whether this new fantasy story will grace FictionPress or Wattpad is something I'm still tossing up.

After all, isn't it everyone's dream to seek publication?

Time will tell if my writing abilities will get to that stage. In the meantime, enjoy the conclusion of Whole Again. Even as I try to finish Tears of the Kingdom within a reasonable timeframe.

Staring at my blank Word document, I tried once more to conjure up the words I needed to put down in order to start the essay I would need to hand in for my social studies class. Try as I might, though, I was unable to summon an iota of creativity for my literature review on Consent Culture on College Campus.

What made it worse was the fact the paper was due tomorrow.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was wrong with me?

By now I’d usually be going through my fifth edit focusing on any misspellings or issues with tense.

Yet, somehow, time had slipped through my grasp.

And the pressure to be the excellent student I was only made my writing block worse.

Unable to face the white document in front of me, I closed my eyes and tried to reorder my thoughts into something cohesive. My fingers reached out on the keyboard, typing out word after word until I finished my first sentence. There, I stopped, pondering my next sentence even as I fought the urge to open my eyes to read what I had put down.

I knew rereading it now would only send me plummeting down into despair and I’d delete all the progress I made so far.

As the minutes ticked by, I continued in this fashion and slowly cobbled together a Frankenstein-like version of what my essay ought to be like. The only time I glanced at what I’d written was to insert references but I’d managed to tamp down on the impulse to immediately rewrite what I’d put down because it didn’t read perfect.

Sonia found me just before dinner, tapping away at my computer. It was only when the door closed behind her and when she dropped her duffle bag on the ground that I turned around, the hairs on the back of my head standing to attention at being caught unawares.

“Hey, Patsy. How you doing?” she asked, taking out her earbuds and pausing her Spotify playlist.

“Fine,” I replied, a little too tersely.

Sonia seemed to reel back from an invisible blow before heading to her side of the room. She sat down on her bed. “What are you up to?”

“Just trying to finish this essay.”

“And, how are you doing?” she asked before hastily adding, “I don’t mean to pry, of course, and you don’t have to say anything if it makes you uncomfortable. You’ve just looked stressed these last few weeks. Is it Professor Langley again?”

I debated for a moment whether or not to tell her.

Sonia had always been there for me ever since we had first met as roommates.

But whereas others couldn’t have cared less about the person they were sharing a room with, Sonia and I had become friends. Some might even say ‘good’ friends.

Didn’t she deserve the truth? Or, at least, some version of it?

After all, what if I had another blackout?

And, if I was being completely honest with myself, I found it easier to talk to Sonia than with Evie or Naomi. We had only ever met during that first fateful day of college. She didn’t know I was the purported Queen Bee of my high school or the nerdy girl back in elementary and middle school.

In the end, I told Sonia everything. The words spilled forth with minimal prompting. As if I needed the outlet she offered.

By the time I finished, Sonia looked me dead in the eye. “I think you might need help,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “My mom’s a psychiatrist. If you don’t want to go to her, I’m sure she’ll know someone who’ll be a better fit. But, if I’m being completely honest, it sounds like there’s a lot of stuff you need to unpack. Especially if you want answers.”

There was a moment’s pause as I tried to digest what Sonia was trying to say.

“What if I’m scared?”

Sonia grabbed my right hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be there with you, Patricia. Every step of the way.”

My name on her lips shouldn’t have sent a thrill down my spine. But it did.

What’s more, her offer was so tantalising, I couldn’t help but reach out and grab it.

I had thought, before, that only Amelia held all the answers. But maybe, just maybe, I could find it elsewhere. And not damn my soul any further by trying to make a deal with the devil on their terms.

~

My first talk with the psychiatrist Sonia’s mom picked out for me went well.

While they didn’t immediately present me with a diagnosis of a mental health disorder, they’d been sympathetic of my plight and had identified several behaviours they wanted to explore in further sessions such as my penchant for loneliness and the overwhelming feeling I had of being out of touch with others. Especially when it came to all the different personas I’d adopted when interacting with friends, family and other students.

Of my blackouts, Dr Nora – for that was how she liked to be called – had said little. Though she understood it was a concern wanted desperately to fix, she had wanted to tease out any underlying issues that might be triggering the dissociative episodes.

When I pressed her, she had posited the cause might have been stress.

It was an answer I didn’t much like, though I accepted it.

The second session, though, was rough. I’d come away from it feeling sad and miserable and worthless.

Dr Nora had dug deep. Questioning my feelings of insecurity and why I felt the need to prove myself during my time at Seven Oaks. And as she sought to plumb the depths of my psyche, she touched upon the fourth persona resting deep within.

Against my better judgement, I lashed out at her.

Like a sleeping dragon rudely prodded awake, my raw fury came bursting to the surface. And while I did not blackout, I did say a few things I deeply regretted when I returned to my shared dormitory room with Sonia.

“Hey, Patricia. How are you feeling?” asked Sonia, coming in late after her dinner date with a Logan Davis – a frat boy who shared one of her classes. According to Sonia, they had ‘grown close-ish’ after a group project and he had asked her out.

Logan Davis, of course, was a good-looking athletic boy with a way with women. And he knew it too. Especially in the way he tossed around his long golden locks as he carried his basketball around with him all through campus.

Back at Seven Oaks High, Trish would have set her eyes on him too. But Patsy was a different creature altogether.

And it had sat uncomfortably with me to know Sonia was out with Mr Playboy Logan Davis instead of hanging out with me in our shared lodgings.

“Crummy,” I replied, barely looking up from my game of Honkai: Star Rail. I went in to pull on a banner with one of my favourite characters, only to get Topaz – a character I cared little for and who I had plenty of. “Damnit!”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, you know…pulled another useless Topaz when I wanted Seele or Ruan Mei instead. Hate how busted the gacha system is.”

Sonia chuckled. “You said it. So, I take it you’ve finished the last few assignments then for class?”

“What? Oh. Yes,” I said, checking the daily mission for today. “It wasn’t my best work but I’ve decided I no longer care what Professor Langley’s opinions.”

“Not afraid it’ll pull down your grade average?” teased Sonia.

I huffed. “Not one bit. I’ll make it up with something else.”

“And how’d the session with Dr Nora go? Any closer to figuring out why you’re having blackouts? Or, as they would say, ‘dissociative episodes?’”

“It was fine. And no. We didn’t go into that kind of stuff,” I said.

“Well, do you think Dr Nora is a good fit for you?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.” I closed the game, not feeling very compelled to continue gaming. “Look, I’m tired. If it’s all right with you, I’ll turn in for bed?”

“What? Oh. Sure.”

“Thanks, Sonia. I hope the date with Logan went okay.”

Sonia looked askance, rubbing her upper left arm. “Yeah. Yeah, it did.”

“That’s great!” I said, trying to infuse my voice with excitement even as my gut churned with disappointment. “Well, good night.”

~

The end of the semester saw me return home.

Although I continued with my sessions with Dr Nora, it felt like any progress I had made had stalled. Despite my attempts to figure out ways to stop the blackouts, Dr Nora wanted to focus on my middle school years and the bullying I’d gone through.

“I know it’s a touchy subject, Patricia, but if you work with me instead of against me, this wouldn’t be so hard,” she would say as I lay on her couch, staring up at the patterned ceiling.

But middle school was something I never wanted to relive.

There had been so many moments when I’d stood on the precipice of a yawning chasm of darkness, wishing to end it all because I couldn’t deal with the relentless teasing about my appearance and the hobbies I’d loved.

I’d vowed, after graduation, that I would no longer be the victim, hating the person I saw in the mirror.

And so, during the summer, I’d focused on losing weight and scoured the internet for tips on how best to apply make-up to hide away any blemishes. I read up on how to be the ‘It’ girl at school because I saw it as my only way to escape the Hell of being the social outcast. Heck, I even created multiple social media accounts to curate the image I wanted to project.

All of this, I told Dr Nora as I kept my voice neutral and detached.

She didn’t need to know of the day I’d tried to overdose, only to be interrupted by mom and dad coming back early because the event they had been going to had been cancelled because of heavy rain. Nor did she need to know how I’d taken to self-harming when I’d confessed to a boy in my maths class.

I still remembered the look of disgust he wore as he studied me from head to toe – from my limp brown hair to the round glasses I wore on my already moon-shaped face, down to the unappealing braces and finally over my overweight form because of the sedentary lifestyle I led. But what had made it infinitely worse had been what he had called me after class, when he asked to meet underneath the bleachers.

No. There was no point in dredging up the pains of the past. Not when I was looking forward to the future.

And if Dr Nora couldn’t help explain the blackouts I was having, then I’d have to find it elsewhere.

Except, Amelia had refused to see me too.

I’d gone to visit her at the prison and had waited for half an hour in the visitor’s section before a guard informed me there had been an incident and Amelia had to cancel.

Two hours, wasted.

My phone pinged, pulling me from my thoughts. I grabbed it from where it was sitting on my desk and glanced at the screen, eager for a distraction.

Mom: Dinner’s ready. Head down when you’re hungry. While your dad is eying the beef casserole like a starving tiger, we won’t start without you.

It pinged again even as I was reading.

Mom: If there’s anything on your mind, I’m all ears. Just know that we love you Pat.

Reading her message, I felt tears prickle at the corner of my eyes.  Ever since I’d been briefly hospitalised following my ‘episode’, mom and dad had been worried sick. They’d even asked if I wouldn’t prefer living at home and commute to campus instead of staying at the dormitory.

I refused, of course.

After all, I was an adult and could make my own decisions. Not to mention all the responsibilities I’d picked up for volunteering for several student organisations campaigning against climate change and other social political movements.

If I lived at home, I wouldn’t be able to pour my all into those projects. Especially with mom watching over me like a hawk.

Besides, I was seeing Dr Nora, wasn’t I?

It was a step in the right direction and surely, it had to count for something.

I glanced again at my phone and the message mom had sent me.

With a sigh, I uncurled from my beanie bag, pocketed my phone and opened the door to my room. Dressed in an oversized t-shirt and shorts, I headed down the stairs.

Dinner wouldn’t be so bad. Mom would offer up the latest community gossip. But dad would probably dominate the conversation about his day at work.

As I turned the corner into the dining room, dad beamed at me. “There she is!” he said. “It’s your second day into summer vacation, Pat, but all we’ve seen you do is loaf around at home. What’s been going on?”

“I’ve just been busy,” I said with a shrug. “You know how it is. Study, study, study.”

Dad exchanged a glance with mom before he turned back at me. “Oh, come now Pat. We all know that’s not true. I’m sure Naomi and Evangeline would have invited you out. The three of you were as thick as thieves in school. Especially after that nasty business with the crazy girl. What’s her name again?”

“Amelia?”

“Yes. Her! And they’ve been calling in on us after what happened last month, asking how you’ve been.”

“They have?”

Dad nodded, thumping the table. “Well, they’re your friends, sweetie. Especially the brunette with the blonde highlights. Naomi, I think? She’s always looked very concerned when she’s come over. Talks to your mom more than she does me.”

“Such a sweet girl,” said mom as she plopped down the beef casserole into the centre of the table. “But enough talk. I’ve slaved over this for almost the entire afternoon. So, I hope you appreciate what I’ve made.”

“Always,” answered dad as he dug in.

Dinner passed without further intrusive questions from dad. Instead, he complained long and loud about the commute to and from work. Mom nodded along as she added another spoonful of mash potatoes to his plate.

I, on the other hand, played with the peas and poked at the carrots.

My appetite had fled from me after my last session with Dr Nora and I was dreading the next one.

I was starting to think she might not be the psychiatrist for me and I would need to start looking elsewhere. We had already gone through four sessions and I still remained an anxious mess without a formal diagnosis. Nor had I been prescribed the one thing I wanted: a cure for all my troubles.

And now she was wasting my time by trying to delve into my past.

Something I didn’t want to do.

But it wasn’t something I could easily break to mom and dad considering they were the ones footing the bill.

Finally, as mom brought out the dessert, dad looked me right in the eye and said, “I’ve been holding off on this for a while, kiddo, but between you and me, I don’t think it’s been good for you to treat you like you’d break apart at any moment. You’ve been plenty resilient considering everything, so I’ll come and say it. What’s been eating you, Pat?”

I blinked up at him, like a deer caught in headlights and struggled for words.

“Don’t look at me like that, Pat. I know you. And you’ve barely touched dinner. Is Dr Nora not working out for you? We can find someone else. My insurance can pay. Or is it something else? Boy trouble? We all know college campuses are cesspools filled with the dregs of the male population. If someone has t—”

“What? No! This isn’t about a boy. God, dad.”

He shrugged. “Well, if you aren’t going to tell me anything, I’m liable to jump to my own conclusions. You do know you can come to us for anything, right Pat? Your mom and I, we aren’t going to judge you. If there’s—”

Before he could finish, mom came back with dessert. A rich tiramisu Swiss roll cake. She gently placed it between me and dad before disappearing into the kitchen again to retrieve a few more plates and cutlery.

“Dig in,” she said after carefully cutting the cake into equal portions.

I accepted my plate, picked up a fresh fork and then stared at the hefty serving I’d been given. It was too much. Especially given how my stomach was still roiling with unease and guilt and shame and a million other overwhelming emotions.

After a moment, I put the fork back down, looked up at mom and then dad. Taking a breath, I plucked up my courage and opened my mouth.

There were so many things I wanted to tell them and to seek the reassurances I so desperately craved.

But try as I might, the words got stuck in my throat and I found I couldn’t get anything out. Mom and dad exchanged another knowing look but they didn’t press me.

Cheeks flushing red, I lowered my gaze back to the Swiss roll cake before me, mumbled something under my breath about not being hungry and fled to the safety of my room where I curled up into a ball and finally let the tears flow.

~

“So, tell me, Patricia, what are you most scared of?”

“Cockroaches,” I answered automatically, staring once again up at the checkered pattern on the ceiling. “And spiders. Oh, and I guess you could say I’m also terrified of flying. We’ve only ever gone on three overseas trips and each time was a nightmare.”

Dr Nora smiled politely. “All very common fears, Patricia. But that wasn’t what I was asking.”

“What do you mean?”

She leaned back into wing tip armchair. “I think you already know.”

Thinking over what we had discussed during our fifth session, I did have an inkling at what she meant. But I was loathe to give Dr Nora what she wanted.

Yes, I knew she was here to help me. But I couldn’t divest myself of the feeling that, in Dr Nora’s eyes, I was nothing but a test specimen. She would try to push one of my buttons and then record my reaction.

It was so clinical, so detached. And I hated it.

All I wanted was to be seen for who I was.

But even here, as I lounged on the therapist couch, I was projecting an image. It was imperfect, true, but I dared not let Dr Nora see the entire truth.

As the thought swirled in my head, I had to wonder why I felt compelled to continue pretending. Why was it that in a supposed ‘safe’ space, I still felt the need to pretend?

Was it because I was frightened of people seeing who I truly was and judging me? It had already happened once back in middle school and I’d been thoroughly rejected by the boy who had held my affections then.

But I had also moved on from the girl I was, ever growing and changing from a wide range of lived experiences.

I couldn’t return to the Patricia Taylor Morez I had been. But I also wasn’t just Pat, Patsy, Trish or Tricia.

So, who was I? Really?

“Patricia?” Dr Nora’s warm hand on my shoulder pulled me back to the room. “Are you okay?”

I blinked up at her dumbly. “What? Oh. I’m fine. Just have a headache.”

Dr Nora pursed her lips. “Although we do have another fifteen minutes, let’s end this session here, yes?”

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. I swung my legs down and rose to my feet. As I headed to the door, I stopped and turned to face Dr Nora just as she was straightening her notes. “Um, I don’t mean to push you but this has been our fifth session and you still haven’t told me what’s wrong with me. Or why I’ve been having these ‘dissociative’ episodes.”

A placating smile made its way to Dr Nora’s face. “I understand that it’s been a frustrating experience all around. To be honest, I could give you a diagnosis right now and write up a prescription to make you feel better, but it still won’t address the underlying issues you’re facing.”

“But it’ll stop me from having blackouts?”

“It might,” answered Dr Nora after a moment’s hesitation. “Or it might not. I believe the dissociative episodes are a symptom of something else. Unfortunately, I cannot help you if you don’t cooperate, Patricia.”

“What? By answering your insipid questions?”

Dr Nora shook her head. “I have had patients just like you in the past. And who never got better because they clung to the illusion everything was fine because they hadn’t gone on a murderous rampage. Don’t be like them, Patricia. You have so much more in your life to live. Don’t throw it away.”

Though anger and frustration had fuelled my initial outburst, it had wavered in the face of the sincerity I saw on Dr Nora’s face and the truth in her words.

“I…I’ll think on it. Should I make my follow-up booking with your receptionist?”

“That would be great, Patricia. And, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to think about the questions I asked you today. I know you don’t want to dredge up old wounds from your past, but I truly believe there’s a lot we can unpack. But only if you’re willing. Just remember: this is a safe space. I won’t judge you here. And no-one will know what we’ve discussed.”

I stepped past the threshold. “Thank you.”

~

Sat in front of my laptop, I skimmed the slim selection of movies on Netflix. I wanted something funny or dumb, where I could shut my brain off for an hour or two and not think about my latest session with Dr Nora.

My skin tingled with something horrid. Like ants were crawling all over my skin. And there was a dark nauseating feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Something was coming just over the horizon.

I didn’t know what it was but I feared what would happen when it did arrive.

It was easier to distract myself instead with something mindless.

Something like…was that Riverdale? Yes, there it was, sitting amongst a slew of promoted shows right under the selection of movies Netflix was trying to promote to me.

While I’d watched the first season years ago, I’d stopped when the plot lines began to feel flat and ridiculous. So, roughly around the third season. But, Hell, why not go back? Evie had loved the show. It, along with Emily in Paris and Bridgerton were in her top five shows of all time. Naomi, too, had watched all seven seasons though her opinion of the show was less favourable.

Hell, even Sonia had been suckered in. I remembered coming back to our shared dormitory and her mowing through a bucket of popcorn as she watched the series finale. When the credits had rolled, she had howled, throwing popcorn at the screen.

At the time, I hadn’t been sure if she had loved what the writers had done or hated it.

But it didn’t matter if the ending was good or bad. What mattered was that it would distract me for a few good hours. I could focus instead on the lives of Archie, Betty, Veronica and Jughead.

My phone pinged as I was about halfway through the third episode of the fourth season. I grabbed it and glanced down to read the notification.

An unknown number had sent me an attachment.

Without thinking, I clicked it open and was immediately bombarded by loud raised voices. Some that sounded familiar.

I glanced away from the TV to my phone and watched the scene unfold before my eyes. It had been taken in portrait mode on a bystander’s camera. The neon flashing lights told me it was the nightclub Naomi, Evie, Sanchez and I had visited not too long ago.

And standing in the centre, growling like a feral animal was me. My fingers were curled into beastlike claws as I tried to take a swipe at Sanchez, spitting out words of venom I would never have thought to utter.

Sanchez tried to catch hold of my arms but I was too swift, lashing out with a kick that caught him in the chest. He stumbled back, surprised but not winded. It had only been a glancing blow.

To my left, Naomi tried to edge behind me.

The video ended when Naomi grabbed hold of my waist and I was about to elbow her in the head.

My phone pinged again.

                Unknown: like wat u c? plenty where that came from.

Unknown: if u dont want this everywhere on the internet, and ur reputation ruined, u’ll meet me at Tanya’s. 6pm. Friday. C u there, Patricia.

What. In. The. Fucking. Hell?

~

I entered the small diner on the corner of 3rd and Olive Street, affectionately called Tanya’s at five minutes to 6. Glancing around, I didn’t spot anyone I recognised before choosing to sit in a booth facing the entrance as I waited for the mysterious texter.

Wearing an oversized hoodie and black jeans, I tried to remain inconspicuous. My hands remained in my pockets, fingering my phone.

For two days, I’d debated whether or not to reveal to mom and dad I’d been contacted out of the blue by someone hoping to blackmail me. But the idea of giving them additional stress dissuaded me from telling them anything. They already knew something was not quite right.

But I also knew I couldn’t face this unknown texter by myself. So, I turned to Naomi.

The two of us had concocted a plan to ensure my safety.

And it was reassuring to know Naomi was nearby and only a call away.

Whoever this mystery texter was, we’d put a stop to them. I didn’t need all the additional stress associated with it all. After all, I’d already paid my dues. I was working hard to make myself better and to build up a good and proper life. Didn’t I deserve happiness?

When the bell atop the door tinkled, I looked up from the shiny black table just as someone slid into the seat opposite me. She looked familiar, although I couldn’t quite place the blonde hair and upturned nose. Her eyes were lined with mascara and there were bags under her eyes. Unlike me, she was wearing a long-sleeved blouse and a green plaid skirt that reached her knees. Her hair was kept in a neat bun.

But it was the scar just behind her ear that drew my attention. Something about it seemed familiar. Like I’d seen something like it not too long ago.

“Patricia, I assume?”

“Whose asking?”

The girl opposite me flashed a quick smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She leaned forward.

“I always found it weird she chose you.”

Anger flared in my chest. “Look, I don’t know who you are and I have no idea what you’re talking about. If you’re my mystery texter, all I ask is that you delete the video of me in the nightclub. I can pay.”

“See. You’re so focused on maintaining the image you have to others. Amelia taught me that such things are superficial and don’t matter in the long run. But when I showed her the video of you when I visited her, there was an excitement in her eyes. Why do you always get preferential treatment and not me?”

I jolted at the mention of Amelia’s name.

Who the fuck was this woman sitting across from me? And what did she know?

“I was her first, you know,” she continued. “Friend, that is. Before she went to Seven Oaks. If it hadn’t been for that incident, she would have stayed with me. But it was my fault. I angered her out of misplaced envy. Dan says she was always volatile. He’s convinced she’s a menace. Even took me to the parole hearing and everything so I’d testify against her.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The flash of realisation struck me like a bolt of lightning. Of course it was Professor Langley’s bloody cousin!

Something must have flashed across my face because the girl leaned back and reached for something in her purse. “Connected the dots, have you?”

“Maybe,” I answered. “What I don’t understand is why you’re acting like some jilted lover. The way Professor Langley told it, she was a monster who got into your head. And who led you down a dark path. He didn’t go into any exact details but wearing long sleeves in the summer? Doesn’t take too great a leap.”

The girl’s brow furrowed, accompanied by a deep-seated frown. “Dan never understood. He, too, was always beholden to societal expectations. And of how we were perceived by the public.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked up at me, blue eyes flashing with anger. “Don’t pretend, Patricia. It’s below you,” snarled the girl as she fingered her purse.

I glanced around, wondering if there was someone nearby but the sole waitress was at another table and taking their order. Could I perhaps call out? But no. Doing so would only paint a target on my back. And the girl before me seemed volatile. Just like Amelia had been when we had met underneath the bleachers.

One wrong move and there was no telling what Professor Langley’s cousin would do. I couldn’t afford to have her leak the video of me onto the internet. But I also had no means to ascertain if she had it all on her person.

What I needed to do was buy time.

Taking a deep breath, I hid my shaking hands and licked my suddenly dry lips. “If you’re so free from the weight of social judgement, why did you go to the parole hearing? Why not refuse?”

Something flitted across the girl’s face. Had it been doubt? Or was it something else?

Before I could try to figure out, the girl’s eyes hardened into steel flints. “I know what you’re doing, Patricia. It won’t work. Amelia always said you were a wily one, easily slipping on masks as needed to keep your precious image going. Even now. After she revealed the truth to you. That’s why I knew if I threatened to publish the video, you’d come.”

A few eyes turned towards our table at the girl’s raised voice.

“Shh. Keep quiet won’t you?” I said, looking around at the other patrons, wondering if anyone had heard. And fearing what they might say.

But the girl would not be dissuaded. She spoke, her voice even louder. “It’s disgusting how you grovel and submit to others simply to keep pretending. Do you even know who the true Patricia is anymore?”

Although the girl before me was a passing stranger, her words managed to find their target. I reeled from the blows.

Hadn’t I asked myself that exact same question when I was at Dr Nora’s?

Who was I?

Amelia would have said to cast aside the masks I’d built up and find the core of my very being. But in my session with Dr Nora, the only thing I’d uncovered was a person with an intense fury and hatred of those around her. The fear of being bullied, the resolve to be more than a nerd, and the fixation on past wrongs, had coalesced into something monstrous and unfathomable.

I didn’t want to be that person.

It wasn’t who I was.

And yet, I couldn’t say with certainty I was Patsy or Tricia or PattieNeko either. They were all facets of who I was with certain elements heightened depending on the people I was interacting with, but I had worn each mask for so long, the way I naturally slipped into each role didn’t seem as fake as I might have once thought.

There was no artifice to how I interacted with Naomi and Evie. They were my friends. And I was authentic with them, to an extent. Similarly, I did enjoy studying. Patsy wasn’t just a means to an end. She was a version of me, heightened though it was, who cared about social injustices and who wanted to take a stand against the downtrodden.

None of them were me and yet, all of them were.

I wasn’t just one thing. I was many.

People were multifaceted. No-one was simply a caricature or a trope made flesh.

And yet, everyone had tried to pigeonhole me. Even myself.

Amelia was no different.

Knowing all this, I realised how little power the girl who had terrorised me nine months back truly had. Despite everything, she had simply been a cunning manipulator. To what end, I couldn’t say.

“You’re wrong about me,” I whispered to Professor Langley’s cousin. “I know exactly who I am. The real question is: do you?”

The girl’s cheeks flushed red. She puffed out her chest. “You fucking dare? I—”

“What’ll it be?” interrupted the waitress. She looked at Professor Langley’s cousin and then at me before arching a brow in question.

I hastily snatched up the menu. “Could I get a juice, please? And, um, a beef burger. With fries.” I handed the menu back to the waitress. “Thank you.”

“What about you?” she asked, turning to the girl. “Did you want anything to drink? How about some food?”

Crossing her arms, the girl sullenly gave her order. The waitress jotted it down, repeated our orders to confirm she had it down right and then headed languidly back to the counter to put in our orders.

Professor Langley’s cousin turned back to me but I beat her to the punch. “You said earlier that Amelia told you I was a ‘wily one.’ Considering that wouldn’t have happened if she was still attending school, I’m assuming you’ve visited her ever since her arrest and sentencing.”

“So what if I do? It doesn’t change anything.”

I shrugged, trying to play my comment off as nonchalantly as possible. “Not really. Just an observation. But I do have to wonder if your family knows. How would they react if they knew you only attended the hearing because Amelia asked you to? I don’t think Professor Langley – sorry, Dan – would approve.”

Across from me, the girl’s face paled, eyes widening. Her mouth dropped open, closed, then opened again, making her look like a fish.

I continued to press my attack. “Although, let’s be honest, we both know the real reason you’re here is because you’re jealous. Amelia gives me all the attention and you, the scraps. And look, I don’t know what your relationship with Amelia was before everything that happened at your old school. Nor do I want to know. But Amelia? She’s played us both.”

“Don’t.”

“I’m not afraid to admit that I was drawn to her back in Seven Oaks. And even after she tried to kill me, I wanted to understand why. So, I visited her while she was held in detention. Falling into her trap. Just like you.”

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.”

“There was a time I thought Amelia was my salvation. That she held all the answers I needed to finally understand who I was because it was just so hard to keep up the pretence of all the masks I wore in high school just to fit in and be popular. Near the end, before she’d transferred to Seven Oaks High, I’d been running on fumes. But then she appeared and was able to authentically insert herself into any group. It was a freedom I’d only ever dreamed of. So, I did what any petty high schooler would do. I tried to sabotage her.”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore!”

I stared long and hard at Professor Langley’s cousin. Her hands were tightly gripping the edge of the table, knuckles white. But I couldn’t just let it end here. I needed to keep going. Put it all out there even though everything inside me told me I ought to listen to Professor Langley’s cousin.

The point was made, after all.

But it was almost like a compulsion to keep talking; to keep tightening the screw and show the girl before me the whole ugly truth.

Taking a deep breath, I plunged forward. “In the end, I pushed her over the edge. Well, at least I thought I did. After all, in my attempts to think up ways to sabotage her, I’d befriended her and showed her sides of me I’d kept hidden from everyone else. It was something she’d always encouraged. To show everyone my authentic self instead of hiding behind the personas I’d created. Even in detention, she wanted to see the ‘real’ me.”

“Not another word,” warned the girl.

“But I’ve come to realise now, it’s not the ‘real’ me she wanted.” I licked my lips. “What she wanted was a clone of her. Someone who is damaged, isolated from friends and family. More importantly, though, they need to be blinded by rage and hatred and trauma. It’s not too late to step back, though. I can help—”

I stopped as Professor Langley’s cousin drew out a small pistol and pointed the barrel straight between my eyes. Though her voice shook, her hand remained steady. “I fucking warned you.”

“You don’t want to do this,” I said, trying to remain calm. “We’re in a public space. There are witnesses. Just put the gun down, Langley. We can talk about this.”

“That’s not my name.”

“Well, excuse me for not knowing your name,” I said with false bravado. Surely the gun was fake. Right? Professor Langley’s cousin wasn’t that insane, was she? “Amelia never mentioned you and Professor Langley didn’t exactly disclose it either. Besides all that, I don’t really have the capacity to think because I’m panicking at the fact that I have a gun shoved in my face.”

The girl’s finger twitched on the trigger.  But there was no loud bang. And I didn’t drop to the floor dead.

Seconds bled into minutes as I waited for her to put an end to my life.

Was there a way I could distract her? Maybe I could wrestle the gun away? Would I be able to do that before she let off a shot? The gun was awfully close, aimed directly at my head.

Oh God, I didn’t want to die. There was still so much I wanted to do.

I couldn’t believe in the last three years I’d been threatened with murder twice!

Then, finally, the girl put the gun down and flashed me a cold smile. “Well, you can spout off as much as you want. We both know I have the power here. So, this is how it’s going to be. You—”

Before Professor Langley’s cousin could spell out her terms, the waitress returned to our booth. She placed the Caesar salad down before the girl and then handed me my burger.

Just as she turned to leave, I grabbed her arm.

“Hey, um, I was wondering where the restroom was?”

The waitress shook my hand free before pointing towards the far end of the diner. “Turn right when you get to the end.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I rose to my feet, pulling out my phone as I did so.

As I began to shuffle out of the booth, Professor Langley’s cousin snatched at my left hand. “Where do you think you’re going, Patricia?” she whispered.

“The toilet.”

“No, you’re no,” said the girl. “Lest you forget, I still have that video of you. And if you go, I’ll release it online. I’ve nothing left to lose.”

I grit my teeth, trying to calculate how best to extricate myself. Once again, I was at the mercy of someone about to fall off the deep end.

Not only did she have a compromising video of me, she also had a gun. I still wasn’t certain if it was real but it was something I didn’t want to risk. After what had happened in Seven Oaks, I wasn’t liable to underestimate the capabilities of anyone anymore.

So, I sat back down in the booth and subtly called Naomi on my silent phone.

“Okay, okay. You win. Now tell me what you want,” I said. “All you’ve done is berate me and then threaten me. But the only reason why we’re both here is because I want to make this whole situation go away. And I’m willing to pay anything you ask.”

Professor Langley’s cousin flashed me another cold brittle smile. “Anything?”

The lilt in the girl’s tone sent a cold shiver down my spine. “It has to be within reason,” I added. “The video isn’t something I’d want publicly known, true, but I’m not going to do something else that you can use against me.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” said the girl, grabbing a fork from the shared container of clean cutlery and stabbed at huge piece of chicken. “Fine. We’ll keep this transactional then.”

“How much?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Would a hundred thousand sound reasonable?”

“What?”

“Two hundred thousand then.”

“I don’t have that kind of money,” I retorted. “My family doesn’t have that kind of money!”

“Too bad. I want two hundred thousand by the end of the week.”

I shook my head. “It’s too much.”

“Well, I think you’re getting the better half of the deal.”

“Two hundred thousand just to have you delete a video? No. This is extortion. Of the worst kind.”

The girl looked up from her salad, her lips curled up into a smirk. “Is it, now? Tell me, how much do you think your life is worth? Two million? Five billion? Take that into account when you say this is extortion.”

She took a bite of her chicken. Swallowed. Then set her fork down.

“By the way, in case you were curious, the gun is real. If you’d kept pushing me earlier, I doubt we would be having this conversation.”

I stared at her, agog. “You’re fucking insane.”

“A cross many of the enlightened have had to bear when confronted by those who choose to remain ignorant.”

“Do you even hear yourself right now? You’re worse than Amelia ever was. And she—”

“No. Don’t presume to speak of Amelia. You aren’t even worthy to speak her name,” hissed the girl. “It’s infuriating that she would ever pick you to be her protégé. Especially when I was always there. Waiting in the wings.”

“Fine. You want two hundred thousand, you’ll get it,” I said.

“It was nice doing business with you, Patricia,” said the girl, leaning over her salad and proffering a hand to shake on. “I hope you’ll come to see how mutually beneficial this was. For the both of us.”

~

“You need to take this to the police, Tricia. I’m serious.”

“And say what? I don’t even know her name.”

Naomi blinked up at me from the passenger seat. “Are you shitting me right now? She pulled a fucking gun on you. Threatened you with it. In a fucking diner. What if you had been shot?”

“Well, I wasn’t,” I said somewhat petulantly, crossing my arms and leaning back into the driver’s seat of my mother’s silver Honda Accord. “Besides, what if she releases the video out onto the internet?”

“It won’t matter. None of us are going to press charges, Trish. You know that,” retorted Naomi, anger flushing her tan skin red. “And from what I’ve seen, it’s a grainy video. You can barely make out any details. Listen to me. This isn’t worth your life.”

A pregnant silence descended over us as we sat in the car.

I knew Naomi was right. To an extent.

But she didn’t have a reputation in college to maintain. Even if I wasn’t charged, having a video like that out on the internet could impact my ability to network or find a job.

People had been cancelled for less on social media.

Could I consign myself to social suicide?

I glanced over at Naomi, still breathing heavily at my side. Her face was still red. But underneath the anger, there was fear and concern and…love.

Shit. I’d been so focused on how much the video would reflect on me and its damage to the curated image I’d tried to maintain, I’d forgotten about the people closest to me. How might they feel if I did something stupid and got myself killed? What would they think if I allowed Professor Langley’s cousin to blackmail me out of home and college.

More importantly, why did the opinions of literal strangers seem to matter more to me than the family and friends who had had my back for as long as I’d known them?

I opened my mouth, ready to apologise but Naomi spoke first, breaking the silence between us. “Look, I know this is a stressful situation for you. But the Trish I knew wouldn’t take this lying down. She’d fight back. Probably with the most unhinged plan to get what she wants.”

“And you saw how well that panned out in high school,” I said. “There’s a scar I still have.”

Naomi chuckled. “Yes, well, the incident with Amelia aside, you still managed to get crowned Prom Queen with Brad as Prom King. And you also got one of the highest marks in the grade.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Naomi placed a hand on my arm. “You’re the baddest motherfucker I know, Tricia. But also know you have me, Evie and, admittedly, Sanchez, on your side.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are we really counting Sanchez in as part of our group? I’d say he’s more of a liability than anything else.”

“True,” admitted Naomi, “but he, surprisingly, has had his moments.”

“I’m sensing a story here, Naomi. Spill.”

“Maybe next time,” she hedged. “Let’s just get home first and come up with an actionable plan, yeah? Oh, and can we stop by Wendy’s? I’m starving.”

~

“Tori Louise Smathson,” I said, holding up a printout of the private Instagram page for Professor Langley’s cousin to the glass divider.

After trawling social media for two hours after I’d returned home, I’d found a picture of who I presumed was Tori, a large beaming smile on her face, dressed in the blue and gold private school uniform she must have worn. Her long blonde hair had been braided into two pig tails.

Amelia’s face was like stone.

“She’s the reason you were expelled from your last school. Right? Tell me what happened.”

Silence greeted my words. The minutes stretched between us and still Amelia said not a word.

I shifted awkwardly in my seat, still determined to get an answer. After all, I was running out of time. There was no telling when Tori Smathson would upload the video to destroy my reputation. And if I wanted any hope in hell to stem the blow, I needed some ammunition of my own.

Tori, herself, had revealed just how much she relied on Amelia. In so doing, she had revealed her one weakness.

One that I needed to take advantage of.

But I needed to know more.

“I know she visits you, Amelia. She told me herself at a diner three days ago. And told me you spurned her for me. If I didn’t know any better, I might have thought she loved you.”

Amelia’s left eye twitched at my words but she said nothing.

“Who was she to you. Really? Was it a lover’s spat gone wrong? It’s okay. We’re living in the 21st century now. There’s no need to be closeted. I mean—”

Laughter. Loud and raucous, and completely out of place. Had I missed something?

After wiping the corner of her eyes, Amelia stared at me dead in the eye. “You truly are desperate, Patricia, if you’re grasping for straws. So, this is why you deigned to visit me after so long.”

“I wouldn’t say two weeks was all that long a period,” I said testily.

“Ah, yes. But we didn’t actually chat, did we?”

“They said you were busy.” I shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalantly as I could. Not wishing to reveal how much her rejection had hurt me even though I knew it had also been a mistake to give in.

This game I played with Amelia was dangerous. After all, the girl before me was a master manipulator.

I’d always thought I knew which buttons to press when I was Queen Bee of Seven Oaks but Amelia had made it an art form. No. It was better to keep my distance here.

“So, was this all just a waste of time? Or will you tell me more about Tori?”

“I could. But what would I get out of it?” asked Amelia as she leaned back in her chair, slinging one arm back over the chair.

I looked Amelia in the eye, taking in the grin. She thought she had all the power in this dynamic. And if I was being honest, she did. Without her help, I might as well consign myself to a fate worse than death.

Naomi might have thought it was something that could blow over by the next week, but I knew better. Scandal could remain for years.

It didn’t matter that I hadn’t been in my right mind. People would still use it against me.

Just like Tori Smathson.

Which was why I was here.

But there was only one thing I could really feasibly offer to Amelia. Doing so, however, meant I would be playing right into her hands.

Still, if it was the price I needed to pay…

Nervously, I licked my lips. “Well, look at this way: you’ll finally get to know how right you were. Two sides set against each other. You have me, still clinging to all my ‘false selves,’ and then you have Tori, a subscriber to your philosophy. It’ll be a battle for the ages and you’ll have front row seats.”

“You paint a pretty picture, Patricia. But I still don’t know why I should help you.”

My grip tightening on the receiver I feared I would crack it in half. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to relax. “Because the fight won’t be fair. And I know you’re a stickler for letting people make their own decisions. Be it for good or ill. More than that, it puts me in your debt.”

Amelia pondered my offer for several minutes. She even got up from her seat to pace the cramped room she had been given.

After what felt like aeons, she sat back down on the steel stool and picked up the receiver.

“Fine. I’ll play this little game of yours, Patricia.”

“Thank—”

“Oh no. Don’t thank me. It isn’t for you. Rather, I’m hoping this little game will simply hammer home the point I was meaning to make.”

~

In the end, everything comes back full circle, I thought as I stood outside the bleachers of Seven Oaks High, dressed in tight ripped black jeans and an oversized t-shirt. A duffel bag lay next to my feet. I rubbed my naked arms and pulled out my phone to check the time.

7:30 PM.

Tori Smathson was late. Or, possibly she had arrived early and was simply scoping the field to see if there might be any incoming threats. After all, I could have called the police. Or set up an elaborate trap.

When I’d announced the location for us to make the exchange, she hadn’t been happy. But I hadn’t wanted it to be in a public area where innocent bystanders could get hurt. Easier to find somewhere deserted. Where we might not get interrupted.

It had taken 20 minutes and three conditions before Tori had come round to the idea.

There was a cunning to her. I’d give her that.

As I waited for her to appear, I glanced across the football field and up at the orange sky with pink streaks. Sunset. Well, almost. The sun was hanging low over the horizon. It would be another ten minutes before it would start to sink below the mountains.

My phone pinged and I glanced down.

                Unknown: u hv the $$?

I quickly replied back with an affirmative. And then followed it up with a: where r u?

Text bubbles appeared for a few seconds before vanishing. Then they appeared again.

                Unknown: u alone? i thought i saw sumthing earlier.

Goddammit. If it was Sanchez and Evie getting frisky somewhere in our old school, heads were going to roll. I’d given them explicit instructions to remain out of sight.

Smathson had been adamant that no-one else was to be here.

Of course, it might not be Sanchez or Evie but a student or teacher. The musical theatre kids were notorious for coming in at almost all hours to build their extravagant sets or to quietly rehearse their scenes in an empty classroom or two.

That, however, was out of my control. And I said as much when I texted Smathson back

                Unknown: fine. i’ll b there in 5. stay put. no funny business yeh?

If the situation wasn’t so dire, I would have rolled my eyes.

The minutes ticked by slowly. After what felt like an aeon, a familiar blonde hair ducked beneath the bleachers.

Tori Smathson was dressed head to toe in black. From the thick scarf around her neck to the satin gloves and heavy-duty boots she wore though it was still a warm 80 or so degrees out. Summer, this year, was a right killer. Especially when one was trying to sleep at night.

Unwinding her scarf, Tori flashed me a cold smile. “Where’s the money, Patricia?”

“In the duffle bag,” I said, giving it a kick.

“You wouldn’t mind if I checked it, would you?”

“I would, in fact. How do I know you haven’t set the video up on some server, ready to be released as soon as you get the money?”

She sneered. “The unenlightened always doubt.”

“Yes, well, you haven’t engendered much faith, have you?” I retorted. “If I remember correctly, you held me at gunpoint in a diner just last week.”

“Fine,” said Tori. She pulled out her phone from her coat pocket, unlocked it and showed me the video she was using to blackmail me.

“And this is the only one?”

“Yes. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like the money?”

“Sure. Sure. But before you take duffle bag and run off, I wanted a conversation with you. Could you do that at least, Tori?”

Smathson’s brow furrowed. She straightened up and crossed her arms. “If this is a delaying tactic, Patricia, this won’t work.”

“No, no. Nothing at all like that. It’s just, I want to get something off my chest.”

“Oh?”

I scratched the side of my nose. “The whole blackmail thing, the video, it really brought me back to a dark place. Did you know? I was bullied in middle school. Snot-nosed teacher’s pet Patty, they used to call me. I had these thick-rimmed glasses and acne all over my face.

“And though I joined a thousand different clubs, wanting to fit in, I never did. The theatre kids looked down on my mathematical prowess. Math club turned their noses up my desire to join a sports team. And the dance team? They knew I was good at it but they could never let me in on their final line-up. Despite all the hours I’d poured into practice.”

“A story told a million times over in almost every school,” said Tori, although her face had paled. Just the tiniest bit.

“Enter high school,” I continued, ignoring her interruption. “I didn’t want to sit alone in the cafeteria anymore. Or be cast aside as another oddity. In so doing, I changed everything about myself to fit into the mold expected of a Queen Bee. The anger and resentment within me had found new purpose. But it was also tinged with fear. Although I didn’t have any old classmates at Seven Oaks High, I worried people would figure me out and see me for the impostor I was.

“Then, of course, there were the expectations I get good grades too. That part, too, was still engrained heavily in me. But it’s a tale as old as time, isn’t it? Considering it was something you also went through.”

A shadow of a heretofore unknown emotion flitted across Tori’s face before she hid it behind her mask of cool indifference. “Is that all, Patricia?” she asked. “It’s not going to make me change my mind, you know. I don’t care a whit about the baggage you’ve gone through. I just want the money.”

“Fine,” I said, giving the duffle bag another kick. “Take it. But we both know the reason you’re doing all this, Tori, is because you want to find an escape. Just like me, you thought you had to be someone you weren’t. Amelia took advantage of that. Tore down the walls you built up, feeding on your insecurities.

“Your family, of course, don’t understand. They salt the wounds Amelia left behind.

“There is, however, another answer. You don’t have to go through with this. This isn’t you,” I said, extending a hand out.

Smathson smacked my hand away and grabbed the duffle bag, her face a few shades whiter than it had been before. “What the fuck do you know about me anyway? Stop trying to act all high and mighty. I know who I am. You’re the one who’s at a loss, playing at pretend.”

“Am I?”

“If you weren’t, this stupid video wouldn’t hold such power over you,” she sneered. “Well, I’m sure you’ll understand that I’ll need to check the money before I commit to deleting it.”

“Of course.”

She weighed the bag in her hands for a few moments, perhaps wondering if this was all a trap before she set it back down on the grass, knelt down and unzipped it. The first stack of $20 bills was pulled out. Then another.

Until, finally, she pulled out her first $50 and $100 stack.

Smathson whirled on me then, face red. “You think this is a game?” she roared at me. “Where’s the fucking money, Patricia?”

I remained as calm as I could. “Right there. In your hands.”

“This?” she slapped a fat stack of $20s in my face. “This is fucking Monopoly money!”

“Is it?” I asked, furrowing my brow deep in thought. “Weird. I definitely know I filled the bag with money I got from my parents. It was a whole fiasco, asking them for two hundred thousand dollars.”

“You bitch! I’ll fucking destroy you,” spat Smathson. “You come here, trying to sell me a sob story so I’ll sympathise with you because of all the ‘similarities’ between us, but you’re just lying to my face. You don’t know me. You never will. Not about the things I’ve done and the sacrifices I’ve made. Anger is all I have left.”

I threw my hands up, alarmed. “Tori, I’m sorry if you believe that’s the case—”

“Don’t you dare say my name! I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work!”

“Please, just listen—”

“No! I want my two hundred thousand, Patricia. And I want it now. If you value your life, you’ll get it to me by whatever means necessary,” said Tori as she reached for her small black purse.

Before she could pull anything out, Sanchez came in from the left and tackled Tori to the ground. He pinned her arms above her.

Hissing like a cat, the girl struggled to free herself. She almost managed to knee Sanchez in the balls but the footballer was quicker.

“Helps when you have friends, doesn’t it?” I said almost casually as I crouched over Tori. “Trish was meant to be a caricature, true. The stereotypical mean girl Queen Bee. Somewhere along the way, though, it stopped being fake and I learned to love the friends I’d made. Evie might not have been smart, and Naomi liked the finer things in life, but over the years, I’ve learned there’s more to just the first impressions they gave.

“Therapy can help you too. We are more than just the persona we project to the outer world, Tori. But they’re also a part of who we are. It’s not a bad thing to be known as the nerd or the popular Queen Bee. Yes, I was cruel in how I wielded my anger and insecurities, but there’s no shame in admitting needing help. What’s important is knowing when to ask for help.”

Tori tried to spit at my face. “Are you done preaching?”

“Not quite,” I said, taking her purse and upending it. A small hand pistol plopped out on the ground. I kicked it aside. “Now we are. Sanchez, care to escort our friend over to the parking lot?”

“With pleasure, milady.”

I watched as Sanchez manage to wrestle Tori up to her feet and then frogmarched her away from the football field. Pulling out my phone, I texted Naomi and Evie that I was fine and everything had gone swimmingly. As I put my phone away, something silver and metallic caught my eye just a few feet away in the clipped grass.

Tori Smathson’s phone.

Just like Amelia told me, Tori hadn’t bothered with facial recognition or biometric recognition. Instead, she had set up a six-digit passcode. I entered in the code Amelia had told me.

The phone unlocked.

I clicked into the Photos app and opened up the video Tori had filmed that fateful night. Once more, I saw how I rose to my feet and swayed like I was drunk before lashing out at Sanchez and Evie. Or what I assumed were Sanchez and Evie. The picture was grainy at best. Shot over a long distance. And the camera work was shaky.

It ended right as Sanchez managed to sneak around behind me before restraining me in a bear hug.

Shit. Naomi had been right.

The video could hardly be called hard evidence. To any passersby, it might have looked like a group of friends having a drunken night out.

Still, it was better to be safe than sorry. I deleted the video. Then I deleted it again from the recycling bin.

But just as I was about to pocket Tori Smathson’s phone, a photo dated three years ago caught my eye. In it, both she and Amelia were smiling at the camera outside the local shopping mall. Both of them were wearing the school uniform of the prestigious high school they had attended: blue with gold trim blazers, white shirts and plaid tartan skirts.

My thoughts drifted, pondering what had caused the rift between them.

Amelia had said little when I’d pressed her about the incident that had drove the wedge between them and which had driven her down a dark path. One that Tori seemed to follow though she had initially rejected it.

Maybe it had been a lover’s tiff? Or perhaps Tori Smathson, obsessed still with the image she wanted to maintain, had pushed Amelia too far. Then, lashing out, Amelia had dug her own claws into Tori.

Leaving both of them miserable and social outcasts.

At least, that was the theory I’d concocted.

In the end, it didn’t matter who had started what. That was all in the past. And it wasn’t my responsibility to go digging, I thought as I locked Tori’s phone and slipped it into the back pocket of my ripped jeans. I’d return it to her later.

As I took another look around my old high school, I couldn’t help but dwell how different I felt from when I’d ruled the school as Queen Bee.

No longer did I feel overwhelmed; fearful of what might happen if I was unmasked for being an impostor.

And there were many things I was grateful for that I’d never once considered before.

I was alive. I was unharmed. And, more importantly, I was seeking help.

While I wasn’t completely healed from the damage inflicted by my childhood traumas, I was taking steps to better myself. Already, I had come to accept my whole entire self – the facets I thought I’d conjured up to compartmentalise the different aspects of my life.

True, none of them were the real me. Yet, at the same time, all of them were me.

It was a difficult concept to wrap my head around still, but I knew it would only be a matter of time.

And that was okay.

Feeling lighter than I had in days, I turned towards the school parking lot.

There was a story I still needed to bring to a close.

[imjustforthefandoms]

TWSTOBER DAY 6: RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

Riddle let our a sigh, tapping his pen against the desk. Homework…normally magic history gave him no troubles, but with Halloween approaching, there was a lot more on his mind than just what major wizards were a part of the 100 years war. The lounge still needed proper decorations, getting costumes organized for the dorm, figuring out his own personal costume. As his pencil broke for the third time since he started the work, he let out a groan, dropping his pencil to the ground. This was all too much for the moment. A knock was heard at the door, causing riddle to perk up, straightening out his clothing and hair before speaking. “Come in.” In walked Cater, smiling as usual.

“Hey Riddle. You got a minute? I've got an exam on practical magic next week and I need a study buddy.” He stopped in front of Riddle's desk, noticing the skewed papers and broken pencils. “or…I could ask Trey if your busy.”

“No need for that. As the house warden it's my job to ensure my dorm members stay at their best” Riddle said, trying his best to mask the yawn in his voice. Cater shook his head.

“Nope. Not on my watch. How much stuff are you carrying right now?” Cater questioned, leaning down on Riddle's desk as the younger man let out a sigh.

“After Ace's fiasco with the lounge I've delegated myself to decorating it. I still need to figure out a theme for the dorm itself, as well as costumes. I have not even looked at one for myself yet. Other than that, Professor Trein assigned the class an essay on the 100 years war, and that needs to be completed by the end of next week. But this is nothing that I cannot handle.” Cater hummed softly in thought as Riddle spoke before nodding his head.

“I think I've got just the thing for you” he said, before moving behind riddles desk and pulling out his chair. “What you need is to take a break. You're walking around with all that and you need a MAJOR rest.” Riddle let out a soft scoff.

“I do not need rest, I got a full eight hours of sleep last night as I do every night”

“Noo not physical rest.” Cater replied “Mental. Let your brain chill for a minute before you set it on fire.” a soft sigh left Riddle's mouth, he knew he should finish what was in front of him first, but Cater also wasn't going to let him finish until he rested.

“Alright, and what did you suggest I do for a “mental” break exactly?” Riddle question, looking up at the taller man as he typed a few things in his phone.

“Just relax. Scroll on magicam for a bit. Walk through the botanical garden…oh! There is is!” He shows Riddle a picture, what looked to be a boardgame with colorful pieces along the path. The words “Bring your Own Game” were written in blue text. “The board game club is having their event today. There's gonna be heaps to do. That'll def help you relax.” Riddle hummed in thought. He had gone to the see the club only a handful of times, and even then he had never stayed for any events. Maybe it could be fun.

“alright. I suppose I can give it a chance.” Riddle said, standing up from his chair. Cater let out a triumphant laugh, holding up his phone.

“Now that's what I'm talking about. Come on, let's get a pic of this!” Riddle muffled a chuckle but stood closer to Cater as the phone let out a soft click. “#restforthebest #gaminggenius and post.” He gives Riddle a gentle tap on the back. “Now go out and enjoy yourself. And don't let me catch ya studying, Kay?” Riddle couldn't mask the smile on his face, giving Cater a nod.

“I won't be out all day. Just an hour at most. But I'll take the time to relax” Riddle stepped out of the room. Taking a breath, he made his way down the hall and towards the hall of mirror. A couple of board games, nothing more. And he'll be back in time to finish his essay. Just a short break

Part 2 coming soon!!!!

[nocteacakes]

Changes

Dramione Month Day 2 - Head Boy & Girl

Relevant tags: No Voldemort AU, Seventh Year, Omegaverse

**So I decided for Dramione Month I'd be a little crazy and do the prompts but also make all of them omegaverse lol. Should be fun.**

~~

This was unbelievable. This couldn’t be true. Hermione couldn’t believe her eyes.

She was so proud and elated when she received the Head Girl pin and accompanying letter in the mail. She knew she had to be one of the top contenders for Head Girl, if not the top choice as it were. The warm feeling in her chest lasted for weeks, right up until she arrived at Platform 9 3/4 and saw the glint of the shiny Head Boy badge pinned on the robes of that poncy blond-haired git, Draco Malfoy.

She stalked quickly toward him, angry energy radiating from her hair. At the last moment, she pulled up and schooled her expression. She wouldn’t let him get the best of her.

“Malfoy.” She tried to adopt an air of indifference.

“Granger.” He levelled serious eyes at her, glancing quickly at the Head Girl badge on her robes. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I couldn’t see anyone else getting Head Girl.”

Hermione froze, her mouth closing on a retort. Was that a compliment? Directed at her?

And the surprises only continued on the train ride to Hogwarts. Draco was deferential and serious, none of his trademark smirks and sly remarks to be found. They patrolled the length of the train mostly in silence. Hermione was unnerved and trying to decide what she wanted to say about it. Who knew what Draco was thinking. In the end, she said nothing at all. She might be a Gryffindor, but as Head Girl she knew she should show restraint. Maybe things would become clearer as time went on.

But a number of weeks went by, and nothing changed. Hermione was sure the mask would slip, that Malfoy would lash out at her, give her a sneer or a snort of derision. But beyond being the most helpful partner she’d ever had, he was studious and quiet in the classes they had together, and she never saw him abusing his role like he had in previous years as a prefect. Genuinely, who was this Draco Malfoy and what had happened to him?

--

“You’re really fine taking over the shift tomorrow night?” Usually Hermione would have been more than on top of her schoolwork, but an errant spilled potion from Neville had destroyed two feet of her already-finished Potions essay. It would take all her free time to rewrite it in time for submission. Thank Merlin for Draco, truly.

“I already said I’m alright with it, Granger.” Malfoy almost sounded curt with her — a first in the few months since they had began working together as Head Boy and Girl. They were in the Head common room, but Malfoy apparently had somewhere to be; he was hastily packing up his things and avoiding her eyes, like he didn’t want to be anywhere near her. He had stood further away from her during their meeting with the prefects as well, nose crinkled and brows furrowed in annoyance.

“Alright, well, thank you. I really—” She kept trying to catch his eye.

“Goodnight.” Malfoy swung his bag onto his shoulders and slipped out before Hermione could finish her sentence.

A feeling of disappointment sat in her chest, but Hermione couldn’t say why. Her eyes roamed over to his desk across the room and caught on a slip of parchment under his chair. Hermione glanced at the door nervously, in case Malfoy realised he forgot something and came back. After a few moments of silence, she steeled herself and walked over to his desk. She wasn’t being nosy, she was simply tidying up the common room. She unfolded the crumpled paper, and read the short note. Her eyes went wide.

It was addressed to Malfoy, from Madam Pomfrey, indicating that her latest batch of Omega suppressants were ready, and that he could pick them up at his earliest convenience.

Malfoy was an Omega? Was that why his demeanor had suddenly changed over a summer? Suddenly, so many other strange little incidences were starting to click into place. And Hermione’s Alpha instincts made her suddenly very, very interested in Malfoy, beyond just curiosity. Would he be open to it? She hoped he would. They almost felt like friends now. The Alpha in her purred a little.

[chryblossomjjk]

soooo... we hit a p significant follower milestone today

✨💗✨cheers 2 us clink clink friends✨💗✨

not but seriously actually geniunely literally thank you so fucking much to everyone who has supported me. whether it be leaving nice comments or anons or even just simply liking a fic of mine. i started this blog in july of last year and didn't expect anything to come of it really, so i was v shocked that people liked imagine :') and then the reaction to practice was so overwhelming in the best way possible. like i cherish the memories of writing that series and the way you guys would speculate and analyze everything. yeah. i don't know what to say other than thank you so much and i love you dearly. every comment has made an impact on me and yeah you guys genuinely make my life sm better. i love you all and i hope we contine to have fun together :')

my writing has been p stagnant lately bc of school and whatnot so just a lil update: i have a break coming up soon so praying crying and screaming to finish the weekend then!! and then we have a short (im projecting :'))) lil subby nerdy jk moment!! and then glimspe of us which will be a big s2l slight e2l slowburn angst piece that im so fucking excited to finally work on!! i know its going to take me a while to finish this so i hoping to have it up like mid summer!!

ALSO !!! weekly reviews will be back next week!! i had like three fucking essays to write in the past week and a half so they've been stalled but i will get one done this tuesday i promise!!

[foundress0fnothing]

Chapter 2 of "more thicker than forget" is here, featuring an awkward reunion, a lot of academic worldbuilding, and a tentative truce between our favs.

I thought this fic would be a two-shot, but as I got further into the story, I realized that some of the scenes I had planned needed more time/deserved their own chapters, so the expected chapter count is now 5 as Eris and Azriel re-meet each other after 5 years apart. This chapter is relatively short, but the next ones should allow our two more time to interact and come to terms with each other. I don't have an upload schedule for the other 3 parts yet, but expect them soon--I'm starting a new writing project sometime in July and want to have this story finished before I move on.

Read here on AO3, or continue below the cut.

5 Years Later—Eris

Late August

Eris checked the time on his office computer, sighed, and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes briefly. He only had a few moments alone before he had to pull himself together to greet the visiting scholar Prythian was hosting for the semester.

Or—to be more accurate—the visiting scholar he was hosting for the semester.

Thankfully this would be the last time he’d ever have to do something like this—in two months, he would finally, finally have tenure, not just be on a tenure track, and he could slow down—could stop working so hard to have a new publication every other month, could stop worrying so much about what students wrote on their course evaluations, could stop having to volunteer for every little thing the department needed, all to prove that he was—how did they put it?—“an asset to both the department and the university at large” and worthy of tenure.

Helping visiting scholars like the one coming that day was one of the volunteering responsibilities that he had taken on. The weeks or months spent playing host were typically monetarily and intellectually thankless time sucks, but they at least earned him a fair amount of good will—the senior scholars in the department were more than willing to pawn off the visiting researchers and the responsibility of making them comfortable to an underling whenever possible. And it’s not like the work was particularly hard at this point: Eris took them out for drinks, made polite small talk about whatever their niche research was, helped get them set up in their office and hotel, and was on-call to answer any question about university bureaucracy that might come up during their time on campus. Easy, distant, and—typically—quite dull.

At least this final scholar actually promised to be interesting. Eris couldn’t remember the man’s name—the department had certainly told him when he agreed to help him settle in, and he was sure there was an email buried somewhere in his inbox that would have the man’s CV and relevant publication information—but he remembered enough for their meeting today. 

He was another modernist, albeit an independent scholar, working on an accessible reading guide to Finnegans Wake (a pointless task, Eris thought, not that anyone had asked him—no one tried to read the book except for the most dedicated Joyce scholars, and even then, it was more of a curiosity than a work of serious literary merit. It was just too strange—he first read the book one summer as an undergrad and felt drunk for a week after). Apparently, the project was in its final stages, and since Prythian housed the largest collection of Joyce’s letters and drafts, the scholar had requested a visiting position to have access to the archive. He and Eris would be co-teaching an undergrad survey class on Joyce as well, thus necessitating their meeting today—who would lecture when, what they would ask the students to read versus what the students would actually read, how harshly they wanted to grade essays—all the usual logistical nonsense that came with teaching a class. 

At the sound of a soft knock on his office door, Eris snapped his eyes open and shrugged his blazer back on, the tweed slightly itchy at the back of his neck where the jacket rose over the collar of his shirt. As settled as could hope to be, Eris called out, “Come in.”

“Dr. Vanserra!” Thesan Aubade, the department chair, greeted him as he opened the door and stepped into the cramped space. The office was clean, and as elegantly outfitted as an 8 by 8 cell could hope to be, but Eris was victim to the occupational hazard that befell anyone making a living off of their words: every spare foot of space was devoted to books, each wall lined with overflowing shelves that intruded into the already too-small room. There was room for his desk and a single chair for students coming in for office hours, but not much else. “I come bearing your charge for the semester, Dr. Azriel Moreno.”

Eris took a moment to study the man who followed Thesan into the room. He looked vaguely familiar, tall and broad and with an unfairly beautiful face framed by rounded tortoiseshell glasses, wearing a white oxford tucked into black jeans with a black blazer over top. Eris had probably seen him on the conference circuit at some point over the last few years, but at this point, the names and faces of the minor scholars who attended those blurred together. Deciding that it wasn't anything worth worrying about, he smiled and said, “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Moreno. I look forward to working with you this semester.”

The man held Eris’ gaze for a beat too long, not offering a greeting in return, his hazel eyes boring into Eris’ own before he slowly raised a brow as if in challenge. 

Before Eris could start to make sense of the man’s expression and the odd hostility it conveyed, Thesan cut in. “Facilities couldn’t find him a space in the building with the construction in the east wing, but I assured Dr. Moreno that you would be more than happy to share your office space for the semester.”

Eris blinked at Thesan, who had the gall to meet his confused expression with only a bland smile. “Is that so?” Eris said slowly, biting his tongue before he said anything ruder. Because god, it was just like Thesan to spring this on him here, in front of the scholar, rather than giving him time to argue or plan or figure out literally any better solution than cramming two people into the same small working space.

Moreno, however, simply smiled at Thesan. “I’m sure Dr. Vanserra and I can make it work. Who knows?” He said, cutting his eyes over at Eris again. “Perhaps we’ll find we enjoy such close quarters.”

Eris almost rolled his eyes at that bullshit, ingratiating answer, which would have wrecked the image of careful control he had cultivated over the last five years of dealing with departmental politics. Thesan, though, pleased that he wouldn’t have to do any mollifying, clapped his hands and started moving toward the door. “Well, that’s excellent. I’ll leave you to it, then. Can’t wait to hear what you plan for the Joyce class.”

There was a beat of silence in the wake of his departure as Eris stared after Thesan’s retreating form, silently seething as he imagined the intrusion that Moreno’s presence would present to his routine: a person in his space and in his business, for whom he’d be expected to give up his desk and his peace of mind whenever the other man decided he needed it, nevermind how snowed under Eris was with trying to keep up with teaching responsibilities and research and preparations for his tenure review. 

And that wasn’t even taking into account that the man himself was apparently going to be insufferable—oddly standoffish with colleagues like Eris, irritatingly sycophantic with higher-ups like Thesan. Any enthusiasm he might have felt about working with Moreno this semester was rapidly draining away.

Still, he had a job to do, but Eris was not about to tackle the rest of the day sober. “There’s a bar a few blocks away that the undergrads haven’t discovered yet. Why don’t we do this over a drink?”

Eris saw something flash briefly over Moreno’s face—again, that strange, brief hesitation—before he said simply, “Lead the way.”

A few minutes later, they had settled into a booth with their drinks, both men slightly sweaty from the walk to the bar through Prythian’s late summer humidity. Their conversation on the walk over had been stilted: Eris made some innocuous comment about the weather and Moreno agreed brusquely that, yes, it was quite hot; Eris asked after the general details of Moreno’s travel to Prythian and Moreno informed him that it was “fine;” Eris asked after the details of his research project and Moreno told him that it was “almost finished.” And that was it. 

Perhaps the man was just awkward, Eris mused as Moreno raised his pint glass to his lips to take a sip while staring at the street outside of the bar, just someone who never mastered the politicking and the small talk and the conversations that came with academia. It would explain why he wasn’t at a university, at any rate. 

Even so, he didn’t relish the thought of spending any more time with him here than he had to—sharing an office and a class with Moreno all semester would be enough of a headache and, if the walk over was any indication, this meeting would be much the same, with Eris carrying the discussion about semester logistics while the other man grunted agreement instead of offering real answers and insights like an actual person. He sighed internally— only two more months until tenure . 

Pulling out his laptop, he said, “So. The Joyce class. I figured we’d alternate lectures rather than splitting them, and I’ve made a tentative weekly lecture and reading breakdown. What’s your email? I’ll send this to you to review.” 

Turning back to Eris, Moreno looked at him blankly for a moment, apparently not quite ready to jump into the work of the meeting, and Eris resisted the urge to sigh and scold him like he was a distracted undergrad broodily gazing out of a window.

“Of course,” Moreno said, shaking himself slightly and pulling out his phone. “Email is moreno7@nightcorp.com.” 

As Eris typed in the email, he noticed that Moreno began to roll up the sleeves of this shirt, the sunlight streaming into the bar having made even the indoor space uncomfortably warm. 

And then—fuck .

Because the man had tattoos across his forearms, intricately swirled and somehow elegant in their brutality, and Eris had only seen tattoos like those once before—years ago, at another bar, in what felt like another lifetime—and he realized why the man had seemed so familiar back in his— their —office.

Eris dragged his eyes away from the man’s arms only to find Moreno studying him. With a smirk, Moreno asked, “It was the tattoos then?”

Eris felt his mouth go dry as he remembered the last time he was with this man, was with Azriel Moreno. He was high on his job offer and cool and articulate and utterly in control. But now? Now, he could only rasp out, “They made an impression.”

Moreno barked a mirthless laugh at that. “I suppose they did.”

Silence stretched between the two men after that for a few beats as Eris, caught wrong-footed, scrambled for something to say to salvage the meeting, hoping desperately that Moreno wasn’t petty enough to say something to Thesan about the disaster this was becoming.

To Eris’ surprise, however, Moreno was the one to break the tension. “Look, Vanserra, I’m here to continue my research and finish my book and teach this class. Nothing more. I haven’t been with a university in five years, and I just want this to be simple and professional and uncomplicated.”

Eris hoped his relief didn’t show too clearly on his face. “I think we can manage that.”

“Good.” With that, Moreno turned his attention back to his phone, pulling up the email from Eris and skimming through the document. “I have some thoughts.”