#like jesus all the stuff in reading ive never seen anything like this in any other fandom in my life

[phagodyke]

the masculine urge to take a saucepan off thr draining board and bash myself repeatedly over the head with it until I pass out and no longer have to experience feeling Bad 😍

[elyyshar]

I thought the shit with h*lly was a mess but jesus christ this fandom does like to keep me on my toes

[rhysismydaddy]

Prisoner's Game Pt. 3 (Rowaelin)

~Aelin~

There was something decidedly pleasant about sneaking out of prison.

It was the thrill, she supposed.

She'd always been a bit of an adrenaline junky, and there was nothing that matched up to the excitement of breaking out of a maximum security prison with no one being the wiser.

Aelin ran through the tunnel, her steps sure and soundless, a smile blooming on her face. What she was doing shouldn't give her such joy, but along with being a thrill seeker, she'd always been just a little bit vindictive.

Or maybe a lot.

The map of the tunnels was still crystal clear after all this time, and she had it memorized down to the number of steps it took to get to the right turn.

It was a three hour run. Two underground, then one through the city out into the suburbs.

While the first two hours were definitely not fun, it was the last hour that was tricky.

Avoiding cameras, not drawing any unwanted attention, dressing so no one could see her face without looking too much like the criminal she was.

It was also more exhausting.

It was an hour of sprinting across rooftops, sprinting through town, then sprinting some more.

It was a little funny to her that the journey to where she needed to go was more difficult than actually breaking into the building.

She had a set of scrubs stored in a nearby lockbox, along with a wig and a few prosthetics to make her look more like Ansel, one of the nurses working the night shift.

The security guard, Shelly, was prone to reading romance novels during her shift and never questioned why she occasionally thought she saw two of the same person wandering around.

It was no different tonight.

Once she had everything in place, Aelin strode confidently through the halls, grabbing charts and nodding like she knew what the hell she was looking at.

No one stopped her, no one questioned her.

When she got to the room and chart she wanted, she slipped inside soundlessly and crept up to the bed.

Despite the ever-present urge to hurry things along, she stuck to her plan and kept the dose the same.

The person on the bed never woke up, never noticed her slip an extra drug into the IV bag hanging on the wall.

Silent, efficient, traceless.

Just like she'd been taught.

Leaving was even easier than entering.

She waited until real-Ansel had been out of the guard's sight for a while, then walked out the back door of the facility like she hadn't just committed a felony.

One of the few crimes she actually deserved to be in prison for, ironically.

Then she ran back, hiding in the traffic camera's blind spots and ditching the wig along the way.

It was a little stupid and drawn out to do it this way, not to mention unbelievably cruel, but Aelin had always had a flair for the dramatic.

Plus, like she said: exciting.

~Rowan~

Doubt is a strange emotion.

It starts small, so small you hardly even realize it's there.

And then, over time, it grows and grows like a fungus, eventually becoming something that you think about all the time. Something that kills you.

Rowan didn't believe in doubt.

His problem had never been with not believing in himself, it'd always been with the opposite affliction: over-conviction.

He believed things so fully, so deeply, it was hard to see it any other way.

It was what made him such a good lawyer. As the top public prosecutor in the city, he had a reputation for being impossible to win against.

He convinced himself of the defendant's guilt so completely, the jury had almost no option but to believe him.

He hadn't always been that way, he didn't think. Argumentative and stubborn, sure. His mother could attest to that. But never so unflinchingly self-assured. So alright with deceiving himself if need be.

If he had to guess, he'd say it'd started two months after the day of Aelin's trial.

He hadn't been lying to her four days ago; every word had been the truth. He'd worked his ass off all those years ago, trying to find something that would help him either clear her name or at least fucking sleep at night.

He'd given himself a timeline, deciding that if he couldn't find a single lead in two months, there probably wasn't one. Two months, and then he'd let it go.

He didn't regret stopping his hunt--he'd seen what an obsession could do to someone.

And when that day had come, he'd thought he was ready. He'd exhausted himself working both her case and the ones he was assigned, burning the candle at both ends and sleeping in the office more nights than his own bed.

There'd been nothing to be found. The evidence, the testimonies, the medical examiner's reports... they'd all pointed to Aelin.

So eventually he'd forced himself to stop looking.

But the sight of her swinging between the two court police officers, fighting for just one more second with him with a desperation he'd never seen from her... he hadn't known how he could just forget something like that.

The image followed him, haunted him. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw hers. Lined with tears and disbelief and so much hurt he felt like invisible hands were wrapped around his neck.

So he'd hardened himself against it.

He'd repeated the pieces of evidence against her, told himself she was guilty until the words were easy to say, forced himself to visualize the crime scenes of her victims whenever he thought of her.

Piece by piece, he'd swapped out the months of positive memories they had with stone cold facts.

And it had worked.

After a month, he could sleep again. After a year, he hardly thought of her and when he did, it was with disgust.

Yet now, over eight years later, he found himself with just the slightest amount of doubt again.

It was the same nagging, incessant feeling he hadn't been able to shake eight years ago. Back for round two, apparently.

At first, he'd played it off as nerves from their conversation. She'd worked him up so much he'd admitted how much he'd once loved her and said things he shouldn't have.

His body was reacting to the sadness in her eyes, the surprise that had bloomed when he'd told her he'd fought for her. It was emotion, nothing based in logic, that made him want to start looking again.

At least that's what he told himself.

But four days later, he found himself on the couch--he really did need to give up and just buy a new bed--staring at the ceiling, trying to sleep and not being able to.

Because... well because what if she was telling the truth?

Why else would she have told him that story?

What had he missed during all those late nights spent hunched over her folder?

The questions grew and grew, until that once-little shard of doubt started to slowly drive him mad.

The uncertainty, no matter how small it had begun, had grown to be almost irritatingly large and unavoidable.

He couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. The breadcrumbs that apparently only he could find.

What did that mean?

And why couldn't he just let it go?

"Fuck!" he yelled, throwing his blanket off and storming to the closet.

Like a love-struck idiot, he'd kept a box full of the stuff she'd left at his apartment during their relationship. The stuff that wasn't evidence, at least.

If it was something only he could find like she'd said, it was probably something only he had access to.

He dropped the box on his kitchen table and opened the lid.

Then cursed when the first thing he saw was a pair of red lace underwear. That was the last thing he needed to be thinking about and remembering.

Especially when he'd barely been able to resist the temptation to kiss her in that interrogation room.

Something about the way she'd looked at him after he'd told her he'd fought for her all those years ago had rattled the grip he had on his control hard.

She'd seemed so... sad. So hopeless. It had brought out the urge to comfort her in whatever way he could.

Hearing about her childhood and how she'd been raised by Arobynn Hamel hadn't made it any better. Truthfully, it'd broken something inside of him.

She'd always been so positive around him--a ray of light he'd felt was put on this earth just for him.

And all the while, she'd been forced to live with and work for one of the most notorious crime syndicate members of all time.

He'd always known she hadn't had a good childhood, but there was a difference between foster care hell and an actual house of horrors. Rowan couldn't even imagine the things she'd seen. Been forced to see, to do.

She made it out, he reminded himself, taking a deep breath.

But had she?

If what she'd told him was true, she'd killed those people because she'd been forced to.

It hadn't been her choice.

But there was something else about her, something he couldn't stop thinking about.

The secret she'd eluded to, the one that apparently only he had the key to solving.

A secret she'd promised would explain everything.

He tossed the underwear on the table, vowing to ignore them.

Then threw them in the trash a minute later when that became impossible.

You're such an asshole, he told himself, shaking his head. It's been eight years.

Even if that part of their relationship was most definitely memorable.

"Jesus," he laughed, running a hand over his face. Why was he even thinking about that?

Maybe it was the look in her eyes four days ago, or maybe it was simply that Aelin had been an important part of his life. He'd never forget the connection they'd had. Maybe it would always be a part of him.

But that was ridiculous, because he'd been connected to plenty of women since. Plenty of gorgeous brunettes and redheads.

For some reason, he hadn't been able to date a blonde, but that didn't mean anything.

He was over her.

Obviously.

Forcing his thoughts away from Aelin, he grabbed the next thing in the box.

Her address book. Maybe she'd left a note in there?

He flipped it open, scrolling through blank page after blank page. Her cousin's address and phone number were there--both of which he confirmed with police records--but other than that, it was blank.

The next thing he found made the ache in his chest expand to a soul-sucking hole.

It was a travel brochure for Aruba.

The edges were frayed from how much she'd flipped through it, and notes in her handwriting were scribbled throughout the pages.

He remembered this, all right.

He'd woken up one morning, a morning that seemed like a lifetime ago, to find her laying on top of him, leafing through the travel pamphlet with a huge grin on her face.

"We're going to Aruba," she'd whispered in lieu of a greeting, leaning down to press her lips to his.

"Why?" he'd asked back between kisses.

"Because it's the perfect place to hide from your real life," had been her laughed response.

She'd planned a trip for them at Christmas. Their very first trip together.

Every time they saw each other, she'd shown him a new page or told him about a new activity she wanted to do.

In general, she was a happy, excited person, but he'd never seen her so thrilled over anything like she was that trip.

He'd hidden it better, trying to play it cool, but he'd been excited, too.

He'd pictured her on the beach, running in the sand and smiling and laughing and drinking from a coconut. He'd imagined sneaking to the beach one night and making love to her in the ocean.

He'd imagined getting down on one knee and asking her to be his travel partner for life.

She'd been arrested two weeks before they were supposed to leave.

He tossed the little magazine back into the box, shaking his head to clear it of the memories and long-lost dreams.

The only thing left in the worn box was books.

Aelin had volunteered at a publishing house, trying to get hired as a fiction editor, and she'd always had a book in her ridiculously heavy pocket book.

She'd given him a few of her favorites, claiming that if he ever wanted to know the "real her," he had to read them.

A statement that made a lot more sense now than it used to.

He grabbed the one on top and leafed through it, going through the pages and scanning.

When that didn't yield anything, he flipped to the back of the book and looked at the inscription she'd written him.

March 1

Rowan,

I know you're not a fan of fiction, let alone romantic, feminist fiction, but I hope you'll read this and fall in love with Elizabeth's character like I did.

Aelin

He turned the book over and looked at the front again, then flipped through it again, then went through the whole process again.

Why did he feel like something about this didn't add up? And why was this, of all things, what she'd left as a breadcrumb?

He didn't figure it out until he reread the inscription for the fifth time and realized the date she'd written.

March 1st.

It was wrong; she'd given him this book on his birthday in February. He remembered because he'd laughed about her giving a grown man a romance novel for his birthday.

Why had she put March 1st? And why did that date stand out in his mind?

Stomach dropping, he finally figured out why that date was so important. It was the date of the first murder.

Maddison Kliff, a state senator who controversially wanted to fund renewable energy in the upcoming year, had been murdered the morning of March 1st eight years ago.

Breadcrumb.

He grabbed the next book from the stack, Wuthering Heights, and flipped to the end.

Almost the exact same inscription, except the date was April 13th, and the inspiring character was Linton Heathcliff.

April 13th was the day another victim died.

Rowan's heart started pounding, so hard he thought he was going to either pass out or go into cardiac arrest.

What was the connection between these dates, characters, and victims? Rowan could feel it in his gut that this was what she'd been talking about. It had to be.

He flipped through the books again, looking for something else, but there was nothing there. Nothing was underlined or highlighted, and the books were all in brand-new condition, no pages were bookmarked.

"What are you trying to tell me, Aelin?" he whispered, rubbing at his temples.

He made a list of all the dates and characters, stared at it until he thought he'd go blind, and tried to think like her.

Except her mind was a complex puzzle he'd never quite solved, so that didn't give him anything besides a headache.

He looked in the box again, hoping to magically find another note or something that explained everything in simple, idiot-proof terms.

But all that was there was that damn Aruba magazine.

It's the perfect place to hide from your real life.

The words came rushing back to him, so suddenly and violently it was like his subconscious had been shouting it for a while.

Was that it?

Maybe the connection wasn't only between the dates and characters, but it also had something to do with Aruba.

Maybe that was where this secret, whatever it was, was hiding.

Knowing he was probably grasping at straws, Rowan grabbed his phone and called the one person who'd help him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I need a favor, Gavriel."

He heard a heavy sigh. "Like a we've been friends for twenty years favor or like an I'm the Chief of Police favor?"

"The latter," Rowan answered.

"Dammit, Rowan, you're going to get me fired one day." That was what he said every time. There was a long pause, then, "What do you need?"

"Flight manifests from Rifthold to Aruba from ten different days eight years ago."

Gavriel caught on quickly. "This wouldn't happen to have anything to do with a former flame of yours, would it? One currently serving time for ten murders from eight years ago?"

"Of course not," he lied, knowing he was busted.

Another sigh. "You need to let this go, kid."

Rowan ran a hand over his face, knowing that wasn't possible. Not when, for the first time since he'd been assigned this God forbidden case, he had a lead.

"Can you help me or not?"

"I will, as long as you promise to drop it once whatever you're chasing ends up to be yet another dead end."

Knowing he didn't have another choice, Rowan agreed.

Gavriel told him he'd send them over, then said softly, "I know you loved her, Rowan, but it's time to move on."

It's not that easy, he thought, thinking once again of Aelin sitting in that tiny cell, skin pale and hair too long.

"Thanks for your help," he said instead, hanging up before the lecture could continue.

A few minutes later, he was printing out the passenger lists from all the Rifthold to Aruba flights on each of the ten dates.

Starting with August 1st, he went through, passenger by passenger, and looked for an Elizabeth.

There'd been three direct flights to Aruba that day, so by the time he found it, his eyes were so tired he almost missed it entirely.

But there was a name that stuck out, one that was straight out of his copy of Pride and Prejudice.

Seat 14C had been occupied by Elizabeth Darcy, and she'd flown directly from Rifthold to Aruba on August 1st.

Rowan's jaw damn near hit the floor.

His hands shook as he highlighted the name, writing the victim's name next to it to keep it straight in his head.

His mind whirled with possible explanations, but he didn't let himself think about anything except the next date.

With a sinking feeling in his gut, he went through the passenger list for April 13th.

And sure enough, Linton Heathcliff was on one of the flights. In the same damn seat.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, grabbing the next sheet of paper.

He went date by date, flight by flight, and by the time he'd located every character, he was sure of what he'd found. What she'd left for him.

It wasn't a breadcrumb, it was the whole goddamn loaf.

Rowan barely made it to the kitchen sink before his stomach emptied as an explanation of what had really happened eight years ago started to form in his mind.

He didn't have all the pieces, but the ones he did have made him literally sick to think about.

Her insistence on being innocent, her begging him to look again, telling him only he could find the clues... it all made sense.

The doubt he'd been struggling with for eight long years suddenly disappeared, replaced by a certainty so swift and thorough and all encompassing, it almost took his breath away.

She hadn't been lying.

She hadn't killed those ten people.

She couldn't have, because...

"They're still alive."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

dun dun duuuuun

part 4 out next Friday (sorry for the slow updates I'm in summer school)

@audreycressworth @whimsicallyreading @onceupona-chaos @lil-unoriginal-weirdo-273sole @surielandiareendgame @captain-swan-is-endgame @poisonous00 @vasudharaghavan @sailorsassley @endlessdaydream @swankii-art-teacher @beanco8 @stokingthemidnightflame @mis-lil-red @ladyfireheart-and-buzzard @sheharahu @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @jorjy-jo @court-of-dreams-and-ashes @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @live-the-fangirl-life @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @loudphantomdragon @gracie-rosee @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @inardour @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

[drawlfoy]

Wonders of Ohio - P.7

masterlist (catch up with the series here!)

request guidelines (yes i am taking them!)

pairing: draco x reader

request: no! this is my original idea 

summary: american high school senior is in for a surprise when her family takes on a foreign exchange student with a mysterious past.

warnings: teen drinking, mentions of an armed robbery, language, a brief hospital visit, and descriptions of illness

a/n: hey. so. this is definitely where stuff starts to go down. thanks so much for waiting...i have so many more things planned for this series and i’m thrilled to see it come together the way that it is right now. thank you very much for reading and thank you for your patience!

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @icintliviinyiniilsiji @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 6k

song recs: 

murders - miracle musical

pink in the night - mitski

always, forever - cults

ice dance - ashton gleckman

enjoy!

Y/N should’ve felt cold when she awoke on the wet pavement. Despite a figure looming over her and blocking out most of the rain, the back of her neck and body was drenched in the cool water from the puddle to her right. It was easily in the mid 40s at this point in the evening, something that would ordinarily make her toes curl and her figure tremble, but it felt...different.

She felt like her insides had been scorched, like she’d downed an entire pitcher of boiling hot water. Every movement she made hurt--right down to wiggling her fingertips and her eyes. Her body was exhausted. If she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought that she’d just finished running a marathon in hell.

“Can you hear me?” A posh British voice cut through her musings as the figure above her came into focus. 

Draco.

“Yeah. Was there a fire?” Her words left her throat painfully, scratching their way up her vocal chords. 

“Er...what do you remember?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The memories of the night slowly began trickling back--she’d done Draco’s tie, told him to watch his drink, argued with Chad about how funny he was, and walked to...Oh, yeah. The antique store. The box. The stars inside of her.

She flinched. “I fainted. I’m sorry. That was really stupid of me.”

“What?” Draco shifted back, the light from the front of the antique store catching his face. There were lines in his forehead that she’d never seen before. “Why?”

“I didn’t eat enough today,” said Y/N. Speaking was starting to feel less and less like lighting her trachea on fire. “I was really nervous and I lost my appetite. I’m an easy fainter.”

He cleared his throat. “Er, okay. Yeah. That was it. Anyways, we have to get home. You need to, uh, eat.”

“Okay.”

Y/N allowed herself to be hauled up onto her feet, swaying slightly once her full weight was on her feet. Her sense of gravity felt like it had been loosened. With every step, she felt pulled to the ground from a different part of her core.

“Steady. Don’t fall.” By some miracle, once Draco’s hands were gently guiding her shoulders, she was able to make her way to the backseat of Heather’s car before she collapsed.

“Where are we going?” asked Y/N. Despite no longer feeling like she was near death, her head was still cloudy. 

“Home,” was all Draco said as he slid in on the other side of the car. 

She didn’t bother putting on her seatbelt--she still felt like she was about to keel over--and rested her head on the car window. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco open the passenger car door for a moment, pause, shut it, and instead tug open the door across from her and slide in. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“My insides feel like they’re on fire.” Y/N winced as she tried to shift and get the weight off of her neck. “I think I’m sick.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Heather from the front, her eyes catching Y/N’s from the mirror. “You were just laying down in the middle of a rainstorm. Go home and take some Zi-cam or something, jesus.”

Y/N tried to chuckle in response, but it came out as a sorry squeak instead. No one made a move to further comment on the evening’s events as Heather pulled onto the freeway and began to gain speed. The sudden lurches and changes of speed in the car set Y/N’s stomach into a churning frenzy, her head growing light again. 

“Draco.”

Her voice was so soft it was hardly audible--the syllables jumbled together on her lips in a quiet mess--but he immediately snapped to attention.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“For the love of god, at least try and hold it until we get off the freeway.” 

“Shut up, Heather,” said Draco. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of satisfaction as he rolled his eyes and turned his attention back on her. “Is it the motion? Are you sick from that?”

“I don’t know,” she managed. 

He sighed. “Helpful.”

“Dick.”

Draco frowned at her, but she could see the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Can you move into the middle seat for me? Do you need help?”

Once Y/N had scooted over from her side, he leaned away from her and pointed up to the sunroof above them. “Go ahead and count all the lights that you can see in the sky. I promise it’ll make you feel better. Just keep your head pointed up.”

She tilted her head back. The night sky was largely gloomy, but the flickering lights of the planes that dove in and out of clouds provided some glowing dots. As she counted, Heather hit the fog strips and nearly threw her back into her original seat. She felt a warm hand wrap around her wrist and gently grip, the long fingers completely encircling it. 

Y/N blinked. The nausea was gone. “What are you, a sorcerer or something?” she joked, not expecting to see Draco so frozen at the comment. “Kidding. I just feel better already. Thank you.”

He nodded and turned away to look out the window. His soft grip on her hand was long gone, and Y/N took Heather’s slightly uncoordinated driving as a cue to slide back into her seat and buckle up.

“If you really need to puke,” said Heather, “I have a Target bag back somewhere under the passenger seat. Please avoid the seats. They’re authentic vegan leather.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Just don’t throw up, okay?” 

~

Y/N was in Art History when it happened. The chills began, so intense and teeth-chattering that her teacher took one look at her and sent her immediately to the nurse. Sylvia offered to walk her, but she was only allowed to under the condition that she avoid all physical contact with her and sanitized each surface that Y/N touched. It was a wonder she made it to the first floor office--each step felt heavier than the last, and from the beginning she felt moments from simply passing out. 

A temperature check revealed that she had a mild fever--100.3 F, to be exact--and a call home resulted in her mother’s full voicemail box and the remembrance that her parents were out for the week. 

“Can someone else drive you?” Nurse Hazelwood asked as she stepped away to douse her hands in hand sanitizer. “I don’t think you should get yourself home in this state.”

After some deliberation, it was decided that Sylvia would take her home and call someone for a ride back. It was a bit overkill--but she didn’t know what else to do.

“And can you make sure Draco has a ride home today?” Y/N asked as they pulled into the driveway of the Y/L/N home. 

“Stop stressing so much, dude.” Sylvia took the keys out of the ignition to give her an expectant look. “You’re sick. Go inside and make some soup or something. I’m sure your boyfriend will figure it out.”

“Now I really am gonna be sick,” said Y/N as she rolled her eyes. 

The rest of her afternoon was a blur. Y/N tried to force down some chicken soup, but it took all her might to keep it from coming right back up. It was safe to say her appetite was gone. 

After a failed attempt at walking up the stairs to crawl into bed, she collapsed onto the couch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of footsteps outside the front door.

~

Y/N hadn’t been to the hospital since she had to get stitches in middle school. Then, all she did was lie back in the chair and try to shut her eyes as the needle wove in and out of her torn thigh (bad bike accident, in case anyone was curious). But now was different. 

Her eyes hurt to open, like someone had thrown soap in them and the very line where her two lids met were lined with knives. Everything inside of her was on fire--a manic, all-consuming fire that made it impossible for her to keep anything down. 

The nurses and doctors were no help--not like Y/N actually had her eyes long enough to see any of them--but their voices were enough to let her know what was going on.

“Fever of 104--”

“Can’t keep anything down--”

“Severely dehydrated--”

“Tested negative for everything we tried--”

“Never seen anything like this before--”

“No viruses were detected--”

“Not mono--”

As she wove in and out of consciousness, one fact stuck in her mind: I think I might die here. Something is very wrong.

 When she did dream, images of the box she picked up plagued her mind. The symbol, etched lightly into the black top, glowed menacingly in her hands. Open it, open it something around her urged, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t.

It was during one of these dreams that her world suddenly shifted back to her hospital room. She was suspended above her body, looking down at the tangle of IVs and various other wires that imprisoned her...but she wasn’t alone.

The dim lighting and darkness outside confirmed her suspicion that it was indeed late at night. A figure, tall and slim, was sitting to her left. It was whispering something unintelligible as it gently took her hand and squeezed.

If Y/N could scream, she would’ve. The sudden pull back to her body was so strong that she was yanked across the room so she just barely hovered over her corporeal form. She could feel a grip, steady and firm, wrapped around her hand as a rush of cool ran through her. Each breath, each pulse, each heartbeat pulled her back to herself. It felt like a bucket of water had been poured over--into--her, extinguishing the flames that were eating away the inside of her.  

The figure’s whispering finally came to an end as she settled back into her physical body. Before she drifted off to a peaceful slumber, a familiar voice rose above the quiet whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

~

“Y/N!”

Her eyes shot open to see her mother, heavy eye bags and all, standing over her bed. “Hi Mo-”

“You scared me half to death!” Mrs. Y/L/N interrupted, placing her hand on her forehead. “No fever. Thank god. You know, when you were a baby, you were horribly ill with…”

Y/N sat and pretended she was listening as she relinquished in the fact that she was awake, she was here. The fire inside of her was long gone, replaced with the familiar...whatever was there before. Nothing? Maybe. Nothing was good, or at least better than the painful fire. It struck her with a sudden urgency that she had no idea what day it was, much less time. What about her homework? What about her UChicago application? Her counselor was supposed to submit her letter of rec a week ago...or a week ago from whenever she was brought to the hospital.

“Honey, are you even listening?” 

“Uh, yeah,” she said. 

“That’s what I thought. The food here is horrendous--of course you’re excited to go home.” Mrs. Y/L/N took her glasses off to wipe at the lens in a gesture that seemed more habitual and less effective. “You poor thing. Your father is still in New York--John simply couldn’t have him leave--but he’ll be back as soon as he can. Let’s get you out of here.”

The next few hours were a strange blur of paperwork, changes of clothes, and a bag of medication. The nurses and doctors were bewildered at her miraculous recovery and expressed this at every chance they had on her way out, reminding her to immediately seek attention if she feels anything similar again.

“What day is it?” Y/N finally asked once they were on the way home. 

“Wow, you really were out of it.” Mrs. Y/L/N flicked her blinker on as she merged onto the freeway. “Sunday. You were there almost a whole week.”

“Huh? What about school? Do my teachers know? How did Draco get to school? Is he ok?”

“Of course your teachers know, hun. They’re all being very forgiving with their late work policies. As long as you’re putting effort into learning the material you missed, they have no problem letting you skip out on the homework. As for Draco...I think he’s fine. Sylvia’s family took him under their wing for the week. He’s still alive.”

And such a statement was proven when Y/N walked through the front door. Draco shot up from his seat at the living room couch the moment they locked eyes, his hands wringing back and forth.

“You’re okay.”

“You’re okay too,” she responded airily. “When I wasn’t dying I was worrying myself about how you’d do without me. I see my fears of you walking into moving traffic didn’t come true, thank God.”

His lips, tight, offered her the slightest upturn. 

“Y/N, dearie, no need to harass the boy,” her mother said. “Up to your room. I’ll bring you some soup in a moment. You need to rest, young lady.”

She sent one last teasing grin at Draco before she was ushered up the steps, her mother fussing over her the entire way. 

~

“So,” Sylvia said, crossing her legs over the other and giving Y/N a wicked look, “Consider this your last formal invitation to my Halloween party. It’s this Friday. It’s not even the night before the ED deadline. You should go.”

“I don’t know, Vy,” said Y/N. Her art history notes lay untouched in front of her as the teacher droned on about something related to how mannerism as an art style came to fame during the...Reformation? She didn’t know. “I’m kind of tired. I feel bad about leaving Draco alone, too.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Will you just do us all a favor and admit that you like him? It’s getting exhausting. Just ask him to come with you.”

“You’re absolutely off your rocker if you think I’m gonna do that,” Y/N said. 

“I’m just saying, you’ve done weirder things. Like almost dying from...literally nothing.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be rude. I’ll think about it but no guarantees. I don’t really think Draco is the partying type, though.”

“I’d be careful about making such a wild assumption. You never know what goes on in those posh private British schools for rich kids or wherever he went.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Her friend laughed. “No. Just an optimist.”

Y/N swung the sleeve of her cardigan at her, whacking her pretty good on the bicep. If Sylvia was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. “Fine. I’ll ask him as a friend.”

“Pansy.”

~

Y/N was never the type to enjoy background noise as she worked, but there was something nostalgic about hearing the identical voices of her local news anchors in the room over as she sat at the kitchen table and worked on a last minute Physics review set. 

“Hey loser,” she called out as she saw a head of blond hair pass by her to get to the kettle. “Care to join me?” 

Draco turned, his mouth open and ready to issue a retort before he appeared to change his mind. He’d been oddly distant lately, avoiding her in the common spaces they often saw each other and choosing to get breakfast and his evening tea at times that he knew she wouldn’t be down in the kitchen for. Perhaps that was the reason why she was sitting at the kitchen table at present, but of course she’d never admit that. Not even to herself. 

“Can’t. I’m a bit busy with work.”

“Draco,” she chided. “What work is it? I can help you, you know.” 

He paused for a few seconds, taking in the scatter of papers on the table and the nearly complete review sheet. “The Physics review is taking me a bit of time,” he said, his tone forced and resigned.

“Go grab it!” She grinned as his scowl deepened. “If you’re nice I’ll let you copy.”

She lost track of time as they went over his work, his pencil marks filling the page with symbols that were unfamiliar to her.

“Your handwriting is really nice,” she noted. “Like, so nice that I feel like you could really make it as a study youtuber or a study blogger or whatever. You have that potential if you want to tap into it, dude.”

“I have no idea what that is,” he said neatly as he punched an equation into her calculator. 

“Fair.”

She sat still for a few more moments, watching as her study partner’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took. Sylvia’s Halloween party was just a few days away, and she needed to ask him at some point. Every time she mustered up the courage to open her mouth and hitch her breath, the words would die on her tongue. 

The silence weighed heavy in the air as the words of the news anchors floated over…”multiple reports of an armed robbery….suburbs surrounding Cincinnati...cautioned to lock doors...potential link to the missing persons case…”

“Draco,” she said finally. He jolted up from his work to gaze at her. His eyes were probably the prettiest things she’d ever seen--all pale and metallic and silvery. “Uh, I’m going to this Halloween party this Friday. You should come with me, it sounds like it’ll be fun. I think that Heather will be there.”

Y/N mentally groaned at her admission to Heather’s attendance but didn’t know what else to say. She wanted him to come--even if it was so he could spend the whole time being woo-ed over by her.

“Er,” he began, twirling his pencil around his fingers. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Homework, you know.”

“Just finish it before--That’s what I’m doing.”

“I think I’m go--”

The slam of the front door made both of them jump, scattering Y/N’s long forgotten work and threatening to knock Draco’s mug over.

“Hi kids,” Mrs. Y/L/N greeted as she entered the kitchen, an armful of grocery bags in tow. “Studying?” 

“Yeah,” Y/N answered. “By the way, Mom, Sylvia invited me over to her house on Friday for a sort of Halloween get together. Can I go?”

Her mother was silent for a few moments as she methodically unpacked the paper bags on the counter. 

“I don’t see why not. Is Draco coming too?”

“No,” he replied before Y/N even had the chance to open her mouth.

“I don’t think you should be home alone at night, my dear,” said her mother. “Have you seen the news? There’s someone on the loose. I’d feel much better if you were with Y/N--Robert and I are going to an auction that night. We won’t be around.”

“I’ll be fi--”

“If Y/N is going, you’re going,” Mrs. Y/L/N said as she finished unloading and brushed her hands off on her thighs. Her no nonsense demeanor rarely showed itself, but when it did, she was difficult to argue with. 

Y/N shrunk down in her seat as Draco sent her a sour look. 

Sorry she mouthed. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

~ 

“Remind me again why we’re walking?” 

Draco’s snotty tone carried through the crisp fall air as they neared the street that Sylvia lived on. 

“Because,” said Y/N, “Quite frankly, I don’t think I can get through being in an enclosed space with Heather for an entire night without being at least a little buzzed. And I’m not gonna have you drive us home.”

“Hmph.” His dress shoes, odd pointed tips and all, kicked at the fall leaves below them. His costume was literally nothing different than what he wore when he arrived--a crisp white dress shirt, an oddly cut blazer, and a weird looking green and silver pin attached to his lapel. 

“If anyone asks,” she had told him from the hallway as they were getting ready to go that afternoon, “Just say you’re a corporate rat or something.” 

He’d snorted at her choice of clothing--a completely dark brown set up with a picture of a shoe taped to her chest. 

“I’m the shoe that that Iraqi reporter threw at Bush,” she had explained. 

He just stared.

“If you aren’t having fun, please just let me know,” Y/N said as they turned one of the last corners. “We can tell her our fish died or something. Sylvia would totally understand.”

“We don’t have a fish.”

“I know, genius,” she teased, giving him a little punch. Instead of balking, he just crinkled his nose. “But she doesn’t.”

“I think she does.”

“You’re missing the point. You’ll tell me if you want to go back home, promise?”

“I want to go home.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.” 

He grinned as they waited for Sylvia to open the door. 

The next few hours were a bit of a blur. Y/N didn’t drink much at first--maybe the equivalent of 2 or 3 shots, spaced out in between a couple of sips of water--but the energy in Sylvia’s home definitely had her more buzzed than usual. There was something about her home that always felt twice as spooky, a type of underlying energy that pulsed at the seams. 

To her surprise, Draco actually took a cup of whatever Sylvia offered him and downed it. She laughed when she saw him finally lower the cup as he furrowed his brow at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

His features looked softer in the dim lighting of Sylvia’s living room--all the tension that he carried in his shoulders and face seemed to be gone. When he smiled at her, it was all she could do to keep herself from disintegrating into the couch.

As the night wore on, Y/N felt herself getting progressively more tipsy, and, in her haze, she could see that Draco was going down a similar path. He was touchier than she would have expected--hanging onto her elbow or sleeve whenever Sylvia or Y/N said anything funny, not moving his leg when her thigh was pressed against his, stretching his arm out behind her and resting it on the back of the couch--and she found herself wishing she was sober enough for it to feel real. Maybe she was so drunk that she was imagining it all. Maybe she was actually asleep next to her toilet at home after throwing it all up and was just dreaming. 

“Fuck!” Someone exclaimed, prompting her to look up. Abby, a girl she kind of knew from her grade, had spilled the entirety of her drink on the coffee table.

“Y/N,” Sylvia whined, “I’m too tired to get the paper towels. Will you and Draco go?” 

Despite the half-hearted protests from Draco, she managed to haul him up by his arm as she pushed back the pleasure that Sylvia saw them as a sort of team, a sort of unit.

“I think she keeps the extra paper towels in her pantry,” she told him as they made their way over to the quiet part of the house. The light hanging over the kitchen island was on, but the rest of the room was bathed in darkness. 

“Right he--”

Y/N froze as she saw it--or, as she would come to discover, them. 

Heather and Chad stared back at them, looking much more disheveled than one is permitted simply sitting on the kitchen counter. It was hard to make it out clearly, but Heather’s cheeks looked flushed. Chad’s matched.

“In a fucking kitchen? Chad, I thought you were better than this,” Y/N said, turning and grabbing the paper towels from the cabinet behind them. “Get a room, you weirdos.”

Chad laughed, a short lived and awkward sound. 

Once they were back out in the living room, Y/N tossed the paper towels to Sylvia. “I think we’re gonna head back. We have to walk, you know.”

Sylvia dramatically threw herself back onto the couch. “I suppose. Thanks for coming guys, it was nice to see you outside of class again.”

“Likewise!” Y/N called over her shoulder as she walked out of the door with Draco by her side.

The walk home was silent for the first few moments. Despite the fact that it was late October, the night was pleasantly crisp and not too cold. The only sources of illumination were the scattered street lights, casting a soft orange hue on the two.

As they turn the corner onto the main street, Y/N’s shoe caught on a crack in the pavement in a movement that would’ve sent her sprawling face-first into the cold concrete if it hadn’t been for Draco’s hand grabbing her own and yanking her back up.

“Thanks,” she said. His hands were warmer than usual despite the coolness of the air.

He just sent her a small smile as he untangled their fingers and placed his hand back into his pants pockets.

“Weird to see Chad and Heather, right?” Y/N nudged him with her shoulder. To her surprise, he nudged back.

“I guess. I thought it was obvious, though.”

“What?! No way.”

“Are you blind? Heather’s been all over Chad,” he said.

“Are you? I thought she was obsessed with you!” 

“No, definitely not.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, turning to look at him. The dim glow of the streetlights made his hair look almost like a halo. “She wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Dunno.” Draco shrugged. It was then that Y/N remembered how much he’d had that night.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re probably not in the right mindset to be analyzing other people right now,” said Y/N. 

His lips twitched upwards. “No, no, it’s ok. I’m fine. I just couldn’t be bothered over the whole ordeal. Entirely uninspiring, I think.”

“You’re such a nerd, even when you’re drunk,” teased Y/N. “It’s honestly a wonder that you spent the first month near failing physics.”

“Sod off.” He nudged her again, hard enough to make her sway. “You’re the one who’s still an insufferable smartass. I figured drinking would make you more tolerable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she muttered as she shoved him back. “You know you love me.”

He froze in the middle of his retaliatory shove, his hand rested on her forearm.

“Sarcasm, king,” said Y/N. “I don’t mean it. I wouldn’t blame you if I were right, though. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m quite the commodity.” 

“Oh, yes, most certainly.” His tone was dripping in faux genuity as he gave her a gentle push. 

As he was doing this, Y/N grabbed the offending arm and took him down with her, landing in the soft garden bush in poor Ms. McCoyle’s front yard.

“Gotcha!” she cheered as he frowned from his spot on top of her. It took all her might to ignore the fact that his face was inches away. “It’s just my smart physics brain at work.”

 “Your neighbor is gonna kill us.”

“She can try.” 

Draco sat up, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet. She took the opportunity to hang onto the sleeve of his coat as a sneaking suspicion overtook her that things wouldn’t be like this again without the clever excuse of intoxication. 

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Y/N let go of his sleeve to look up at his face in confusion. She followed his eyes, suddenly hardened with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, to their house at the end of the street.

“You shut the door behind us, right?” Draco asked.

“And locked it.”

Their front door, hanging wide open and swinging in the breeze, told a different story.

~ 

Sobering up was easy once the police sirens showed up and searched their house. Y/N could tell the responding sheriff knew they’d been drinking, but since they weren’t driving and were speaking clearly, he didn’t mention anything.

“We’ve searched the house,” he told them as they sat together outside on the curb. “It looks like it fits the profile of the other armed burglaries in the area, but nothing was taken this time. The bedroom that looks out into the garden is completely trashed--it seems like the suspect was looking through your things for something. The bedroom across the hall was displaced a bit, but nothing compared to the first.” He took another look at his notes, adjusting the thick rimmed glasses that were perched on his nose. “You kids are lucky. Whoever this is means business. There’s unfortunately not much we can do except set up a patrol to watch over the street for now. Please give us a call if you see anything or hear anything.”

They nodded. Y/N had placed a call to their parents while they waited a safe distance from the home for the police to arrive. She’d been shaking as she pressed their number into her phone, and Draco, to his credit, rested his hand on her thigh.

“We’ll be fine,” he’d said before retracting it. “Don’t worry.”

Draco seemed considerably calm for someone experiencing a home break in in a foreign country as they made their way into the house. The first responders had left the lights on, and the wash of LED bulbs did nothing to hide the disturbance of her bedroom. Everything of hers was thrown into the middle of the room from her drawers, closet, and dresser. Her laptop, open and plugged in, was left completely untouched.

“Draco,” she said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends, what is it?” 

Y/N noted that he was getting considerably paler as they stood in her doorway. “I don’t think I can sleep here. Knowing what happened. Especially when it’s still a disaster.”

“Understandable.”

His features looked hardened again, like he’d gone through a filter of seriousness. She decided that this was probably her last chance to ask for any act of intimacy before the effects of alcohol dissipated in his system. “And I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Er...Oh.” He stared at her. “What?”

“I know that this is really awkward, but can I, like, sleep on your floor or something? Just for tonight.” When she swallowed her throat felt painfully dry. “I don’t snore or anything. It’ll be like I’m not even there.”

Draco sucked in a long breath, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. Y/N wished she knew what he was thinking about. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” she sang, darting into her room to grab a blanket and a pillow as he watched wordlessly by the doorframe.

The walk to his room was dead silent except for their sounds of shock when they saw the broken glass in the middle of the floor. 

“I think that was from the picture frame,” Y/N said as she carefully walked into the middle of the room. Sure enough, a framed photo of her and their late dog that had been left on the wall was face down on the carpet. 

“Is this when you ask me to sleep in my bed, too?” quipped Draco as he sidestepped the wreckage and sat on the opposite side of the queen mattress.

“Um...we can make a pillow barrier so we don’t touch.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed his blazer over his chair as he took off his shoes and buttonup, leaving nothing but his undershirt and dress pants. “I’m going to get changed. If you’re asleep before I get back, this is me saying goodnight.”

With that, he grabbed something from his dresser and walked into his bathroom, Y/N ripped off the picture of the shoe and placed her phone on the bedside table. Before she knew it, she was completely passed out.

~ 

It was barely dawn when she next woke up. Her head was heavy--no doubt the beginnings of a hangover--but she’d never felt more electrified.

A small huff prompted her to look to her left where Draco was just a few movements away from her. He was very clearly still sleeping, each breath leaving his lips with a whisper. His hand, draped over the covers, was millimeters away from touching her. The pink of the sunrise made his hair, now ruffled and sticking up in the side, glitter in the light. She resisted the urge to reach out and brush it away from his face.

Y/N lay there, admiring the boy sleeping next to her, until the urgency of her situation struck her. She was absolutely parched, and if she wanted to mitigate the damage she’d already done, it was in her best interest to drink a glass of water and take 4 Ibuprofen. 

With a sigh, she quietly slid out from under Draco’s covers and made her way to her room, careful to avoid the glass scattered all about. She knew she had a packet of Ibuprofen somewhere in one of her dresser drawers.

The pile in her room was bigger than she remembered. She began by just throwing her clothes that had been on the ground onto her bed, sorting through everything in rough categories. When this proved unhelpful, she turned to the mini pile by her door which, to her surprise, had a few sweatshirts that definitely weren’t hers.

Draco she thought absentmindedly as she combed through the pile. Aha. A small green pouch, just like the one she kept her over the counter medications in.

Her hands struggled to undo the tie--Did she normally knot it like that?--as she admired the lining. She never noticed that the edges had silver thread stitched in. 

Once she finally opened it up, she grabbed her water bottle and prepared to be faced with a variety of pill bottles as she tipped it over; however, what came out was very different.

A collection of letters. Namely, Draco’s. She knew it was wrong, but he was sleeping, and every letter looked official, stamped with a seal and etched with some sort of crest. They couldn’t have been that personal.

After a bit of bargaining, she decided to open one. If it was personal, she made the deal with herself to put it away and never speak of it again. 

The parchment was heavy and clearly expensive. Her hands were shaking as she unfolded the first one, feeling guilty the whole way.

Foreign words flooded her vision. It wasn’t like the letter was written in a foreign language--but there were so many terms she didn’t understand. 

Death eater...Voldemort...Crimes against the ministry...Conspiracy against Dumbledore...Hogwarts-sanctioned punishment...

She read on until a word popped out that made sense--Magic. And there it was again--Magic. Wizard. Magic.

Swallowing hard, she shoved the letter back into the envelope and opened one more. This one was much more coherent.

“Dear Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy:

       It has been made apparent to us that, while serving the punishment of your accused crimes, you have unlawfully used magic (namely, a Glamour spell) in front of a muggle. Consider this to be your first strong warning. One more slip up and the Ministry will be forced to reconsider your dropped sentence of Azkaban.

Sincerely and warmly,

The Ministry of Magic -- Justice Sector”

What. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Her racing mind was put to a screeching halt at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her. 

[morwensteelsheen]

WIP wednesday thoughts:

willow cabin is utterly fucked because i changed my intended ~moral~ halfway through and now im stuck trying to integrate this shitty political intrigue plot into what should’ve been a more interesting story about éowyn adapting to life in gondor. hugely fucking annoyed by it and just totally unsure how to proceed. i could significantly increase the chapter count, but im worried that because the initial framing device was this bandits shit that closing out that plot and then still going for ages afterwards would be really shitty? i honestly don’t know, it’s so difficult. really i just need someone to read my outline and tell me if im being a dumb twat about it lol

meanwhile I know exactly where I want to go with AFTA but for some unaccountable reason im stressed that my ass is gonna get roasted for the direction i want to take it in. it’s all based in both tolkien’s personal politics and (some) historical precedent, but im worried people are gonna see it as a marysue-ification? but also im hoping to do sthg of a sequel to afta to practice the political intrigue writing so i don’t make the same mistakes i did in wc, and to do that it would require this specific set up in AFTA. im gonna put my AFTA thing under the cut so don’t click read more unless you’re gucci with potential AFTA spoilers!!

this royal affair au is definitely gonna get published at some point but im trying to decide if i want to do ~tasteful~ smut that drives a longer narrative or if im really just gonna do a whole 3,000 word build up to some run of the mill, old fashioned PWP lmao

okay so i have spent a Lot of time thinking about what impact i think éowyn and faramir would have on each other in a pre-ring war setting, and the honest to god conclusion ive come to is that they would somewhat inadvertently egg on each other’s (wildly divergent) idealism.

faramir’s an idealist politically in ways that, as Big D rightly points out, are not super productive in a wartime scenario. but so far as im concerned, the war doesn’t feel as warlike until they have to blow the bridge at osgiliath. until that point, there’s not really anything to say that faramir’s whole throwback optimism isn’t a perfectly justifiable position to have.

but what that idealism is and how it manifests are two really important considerations. the crux of his idealistic politics is that he looks at númenor and sees something valuable in it, and looks at gondor and sees a lot that he thinks is fucked up. outside of articulating a general angst towards the glory hunting, it’s not like he’s spending time talking about his specific policy prescriptions. however, we do know a few things that can guide us to a more coherent reconstruction of his politics:

he’s pretty rigidly hierarchical (when it’s convenient for him). as seen in: him basically telling sam to fuck off and stay in his lane in WOTW, and in how and when he chooses to refer to his father as ‘father’ vs ‘my lord’ or ‘lord of the city’ in the aftermath of the osgiliath retreat and then before he gets his ass sent back there. i don’t want to go into too much detail here but if i go with this i’ll definitely justify it more thoroughly in the footnotes.

so we’ve got faramir’s emphasis on hierarchy and his occasional (when convenient) belief that the upper echelons of a hierarchy are there because they’re intellectually and/or morally better. or, maybe to remove the causation from that instance, because they are in those upper echelons, they have an obligation to be more morally/intellectually upstanding, and the people in the structure below them have an obligation to show deference. unless you’re faramir and you’re dealing with denethor in which case that all goes out the window. classic.

we know there is some sort of nascent pseudo-democratic tradition of popular sovereignty in gondor. we know this because faramir asks the masses at aragorn’s coronation if they’ll accept him as king. faramir is a lot of things, but he is certainly not a progressive political radical, and i cannot imagine any situation in which he cooked up that rigmarole himself. that then implies to me that it’s building on some sort of political/cultural expectation in gondor. so: some sort of relationship to popular legitimacy. the people of gondor are subjects, but perhaps not as totally passive and unconsidered in the power structure as we might assume given the comparability to feudal europe/asia.

given those two things, i want to use AFTA to argue:

that faramir, in looking to assign blame for the faults he sees in gondor, would not directly assign blame to the lower classes, but rather to the aristocracy, because he will have seen them as failing in their moral obligations to the people they rule over. this is not to say that he isn’t fucked off about The People™ valorising war, but i think he’d take the position that they couldn’t possibly be expected to form those values and opinions of their own volition, and the fault lies in their rules. faramir: not gramscian.

faramir lacks any power that is non-military, and even that is of questionable worth because the rangers seem to be fairly distinct to the general structure of the army, and are not exactly a huge force.

faramir lacking any political power isn’t necessarily a huge concern for him (as in, he’s not actively trying to change that), because he knows he’s not going to lead a moral revolution and isn’t interested in taking up the responsibilities having political capital would engender because he’s stuck dealing with this war, that he fucking hates btw has he mentioned that he hates it?

however, given that he is apparently eminently versed in lore and scholarship, he is probably keenly aware that there is this incipient notion of popular legitimacy somewhere in gondor’s culture. it’s not, for most of his life, knowledge that actually does anything for him, but it is there.

éowyn, meanwhile, doesn’t really have many strong political convictions (yet). not because she’s a dumbass or whatever, but because she looks at court politics as kind of a farce, and doesn’t believe that power legitimately emanates from anywhere that isn’t a Big Fucking Army. and why, strictly speaking, would she not think that? the event that brought about the creation of her kingdom was not careful, soft spoken negotiation, it was her ancestors being in the right place at the right time with a Big Fucking Army.

and the internal politics of the Riddermark actually seem to be fairly stable, all things considered. i sincerely doubt that Théoden or Théodred are having to negotiate complex politicking in the way Denethor and Boromir are. so where, then, would éowyn see that kind of political behaviour outside gondor? with gríma.

éowyn, then, will see the immediate contrast between gríma (backroom dealer, manipulator extraordinaire) and théoden (owner of Big Fucking Army). and gríma goes and fucking wins that fight. that forces éowyn to confront the fact that, jesus christ, maybe there are different types of power.

at the same time, she’s going to be in minas tirith and needing to cover for théoden letting his shit get wrecked. not just because she’s prideful, which of course she is, but because if denethor/gondor think that théoden is too weak to hold up his end of the bargain, why would they ever go help the Mark? éowyn, seeing that théoden’s f-f-fucked, knows that there’s a very very good chance the Mark will need help.

against her feelings about courtly politics, she starts to accept that she’s going to need to do something to get power in gondor. not anything substantial, it’s not like she’s trying to overthrow anybody, but enough that when push comes to shove she can force denethor to help out the Mark (if he doesn’t do so willingly).

but, as ive sort of already shown in AFTA, she’s a bit of a dogshit diplomat. good for a little big-brawny-enforcer stuff, but not exactly brimming with cultural sensitivity. by the time she realises théoden + the Mark are fucked, she’ll have burnt quite a few bridges with the gondorrim nobles, and it’s not like she’s the sort of person to go running cap-in-hand begging for mercy.

so: she has to look elsewhere. and wow! a chance for faramir to do his favourite thing — talk about his opinions! and by god, his weird idealistic politics are… actually kind of helpful? because he’s like, look, you’re never gonna be a diplomat, but there are other ways of consolidating power. and one of those ways is by appealing to The People™. so why not work that angle?

and actually, we know that this is a viable route for éowyn because hama, in arguing for her to take up the mantle of théoden’s heir when théoden and éomer fuck off to helm’s deep, basically says that The People™ love her and would have willingly chosen her to lead them.

we also know, based on faramir’s middle men speech, that the people of gondor and the mark have grown alike in nature. not totally unreasonable to then think that the people of gondor would take to her like the people of the mark did.

éowyn, then, in various ways begins to try to win over the people of minas tirith. i need to do a little more research on this bc what ive got on the practicalities of that so far are a bit, uhhh, sketchy, but the least jargony way to describe this is to point to when natalie dormer’s character in GOT gets out of the carriage to go hug and kiss some babies. (marc bloch, eat your heart out)

this would later segue into a potential sequel where, while trying to secure the way for aragorn’s coronation, éowyn actually plays an interesting role because she’s fallen into this incidental Diana, People’s Princess™ role and so is better positioned than almost anyone to go advocate on his behalf. wow! cool! éowyn getting to be politically useful in more ways than just getting hitched!

so yeah. that’s how i am thinking it might play out. this would obviously have a rolling impact on the remainder of AFTA and how certain (🔥) events pan out later, but i think that building up part has to begin pretty much now, narratively. also this lets me get in a reference to “and then her heart changed, or else at last she understood it” and have it not be almost entirely about wanting to shag faramir, but actually about her gradual evolution from valorising war above all else to being like, hmm, maybe there are other ways of being powerful. which i think still largely captures the “no longer I will vie with the great riders” stuff, but more subtly and without feeling quite so… deferential, I guess? Like it’s not that she’s swapping one form of power (violence) for nothing (gardening?? healing?? tolkien accidental articulation of necropolitics??) but swapping violence for a different type of more sustainable power.

yeah. that’s the take, basically. who fucking knows.

[tigerdrop]

okay kind of obsessed with the body swap art tho. idk why i just like benrey getting to bully gordon with his own body, his own voice, and i like gordon trying to navigate whatever weird shit benrey’s got going on. gordon not being able to figure out or control whatever organs in benrey’s throat produce sweet voice so it’s just spewing whatever emotions he’s feeling at random (including Horny? uh oh. can’t hide that as easily as a surprise boner can you gordon?)

this ask kicked me into actually thinking about it and your brain is so huge. massive. i lost control

last night i was struggling to articulate thoughts for the body swap thing but this is kickstarting me. i. really love bodyswap stuff........(sighing) i am yet again having to confront the fact that i latched onto an embarrassing number of Things after having first read about them in [REDACTED]. truly hate being alive

so like......potions. you can get into a whole lot of weird stuff with potions. truly loving that darnolds 5-minute existence gives me an excuse to think of the stupidest horny potions scenarios

and why in the fuck wouldnt he have a bodyswap potion just chillin in his lab. why wouldnt benrey crack that bad boy open and take a sip while darnolds bitching at him "dont you touch any of those goddamn potions. im not gonna tell you which ones which so if you die, you die"

gordon claps benrey on the back afterwards like "well, thats a risk im perfectly happy for him to take" but uh oh you fucking buffoon. the touch is what activates it. and shit just starts spinning and schlorping in his mind and he nearly falls over clutching the lab bench next to him and when he cracks his eyes back open, hes........shorter. and everybodys asking if somebodys okay but that somebody isnt him and hes kind of miffed about that

and then gordons head turns and he sees Himself being steadied on his feet by tommy and darnold and hes like.......guys? guys. hello! and the sound of benreys voice coming out of him with that irritated and loud timbre makes everybody turn to face him........b/c that is so insanely weird coming from him

im like way into the idea of benreys, like, Eye Darkness Thing transferring to gordons face when their bodies are swapped, too. its just his malevolent energies manifesting physically no matter what body hes in

Wait god wait. Like. Benrey in Gordon's body and he gets horny for some reason and has to live Gordon's fucking pained life of the suit edging the hell outta him- Bc now Gordon can actually fucking jerk off for the the first time in days. No edging bullshit from the hev suit

benreys newfound appreciation for why gordons such a bitch all the time

RRRRRRRRRRR gordon able to go wild beating his meat that night finally but right before he does he stops because hes looking down at. 8)!

YES EXACTLY....... gordon freeman humbled by the sight of benreys huge meat. except its his meat now 

at first he only feels mildly weird about jacking it when hes not even in his own body right now but hes been edged for days now and hes just thinking "if i can just get this out of the way now, ill be clear-headed for however fucking long im stuck in black mesa. maybe this is why ive been so goddamn stupid lately. yeah"

but then he gets some time and space to himself at long last and unzips and the shock of seeing benreys huge uncut dick instead of his own brings him back to reality like "?oh my god what the fuck am i doing"

embarrassment! guilt! but also hes still fuckin horny and eventually curiosity wins out. whats the harm, right. its not like he has to say anything about it. and gordon freeman is (mostly) heterosexual and hes never been this up close and personal with a foreskin before and hes just......curious. scientifically

maybe hes even.......locked himself inside one of the company restrooms while hes at it. just to make sure hes got privacy. and there is a mirror right there........  he was gonna just bust one out and leave as fast as he can but now hes curious

starts. thumbing the hem of his shirt under benreys vest. starts lifting it up experimentally just to see where all that hair leads. out of curiosity. and seeing the curve of benreys stomach peek out in the mirror makes him hiccup on sweet voice inadvertently 

weirdly enough theres a part of him thats both relieved and disappointed that hes never seen that color before

he never envisioned that seeing benrey like this would be a turn-on but like......with that vest and that helmet on he just looks like some kind of fuckin roundish rectangle shape. but now gordons intimately familiar with how his body feels to move around in......what hes gotta look like underneath all that armor and ill-fitting work clothes......and the hornier he gets the stupider he gets

takes off the helmet.......just to test the waters. if somebody manages to bust in, thats not so weird to explain. and hes surprised by the shock of black hair he finds under there. he doesnt know what he was expecting....but honestly, benrey looks, like, kind of nice like that. more like a person

im slightly obsessed with the idea of benrey just not even registering as a Real Guy, physically, to gordon, one that he could possibly be attracted to, until hes out of his work uniform.......like hes more of an icon of a person than anything up until that point. pure signifier. no substance

like......you know......the equivalent of how benreys HL model registers to 99% of people watching the series. sure, thats not necessarily anything youd register as "hot", most likely, but then u peel that away and its like........Oh

the model is the icon and the representation of the icon is the real

and gordon runs a hand thru benreys hair and tries out one of those shitty little smirks benrey likes to use on him and the effect is.......dizzying. is that him? is that what benrey really looks like to him?? he feels fuckin salacious doing this

he can even.........get his face up close to the mirror and really look at those teeth

run his tongue over them experimentally.......feel their sharp edges.......and, no, theyre not sharp like a knife, but they are definitely pointy. and surprisingly well-kept......hes never seen benrey brush his teeth before but clearly he must. theyre so smooth and slick under his fingertips

and then he flushes and drops his hand b/c hes getting some weird fucking thoughts right now........but looking back up at himself in the mirror and seeing benreys face all wide-eyed and red makes the issue worse

oh, you really like seeing him look like that, dont you. and gordons pissed b/c this isnt even his fucking brain but its still whispering the exact same neurotic, self-defeating shit at him that hes trying very hard to tamp down

and then he starts getting a little crazier. taking off the vest. he can explain that, no problem. its just kind of hot. heavy. he needed a breather! its normal. just in here to splash some water on his face and cool down, nothing wrong with that. but that just makes benreys shirt all the easier to access.......and he tugs the hem of it just a little higher and looks at himself in the mirror and runs a thumb over the curve of his stomach, where the hair is thickest, and he shivers

gordon freeman is deeply normal and would never get off to the sight of a guy with arms the size of his head tentatively dragging the hem of his shirt up, just for gordon to look at him closer

hands shaking from nerves as he decides to loosen his tie and start unbuttoning and he sees more and more hair-dusted skin and muscle and fat and a thin sheen of sweat reveal itself

> i could see gordon trying to tense and flex the muscles a bit just because hes normal

HE IS, AND HE WOULD

he doesnt know when "being horny b/c hes been pent up and edged for days and he just needs to get his rocks off real quick so he can be normal again" turned into "being horny b/c the way benrey looks under his uniform is scary good to him" but if he thinks about that too hard hes gonna have a panic attack

tells himself that its all just because he hasnt been able to get off. thats why hes thinking this shit. hell stop thinking it once he nuts

> hey this is a quick aside but yknwo how he talks to himself in third person sometimes? what if he does and then kinda does a mental double take at how his name sounds coming out of benreys mouth, with his voice. ok thats it goodbye

oh ym god thats making me go insane. doing it by accident and then.........saying it again. on purpose. just to hear benreys voice doing it

getting one knee hitched up onto the sink and leaning forward with his arm braced against the mirror and his forehead leaning on his arm and tugging benreys dick (no, idiot, thats your dick right now, stop thinking about it) and tentatively groaning out his own name and it comes out so hoarse and desperate that it punches him straight in the gut (too bad, hes thinking about it, he cant not think about it, not with the way he looks and sounds right now)

> remember in the series when benrey called him gordon one (1) time and he noticed immediately and was like..i think thats the first time youve called me by my name.

he looks so fucked out and slutty in that mirror that it almost makes him pass out

eyes darting like hes trying to commit every single detail of how he looks right now to memory (b/c he is. he fucking is. he wants to make benrey look like this so fucking bad. just for him. wreck him and get him flushed and sweaty and panting and moaning gordons name and jesus christ, okay, thats where his brains taking him. okay. cool)

hes dizzying himself thinking about it. he knows benreys hot for him by this point, theoretically. assuming his weird come-ons werent just jokes. benrey would probably let him do this to him. benrey would probably want him to touch his dick. gordon thinks about how good it might feel for his own hand to be on benreys dick and he cant get himself solidly into one headspace or another - hes gordon, hes benrey, he wants to touch, he wants to be touched, he wants to feel his own hand on this dick (and god, maybe he could. maybe he could ask. wouldnt that be crazy.)

benrey in gordons suit and gordons body and gordons face leaning over him, b/c fuck, he really is tall compared to benrey, hes figured that one out awful quick. and gordons (his) hand on his (benreys) dick and stroking him and leering down at him with those dark, dark eyes that dont even really look like his eyes, anymore, not with the way theyre shaded over, and hearing his (benreys) (his) voice moaning out his (gordons) (definitely gordons) name and all the little "pleases" and "thank yous" that he cant stop letting out b/c benreys voice was made for it, made to beg and whine and ask so nicely, and his heads spinning as he comes all over the fucking mirror and sink

> i wonder if this could be combine with the ideas that parts of the self or like mind is still a bit left behind if that makes sense, like with benrey also wanting this that part of the reason gordon wants to say those things

"do you want to fuck him or do you want to be him?" well my good bitch, perhaps you can have a little of both. welcome to my personal hell

hes never come so hard in his fucking life and the noise that rips out of him when he does, finally, after days of being jerked around (ha ha) makes his ears burn with shame

now if you really wanna go crazy. imagine that benreys up and walking around this whole time b/c being edged by his stupid broken suit is making it impossible for him to sleep, and he hears........all of this. stops and presses himself flat agains tthe wall to listen

he cant actually get into the bathroom to scare the shit out of gordon/offer to join in/etc, b/c this stupid flesh body of gordons cant even noclip, but he can press his ear to the door and. listen. and he can flush all the way down to his chest when he hears gordon in there, moaning out his own name with benreys voice

so thats what gordon wants him to do, huh. thats what hes thinking about.

poor benrey, tho. he gets to experience just a lick of the endless fucking suffering that gordon goes thru every single day just by being alive, and "the HEV suit trying and failing to suck him off to completion while his dick twitches against the hard metal of the interior every time gordon groans in there" is just one small part of it

anyway . see ya. my final message

[bladekindeyewear]

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-05-19

Figured an upd8 was coming, it’s felt like enough time has passed for one.

Huh, looking at my last post I’d completely forgotten I was supposed to play through Pesterquest sometime... work is busy and stressing me out a bit, I’m not sure when I’ll have the energy on the side to do that.  (Maybe I’ll livetweet it like I did Undertale a while ago, but this time not looking at my twitter replies so I don’t get spoiled by One Guy™?)

Also, including bonus commentary on A Threat Sensed.

Okay, going in completely blind.  I’d guessed from context that we’re hopping over to Meat side to get a chapter there before we can come back to actually see Yiffy?

Yep.  Okay, what is this about exactly?

(Agh, dammit, I’ve been copying and pasting so much at work remoting into Windows lately that now I’m automatically trying to hit control-C instead of command-C to copy.)

> CHAPTER 9. How Goes The Eulogizing, Dear?

CONTENT NOTE: This chapter contains Child Abuse.

Which one???

Wait

JANE: (Where is he?) JANE: (It's a question I've found myself asking many times in recent days.)

Holy SHIT we get two Candy chapters in a row???  So we might see her right away??  No, it’s gotta just be another tiny glimpse.

(Has two Candy chapters in a row happened before?  Future Boots, scroll back up and put this here. FUTURE BOOTS: “I forgot to scroll back up and put that here.” EDIT: Also, not the first time with two in a row, but it IS the first time with THREE in a row, huh.)

So Jane has to be talking about either Tavros or Dave.  --Oh, if this was a Candy Side chapter title, I guess Rose or Jade is eulogizing Dave for John?

> (==>)

JANE: (Where now is our merry savior?) JANE: (Where is the horn that was honking?) JANE: (Where is the cape and the codpiece, and the...) JANE: (The...) JANE: (Oh, fiddlesticks.)

What?  Is she reading a childrens’ book?  --Oh.  She’s eulogizing Gamzee.  So that gives us a third option, where the rebellion crashes the funeral somehow, probably audiovisually rather than in person.  (Which would make sense, given Candy practically began with Gamzee crashing Dirk’s funeral.)

> (==>)

Ah never mind, she’s still writing it.

That sure is a single button drama-remote that’s going to be pressed at some point.  Oh, and who the fuck keeps a spork in a pen cup???  --No no, don’t say it’s one of those pens with a spork at the eraser end, either ready-made or rubber-banded to the side.  That would make sense.  You totally know it isn’t that and is just a spork.

JANE: (Okay, poetry is out.) JANE: (What else?) JANE: (Hrm...) JANE: (I've always been pretty good at crying on cue.) JANE: (Could I try staging an emotional breakdown?) JANE: (That could work; playing to people's humanity.)

Why were you crying in Jake’s arms about his death if you didn’t care that much?  Did you just want him to hold you and kinda make him feel in on things again?  Or did you just cry yourself out about him?

JANE: (Or whatever is the more inclusive term.)

I bet the rest of Earth C figured out a more inclusive term millenia ago FUCK I accidentally added millennia to my dictionary misspelled instead of correcting it hold on--

...There, killed the entry for it.  ...Huh.  Take a look at my Chrome dictionary’s custom-added words over the years, apparently:

Caliborn Eridan Kanaya Matriorb Meenah Tavros alchemiter dichotomic nephilim reblogged uncaptchalogues uncaptchaloguing

That’s fun.

Okay back to reading. Millennia.  Phew!  Where was I.

JANE: (One really good and calculated weep could do it, I think.) JANE: (But then there's the danger that I might get carried away and do it for real.) JANE: (And I can't risk that.)

So still feeling something, just too used to calculating over the past years.

JANE: (What can I say about him that will stir up their emotions?) JANE: (Do I mention the stuff about the milk?) JANE: (Think Crocker, think.)

WHY would you-- how much did Gamzee normalize adult breastfeeding?!

JAKE: Ahoy over there!

Not the best time.

(The thing with the divorce papers from the Epilogue and John implying he was planning with Jake to execute something that sounds like a divorce... is that going to be sprung here?  Did her lawyers send the divorce papers way back when she was in a fit of pique, and he just had them available to sign now at the tactical moment? Or... let me pull the exact text...)

JOHN: now, harry anderson, i know that you and tavros haven't always gotten along. JOHN: but i am going to have to ask you to try and look out for him for the time being. JOHN: your uncle jake and i... well, i'll explain later. JOHN: let's just say that gamzee isn't the only family member jane is losing today.

(So is John going to submit the papers? Or did they already go through a while ago and default custody to John or something who’s going to adopt him too or some nonsense?  And did he plan this out with Jake NOW, or a while ago, and if only a while ago, is Jake going to KNOW whatever John’s about to pull in that respect is about to happen??)

> (==>)

Butte

Janepalme

> (==>)

JAKE: Er... how goes the eulogizing, dear?

Gah.  I completely forgot again that capitalized-first-letter chapter names don’t mean KANAYA is saying them.  That probably makes a lot more sense out of my wondering about the chapter title earlier to those of you who didn’t realize I was making that mistake.

JANE: It turns out that it's mighty difficult to find touching things to say about a person, the relationship with whom was predicated on deep-seated mutual loathing.

Hah!

--A loathing you regarded as largely more important to you than Jake ever was, by the way.  You asshole.

JANE: I imagine this is one of the reasons no funerary tradition was ever established on Alternia, besides the barbarism of their culture. DIRK: Jesus christ. JANE: Not only did a significant proportion of their interpersonality depend on romance in the form of hatred, but it was a society based on cruelty and violence. JANE: What reason could they have had to provide for the dead? JANE: What kind of last rites could they have even imagined?

I wondered for a moment why (bg!)Dirk of all people would react to a single line of her starting to bring up prejudices, but then I realized that (1) Brain Ghost Dirk is a little more Jakey, and (2) Dirk knew that more ranting would follow the first line.

JANE: I can't think of anything good to write about him because deep down, I hated his guts. JANE: But he was and is beloved of the multitude, so I have to think of something regardless. JAKE: Im not sure i understand. JANE: Don't worry your pretty little head about it. JANE: This is politics, Jakey. JANE: Lying through your two front teeth about people you hate is about as good a definition as it's possible to get. JANE: But, by gum, is it tiring work.

Mm.  It’s a position Jane put herself in, but it’s still a legitimate position once you’re there.

JANE: The funeral is tomorrow, after all.

Got it.

DIRK: Dude, the bowl. JAKE: Hm? JAKE: Oh, right. JANE: What is it now, Jake. JAKE: I brought something for our guest as well. JANE: You mean the prisoner. JAKE: Y...es.

Wait, bowl?

Oh god damnit which of you had the idea to feed her with a DOG BOWL.  Either of you could have thought of it, and either of you would be horrible for it.

> (==>)

Huh, that outfit on Yiffy looks familiar, like a reference to something.  And a black tail?  This definitely isn’t quite the look I was expecting from Jade Plus Rose, but I suppose the snazzy tie is a Roseish vibe.  Also reminiscent of Jade’s old Dead Shuffle dress.  Formal wear and soccer cleats??

JANE: She's over in the corner. JANE: Don't worry, she won't bite. JANE: I've seen to that already.

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN.  I don’t see anything over her mouth!  Did she stick something in it, or drug her?  File her fucking teeth???

I mean I did forget the Child Abuse trigger warning to be fair.  Hoping whatever would be on her mouth is just not shown in-panel yet for stylistic reasons.

> (==>)

JAKE: Its only mac and cheese, sorry. JAKE: Its all I know how to make, haha. JAKE: ... JAKE: I um... hope you can safely partake of cheese? JAKE: ... JAKE: Well, JAKE: Bon appetit.

How the fuck did Jake eat on his island then?  --Oh right, preserved food cans that Grandma Jade stored up, I think I remember.  Why would cheese not be a thing for them, if it’s fine for Jade?  I know he’s probably not just worried about lactose intolerance.

Either way, if she’s drugged here, that’ll mean we won’t get a good idea of her for a while, so which is it...

> (==>)

DIRK: Bon appetit. DIRK: Seriously dude? JAKE: (What? Did i pronounce it wrong?) DIRK: Jake. DIRK: You put the food in a fucking dog bowl. JAKE: (It was all there was, ok???) JAKE: (I feel awful enough as it is without you getting on my case about it.)

Ah, missed the bone pun.  AND, yeah, Jake, you’re a fucking idiot, you could have put it in a cup or something.

JAKE: (So far ive yet to see anything come of that brilliant plan of yours.) JAKE: (Are you sure sending that message to the others was enough?)

Okay, so he IS coordinating this slightly.

> (==>)

Horrifying image to contemplate, eh Jane?

Or anger-inducing?

> (==>)

Seems about right!

> (==>)

Oh that’s a GREAT exasperated Jane face.

JANE: I hope you're not expecting dessert, young lady.

I like how Jane didn’t notice, comment on, or care about the bowl.  How can you hate a kid so much??

> (==>)

Oh I know why I felt like I recognized the outfit style, it’s because it’s ANIME AS FUCK.  Feels like some Persona 4 Arena nonsense, and I say that not having played any of those games or even remembering what they looked like.  Also, white hair, black fur’d dog parts?  Nice change of pace.

YIFFY: GRRRRRRRRR... JANE: Oh no you don't.

Red text?  What color exactly... “#D00009”?  Huh.  That’s nowhere near Alt-Callie’s #FF0000, and darker than Dave’s #E00707.  In fact, let me go back and check those spilled color pins the commentary pointed out from an update or two ago...  no, the red pin is #E63225, closer to Dave’s color.  (Also, is Yiffy blocking the doorway out?  That’s a pretty slack chain then.)

Did Jane see to it that she wouldn’t bite with like, a water spray bottle?

(EDIT: Oh my FUCKING GOD, THAT's why it's #D00009...)

> (==>)

FUCK I didn’t notice the shock collar in the Yiffy image!  FUCK YOU, Jane.

> (==>)

Keeping someone in line with collars, especially ones that punish whenever one strays out of line, has always been a decent way for her to mix in some Doomy control of others to show how she’s “grown” to balance her main role and her Tiara-controlled-like inverse for more power.  Doom in part represents boundaries that you can’t cross without getting hurt or punished.

> (==>)

FUCK, those little buck teeth!?  D’:

JANE: That's more like it.

She HAS to have more of a reason for hating her than hating her parents, right?  Like, more than that and general racism applying to partdogfolk?

> (==>)

Hey fuck off with that!

> (==>)

This is a pretty cool ima-- are those piercings on her dog ear?  I didn’t notice that in the first shot, neat.

JANE: You've been a thorn in my side ever since I agreed to enroll you at the academy, little madam. JANE: Back then, I was doing a favor for two old friends who made a disgusting mistake. JANE: I'm no longer going to play nice with you just because of your parents, however. JANE: That truce is over. JANE: Do I make myself understood?

What the fuck?  WHY would you do that?  Why does Jane run "Ms. Paint’s Home for Inconvenient Girls”?  What did Yiffy do to piss her off so much there, how much trouble could she have caused?

I don’t know if she’s referring to the behind-Kanaya’s-back part as disgusting or she’s just being MORE racist.

> (==>)

JANE: We don't want you passing out during the ceremony, do we?

Oh, just showing the hostage off during the clown funeral, huh?  Classy much?

> (==>)

JANE: Now, be a good hostage and get some rest, Yiffany dear. JANE: We've got a big day tomorrow.

For a politician, Jane’s not good at looking at herself in a mirror.

> (==>)

JANE: Night night. JANE: Hoo hoo.

> (Yiffy: Lights out.)

Huh, dream stuff is gonna be relevant out in Candy then? *click*

Okay, dark background all of a sudden.  Properly dramatic?  You even have to highlight the non-link “>” part of the Next link to see it.

> (==>)

-- thespiansGlamor [TG] began pestering adamantGriftress [AG] --

Well, I don’t know WHY it’s happening, but the white-backed pesterlog suddenly on the dark site framing is certainly evocative.  Of like, a mood, or something.

TG: i thought he was pretty quiet down there. TG: we'll make a rebel of him yet! AG: Lol. AG: I think it's more that he can't sleep. AG: I know how he feels. TG: yeah. TG: today was a lot. AG: ... TG: do you wanna talk about it? AG: Ugh, not you as well.

It’s really jarring to transition between Homestuck’s “kids jarringly mentally resistant to freaking out about the end of the world” to HS^2′s more realistic “kids traumatized by their first firefight even though it was an overwhelming victory-escape”.

TG: but seriously, do you? AG: Not really. TG: not even about... you know? TG: her? AG: No. TG: ... are you sure? AG: A8solutely. AG: What are you, my moirail? AG: Just leave it, Harry. TG: ok.

Are they about to have an “I wonder what Yiffy’s like” talk?

> (==>)

Very similar Tav/Vrissy convo to the previous one.

GG: I havent ever shared a bedroom before,,, GG: Not even for a slumber party,,, AG: Tavvy, you are just a8out the saddest person I've ever met.

Well, we have an even better idea how horrible Jane can be with kids, now.�� From Nanna to THIS is quite jarring.  I wonder how the double Nannasprites that must still be around here somewhere feel?

> (==>)

TG: nothing about my dad is cute. TG: what are you even saying. AG: Lmao. TG: seriously! TG: i think he has something against that word, even. he gets super weird about it. AG: He's a strange and funny m8n. TG: yeah. TG: ... TG: i think something bad must have happened.

...um.  What?  Why would John have some sort of trauma about the word cute or being called it?

Did John dress up as a hint of his buried June ambitions as a kid and Dad lavish him with “SO CUTE” praise in an epic supportiveness backfire that caused him to shelve the idea of wearing non-masc clothes and being happier on the flipside of gender ever again???  Because if that’s how June gets canonized as promised, it’s a little harsher than the back of my mind was hoping.  I guess it kind of had to be though from the premise of how it was read into his childhood for the original idea, though.  Fuck, I hope this Cute business is about something different from that (like a Terezi reference or such) just to get less John Sads.  (But still June.  Definitely still want to get June.)

> (==>)

Oh, and now Vrissy is doing nothing but talking about what she said she didn’t want to talk about, of course.  (Also I like how JANE’s now being called the Batterwitch.)

AG: And the worst part was they didn't even fight a8out it! AG: That made me madder than 8nything else. AG: It felt like I was the only person who even W8S mad! GG: I dont think thats true,,, AG: What would you know a8out it?! GG: Maybe nothing,,, GG: Sorry,,, GG: Its just,,, GG: To me,,, all the way through the conversation,,, aunt kanaya looked even angrier than you,,, AG: ... AG: Adults are so fucking weird.

Guh, I don’t want to be reminded how hurt a good chunk of the fanbase is by Kanaya getting hurt this badly.

Original Tavros was always SLIGHTLY perceptive of others sometimes, but maybe perceptiveness is being hinted at as a Tavros specialty?  We still don’t know his classpect/hero-title or have any firm guesses based on purely him evidence.  (Also, frightened kids of abusive households tend to learn to get perceptive pretty fucking quickly I hear.)

> (==>)

TG: dad was sitting in the cafeteria with aunt jade and your moms. TG: it looked like they were discussing something important... they were whispering and stuff.

[etc etc] Alright, the what-happened-to-Dave bit.  And I imagine they’re kind of helping John grieve there, since Rose and Jade have talked that out already.

TG: aunt kanaya's was the only face i could see. TG: she was standing next to them, but she wasn't looking at what was going on. TG: almost like she couldn't bear to. AG: I doubt it. Kanaya's got a8out as much Emotivity as a very reclusive stone. TG: ok, i think that is bullshit but whatever. TG: she saw me standing there, but didn't say anything. she just shook her head slightly, and pointed back out into the hallway i came down.

Yep, giving them some space to grieve.  Also-- gosh, shouldn’t Vrissy have the same emotive senses that Aranea implied Vriska shared with her?  Kanaya isn’t that EXPRESSIVE but she’s certainly full of emotion.  Also, I hope part of her not bearing to watch wasn’t lingering anger toward Jade and Rose mixing with that, but there probably was a bit of that too, though Dave being gone is so much harsher than that. --I just realized they might not have broken the news to Karkat yet, either.

AG: I guesadxcxzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz TG: vrissy?

Put to sleep by someone slumping down on your phone keypad, or surprised by something about the other conversation?

Oh shit, “other conversation” reminded me I didn’t look at Tavros’s chumhandle:

glutinousGymnast [GG]

HHHHHhhhhuh.  Hm... huh? hhhh.  huh?  what, but.  Why would.  ?????

I really don’t understand what that chumhandle or any of its entendres should signify in this context.

Also, this means for our new four kids we have TG, GG, AG, and ??.

> (==>)

GG: I think she might have succumbed to sleep quite suddenly,,, GG: It would explain the,,,,,, interesting messages I've been getting for a while,,, TG: hehe. TG: i guess that tracks. TG: she does that from time to time.

That’s... strange.  Homestuck’s taught us to be suspicious of that.

TG: ... TG: tav? GG: Yes,,, harry anderson,,,? TG: what does it feel like to know someone who's died?

Who is Harry referring to? (EDIT: Yes I know Gamzee for Tavros, but I meant Harry talks like he's worried he'll have to feel that way soon?)  Is he just kind of inferring that something bad might have happened to Uncle Dave?  Got that perceptive “parents are about to tell me about a death in the family” vibe?  Or did he overhear more than he let on to Vrissy?

...alright, that’s the last page of this update.  Looks like this chapter is going to continue to have a good bunch of grieving, or talk around it.

---

Now for Bonus Commentary for A Threat, Sensed.  For some reason I have a dim memory of like... reading this myself without commenting on it?  Or skimming it?  But I’m pretty sure I didn’t do that.  Weird.  Must have imagined doing it.

Ah, I think I saw the opening paragraph scrolling Patreon, and my mind kinda filled in the blanks, this is still looking new to me.

Okay, mostly banter and japes in the commentary here.  About Dirk “throwing a huge tantrum in his philosophy cave”.

We’ve had quite a bit of speculation on whether this is “really” Andrew. To that, I think we’d say that it doesn’t “really” matter.

Really?  That was speculated about?  :/

Here we discover that Dirk has not, as some people have speculated, been directly intervening into the Candy timeline, or influencing it in any way. In fact, he has a very hard time seeing anything going on there at all.

Mhmm, and that was a pretty important thing to learn.

A couple of years ago I might have agreed with the take that everything happening in Candy is simply too outlandish to ever happen naturally, without direct, villainous interference, but that was before literally every fucking batshit insane thing that has happened on Real Life Earth started going down, and now I will believe literally anything. 

This is a nice bit of distraction from the idea that at least the opening parts of the Candy story were written/narrated by Original, Alive Calliope over on meat side.  To refresh your memory of what was pointed out to me:

ROXY: back when jade first got all effed up callie saw somethin and it made them freak out ROXY: it took me weeks to convince them that it was safe to come home ROXY: but now we got the opposite problem and they arent leavin the house at all ROXY: they stay home all day with the blinds drawn paintin some weird ass shit on the walls TEREZI: WH4T? ROXY: its not as bad as it sounds i promise ROXY: some of it is like ROXY: weird and violent?? ROXY: like lotsa nasty purple blood and um ROXY: nudity???? TEREZI: >:? ROXY: yeah yikes ROXY: but MOST of it is cute stuff like... various combos of all of us being happy and gettin married and shit ROXY: anyway thats kept callie kinda busy

Which tracks with the initial out-of-character-seemingness of almost everyone at the start of Candy, and how they kind of tried to railroad things back onto the “Happy??” track after Dirk derailed it with his weird self-accumulation suicide, along with some of the flowery-idyllic descriptions of characters seeing each other bathed in a halo of light and such.

Of course, they’re not going to out-and-out STATE that Calliope was at fault for that narration, helping the Candy story not necessarily fall out the way it did “naturally”, until we finally get a glimpse of her on the heroes’ ship in Meat probably still painting the continuing Candy events, inspiring them into the void of the singularity with her latent powers.  Til then, it’s a bit of misdirection whenever the topic is to be brought up.  Along with a mix of Roxy’s late-Candy point to John of more or less “why COULDN’T we have done this naturally? you don’t know”.

He might even think that he has more direct power over the narrative than Hussie does himself. Surprise, motherfucker, you are a fictional character. 

:p

I’ll quote this next part in full:

There’s been talk of whether or not this bonus was written in the two days between its release and the Yiffy reveal chapter. The answer is--no. It was written over a month ago. But I think the things it addresses were not difficult to suss out. Obviously, Dirk is highlighting the issues that the readership are having with Yiffy, in his typical Dirk fashion. If it seems a little defensive, well...I suppose it is. Yiffy is one of the two hard lines drawn in the sand, and all of us love her, and we’re hoping that everyone else will love her too. But more than that, it focuses on the fact that update culture has a rhythm to it--shock, revulsion, acceptance (or not), and then excitement (or not). Will it follow that pattern this time? Who knows. I guess we’ll find out. 

Yeah, given what was going to be dropped on us I expected they would have had exactly this lined up, especially because Andrew specifically mandated Yiffy.  --I wonder why they aren’t mentioning that somewhere in the commentary and only on one of their Twitters?

Also quoting this:

There’s something both incredibly “cringe” and self-indulgent, as well as philosophically intriguing, about the author arguing with his villain, especially since he’s writing both halves of the conversation himself. You are, for all intents and purposes, trying to solve a problem that you have created for yourself. You are looking an aspect of your personality in the eye and asking, hey, what the fuck, man?

But in the end, isn’t that what every story is? Trying to untie knots that you put in the rope yourself?

Since it’s part of the central struggle of this story, and kind of the question Andrew’s tried to imply with every Homestuck work about what right we have to keep these characters trapped in a story, and if they’d be better off escaping it.

I’m really trying to avoid quoting so much of this, since the commentary is paid...  but I think we can make an exception here?  I’ll have only quoted about half of it; just, the really plot-important half.  Plus, I left out a LOOOT of japes.

Dirk has a certain idea of how stories are supposed to go. That’s pretty much what the Epilogues is about. The audience also has a certain expectation of how a story is supposed to go. In a way, the Epilogues were also about that. They were taking a story that had reached the traditionally “acceptable” happily ever after, and saying, wait, no. What happens next? Thinking past happily ever after in any story is a terrifying prospect. Once Cinderella marries the prince, what then? Sure, she got what she wanted, but who knows that it will be everything she dreamt it would? What if she changes her mind, if not today, what about ten years from now? What if the prince dies of malaria? 

And I’m...

Yeah I don’t have anything else to add here, I’m kind of out of brain juice to think about this tonight.  BUSY day I had.  Y’all take care!

[turtle-steverogers]

alright babe heres the first 5 I saw: "why are you covered in neon body paint?" "best not to ask" and "I cant breathe, I cant-" and "I cant walk just go on without me" and " ive had a rough day and honestly all I want right now is a drink and someone to cuddle with" and "hey guys im here and im ready to bitch"

hey guys, saph and i were facetiming earlier and she dared me to finally answer this ask she sent in like fall 2018 except i had to use all the prompts and the result is…well, i’m not sure what it is.  but its got criminal race and spot and a cryptic ass albert who makes lava lamps for his niece.  so yah. enjoy!

warnings: its pretty much crack, but there is a brief anxiety attack

ship: platonic race/al/spot

word count: 2490

editing: no

Something a Little Off-Kilter

-

Race was nine years old when his ma grabbed him by the chin, turned his face towards her and told him in all her harsh Italian-mother sternness, “We do not run from people, Antonio.  You have Mancini blood in your veins and Mancini’s do not run!”  And Race, with eyes blurred from tears and nose dripping with blood from the fight he’d just fled, nodded vigorously before trudging miserably to his bathroom to clean up (and cry a little more).

But he’d learned two things that day.  One: what a maiden name was and that his ma’s is Mancini and two: running is for losers who never want to stop running.  And he’d more or less kept up that sentiment, even if it cost him a black eye and some dignity in some circumstances.  Like that one time in eleventh grade when Spencer Reiding called him a fairy and in turn, Race had beat the living shit out of him until his little entourage had shown up and knocked him out cold.  But seriously, ‘fairy’? It’s not 19-fucking-50.

Race supposes, though, that all good sentiments meet their maker at one point or another.  Self-preservation over morals and all that, right? 

“Floor it, Christ, are you flooring it!?”  His grip on the ‘oh shit’ bar is white-knuckled and he can hear himself panting as he twists in his seat for what’s probably the hundredth time.  The blue and red flashing of the cop car that had been following them is nothing but a speck at this point, but Race isn’t really keen on taking any chances right now.  Tonight had been a close fucking call.  

“Yes, I’m flooring it, asshole!” Spot shouts, swerving around a lone subaru that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere on the otherwise empty stretch of desert highway.  Normally, Race would be surprised at the sheer lack of cars that are out, but he supposes 4 am in buttfuck Arizona is not prime time for travels.  

Letting out a little whine, Race turns to face forward again, stealing a quick glance at Spot as he does so.  He can see the faint worry lines on his face, reflected from the miniscule lights of the dash.  They’d opted to leave the headlights off for optimal covertness, but the moonlight over the desert proves to be more than sufficient.  

Spot’s anxious, Race can tell.  He remembers a year ago when the two of them had first met in that dingy bar in Brooklyn.  Spot had been nothing but a stoic mask at that time, only showing faint hints of amusement every now and then.  It had been incredibly disconcerting, especially to Race who wears his heart on his sleeve, to behold such utter passivity, but Race had since learned to read him.  Spending everyday together for twelve months is really the best lesson in a person’s tells, Race has found.  And really, when he spares a second thought to it, their situation and relationship therefore, is a strange one.  Two broke college grads down on their luck and bearing fuck all from their families meeting by chance and somehow finding themselves stuck in a loop of money laundering and identity theft in order to stay above ground.  Maybe not the best solution to their problems, but hey, Race never claimed to be smart with his choices.  And the rush of adrenaline is as much of a drug as the coke they sell on the side.

“God fucking damnit, is he still following us?” Spot says, eyes flitting to the rearview mirror.

“Dude, he caught us balls deep tryna break into a fucking bank.  He ain’t gon’ let us off that easy.” Race says, “Jesus fuck I told you we should stick to the other stuff.  We were making big cash just fine pulling paychecks from easy civvies.”

“Yeah, yeah, you can tell me ‘told you so’ when we get somewhere I can think.” Spot sounds exhausted and on-edge and Race himself is looking forward to this whole ordeal blowing over so they can find a place to ditch this car and grab a new one and maybe crash at some shitty inn no cop would think to look.  Yeah, laying low for a couple of days sounds perfect right now.  They don’t even have to leave the room.  Denny’s orders in, right?

“Oh, I will.” Race says, sighing an internal sigh of relief as the distant lights of a small town come into view.  Thank god.

Spot mumbles something that sounds like, “Fucking finally,” and eases up on the gas, turning abruptly once they enter the city perimeter.  

They’ve gotten good at this: losing tails, but Race still holds his breath as Spot loops around the backroads of the town, looking for a place to dump the car.  It’s a few minutes until Race can see the lights of the cop car reflecting off the drug store they’d passed upon first entrance and he hisses out another curse, jabbing Spot in the arm.

“Stop here,” He says, “If he finds the car, fine, but he sure as hell ain’t finding us in it.”

Spot looks like he wants to fight back, but instead, he surprises Race by pulling to a surprisingly quiet stop by an old auto-shop.  He gestures for Race to get out and swiftly grabs their duffels from the back seat, tossing Race’s to him, both pausing when the cop car cruises in front of the alleyway closest to them.  Inaudibly, they let out synchronous sighs of relief when it continues on. 

They cheat behind the auto-shop and are barely settled into identical crouches when a quiet, “Psst,” captures both of their attention.  Race jumps violently, only barely recovering in time to slap a hand over Spot’s mouth as he begins to shout in surprise.

“Over here,” the voice whispers again.

The two of them turn to look at where the auto-shop’s back door is now open and Race squints as the silhouette of a man comes into view.  He can see the man waving a hand in front of him, beckoning them closer, before exchanging a look with Spot.  A silent conversation passes between them, we’ve made bad choices before, what’s one more? And Spot shrugs a little before hoisting his duffel back onto his shoulder and tiptoeing towards the man.  Race follows behind warily. 

Now that he’s closer, Race can see that the man is about their age- young and a little rugged looking with hair that curls towards his jaw at the nape of his neck.  His face and arms are splattered with- well, Race’s first thought is that it’s blood, but upon further inspection, he sees that it’s paint.  Bright yellow and orange neon paint.

He has a lot of questions.  Like, how the fuck did you notice us lurking behind your building at four am? And, why did you think it was a good idea to interact with two obviously suspicious looking men? But all that comes out is, “why are you covered in neon paint?”

Spot drops his head in a groan and the guy laughs somewhat maniacally, “best not to ask, it’s a long story.  Well, actually it’s not.  You see, it’s my niece’s birthday tomorrow and she really likes lava lamps so I’m hand making a few for her and that includes painting the bases and she’s going through that quirky eight year old phase where everything rainbows and neon is super cool, so I’m making them neon tie-dye,” he says it all in one breath and Race finds himself struggling to keep up, “anyway, the names Albert.  You two look like you need some help.  Wanna come in?”

The whole situation’s fucking weird, but Race and Spot exchange another look, this one holding the quick debate of, what other options do we got? And a moment later, they’re hustling into the dingy auto shop.

The lights are dim on the inside, but it’s a surprisingly cozy set up.  The side dedicated to cars is immaculately organized, with a few hanging from the ceiling and others lined neatly on the ground, propped up on floor jacks where necessary.  On the other side is clearly where Albert lives, with a couple curtains sanctioning off a twin bed and desk, where sure enough, three lava-lamps, varying in color and size, are set on a few sheets of newspaper.  

Spot frowns as Albert locks the door, turning to them with a smile, “I’m assuming the cop car out there’s for you guys?”  When Race and Spot don’t answer, he continues, too lighthearted for the situation, “Yeah, figured.  Feel free to lay low here ‘til the threat’s passed.”

“If the police are clearly after us, aren’t we the threats?” Spot asks, “Wait, no, hold on, aren’t you gonna ask us what we did?  Aren’t you put off at all?”

Albert waves a hand, “Nah, I do this all the time.  Just don’t try to murder me and we’re good.  You look like nice enough people, just a little down on your luck.  I don’t mind you camping out here while ya need.” He sets off towards his desk, seemingly to finish the lava-lamps, “The door across from the supply closet is technically an office, but I stuck a mattress and some blankets there for people like yourselves.  Feel free to crash.  If the bull comes by, I didn’t see anything.”  With that, he’s gone.  Behind the curtain as if he’d never been there.

Race blinks, bemused, and looks at Spot.

“What the fuck did he mean, ‘I do this all the time’?  Who the fuck is this guy?”

Spot shakes his head, looking more lost than Race has ever seen him, “Hell if I know.”

The office-turned-guest-room turns out to be more spacious than Race had anticipated and he and Spot are sitting on the mattress, munching on granola bars that were placed unceremoniously in a bowl by the door, when they hear a knock from outside.  

Race feels a pit of dread form in his gut and he lowers his granola bar, appetite lost.  It’s the cop, it’s gotta be.  Who else would be knocking before dawn?  And oh god, they’d left the car right out front, how much more obvious can they be?

Race glances at Spot, who’s also stopped eating, and hisses, “If he catches us, run.  Go on without me.” 

He means it, but Spot just huffs out a bitter laugh, “As if.  Now shut up.”

They strain their ears, listening as Albert opens the door, feigning sleep they know he hasn’t gotten in his voice, “Officer.  Is there a problem?”

They can’t hear what the cop says, but Albert’s side of the conversation is fairly clear, “Hm? Oh, the paint?  I was working on a project for my niece and must have dozed off before cleaning up.  Anyway, how can I help you?”  There’s a pause, “Two- what? I haven’t heard anything about no bank robbers, that’s terrible! I- oh, that car, that’s…strange, that wasn’t here when I went to sleep.  Sure, you can check around back, but I doubt ya’d find anything.  I’da heard if someone were moving around out there and I didn’t hear nothing last night.  Yes sir, I- oh?  Nah, I’m afraid I can’t letcha search my shop.  Not without a warrant.  Mm, sorry officer.  Yes, I understand the caliber of the situation, but it is my legal right to deny your entrance to my home without substantial reasoning.  Mhm, but see, that’s a hunch.  I don’t see no warrant.  Okay, officer.  Yes. just around back.  Go ahead.  Alright, officer, okay.  Nice chat.  Goodbye.”

The door closes a second later and Race lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  All at once, the adrenaline of the night hits him.  They’d almost been fucking caught, Christ, what if they’d ended up in jail?  What if they still end up in jail?  He couldn’t survive jail, fuck, he wouldn’t even be able to afford and lawyer and shit-

His body is shaking, vibrating really, and a weight is steadily growing on his chest.  Involuntary tears prick at his eyes and he brings a hand up to the front of his shirt, tugging as if that would release some of the pressure from his lungs.  

“Race?” Spot sounds distant and Race turns to him, knowing he looks panicked, but having no capacity to change that, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Race says, voice high and pitchy, “I can’t really breathe, I can’t-”

“Shit, hey, it’s okay.  I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” Spot says, sounding uncharacteristically gentle, “I know a lot happened tonight, but we’re okay,” He places a comforting hand on Race’s shoulder, “Just breathe, it’s okay.”

Race nods, closing his eyes and focusing on Spot’s touch, allowing it to ground him.  A few moments later, he’s feeling calmer, if still a little shaken.  

“You alright?” Spot asks, not removing his hand.

“Yeah, I dunno, man,” Race says honestly, “It’s been a rough ass night and all I want right now is something to drink and someone to cuddle with,” his eyes fly open as soon as the words are out of his mouth.  He hadn’t meant to say that.  He’s not sure why he said that.  It’s not even like he and Spot have that sort of relationship, nor is he particularly seeking that out.  But now that it’s out there, Race wouldn’t say no to some good old physical comfort.

Spot seems to sense that and laughs a little as he removes his hand from where he’s still gripping Race to sling his arm around his shoulders.  It’s a little more intimate than they usually are, but friendly and comfortable nonetheless.  Race takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head back against the wall, leaning into Spot’s side.

“Yeah, it’s been a fucked up night and I think I’m still deciding whether or not it’s real or just some weird fever dream,” Spot says, “Like, who even is that guy?  What the fuck is his deal?”

“Lord even knows,” Race says, “But I think I got my fill of crazy for a while.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They lapse into silence and Race is just starting to drift off when the door to the office opens and Albert pokes his head in, somehow covered in even more paint than before and holding up a bottle of tequila, “hey guys, I’m here and I’m ready to bitch.  The cop is gone now, though I wouldn’t recommend skipping town just yet- better safe than sorry.  Also, bank robbers, huh?  Haven’t had your kind in a while.  You’re a fun type, though the arson that I met last week was pretty spicy.  Anyway, drinks?  I know it’s early for alcohol, but I get the feeling y’all need it.”

Spot doesn’t even try to lower his voice as he says, “Yeah, I don’t think our fill of crazy is over yet.”

-

don’t ask me what that was about, i genuinely don’t know

thanks for reading, chiefs

hmu to be added to my tag

TAG LIST: @getchapapes@we-dont-sell-papes@suddenly-im-respecsable 

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[shawnpetermuffins]

Pictured with You (iv.)

A/n: I got super excited writing this let me just tell you.

Summary: Shawn gets a little too excited after a show and Andrew has to pull him aside before things go too far

Warnings: none

Word count: 1.9k a little shorter than the last 2 sorry

***

This show is insane! The energy of the arena is almost tangible, it's so amazing. I've never felt so at peace while at the same time so off the walls. If I knew I wouldn't break anything, I would probably jump off stage and into the crowd, or maybe do a backflip. But we all know I physically can't do that. And after what happened last time I jumped off a stage, I'd like to refrain from becoming a meme again.

And y/n is definitely feeling it too, because every time I throw a glance her way, she's smiling, even when she's holding the camera up to her face, snapping pictures of me and then the crowd too. I'm grateful that she does that, it's always fun to look back on when I'm on break, missing the tour life. I asked her one night, early on during tour, why she does that.

"I did yearbook in high school. My teacher was all about candids and reactions. Especially during games and stuff, she wanted to have crowd reactions. I think I just found a special kind of appreciation for them. And now it's just something I always get; it's second nature. She's really the reason I fell so in love with photography."

I thought it was cute that she started doing what she does because of her yearbook teacher. The idea of it just fills me with happiness, because she's told me before how much she struggled emotionally in school and it makes my heart happy to know that she found her escape.

And I can hardly take my eyes off her during my - what the fans love to call - emotionally raw performance of Why. But if she noticed, she doesn't show it. She's in work mode, and I should be too. But I mean every word spilling from my lips.

We want each other, no one will break first.

I wish that I could tell you that you're all that I want.

The post show adrenaline is one I wish I could have contained. But I'm still bouncing around to release what's still left in me while we all gather in the green room. The band is buzzing, talking about how great Zubin's solo was or how Mike absolutely killed it with the intro. But I'm not talking. My eyes are focused on the door. Brian and Cez walk in and clap my shoulders.

"Bro, that was amazing! You fucking killed it out there!" Brian squeezes my shoulders and I manage to smile widely at him.

"Thanks, man. It was… better than any show I've ever done." But I don't say anything after that because I'm waiting for y/n. Ready to engulf her in my sweaty embrace that she claims she hates, but I know she secretly loves. But she's taking so long to get back here. She's usually one of the first because she fully follows me to get more photos. But I'm looking around and the two people missing are her… and Connor.

I know I shouldn't think anything of it because she's not mine - she's her own person and she can do whatever she wants. But my mind still betrays me thinking of all the things that she and Connor could have done before this tour - what they still could be doing. And I think that's why I do what I do when she finally enters the room, our friend right behind her.

She smiles when she sees me and instead of just going to wrap my arms around her in the most innocent hug that I could possibly give, because I'm aware for everyone (especially Andrew and Cez) watching our every move, I pick her up and spin her around.

She lets out a surprised squeal, but her arms still enclose around me, her head buried into my neck, covering up her giggles that make me weak. "Well hello to you, too, rockstar. What was that?" She asks when I set her back down, but I don't answer.

I push a strand of hair out of her eyes and hold on to either side of her face. I don't give myself a chance to second guess my actions because within a second my lips are on hers and I'm pulling her closer to my body. She doesn't react at first, but then she's kissing me back and I can feel how awkward it is for her because she's still holding her camera in the hand that's reaching for my sweat glistening bicep. Not to mention everyone's eyes are no doubt on us now, as if they weren't already before.

Neither of us want to pull away and I'm teasing her bottom lip with my tongue when I'm wanked back by the collar of my tank top. Andrew doesn't stop pulling until we're in the dressing room. "What the hell was that?" He asks, slamming the door behind us.

But I'm too focused on the way she felt against me, how soft she was. I'm smiling like an idiot in the mirror, my fingertips tracing my mouth, red and swollen from her lips. "Shawn!"

I, at last, look at him, my smile fading. "What?"

"You said there was nothing going on. You said that nothing would go on. I trusted your judgement on hiring another friend because Brian has worked out so well. But this is unacceptable! You can't be with y/n, she works for you!"

"I'm not with her, Andrew! It was -"

"It was what, Shawn? Because that wasn't a friendly kiss. You two have been flirting like crazy for months. You think I don't know about what happens on the bus? Or about your late night milkshake dates? I saw her wearing your hoodie. This is more than just a friendship, and you know I'm right."

"Don't use my own lyrics against me! I know, what I'm doing, Andrew. Just let it go."

"I can't just 'let it go.' This compromises the entire aspect of tour."

"How?" I throw my hands up, "How does it affect you in any way? It's not your love life!"

"You promised me when we hired her that nothing was going to happen. Do you remember that? We were in my office and before I could even ask you if you had feelings for her you said that nothing was going to happen. Remember?" He pushes his glasses up and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well now we're three months in you're kissing her in front of everyone! This wasn't just a private thing that happened one night in a hotel room that you can just brush under the rug like nothing happened. You did this in front of the entire team!"

"Okay! I get it!" I run my hands roughly through my hair, "I messed up! Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry that it happened in front of you, but I'm not sorry I kissed her."

"Shawn."

"I'm not. I wanted to. And if you weren't yelling at me right now, I would kiss her again and again and again." I say, a defiant smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.

He let out a deep breath, "Okay, listen. I understand that it's your life and you can do what you want with it. But let me make myself clear. She works for you. That's what she's here to do. She's not here to work you. But you want to hook up? Fine, hook up. But when this ultimately gets too messy - because you know it will - Don't come to me begging for a new photographer. She's gonna stay and it's going to be the most unpleasant remainder of tour ever. You got that?"

"What happened to 'we don't want to lose another photographer'? Knowing that we won't get rid of her if this happens only makes me want her that much more."

"Jesus Christ." He shakes his head. "You're twenty-two, Shawn. Okay? Think about this. I know being a pop star at a young age kind of cut you off from going and hoeing around. But at this point in the game, you need to decide if you want her just because she's here and it's easy. Or if you want her because you genuinely think your relationship could go somewhere. We've worked so hard on your image and for seven years of work to go down the drain because you can't keep it in your pants? I won't have that. The label won't have that. But you know the second something happens with y/n, the fans will talk. The media will get a hold of it. It'll be everywhere in just days and you won't even have muttered a word about it." He claps my shoulder. "You might be used to them watching your every move, but you're bringing another person into the spotlight, who very clearly loves being behind it. So think about that. Hook up, don't hook up. That's up to you. But do something that's going to benefit both of you. Because I'd hate to see her get hurt."

"What about me?"

Andrew scoffs with a sad smile on his face, "You're the one doing the hurting."

---

I may or may not have been avoiding having to spend too much time alone with y/n this past week. Neither of us have said a word about the kiss, not that I expected her to bring it up anyway.

But just because I haven't been around her, doesn't mean I haven't been watching her. (And no, I don't mean this in a creepy way. I just mean I pay attention. I want to make sure she's doing okay.) She's isolated herself, so it seems. I haven't seen her around Connor as much either, and while it makes me happy to see her finally create some distance from him, I know that the cause of the distance is me and that hurts a little. But what hurts even more is that this morning when I was going through my suitcase to find something to wear, I found that hoodie I let her wear when we got our milkshakes. I hold it up to my nose and sigh loudly; it smells like her - clean with just slightest hint of sweet, vanilla definitely.

My phone buzzes from the bed and I shuffle over to it, still only in my boxers.

Drinks at a bar up the street. You down???

I read over Brian's text three times before responding.

Who's going?

The reply is almost immediate.

Almost everyone. Andrew and Cez are out. Already in bed. Bring y/n?

The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I don't know if she want to talk to me or not, but I'm pulling clothes on as fast as I can. Black jeans - of course - the hoodie I just threw on the bed. And a denim jacket over that.

Give me ten minutes. We'll meet you in the lobby.

I'm rocking back and forth outside her room. With a final deep breath, I knock on the door, my eyes closed. I'm not waiting more than ten seconds before she comes into view, still in her jeans from earlier, but now an old t-shirt swallows her frame. Looking just as beautiful now as she does every time I see her.

"Shawn, what are - what are you doing here?" Her arms cross over her middle, shielding herself, no doubt.

"We're going out for drinks. You coming?"

***

Tags: @curlyshawny @shawns-badreputation @anamariel2301 @turtoix @tomshufflepuff @ivegotparticulartaste @bbellbagel @dino-16-avocado @sleepybesson

PWY tags: @lifeoftheparty74 @alinaxxshawn @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @rosesfromcth @bodacious-5sos @sweetheartmendes @shawnwyr @strangerliaa

You're in for a ride starting next Sunday! Hope you're enjoying it so far!!

Like, reblog, and leave feedback!! 💙

[trenchcoatkitten]

So I’ve been reading Temperature of the Heart, and you’ve mentioned how you have the whole thing written already. Can you describe what that’s like? What’s your writing process? How long does it take for you to write everything start to finish? Do you plan it all out or just kind of wing it? How long do you sit in an idea before you start?? Sorry about all the questions, I’m just so curious >_

bro!!! are you sure i will scream about writing for days omg

first of all THANK YOU its so freaking cool that you came to ask your questions and that you like my writing, im still sort of getting used to my writing not just being garbage that i read in the dark at 2am and never share with anybody, and i am always excited to answer questions waaaah 

(THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG I APOLOGIZE IM PUTTING A READING BREAK IN CAUSE I WENT OFF BRO, IM THE WOOOOORST) 

my process is pretty weird, it’s kind of all over the place? I’m kind of a halfway planner halfway pantser. I have an idea and usually make some disjointed notes about character and the main idea, in my phone or maybe on a google doc, and then a pinterest board maybe? Something to get excited about, a visualization. I ALWAYS tell myself im going to make an outline first and then i ALWAYS just jump right into writing because I’m too excited/impatient to wait. give me words on a page. give me dialogue. 

Usually when I’m a little bit into the project, when i know that I’m not going to abandon it to the depths off where my WIPs go to die (rip like literally over 300 individual and unique works, this is NOT an exaggeration, you should see my document bank its gross) Ill say “ok fuck you sami its time to actually know where you’re going” and I’ll sit down and make the grossest outline you have EVER seen. like im talking, my outlines are littered with memes, me yelling at myself, actual stuff thats going to end up in the final project, and just general random garbage? its so gross. Ive literally only showed one of my outlines to one person ever (hi akira!) bc im super self conscious of them and hate the way that i write them. making an outline usually sucks up an entire day of writing. they’re pages and pages because some parts will be INCREDIBLY specific and other parts will be so vague you dont even know

From there, when im done with my garbage outline, (after going back through what I’ve written and fixing the shit that was just me going off like a psycho) I usually start writing in earnest. I’ll highlight the parts of the outline that I’ve done and I’ll go back and check it often to make sure im following through on my plans and the character arcs and such, making sure that everything ties in and such. This section is me like. every day getting home from work or whatever and sitting down at the computer and not moving until 2am, this is the section where i forget to eat and I dont sleep enough and i forget to drink water or take my vitamins and I do word sprints with myself and have days where I write 10 thousand words in one sitting. (very not healthy and also terrible i do NOT recommend) this is the section where I’ll handwrite anything i can in the back of classes and at rehearsals because im pouring out words.

during this section I go back and edit ENDLESSLY. i cannot write something and just let it be. I go back to the section I wrote the night before, I go back to the section I just wrote, i go back to the very beginning. I generally dont have to do 1st 2nd 3rd draft this way, but it is much more time consuming as Im just writing. i dont know if i reccommend this its a MESS

THeN once i finish writing the whole thing, i sit down and reread/edit the whole thing once through. this makes sure i have good flow, the paragraphs go together well, the prose feels right to me, timelines make sense. during this time i make ENDLESS paper notes with calendars, section notes, additions, drabbles, thoughts about my own shit. i have notebooks full of just garbage. im not kidding. full notebooks. 

Once I finish that read/edit through I’m usually happy. only once something is completely finished will I consider posting. I go back too much, I add shit, I can’t let go of shit, not until it’s done. While I’m posting - I go through the chapter I’m going to post with a fine tooth comb, try to catch any tiny little mistake, add words here and there, but never change anything large if I can help it. Then i format it on Ao3 (this is literal hell, fuck the HTML editor it wants me to die) and then post it. Deciding to post a chapter to actually hitting ‘post’ usually takes me 1-4 hours, depending on the length, the difficulty of formatting, and how many goddamn links i wanna put in the chapter notes cause im the worst~ (insert jean ralphio voice) 

~~~

LISTEN im probably super extra but I’ve been writing since I was in sixth grade (thats twelve years! time is an enigma and i hate it!) and so I have a bit of practice, i have a bit of experience and while I’m not the best me that I can be, I KNOW myself, and this is just what works best for me. 

As for timing - it depends on the length of the project and how motivated I am. It took me about a month to write Royal (~50k), just a little over a month to write All Might’s All Night Shop Stop (~75k), and just about two months to write Temperature of the Heart (~115k). I try to post every few days, because as a person I hate waiting and I don’t want to do that to my readers! 

~~~

As for the ‘how long do i sit on an idea before writing it’ it really depends. Some things I will receive inspiration or a sliver of an idea and start writing it in the next ten minutes, even if I have to stop working on something I’m already working on, because that was Brain Has Decided. Sometimes I will consider an idea for like. months before actually doing it. I’ve had the idea for FBoW (the newest thing im working on oops? have i told anybody about this NO cause that will make it REAL) since before I started Royal, which was like. Last november. But I just couldnt quite do it for some reason, and it wasn’t pressing. My brain is super broken, and a lot of times I get sick over ideas. I can’t sleep or eat until I’ve written, and I will repeat phrases to myself until i can get them out of my head by writing them down. (Sometimes this is something nice or poetic - “The golden hour lights up the whole world, wiggling its fingers into every nook and cranny, lighting up two people lounging on a bench-swing, someone leaned onto porch stairs with a mug of tea, the space between those walking down a dirt road, a couple of dogs laid out on the deck.” and other times its literally “Ranch Fiddlesticks.” I’m not kidding. i have a note in my phone that says ranch fiddlesticks because I was actually going to Die if i didnt write it down.)

I do wish my brain didn’t do this - but I guess it makes some fun art, doesn’t it? 

WOW OKAY THIS WAS SO LONG im so sorry jesus christ. SOrry i will ALWAYS go off about my process and what it’s like to write. Writing is so so important to me, I LOVE it with every tiny atom of my weak, alcohol-infused, overworked heart. Despite how scary it is sometimes I am very glad to be sharing my work with the world, seeing peoples’ reactions and hearing things about my words, hearing how this little picture in my mind has gone into yours. 

okay jfc im done now im so sorry. thank you again and again and again, a thousand times over, for reading my work and enjoying the worlds that i enjoy building. It makes me feel like I’m worth it. It makes me feel like I’m doing something good. 

ily :’)

[heir-of-the-founders]

I dont give a fuck anymore jesus christ i need yall to see this

Asdfghjkl its so hard to explain the amount of fucking hypocrisy in this video jesus.

Dont let the cleanliness fool you. Its a shithole.

The gym doesnt have an ac system but we can afford a giant (and by giant i mean ive never seen one this size before) touchscreen tv next to the auditorium and to have the 30 (that's not an exaggeration) tvs playing the fucking school news 7 times an hour every hour (they gloat about it but also gloat that we're the most watched student news in the state)(like no dip dumb dumb you play it 4800 times a damn day) and decals on the stairs and to completely revamp the auditorium.

They also cant be bothered to actually clean the fucking music wing. Theres these weird box couch things in there. Someone spilled a drink behind one. It took them a month AND being notified by other teachers bc students literally cant get a hold of janitorial at all ever. Fuck, freshman year a bird got inside and fucking died on the stairwell. Took 2 hours for the bird to be gone and 2 fucking weeks for the blood to be cleaned up. There was literally fucking blood on the windows and floor. Someone put notebook paper down so we didnt get blood on our shoes.

Oh! And when the band teacher mr swenson left he got replaced with henson and instead of giving him a new plaque they literally just taped an h over the sw with printer paper.

The head of the school board for my county literally got caught using the school credit card to go to hooters and buy alchohol but i guess nobody reported him bc that was freshman year and im a sr now and hes still head of the board.

Also, a few years ago (maybe it was only last yr i dont remember) during the march for our lives thing, a girl was organizing a protest and the hicks (for the people who dont know, those are the people that like,, kin the south. They literally wear plaid button ups and tuck their shirts into their too high jeans with giant belt buckles and wear cowboy boots and have confederate flags on their trucks, its ridiculous) the hicks literally kicked her and pushed her and spit on her in the halls for so long and it was so bad that she ended up not coming to school for like two weeks. But nobody got in trouble even though we have cameras literally everywhere.

My math teacher doesnt have a math degree. Well, shes not my math teacher anymore but like. She admitted to our class that she has no idea what shes doing. She yells at kids when they correct her. I literally transferred from algebra 2 to the algebra 2/ trigonometry mixed course in the middle of the year because it was taught by a different teacher and it made more fucking sense.

My english teacher sophomore year didnt have an english degree. He had a math degree. He also taught statistics. But that course was dropped when he retired jr yr. We literally didnt even read anything the whole thing was bullshit. He also had us say ubuntu (taken from wiki- Ubuntu (Zulu pronunciation: [ùɓúntʼù]) is a Nguni Bantu term meaning "humanity." It is often translated as "I am because we are," ) every day before class. it was weird.

Also the theater heads (the special ed teacher and 2 sports coaches) would like constantly yell at the theater kids to not bring any food or drink into the theater bc of like mice and shit but would then eat a pizza and drink coffee

Oh! Speaking of mice. The STEM classroom had this weird ass ceiling where it was like a platform of tiles hanging from the real ceiling and like it wasnt over the whole thing and we had a mouse problem in the school and sometimes the mice would get up there and sometimes you could hear them crawling around in the middle of class. There were also just like. Mouse traps. All over a lot of rooms.

One of the english rooms had a window thats inside and faces under a stairwell.

Oh and all that glass? Yeah, theres more and none of its bulletproof.

The pe teacher has a record of calling students whores and telling them theyre not going anywhere in life in front of the entire class bc the student didnt bring pe clothes. Its happened to both of my sisters and also a few friends. Ive seen it happen too. Amongst other things. Also, her office connects to the girls changing room and theres a window into it? And like the window is kinda covered up but with this weird material that has holes all over it. I dunno its just really creepy.

And like i guess last year the special ed teacher (one of the theater heads) got caught cheating on her husband (the freshman spanish teacher) with the (recently) retired freshman american history teacher. Mr s (the husband) and mr b (the side hoe) had rooms across from eachother. And now mrs s lives in Florida and mr s is just. Gone.

The excel head (like the head of the gifted kids program i guess?) Broke one of the 3d printers bc she was messing with it and then blamed it on a student and got the entire excel programs 3d printer privileges revoked. They even caught it in camera and she didnt get in trouble.

Sophomore year everyone called the science teacher daddy to the point that he just left.

The school has 3 elevators (required by law) and theyre kinda fucked up but i didnt realise it until i started using them regularly. First, there is a single thing in one if the elevators that says the last time they were inspected was 2014. Theres the main building elevator, the freshman building elevator, and the okd elevator, which is the only one that goes to the 3rd floor.

The old elevator is like. Really old. Like. Its manual. And you can touch the walls of the elevator shaft when yr moving. Also like. One half of the elevator just. Isnt covered. You also need a key to operate it and they dont give the keys out to the students so you either need to talk to the nurse before hand (and she always forgets) or try to find a janitor. Which. Only way to the 3rd floor. Elevator wise anyway. Which sucked wheb i had win time (like a mandatory study hall where you sign up for different teachers every day depending on 'What I Need', hence the name) on the 3rd floor bc sometimes mandatory stuff was scheduled up there. Which. Yay.

And the freshman building elevator fuckin,, it fuckin shakes. Like. Just. Its like turbulence. Its terrifying and ive genuinely thought i was about to die a few times.

People also use the elevators to vape bc the only one you need an adult for is the old one. This is evident by the smell.

Thats all that i can think of atm bc its 3am and i might delete this later but yea fuck my school

[namariea]

Hello, Neighbor | VI

Since moving in you have compiled a comprehensive list on your mysterious neighbor across the way.

Do Kyungsoo, otherwise known as Asian Bobby Flay and apparently Bruno Mars’ protégé.

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 2.7 k

Genre: Fluff

Previous: I II III IV V

Pushing open the door to your apartment, you crossed the threshold with a tired sigh.

 You had stayed late again after work. Thankfully it was straight-forward and did not require you to make any phone calls to other agencies, but that did not stop you from internally cussing out all of head office with language that would have made a sailor proud.

 Two hours of overtime and a 45-minute commute later, you finally returned to your beloved hovel of a sanctuary where you can finally kick back, relax, and forget all of your worr-

 Why is my sock wet.

 Confused, you fumbled against the wall searching for the switch and once the lights came on, you immediately came to two conclusions.

 Conclusion number one: Your right sock was indeed wet.

 Conclusion number two: Not only was your sock wet, but your entire main hallway was covered in water.

 Fabulous.

 Following the stream of water, you ended up squatting in front of your bathroom sink, specifically staring at the cabinet under your sink, where a steady stream of water was flowing from the cracks.

 Amazing.

“I’m sorry but maintenance is already out on a call. I’m afraid there won’t be another availability until the morning”

 Perfection.

 “Is there….anything you can do? Surely there has to be someone who can come in, my apartment is flooding” you stressed, looking at the water with growing concern. You heard the sounds of typing and clicking, then after a few moments of silence the voice came back.

 “You can contact a local plumber, however we can only cover the cost of repairs done by our maintenance staff, so you will have to pay it on your own if that is what you choose to do”

 You cheap motherfu-

 “I’ll figure something out, thank you for your time.” not bothering to wait for a reply on the other line you ended the call, dropping your cell phone onto the counter with a huff.

 “What good is a 24-hour maintenance service if you have to wait 9 hours to get help” you groaned as you looked at pot under your sink slowing filling up with water.

 Already gone through all of your towels, you were running out of absorbent materials to use, lest you crack open your closet. Sending a scared look to your closet, you picked up your phone once more, unlocking it and beginning your search for local plumbers to call. Just as you were going to press dial on a service that was the closest to your apartment complex you hesitated as you remembered something very important.

 Plumbers cost money.

 And you had limited money.

 Thus, spending money was not really an option.

 If only there was a more cost effective, convenient option...

Hmm.

"'Sup, loser."

 You blinked as your brother shoved something large and oddly soft into your arms. Looking down, you took in the rounded face of the stuffed animal. You could have sworn you've seen it before. Had you seen this online somewhere?

 "Mira and I went to the fair yesterday and she saw this at one of the vendors. She said it reminded her of Mimi, only skinnier" he explained as he walked around you, hauling his utility bag towards the bathroom.

Ah.

Meow.

Following your brother to the bathroom and having him confirm that, yes, he could indeed fix your leaking sink – thank you Baby Jesus - you left him to his devices and made your way to the kitchen to start making dinner. The wonderful thing about the relationship you had with your brother was that the two of you never talked about money. Any favors were always paid back in the form of food.

And nothing says thanks for fixing my sink like five cheese lasagna.

Placing the giant cat plushie on the counter for moral support, you set out on preparing the ingredients. Swaying to the music playing from the speakers you hummed as you worked. You were by no means a good cook, much to your dear mother's dismay. It was just not something you were ever interested in, you were much more interested in the eating rather than the preparing.

 However, if living alone has taught you anything it was that starvation was a true possibility and that no matter how loyal of a customer you were to the ramen place down the street they were never going to give you a discount. Therefore it left you with no choice but to begin your amateur cooking career.

Days since kitchen incident: 2

After a close call with the smoke detector and a half-burnt lasagna later, you set to work on putting your culinary masterpiece on the table. Your brother emerged not long after and you both tucked into the Michelin star meal you prepared.

While you ate the two of you caught up about life. Since moving out it was a rarity that the two of you saw each other, so it was nice to finally hang out and talk like you used to. Secretly you were glad that you and your brother grew up to be close, having known people who aren't as friendly with their siblings. You can't even begin to count the number of times he has been there for you, as a shoulder to cry on when the stress of school was getting to you, as an open ear for you to when life was just a pile of turds. He was always around to give advice and encourage you to do your best, even when you didn't think you could. More than your brother, he was your best friend and you didn't know what you would do without his snarky ass on speed dial.

Not like you would ever admit that to him though.

Can't let the man know you're going soft.

“So how is living on your own? Wanting to pack up and move back to mom and dad’s yet?”

 “Every day. I consider it every. day.”

 “Ahh it can’t be that bad, this is a nice place and it seems like a younger neighborhood, meet any neighbors yet?”

 You almost choked on your wine at the question, mind reeling.

 “Oh…uh, not really” you coughed, trying to act nonchalant. The last thing you needed was your brother interrogating the poor guy “I’ve just been busy with work and stuff, haven’t really been able to meet any of them yet…” trailing off you began to think about your budding friendship with your neighbor.

Once dinner was done your brother retreated back to the bathroom and you finished cleaning up. As you were putting away the dishes he emerged with a victorious look on his face.

"Well now that that is done," he started, making his way back towards the kitchen, "anything else that requires free labor?"

"Oh hush," you said, sweeping a critical eye across the kitchen "now that I think about it the ice dispenser has been furiously projecting ice cubes whenever I try to use it....but then again, I like how it keeps my reflexes sharp."

"Always on your toes, I like your style."

"Speaking of sharp reflexes, how do you feel about having your ass handed to you at some Mario Kart?"

"Oh, poor child" your brother rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves as he took a seat on your couch, "it's so great that you have dreams, but as your older brother it is my duty to crush them."

With a sleepy yawn, the sound of soft footfalls resonated through the apartment as you entered your kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights. The morning sun was peeking through the slit in the curtains, dimly illuminating the room and providing enough light to accomplish your mission. You busied yourself with preparing a much-needed caffeinated beverage, and a content sigh passed through you once the fragrant aroma started to fill the room.

Equipped with an arsenal to start the day, you walked over to the curtains and slowly pulled them back to reveal two things.

A sleeping cat, and a wall of black curtains.

Taking a long, contemplative sip from your mug, your eyes narrowed on the latter of the two, a frown forming on your face.

 You begin to replay the last week in your head, more specifically your interactions with the owner of said closed curtains.

  A tired sigh escaped you as you gazed at the rising sun, eyes squinting in silent contempt. You were by no means a morning person, however there was no mistaking that the silence of the morning was a welcome sight, especially since you were about to join the chaos of rush hour.

It was in that moment of contemplation that black curtains were pulled back, revealing a familiar face.

 Speaking of welcomed sights.

 “Good morning neighbor” taking a sip from your mug, you offered a friendly wave to the man across from you.

 He seemed taken aback by your presence, not anticipating you to be standing right there. He was wearing a fitted black sweater, which you immediately concluded looked very nice on him, and you thanked whatever higher power that his hair was unstyled, and instead hung around his face.

 He looked like he wanted to say something but was stopped when a white blob jumped up on the windowsill and made itself known. He instead offered you an odd smile, and before you could question the oddity he beat you to it.

 “Good morning” with a curt nod in your direction, he then abruptly turned around and disappeared into his apartment, leaving you bewildered in his wake.

 That was strange, you thought.

  Humming a tune as you walked into the living room, fiddling with your phone as you browsed through the daily headlines.

 Tabloids. Tabloids. Conspiracy Theory. Tabloids.

 With an uninterested swipe, you began to read about how the moon doesn’t actually exist and is actually a hologram designed by NASA. Riveting stuff. Five paragraphs and a link to the Flat Earthers Association later, a movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention. Turning you, saw the silhouette of your neighbour walking past the window come into view.

 Catching his eye, you gave him a friendly smile and wave, opening your mouth to greet the man.

 Only to have it caught in your throat, as you were given the same curt nod, and then the man scampered away, coat in hand as he swung it on with his back turned to you. He appeared to be in a hurry.

 Maybe later, then.

  Hopping on one foot, you slipped on your kitten heels, stumbling into your living room and picked up your keys from the coffee table. Jostling them in your hands, out of habit you cast a glance towards the window. No sign of your elusive neighbor.

 God, I’m starting to look like a creep

 Your shame was short lived, however, when you noticed the dark fabric across the way.

 Checking your watch you frowned, however that frown soon turned into panic as you realized you were most definitely going to be late this time.

 Shit.

Now, this may be a bit of a reach....and it is totally possible that you are simply imagining things...

But you are almost certain you are being avoided.

To be fair, the main reason you came to this conclusion was due to the fact that you had done the same thing not two weeks ago, but that is not important right now..

It was very much apparent that he was going through some measures to avoid you. It would seem as though subtlety was not his strong suit.

 As you were getting ready in your bedroom you would often head the faint sounds of Mimi pawing at the window, followed by a very familiar voice. However, once you pulled back the curtains you were met with closed black curtains and a shifty looking cat.

You needed a second opinion.

"Ghosted. You are being ghosted. "

"Woman, I am not being ghosted, how many times-"

"Well then clearly something happened" Seulgi deadpanned from across the table "did something happen when you guys were talking? Something other than the awkward nerdy sexual tension of course"

"Kim I will end you I swear-"

"Well it's true! If it was going as well as you said it did, you clearly must have said something"

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced around the break room pensively.

 The thought did cross your mind more than once, but he was usually just as engaged as you were. At the thought of your neighbour, you could not help the smile that slipped onto your face. Thinking of his melodic voice, how his eye lit up when he laughed and his adorable heart shaped smile-

 “Ohnonono, oi cut it out with those googoo eyes” furiously snapping her fingers in front of your face, Seulgi gave you a pointed look.

“You know he could just be busy with work and your worrying over nothing” she pointed out, and you frowed.

 “It just seems like it’s something more than that” you said, tilting your head back and staring at the ceiling.

“It just seems like he is going out of his way to not see me, you know? Which makes absolutely no sense, you would think having an hour long debate about pineapple on pizza-”

 “Wait, which side were you on?”

 “I happen to enjoy a Hawaiian pizza”

“You are the devil incarnate”

 “That was more or less his point of view as well. But I think I was this close to bringing him to the light” you said, making a gesture with your fingers, ignoring the scoff from across the table “I was preparing a pretty good pitch, but then my sink decided to do a sick impression of the Bellagio fountains and flooded my bathroom. If it weren’t for my brother fixing it I would have been living in waterworld. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if it ruined the hardwood, cause im broke as shi-”

 “Woahwoahwoah hold up” raising a hand, Seulgi looked at you with wide eyes “What did you just say?”

 Blinking at your friend, you furrowed your eyebrows “The Bellagio fountains? The ones in Las Vegas? Bruno Mars did a bit where he rode around on a jet ski in it?”

 “No not the damn fountains, idiot, before that. You’re brother was over at your apartment?” she asked, and you groaned at her overly eager expression.

 “How many times have I told you, my brother if out of your league, Kang-”

 “That’s not what I meant. Also, excuse you, I’m a solid 10” she deadpanned, and you snorted “I mean your brother was over at your house. Did he see him? Now hear me out-“ she quickly added, seeing your confused expression change to an exasperated one.

 “What if he thought your brother was...yknow” she made a gesture in the air “That would explain so much. He thought you were hanging out with your boyfriend, not knowing it was actually your brother, and then he backs off because he thinks you’re taken and feels like a fool”

 The two of you just stared at each other, Seulgi looking like she had discovered the eighth wonder of the world, and you looking like she had grown a second head.

 You were the one to break your staring contest, shaking your head in bewilderment.

 “And you said I was the lame one for watching soap operas” you muttered

 Leaning back in her chair, you could practically see the gears in her head turning, her expression looking more and more determined.

 “It literally explains everything though, why didn’t I see this before” suddenly she lets out a loud laugh.

 Arms crossed, you watched the cackling woman as she began muttering to herself about ‘being better than TV’. Frowning, you replayed her words in your head over and over, not denying that the timing of it all was coincidental. Still.

 “Even if you don’t agree with it, you can't deny the timing of it all is too much of a coincidence” she stated, voicing your exact thoughts.

 Taking advantage of your silence she pushed on, “Well there is only one thing that we can do now”

 “We?”

 “Time to test the theory.”

 You immediately regret asking for a second opinion.

[teashadephoenix]

2, 7, & 8 for the fic writer meme! :)

2: Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to? 

finishing something in a timely manner god I dont even know, honestly. Im terrible at thinking of things off the top of my head. like I sat here for… over an hour trying to think of stuff and dumpster diving through tumblr to find inspo for an answer to this and the answer is basically idk fam, Snowed In? i know Ive never written that for any fandom ever. (thats a terrible answer im sorry!)

7: Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

After the moon had climbed another hour into the sky, Geoff slapped his little book onto the grass and started taking down the telescope. Donna felt her heart begin to ache. Her time was up. More than anything, she wanted to stay here; better yet, take him with her. Into the TARDIS with the Doctor and show him everything he’d ever dreamed of.

She wished she could’ve asked him before he died. If she knew that she had taken him, then it wasn’t a paradox, it was time flowing exactly as it was meant to.

And that made it all right, didn’t it?

Heart in her throat, Donna looked up at her father, placed her hand on his arm. He looked down at her, blue eyes open and honest.

And she thought of the Doctor.

He had been so anxious, a tremulous veil of fear in his eyes when he suggested he bring her to her father, quiet voice when he wondered if she was up to it. He was a Time Lord, the guardian of everything temporal. She had seen him battle with himself over whether or not he could step in and change history, and the agony it caused him when he knew that he couldn’t, that he was the cause of tragedy.

Thinking on it, his behaviour today had made it all too clear that this event, seeing her father one last time and settling her own unnecessary insecurities, probably wasn’t meant to happen. And she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that her wanting it could change that.

Donna released a deep, shaking breath and let it go.

–

This bit is the climax of my Doctor Who fic Fathers and Daughters. The entire story centers on and builds up to this moment: Donna tempted by the innate human desire to save someone she loves, to spend every last second she can with her late father even if it means breaking the laws of time… and then accepting her father’s death and letting him go. Eight years later and I still love this fic and this moment.

8: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen Moana! It came out like, ages ago–”

Karen’s laugh pealed through the office even before Matt reached the door. “Why would I? I don’t have a gaggle of nieces sitting me through kids’ movies on my days off.”

“Excuses!” proclaimed Foggy.  "One does not need half-pint girls to enjoy a Disney film, anymore than one needs the full-grown ones to cry through a chick flick. I am a Renaissance man– I enjoy all things.“

The door creaked when Matt pushed through the frame, his hands occupied by his briefcase and cane.  "Hey Michelangelo, I thought you were going to WD-40 the hinges?”

“Good morning to you too, Raphael.”  Foggy’s grin was evident in his voice.  "Decided not to. How else are we going to be able to tell when we have clients?“

"We could get a bell. Like normal people,” said Karen.

“Shush, April.”

Karen mouthed April?, her breath only soft enough that Matt could hear, and he nodded at her.  "Ninja Turtles.“

Her incredulity hung in the air.  "Foggy, are you six?”

“Damn, you caught me.  I’m actually two kids stacked on top of each other in a trenchcoat.”  Something whipped across the room. A balled-up piece of paper, it sounded like.

“So I’m glad everybody had coffee today,” Matt interjected.  "Don’t we have work to do? Or some other… form of adulting?“

"Who called the fun police? Jeez mom, we’ll get right on it.”  Foggy was halfway back to his office before he stopped, stuck his head back out the door.  "Actually, dude, someone was just by for you. A lady caller.“  Matt could practically hear his eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"Oh– Foggy, that’s gross.”

“What? I happen to find nuns attractive.”

“It was Sister Maggie,” Karen supplied. Of course she’d find Foggy’s comment gross; she knew what he did not. Matt wondered if that counted as a secret. Difficult to bring up. Hey, remember how I didn’t have a mom? Turns out she was the nun who raised me in the orphanage…

–

annnd after that it gets plotty but jesus fuck that was fun to write. havent published it yet but its from my fic Father Figures which is the much-hyped dad!Matt fic. I like banter. I would not say I am good at it. So if I read it back and feel like its in character and natural, I am a happy Tea. This is one of those scenes.

[living-lucid-dream]

Happy 4/13!

It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything Homestuck-related. What better day to change that than today? What I’m trying to say is: here, have some random snippets from a maybe-sequel to Straw Soldiers.

> Vriska: Distress call

arachnidsGrip [AG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

AG: Terezi!!!!!!!! AG: Thank fuck you are online 8ecause I am having a serious crisis. AG: I’m talking all hands on deck, all points 8ulletin sort of 8ullshit. AG: Terezi? AG: Come on, will you SAY SOMETHING already? AG: This is an emergency and you are my only chance at keeping everything from going to complete shit. AG: I swear to god I am not exagger8ing when I say that I am fucking dying here!!!!!!!! GC: HUH GC: TH4TS STR4NG3 GC: MY NOS3 DO3S NOT D3T3CT 3V3N TH3 F41NT3ST WH1FF OF D3C4Y1NG FL3SH GC: 1T 1S P1CK1NG UP ON3 H3FTY P1L3 OF M3LODR4M4 THOUGH >:/ AG: OK, OK. So may8e I’m not dying right this second—8ut I will 8e if you don’t do something for me, and I mean pronto. GC: UH-HUH GC: 4ND WH4T 3X4CTLY 1S TH1S 4LL3G3DLY L1F3 S4V1NG M4N3UV3R YOU 3XP3CT M3 TO DO? AG: First, I need you to answer something for me. GC: OK, SHOOT AG: How long have we known each other, exactly? GC: 1 DUNNO GC: F1V3, S1X SW33PS? GC: WHY? AG: Five or six sweeps. Practically our whole lives! AG: I mean, 8y now we’re pretty much o8lig8ed to help each other out in times of dire need and you’ve got to know that I wouldn’t ask for help with anything unless I was really, truly desper8. GC: UGH, TH3 M3LODR4M4 GC: 1T BURNS! AG: Hey, I am 8eing totally serious! AG: Geeeeeeeez, Pyrope. I come here hoping to get a little help from my lifelong 8osom 8uddy and all you can do is give me a 8unch of salty attitude. AG: If that’s the way you’re going to 8e then may8e I won’t 8other to ask you for anything after all. GC: JUST T3LL M3 WH4T YOU W4NT AG: Now that’s the spirit! AG: All right. So the thing I’m going to ask you to do may not sound like much, 8ut 8elieve me it is a very 8ig deal. AG: I need you to talk some sense into Peixes for me. GC: >:? GC: 4BOUT WH4T? AG: Somehow she got it into her pan that it would 8e a good idea to make me go all the fuck 8ack to Alternia and pick up Tav8utt and wonder clown. AG: I’ve tried reasoning with her 8ut she is 8eing a stu88orn 8rat and pulling rank on me. GC: SORRY TO S4Y 1T BUT 1 F41L TO S33 HOW 4NY OF TH4T QU4L1F13S 4S L1F3 4ND D34TH AG: Trust me, it is. GC: HOW SO? AG: 8ecause I will die of 8oredom! AG: Can you even imagine me, stuck on a ship for god knows how long with no8ody 8ut Toreasnore and Gamzee for company? AG: 8oriiiiiiiing! AG: I mean, the two of them don’t have a pair of 8rain cells 8etween them! GC: 1 4M SUR3 YOU W1LL SURV1V3 AG: What? So you’re not going to do anything at all to help me???????? AG: I’ve seen you do some pretty ruthless shit, 8ut releg8ing your good friend to dork squad shuttle service? AG: That’s cold ::::( GC: 1 4M SUR3 1T WONT B3 TH4T B4D GC: B3S1D3S 1 TH1NK 1T W1LL B3 GOOD FOR YOU GC: GR34T FOR BU1LD1NG CH4R4CT3R 4ND 4LL TH4T J4ZZ AG: “8uilding character” my ass. You just want to see me suffer. GC: ME? N3V3R >;] GC: H4V3 4 S4F3 TR1P GC: OH, 4ND DON’T TORM3NT T4VROS TOO MUCH AG: You know I will ::::p

arachnidsGrip [AG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

  > Future Vriska: Distress call

arachnidsGrip [AG] opened memo EMERGENCY READ NOW!!!!!!!!

arachnidsGrip [AG] invited apocalypseArisen [AA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited twinArmageddons [TA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited carcinoGeneticist [CG] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited arsenicCatnip [AC] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited grimAuxiliatrix [GA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited gallowsCalibrator [GC] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited centaursTesticle [CT] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited caligulasAquarium [CA] to memo arachnidsGrip [AG] invited cuttlefishCuller [CC] to memo

AG: Come on, you useless 8unch of laya8outs! Get your asses in here! AG: Aaauuuuuuuugh! Where is every8ody???????? AG: Is this not getting through to any of you? AG: Fuck it, I can’t tell so I’m doing this regardless. AG: My ship has 8een attacked. AG: There have 8een losses and no, I am not detailing what those losses are right here 8ecause this is humili8ing enough as it is. AG: The long and short of it is: I’m stranded and I have no idea where the hell I am exactly 8ut I do know that I am drifting somewhere 8etween Earth and Alternia. AG: I am pretty sure I can safely classify the situ8ion as “in dire need of a relief shuttle right fucking now.” AG: Hello? AG: Is any8ody getting this???????? AG: Come on, some8ody ANSW8R ME, ALR8DY! AG: G8DDAMN 8T!!!!!!!!

arachnidsGrip [AG] left memo

  > John: Pester Dave

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave! EB: you there, buddy? TG: yo EB: geez, you’ve been mia for like four days now. Where the heck have you been? TG: shit dude TG: ive been laying lower than a teenage mutant ninja turtle chilling in the new york sewer TG: slinking around like the stealth phantom lovechild of batman and solid snake EB: oh. so the paparazzi are after you too, huh? TG: yeah EB: that sucks. TG: eh TG: for a while i was thinking about mooning them just to see how hard they pissed themselves trying to go all national geographic on my ass TG: then i realized that there was like an eighty billion percent certainty that my ass would just end up getting trotted out on fucking tmz or some shit TG: now national enquirer TG: i would be down with seeing my ass on the front page of such a fine publication TG: but tmz TG: no way TG: daytime tv is not ready for the strider ass TG: so me and aradia gave them the slip and they fell for it harder than bambi on ice TG: havent seen one of those fuckers in almost a week now EB: lucky! they’re all over me and karkat. EB: seriously, it’s like a freaking lightning storm every time i open the front door! EB: it was kind of funny at first but now it’s just…ugh. EB: hey, wait a sec! EB: you said you were with aradia? what are you guys doing? TG: we are going full-on magical mystery tour to find all the weird ass dead things the good old usa has to offer TG: we already hit up the mutter museum TG: it was the shit TG: never saw so many dead things in jars all in one place TG: made my collection look like some messy amateur shit TG: like their stuff is triple black diamond pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye caliber and my stuff barely even qualifies as a bunny slope for toddlers TG: oh and aradia and i pooled our cash and adopted a skull because who doesnt want to say that they are the proud daddy of a newborn 200 hundred year-old skull EB: jesus, sometimes i forget how weird you guys are. TG: hey the strider cool cocktail might not go with everything but at least its never boring TG: anyways im pretty sure we are going to be creeping around your neck of the woods in a couple of weeks TG: we should hang if you and karkat are going to be around EB: cool! EB: we’ll be here. EB: unless karkat’s got one of his pt sessions. EB: but then we’ll be back in like two hours, so yes! we’ll be here. TG: speaking of vantas TG: how is shouty mcqueen doing these days TG: that guys been more elusive than a shiny pokemon since you guys got home EB: he’s fine. EB: he just has a hard time with typing. and tying his shoes. and…lots of things, actually. TG: shit TG: i thought they said his hands were fixed EB: depends on the they you’re talking to, i guess. EB: terezi brought him a new phone, though. EB: it has voice-to-text for english and alternian. EB: jade and sollux made it for him, or at least i think that’s what terezi said when she gave it to him. EB: my alternian still sucks so i’m not sure. EB: anyways we’re about to have breakfast now so i should probably go. TG: ok TG: later ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

 > Future John: Pester Dave

ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

EB: dave! EB: are you there, buddy? EB: dave, come on. EB: this isn’t funny. EB: you’re really freaking me out here. EB: dave, please. EB: you need to answer me now! EB: jesus christ.

ectoBiologist [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead [TG]

> Future Karkat: Contact loving matesprit

carcinoGenticist [CG] began trolling gallowsCalibrator [CG]

CG: OK, YOU’VE HAD YOUR FUN. CG: NOW WIPE THAT SHIT-EATING GRIN OFF YOUR FACE AND STOP THIS BULLFUCKERY RIGHT NOW. CG: I KNOW THIS DISTANCE MATESPRITSHIP THING SUCKS HARDER THAN THE MOTHER GRUB’S SLURRY ACCEPTING ORIFICE. CG: BUT IF THIS ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU THEN YOU NEED TO TELL ME INSTEAD OF, YOU KNOW, IGNORING ME FOR TWO WEEKS. CG: JESUS FUCK, TEREZI. CG: I’D EXPECT THAT SORT OF SHIT-RINSING PISSBABY WAY OF HANDLING THINGS FROM PAST ME BECAUSE PAST ME IS A PAIL-SWILLING FUCKWIT WITH THE FANTASTIC ABILITY TO MAGICALLY LOSE HIS GLOBES WHEN SHIT GETS REAL. CG: BUT NOT FROM YOU. CG: I DON’T EVEN KNOW IF YOU OR SOLLUX ARE ALIVE BECAUSE GUESS WHAT? CG: NEITHER ONE OF YOU HAVE DEIGNED TO SEND ME SO MUCH AS A “HI, KARKAT JUST POPPING A SQUAT TO SHIT OUT THIS TURD OF A MESSAGE SO YOU CAN STOP WORRYING THAT WE BOTH DID SOMETHING PAN-NUMBINGLY STUPID LIKE DROWN IN THE LOAD GAPER; TALK TO YOU LATER YOU FART-BRAINED IGNORAMUS.” CG: THERE. CG: SEE? CG: WAS THAT SO HARD? CG: HELPFUL HINT: EVEN THE FART-BRAINED IGNORAMUS WITHOUT FUNCTIONING OPPOSABLE THUMBS MANAGED IT IN A SPHINCTER-RANKLING 60 SECONDS. CG: I GET THAT YOU AND SOLLUX ARE BUSY ON FEFERI’S FREE THE HELMSMEN CRUSADE AND YEAH, IT’S KIND OF A BIG FUCKING DEAL. CG: AND I GET THAT COMPLAINING ABOUT IT MAKES ME LOOK LIKE A SELFISH, BULGE-FLAPPING ASSHOLE. CG: BUT BEING THE PARANOID FUCKTARD WHO SEES SUPER EXCITING TORTURE FUNTIMES WITH CONDESCE AND FRIENDS ON INFINITE REPEAT EVERY FUCKING TIME I CLOSE MY EYES, I’M STARTING TO GET THIS NUB-TICKLING IDEA THAT SOMETHING MIGHT BE WRONG. CG: I KNOW IT’S STUPID AND I’M PROBABLY STOMPING INTO PALE TERRITORY WITH A PAIR OF STEEL TOE COMBAT BOOTS WITH “FUCK YOU CAPTOR” EMBLAZONED ON THE TREADS BY SAYING IT, BUT THERE IT IS. CG: THE STINKING SHIT PELLET OF TRUTH HAS DROPPED AND IT CANNOT RETURN TO THE WASTE CHUTE FROM WHENCE IT WAS PINCHED. CG: TEREZI, PLEASE. CG: JUST TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON.

CarcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling gallowsCalibrator [GC]

 > to be continued...(?)

[missingverse]

Missing Chapter Twenty-One

…..

A note on last week's update: The deed has been done, my novel should be on Amazon within the next day or two. If you have enjoyed Missing, you may enjoy my original work and I hope that if you do find yourself buying it that you like it just as much if not more.

The name is The Hothouse Princesses, under the name S.A. Hemstock. Thanking you in advance, and thanking you for your support and attention so far!

And now, on with the show.

…..

Arnold juggled his boarding house duties and spending time at the hospital like he had never juggled before. His grades were slipping again, but his Grandpa was mollified for the moment. The boarders got their meals, the fixtures were repaired or at least repaired enough to keep them ticking until they inevitably broke down again.

Gertie was home now, and it was clear she wasn't able for her regular tasks anymore. She had picked up an infection during her stay at the hospital and she was noticeably frail, and although she could still clean and cook to an extent she tired so easily that someone else had to take over whatever she had started. She seemed slower mentally too, and she slept a lot.

They were lucky that most of the boarders had been there long enough that they had a good relationship with Phil and Gertie, but even they were getting to the end of their patience with how slow everything had become. They sometimes murmured about paying lower rent, and Phil refused to discuss the matter with them because lowering the rent would mean the entire boarding house going under.

Still, the boarding house was hardly a concern for Arnold; he was reading up about catatonia, brain injury and memory loss. Medical journals were incomprehensible but he had found some decent sources in layman's terms that described the recovery period for people who had experienced these things.

What he learned, mostly, is that brain-injured patients were unpredictable. Helga's doctor had mentioned that she had developed traumatic encephalopathy as a result of being shot in the head and that it would take a long time to figure out exactly how much damage had been done, but he told Arnold to watch out for signs of aggression, loss of focus and sudden clumsiness.

So far, she had been doing well. She was attending physiotherapy to get her walking again, she was always happy to see visitors and she was doing everything she was supposed to. Her memory was coming back in little trickles. She seemed perfectly okay, really. The only symptom of note was that she had some extreme food aversions; she wouldn't eat any kind of meat, or food that was mixed up. Every ingredient had to be separate and eaten slowly, one by one. When you asked her, she couldn't say why, but putting a pork chop or a bowl of curry in front of her induced wincing at the very least and vomiting at most.

It was only a matter of time. Both Arnold and Phoebe were dreading the day she'd remember what her father had done to her, and what had followed.

…..

Arnold, I just got in and she's not here.

The doctor said she remembered

something but wouldn't talk about it.

I don't know what to do.

Hang tight, I'll be

there soon. I'm on the bus.

Jesus Christ, just when I thought

it was all going well! What are we

going to do?

Don't panic, she can't

have gone far. She

can't walk.

I'm serious, Arnold! Goddammit, I

thought the nurses were keeping

an eye on her.

When he arrived, he exchanged two words with Phoebe before she was rushing to the nurse's station. She was white as a sheet, trembling. Whatever had happened, it was pretty bad. He figured it was best to go to Helga's room, maybe it would give an indication of where she had gone.

And when he got there, he spotted what Phoebe had clearly missed in her panic; Helga's IV pole was still there, just dragged over to one side.

“Helga? Are you in here?” he asked.

There was a quiet answering cough from under the bed.

He crouched down low on the floor. He couldn't see her at first, the hospital bed's crank and gears blocked his vision, but when he looked a little closer he could just about spot her foot at the far side, near the wall.

“What are you doing down there? How did you get down there?”

“With a lot of effort, duh,” she said wearily.

He smiled, despite himself. That snippy wit of hers was making its way back, slowly and steadily.

“Phoebe texted me in a panic,” he told her.

“Well, I tried to tell her I was down here but she ran off before I could. She knows I can't walk, right?”

“That's what I said.”

The IV pole clattered off the side of the bed as Helga turned towards him, just enough so he could see her face.

“Do you want to tell me what happened, or would you rather not?”

She sighed, fidgeted, curled in on herself tighter.

“I remembered some stuff. It was pretty bad,” she said, and he got the sense that was all she wanted to say about it.

“Are you hiding from it?”

“I don't know, going under the bed just seemed like a good idea.”

It was risky to bring it up, it could just have easily been her experience at the hands of Waring that she remembered, but....

“Didn't the officer tell you that your Dad is in jail? He can't hurt you. Even if he gets out, he won't be able to get to you.”

She stiffened, and in the dark her eyes were wide, horrified.

“You know?”

Arnold's stomach dropped. In his eagerness to reassure her, he'd just let her know that someone she knew had seen those pictures.

“Yeah, I....I gave the evidence to the police...” he stammered, mentally kicking himself for being so stupid. “I didn't really look, I just saw enough to know what he was doing....”

“Who else has seen them?” Helga said, her voice thick with unshed tears.

“Just me and Officer Plaskett. Phoebe knows but she hasn't seen anything.”

He gulped; there was no point in keeping all the details from her now.

“Rhonda saw one, it was apparently one of the more normal ones. She just thought it was a regular picture.”

“Rhonda Wellington-something? Holy shit,” she laughed, half-crying. “Of all people....”

“She can't say anything though,” Arnold tried to reassure her. “She sent some pictures out herself apparently.... and she doesn't really talk to anyone these days anyway.....”

She said nothing, but he could hear her sniffling. Her back was turned to him, she was pressed up against the wall as close as she could get.

This was exactly what the doctor had wanted to avoid. If she was ever in danger of slipping back into catatonia, it was now.

“I'm sorry,” he said, helplessly, on the verge of panicking. “I'm....he's a monster. But he'll never be able to hurt you again.”

That's not true. He's up for parole next year.

“Listen...” he kept going, knowing he was probably just making things worse, but what else could he do? “Most people would have just given up if they'd been through what you've been through. You never gave up, you kept going even when it nearly killed you.”

She was still silent, but her sniffles had died down a little.

“They convicted him after you went missing, with whatever evidence they had, but they never got to hear your story. You can change that now. You can put him away for longer.”

“I can't even get out of this bed without help,” she said. She sounded worn out, already on the verge of sleep.

“Well, yeah,” he nodded. “But you have help. You have me, and Phoebe...and that Ambrose guy, I think he'd do anything for you. You have Officer Plaskett....hell, that's just now, wait until people in Hillwood find out you're alive!”

The D-notice at the hospital was being upheld until the doctors thought Helga was strong enough to face media attention. What little had been told to the press was that a patient had woken up from a long sleep, and it was going relatively unnoticed.

“Your father ruined your life,” he said. “We're going to give it back to you, one way or the other. People will be falling over themselves to give you back your life.”

The silence stretched between them. Had she gone back to sleep? Arnold didn't think he could bear it if she had.

“Arnold?”

He was so relieved to hear her speak he nearly burst into tears himself.

“I'm kind of stuck here,” she said. “Could you help me out?”

He half-laughed, half-sobbed. He hurriedly wiped his eyes and got up.

“Sure.”

He pulled her out as gently as he could by her ankles, picked her up and put her back in bed. She was far too easy to carry, her spirit had had more weight in her. Even so, she didn't look as gaunt as she had when he first saw her in the hospital.

“Oh, I forgot,” he said, grabbing the bag he had brought with him. “I have something for you.”

Her face had lost that stricken look, he was endlessly thankful for that. She even managed to smile when she opened the bag.

“Clothes? How do you know if they'll fit?”

They were the clothes he'd bought for her ghost, and they had fit her reasonably well, but they'd probably be too big on Helga right now.

“The saleslady said they're mostly stretch to fit,” he told her with a shrug. “I figured you'd be sick of wearing hospital clothes by now.”

“You're a good guy,” she sighed, looking on the verge of tears again. “I'm not sure I deserve you.”

“Of course you do,” he replied. “You deserve as much as I can give you.”

She really did cry then, but she hid it by clapping her hands over her eyes, even though they were still holding one of the sweaters he'd brought for her.

“What did you do?”

Phoebe was standing in the doorway, shooting an accusatory glare at Arnold. He could only shrug in response.

…..

“Do you think she'll remember what happened when she was living in my house?”

Phoebe glanced up at him and dropped her sandwich.

“Why would she?” she replied.

“If she remembers everything else....her doctor says there's not many significant gaps except some dates, place names and people,” Arnold said. “She didn't react to the clothes much, but maybe it needs a different trigger.”

She could remember what happened at the pier.

He was hoping against hope that she would remember that. She had kissed him back, he knew that for certain. She had pushed him away so he wouldn't love a ghost, but she wasn't a ghost anymore. Nothing was standing in their way now....

“I've been thinking about that, actually,” Phoebe began, pushing her smoothie around on her lunch tray. “Do you know what a folie á deux is?”

“Sounds familiar but no, not really,” Arnold answered.

“It means the madness of two,” she continued. “It's what they call it when two people share a delusion or a psychosis. I think maybe that's what we had.”

“What? Phoebe, we're not insane....”

“It happens to sane people, Arnold,” she said, shaking her head. “Sometimes it's due to stress....I mean, we were both finding it hard to let go of her, and when I first 'saw' her I was in the middle of a freakin' breakdown...”

“Phoebe, she wrote you notes,” Arnold insisted. “She used the shower. She lead us right to the guy that took her for fuck's sake!”

“Says who?” Phoebe shrugged, her eyes lowered down at the table. “Maybe all that was just our perception. Weirder things have happened. But both you and I know that there's no such thing as ghosts, and even if there was why would we see the ghost of someone who was alive the whole time?”

He sat back, gobsmacked. It did make sense, but....

“Either way, we shouldn't bring it up with her,” Phoebe said, picking up her tray with her half-eaten lunch on it. “She's got enough crap to deal with as it is.”

Lunch period wasn't over yet, but evidently Phoebe was done talking. Arnold lingered at the empty table, watched her leave. People were trickling back in the direction of their next classes. Arnold picked up his milk and took a big gulp, and nearly spat it out again when someone took up Phoebe's seat across from him.

“Hey Arnold!” Gerald said.

Arnold swallowed with difficulty. He and Gerald hadn't exchanged so much as a greeting in years.

“What do you want?” he said, and it came out a little harsher than he meant it to.

“Nothing, I just wanted to see what's going on with you,” Gerald shrugged and smiled his achingly familiar carefree smile.

“Gerald, you haven't spoken to me since middle school. What do you really want?”

The smile dropped, Gerald leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Fine,” he snarled. “I want to know what's going on with you and Phoebe.”

“What?” Arnold snorted. “Why do you care?”

“I have my reasons,” Gerald replied. “She's looking better these days, you got anything to do with that?”

“God, you are such an asshole,” Arnold laughed in his face. “You gave her the cold shoulder when her best friend went missing and now that she's finally doing better you're suddenly interested?”

“Look, I know I'm an asshole, okay? I don't need you to tell me that,” Gerald snarled. “I was a dumb fucking kid and I didn't know what to do, sue me. If you were in my shoes you wouldn't have done much better....”

“Yes, I would have.”

“Fine, you would have done better. Because you're so fucking perfect, you can solve everyone's problems. I didn't come over here to convince you I'm a good guy, okay?”

“Why did you come over here then?”

All of Gerald's anger seemed to drain out of him then, and he was slouching, awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck and met Arnold's eyes with difficulty.

“I want to know that she's happy,” he said. “Is she happy?”

“Uh...yeah, I guess,” Arnold said, puzzled.

“You guess?”

“She's happy as anyone could be, in these circumstances.”

“Right. Well, that's all I wanted to know,” said Gerald, rising to his feet. “This is going to sound weird coming from me, but....you make sure you treat her right, okay? Don't do what I did.”

He didn't even wait for a reply, just strode off back to his group of friends. Arnold, baffled, went back to drinking his milk.

He only realized Gerald though he and Phoebe were dating hours later.

[artificialqueens]

we don't get uncomplicated love stories (trixya) - dragonfly

AN:

This is my first fic! I don’t ship Trixya so much as I ship Katya/Katya’s unrequited love for Trixie, but Katya has been basically writing her own fic prompts at this point and I couldn’t help myself. It’s just a super short one-shot about recent events.

He/him pronouns but drag names because Brians.

“I’d prefer her just to be my boyfriend.”

the facts

i. Trixie and Katya love each other in a deeply complex, difficult to define way.

Trixie knows they’re probably codependent although he doesn’t really know what that means. They wear necklaces with each other’s pictures and joke about being boyfriends. Trixie thinks they’re soulmates, because best friend never seems like enough. They text every day and they miss each other fiercely when they’re apart. They spend a little too much time together when they’re both in the same city. Trixie doesn’t know what he’d do without Katya in his life. When he thinks about the future, the only certainty he sees is the two of them growing old together.

ii. Katya wants to fuck Trixie.

He talks about it all the time. He tells Trixie, he tells their friends, he tells their fans. He’s tried multiple times and Trixie always turns him down. Katya’s fucked everyone, so Trixie knows this is just a case of him wanting what he can’t have. Trixie can’t separate feelings from sex the way Katya can. He knows if they fucked it would mean something to him, and he also knows he wouldn’t be able to cope the next day when Katya acted like nothing had changed. So he always says no even though he’s sometimes tempted to say yes. He’s secretly flattered that Katya keeps trying. He likes knowing he can’t be that easily replaced.

iii. A relationship would never work between them.

Trixie’s thought about it before. He’s made lists, because he’s a Virgo and he likes to keep his mind organized. There are always more cons than pros. He loves Katya and they always have fun together. Katya understands him better than anyone. They accept each other’s flaws and forgive mistakes. They’re good together. But Trixie wants monogamy. He wants marriage, or a marriage-like relationship and he likes the idea of kids one day. He wants to be in love. He wants to have something that’s overwhelming and all-encompassing and he wants to build his own family. Katya wants freedom. He doesn’t believe in commitment, or maybe he’s just scared of it. He hates monogamy and he doesn’t understand why sex and relationships have to be in any way related. Trixie doesn’t really want to date a drag queen either, because they’re both on the road so much and what’s the point of dating someone if you never get to see them? Also, Katya smokes and Trixie could never date a smoker.

iv. If they have sex it will kill their chemistry.

They have sexual tension between them. Trixie knows it, just like he knows he’ll never act on it. But it makes their show work. It makes them work. Without that, he wonders if they’d be any good together. Maybe part of what makes them so great is the energy that sparks between them and Trixie loves what they do together, loves that they’ve got their own show now. He’s not going to fuck that up just because Katya’s obsessed with the idea of eating his ass.

v. Katya likes it when people think they’re fucking.

Plenty of people think it. Trixie’s read the fanfiction, he knows how invested total strangers are in a relationship he has with Katya that’s all in their imagination. It’s a little disturbing, but he’s used to it by now and he knows they both fan the flames now and then. Trixie doesn’t want to hide how he feels about Katya, so he does what he does and lets them think what they want. Katya toys with the fans a little more, but he always stops short of crossing any boundaries Trixie has. They’ve never talked about them, but they’ve never needed to. Katya just knows.

the reality

i.  Trixie knows every time Katya says something about him.

Drag Race fans are nothing if not enthusiastic and he’s guaranteed to get 20 twitter mentions alerting him every time Katya does or says something. 30 if it’s particularly interesting. Trixie usually ignores all of it. Giving Katya attention only encourages him.

ii. The first thing Katya does is tweet about suffering and desire.

Trixie doesn’t know how to respond when he reads it.

Eventually he tells himself he’s being egotistical and lets it go.

iii. Katya tells an audience that he’d want Trixie to be his boyfriend in an alternate universe.

Trixie finds out about it within hours and finds himself more angry with Katya than he’s ever been in his life. It’s the most intimate thing Katya has ever said, and it’s infuriating because he’s never said anything like that to Trixie. He calls Kim to rage about how stupid and selfish Katya is and ends up crying down the phone for an hour. Then he clears his notifications from his phone, intentionally ignoring Katya’s messages.

iv. Trixie ignores Katya for 37 hours.

It’s not very long, but it’s long enough for Katya to know. Even on opposite sides of the world they manage to text each other all the time and Trixie makes sure to read Katya’s messages so Katya knows he’s seen them and is deliberately not replying. It’s petty, but Trixie feels petty. When his phone rings, he doesn’t have to look at the screen to know who’s calling. He presses reject and waits. It’s 11pm, so it’s 4am in London and he’s sure Katya hasn’t slept. He’s opening up his laptop when he gets an angry text from Katya.

BITCH, I AM SKYPING YOU IN 5 MINUTES YOU BETTER FUCKING ANSWER

the confrontation

i. Katya speaks first.

“Trixie? What the fuck’s going on? Why are you ignoring me?”

Katya sounds like he’s been crying. Trixie thinks his eyes would probably look red if the webcam was better quality.

“Why do you think I’m ignoring you, asshole?”

Trixie is angry. He loves Katya, but he’s angry and he feels a small degree of satisfaction when Katya visibly recoils from his words.

“I… don’t know?”

Trixie rolls his eyes. “Think very hard.”

Katya blinks several times, very fast like he’s maybe trying to keep the tears at bay. “I’m sorry about what I said. It was just a bit of fun, I say shit like that all the time.”

“No, you fucking don’t.” Trixie is so angry he wants to scream, so he lowers his voice instead and talks in what is barely more than a whisper. “Do you know how embarrassing and hurtful it is to hear you go around at shows talking about how you want to date me?” Trixie knows Katya doesn’t want to date him. Katya wants to fuck him, but he doesn’t want to be his boyfriend.

“Right.” Katya looks defeated and Trixie almost apologizes. “I get it. The idea of dating me is embarrassing and disgusting. I’m sorry.”

Katya likes to beat himself up and play the victim when things go wrong instead of taking responsibility, and Trixie’s too angry to let him get away with it.

“We’re not having this conversation right now. You’re not listening to me. You’re just hearing what you want to hear. Call me back when you actually want to talk.”

Trixie disconnects the call.

Then he calls Kim again and cries some more.

ii. Katya calls back three hours later.

Trixie should be sleeping, but he’s lying in bed and staring at the ceiling so he sits up when he hears the call come in from his computer.

“I hate it when you’re mad at me, Trix. I really am sorry.”

Katya looks like shit. Trixie thinks he probably looks just as bad.

“No you’re not. You’re sorry I’m mad, but you’re not sorry you said it.”

Katya winces and Trixie knows he’s right.

“Jesus, Katya. Do you know how it feels to hear something that personal said to hundreds of fucking fans when you’ve never said it to me? Why did you do it? You had to know I’d hear about it.”

Katya swallows hard. Trixie can see it on the screen, even in the dim light. “Maybe I was too much of a coward to tell you to your face.”

Trixie squeezes his eyes shut. “But you didn’t mean it. Don’t mean it. I don’t care if you joke about fucking me, but why did you have to say something like that?” It hurts. Katya knows him and Katya should know that it hurts. It was selfish and it was cruel and Trixie hates him just a little.

“I do mean it.” Katya’s voice is soft and he’s not looking into the camera. “I love you, you know that.”

Trixie doesn’t know what to say.

Katya doesn’t know what to say either, because he’s still not looking at the camera but he’s breathing hard like he might hyperventilate any second.

“You want to fuck me. You don’t want to date me. You’ve never said you wanted to date me.”

“I would date you, Bri. If you wanted.” Katya smiles, but it’s strained and it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Trixie’s mind is reeling.

“I have to go. I love you, but I have to go.”

He disconnects before Katya can say goodbye.

iii. Trixie calls Katya back half an hour later.

“Sorry.”

Katya nods, but he doesn’t say anything.

Trixie wonders if this is what it’s always going to be like, them hurting each other and fucking each other up.

“You want to date me.”

Katya nods again.

“Like, actually date. Be boyfriends. Do boyfriend stuff.”

Katya smiles. It’s small, but at least it’s genuine. “We already do boyfriend stuff, only now I have to ask permission before I kiss you.”

Trixie rolls his eyes. “What about the show? If we date and it doesn’t work out, then what happens? We’re fucking business partners, Katya.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the show. If I have to pick between my career and you, I pick you.”

Trixie bites back a smile. It’s all too big, he doesn’t want to ruin the moment by smiling. “You can’t fuck anyone we know. Random trade only. And don’t tell me about it.”

Katya stares into the camera like nothing Trixie’s saying makes any sense.

“And it has to stay a secret. From everyone. There’s a very good chance we won’t even last a month, I don’t want to go public until we’re sure.”

Katya keeps staring.

“Also, I love you too, idiot.”

Katya smiles so brightly it looks like the sun has just come out. “Are you sure?”

No. Trixie’s not sure, but he knows they both worry and think too much and he’s tired of it. “I’ll come see you soon once I’m done with shows.”

Katya’s still grinning like maybe he’s never going to stop. “Can I eat your ass?”

Trixie laughs. “I’m hanging up now.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Katya blows him a kiss and then his face disappears and Trixie closes the lid of his computer.

iv. Katya texts Trixie all the heart emojis he can find.

 He follows it up with a peach emoji.

Trixie smiles.