#it’s about choosing to keep going no matter how stacked the odds look. and how important finding your family is.

[unlicensedmortician]

could someone tell me why that series was life changing and also send me fic recommendations please and thank you

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

can i request Remus x best friend!reader where they have a fight and it leads to them confessing their feelings? would love angst with either fluff or smut ending

i hope you like it!! thank you for requesting the boy and trope i was just in the mood for! (btw i don't do smut for anon requests, but happily post it as anon if you've messaged me so i know it's not for a minor)

pairing: Remus x reader

tags: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, keeping up with my bookish! Remus and reader fixation, gn 

word count: 2.7k

“Hi,” you whisper into his neck as his arms squeeze around you.

“Hey.” He smiles as he pulls back from your greeting hug. “How are you?” he asks as you begin walking, leaving his arm around your shoulders. 

“Good. I had the craziest dream last night; I was pretty disappointed to wake up to be honest,” you begin enthusiastically. “Till you remembered you had plans with me, right?”

You playfully nudge Remus from within his embrace, and though rolling your eyes as you do, you say, “Obviously,” with a smirk. 

“Great,” he chuckles. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, you can tell me about the dream.” You laugh together as you delve into it on your walk to the bookshop.

You and Remus are browsing — reading the blurbs, looking at the cool covers and curated shelves and tables, laughing lightheartedly, chatting about the ones you’d each read already or wanted to read next. It’s nice, one of your preferred ways of spending an afternoon: one of your favourite places, with your favourite person. 

“Alright,” you tell him seriously. “Time for the painful bit.” You plop your stack of selections in front of him. He gives them an exaggeratedly serious stare.

“Hm. How many do we have to cut it down to?” 

“Three,” you say solemnly. “Maybe four…” after a pause and another longing look at the stack. He grins at you. “Been saving up,” you shrug.

Remus helps you choose, and with your final cut, you go over to the till. You swallow when you notice who’s working it: the rather attractive boy who’d been working the last few times you’d been at the shop. He had beautiful brown eyes, brown hair, a kind of gloomy look, and was always wearing cosy-looking jumpers. You’re a bit nervous when it’s your turn, and you place the books down in between you with only a quick glance and awkward grin his way. He says something to you, and for some reason, it throws you off a bit but makes you decidedly less nervous. 

“Thanks,” you respond, realizing he was complimenting your selection. He’d done that last time too. 

“You come here a lot, huh?” he asks, and it hits you: he sounds nothing like Remus. 

Why the hell does that matter? you think to yourself. 

“I remember you. From last time,” he goes on at your silence. 

You only like him because he reminds of you Remus, a little voice whispers in your head. Ugh, shut up, you push it down.

“Yeah,” you smile. “My best friend and I come here all the time,” you tell him, looking back toward Remus at “best friend.” You notice Remus glaring in your direction and find it odd but look back at the boy. He’s smiling more widely now, nodding as he rings up the books. 

He’s finished up, and you’re turning to go when he adds, “Wait!” He grabs one from the stack of free bookmarks with the shop name and number, and he writes another phone number on it. “One can never have too many bookmarks, right?” he smiles at you, offering it to you. “I like it seeing you around here,” he shrugs. “Maybe I can see you somewhere else sometime though?” 

You grin, surely blushing, take the bookmark, and say, “Yeah, maybe. Thanks.” You go over to the door to wait for Remus, who’s getting a book at the other till. You walk out together; he’s scowling. 

It feels weird to tell him about this; you’re not sure why… Because you’re in love with him… Again, Shut up! But you tell him everything, and besides, you’re actually quite excited. 

“You’re not going to believe what just happened.”

“Hm?” he offers with disinterest, not even looking at you. “Look.” You show him the bookmark. He looks interested now. 

“He gave you this?” he shoots. You nod, biting your lip in a giddy shyness. “Are you going to call him?” Remus asks with a sharp edge to his tone. 

“I don’t know… Maybe? He seems nice.” “You’ve hardly even spoken to him. You have no idea if he’s ‘nice.’” The last word comes out sardonic, and it makes you wince. You don’t notice him wincing too. You shrug and grab the bookmark back, and the two of you continue your walk in silence. 

You’re meeting your friends at the pub, and you’re grateful James and Sirius are already sitting at a nice outdoor table when you arrive, eager to escape the tense silence with Remus. “Hello, my favourite nerds. How was the bookshop?” Sirius teases, smiling at you both.

“Good,” you grin; Remus just shrugs. “What’s with you?” Sirius notices. “Nothing,” Remus grunts and goes inside to the bar. Immediately just turning to you, Sirius asks, “What’s with him?” “I don’t know.” You sound sad. “You always know. It’s creepy sometimes, the two of you; it’s like you read each other’s minds,” then, in a cheeky tone, “usually.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You’re snappier than you meant to be. 

“Nothing,” he cedes, but he gives you a knowing look that makes you nervous. You keep glaring at him, and he just chuckles and gives you a quick side hug.

Remus is silent and brooding for the duration of the evening, Sirius and James having given up after several failed attempts at conversation with him. Occasionally, you catch him looking at you, but — quite atypically — you can’t read his expression, and he always looks away when you notice. He doesn’t seem to be hiding his looks, just avoiding moments with you when you look back… and it’s really getting under your skin. 

“Anyone got a light?” Sirius asks, patting down his jacket, a cig already dangling from his lips. “I might,” you respond. You’re wearing your go-to jacket, so there’s a good chance you have the lighter you use for the occasional blunt. Feeling around in your pockets, you pull out the contents and absentmindedly put a couple things down in front of you. “What’s this then?” You can hear the smirk in Sirius’s voice before even looking at him. You’re mortified when he picks up the bookmark.  “Maybe your bookshop isn’t as boring as I thought. Aren’t you cheeky?” he chuckles at you, shaking it between you.

You snatch it from him and say, “It’s nothing.” “Oh, c’mon. There’s nothing wrong with that. Is he fit?” Before you can stop yourself, you look over at Remus. You look away quickly — not missing Remus’s glower — but Sirius notices anyway, looks at him too then back at you, his grin not leaving his face. “What d’you think, mate?” he asks Remus, and your eyes go wide in warning, but Sirius either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. Remus gives a “don’t care” frown and shrug. “What? No opinion on Y/N’s new boyfriend?” Sirius continues. Remus scoffs and gives a cynical laugh, and to your surprise, your hurt at his behaviour all afternoon interlaces with anger at this. 

“What?” you snap, and Remus immediately looks to you, some surprise in his eyes, no longer avoiding your gaze. “Is it laughable that someone would like me?” The mood has safely made its way into awkwardness, but you don’t care. “What’s so funny about someone wanting to be my boyfriend, Remus?” He doesn’t say anything. “You’ve been such a prick all afternoon,” you tell him, collecting your things. You turn to Sirius, saying, “Cover me, will you? I’ll pay you back tomorrow.” You’ve already started walking away by the time he nods. 

Your eyes are puffy from crying last night when you wake, the memory of last night’s events hitting you like an ice bath. You grunt and roll over, trying — but failing miserably — not to dwell on it. Until you remember something else.

“Fuck.” You had plans with Remus today. You’d agreed to meet at the park to start the books you’d bought yesterday. You’re not sure what to do. Do you show up like nothing happened? Do you not show up and escalate things? Or, scariest of all, do you show up and address what the hell happened?

After changing your mind several times, you opt to at least show up. What’ll happen after that, you leave to the moment. When the time comes, you get ready and head over. 

You’re surprised at how surprised you are to see Remus already there, sitting on the grass. Had you really expected him not to show? You hadn’t had the thought consciously — you would’ve almost certainly freaked out if you had — but your palpable relief informs you you’d been terrified at the possibility. It would’ve been so unlike him; you normally would never have even entertained the idea. But his behaviour last night confused you, and not being on the same page as him filled you with confusion and dread.

He notices you, gives you a strained smile; you return one in turn. 

“Hey.” “Hi.”

You linger awkwardly above him before sitting down next to him, a bit further than you usually would have. The silence seems to follow your cue, elongating itself in a way that never happened with Remus. 

He’s fiddling with the grass, not looking at you when he finally says, “About last night…” You take a deep breath, and it gets caught in your chest when his gaze meets yours. “I…” He clears his throat, looks down again, then back up at you. “I’m sorry.” You nod slowly, still just staring at him. 

Before you can think about whether it’s a good idea or not, you say, “Why were you being so weird?”

“You really don’t know?” He doesn’t sound as soft as he did during his apology. 

“Obviously not, or I wouldn’t be asking.” You’re harsher too. 

He groans and, no longer looking at you, whisper-yells, “Fuck, you’re difficult sometimes.” You scoff and cringe away from him. 

“‘Difficult?’ I’m difficult? You’re the one being a prick for seemingly no reason, Rem. And now you’re blaming me?” “I’m not blaming you. I’m just saying —”

“What?” you snap. “What are you saying? Because it seems to me that you’re never saying anything, Remus. Whenever anything tense happens, you never say anything.” 

“Neither do you! What do you want me to say?!” “Yes I do!” “No, you don’t.” 

You glare at each other in electric silence.

You grab your bag and stand up. 

“I don’t really feel like reading anymore,” you offer lamely, seething. He stands up too, following you. 

“You see?! I don’t say anything, but at least I don’t fucking run away every time.” You spin to face him, and it’s so quick, you end up really close to each other before he stops fast-walking toward you. You can hear his heavy breathing, see his nostrils flaring as he scowls. 

“Run away?”

“Yeah.” It’s mean but certain. “Run away,” he repeats.

“What’s that supposed to fucking mean? It’s not like you can’t stop me… Or at least give me a fucking call afterward.” You sound hurt at the end, and Remus winces knowingly. 

“I was going to. I was. I just didn’t know what to say.” 

“Typical. Fucking typical.” You turn to keep walking away. 

He groans loudly in exasperation and walks faster to stand in front of you, cutting you off. “Can you just fucking wait one second?” He runs his hand roughly over his face, harshly through his messy hair. You quirk an eyebrow at him expectantly. 

When he doesn’t say anything for a few moments, you say, “That was more than one second,” and start walking again. 

“Stop. For fuck’s sake, just stop.” He stands in front of you again. “Why? It’s not like you’re saying anything.” Then, more softly, “And I don’t like fighting with you, okay? Maybe that’s why I ‘run away.’” The last two words still manage to sound sarcastic, but you’re whispering by the end, and you look down sadly. “Why don’t you say anything? Why does it have to be me?” He takes a tentative step forward and puts a gentle hand on your shoulder. You look into his eyes, and tears well in yours. One falls, and his thumb comes up to wipe it off. You push his hand away but don’t let go of it. He lets you hold his hand, and you stare down at where you’re connected rather than look at him. 

“I don’t like fighting with you,” you repeat, whispering. He steps a bit closer to you. “I hate fighting with you,” he says firmly. “But you know what’s worse?” You look up at him and shake your head subtly. “The moment after you leave. Being without you. Especially if I know you’re upset or… angry with me.” He looks up at the sky, takes a deep breath, looks at you again. “All I want to do is comfort you. Apologize. Tell you the truth…,” he says desperately. “But I don’t.” This comes out harsh; the anger back in his voice but no longer directed at you. “Because I’m an idiot… But I’d choose fighting with you over being without you every time.” 

“Those can’t be the only two options.” Your voice is soft. He gives a quiet but honest chuckle. Then his face sets seriously, determination creeping into his features.

“Ask me again.” “Ask you what?”

“Why I was being such a prick last night.” “So you admit you were a prick?” “Y/N,” he whines. “For fuck’s sake.” “Okay, okay, sorry,” you say quickly. “Why were you being such a prick last night?”

“Because… I…,” he starts but gets stuck. “When you…” He shakes his head. “I…” He closes his eyes and whispers, “Fuck.” He opens them, looks back and forth between yours, takes a step closer to you. He brings his hand that’s not in yours up to your face, brings his forehead to rest on yours. He nudges your nose with his, caresses your cheek. “Y/N,” he whispers, all the frustration replaced by something much warmer. You shift the tiny bit necessary to connect your lips with his. His hands tighten, and his lips push softly but firmly back.

You take a deep breath in, like breathing him will fill you with life… and it does. You open your mouth, and you feel a groan in his chest where it’s flush with yours as he licks his tongue against yours. You let go of his hand to hold his face firmly in both of yours, pulling him into you. His arms wrap around your hips, pulling you into his lower half as his upper half chases your mouth. You kiss and kiss and kiss, soft but hungry, until you finally part, only your lips detaching from each other, the rest of your bodies still connected. Your thumbs rub his cheeks; his hands squeeze your hips; your noses bump into each other. 

“You still haven’t said anything…” you whisper. You expect him to retort that neither have you, to joke or complain or jokingly complain. 

Instead, after a gruff chuckle, he says, “I love you.” He turns his embrace into a full hug, his arms firmly around you, his head in the crook of your neck. You cling to him. 

“You’re my best friend, Y/N,” he goes on. “My best friend in the fucking world.” He leans back a bit to be able to look into your eyes as he goes on. “But you’re so much more than that too. You’re the fucking love of my life,” he says with a heartfelt chuckle. “And I am done not telling you that.” You bring his mouth to yours again, kissing him deeply.

“You’re mine too. I promise I won’t run away anymore. I’m sorry I —” 

“Don’t,” he cuts you off with a kiss, shaking his head. “I wish I’d told you sooner, but I’ve loved every minute with you. And now we have the rest of our lives to do this too.” With a cheeky smile, he kisses you again.

“I love you,” you tell him. He squeezes you tight and keeps kissing you. 

[dmwrites]

Grian didn’t choose the CuteGuy lifestyle as much as it was thrust upon him. He had made one joke (just one!) about how he could be HotGuy’s sidekick, CuteGuy, and Scar went nuts. Within a week, a shulker box had been delivered to his base, containing some flashy pink clothes, a huge bow with a deadly-looking quiver of arrows, and, most unexpectedly, a bedazzled pink flip phone. There was only one contact in the phone, so, with a sigh, Grian pressed the call button.

“Hello?”

“Scar, what is this?”

“Oh, so you found your CuteGuy readiness package!” Scar gasped excitedly. “What do you think? Do you like my big package?”

“Wording, Scar. And, no, I’m not going to be your sidekick! The CuteGuy thing was a joke, bro.” Grian held up the clothes and looked them over with distain, using his shoulder to prop the phone to his ear. “And pink really isn’t my color, much less hot pink.”

“What do you mean? You’re blonde, you’re basically like a Barbie, you’d totally rock pink!”

“I have an alter ego already, Scar, I don’t need another, much less one that wears… does this shirt have a heart-shaped cutout in the chest? Scar!”

“Oh please.” Scar scoffed. “Do you really think Poultry Man will make a comeback? Let’s all be honest with ourselves now.”

“Hey now, mister ‘HotGuy is like half of my personality’. PoultryMan was the blueprint of superheroes!” Grian put the clothes back in the shulker and closed it firmly. “Scar, this dress up game is going a little too far, don’t you think? There isn’t even a need for HotGuy.”

“You never know.” Scar said in a sing-song voice. “Listen, just keep the shulker and the phone- if I really need a sideki- backup, I’ll call this phone, okay? Please?”

“Fine.” Grian said. “It’s a good thing you’re my friend, or I’d burn all of this.” He hung up the phone and set it down on top of the shulker box. He sighed, shaking his head at the bedazzled and pink nightmare that sat on and in the box before him. He picked the box up and moved it to a shadowy part of his basement. Grumbot looked down at him, lights twinkling in a way Grian took as laughter.

“Listen, Scar never said a thing about me actually picking up the phone, so by technicality, I’m off the hook.” Grian felt a need to explain himself. “If he really wants a CuteGuy so bad, he can get someone else to do it or something. I don’t do sidekick. PoultryMan is main character energy.”

Grumbot just flashed his lights, and Grian wondered if the robot had even been listening at all. He sighed, turning around and gazing out towards the now-dull rift on the other side of the basement.

“Now, to something that really matters, what on earth do I do about this?”

-seven months later-

Much like young Issac Newton theorizing about gravity from an apple falling onto his head, Joe Hills also had an odd series of events happen to him when something big and heavy fell onto his head. But he thought “ouch!” instead of conceptualizing gravity, but that’s besides the point.

“Who is messing with me? Guys, now is not a great time… huh?” Joe looked all around, and his gaze came to rest on a red shulker box on its side, spilling stacks upon stacks of tnt onto the ground. Joe went to pick it up and saw it labeled as Grian’s. “Grian?” There was no answer.

So, Joe did what any good person would do, and gathered up all of the tnt, put it back in the box, and set off for Grian’s megabase, which he had only an approximation of its location. He did manage to find it eventually, or, at least, the amalgamation of Grian and Mumbo’s bases, and he dithered on the spot for a while, trying to remember who’s was which. He eventually just gave up and dove down into what he knew to be Grian’s basement, with that weird robot and rift thing. Luckily, both oddities seemed inactive, and Joe put the shulker box down in the middle of the room, and took out a scrap of paper to leave as a note.

Suddenly, a phone rang, echoing through the basement. Joe looked at the rift, then the robot. Neither seemed to a source of the ringing. It was coming, Joe found out as he looked around, from a bedazzled pink flip phone on top of a pink and horribly dusty shulker box. On instinct, Joe picked it up and answered.

“Howdy, Joe Hills from Nashville, Tennessee here, how can I be of service?”

“Cuteguy, it’s time! The time is nye! I- wait, Joe?”

Joe recognized the dramatic voice on the other end at once. “Scar?”

“Joe?”

“Howdy, Scar!”

“Wait, I thought I gave this phone to Grian.”

“Well, I suppose you did. I just happened to be by, dropping off a shulker box of tnt that he must have dropped by accident onto my head, and I heard the phone-“

“Hold on, I’ll be right there.”

Scar hung up, and Joe pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at it in confusion. He considered leaving, he really did, but after a rather arduous debate in his head of how much time he could be spending on his pinball machine instead of waiting on Scar, he ultimately determined that time spent with friends was always time well spent. He had just come to that conclusion, in fact, when Scar crash landed right in front of Joe.

“Ahh! One heart, Joe, one heart.” Scar said, while Joe helped him right his wheelchair. “Now, where’s CuteGuy?”

“Who?” Joe asked. He took stock of Scar’s outfit, which was a tight black unitard looking thing with blue and orange details. “And what on earth are you wearing?”

“Well, I’m HotGuy, of course!” Scar straightened up, taking out a deadly looking bow and pointing it, clearly posing, which Joe took as the cue to make appropriate awed noises. “But every good superhero needs his sidekick, and I was hoping CuteGuy would have gotten my message.” Scar looked around, like this CuteGuy guy would be hiding in a corner or something.

“Scar, there is no one on the server named ‘CuteGuy’- I feel like Xisuma would have told us if he’d whitelisted someone new.” Joe said very seriously.

“What? No! Okay, Joe, listen,” Scar lowered his voice conspiratorially, and Joe leaned in, keeping an eye on Grumbot as he did- who knows who could be listening. “CuteGuy is Grian’s alter ego. Like how I’m HotGuy.”

Joe put a hand to his mouth in shock, to be polite. “You mean it was actually you who terrorized me all those months ago while I was building a sign for King Ren?”

Scar clicked his tongue in an awkward kind of way. “No time for that, Joe! The point is, I need a sidekick right now, and Grian is nowhere to be found. So, Joe, what do you say- wanna come be CuteGuy for a little while?”

Joe considered this. He had many questions, but Scar had a sense of urgency in his tone. And Joe did like to say yes to new experiences…

“Well, I suppose I could help you out Scar- I mean, HotGuy. But shouldn’t I be called something else, as CuteGuy is kind of more of a Grian thing? I wouldn’t want to invade his creative space.”

Scar rubbed his chin, thinking hard “Maybe… are there other adjectives that are like hot and cute?”

“Oh! I was named the sexiest Minecraft youtuber via a set of tumblr polls!” Joe exclaimed. “Sexy… guy?”

“Tumblr? What’s that, like a disease or something?” Scar asked.

“I- okay, so I could explain this simply, but even that might take a few hours within itself… if I say the words ‘Ball Pit’, does that invoke emotions within you?”

“Joe, we don’t have time!” Scar put a hand over Joe’s mouth. “Listen, I think G will be fine if you borrow the CuteGuy name and outfit. But we really do need to go- crime does not sleep!” Scar opened the pink shulker box and pulled out a couple of sets of clothes, holding them up to Joe and squinting. Finally, he shoved a bundle at him. “Go put this on, and I’ll meet you on Grian and Mumbo’s bridge. Hurry!”

Scar flew up, and Joe quickly changed into the violently pink clothes without much thought. It wasn’t until he flew up to meet Scar did it occur to him what exactly he had on.

“Scar, HotGuy, I don’t mean to complain, but is it really all that sensible to be fighting crime in a crop top and booty shorts? Where is the padding? And the armor?” Joe asked, pulling down on the crop top slightly.

“CuteGuy, in this life, you gotta slay in every way. We’re hotter and cuter then our enemies.” Scar lowered his sunglasses, gave Joe a once-over, and tossed him a huge, glittery pink compound bow. “Now, let’s fly. I’ll explain our mission on the way.” He took off, leaving Joe to put the bow in his inventory and hastily take off after him.

The pink phone began to ring as soon as Joe was coasting in the air, and he fumbled to pull it out of the bag strapped to his thigh.

“Howdy!”

“Alright CuteGuy, are you hearing me alright?” Scar’s voice was cool and collected, if a bit hard to hear over the wind.

“Loud and clear, Scar- I mean, HotGuy.” Joe could see Scar up ahead, and kept pace behind him.

“Fantastic.” Scar turned to give him a thumbs up and a cheesy smile. “Now, for this mission, CuteGuy, we’re heading for the lair of the biggest threat to the server, the goat himself, DocM77. Perhaps you’ve heard of him.”

“I… yeah, Scar, sorry, HotGuy, we’ve both known Doc since season five, of course I know him.”

“Good, good. Recently, I, HotGuy, teamed up with two esteemed revolutionaries to form the Buttercups, an elite team set to take down the goat once and for all. The camp has been set, but we need to send a message to the goat that we mean business. Doc may have fancy redstone, but we have determination, grit, and most importantly, obsidian. Oh, and we’re here!”

“Obsidian?” Joe asked, landing beside Scar on the floor of the perimeter, hanging up the phone. “I thought you were gonna say, like, a pipe bomb or something.”

“No, no, CuteGuy.” Scar pulled out a shulker box and set it on the ground. “We just want to be annoying to good ol’ DocM, not actually kill him. So, we’re gonna cover every surface down here in obsidian.”

Joe looked at Scar, then around at the yawning expanse of the perimeter. “I- yeah, okay. And we are the good guys here, right?”

“Of course.” Scar replied, smiling.

——

It took about five hours of painstakingly placing obsidian, but every surface within the perimeter was eventually covered, which was an interesting sight to behold. Scar and Joe stood at the mouth of Doc’s house, looking down into the expanse.

“I think we did good, CuteGuy.” Scar said, patting Joe on the back.

“This bow was surprisingly effective against slimes.” Joe replied, hoisting up the big pink bow.

“That’s the power of the veloci-tay.” Scar said with an understanding nod. “Now, let’s get out of here before Doc gets back.”

He’d hardly uttered the words when there was the distinct sound of someone coming through Doc’s nether portal. Scar and Joe turned around just in time to see Doc emerge from the portal, and freeze at the sight of them.

“HotGuy?” Doc breathed. “What are you doing here? You and your… actually, I don’t believe I’ve met your… friend?”

“Oh, this is my sidekick, CuteGuy.” Scar waved his hand at Joe.

“Name suits you, CuteGuy.” Doc winked at Joe. “Pleasure to meet you. Now, what was I- oh, what are you both doing in my base? Why does CuteGuy look guilty? What…” Doc’s mechanical eye suddenly flew from the socket, whirring into the air with small but powerful blades. It flew behind the two superheroes and looked down into the perimeter. The room went silent, and Joe watched Doc’s face fall, first into surprise, then anger.

“What the- what did you do? Obsidian?” Doc’s eye flew back into socket, and he actually growled at them. “You annoying-”

“CuteGuy, shoot him!” Scar screeched, hiding behind Joe.

“I- what- okay!” Joe pulled back the bow and aimed it at Doc. The arrow missed. Then another missed. Then Doc was standing right in front of him, glowering.

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, because you’re a terrible shot.” Doc growled.

“Run!” Scar screamed, shooting into Doc’s face over Joe’s shoulder, and they both took off to the sky. Doc typed a bunch of angry and cryptic messages into the in-game chat, but didn’t pursue.

Joe and Scar landed on the bridge between Grian and Mumbo’s bases, breathing heavily.

“We did it! Our first mission as a duo!” Scar held out his hand for a high-five. “What do you say, Joe, want to take on the CuteGuy persona full time? HotGuy needs a good sidekick like you.”

Joe gazed into Scar’s grinning face, seeing his own, glittering pink reflection in Scar’s sunglasses.

“Absolutely not.”

[amplifyme]

In a rare fit of self-promotion, I'm going to post a few passages from a Beauty and the Beast 4th Season novel I wrote back in 2012. No apologies here. I think it's one of the best things I've ever written and it makes me sad that more people haven't read it. I guess that's the risk you take when you write fanfic for a very small subset of a now very small fandom. I won't give away any plot details because none are really necessary to read this. It's simply one of my favorite passages. But if you're at all intrigued...

@randomfoggytiger you're not allowed to read the entire novel - if you choose to - until you've made it through S3. No cheating!

The Possibility of Being - Book 5: Never Diminish

Vincent was at the table in Father's study, a book held open in his right hand. He was looking down at the words, but they might as well have been written in Aramaic, for all the sense he could make of them just now.

He'd come here with the unquestioned need to be in his father's presence. Not to talk, as he’d summarily explained upon arriving and had then apologized for, but simply because. Father had listened with attentive concern and then waved away his appeal for forgiveness, taking him at his word and resuming whatever chore the pile of papers on his desk required of him.

It was the quietest part of the afternoon and Vincent had taken the opportunity to reacquaint himself with the study in all its complexities and treasures; its odds and ends and how, by tenuous threads, he was connected to every one of them. He was certain he'd opened every book there at least once; had blown or brushed off dust from and examined every knick-knack, statue, tapestry, candelabra, instrument, picture, toy and tool there. And it had taken him the better part of his life to do it.

He found an odd reassurance in the thought. And poking around the chamber helped keep at bay his increasing awareness of a pull; a calling that urged him to a place he didn't want to go. That was half the time. The other half he found himself more than willing - simply wanting to be done with it. But not yet: he wasn't quite ready.

Cognizant of Father's occasional assessing glances as he'd moved about the chamber, Vincent sensed in him a patient waiting, and as such felt no urgent need to speak thoughts he couldn't yet form into words. If the words needed to be spoken, they'd come in their own time. Father had always allowed him sufficient room and time to think over matters weighing on his mind. It was a gift, one borne of unconditional acceptance and love. A vast and expansive thing, yet close enough to be felt as comforting, protective arms.

He'd wandered up to the balcony and poked through the dusty and precariously stacked piles of books there, pausing as his hand passed over and then grasped the book of poetry he now held. This is the one, he'd told himself, without checking the spine to be certain, and had carried it back down the spiral staircase and to the table, where he'd settled in and begun thumbing through the pages, looking for a section of a particular poem. Having found and read it twice, he'd drifted from the clarity of the written words to indistinct thoughts.

Apparently having decided enough time had passed without conversation, Father casually mentioned, "I took a small group of youngsters to the Mirror Pool last night. We had our first lesson in astronomy. The sky was particularly clear; there seemed to be no end to the number of stars to be seen. Remarkable, really. Did you happen to notice, Vincent?"

"No, Father," he admitted quietly. "I'm afraid I didn't."

"Well, there'll be other nights and other stars to gaze upon. Ursula asked me to elaborate on the meaning of infinity, of a universe that goes on forever. It seems she, and most of the children in fact, had difficulty grasping the concept. I'm afraid I didn't do a very good job of it: they seemed more confused than ever when I'd finished. How would you go about explaining it to children that age?"

Father was wearing his teacher's face, as if this were a quiz. Vincent found himself ill-prepared. Nevertheless, he closed the book over a thumb to mark his place and tried to give the question his full attention.

"I'm not certain I can conceive of it myself, let alone explain it to anyone else. It's easier to imagine, I think, of all things having an ending. That, at least, one can envision. Everyone has experienced endings… and beginnings, as well. But forever… endless…? That is something we must take on faith… and not always," he sighed, "as easily."

He raised his head to find Father's placid eyes on him, his chin cupped in a gloved hand.

"And where do you suppose that faith comes from, Vincent, hmm?"

"I'm not sure," he conceded. "I don't think I'm the best person to be asking – not now anyway."

Father thought that over for a minute and then tipped his head at the book. "What've you there?"

"Something that came to mind last evening," he answered, closing his eyes briefly to recapture the memory of waking already joined with Diana, and of the lines that'd served as his thoughts until he'd stopped thinking and had only felt. "I needed… to see the words."

"Will you share them with me?" Father inquired lightly, feigning idle curiosity that was anything but.

Vincent's initial thought was to decline. It felt like an invasion of the privacy he and Diana deserved, this request to know what he'd been thinking as they'd made love. But that was silly. Father couldn't know under what circumstances the lines had been recalled. He opened the book, found his place, and began to recite softly.

Extinguish my eyes, I'll go on seeing you. Seal my ears, I'll go on hearing you. And without feet I can make my way to you, without a mouth I can swear your name.

Break off my arms, I'll take hold of you with my heart as with a hand. Stop my heart, and my brain will start to beat. And if you consume my brain with fire,

I'll feel you burn in every drop of my blood.

"Ah, Love Poems to God," Father said after a medium silence, one just long enough to allow the words their full impact. "Well, there you have it, then: your answer."

He glanced over, puzzled, and found a contented smile on Father's face. Vincent's brow furrowed as he looked him a question.

"There is your forever, your endless," Father explained, again nodding at the book. "Do you feel those words, Vincent? Do they… resonate?"

"Very much so," he admitted.

"Then love is the infinity of which you claim you cannot conceive. And the very same which allows one the faith to believe in it. So, is it true… or don't you believe in love as something infinite?"

"Of course I do. It's what you've taught me from as far back as I can remember. And what I've learned through experience myself, over and again. 'My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite,'" he finished, quoting Shakespeare - a favorite of theirs and a touchstone.

"Just so," Father heartily agreed, "but I also think the line that directly precedes those should be included, as well: 'And yet I wish but for the thing I have.' Ah, yes, and isn't that what we do, Vincent, as the flawed human beings we are? We always wish for more, not stopping to realize what we have may already be everything. As if the eternal things can measured, like so much flour in one of William's bowls."

Vincent found himself remembering saying something similar to Stosh when they'd met in Diana's loft several weeks past. And he wondered now at how easily the words had left his mouth, without the least thought of whether he truly believed them or not. Had such things become rote, especially since Catherine's death; a declaration simply mimicked instead of being certain knowledge?

But, no, that wasn't so. He knew it to be true. And yet something about the thought nudged him at an angle he hadn't expected and gave rise to other less contemplated and incomplete notions. Finding them vaguely unsettling, he put the book aside and caught Father's eye.

"May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"If given the chance… if you could have Margaret back, would you? If it meant giving up everything else: your life as it is now?"

Father sat back and cast an appraising, angled look his way. His cheeks puffed out and he expelled a breath through pursed lips.

"I dare not even hazard a guess at why you'd ask such a thing, Vincent." That came with an eyebrow lifted in invitation to relieve him of the task of having to speculate – which they both knew he would most certainly dare to do, despite his words to the contrary.

He hadn't told Father that he'd be returning to the prison he'd left only days ago. He'd told him very little and meant to keep it that way. Though he found the silence hard, he knew it was for the best.

Judging by how difficult Diana had found his predicament to comprehend, he feared Father's incredulity would be twice that. Vincent was also aware Diana would tell Father - if and when it became necessary, if he himself wasn't able to, for whatever reason. He readily admitted the evasion was cowardly and the height of selfishness, but he was in no state to do anything about it.

Eventually deciding he'd get no response to his invitation, Father began thinking about the question, his eyes focused upward as though his thoughts were balloons drifting about the ceiling of the chamber, and he need only pluck the right string to bring down the answer. Vincent sat patiently as he could considering that, within, he felt as though he were spinning like the animated Tasmanian Devil he and Jacob had watched on Diana's television early one Saturday morning.

"It's a difficult question," Father ultimately decided. "I loved Margaret dearly, you know that. We had such little time together, she and I; and what I grieve most I think, as I look back on my life. But had things not happened as they did," he said, his eyes sweeping the room, "just look at all I would never have had. My home… my community. My family. And you," he said, his eyes lighting on Vincent and holding there, "you, most of all.

"Would I have Margaret back at the cost of the life I've built here? No, I honestly don't think I would. Because you see, Vincent, the love we felt for each other, Margaret and I, is a part of me and always shall be. I need only close my eyes and think of her, and she is here with me. So in essence I never lost her and can lay claim to the best of both worlds. One needn't make a choice where there is none to be made."

"But what if…" Vincent paused, finding it difficult to ask what he wanted without further muddying the waters of the conversation and piquing Father's curiosity exponentially. "What if you could no longer feel the presence of her love? What then?"

"Then I should think I'm not looking in the right place or hard enough." He crooked an eyebrow, vaguely amused. "Or perhaps, conversely, looking too hard."

"What do you mean?"

Father’s features shifted to a familiar, professorial look.

"Vincent, it is only when we try to grasp and hold the larger mysteries of life that we lose our ability to comprehend them: love; compassion; hope; death. One cannot hold in a fist that which requires freedom in order to be understood. Some things do not call for our examination but only… only our faith."

"That's an odd thing for a man of science to say," he remarked. Meanwhile, he was recalling Narcissa's words to him the day before: Do you truly believe such a boundless thing can be grasped within a fist?

Father shrugged, his arms lifting high. "'I am large, I contain multitudes.'"

"You and Mr. Whitman."

"All of us, Vincent," Father rejoined warmly. "All of us."

[an-unsolicited-soliloquy]

The consequence of the inconsequential

You look all around you and everyone is racing ahead at breakneck speed. Kevin just got a much-coveted promotion. Sarah's fashion blog is taking off. Mike's new fitness regime really played well on his abs. There is something everyone has that you don't and you can't help but believe you're falling behind, that everybody is doing better than you, and that in the game of life, you've been cheated on by the universe; somehow, you got dealt the suckiest hand to play with. Sound familiar? I'm sure it does. Been there. Am there.

No matter how strongly I decide that I need to start working on myself, I end up falling head-first on this quest for self-improvement; as a pronounced pattern, I would give up even before I began. So many times had this happened, that I was convinced at one point that humans are by nature self-sabotaging. This was before one fine day when the Divine Revelation came to me during a hot shower that there's a chance that this inability to take action and turn my life around stems from my feeling overwhelmed at the sheer number of things I wanted to change about myself. In retrospect, that made sense. Whenever I would discover something new I needed to work on, my first reaction would be something akin to: “Yep, that's about right, sigh. Another brick on the wall, I guess,” — and those bricks stacked up to form towering wall, one that had become too formidable to look at. To go further with that metaphor, crossing that wall and expanding my horizons had become an insurmountable challenge (pun certainly intended).

What came with that knowledge was the painful recognition that I did not like who I was, and that I needed something of the scale of a house-remodel to fix myself. And what did I choose to do with that knowledge? — I drank a glass of water.

I know what you’re thinking, how does that help anything? As silly and as inconsequential as that sounds, it worked! It set the ball rolling, and contrary to the proverbial rolling stone that gathers no moss, small actions aligned in the correct direction snowballs into something massive and positively unstoppable! Let me explain how that works. The first day all that you need to do is drink enough water. This is a simple challenge; sitting next to a bottle of water would do the trick. Every once in a while your attention will be drawn towards it, you’ll be reminded of your agenda, you’ll take a sip. By the end of the day, the odds are hundred is to one that you’ll have drunk more water than you usually do and you’ll feel good about yourself. In comes the beauty of the feedback loop of accomplishment. This minor victory fuels a drive to keep going. Tomorrow, you’ll drink more water and take a ten-minute walk. Day after, you’ll drink more water, take a ten-minute walk and dust off the old gym equipment that hadn’t seen the light of day in many months. Each little step you take would invariably contribute towards the ultimate goal of attaining satisfaction in our being.

Trying to tackle this challenge head-on is setting oneself up for failure. Change doesn’t happen overnight; it takes sweat, labour and it takes its sweet time in coming to you. Instead, breaking it up into smaller sub-goals makes it actionable and each sprint up to the finish line less intimidating, drastically increasing your chances at succeeding. The glass of water is just a placeholder, you could substitute it with any other easily-achievable aims that you have in mind. All that matters is you start small and slowly build momentum to plough through the bigger, more demanding issues on the list. If you stick sincerely to this strategy, there is no force on Earth that could trip you up.

As I conclude this unsolicited soliloquy, there are two things I would want to remind the readers. First, this isn’t a magic formula that solves everything. It would demand a sizeable amount of dedication, effort and energy from you. It is also not fool-proof; there will be hitches along the road, sure as the sun. There will be set-backs, days when you go back to square one, that’s life. Before you start making faces, let me clarify, that’s not such a bad thing. When we operate under that prevision, we’re eliminating the necessity to succeed every single day; we would feel less pressured to perform and less afraid to fail. We would take it for granted that failing was a part of the process and that doesn’t imply we need to start over allowing us the liberty to resume normally next day onwards. Second, it is no lie that starting takes a lot of initiation energy, which is one of the principal reasons why we procrastinate. The metaphorical glass of water masterfully eliminates this problem. It takes little to no effort to do, nor a symbolic dawn, a new beginning. Why wait for the next day, when the next hour, next minute, next second are equally good? Thus, the readers are advised to keep this attribute in mind while picking their substitute for drinking more water (if you can think of nothing else, this itself would do just fine!).

Everyone is capable of change, believe in yourself. Start today, start now! Because the grass is greener where you water it.

[hummingbird-of-light]

Against All Odds

Part 237

McCoy

McCoy couldn’t help but feel a sting of disappointment as Robbie told them he and Spock would share the guest room and Jim would bunk with Scotty. Francine thought she was doing what was best, he was sure, keeping him near Spock’s protection.

Or he wondered, was Francine following old fashioned ways? He sighed as he unpacked his bag. It was Francine’s home and he would follow her wishes. He chuckled quietly as he thought of Jim. The boy often had no regard for rules; how often was McCoy going to wake and find a third roommate in the room?

“Everything tastes wonderful, Francine,” McCoy said.

He smiled as Scotty’s mother flushed light pink.

“Thank ye. I’m sure you’re used to much better—”

McCoy shook his head. “No, no, a home cooked meal is always best.”

Francine looked flustered and pleased.

“What was the palace like?” Robbie was asking Jim.

Jim’s eyes lit up as he began telling Robbie. McCoy let his gaze wander around the room. The Scott’s home was small but comfortable. The happy family pictures on the walls and shelves, the little things significant to their family. McCoy’s eyes stopped on a picture across the room. A man looked out of the frame with a very familiar smile. It must be Scotty and Robbie’s father. McCoy bumped his knee into Scotty’s and the same smile flashed at him from his boyfriend’s face.

“How can we help?” McCoy asked after everyone had finished eating.

Francine had stood and begun to collect empty dishes.

“Oh! Ye needn’t…”

“I insist,” McCoy smiled. He stood and moved to take the stack of dishes from her.

“But…” Francine tried to protest. “I can’t have a prince come to my home and make him do work!”

McCoy chuckled. “You aren’t making me, I’m choosing. I do know how to do things for myself, Francine.”

She let the dishes be taken from her hands and sat down again, flustered and flushed. “Monty…,” she tried to appeal to her son, but Scotty just shrugged.

“You made it all Mum,” he said standing. “We can clean up.” He walked over and hugged her from behind. “Come on lads,” he said to Robbie, Jim, and Spock.

Francine looked at Scotty’s granddad. He looked approvingly at the boys heading for the kitchen.

“What now?” McCoy asked Scotty.

They had finished cleaning up from dinner and were standing alone in the kitchen.

“I could show ye the back garden,” Scotty said. “It isn’t even as big as your grove, but it can be private and quiet.”

“That sounds nice,” McCoy nodded. He followed Scotty out the back door.

Scotty wasn’t lying when he said it wasn’t even as big as the grove. But it was laid out nicely with flower beds and a path.

“There’s a sort of bench at the back by the birdbath,” Scotty said.

“Sounds perfect,” McCoy said, taking Scotty’s hand. He leaned in and kissed him before letting Scotty lead him to the bench.

Part 238

Scotty

They sat down and looked up at the stars which slowly started to shine. They weren’t nearly as big as the ones on Georgiares. Scotty would miss them a lot now that he was back on Earth.

“I… have nothing,” Scotty quietly whispered. Compared to Leonard’s home, this place was just… unspectacular. So was the town. And everything else.

When Leonard squeezed his hand, Scott looked aside to see the prince shaking his head.

“Don’t say that Scotty. You have everything you need. A warm nice home. A great family. Friends. Weren’t you the one who always said that wealth doesn’t matter?”

Scotty let out a sigh mixed with a chuckle.

“Aye, I know.”

He had always preached that money didn’t matter. And now? Look at him… he was feeling insecure about his own surroundings.

“I’m sorry. Ye’re right. I have everything.”

Scotty leaned over to kiss Leonard before he rested his head on the boy’s shoulder.

“After all… I have ye mo gràdh.”

Leonard was everything he needed. Of course the palace and Georgiares II had been breathtaking and amazing. But nothing could ever make his heart beat like Leonard being close to him.

“Unfortunately though your mum won’t let us share all of our time together, huh?” Leonard whispered and Scotty laughed, snuggling closer.

“Well… She doesn’t have to know. I could sneak over to the guest room and change places with Spock.”

Scott felt Leonard running a hand through his hair before he pressed a kiss to the top of the Scotsman’s head.

“But I wouldn’t want to get on Francine’s bad side on my first night.”

Scotty just shrugged. He knew his mother. She would never be angry with a prince. Or with any other boy than her own sons as a matter of fact.

“Dinnae worry, I’ll take the blame.”

Scotty lifted his head up to smile at Leonard cheekily. The prince looked as amused as him.

“You’re my hero, Montgomery Scott.”

With that Leonard crushed their lips together and Scotty really had to pull himself together so that he didn’t fall over his boyfriend right there and then.

They had to wait until later that night.

When it got too cold to sit outside, the boys eventually made their way back inside.

Though it was summer, nights at Scotland could still get quite chilly. But that had never bothered Scotty very much. After all, he’d grown up in that place. It was only natural to him.

They were about to walk upstairs when a voice stopped them.

“Montgomery.”

Scotty stopped in his tracks and looked into the living room. His grandfather was resting in his armchair. He was all alone. Francine had already left for bed earlier and the other boys were up in Scotty’s room, playing games.

“Aye?”

His grandfather seemed to stare right through Scotty at the person standing behind him.

“I’d like to talk to yer boyfriend.”

Scotty felt Leonard tense next to him. The Scotsman glanced over his shoulder to look at him. His love looked very nervous suddenly. And Scotty felt the same racing of his own heart.

“Uhm… aye, of course.”

Scott stepped aside so that Leonard could walk into the living room.

“Alone.”

Scotty nodded slowly. What did his grandfather want to talk about? Why couldn’t he stay?

“Of course… I’ll be up in my room. Just… join us when ye’re ready.”

The Scotsman gave Leonard’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and then headed upstairs.

Hopefully everything was alright.

[luminescenc1e]

Violet looks small—fragile even—in moments like this, but I know better. She’s anything but. Every breath she takes is a reminder that she’s survived when she shouldn’t have. Yet even as I watch her, a gnawing ache twists inside me. It’s the memory of how close she came to slipping through my fingers. How close I came to losing her.

I can’t tell her to stop. Not Violet. I’ve tried before—gods, I’ve tried—and it only pushes her harder, makes her more determined to prove me wrong. I know her. I know how fiercely she clings to the idea that she can take on anything, no matter how much the odds are stacked against her. She’s never cared about her limits. But I do. I care more than I should, and that’s the problem.

Protecting her isn’t just about keeping her alive, though the gods know I’d burn the world down if it meant she’d never bleed again. It’s about keeping her from breaking—because I’ve seen what happens when she breaks. I’ve seen her fragile edges crack under the weight of everything she carries, under the pressure she puts on herself. And if I’m being honest, I don’t know if I’d survive that. Watching her fall apart. Not again.

She’s reckless. Brilliant and reckless.

And gods help me, I love her for it.

But it’s going to get her killed if I don’t do something.

I know she’d hate me for saying it, but there are moments—simple moments like this, when it’s just the two of us, arguing or training—that I wish she’d walk away. That she’d choose a life where she didn’t have to fight for every breath, every heartbeat. A life where I wouldn’t have to be terrified every damn day that the next time she walks into battle will be her last.

But that’s not who she is. She wouldn’t be Violet if she didn’t walk headfirst into the storm. And I wouldn’t love her the way I do if she wasn’t so determined to prove that she belongs in the thick of it.

“ We can fix that, but not today. We’ll work on your lower body tomorrow. Now, let’s go eat and you probably need to study. I unfortunately for you can’t be by your side the entire day. ” A rare smile before I move us both out of the training room and down the hallway. “ No one has tried anything, right? You wouldn’t keep it from me, would you?”

"I do pay attention." she growled back at him, wondering if she'd be quick enough to throw one of her daggers at him before he managed to side step. sShe had a feeling that would be giving in to what he wanted though, especially given his usual nickname for her. "Might be." Violet repeated right back at him. Silently praying to any of the Gods that were listening that she was getting under his skin as much as he was heres. It was the only balm to her irritation, knowing she pushed his buttons too.

"I do use both, it's just easier with my right and everyone knows that about me." Everyone know she was was weaker than most here, knew that a couple good hits and she would be struggling. Her jaw flexed at his words. She had certainly thought she had been sneaky with what she was doing, but if he had caught on then she was sure others wouldn't be far behind. Shit. "No shit." though she was still extremely proud of causing Jack Barlowe's allergies to flare up.

"I was there when people tried to kill me in my sleep, remember?" As nonchalant that she played that situation, it still played back in her head how close she had come to being sent to Malek that night. Then there was being annoyingly grateful to him for helping her.

A sigh escaped. "I know. I've just overdone it today. I'll be fine for training tomorrow." At least the sharp pains would be dull aches by then hopefully. At his words about staying in her saddle, she could hear Tairn growling in response down her bond with the Black Morningstar Tail. "No, I don't have the strength in my thighs and calves. Imogen's been helping with weight training, but it's not really helping." and as much as Tairn didn't like the insinuation that she was weak, even he'd been telling her during class that she was making them look bad.

[rphelperblog]

Couples Witness Protection Rp Meme

assorted-feel free to edit or change pronouns for rp uses inspired by some of the wanted threads on the lovely blog @bcrgondy​

“Not everyone is under witness projection for being a participant. I thought you would have known me enough to know better.”

“Honestly, the nice guy act was getting a bit hard to hold up.”

“Look, I get the whole hiding in plain sight thing, but isn’t putting two people that would be top on the kill list as husband and wife a bit like sitting ducks.”

“Someone really weird came to talk to me at work. they were describing you with a completely different name.”

“Wait- you look like my husband. He was an informant on some big trials and then disappeared.”

“I have stories from another life. Stories that might just make the devil weep.”

“It’s hard to admit, but, sometimes, becoming someone else is the only true way to know who you really are.”

“If this were to continue, we would have to go away together. Hide together with our lives like memoirs of people we have never known.”

“Would you resent me for choosing a way out of this that might just send our family into the program?”

“ I may be an agent, but it can also be like an acting coach.”

“Look, i am not just some farmer. A nice girl like you should really find a nice guy or gal or them to hang around.”

“The justice system truly creates many victims in its attempt to find justice for something only God or a time machine can fix.”

“Sometimes, it’s odd to want to be forgotten.”

“If you see these people or hear these names, you leave. And if they have you, promise me you will tell them my name immediately.”

“It takes a while to stop looking over your shoulder. You know how people talk in prison. Anyone out could relay your identity, but so many things could happen that thinking them over only rakes the placid lakes growing through you onto burning hot coals.”

“What a country this is were people who witness a crime are forced into a life utterly different to testify when the murders or dealers have the options of their freedom or a time served that wasn’t life.”

“Honey, is there a particular reason why a gun was pointed at my face earlier today?”

“This is a second chance card. If you choose it, be aware of all of the rules that come with it.”

“Do I stack up to what you imagined a felon to be?”

“Please don’t respond to the wrong name. My handler said that is the most frequent set of new lives people require.”

“It’s a wonder when you stop looking over your shoulder for the criminals and instead have nightmare visions of Sue from the pta learning about your past and days as an informant.”

“When the suburbian women say something about the ghetto, it is hard for me to keep all limbs inside the vehicle.”

“There is no going back to my old life. Do you realize that people like him have gangs of people ready to put someone in a body bag for doing what I did?”

“You identity is your life. Under no circumstances unless death is imminent, you keep hold of that secret as strongly as our lungs pull for air.”

“You told them?! I thought you loved me.”

“Hey! It’s a good question. I mean like you didn’t choose to snitch on people. You were either a really stupid criminal or a bad one.”

“Honestly sometimes, prison might be better than living under this hideous name in small town usa.”

“Well, there aren’t many scenic places to hide out after you witnessed a murder.”

“Usually, I am not the type to have my real life adhere to tropes, but I have never seen a light shine so bright like you. No matter how many times I tried to touch your soul with my blood tinged fingers- there was no fingerprint residue.”

“If they figure out who we are, I won’t hesitate to serve you up on a silver platter and I wouldn’t expect any less from you in my stead.”

“Please, you think I wouldn’t sell you out after what I did to my boss.”

[michaelbogild]

75 motivational quotes (not written by me)

1. When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us. 2. You can either experience the pain of discipline or the pain of regret. The choice is yours. 3. Your passion is waiting for your courage to catch up. 4. Magic is believing in yourself. If you can make that happen, you can make anything happen. 5. If something is important enough, even if the odds are stacked against you, you should still do it. 6. People who wonder if the glass is half empty or full miss the point. The glass is refillable. 7. Everything comes to him who hustles while he waits. 8. Invest in your dreams. Grind now. Shine later. 9. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit. 10. If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,’ then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced. 11. How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world. 12. Great things are done by a series of small things brought together 13. Very often, a change of self is needed more than a change of scene. 14. It’s not the load that breaks you down, it’s the way you carry it. 15. If you believe it’ll work out, you’ll see opportunities. If you don’t believe it’ll work out, you’ll see obstacles. 16. Don’t be pushed around by the fears in your mind. Be led by the dreams in your heart. 17. Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway. 18. At any given moment you have the power to say: this is not how the story is going to end. 19. Don’t limit your challenges. Challenge your limits. 20. Whenever you find yourself doubting how far you can go, just remember how far you have come. 21. In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity 22. Start where you are. Use what you have. Do what you can. 23. Dreams don’t work unless you do. 24. Go the extra mile. It’s never crowded there. 25. Would you like me to give you a formula for success? It’s quite simple, really: Double your rate of failure. You are thinking of failure as the enemy of success. But it isn’t at all. You can be discouraged by failure or you can learn from it, so go ahead and make mistakes. Make all you can. Because remember that’s where you will find success. 26. If you want to fly give up everything that weighs you down 27. Focus on being productive instead of busy. 28. When someone says you can’t do it, do it twice and take pictures. 29. I didn’t get there by wishing for it, but by working for it. 30. You’re so much stronger than your excuses 31. I choose to make the rest of my life, the best of my life. 32. If you don’t get out of the box you’ve been raised in, you won’t understand how much bigger the world is. 33. Twenty years from now you’ll be more disappointed by the things you did not do than the ones you did. 34. Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself. 35. A winner is a dreamer who never gives up. 36. The only thing standing in the way between you and your goal is the BS story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it. 37. The problem is not the problem. The problem is your attitude about the problem. 38. Nothing is stronger than a broken man rebuilding himself. 39. It’s not what happens to you but how you react to it that matters. 40. The best way to predict your future is to create it. 41. A diamond is merely a lump of coal that did well under pressure. 42. You could rattle the stars,” she whispered. “You could do anything, if only you dared. And deep down, you know it, too. That’s what scares you most. 43. Remember, you have been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens. 44. Practice makes progress not perfect. 45. Quitters never win. Winners never quit! 46. Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything. 47. We delight in the beauty of the butterfly, but rarely admit the changes it has gone through to achieve that beauty. 48. The secret of change is to focus all your energy, not on fighting the old, but on building the new. 49. If you talk about it, it’s a dream. If you envision it, it’s possible. If you schedule it, it’s real. 50. The key to success is to start before you are ready. 51. Stop being afraid of what could go wrong, and start being excited about what could go right. 52. Defeat is a state of mind; no one is ever defeated until defeat is accepted as a reality. 53. Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. 54. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default. 55. Success is going from failure to failure without losing your enthusiasm 56. Why do we grieve failures longer than we celebrate wins? 57. Failure isn’t the end of the road. It’s a big red flag saying to you ‘Wrong way. Turn around. 58. Whenever you feel like a failure, just remember that even Coca Cola only sold 25 bottles their first year 59. Take the risk or lose the chance. 60. Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. 61. Act as if what you do makes a difference. It does. 62. If you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room. 63. If it doesn’t challenge you, it doesn’t change you. 64. The best thing you can do is MASTER the chaos in you. You are not thrown into the fire, you ARE the fire. 65. Flowers grow back even after the harshest winters. You will too. 66. Do something today that your future self will thank you for.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

What’s yours is mine 1

Warnings: nonconsent and rape, allusions to abuse, stalking, possessiveness, pregnancy, and more tags to be added.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: dark!Ransom Drysdale x pregnant!Reader

Summary: After five years, your past is far behind you but just as you think you can live your happily ever after, your ex shows up at the worst moment.

Note: I couldn’t sleep and ended up writing this and it will not be a long ongoing series but it will be a few parts. But Roo you say that all the time. Yes, well, I’m trying and I’m sorry but I’m gonna try to not be the worst.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

“Oh my god, is that really you?” the voice made you stand stalk straight.

You took a breath and forced a smile before you turned to the indomitable woman. You never expected to see Linda again, not after you broke up with her son almost five years ago. And there she was, as rigid and righteous as ever, her thin lips curved in a mocking grin.

“Linda,” you greeted her in a singsong and looked around the grocery store. You never went to the overpriced organic market but your local shop didn’t have dragonfruit and you had a painful craving, “how are you?”

“Darling, I’m just great,” she held an empty basket on her arm, an odd sight as you never expected her to do her own shopping, “oh, and look at you!” Before you knew it, her hand was on your stomach and you struggled not shy away, “how far are you?”

“Um,” you looked down at the large ring on her finger and resisted the urge to step away as you often did in this situation, “almost five months.”

“And married?” she grabbed your left hand and pretended to admire the small teardrop diamond, “gorgeous.”

“Mhmm,” you waited for you to release you and swayed in place, “you barely look a day older than the last time I saw you.”

“You’re well? You look well,” she primped her short hair at the compliment, “oh, a baby.” She reached out again and you sighed as she rubbed your stomach, “for luck.”

You tried not to frown and ended up laughing at the tension, “well, it was nice running into you.”

“Oh, you know, I barely come down here but we’re headed up to my father’s place, you remember, such a cozy house, and Joni is in charge of food and well, I wouldn’t trust her with a plastic spoon so of course, I have a back up plan.”

You nodded along with her awkwardly, frozen in the spot as the dragon fruit barely seemed worth the torture. Linda was hard to please and alway derisive, but for as long as you were with Ransom, she had taken a keen shine to you. That alone came with an edge but it was rarely used to cut you.

You forced another laugh, “that sounds fun, getting away from the city.”

“Ugh, just another family gathering,” she waved it off with her free hand, “I’ll have to tell Ransom I ran into you, if he even shows up.”

“Well, I don’t think--”

“He’s grown up so much,” she interrupted, “you wouldn’t believe it. He got his own imprint in my father’s company publishing true crime. He’s really making a place for himself now.”

“That’s great,” you tried not to falter at the mention of her son. You hadn’t ended on the greatest terms and your relationship had been tumultuous and regrettable.

“I hope you have a great weekend, Linda,” you said, “but I got to--”

“Oh, not at all, I’m keeping you,” she squeezed your arm, “God, he was such an idiot to let you go.”

You nodded and swallowed through your tight throat, “I’m glad he’s doing better for himself.”

“You too,” she trilled, “oh, before I let you go, darling, is it a boy?”

You blinked and your smile wavered, “how did you know?”

“I could always tell,” she said, “so precious.”

She gave your stomach one last pat and disappeared into the produce section. You blinked as you looked down at the scaled fruit in your right hand. Chocolate, you needed chocolate.

You were rattled as you waited in the express line and put your things on the belt. You hadn’t thought of Ransom in a very long time. Not much. His shadow followed you around in those moments when your heart raced and your head spun, but you had learned to work through those fits. No one else knew what happened behind closed doors, they only knew Ransom, not Hugh.

You paid and shoved your fruit and candy into a paper bag. You headed out into the misty spring air. The rain had finally stopped and left the streets slick and shining. The sun was hazy as it clung to the last of the clouds and you inhaled the wet scent of grass and gravel.

You let your key hang from the ignition as you took a moment to gather yourself. You stared at the modest ring on your finger and held your stomach and you swore you could still feel Linda’s bony hand there. 

You had a loving husband, Dez, and a son on the way. Ransom wasn’t a part of any of that and this was just a blip on radar, the aftershock of the storm that ended years before. You sniffed and turned the engine. You wouldn’t go back to that store, it was far too expensive and the clientele were certainly not of your ilk.

🍼

Dez was in the kitchen when you got home, the smell of steak and peppers rose from the frying pan. You kissed his cheek as he kept one hand on the spatula and you dropped your bag on the counter beside the stove. You went to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of water. You turned and leaned against the marble and drank deeply.

“So, hon, how was your day?” he asked as he put the spatula down and peeked in the bag, “hmm, odd pairing but I don’t hate it.”

“I had a craving,” you shrugged, “it was… okay,” you heaved, “what’s for dinner?”

“Steak fajitas,” he said, “I trimmed the fat for you and,” he turned and reached out to you, “and I got you some champagne… non-alcoholic, obviously.”

“You know it doesn’t have the same effects,” you kidded as you put your glass down and settled into his arms, “and well,” you looked down at your stomach, “we already got one drunken night growing.”

He laughed and bent to kiss you on the lips. He rocked you as the pan sizzled behind him. You closed your eyes and tensed as suddenly your head flashed with the memory of Ransom, of the way he’d kiss you, harder than Dez, and the way it always turned to more whether you wanted it or not.

“Hey,” Dez pulled back, “you okay?”

“Yeah,” you lied, “hormones.”

“Aw, hon, well I have the perfect dessert planned,” he purred.

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm, strawberry massage oil,” he framed your face with his hand, “a nice long back rub…”

“Perfect,” you giggled, “why are you spoiling me?”

“Don’t I always?” he smirked.

“Hmm, rarely without reason,” you said.

“Well…” he voice trailed off and slowly he dropped his arms. He turned his back to you and grabbed the pan, stirring the contents with a shake, “I didn’t want you to miss me too bad.”

“Miss you?” you came forward and bent your arms over the counter, “where are you going?”

“Chicago, there’s some evidence down there we need to look at and they refuse to transfer it to our office so… bullshit confidentiality clause, but we need it.”

“How long?” your heart dropped.

“Well, I gotta leave in the morning but I told Gary I won’t stay longer than Monday.”

“And what did he say?”

“He laughed,” Dez shook his head, “I promise, I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I can--”

“No, I understand,” you said gloomily, “it’s just…” you cupped your chin and tapped your lips with your fingertips, “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too,” he said as he turned the burner off, “and this little guy,” he touched your stomach and you shivered as you remembered how Linda had done the same with her cold palm, “so, you choose a name yet?”

“Still not naming him Superman, babe,” you chided, “but no, I can’t make up my mind. God, it’s like my mind is in shambles, I can’t remember why I go in a room or even focus on one thing for more than two minutes before I’m distracted by what colour I want to paint the nursery and I can’t even decide on that because then I’m thinking about what kind of wood the crib should be--”

“It’s fine, you’re fine,” he assured as he opened the bag of tortillas, “you’re still there, you’re just… sharing a brain right now.”

“Wasn’t enough to go around in the first place,” you scoffed.

“Shh,” he arranged the plates carefully, like a five star restaurant, tortillas stacked, steak and veg together, a little dish of cheese, some sour cream, lettuce, salsa, all divvied out in a spectacular salsa you would only make a mess of.

“I thought the pregnancy would give me a chance to finish my book, but--”

“Well, you got maternity leave after that,” he said.

“From what? Sitting at my keyboard and crying? I’ll just be holding a baby and crying,” you sighed, “you said you’d take some time off.”

“I did say that and I will,” he grabbed the plates and nodded you out of the kitchen. He set the plates on the table and you sat as he went to grab two glasses and as many bottles. He poured you your spineless champagne and had a beer for himself, “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You can’t take forever off,” you muttered, “we both know that. I could go back to copywriting and maybe--”

“Babe, that job made you miserable and you will finish your book,” he handed you a napkin, “I’ve read your stuff, it’s… you said your ex was in publishing?”

“Did I?”

“I thought you did, you never really… talk about the exes, which I love but, I think you said something about it. You don’t think he would--”

“No,” you snapped, “no,” you said softer, “he wouldn’t.”

“Sorry,” he said startled by your reaction, “I didn’t--”

“It’s nothing, I just-- exes, right?”

“It was a stupid suggestion,” he said, “I’m sorry, but… I have a client, he might have some contacts.”

“You don’t have to do that--”

“I don’t have to, I want to because the world deserves to hear your voice,” he insisted, “I hate to share you but I’d be selfish to keep you to myself.”

You smiled and unfolded a tortilla. Still, your heart raced as the second mention of Ransom that day had you on edge. Dez watched you build your fajita and you looked up at him.

“Well, since you’ll be in Chicago, maybe I’ll get a few pages done.”

🍼

The call came on Monday, Dez wouldn’t be home that night. You contented yourself to stay in with your laptop and sugar cookies. Still, you barely got a sentence done before you snapped your computer closed and gave up with a frustrated grunt. You slept, not well, and got up with some trouble as your hips ached.

A good morning text from Dez made you smile but there was still no promise of an impending return. You felt pent up in the apartment and lonely as its emptiness reminded you of your absent husband. Too tense to sit down and type, you opted to go for a walk, hoping it would calm your nerves.

You walked past the shop windows and stopped to peek in at used books and handmade candles. You had no destination in mind, only a restless step. There was a little store at the corner with locally made quilts and knitted sweaters. The smell of potpourri wafted out from beneath the painted door and made your throat tickle. Even so, your curiosity drew you inside.

A small woman greeted you from behind the desk. She held two needles as she crocheted some indistinguishable craft. You smiled and said hello as you headed down the centre aisle. You looked along the racks of quilts, floral, striped, plaid, and polka dot. You stopped at a bright yellow piece with honey bees along the border. You hadn’t thought of yellow for the nursery.

You felt the soft fabric and checked the tag. You lifted the quilt from the bar, content that it was worth it and a great motivator. You stopped before you could turn back, a familiar voice chilled your blood.

“It’s cute,” Ransom said as he stepped up next to you, “kinda girly for a boy though.”

You glanced over at him and folded the blanket over your arm. You backed up but as you turned he did too. He blocked your bath as he stretched his arm across the aisle.

“My mother told me you were expecting,” he said, “and she was right, you look good.”

“What do you want?” you whispered as you clutched the quilt.

“Nothing, just saying hello,” his mouth slanted.

“Hugh, I’m not stupid,” you hissed, “it’s been five years.”

“Hugh,” he repeated dully, “you remember your manners.”

“Leave me alone and let me past,” you tried to duck under his arm but he shifted his body over and backed you up to the end of the aisle.

“And married,” he taunted.

“He’s outside,” you lied, “if I stay too long--”

“I didn’t see him when you walked up,” he intoned, “he must be easy to miss.”

“Have you been following me?” you uttered.

“Only from the cafe,” he shrugged, “short walk.”

“Please, get away from me,” you quivered.

“I’m not doing anything--”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hissed, “now I will scream so move.”

“Mama Bear,” he crooned, “I love it, you’re so protective.”

“Hugh,” you warned.

“Sweetie,” he hummed.

You shoved his shoulder but he didn’t move. You hit him harder and he winced. He chuckled and stood straight. He waved his arm down the aisle and stepped aside.

“Don’t make a scene,” he said, “you always did like to be dramatic.”

“Fuck you,” you snarled, “don’t come near me again.”

“Don’t act like you don’t miss me,” he called after you as you dropped the quilt on the counter, “we were so good together.”

You left without buying, a shrill apology to the lady at the counter as you went as fast as you could out the door. The bell tinkled after you and the door clamored shut. You felt nauseous and dizzy. The last thing you wanted or needed was to ever see that man again.

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Tags by @chai-chahiye-yr

Really I vastly LIKE Jiang Cheng from the book because he is very stubbornly invested on his every impulsive thought as being in the right as he goes through life. When Lotus Pier was attacked, it was Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's fault. His dedication to his impulsive cruelty streak is what is tragic to him, he doesn't know how to control that and why Jin Ling at the start mirrors all the worst he has learned from Jiang Cheng.

Impulsively Jiang Cheng IS dedicated to something, in the moment, until the second his thought decides to change for the benefit of his own survival.

When he is worried about Wei Wuxian being whipped by Madam Yu, he is concerned and protecting Wei Wuxian, until Lotus Pier falls, then it's Wei Wuxian's fault. He does want ti protect Wei Wuxian from the Wens, until he loses his core in consequence and thinks if it had not been for Wei Wuxian he wouldn't have lost it. Then when Wei Wuxian gave him the favor from "Baoshan Sanren", and so that hate once more can go to the Wens and Wen Ning in particular who he does not have to show a sense of shallow loyalty to. But as soon as Wei Wuxian defects and causes him trouble in his eyes, he is able to rescind that protection and use it as an ultimatum of choosing The Wens over Yunmeng Jiang.

This is later another shift of loyalty back to Wei Wuxian again once more when he is made to see that he has to show a modicum of help to Wei Wuxian after the core transfer is revealed.

Jin Guangyao was right when he said this,

"Sect Leader Jiang, calm down. I understand how you feel right now. You’re furious because you found out the truth about your golden core. Looking back on what you’ve done over the years, your proud heart feels a little guilty. You’re anxious to find a villain culpable for what happened to Wei-gongzi in his former life, a fiend whom you can saddle with the blame. Then you’ll lash out against him to avenge Wei-gongzi—and to relieve yourself a little of the burden.

"Perhaps you think that blaming me for everything from the Thousand Sores and Hundred Holes curse to the Qiongqi Path Ambush can alleviate your troubles. By all means, go ahead. It doesn’t matter if you think that way. But you have to understand that you are also responsible for what happened to Wei-gongzi. In fact, you played a large role. Why did so many people dedicate themselves to crusading against the Yiling Patriarch? Why did everyone involved—and even those who had nothing to do with the matter at all—donate their voices to the cause?"

Why was there such an overwhelming number of people baying for his blood? Was it really their sense of justice at work? Of course not. Part of the reason…was you.”

Jiang Cheng scoffed. Lan Xichen, knowing Jin Guangyao was trying to sow discord again, growled, “Sect Leader Jin!”

Jin Guangyao remained unmoved and continued with a candid smile. “…At the time, the Jin Clan of Lanling, the Nie Clan of Qinghe, and the Lan Clan of Gusu contended with one another to divide the lion’s share

of the cultivation world among them. The other clans only had crumbs to nibble on. You had just rebuilt Lotus Pier, and you also had the immeasurably dangerous Yiling Patriarch in your corner. Do you think the other clans were happy to see such a young family head with such power? Fortunately, your relationship with your shixiong seemed strained. Everyone saw this was something they could exploit, so naturally, they tried their best to add fuel to the flames if it would make you two fall out with one another. They were making themselves more powerful by keeping the Jiang Clan of Yunmeng from growing stronger.

"Sect Leader Jiang, if only your attitude toward your shixiong had been just a little better in the past… It would’ve made your bond seem unbreakable, which would have made everyone aware the odds were stacked against them and abandon their attempts to sow discord. If you’d shown more tolerance after the incident, then things would not have ended up the way they did. Which reminds me, you also led one of the main forces in the Siege of the Burial Mounds…”

“Looks like ‘son of a whore’ really is Sect Leader Jin’s sore spot,” Wei Wuxian said. "No wonder you killed Chifeng-zun.”

If he was less hateful, resentful and jealous based on his own insecurities and frames it all as Wei Wuxian's fault or for Wei Wuxian to fix based on what Jiang Cheng wanted on constant whims, none of this would have been able to be exploited. But then unfortunately a kinder Jiang Cheng is not a reality for their world.

To add on, he even in their youth was cruel, he always had and showed that capacity until it became extreme. CQL simply decided to play it off as he changed when in the original work he was always cruel.

i don't quite get why so many people believe cql version of jc is somehow better/softer than in the novel. i mean the dude didn't kill his 'bro' by stabbing him but he was going to eliminate wwx AND lwj (or cripple lwj by cutting his hand). honestly, idr what his role in the murder of the wens was in this verse but it doesn't look good either with his feelings for wq and all.

In part I think the answer is because CQL did make Jiang Cheng far more invested in a sort of sibling dynamic early on with Wei Wuxian, but, I also saw this as a harder and crueler phase from him later on as his actions remained the same after. It made him come off far more shallowly and callous (when he already was).

He did actively choose to agree to the pact to kill Wei Wuxian in CQL, it all just ended with Wei Wuxian dying immediately instead of the clans and sects attacking later in further retaliation, with Jiang Cheng still posited as a lead of it with Jin Guangshan. It was also a bit... mmm sickly and creepy, I guess, in my opinion, for Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing to mirror the tragedy of Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Since unlike Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng gave her an ultimatum to his love. As where Lan Wangji was unsure of how to help significantly until later in life for his redemption.

[gatorprompts]

✧ — ⋆   𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .

from  the  2021  album  by  marina .  swearing  and  blood  references  present .

ANCIENT  DREAMS  IN  A  MODERN  LAND . 

“ we’re  not  here  so  we  can  blow  it  all . ” “ we  could  bear  witness  to  the  ride  and  fall . ” “ ancient  dreams  in  a  modern  land . ” “ i’m  trying  to  get  back  as  fast  i  can . ” “ you  don’t  have  to  be  like  everybody  else . ” “ you  are  not  here  to  conform . ” “ i  am  here  to  take  a  look  inside  myself . ” “ i  could   be  the  eye ,  the  eye  of  the  storm . ” “ i  am  not  my  body ,  not  my  mind  or  my  brain . ” “ i  am  the  observer . ” “ i  live  in  the  space  between  the  stars  and  the  sky . ” “ what’s  your  purpose ? ” “ you  could  be  lost ,  but  you  belong  to  the  world . ” “ the  walls  are  being  broken  and  we’re  ready  for  a change .”

VENUS  FLY  TRAP .

“ whatever  you  give  life  you  will  get  back . ” “ why  be  a  wallflower  when  you  can  be  a  venus  fly  trap ? ” “ i  never  quite  fit  in  to  that  hollywood  thing . ” “ i  didn’t  play  that  game  for  the  money  or  the  fame . ” “ i  did  it  my  way ,  baby . ” “ nothing  in  this  world  could  change  me . ” “ don’t  underestimate  me . ” “ one  day  you’re  gonna  see  you’re  in  a  losing  battle . ” “ babe ,  you’ll  never  stop  being  me . ” “ i  got  the  beauty ,  got  the  brains . ” “ got  the  power ,  hold  the  reins . ” “ i  should  be  motherfucking  crazy . ” “ i  sacrificed  it  all  for  a  life  to  call  mine . ” “ i  know  that  money  ain’t  important . ” “ i  earned  it  all  myself ,  i’m  a  millionairess . ” “ they’ll  shame  you . ”

MAN’S  WORLD .

“ i’m  a  strawberry  soda ,  raise  my  lashes  to  heaven . ” “ stars  in  my  hair  running  like  a  waterfall . ” “ burnt  me  at  the  stake ,  you  thought  i  was  a  witch  centuries  ago . ” “ i  don’t  wanna  live  in  a  man’s  world  anymore . ” “ maybe  it’s  time  you  comprehend . ” “ don’t  punish  me  for  not  being  a  man . ” “ women  are  violets  coming  to  light . ” “ don’t  underestimate  the  making  of  life . ” “ the  planet  has  a  funny  way  of  stopping  a  fight . ”

PURGE  THE  POISON .

“ all  my  friends  are  witches . ” “ mythical  bitches  making  our  own  sisterhood . ” “ while  society  is  falling ,  we  are  quietly  reforming . ” “ what  have  you  been  doing ? ” “ you  are  not  my  master . ” “ need  to  purge  the  poison . ” “ nothing’s  hidden  anymore . ” “ tell  me ,  who  do  you  think  you  are ? ” “ you  forgot  that  without  me ,   you  won’t  go  far . ” “ truth  and  all  its  glory . ” “ the  ending  of  the  story . ” “ our  life  as  we  knew  it  now  belongs  to  yesterday . ” “ i  just  want  a  world  where  i  can  see  the  feminine . ” “ cast  the  moon  under  our  spell . ” “ owning  female  power ,  taking  back  what’s  ours . ” “ earth  is  like  a  white  rose . ” “ a  place  so  corrupt . ”

HIGHLY  EMOTIONAL  PEOPLE .

“ life  is  a  game  that  the  universe  plays . ” “ we  are  the  pieces  in  a  puzzle  called  fate . ” “ emotions  unfold  like  a  superbloom  in  action . ” “ this  is  how  we’re  meant  to  be . ” “ we’re  just  highly  emotional  people . ” “ you  don’t  need  to  hide . ” “ sometimes  it’s  hard  to  tell  me  how  you feel . ” “ i  never  see  you  cry . ” “ feelings  come  up  and  you  push  ‘em  down . ” “ i  feel  your  pain  ‘cause  i  know  life  is  hard . ” “ you  can  let  go  of  the  pain  in  your  heart . ” “ people  say  men  don’t  cry . ” “ it’s  so  much  easier  to  lie . ”

NEW  AMERICA .

“ everything  that  made  you  great  only made  you  bad . ” “ made  the  people  hate  all  the  good  they  had . ” “ i  know  that  you  had  big  dreams . ” “ abuse  won’t  make  a  free  land . ” “ you  can’t  bury  the  truth . ” “ it’s  time  to  play  your  dues . ” “ stars  are  shining  for  you . ” “ now  our  food  doesn’t  taste  like  its  meant  to . ” “ they’ve  got  blood  on  their  hands . ” “ they  stole  all  the  land . ” “ and  all  the  lies  they’re  here  to  raise  make  them  feel  like  a  man . ” “ no  matter  what ,  the  story’s  catching  up  to  you . ” “ you’ve  been  in  pain  for  a  while . ” “ you  can’t  hide  your  secrets . ”

PANDORA’S  BOX .

“ you  almost  turned  me  psycho . ” “ i  almost  lost  my  mind . ” “ i  didn’t  know  the  depth  yet  of  someone  so  unkind . ” “ you  damaged  what  we  had . ” “ you  don’t  know  what  you  just  unlocked . ” “ i  lose  all  control . ” “ let  go  of  my  darkest  thoughts . ” “ ‘cause  i  see  the  truth  when  we  were  stacked  against  the  odds . ” “ i’ve  escaped  many  vices ,  but  i  can  never  escape  the  war  inside  my  skull . ” “ you  know  that  love’s  a  gift ,  but  it  can  also  be  a  curse . ” “ i  thought  it  would  get  better .   i  kept  my  hope  alive . ” “ i  don’t  wanna  be  the  bearer  of  pain  so  we  can  survive . ” “ i  pray  that  hope’s  not  lost . ”

I  LOVE  YOU ,   BUT  I  LOVE  ME  MORE .

“ i  love  you ,  but  i  love  me  more . ” “ don’t  come  back  knocking  at  my  door . ” “ you’ve  had  your  chance  and  now  you  want  more . ” “ do  you  expect  me  to  believe  that  you’ve  changed ? ” “ you’re  exactly  the  same . ” “ you’d  rather  shut  your  eyes  than  feel  any  pain . ” “ why  did  we  fuck  it  up ? ” “ told  you  before  that  love  isn’t  enough . ” “ how  can  i  trust  you  after  what  i’ve  been  through ? ” “ you  only  care  about  me  when  it  suits  you . ” “ women  love  too  early  and  men  love  too  late . ” “ your  promises ,  they  just  suffocate . ” “ why  did  you  mess  it  up ? ” “ are  you  worth  the  risk ? ” “ i  just  can’t  make  up  my  mind . ” “ i’ve  been  choosing  your  heart ,  your  heart  over  mine . ” “ i  don’t  understand  how  you  missed  all  the  signs . ” “ you’ve   had  your  chance  and  now  you  want  more . ”

FLOWERS .

“ now  we’ve  reached  the  end . ” “ i  think  it  made  me  stronger . ” “ i  would  rather  not  betray  myself  just  to  keep  your  love  at  any  cost . ” “ it’s  most  tempting  to  give  in  when  you  hear  the  firin’  shots . ” “ with  every  careless  action ,  you  let  me  slip  away . ” “ if  you  just  bought  me  flowers ,  maybe  i  would’ve  stayed . ” “ you  didn’t  think i  was  serious . ” “ i  guess  you  felt  so  safe . ” “ the  seeds  we  planted  grew ,  but  not  like  roses  do . ” “ we  had  the  thorns  and  leaves ,  but  the  buds never  bloomed . ” “ now  my  future  gleams  with  colours  bold  and  bright ,  in  a home  that’s  filled  with  love  and  hope . ” “ it’s  more  tempting  to  give  in  when  you’re  almost  at  the  top . ” “ when  you’re  steps  from  winning  back  all  the  happiness  you  lost . ” “ there’s  no  heartbreak  left  to  feel . ” “ after  you  made  your  choices ,  i  melted  away  like  snow . ” “ you like  lying  to  yourself . ” “ now  i’ll  never  know  what  parts  of  your  love  were  for  real  and  which  parts  were  for  show . ”

GOODBYE .

“ heaven ,  if  there’s  a  star  for  us ,  up  there  in  your  lovers’  universe ,  shine  your  light  down  on  me . ” “ another  life  waits  to  unfold ,  maybe  one  day  if  we’re  lucky . ” “ i  fucked  it  up ,  i  lost  it  all . ” “ my  life  might  not  be  what  i  thought ,  but  i  wouldn’t  change  a  thing . ” “ i  will  never  be  yours  again . ” “ never  wanted  our  love  to  end . ” “ goodbye ,  my  friend . ” “ maybe  we  won’t  meet  again . ” “ you’ll  always  be  my  closest  friend . ” “ i  hope  you’ll  always  be  happy . ” “ some  mistakes  are  hard  to  learn . ” “ broken  hearts  are  quick  to  burn  and  slow  to  heal  easily . ” “ i’ve  been  a  mother  to  everyone  else . ” “ goodbye  to  the  girl  that  i  was . ” “ goodbye  to  the  girl  that  you  lost . ” “ nobody  can  take  our  love  down . ” “ it’s  safe  inside  our  memories . ” “ i  won’t  forget  how  you  healed  me . ”

[thefanficmonster]

Take That!

Corpse Husband & Reader (Female) ft. Streamer Gang

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Suppressed Sadness, Swearing

Genre: Platonic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: What is a friend? Your smile through the tears. The umbrella over your head when it starts raining. The ointment to your wound. But if you wanna put it in a more literal manner, a friend is something that doesn’t have a concrete definition. It can be the person you sit next to in class or the person who’s hundreds of miles away from you and you’re connected to through a Discord call.

Requested by Anon. Hello dear! Thank you so much for your request, sorry it’s taken me so long to complete and post it but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the read if you happen to come across the fic. Love, Vy ❤

There are those days when I wake up excited for a new day. There are also those days when the thought of playing Among Us with my friends is all that gets me out of bed. And then there are those days when not even that can get me to budge. Today is one of those days.

I’d still be in bed right now had I not needed to use the bathroom. On my way back to hide under my covers, I heard my cat’s meow from the kitchen, reminding me she needed to be fed. After tending to that task I just sort of lost will to return to bed either. Speaking truthfully, today is a will-less day. The type of day where I have no idea what to do with myself because I feel so odd and uncomfortable: heavy and bustling head, motivation below zero no matter whether I have zero tasks to tend to or a mountain high pile of work. It’s a laying on the floor and letting my mind eat away at me type of day and I can’t say I appreciate it.

The only thing I have to look forward to is the game of Among Us Corpse invited me to yesterday. Had I known I’d wake up feeling like absolute shit, I wouldn’t have accepted. I just know I’ll be a downer the whole time because I suck at covering up how I feel - my smiling masks and faux happiness don’t cut it but staying quiet is even worse because I’m typically and energetic and bubbly person, always having something to say or a comment to add to the conversation. Always looking to make people laugh.

Well, it’s hard to make people laugh when you feel like a deflated balloon.

I can’t describe the feeling any better than that - I feel empty, maybe a little sad somewhere in the mix, unmotivated. I keep these feelings to myself cause whenever I bring them up people just blow me off, saying I’m describing laziness but more dramatically. Either that or burnout which is sometimes the case, but I’m more than sure that it’s not the culprit for today. You can only blame burnout so many times.

Anyway, I make a mental note, promising myself I’m not gonna bail on my friends regardless of whether my mood gets better or worse. Who knows, maybe a gaming session with them is exactly what I need.

                                                              *  *  *

Not much has changed with my emotional state - I’ve spent a good chunk of the day surfing through TV channels and my socials with nothing else to occupy my mind but the overwhelming knowledge that I’m not feeling ok and that hyperawareness of a void that I feel but cannot describe. At one point, Corpse sent me a text to confirm I’d be participating in the gaming session and I was this close to saying no. This close to coming up with some bullshit excuse and bailing but I didn’t, thankfully. 

Here’s the thing about this drop in mood of mine - I know it’s gonna be gone by morning. It bullies me, beats and batters me for only twenty four hours - never more, never less. Like clockwork and as precise as a Swiss watch. And so fucking annoying. No matter what I do, I can’t end it prematurely and I can never wake up feeling down and unmotivated the next morning - there’s always a surge of motivation coursing through me and it drives me to be super productive as if making up for what I didn’t do the previous day when I was in the dumps.

It’s a twisted way of it showing me I’m powerless and at the mercy of a force that, despite being mine and existing within me, I’m completely unfamiliar with. It’s so fucking unfair, it’s disheartening.

“Hi everyone! Sorry I’m late.“ I greet the five people who have already gathered in the Discord call and the Among Us lobby.

Yeah, sorry I’m late, I was contemplating not showing up at all last minute

“Don’t worry about it, many people are running late as you can see.“ Rae replies reassuringly, “How’s your day? Anything spectacular happen?“

I can’t help but scoff, “Yeah sure, a TON of spectacularism in my life on the daily. From the large stack of papers I couldn’t bring myself to touch, to the dusty surfaces all over my apartment I didn’t convince myself to clean - it’s all fabulous over here.”

Fuck, that was too real

“Whoa, where’d all this sarcasm come from?“ Rae asks, sounding genuinely baffled rather than teasing, “It’s never been your strong suit.“

“Neither has unproductivity.“ Corpse, my best friend, chimes in, “Everything ok?“

Well, I admit, I should’ve known better than to have an outburst like that in front of people who have known me for a while now and can probably gauge my emotions even without me admitting to them. I truly don’t know where it came from. Hell, I didn’t even see it coming.

“Nah, it’s ok. I’m just being lazy, I guess.” I’m quick to withdraw and brush off any suspicion. The last thing I want is to worry my friends or, even worse, receive the same response from them: that I’m being dramatic, that I’m attention-seeking, that I’m just lazy and unmotivated as are most people of my generation.

“You know, what people often self-diagnose as ‘laziness’ often turns out to be something more serious. I don’t mean to scare you, but it could be depression.“ Corpse says after a brief moment of silence in the call, his voice soft and cautious as if explaining a complex problem to a kid who’s bound to be hurt by what it’s told.

I can’t help but chuckle. He has no idea how much he’s relieved me by saying that. I always ‘don’t want to talk about it’ and ‘want to change the subject’ while what I truly need happens to be the complete opposite. I need someone to hear me out, I need someone who will not brush me and my concerns off like we don’t matter. I need someone who’ll understand. And if these people who have openly struggled with anxiety or depression don’t get me, who will?

“Yeah, I genuinely thought I thought of myself as a lowlife while I was in college cause I started losing motivation for everything and started fearing what was to come. I began avoiding going out and talking to people cause I felt like I was the sore thumb in the friend group I had - the only one without any specific goal or a dream.“ Leslie says out of the blue, “Turns out I suffered through a burnout so bad it turned into an anxiety/depression combo that I just blamed on being a lazy college student.“

“Same here!“ Toast pipes in, “I was bedridden for a while during the first days of my streaming career, for a very ridiculous reason - I believed I didn’t deserve the attention I was getting and I wasn’t doing as well as people gave me credit for. So that had me crippled with self-doubt for a long while.“

“I still don’t believe I’m doing as well as I get credit for, but oh well.“ Leslie laughs, “I already told you all about my dumpster-fire of a brain, so I’m instead gonna say: what you need is an appointment with a therapist. Also - you need to stop underestimating your struggles. Invalidating yourself and what you’re going through is gonna make things only worse for you. You need to love yourself.“

“And you need us!“ Rae exclaims, “You need the best support you can get and, lucky for you, we’re the best in the business. Count on us always being there for you, Y/N. Cause we always will be.“

“You’re never alone. We’re all just a call or a text away. Especially me.“ Corpse adds, “I’m basically at your service 24/7, just like you’ve always been for me. What are best friends for if not sharing mental struggles and lifting each other up afterwards?“

I don’t know when this smile made its home on my face but it seems to be rather happy with where it is and wants to stay. Something tells me that thanks to these guys, it will indeed stay there for quite some time. And every time it tries to slip away, they’ll be there to bring it back.

“Then let’s lift each other up, shall we? I mean, what better way to do it other than killing each other and getting away with it?“ I attempt a giggle, hiding my emotions behind it like my life depends on it. Chances are they heard all I’m feeling in my voice, but I can only hope they’re not gonna mention it.

“Y/N, hun, I’m sorry to burst your bubble but....you never get away with it.“ Corpse wheezes, causing me to narrow my eyes and frown.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it now!“ I exclaim, cracking my knuckles before getting my hands on my keyboard, “Start the game! I have a point to prove!“

And just like that, in what felt like the blink of an eye, the clouds have shuffled aside to make path for the sunshine to grace my brain with positivity I was not expecting to feel until tomorrow morning. I can’t give myself the credit for that though - it all goes to these amazing people I have the honor of calling friends.

I may have no power over it on my own, but with the gang’s help, I can take full control of it. And as a middle finger to the melancholy, I’ll do it all with a bright smile on my face.

Take that, brain!

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[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 6

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence, and a line that hints at past physical abuse (depending on how you choose to interpret it) Warnings: Mild TW for implied/referenced abuse Notes: Okay so this was supposed to be somewhat therapeutic? But it ended up taking longer to get to that part than I intended, so... Don't worry though, next chapter will be fluffy and also involve more, like, actual Daniela scenes. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2 Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco

Chapter 6: Elegy

(Elegy: A piece of music in the form of a lament)

When you dream, you do not dream of being locked in a tower, awaiting a kindly knight to come save you. When you dream… you dream of your old home, infested with monsters, nearly unrecognizable. Of being forced to flee, leaving everything you loved behind. Of escaping to a remote, quaint little village, only to end up trapped once again, as friendly faces morph into gaping maws and fangs dripping red. When you dream, it is less a nightmare, more memories retouched, covered in a fresh coat of paint.

Waking up is but a brief source of comfort. One hand goes to your head, rubbing gently, as if you could wipe away all traces of your past. A quick glance around your shared room leaves you confused, but serves as a welcome distraction. Though there are six beds in the room, yours is the only occupied one, the others having all been vacated and made presentable. The only explanation that fit with what you knew was that everyone had gotten up, and gotten to work, without waking you. Panic filled you as you connected the dots, knowing that missing work was a death sentence.

Rushing, you rise to your feet, throwing your dresser open to search for fresh clothes. While the castle’s staff was almost entirely female, the Dimitrescu family didn’t enforce traditional gender presentation, allowing maidens to choose whether to wear a dress or a button-up and trousers. Remembering the wound on your neck, you pause, glancing in the dorm’s singular mirror to inspect your injury. Most of the blood had rubbed off in your sleep (and would likely be a nightmare to clean from the sheets). There were, however, a few spots where dried blood mingled with the protective scab. Considering how late you already were, you didn’t believe you would have time to clean up.

As much as you hated the thought, the best you could do was go for a button-up, hoping the collar would hide the worst of your disastrous appearance. Your hair was another matter entirely, far messier than it normally was, and you struggled to brush/comb it enough to be mildly presentable. Good thing Daniela won’t see me today, you think, remembering her insistence on skipping today’s lesson.

Then you remember the rest of your conversation with her; the yelling, being dragged to your feet, and the pain in her eyes. For a moment you feel woozy, pausing in the middle of buttoning your shirt. Your eyes focus on a spot on the now-closed dresser… and suddenly you wish you had paid more attention when you first woke up. There’s a note stuck to the furniture, clearly addressed to you.

Heard you had some trouble yesterday. We’re just glad you’re alive! A certain someone has been a lot nicer since you started playing the piano, and we’re grateful. To show that, we decided to split your morning duties among ourselves, so you can sleep in. If you’re reading this, then it’s still before 4 AM. Feel free to just relax for a while, or even get some more sleep! We’ll be by to make sure you’re up eventually.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Rosalia, Ygritte, Alexandra, Juniper, and Riley

“I… have… freetime?” You mumbled, still a little drowsy, but now also shocked. This was a complete first for you. Maybe even a first among the servants! Sure, you had been given breaks before, but having a couple hours to do whatever you wanted? No one had ever pulled strings like this for you before. It made your chest feel warm, and you just about forgot the whole mess with Daniela. “I’ll have to find a way to pay them back, even if they think they’re paying me back.” With that said you relaxed a little, no longer rushing getting dressed, though still leaving your neck the way it was. You figured you’d stop by one of the maidens’ restrooms before you officially started your shift.

In the meantime, you knew exactly what you’d be using this time for: finding those damn piano books you had been promised!

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

“Let’s see… dust, more dust, a dead spider, even more dust, and- oh shit, the spider is not dead,” you said, barely holding in a yelp as the arachnid scurries away from you. If you had known the attic would be so unclean, you might not have bothered to come up here. So far your targets had alluded you without giving so much as a hint towards their location. The library had seemed a likely location, but you had heard Daniela’s voice within, and anxiety had sent you dashing away. Up here, in an area clearly used for storage above all else, was the next best guess, as far as you were concerned. Still, you hadn’t seen anything worth your time yet.

Just insects, really. Not even terribly interesting ones. Well, there had been a shiny beetle of some sort, but it had crawled into a crack in the wall mere seconds after you saw it. Other than that, though, nothing but creepy crawlies. Creepy flyers?... Both, for sure. One fly in particular kept buzzing around you, weirdly interested in what you were doing.

Somehow you didn’t understand what that meant until a firm hand had wrapped itself around your neck. The grip was tight, putting more than enough pressure to make your vision blur. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the culprit didn’t intend to just choke you out. Instead they lift you and toss you aside- casually, at that. You hit the wall with a terrible crashing sound, certain to leave bruises, and narrowly avoid toppling into a stack of heavy crates. So much for enjoying some free time, you think. Stunned for several seconds, you find yourself left helpless as your attacker approaches.

“You’re not allowed to be up here,” a voice snarled, familiar enough to leave you terrified. Of course you had to run into the most violent of the Dimitrescu sisters. “Looking for a way out, hmm? Or are you stupid enough to think we’d leave a weapon where a wretched thing like you could find it?” Cassandra asked, pausing only to send a swift kick your way. A grunt escapes you, leaves you coughing, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as hitting the wall. Despite wanting to curl up and give in, you tried to drag yourself to your feet. Surprisingly, Cassandra makes no move to stop you, perhaps enjoying the sight of you struggling.

“Lady… Daniela… gave me permission,” you said between painful breaths. By the time you’re back on your feet, the vampire before you is watching you with narrowed, albeit curious, eyes. Normally it would take a lot of courage to face her. But you’re exhausted, in pain, and you’ve taken nearly as much hurt from someone who called themselves your lover. It’s not brave to stare down Cassandra, it’s foolhardy. It’s idiotic, really, and yet you find yourself unable to care. “I’m just looking for a couple piano books I’ve been told about, so I can use them to help teach Lady Daniela.”

“Oh? You’re her instructor?” Cassandra asked, a strange smile overtaking her expression. Something in the atmosphere has shifted, dangerously, but you can’t figure out why. Clueless to your self-betrayal, you nod in response. Instantly Cassandra’s smile turns into an open-lipped snarl, and she reaches out to grab you by the shirt, this time slamming you into the wall with her own hands. “Then you’re the reason she kept me up yesterday, crying non stop! I’m going to rip you apart, you vermin.”

The look in her eyes is, most definitely, the scariest thing you had ever seen. It’s feral, inhuman, and unstoppably determined. But when tears fall from your eyes, it’s not because you know you’re about to die. No, it’s because the last thing you think you’ll ever hear is the news that your partner had been sobbing for hours… and that you were the reason why. Your heart aches, both physically and emotionally, as you brace yourself for the bloody end.

Instead, the grip on your clothes loosens. You don’t dare open your eyes to see why.

“What the fuck do you want, sis?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she had turned her head away from you. Before you know it you’ve been let go, and you slide to the ground, too surprised to hold yourself steady. When you look up, you see an irritated Bela pulling Cassandra away from you, whispering something you can’t quite hear. They argue for a minute, under their breath, keen on keeping you out of the loop. Eventually the younger of the two storms away, but not before making a dent in the wall with her fist.

“What a child,” Bela said, rolling her eyes at the display. Then she’s walking back towards you, extending a hand in an offer of assistance (one you gladly accept). “That girl has the foresight of a magic eight ball, I swear. If she had actually killed you… ugh, I can hardly stand to imagine how inconsolable Daniela would become. Then I’d have two insufferable sisters. Regardless, do tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to come up here unaccompanied? It is normally off limits for servants, after all.”

“I-I, well… I mean, firstly thank you for saving me, I had no idea-” Bela holds a finger up in a ‘shut up’ motion, then puts it away as soon as you pause- “right, you don’t care. Look, I was just trying to find the piano books that Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, but I’ve looked all over and I can’t find them, so I should really just go,” you explain, eager to get out of the attic. To your surprise, Bela gives you an odd look before turning away. Then she takes no more than five steps, shifts to the side, and opens an old cabinet. Inside you can see a dozen books of sheet music, notably from several different decades, all worn but still in decent condition. “How did-?... I thought I checked there.”

“Well, you must have been distracted. Nonetheless, you know where they are now, and you owe me twice over. With that in mind… come with me. We have things to discuss,” Bela commanded, walking away before you could protest. All you can do is grab the sheet music, tuck it under one arm, and follow her to who-knows-where.

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

“I’ll have to have you make my tea more often,” Bela mused, letting the mug keep her hands warm. The two of you were sitting in some sort of study, a room that you had never been inside before. From what you could tell it belonged solely to the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. Inside were several shelves, each filled with well bookmarked collections, a desk next to a massive window, a couple simple chairs, and a few instrument cases. All in all it was an aesthetically pleasing room, organized but not exactly neat. You could certainly imagine Bela spending entire days in this chamber. “Now, why do you think I brought you here?” Her voice brings your focus back into the present moment, as well as sends a spike of anxiety through you.

“Based on what nearly got me killed earlier… Does it have to do with Daniela crying?” You asked, doing your best to indicate just how bad you felt about the subject. No matter how cruel she could be, you did honestly care about Daniela, and even wanted a real, healthy relationship with her. Desire, or willingness, wasn’t the root of the problem by any means. Something told you that Bela understood this, maybe even respected you for it.

“Guess there’s more in that pretty head of yours than air and symphonies, hmm?” Bela replied, laughing a little as she did. It was a far nicer sound than Cassandra’s maniacal giggling, for sure. “Now, I don’t know all the details about what happened- just that there was an argument, clearly a bad one, and Daniela barely made it through dinner before locking herself in her room. Luckily for you, our mother doesn’t seem to know about your little ‘fight’. She’s not sure what upset Dani, and I doubt my sister would tell her, so your secret is safe. Assuming that I blackmailed Cassandra well enough, that is. Anyway, I can’t help you, and by extension my sister, if I don’t know the full story. In case it wasn’t clear, that’s your cue to start talking.”

You’re surprised, admittedly, by a number of things. But Bela seems impatient, so you go over the details of the previous night with her, occasionally pausing to let her ask questions. The whole time her focus is on you, unwavering. There’s also a noticeable lack of judgement in her expression, even when you voice your regret about how you handled the situation, and what is there seems directed more towards Daniela than yourself. Once you finish, Bela releases a deep sigh. One of her hands goes to rub her forehead as if warding off a migraine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised, as much as I wish I could. Daniela’s always had her head in the clouds, and it’s left her tripping over her own feet more than once. Still, this is certainly one of her bigger messes…” Bela said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this, aren’t I? There’s no way she’s going to process this correctly on her own.” This time she seemed to be talking to herself, gaze locked on her tea as if it might suddenly offer to speak to Daniela in her place. When the tea stayed silent, understandably, she returned her focus to you. “You seemed upset, earlier, about this ridiculous situation. I am going to assume, from that, you are genuinely interested in my dear sister. Normally, this would be the part where I drain you of all blood, and possibly keep your skull as a memento... mori. Yours would look lovely on a window sill, I think.”

She pauses, head tilting a little to the side, clearly evaluating your artistic value.

“However, Daniela appears to care about you, far more than her usual fleeting infatuations. So, for now, I have decided not to eviscerate you, you’re welcome,” Bela cooed, teasingly, enjoying the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Still, you were glad that you would apparently be surviving the day. “So I’m going to give you some advice, which you will take, and you won’t even owe me anything extra for this. Daniela is in love with the mere concept of love- and she has been for as long as I can remember. Romance novels are practically the only books she reads. It’s… embarrassing, truly. More than that, I get the impression that she couldn’t even begin to describe what love actually feels like. She’s digested so much of that written drivel that it warped her senses. Of course, the, ahem, situation we find ourselves in, here at the castle, has undoubtedly added to this effect.

“To get to the point, Daniela’s terribly, hopelessly clueless when it comes to things like what she wants from you. And so I take it upon myself, as her older sibling, to ensure that you understand. Moreso, that you are not dissuaded. If this is an actual chance for her to experience real romance, then it could make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Bela explained. The look in her eyes was incredibly soft, to the point where it made you realize just how much this odd little family cared for each other. “Don’t give up, don’t let her occasional infuriating antics push you away. Given enough time… I think the two of you could, I suppose, compliment each other quite nicely. But if you break her heart? I will pull yours from your chest and eat it raw. Understood?” Gulping, you nodded quickly, ignoring the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks. It was one thing for Bela to want her sister to be happy, but another thing entirely for her to acknowledge your “suitability” for the position. “Good. Now return to whatever it is you maidens normally do. I have a sister to talk sense into.”

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

Hours later, you stand alone in a display room, dusting various relics from bygone times. A trophy here, a bizarre art piece there, strange, unlabeled tools you can’t quite imagine are for wine-making. It’s a fascinating collection, really. But your mind is focused on other, far softer things. All you can think about is what Bela had told you, about how Daniela really is interested in you, and how she thought the two of you could make it work. After the chaos earlier in the day, this was exactly what you needed. Just some time to yourself, working quietly, thoughts all to yourself. Even your bruises bother you less, the pain fading out into the background. Considering where you are, though, it is not at all surprising that your peace cannot last. As soon as you finish your task you move towards the exit.

The door swings open, outwards, at your touch, only to reveal a familiar figure reaching for the doorknob. Both of you gasp, taken by surprise, before your gazes meet. Of course it’s Daniela. Who else would you bump into right now?

“I thought about what you said,” she blurts, suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking. “We need to talk, yeah?”

[duckprintspress]

Our Top 3 Tips for Writing Unreliable Narrators!

Unreliable narrators are a wonderful way to create an immersive, compelling story full of surprises for a reader, but they can be very difficult to write. Fortunately, we’re here to help! Here are our top three tips for writing an unreliable narrator - read on!

Have a writing-related question? Want some advice on a writing topic? Feel free to send us an ask! The only thing we love as much as writing is writing about writing!

On to our tips...

Tip 1. Everything, literally e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g, has to be seen through the lens of the narrator's unreliability. It's not just their inner monologue. It's how they perceive the entire world, and their challenges or delusions will and should color the entire story - what they notice, how they describe things, how they engage, what they choose to say, how they interpret what they hear, what decisions they make, etc. It's not enough to express their unreliability through inner monologue or relation of their thoughts. Especially if you're writing from a first person or third person limited point of view, if you want an unreliable narrator to work, you’ve gotta go “all in.”

(read more!)

Take depression as an example. If the character is depressed, they’re not going to look out on a sunny day and describe it as lovely and bright - unless to contrast it with their own unhappiness.

Or, suppose your character has hallucinations. Odds are, they’re not going to know they’re hallucinations, especially as they’re happening. In order to “sell” the events to a reader, it’s essential that there not be any obvious tells in the narration or descriptions...at least until it’s time for the character to realize they’ve been hallucinating. The first time it happens, especially, there’s absolutely no reason that a reader should realize it’s a hallucination - and after the first time, the way the first was written should have been immersive enough that the reader will always have to wonder, in the back of their head, “is this another hallucination?”

If the character believes something, your reader should believe it, until evidence starts to stack up that maybe something is off.

If the character sees something, your reader should be reading a description of that thing as the character sees it, until something changes that affects that perception.

In first person and third person limited PoV, your character is the reader’s avatar in the world, and the world should be seen through that character’s PoV...even if that character’s PoV is a card castle of lies about to be blown over. Write what your character experiences, sees, feels, interprets - not what’s actually around them.

Tip 2. Even as you sink the reader into the narrator’s headspace by writing through that lens, you have to keep track of what's actually happening. In my opinion the hardest part of writing an unreliable narrator is making it clear to the reader that the narrator is unreliable, and clueing readers in to what is actually happening, without breaking out of the unreliable narration. Have a plan for how you're going to do this going in, and be aware that no matter how careful you are a minority of readers will likely completely miss the point and your work will just not be for them. 

There are a lot of ways to get that across. Some will be very subtle (for example, a character believes in magic, but reading between the lines will make it clear there are normal explanations for everything), some easily misunderstood and heavily reliant on metaphor (for example, nightmares, PTSD or flashbacks, that show another angle on the character’s situation), and some are obvious (for example, switching PoV to someone who sees things differently). 

In some stories, you may never want to make it clear. The entire point may be to keep the reader unsure - to maintain the uncertainty of what was real and what wasn’t. Or maybe you’ll make it clear just by the preponderance of events that don’t make sense - people saying one thing while the unreliable narrator consistently reacts as if they’re saying another, for example. Like, if your unreliable narrator has a rival, and that rival is constantly saying things like, “hey, do you want a hand with that? I’d love your advice on this! Maybe we could work together!” it’s going to be clear to the reader fairly quickly that no matter how negatively the unreliable narrator is interpreting these statements, something isn’t matching up.

Use whatever tools you've got in your toolkit to leave a little trail of breadcrumbs about what is real and what is delusion/misperception...but don’t be afraid to leave a little mystery, either. 

Tip 3. Every narrator is an unreliable narrator. All aspects of a person’s personality and background will contribute to their view of the world not matching objective reality (is there such a thing?) and will help the reader to learn about that character. As an author, if you’re writing from a narrow or limited point of view, it’s essential to keep in mind that the PoV character sees everything through the lens of their life experiences. This can and should be communicated through phrasing, word choice, description, inner monologue, dialog - everything. A doctor will know terminology that a mechanic won't, and vice versa. Some characters will step into a room designed for a specific function and recognize everything in it. Others will be clueless and recognize nothing. This should be in the back of your mind with everything you write. 

Of course there is a question of degrees. A character with severe depression who thinks they are worthless is going to be a much less reliable narrator than, say, a patient who doesn't remember what a stethoscope is called. The more unreliable your narrator, the more their viewpoint will skew, but everyone is shaped by their world and everything they experience will be described through the lens of their personal experience and knowledge.

Take education level as an example. A character with a low level of educational attainment isn’t going to bust out thesaurus words when they’re looking at the world around them. They’re not going to look at their beloved’s eyes and think, “oh wow they’re viridian.” What they will think, exactly, will depend on who they are and on their background. If they’re a farmer, maybe those green eyes will remind them of fresh sprouts in spring. If they’re an alien, maybe those green eyes will remind them of the color of the atmosphere on their home planet. If they’re ancient China, maybe those green eyes will remind them of jade.

If you aren’t changing your narrative approach based on whose PoV you’re writing from, you’re missing out on a huge number of options available for fleshing out a character and helping immerse your reader in the story.

Know your character.

Imagine how they perceive the world.

And write your story through their eyes and knowledge level.

And your reader will see the world exactly as they do, and man, will they be in for one heck of a story!

[nightingaelic]

Fnv Companions react to Fem Courier being trans girl (sorry feel abit of self projection today hahah)

Don't feel sorry for wanting to see yourself reflected in the world around you, we all want to know that we belong.

The Forecaster frowned, and his eyes moved rapidly from left to right as if scanning some hidden radar. "Your face does the thinking... two to the skull, yet one gets up," he said.

The courier who stood before the boy nodded and touched her fingers to her temple, almost reflexively. "That's me."

"Odds are against you," the Forecaster went on, squinting. "But they're just numbers after the two-to-one. You've changed suits once, clubs to diamonds, and now you're playing the hand you've been dealt."

At this, the courier stiffened suddenly. "Um..."

The Forecaster went on, unaware of his customer's discomfort. "But you don't let it rest, you shuffle and stack, and a gamble... a gamble that may pay off? But how? Forecast: Rapidly changing conditions."

"Um... thanks." The courier counted out the caps and handed them over to the boy, then beat a hasty retreat from beneath the overpass.

Once back atop Highway 95, she took her traveling companion aside. "Before you think I worked for some Mojave faction and deserted, that thing he said about changing suits... I didn't think he'd... what he meant was... I wasn't always..."

She sighed and ran a hand over her head. "Hell, it's about time I told you anyway. I'm trans."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stopped her before she could stumble into an over-explanation. "It's, uh, it's okay. I... may have already known."

"You..." The courier's eyes widened. "You did? But who told you?"

"I, um..." Arcade straightened his glasses and looked up at the sky, avoiding eye contact. "Oh boy. Doctor Usanagi..."

Immediately, the courier's eyes narrowed. "... doesn't betray doctor-patient confidentiality, but I was in one of her medical clinics that day you came in for the NEMEAN sub-dermal armor," Arcade finished hastily. "She, uh, asked me and a couple of the others to help her close you up."

"Oh." The courier relaxed her stance a bit. "Oh yeah, I remember. I mean, I don't remember you, but I do remember signing the form that said I was okay with med student assistance. Why didn't you say anything, when I first asked you to tag along?"

Arcade shrugged. "I don't betray doctor-patient confidentiality either. Usanagi hammers that into you pretty hard on day one. Besides, something like that doesn't matter much outside of a doctor's office."

Craig Boone: Boone shrugged. "Okay."

The courier's eyes darted around his countenance, looking for some kind of stronger reaction. "Nothing? Not even a 'congratulations' or a disapproving grimace? Who are you, Boone?"

"Unconcerned," he shot back testily. "Unless it affects your aim somehow, it's not a problem. If that's what you're asking."

The courier sighed. "No, it's... you're fine. I guess I'm still pretty defensive about it. Especially around NCR types."

Boone nodded. "There were a few officers that Manny and I operated under who weren't the open-minded sort. They didn't last long."

Lily Bowen: Lily looked positively stormy. "Did that young man just air your personal business for the whole trading post to hear without a care in the world?" she thundered, with all her grandmotherly might. "Let's go back, dearie, I need to give him a piece of my mind."

"Lily, no," the courier protested, grabbing the nightkin's arm before she could stomp off toward the overpass again. "He probably doesn't even know what he said, it's just part of his gift. And no one's going to put two and two together unless I tell them outright, like I did you."

"If you say so, pumpkin." Lily smiled and settled herself. "But I can always ask Leo for a little help if anyone has cross words for you about this."

The courier sighed and patted her companion's arm. "No need for that, Lily. That reminds me, you should take your medication today."

Lily wrapped her up in a hug. "You take such good care of Grandma, my sweet girl."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: "Mija." Raul smiled. "How long you been holding onto that for?"

The courier let out the breath she'd taken, and her shoulders sank back to a normal level. "Well not everyone takes news like that too well. I didn't know if you would... mind."

"Mind?" Raul shook his head. "Oye. I've lived a long time, out here in the desert. It's a lonely place, even if you're surrounded by a crowd on the Strip. You can lose yourself pretty easily, lose sight of what you want, what you are. I'd know better than most. If you held onto who you want to be, then that's a victory, in the Mojave."

"Um..." The courier's eyes were shiny with tears, but before Raul could comment or pull out a handkerchief, she'd enveloped him in an unexpected hug. "Thanks, viejo."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Well, I'll be a gecko's uncle." Cass grinned. "You're serious? All this time on the road together, and you didn't think you could tell me that? I'm wounded, Six."

"Hey now, you were slow to trust me, too," the courier pointed out with a growing smirk. "I was gonna tell you after the Silver Rush situation, if we made it out alive, but then we did and you were riding so high at the Atomic Wrangler that I didn't want to dampen your memory of that day."

"Dampen my..." Cass chuckled and clapped the courier on the shoulder. "Better fix your metaphor there, Six. Rain in the desert is a good thing. And trust between friends would never dampen my day."

She held up a hand before the courier could protest. "I know, I know what you were worried about. Trust me, I'm not the type to froth at the mouth over propriety or 'family values.' Thought you'd've picked up on that, with my smart mouth and wanderin' eyes."

"Wandering..." The courier ducked out from under her arm and danced away, laughing. "Uh-uh. I helped you with your vendetta, now you help me with mine. Then we'll buy a drink at the Tops and talk, whiskey rose."

Veronica Santangelo: "You..." Veronica's eyes went as wide as the Mojave's full moon. "Oh. Oh."

Slowly, the Scribe sank into a sitting position on the cracked asphalt. "That explains a few things, I suppose."

The courier sat down next to her. "Like what?"

Veronica started ticking things off on her fingers. "Both that guy in Primm and the bartender in Goodsprings called you by a different name, but they were the same name and it sounded kind of like yours so I wrote it off as a coincidence. Benny didn't recognize you right away, even though he shot you in the head. And Arcade locked us all out of your room that time you took some shrapnel to the torso and were laid up in the Lucky 38 until you weren't covered in bandages."

"Oh yeah." The courier grinned. "Surprised you didn't piece it together sooner, then."

"I sometimes forget that's something people can do," Veronica admitted. "Remember when I said that some in the Brotherhood don't look too kindly on those who choose relationships that don't produce new children? Well, ditto and worse for those who want to transition. Most of the ones brave enough to do it anyway don't stay Brotherhood for long."

ED-E: The eyebot beeped in mock surprise, then whizzed around the courier three times playing triumphant music. She giggled and swatted the bot away playfully. "Go on then. I have no idea how you could've known, but there it is."

ED-E beeped quizzically once it came to a stop.

"Why hide it?" the courier responded. "Well, unlike robots, some people think it's strange to change your... parts. Or even just your classification. Honestly, it's old-world thinking, no clue."

The eyebot beeped long and low, almost like a coo of affection and reassurance.

"Thanks, ED-E," the courier said with a smile. "I'll try to remember that."

Rex: Rex cocked his head to the side. The courier knelt down to his level and scratched his ears, inspecting his new brain and cybernetic limbs as she did.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this," she murmured, increasing her attentions as Rex leaned into her. "You probably already knew, with that amazing nose of yours. I think your owner knows, otherwise why keep spouting that line of his whenever I come around?"

Rex whined, and the courier smiled. "You know. 'Do what's right for you, so long as it don't hurt no one.' Got that seared into my brain as surely as that bullet, thanks to him. I bet that king he's worshipping never even said that."