#i read a review that called it's writing 'therapy speak' and that's all i needed to hear

[lillybean730]

this may be an unpopular opinion but i really do not care abt fan games

[marikos-diary]

I got not one but two ash trays! The exact make and model I had before. I got one black one and one white one. The white obe is the one I really want, but it won’t be here until November. And black one can be here on Monday. So I just have to get through the weekend of smoking either out back or in my car.

I just got back from going out, too! I was very anxious on the walk to my car and the way to the place and I felt like I was going to throw up. But I made it there safely, had a smoke in the parking lot, and then went through the drive through and got two sodas how I like. The ladies at the place I go every day are so nice to me so it wasn’t too bad. I did have a smoke on the way back since I still felt very anxious about driving in general.

There’s many things I would like to do today. I would like to open the windows once it hits 58-60 outside because I enjoy the fresh air. I would like to use my bath wipes and change my underwear. I would like to stay inside except for smoking. I don’t want to go anywhere else today. Further, I would like to vacuum and wipe down my counters and table surfaces. Friday is usually my cleaning day but I was far too upset to take care of anything then. If I can’t get all the surfaces done, then maybe just my end table. It always ends up getting some coffee or soda splatter on it. I wipe it off with a tissue but it would be good to wipe it down. I also want to make my bed, which I was able to do yesterday. It just feels so much cozier to climb into a made bed.

I’d also like to do something fun today. Maybe watch an episode of a show, or read a book. My books are still all packed up, so that second one is kind of tricky. And I reschedule my bookshelf delivery because I didn’t know when I would be waking up today. They were supposed to arrive sometime today but dealing with the buzzer and buzzing someone in and having people in here sounded too stressful so I moved it out another week. Again.

Speaking of buzzers, I think I am going to change my grocery and food delivery instructions to say that I will meet them at the front door. I don’t want to hear that buzzer anymore. It is too stressful for me. I’ve also decided that unless it is an emergency I am no longer calling maintenance. They were in here multiple times a week fixing things the first two months of living here because the complex never did a walkthrough I guess. They were here all the time. I’m not doing that anymore. I don’t want anyone in my apartment. I want it to be my safe space. No one else allowed. That sounds nice to me. My old therapist would have something shitty to say about it about me needing to rejoin society but he didn’t know me or what I’ve been through. I think it is very reasonable to not want people in my apartment. Not even mom for a while. Maybe for the doctor who Christmas special though. I will think about that one. So, to summarize, unless I absolutely need to I will not be calling maintenance. They knock on the doors too loud and they are loud and I don’t want them here. I know at some point there will be a mandatory inspection. I can talk about that in therapy and work on being okay with letting them in. But hopefully that isn’t for many many months. And maybe I’ll get lucky and I will be « invited to leave the community » by then. That is seriously what I am hoping for.

As an update on the door locking saga, I made an honest one star review under my name on Google reviews. It detailed all of the issues I have been having with this building and how management doesn’t care about safety and security and just ignores you when you email them about legitimate concerns. So, I posted that on Tuesday. On Wednesday the company responded and said some bullshit. Later that same day the guy in the office who has bbeen ignoring me called me. I let it go to voicemail and emailed him to let him know that I would need everything in writing. He emailed back that pest control was on site and asked if they could enter my apartment. lol. I said no but I am home. Pest control showed up, sprayed for fruit flies, didn’t even mention the ants I see every week and the roach I saw when I moved on. What a joke. I emailed Tyler and CCed his boss Charlotte to express my disappointment that my pest problems were not resolved. Didn’t get anything in return. Started researching pest companies I could just pay on my own. That was Wednesday.

Thursday afternoon I got an email on their official letterhead from Charlotte stating that pest control had been scheduled to come deal with the infestations on a weekly basis until I choose to cancel it. I do not think this is good enough, because they should have taken care of it before the unit was leased. Charlotte also told me that my neighbors had received a notice not to tamper with the building door or prop it open and that maintenance would check the doors every weekday morning and afternoon. This still did not feel good enough but it was progress in the right direction. It wasn’t good enough to make me feel safe.

So, they did that on Friday. I assume they removed some objects because I saw them laying in the hall as litter right inside the door on my way out around 4pm. Whatever. I have a security system now. It was armed. Anyway, I came home at 8:30pm and found the building lock had once more been tampered with. As if that’s a surprise. The lock had cardboard jammed into it abd taped over with blue painters tape. I sent a pretty angry email to Charlotte and Tyler to inform them that this solution of theirs was not adequate and detailed for them how unsafe I felt as a single disabled woman. I told them in no uncertain terms that stress from this issue is complicating my disabilities and interfering with my ability to function. I asked them what they would do to permanently solve the issue.

I expect that I will hear nothing in return. I truly do not think they care. So, I am resolved to leave the apartment as little as possible until my lease ends. Only to get smokes and sodas, or go to the door to pick up delivery orders. Because if I stay here, then the chain is on the door and it can’t be forced open as easily. They’d have to rip the chain out of the wall. Which is like? Possible, but unlikely. And even if they did, my alarm system would go off and the police would be called. So I feel comfortable enough as long as I am physically home. Therefore, I will not be leaving very much at all. I have to protect the cats, you know?

So that’s the update on that. It’s a whole thing and I am so stressed about it that I am having chest pain and throwing up from anxiety. My mom thinks I am wasting my breath emailing them and that we should have a lawyer draft a letter to them. I’m inclined to agree. That would make me feel better. But that takes time. This last email was probably my last email to the complex about it. I’ll save them and give them to the lawyer when it’s time for that.

In other news, I am cutting down on the notifications I get on my phone. I use a task reminder list but it is very shouty at me and overwhelming so I am trying to find a way to keep using it because it is helpful without it being so loud. I don’t know. I’ll figure it out.

Also I have yet to text my mom today. I worry the notification when she texts me back will be upsetting. I’m crying already just thinking about it. So no good morning text for mom.

And I’m not texting Charlie because I am upset at her. I begged and pleaded with her for help and advice and she didn’t respond. I get that she is having troubles because of her mental health and texting is hard, but like really? That’s super not okay to me. I feel abandoned and I don’t think she even cares. I’ve tried to be patient and understanding but I am in crisis and needed her and made that known and she couldn’t respond to even that or react to the message to let me know it had been read and I wasn’t alone. I don’t know. I am very upset about that. I am kind of angry but mostly I feel abandoned which is a massive trigger. I haven’t SHed over it yet but I am holding back tears as I type this.

I feel like I’m going to throw up and I am very tense. Ugh. I probably won’t be able to get any cleaning stuff done today.

And now I am crying a bunch because all I want is to have a friend who responds. But I don’t have any friends that respond. I have no one. And if even Charlie can’t respond, how am I able to trust other people and make friends? I am completely alone and I want to die. I am miserable. All I have are my cats. I am completely alone.

Alone.

[eldetectiveperdido]

    It’s been a while since I’ve had the time and energy for myself to write. I’ve been occupied with the search for food, a place to lay, and the drama of others. The drama I don’t mind so much. Everyone with their private tragedies. I can get a decent meal, a couple drinks, and even a story out of it. All I have to do is help them carry that weight. Now then where should I begin...

11/26

     It was the morning of my birthday when Olivie invited me for brunch, her treat. It was quite crucial that she saw me she said. Three mimosas in and in the middle of chewing, she laid out her request. She wanted me to take a look at her suicide letter for me to proofread, check for punctual and grammatical errors, offer revisions and edits, and devise a two page literary review.

     She wasn’t serious, of course. This was about a boy, who, in the span of fours months, she’s been off and on a little over 12 times. He cheated so she cheated. He ignores her for hours she starts panicking. She ignores him for hours he starts banging at her door. Every drunken night ends in a argument: He says something wrong or she acts a little funny. She’s calling a cab and he’s gripping her by the arm, pulling her back in. A routine the way she speaks of it, but in the morning there’s nothing a little money and sex can’t fix between the both of them. A real modern romance.

     I looked over the two small paragraphs she had written in her drafts. There was nothing to say about them. “You need to elaborate on the beginning more. The middle needs to flesh out your thesis. But more importantly, your conclusion needs a lot of work. You have a long way to go before you even think about writing this. I’m going to order another carafe”

     They are back together. she continued to talk about how this time she will do everything to make the relationship work. She’s scheduled couples therapy for when he comes back in town. At the end of the year, they will move-in together and that will be the end of it. This is her last chance at love she said, it has to work. No more lies, she proclaimed, they will communicate the good, the bad, and the ugly. I ask her if she will tell him about today, “well...no.”

     Four carafe of mimosas in, my tongue feels malleable and I'm agreeable to anything right now. Olivie finally starts asking about my love life. It's hard to tell if she's interested or afraid five-seven breaks up from now I'll be with someone. I regurgitate the conversation I had with Spinoza a week back, when I drove him an hour and a half across town for some drug deal that fell through cause the guy didn't have the money. He was asking me the same question: if I was seeing or talking to anyone serious now. I told him, I think I'm incapable of forming a decent relationship now. My mind is in a paracosm state, I can't distinguish between my ideas and the living. Day and night all I think about is what I'm going to write, all the books that need to be read, the dreams that I think have hidden meaning, my next meal ticket. "I'm a freeman," I tell him, "I need my freedom. I need to be alone." To put it bluntly, I'm too far up my own ass. My heart is frozen but there's a drop or two of love left for art.

     "You just haven't found the right girl," he says, "you just wait. You'll meet a girl who will pull you away from yourself and you won't be able to think about anything else."

     Glimpses of the past flutter to the corner of my eye and my mind thinks of Gaz. "Pfui," I said.

     After brunch, Olivie suggests we go to a bar and keep drinking. I decline, knowing her, one thing will lead to another and I'll be adding more secrets to her new proclaimed honesty. Besides, I got what I wanted. I know this will be the last time I will see her, even if her last attempt at love doesn't work, I've already made up my mind. We part. I go to the bookstore alone and read the first chapter of every book I touch.

[scuttle-buttle]

Chapter 11

WC: 2077

Rated: E

Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort

🧠

The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.

Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.

Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.

"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.

"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."

You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.

You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."

The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.

You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.

The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.

Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.

Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.

His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"

"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.

"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.

Bubble popped.

Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.

Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."

You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."

Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."

He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"

"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.

"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."

Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.

Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.

Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.

"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.

"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."

He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”

As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.

“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.

Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.

“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.

Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.

But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.

You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.

“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”

“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.

You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”

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[luimagines]

Today was a bright and beautiful morning as all the trees outside your window have begun to fall.You force yourself to move from the covers of your bed and sit up straight,stretching your arms across and all around as you yawn. You start to make your way to your bathroom to get yourself ready for the day when suddenly a knock on your window takes your attention away from continuing on your path.

What was it? A bird?A branch?.....Link? No it sounded too much like a person’s hand knocking on the window,but who would be able to climb up here and what for?But Link had been gone for years since his last adventure with,what were they called, “the chain”?

He hadn’t sent you any letters or visits for years now and you began to wonder.No you believe that he was dead.that was the only other explanation there could have been when you heard that the great evil was slain and he still hadn’t come back.

Then you heard another knock on your window.

But just maybe….

A thought hits you and you begin rushing towards it with a smile on your face. 

It was Link! He finally came back! Your bare feet were hitting the floor with loud thumps as you ran as fast as you could reach your hand out ready to unlock the window door like he would disappear again forever if you didn’t open it in time.

“ After all these years he was finally back!” you peer outside only to see a small blue metal machine box with the triforce symbol glowing in a light blue color engraved at the top of it.

A box? Before you decided to pick it up,you stopped and took a quick look around to see if you could spot the culprit who left behind this package. After a few seconds of intense scanning you decide to finally look down at your package and lift it up for examination.Was this a gift from Link? Did he send this to let you know he was fine? On his way?Was he already here and- No,no,no,no,no! Not everything has to be about Link! This could be a gift from someone else! Or was this even a gift…? You turn to look around the area one last time before closing the window and going back inside.

You sat back down on your bed with the box in your hand which was no bigger than your palm and began touching all around it. What was this thing??A decoration?A tool? Maybe just a souvenir or trinket? Suddenly you accidentally press down on the symbole at the top as it begins to glow and the triforce symbol on your hand glows in sync with it too before you toss it out of your hand in shock. The box stops itself from falling just before it hits the ground and floats back up and begins to open itself turning and shifting like it was unlocking itself before a blue hologram screen is shown. At this point you have already fallen to the ground crawling backward to move behind your bed before seeing the image of a beautiful elegant  blond woman standing-floating?-before you.she had on alond white coat and wore a plain black dress under and wore a crown on her head that seemed to serve as a purpose to show her statues as a queen without it being too glamorous despite having what can only be described as a goddesses beautiful looks.There was also a unusual plastic like device or object that clipped on the left side of her coat that said

‘Head Chief researcher Dr.Zelda’

A second later the figure moved, took a breath,or what seemed to be one,then began to speak as words began writing themselves in front of her in tandem with her speaking but disappearing when the space was too full to keep the previous sentences with them.lucky the words were being said in a slow enough manner to were if anyone were to read it,even a slow reader,it would still be comprehensive.

“Greetings,do not be alarmed.This is a pre-recorded message sent to you by me to inform you of dire situation that has come to place,to also state I will not be able to hear or respond to you but will send a representative shorty to discuss the matter first with you after this message has been delieverd.To start I am the Queen Zelda of hyrule #18b-A12 timeline 2.I am also the the head chief and researcher of the Secure,Contain,Research and Protect Program also known as the SCRPP which main goal is to,as stated in the title, secure,contain,research and protect all dangerous,overpower and magical items and people or beings that could cause massive harm or destruction across our world. I am extending our hand out to the Zeldas of their worlds for aid as we have all of  the links,also known as “the chain” from all across the different Hyrules and timelines under our containment currently and need help figuring out a cure for them.There be a summarized report that will be shown to you soon after this message of the charges shown as well as incidents during their time here at the SCRPP and studied behaviors.You must make sure that you are alone or with trusted elite members in your circle when reading this.if you are not the Zelda,current wisdom triforce beror,current ruler of your kingdom or a level 6 personale reviewing this message,you will be hunted down and arrested giving B leve aministic dosage or be sentenced  for termination for illegally stealing,intercepting and accessing  governmental files without consent of the SCRPP and Royal approval of the Court of internal Investigations outside of the know judiciary.And due to the time and era difference of our worlds all the reports will be shown on paper organized in folders with photos and names of each link and their subject code number as well.

Would you like to be shown and have access to file #19835-the chain links? Touch on the “Yes” if you are in a secure location to receive the report click on the “No” and the message box will close in on itself until the recipient of the massage presses their hand on the symbol on the box to reopen it.You will be able to open and close the box and see the continent summary report inside  with every link,including my own, in the folders in order to better understand the situation as well as another subject who will for now be classified as subject zero for now.”

As you watch and listen to all this unfold,questions start to flood though your mind about everything that was going on.What happened to Link?Why was he locked up?Is this a hostage situation?How did these people know where to find me?Is this why he never came back?Is this a trap?What's going on????

Taking a deep breath,you decide to collect yourself and go and find yourself in a secure place to be.if this box had any answers to what was hap[pneding you needed to find out now.You didn’t even bother to get yourself dressed and ready but instead grabbed the box and ran to your study room and locked all the doors,covered every window and made sure everything in the room was cleared out  before setting the box down and taping on the “yes” as the projected blue light of the woman faded and the box closed in on itself.The box began to turn and twist with sound of metal gears turning as he became a much larger rectangular serving plate sized box.The top opened up revealing a large beige covering that had a lot of paper neatly stacked inside of it with the title in large bold letter that said “case file number  #19835-The corrupted Heros.You swallowed hard and began to read the first page and this is what it said:

Case file number #19835- The Corrupted Heros

  

To start off the chain were first discovered when they were arrested and charged with multiple kidnapping attempts,hostaging,multiple homicide murders,injuring/killing of innocent civilians,attacking and maiming some official knights and crown guards and damage of property as well as resisting arrest.Other charges were made as well but these were some of the highlighted main ones that were had in court during their trials before they were to be sentenced and put to death,but because of the intervention and pardon plea deal that was offered to instead imprison them by the link of our world also know as “Mulan” among the chain but will be referred to as subject 10,they were all instead placed in jail for life as well as receiving weekly therapy and prescribed medication for their physiological obsessive insanity. But having broken out of their prisons repeatedly and kidnapping the person in question,who for now will be referred to as “subject Zero” for privacy insurance, they were placed under the SCRPP containment buildings units until a better suited and proper prison was placed for them to serve their sentence.What caught the SCRPP’s eyes to have them permanently be contained in their prison unit research facility was for the fact that the links showed signs of abnormal magical essence surrounding around them when they were first administered to the SCRPP prison research unit and went through the mandatory full body scan check up that is done whenever a person,staff,anomalie or being is entered into one of our units,whether they be vacant or under occupied use of other anomalies, it is a mandatory procedure that must be done thanks to that of past events that have occurred before these check ups were installed. Every member of the chain,although they vary, have show a red aura circling or being admitted out of their bodys that was shown within the charts and scan results.Subject 8,also known and nicknamed as “Wind” has shown a grey aura that flowed with his red wich made the research team place him under a separate category with the rest of the chains,as we believe it may have to do with his age,but not enough evidence has been shown that can concretely prove it.It is believed that the substance could be a source or a symptom done by whatever it may have been that is caused them to have the obsessive and aggressive behaviors and symptoms for subject Zero.A short while after this discovery we decided to do a full check up on subject Zero,subject 10 and subject 11,and although we did find a large portion of magical essence similar to that from the rest of the “links”  we saw that the essence that surrounded subject zero was a glowing yellow magical force that seemed to take over the whole room that it incompaced in while with subject 11,who is better known and nicknamed as lucky, showed a red and grey aura that surrounded him but seemed to glow the least out of everyone in the room.Finally there was subject 10 who,out of everyone’s surprise showed no signs of any usual amounts of magic aura seeping out of them despite the fact that she had been traveling with the group and was also a “Link”.We decided to start conducting experimentations and research on the matters and to keep the links from attempting to escape they are to have long periods of time with subject Zero to prevent the loss of staff lives and to prevent public casualties due to their obsessive,protective and possessive nature for subject zero. 

You paused in your reading. Needing to take a minute to fully process the information you had been reading.

Subjects? Obsession?murders? Magic? It seemed every time you read more of the article the more questions you had.It made you brain hurt with how much you just wished someone would just properly explain it to you instead of just sending all these endless files of paper.But it was not like you wanted to just sit around waiting for whatever representative was going to come. 

You rub your hands over your eyes and sigh back on your chair, eyes closed.At least you know now that link was alive but with the way the letters were written,it seemed as if he wasn’t himself at the moment. 

Taking another breath you looked down at the letters before you. 

Well it's not like you had anything else planned for today.

And if you did,they just got canceled.

I AM NOT OKAY I MIGHT BE CRYING

HELP CHEESE CHEESE!!!!!!

WHY MY BOY HE'S BABY

NOOO NOT LIKE THIS I'M AFRAID I'M SCARED!!!!!!

MULAN!!!! LUCKY!!!!

FREE MY BOY HE DID NOTHING WRONG!!! I DIDN'T KNOW THIS IS WHAT YOU WERE PLANNING!!

I WAS GONNA TRY AND GIVE YOU A SPOTLIGHT TO READ AND RESPOND PROPERLY BUT I CAVED AND READ IT TODAY EVEN THOUGHT IT'S LATE AND I'M AFRAID FOR THEM!!!!!! WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!!!

CHEESE!!!

CHEESE I HAVE QUESTIONS!!!!!!

[loquaciousquark]

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E111 (Redux! Oct. 13, 2020)

Gooooood evening good evening good evening, all! I started the VOD late for this recap and somehow the first four or so minutes of the show have a Twitch audio copyright claim, so I am reduced to only reading Brian's lips when he asks if we're on the internet. Hilariously, Marisha's background room is a comfy-looking blue/gold fabric wall with a ceramic colorful abstract lamp and a yellow silk scarf over the lampshade, and Taliesin's is an industrial looking games room in grey and black with multiple monitors, overhead speakers, and mysterious metal fixtures behind him. What a treasure this group is, honestly.

Tonight's guests: Marisha Ray & Taliesin Jaffe, discussing episodes 110 and 111 again. I wildly speculate once more about what might have caused their absence: jury duty? Sam appearing on The Masked Singer? Something to do with the animated show? One day, we’ll know, one day... (One day this “copyrighted audio” section will come back from the wars, too. Ugh!) Finally! The audio comes back to reveal Brian discussing the endless reality of digital meetings and Marisha talking about (I think) her glare-reducing glasses she’s wearing. Welcome to the New Age (welcome to the New Age, to the New Age).

Announcements: Marisha suggests checking out Dimension20, another live tabletop gaming group, which premieres live on Wednesdays at 4pm (CollegeHumor). 

Brian immediately wants to know how they feel about the revelation that Molly is alive. Taliesin’s personal reaction: he “knows some things” he can’t talk about and is aware of several possibilities that might be going on, but had a sneaking suspicion that there would not be a body for them to find. He says it’s almost all there for anyone to see in past material. Marisha’s personal reaction: she just wants to know how she’s doing with her theories, & was trying to block Tal’s face out deliberately as she was going off on her theories in the last episode. Taliesin says he thought her ideas were pretty good!

Cad has no clue what to think - it’s like listening to your friends talk about Buffy. Marisha thought it was a 50/50 Molly would still be there, but Beau had no idea. Not that it mattered, because as soon as Matt went through with it the reveal still blew their minds. Tal laid out his plans for the character with Matt during Campaign One (towards the end) after they all got their VM tattoos.

It is a “horrifying and gross” thing to dig up a body, and Beau was pretty reluctant to do it. Tal, as Cad: “Sometimes dead’s better.” The moral quandary of trying to speak with a dead friend was very different here than the frequent occasions they used the spell in C1.

Taliesin says his poker face is very bad, so it’s easier for him to over-react and let it all play out. The only other player he can see very easily from his place in their current setup is Travis, and because he knows Travis doesn’t watch TM, tweet, or participate in social media, he admits he thoroughly enjoyed watching Travis freak out at his freaking out. He says he only knew about 20% of what Matt described at the end of that episode. He was picking things to mug to increase Travis’s surprise. I love this so much.

Taliesin provided the table left leg shake; Travis provided table right. Ha!

Beau is really accepting her role in the Cobalt Soul. It’s good when “as a person, you feel like you can settle into your calling. Sometimes you can do more from the inside than fighting from the outside.” It’s a mirrored but opposite path of Keyleth from C1; Beau felt like she was too good for her duty, while Keyleth thought she wasn’t good enough.

Caduceus is not a big believer in jumping to conclusions. He does have an idea/notion of the “city of the undead” and thinks all this necrotic energy must come from somewhere, and wonders if this is the “capital of anti-death.” He’s willing to believe whatever he sees. This is one of the few things that trigger a bit of loathing and disgust in him. It was terrifying that the Wildmother didn’t know anything.

Beau is pretty confident in her Charlie Day impression laying-out-the-research last episode. She enjoyed taking the things that were known & extrapolating around them; this is a huge facet of Marisha’s own personality and she really enjoys it, so she built a character this time that would allow that kind of puzzle-solving. It’s also why she repeatedly notes when Beau journals, so she can avoid metagaming. Trent’s mention of Vess Durogna’s tomb raiding was completely circumstantial, and the only reason she’d made the connection to the Tombtakers was because she’d recently reviewed those notes for a separate unannounced project. Sometimes she tries to make connections and Matt is like, “It was...just descriptive. Just flavor. The curtains were red...” and she has to discard a paragraph of notes. She feels like it’s still something they have to do because of “look at what he does! Look! It’s totally valid!”

Cosplay of the Week: @kitsunstudios with a gorgeous Caduceus with a very intricate silk vest.

Caduceus’s takedown of Trent! One of my favorite moments in the entirety of C2. Taliesin felt Trent was an asshole; Caduceus felt sorry for him because of how dumb he thought he was. Caduceus’s response was "this is the dumbest man I’ve ever met in my life. He’s so dumb! Is nobody going to tell this guy how dumb he is? Oh, they’re all freaked out. Somebody needs to tell this guy he’s an idiot before somebody gets hurt.” (Marisha: “Before?”) Tal says it was the product of several years of therapy and many drunk conversations with Whitney Moore. It was from a genuine place of concern from Caduceus. “How are you allowed to have this much power and be that dumb?”

Brian loved how funny it was to watch everyone tiptoe around Trent and then Caduceus bulldoze through the end of the meal.

Taliesin: “Damage doesn’t make you interesting or better. It’s not what makes you good. Character isn’t found in damage. Just recovery.”

Brian & Marisha commiserate going through the stage where believing surviving something automatically made you a stronger person, better for the pain; instead it just meant you had to pick up the pieces after. Marisha talks about how strength through survival may be true for some people, but it shouldn’t be considered a necessity. Taliesin talks about how he used to think he had to be miserable to write. Brian talks about how believing he liked reading and writing miserable things only limited him for years.

Marisha feels it’s a C2 theme that almost all the PCs have someone trying to handwave or take credit for their accomplishments or explain their pain as being for their own good (Trent, Beau’s dad, Obann). She thinks it’s interesting to see all the various ways people try to take credit for your work/delegitimize you as a person. She loves that RPGs allow you to explore these odd moralities in interesting ways. The only way to fight it is to have a sense of your own self-worth, which is a problem a lot of the M9 started with.

Caduceus likes everyone, and really likes people who appear to need role models (Eodwulf). “With the right friends and the right bar and the right attitude, I think he’d be okay. Come over here where it’s so much better. That seems like an exhausting friendship that you have there.”

Marisha loves the mix of personalities in the M9; Veth, Cad, & Jester were all “we kind of like them!” after the dinner, and she immediately made eye contact with Travis and they both shook their heads. She knows Beau has to go along with it for Caleb’s sake for now, but she & Fjord are pretty sus of Trent’s proteges.

Beau is less concerned about Artagan’s relationship to Jester because “he showed his ass--she’s less worried about Jester now because a little of the magic is gone.” It’s a little like becoming an adult and realizing your parents are also just adults & human. Caduceus wasn’t suspicious of the Traveler for a long time until they got to the island. Aside: Taliesin loves the pantheon in D&D. “The notion of attempting to apply common Western conceptions of religion to a world where you have a pantheon of interventionist gods as baseline makes no sense to me. Everyone admits that every other god is there and doing shit; it has more in common with ancient Rome than anything else.” Now that he knows it was a con, he feels the wind had been taken out of it. He does have a sense that Jester’s gotten back together with an ex: “I hope that I’m really happy for you.” They’re both interested to see how Jester navigates the new relationship.

My internet goes out, of course. I panic for a second, thinking I’ve lost everything above, but all is well! Thanks, Form History Control addon!

Marisha loved punching Artagan, but regretting rolling so poorly. “I miss violence.” Dani lets us know it’s been about four episodes since the last battle.

There’s no way the Cobalt Reserve doesn’t have a single document on the Eyes of Nine. Beau believes “there are no real secrets” because people are just bad at not writing things down. For there to be no information at all seems really suspicious for her.

Fanart of the Week: @oddalchemist on twitter with some awesome Beau conspiracy red-thread boards overlaid a distant shadowy Molly walking away.

Caduceus feels a little guilty for really enjoying his time right now with the M9 and not wanting to go home. He’s starting to suspect that he’s going to go home very different than when he left. “He has the softest problems. I don’t know if I want to move back in with Mom & Dad.”

Beau is trying to get comfortable with the idea of being happy. Jester is probably Beau’s first real best friend & one of the first healthy female friendships she’s ever had. As long as she still has Jester in her life, she doesn’t care. For Yasha... “At the end of the day, Beau is a lonely person and has always been a lonely person. And I think you kinda reach this point where once you’re not lonely anymore, you can kind of come out of the fog and realize that was horrible! And terrifying! And is even more terrifying now that I know what I could have, and I don’t want to go back to that. At the end of the day Beau doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. There’s always been that flirtation with Yasha, but everyone had to figure their own shit out. And now it feels like it’s coming out a little bit of that haze, maybe this actually could be...” There are a lot of ways they complement each other & are good-different from each other. Marisha believes people can be attracted to more than person at once.

Caduceus doesn’t think nature turned against him on Rumblecusp, it was just a reality of nature being dangerous and violent. “He has a complex relationship with nature.” He doesn’t expect special treatment.

Thoughts on the mansion: “Man, it’s nice to be seen.” Marisha: “I don’t know how I ended up becoming the Scanlan of this campaign, but I’m living for it.” It felt like an echo of “I’m better for having known you.” They compare Marisha taking specific notes on the campaign to Liam taking specific notes on people’s favorite tapestries, comics, etc.

They talk about missing theme parks and daydream a park version of the mansion in CritRoleLand. It’s lovely.

Taliesin never expected Divine Intervention to work; he just wanted to roll some dice. He’s still processing what he saw/heard. They all agree it was very useful in the Vokodo fight.

Vilya! Marisha: “Ah! Ah! Ah!” As a player, Marisha was so deep in Beau’s eyes she didn’t pick up it was Vilya at first (especially since Matt really emphasized they should not be looking for C1 NPCs). Marisha’s brain melted. She bawled her eyes out on the ride home after that episode. Right after it ended, Laura told Marisha “Keyleth finally gets her happy ending,” and it makes Marisha emotional again since Keyleth’s story ended so bittersweetly. She talks about the very real feelings of “just wanting them to be happy, though!” She went back and listened to all her old Keyleth playlists. Everyone was teary after the episode. “Everyone has these 100% real memories of being these characters and having these good times.”

And that’s that for that! Thanks for your patience, all, and is it Thursday yet?

[unmaskedagain]

Rock Star

I was feeling a bit of writer’s block this morning. So I went through my prompts and found this awesome one. It has a bit of angst.

  She lost her friends. The boy she was in love with broke her heart. No one in class apart from Chloe would even speak to her anymore. Lila’s lies had taken root in class, leaving Marinette in the back alone and abandoned. The worst part was that Marinette didn’t even know if she could be friends with any of her classmates again after the truth was exposed. In the effort to cling tighter to the coattails of someone who promised them the world, they had abandoned a childhood friend as if the friendship meant nothing; as if Marinette meant nothing. And as if that wasn’t enough, Akumas were getting stronger every day. Chat Noir was pushier than ever before. Most days it was all too much.

           Most days Marinette didn’t want to get out of bed. She rarely smiled anymore. She couldn’t find it in her to design. It was like the life force had been drained from her. It didn’t take long for her parents to notice. However, after weeks of trying, when it became clear that Marinette wasn’t going to talk to them and that she wasn’t getting better, they sent her to a therapist. After they managed to get her to promise to at least try.

           Dr. Vanderbilt was a kind woman with greying red hair and a Scottish accent. It took multiple sessions before Marinette started to open up about her problems at school; about feeling overwhelmed. One day after a session, the doctor gave Marinette a notebook.

“What’s this for?” Marinette asked taking the black notebook. The front of it said it had a 1000 pages.

“Whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed, I want you to write.”

“Write what?”

“Whatever you want,” Vanderbilt smiled. “What you’re feeling. Poetry. Songs. Quotes you know. Write a story. Whatever helps you get what you’re feeling out, lessen the load you’re carrying a bit.”

           So Marinette did.

           It was a struggle at first. She never thought of herself as much of a writer. Then she started writing random quotes she knew. Then Marinette started writing a bit of poetry just to try to express herself in a way she could understand. However, during a particularly troublesome day, when Alya accused her of being lazy and not being a good class president, Marinette resigned her position much to the shock of the class and started writing song lyrics.

           One of the recommendation from Vanderbilt was to always stop doing things she didn’t want to do just because it made other people happy; especially if it was at harm to herself.

           The doctor made Marinette write 100 times: I will not set myself on fire to keep you warm.

           Marinette always hated being class president; the stress alone could kill a dozen elephants. She hated doing free commissions so she stopped that too. She hated doing the whole birthday celebrations, when everyone was quick to forget her that year. Or plan parties and fundraisers for trips that class made sure to make clear they didn’t want to her go to or on. So she stopped that too.

           It was freeing.

           Writing lyrics to songs were freeing. Soon she was writing them during class, lunch, after school, when there a moment of free time when helping out at the bakery.

           And Vanderbilt was right. It did help her.

           Marinette to smile a lot more. The pep in her step was back. She started hanging out with Chloe and Luka more and more. She made friends with others kids in class. She created a website and started selling custom designs.

           One Friday, after school, Marinette found herself in Jagged’s Hotel room with Chloe and Luka. Jagged had asked Marinette to bring his new concert wardrobe that he had commission from her. He had and Clara Nightingale were going on tour together.

           After Jagged had reviewed the clothes and approved them, proclaimed each outfit to be, “Rockin!”

           Marinette found herself writing a song in her notebook while Luka and Jagged discussed musical influences. Chloe and Penny discussed a potential internships.

           She was so invested in writing that she didn’t notice when the talking stopped. Or when Jagged asked her if she wanted Pizza.

           Marinette jumped back when a hand suddenly waved in her face. “Wait! What!” She looked around and saw the amused faces of Jagged, Penny, Chloe, and Luka. Even Fang had a long grin on his face.

“What’s this love?” Jagged asked pointing to her notebook. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages.”

           The bluenette blushed and tried not to hide her notebook; it would only make them more curious, “Nothing; just a notebook for ideas.” Technically that was true.

“Right on, can I see?” Jagged asked.

           Marinette instantly pulled the notebook to her chest and her blushed turned a dark red. She was not going to show a Rock Star the song she wrote. She’d rather die. “Nope! Nah ah, nothing to see here.”

           Chloe rolled her eyes, “Yes, because that’s totally what someone with nothing to hide does.” The blond looked at Penny. “She writes song lyrics. They’re pretty good.”

           Marinette glared at the blond, “Traitor.”

           Luka looked a bit curious. Jagged had a full blown grin on his face, “I knew it!” he shouted. “I knew there was a rocker in you. I had just had to wait a bit, love. Come on. Let me see then! Show Uncle jagged your songs.”

           It took about twenty minutes to get Marinette to agree and then another ten to pry the notebook out of her hands. She watched with a pit in her stomach growing bigger and bigger as she watched Luka, Chloe, Jagged, and Penny flip through her notebook. Reading the lyrics that came straight from her heart.

           What if they hated them? What if they thought she had no talent? What if they thought she was a freak? What if! What If!

“This is good, mate,” Jagged suddenly said. An impressed look on his face. “These are really good.”

“Told ya,” Chloe said smugly.

           Penny nodded, “I wouldn’t mind commissioning some songs from you.”

“I’d like to jam together,” Luka said. “Maybe we can do a duet.”

           Jagged suddenly shot up, “Penny! Call the guys. We need a band! Marinette’s gonna sing for us!” He ran for his guitar.

“Marinette’s going to do what now?” Marinette shouted.

           Marinette was going to sing.

           She sat on a dark brown wooden stool, in front of Jagged’s backup band, with Jagged and Luka on guitar. Chloe and Penny watched in the background. An assistant help up a camera.

           Jagged had decided to give Marinette a rockstar makeover; well as much as she would let him. Her hair was pulled back in a faux hawk with a few curls framing her face, her makeup was flawless, her face was painted to look like she had been crying and her mascara had gotten everywhere.

           It took a while for Jagged, Luka, and she to work out the music would be good for her songs and what songs she’d use. She decided to let the four: Jagged, Penny, Luka, and Chloe decide on the best ones. Marinette was too bias, she knew.

           They had practiced. Everyone assured her she had an amazing voice but Marinette thought they were a bit biased too. They loved her too much to hurt her by saying anything mean.

“Hey fans watching!” Jagged said into the mic. “Today, I got a special guest here. My honorary niece and personal fashion designer; Marinette. She’s written some kick ass songs and agreed to prove that she’s a rockstar like her Uncle. Give her some love!”

           Marinette got up and waked to the mic.

           The drum beat started slowly. Marinette took a deep breath. The guitars and piano started.

           Marinette opened her mouth to sing,

“Someday I won't be afraid of my head

Someday I will not be chained to my bed

Someday I'll forget the day he left

But surely not today.”

           The beat picked up a bit.

           She fought not to close her eyes as she sang. Instead, she thought of why she wrote the song; all the pain, all the mess going on inside. Her blue eyes got a faraway look to them.

“One day I won't need a PhD

To sit me down and tell me what it all means

Maybe one day it'll be a breeze

But surely not today

But surely not today”

           Admitting she was in therapy was hard. Penny comforted her and admitted she went a lot too. Jagged hadn’t been happy when Chloe told the two adults just what was happening in Marinette’s class.

“Oh you don't know what sadness means

'Till you're too sad to fall asleep

One day I'll be snoozing peacefully

But surely not today

Surely not today.”

           Marinette voice carried across the room. She let herself get lost in the music. Otherwise, she’d be too panicky over the fact that she more or less admitted to being depressed.

“One day I'll swear the pain will be a blip

I'll have the hardest time recalling it

I'll be the king of misery management

But surely not today.”

           This song was a promise to herself. That she would move on. She would get better. Somehow, someway, Marinette would conquer all that she was going through and be better for it.

“One day that song won't make me cry anymore (oh no no)

One day I'll get up off the bathroom floor (hey yeah)

Oh, piece by piece I'll be restored

But surely not today (surely not)

Eh, not today”

           Marinette swayed to the music, dancing in place. The other people in the room watched, entranced by her voice.

“oh you don't know what happy means

If it's only in your dreams

I'll be acquainted with my jollities

But surely not today

Yeah, surely not today.”

           There were days when Marinette swore she forgot what it meant to be happy; questioned if she had ever been really happy. Or if she had just fooled herself into thinking she was. She knew better now. And Marinette refused to let the dark thoughts win.

“Surely not, surely, surely not

Surely not (surely not today)”

           Marinette sang that part softly. She knew she wasn’t going to get completely better right away. But she would… One day.

“One day the thought of him won't hurt the same

Won't need distractions to get through the day

I guess I hope I'm gonna be okay

'Cause I'm not today.”

           The song slowly died down. Silence filled the room. Then there were claps and cheers. Jagged’s new manager Harvey Boyd looked ready to wet his pants from excitement.

“Yes!” jagged yelled. “That’s how you do it!”

           Marinette blushed again and ran off stage as Luka readied himself to perform. Penny and Chloe both assured her that she had been amazing but Marinette couldn’t stop her heart from racing in her chest.

           Chloe helped prepare her for her next song as they watched Luka perform.

He had gotten used to being Solo since Kitty Section kicked him out the band. Luka sang a called, She will be loved. A sad melody that was fit him to a T.

“I don't mind spendin' everyday

Out on your corner in the pourin' rain

Look for the girl with the broken smile

Ask her if she wants to stay awhile

And she will be loved, and she will be loved”

           When he was done, once again Harvey Boyd had that hungry look on his face.

           Then Jagged performed one of his hits. After that he brought Marinette up on their makeshift stage again.

           Marinette didn’t feel any better performing the second time. She’d be singing the song Jagged chose.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

So much for my happy ending

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

So much for my happy ending

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh”

           The song was definitely more Rock than her last one. And she wrote it most about Adrien, some of it geared toward Alya and the rest of her friends.

“Let's talk this over

It's not like we're dead

Was it something I did?

Was it something you said?”

           Marinette had wondered for months what she had wrong. Why it was so easy for them to just ignore her; disregard her, end their friendships.

“Don't leave me hanging

In a city so dead

Held up so high

On such a breakable thread”

           They left her alone. Adrien left her alone. She trust them, and just left her.

“You were all the things I thought I knew

And I thought we could be…”

           Marinette closed her eyes for just a moment as the beat of the music changed.

You were everything, everything that I wanted

“We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it

All of the memories, so close to me, just fade away

All this time you were pretending

So much for my happy ending

 So much for my happy ending.”

           The song went on for a few more minutes. She had let the music as the guitar solo slowly died down. The song was met with applause.

           Marinette performed a few more songs, along with Luka. After one of them, Harvey had come directly up to her and Luka and offered to be their manager. Apparently, Jagged’s label had been watching them and wanted to give each of them a record deal. If Penny and Chloe hadn’t been there, both Luka and Marinette wouldn’t fallen her their butts in shock.

           Jagged called Boyd away to discuss something.

           Luka gripped his guitar so tightly Marinette feared it would break, “That didn’t just happen, did it?”

“Nope,” Marinette shook her head, earnestly. “It’s the fumes from all their hairspray. It must have knocked us out. We’re in coma right now.”

           Chloe glared at them. “Oh. Shut. UP! You were amazing. You both were. Marinette you screamed Girl power. And Luka, there’s probably a million girls planning on marry you right now.”

“I have to call my mom!” Luka and Marinette said at the same time.

           Her parents were excited about the news. But they made it clear as long as it didn’t interfere with her school work, she could do whatever she wanted. Sabine and Tom were just happy their little girl was back.

           Luka said his mom was the safe. School first, hall of fame second.

           Jagged pulled Marinette on stage for one last song. The song was chosen by Chloe. It was the song Marinette wrote once she realized she was done. She was done with the drama in class, done with fake friends. Done with game and lies. Done with mean comments and ice cold glares. She was over it. And Marinette didn’t care anymore.

“You wanna play, you wanna stay, you wanna have it all

You started messing with my head until I hit a wall

Maybe I shoulda known, maybe I shoulda known

That you would walk, you would walk out the door.”

           Marinette watched Penny smile as she turned on the big fans pointed at her.

Said we were done, you met someone and rubbed it in my face

Cut to the punch, she broke your heart, and then she ran away

I guess you shoulda known, I guess you shoulda known

That I would talk, I would talk

           She remembered Alya standing in class renouncing their friendship, and nearly everyone joining her. The look on Lila’s face as she finally fulfilled her promise. Adrien not doing anything, and avoiding contact. He never stood up for her; not once. He blocked her calls, stopped answering her texts, until finally he let Nino and who else in class convince him to end his friendship with Marinette outright.

           But when got over the loss, the heartbreak; she decided it was for the best. Marinette didn’t need them. She didn’t want them. Marinette swore she’d never be friends with them again.

“But even if the stars and moon collide

I never want you back into my life

You can take your words and all your lies.”

           The fire in Marinette’s eyes caused a few people to step back; including Luka. Then a wide smile spread over her face and

“Oh I really don't care

Even if the stars and moon collide

I never want you back into my life

You can take your words and all your lies

Oh oh I really don't care

Oh oh oh I really don't care?”

           When the song ended, everyone cheered.

           Jagged grabbed the mic, “Wasn’t she pure Rock and Roll, or what?” He picked up Fang. “What do you think, Fang? You loved it! For those of you who don’t know; this is my pet,” He told the camera. “Totally coolest guy ever. I’d never do anything mainstream like get a cat or anything.” He said with a wink. “For those of you who loved today’s acts; I’ve got some good news. All songs are going to be on itunes. Just look them up! In Addition; my label wants to offer both Luka and Marinette records deals. Who knows, maybe I’ll reach out to Clara about them coming on tour with us; we could use a couple of awesome opening acts.”

           Marinette went home with the biggest smile on her face. She didn’t think much what happened. She figured the record deal wouldn’t go anywhere; someone would realize just how lame she was and stop it dead in her tracks. Marinette also figured that Chloe had exaggerated about how many watched; no one wanted to see some Amateur sing, even if it was on Jagged Stone streamed it.

It wasn’t a big deal, Marinette thought when she went to bed, tomorrow no one would even remember her. Still, it was a pretty fun.

           By Monday morning, Marinette would learn just how big of deal it really was. Little did she know that, overnight, her song ‘Not Today’ was downloaded over 2 million times? Her song ‘Happy ending’ sold over 3 million. But ‘Really Don’t Care’ broke records. The rest of the songs had had performs sold well too; each selling over a million copies. The world was listening to her music, and she had no clue. Luka did pretty well too; his songs were just trailing after Marinette’s in sells.

           Marinette had been helping her parents in the bakery’s kitchen, listening to the radio, when a new song started to play. Marinette turned white as a sheet, “M-Mom! Dad!” She said, her voice trembling.

“What’s up, honey?” Tom asked, worry clear in his eyes.

           She pointed at the radio with a shaky hand, “That’s mine.”

“What?” Sabine asked confused.

“That’s mine,” Marinette repeated. “That’s my song!”

           Her parents looked even more confused. Until they listened closer to the song and recognized their daughter’s voice.

           Sabine dropped the pans she was holding, “You’re on the radio,” She whispered. “You’re on the radio.” She yelled, cheering.

           Tom pulled his daughter into a giant bear hug, “My sugarplum’s a Superstar!”

           After Marinette’s song

           Once, she finished in the bakery, Marinette ran to Chloe’s. When she was let into the penthouse, she rushed to Chloe’s room, and as soon as she saw the blond, she yelled, “I’m on the radio!” And screamed. Chloe screamed with her.

           Then Luka called and screamed, “I’m on the radio!” The sound of his mother cheering the background. As far as he was concerned it was the best day of his life. The year had sucked so hard; first his sister became one of Lila’s groupies, then he got kicked out of his own band, he realized he and the girl (Marinette) he had a crush on were better off as friends, and he broke his lucky guitar and had to fork over his savings to buy a new one.

           But getting a record deal, being on the radio, nearly made all of it worth it. Luka still really wanted his sister back though.

           The three friends spent the rest of the weekend hanging out and being amazed at their luck. Chloe got the internship she was after in the PR department. Thanks to Penny, she’d be Luka and Marinette’s promotor. Or least learning firsthand how everything works.

           When Monday morning came, Marinette was still oblivious to just much had changed in so little time… Until she got to school, and some random girl asked for her autograph. Marinette stuttered out a, “Sure.” And signed the girl’s notebook. While she was doing it, four other kids lined up behind her. She signed each one with a smile.

“I really like your song: Not today,” One guy told her. “It’s nice to know I’m not the only one that gets that way sometimes.”

           Marinette was so touched, she nearly started crying right there. She would’ve if Chloe hadn’t dragged her away, with a hiss about not crying in front on fans.

           On the way to class, a few kids stopped and asked her for a picture. She agreed. But when more and more kids tried to get her attention, Marinette, once again, had to be saved by Chloe.

“You are not getting mauled on my watch,” Chloe tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I’d never get to work in PR again.”

           Marinette giggled. Chloe rolled her eyes with a fund smile.

           The smiles died when they reached class. They had gotten there early. Marinette was rarely ever late anymore sense she had lighted her work load. Only a few kid were there. Max, Nathaniel, and Mylene; they all looked at Marinette with wide eyes.

           Marinette ignored them as Chloe and she went to their seats. They made light talk and ignored the looks of the other students as more and more arrived. Most didn’t say a word to her; not knowing what to do or say.

           When Rose arrived, she immediately rushed over to Marinette, “I love your music. I didn’t know you could sing!” She chirped. “I can’t believe you performed with Jagged Stone. You’re so lucky.”

           The bluenette gave the other girl a small smile, “Yeah it was amazing. Luka was great too,” She added. “He’s ecstatic about the record deal. He was so bummed when Kitty Section kicked him out; something about him holding you guys back. Did you guys ever find a new singer and lead guitarist? It’s been months, right?” It was spiteful. It was the meanest thing Marinette had ever done. And they deserved it.

           Rose visibly wilted. So did Ivan and Juleka. Every member of Kitty Section regretted kicking Luka out of the band the moment they saw him performing with Jagged Stone; getting the break of a lifetime. And when they heard about a potential record deal… well, let’s say regret didn’t begin to cover it.

“Oh, we’re working on it,” Rose smiled, a big fake smile on her face. “We got a lot of people we’re considering.” The truth was, and it was hard for Kitty section to learn, that most people who had a fraction of Luka’s talent didn’t want to work with a bunch of teenagers. And without Luka there, no one was reminding them to practice or book gigs.

           Rose returned to a seat, feeling more bummed than she had when she got to the class. She had been happy for Marinette, and for Luka. But she had so many dreams for Kitty Section and herself that just because she was happy for them, didn’t mean she wasn’t unhappy for herself.

           Chloe pulled Marinette back into the conversation, just as the last of the students arrived, “So, once you sign the record deal, are you going to go on tour with Jagged and Clara. Luka said he’s going.”

           Marinette frowned. She hadn’t really considered it much. Clara had reached out to her congratulate her on the record deal and tell her how much she loved Marinette’s songs. Clara had hinted hard that she’d love Marinette to come on tour with her. But Marinette didn’t know. Being a rock star wasn’t ever one of her goals in life.

“I still want to design,” Marinette admitted.

           Chloe shrugged, “So do that too.” She suddenly gripped Marinette’s arm. “You can wear design your own dress to the Teen Choice Awards, and the MTV music Awards. You can design my dress!”

           Marinette laughed, “My song came out like three days ago, and you’re practically writing my acceptance speech; I might not get nominated.”

           The blond scoffed, “Oh you’re getting nominated. Do you know how many people downloaded your songs? Records were broken. Even my mother played ‘Really don’t care’ whenever she wants someone to stop talking to her now. Go on tour!”

“I’d need more songs,” Marinette said. “I’ll need to release like an actual album.”

“Penny went through all yours songs, remember?” Chloe said. “She sent me a list of all ones that she think would top the charts. She wants to record, ‘Fight Song’ as soon as you sign with the label. And she swears, ‘I kissed a Girl’ is going make people lose their minds.”

           Marinette sent her a smirk, “That song’s half yours remember; we wrote it after you and Kagami got closer.”

“Won’t even hide the body, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe growled.

           Marinette laughed, “Fine! If I go on tour, I want you there with me. I couldn’t do it with you! You’re only one I’d trust me my social media accounts.”

“How could you invite Chloe,” Alya asked hearing the end of the conversation as she arrived just after the bell rang. “I’d be a much better social media influencer than her!”

           Chloe raised an eyebrow, “Uh huh, and how’s the traffic for the Ladyblog?” She asked.

           Alya flushed with anger. It was bad. They all knew it was bad. Ladyblog had died dramatically after Ladybug vocally for the other press to hear told Alya she didn’t work with reporters who didn’t fact check. “Marinette’s my bestie; I should be going with her.”

           Marinette snorted, “Last I check your bestie was Lila. Or don’t you remember ending our friendship?”

“Well, I, uh,” Alya stuttered out. She had completely forgotten disowning the bluenette. She had been so excited when her mother told her friend’s name was trending, thinking she’d see Lila Rossi, only to see Marinette Dupain-Cheng on the top search list of the day. Then she watched the video of her performing, when Jagged mentioned the record deal, Alya lost her mind. Her mind was filled with images of her and Marinette at music awards shows and on tours; movie premieres. It was all going to be amazing.

           Except it wasn’t. She and Marinette weren’t friends anymore. A balloon popped inside Alya.

           Marinette gave her a sad smile, “What did you think I forgot? Or you must have.”

“The chances of that happening or as likely as Jagged Stone owning a cat,” Chloe smirked as Lila walked into the door. “Or did you forget that part too? Wonder how Lila saved something he never owned?”

           To her credit, Lila didn’t bat an eye. “He doesn’t own one now. He must have forgotten the poor thing once he got really famous and they went out of style. I wonder what happened to it.” It was good performance. Lila even got teary eyed.

           Still, Lila was met with suspicious looks. The class started to wonder if she was really their golden ticket. Or if the pissed of the real one instead.

“Congratulations, Marinette,” Lila simpered, jealously flaring in her eyes. “Who knew Jagged Stone was your Uncle?”

“Shouldn’t you?” Chloe poked yet another hole in her story. “You said you were oh so very close.”

           Marinette smirked, “I had get my rock and roll genes from somewhere.”

[collecting-stories]

Manslaughter - Rafe Cameron

Request: Can I request sth. for Rafe ? :) How would he and y/n reunite after years where he broke up with her, went to jail or some facility for killing Peterkin and she went on with her life ? I love your writing!

Request: Hey can i have an vvv angsty rafe x reader pls? Love ur stuff xx

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

A wealthy family, good behavior, and a renewed plea of insanity at the time of the crime all met at the crossroads of Rafe’s review trial. It was ten years after Peterkin’s death, ruled manslaughter despite him driving to the airstrip with a gun, that the review board decided Rafe could be released on house arrest. Two years he would have to spend in the house only allowed to leave for parole meetings and therapy.  

“I shouldn’t have to do some dumb therapy shit.”

“I don’t really think you’re in the position to bitch about anything Rafe.” Wheezie commented, sitting in the car with her brother. In the time that he had been behind bars she had gotten a license, graduated high school, and was in the process of getting her masters. It was because of that Wheezie asked you to stop by.  You had kept in touch with Wheezie after Rafe had been arrested, knowing how difficult it had been for her to see her brother arrested and how alienated the family became from each other afterward. You had always loved the youngest Cameron like she was your own sister and you had stayed close to her. When your daughter was born years later after you finally felt ready to let Rafe and your past go, she was the godmother. So when she asked you to come to the house you did, even if it meant walking back into those memories.  

Being back in front of Tanney Hill was like walking into a liquor store when you knew you were an alcoholic. The amount of time you had spent there during your youth was synonymous with the amount of pain it had caused you. Not the house, of course, but the boy inside. The one who was all grown up now, nearing thirty, and far removed from the person you fell in love with. Though, to be fair, he’d hadn’t been that person the last time you were behind the doors of Tanny Hill either.  

-

“Don’t move!”  

You hit the wall, hands up as you watched Shoupe push Rafe against the counter, Thomas’ gun trained on your boyfriend. Another cop kept their gun on you as you watched them handcuff Rafe, zip ties a little too tight.  

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t move.” The cop in front of you repeated Shoupe’s warning, holding her gun steady as she stared you down. You looked passed her where they were trying to lead Rafe away as he struggled, shouting about his dad and lawyers.

“Rafe!” You called his name but it was no use, he couldn’t seem to focus on anything that was happening as he fought against Shoupe, much less on you. The cop across from you held her hand out as if that was supposed to ease your nerves as she holstered her gun.  

“Miss, I need you to calm down.”

“I don’t understand, what’s happening?” Your voice sounded distant as you spoke, hysterical even.  

-

The door to the old white house opened and a dark-haired young woman stepped out, well-dressed and only half paying attention as she texted someone. A far cry from the thirteen-year-old you had once known.

“Wheezie...Louisa,” you smiled when she looked up, her own smile matching yours.  

“Thank god, you’re here. Thank you for coming.” She said, shoulders relaxing, “I just...don’t want to leave him alone.”

“I’m sure he appreciates you treating him like a baby.” You stepped inside the house after her, the entry way looking just the way it had the last time you were in the house.  

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t want him leaving the house.” She replied, “he’s in his room anyway.”

“Hope he stays there,” you mused, trading places with her as she moved to leave the house.  

“He’s been really depressed, I think,” she replied, “if it’s too much, you don’t have to stay.” She knew she was asking a lot but she didn’t know who else to ask. She didn’t speak to her mother anymore and her father had fled the OBX and America days before her 14th birthday. Sometimes Sarah stopped by but even that relationship was tense.  

“I’ll be fine Lousia, promise.”  

“Okay, I’ll text you on my way home,” she said.  

-

“He’s in his room.” Rose said, letting you into the house. She stood off to the side, barely interested in your presence and looking more annoyed than anything that she had to open the door.  

“Thanks,” you moved into the house passed her, waving to Wheezie when you spotted her in the other room. You hurried upstairs and down the hall to your boyfriend’s room, slipping inside and away from the rest of the household. Rafe’s room was like a sanctuary from the rest of his house and sometimes even from the rest of the island.  

He was still sleeping when you went in, beer bottles on the nightstand along with an ashtray, half smoked cigarettes, a bong and his lighter. You shut the door, locking it behind you and tiptoeing across the room so you wouldn’t wake him, though that was doubtful given the music coming from his stereo. If that didn’t wake, not much else could. He was stretched out almost diagonally on the bed, on his stomach, comforter twisted around his legs and pushed down to his waist. You toed off your sandals and climbed up on the bed on your knees, crawling over to your boyfriend and straddling him.  

You leaned down over him, brush hair away from his face and kissing below his ear. “Rafe, wake up.” You were supposed to be going to the island club with him and Topper and you definitely hadn’t woken up this early to sit around while your boyfriend slept.

He groaned and twisted his arm back to try and swat at you. “Go away.”

“Not a chance,” you laughed, trying to move away from his arm without getting off his back. “We have to go.”

“I’m not going,” he mumbled, pressing his face further into the bed.  

“You told Topper-”

“Fuck him,” he twisted, knocking you onto your side on the bed as he laid on his back. “Come here, I wanna sleep.”

“God, you are such a baby.” You teased, already giving in as you repositioned yourself to cuddle up beside him.  

-

You stood in the kitchen, reading through emails on your phone and fighting the urge to walk through the house. When Wheezie had let you in your first inclination had been to walk straight upstairs to Rafe’s bedroom the way you used to when you were younger.  

“God, of all the people I didn’t expect to see.” Rafe’s voice caught your attention and you looked up to find him standing in the entryway of the kitchen, sweatpants obscuring the house arrest anklet that he wore.  

“Wheezie asked me to be here.” You replied, looking away. Would she consider you still helpful if you went and sat in your car until she came home. Being here, with Rafe, was harder than you thought it would be. In the black and white world of what was good and what was bad you knew exactly how you felt. Peterkin had been more than good to your family the whole time you lived on the island and you had been horrified to discover someone had murdered her. Knowing that person was Rafe was asking you to choose who was more important.  

“That’s the only reason you’re here?” He asked, moving further into the kitchen.

You hadn’t ever let go of the feelings you had for Rafe though. He was your first boyfriend and you had weighed everyone else against him for a long time. “I’m not here for you.” You finally said.  

“What happened was a mistake,” Rafe said, “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“You know what? I would’ve loved to buy that when I was a kid but I’m not anymore, you can’t sell me an excuse.”  

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?

“I told you Rafe,” You replied, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. This was all harder than you thought it would be, “I’m here because Wheezie asked me to be. I moved on, I have a life that doesn’t include you anymore. Yeah, when we were eighteen I thought you were it but I’m almost thirty...I’m not so naive now. I’ve got a kid, I’m getting married,” you shrugged, “I would do anything for your sister, she’s like my own, but I’m not still hanging onto you.”  

“Getting married huh?” He asked, “to someone around here?”

“Yeah.”  

“Who?”  

“It’s none of your business, actually. You’re not part of my life anymore.” You said.  

He nodded slowly, trying to steady his breathing and the pounding in his chest at your words. Finally, he grabbed a water bottle from the island, “I’ll be upstairs.”

“I’m sorry, you know, that things couldn’t have been different.” You admitted as he walked away, “I loved you...I loved being here with you, if things had been different...I’d love to think that we’d be together still but, I’m happy now.”

“Good for you.”  

You listened as the door to his bedroom slammed shut and closed your eyes, fighting back tears.  

-

taglist: @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @maplelattes22 @poguesrforlife  @freckled-and-daydreaming @chasefreakinstokes @millie-753 @fangirlwithme @alex12948 @katherine097@tangledinsparkles @carbonated-beverage @mariofgreengables @damonsalvawhore27@dopedoodes @dolanfivsosxox @belledutchess @poguelifeeee @faded-blue @parkerpetertingle@thebookwormlife @summer-clouds-and-long-days @jellyfishbeansontoast @minigranger@hoewkeye @love-someone-special @tiredfeels @strangerthanfanfiction713 @the-only-nana@tomzfrog @mozz-are-lla @vindictive-hearts @poguestyleskye @ssprayberrythings@jenahbell @beautyandthebleh @gothackedalready @teenwaywardasgardian @sarahcxmeron@haha-fuck-you-thot @stillbelieve398-5 @rewindlr @queenniccimicci @kissessforharryyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @alytavzla @bqmblebee @linniep @nerdypartytrashpsychic @xxchxrryxx @spencer-reid-is-a-cutie @mirjanak @danielladreaming @obx-saltlife @youngestxhearts @spnobsessedmemes @wowitswondergurl @celestialmaybank @mybnkjj @pineappleandcherries @mysterious-adventurer @justawilddreamerchild @rhyetaylor62@calm-rejects @balletandyuzu @oh-annaa @aiifandomsunite @x-lulu @ceruleanjj @wicked-laugh @obxwriterfan @allie-mcginn @pcterparxer @literarycharleton @khiaraaa-in-spacee@crushe-s @teamnick @daydreamlilys @collectiveuniverses @activist-af @mdgrdians@buckys-sunflower @vindictive-hearts @copper-boom @talksoprettyjjx @5am-cigarette@smiithys @dontjinx-it @outerbanksbro @mysticsthinking @heavenlymama @rudy-pankow-needs-an-oscar @babymatilda @raekenliar @lemur46 @haute-shawn 

[weeklyfangirl]

Frat Boy Pt. 22

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20, part 21

Hope everyone is keeping themselves mentally/physically well... here’s the next update in your adventure. Please safely read from home ;) 

The sun moved slowly up my window, illuminating the dancing dust in the air. Even though I knew dust didn’t have feelings, it all still looked very peaceful, suspended there in space. 

 I wanted to be suspended, floating, with no obligations or pressures. 

 Instead, I watched time slip by, slowly, as the shadows stretched along my floor and I lay still, wrapped in a giant Winnie-the-Pooh sheets burrito. 

I called in sick the past three days to work and to all my classes, my lack of attendance probably dropping me a letter grade in a few classes. Instead of checking on my academic scholarship, I begged Renny to drop off Dr. Rhinecuff’s papers for me. She did, lamenting about how his office smelled like roast beef and how she probably needed a nose job from it shrivelling up from the stench. Tired, I sent her three hearts, ignoring all of her calls and voicemails. 

 In a random bout of restless energy, I looked up the University of Oxford in England. No one would know me there. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing when you didn’t even know yourself. I stayed on their site for an hour, avoiding my take-home assignments, and speculating which classes I could take in the spring semester. My eyes grew tired though, and even if I were accepted as a transfer student, it wasn’t like I could ever afford it without scholarships. 

 I closed the computer. 

 It’d been cloudy, rainy. The random storm that’d come in from Mexico lasted longer than the usual morning fog that’d roll in and out by the time it was 9 AM. This storm lingered, heavy, full clouds looking to burst and unleash a steady rain for three to four hours before the clouds rested, storing up all they could until the next downpour. 

 My parents didn’t question me when I came in, used to my random visits. But when I went straight to my room without saying hello, rain-plastered hair covering puffy eyes, my mom basically collapsed at the sight. 

 She followed me to the bed, trying to see my face, but I buried it in the pillow, ignoring the way the purple fringe tickled my nose. 

 “What’s wrong sweetheart?” 

 I just groaned. Her voice was too gentle, too well-intending for the dark thoughts sitting in my mind. She’d be heartbroken if she heard them. 

 She huffed, not out of annoyance, but distress. “What’s bothering you?? Is it Renny? Did you breakup with Harry?” All those reasons were too simple. She ran her hands lightly along my legs, but I cringed away from her touch. It was something I rarely did. She paused. “You can tell me anything...” 

 I shook my head against the pillow, my last attempt to tell her to leave without speaking. She waited a moment longer. 

 “Okay,” she said. And that was it. 

 Father didn’t ask questions, not even when I was here for the third consecutive day. Mom had probably come to her own conclusions, and shared them with him. 

 “Mom said you aren’t feeling too well,” he said over cereal one morning, confirming my suspicions. It was the first time he’d broken our three-day spree of comfortable silence. 

 “What else did she tell you?” 

 He shrugged his shoulders, his usual buoyant self replaced with a quiet voice. He looked at me, and all I saw was pity. If I were him, I’d probably look at me the same way. I hadn’t showered in a while. “Well don’t let anything get you down. You’re too smart for that.”

 He’d tried. He’d put in an effort. I just nodded, scooping up another spoonful of cereal. He followed suit. 

 And that was that.  

 A week passed like this. 

 But overnight, the clouds had blown away, and the sun came back full-force this morning just in time for the weekend, renewing my guilt. That traitor. 

 I’d cried all of Monday and Tuesday, but when the last tear was shed in the middle of a New Girl episode, I was empty. My tears didn’t leave anything to replace them with. 

 On Wednesday, a phone alarm reminded me I had a therapy appointment. I hit snooze multiple times. It was only when I got up to pee, and I hated what I saw in the mirror that I threw on an oversized sweater to go over my pajamas and headed out the door. 

 “Is it good?” I asked. 

 Her hands reviewed my wants list.  

 “That’s just a coffee stain on the corner..just...ignore that bit,” I added. 

 She surveyed it briefly, not really focusing on it. “Were you honest?”

 I nodded.

 “Then there isn’t good or bad. It’s just your truth.”

 “But I still feel… I don’t know. I don’t think I know what that is. I don’t feel like I’m… progressing. Doing anything towards that,” I said. 

 She looked at me with a level gaze. “Then that’s your truth. And that’s okay for right now.”

 I shot her a glance.

 “I see a common struggle with people your age. They feel this….” -She adjusted, quirking her head- “immense pressure to be perfect, to figure it all out, to achieve success so early.” 

 “Everyone’s doing it,” I began. “They’re getting internships, keeping up their grades, involved in ten clubs, doing community service…” I could’ve droned on, but didn’t. 

 “You have an internship, your grades are good, you’ve joined a sorority, and up until recently you’ve been involved in tutoring. Those are extracurriculars.” 

 I couldn’t argue with her. 

 “Is it too much?” she asked.

 Too much. It was everything I’d been feeling until I’d felt nothing. But hearing her list off what was waiting for me just beyond her doors made me feel the weight of it all over again. 

 “I’ve just been overwhelmed.” 

 “Who have you been thinking about?” 

 She noticed I started picking my hangnail. 

 She started gently, knowingly. “Has it been Harry?” 

 “Ow,” I cursed. A bit of blood prickled up where the hangnail used to be. 

 “He seems to be a major stressor in your life. Would you agree?” The clock ticked behind her, filling the silence. Her hands rested in her lap, while mine swiped away the bit of blood. I could never remember my therapist’s name, but somehow it wasn’t important. 

 “Yeah, but … I mean …. there’s a lot of stressors.”

 “Like his friends?”

 His friends, in the abbreviated story I’d told her, stood in place for the gang. I’d used terms like … intimidating, mean, basically painting them as bullies who didn’t like us together. I wasn’t expecting to get much therapy from a lie. “Out of curiosity, if I were to tell you something… would you be obligated to report it to the police?” 

 “Not necessarily.” Her legs crossed, creased brows zeroing in with a laser focus. “Has something happened to you, Y/N?”

 I swallowed hard, the truth lodged in my throat. But I had gotten too used to the weight of the secret. “I was just curious…” My mind raced to change the subject, and I blurted about Zayn’s art show. 

 “Do you think this panic attack was induced by this heightened sense of scrutiny from Harry’s friends?” 

 “Probably.” 

 “You said there were others. What are your main stressors?’ 

 I settled in, more comfortable with this question. “There’s financial stressors, for one. And it’s exasperated here.” 

 “You’ve been dealing with financial difficulties for a while, now. Have you been feeling this anxious the entire time, or has it been recent?” 

 My foot tapped impatiently. We both knew the answer.

 “Your panic attack was a first,” she explained, gently. “Some new factor in your life pushed you there.” 

 I picked at the hangnail, wincing. It was gone. My skin was raw. 

 “Maybe it all links back to Harry.” She waited a moment to see if I’d speak. When I didn’t, she leant back, and pulled out a new sheet of paper, scribbling something down. “I want you to write a pros and cons list about your relationship with him, for next time. When your feelings are overwhelming, it helps to get everything on paper. In a list. Puts things in perspective.” 

 I drove home, her words had pushed themselves into my empty shell and now they clinked around, jostling up my insides like a pinball machine and giving me a headache. 

 Just because I hadn’t left the house all week didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty for ditching work. God, I did. It killed me. I knew I was lucky to get that internship. Harry had mentioned how people killed just to get on the waitlist, and I didn’t doubt it. An OC internship with, if not the top, at least the most publicized private practice? I mean, I was typing in appointments next to a Southern Stanford grad if that speaks to the competition here. 

 And here I was, retreating back to my house, too drained to face the world. 

 As for Harry, after what I’d said to him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to talk to me ever again. 

 I’d been so cruel. 

 I was weak.  

 I felt guilty for feeling this way at all. 

 And then I would watch the dust again.

 It was a cycle. 

 About three blocks from my house on my way back from the therapist session, a familiar car passed me. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly, like most things do. We made eye contact before he passed, and my foot instantly lifted off the gas when my eyes connected with my brain. I whipped my head around but the matte black maserati sped up, disappearing from sight. 

 What was Harry doing this far from campus? 

 My heart beat erratically as I pulled into the driveway, and it was only seconds before I made it into the house. Father held up a hand in Grandpa’s old room. Phone call. Trudging silently to my own, I wrapped myself in a blanket burrito. 

 I’d been avoiding my phone, but I caved this time, checking J’s social media to see if he’d posted anything about being in the area to prove I WASN’T crazy and DIDN’T just hallucinate. Nothing. I tossed my phone on the other side of the room before I spiralled.  

 It didn’t matter. I was in my room. Alone. Safe. I focused on the dust. 

 Two little knocks disrupted my exciting mind game - which dust particle would fall further than the other. 

 “You’re turning ripe,” Father noted. His briefcase was still in his hand and he was coming startlingly close to my depression burrito. 

 “What are you doing-!?” I protested. But it was too late. He ripped the sheets off, exposing me in the t-shirt I’d been in since Monday. “Your mood won’t change if you don’t make an effort.

Come on.”

 “Where are we going?”

 “You’re coming to the water with me.” He hesitated at the door. “Shower first.” 

 In the car, a sense of comfort washed over me. He’d been right. Clean wet hair smelled nice and felt good slicked around my head. Even if Mom would complain I’d “catch cold,” it felt good to feel something. Dad’s speakers switched between classic rock and reggaeton as I sipped on the chocolate shake we picked up from the Shake Shack. It was a short drive away to the harbor, and once parked, a shorter walk to the public docks. 

 Our feet dangled above the water. It was too cold to go swimming this time of year, but my body buzzed with yearning despite the goosebumps on my skin. I wanted to feel encompassed by salty water. I wanted to be submerged, where everything was muted, a barrier between me and the world. Between my wet hair and the icy shake, I could pretend my body was as cool as the water below me. I could just…. dissolve. 

 “So what’s going on?” he opened up the conversation. “You having a hard time at school?” 

 “I don’t like the sorority.” 

 His brows raised, not expecting me to be so honest so soon. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, don’t you hate that shit?” 

 I looked at him, almost shocked he’d agreed with me. 

 The boats squeaked as they rocked with the rolling tides coming in from the ocean. I watched as a duffy boat wandered to the end of the jetty - where the harbor opened to the ocean. I took another big gulp of my shake, feeling the cold run down, freezing my esophagus. 

 “I liked frats, but sororities are different,” he mumbled, spooning his shake into his mouth. He’d gotten his usual Neapolitan, and it’d somehow stayed solid on the drive over. We hadn’t been to the Shake Shack in years, but I guess seeing his daughter waste away beneath her comforter was enough to break the dry spell. 

 “Why? Because its girls?” My lips were breaking into a smile without my consent. He didn’t make sense. 

 “They’re more catty.” He shrugged his shoulders. 

 “Dad! That’s verging on sexist.” 

 “Eh, I don’t know. I’m just saying things. Did you tell Mom you want to quit?” 

 I shook my head. 

 “Yeah…” he looked out at the boats, a quiet understanding passing between us. “She was really excited for you to join.” 

 “It’s not all bad…” 

 “Well if it’s not making you happy, don’t do it. Your mom doesn’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do. I was in a frat to shoot the shit with friends and it was something fun to do instead of study. If it’s not something fun for you, drop it.” 

 I could hear the words he was telling me, but it was like they were rolling off my shoulders, not really penetrating. He made it sound so easy, but it seemed like it was a million times harder than that. Everything was entangled, just as Harry had said. Not to mention Renny. If I quit, I felt like I’d lose her forever, too. I knew I could use a better friend, but that couldn’t erase the years of memories we had together. Losing Renny would feel like losing a part of myself. Not that I knew who that was anymore. 

 “Dad?” I asked. The question that'd weighed on my mind ever since I got home rested on the tip of my tongue. 

 “Yeah?” 

 “This is going to sound weird, but did you see Harry today?” 

 “Yeah. He stopped by,” he said, casually, spooning another mouthful. 

 I practically choked. “What? Why?! Weren’t you going to tell me?” 

 “Y/N, I’m working. I have a thousand things bouncing around in my head all the time.”

 “And?!!?”

 Harry couldn’t reach out to me beforehand? He drove by but- what? Didn’t even want to see me? 

 He sighed, not understanding the urgency. “He just stopped by, said hi. That’s all.” 

 My brows stitched. “Why would he say hi to you? What’d he say, exactly?” 

 “Oh, come on, I don’t know. I can’t remember-”

 “Dad!” 

 “All right, all right. Hi, how are you…” -his brain tried to remember- “he asked if you were doing okay. Then he left. He was nearby for a family brunch or something.” 

 “He asked about me?” 

 “Yeah. I mean, he didn’t go on and on, he just asked a question. He was in a rush.” 

 The shake froze me from the inside, and the breeze froze me from the out. But while I shriveled into myself, my guilt grew. “Dad?” 

 He hummed. 

 “Why are people so fake?” 

 He looked out at the harbor, peaceful for a winter’s morning. Only one small fishing boat headed towards the harbor’s edge, the sole fisherman at the helm facing the wind with the grace of a husband dealing with a temperamental spouse. 

 Father looked to our shoes as a random swell came, the water rising perilously close to our soles. Then, with all the untapped wisdom I seldom remembered parents had, “People are fake because they don’t know who they are,” he said.

 He got a call from the restaurant and drove us home. 

 In bed the next day, I ignored the pros/cons assignment, watching New Girl and making collages of Oxford in a word document until my eyes were burning from blue light exposure. I knew I was pushing it staying this long away from school, away from my problems. I was pushing myself, seeing how far my apathy could go. I woke up Thursday night at 2 AM from the rain pouring against my shutter and anger pricking my insides. 

 Harry was the reason I was in this position. As well as Viv, who fucked Harry. And Kiki, who gave me a DG Pretty Please, that just so happened to involve Harry. 

 I wanted him, but I wanted him to fuck off. Nothing was changing. Nothing was getting better. 

 It was all Harry, Harry, Harry, and no matter what, I ended up feeling insane.  

 At one point, I was going to have to choose myself. 

 I rolled over, blindly reaching for a pen, and scribbled in the dark. 

 If my therapist wanted a list, she’d get one helluva list. 

 -----------

“I’m glad you’re going, honey.” Mom released me from the lung-crushing hug. 

 I’d created enough Oxford collages and daydreamed about a new life until I couldn’t think of any other imaginary scenarios (or postpone collegiate life any longer). 

 The Friday sun had set. The game had already started. I thought about the crowd, all the people I’d see… 

 “Can I just stay the weekend?” 

 “Oh.” Her arms dropped from my sides. “Didn’t you promise your friends that you’d go?” 

 Renny. I’d promised Renny. Singular friend. My hand was in a fist, thumb rubbing anxiously over my fingers. I didn’t listen to her voicemails, there were seven of them. But she’d texted me fifty times in the past twenty minutes, declaring that she’d Venmo me gas money if I’d come to the game. 

 I’d been in my hole long enough. 

 “Yeah, I did.”

 “Well, you COULD stay-”

 I broke away, shaking my head. If I let her coddle me another minute, I think I’d crumble all over again. 

 “I love you,” she reminded me. “You’re my precious angel.” 

 From the living room, the muffled applause from the game show Father had fallen asleep to faded further as I left. 

 Momma’s robe-bundled frame waved on the driveway, her sad smile burning in my mind long after she disappeared from view.

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

 Come on, come on, come ON. 

 The path to the stadium took forever. No shame, I was full-on running, braless, fresh pit-stains on display as I booked it to the gate. 

 It was completely dark now, and the usual fleet of cop cars seemed to have all but disappeared the week I’d been gone. Only one passed me by, and the rest of the student body probably all congregated around the stadium. 

 When I saw the art studio, I slowed. It was completely dark, except for one entry light. The paintings would still be displayed... My pounding heart told me to keep running, and I hesitated, listening to it for a moment before walking to the door. I tugged on its metal handles, parts of me seizing up as it opened, giving way to my touch. 

 I crept into the space, feeling like an intruder as I walked through the exhibit. 

 For some reason, I expected it to look differently, to see it blurred together as I’d seen it before in a panic. 

 I was still hanging amidst the vines, but this time the paintings looked less threatening. Maybe it was the fact that I was alone, maybe it was because I’d already felt the worst of it. 

 Each piece was sold. 

 I looked over my shoulder a couple times before letting out a small shout. A tester. 

 It echoed in the space. 

 I did it again, louder, at my full about-to-be-murdered capacity.

 I must’ve looked absolutely mental, but as I heard my shout reverberate around me, at least I felt something.  

 Five charcoal sketches in particular ran horizontally together. 

 Lust / Longing / Love / Lost / Loss

 Had he seen all of this in me? He’d certainly seen other bits I hadn’t shown him. 

 My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. Renny. Without thought, I started her stream of voicemails.

 Y/N where the FUCK are you!? Zayn’s concerned and I’m concerned and you’re not in the room-

 Next. 

 Are you really sick? Or is this just some BS excuse. Or is this real and Harry gave you tonsilitis or something. I want to hear your voice. Ilyyyyy. 

 Next. 

 It’s meeeeee. Niall’s busy and you’re sick and I don’t know what to dooooo. Housewives isn’t as fun without-

 Next.

 BABE WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME CALLS DO YOU HATE ME, AND YES I MEANT TO SAY ME INSTEAD OF MY I HOPE YOU’RE LAUGHING-

 Next.

 DUDE. You will not believe what just happened- Harry just stopped by. 

 My thumb paused, letting it stay. 

 I was avoiding his texts because I think he’s a dick. Well, he IS a dick, even if Niall said he was going through a lot. It’s still not an excuse. But Harry LEGIT found me on campus, like not even when I was with Niall at the house, but at our APARTMENT...I-hold on. Ew, pastrami professor just passed me. What are the odds? OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY, I almost punched him when I opened the door because remember last time he basically told me off. But… I don’t know. It was different this time. He seemed… so concerned. Frazzled. I don’t even know the word to describe it. Ugh, if you were here you would be able to TELL ME what the word is. I miss you. Come back. 

 The voicemail rolled into the next. 

 I’m just pretending to talk on the phone right now because the boy I hooked up with last year is staring me THE FUCK down right now-

 A creak in the pipes startled me, and the voicemail was all but forgotten. 

 My heart beat fast. 

 It was very, very quiet. 

 With one noise in the dark, the art pieces turned menacing. An oil painting in the corner of the room morphed into the Styles’ portrait. It wasn’t here. It couldn’t be here. I squinted, blinking through the dark. The portrait I thought I’d seen was just a painting of two silhouetted men facing each other. My heart still beat like I’d just ran a marathon though. I wasn’t about to be a part of the next horror movie “art comes alive.” 

 I booked it out faster than I came, answering Renny’s call on the way. 

 ---------

“Thank fucking finally,” Renny huffed, leaning over Lynn to draw me in a hug.

 “You didn’t miss much,” Lynn said, looking past me towards the game. I sat on Renny’s other side so she was in the middle, but when I looked at the scoreboard - Home, zero. Guest, two - I knew it was a done deal. Some people had already left, but half the stadium was still here, either hoping for a miraculous recovery or refusing to put their tails between their legs for pride’s sake. I noticed a group of parents in Chapman gear huddled together, waving their flags. No Mary or Lionel Styles in sight. 

 “How’s he been?” I asked. It’s like my head already knew where to turn, because as soon as I looked to the field, I found him. On the bench, elbows on his knees, head bent over.  

 “How’ve YOU been?” Renny asked. “I was seriously about to drive over to your house and check on you.” 

 Someone beat you to it. The thought was sour. For as much as Renny could claim her undying love for me, I was struggling to see the actions to support it. Everyone was disappointing. 

 “He’s been playing like shit,” Lynn answered.  

 “Brought back some...” His sentence died. Of all people, Zayn stood there, stopped, popcorn in hand. “Hey, Y/N.” 

 Felix stood behind Zayn, giving me a small wave. Zayn was clearly waiting for me to make the first move, but I turned away to the field. I didn’t know what to say. 

 From my peripheral, I saw them sit down by Lynn. 

 As soon as he did, it hit me like a flashfood. I knew what I was feeling. Anger. Discomfort. Shame. That he could expose me so easily, that he’d looked through my clothes in a way I never permitted. That he could sit down so comfortably without apologizing, as if nothing had happened. 

 Renny leaned in. “Are you okay?” 

 “No.”

 She flinched at the abrupt answer. “Do you want to leave?” 

 I stopped myself from saying yes. I didn’t want to have to climb over Zayn to get out of here. That would be more than uncomfortable. 

 “No, I’ll tell you later.” 

 I didn’t speak the rest of the game, pretending not to hear him cheer or laugh or make a snide remark to Felix every other second. Like the annoying click of a fan when you’re trying to fall asleep, Zayn’s every move made anger shake my bones. Lynn gave me sympathy looks every once in a while. It wasn’t like me to be this quiet, and even with our friendship being as new as it was, she knew that much. 

 The crowd didn’t roar this time. They were silent as the clock hit zero, staring blatantly at its twin beneath Home. The Guest team’s few Minnesota supporters jumped like little beans on the other side of the field, but their cries were faint. 

 We’d lost. 

 Everyone stood, and Renny linked her arm with mine. A familiar habit. “We’re going to Viv’s for some post-game depression drinks now.” 

 But I stopped her. 

 “I think I want to go back to the room,” I winced. 

 “Come on, PLEASE? It’ll be fun, you were barely here for the game.” 

 “I don’t know, depression and Viv in the same sentence… You really know how to sell a party.” 

 “Aren’t you coming, Y/N?” Lynn made moves to follow the rest of the crowd that was funneling out of the stands.  

 I shook my head at the same time Renny nodded hers. 

 She huffed. “Why not? It’s going to be chill. We lost. It’s not going to be like the usual ragers.” She popped her hip, completely deadpanned. “You haven’t seen another college-aged person in a week.” 

 “Yeah and there’s a reason for that.” 

 Concern washed over her, voice lowering. “Tell me.” 

 As if on cue, Zayn and Felix stopped their descent down the bleachers and looked up at the girls, waiting for them to join. It was all I could do to not scream at them. 

 “Later,” I said. “You’re leaving now.” 

 “I don’t have to leave right now, it’s not starting yet...” Renny began, but Lynn gave her a look that said yes, they were leaving now. 

 “She wants us to help set-up,” Lynn explained. 

 “But it’s a small thing, right?” I teased Renny. 

 My bestie rolled her eyes, lips pinching. “Are you SURE?” 

 I nodded, sitting down on the cool metal bleacher again. Renny took a step towards me, a sad look on her face, but I held up my hand. 

 “I’m fine,” I said, when I felt anything but. “I just want to wait until the crowd leaves.” I picked up the popcorn bag she’d left behind and threw a handful in my mouth with a cheesy, hopefully convincing grin.

 She grimaced, briefly looking back to Lynn who was anxiously waiting. “Fine. But we’re still talking about this later. I friggin miss you.”

 She left with the others, funneling out towards a party she’d probably stay at until the early morning. 

 I didn’t want to go back to the room. I didn’t want to go anywhere. 

 The lights were so bright on soccer fields. Bugs flew in and around, racing each other faster than the dust in my room. It wasn’t until the janitors walked past me that I realized I’d been sitting there for too long. I reached in the popcorn bag, but my hand came up empty. They’d gone overboard on the salty butter, but somehow, I’d still managed to eat all of it. 

 Even with everyone off the field though, I didn’t feel alone. An older Hispanic woman taking out the trash saw me walking down and opened up the bag. 

 “Thank you,” I said, smiling. 

 She just smiled in return, nodding her head as she continued down the aisle.

 Leaving the field’s gates, I was prepping for another mini run-for-my-life-and-back-to-the-dorm anxiety episode, when I heard someone shuffling. There were faint groaning noises, and I sped up my pace. 

 For a flash second, I thought someone was winning the “sleep in the locker room” bet, but when I tossed my head-back mid-run, I stopped so quickly, I almost tripped. 

 “Harry?” 

 There, in the dark, barely concealed by the shadows, he stumbled out. His abdomen looked… glossy? But then the light reflected crimson. 

 I ran to him as he fell, his white jersey stained with blood. “Oh my God, oh my God…” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What happened?! Are you okay!?” 

 He pushed me back. “M’fine.” But his voice was strained. He stumbled again, and I reached out before he fell. 

 I thought the blood from his shirt had fallen from a bloody nose, but his hand moved to my arm in a vice-like grip, revealing a gash in his jersey, I saw more liquid pool out from his gut and I almost gagged. 

 “You are BEYOND fine. You aren’t fucking fine!!” 

 “We have to leave. Have to… get out of here.” He grimaced. His face, his beautifully chiselled face was swollen on one side, his lip cut from impact. 

 “Okay. OKAY. I need to call the cops. The cops. I’m going to call them.” Shaky hands took out the cellphone, but he threw it down. “HARRY!” 

 “Take me to the physical therapy room?” 

 I looked at his chest. “You’re bleeding. A LOT.” My free arm reached for the tossed phone, but he tugged me back. 

 “No. They’ll write a report. I can’t have a-” he winced, sucking in a breath, and I reached for the phone again. “DON’T. Fucking hell. Don’t call anyone.”

 My eyes racked his frame again, and I immediately applied pressure to his ab area, right where the gash was. He sucked in a breath, unleashing a string of curses I couldn’t hear right now. “Oh my God,” I breathed. 

 “Answer me,” he growled. 

 My mind scrambled for his question… he wanted me to take him to the physical therapy room.  “YES! Yes. I have the- fuck, yes, I know where the keys are.” I looked at him again. What the FUCK.

 “Stop freaking out,” he grunted, but he weakened the next second, his eyes fluttering before coming back to me. 

 “Okay, hold on. Hold onto me. Keep applying pressure.” 

 The physical therapy room wasn’t too far, bits of blood that’d fallen to his shoes marking our path.

 “Why aren’t all the cops here?” 

 “They’re on rotation. The parties... they’llbestationedthere-JESUS.” We paused, letting him catch his breath. But it was shallow. Too shallow. 

 “Can you wait here for a second?” I asked.

 He nodded, resting against a lamp post. 

 I hurried to the lockbox located behind the planter, punching in the code and unlocking it at lightning’s speed. 

 I didn’t know if there were cameras. I didn’t know if this was illegal. 

 I didn’t care.

 We made it through the doors, and he was just about to sit on the table when- 

 “WAIT!” I ran to grab several rags and laid it beneath him before heaving him up. The soft cry he made when sitting down was like a knife through my own chest. 

 I grabbed scissors, cutting his t-shirt. I didn’t have time to linger, I didn’t have time to notice the way his tattoos were completely concealed by a red current. There were two wounds. One, deeper, the other, more shallow. Both in the lower left abdomen, just above a prominent v-line.  

 I wiped around the area, pausing above the gashes. “This is going to sting,” I warned. 

 There wasn’t fear in his eyes. He watched me, and I, him, as I pressed it against the open skin. He trembled, wincing, mouth opening in silent exclamation.  

 “You’re doing good,” I whispered. 

 “So are you,” he gritted out. 

 I swallowed, reaching for the butterfly bandages. But as soon as I did, more blood rushed out. I held a rag to him. “Save your breath. You need it.”

 The thin white bandages seemed too little in the wake of his wound, and just as one bandage was placed, he cringed away, regretting his decision to move almost immediately.

 “Fucking hurts,” he groaned. 

 “Stop moving! I need to close the wound up. You’re bleeding too much.” 

 “Y/N, just take me home. Call Lionel,” he panted. 

 “I’m calling 911 if you don’t let me at least attempt to close this wound because if we leave now you’ll bleed out.” 

 “You’ve done enough, please-”

 “STOP. TALKING. I’ll call him after.” He saw a flame behind my eyes, and quieted, too weak to protest much more anyway. I came closer, and this time he didn’t flinch. The butterfly bandages at least minimally shrunk the open gouges. 

 With no other choice, I left him there alone, running across campus to my car and driving back in less than five minutes. It was illegal to drive through student walkways, let alone drive 60 mph, but there wasn’t a choice. I kept picturing Harry passing out, his limp God-like body, turned mortal, weak, bleeding out all over the training room floor. My foot hit the gas pedal harder. I could’ve been a damn marathon winner/race car driver. Let the cops add “speeding” to the file they already had on me. 

 Once we were both in the car, I looked over at him every two seconds. An entire roll of tight gauze around his abdomen kept the wound from bleeding out, but it was still turning pink. It was the second time blood would have been on my car. 

 Of all the revenge daydreams I’d had, I would’ve settled for Harry seeing me make out with Andre on the dancefloor over THIS. Would he die in my car? Would I be responsible?? I looked at the cheesy Angel pin my mom had given me for my car mirror. Never Fly Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly. Where was my angel now?? 

 “Where are we going?” He asked, between fading in and out.

 “To your house.” 

 His hand grabbed mine on the wheel and I practically swerved into the center divider from shock. 

 “HARRY!” 

 “We need to go to my house,” he said suddenly, panicked, as if I’d told him the opposite. 

 I placed our interlocked hands above the console. A safe distance away from the wheel in case he lurched again. 

 “Don’t worry, we’re going there. We’re going to your house. You’re just in shock, it’s okay,” I cooed, but it was desperate. And it was definitely not okay. 

 “They’ll ask… less..less questions...” 

 His grip was unbearably tight for three long seconds before it relaxed. 

 “Stay with me. Stay awake,” I urged. Harry’s lids kept drooping and I was desperate, blasting the Air Conditioning to an uncomfortable temperature. 

 Lionel picked up on the second ring. 

 “It’s Y/N. I think Harry’s been stabbed-” 

 “What?!” 

 “- I told him we should call the cops, but he was adamant we call you instead.” 

 “Seal the wound with whatever you can-”

 “I did that. Not well, we didn’t have wound sealant- Okay, I’m rambling. I don’t know what to do, but he needs to see a doctor. Immediately.” 

 There was a long pause. 

 “Hello?” my voice wavered. 

 “Bring him to the practice.” The voice over the other line was that of a doctor, matter-of-fact, somber. 

 Hoag Hospital passed me, a nagging thought telling me that’s where we should be going - where there was paperwork, evidence, some legitimate accountability. But I wasn’t his father. I wasn’t responsible. 

 “On my way. I’m getting off the freeway now.” 

 The call ended, and as I looked at Harry, fading dangerously out of consciousness, my hands trembled more from fear than cold. Out of all the reactions, I hadn’t expected this one. The voice on the other line hadn’t seemed surprised at all. 

come talk to me about the chappie or just about how you’re doing! now’s the time to stay connected :) 

[ladyxxdaydream]

a year-in-review meme - for writers!

I thought up this writing meme for fic writers who might have been staring at the artists having their lovely and well-deserved collages of their work through the year - and wanted to join in the fun! also this works as a great reminder for those of you (and me) who’ve been thinking that they haven’t been writing as much as they want to, and allows you to go back to enjoy your old fic ;D

Rules: pick your favourite sentence from a work you posted / wrote during a month of 2020! if you didn’t write anything in any particular month, don’t worry! tell us what you were doing or use it as free space for runner-up sentences. after that, tag 8 people or more to do the meme!

That being said, here’s mine:

Tagged by: @rikacain !!

I’m tagging -- @flailinginlove @aviss @kiitsvne @stupidbadgers and @tea-blitz who doesn’t use tumblr anymore but WHATEVER. and anyone else who wants to do it! <3

~~~

JAN: (from Heavy Weight)

“Iruka felt Kakashi’s eye on him. Most people feared the Sharingan, and for good reason, but Iruka feared his real eye, his own eye. It had a way of seeing straight past Iruka’s defenses, no dōjutsu required, and deep into his soul.“

FEB: (from Old Pine)

“Do you want children?” Iruka asked, feeling like the timing was right.

Kakashi was quiet for a few moments. Iruka had learned to read Kakashi’s silences for what they were. It wasn’t hesitation like he had initially thought. Kakashi simply liked to think things through before answering immediately. Iruka liked that about him.

“I think we have four already,” Kakashi said, eyeing Sasuke, Naruto, Ino, and Sakura through the glass door.

Iruka laughed, but refrained from clarifying. He knew Kakashi understood what he meant and would answer him shortly. Iruka had also learned that Kakashi had a tendency to be indirect, before he got around to what he actually wanted to say.

MARCH: (from Mouthful)

“So, Kakashi.”  Iruka said, unable to stand still any longer.  “We both like what we see. Now what?”

 He wasn’t usually this forward, but he was feeling it tonight. All of this playful banter was riling him up—it was his favorite way to flirt.

 “I like a man whose direct,” Kakashi said, shifting his stance to lean an elbow on the table. “But hmm,” he hummed. “I don’t know.”

 He gave Iruka a seemingly bored look, as if the obvious invitation to leave together was lost on him.

 “Well, I like a man whose decisive, so I guess that rules you out.”

 Kakashi let out a hard, surprised laugh. He downed the rest of his beer, and took Iruka by the hand, pulling him out of the bar without a word.

APRIL: (from A New Chapter)

 “I don’t know how to put this,” Sakumo started, “but… what the hell is that?”

 Kakashi looked at where his Father was pointing.

 “Uh… a diaper…?” Kakashi guessed, not sure where this was going. They had about a million others, in every color and pattern you could imagine, folded and stacked in the closet. Iruka wanted to go the re-usable route, and several of his students mother’s were eager to gift them. Kakashi had been less than thrilled by the extra laundry.

“Yes. It’s a diaper, Kakashi. Very good. Tell me, did you have both eyes closed when you put it on?”

MAY: (From Cake Substitution No Jutsu)

 “What’s this?” Iruka asked as Kakashi entered the kitchen, a fully dressed Tomo whizzing past them both.

 “Ah, it’s a backpack,” Kakashi said, crossing over to Iruka excitedly. “I saw it on display in a shop window while doing Gai’s scavenger hunt. Its arms and legs are the straps, so when you wear it, it looks like it’s riding on your back.”

 Iruka smiled, turning it around in his hands, noticing the zipper and a few pockets.

 “That’s actually pretty ador—”

 Iruka stopped speaking. The tail was tightly curled up inside plastic casing still.

 “Kakashi,” Iruka said, feeling his eyebrow twitch. “Is this… is this a leash?”

 “No. It’s a Puppy Pal… with an exceptionally long tail.”

“It’s a leash,” Iruka deadpanned. “A leash for a  child.”

 “You put Tomo inside a barrier the other day as a playpen,” Kakashi said, a matter of factly. “Why can’t I have some help controlling her?”

“That’s… that’s different!” Iruka exclaimed, feeling his cheeks heat in contradiction. “Would you like it if I put  you  on a leash, Kakashi?”

 Iruka regretted it the second it came out of his mouth. He could practically see the wolfish grin forming beneath Kakashi’s mask.

JUNE: (from Use Your Imagination)

They laid in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of the night through the cracked window—distant cars on the street, a lone dog barking, upbeat music wafting from a floor below them.  

Kakashi never wished for time to stop. In fact, he tried to keep himself as busy as possible—he chose a career that ate up most of his life for a reason. But right now? He wished time didn’t exist, hyperaware of how quickly it would pass before Iruka was back on a plane tomorrow.

He traced circles into Iruka’s lower back, watching as the brown skin pressed against his broke out in a wave of goosebumps. Iruka shivered, and then shifted, and Kakashi wondered if he was falling asleep.  

He selfishly continued his adorations, wanting to keep Iruka in this realm with him for a little while longer. He expanded his rake, sliding his fingers up Iruka’s spine, skirting around his scar, and back down again.

Kakashi wasn’t one to believe in divine intervention, or soulmates. He’d acted in enough corny films to almost make him hate the notion entirely. But the fact that a man as perfect as Iruka had come into his life so serendipitously—and just as scarred as he was—was something he couldn’t overlook.

It made Kakashi’s heart ache with want, before that ache traveled down, and curled into his gut.

JULY: (from Love Me As You Are)

“And then you demeaned their lives by calling them your soldiers—”

 “—is that not what they are?!” Kakashi cut across him, getting upset. “You’re as much a part of this system as I am, sensei! We both know the truth of it, whether we like it or not. I just called it by it’s name.”

“But they’re people too, Kakashi! Kids. They’re so much more than soldiers…”

“That’s not how I was treated,” Kakashi said before he could catch himself.

 Iruka’s mouth fell open with a punched sound.

 “Kakashi…”

 His tone was soft and free of the anger it held a moment ago.

 “Forget I said that,” Kakashi said, turning away, his cheeks heating up—the last thing he wanted was Iruka’s pity. “It doesn’t matter.”

“No,” Iruka said, shaking his head as he took a step towards him. “I’m not going to forget you said that. It does matter because  you matter.  You deserved to have somebody stand up for you too, Kakashi. I’m so sorry Konoha failed you.”

 Kakashi’s eyes burned with tears—he bit his tongue, refusing to let them fall. Those words pierced him straight through the heart. It was everything he never knew he needed to hear.

AUG:

um I didn’t write anything this month because my wife and I separated annnd my whole life was uprooted as I moved to a different country ksjdhgkdsj

SEPT: (from I’ll Fall, If You Do)

Their relationship was going really well. There were days where Kakashi still turned him away, usually corresponding with the mornings he had therapy. It was frustrating, because Iruka just wanted to be there for him, for Kakashi to open up to him completely, but he didn’t push. He knew that would only make it worse. They didn’t fight anymore, but Iruka regularly had to correct the language Kakashi used towards himself, and sometimes it was irritating for the both  of them.

But mostly… it was amazing. Their chemistry was incredible. Electric. And not just in the bedroom—they were never far from each other, drawn in like magnets, grounded by a simple touch or brush of hands. Kakashi hadn’t even left the room twenty minutes ago, and already Iruka felt the pull.

He jumped up from his seat and went to go find him.

OCT: (From Language Gap)

Iruka glanced out the bus window, his body instinctively knowing where they were about to pass. The building was still empty twenty years later, the brick still scorched, and Iruka’s nightmares were still plagued by the fire despite not being there when it broke out. He’d been sent on a delivery on foot — one steaming container of karē udon — two blocks away. He delivered to the same old lady everyday, and she always kept him longer than necessary, pressing sweets into his palm. When he had come back, the noodle shop was aflame. In his shocked state, he distantly heard something about a grease fire, before he was whisked away by the hand by his childhood friend Asuma, living with him and his father from that day on.

Iruka sighed and stood up, making his way towards the door since his stop was next. He really wished the city would do something about the building. Every time he saw it, it made him feel oddly exposed and vulnerable, like his past was staring straight at him.

He shook his head a little and stepped off the bus.

NOV: (From Brand New Sound)

Kakashi watched in stunned silence for a moment, trying to get his heartbeat under control as color effortlessly flowed from the artist’s hand onto the brick. Whoever this was, they had sort of become one of Kakashi’s heroes. People always said meeting your heroes was never a good idea—bound to be disappointing—because it brought them down to a human level.

But that was precisely what attracted Kakashi to this artist in the first place—the sheer, raw, humanness. The way they tackled hard emotions and vulnerability, baring everything through their work for others to see. It was honest and transformative, and Kakashi spent more nights than he could ever count wandering the streets when he couldn’t sleep, hoping to catch a mural he’d never seen before it was painted over. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he’d sit in front of ones he already knew and found new meaning in them.

DEC: (from Perks of Promotion)

“But why now?” Iruka insisted. “Why ask me out now? Right after I’ve made tokubetsu jounin? When we’ve known each other for years?”

 Oh.

Kakashi paused, the realization dawning on him. He didn’t blame Iruka for being suspicious of his intentions; he’d heard the way people said ‘the chuunin sensei’ or ‘the chuunin desk worker’ like it was some kind of insult. It always pissed him off.

Kakashi stared at his feet for a moment before lifting his head again, leveling Iruka with a serious stare. “Because I didn't think I’d live past 21. Because it took me an obscenely long time to become a barely functioning adult. Because I never had the guts before… I-I still don’t, not really, if you can’t tell by how much I’m fumbling around here,” he said with a nervous laugh.

[coleyholts]

After today’s heavy post, here’s a letter I wrote for Natasha’s surgeon.

A Letter to the Man Who Saved My Daughter’s Life

Dear Dr. Moores,

On June 12, 2021, my sweet eight-month-old daughter rolled off of my bed, ultimately leading to her being flown by helicopter to INOVA Children’s Hospital for an emergency intracranial procedure.  Miraculously, the epidural hematoma was removed successfully and my daughter has made a full recovery.  I, however, have not.

I have been experiencing flashback-like episodes associated with PTSD, along with regular cry fits (super embarrassing, escalates quickly) and anxiety attacks, all relating to the accident.  I am fortunate to be under the care of some very skilled medical professionals that have been guiding me through management of my medications and compulsions, as well as a very insightful therapist who specializes in PTSD and family life that I see weekly.

A typical therapy session for me usually begins with a general review of my week, followed by a few key questions that will give my therapist a better look into where I’ve been emotionally.  During my most recent session, he chose to ask me when I had last cried, and my response is what made him suggest that I write this letter to you.

What started as a casual conversation with my mother about beautiful, clean sutures progressed to one where she wanted to know more about Natasha’s surgeon.  I pulled up your INOVA profile and noticed in your introduction video, you described what you consider to be one of the most rewarding aspects of your chosen field as the bond you are able to form with your patients and their parents.  

Watching you speak about what you do moved me.  I burst into tears, knowing that my baby would have died without you.  The tears kept coming as I thought about you and the weight you must carry, and after answering my therapist honestly about this being the last time I cried, he suggested I write you this letter; a raw, sincere, mildly lengthy letter that you may read in your free time (if you ever have any!).

Thank you for preforming the surgery that saved my baby. Thank you for being brave enough to take on such a responsibility, as I know with trauma patients, you never know what the final outcome is going to be.  Though doctors are miracles, they are human, and I thank you for taking the risk with the intentions of keeping my daughter alive, knowing the risks involved.

Thank you for moving so quickly.  I hope it’s not every single day that a less than 12-month-old infant comes in after an accident resulting in head trauma that needs immediate surgical intervention, but the way the trauma team and you personally moved with urgency in such a time sensitive situation solidified the feeling of, “We truly have done absolutely all we can,” as parents.  This greatly helped with my struggle with guilt.

Thank you for the way you address(ed) my husband and I.  Natasha was a very wanted baby.  It took a long time to conceive and seeing that positive pregnancy test was supposed to be the start of something beautiful.  I ended up with a completely ruptured disc in my lumbar spine that was causing permanent nerve damage in my left leg.  I was sent to UVA for spine surgery, fully knowing the risks to my 8-week-old embryo, which I absolutely was already referring to as my baby. Signing the paperwork to release the team of responsibility of miscarriage was very emotional for Daniel & I.  Seeing her heart beating as I came out of anesthesia was one of the most blissful moments of my life.  You didn’t know any of this.  You didn’t know a thing about us, including the story about what happened aside from her falling from my bed. Most importantly, you didn’t know Natasha, yet took on the massive project of removing a baseball-sized blood clot from her skull.

Thank you for the years you put into perfecting your craft.  I want you to know that, for what it’s worth, all of the time, money, challenging classes, sleepless nights, heartbreak, missed events, and everything else that has come your way since you began to practice truly means something to me.  Your mind has great value, and I am so grateful that of all of the surgeons in the area, we ended up with you.

Thank you for calling and checking on Natasha during her healing process, as well as making personal contact before we were discharged.  It’s super uplifting to know that the professionals that know the details of her procedure care about my family enough to personally reach out to see us off.  It boosted our confidence, and although we understandably left the hospital feeling exhausted, full of sorrow and disbelief, I was able to maintain an “I can do this” attitude.

There is no amount of money in the world I could ever throw your way to appropriately thank you for what you have done for us.  There is nothing I can say to ever reflect my true feelings of thankfulness for you and your talents.

You changed our lives by saving hers, and you will forever be spoken of in our home and among our families and friends as a genius, a hero and an all-around beautiful person.  Though the circumstances could have been much happier and less chaotic, I am so grateful to have made your acquaintance.

You are brilliant, and have completely found your niche in this world of upset and harm, in a role that quite literally gives you the chance (for your patients) to cheat death.  You’ve given us, as well as so many others, a whole new outlook on life that allows us to recenter our focus on what matters-the people we love.

Though we will be seeing you for yearly follow-up visits for a while, I needed to make sure you knew the impact you had on a mother who felt like a part of her died that day.

Sincerely,

Nicole Holtslag

[peterstanslizzie]

Reacting To: Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts (Season 3 Episode 2)

Episode Title: Code Word Milkshake

Spoiler Warning: Kindly proceed if you’ve already seen the episode or are able to handle spoilers 

1. OMG! A K-pop song? That’s so cool! It sounds like BTS lol. And the song is pretty catchy too 🎵; “Dive into my ocean of love”. It’s such a bop! We see the mutes (even the Mod Frogs) fangirling HARD. But what animals are these guys supposed to be? Are they dolphins? But why do they have horns? And apparently abs as well: 

2. Aww but the leader of the group, Hyun Soo (as revealed in the subtitles) soon gets paralyzed by a dart and is kidnapped after signing fan autographs. And of course, it’s the doing of Dr. Emilia as she’s seen testing a serum sample on Hyun Soo. Again, I’m impressed with her ability to be so stealthy. However, she’s finding it difficult in getting the right formula for the genetic serum since none of the samples she’s used so far has worked on the kidnapped mutes. BTW, Jamack talking to Hyun Soo is hilarious. 

3. In Timbercat Village, Kipo is planning with HMUFA a mission to find Emilia, rescue their friends and retrieve Song’s research journal. Oh, did Asher get a haircut? If so, they look really nice.

4. Our boy, Benson wants Troy to come along because he feels safer when he’s around. How precious! I’m  happy he gets to go on a mission with Kipo for the first time too. It’s nice to mix groups up sometimes. And it looks like it’s just gonna be a human/hybrid-only mission because the mutes won’t be able to handle Emilia’s sonic emitter. Dave is upset that he won’t be able to tag along with them. I think it’s a good thing to sit this one out because he does have a tendency to die during their missions lol.

5. They manage to hitch a ride on a couple of dragonfly mutes due to Kipo coming up with the codeword, “Milkshake” to keep situations calm.  Random but okay. As they’re flying over the sea, they spot a ship, which definitely belongs to Emilia since we hear Zane asking Greta to turn on the sonic emitter as some mysterious sea creature was circling around them. Because the dragonflies are not immune to the sound, this causes them all to fall into the water

6. The group tries to climb over the ship to get a peek of the situation aboard and they can see the burrow humans enjoying their time there, splish-splashing in a giant pool paired with a crazy slide and everything. 

7. Dave lets Lio and Roberto know that he wants to have a boys night out (BNO) with them. But it’s clear that he’s doing this because he still feels salty about not being included in the stealth mission. Roberto looks like he doesn’t want to go out but Lio is down to hangout with Dave-o lol. 

8. Back on the Dr. Emilia’s ship, Kipo and gang try to find her lab but they almost got spotted by a blonde human girl, who apparently is able to hear Hyun Soo  sing through the cafeteria vents and thus, wants him to sing for her. Kipo and Troy actually recognize her from their old burrow. She’s actually Hoag’s daugther, Doag! I can’t believe he named his daughter that lol. Anyways, they were all actually friendly with one another, so we shall see if she’s willing to help them or not. Doag really likes dancing and we see her dancing around to Hyun Soo’s singing. She then does a split and spots them. Well, she doesn’t look alarmed actually. 

9. Meanwhile, Dave and Lio are playing cards but afterward, they went to check out the so-called “community bonding” session between Timbercats and the Umlaut snakes. At first, it seems like they are having a huge argument but they’re actually just writing a song and having a couple of debates. It’s song-break time. This time, the song is called ‘Friendship Alliance’. How fitting. After the performance, Lio says he wants to go to bed but Dave isn’t done yet and wants him to check out his secret stash of explosion berry cola.

10. Doag explains to the group that Dr. Emilia has been treating them nicely so far but they want her to know the truth about Emilia who has been trying to kill Kipo since she was a baby. Plus, according to Troy (and Benson from earlier on), she didn’t eat his Benson’s pancakes. Troy is way more upset about the part about the pancakes, which of course he has to be since it’s his boo’s pancakes. But my goodness, Doag’s voice is like nails on the chalkboard. Don’t you agree? 

11. I think it’s hard for them to convince her that Dr. Emilia is a bad person, especially since they don’t have any real evidence to show. Emilia is like a savior to these humans. Fortunately, Doag wants to help them rescue Boom-Boom, Jamack, Camille and Hyun Soo regardless. 

12. She takes them to Dr. Emilia’s lab, which isn’t very hidden like they said lol. The door’s locked but Troy, the skilled magician was able to pick the lock no problem. Benson is impressed and he actually addressed him as his boyfriend! Cute!

13. They enter the lab and we see all the kidnapped mutes trapped in their individual mute-proof cells. Aww the way Jamack called Kipo, Burrow Girl was so sweet. He has come a really long way with her since Season 1 huh? I don’t know what’s up with Boom-Boom but she(?) doesn’t look too good, almost unhinged. So, Hyun Soo is known as a Dolphicon! I guess that’s short for Dolphin and Unicorn. That’s explains the horn. I actually like the name “Wall Siren” for him as well. Despite only speaking in Korean, Hyun Soo does seem to understand English when Doag asks him “who are you?”. I feel like the introduction of Hyun Soo is like paying homage to Kipo’s animation studio, Studio Mir, which is in fact South Korean. 

14. Kipo proceeds to then break them out of their cells. Doag declares she’s going to help them escape. I actually hope there’s a chance that she would be part of Kipo’s group officially. She seems cool, mostly lol. Wolf also finds Song’s research journal but before they could make their escape, the traumatized Boom-Boom looks at the needles Dr. Emilia has been using on her, freaks out and drops her nectar bombs on them, which causes the whole lab to explode.  Boom-Boom needs therapy for sure. Ughh…Wolf also accidentally drops the journal and leaves it behind the lab. That book is probably destroyed. 

15. Back at Timbercat village, I assume Lio had already drank the cola before he is super hyped. Yumyan also joins in on their shenanigans and he gives them the idea to steal Molly’s axe and put it in an axe bush (is that what Yumyan said?). Also, is this supposed to be a pun or something?

16. Doag puts Hyun Soo in their getaway boat but it’s weird since he’s a dolphin and can just swim in the water instead lol. They’re supposed to leave now but Kipo wants to face Emilia now. I say she’s making a bad decision here. Dr. Emilia then arrive with Greta and Zane but Wolf takes out the latter two easily. The rest of the humans come out to the deck to see what the ruckus is all about and Emilia tries to play coy and innocent with them. 

17. Hoag notices that his daughter isn’t around. Our heroes try to explain to the humans that Dr. Emilia is the bad guy; They told about how Song is the Mega Monkey and how she got her to attack and destroy their home back in Season 1. And they explain that she mind-controlled Song to kill her own daughter. 

Even grandma can deliver a beatdown on someone lol

18.The humans are reluctant to believe them because it does sound very farfetched. But c’mon…they should know by know that Las Vistas is a messed up place; Anything can happen. Also, don’t they remember the Mega Monkey saving them from getting gilded in Season 2. Suddenly, Hoag makes an attempt to paralyze Kipo with one of the darts but she quickly reacts and knocks him out. The humans see this and they get mad at her. Eventually, Kipo and the others make their escape. Finally. 

19. Back to Lio and Dave. We find out towards the end that Molly actually killed Dave 5 times for the stunt he pulled on her lol. Anyways, the both of them are glad to have this bonding session with one another since Kipo isn’t around. 

20. Our heroes reach land but Doag wants to go back because she knows her dad is worried sick about her. And so, Hyun Soo and I guess the rest of his groupmates are bringing her back there. Aww, she should’ve stayed but I understand why she wants to go back to the ship. But to be honest, somebody should’ve thought to give her a communicator or a walkie-talkie or something because at least they can know what Dr. Emilia’s next move is. Perhaps they don’t really have to think too much into it since the journals has been decimated and all…or is it?

21. Wolf, I hope you’re happy you dropped the journal lol. Dr. Emilia figures out that Kipo is X. Wait, I’m trying to remember if there any mention of X in the previous episodes. Anyways, I wonder what she’s going to do with the fur Kipo left during their last confrontation. I guess since Kipo is a human who also has the DNA of apex predators, Emilia is going to play with her recombinant DNA and figure out a way to reverse the effects of the mute DNA so that only the normal DNA will be present? I dunno….

22. Last note/tiny bit of criticism: Is it just me or do you guys sometimes think that some of the character designs look a little wonky in this episode? Sometimes, I felt like Kipo, Benson and even Troy look a little off in some frames. Anyways, that’s the end of my review of episode 2. Stay tuned tomorrow for my review of episode 3. Thanks for reading everybody!

[alovevigilante]

(Warning: responsible over explanation out of fear of judgement from others forthcoming... thank you in advance, the management of Kari keillor, that’s me.)

My informed precursor to my personal process (re: this writing piece): in my opinion and from my own personal experience, before you try any unfamiliar therapy on yourself, it’s good to have support, from both yourself, and a professional versed with the ability to also support you, guide you through any eventuality of feelings you may experience, and remind you, that you can decide to be present, and focused on that, at any point.

Before you read this piece, you will be triggered by its message or not, depending on your beliefs. These upcoming words are my own experiences from my specific filter, given to you, with love. Please be responsible and respectful of me, and yourself after reading them, by not being hyper critical. Is Kari keillor even allowed to share her POV without her own judgements? We’ll see. Read on, or not.

Wait! Now how are you reading this? What is your personal filter saying to you about my writing all of this so far? Are you defensive because I created a space for truth about people’s judgements including my own prior to your reading my opinions about my upcoming writing? Or, are you still open minded to my thoughts? Are you still here reading this, or did you blow me off a long time ago? Did you look at my selfie and make assumptions about me, and who I am? Or, are you open to hearing me speak about whatever it is that I’m going to? Will I ever know how you, the reader, feels about any of this? Do you know how I’m feeling as I type this? Are you sure you do, if you do? What’s my intention? I told you it was love, but do you believe me? Why am I asking all this? Why, out of fear of rejection, and a little bit of messing with you, of course. How did that make you feel? I don’t feel good about it, cause it’s not really me. It’s the defensive me. So, let’s try again with a more loving energy shift.

Trust, in the self and then subsequently in others, is the key to the Allowing love in, and that is the key, to all of my aforewritten blather. When you trust, you release your resistance to love. You are then capable of seeing things from a more positive and yes, beautiful new place. You can I’ll be able to look at old situations with a new loving perspective and energy. You will recognize the love in others. Allowing yourself to experience love, is the support you need from you, to finally kick the shit in your mind, whatever that may be blocking you from communing with others and yourself and just be happy. That means, to support your opinions, by not judging yourself, or prejudging your audience thinking they will also judge you too. And even if they don’t, you’ll most likely think they are anyway, because that’s how fear works. Fear, is a specific filter that messes with your solar plexus chakra. That is where your self esteem is housed.

Now, If I was really worried about how I was going to be experienced by others I probably wouldn’t write publicly to begin with, and sometimes I don’t, as I also keep a journal. If I was truly upset about what others thought, I may say, “I will now delete all the rest of the shit I wrote below, because I’m not attached to it. I’m going to choose, to love myself out of fear, and not share any of me with anyone ever again. But first, I’m going to take the next 2:13 seconds to finish on the treadmill, because sometimes I write while I’m on it.” Then I may say, “Ok. I’ve completed my work out, and I’m sitting on the treadmill, writing again.” And I did say and so all of those things. And now, I’ve thought better about deleting anything, because everything I was, even my fears, has made me the me I am sitting here writing now, and you know what? I’m a pretty decent chick, and I deserve to be treated better by me. So I will preempt myself next time, and not even get this far, in my mental negative self talk, prejudging myself and others. Maybe I’ll use that my time more productively next time. Maybe I’ll eat a twizzler, and dream about what feeling I actually DO want in my life as opposed to fearing and entertaining the feelings that I don’t want, and then by thinking it, I will inadvertently feel better, or something much more fun like that. Yes. That.....

I love to write. I love to share my feelings, my thoughts, and my experiences around all of it with you. So, instead of being defensive about my upcoming thoughts, I’m going to allow you, the reader, to create your own thoughts about what I wrote, because I trust in the process, that the messages will get to the right directions they need to. Thanks for listening, and thanks for letting me let my hair down about all this. 😉💕

Bed head goals. Rainbow colors, all represented. Even orange. See, that’s life. Everyone, is included, but not everyone is equally aware of that fact. Everyone is family. I am not speaking specifically about the family you were born into or married into, or choose to cohabitate with. I am speaking of the family of the human race. We are all interconnected. How do you treat your family? Do you relate to people as you perceive they feel about you? Do you hold grudges? Do you treat people, as you last remembered them to be? Did you cryogenically freeze people in time in your head according to how you felt, at that certain time in your life? Do you remember the good things? Do you care about how you feel now?

I do. I care about how I feel. Right now, in this moment I’m choosing to. So I’ve decided to do that, right now, and stop answering those questions. Because the answer to them all, is to choose love. A loving feeling, a loving thought, a loving action. That’s the process to recognizing every one and everything as family. A functional family... 😉

In the moments before this one, as I wrote, I was recalling, thinking, about how I do all those things, in a more personal way. And how I felt as I recalled those specific memories, wasn’t great. For some people, it may have been good memories they were reviewing in their minds. But if you’re anything like me, most of the things you recall about your past, aren’t so very helpful or fun to think about, due to some outward situations and experiences, but underneath that, how I felt about myself at the time.

I was in therapy some years back, and we did this exercise called, “internal family systems model” or “IFSM” (1) for short, where we (my therapist and I) linked my feelings in my body or my thoughts to specific times in my life, and labeled them as parts of my former self.

For example, I would close my eyes and breathe into a relaxed state, and connect to my 15 year old self that couldn’t articulate the feelings she felt at that time, but I was holding beliefs as my current self deriving from that specific time in my life. Sometimes I would feel a pain or a physical symptom that turned into a memory I had from the past. Then, I would feel into that memory as it would arise, and explore it with the younger me that experienced it.

I would describe it as a kind of like a deliberate reverse Sybil situation, where as sybil was a dissociative case, I was fully conscious and chose to experience, as was completely aware of the process, and was able to return to a more normal, and integrated state after each session. It was an associative process for me. It’s a conditioning of the mind, where the goal, is union of the self. The purpose was to pinpoint my specific feelings in my physical body, and talk to them as if they were separate from me, because in a sense they were, by my subconscious choice out of self protection. Some of me was not on board with the me I am today, because they were stuck in the hurt of the past, and the feelings I was holding. And sometimes not on purpose, these younger parts of me were hindering me with my old stories and beliefs about myself, from fully realizing the me I wanted to be now.

The work was invaluable, and I’m extremely proud of my internal work that I’ve done. I was able to go back to my specific memories, and to the me I was at the time. I would discuss things with the younger me, and ask what the younger me needed to share with me, and to consciously choose to care for myself, council myself, and send myself love.

Sometimes it took awhile to develop the trust between the younger me, and the now older me, to reveal things even to myself. All of those feelings of hurt and pain that I held inside for years. Why the younger me felt the way she/ I did. How different as we, a whole Kari, are now, and how I can listen, to my own needs, and care for my parts of me that didn’t feel loved or appreciated back then; because I wasn’t capable at the time to show up in a supportive and loyal way for them at the time I felt hurt, betrayed or abandoned by myself. It took awhile, but I eventually came to a place of understanding from within myself, to get really honest, and then trust again. You, are also a person that feels, you. Ignoring yourself, is ignoring the person that you are the closest to.

I choose to create inner peace, with self love and kindness. I support myself, by telling those parts that act out in hurt or shame, that I still love, me. I sometimes don’t have to say a word, but I make a conscious effort to connect directly to those feelings inside of myself, and offer myself, a chance to heal, with space and love. It’s not the usual technique that people do, but I believe it helped me connect to the parts of me that felt betrayed by my former actions and thoughts, and allowed me a chance to get on the same page with where I’m at today, in a healthier way. It’s a fantastic coping mechanism for regaining the trust you need to rebuild, from within.

I honestly believe that that, regaining trust within the individual, is the key to healing the planet, and here’s how; the love cannot be recognized, understood or internalized by you, until you trust you. The trust is what allows you to let go of harsh judgements and beliefs, and allows the inner love, to be both created and experienced. If you do not trust yourself to feel love, you will act out accordingly. You won’t trust another person to have your best interest at heart. You won’t be able to feel love, even if that is the way it was intended for you.

So, the first step to experiencing love, is developing a better, more honest relationship with you. Go into the places you feel, and see. Sometimes it shows up physically. For me, it was in my throat. I felt constricted at times, like I couldn’t articulate how I wanted to verbally. I still feel that way sometimes. Writing, for me, has been a serious blessing, that I appreciate. I do it a lot. It helps me sort out my feelings on a way that I can understand, and externalize. It’s a form of self expression that allows me the time and the space, to get really honest with myself, and about my feelings. And some of those feelings, are old stories that don’t serve the current me anymore.

I found doing the parts work, that the loudest voices that I thought, meaning my loudest thoughts, were always the most hurtful to me, and others. They were what I called, “judges” and “the stenographers”. I realized they served a very important purpose in the grand scheme of me, and that purpose was to protect the smaller, younger parts of me that didn’t have a voice, or were afraid to speak their pain. The judges didn’t realize they were hurting me. But my self talk was this constant reminding of hurtful things past. The stenographers would remind me, in full detail what had previously been recorded, in order to never allow that to happen again. Only, that act of reminding was and still is, holding me back from trusting other people because of it. The judges concurred, and cast their verdicts according to the perception of the stenographer’s recounting.

I was internally protected alright, but not in a way where I could comfortably connect with others. I’m still having an issue with connection myself, as my stenographers do a very excellent and thorough job, or reminding me over and over, and over again, what I have experienced, all of my old, unhelpful stories. And anything else I didn’t know, I surmised, and filled in the blanks, usually negatively. And my judges are great too, and on it, and they cut that shit right out of my life alright, but unfortunately not out of my head. And it’s always my decision, to allow them to do it, until I decide to focus, on a new, and better story that I myself, create. So essentially I had to work backwards. I went from my life in the present, to my current actions, to my own old beliefs, to my own old thoughts, to my own old experiences around those thoughts, to my old feelings. I have decided to bypass that now, when I can, and just decide to focus on feeling better whatever that takes. It’s the current deliberate energy shift to better that changes feelings. And everything looks better, from that vantage point.

Retelling ourselves old stories, serves to keep us in a very uncomfortable place. As we grow, and we all do, what fit our lives to think and believe about ourselves and others, don’t always stay the same. The more we live, and the more experiences we have, the more we develop resolute ideas to create a semi false sense of stability on the inside. “Well, I’ve talked to her before... she’s weird....” or, “I know her type, she’s not cool.” Whatever judgements we cast upon others, we have felt and experienced ourselves in some capacity. It always starts, and ends, with us as individuals, and how we’ve felt, and how we choose to feel, next.

People can only truly believe what they have experienced or can truly connect to, and not necessarily what they have learned or heard from others. So the recognition that we are all interconnected is the first step to healing the world, but the precursor to that, is recognition of the self, and taking responsibility for how we as individuals feel. The healing must begin there first, otherwise our individual perceptions will always reflect on others, what we feel about ourselves. The basic need for belonging is in all of us. We are social beings, in need of feeling loved. If we start there, and are kinder to ourselves with our self talk, and how we choose to feel about ourselves in general, it will allow the individual to open up to see that reflection outwardly.

Because of this work, I became really interested in the process of becoming, and then began reading up on, and listening to speeches about the law of attraction, and from there, I started linking the two. My internal guidance is my family unit. And my love, is a co-creation between me, and the god force that works through me. It’s my process, my life, that I write about frequently. How can I get in touch with my feelings enough to feel, better. How can I do it? For years I looked for outside validation and acceptance for others to fill me up, but it never worked. Going within, was my only choice to feel better. I had to take responsibility for my own feelings, and ownership of my own thoughts and beliefs. No one can do it for anyone, as we are all in charge of our own filter, and how we see the world.

I am working on how I feel now. I have decided that regardless of the judgements or opinions good or bad that others hold of me, that I will no longer abide by that as my self definition. That said, I am still human, and fall prey to insecurities and depression about my life. We, as individuals can go one of two ways with it. We can project outwardly to others directly about how we feel internally or we can internalize every hurt we’ve ever felt and become a doormat for people who project their hurt onto others. I went that route first, and then I stopped. I became the me I always wanted to be, only alone. I aligned with myself, and realized that a good majority of the people that were on my life were comfortable with the old scenario. I had changed, but the dynamics of my life hadn’t. It takes awhile for the new energy to integrate with the old, established, formerly agreed upon 3D world that we all share and experience. I’m still working it out internally, so I can mesh with the already established energy in my own life in a way that better suits myself and others.

I don’t necessarily feel fabulous yet, but I’m practicing. I choose better feelings due to my focus on things that please me more often. I tend to act silly a lot, purposefully, to lighten my mood and change my energy for the better. I ask myself this question, “What can I think and believe, and truly hold that emotion as long as possible, to feel good?” And that’s how it starts. I used to be very concerned about what people thought about me. I sometimes still am, but less so now that I’ve decided to be myself more often without having to constantly apologize for it. I have noticed that genuinely happy people do not decide to think ill of themselves, then subsequently do not speak ill of others, so I’ve tried to stop gossiping. Being happy and talking trash is not the same vibrational energy. Those of us who choose to practice feeling good on the inside, are generally going to treat people with the same respect.

Loving yourself, isn’t wrong. Loving yourself, is the link you can create to become trustworthy to yourself, and to others. The lies we tell ourse subconsciously and consciously every day serve as a dissonance from within. You are love. That’s it. It’s only as simple or as complex as you want to make it. Telling yourself anything but that, is untrue, and the trust you develop with yourself can’t fully be realized. Choosing to feel good, to support yourself, and to act in accordance to that support, is the way to true happiness. And that goes for everyone. It’s not the people you need to separate from, it’s the loveless energy that we as individuals choose to hold, and to share. That decision starts with your feelings.

We are smarter than allowing our fears to override the truth about who we are. And our thoughts are a vehicle to our healing. Holding better thoughts, and disrupting old thought patterns with better energy and better topics to ruminate on will bring forth the change we wish to see in the world, but it needs to start from us, individually, and taught to our children as well.

Sister sledge sings a song called, “we are family. I got all my sisters, and me.” Yes. We have our brothers too. But the key word, is, me. We so often leave ourselves out of the equation. Love starts and ends with us. So make it happen. Be the one, who chooses, decides, and makes it different for all of us, and for you. Let’s become whole again. Let’s choose love, and everything that entails, one person at a time. Start with you. Because your internal family, needs you the most. 🌈💕

(1) from the book: Introduction to internal family systems model by Richard C. Schwartz, Ph. D.

[ginnyzero]

8 Reasons “Insta-Love” Doesn’t Work

A reader’s perspective.

I’ve taken up doing a review booktube for indie SFF books, and have decided only to do 4 or 5 star reviews due to some social pressures being an indie author and also being a reviewer. This means I’ve been SLUSH reading. (You can get lots of indie books free if you trawl twitter and start an amazon wishlist and wait.)

I’m coming up against some trends. A major one is what I call “Insta-Love.” You know, girl/boy meets girl/boy and they are attracted to them for some reason they can’t explain and the next page or chapter they are in love.

Except, the story isn’t about this romance at all. And in the end, the romance doesn’t work for me as a reader, so here are 8 reasons why in author terms b/c I also happen to be an author.

1) It’s Creepy.

Speaking from personal experience and having been on the receiving side of someone who met me and then claimed they loved me less than 24 hours later, this is seriously creepy. You don’t really know this person. They don’t know you. Yet, they’re claiming after to have knowing you for 12 hours, you are the one for them. If asked, they probably can’t tell you why. And if pressed, it’s probably because they have an idealized fantasy of you in your head and aren’t in love with the “real” you at all. They can’t be. They don’t know you. Instead, they are crossing lots of reasonable boundaries and trying to plan a rosy future, or giving you love poetry, or making hyperbolic claims to your mutual friend group.

It becomes downright disconcerting very quickly. So, if all your characters know about each other is that the other is attractive and then they are claiming they are in love. I’m going to be highly disturbed and not believe it for a moment.

2) There is something else important going on and honestly, there’s no time for a romance.

Unless your book is specifically in the romance genre, usually, there is something else going on in the book taking more words and the character’s urgent time and attention. Therefore, regulating your romance to the designation of a subplot. The thing about subplots is they need to be as structured and given attention to as much as your main plot.

And usually in a science fiction or fantasy setting, the main plot is something with pretty high stakes, so much, your main character isn’t going to have time or emotional energy to do more than go “oh pretty person” and move on. If your character is under stress, not getting enough sleep, is preoccupied with saving the world, they are simply not going to have a sex or romantic drive. Stress/Lack of Sleep/Big Projects put the brakes on the hormones causing sexual/romantic attraction.

So, really, your “insta-love” romance subplot becomes little more than a distraction from the main plot when your character isn’t even going to have the energy to do more than go “oh cute person.”

3) It feels contrived or shoe horned into the plot.

Carrying on from above, making the entire romance feel contrived or even forced into your main plot usually for no reason.

If you can take out your romance subplot and it doesn’t actually change the overall story of your book, then I have to question why you feel the need to have a romance subplot in the first place!

Writing in a romance for the sake of having a romance, and your authorial belief that these two people should be together are not great reasons for having a romance. Because…

4) There’s no valid reason for them to be together.

With an insta-love romance plotline, we are given no good reason why these two people even like each other, would be friends, much less fall in love. “Oh, they’re hot,” is a nice valid reason for casual sex, not for an involved and committed relationship. Usually, the reasons given for them being in love are superficial and shallow and the characters’ basic personality sheet.

“She’s smart.” “He’s warm.”

When it comes to a romance, there needs to be more than that. Why should this character trust this new character they just met with their emotions?

99.99% of the time they shouldn’t because…

5) In fact, there’s usually a valid reason for them to be apart.

The biggest question a romance plotline needs to answer is “why can’t they be together now?” And the most common answer I’ve found to it in a science fiction/fantasy setting tends to be ‘power imbalances.’ Power imbalances are things like age differences, and commander/boss and subordinate relationships. Sometimes power imbalances include class, education, and money.

If the power such as age, authority, education or class, is weighed too far in the direction of one character over the other, we are back to point number one. It is creepy. In fact, it is downright toxic. The worst is when they combine age and authority. It is enough to make my skin crawl. Relationships when one character has power over the other are unhealthy. They can lead to abuse and assault.

Only a relationship where the characters are on equal footing with each other and trust and respect each other are going to be healthy.  

6) It’s not earned.

With insta-love plotlines, I, the reader, are told over and over and over again that these two characters are in love. I’m not shown this due to the fact it’s a subplot most of the time and the author doesn’t take the words to have the characters interact with each other on a regular basis as real people do and if they are shown together it’s probably in the capacity of ‘this is why they can’t be together.’ So, if they are getting together at the end of the book it doesn’t feel satisfying because I’ve been told they’re good for each other instead of having them interacting together and showing they work well together and they have chemistry.

This, also, by the way goes for friendships.

In order for a romance plot to feel satisfying and to feel like it actually matters and can’t just be ripped out of the book, you have to take the words and take the time to throw these characters together consistently so the reader can see, instead of being told, they are good together. If your book has to fall within a certain word count and you don’t think you have those words. Take out the romance subplot and see how much it changes the book.

It probably won’t. Your book, in fact, might be better off without it.

I challenge you to go through your book and take out anything that says “they are the best friend, lover,” followed by any summary, give it to a beta reader and ask them questions about the relationships in the book. If your beta reader can go “oh, and the best friend is awesome as a best friend” without much prompting, then your relationships have come across without having to actually say they’re the best friend.

Show. Show. Show. Any time you’re tempted to tell us a relationship and summarize, show it instead. Then the relationship will feel earned by the end of the book.

7) It usually makes smart, competent characters look anything but smart and competent.

There are two versions of this really. One version is the main character really is smart and competent, so having her be distracted from their job or the mission at hand by a hot guy just makes her come off as a ditz whose brain has fallen out her ear at a time when she really can’t afford to have her brains fall out her ears. You’re telling me one thing, this character is smart and competent, and showing me another, this character is easily distracted by ‘oh shiny.’

Version two is the main character doesn’t think they are smart and competent, but a hot guy shows up to ‘save the day’ and she’s going to refuse him at first due to ‘oh my independence’ until she really can’t save the day herself or learn anything and ends up relying on the hot guy anyways. And they fall in love despite his boundary crossing and stalking and insistence he has her best interests at heart when he’s a stranger. See point one of creepy!

I am not really sure which leaves more of a bad taste in my mouth to be honest.

It doesn’t help that sometimes the character in the book seems little more than a list of traits off a personality sheet being told to us than a well-rounded fleshy character with wants, needs, fears, likes, conflicts, and personal stakes in the matter at hand. Whether or not flat character is remotely likeable is debatable.

Dumping a romance onto a character who is paper thin doesn’t actually make the character more rounded. It just adds more pressure to that paper thin character to try to uphold any semblance of character consistency and the plot without tearing in half. And many, many times, the hot character shows up to solve the problems in the first chapter of the book before we even have a chance to know the main character at all!

When you tell the reader one thing, and show them another, it creates dissonance. The character isn’t being consistent. Inconsistent characters leave the reader frustrated. And they won’t want to read more of your books.

8) Psychopaths are warm and charming too. AKA If your character is opening up to a stranger after less than a real time day of knowing them, that is a cry for help and they need therapy not a romantic relationship.

“There’s just something about them,” the character says. “I can tell them anything even things I won’t tell my best friends/parents.”

And I go, “he’s going to kill you, run!”

In order for people to really connect to each other, they have to show or experience vulnerability together. It establishes this thing we call trust. Having the ‘deep conversation’ about past trauma is a short cut authors use to try and establish trust between two strangers to try and show that this person isn’t like other people and is worthy of said trust.

-makes grand gestures at Frozen’s Hans-

It doesn’t work. Why? Because honestly, if you’re opening up about your trauma to a sympathetic stranger, you need help. Like, therapy style help. Being vulnerable, and pouring out your trauma to a sympathetic stranger who is now going to cheerfully take advantage of you because yes, psychopaths can be warm and charming, aren’t the same things. For a balanced healthy person, having a complete stranger tell them about their traumatic past is really downright terrifying and intimidating. You’re just trying to have coffee and find out if you like the same weather patterns and they’re talking about their dead parents.

Check please!

Relationships are fragile and they take hard work. You need to build them up over time to create a strong foundation before dumping past trauma on them. Or, you know, go to therapy and learn coping mechanisms, how to move on, before you toss a bunch of emotional weight/stress onto your romantic partner. The same is true for a character in a book. See six. Make them earn it!

This has gotten a little long because I have opinions. Obviously. In conclusion, in my opinion as a reader, if you aren’t willing to spend as many words on your romance plot as you are your main plot, then you don’t have the words or the tools or a good reason to be including a romance into your story. And here are 8 reasons, I don’t think insta-romances work out for the reader. Take your time and use your words wisely!

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

17. A Song About Simon

Word Count: 4369. I don’t think that there’s any triggers in here besides the fact that Grace is still in the institution (which will be maybe another chapter or two, depending on how writing goes), and her and Hazel’s issues from previous chapters. I just want to announce here, like I’ve already told fandom familiars... I do not hold any of you to trying to read this story or any story that I may write. I do appreciate if someone reads, but I also understand that everything is not for everybody, I’m not for everybody, and my work isn’t either. At no time do I feel entitled to your reading and nobody should feel pressured to try to read anything that I write. I will love to hear from y’all and know that you enjoy reading, but if you can’t or don’t, that is your right, Folks. This is an ugly story with ugly content and hard topics, but even if it wasn’t, you still wouldn’t have to read, review, or reblog. I just want to make that clear for those of you in my space. Thanks for your time.

Previous

Whenever she first arrived, she was scared to get the help that she knew she needed. She always thought about how her parents had shot down the idea of it whenever her old driver was concerned. How they seemed to feel like it would mean that the work that they put into her as parents would be ruined if she needed mental help. Then, she would think about her 16th birthday, when her mother said that maybe he was right… the way it felt like her mother was saying that at that moment, she knew that Grace was a waste. “You’ll regret it…” her voice echoed in Grace’s mind. “If only someone had warned you…” The last day that she saw her. 

Months had passed. Her parents didn’t even visit. Someone still controlled her social media. Because videos of her singing at the facility and captions insisting that she was getting the help she needed would show up. Grace didn’t know who was responsible for that, at the time, but all of the comments were disabled on all of her accounts. She didn’t want to imagine what people would have to say about her trying to recover.

Eventually, she warmed up to her doctor and the staff. She warmed up to her treatment, to the fact that she had to get better before anybody would let her go anywhere. Her goals became forgiving Simon, accepting responsibility for the things that she did and potentially reaching out to him to suggest that he try to get help as well. She knew that the first and last ones would be the hardest for her, so focusing more on self growth and accountability became her brand of help, at the moment. At least, she went through the motions.

Some days were better than others. Sometimes, she got onto the computer in the library and searched his name. He seemed like he was doing fine, in terminology, but he didn’t look great. That was a lie. He looked great. He was a little more muscular and his hair had grown out. He looked like maybe he had tattoos, though she couldn’t see what. But, he didn’t look happy. Good, she told herself. Even if she wondered in the back of her mind if that was an accurate observation, wishful thinking or unconditional love causing her to worry. Sometimes, she checked his social media pages to see what he was talking about. 

She watched him receive badges, be crowned prom king, be valedictorian, travel to go to MIT… He really seemed like nothing was bothering him. He had thrown her to the wolves and just smoothly carried on… She would always be mad all over again, that he didn’t even care. It wasn’t even everything that he did to her! It was… but more importantly, it was the fact that he was able to do it and live like it was nothing to him. 

But, that usually made for a very progressive therapy day, and a productive music session. She’d asked her caregiver about the posts on her social media. That was who she eventually found out was responsible for curating the content during her stay in here. “What about my rights?” Grace wondered. She had been creating a lot lately and whenever something got posted, she didn’t know the copyright status or anything legal pertaining to her very personal art! 

“Your team takes care of all of the details like that. I basically just post and properly word updates about your healing process and progress. Your team decides which posts to make public or private. (I always post them privately, and sometimes someone comes in later to make things public).”

“It just doesn’t seem fair. I’m being my most authentic self, trying to be my best self and things that I use to get there are now being subjected to my mother and her team of handlers for me.”

“I can’t speak on feelings about it, but as of right now, you are still a minor and still in our care. That means that your welfare and decisions are decided by your parents, who are your legal guardians and us, who you’re a ward of. Whenever you turn 18, if you are mentally capable enough, you will be able to have more control over that type of thing.”

“I’m 18 pretty soon! But… mentally capable… I mean… I feel like I’m mentally capable enough to discuss my legal rights to my art, but I don’t know if I’m capable of like… rejoining society…”

“Well, whenever you do turn 18, we’ll talk about how you’re feeling and assess what you’re capable of. In the meantime, you can always tell me if there’s something that you just want to keep for you, and I promise, I won’t post it. But, your music and the fact that you’re creating in here is inspiring a lot of young people struggling with mental illness and it is warming people up to you since the scandal that led to you being here.”

“I… don’t care about those people right now. I just… want to heal and create.” 

“Fair enough.”

Stingray Lyrics

You were burrowed in the sand.

I didn't know that you were there.

I reached out my hand, 

only to connect with someone…

But you weren't prepared for my touch.

You didn't know that I would never hurt you.

I dug in a little too much,

And in your startled state you made me regret it.

Like a stingray, you were so cute.

Just living life, just doing you.

But I had to reach for something else, I HAD to have you for myself and it stung me.

Getting too close to you really stung me.

She scribbled the words down, humming the melody. She wasn’t sure if Simon was out there somewhere being bothered to even think about her, but if he was, she wanted him to have to see or hear things about himself.

There wasn’t sheet music in here, but she could use her notebook and sort of guess where the lines would be. She had requested sheet music weeks ago! She was trying to teach Hazel how to read music, too. They usually were able to spend time together twice a week. Technically, they weren’t assigned to the same areas, but one of the caretakers would always make an exception and help them to see each other, because they just seemed to be really good for each other. Neither of them had any other friends there. 

They weren’t antisocial, but they just only really clicked with each other, and Hazel had not been thinking she was a turtle nearly as much since she met Grace, and Grace’s almost entire first year there had been monotonous and for the most part stagnant until she met Hazel. Hazel seemed to make her want to be better, want to move forward on something other than the pendulum of attacking herself and defending herself for things she did and didn’t do. Hazel helped her to really seem to grasp empathy. 

.

They were stretching, silently, getting ready for the dance lessons that Grace would give her near the playground, during activity time. Grace was really quiet, with Hazel was singing to herself. Suddenly, she wondered, “Grace, did either of your parents sing to you when you were a child?”

Grace scoffed and shook her head, “No. Neither of my parents did any of the TV parent stuff. My dad was a lawyer, politician, and ambassador. My mom was a high paid performer turned model turned socialite, the daughter of someone just like my father. Most of their parenting was instilling a certain image on me, or having a nanny take me away if I didn’t quite fit the bill in time enough for guests or appearances.”

“What’s ‘appearances?’”

“It’s like when you have to go somewhere just to be seen. For my dad’s job, there were political or business meet and greets, sometimes charity functions, auctions and stuff like that, and at times it was simply an extremely elegant dinner party or some dignitary’s kid’s birthday event. My last birthday party was…” She frowned, thinking about how that night ended. The beginning of the end in her mind. She looked at the charm bracelet that she had managed to still never take off, despite everything. 

“Was what?” Hazel wondered.

“Too much. It was too much. I’ve always lived pretty extravagantly, but I think whenever I leave here, I might like to get an isolated place and sort of just live there with maybe a pet or something. I’m never going to have guests over for dinner parties or house any ambassadors.”

“Can I come over?” Hazel wondered, timidly.

“Yes! Of course, if your parents let you…”

“I’m never gonna have parents.”

“Hazel!” Grace called. The younger girl just shrugged her shoulders. Grace sputtered air out of her lips and shrugged too. “Well, who needs them, anyway?” 

Hazel threw her a look. “I do, Grace. I need them. I’m 6.”

Grace frowned. “I know. I’m sorry. You’re right. I have a really bad habit of saying whatever I think is gonna make people I care about feel better. It's one of the things that I need to work on. Of course you need parents. Every child needs parents… which is why I’ve gotta believe that you’ll get some! And whenever you do, they’ll hopefully let us be friends. We have a very big age gap, so I don’t know how comfortable they’ll be with you just coming over.” Hazel looked like she was thinking about something as she stared ahead, but she was still standing, so Grace figured she wasn’t a turtle right now. “Ready to learn our new hip hop routine?” Now, she blinked and looked at Grace with enthusiasm, nodding vigorously.

.

Making time to put together figures was hard, but Simon had all of his figures with him whenever he moved from his family house shortly after the clash with the void. The fame that he had risen to over his scandalous book deal and all of the allegations against it had gotten him a very comfortable situation. He was wealthy, in his own right, and schools that he might have needed Mr. Monroe to get into previously were no longer something to be dangled in front of his face. He actually missed the Monroes. Mrs. Monroe less than her husband, but both of them. They really weren’t as bad as she made them out to be. He believed that much. But… they belonged to her. He could have them on his side for a while, but not after all of this. He hated not having Mr. Monroe to bounce things off of. He’d sacrificed a mentor to get rid of the void. 

He had tried not to pull them into it, but eventually, the narrative began that her parents were using him, as well. That he was something to taper their wild-child and as soon as he stood up for himself was financially cut off. Mr. Monroe had been very public about the fact that unfortunately, they knew nothing of their daughter’s extreme condition until she viciously attacked her mother. Simon would have paid money to see that cat-fight. Simon felt bad for them, having lost their daughter to the void, so he withdrew accusations of the crimes, though several of them couldn’t be taken back, as the victims wanted to sue personally. But, the Monroes fared fine, after all of the settlements or wins. Simon wondered whatever happened to the charm bracelet, but he pushed that from his mind. 

He still carried the name The Apex, though many companies used that or had it in their name, so he couldn’t trademark it, but the general of his Apex was that if you were tagging The Apex, Simon Says was also there.

He took his book opportunity as his big chance to move forward with his other works. They didn’t sell as well, but he could say at 17 that he was a bestselling author for Free From Grace, and that by 18, he had published several books from throughout his adolescence and had a huge trilogy deal that he intended to have released by the time he was 20. 

Senior year in high school was a blast. He was worshiped and kids who had only held allegiance to him via the void either came around or were fun to alienate as nulls. Shana rose to popularity and the two of them continued their banter, a little will they won’t they brewing, as far as he was concerned. She got rid of her weave and replaced them with braids for going natural. Apparently, she was going to be going to an HBCU and she wanted to finally wear her hair “the way it was intended,” when she got there. It made her look ever more like Grace to him, despite the fact that Grace had never worn braids, only locs, and the full out afro she had whenever she left. 

Maybe he was just weakening again… missing her… “Hey, Shana - we should attend the prom together,” he said, as they sat across from each other at their desks in the newsroom.

She looked up at him with only her eyes, not lifting her head from her work, but he could still see the disdain in her eyebrows. “For what reason would I ever even consider something like that?” 

He laughed and leaned back in his seat. “We’re the apex of the student body.” She groaned at the word that she was BEYOND sick of hearing. “You’re the most popular girl in school now, and while not my equal, the best of what we have. We both know that you and I will be class favorites and prom king and queen. Might as well make an entire thing out of it.”

She raised her head now and he was confused by her expression, because it was still clearly disdainful. “Simon. I don’t care if I was going to win a cash prize of a million dollars. I would never even so much as think about attending anything with you. Thanks for asking.” She shook her head in disbelief and continued working.

“Why not? Did you not hear the reasons this works out perfectly?”

“I heard the reasons that you think I’m a status symbol that for whatever reason would actually want to be seen with you. They weren’t reasons that I would overlook who you are as a person and how I feel about you as such to put on some sort of publicity show for a bunch of kids that I’m never going to see again, because if I ever come to a class reunion, it would be to see if Grace showed up and how she’s doing.”

“Nothing that you said makes any sense. Me as a person? I…”

“You’re a bad person,” she said. He laughed, then stopped. Oh, she’s serious? “Simon… I, along with the entire student body watched you destroy a girl that we knew you were once like this with.” She crossed her fingers. “We watched you lie on her, make her out to be worse than she was, and bring her so low that she’s in an institution!”

“You hated Grace, and now you’ve taken her place as the boss bitch.”

“Grace and I did not get along. We argued. We dissed each other. We competed. We hurt each other. We were mean and nasty to each other, and even I can see that what you did to her was fucked up.”

“You didn’t try to stop me.”

“That’s not my business. But what IS my business is the company I keep. It would never be somebody who would turn on even his day 1. Nobody even would have cared about you if it wasn’t for Grace and I still to this day think that you’re the one who shared that video of you two. Your lost and found again laptop story was always corny to me.”

“You seemed to get a kick out of it at the time.”

“Yeah, of humiliation! She got a kick out of it whenever my father was arrested for white collar crime! Fucking with each other was our dynamic! But you were supposed to be the girl’s friend, and you didn’t just fuck with her, you fucked her up. Everybody thinks it’s so funny? They’re only amused because they’re scared that you might fuck them up too. If you did it to her, there’s no telling what you’d do. You’ve got people thinking that the old rumors are true..” He furrowed his eyebrows and glared at her. The old rumors. That he killed his sister. They were true, but it was an accident. “In short, I don’t care about any of your reasons. You asked me to prom. I decline. End of discussion.”

“So… you don’t like me anymore because I stood up to Grace, something you did all of the time. We’re on the same side now!”

She stared at him and for a moment, he saw fear. That wasn’t something that Shana showed very much. She cleared her throat and wondered, “When… When did it ever cross your mind that I would EVER like you, Simon? You have been a jerk the entire time that I’ve known you. When Grace and I were rivals, you were disgusting to me. You’ve called me out of my name, tried to tear me down about my looks and my family. Where in the world would you ever get an idea that I could possibly like you, even as just a person that I know of?”

“Because of our banter…”

“Arguing.”

“All of the flirting…”

“Clearly happened in your mind, but did not happen in mine.”

“The way that you always blush whenever we talk! I know what it looks like when somebody your skin tone blushes. I knew Grace like the back of my hand.”

“And you tossed her in the trash like nothing. I don’t like you. I have never liked you, and I have never BLUSHED when we talk. What you should know, as the young genius that everybody tries to make you out to be, because this is science related, biology, if you will… Is that what you’re describing as blushing, is actually heat rushing to one’s face. My heartbeat accelerates, I may even sweat a little as I get hot and my blood rushes. That’s not because I have a crush on you. It’s because you are one of the most infuriating people to have a conversation with. Because in addition to being a rude jackass, you are a delusional egotist. Every conversation I have with you makes me want to punch you in the face. And I know that if I do, they’ll toss my ass out of here and that will mess up me following my mother’s footsteps as a Spelman College Delta Sigma Theta! You, Simon Laurent have never been worth anything to me, certainly not my future. I’m sorry for Grace that she didn’t know that, but my parents raised me with the utmost love and confidence. I don’t need anybody like you to upgrade me, and I love myself too much to even entertain you as a friend. And my father, who you love to try to weaponize against me, after serving his time is still worth at least five times as much as yours…”

Simon threw over things from her desk and she jumped. His eyes went wide. He surprised himself with that outburst. Shana was moved for a moment, when she thought he was about to attack her, but when he didn’t, she got up. “Please pick up this mess, Simon. I will not mind reporting you for it.” She left the newsroom for a breather. Simon rushed to pick everything up before anybody else came in and wondered what happened, but a lot of Shana’s words cut him for a moment. She’s lying. Girls lie, he reminded himself as he picked things up from the floor. But, he wasn’t going to beg her to go out with him. She declined. Okay, whatever. He’d have been doing her a favor.

Sometimes, he thought about her words, though. Blushing because she was infuriated by him… That made sense after a while, especially when he conflated her with the void, who he knew never loved him. He and Shana were prom king and queen, but she declined dancing with him and said on the microphone, “We all know this is Grace Monroe’s sloppy seconds.” There was an uproar of laughter in his mind. 

Actually, only a few people laughed. Some looked shocked and horrified that Shana would make fun of who they believed to be an abuse survivor. Shana shrugged her shoulders like Kanye and doubled down, “You all know good and well that Grace never harmed a split ended hair on this boy’s head! She was as obsessed with him as he was with her. You’re all wild to go along with that narrative. You would never believe all that mess about a white girl..” The dean snatched the microphone from her and gave her some warning that the other students couldn’t hear. Simon was livid. He waited for her outside.

“Shana,” he said. Shana yelped in fear whenever she saw him at her car, then reached into her clutch for a weapon. She didn’t have much, but she did have a nail file. Whenever he came near her, she stuck him in the neck with it and he groaned. She set off her car alarm trying to get inside of the car before deactivating it and Simon just smiled at her as she did. Shana was driving and crying and that was the last time that Simon saw her. 

He was questioned about assaulting her in the parking lot, but informed them that he only wanted to talk to her about what she had said in front of everyone and that she actually assaulted him. Now… once, people might believe, and people might even have believed that Shana was entirely capable of it. But, most of the kids and staff knew that Shana was a mean girl, but never violent. The only physical exchanges she had were the ones with Grace Monroe and now Simon Laurent. She finished out the end of school how Grace had finished her junior year. Simon finished it out with people beginning to doubt some of his stories about Grace. But, that didn’t matter! 

He hated that school, those rich kids, the system that worked for them but made him work for it. He was on his way to becoming better than all of that. He still wanted to make time for his art - writing, photography, creating figures and scenes… but he had gotten really into the robotics program whenever he was in engineering and decided that was what he was going to focus his education on. MIT was his first choice and he had been accepted by the end of junior year. He got his small living space as close as he could, since he prepared on spending the bulk of his time enrolled. He knew that he was destined for greatness. 

But, sometimes, his social media would think he needed to see something, like today, when he opened a video of Grace, playing a piano at wherever the undisclosed facility she had been at was, singing something captioned as “Stingray,” and looking… beautiful. He watched it more times than he would ever admit. 

He opened his own treasure chest and pulled out images of her, them… things that he had made and just didn’t have the strength to destroy when he purged the void. He picked up a photo from the pumpkin patch, when they were 14. She had her tongue stuck out at him and he was blushing. It was one of his favorite photos of them. 

“You should take every photo of me, from now on!” She said, looking at her ones on her page that had gotten her the deal. “You always seem to make me look my absolute best in every photo you take of me. Like, you have a real eye for it.”

“I have an eye for you,” he corrected. “Two…” He blushed a lot. He hadn’t meant to say THAT.

“You’ve got eyes for me, Simon?” she teased, making him blush more and his heart rate speed up. And in the midst of him trying to collect himself, she grabbed on to him, pulled him into a hug and took another of her many selfies. She groaned, “I just can’t make any photos look as good as you can… but you’re adorable in this,” she said and showed it to him. “I’m putting this on my Christmas cards this year.” 

She didn’t lie about that. He tossed it back into the box and picked up the torn out foreword that she had written for his fantasy novel. He went through the entire box before locking it back up and throwing it into the trunk of his car. One day, he was going to find the strength to throw it in a river or burn it, or something. It’s just that… she was his entire world… for half of his life…

“And you tossed her in the trash like nothing,” he heard Shana’s voice say… or was it Grace’s voice? He was starting to forget it. Like… of course he knew what it sounded like, but his head couldn’t place it in the chorus of girls’ voices that haunted him: his sister, his mother, the void, Shana… Shana was interchangeable with the void. His brain kept trying to tie them together and perhaps that was why her words affected him. Or maybe it was because they sounded so true, when he knew that they couldn’t be. The Void betrayed him. He counterattacked. “Getting too close to you really stung me.” He heard her singing. Simon bit his lip, picked up his phone and took a deep breath before liking the Stingray post.

Next

[justinstolemybike]

sigh. season 3. here we are. 

i watched the first five episodes and... i felt so uncomfortable. it was bad. not all bad but... pretty bad. so bad, that it wasn’t enjoyable for me and i didn’t care to watch it all the way through, so i read other spoilers and i am not sure if i will watch the final season. but with it being said that i did not watch the whole thing, this can’t be a full review. so, here comes my first glance. spoilers obviously. 

instead of weaknesses and highlights, lets just say likes and dislikes. likes first.

LIKES

- tyler’s storyline. last season, i was skeptical of how they would handle his rape and emotions about it, but i am relieved they gave his character proper care and devin druid did a magnificent job. my only gripe is that i wish they had him do something other than boxing to channel his anger. like, i understand why he would be learning self defense but i would like to see him do something less violent?? 

- jessica’s reclaiming of her body. at first the whole intro to the sex toys was weird but it actually was really touching (no pun intended) to see jessica begin to love her body and love sex again after what she’s been through. also, female masturbation is so underrated. nice to see it encouraged. know your bodies, ladies. 

- the classic jensen tour. i’m surprised they still allow him to do the tours. like, none of the exchange students from the last time reported him? oh.

- chloe and the abortion. as a character, i don’t care for chloe, i’m sorry. she’s not a character to me, just a plot device. also, she gets no cookies for lying for bryce in the trials (i know abusers and victims have a twisted dynamic and that’s why that happened but nah chief) but i do like how they showed that some pro-life clinics will mask as abortion clinics and manipulate women into coming and trying to get them to keep their babies. totally real and fucked up.

- bryce was held socially accountable (kind of) and i think that makes an interesting point about rape culture. in the real world, jail doesn’t scare men in power because they can buy their way out. they don’t care about women and what they feel, obviously. what’ll really fuck sexual assaulters up is when they have no friends and no one likes them. that’s what they (kind of) showed with bryce this season. and he died which, yes fucking rad awesome wow.

- i know that justin also had a kind of darker storyline (with seth, i think? you can tell me if i’m wrong but don’t be rude) but he was a lot of the comic relief it appears and brandon flynn was great at it.

- alex and jessica broke up. hallelujah.

- justin is a abuse survivor. makes sense with his background. 

- monty died too AND went to jail. cool amazing beautiful.

- tony is still ferociously loyal and apparently there was a scene where clay and tony said they loved each other. rise clony. rise up from the ashes.

- “i write fanfiction” - clay jensen.

DISLIKES

-ani. ani, ani, ani. i can understand why people find her annoying and she was probably the biggest reason i was uncomfortable watching but i didn’t hate her. she just... didn’t make sense. the things she did,the things she said, how she was involved and everyone just takes to her and loves her immediately, no questions asked, no buildup necessary... none of it felt natural or believable. a new girl comes in and it’s just a coincidence that clay gives her a tour and she decides to go up to jessica and says shes amazing and lives in bryce’s house and connects herself to the house of horrors that is the tape club (which was so dumb on the tape club’s part by the way, as she could have snitched and destroyed them all) instead of just finishing out her high school career in peace considering she moves around a lot and she starts college in a year and half and probably won’t talk to any of them after that. no, she’d rather potentially go to jail for a bunch of fucking strangers and criminals and rapists. sure, okay.

and for someone who just fucking got there to basically insert themselves in the traumas of these kids and make things worse in some respects and do some fucking shitty things (not listening or caring when she heard about bryce being a GODDAMN RAPIST, accusing jessica of SLEEPING WITH HER RAPIST, accusing clay of being the killer, yelling about chloe’s pregnancy in the street, the list probably gets longer) and think they’re allowed to pass judgment when THEY JUST FUCKING GOT THERE. LIKE, WHY IS SHE SO INVESTED? WHAT DOG DOES SHE HAVE IN THIS FIGHT? DOESN’T SHE NEED TO STUDY OR SOMETHING? WHY IS THIS MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYTHING ELSE SHE HAS GOING ON IN HER LIFE?

now, i get what the show was trying to do here. they wanted another, fresh perspective/narrator and i guess a love interest for clay (a wayyyy too convenient love interest, ‘she loves robots and drawing and not minding her business too! swoon!). but they could’ve had both of those things without adding someone to the payroll. honestly, i don’t think they needed a narrator at all but if they really wanted one, they could’ve added an ACTUAL ADULT detective, with no biases so they can be completely reliable to the audience and their investment would be justified. for love interest, yall already know how much i love and miss sheri. she could check clay without sounding patronizing and had chemistry with him and actual nice, romantic history. she could have been his second cop and they could have reconnected and become a couple and... we could’ve had it all, rolling in the deeeppp. 

it’s like with ani, the show wanted to kill two birds with one stone but they missed them both and i think the backlash on her character says it all. i’d just like to remind everyone to give the actress who plays ani respect and courtesy because it’s not her fault. 

- was it just me, or does it seem like the tape club has learned nothing from what they went through? they’re still keeping secrets and trying to hide shit and keep it all inside and i’m like..... but.... this behavior is what got ya’ll fucked up in the first place? and i totally understand it’s about protection and whatever but.... it also feels like an excuse to not be held accountable for wrong doing. like, alex killed bryce. although he had all the reasons to do it and i’m glad he’s dead, he killed someone fam. that’s not okay. and his dad is wrapped up and it’s just... i just... i dont know. then, there was the whole “let’s not tell on tyler so he doesn’t go to jail” thing and i have mixed feelings about that. i think they should’ve turned him in and got clay’s mom to rep him for rehabilitation and therapy instead of a jail sentence. they’re hiding the guns and trying to trust tyler and luckily that worked, but how long? what if someone fucks with him again and it’s too much for them to help him with? 

- speaking of help, clay needs it. oh my god, does that boy need it. they were so focused on getting tyler professional help but, clay’s out here putting guns to his head and having night terrors. he needs therapy more than anyone. honestly, what i would have liked to see, wayyy back in s2, is as soon as justin saw that, he wouldve went to clay’s parents and got him back on his meds and seeing a counselor. he’s been through so much trauma and guilt and he’s tired of his own fucking hero complex. it’s enough man. 

- they tried to have their cake and eat it too when it came to clay stopping tyler from shooting up the school. they tried to be like, clay shouldn’t have done that but oh, he was so brave and what a great guy he is for doing that. no, that doesn’t work. clay should not have confronted tyler in that situation. period.

- zach was disappointing because i agreed wholeheartedly when he said that they should have called the cops but... he didn’t. he was blaming them for letting tyler go free but he was too. damn, zach.

- it’s like they give clay a new lackey every season and.... ok, i guess.

- i also thought it was kind of weird that after everything they’ve been through, they still walk on eggshells with each other? like i guess because now we’re dealing with murder but... i would think they would trust and care for each other a lot more than to accuse each other and spy and interrogate and not just simply ask... like... this season made me not understand the tape club’s relationship. like are they friends? allies? allies trying to be friends? friends out of necessity? do they know? 

- bryce does not deserve to be humanized. that’s all.

- monty does not deserve to be humanized. that’s all. also, it’s so disappointingly predictable that he’s closeted. 

- the new characters (ani, caleb, chloe, winston, cyrus ) i still don’t care about. plot devices, all.

i may edit and retract some things, should i decide to watch all the way but i’m tired.