#i need to stop associating those good times as being the sole definition of having a best friend.

[retrievablememories]

matched | ten (m)

title: matched pairing: alien!ten x black!reader genre: sci-fi, angst, fluff, romance, smut summary: the quest for love leads you to a new dating app with a slight twist—and straight into the inbox of someone who’s light-years out of your usual dating pool. word count: 9.7k warnings: familial conflict, strained parental relationship, mentions of cheating, prejudice/discrimination based on species, body modifications/alien biology, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), dom!ten, photography during sex, cumshot, squirting, some spanking a/n: as always, i lose all impulse control whenever i get a ten request so i have finished this sooner than i expected

i decided to lean more into the romance plotline than stress too much over the realism of the science-fiction elements with this fic, so there are some inaccuracies/impossibilities...but that’s fiction for you 🙃

AM 2074 (After Migration)

You are lonely.

Your last breakup did not end well, to say the least, and you haven’t dated for a while since then. It seemed like a smart move—a safe one—to shun all romantic relationships until you felt ready again. At the beginning, you were glad to be alone for a while, to regroup and rediscover yourself worrying about another person’s opinions on everything you did. To not have to deal with someone else’s drama.

The toll of not having companionship is gradually getting to you, though. Even if your last relationship was a mess more often than it wasn’t, you still long for those good moments, like going on night dates on the weekends and sharing pillowtalk into long hours of the early morning. You hadn’t realized how much you’d missed those things until all the emotions of it crashed down on you at once.

Your friend Malika claims to have a solution for your loneliness. Now, sitting at this outdoor cafe, you’re simultaneously eager and hesitant to hear what she has to propose, knowing her track record for silly plots.

With twinkling eyes, she looks at you and says, “You should try a dating app.” She clasps her hands together and puts them on the table like she’s made a grand announcement. You absorb her words for a few moments, looking out at the street across from you and watching cars—some hovering above the asphalt, some driven autonomously, and many still with human drivers—pass by.

You eventually sigh, your shoulders slumping. “That’s the big solution you called me out here for? People have been using dating apps for decades, that’s nothing new.”

“Exactly! The fact that they’re still popular even in 2074 is proof that they work, Y/N. You can put yourself out there and talk to dozens of guys without even meeting them in person. If one connection doesn’t work out, you don’t have anything to lose, and you don’t have to see the guy ever again.”

“Maybe I’ll lose my sweet time and patience during the process, though.”

Malika shakes her head and types something into her hologram pad, then holds it up for you to see. The hologram displays a dating app called matched—it reminds you of what Tinder was supposedly like before it became eclipsed by more advanced platforms, though that happened years before you were even born. “This one is kinda new, but it’s gotten popular fast and has good success rates. I’ve tried it before and met some nice guys. Give it at least one chance before you hate on it.”

“Ugh, I don’t know...there are always so many weirdos hanging out on those apps. What if I meet someone who keeps a collection of severed alien tentacles in an icebox in their house? Like that one guy who showed up on the news?”

“...Really?” Malika rolls her eyes. “You’re so dramatic. Stop getting in your own way and just take a risk for once.”

You shake your head at her optimism. “I’ll do it because I know you won’t leave me alone about it, but don’t expect me to find some great love story on this app.”

--

Once you download the app and start making an account, it becomes pretty obvious that this isn’t just a regular dating platform.

Choosing your gender and age preferences is normal enough, and you pass through those screens quickly until you get to one that gives you two new options.

➤ Species Preference ❐ Human ❐ Extraterrestrial

Whoa. Aliens? An alien-friendly dating app?

You weren’t overly familiar with the mechanics of dating apps, and you certainly didn’t consider that ones allowing aliens might’ve existed until now. It had been 15 years since the first contact with aliens was established, and a little less than a decade had passed since aliens began migrating to Earth and taking up permanent residence—and vice versa.

Humans had little problem with accepting aliens’ technological adaptations and claiming them as their own, though they were far less welcoming of the aliens themselves. That resulted in strained interactions between the two species, with aliens trying their best to assimilate and humans questioning their every motive. As far as personal relationships went, interspecies mingling between humans and extraterrestrials was still fairly uncommon—something that only people who were considered to be on the fringes of society participated in. There were “normal citizens of society” who built relationships with aliens, but many of them also kept it solely as a kink or fetish to be done only in the dark.

You decide to check both options. It feels a little scary, like diving headfirst into the unknown, but you are open to it either way. You’ve interacted with aliens before, both as kind acquaintances and near strangers, and they’ve always been relatively normal in the grand scheme of things—beings trying to survive and make a life for themselves like anyone else. Certainly not plotting how to take over Earth as many people have speculated. If they really wanted to, they possess the technology to have done that ten times over already.

You take a while trying to come up with a clever bio and spend an even longer time mulling over which pictures of yourself to choose, but you eventually complete your profile.

The first few matches you make are not very successful.

Whether it’s human guys feeding you terrible pickup lines or alien guys who can’t make it past the language barrier—or who ask you to move back with them to their home planet after two days of talking—you don’t see any potential love interests during your first two weeks of using the app. 

You’re not sure what kind of skills Malika used to make multiple good matches, but maybe you need to interrogate her so you can sharpen your own. So you decide to do exactly that.

“Don’t give up on it just yet. Just be yourself—which also means not being afraid to cuss someone out if they come at you crazy. Some of these dudes lowkey like the mean girl shit, though, which is kinda weird.” Malika speaks from the shimmering translucent mirage of your hologram pad as you walk through the park one afternoon. She couldn’t make it out to meet you today, but you managed to snatch a moment to talk to her even if it couldn’t be face-to-face. “You probably shouldn’t expect to find a boyfriend in the first few days—”

“Girl, I don't think anyone was expecting that. Duh.”

“I’m saying, just give it time!”

“Okay, but listen. You didn’t tell me it’s also for aliens. Have you dated one before? You never told me!” You lower your voice then, not wanting anyone nearby to eavesdrop on your conversation and hear that part. You feel kinda bad for even thinking that way, but it’s hard to shake the stigma associated with interacting with aliens.

“Yes, and it was the best sex I ever had, but maybe I’ll tell you about that later.”

“Sis. Don’t withhold tea from me!”

“Someday when you’re not literally standing in the middle of the park, okay?” Malika shakes her head, smiling.

“Don’t forget about it, either.”

“I won’t. And you know what to do if you find a guy. I want to be the first to know!”

“Sure, sure. I wouldn’t hold my breath on it, though.”

You decide to spend some more time on the app after that conversation instead of just deleting it like you’d planned to initially. And one day, you get another new match that catches your eye out of the many others.

“Ten? Like the number…?” Besides the interesting name, you immediately see that he’s an extraterrestrial. From the Sommu race, as it says in his bio.

You click on his profile.

You’re a little surprised by how pretty he is, which isn’t to say the other aliens you matched with were all hideous. But he doesn’t have tentacles coming out of his face or two sets of eyes, either. The most noticeable thing about his alienness is his blue skin.

“Likes...dancing, art, music, okay so we have an artist type here...dislikes...fruit. Huh. That’s...interesting.”

The pictures of him on his profile are all deliberately artistic, as in they aren’t just some half-baked selfies he took with a hologram pad. You grow increasingly curious. It’s safe to say he’s either super into himself or just appreciates the art of good photography, and you figure there’s only one way to find out. You decide to take the first step and message him.

➤ Nice pictures :) 

You don’t know when or if you’ll get a message back, since he’s not online when you send it, so you try not to get your hopes up too much. Maybe you should’ve tried to come up with something more cool and funny—nice pictures?—but you try to remember Malika’s advice and roll your eyes to yourself. There’s no point in getting stressed over a dude you don’t even know yet.

You eventually get a reply back from Ten.

➤ thank you 🙏 are you into photography too? you have talent for taking beautiful photos 

You giggle quietly to yourself; another line, but it’s definitely one of the tamer ones you’ve received. Why not see where this one goes?

The first conversation you have consists mostly of the regular getting-to-know-you talk, such as your personal interests and favorite things. You get him to talk more about his photography hobby, which he’s eager to tell you all about—as well as his penchant for art.

To your optimism, you and Ten quickly get comfortable with each other. You soon forget about all the other potential matches you have, but those don't matter much to you anymore. So far, you’ve connected the most successfully with Ten, which means you’re more than glad to stop spending your time reading boring messages from guys who’ve only pretended to have things in common with you.

Things go so well, in fact, that he asks you to meet in person not long after you begin talking to each other.

For your first meetup, you decide to meet at a park nearby—the same one you’d been walking through the day you were talking to Malika about that very dating app. You and Ten have talked through the hologram pad on multiple occasions, so you’re more reassured that you’re not starting from scratch with some faceless being. Still, the thrill of seeing each other in person for the first time is undeniable.

“Y/N?” You turn your head at the sound of your name, and you see Ten walking towards you.

“Ten!” You give him a smile, waving at him. You feel a little more nervous than you usually would on a date, though you can’t tell if it’s the good kind of nervousness. You mostly chalk it up to not having been out with anyone in a while.

Ten’s just as pretty up close as he was in the photos and on camera, if not even more attractive; he’s breathtaking in the light of the sun. His hair is styled nicely, meticulously-place strands curling over his forehead, and his clothes perfectly outline his slim body. He looks pleased to see you, his lips curving into a coy smile.

“You could’ve given me a warning,” he says as he outstretches his arms to you. You hug him, but not without a questioning glance on your face. He is warm and smells good, like juniper, which almost makes you forget about your question.

“Warned you about what?”

“How you’re even more beautiful in person.” He says this at your ear before pulling away, and it makes the back of your neck bloom with heat.

“Oh, you’re laying it on thick.” You giggle nervously, shifting on your feet.

“Are you ready to go?” he asks.

“Yes, let’s go!”

You leave the park to go to an aquarium nearby, which is the biggest one in the city. You find out quickly that Ten is easily fascinated by the wide range of creatures there. Despite living on Earth for a few years now, he hasn’t seen a lot of them until now.

You walk through the blue-lit hallways together, surrounded by water everywhere you turn. You observe the different animals up close and from far away, reading information about them from the signs beside their tanks.

“What the hell is that?” Ten says through laughter, looking at the squished-up mouth of a stingray as it floats in front of the glass, baring its pale underside to you both.

“It’s a stingray!”

He scrunches his nose up. “It’s ugly. But kinda cute, too…”

You both end up staying at the aquarium longer than you expected, with Ten wanting to see practically every animal they had on display; plus, you got to see some you weren’t familiar with before either.

After visiting the aquarium, you go downtown—which is otherwise known as food truck central, where you can get pretty much anything you’re craving. This area is always quite busy this time of evening, especially on the weekends. Food in hand, you and Ten end up walking through a few of the quieter back streets where there’s not as many people—streets where the closely-packed buildings give way to the grassy yards and paved roads of nearby neighborhoods.

“Should we talk about our families now, or is it too soon?” you say jokingly. “You know, that seems to be the only thing we haven’t mentioned after talking about everything else under the sun.” You’re not entirely sure why you bring this up while knowing your own relationship with your parents isn’t great, but you are curious to hear about Ten’s family.

“I don’t really know mine,” he replies.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You feel a little bad about it, thinking there was definitely a reason why he never mentioned the topic.

Ten looks confused for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it’s not like that. Sommu never form close bonds with their parents or siblings.”

You give him a curious look. “Why not?”

“Well, we aren’t born or raised the human way,” he explains. “Our parents have a bunch of us at once, raise us for the first couple of years, and then go off to reproduce again and continue the population.”

You’re startled at that. “Just for a few years? How do you survive?”

“We age faster...both physically and mentally. We become independent around 4 or 5 years old, and we can live without our parents.”

“That’s...definitely very different.” You try to wrap your mind around that information, though it’s difficult. Even with your not-so-healthy relationship with your parents, you couldn’t imagine having no family whatsoever at such a young age. You also can’t even begin to comprehend what it’d look like to be taking care of yourself at only 5 years old, fast aging or not. “But, you said a bunch at once...how is that possible?”

“We are formed inside things like eggs. It’s not like your form of childbirth. See?” And you become flustered when he lifts his shirt up to show his lack of a belly button, right there in the middle of the street.

“Uh, wow.”

“The human concepts of ‘family’ and ‘relationships’ are...very new to me.” He seems a little embarrassed to admit this. “That’s why I, um, joined a dating app, for more experience...I was told I need to learn to be more…” He searches for the word. “Im...pertinent?”

“...Empathetic?”

“Yeah, that.”

“So, did that come from a previous partner, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ve had two relationships since I’ve been here.” He seems wistful now, maybe a little sad. “They didn’t work out well. Maybe we were too different.” Before the mood can shift too far into negativity, Ten turns to you with a soft smile. “But maybe that’s not the kind of thing you want to hear while we’re on a date.”

You shake your head and smile. “I don’t mind, it’s interesting to know about.” More than interesting. You want to ask him a hundred more things about what his life was like when he first got to Earth. “Anyway, you can never have too many new starts in life. Let’s enjoy this one.”

--

At the end of your date, Ten walks with you back to your place. It’s almost midnight at this point, with you both walking all the way back from downtown. You’d drawn more than a few skeptical stares over the course of the day, but you both did your best to ignore those and just focus on each other.

“I’m really glad we got to go out today, it was fun,” you say, hugging your arms to yourself to shield against the cool spring breeze.

“I think I haven’t had that much fun in a while,” he agrees. Ten smiles wide then, the tip of his tongue sticking out from between his teeth, and you have to do a double take. 

“What—”

“Oh, that. Sometimes I forget everyone doesn’t have this...” And when he sticks his tongue out, you see clearly now that it’s split halfway down the middle. Sort of like how a snake’s would be. “D’you like it?” His expression is wicked when he asks this, and a strange heat sweeps through your body.

“Wow.” You cringe at your lackluster answer, but that’s the only thing you can muster up at the moment, too busy internally questioning yourself. You’ve seen body modders with split tongues in documentaries and on the internet, but it’s never appealed to you like this before, and you don’t know what to do with that new realization.

“It’s okay, it takes some getting used to.” He gives you a smile that might be called innocent by anyone else, but to your eyes it’s quite obvious he’s proud about making you flustered.

“Getting used to...yeah, I’m sure.” There are about 15 different questions you want to ask him about that, too, but you aren’t going there on the first date.

“So...can I expect to see you again?”

“Of course.” You smile again at the hopeful note in his tone. “Just let me know whenever you want to go out again.”

Before Ten leaves, he places a hand on your shoulder and kisses you on the cheek. It’s a simple and short kiss, but it still makes you blush beneath your brown skin.

You wave goodbye to him from your doorstep as he goes, feeling like you’ve finally done something right for the first time in a long time.

You’d taken a chance with dating an extraterrestrial, someone so different from yourself and your species, and you figured it would be a new experience. Obviously. What you did not bet on, however, was the idea that you’d fall for Ten so fast.

After three months of dating exclusively, you feel like you could say you love him, which is frighteningly quick for you; though you don’t tell him this yet.

You’ve decided to bring him to meet your family. The idea frightens you, because your parents have never been very receptive to the aliens’ migration. But you are still holding out some hope that maybe they’ll realize all their assumptions were wrong, and that you’ve found a nice man who you love and who you’re sure loves you just as much. Whether he’s human or not shouldn’t matter.

You manage to set a date when all your schedules match up so you can bring Ten over to your parent’s house. Ten is nervous—more nervous than he was when you went on your first date—which you find a little surprising. You’ve gotten used to him being the one who you can lean on, who always seems to know the right answer.

“Do you think it will go well?” he asks, his tone implying he’s not confident of the answer.

“I hope so.” You give him a smile that you hope is reassuring and squeeze his hand.

When your parents open the door, there’s visible surprise on their faces. You’d already told them your boyfriend was not human, which drew doubtful responses when you first said it, but they’re acting as if they never knew that information—as if this is the first time they’re seeing an alien, period.

“Um…hi, mom, dad.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ten says, though his own tone is overly formal, like he doesn’t know how he should speak. “I’m Ten.”

Your parents pause for a few moments longer. Finally, the awkward quiet is broken. “We thought you were just messing,” your dad says, though he steps out of the way to let you both come in, if a bit reluctantly.

“I—no.” You’re uncertain how to respond to that, though you don’t feel optimistic about what it entails. Your mother doesn’t say anything at all, just stares at you and Ten like you’re both strangers who’ve just waltzed in uninvited. She goes back in the kitchen to finish dinner once the door is closed, not saying anything to either one of you, and you already feel a cold pit settling in the bottom of your stomach.

Your dad sits in the living room with you and Ten, and another awkward silence ensues as your dad gives a stiff smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He clasps his fingers together and pulls them apart repeatedly, like they’ll give him the answers for what’s going on.

“This is just a fling, right? Of course you won’t be staying with this ma—” Your dad almost says man but then stutters, thinking maybe the term isn’t appropriate since Ten isn’t human. He makes a vague gesture to fill in the space of the missing word.

“It’s not a fling,” you say, feeling like you’ve had cold water poured down your back. You’re sitting straight and still on the couch, and it’s not comfortable, but you’re too tense to move. Ten is almost equally stiff beside you.

“Y/N, we just want you to make good decisions for yourself.” That’s what your dad says out loud, though the look in his eyes finishes the rest of that sentence: And I don’t think this is a good decision.

“I am,” you insist. “I don’t need to be told that over and over again.”

“Me and Y/N are happy together,” Ten explains, and your dad seems a little shocked that he’s decided to speak.

“Do you truly think you’re what she needs?” your dad asks. You’re not sure what makes you more angry; the question itself, or the fact that he keeps his tone non-accusatory and light, as if he’s only asking something like where do you work? Like the answer doesn’t matter because he’s already made up his mind.

“As long as Y/N wants to keep seeing me, there’s no reason to stop our relationship.”

A sound of displeasure comes from your mother in the kitchen, and your skin prickles. Your dad nods to Ten’s answer, but he does so in a way that conveys he just wants this conversation to be over rather than consider anything that was said.

You deeply regret not leaving straight after that failed discussion, but you soon find out just how bad it can get once you all make it to the dinner table. Your mother is chillingly silent for the first half of the dinner, acting like neither you nor Ten exist, while your dad attempts to make awkward small talk about how things are going.

There comes a point where you can no longer handle the cold sweat and the nerves, and you put your utensils down. Not that you had much of an appetite anyway.

“Why won’t you even talk to me?”

Your mother glares. “You can’t guess? What kind of question is that to ask?”

You falter. You don’t know why she always does this to you. Ask ridiculous rhetorical questions that you both already know the answer to. Now you must sit here and explain why you asked like it isn’t already obvious.

“I’m visiting after I haven’t been here in a while. With my boyfriend. I thought...I don’t know. The least you could do—” Your mother shakes her head at the word “boyfriend,” and you already know everything else you said went in one ear and out the other.

“I still don’t know why you didn’t just stay with Christian?” she interrupts. “He had a decent job, came to see us often, and was NOT an alien.”

“But he cheated on me,” you say, a sickness rising in you.

“That’s what men do sometimes, Y/N. You deal with it and move on. You’re supposed to be strong—fix whatever is making him do it.”

You and Ten exchange a tense look, and there is clear confusion whirling in his eyes, but you don’t say anything to each other. “That relationship is over. I’m trying to do something for myself for once, not whatever you think I should do.” Even saying those words makes you internally recoil, unsure of what the reaction will be, but you don’t take them back.

“You may be an adult but we’re still your parents. Frankly, you need to be with a man of your own race and species—not this blue Martian here. How would you even have kids?”

Ten gives a humorless laugh, like he wants to respond but doesn’t want to make the situation worse or offend you. “You know what, I should just leave,” he says abruptly, rising from his seat.

You get up quickly after he does, but your mom slams her hand on the table. “Y/N, you better not walk out of here.”

You feel defeated and exhausted, like you always do when dealing with your parents and their objections to every single thing you do, but you decide not to give in this time. “Stop treating me like I’m still a child, ma.”

“What does being an adult matter when you still act childish? Don’t come back here crying when this doesn’t work out. I’ve already warned you more than enough.”

“That isn’t going to happen.” 

“So now you think you know better than me, when you couldn’t even keep a man the first time around.”

“This is hopeless,” you sigh, feeling wounded and angry at all these cheap shots.

“Y/N, please just listen to your mother for once…” your dad interjects, but you try your best to ignore their protests as you grab your things and follow Ten to the door. You can still hear your mother’s angry complaints as you close the front door behind you, though you’re surprised—but grateful—that neither of them attempt to follow you outside.

The ride back home is uncomfortable and mostly quiet.

“I’m sorry, Ten,” you say, feeling like you’ve been frozen from the inside out despite it being nearly summer. You’re near tears when you speak. Ten shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road ahead.

“It’s not your fault…” he replies weakly, though his words aren’t very persuasive to either of you.

He still walks you up to your door when you arrive back at your place, trailing slightly behind you. The night air is distractingly humid, wrapping around the both of you like a physical thing. Neither of you know what to say to each other.

When you get to your front door, you turn to look at him. “I shouldn’t have made you come. I should’ve known...” 

“I wanted to come,” he points out. “You didn’t make me do anything.” Ten’s tone isn’t outright harsh, but the words are noticeably sharp. Maybe he realizes it, because his face softens as if he’s said something wrong.

You nod. It’s as if there’s a mountainous gap between you two that you just can’t cross right now. “I get it.” You say this almost mindlessly, because you’re not sure what you’re getting, exactly. Your hand rests on the doorknob. You don’t want to end the night on this awkward and painful note, but neither of you are making any progress with this lack of a real conversation. Maybe now isn’t the right time to try to talk about it.

“I think...I’ll just go home tonight.” You expected he’d say that, but the words still make your heart hurt, even if you don’t want them to. He looks like he might say something else, but he just gives you a small nod before starting off.

“Ten…” You don’t know what you want to ask of him or tell him, if anything, but his name slips from your lips like it’s something you can’t keep inside.

Ten stops for a moment and turns back to you. He steps closer again, leaning forward to give you a soft kiss on the lips. When he pulls back, his eyes hold you in place.

He mumbles, “I’m not mad at you,” before leaving.

More than anything, you want to know how Ten is doing, but you’re too ashamed to contact him for the first couple days after that mess of a night. Maybe he thinks you’re just like your parents and doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore. His reassurance at the door wasn’t enough to soothe your worries, and you end up tearing yourself up internally over it—repeatedly recalling the warmth of his lips and wondering if that’s maybe the last time you’ll ever feel it.

Similarly, nothing but radio silence comes from his end. He doesn’t respond even after you finally muster up the nerve to send him a text—a short text, but still a message all the same—and you fear he must really be done with you.

On Ten’s part, he does have one justification for it; he’s preoccupied with dealing with the avalanche of unpleasant memories and emotions that incident resurfaced. Everything about what your parents said and how they looked at him reminds him of his past and ongoing struggles with trying to assimilate on Earth.

Even though he’s often very sure of himself and what he wants, he begins wondering if he’s “enough” for you. Maybe you’ve just been humoring him this whole time, or you’ve decided your parents are right and you’d be better off with another human. 

Those thoughts keep him up into the early morning hours, and he soon realizes he doesn’t want to let you go. In fact, he’s not sure what he’d do with himself if you decided to walk out of his life right now, and the idea of it makes him ill. Which makes him feel even more foolish for tuning you out.

Ten’s anxiety over losing you culminates in him standing on your doorstep again after almost a week of emptiness and not knowing how you were thinking or feeling—which has been killing him in its own way.

You’re not quite sure how to feel when you open the door and see him on the other side, but relief shoulders its way to the forefront.

“Y/N, I’m sorry—”

“Can you please—”

You both speak at the same time, your words breaking afterwards. 

“You can talk first,” Ten says.

“Come in.” You let him in the door, and the words start spilling before you know how to stop them. “Ten, I-I’m...really sorry. I should’ve known better than to put you in that situation, but I thought…” Your words trail off. You don’t want to let him know just how desperate you still are for your parents’ approval sometimes. Even though it’s a fruitless case. “I just wanted it to go well. I want things to work now, for us. I really, really want things to work for us.”

Ten surprises himself with how quickly he moves to take you in his arms before the last words have even finished settling in his mind. He hugs you tightly. “I thought maybe you wouldn’t want me anymore,” he whispers, like he’s telling you something forbidden.

“That couldn’t happen.” You’re saddened he’d come to that conclusion. “But...it’s not fair for you to leave me in the dark, either. I want to help you...so would you please let me?”

Ten squeezes you a bit tighter, as if you might disappear from his arms. “I’m sorry I ghosted you...it brought back bad memories of how things were when I first got here. When people were more open about treating me like some kind of enemy. I didn’t know how to deal with it.” You tuck your chin into his shoulder and listen to his breathing, his heartbeat, the sound of his words. “Y/N, I’m not sure if I’m very good at love, or if I even know enough about it. Maybe the others were right and I’m kidding myself with something I’ll never properly learn. But, I…” His voice cracks. “I-I think I love you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Entirely overwhelmed, you answer his admission with a long kiss, cupping his face in your hands. His response to your kiss is automatic, the knots of tension unraveling in your embrace.

“I love you, Ten,” you whisper against his lips after you separate. Here and now, it doesn’t feel too soon at all; there couldn’t be a better time to say it. His expression is a lot of things at once. Relief, happiness, contentment...he’s blushing, but it shows up as a darker blue on his already blue skin. When he smiles, it turns his whole face into a picture of joy.

--

“I want to go away.” Quietly, you tell him this as you rest your head in his lap.

You’re both lying on your couch, the room dim and the sound of rain occupying the silence. A downpour started coming down soon after Ten got to your place. You’ve sat there just like that and listened to the rain on the windows for the past couple hours, not wanting to do anything else or separate from each other. You knew he wouldn’t want to go home, and you didn’t even have to ask him to stay.

Ten’s been petting your hair the whole time. The motion of his fingers in your kinky strands makes you sleepy, but now the movements pause at your words.

“Go where?” he asks.

“Away from all this. My parents hate me, and they won’t let me have any peace as long as I’m with you. I just want to go away for a while.” Despite you overflowing with love after finally getting your feelings out in the open, the thought of your parents’ disapproval has lingered steadily in the recesses of your mind. You close your eyes against the tears that begin to well up. Ten’s quiet for a few more moments, and then begins stroking your head again.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A few tears fall despite you trying to keep them in, and your eyelids flutter when you feel Ten’s fingers on your face, wiping them away. “Then we’ll go away.”

Ten’s homeland is a planet where the sun—or rather, a star called Proxima Centauri that’s much like the sun—is always out, no matter what time of day it is. There are days where it rains or gets cloudy, but night never falls and the star never dips any lower in the sky, always staying pinned in that same spot like a tack on a corkboard. That everlasting light throws your body clock off, and combined with this weird new form of jet lag associated with space travel, you are a mess for the first week or so after your arrival.

Ten makes a few jokes about fragile human bodies, but for the most part he tends to you as best as he knows how and tells you stories about how he grew up to get your mind off the discomfort. He feeds you these neon green drinks that don’t look like anything on Earth you’ve had before, and although they do make you feel better, you begin to think maybe you should’ve had a wellness plan before running off-planet.

You aren’t the only human who’s ever visited or even lived there, though, which gives you reassurance about adjusting to everything. By now, there’s a small population of human beings living here due to the interplanetary exchange initiated by Earth.

Before you left, Ten told you he had a small home in his homeland. You didn’t quite expect to hear this, since he’d been on Earth for a while now and had no family to return to. Though he’d migrated, he still expected to come back to his planet every so often, if only to visit. Now was as good a time as any.

Although many differences exist, the scenery is much like Earth’s; there are ecosystems with plants and animals and other living beings—like the Sommu themselves. Ten’s homeland is not filled with wall-to-wall technology like you’d expect an alien city to be, based on the small examples you’ve seen on Earth. You might compare it to the tropics back on Earth, with the Sommu yielding to nature’s rightful place in their ecosystem instead of clearing out whole forests or continually mining for resources. Ten is amused by your struggle to comprehend the newness and unfamiliarity of it all.

When you feel good enough to explore, he starts taking you to the beach often. It looks mostly like any other beach, but there are large coral forms that grow out of the ocean, reaching up towards the impossibly blue and constantly illuminated sky. Because there is no moon to guide the tides, the water is eerily still, the surface mirror-like—like a huge lake or pond that extends in almost every direction for miles. You’d almost believe it was a mirror if you hadn’t seen a bird-like creature skimming across the surface as it flew by, creating fleeting ripples.

You swim around a little in the still waters after Ten convinces you that you aren’t going to turn into a fish or something equally scary. He has to hold both your hands the entire time to get you to step in, and he doesn’t let go until you’re confident enough to explore the water on your own.

“Just focus on me, okay?” His smile is bright and shining against his blue skin, and he looks you directly in the eyes as he backs into the water, breaking the surreal stillness of it with his movements. “It’s just like the water on Earth.”

“Okay, okay,” you say uncertainly, gripping his hands and stepping in tentatively. The water does feel like any other water you’ve touched throughout your life, which helps you calm down slightly. His hands stay tight around yours as you get waist-deep into the water.

When you’re finally able to let go of him, he claps his hands more enthusiastically than the situation probably calls for. “Yay, you’re a big girl now!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re not funny, Ten.”

--

On a bright afternoon, Ten lets you into a room of his house you haven’t entered before. You’ve passed by this shining white door several times, but it’s always remained firmly shut until now.

“What’s in here?” you ask as you hold his hand.

“That’s what I’m going to show you.” He laughs and pushes the door open.

You think it’s a darkroom at first, seeing nothing but dim light and the shiny surfaces of what looks like photographs as your eyes adjust. But when he touches his hand to a panel on the wall and the lights come on, you realize it’s not a darkroom. More like a small gallery for all his pictures.

The “pictures” are physical, but they aren’t like the old Polaroids or film photos that have begun fading out of existence on Earth. They’re small crystalline squares that play eternally-moving videos on their glossy surfaces—a bit different from the translucent holograms Earth adopted. You step further into the room to look at them. It’d probably take days to explore them all, there are so many. Different scenes play out as soundless movies, and when you look for long enough, you realize they’re split into different categories. Numerous events within a life.

Many are of the beach, other scenic places around his homeland, oddly-shaped buildings, and plants in colors that there are no names on Earth for. You step closer to one of the walls to look at the collection of images more closely. You actually do “recognize” a select few, linking them together with old memories Ten had shared with you only weeks ago. There’s so much happening in these small snippets of time, so many stories you haven’t yet heard, that you feel like you could look at them forever and not get enough.

“This is...something else.” Your words seem inadequate, but you don’t quite know how to express your sheer wonder.

“I could take some of you,” Ten suggests, from somewhere behind you. “I want to.”

You glance back at him. “Hm, yeah.”

“I’m serious.” Ten comes up behind you to clasp his arms around your waist. He tucks his chin into your shoulder. His lips are close at your neck, and you let them linger there. One of your hands goes to his own hand that’s over your waist, and you run your fingertips over his knuckles as you gaze at the photo wall before you. “I think you’d be the perfect muse.”

“You could do that.” You’re still entranced with it all, and you already know you’ve made up your mind to let him take as many photos of you as he wants.

--

The next time you go to the beach, Ten takes some photos of you standing near the huge coral forms—or at least as close as you are willing to get—and he laughs at your lingering hesitation.

Still, the crystalline photos he takes of you are the embodiment of perfection. When you look over them later, watching yourself twirl around and strike silly poses in the water, you can almost hear the sound of your laughter twining together and feel the warmth of a star that’s not the sun on your skin.

“What if we stayed here?”

You ask Ten this while you’re lying in his bed, watching a kaleidoscope of shapes on the ceiling. The bedroom window is open to allow the breeze to come in. The ceiling of the bedroom—and every other room in the house—is more like an ever-changing reflection of shapes and colors than an actual ceiling. You might compare it to a mirror, like the surface of the ocean, but you think it’s much more complex than that. Sometimes you can see the distorted outline of yourself in it, like a funhouse mirror. Other times, you see the sky above.

Ten lies beside you with one hand behind his head and the other resting on his stomach, and he turns his head to look at you.

“Stayed?”

“If we just decided not to...go back to Earth.”

He pauses for a few moments. “Is that a good idea? You have a whole life there...and your friends…” Ten doesn’t mention your family, which you are grateful for.

You sigh. Nothing like a quick injection of reality after letting your imagination get ahead of you. “We’d have to go back. I’d have to tell them goodbye. And sort some other things out. Maybe it wouldn’t happen right now. But, after I do everything I need to do on Earth...maybe I could migrate here.”

“That’s a big decision to make...and it should be yours to decide.” Ten pauses again, like he’s weighing his words. “You know I don’t have many connections on Earth…” In other words, leaving Earth and returning home for good might not be as big of a deal for him as it would be for you.

You sit up and look out the window, seeing how the warm wind stirs the trees outside. “I want to.” You say it almost inaudibly, your words nearly carried off by the breeze. You turn back to him only to find him already there, sitting across from you and looking at you closely. Your faces are only inches from each other’s as he searches your eyes. “What do you want to do?”

“I’ll do anything you want to.” Ten’s voice is earnest, like he’d follow you to Hell and back if you asked, and you believe him.

Resting your hand on his cheek, you kiss him.

This kiss is a little different from the ones you’ve shared before—more yearning. More desperate. You kiss like there won’t be enough time to do all the things you want to do with each other—to each other. His split tongue bumps against yours, caresses it, and it causes a shiver to go down your spine, like it always does.

You end up lying back on the bed again with Ten’s body crowding yours in, legs tangling together and hips pressing against one another’s. Neither of you have made a move to take the other’s clothes off yet, but then he separates from your lips for a long moment and studies your features, from your eyebrows down to your mouth.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Your mouth drops open slightly.

“I want to see it.” He takes one of your hands and guides it up under your skirt and between your legs, pressing your fingers against your sex through your underwear, and you look at him with wide eyes, taking a deep breath. He lets go of your hand, and you keep yours right where it is. You’re slightly nervous about his black gaze trained on you, unrelenting and prying, but you begin to move your hand anyway. 

Over your underwear, you press your finger between your lower lips, sliding between them and over your clit, and a little tremor goes through your body. You find yourself getting wet more quickly than you normally would with Ten watching you as you tease your entrance. You breathe a little heavier but make no sound yet. One of Ten’s hands reaches out for your ankle, though he doesn’t do anything other than keep his fingers there, a light touch that keeps passing back and forth over your ankle bone.

You circle your fingers across your clit more insistently, your legs tensing as the pleasure mounts higher. Ten’s lips part as he watches you, a heavy breath escaping from his chest. The hand on your ankle slides higher up your leg, just below your thigh, like he wants to slide his fingers into the mix and take over, but he doesn’t make a move to do so just yet.

Finally, Ten reaches under your skirt to pull your sticky panties off, sliding them slowly down your legs and leaving them somewhere on the floor. You want him to touch you again, the brush of his hands against your hips not enough, but he doesn’t grant your desire. “Keep going,” he says, leaning back on his hands, and you can see he’s growing hard.

You bring your hand back to its original place between your thighs, sliding through the wetness more easily and shuddering when your fingertips graze over your clit. You slide a finger into yourself then. A small moan slips out, and you close your eyes, but Ten’s fingers pinch your chin—not enough to hurt, but the sudden touch makes you look at him. “Keep your eyes open.” His thumb presses into your lower lip, and he stares at your mouth for a moment like he’s imagining sliding something hard and hot between your lips.

Ten kisses you on the lips again, and this time he trails the kisses down your body until he’s gripping your thighs on either side of his face. You pause in your movements when he reaches the junction of your thighs, and you watch as he grabs your hand and slips your finger out of yourself. He sucks the slick digit into his mouth, and you cannot tear your eyes away from him.

He lets your hand go and pulls you a few inches closer to his face, dragging you across the bed, and you can barely get your bearings back to sit up again when he slips his tongue through your lower lips. You moan, and he responds to that by repeating it again, catching your clit between the split in his tongue, and wiggling both sides.

“Oh Jesus...oh fuck.” Your hands go to Ten’s hair, pulling on it as you push your hips closer to his mouth, your back curving up. He is alluring tucked between your thighs like this, teasing and sucking your clit with his split tongue and prodding his fingers at your hole until he chooses to slide two of them inside.

His free hand keeps you close against his face as he eats you out, that wondrous tongue sliding against the most sensitive part of your body and making you gasp with boundless pleasure. Little droplets of moisture bead at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels, your stomach tensing and releasing as you try your best to keep still.

He has to keep his grip on your body tight when you come, as you try to squirm away from his tongue because of how stimulated you are. He only lets you go after he’s satisfied himself with licking up all the wet that’s spilled from you.

Then he strips your skirt off for you, because he knows you’re not quite in a state to do it for yourself right now. He peels the rest of your clothes off similarly, which doesn’t take much time or effort to do; you’ve dressed lightly for the weather.

Ten looks at you lying beneath him on the bed, his gaze stuck somewhere between awe and lust. 

He slips out of his own clothes with a certain practiced ease. Yes, he’s really blue everywhere. He looks mostly human-like everywhere, too, except for the lack of a belly button. 

Ten kisses you deeply as he slips into you, and you clutch at his sides. He tries to keep his pace slow at first, maybe for your sake or to just savor how it feels, but he gives into the feeling of you squeezing around him and starts thrusting into you faster. There is already sweat sliding down to his jaw, though you think it might be because of the heat, too.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” comes out of you in a voice you hardly recognize as your own.

His pelvis sliding against your clit from the proximity of your bodies makes you curl your fingers into the strands of his hair, wanting to touch every part of him you can. His lips go to the sweat-slicked skin of your shoulder, leaving little wet kisses behind as he wraps an arm around your waist and simply fucks into you, his shaft dragging against your walls.

He eventually separates himself from your neck, though it comes with some effort, to gaze at your face again. However, he finds that your eyes have drifted shut.

“Do you wanna come?” Ten asks, softly, gently, like you might break apart if he speaks too loud.

You’re a little winded from how he’s thrusting into you and can’t yet see the motive behind this question—because of course you do—but you answer with a shaky “I-I want to.”

“Then don’t look away from me.” His voice becomes harsher on these words.

“I…” Your lips move without any real words behind them as he thrusts into you harder, sinking all the way into you before pulling out to the tip. You want do what he’s just told you, but you find it difficult with the way he’s intent on burying himself into you, his eyes piercing into your own. “Mmm, I-I…”

You don’t know if you can, but the way he’s kindling your rising heat with each thrust makes you want to try very, very hard. Ten keep his hands on the sides of your face so you cannot look anywhere but at him.

The pleasure bears down on you more with each second, and you try to keep your breathing steady as another climax approaches.

“You’re almost there, come on baby,” he coaxes you, sloppily kissing the corner of your mouth before slipping his tongue in again. The way you gasp against his lips and tighten around him signals him to your orgasm, and he sits back to watch it play across your face, smirking at how you moan his name desperately.

Ten’s continued thrusts make you shiver from the flood of sensations overcoming your body, and you whimper at his movements until he pulls out and comes on your abdomen.

Ten gives you time to recover after you come down from your second orgasm, though he makes sure to lay a few more enamored kisses on your weakened body. He gets off the bed and exits the room after that. You don’t bother to ask where he’s going, because you know he’ll be back anyway.

When Ten comes back, he has his camera with him. The teasing tilt of his lips never leaves his face as he points it towards you. He takes a photo of you lying on his bed nude, with the breeze coming in and rustling the tree leaves and your hair, your skin shining bronze under the light of the eternal star. Then he comes closer, making the bed sink under his weight, and nudges your legs apart. He takes more photos of your lower stomach glistening with sweat and his cum—and photos of him sliding his slender fingers between your thighs and bringing you careening into another bout of euphoria.

The camera is soon forgotten after you come again. Ten climbs fully back onto the bed now and pulls you into his lap. His dick is hard again, and the length of it nudges against your lower lips, making you whimper from how sensitive you still are. He shushes you with a kiss and lifts your hips so he can slide into you, his shaft nudging that soft spot inside you and making you grip onto his arms.

You’re too mushy and dazed to do anything but let him push his hips up into you while you cling to him, your head lolling back. Ten’s mouth goes to the open expanse of your neck, and he wets your skin with his tongue.

The kaleidoscope of shapes above you on the ceiling morphs into one glistening reflection, throwing the blurred shapes of your bodies back to you. It’s like looking through a dense fog. You’re a little caught off guard by it, and you stare up at your nude forms. Ten looks up as well to see the cloudy figure of you cradled in his lap, and he only grins and thrusts up into you harder and smacks your ass in reply.

He grinds into you while he has you sitting full on his dick, and you think he must have set off your internal “reset” button somewhere between landing slaps on your ass and repeatedly hitting your g-spot. Your mind is blissfully, amazingly blank. The only clear thing you can distinguish is how he feels in and around you.

When you come this time, it comes with a gush of wetness that makes Ten whisper several smug praises into your ear for being such a good girl and making a mess on him.

As you quickly find out, Ten’s refractory period seems to be nonexistent, while his stamina is overflowing.

Ten knows how to mix the pain with pleasure in a way that enhances both feelings, and you don’t know if you’ve ever experienced anything more perfect. One moment, he’ll say something romantic and fairytale-like to you before shoving your head into the pillow and taking you from behind in the next moment, pulling one of your arms behind you for leverage as he thrusts into you hard. You want him to do whatever he desires to you, and so you let him hammer into you until you think your hips and ass will be bruised by the next morning.

You’ve never knew that sex could be so carnal and so loving at the same time, but this is all of those things, and it makes you feel so full that you could split at the seams. You scream, cry, and moan more times than you can count, so enveloped by pleasure that it seems like the atoms of your body will simply dissolve from the intensity.

When you both finally become too exhausted to continue, it’s still daytime. Of course. But Ten draws the blackout shade forward and seals all the light out, and so you know it must be time to sleep. Time blends together here. Even if it’s not yet the midnight hour, it will be as long as you deem it so.

“Come here,” he says, and rolls you over on the bed so you don’t have to sleep in the wet spot. You grin in sleepy amusement against his neck as he hugs you to his body. “Let’s stay right here.”

You know he’s talking about sleeping for the next few hours, but you can also imagine he’s referring to your new life—one you’ll create together.

[newdougsblog]

The Tragic Hero Full of Fear

Hello everyone! Before I get into this, I’d like to thank @jasontoddiefor​ for both the name and being the main enabler of this fun piece of writing. I also want to thank all my wonderful friends over on Discord for letting me bounce ideas off of them and helping me. You are all amazing!!

Ok, so let’s get into it!

The first six Star Wars movies (the Original and Prequel trilogies) are commonly referred to as “the Tragedy of Darth Vader.”  But what makes these movies a tragedy? How is Anakin Skywalker himself, the main character of said tragedy, a tragic hero? In this meta/essay, I will discuss how Anakin himself is definitionally a tragic hero and outline his story as it relates to the structure of a classic Greek tragedy.  

This essay will focus solely on Anakin’s character as he is canonically portrayed.

The Hero

Let’s go through the main traits of a tragic hero (as per early literature) and discuss them in the context of Anakin Skywalker.

Possesses immense courage and strength and is usually favored by the gods

Anakin’s courage is evident throughout his entire life, such as when he participates in the pod race in TPM or on the front lines during the Clone Wars. 

While we cannot definitively ascribe Anakin’s abilities to any deity, we can associate them with the Force. The Force is able to somewhat influence the happenings of the universe in certain ways and takes the place of any sort of deity.

Whether Anakin is the “Chosen One” or not, his connection to the Force is stronger than that of any other Force-sensitive being, so he is consequently closer to it than most, if not all, other Force-sensitive beings. 

Extreme loyalty to family and country 

Anakin is consistent in his demonstrations of loyalty to those he has strong feelings for (whether those feelings be romantic or platonic).

His devotion to Padmé surpasses his loyalty to the Jedi, and he is always willing to go to great lengths to ensure their safety and well-being.

Anakin also exhibits a strong sense of devotion to his mother, Shmi. His devotion to her, and by extension her wellbeing, surpasses his duties as Jedi. 

In ROTS, Anakin says, “I will not betray the Republic… my loyalties lie with the Chancellor and with the Senate… and with you” (you, in this case, referring to Padmé). In this quotation, Anakin’s loyalties are made quite clear. At this point, he is not faithful to the Jedi, but to his government, its leaders, and, of course, his wife.

Representative of society’s current values

During the Clone Wars, Anakin is known by the moniker, “the Hero with No Fear,” and is one of the Republic’s “poster boys.” He is charismatic, kind, seemingly fearless (obviously) and a strong fighter, thus representing the values that were important to the Republic at the time. The last characteristic is especially important because of the assurance it instills in times of war. As a representation of the Republic, Anakin’s prowess on the battlefield creates hope for its citizens that victory is possible. 

Anakin also empathizes with the opinion that the seemingly outdated Jedi Code holds them back. In the Citadel Arc, Tarkin remarks that “the Jedi Code prevents [the Jedi] from going far enough to achieve victory.” Anakin actually agrees with this statement, replying that “[he’s] also found that [the Jedi] sometimes fall short of victory because of [their] methods” (Season 3, Episode 19). He shows a sense of allegiance not to the ancient ways of the Jedi, but to the newer, more modern ideals regarding military action. 

Anakin claims to have brought “peace, justice, freedom, and security” to his “new Empire.” While the Empire's interpretations of the aforementioned values are skewed, Anakin continues to represent them as Darth Vader. 

Anakin’s statement to Obi-Wan also mirrors Palpatine’s declaration to the Senate: “In order to ensure our security and continuing stability, the Republic will be reorganized into the first Galactic Empire, for a safe and secure society which I assure you will last for ten thousand years.” The people applaud this statement, demonstrating a general sense of exhaustion in regards to the war and a yearning for what this new Empire is promising them.

Lead astray/challenged by strong feelings

Though there are many, many examples of Anakin’s emotions getting the better of him, we’re simply going to list two:

Anakin’s fury and anguish after the death of his mom leads to his slaughter of the Tuskens

Anakin’s overwhelming fear of losing Padmé is ultimately what leads to his Fall.

Every tragic hero possesses what is called a hamartia, or a fatal flaw. This trait largely contributes to the hero’s catastrophic downfall. Anakin’s hamartia is his need for control, which partially manifests through his fear of loss. 

Let’s explore this idea in more detail. 

Though Anakin grows up as a slave, the movies neglect to explicitly cover the trauma left from his time in slavery. However, it is worth noting that slaves did not have the ability to make many choices for themselves; they didn’t even own their bodies. After being freed, Anakin is whisked away to become a Jedi. He does not possess much control over his life as Jedi, for he is simply told what path he is going to take. While Anakin does make this decision on his own, becoming a Jedi is a disciplined and somewhat-strict way of life and not one that allows for an abundance of reckless autonomy as he is wont to engage in. 

(Side note: I’m not here to argue about Qui-Gon’s decision-making abilities, nor do I wish to engage in discourse regarding the Jedi’s way of life. I am simply presenting and objectively stating these facts in relation to Anakin because they are pertinent to my point.) 

During AOTC, Anakin is unable to save his mother from death. As Shmi dies in his arms, Anakin is absolutely helpless. The situation is completely out of his control, and he is forced to contend with the reality that despite all of his power, he cannot control everything that happens. 

He also feels that he has a larger potential for power and is being held back by Obi-Wan: “although I'm a Padawan learner, in some ways... a lot of ways... I'm ahead of him. I'm ready for the trials. I know I am! He knows it too. He believes I'm too unpredictable… I know I started my training late... but he won't let me move on.” Anakin believes Obi-Wan, his teacher and mentor, is holding him back. He expresses a self-held conviction of his status and skills and does not trust the word of his superior. 

In ROTS, Anakin starts dreaming of Padmé’s death. Considering what occurred the last time he dreamt of a loved one’s demise, Anakin is justifiably (or at least justifiably from his point of view) worried. He consequently wants to stop these dreams from coming true in any way possible. His fear of death, especially that of his loved ones, represents his need for control over everything, even things that are uncontrollable. This overwhelming desire leads to Anakin’s drastic actions.

As Darth Vader, he no longer possesses such fears, for everyone that he loved is either dead or has betrayed him. He is the epitome of order and control, eliminating any who disturb this perceived equilibrium. 

However, this changes because of one person: Luke Skywalker. 

Luke reintroduces something that was (arguably) long-absent in Vader’s life, which is interpersonal attachment. Vader yearns for his son to join him by his side. When Luke refuses, Vader continues to attempt to seek him out. In ROTJ, Vader is forced to choose between the Emperor, a man he has long trusted and followed, and Luke, the son he never knew he had. Out of a desire to protect and keep what little family he has left (and likely a sense of “I couldn’t save Padmé but at least I can save her legacy by keeping her child(ren) alive and safe”), Vader defeats the Emperor and saves his son. Though his actions are definitionally heroic, Anakin never truly overcomes his hamartia. 

The Structure of a Tragedy

Classic Greek tragedies follow a specific story structure, which, according to the German playwright Gustav Freytag, is as follows:

We’re going to focus on the three aspects that best represent Anakin’s story as a tragedy: The peripeteia, the anagnorisis, and the catastrophe/denouement. These occur during and/or after the climax. 

The peripeteia is the climax/the turning point in the plot. Said change usually involves the protagonist's good luck and prosperity taking a turn for the worse. 

Within the tragedy we are discussing, the peripeteia occurs when Anakin chooses Sidious over Mace Windu and solidifies his allegiance to the Dark side, becoming the very thing he swore to destroy. It is at this point that things really start to go downhill. He kills children, chokes his wife, fights his best friend, gets his remaining limbs cut off, etc. 

The anagnorisis is the point in the tragedy when the protagonist recognizes their error, seeing the true nature of that which they were previously ignorant of, usually regarding their circumstances or a specific relationship (such as Oedipus’ realization that his wife was actually his mother). In most tragedies, the anagnorisis is in close proximity to the peripeteia. In Anakin’s story, the anagnorisis occurs during ROTJ. After being wounded in his fight against Luke, Vader watches as his son is brutally electrocuted by Sidious. It is at this moment that Darth Vader realizes that Luke was right—there is good in him, and he still has the chance to redeem himself. 

The catastrophe/denouement (since this is a tragedy, we’re going to go with “catastrophe”) is the end of the tragedy. Events and conflicts are resolved and brought to a close, and a new sort of “normality” is established. The catastrophe often provides a sense of catharsis (release of tension) for the viewer. The protagonist is worse off than they were at the beginning of the tragedy. 

The catastrophe within “The Tragedy of Darth Vader” transpires soon after the anagnorisis at the end of ROTJ. Though the realization of his capacity for good is the anagnorisis, the follow-through (via his actions), as well as what consequently occurs, is the catastrophe. As previously discussed, Vader saves Luke by killing the Emperor but does so at the cost of his own life. This serves as the resolution of the tragedy, for the hero’s fate has been confirmed—Darth Vader fulfills his destined role as the Chosen One and, in doing so, brings about his own redemption and dies as Anakin Skywalker.

In conclusion, the categorization of Star Wars as a tragedy is a choice that heavily influences Anakin, the protagonist and hero, of the story. He is without a doubt a tragic hero whose fatal flaw leads to his downfall. In accordance with Aristotle’s theory of tragedy, Anakin’s tragedy is constructed not by personal agency, but by the narrative itself.

Works Cited

“Darth Vader.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 15 Mar. 2021, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darth_Vader.

“Dramatic Structure.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 20 Feb. 2021, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dramatic_structure.

“Hero.” Encyclopaedia Britannica, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc., 19 Oct. 2016, www.britannica.com/art/hero-literary-and-cultural-figure.

Lucas, George, director. Star Wars: Episode III— Revenge of the Sith. Lucasfilm Ltd., 2005.

Lucas, George, director. Star Wars: Episode II— Attack of the Clones. Lucasfilm Ltd. , 2002.

Michnovetz, Matt. “Star Wars: The Clone Wars, ‘Counterattack.’” Season 3, episode 19, 4 Mar. 2011.

“Sophocles: the Purest Artist.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., www.britannica.com/art/tragedy-literature/Sophocles-the-purest-artist.

“Theory of Tragedy.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., www.britannica.com/art/tragedy-literature/Theory-of-tragedy.

“Tragic Hero.” Dictionary.com, Dictionary.com, www.dictionary.com/browse/tragic-hero. 

[ugh-againwiththenames]

So Many Fanfics So Little Time

This is just my list, I have seen so many (but if you want to use it it’s all yours too!).  I’m not a writer.  But I am a hell of a reader. Voracious one might argue. I just wanted to track my progress through the weeds of the absolutely never ending supply of Destiel and Cockles fanfic. 

Read on if you want to see what I’ve read, and what I’ve thought. I am but one person with opinions - some of them may be unpopular - some of them you might agree with, but if you find something you haven’t read here, I encourage you to do so. 

Honestly, this is just so I can track what I have read already, and when my friends ask, I can reference something easily. I have found some different fics on all kinds of ‘best of’ lists all over the interwebs. And I love recs - so rec away friends. 

As someone who reads a solid 40 novels a year typically, I don’t come by the “I read a lot” innocently. I do actually read a LOT.  When not reading fanfic (a new obsession, all things being fair), I usually read a lot of Fantasy/high fantasy, romance/erotica, and or YA (yeah, that was a bit of a ride no?).  So from this one might digress that I like fluffy, cute stories, complicated and supernatural/paranormal type stories, and I sure do not shy away from violence or smut (or maybe violence with smut? *smirk*). 

I have read all of these in the last 2-3 months (I will continue to add as I go). I had never read a fanfic until 2-3 months ago.  A lot of these wonderful people are on here, and I mean you no offence by not directly tagging you - I’m still learning how to actually properly use this site. Links to AO3 are included (and I love you all). 

These aren’t necessarily in any real order - I did read T&S first, followed by 91W, and 4LW...after that it’s just a shit show of Long or Short, Destiel or Cockles - smorgasbord. Some of these are the most popular Fics out there, and others I’ve never seen recc’d anywhere (just sort of accidentally happened upon them).  So let’s get to it, shall we? 

Twist and Shout - ok look. I understand the stigma associated with this one, but it was the FIRST one I read. It was the ball that shot me down the hill, and I haven’t stopped since. So. I loved it. I CRIED like a baby. SOBBED. It was not the quality of the writing but the way the story was developed and delivered. I have Never Cried Like This Reading a Story IN MY LIFE. It’s a rite of passage. Read It and have an opinion - it doesn’t need to be mine.  

Author(s): gabriel, standbyme   https://archiveofourown.org/works/537876/chapters/955188

Ninety-One Whiskey - aka 91W, it is mentioned so much, and is SO worth the read.  I continued my dive into the war fics (not typically my bag really and here I was reading 2 in a row).  There are a couple of followup stories as well to this series (and yes, I’ve read them all).  Although I’ll say that the original is my favourite. I often got lost in a bit of the War/Tactical descriptions, but would recommend it to anyone anyway. Ugh...the “stolen moments”...they were at the same time tragic and the most amazing things ever.  You feel me? no? go read it. 

Author:  komodobits   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2362190/chapters/5214500

Four Letter Word for Intercourse - aka 4LW.  OMG just, OMG. I loved this story. I loved it so much. I think I read it in a day.  Devoured it. It’s so HOT. Just read it. If you haven’t you’re missing out.  LEMME AT IT. I loved “knowing the secret”, and had some major anxiety about that realization dawning (I had to take a breath, and be like, no, no, this is gonna be a mess, but it’s gonna be SO GOOD - I was not disappointed).  There’s more than one work here too - read them all. PLEASE. 

Author: bendingsignpost  https://archiveofourown.org/works/16086839/chapters/37568591

Memories Bring Back Memories (Bring Back You) - This was the first Sobs one I read, but it sent me on a spree.  this is the Memory Loss one.  I have one piece of advice here - read everything by Sobsicles. You can thank me later...just go to her page, and fucking sort to supernatural (or not, read it all!) I’d list them but I’d fucking seriously be here all day.  Also, her tags make me laugh so hard.

Author:  sobsicles https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Orpheus - I love this one too, Tattooed!Cas, my LOVE. paired with Mechanic!Dean, my HEART, #help.  Read this one in one evening as well. (I was on a roll).  It’s a one night stand that turns into more (much like my last relationship)....hmm...maybe this is why I was pulled in - although to be fair that is the last similarity to my shitty love life! I do not remember how I stumbled onto this one (tattooed Cas may have been the draw...tbh). Read the warnings though, there is some triggering stuff in this one - but if you can handle it, it’s definitely worth the read. 

Author: sysrae       https://archiveofourown.org/works/2364347/chapters/5220227

Have Love, Will Travel - Can you say no to Stripper!Dean? Cause I sure as hell cannot. Typical sort of character development here with Dean having trust issues, and Cas being painfully awkward...(but in like a super cute way?).  Would Recommend. 

Author: squeemonster   https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455/chapters/1011747

The Inexhaustible Silence of Houses - Change of pace here...It’s got a nice twist.  I didn’t actually clue into how it was going to end until very near the end (maybe I was being oblivious), when the realization came over me and I was...man. I was DONE IN.  I hope that doesn’t spoil (I need some kind of way of remembering them). Voiceless!Cas Hunter!Dean

Author: Askance (doomcountry)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/560268/chapters/1000755

Adagio - This is super short, and super cute. Honestly, I would read the whole thing just for the last line. It’ll take you less than an hour if I remember correctly. Go, I’ll wait. I squeeed. did you? 

Author: noangelsinthegarrison   https://archiveofourown.org/works/1397248/chapters/2928145

Any Little Heartache - super easy read (not in a bad way, but in a ‘you’ll fly through it’ way).  It’s mid-length, not graphic, but really fun hospital AU. HeartSurgeon!Dean / Nurse!Cas - enemies to lovers anyone? Fuck you to Fuck me? yeah. YUM. 

Author: followthattardis https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143376/chapters/11838311

Ad Astra - This is another short(ish) one, just one chapter.  And by that I mean that this is written like a very long poem. Cas as a star who has visited Dean many times over the years of his life, that culminates in 4x01 barn scene. It’s ‘awe’ sad. ‘puppy dog eyes’ sad. The writing format took me a bit to understand what was happening - it’s my lack of poetry knowledge, not the writing.  

Author: nhixxie https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013491

Ad Astra Per Aspera - This is a cute story.  ESL writer, no judgement.  I found this while looking for the one above, and thought the premise looked cute - and it was. Misunderstanding leading to Dean realizing he’s actually Bi.  Miscommunication leading to realization.  

Author: Riverchester https://archiveofourown.org/works/12354336/chapters/28101816

Psalm 40:2 - Time travel post-canon Cas and Pre-series Dean.  If you’re wondering how that works, strap in for this ride, it’s well worth it. 

Author: unicornpoe https://archiveofourown.org/works/30786425/chapters/75992444

Addicted to You - Warlock!Dean/Incubus!Cas - accidental ‘mating’ (I actually really don’t like that word, but there’s sort of no avoiding it in this situation). Cute story.  When you drunk dial a succubus and get an incubus instead...Whatever will we do? 

Author: Ltleflrt https://archiveofourown.org/works/4387346/chapters/9959288 

A Glimpse Beyond - End Fix-it. Not yet complete, 10 chapters so far...I want MORE! Reliving memories Dean/Cas & Sam/Eileen.   

Author: NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/27731689/chapters/67875925

Cas-ti-el - Please I want more...It’s like the story just started. Please write more of this story!! 1 chapter, it’s a trope prompt challenge, but I want it to be a full on story of its own. Imprinted names of their soul mates, Dean doesn’t understand his (because it’s in a different language)...I’m frustrated by wanting this story to keep going. 

Author:  Valinde (Valyria)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/1941591

Our Bodies, Posessed by Light - another short one. Not going to lie, this one took a little getting used to, and I can’t say that I enjoyed it too much for the sole purpose that the premise gave me the willies.  Cas has to vessel jump - ends up in Sam...I got through it, it had a good ending, but yeah, sorry. This just wasn’t for me. 

Author:  obstinatrix  https://archiveofourown.org/works/260289

Peanut Butter Pumpkin Wedding Cake - Waiter!Dean / Writer!Cas - This is so effing cute, just misunderstanding after misunderstanding bumbling around like the couple of dorks that they are. It’s only one chapter. 100% would recommend. 

Author:  Sparseparsley https://archiveofourown.org/works/223962

Destiel, Actually - This is another super cute story, 5 chapters. Gabriel playing a singular role in putting Dean and Cas in awkward positions to push them together.  I fucking DIED at “oh, I am the sub” - needs context, but I guarantee you that you’ll laugh out loud...

Author:  Bexism  https://archiveofourown.org/works/399934/chapters/658398

The Smell Before the Rain - This was my first A/B/O - a big apology to all those who are into mpreg and whatnot, this was my lesson that I am not. this was not for me. Also - I’m a firm Cas (Alpha/Dom) believer, and i’m good with switch Cas, but it’s hard for me to take him being the full Omega here, when paired with the rest I just couldn’t do it. I finished it, but, not my thing. I know now. 

Author: jscribbles https://archiveofourown.org/works/22355230/chapters/53406127

Crazy Diamonds - This is another short one, only 3 chapters - it’s a body swap for Dean, 4x02 him and 2018 him swap places (assumption that 2018 him is “with” Cas).  It’s a super cute little story. 

Author:  pantheon_of_discord https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151642/chapters/37738631

The Breath of All Things - Wheelchair!Dean / Volunteer!Cas.  This is a lovely story, typical Dean self-hatred etc. Triggering for those with suicide warnings. It had me in tears at the end. There’s a really spectacular quote near the end that I found so romantic I screen grabbed it. 

Author:  KismetJeska https://archiveofourown.org/works/994750/chapters/1967519

Kind of a Forever Deal - SummerCamp!AU This is just a really cute and fluffy summer camp AU.  Which is so different from 91W (That’s right, check the author)! I was a little disappointed with the ending, but otherwise really enjoyed this all the way through and was loving all the discovery and young characterizations of all the characters. 

Author: komodobits https://archiveofourown.org/works/999291/chapters/1978478

Everytown, USA - Best way I can break this one down? Wanderer!Dean (listless and without a place in the world, he ends up in a small town...), Twin!Cas (that leads to some fun things). There are a number of points where you’re gonna yell at Dean for doing stupid shit (that are very much in character for him to do), you think, well, yes, obviously you’re going to do that you silly fucking boy [affectionate]; but whyyy? (but we know). 

Author: aileenrose https://archiveofourown.org/works/1797559/chapters/3854836

Chalk and Chainmail - HighSchool!AU, Cas is an artist, Dean LARP’s - it’s cute and angsty. 

Author:  lemonsorbae https://archiveofourown.org/works/804704/chapters/1517551

A Little Patience - Ok. you want smut? This is your story. You want Kink? This is your story.  I actually did not finish this. It got a little carried away in my opinion. It was VERY panty kink oriented (which, while essentially canon isn’t really my kink) so, if you want that Panty Kink on full display? Go forth and enjoy! it  is thirty something chapters, I got to the mid-twenties I Think. 

Author: riseofthefallenone https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750058/chapters/3739232

Control - I REALLY ENJOYED THIS. Which is saying a lot for someone who has already admitted that a Subby Cas isn’t really my HC - so to so thoroughly enjoy a Sub!Cas story? (maybe it’s the tattooes...*wink*). It’s an AU where Cas is the head of a company - Dean is a callboy I guess, for lack of a better term. Just read it.

Author: dothraki_shieldmaiden  https://archiveofourown.org/works/31156601/chapters/76993217

More (I copy pasted the next lot from my google doc, I’ll flush them out later - no i wont...)

Teach Me (short) - movie night in the bunker, things get a little carried away   Author:  Chiyume  https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961327

You Light the Spark (in my bonfire heart) (short) - when cas doesn't realize that dean is unaware of his feelings, super short, super cute                      Author: noangelsinthegarrison https://archiveofourown.org/works/1193910 

Communication Breakdown (short/cockles) - dean ends up in Jensen's head while he films the confession scene, no sexual content Author: jujubiest   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Look What You Made Me Do (short/cockles) -      -  Vegas Con 2020 / jensen comes out with a song     - cute short - no sexual content Author:  green_blue_heller https://archiveofourown.org/works/30251592 Full House (short/cockles) - reimagined version of the rented house story - putting it in order (so to speak). funny / cute / fluffy not explicit   Author: n_nami  https://archiveofourown.org/works/30855827

Cyber Sex (short/cockles) - anastiel https://archiveofourown.org/works/31467086      - shameless post GISH Fest zoom call porn      - Short (very short)

It's Complicated (cockles) - gail_morgan https://archiveofourown.org/works/31434938/chapters/77747519       The GISHtake (short/cockles) - MellyCrazyCoconut https://archiveofourown.org/works/31508099     - cute short post GISH zoom     - oops "babe, really?"  

(10.02.2021 updated) Since last update: New reads - Fuck i’m gonna be here all day - there’s not gonna be as much gonna be NO detail in these breakdowns...sorry! This has now just become a “what i’ve read list” as opposed to a Rec list...

Love, All Alike (Pt. 1 Love, All Alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555599/chapters/10370646                             - Though The Stars Walk Backward (pt 2 Love, All alike) - Phantoms_and_Foxgloves

And this, your living kiss - opal_bullets   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18083927/chapters/42744872

Come On, Let's Strike a Match (Domination and Submission: a love story pt 1) - anyrei & queerwerewolf ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/25722478/chapters/62458810    - Playing With Fire (D&S: a love story pt 2)    - We Kiss and the Flames Get Higher (D&S: a love story pt 3)     - Sparking That Old Flame (D&S: a love story pt 4) 

Cinderwings - bendingsignpost Cinderella!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847041/chapters/29336421

Linden - fleeceframe Swan!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33126730/chapters/82236118

No Netflix, No Chill (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28764966

Can't Drink You Away (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28785792 

Jensen Totally (Does Not!) Snore (short RPF) - Dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30315717

Dean Ships It (short) - dorian_they   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30349434

All about control - wingless   https://archiveofourown.org/works/9151930/chapters/20791243

Aesthetics in Autoerotica (pt 1 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3885544                                                             - The Ties that Bind (pt 2 Aesthetics in Autoerotica) - relucant

Let's take a drive - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32581027/chapters/80819581 

Enchanted ink - castielslostwings TattooArtist!Dean TattooArtist!Castiel AU ***   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23043622/chapters/55109530

The bones beneath our skin - darknessbound   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633754/chapters/59515804

The Plot (RPF) - Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2795588/chapters/6274970

The Gentle Force with which you Take Me (RPF) - Phoenix_Ascended   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32110120/chapters/79549183

According to all known laws of Life (Pt. 1 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29207901                                                          - and he's back (with a mind of his own) (pt. 2 Cursed Metaphors) - sobsicles

Six hundred sundays (and many more) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31158776

Aching in the Absence of you - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31832977/chapters/78811378

gorging myself on you, still can’t get full (insatiable) (Short) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32203291

memories bring back memories (bring back you) - sobsicles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022945/chapters/57796885

Dream Come True (short) - bendingsignpost   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071159

tall grass - aeli_kindara   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13127040/chapters/30030726

asunder (Short) - rageprufrock https://archiveofourown.org/works/62115

Apheresis - bendingsignpost BloodDonor!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32674783/chapters/81056680

we always were but never knew it - frightfullyrude   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32698324/chapters/81119503

In this Louisiana Bar (Short) - fleeceframe   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31764487

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Alternate Universes - n_nami   https://archiveofourown.org/works/32687929/chapters/81092785

my heart a compass - lagaudiere https://archiveofourown.org/works/28629951

Unsound Inverses - sp8ce (not complete)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29836881/chapters/73413300

The Jensen Mistake (RPFish) - fellshish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31950169

tell me about the dream (Pt. 1 Kids are coming home) - playedwright   https://archiveofourown.org/works/27984813/chapters/68544450

It's handy to know (FIMMF Themed ;)) - RosaMarloes   https://archiveofourown.org/works/31761322

So Says The Sword - komodobits AngelTrueform!AU**   https://archiveofourown.org/works/12597892/chapters/28695592

Communication Breakdown (RPFish)- darkshrimpemotions (jujubiest)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/29669601/chapters/72951339

Carry You Home - Casloveshisfreckles   https://archiveofourown.org/works/26982637/chapters/65862916

In the Shadow of your Wings - Enochian Things (Salr323)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7531294/chapters/17121655

When Harry Met Sally (RPF) (Pt. 1 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood   https://archiveofourown.org/works/7622347/chapters/17351845    - Eight Dildos (RPF) (Pt. 2 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood    - Attention, Please (RPF) (Pt. 3 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood             - Boat Trip (RPF) (Pt. 4 When Harry Met Sally ‘verse) - mnwood

A Winter's Tale - NorthernSparrow   https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654327/chapters/5930561

A Close Shave - NorthernSparrow https://archiveofourown.org/works/3090167

r/supernatural - renrub (short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/27626783

sam reads destiel fics - rebshome (short - funny!)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33721624

Angel Cookies - noxsoulmate Chirstmas!AU **  https://archiveofourown.org/works/11729640/chapters/26427765

Under The Midnight Sun - NorthernSparrow Arctic!AU **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/16690645/chapters/39143677

Bron-Yr-Aur - mrbluesky (Short) https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225335

The Dean Winchester Beat Sheet - saltyfeathers   https://archiveofourown.org/works/19258594/chapters/45800209

The Meaning On My Skin - saltnhalo   https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005378/chapters/42538133

Red Right Hand (Pt. 1 Murder Ballads)  - Duckyboos   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306110/chapters/9760008    - Are you the One that I've been waiting for? (pt. 2 Murder Ballads) - Duckyboos   

Riptides - sharkfish   https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230426/chapters/30263556

Damn Fine Ride - Cimorene105 (pt 1 - rodeo) Cowboy!AU** (I’m a horse girl, sue me...)  https://archiveofourown.org/works/14342340    - My Face Just Does This, Sometimes - Cimorene105 (pt. 2 rodeo)    - The Kinkiest Thing I've Ever Done- Cimorene105 (pt 3 rodeo)    - All Signs Point to Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 4 rodeo)    - Monster Love - Cimorene105 (pt. 5 rodeo)    - My Man, The Siren - Cimorene105 (pt. 6 rodeo)    - A Pain in My Ass - Cimorene105 (pt. 7 rodeo)

Astrolabe (terra incognita pt 1) - reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent   https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348812/chapters/7326794    - Drollery (terra incognita pt 2) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent    - Rubrication (terra incognita pt 3) - reluctantabandon Winter_of_our_Discontent

Go Down With This Ship - PorcupineGirl   https://archiveofourown.org/works/8023642/chapters/18370474

Fire and Ice - Castielslostwings (Firefighter/Paramedic AU!) **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/23286295/chapters/55768486

The Structural Similarities of Hunters and Onions - Faster_Than_the_Speed_of_Sound (Short)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/33383101

Castiel Novak's Office, This is Dean - emmbrancsxx0   https://archiveofourown.org/works/22411336/chapters/53545840

Out of the Deep (out of the deep pt. 1) - riseofthefallenone - MERMAID AU! **   https://archiveofourown.org/works/548878/chapters/977676

Dean (and Cas') Top 13 Zepp Traxx - pantheon_of_discord   https://archiveofourown.org/works/10909440/chapters/24256989

I'll Be Good - LittleAngelCassie   https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118334/chapters/9282234

Kenosis - CastielsCarma (Short - part of Destiel ABC collection)   https://archiveofourown.org/works/30411720

[matthewtkachuk]

how to be a heartbreaker: rule two - rafe cameron

Rafe Cameron’s privileged upbringing has let him get away with far too much, for far too long. Between his tormenting of the pogues, running his mouth without consequence, and arrogant attitude, it’s time someone knocked him down a peg. Breaking his bones didn’t work, but maybe you can break his heart.

co-authored with my love, freya @rekrappeter

pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader, unrequited!JJ x reader

warnings: angst, starting a relationship under false pretences, drinking and drug use

word count: 5.2k (sorry not sorry there’s a lot of plot here my dudes)

a/n: here’s rule two, let us now what you think!! low key we finished writing this badboy this morning (freya’s evening lol)

“Okay, that seems relatively easy…” you hummed, your elbows rested on your knees as you held onto every word JJ spoke. An underlying unsureness hung over your voice, and judging the expressions on Kiara and Pope’s face, you knew you weren’t alone in thinking that this wouldn’t work. John B backed everything that JJ said up with an example, somethings made sense but the majority of what they brought up was lightyears away from real life. They were living in their own fantasy world.

“And that’s just rule one,” JJ announced, causing you to cover a groan with a fake cough, “It’s almost the most important rule, you have to make a good impression. You need to be seductive, sexy-”

Kie interrupted JJ, “What’s the most important rule?”

“Rule number five,” he smirked.

If you weren’t confused beforehand, you definitely were now. “Which is?”

“We’ll get to that one later, be patient.” You huffed at JJ’s dismissal.

Pope stood up from the couch, stretching his arms above his head. “Are you actually going to take part in this?” His eyes were focused on you, ignoring JJ’s arguments.

You shrugged your shoulders, feeling the heavy stare of your friends on you. “What do I have to lose?” JJ praised you for your answer, earning a glare from Pope but that didn’t shut him up. “Pope, it’ll be exciting. It’ll be something for us all to do together and focus on.”

“We’re not the ones that are going to have to be alone with Rafe Cameron,” your friend muttered, you gave him a soft smile, appreciating how caring he was towards you. Despite always being associated with JJ and being his best friend, you and Pope had a relationship like none of the other pogues. He wasn’t just one of your closest friends, you would classify him as a ‘brother from another mother’. He cared immensely about you, and you cared for him just as much. You both pushed each other to thrive and be the best possible version of you, he had your back through thick and thin.

He was also the only one that knew about your hidden feelings towards JJ. He picked up on them one night, when you were giggling at a stupid joke the blonde had said and how the carefree and outgoing version of you disappeared when you noticed JJ getting intimate with some random girl later on that night. But he promised to keep it a secret, and so he did, he constantly supported you and let you rant and rave about it whenever you needed to. He was a breath of fresh air.

“Rafe Cameron never did anything to me personally, he leaves me alone when y’all aren’t with me,” you said, leaning back on the couch.

“Can we stop calling him Rafe Cameron? We only know one Rafe,” Kie chuckled, running her fingers through her tangled dark hair.

“Can we move on please? It’s getting late,” JJ informed the group, everyone’s attention leaving you and turning to the tall boy.

“You’d make a great teacher, JJ,” you hummed, your heart jumping at the smirk he sent you.

“Rule number two: have fun, but be the first to run.”

Three days pass by since you spoke to Rafe at the boneyard and if it weren’t for JJ pestering you every chance he got about it, you wouldn’t have noticed how many days went by. But your best friend was adamant on putting this plan into motion quickly, you tried to argue with him that you didn’t want to come across as desperate but he wouldn’t listen. The ending events of that night were history; you woke up the next morning and JJ acted like nothing happened, treating you how he usually would.

There was no point in arguing with him or holding a grudge, it was something you were used to at this stage in your friendship. JJ Maybank never did know how to express his feelings properly, unless it was with his fist. When you fought, he would mutter a quick apology and move on from it, never dwelling on the aftermath his words or actions made you feel. You pushed those feelings to the back of your mind, putting a smile on your face and moving on. It’s what you were best at.

A quick knock on the changing room door interrupted your thoughts, rolling your eyes as JJ opened the door anyways, not even waiting for you to answer. “Please tell me what’s the point in knocking?” you snapped playfully, buttoning up your white blouse, ignoring the flushed feeling you felt when his eyes lingered on your exposed breast.

JJ shrugged, throwing his bowtie at you and leaning against the wall, he waited patiently for you to finish getting ready. He was dressed similarly to you; your work outfits clashing except instead of the black, tight skirt you were wearing, his legs were covered with crinkled slacks. You were the one that managed to get JJ a job at the island club, your boss was reluctant to hire a known thief but you pleaded and begged, promising to keep him in line. So far, JJ has behaved himself, only missing one or two shifts.

When you finished getting ready, ensuring that your makeup was touched up and your hair was neat, you picked JJ’s bowtie off the floor and gestured to him to come over to you. You lifted it over his head, ignoring the butterflies that swarmed your stomach when he stepped into your personal space and placed his hands on your hips. “Tell me why I took this extra shift,” you cried, trying to separate your mind from your body.

JJ’s blue eyes scanned your face and you avoided looking into them, your focus solely on your fingers trying the material around his neck. “Because we need the money, plus you love working shifts with me.” JJ grinned exposing his slightly crooked teeth.

You pucker your lips, pretending to be deep in thought, “You’re right, I do need the money.”

JJ swatted your hands away from him, turning to look in the floor length mirror in the female changing room. You couldn’t help but look at your figures next to one another, you suited each other. JJ’s eyes connected with yours through the mirror, “I also peeked at the guest list, we’ll be able to work on the plan tonight.”

“Rafe will be here?” you asked.

“Rafe and his goons, so if I’m missing for more than ten minutes, come look for me.” He winked, running his fingers through his blonde locks to try tame it to some extent.

“JJ,” you sighed, reaching for his arm but he took a step back, out of your reach.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled, but the smile on his face didn’t reach his eyes, “I’ll be fine, I can handle myself.”

“But it’s always three on one, and it never works in your benefit.”

This time JJ did smile, his blue eyes twinkling and he stepped closer to you, placing his hands on either of your shoulders. “But we have a secret weapon this time around, they’re not going to see this coming, y/n.” JJ referring to you as his secret weapon sent an unwanted chill through your skin, making you look away from his intense eyes. “Come on, let’s get the party started.”

Precariously balancing four whiskey neat on a flimsy tray while also balancing on your unsteady feet strapped into four inch heels was not an easy feat. It was even more difficult when coupled with the harassment you received as a pogue in kook territory. The only thing that kept the polite smile on your face as you suffered through backhanded compliment after backhanded compliment was the knowledge that a sweet payday was waiting for you at the end of the shift. You hated the Island Club and every stupid, perfect, spoiled person in it, but you made more in one shift than you did your other two jobs combined.

The spoiled Island Club member you hated the most though, hands down, was Rafe Cameron. Despite never targeting you personally, you couldn’t forgive the numerous times your boys had suffered at the hands of Rafe and his cronies. Unfortunately, you also found him attractive, discreetly staring at the way his golf shirt accentuated the muscles in his arms, and the way his tight pants accentuated his ass, every time you passed by. Some baser instinct within you had you considering what it would be like to squeeze his ass, and the distracting, intrusive thought made you miss the step leading to the greens. Your heart fell into your throat as you felt yourself lose your balance, your other hand rising to attempt to steady the tray but it was hopeless as you started to tumble to the ground. As you braced for impact, the tray was lifted from your arms and a steadying hand on your waist kept you from eating dirt.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you looked up to thank your rescuer, the words dying on your lips before you could utter them as Rafe Cameron himself stood there staring back at you. For a moment you were lost in his blue orbs, every intrusive thought you had washing over you until his mouth opened and he spoke, “You alright there?”

Staring at him for a moment longer, you blinked twice and shook your head in confirmation, “Yeah, thanks for that.” You smoothed down the front of your shirt, Rafe’s eyes following the movement of your hands, before you reached for your tray again, “Sorry, duty calls.”

As you went to move past him, heart pounding in your throat, he called out, “Wait,”. You spun around to stare at him, confusion in your eyes. He scanned the crowd for a split second, his eyes landing on your figure again. “Do you maybe want to get out of here?”

Scoffing, you roll your eyes, “I’m working Rafe, I can’t just ‘get out of here’. I really need this job.”

Rafe closed the gap between your bodies, leaving just inches keeping you apart. He reached for the tray in your grasp, taking it and turning his back to you. “Hey, you,” he called to someone dressed in the exact same clothes as you, “Take this to table number…” He glanced over his shoulder at you, waiting for you to finish his sentence.

“Five,” you mumbled, shrugging your shoulders and shooting an apologetic smile to your colleague.

“Perfect, now you’re free,” Rafe smirked, dismissing the girl.

“No, Rafe, now I’m not free. I have other tables to serve.”

Rafe exhaled loudly, his chest heaving, “Look, y/n, I know people, I can keep you out of trouble.”

“Yeah, and how do you propose to do that?”

Rafe sent you a cheeky grin, spreading his arms out wide as if he was going to hug you but his thumbs turned inwards, pointing to themselves, “I’m a Cameron.”

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought over his words. The Camerons did practically own the club, and the stupid outfit you were wearing was beginning to feel tight and uncomfortable. Not to mention, it was exactly the kind of opportunity that JJ had been hounding you to take in order to further the plan. Plus, the little voice in your head whispered, maybe taking off with Rafe would stir up some reaction from JJ, maybe the one you’ve been searching for.

Looking up at him, you shrugged with one shoulder and replied, “alright.”

“Alright?” He asked, a little shocked as he clearly expected to have to fight you a little harder. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have been able to convince you at all if it wasn’t for the plan. Despite your intrusive thoughts, and boy were they intrusive, you didn’t have a particular want or need to spend any time alone with the privileged kook.

“Alright,” you repeated, “What’s the plan?”

“Get out of that stupid waiter get up, and I’ll tell you,” he laughed, causing you to glare at him. He wasn’t wrong though, the outfit was stupid and you hated wearing it, but dresscode was dresscode. You quickly snuck back inside and changed back into your short little jean shorts and top, quickly running past JJ’s confused facial expression. You returned to Rafe, satisfied when you saw the way his eyes trailed your body taking in the change of clothes.

“Have you ever been to a driving range?” He smirked when you looked at him like he had suddenly grown a second head.

“Do I look like the type of person who goes to a driving range?” You asked drily, causing his smirk to widen. He grabbed your hand and all but dragged you to another part of the club, where an out of use driving range sat.

“Are we going to get in trouble for using this?” You asked nervously, all thoughts of Camerons and bets aside you did actually need this job.

“Don’t you trust me?” He asked, rolling his eyes when you gave him a look that screamed ‘hell no’, “Okay well, trust me this once, we’re fine.”

Your eyes land on the golf bag with his initials embroidered on the front and you look at him confusedly, “Did you plan this?”

“Did I plan on sneaking away to use the driving range? Yes. Did I plan on you joining me? No, never in my wildest dreams would I think that you would be here right now with me.” He admits.

Remembering the bet, you smile flirtatiously at him and remark, “So you have wild dreams about me?”

His split second hesitation before rolling his eyes and telling you off has you wondering what role you played when you starred in his dreams. Gulping, you turn back toward him and clear your throat, “So we’re here to what exactly? Hit balls around all day, real fun.” you state sarcastically.

“You can go back to your shitty bowtie and silver tray if you want,” he offered back sassily, causing you to bite your lip. JJ would be pissed if you let this opportunity go to waste. But little did you know, JJ was going to be pissed either way

“Alright, let’s hit some balls I guess,” you replied back half-heartedly and motioning to the golf bag, “I don’t even know what each of these clubs are for,”

“Watch and learn,” Rafe smirked, running his hands through his perfectly slicked back hair, allowing for some hairs to become loose. He reached for the largest club in the bag, ripping the glove off and stepping up to the box. He placed a ball on the standing tee, doing his rituals before swinging and belting the ball nearly two hundred yards.

“Am I supposed to be impressed?” You asked, a single eyebrow raised.

“Here, you give it a go then,” Rafe replied, handing you the driver. You gladly accepted, an aura of confidence washing over you as you recited exactly what he did, he placed the ball on the tee for you and stepped back, allowing you to prep.

You felt his stare on your ass as you lined up the club to take a swing, causing you to pause your motions and glare at him over your shoulder. “Stop staring at my ass, Cameron.”

“Caught you staring at mine first, babe.” He smirked, and you felt the colour drain from your face at the knowledge that you got caught.

Swallowing nervously, you quipped back, “Yeah well I was just wondering why you bought your pants a size too small, thought they were going to split at the seams.”

He threw his head back and laughed, genuinely laughed, the sound booming around you. You couldn’t help but join in, soft giggles mixing with the timbre of his voice. As his laughter faded, he stared at you intensely, calling your bluff, “that’s not why you were staring, and we both know it.”

Coughing slightly to hide your reaction, you turned back toward the little ball on the tee and took a swing, missing by a long shot. “Shit, that’s harder than it looks,” you admit, having wrongly assumed golf to be a simple game of hitting balls with sticks.

Rafe chuckles shaking his head at your poor stature, and you suddenly feel a presence behind you, jumping slightly as his hands rest on your forearms. “Trick is to keep your eyes on the ball, okay?” he hums into your ear, the sensation running down your spine. You nod, swallowing back the lump in your throat, eyes focusing on the ball. He places his arms on your wrist, bringing your arms up, “now keep your front arm straight, tilt your wrist, like this,” he gestures the club up, “and then just swing, keep that arm straight,” he reminds you.

You glance over your shoulder, your orbs connecting with his blue ones that were glistening under the afternoon sun, you offer a small smile and feel yourself getting lost in them, “eyes on the ball,” he reminded you, smirking.

“Is this just a way to get close to my ass?” you retaliate, sucking in your bottom lip to hide the smirk that wanted to erupt on your face.

“This is just me helping a shit golfer,” he replied, stepping back and out of your swinging range. “Try again,” he urged you. He watched you take another shot, cringing when you miss it again. “Keep your eyes on the ball, front arm straight,” he repeated.

“Okay, okay, I got this,” you mumbled mostly to yourself but Rafe nodded at you, hyping you up silently. You focused on the little white ball, following the steps that Rafe told you before swinging the club and successfully hitting the ball, you watched it bounce along the grass about fifty yards in front of you. “Yes!” You cheered, grinning at Rafe.

Rafe placed another ball on the tee, urging you to go again and you did, each swing getting better and each time the ball went further. “But how come it isn’t coming off the ground like yours?” You pouted, leaning on the club and looking at him.

“Come back to me when you’ve been playing golf for ten years,” he smirked, taking the driver off you and replaced it with a five iron. You watched him hit ball after ball, and you wouldn’t admit it but you were impressed, especially at his back muscles that flexed with every shot he took. You made small talk in between the shots, filling the silences which surprisingly weren’t awkward, you expected them to be uncomfortable and that you’d be pulling blood out of a stone to find something in common but the conversation flowed easily.

It was your turn to take a swing again, and you decided you weren’t going to walk away from the driving range without hitting it at least one hundred yards. You reached for the driver again, stepping up to the tee with a face of determination. “See you, you are going through the air this time,” you muttered to the ball, Rafe had to bite on his bottom lip to stop from tumbling over with laughter. You grasped the handle tight, swinging the club with all the strength you had in you and the sound of the ball hitting the face of the club echoed around the empty driving range.

You watched open-mouthed as the ball soared across the air, pass the fifty marker, pass the one hundred marker and landed midway, bouncing until it halted just by the two hundred yard marker. You gasped, dropping the club, and tossing yourself into Rafe’s arms in your excitement. He grunted softly, clearly not expecting it, stumbling back slightly as his hands gripped your hips. “I did it!” you cheered, “I fuckin’ did it!”

Rafe doesn’t protest with having you in his arms, he matches your excitement but he notices the thrill vanish from your eyes as you scramble out of his grasp, “sorry about that,” you mumble, hiding the embarrassment.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he mumbles back, and you think you see a flash of disappointment behind his blue eyes but it’s gone as quick as it arrived.

“Uhm, anyway,” you wrack your brain for something to say to ease the awkwardness that had come between you for the first time that afternoon, an image of the chalkboard that JJ brought into the chateau living room crosses your mind, making you remember rule number two, “I better actually head back,” you mumbled.

“So soon?” Rafe can’t stop the words from slipping past his lips, and he cringes inwardly at sounding so desperate wanting you to stay. He doesn’t even know where this sudden interest for you came from, of course he knew who you were and he had spoken to you during some events, but he never paid little mind to you until last week. When he and Kelce were joking about drunk one night, you came up in conversation.

Kelce spoke vulgarly about you, painting pictures in Rafe’s mind and it was like after that night, he saw you everywhere he went. He paid more attention to you, he resisted the urge to go and talk to you in the street, and when he caught you staring at him at the boneyard, he made the decision to approach you. It wasn’t like him to turn to a pogue of all people, but there was something about you that drew him in.

“I had fun today, but like I’m sure you should be getting back to the event, your dad’s probably looking for you,” you said, leaning against the railing that separates the tee boxes.  

“Nah, as long as Sarah’s around, he doesn’t have a lot to do with me,” He pauses seeing your face fall the slightest bit, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno, like that,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair again.

“Okay, sorry” you reply defensively, not sure what his problem is, “I won’t look at you at all then.”

He laughs at that, a smirk gracing his face once again, “Sure, I’d like to see you try. You can’t help but look.”

You scoff, “Oh yeah, I just can’t help myself. Oh my god, Rafe Cameron you’re sooo hot,”

“Relax, babe, you don’t have to throw yourself at me,” He laughed.

“Shut up!” You gasp, pushing yourself off the railing, stalking over to him and smacking his hard chest.

“Wait,” he muttered, grasping at your wrist, stopping you from stepping away from him. His tongue runs across his bottom lip and you hated yourself for allowing your eyes to follow the pink tip. You looked up to his eyes, watching the smirk flicker across his face. The rule flashes through your mind again, and you know you should be running, but... something about the look in his eye as he leans in has you locked in place waiting for his mouth to meet yours. His hand comes up to cup your face, and you suck in a breath, holding it as his thumb gently brushes under your eye before he pulls away from you entirely. “Eyelash,” he mutters quietly and you feel your heart reactivate again.

“R-right,” you stutter, moving to step back from him. Maybe this was a bad idea agreeing with this stupid plan that JJ and John B claimed they put so much thought into it, maybe they underestimated the effect that Rafe would have on you. You most definitely did.

Something else was still bothering you, though. “I have to ask,” you took in a deep breath, suddenly nervous of what you were asking, especially considering the fact that you were just about to let Rafe Cameron kiss you, “Why take an interest in me now?”

“Why have you suddenly taken an interest in me?” Rafe countered, causing you to gulp. “Two weeks ago you wouldn’t take a second glance at me.”

Glancing up at Rafe, you plastered a cunning smile on your lips and shrugged your shoulder, “I asked you first.”

“We’re not in kindergarten, y/n, those rules don’t apply here.”

“Who said I wasn’t taking a second glance when you weren’t looking.”

“I knew you liked my ass,”

You roll your eyes, “Well it’s not your humble personality. Now answer my question.”

“Thought it would piss Maybank off,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but you can tell he’s trying to appear that way. Besides, JJ isn’t even here right now and you tell him so. He just shrugs again.

“What don’t you want to tell me?” You asked, hoping you weren’t projecting your own nerves.

Rafe sucked in a deep breath, running his hand over his face as if he was trying to make you forget about everything, but when your eyes gave him a pointed look, he let all walls crash around him. “Honestly, y/n, I don’t know why. I-I just see you on the beach, you’re always laughing, always smiling, nothing ever seems to bother you and it’s what I need. I need someone to make me feel happy again, make me feel alive.”

You listened intently to his words, holding onto every gasp of breath he realised, the aching in your heart making your palms sweat. “A-and that person is me?” your voice was merely a whisper, your mouth gaping open at the honesty in Rafe Cameron’s voice.

“I don’t know if it is, but what I do know is that I had a good time today, and wouldn’t be opposed to doing it again,”

Your heart aches in your chest for someone you once considered an enemy. He wasn’t a friend now, but something had changed in the dynamic somewhere between him saving you from an embarrassing fall and showing you the right way to swing a golf club. You couldn’t help but think to yourself that Rafe Cameron might not actually be that bad, and you might have actually enjoyed yourself this afternoon. Against all odds, spending the afternoon ditching not only your shift and JJ in order to ‘hit balls around’ as you so eloquently put it earlier had been a lot more fun than you gave Rafe credit for.

Your nose scrunches up as you consider your thoughts, what is wrong with you? He is the enemy. One afternoon where he’s not being a complete dick and you forget the bruised and battered state of your best friends only a few days ago? The vulgar words that dripped so easily from his mouth like venom, where he had treated you like some possession to be won, all for the sake of getting a rise out of JJ?

Biting your lip and swallowing, you tell him briefly, “I have to go,” before fleeing back to the club. You hear him calling out to you from behind, but you keep your head down and make the trip back, trying to slip into the Club undetected.

“And where have you been?” JJ is standing on the other side of the door you’ve just successfully snuck through. You gasp, hand flying up to cover your now fast beating heart.

“Jesus, J. You scared the shit out of me,” you harshly whisper, “I was with Rafe working on your big plan.”

“You could have warned me, I had to cover for you!” JJ snapped. “Rafe said he would handle it,” you tell him.

Rolling his eyes and throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation, he turns on you, “Oh Rafe said?”

“Yes, Rafe said,” you repeat, “What’s crawled up your ass, I’m working on your stupid plan.”

You couldn’t help but feel angry towards your best friend, and you weren’t sure if it was because he was getting annoyed with you or if it was what Rafe had disclosed to you previously, but there was definitely an underlying feeling of frustration.

“What’s crawled up my ass is you left me hanging, we’re meant to be in this together.”

“No, JJ, I’m the one doing it all. You came up with some rules, I’m the one that’s putting my feelings on the line,” you snapped, watching his face contort to confusion.

“Your feelings? What feelings?” He’s taken aback by your words, head jutting as if you had just slapped him across the face.

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter. I’ll keep playing this stupid game for you, but don’t come and attack me just because you had to wash a few extra dishes.” Frustration seeps from your voice, unsure of why exactly he’s coming at you sideways. This was his plan, and you’re just doing your part to make it happen. At least, that’s what you told yourself this afternoon with Rafe had been for.

“I-I wasn’t attacking you, y/n, I was worried about you,” his voice softened, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way his bottom lip jutted out, he knew you had a weakness for his puppy dog face. But with the simmering of frustration and anger growing within you, you wouldn’t back down right now.

“Well it didn’t feel like that.” You tell him harshly, hoping you’re properly conveying the swirling mix of negative emotions you’re currently experiencing.

Truthfully, JJ isn’t mad about washing a few extra dishes. He batted his eyelashes at your coworker who was more than happy to take on his dishwashing duties. He was mad that you weren’t keeping him in the loop, the two of you told each other everything. Well, everything except your feelings for him. He knew you found him attractive, and he honestly did love you with his whole heart. It just probably wasn’t the way you really wanted him to. JJ was mad because the girl he thought he had on lock, the one that would always be there waiting for him, just told him that her feelings were on the line for a plan to take down his most hated adversary.

JJ sighed, pushing away all his bravado and looking intently at you, “I’m sorry I made you feel that way, I’m sorry I make you feel a lot of things, but please just keep me in the loop, I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“JJ, I feel like we’re going around in circles at this point, and if I’m being honest, the only person hurting me right now is you,” you ignored the painful look on JJ’s face and continue, “Every evening you have to apologise for something, whether it’s something you say or something you do, we argue, we make up and then it happens again-”

“It’s not every evening,” you groan at his interruption, throwing your hands in the air.

“If you’re not ready to have a serious conversation, I’m not ready to continue speaking with you.” You tell him harshly and push past him, ignoring his weak attempts to get you to stop.

“Wait, you’re still coming over to John B’s tonight, right?” he asks, and you turn and glare at him over your shoulder.

Maybe Pope was right, this was a bad, bad idea and you had no idea what you were getting yourself into.

Tag list:

htbah taglist (link to add yourself to the google form on the series masterlist!): 

@solllaris @drewswannabegirl @starrystarkey93 @httpstarkey @sweetlysilent @drewstarkey @dontjinx-it @ultranikilove @spencereidbasis @meaganjm @starlightstarkey @thortheestallion @jiaraendgame @idocarealot-not @tempestuousjj @pink-meringues @dpaccione @arianabrashierstuff @softstarkey @loveylangdon @xenagzb @teenwaywardasgardian @prejudic3 @nxsmss @canibeoneofthepogues @nqbmf @outerbanksbro @obx-direction-sos @digniteas @annedub @colorful-queen-of-the-roses @yesp0ny @loveniallandharryonedirection @fantasticpsychicfanfish @girls-breaking-hearts @beautyandthebleh @casper17 @parkershoco @unfortunatekiwitrash @loverofmineluke @slutforjjmaybank @skiesofthesketchy @sugarcoatedcalum @amorisxx​

(the rest of the taglist will be in a reblog to hopefully not piss tumblr off this time!!)

[shimmeringclouds]

Karamatsu - Prepared?

𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭!𝘬𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘟 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Whenever you were at school, the hands on the clock seemed to purposely take forever to reach the final minutes of the day.

You tapped your finger impatiently against your cheek, staring blankly outside the window beside you. The droning voice of your teacher at the front of the class went through one ear and out the other, making the lesson just that little bit more boring.

You had other things to think about besides some useless math equations, anyway.

Looking up towards the clear, blue spring sky, your thoughts were drawn back to exactly that: blue. Or, more specifically, to the person you associated with the colour blue;

Karamatsu Matsuno.

One of the infamous sextuplets that attended your highschool. With his bowl cut brown hair, large round eyes and slightly red cheeks due to small blemishes, he was the definition of cute in your books.

You were lucky you were able to talk to him, too, seeing as you weren't exactly a social butterfly. He was in most of your classes, and as if it were fate, your teachers almost always paired the both of you up (although, that may have been to prevent him from sticking with his brothers, which would have led to no work being done).

So of course, the both of you were practically forced to communicate with each other. And on top of that, you were both walking home with each other nowadays, as you both were headed in the same direction. That, and the fact that he didn't really walk with his brothers anymore, which you actually found to be quite the shame.

They were so lively together, and their bond seemed so strong... What happened?

You sighed softly, eyeing the birds that flew swiftly over the school campus. You knew exactly what happened. People in your school were quick to judge them all for the things that the Matsuno's did together as brothers - as family - and to make themselves fit in, they slowly drifted apart. They don't even acknowledge each other anymore...

And now, Karamtsu seemed to be falling back into his shell of shyness. Without the support of his brothers, he didn't know what to do with himself. Slowly but surely, he became meek again, and struggled talking to others.

Including you.

Especially today, for some reason. It seemed as if he was trying to make an effort to speak, but every time you asked what was wrong, his cheeks flushed a deep red, and he stammered an excuse that you couldn't understand before running away. That had happened three times today. Did you do something wrong?

You did try asking Ichimatsu, as he seemed to be the easiest to talk to, but even he had no idea why his brother would act in such a way.

"Maybe he's just getting a little shy again. Who knows?" He had shrugged, giving you a smile before leaving to meet his friends.

At a loss, you could only watch Karamatsu's actions from the side, wondering continuously what was wrong with him. You wanted to help him, as a friend. Since that's probably all you'll ever stay to him, or you might be nothing to him now since he can't talk to you...

Your cheeks turned a light shade of pink as you thought this. Brows furrowed, you let a small pout cross your lips. You really liked Karamtsu. A lot. Over the past year or so since you got to know him, you realised a lot of things about him, and you found your eyes always wandering back to his figure subconsciously.

And you wanted to tell him how you felt so badly, but you were scared of it causing a rift in your friendship, as you were sure he didn't see you the same way. He was just shy, that's why he couldn't talk to you much. He probably only stayed with you because he had to for a project, or he might have felt bad for not walking with you on the way home. He was nice like that.

The bell suddenly rang, snapping you out of your thoughts. Quickly, you packed up your things and decided to head home straight away. It was the end of the week, and all you wanted was to stay as far away from school as possible until Monday.

Leaving the classroom, you went down the few flights of stairs to the main entrance, changing out of your school shoes to your comfortable pair of white and blue sneakers; a colour combo you chose without even realising because you were too busy thinking about Karamatsu whilst out shopping-

You groaned internally, begging yourself to stop acting like those girls in your class who just acted so love struck over every guy they've ever met. You were better than this! You're 18, for goodness sake, get a grip girl!

Despite thinking this, you took one small glance back over your shoulder to see if a familiar worried face was coming towards you as usual to accompany you home...

But nobody came.

Dejectedly, you dragged your feet away from the school gates. You knew it. He was just sick of you now. That's what he was going to tell you, wasn't he? But he was just too nice for his own good to get it out, so he left you instead.

Looking up, your eyes locked onto the countless Sakura trees lined against the empty sidewalk, hundreds of pink petals twirling in the air and dancing around you in the breeze. Ah, Sakura trees... A sad reminder of just how short beautiful things can last.

Just like your friendship with Karamatsu...

"[Y/N]!"

Wow. You were imagining his voice now? That's pathetic.

"[Y/N], wait!"

...Is that coming from behind you?

Turning on your heel, your eyes widened as a figure ran closer towards you, eyebrows creased in worry and panting heavily from having to catch up to you.

"Kara...matsu?" You mumbled confusedly, watching as he stopped in front of you, leaning his palms on his knees to catch his breath. It was silent for a few moments before the boy looked up at you slowly, cheeks flushed red again. Seriously, did he have a fever?

"I-I.. uhm..." he started quietly, straightening himself out. His mouth opened and closed a few times, hands making small gestures as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. Feeling slightly awkward, and worried for Karamatsu, you spoke first.

"Karamatsu," you began. He immediately froze up, eyes focused solely on you. You fidgeted slightly under his gaze, but took a small breath.

"Take a deep breath first. Then tell me what's wrong, okay?" Even though you knew what he wanted to say, you still gave him a small smile, encouraging him to speak.

Taking your advice, he sucked in a deep breath, loosening his joints so that they weren't as tense. Then, he raised a hand and rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a pile of notecards. You could only stare with a slightly raised brow, curious as to what he was doing.

"Uh, hey... so.. uhh.." he looked down at his notecards. "Did you, Uh- did... you fall out of heaven because, um-" due to the shakiness of his hands (and voice) he ended up dropping his cards all over the floor.

In a panic, he fell to the ground too, scrabbling to pick up the pieces of paper and sorting them back into their original order.

"Shit, fuck oh god fuck I'm so sorry you're- you're just s-so pretty I'm sorry-"

He continued rambling like that, his face looking like a cherry as he sweated profusely out of nerves, entire body shaking and words continuously pouring out of his mouth, making no sense to you.

However, your face was cherry red too as you processed what just happened.

He... he used a pick-up line on you? To confess? Is that what was going on?

...Your heart throbbed painfully, reminding you just how in love you were with this complete dork in front of you.

As Karamastu stood back up, still mumbling, only one thought was going through your head. And it slipped out.

"Kiss me, Karamtsu."

Time seemed to stop, and this was the only time you were grateful for that.

Blushing furiously, Karamatsu's brown orbs were blown wide, darting from your face to his cards, looking through them desperately.

"I um... don't have a card for... this," he replied, his voice higher than usual. You breathed out a giggle, stepping closer to him as you took advantage of this small piece of confidence you suddenly picked up.

"That's okay. I don't think we need it."

With that, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed your lips against his. They were soft and slightly plump, fitting against yours like a missing puzzle piece.

Karamatsu froze up again, eyes squeezed shut as he dared not move, scared that he would ruin the moment if he did anything. Even so, he melted into you, pushing back against your lips in hopes that he was conveying his feelings like he wanted to.

Breaking away from each other, breathless, you spoke softly for only him to hear.

"I think you're really cute, too, Karamatsu."

The boy could only stare at you, face red, unable too tear his gaze away. He was floating up in the clouds right now, not entirely believing that this was real.

Smiling gently, you held out a hand towards Karamatsu.

"Shall we head home? Together?" You added. Glancing at your hand, a soft and sheepish smile worked it's way onto his face, cheeks flushing cutely. Slowly, he placed his larger hand into yours, squeezing gently.

"Y-Yeah... That sounds like a good idea."

[moonbeamsung]

Bad Dracula

I have no intention of scaring you, baby~

member: jaemin

au: vampire!jaemin x gn!reader, supernatural au

word count: 2.1k

genre: fluff, a little angst, slightly suggestive

warnings: mentions of blood, kissing, implied strict parenting

recommended song: bad dracula by red velvet

author’s note: Based on the song above. This was so much fun to write and I thought it fit well with the time of year, so enjoy!

The dance floor in the large ballroom pulses with energy and vibrations from the DJ booth at the far end of it. It’s packed, so much so that all the people, all the shuffling pairs of shoes, threaten to overflow from the carefully manicured tiles on the ground and into the remainder of the space. This poses a problem considering there isn’t much, due to the dozens upon dozens of fancily decorated round tables scattered throughout the brightly lit chamber, some empty as their occupants sway to the beat of the music and others full with those still finishing their exquisitely prepared meals.

Dancing close to the edge of the massive crowd, you catch sight of the moon’s reflection on the polished floor, oddly clear. A strange feeling starts to overtake you as you continue to gaze at it, physically compelling you to raise your eyes. When you do, there’s a devilishly handsome stranger you’ve never seen before leaning against the wall, directly across from you. The moonlight spilling in through the glass casts a haunting shadow on his chiseled features, but your heart stops when the sliver of a fang peeks out from between his lips, gleaming a blinding white.

How no one else notices him, you’re not sure. What you do know, however, is that he’s definitely bad news.

...Right?

Your gut pinches at the thought, the silent signal begging you to correct your instant judgement based solely on his appearance. How could you possibly be wrong, though? He’s a vampire, for goodness’ sake! You’ve been lectured and warned enough times to remember that they’re always up to no good.

The inner dilemma going on in your mind causes you to stare blankly, zoned out and unaware that your focus is drilling into the boy. Amused, he waits for you to realize this.

Eyes blown wide with surprise, you whirl around to weave in and out of the throng of people, making your way to the center of the crowd in a pathetic attempt to undo what just happened. Attention trained on the ground, a pair of shiny black dress shoes come into your line of sight.

There’s that feeling again. You don’t want to, you fight the urge this time, but trying to resist the supernatural pull makes your head ache. Bracing yourself, you unwillingly lift your eyes again, tracing the length of his figure from the hem of his dress pants all the way up to the lapel of his suit. The wine-colored ensemble seems fitting, considering the craving vampires instinctively harbor for a similarly colored substance.

His looks are even more striking up close. The allure he possesses is something otherworldly, and he has to repeat himself for you to realize he’s speaking to you. “My name is Jaemin, and you are...?” He questions, the lilt of his voice silky and seductive. Stammering a somewhat coherent response, you freeze when his cold fingers grasp your wrist, lifting it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your trembling knuckles.

“Shall we dance?” It’s a statement, not a request, and not wanting to cause a scene, you make no attempts to protest. You get lost in the way his arms feel wrapped around you, every so often being twirled by the graceful movements of his hand.

Your eyes lock with his and they put you in an inescapable trance, casting a spell on your mind until the moment that he breaks the contact, glancing almost worriedly at something over your shoulder. He returns his gaze to yours as quickly as he removed it, and the enrapturing haze settles in around you once more.

For the final minute of your dance, he brings you closer than you’ve ever been to him before, head resting firmly against his chest. A triumphant feeling of rebellion bubbles up inside of you knowing that you’d be in big trouble if your parents could see you right now, in the arms of an enchanting vampire. The mere act of associating with one would be enough for them to explode with fury, so going even further than that would surely elicit a wrath of pure, unadulterated rage.

The song ends, its slow tempo coming to a stop before being replaced by a much peppier tune.

Most of your fright forgotten for the time being, you’re more curious than anything else when he begins to drag you away from the center of the ballroom, pulling you with urgency and a force that completely contrasts with the gentleness of his touches as you danced together. Stepping out from the crowd, he leads you around to the other side of the wide marble staircase, ducking to stand behind a pristine white column that extends all the way up to the heightened ceiling. It dawns on you now that he could actually be dangerous, and all the fear comes flooding back to you.

Jaemin sees it too, the way your pupils dilate to indicate your terror of the situation you’ve gotten yourself into, your terror of him. You’re about to cry out when he stops you by covering your mouth with his hand, the low temperature of his skin startling you even more, and you wince.

“Sorry, sorry!” He whispers hastily, panicked. You take notice of the instant change in his demeanor but it does nothing to calm you down. “It’s alright, don’t freak out, okay?”

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he breathes, finally providing you with some sort of relief. You relax a little under his hold, still cautious but deciding to give him a chance. Slowly, he removes his palm from your lips, allowing you to speak.

“What do you want with me, then?”

Glancing around with that same look of anxiousness on his face, he leans in, murmuring into your ear with every word.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve noticed by now, but I’m a vampire. I come from a whole family of them. My parents brought me here tonight to... uh, well, you’ve heard the stories. They want me to find someone with the best blood to drink.”

Come to think of it, you do recall seeing a carriage parked outside, black as night and delicately carved like it came from the darkest depths of the underworld. Must’ve been his, you realize.

“And that’s me because...?” You interrupt his explanation, causing him to wave a hand in the air, exasperated.

“Let me finish, okay? The thing is, vampires drink blood but it’s not the only thing we need to survive. In fact, we don’t even need it. Over time we’ve found ways to get the same nutrients in other ways and from other things. Some of us still do it for tradition’s sake. And my family is all about preserving history.”

Inhaling sharply, he continues. “But I... I can’t do it. Not only does it feel morally wrong, but I get sick just thinking about it. On nights like this, I just have to find a way to lie about finding some.”

“That’s,” he leans back to point a finger at you, “where you come in, angel. We just have to make it look like I took some of your blood, and that will be enough to satisfy my parents for a while.”

Too stunned to speak, you gape at Jaemin, leaving him waiting for your answer, wondering whether you’ll commit or not.

“Wow.”

“I understand if you don’t want to help, I can always find someone—”

“You are nothing like who I thought you were.”

Jaemin’s pale skin flushes with a color you’re not sure even exists before he beams at you. A few minutes ago, you would never have guessed the mysterious man leaning against the wall could smile this brightly. “Not all of us are bloodthirsty monsters.”

“I’m sorry I was afraid of you,” you tell him, looking down at the floor with a guilty expression.

“It’s not your fault, you had every right to be.”

“...Hold on, what was all that out there?” You accuse, brows raised in slight suspicion and a hip tilted to the side as you await an explanation.

“What do you mean, ‘all that?’”

“I mean the dance! I mean the way you introduced yourself, the way you spoke, everything... You were so cold, so intimidating. But you’re acting so different now.”

“All to put on a show for my parents, sweetheart.”

Blushing like mad, you shake your head as you remember the reason why you’re back here with him in the first place. “I’ll do it,” you say, heart fluttering at the way his eyes light up with gratitude.

“Really? You will? Thank you! Thank you so much...” he trails off, and you find the excitement in his voice adorable.

“So, how do we do this?” You ponder for a moment, tapping your shoe against the floor before an idea comes to you. “You don’t mind ketchup, do you?”

Jaemin knows what you’re getting at, nodding. “I don’t have a problem with it, so that should work fine.”

“But... how close are they going to look? Would a bite mark make it more realistic?”

Considering your words, Jaemin’s tongue darts out to lick at one of his sharp fangs, the action drawing your gaze down to them.

“You’re probably right...”

Closing your eyes and straightening your posture, you tilt your head to one side, exposing your neck. “Go ahead, I don’t mind.”

Here goes nothing, Jaemin thinks to himself. Only he doesn’t aim for your neck.

When you feel his lips on yours you’re startled to say the least, but just like when he danced with you, you don’t pull away. The kiss is a delicious secret, only for the two of you to know about and no one else. Instead of ice his hands are like fire on your skin, and the sleeves of his satin suit jacket feel heavenly against your arms as they cling to his shoulders for dear life. It’s so intense, so heated and passionate a kiss that you feel yourself back up against the pillar you’ve been hiding behind all this time.

Not wanting anyone to get suspicious about what’s taking so long, Jaemin reluctantly separates his lips from yours and drags them across your skin, down past your jaw to halt at your neck. The magic bestowed upon all vampires gives him the power to temporarily restrict the ability of his fangs to take blood, rendering them harmless. Once he’s done this, he sinks them into the spot above your collarbone just far enough to leave an impression, eliciting a small whine from your lips but nothing more.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” you pant, taking heavy breaths in through your nose and out through your mouth while you wait to regain the strength you lost in the moment. It’s funny, you think. He didn’t take any of your blood, so why do you feel so dizzy?

Jaemin chuckles, brushing your hair out of your face since it had become slightly tousled during the kiss. His eyes widen in sudden realization and he snaps his fingers, “The ketchup!”

“Right!” You exclaim, hurriedly running over to the nearest deserted table and grabbing a single packet.

Tearing the corner, you squeeze a small dot of the condiment onto your finger before smearing it onto the skin below his lips, making it look as if it’s dripping from the edge of his mouth. Jaemin takes it from you and does the same, the red smudge complimenting the bite mark he left on your neck quite nicely, if he says so himself.

Leading you back around the staircase, Jaemin shares a second dance with you in the middle of the ballroom, and this time you’re both more comfortable with each other. From across the room, his parents’ enhanced senses of sight allow them to see your stained skin, humming in approval at their son’s apparent obedience.

“Will I see you again?” You ask in a soft voice, wavering at the possibility of losing the new friend, and maybe something more, you’ve made tonight.

“I don’t know, my dear,” Jaemin admits. “But I’ll try.”

Smiling lovingly up at him, you sigh, the three words you so desperately want to utter on the very tip of your tongue, but you feel it’s a little too soon. One day, you tell yourself.

Hidden amongst the crowd, he ducks down a little to steal a final kiss before a tall figure that’s probably his mother whisks him away and into the distance. You exchange longing glances before he’s forced to turn around, walking completely out of sight.

Taking long strides at an inhuman pace between both of his parents, Jaemin grins to himself, thinking of you and how amazing you looked tonight in that elegant outfit of yours.

From beside him, his father sniffs the air, pale nose wrinkling in distaste.

“Is that ketchup?!”

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Thinking about which entities the Apex Legends would serve, or be associated with, in the Magnus Archives universe.

It revolves around a weird little fic in my brain i will probably never write. Technically most of them are a mixture, but I'm in between rounds and I dont have time for a full analysis.

Crypto - The Stranger. Loss of self, of identity, being something other to achieve your goal. To abdicate who you are in pursuit of a goal, smile as you lie to the faces of people who assume you are friends... and plan to fade away once you have what you came for. IS that not the Stranger?

Fuse - The Corruption. If Salvo is to be believed, then things are very apocalyptic wasteland there; imagine the things that he has seen, has done, has experienced. It eats into your soul until abhorrent is merely a practicality... what's an arm between mates, ay?

Bangalore - The End, she seems like the type who wants a definitive start and finish to things. Order over Chaos, at any cost. It might start out as good intentions, but you know how the avatars get twisted. If the world has to end so her squad can make it home together, then so damn be it.

Bloodhound - The Hunt, naturally. Only their unwavering adherence to the code keeps them from falling to the warping feral mindset of the Hunt... for now. For Boon.

Caustic - The Eye, and in the headcanon, an archivist. Because of the way the archivist needs fear to live, to observe things die, to extract every second of fear from the victims so that their every last neuron firing in exquisite agony is transferred to his patron. He watches, for the Eternal watcher. He is not quite human anymore, and it is unsettling for normal people to be close... but he is not the greatest threat out there amongst the fears.

Lifeline - The Stranger. Lifeline woke up to the world she was moving about in, as a living prop for her parents, and severed the ties that held her in place. She shed all the artifice of her former life and took on a role so different that old friends (bar Octane) would likely have trouble understanding. She uses her abilities to help, and to hurt based on her own judgements.

Gibraltar - The Buried. Gibraltar is such a loud, fun guy and yet we know he is utterly buried under the weight of his past. Certainly it is not the metaphorical burial that we would normally expect from this Fear, but it can be almost more effective than dirt. He carries the weight of the earth on his shoulders, and feels a sinking dread in his heart for every grain that slips from his grasp.

Horizon - The Lonely. Trapped in space for decades... away from family, knowing that the person who she trusted most placed her in this situation and now has full access to her son? Of course, there is comfort in the solitude. She feels out of time, out of place, searching for a way to get back and yet torn by the implications of finding a path. Will she burn down the future to see her little boy again? ...of course she will.

Loba - The Web. Loba thrives on collecting information, weaving it together into a complicated tangle of deceptions laid bare, truths hidden, and creates a narrative that she can rign over. The flies who tremble in her webbing mean little to her, only weak beings to be devoured. She can see what is coming, but will she tell the others? Perhaps only Bangalore, so that they may experience the apocalypse as one.

Pathfinder - The Flesh. Pathfinder is obsessed with his origin, with who his 'parents' were, with whom his purpose rests. With being human, like those around him, you could say. He has more sentience than other MRVNs, and wants to experience life as his friends do... does he dream os bones and blood and sinew? Of feeling another's flesh on his own when he gives them a hug? The Flesh would whisper that he could have that... and warp the morality in his code.

Octane - The Vast, endless space to run and be free from mortal tethers. Being the sole focus of the universe, with no one to expect things of you, or question you, or need more, expect MORE. He can be free, without thought or care for anyone else... except maybe Che, and he would let her into his domain, whenever he remembered.

Revenant - The Slaughter. Murder was his thing when he was human, and it never stopped. He feels delight in the conquests, in the bodies he leaves behind. The bloodlust pulses through his circuits; the tears of those he leaves alive sustain him.

Rampart - The Spiral. Rampart is a walking wall of complicated thoughts and contradictory actions, she spirals deep into thought about the most complex machinery... and then tells the friend she's half-listening to a bad joke to make them laugh. Layers upon layers of personality cover her like armour, and everyone has a different idea of who the 'real' Rampart is. They all see a fraction, they follow the path she leaves, and in the middle? Who knows. Not even Rampart. There is a delight in the confusion of others, strange but excellent, and not even deliberately malicious. After all, mates have fun, right?

Wattson - The Eye. This was a child created for Knowing, and she would love the intricacies of chasing down obscure mysteries or finding out how to reroute a potentially world-ending ritual with her scientific mind. She could easily be tempte by the Lonely... but her friends in the legends make certain she is never alone. Wattson can be cruel, but often to be kind... and really, sometimes the Truth Hurts. Does it not?

Wraith - The Buried. What is wraith but a person whose mind and memories are buried away where they cannot be reached? In a sense, she is gone but still breathing. Suffocating under the weight of not knowing who she is, was, should be.

Mirage - The Dark. Fear of being alone, of being forgotten, of being turned away from all you ever knew. The fear of being nothing and no one... is almost as terrifying and all-consuming as the fear of being surrounded by people whose attention is solely on him, watching and waiting for his every word. Baite breaths waiting for him to fall from grace so he can shatter before their cameras, so they can get notoriety. His mind wants, and rejects it. He fears the darkness of being in the shadows of others... and craves it.

Valkyrie - The Vast. She craves the emoty stretch of sky, where the world looks so small and speckled below her. Something she is aware of, but separate from. The tragedy of her father's loss made her seek solitude, and even in the midst of the other heroes, she has a sense of... other, of distance. She is queen of the air, and nothing can burn her wings.

[petri808]

We’ll Take Back Heaven a Nalu Yakuza Au

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

“Ms. Heartfilia,” the man nodded at the blonde.

“Mr. Katsunuma.” Lucy bowed in response. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course,” the older male smiled. “Your assistance has led to this celebration after all.”

It was an extravagant party being held in a large room of Katsunuma Industries corporate headquarters. The tech giant was celebrating the acquisition of their rival in the industry… thanks in part to Lucy’s untraceable services. A few bits of intelligence on the rival company coupled by the money laundering Lucy provided allowed Katsunuma to fuel the merger and overtake them. The rival had no choice but to sign the contract because if they didn’t, they would have been put out of business. Part of the deal insured the employees would be kept which had been the rivals concern, but those employees are in large part Katsunuma’s desire to take the business. Their current patents and information aside, those employees were the heart of creating more. It was a genius move.

“Mmm, I do what I can,” Lucy smiled sweetly and held up her glass. “A toast to a successful relationship.”

The man clinked his glass against hers. “For many more years to come. Enjoy the party, Ms. Heartfilia.”

“I will,” Lucy responded with another smile.

As she made her way back towards the temporary bar set up, Lucy chatted with people along the way. Some she knew, others she didn’t, but her stunning looks always turned heads everywhere she went. She wasn’t the typical Asian beauty found around those parts. Her mother was a Caucasian American and her father a Japanese businessman, so the hapa mix created a buxom blonde with almond eyes and legs for days, fluent in both English and Japanese as well as Korean. Gorgeous and intelligent. Men desired her, and women either hated her or wanted to be her. Luckily for the other women, Lucy had no interest in these stuffy, boring business types, except in taking their money because she knew all they wanted were docile arm candies and that wasn’t for her at all.

The only reason she attended these events were to show her loyalties and drum up new business considering she operated at word of mouth. But anyone too eager to do business with her immediately sent up a cautionary flag. No one survives in the dark world by being naive, the biggest lesson her cut-throat businessman of a father ever taught her. Lucy had to get to know the person, feel them out, and background check them inside and out, and even after all that she wouldn’t immediately jump into an arrangement. She made sure that any business wanting to employ her laundering services would lose big time if they ever considered turning on her. ‘Stupid men,’ she mused to herself. Greed was the easiest way to keep them in line, because the green-eyed monster was just too enticing. Another lesson her father taught her the hard way when bankrupted his company on a bad venture.

Lucy placed her empty glass onto the bar top and rested an arm on it. She smiled at the orange-haired bartender. Handsome in a playboy kind of way, even the glasses added to the charm. “A Cosmopolitan, please.”

“Coming right up cutie,” the man winked at her.

She wanted to roll her eyes but played it cool. “Loke, is it,” Lucy read off the name tag on his vest. “Unusual name. Bet you flirt with all the girls, huh?”

“Only the pretty ones,” he grinned back. “And you are the finest example here tonight.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Lucy clicked her tongue with a shrug. “Too bad lines don’t work on me.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Loke smiled back undeterred. “You’re definitely a higher caliber than the rest.”

‘Oh, Kami,’ Lucy droned internally. This guy probably had a ton of cheeky comebacks in his repertoire. Was he fuckable in her view? Toned body but not too muscular, nimble fingers… maybe fit for a one-night affair. It has been awhile since she’d had some action, so maybe he could be fun to end this celebration with. She leaned in closer letting her breasts press up against the counter. “You know this might—”

“Careful dude, this ones got claws you don’t wanna mess with.”

Lucy’s body stiffened in annoyance at the new voice so close to her ear. “Ugh, Natsu.” Not the intrusion she wanted right now!

“My apologies,” Loke immediately put her finished drink down, then his hands up as he took a step back. “You have a good evening ma’am.”

But the bartender’s body language spoke volumes as well. Loke wasn’t reacting solely to the comment, because he was staring straight at Natsu as he spoke. She could imagine that while Natsu’s tone was light, he was probably giving the bartender a menacing glare. Ugh!

Annoyed at Natsu’s interjection, Lucy grabbed her drink in a huff and started to walk away without looking behind her. “I don’t need a knight,” she huffed. But undeterred, Natsu immediately stepped in and tried to weave an arm around her waist. “Don’t get familiar,” she seethed in a hushed tone as she stepped out of his embrace. She didn’t want to cause a scene either, so she pulled him away from the crowd near the bar area to a quieter section. “What do you want Dragneel?”

“It’s improper for a woman like you to be without an escort at these events.”

Lucy placed a hand on her cocked hip in irritation. So, what if that were true, those traditions made her skin crawl. She normally would have brought one, but her go-to guy wasn’t available and since most of the guests knew who she was, Lucy figured they wouldn’t care. Why would a bunch of old guys not want a gorgeous blonde to look at? “I’m perfectly fine by myself considering I’m an invited guest. What are you doing here, this isn’t your playground.” She knew the world of corporate Tokyo and business stiffs were not the type he’d associate with. Though she had to unconsciously admit Natsu looked good in a three-piece suit.

“Be nice kitten, I was invited too.”

“Oh yeah, by who? I know Katsunuma’s not involved with the Yakuza.”

“Not senior, the son. Boy’s got a bit of a habit along with his friends.”

“Ah, let me guess, you’re the supplier.”

“You guessed right, kitten.”

“Stop calling me kitten!”

The irritation in her voice only succeeded in pulling a smirk from Natsu. He was obviously enjoying this dance, which fueled Lucy’s determination to not be swayed by it. She took a sip of her drink in annoyance. “Shouldn’t you check on your client then?”

“What for? Those rich brats partying on daddy’s dime make for disinteresting conversation. I’d much rather talk to you.”

“Lucky me,” Lucy rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d rather schmooze with my clientele. They serve a purpose, you do not.”

Natsu reached out and ran a finger along Lucy’s arm. “So harsh, kitten. We both know you’re enjoying this too.”

The ripple he triggered along her skin and increase in temperature had Lucy internally reeling, though the dead stare she wore on her face showed the opposite reaction. She wasn’t about to admit to a damn thing! “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that Dragneel. Perhaps one day your dreams will come true.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“Ugh!” Lucy pushed him away in annoyance. “You’re too much! I’m leaving.” She turned her back.

“Oi,” Natsu grabbed her arm forcefully and spun her back around. “I mean it!” he growled in a lowered voice. “You may be damn good at what you do, but you still got a thing or two to learn about a man’s world.”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Lucy spat back in a hushed tone. “These guys don’t care!”

“You think they’d say it to your face, kitten? I’d overheard more than one of your so-called prospects here gossiping about your shameful behavior and you’ve only been here fifteen minutes.”

“You’re lying.”

His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. “I’m a lot of things, but you know I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Okay, so that was true. Lucy’s known Natsu long enough to know when and if he’d ever lie to her. Still, “fine!” She seethed. “I won’t plan on staying much longer if I’m stuck with you.”

“Aww,” he defiantly tipped her chin up. “But I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Pfft,” she glared back with a twisted smile and voice dripping with sarcastic disdain. “As if. You couldn’t satisfy me then, so… what makes you think you could now?”

“Wow…” Natsu placed a hand over his heart feigning pains and groaning for effect. “Hitting me where it hurts, Luce.” He then grinned and suddenly pulled her flush against his solid body, arm wrapped around her waist, while the other gripped tightly to her hip so she couldn’t move. He leaned in, his face lowered and hovering over her ear. “If only it were true. All those nights… I lost track of how many times you called my name to the heavens.”

Between the sensually deep tone of Natsu’s voice and warm breath fanning over her skin, Lucy couldn’t hide her physiological reactions if she’d tried. Her body stiffened up, fighting a hormonal urge to give in with a sheer determination not to play his game. There was a damn good reason they’d broken up, and until he admitted to what went wrong, there was no way in hell Lucy would go back to him.

“It’s not just about sex,” she gritted out.

“I know…” Natsu let his lips brush against her ear, pulling a shiver from her body. He smirked. “It’s about love.”

Love?! How dare he! Whatever spell he was close to casting instantly dissolved on Lucy and her anger boiled to the surface. She pushed with all of her might, forcing them apart. Oh, she was furious! “And that’s something you know nothing about!” Lucy’s hand flew up faster than even she knew it was happening, landing a loud slap across Natsu’s face. “You made your choice long ago, and love never factored in,” she seethed then stomped away leaving the man alone and speechless amongst whispering bystanders.

So much for celebrating, not after Natsu’s intrusion into the affair. Lucy thanked Katsunuma again for inviting her and left the party. She couldn’t be around Natsu for another second or she just might hit him again. Ugh! He made her so angry! Love… seriously?! He had no right to pull that on her, not when it was his decision that lead to their split. In a way she should thank him for opening her eyes, because that’s what lead to creating her own organization. Lucy wanted to show that women could do just fine in the underworld with the right people and the right plans in place. And she hadn’t been the only one to feel that way. This was the modern era and all the bullshit, patriarchy rules that held them back needed to die with the twentieth century. The saddest part… Lucy didn’t even know if Natsu realized how much he’d hurt her all those years ago.

“Ma’am,” the valet snapped Lucy out of her thoughts. “Your car has arrived.”

“Thank you.” Lucy stepped closer to the curb as the vehicle pulled up alongside her. The valet opened the door for her, but just as she was about to step in, she heard her name called from behind her.

“Natsu, can’t you take a hint!” She turned and snapped while still keeping a hand on the vehicle.

“Luce, I was just playing with you upstairs. I didn’t mean to make you so angry.”

“Well, you did.”

“I don’t understand why!”

“And that’s your problem.”

“But I don’t want you to hate me, and you seem to hate me.”

Lucy sighed from the sheer emotional exhaustion. “I don’t hate you, Natsu. But until you can figure out why I left you, we don’t have anything more to talk about. Now. Good night.” She got into the vehicle, and they drove away.

Once they were out of sight, Lucy slumped down into the seat holding back the cloud of tears building in her eyes. She’d meant what she said, all of it including not hating him. Frankly, she didn’t know if she could. Anger, yes, but hatred no. They’d been young but even she recognized the connection she had to Natsu wasn’t something she could easily walk away from, and she also knew he wasn’t lying when he’d brought up love. The man’s reaction to seeing her flirt with the bartender was a reminder of his feelings for her. But it wasn’t enough. Lucy didn’t want to feel like an unequal partner in the relationship and that’s exactly what the Yakuza world Natsu chose expected.

“Home, miss?”

“Yes, please take me home.”

[caffeinated-cryptid]

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil). 

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

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

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

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

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

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

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

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

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

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IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

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

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city?  Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

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

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

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

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?  

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

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

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt! 

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard.  He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-"  Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you."  Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

[and-stir-the-stars]

first of all, id like to properly congratule you. happy birthday!! hope today will go great for you. i wish you all the best <3

now, im not really able to do sth cool like olivia but i have prepared,,, top 5 creatures that i associate you with (ig it's kind of my thing to send you such asks, would be bad to ruin the tradition)

1. Cassiopea jellyfish

first of all, gotta start with the marine creatures. but also ive read that they're considered "ecosystem engineers" and that immediately made me think of you. you basically are the sole creater of the heaven ecosystem thing so it was an obvious choice. also they're quite unique, upside down jellies and they overall look cool.

2. Puffins

in my opinion, they're the coolest seabirds to ever exist. they are also versatile, being able to both fly and swim well. and their beaks change colours with the season. you feel like the person who can do lots of great things, learn new skills easily but at the same time continue to develop your old skills. and you just feel like a sort of person to move to the seaside and live a mysterious life,,,

3. Pixie cup lichen

those look magical, so i immediately thought of you for some reason. i also think lichen is one of the coolest organisms to ever exist. two species in a mutualistic relationship,, just like you are able to be mutuals with many people and continue to live a balanced life, being a kind but self-respecting person.

4. Galloway breed cows

soft cows, nice to hug, very mellow. but could definitely defend themselves if needed!

5. Angel oak tree

self explanatory. a very old tree, around 500 years old i think. according to local legends the ghosts of the former slaves appear as angels around this tree. as far away as i am from supernatural at this point of my life, it's always nice to read your opinions and headcanons and (especially) rants (i love to read your rant posts, they provide a lot of insight and make me reconsider a lot of things). so i feel, just like this great tree, you're full of knowledge and strength to continue living.

again, i wish you to live your life the way you want to, get enough rest and good food and just enjoy all the great (and not really) shows that you find on your way. happy birthday, kats!!!

stop ittttt you're literally gonna make me cryyyyyy 😭

Getting marine + creatures asks from you is always an incredible experience,, I love hearing all your thoughts and learning new things about the world through your asks, but this?? Absolutely next-level.

I've been waiting for something Smart and Thoughtful that i can say in response to this to crop up in my head but I'm just. speechless. Like i have NO idea what i did to deserve a friend as amazing as you, Dante <3

[weaverofthreads]

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.  

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.  

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read. 

Content of this ‘essay’: 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview  

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters  

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas  

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.  

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised. 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.  

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.  

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.  

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).  

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).  

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.  

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.  

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).  

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery. 

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.  

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.  

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points  

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?  

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters  

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.  

Speaking of characters… 

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:  

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits. 

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.  

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).  

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.  

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.  

Sub Plot Ideas  

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations  

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.  

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.  

Additions and Notes:  

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.  

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you. 

NaNoWriMo plan:  

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics. 

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.  

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!  

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.  

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.  

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.  

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.  

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.  

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).  

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

[journalxxx]

Repetita Iuvant

The room was almost perfectly quiet. The barely audible buzzing of the medical equipment and the occasional squawk of a bird outside were the only noises Izuku had heard in probably hours. The chair creaked when he moved, his shoes squeaked on the white floor. He had already grown used to the pungent smell of disinfectant. No one had come to check on either of them in a while. There was nothing whatsoever to distract him from his thoughts and from the enormity of the consequence that his recklessness could have had- could still have.

How very obvious All For One's plan had been, in hindsight. Driving Izuku to drive himself to the brink of exhaustion and to detach himself from any semblance of support. Sending few lone agents first to inflict some physical chip damage and a much more substantial amount of psychological warfare. Leading him to walk, alone and unprepared and worn-out, straight into the real trap.

Even without Endeavor's fire propulsion or the perceptive wings of the hero who was always just a little too fast, All Might had been the first one to reach the fight. Izuku knew that his words weren't going to dissuade him from trying to follow his student, but he'd thought he could manage to outspeed him, to keep the danger just a little ahead of him at every turn. How arrogant and simple-minded.

All Might hadn't wasted a second. With what little combat gear he had at hand, he had immediately provided cover fire and diversion, dodging and hiding and inching his way towards Izuku as the horde of strategically placed snipers and brawlers kept him too busy to track his mentor's approach.  All Might, who, Todoroki had told him, even after losing every last ounce of his power, had once unhesitatingly thrown himself in harm's way to protect a wandering bystander from collateral damage. All Might, who had once again thrown himself in harm's way to protect his disgraceful successor from a potentially lethal blow.  Izuku had recognized the villain who had charged forwards. There were two whole pages about him on one of his old notebooks, probably number 7 or 8. A convict with a sunlight-fuelled power-enhancing quirk who had regained his freedom during one of the many breakouts following Tartarus' fall, a villain that All Might himself had brought to justice a few years back. Izuku had seen the cruel grin on the criminal's face when he had realized who his attack had landed on. Izuku had seen the sadistic glint in his eyes as he instantly stopped caring about the target of the operation in order to exact his revenge on his captor, and started pummelling the frail, stumbling figure savagely. Caught in the crossfire of the battle, it had taken Izuku ninety seconds to separate the rampaging brute from his victim. Ninety seconds was a tremendously long time in the raging frenzy of a battlefield. The sight of All Might's bloodied, battered, unconscious form was the last clear memory Izuku retained of the whole accident. After that, it was a blurry sequence of hits, dodges, movement, explosions, noise, made even more chaotic by the arrival of other heroes. After that, a mad dash to the nearest hospital. After that... Time. Nothing but time, hours and hours, with the sole company of his regrets. Endeavor, of all people, had had a few words for Izuku when he had reached the hospital as well. Not very heartfelt or unexpected ones, but undeniably warranted. Endeavor, who was just about the most unsociable, standoffish and selfish hero in the industry, and an unspeakable parent and husband to boot. Endeavor, who nonetheless had opened up his own agency, had sidekicks, subordinates, support, a proper network of associates, and was demonstrably not above accepting help when he obviously needed it. Not even Endeavor could have messed up so badly. Hawks had just shaken his head and spared Izuku any tirades, for the time being. He had kept watch, and later said that Recovery Girl was on her way. Izuku had genuinely no idea how many hours (days?) had passed since All Might had been admitted to the hospital. He had let some doctors examine his own wounds, done whatever he was told to do and answered whatever question he was asked with the most appropriate monosyllable. He had slept, not by choice but probably because of some medicine someone gave him at some point. He had washed and put on some fresh clothes provided by Jeanist. He had eaten, barely. He had waited. Stared at walls. Paced. Let his brain dissect in every detail the harrowing series of unforgivable blunders that had led to the current situation. Despite the doctors' initial opposition, they had allowed Izuku to enter All Might's room after Hawks had interceded. The noticeble lack of reassurances about the man's conditions had worried him, but, unlike in Nighteye's case, no one had warned him of his impending demise either, which was as good a sign as he was going to get. Since then, no one had showed up to tell him to leave, so he hadn't. He had tried to be rational about it, at first. He had analyzed the fact that All For One's goons seemed hell bent on taking advantage of All Might's weak point. The first noumu had done it, Wolfram had done it, the latest assailant had done it as well, if the extensive dressing covering the entirety of All Might's left side was of any indication. It was wicked and cowardly, but it was also a bit of a blessing in disguise. Most of his vital organs in that area had long since been eradicated, and it stood to reason that any damage on the opposite side, for example to All Might's sole remaining lung, would be more likely to prove deadly. He hoped his foes would never get that memo. He noted how scattered All Might's injuries were and reflected that, if the villain had focussed all those hits and raw strength on the hero's head alone, he would have turned it into mincemeat in a matter of seconds. As it stood, most of All Might's head was unscathed, with some padded bandaging covering about a third of his face, but relatively little damage to the cranial lid itself. Another instance of cruelty turning to their advantage, Izuku guessed. Unfortunately, instead of getting used to the sight of his mentor's wrecked body, Izuku was only finding it more and more distressing as time went by. There were too many bandages, too many tubes and machines and cables laid out around and all over him. He was too pale, his features too sunken, his appearance too similar to a corpse, his chest rising too shallowly with each breath to give him any measure of comfort. Izuku crumpled forwards in his chair, hands in his hair, face resolutely pointed at the floor, unable to stand the sight any longer. He was gutless, unworthy and criminally short-sighted. One For All probably shared that sentiment, since he hadn't heard a peep from any of the vestiges since the fight. He resumed, for the millionth time, revisiting the events of the last months, letting guilt engulf him like a poisonous cloud. He was snapped out of his reverie by a fierce grip on his wrist, and the sudden blaring of one of the machines. His heart jumped in his throat and he looked up to see All Might reaching out to him with his good hand, awake and tense, rushed breaths fogging the oxygen mask he was wearing.  Izuku's eyes flew back and forth between the man and the beeping monitor. Was he reading it correctly? A heart rate spike? Something worse? All Might was definitely awake, but not altogether... there. He had a haunted, distant expression that made Izuku's stomach constrict painfully.  "All Might?" He called, utterly failing to suppress his increasing dread. He tried to pry his teacher's hand away from his arm so that he could run and alert someone, but those bony fingers clawed him with such strength that no man in his condition had any right to have. "What's wrong?" The question seemed to help him get his bearings, somehow. Tension became confusion as All Might's gaze roamed all over Izuku, then the room, then what little he could see of himself from his lying position. Eventually the confusion waned too and exhaustion took its place as he closed his eyes and ventured a few deeper breaths.  Izuku tentatively stood up, but All Might, despite loosening his iron grip, didn't let go of him.  "Are you in pain? Shall I call someone?" He asked, still frazzled. A negative nod. As if in agreement, the monitor spontaneously ceased beeping. Izuku felt as if any decision-making ability he had ever possessed had been crushed alongside his mentor's limbs. Should he call someone, just to be sure? Weren't they monitoring patients remotely anyway? Should he- All Might opened his eyes again, and met Izuku's. The light that normally brightened them, a flame that had nothing to do with quirks and that Izuku had thought inextinguishable, was subdued and meek. It made the boy's breath catch in his throat. "I-I'm..." He couldn't say it. Apologies couldn't cut it, not this time. There were no words that could even begin to atone for the catastrophe he had nearly caused, for the pain he knew he had inflicted to the one person that had always, unerringly trusted him. His traitorous eyes burned and his vision blurred. Izuku squeezed them and bit his lip, hard. He would not cry. He didn't have the right to, especially not after months spent playing the stoic vigilante, and it was a damnable weakness he should have weaned off long ago, and All Might barely tolerated it in the first place. All Might tugged at his arm. He was regarding him gently now, with that deep warmth that one never expected to match those haggard features of his. He pulled again, until Izuku returned to the chair and scooted a little closer to the bed, close enough for All Might to move his hand to the boy's hair.  "It's okay." All Might finally spoke. His voice was disturbingly different from his usual stentorean timbre, like the rumbling thunder of a distant storm even when it was at its lowest. There was a breathless, wispy quality to his tone now, and long pauses stretching between each sentence he uttered. "It's okay to cry... I should have told you... a long time ago..." Izuku's throat clenched painfully. There was so much he had to say and explain and apologize for, so much he had to tell him, but he couldn't. He couldn't. A pitiful whimper escaped him as he brought his own hand to cover All Might's. To stop him and pull it away, or to grasp it and hold it closer, he didn't even know. "Repeat after me." All Might said in English with that odd accent of his that didn't quite sound as natural as an American's, but that nonetheless seemed to roll off his tongue so easily. Those words hit Izuku almost physically, summoning a memory of roaring waves under a starry sky, of a joyful run along an immaculate beach in a time when the future looked so much brighter, and so much more hopeful. "It's okay to cry." "...It's. Okay. To cry-" Izuku managed to force out haltingly, and suddenly it was as if a dam broke inside him. Gross sobs escaped him uncontrollably, making him gasp aloud and flinch beneath his mentor's calm gaze as some part of him took those words in stride with frightening promptness. "Don't push yourself too hard." All Might was smiling now, of all things. Where he found the strength, the will, the reason to smile so softly at him here, now, Izuku had no idea. It took the boy a few moments to realize that the hero was still expecting him to reply. "Don't push yourself too hard." He echoed shakily. He thought of Musutafu, of the USJ, of Kamino. He wondered to whom, exactly, these words were aimed at. He abandoned that line of thought immediately.  "You deserve to rest." "You deserve-" He stopped. He could not say those words, not like this. It sounded way too much like a farewell, like a request for a parting blessing. Which was unthinkable, because All Might had vowed to keep on living and he would never go back on it. But Izuku's mind conjured notions of eternal rest, tragic visions that may or may not come to pass, irredeemable mistakes- All Might's hand slid away from under Izuku's. The same hand that had once shattered buildings, created whirlwinds, held an entire nation's hope in its raised fist, trailed down Izuku's temple with unimaginable tenderness. It cupped the boy's cheek in its palm, it wiped away stray tears with its thumb. All Might mouthed something, more of an exhale than actual words, that Izuku couldn't quite catch over the sound of his own gasps.  "You deserve to rest." The boy finished. All Might was still smiling, more serene that Izuku had seen him in months. "Let's talk more later, hm?" He sighed as he closed his eyes, his hand slowly falling back on the bed. Izuku clasped it back between his own in an instant, panic flaring up in his gut all over again, fearing the unthinkable.  But the equipment kept buzzing quietly and undisturbed, the birds kept squawking, his chair kept creaking and his shoes kept squeaking. He focussed on the firm pulse beating under his fingertips, for as long as it took for his own mind to still.

[candiliam328]

Season 1 was SO musically superior! Like imma be honest, there are very few songs I remember or liked from season 2. I think in hell I’ll be in good company, golden brown, and major Tom are the ones I can think of off the top of my head. Season 1's soundtrack is iconic. Phantom of the opera? I think we're alone now? The Walker? Shingaling? Kill of the night, hazy shade of winter, happy together, run boy run, picture book, don’t stop me now... they’re all so good! No mistakes were made XD

YES. YES. YES. 

ok this is going to be an extremely long answer and... 

Necessary disclaimer: these are just all my personal opinions (pls don’t attack me)

Season 1 was a musical masterpiece. The OST and the pop music worked really well together. But I... wasn’t impressed with the music in S2. There’s lots of reasons why.

But what you’re talking about... honestly same. I just looked through a playlist of the pop music in S2 and I didn’t remember most of them? Couldn’t even guess what scenes they might play in? That’s... an immediate failing. If you put a song in a show, it needs to be a deliberate choice and it needs to mean something or else why would you bother including that song? 

yike I can literally talk about this for hours (more below the cut)

Music in cinema is really... weird. Even more so when you introduce pop music. 

Ok, let’s go from the beginning... a good musical scoring is supposed to reflect what is happening on your screen. It’s meant to support but not overwhelm. A good musical scoring will implicitly tell you more about the story than what you are visually given... but it’s incredibly subtle. You’re not meant to realize that you’re getting some extra info because that would distract you from what’s actually happening on the screen. Some background processing of info, if you get what I mean. (more to come in my OST analysis, should it ever be finished I guess lol)

This isn’t the case with pop music. This can’t be the case with pop music. 

Remember, the OST is original composition. Written specifically for this show. Only introduced to you in the context of this show.

Popular music, by definition, exists outside the context of this show. 

So there’s a really subtle balance that needs to be kept here when introducing pop music because you risk taking your audience out of the moment and making them think of other memories they already associate with that song. 

How do you combat that? Well, diagetic music (music built into the show, like “I Think We’re Alone Now”) tends to be more easily digested and accepted as part of the show material, since the characters are obviously hearing this music as well and interacting/reacting to the music. You have visual confirmation that this music is part of the show as well as auditory stimulation, so brain is less likely to wander off on its own journey. 

But the more clever way? Have an incredibly meaningful scene tied with it, something that fits in all the right ways and allows it to work like the score, giving you additional information without you even knowing it. Something that overpowers your brain’s tendency to get distracted by whatever other context you may associate with that pop song. Something that will grab your brain and be like “Sorry, brain. This song is officially a TUA song.”

This obviously works best if you have very little memories associated with the song, so the more obscure the song the better. But if you’re an absolute mad genius with your music and your cinematic timing, you can overpower any association with any song, no matter how popular it is. (... ever wonder why every song in Shrek became an immediate Shrek song? yeah lol)

You also have to recognize that the pop music in TUA or in any other piece of cinema that includes pop music? It does not exist in auditory isolation. There’s a running stream of background music and sounds and noises. Clever sound production will make the jump between music as smooth as possible. Clever scoring will think about how to weave a narrative, while keeping in mind the pop music that will be inserted as well. Make everything as subtle and smooth as possible. Your job is to not take the audience away from the narrative of the screen.

Ok, that was a lot of background info. You may be asking, “LOL BEAN WHAT’S YOUR MAIN POINT?”

Alright, so here it is.

The pop music in season 2 was pretty much doomed to be less effective from the get-go. 

The original score of TUA is composed by the lovely Jeff Russo. From my understanding, he knew what pop music was already planned for season 1 before he even got to scoring. This is important. Because he could make choices about the score and the motifs, while keeping the pop music in mind. He could make a more cohesive sound and music experience. And it worked.

There were deliberate choices made with the pop music. They prioritized and made sure you heard them in the right contexts. I will tell you now that there may be some pop music in season 1 that you completely forgot about. That’s OK. You weren’t necessarily supposed to remember them that much. You can’t be expected to pick up on everything. But the ones that played during the most important scenes? “Run Boy Run,” “Don’t Stop Me Now,” “The Walker,” “Never Tear Us Apart”? You know them. They played them longer and they took the time for your ears to appreciate the music and recognize its context in the show. None of this works if your ears and your brain don’t have enough time to process and form the associations of this song with what is happening on the screen. And they resonated with you the most because they reflected what was happening in the show the strongest. These are the important scenes you were supposed to care about and will play in your mind now whenever you hear those songs. 

But an even stronger testament to the integrity of pop music in S1: The other songs you forgot about and can’t name off the top of your head? You can listen to them again and maybe even make a good guess at when they were playing in the show. They... fit the show somehow, even if you can’t exactly place it. 

And this all makes sense if they chose these songs even before they started filming. Even before they started most of the scoring. 

In season 1, choices were made because of the pop music. 

... not so much the case for season 2. 

I’ve spent less time on the music for season 2 and honestly I don’t plan to spend much more ahaha... But here’s my two cents:

The music in season 2... is incredibly confused. You no longer have this cohesive sound experience that showed up in season 1. The OST is stuck with motifs that were developed with pop music from s1 in mind. Also, Russo played really hard into the fact that Vanya played the violin in season 1 and now there’s no violin at all on-screen, but he’s stuck with an excess amount of violin in the scoring, so there’s already less of a connection there. Not only that, but Russo is no longer the sole score composer, was working on other projects while scoring this one, so there’s less time from him dedicated to make this score work, but also a slightly different sound being introduced from another composer.

Now, add in the messiness of time travel to the 1960′s. The OST is not the 1960's. Not even the new tracks introduced. So the 1960′s sound is... trying to come from the pop music. The pop music that doesn’t blend in with your OST because your OST was developed for a time set in the present. 

But wait! Your S1 soundtrack got really popular because of its prime pop music choices... music that fit really well with your scenes. Let’s do that... but even more. Let’s use really popular music !! Backstreet boys, maybe some covers of Billie Eilish, and Adele. Everyone knows these songs !! They’ll see how clever we are and it’ll make them laugh !! 

(Notably, this kinda ruins the charm that they were hoping to replicate from S1? Honestly, several times while I was watching S2, I literally shook my head and closed my eyes, thinking.... “of course, they would play this.” Took me completely out of the show. Yeah, it can be really fun, but idk if you are thinking about the people behind cinematic decisions during your first watch of a show, those people probably messed up at their job?)

But wait, I thought you were using your pop music to establish the 1960′s theme? Now some of your music is directly clashing with that and the environmental setting? You’re confused. What are you supposed to be taking away from the pop music now?

And here’s something even more messy: the pop music in S1 was so incredibly important in establishing the musical identity of your characters, since they were played during some of the most defining character moments. Consciously or not, you have some musical expectations already for each of the characters. Not only that, but you’re expecting this pop music to be telling you more things about your characters than what you’re seeing on the screen. What happens when those expectations are not met? There’s some cognitive dissonance. You’re mentally taken out of the show, thinking about other things. Confused about what you’re supposed to take away from this music. Bad. Musical. Decisions.

So... what does that leave you with for the music in season 2?

A mess of 1960′s music and clunky ‘on-the-nose’ music choices, which may or may not clash with the established musical identities of the characters and all clumsily tied together with a struggling OST for the musically confused ears of the audience.

Tldr; Season 1 was a musical masterpiece. The Season 2 music never even had a chance.

[tequiladimples]

I hope this doesn't come off as rude, but I saw that you dislike when collision is branded het cause you're not het, but no one's talking about you personally? like for me, I really like collision but I can understand the criticism in a way and that isn't an attack on you (or an attack at all lol). again hope I'm not rude but idk it seems unnecessary to get upset, it's better to take it as constructive criticism

sigh i don't think ur rude but it simply isn't constructive.

look i’ll talk abt this one more time n then i Beg we can put it to rest! (this is gna be a lot of word vomit but if i'm elaborative now i hope i won't have to talk abt this ever again)

i’m deeply insecure abt many aspects of collision. i don’t really keep that a secret. i also know some ppl don't like fantasy, some ppl don't like the kinds of dynamics i like, some ppl don't vibe with my style of writing (hell, i barely vibe with my style of writing). those things are fine. i can't control that and i don't take that personally. the reason why this is the one critique i do take personally is because it genuinely presumes wrongful, harmful things about me and my values, especially when i've made deliberate efforts to avoid writing the exact flavor of fic they're accusing me of having written. just because people don’t mean for what they say to reflect back on me, doesn’t stop it from doing so.

the thing about calling something a “het fic” is that the term brings along certain connotations which i don’t stand by at all and feel deeply uncomfortable and distraught to possibly have created. i’ve gone over this godforsaken story again and again just to be absolutely sure i didn’t actually do so. when people say “het fic” they generally don’t mean “boy meets girl and they fall in love”, they mean “super rude and mean boy meets uptight virtuous girl and makes her fall in dependence with him through manipulation and treating her like shit until she behaves how he wants.” and that is straight up not the fic i wrote. i’m not stupid. i know the dynamic i went with is widely and easily misused and there’s a lot of fiction depicting really bad, uneven, unhealthy relationships through it. i knew this going in, and i’ve tried persistently to avoid making those same mistakes. 

skipping over the fact that they’re both boys (bc duh)--harry doesn't exhibit any real manipulative power over louis. collision harry is a grumpy, fruity little nerd who happened upon a really unfortunate lot in life and managed to trick himself into believing he's evil for like half a second of the story and his resolves crumble like a danish pastry the moment he receives his first hug. he's kind of aloof and arrogant, and understandably hardened from his past, but he's not bad. he's just lost. that's the basis of his character arc. now on the other hand, louis has harry wrapped around his finger starting like chapter 4. harry’s the one who opens up emotionally first, harry’s the one desperately seeking louis’ approval and caring about his opinion, harry’s the one who makes himself vulnerable continuously throughout the entire story. the only time louis makes himself vulnerable on a comparable scale is during the smut scenes, and even then, harry is gentle and attentive and puts louis first. louis is less experienced than harry in that area, but he isn't scared or intimidated by harry, and he has full reigns of the progression and nature of their relationship as a whole. that’s kind of how it needs to go with tough x soft dynamics for the power balance to not feel uneven, and i wrote the story accordingly. if you then happen to still be so blindly determined to associate soft/small with weakness (and thereby uh, womanhood ig) that you still felt like louis had an inferior position to harry solely because he is indeed soft/small, that sounds quite frankly like a you problem.

now, the whole point of louis’ character is that he’s underestimated. sure, he’s naive and self-centered and sheltered from the real world--that’s the basis of his character arc. those things all change. but louis isn’t ever weak. like idk who apparently needs to hear this but you can be small and simultaneously not be a pushover. the two aren’t mutually exclusive. there isn’t a single time louis takes shit in this story, especially not from harry; he gives back as good as he gets every time. oh! and then he literally saves the entire universe and the execution of that whole thing was his idea alone. i tried really hard to underline how strong-willed and full of grit he is to contrast what others think of him. if you think he’s portrayed as a meek and frail damsel, you missed the point. once again, i feel like we circle back to this misconception of louis being kind of naive and physically small = louis being inferior = louis being female. just do some soul searching.

(i could also get into the fact that for a bunch of people who don’t know these boys personally (no matter how much we like to think we do), this fandom is weirdly opinionated about characterization. especially regarding sexual stuff. i know creating a version for ourselves of who we think these boys are based on things we recognize in ourselves or things we find endearing is part of the comfort with loving them. but that doesn’t really equate to actually knowing them, and besides, this is fan fiction; no one’s opting to write a biography, anyway. being experimental and explorative and putting different aspects of their personalities in different lightings is what makes fic fun. if someone’s writing harmful or one-dimensional characters, that’s one thing, and preferences is again whatever floats your boat. but the “out of character” argument feels mostly really strange to me. this is a bit of a tangent, though.)

lastly, the thing is that i will and i do take it personally if someone insinuates that a character--a gay character--that i, a lesbian, construed is a secret vessel for expressing heterosexual attraction. if someone calls louis a “self-insert”, that does reflect back on me. and to elaborate on that--i don’t particularly love to bring it up, but it's quite disheartening to pour personal PTSD experiences into a character and rly put effort into doing it right and justice and underline growth and healing, just to find out people disregard all that completely in favor of declaring that my self-projection lies in the attraction to a man--which is to say, the one thing i couldn’t possibly feel more estranged from. it's so incredibly tactless. i feel thoroughly whiny at this point but how is that not supposed to make me a little sad?

anyway. none of this is to say that you can’t dislike or critique collision. you can. sometimes ppl don’t like things. but i hope i’m clear about where i’m coming from with my discomfort now. people’s preferences and dislikes are indeed not mine to be hurt by, but these things are. this definitely got unnecessarily long and i probably look like i take myself unbearably seriously (i promise i don’t), so i’m sorry. but at least i've said everything now, and if i encounter this sort of rhetoric in the future, i have something to redirect people to. also anon, none of this is directly pointed at you, i know you mean well. take care <3

[elena-reina]

Worth It - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Request: (1/3) heyyy, can you do an imagine that draco comforts you for having depression for whatever reason and one day he saw you standing on the roof of hog warts almost leaping off the balcony but he catches you in time (you can create the ending) thank u if you do!! :)) - Anon

(2/3) Can you do a one shot where Draco knows about the readers eating disorder and he helps her overcome it? I hope that makes sense, I love your stories so much, please don't stop writing! - Anon

(3/3) Yay, you’re back! I was wondering if you could do a Draco Malfoy x reader where he finds her self harming? I get it if you aren’t comfortable - Anon

Warnings: Very triggering- read with caution please, depression- suicide related, anorexia, self-harm

A/N: PLEASE READ! These three all fall under the same category for me, so I just combined them. I just want to make it clear that I am not, in any way, romanticizing or making it seem as though I am pro self-harm whatsoever; I purely write whatever requests come in. To those that do, I know you’ve got a lot going on and there is a lot of emotions, trauma, and hurt; believe me I know a lot about it. But it gets better, I promise you. It always gets better. Incase you all haven’t heard it, I love you, I care about you, and I know you’re strong enough to make it through anything. If anyone needs to talk, my messages are always open and again don’t ever think you’re not enough or worth it because you all are golden. You were put on this earth for a reason :)

Just another day on top of another.

Yawning, you lightly scratched your head and stood in front of your mirror in your dorm room; nothing covered you besides your undergarments. Looking up and down your body completely still, you wouldn’t be able to tell there was anything wrong. You lifted your arm and looked at your wrist leading down your forearm; the markings covered the insides of your arms and varied in color, shape, and size. Some of them were old, obvious by how they shined and caught light at just the right angle. Some were bright red and bold, there was no denying it. Most were about a month old, looking like a cat scratched you and drew blood; which would be believeable considering you owned a cat- Pumpkin; some you could also blame on an accident. 

Well, what kind of accident?

Well, you didn’t have that answer. Not as if anyone were to ask anyways due to the fact that you kept them hidden in the first place.

You started at your feet, averting your eyes from your own reflection. Your feet were bony and thin, like the rest of your body. Raising your gaze, you winced at the emaciated figure that stared back at yourself. 

What had you let yourself become? 

To others, you looked sickly. 

Had you come to Hogwarts like this initially? No. It was harder to hide it at home, so your mind never crossed it other than maybe dark thoughts here and there.

Did you have a good life at home? Well, that’s subjective. You had a roof over your head, clothes on your back, and food in the fridge. All the necessary things to provide as a necessity to live.

But did you have genuine friends, loving parents, and a place to call home? No.

Your once plump and vibrant self, now looked thin to the bone. Once the soul becomes so thin, the body will inevitably follow in its footsteps like a wandering toddler, learning and adapting from the shadows within. Instead of a growing sense of ultimate self-love, self-worth, or self-positivity, the soul doesn’t have the strength to ascend upwards to health anymore. And so it is extremely hard to eat more, even when it is a simple bite at a time; drink more, with a tiny sip of water needed to survive; live more, the simple act of breathing eventually gets difficult from time to time; and ultimately hard to listen to that part of yourself that wants to stay alive and be loved.

Would you still go to the Grand Hall? Well of course, if there was one thing you hated more than yourself was unwanted attention. Part of you belives it’s your fault that you don’t have friends soley because of how introverted you are. And with the friends, well friend, that you do have just so happens to be the person most people don’t get along with; Draco Malfoy.

What’re the odds.

There definitely was more to it than just being “friends” with Draco, but neither of you fully acknowledged it. He knew about your eating disorder, and he tries his best to help you, encouraging you every step of the way- even when you blatantly push him away.

You never asked for help- Not that he cared if you did or didn’t anyway.

Turning away from the mirror, you slipped on your white button up shirt making sure to clip the button around your wrist, taking attention away for your skin. Sliding on your skirt, Y/H tie, and your Y/H robe, you were ready to head down for breakfast. 

Your hand rested on the cold metal door knob, as you stared at the small piece of silver metal on top of your dresser; whom you have a terrible relationship with. You bit your lip, hesitating. You knew you shouldn’t take it. You knew you shouldn’t have it on you because it will only ingite triggers. 

Fuck it.

You quickly walked over to your dresser and picked up the sharp piece to put in your pocket. Spinning on your heel, you headed on out of the room and to the Grand Hall.

You walked through the aisles, and immediately met with Draco’s eyes. He lit up and waved you over to your usual seat right beside him. He scooted over, patting the space next to him as you sat down. He grinned, happy to see you.

“G’morning, Y/N,” he said pulling you into a tight hug. He was always careful when touching you because he felt like he could snap you in half if he were to be too rough on you.

You smiled warmly, breathing in his calming smell. “Good morning, Draco.”

“Alright, I know we’ve been doing baby steps for the longest time, but I think you are just about ready,” he spoke.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’re you talking about?”

He leaned over the table and placed food onto your plate, more than he’s put on the last times. Before it would just be pieces of fruit here and there, maybe a piece of sausage; but this time he put a waffle, more fruit, and two slices of bacon.

Your stomach gurgled for the food, desperate to be full off of something. But at the same time, you felt sick to your stomach.

“Draco, this is too much. I’m not even all that hungry. We had a big dinner the night before remember?”

“Nonesense, you literally only ate a handfull of rice and two small pieces of asparagus last night. Even my owl eats more than that,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes.

You stared at your plate, leaning back. Your tongue felt dry, despite your cup of water being right in front of you. Your throat felt as if someone thrust a handful of itching powder down and it was dying to be coughed out. If possible, you could sit in the chair for fifteen hours straight; you just weren’t in the mood to eat.

“Listen, you don’t have to eat it all, but please try for me.”

You nodded and picked up your fork, stabbing to the orange melon. Bringing it to your lips, you slowly chewed as your stomach was growling in pleasure being finally fed. 

Draco cheered you on with every bite, causing you to laugh. He wanted to distract you so that you focused less on what you’re eating and more on conversing with him so you weren’t as distracted with how much you were eating.

Eventually, you finished about half the waffle, all your fruit, and had no more bacon left. You were surprised at yourself when you looked back at your plate and then to him.

“I’m so proud of you! You ate more than I expected- not that I am complaining, I’m definitely not because I am really happy for you,” he quickly chuckled, “Maybe tomorrow we can put two waffles.” He nudged the side of your bony rib jokinly.

“Ha ha very funny,” you joked, rolling your eyes. 

After some time, you had to go to class. Sadly, you didn’t share many classes with Draco if at all. Walking into potions, you sat in your usual seat in the back of the room. As usual, there were always a few Slytherin’s that would pester you  solely because you were one of the few people in the school who was able to even share the same space as Draco; it was pure jealousy but you didn’t have a say in anything, or even how your friendship blossomed in the first place.

“Y/L/N,” Daphne sneered, leaning close to your face.

You really tried your best to focus on your Potions book but the group of girls that taunt you every single day just so happened to want to be extra annoying and sit around you. And when I say around you, I mean literally in front of you, next to you, on both sides, and even behind you. You lifted your head from your hand to looked at Daphne in front of you, considering she was right in your face. You opened your mouth to speak, but she beat you to it.

“I really don’t understand how us purebloods are forced to associate with people like you rotting mudbloods,” she giggled, making a disgusted expression as she said the last part. Her friends burst out into obnoxious laughter. 

You weren’t even a mudblood. You had friends who weren’t magical, but that only led people to paint you as a mudblood.

"Can’t say anything? Can’t stick up for yourself Y/L/N? My goodness, do you even speak or is that too hard for you?” Sarah on the side of you asks, awaiting your response, “I see the way you have Draco baby you. It’s pathetic really.”

They took your silence as an answer and continued but this time it was Heather behind you. "See, she doesn’t even deny it,” she snickered, "Just look at you. I don’t see what he sees in you. You look like, I don’t even know how to say it, a walking pole-”

“No, a broken twig!” Daphne interjected, laughing.

“Yes a broken twig!” Heather continued, slowly enunciating each word, “Nothing but a pathetic, filthy, mudblood who pretends to be sick just to get the attention from those who actually matter.” 

Each word felt like a stab in an open wound over and over again, being thrusted through your entire body. Tears welled up in your eyes as you blankly stared down at your Potions book, threatening to fall at any given moment. 

“What? Cat’s still got your tongue?” Alicia from the other side of you jerked, shoving on your roughly causing you to bump into Sarah. Sarah let out a disgusted groan and pushed you back off of her.

“Gross! Do not touch me!” she gagged, as Heather joined in and pushed you to the point that you fell out of your seat and roughly onto the floor with a loud smack.

“HEY! LEAVE HER ALONE!” someone in the classroom, whom you recognized as Justin Finch-Fletchley, spoke loudly finally witnessing what was happening.

Tears silently cascaded down your cheeks. He quickly jogged over to you as the mean girls dispersed to a different part of the classroom snickering together.

“Are you alright?” he asked concerned, extending his arm out towards you. You looked at his hand through blurry eyes and nodded, lightly grabbing onto him. He helped you to your feet. Grabbing onto your book, you turned and rushed out of the room and headed in the direction of the bathroom.

Keeping you head low, you sped walked, and crashed into someone that sent you flying to the floor. Choking over your tears, you didn’t bother to look at who it was and instead rushed to find your Potions book and hurry out of there.

“Y/N?” that familiar voice spoke.

Draco.

You still avoided eyecontact as you kept searching to your book only to find him holding onto it, to give to you. Standing up, you straightened out your skirt. Lightly grabbing it, you whispered a quiet thank you and tried to continue down the hallway. He stopped you grabbing onto your arm, alarmed.

“Woah, wait. What’s going on, what happened, what’s wrong?” he asked all at once as he watched the translucent tears glide down the sides of your face. You stood straight.

“Please, let me go,” you spoke softly, your voice slightly cracking.

“Was someone saying bullshit to you? Did someone hurt you? Because you know I’m always here for you and I’ll make sure they don’t say anything to or about you ever again.” He growls getting angrier by the second.

“I just really want to be left alone, Draco. I’m sorry,” you said snatching your arm back and sped walked down the hallway.

His scowl lightens, worrying for you. He slowly followed you. 

Initially you wanted to go to the bathroom, but changed your mind last minute. Turning a different corner, you kept going up more and more stairs until you inevitably reached the top of the Hogwarts building. Rushing to the edge, you dropped your book onto the floor and stood slightly leaning over the edge to get a good look at the bottom of the building with your hair flowing in the wind. It was a long way down that will ultimately end up in costing you your life. Trying to force yourself out of your thoughts, you looked in your pocket for that piece of metal, grateful that you grabbed it earlier. Frantically unbuttoning the shirt around your wrist, you felt numb as you choked over your tears silently.

“I’m not worth it,” you thought to yourself.

You stood on the brink of something you couldn't describe. The weight of everything seemed to press down on your shoulders and you struggled to take even a single step forward towards anything positive.

You felt worthless. 

A waste of space. A waste of air. A waste of life. 

It was too much. All of it. 

The tingle as the sharp metal glided against your skin provided a senseless, numb feeling. Every step cost you as the darkness in your mind grew darker and darker; the pain grew sharper and stronger; all of it seemed to only swell in strength and you began to wonder if things could ever get better.

You were tired of feeling things. Everyday felt like never ending dread. With an exception of Draco, nothing seemed worth it anymore. Hell, Draco will only end up forgetting about you in the end of it all.

You don’t play that much of a significant role in his life to matter to him in the long run.

Sometimes you wonder if someone ever notices that sad, broken look in your eyes that you see in the mirror that are masked with a smile and fake enthusiasm. 

If they see beauty where you see ugliness. 

You laugh, traveling up your arm going over old scars, a bitter, sarcastic laugh, at yourself. Nobody cares. No one notices. 

They never seem to, do they? You’ve fought for years, all for what.

The crimson liquid dripped down your arm, falling onto the stone floor. The wind pushed and howled against you as though to try and shove you back. Clumsily, you dropped your metal blade.

“No!” you shouted, dropping to your knees and it fell further and further, out of your sight. You choked over your sobs, feeling broken. Your arm stung and you looked at it through blurry tears.

“I can’t take this anymore,” you spoke aloud to yourself and shakily stood up. You inched closer and closed on the edge, as you looked up inhaling the fresh air. With one last breath, you closed your eyes, opened your arms, and took your last step forward and felt the pressure of the wind beat you on the way down. 

The blackness behind your eyes was perfect. It provided a visual silence that gave a respected admiration. With your eyes closed there was the simple sweetness of the longing of existing, of being, of breathing, and how those moments extended with such grace until you are met with the concluding dark abyss.

Prior while had Draco followed you, he could feel the dark and depressive energy emerging out of your presense. He knew you needed your space, but something was off. The higher and higher you went up the stairs, he had enough of following you and simply looked up. Only the worse things plagued his mind as he quickly rushed back down the stairs and sprinted through the halls to hurry and get outside. He had no seconds to waste, because he had a feeling you were going to try and jump.

He could’ve followed you all the way to the top, but if you had jumped he would’ve been to late. At least this way, he had a chance of catching you.

Ignoring the pain in his chest from running, he ran pushing anyone and everyone who got in his way. 

Darting outside, his eyes widened as he saw your body flying down the side of the building. With one last push of exertion, he caught you in his arms just in time. He fell forward into the floor, but was sure to cradle your head so you got the least amount of injury.

Breathing heavily up and down. You opened your eyes and met Draco’s silver, scared ones. You didn’t know what to think. You didn’t think he was going to be there. Your fresh wounds, began to soak up in his white shirt. Draco sees them, the sight of your new scars reveal themselves to him. He sees your arm, not that he’s surprised. Still being held in his arms protectively, he starts to cry. 

“Y/N,” he says your name like you had just broken his heart.

Your throat tightens and you feel yourself on the brink of tears as your eyes stung. You didn’t know what to say. You were broken.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, not knowing what else to say or do. “I’m sorry. I–”

He interrupts you. “Why...” he stammers gazing down at your arm, “How many times?” He rang a soft finger down your arm, wincing at every raw wound.

“I don’t know,” you mumbles. 

“For fuck’s sake,” he cried out, his tears dripping off his chin. “I’m sorry I wasn’t…I wasn’t there for you enough.”

You shake your head, “No, Draco, it wasn’t your fault–”

Draco looked down at you with confusion and anger before he smashed his desperate lips onto yours.

Suddenly, the anger, the self-hatred, the loathing, the rage left your body for a split moment. It diminished as soon as his lips pressed against yours in a long over-due, intense passion. It was as if he was taking all away all your pain and misery and threw it away.

You kissed him back with burning amount of fiery love he was kissing you with. Your lips worked hungrily against his as his hands snaked their way to your waist and pulled your shaking body closer to his to kiss you deeper.

Your cold hands grabbed his face and pulled it closer to yours, if that was even possible. His calming scent flowed through your nostils, making your eyes water under your closed eyes.

Too many emotions were going through your brain and you couldn’t handle it. Deep down,  you had always dreamt of being with Draco. Although, you wish that it could have happened under very different and happier circumstances. Nonetheless, you were grateful.

Pulling away, he gazed into your eyes. “Y/N, can you answer me why? Why didn’t you come and talk to me.”

You tried diverting your gaze, but he grabbed your chin with his hand lightly to keep his eyes locked with yours. “Please.”

“I can’t take it anymore. I hate myself and everything I stand for,” you began to cry, “I just... I just thought it would make it easier for everyone else if I were to end everything and erase myself from existence.”

“I would miss you and I don’t know what I would do without you. What if I had just offed myself and left you there to wonder where you went wrong.”

You broke down into sobs, burying your face into his neck as he embraced you in a tight hug.

You shook. “I... I know, but I’m nothing special. I’m just–”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he snapped harshly. “You are so fucking perfect, it drives me insane. I love you so goddamn much, do you know that? Do you? I love you too much to let you keep doing this to yourself. You are worth it. You are loved. You are my everything. I want you to remember that feeling you had right now at the thought of me ending my life, because that’s what you’re doing to me whenever you cut me out of your life like I’m nothing.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried lifting your head sniffing, “Draco, I wasn’t trying to hurt you, I swear. I was just…I was just..” but you didn’t have any excuse, so you collapsed back into his warm embrace.

“I know,” he murmurs against your hair. “I know. I love you. I love you so much.”

[creepy-spooghetti]

The “Ark” Theory

OKAY, so there are a lot of theories out there about Marble Hornets, and I likely haven’t even seen half of them before. But one of the main questions around it is, what exactly is the Ark? There have been speculations that the Ark is Alex, that it’s the “Own Zone” as Joseph called it, or even that it’s a certain mental state that you have to put yourself in.

But what if it’s none of those? What if the Ark isn’t even physical at all? Here’s a theory; there have been many instances when totheark talked about the Ark, one of their more known quotes is, “He will lead me to you. Lead me to death. Lead me to the Ark.”

And so I was thinking, when you die you can either go to heaven or to hell, and if they were talking about one of these places you could only get to them if you did, indeed, die. Now we know that totheark is searching for something, and this “something” is the Ark. It’s unsure who exactly they’re talking to several times; it could be Jay, it could be Alex, it could even be Tim. But maybe it’s none of them. Maybe they’re trying to reach out to someone else for answers, maybe they’re looking for guidance from someone that they’re unable to find.

Here’s where we get into the theory.

What if the “Ark” in question is Jesus? Or rather, salvation? Considering the fact that the Operator is obviously an otherworldly, sinister being, it takes people who die to the Own Zone, which is the other world. Its other world. Remember when Tim got teleported there during Entry #65 and he saw the man Alex had killed with the rock? All the surroundings were dark. You couldn’t see past the corpse.

What does the KJV Bible say about hell? “And the angels which kept not their first estate, but left their own habitation, he hath reserved in everlasting chains under darkness unto the judgment of the great day.” -Jude 6. Hell is a dark place. But at the same time, it’s filled with flame.

“And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire.” -Revelation 20:50. What do we know about Tim? He smokes. We also know that his old hospital was burned down. Most don’t know that Tim himself was the reason it burned down, though. That quick shot of the melting grill, along with the fire as Tim gets teleported back to his room in Entry #83? The fire started in his room.

So maybe that’s why the Operator latched on so tightly to Tim before it found Alex. It was attracted to fire. We know that the devil is associated with fire, not because he’s from hell but because he’s going to be thrown into hell. 

So in this case, let’s say that the Operator represents Satan, the other dimension represents hell, and Jesus is the Ark. Then let’s say that, in terms of Noah’s Ark, that “hell” is the flood. It’s the place nobody wants to be taken to, the place of eternal darkness, flame, and suffering. And totheark doesn’t want to be caught in the flood.

So then what would the Operator be? I thought about this a bit and came to the conclusion that it’s sin. Or rather, the influence of sin. It affects everybody it manages to get its hands on, and Alex is a great example. Then Alex would be the people, the sinners that needed to be wiped off the face of the earth. The only way to get away from the flood would be to find the Ark, which in this case, would be Jesus.

So the Own Zone is the flood, the Operator is sin, Alex is the sinners, and Jesus is the Ark. The only way to escape the flood, ultimate death, would be to find the Ark. But totheark says “lead me to death”. So maybe they want to die, but they don’t want to be taken to hell, which we’ve seen is the Operator’s dimension that it takes victims to. 

It took the man that Alex killed, we can assume it took Jay, and it took Alex. I would say it took Jessica, but since she’s alive and well maybe it only brought her out of danger because she is its new puppet, its ‘people’ that it manipulates. She’s the new sinner.

In the end, maybe totheark wanted one thing besides getting revenge on Alex, and maybe that one thing was salvation. They wanted safety, they wanted to be sure they would be okay in the end. They wanted the Ark. 

Did they get it? Well, we don’t know what happened to Seth, but after Hoody died and was revealed to be Brian, did the Operator take him? No. Even days after being dead, his corpse was still there. We know for a fact that whoever dies due to Alex, or anyone else that had been affected by the Operator, is taken almost immediately after death. That didn’t happen for Brian.

I like to think that he did get what he was looking for in the end. Remember totheark’s video “Null”? It was their last upload, and in it, the person behind the camera, who we now know was Brian, seemed almost... peaceful. There was a sad kind of feeling to the video, but the way he speaks in it sounds like he has peace of mind. Like he knows he has nothing to fear, because maybe he doesn’t anymore. It’s clear that he knew it would be his last upload, that he knew he would have a showdown with Tim. 

He didn’t care if he died in the end or not, why? Because he knew he would be okay, whether he lived or whether he died. He had nothing to be afraid of anymore. He found Jesus, he found the Ark, and he boarded it. And he knew he was on his way to heaven, away from the flood. Away from the clutches of the Operator.

As for Tim? Some speculate that he killed Jessica and then himself, as before Alex died he said that it wasn’t over. He would have to keep killing the infected, and then himself. That it was the only way to stop the ‘spread’. 

Some think that he continued being controlled by the Operator, and that would be a reasonable thing to believe because, as you may remember, in the last entry Tim suffered a major coughing fit, with Jessica bending down to ask if he was okay. The video then cuts to Tim driving in a car, seemingly composed a bit. 

The camera stays on him for while before he grabs his pill bottle, continues to stare ahead, and looks moments away from bursting into tears before he swirls the camera around so us, the viewers, are facing the direction that the car is being driven. The screen then goes black and the letters displayed on the screen is but three simple words; “Everything is fine.”

IS everything really fine, Tim? No. No, it is not. At least, that’s what I got from it. Tim’s known to lie, and it wouldn’t be a surprise that his last words to viewers would be a reassuring sentence to try and convince him that he’s okay. But I don’t think he’s okay.

At best, I think he continued to live a life with nightmares, hallucinations, and random blackouts that may or may not lead to him having a broken leg. At worst, he found a nice, quiet place to overdose because he didn’t want to suffer anymore. Except he will suffer. He will suffer for eternity.

But yes, this is my theory behind the meaning of the “Ark” and the basis for the series. Has this been done before? Idk, I’ve never seen it before. I can promise you that I’m not stealing someone else’s theory, at least not on purpose. I feel like this makes a lot of sense, and it gives totheark a good motivation as to what they’re after and why they’re after it.

It’s a nice thought that at least somebody finally got what they were after, that they finally got peace after everything that happened to them. I have no proof that Jay did or did not find the Ark. I suppose that his corpse was still physical, I mean, it was still in the real world. But it had clearly been teleported, and he was sitting on a bunch of pages that Alex had drawn. 

They were nowhere near Tim’s house at the college, which is where he died at. And when Tim finally goes back to his house, Jay isn’t there, the pages aren’t there, “Your fault” isn’t written on the mirror a dozen times. So we can assume that really, he wasn’t in the real world. He was in another dimension, likely the Own Zone. We’ve seen Tim go into that place before, but I don’t recall Jay ever going. So Tim can be teleported into that dimension while he’s still alive, and Brian is also there too. But only for a moment. This is also before he died.

So I don’t know. I think Jay was taken to the Operator’s world, like Alex and the poor rock victim. What do you think? 

Even if this theory is utter nonsense it was fun writing. It’s an interesting concept and I definitely enjoyed it. I’ve been literally breathing Marble Hornets for the past few weeks so I couldn’t stop a theory from popping into my mind and then make me think, ‘hey, what if?’

Actually, I’ve been thinking about making a separate blog solely dedicated to Marble Hornets. Should I? I probably will - after all, this blog I have right now is more about Creepypasta rather than Marble Hornets. And I’m a huge Marble Hornets fan so I want something dedicated to it. Also, it’ll give me the opportunity to talk about my unending love for Brian without seeming sudden and obsessed xD

So... yeah. That’s me done. Happy Valentine’s day, btw! I am very lonely, as I assume a lot of you are, so it’s the perfect excuse to write CP fluff and act as if I won’t end up alone with thirty cats. I already have four of ‘em, guess I’m well on my way. That isn’t a bad thing though. Cats are awesome. Prove me wrong.

So yes, I will be sure to get some Valentine’s day content out for you beautiful people tomorrow unless I find myself totally unmotivated. Fingers crossed, right?