#like light-hearted in tone but they took regular adult life seriously

[maddie-grove]

This is so depressing.

[nightshade-minho]

3021:Starless

-(2)-

Warnings: mentions of knives, mentions of prostitutes, shirtless Hyunjin, mentions of family death, violence etc.

Word Count: 3.3k

Minho sighed as he walked home, his hands in his pockets...all his thoughts were filled with you.

He'd followed you secretly, knowing you were too stubborn to let him walk with you and make sure you were safe. He'd watched from an alley as you reached the workshop, greeted by a boy around your age that he couldn't quite recognize. Could it be possible that he was your boyfriend?

Jealousy rose up in him as he shook his head, not wanting to think about it. One of these days, he'd have the courage to ask you out. 

He wondered if you liked him. You didn't really know much about him, but your interactions with him, though filled with sarcasm and plenty of comebacks, told him you didn't hate his presence. He had a feeling you were just acting tough, pretending like he was nothing but a nuisance to you- especially because he saw the way your cheeks would slightly heat up whenever he flirted with you.

He first met you at the coffee shop you worked at, almost a year ago. It was one of the few cafés in this part of town, and hence it was always packed. You'd caught his eye immediately and he was smitten at first glance. He found himself to be a regular at the café ever since. He'd be lying if he said the coffee was the reason he stuck around.

Minho stopped walking for a second, his human leg aching. He balanced his weight on his bionic foot as he rested for a second. He had a long way to travel, considering his house was located closer to the city. Walking back and forth so often was tiring, sometimes.

He went back to thinking of you. Your smile, your hair...the way you walked, and the way you always knew just what to say. He tried to keep the lovesick smile at bay, but was clearly unsuccessful, if his reflection in the car window opposite him was any indication. Straightening up a little, he started walking again, reliving all his interactions with you in his head. 

He reached home sooner than he thought.

Walking up the driveway, he nodded at the guards, who gave him a nod before opening up the gates. They never asked him what he was doing out so late, and he appreciated them for it. 

Minho sneaked around the back of the mansion, sighing as he prepared himself to scale the tree right next to his bedroom window. 

Carefully, he climbed the tree as discreetly as he could, stepping into his room with a light thud. 

Looking around, he closed the window, dusting off his shirt- but when he turned around, his father was standing right there.

Minho yelped, stumbling backwards a little. "What the fuck-" Was this karma or something?

"Language, young man. Now, what were you doing out so late?"

"Nothing! I needed to um...shop for parts."

"What? Why would you do that when you could order any prostheses you want from the comfort of your own home?" The man's eyes narrowed as his eyes roved over the dust clinging to Minho's clothes. 

"Why are you dressed like that? Did you..." He gasped, trailing off. "You went to that side of town, didn't you?"

"What? Dad, no, I-"

"Don't lie to me." He glared, pinching his forehead. "I don't want to know what you were doing there. You're an adult, if you want to see hookers, I don't mind. But we have a reputation to uphold. You do realize I can acquire you a sex android if you really-"

"What the fuck, Dad?! Just-" Minho's horrified expression grew as he fully absorbed his father's words. "That's not what I was doing. I was-"

He put up a finger, silencing him. "You don't have to explain yourself. Just tell your assistant what you need." He exhaled, turning around and leaving the room.

Minho watched him leave, his head boiling with anger. He was thankful he didn't ask any more questions- it was revolting the way his father thought the rural areas offered nothing more than strip clubs, but at least it saved his ass this time. He couldn't come up with any excuses.

He got rid of his clothes, throwing them on the floor in frustration. After all, there was a maid to clean it all up. So, who gave a shit if he messed up his whole room? His whole life, he'd be waited on. He was 22 years old, and yet he still lived in his father's house. Granted, he did have an entire floor to himself...it still felt pathetic, though. Life wasn't going the way he wanted it to.

Being the Viceroy's son had its perks. But he'd always known there was more to life. Minho had most everything he ever wanted...except freedom.

He took the cable beside his bed and plugged himself in, adjusting the overnight power settings. He got into his bed, turning around and sighing as he hugged his pillow, imagining it was you. He allowed himself to smile, letting the image of you drive out the negative energy his dad had left behind. 

Soon, he felt sleep take over his senses.

"Is he awake?" Jisung asked, holding a glass of water as he came back into the room through the curtain that separated his home from the workshop.

"No...not yet." You tilted your head as you looked at the man that was sprawled out on the reclining chair you'd sat on not long ago. He had the same troubled expression on his face from before.

"Y/n, we have to contact the palace."

You frowned, eyes still fixed on the man in front of you- the legendary H88, The Royal Android. You flexed your arms, still aching from helping Jisung carry the android home.

"I don't know if that's a good idea, Jisung. He seemed distressed, and shouldn't he already be at the palace by now, at least, according to the news? Something's off. I don't want us to be connected to something so convoluted, at least not before tomorrow's trials. Maybe after that, we can decide what to do."

Jisung sighed, going over to the android's side and lifting his hair out of the way. "Low charge." He plugged the android in, turning to you. "If anyone finds out we're hiding the Royal Android...you do realize we could be put in jail, right? Besides, maybe turning it in would put you in their good graces. You'd get your Phantom license in a snap."

"Ha. We both know that's not what would happen. They like to twist stories...make them work in their favor. I feel like they'd just find a way to put all the blame on us-"

"Not this again..."

It was no secret that you weren't the biggest fan of the Royal family. In a world as advanced as yours, monarchies weren't that common. Xale was one of the three countries in the world that still had a royal family. 

The King had rushed into countless scandals ever since he ascended the throne, most of which were hastily covered up.

However, his reach didn't extend all the way to the poorer areas of Neos. Out here, there were people who knew. And you were one of them.

Whenever you talked about it though, Jisung was always quick to shut you up. He chalked it all up to controversies. However, you knew deep down he was aware of it all, too. He was just too scared to admit it. And why wouldn't he be? King Bang was almost a dictator, his opinions and decisions bordering on terrible. Monitorship, curfews, laws...all of it was designed to make it impossible for the have-nots to survive. The richer citizens of Neos lived oblivious to it all, unfortunately.

His son was to take the throne soon. You'd heard that he was a lot more lenient and good-hearted than his father...but you knew as long as the King was alive, he would have his influence over his son and the way he ruled...and thus, over the country.

"Y/n! He's awake..."

You snapped out of your thoughts at Jisung's shaky voice, eyes widening as you saw the android in front of you blink, eyes open as he assessed the two of you.

There was silence for a while as the three of you glanced at each other, wondering who would speak first. A few seconds later, Jisung broke the silence. 

"Are you okay?" 

The android turned to look at him, eyes narrowing a little. "Do you know who I am?"

"H88."

"Hyunjin. That's my name." He snarled. "And good, so you do know. Why would you ask such a question then? I'm clearly not okay. I'm supposed to be living in the Palace. But I'm not. Do you want to know why?"

Jisung raised an eyebrow at his angry tone. "Why?"

"Because I escaped." He muttered under his breath. 

You opened your mouth, slightly confused and ready to ask another question, but Jisung grabbed your wrist and pulled you aside a little. 

"We can't do this, Y/n. We should return him as soon as we can. This isn't just any android- it's The Royal Android, and it's been dominating the news for the last few months. Hiding him is obviously not going to be fucking easy."

"I know, but...I've just got a gut feeling about this."

"This isn't the time to rely on intuition! We could get seriously-"

"I'm right here, you know. I can hear everything." The android mumbled. The two of you turned to look at him. He glanced between you both and let out a long sigh, lip trembling. 

"Please...just don't take me back to the P-palace. I'm begging you." He said, his voice glitching again.

Jisung frowned, opening his mouth. You interrupted him before he could say anything. 

"Why are you scared of the Palace? Why don't you want to go there?" You probed gently, as you sat back down in front of him, not wanting to overwhelm him.

He pressed his lips together, looking conflicted. "It's...It's a long story. I can tell you later, when I feel more up to it." He sighed. "I'm not asking you to hide me forever...just for a few weeks, maybe? Until I figure out what to do."

Jisung held a hand up, his expression incredulous. "Hold up, dude, we can’t just do something like this without thinking. Don't you understand the risk this poses for us? And for you?"

"I know...but I have information. Very sensitive information. I'll answer all your questions and tell you what I know..." he looks at you meaningfully, as if he knew this would catch your attention. "As long as you hide me for a little while."

You narrowed your eyes at his words. Information. He had information, presumably against the royal family. This interested you considerably.

"Fine. You can stay." 

He smiled widely. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as he did so. You'd never met an android so advanced, an android so breathtakingly beautiful. 

Jisung cleared his throat, making you look at him. "This is such a bad idea, on so many levels. First off, he can't stay here- there are regular check-ins."

"Yeah I know. Hmm...he could always stay at my apartment."

Jisung looked up at you, cheeks turning red a little. "Um, is that a good idea? Isn't your apartment...small..."

"It's alright! It'll fit two people fine." You glanced at Hyunjin. "Besides, I don't think he gets to be picky."

"I'm okay with it. I just want to be safe."

Jisung felt his heart slowly sink as you and the android shared a grin, both extremely satisfied with their ends of the deal. Meanwhile, Jisung didn't have anything to gain...except the realization that for the next few weeks, you'd be living in close quarters with this Adonis of an android. 

Why did he have to have such rotten luck?

Hyunjin took off the hood of his cloak as you finally opened the door to the apartment, running a hand through his hair as he immediately went over to crash on the couch.

You stared at him pointedly as you removed your own cloak. "Do you want anything to eat?"

"Androids don't get hungry." He yawned, stretching. 

"But they do get tired?" You raised an eyebrow as he blinked at you sleepily, not answering you. You rolled your eyes.

"Don't ask me. I didn't invent them." He said finally. "Is there something wrong with my sensors or is it hot as balls in here?" He swore, grabbing his shirt and pulling it off, discarding it on the floor as he leaned back once more. "Much better."

Maybe for him. You stood there, a little shocked and unable to tear your eyes away from his bare chest.

"Like what you see, hm?" He winked, yawning again. "Come on." He patted the spot next to him. "I'll tell you everything you need to know. I promised, remember?"

"Right..." you hesitantly walked over to sit next to him, focusing on his eyes that were backlit with blue. 

"Go ahead. Ask me whatever you want to."

"Okay." You thought for a bit, sifting through all the questions in your head as you finally settled on one. "How did you escape the Palace? It's so heavily guarded."

"I haven't been to the Palace yet, actually. I escaped on my way there. I was being transported from Dr Isamu's mansion, but I panicked in the car. So I killed the driver and then left."

"You- you killed someone-"

"Yes. Move on, it's no big deal." He rolled his eyes. "I got a little scratched up in the fight, though. He was a very bulky man."

You nodded. The faded scars on his arms were apparent.

"Anyway, I stumbled through the streets and somehow found myself in the subway- I don't even know how I got there. I don't remember much. I knew I was close to shutting down. Then I saw you two, and then....well, you know." 

You sighed and leaned back against the couch, trying to make sense of what you had just rushed into.

"You committed a murder. The cops are going to investigate- both the murder and your disappearance. The fact that you're royal property makes it even less likely for you to stay here long without being caught. And when you do, I'll go down as well." You groaned. Was this a bad idea, after all?

"Yeah, I know. But you're just going to have to trust me. I know...things. Most of them, I overheard when I was in Isamu's lab. I know your parents were rebels, Y/n. This information will be valuable to you."

You frowned. "How do you know that?"

"My scanning system is advanced. I have the details of nearly every Neos citizen embedded in me. Your file says you're an orphan, that you work in a coffee shop despite having a well above average IQ. Your parents were the leaders of the 3012 rebellion, and were executed. Till you were 18, you were raised by the owner of the workshop down the street, whose son I just met. Not a fan of him, by the way. Want me to keep going?"

"Wow. So you do know everything." You pressed your lips together. "Well, you're right...what you know is valuable to me." You played with your fingers as the memories from that day replayed in your head, your chest tightening. You remembered the pain you'd felt as you saw your parents die right in front of you, mercilessly humiliated and tortured in front of the hundreds that had gathered to watch. It was a terrible thing for a 10 year old to have to witness. 

You also remembered how Mr Han brought you back to his house that day, raising you as his own alongside Jisung. He'd always been kind to you, caring for you and educating you. Despite losing your family at the age of 10, you found yourself still loved. And now...you were on the verge of losing him as well.

"...All I've ever wanted to do is finish what they started. I...want revenge. Don't get me wrong, I do want this country to be free as well. We would all be so much better off without the King. But I know a small part of me wants to do this for them." You sighed. "It's always just been a fantasy, though." Until you came into my life today.

His gaze softened as he watched you blink back tears. Hesitantly, Hyunjin moved a little closer, putting a hand on your back and patting you once. 

You'd always tried to be strong, tried to not let your emotions get the better of you. As much as you loved Jisung, and maybe even Minho...you always tried to keep your tough exterior intact in front of them, as best as you could. 

Yet here was this guy, someone you'd never seen the face of until today, other than on the front page of all the news articles. And despite barely knowing him, you felt something connecting the two of you. Something you couldn't quite explain. 

He stroked your hair as you gave up, dropping your walls in front of this complete stranger.

You let him pull you in, holding you as you cried, letting out emotions that had been pent up for years. Hyunjin didn't pry. He stayed silent, letting you cry into his chest.

It felt a little pitiful, but you couldn't care less at this point. It was difficult pretending to be strong when you knew you were anything but. 

"Your parents...were great people, Y/n. They inspired a lot of people. Their efforts weren't useless, and I know yours won't be, either."

"Wait...what are you suggesting?" You sniffed, looking up at him with a confused expression. 

"That you finish what they started. It'll be tricky...but we can do it. You let me stay here, and in exchange I'll help." He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. 

"For now, just cry it out all out. I'll tell you everything I know tomorrow, and we'll discuss after your trials. You're signing up to be a Phantom, correct?"

"Um, yeah." You said, wiping your cheek, feeling a familiar fire burn in your chest. Could you believe him? It sounded too good to be true. The idea of renewing the revolution your parents had ignited all those years ago...bringing the country together in the name of justice...it was a little far-fetched, but an idea that sparked excitement in you.

"Good. That'd be helpful, actually. We need an in, after all. Now...you need to rest, if you want to succeed tomorrow."

You sighed, nodding. Hyunjin smiled at you and pulled you into him again, adjusting himself in a more comfortable position. He hummed under his breath, and you blinked sleepily. His skin was so soft, his voice so calming...

You felt drowsy the more he sang, eyes closing.

Hyunjin continued petting your head. He closed his own eyes, flashes of what had happened to him over the past few months shooting across him, making him shiver. He would do anything to avoid going back there...including lie.

He hoped what he knew would be enough for you to get what you wanted, but deep down he knew he needed more...hopefully you wouldn't be too angry when you realized he knew less than what he'd made it seem like. 

Another rebellion. It would take some time, but from what he'd seen, you were resourceful enough to make it happen. And even though his knowledge was limited, he hoped he'd be able to find out more for you. Hyunjin knew he was equipped with millions of special talents - a lot of which he himself hadn't explored yet. He'd be a powerful ally.

He trusted you, and he hoped you did too. 

(None of the art used in this series belongs to me. Credit to the respective owners.)

[reidingandwriting]

10 Things I Hate About You (And 1 Thing I Love)

Word Count: ~2000 words

Ship: Peter Parker x Stark!Daughter, Avengers x Reader (platonic/family)

Warnings: Mild language, but that’s it!

A/N: This was so much fun to write honestly, we love fluffy chaos. It was originally going in a COMPLETELY different direction, but I decided to be nice and give you guys the fluffy version instead 😉 I attached the “10 things” list at the end in case you wanted it :)

You took a breath as you stood at the altar, hands interlocked with your fiancé Peter’s, and you began to speak.

“I hate your jokes, they’re so stupid.” Everyone in the room laughed, including Peter. “You’re the only person who could make such lame jokes funny. I especially hate that goofy laugh of yours that follows, that’s what makes the jokes tolerable. I hate that smile of yours, how it lights up the room. Seriously, it’s so bright, I need an Advil for my headache.” Peter let out a tearful laugh and your thumb brushed over his knuckles.

“I hate how hardworking you are. You built yourself up from nothing, you worked hard in everything you did. You overachiever, I look like a slacker. I hate how my family loves you and how they didn’t scare you off. Trust me, my dad tried.” Your dad called out a ‘hell yeah I did!’ which sent the small venue into laughter again. “My family’s all very guarded, but you smashed through those walls and you became like another member of the family. I hate how even my dog loves you, and he hates everyone. You can ask Dad, the day we took him off the street, he tried to bite him. He never liked anyone that I dated, until I met you.” Peter gave you a smile, which you gladly returned. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you blinked them back.

“I hate how you always know how to make me laugh, you know I hate how my laugh sounds. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this much until I met you. I hate how you always want to help everyone, even when struggling yourself. You could be out in the freezing cold, and you would give the shirt off your back to whoever needed it. You’re going to get sick or hurt doing that one day, you self sacrificing dork.”

“I hate how much you care about your friends. I won’t admit it again, but we truly are lucky to have you. Every endless day we spend with you is the best day. Except for our Harry Styles concert, nothing tops that. I hate how you’d lay down your life for your friends- you’d even do it for people who weren’t your friends. That’s just the person you are.” A few stray tears slid down your cheeks now.

“Even with all this complete and utter hatred I have for you,” your tone was playful and Peter was struggling not to cry at this point. You had told him your wedding vows would be a bit unconventional, he expected nothing less from you. You were Y/N Stark after all, being unconventional was a trademark Stark trait. “there’s one thing I love about you that cancels out all of that.”

“You made me feel like I belonged whenever so many people made me feel like I didn’t. From the second I started at Midtown, everyone treated me differently. Students and teachers were either terrified of me and what my dad could do, or they sucked up to me to get in my dad’s good graces. You treated me like I was just Y/N. Not Y/N Stark, daughter of Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. I was a regular teen with you, and I can’t thank you enough for that, Peter.” You wiped your eyes, smiling at the man you were about to marry. Your almost husband. “You introduced me to the best friends I could ever have, and you became the best boyfriend I could ever have. Boyfriend turned into fiancé, and now fiancé is about to turn into husband. These losers in the audience may be part of my family, but I can’t wait to start my own family with you. I love you, Peter Benjamin Parker.”

“I love you, Y/N Y/M/N Stark.” Peter smiled, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Now, if we’re doing the things I hate about you, let’s start with that god awful snoring.” The rest of the ceremony went on beautifully. Your dad wouldn’t admit it, but he totally cried whenever you and Peter said your “I do’s” and kissed. Meanwhile, Pepper wouldn’t let your dad forget it that he cried. Once the ceremony was finished, you moved the reception outside. Laura and Clint’s kids played with Scott’s daughter Cassie and your sister Morgan, while the adults continued the reception. The wedding was intimate, with your family of Avengers and Peter’s Aunt May and some friends of yours made up the guest list.

“I can’t believe Y/N’s married.” Natasha stood next to Tony, watching as you and Peter made your rounds with all the guests.

“Me neither.” Clint hummed in agreement, standing beside Natasha. “I remember the day I taught her to flip off the paparazzi.” Tony laughed at the memory, Pepper sending a playful glare to the archer. Tony still had the magazine in his office, the picture of you showing the camera your middle finger on the cover. You were only nine or ten at the time, you were all grown up now. You still liked to give the paparazzi your signature pose.

“How about the time she programmed FRIDAY to play that horrible Rebecca Black song every time we tried to use FRIDAY?” It was Steve’s turn to speak, and he groaned as he got the song stuck in his head again.

“Or that time she got FRIDAY to play that Black Widow song every time I entered the room?” Natasha’s face morphed into one of annoyance, but there was no real irritation behind it.

“What about the time Lady Y/N came to Asgard and made friends with Loki?” Thor remembered on your fourteenth birthday how you visited Asgard. It took endless tears and begging for your parents to agree. They finally agreed after you made a ten minute presentation, and Thor had promised to keep you safe. You loved Asgard and the people you met loved you- even Loki was fond of the young Stark. During your weekend in Asgard, you had spent equal time with the brothers. Thor gave you tours of Asgard and the castle, while Loki showed you some important spots from his childhood. You hated having to leave, but you came back every time you could. You even convinced Loki to spend more time on Earth (Midgard as he preferred to call it).

“I can’t forget about the time Tony brought in Y/N to the medbay when her hand was broken, he was hysterical. And you remember how she broke it?” Bruce looked at Tony, who rolled his eyes with a faint smirk.

“By punching that Flash kid in the face and breaking his nose.” Pepper shook her head at the memory, looking at the now grown up kids she loves. “They’ve always had each other’s backs. Now they’ve got each other forever. And they’ve got all of us.” Tony smiled as his older daughter walked over, Peter talking to his aunt. You gave everyone a hug, thanking them for coming.

“Sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for our dance, Dad.” Your dad nodded, pressing a kiss to his own wife’s cheek before walking to you.

“Let’s dance.” You lead your dad to the dance floor, your arm linked with his. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and Tony’s wrapped around your waist as you began to dance.

“I can’t believe my little girl is married now.” Tony spoke softly as you two danced, your dress sparkling under the lights as you moved. “Seems like just yesterday I held you in my arms for the first time.”

“It doesn’t feel real yet.” You hummed in agreement, looking up at your dad. “It still feels like I should be at home, having tea parties with Morgan, and giving you heart attacks with Peter.” Tony rolled his eyes, remembering how mere months ago, Tony was making a cup of coffee. You and Peter came to the lake house for Christmas, and you two were spending time with Morgan in your room.

Tony smiled as he heard the sound of laughter through the halls, until he heard a loud crash and Peter yell “shit!” which Morgan replied “that’s Mom’s word!” Tony ran to the sound, stopping at the sight. Morgan, holding your phone, stood beside Peter, who was doubled over laughing. Then he saw you, sprawled across the floor, roller skates on your feet. Pieces of shattered ceramic, dirt, flowers were surrounding you, which Tony recognized as the vase of flowers Morgan set up last week. You raised your head, looking at Morgan.

“Did you get that on video?!” You fist pumped the air as Morgan nodded, carefully getting back up. You froze when you saw your dad and looked at your fiancé and sister. “Retreat, retreat!!” You skated past your dad, Morgan and Peter following you as they laughed.

“Y/N, Morgan, and Peter! Get your asses back here and clean this up!”

“You see all these gray hairs? You caused them.” You laughed, giving your dad an award winning smile.

“We add excitement to your life.” Tony laughed, twirling you.

“And I can’t be happier that I have you two hooligans in my life.” You smiled as the song paused and everyone looked around. A familiar song started playing over the speakers, and your dad grinned. The slow song had been replaced by Mr. Brightside, one of yours and your dad’s favorite songs. The rest of the guests came to the dance floor, dancing and singing (yelling) the lyrics. The rest of the night was filled with singing, dancing, and laughter.

You stood beside Peter at the end of the night, swaying slightly as you held your sleeping sister. She was older now, but she never missed a chance for you to hold her. Your eyes traveled the room, taking in the sights around you. The rest of the kids were off by themselves, eating leftover wedding cake and drinking soda out of the champagne flutes. Ned and MJ had taken over the music, playing everything from throwbacks to today’s music, jumping around (as they’d call it, dancing) and laughing. The team of heroes were all broken out into their own groups, everyone getting along fine.

“I can’t believe this is our life.” You spoke after a minute of silence. “I remember when it was just me, my dad, and Happy. I never would’ve thought my family would grow from that group of three to all of us now.” Your eyes landed on your dad, who was laughing with the original Avengers team.

“If you would have told me in the start of high school that I was going to become an Avenger, fall in love with Tony Stark’s daughter, and join the family of the Earth’s mightiest heroes, I would think I was in a dream. And now it’s my reality. I’ve always wanted a big, happy family like this. And you gave it to me.” Peter smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your eyes closed, savoring the moment.

“Our family’s about to expand by one more, too.” You whispered and Peter’s jaw dropped as it clicked.

“We’re having a baby?” You nodded with a smile, laughing as Peter hugged you tight, being careful not to disturb Morgan.

“We’re having a baby. Don’t tell my dad you know, he wanted to be the first to know.” You rested your head on his shoulder and Peter’s arm made its way around your waist.

“Our child really is going to have the best family to grow up in.” As you looked at your husband, you smiled to yourself.

‘Yeah.’ You thought. ‘They really will.’

1. Your stupid jokes

2. Your laugh

3. Your smile

4. How hardworking you are

5. How much my family loves you

6. Even my dog loves you, and he doesn’t like anyone

7. How you always know how to make me laugh

8. How you always want to help everyone

9. How much you care about your friends

10. And how you’d lay down your life for them

11. And how you made me feel normal

Taglist: @daughter-of-stark @agent-barnes40 @spideygirl2003 @ditttiii 💖 Taglist is OPEN, please let me know if you’d like to be added. Requests are also OPEN, feel free to make requests :)

[marueonmain]

WINDFLOWER

part two ~ a residual humming ~

(part one) (part two)

A/N: I wanted to write this second part and get it out as soon as possible. I hope you like it! I have messages/asks open for comments or questions. Be safe!

Summary: George bullies Alex about him mooning over Y/N. Sammy is a bit abrasive, but he gets along with the lads. 

Pairing: imallexx x reader

Warning: Some Language. More of My Writing. 

Word Count: 2.2k

Upon entering his apartment, Alex was met with the smell of burning. He turned into the kitchen to see George's back as he stood over the hob with a grim-looking cheese toastie set in a pan.

George did not move when Alex walked in, nor did he indicate he was aware Alex was watching him. His eyes were glued on the sandwich as he poked at it with a wooden spoon, nudging it to be better. But it was too far gone to turn out any better than just edible.

At Alex clearing his throat, George asked, "Where've you been?"

"I grabbed some lunch at Five Guys." He pulled at the collar of his shirt, fanning himself. Taking a bar seat, he continued, "I would've offered to bring something back for you if I'd thought about it."

"Don't worry; no one expects you to think, Alex." George flipped the hob off and turned around to grab a plate set out on the counter. He used the wooden spoon to scrape the toastie from the pan as the burnt cheese clung on.

Neither spoke as George performed this careful and intricate extraction.

Though it was just so entertaining to watch his flatmate work around his terrible cooking skills, Alex found his thoughts wandering off. It was subconscious thinking. Or can thinking be subconscious versus conscious? Alex was not sure. All he knew was he was not thinking about what to think. Nor were his thoughts connecting along with one another. It was random.

Sparks of this feeling and that. Questions neither answered nor fully asked before another came along. Mostly, it was him reviewing everything he said earlier to Sammy and Y/N.

“Why go by Red?” Why did I ask that? Stupid.

While a small voice shouted, it worked out! There was too much of a ruckus elsewhere in his mind to give that small voice a chance.

Plate in hand, George started in the direction of his bedroom perhaps in hopes he could eat in peace while hunched over his keyboard like a gremlin.

"You know quiche?" Alex piped up.

"It's like egg-casserole, innit?"

"Right. It's a breakfast food, wouldn't you think?"

"Eggs normally are, yes." George stopped, and it was there in his eyes, the realization that he would not be escaping a conversation. He turned to take a bar seat and began eating in small quick bites. Like a mouse.

"I invited someone round to watch football with us later."

"Who? You don't have friends besides Will and them lot."

"I met him this afternoon. His name's Sam, but he goes by Sammy."

"How did you manage to shut up long enough to catch his name?" George coughed on his food – tasting the evident lack of love cooked into it. "And why does he sound like a golden retriever?"

"He is blond like a retriever. He and Y/N are moving-in right above us."

"Is this Y/N coming too?" George waggled his eyebrow.

The knowledge that George had a girlfriend and more so the identity of said girlfriend was on a need to know basis. As were most aspects of George's life: surname, physical appearance, etc. He knew just as well as anyone that Alex was alone – not a sad kind of alone but a neutral kind.

A girlfriend (or boyfriend) could be fantastic for views. But he did not need one. He was a functioning adult. Independent financially and physically. With an exceptional support system of friends. Alex was full and complete by himself.

And he believed that because it was true.

However, it did not stop him from yearning. It did not stop him from feeling like he might sleep better if he had someone's chest to cuddle; it did not stop him from imagining it was someone else's fingers running through his hair in moments of grief.

"Y/N is Sammy's girlfriend, and she wasn't into me—it rather. She wasn't into it."

"It's his girlfriend, mate. Of course, she isn't into you."

"Not like that. Y/N didn't even look at me, like me being there was making her ill."

"What did you expect? To go-" George, in his mocking, pitched his voice higher, "Hello, I'm internet sensation imallexx, and she falls to her knees to start sucking you off?"

Alex made a face, letting his features relax into a deadpan expression.

George continued unbothered, "Why do you care if the girlfriend likes you?"

"It wasn't dislike; it was discomfort. I'm not someone who makes people uncomfortable, am I? That doesn't make sense, not with all those imallexx is baby edits and uwu soft boi collages."

"Uwu soft boi?"

"Piss off. You know what I mean."

Giggling to himself, George finished eating and stood up. He took his plate, dropping it into the sink, he caught Alex's expression – still somber.

Seriousness was not something either flatmate expressed on the regular, or if it was, it would not be for long. There might be some argument to be made there. That neither man felt comfortable in serious situations because their insecurities about being shorter than average (or about having generous natures) made it difficult for them to see themselves as worth being taken seriously.

Or maybe that argument would be off base and a load of shit—who knows.

"Everyone I've seen you meet in person liked you – just got one of those likable faces, I guess. Plus, you're entertaining and that. I've never known you to make people uncomfortable." George paused. "You'd have to be a real dick to go after another bloke's girl. But I'm sure she'd like talking to you again...if that's what you wanted."

"I don't know what I want to happen, George."

"Well, figure it out. And if Sam does opt into a few rounds of FIFA, I'm not letting him beat me."

"It's Sammy."

"Ok." George walked in the direction of his bedroom. "Sammy. Sammy. I can remember that."

~LATER~

It was adrenaline-fueled cheers, heated debates over pizza toppings, clever and scathing remarks, all in addition to an absurd amount of drinking. And the aftermath was a residual humming of endorphins.

Newcastle lost: no surprise there.

Electronic noises sounded from the television at full volume but, having to travel through the thick wave of inebriation and exhaustion in the room, it all registered as dull pings. Will and George were the two holding controllers and involved in the head-to-head battle unfolding on-screen.

Sitting next to one another on the sofa highlighted the stark differences in their composure and dedication. George sat leaning forward enough to be considered doubled over with an iron grip on his controller. Will leaned back with one hand on the controller and the other taking the occasional swig from the beer he otherwise held between his legs.

Throwing back drink after drink, Sammy occupied the third sofa cushion. He admitted earlier in the night that he never played FIFA before; he watched the television with interest and set focus. Blush and all, he looked alert and strong even after winning the shot contest between himself and James.

James – on the other hand – was flat on his back on the floor in front of the coffee table with his eyes closed. He had not spoken up in a while, but Alex was sure he was still awake – like 60% sure.

"—in the frame for half a second. If that!" Alex struggled to control the volume of his voice as he spoke with excitement, "And not twelve hours later, I see a screenshot of them on a fetish instagram account."

"What the fuck?" Sammy laughed through the question.

"That's what I said!"

Will, confident he could win against George without paying much attention, spoke up, "I tried to go legit with selling feet pics once for a video."

Sammy's jaw dropped. "You're joking."

"Swear on my life." Will crossed his heart with his hand.

"It was with socks on." Alex stood up from the armchair and stumbled to the kitchen to pour himself another shot. Deciding on a clear liquor, he poured and downed it before finishing his thought, "Having socks on—that's not the same. Not at all."

"Nice dress-socks! I had production value, I did. Unlike you with those hobbit feet."

Alex held himself steady against the kitchen counter. With ears lit up red like traffic lights, he stared into the air with a blank expression for half a minute before shaking his head as if coming up from some dark, treacherous waters. Gaining some composure, he shuffled back to the armchair and collapsed onto it. He said his peace on the issue, "Don't be an ass."

"The only fun way to be," Will muttered as he knocked back a bit of his beer.

Despite watching Alex cross the room with particular concern, Sammy reentered the conversation in a casual tone and manner. "Wait. Your feet are just out there in the open for weird foot fetish guys to jack off to?"

"Guys jack off to Alex all the time," said George. He did not remove his eyes from the television as the electronic sounds coming from the game took a discordant turn. "He's an LGBT icon."

Alex gritted his teeth at the comment. "Stop."

"Oh?" From the sofa, Sammy raised his head, shifting his posture and pulling himself up into a proper seated position. "You're gay?"

George started, "Well, he's b—"

"Yes." Alex cut him off. Sometimes it was easier to just be “gay” than to get specific with someone who might not understand or even accept further explanation.

It went quiet, save the electronic noises of George getting his ass kicked at FIFA. George, too focused on losing and being offended from getting cut-off, and James having been down for the count for the last hour, were unaware of the turn the conversation had taken and were spared from the rising uneasiness.

Will and Alex were in the thick of it. Alex shot worried glances in Will's direction. Will set his jaw and nodded with reassurance back to Alex.

Sammy breathed out an, "Oh."

"Is that an issue?" Alex asked.

"God, no. It's a relief!" Sammy slouched into the back of the sofa. "Don't have to be worried about you trying to chat up Red."

Will looked agitated (maybe at the choice of words or the hesitation). His forehead scrunched-up, and his posture tensed with rigid shoulders and arms. He asked with a forced ‘normal-sounding’ tone, "Who's Red?"

"My girlfriend – she's a fucking bitch, but like my bitch, you know?"

Alex was not sure which part of the whole thing he was most uncomfortable with...until he decided. It was the bitch comment. 

It was the bitch comment by far.

No one in that room – as far as he knew – had ever straight-out name called their girlfriend like that. Not George about [REDACTED]. Not Will about Mia. Not James about Aria. And certainly not Alex about his past partners.

To be fair there were a handful of times, he or his friends had considered how their partner was acting as being bitchy. Still at the heart of all their relationships was a respect for the other person and the courtesy to not leave for the evening (to watch football or whatever) without at least attempting to work things out – smooth things over even the tiniest amount.

"I thought her name was Y/N," said George.

Sammy hurled an expression that asked how would you know and all but dared George to ask him another question. "It is. But when we met, I called her Red, and now she goes by Red."

"Why?"

Sammy ignored that George had spoken at all. Luckily, it was just a few awkward seconds between Sammy clamming up and someone else speaking.

"Mac 'n cheese! Fuck!" James shouted as his eyes shot open, and he sat up from the floor. "Doesn't mac 'n cheese sound good right now?" He turned his attention to Alex and snapped finger guns at him. "You have any mac 'n cheese?"

"No, James," Alex growled; he rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes with too much pressure.

Sammy interjected with cheerfulness in his voice, "I like mac 'n cheese with some marshmallow fluff."

"Fuck yes!" James whipped around to face Sammy (whom he probably did not recognize at that moment nor remember meeting just hours before) and somehow got louder. "We gotta get some!"

"Let's go." Sammy did not move to stand.

"You're so chill," mumbled James. As unexpected as it was for him to pop-up, James hit the ground again, closing his eyes. He was out.

"Anyone willing to be talked at by Alex for an entire evening has got to be," remarked George with a humorless laugh.

"Reel it back a bit," Will warned before Alex might have come back with something worse.

"Yeah," Sammy teased, "how much you down now, George? £200 last I checked."

"Will's cheating."

Will took a swig from his beer. "Mate, I'm too pissed to be cheating."

"Whatever."

"Check it." Will shifted in his seat as on-screen, he scored the final goal of the game. Triumphant electronic noises blasted from the television as he raised his long arms up in the air, pumping his fist once. twice. three times.

He got up to high-five Alex and Sammy, who wore over-excited smiles across their flushed faces. And just like that, the evening was over.

[azrielsiphons]

Moe’s ACOTAR December One-Shots #1 - Nessian in the Snow

Every other day in December I’m going to be posting a Christmas/winter themed one-shot for either Elriel, Feysand, or Nessian. They’ll be tagged under “moes winter writing” so make sure to check all of them out. 

Almost all of these prompts are directly from or variations of this post. 

Please like and reblog! 

Moe’s Christmas One-Shot Number One: 

Nessian -  “I know we hate each other but it’s Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled please come inside”

Nesta was in her happy place. 

Once when she and Feyre were having one of their legendary screaming matches in their high school years, Feyre had screamed at Nesta that she “enjoyed making herself miserable because it was easier than being jealous of everyone else’s happiness.” Nesta had thought that that sentence was genuinely the stupidest thing and made zero sense and Feyre had tackled her when she said as much. The sisters still fought, but age had made them less inclined to say such cutting words or resort to pummeling each other. 

But part of what Feyre had said had always lingered in Nesta’s brain. Did she enjoy making herself miserable? Was that easier than trying to attain happiness when it could all be ripped away in a second when someone decided to leave like they always did?

Maybe she did. And maybe that was okay. But for now at least, in this bright beautiful moment of solitude, she was in her happy place. 

The snow fell gently outside, the moon illuminating the quiet suburban street with a glow that was … magical. Nesta was no sentimentalist, but there was no other word for it. The night was positively magical — between the moon and the stars and the snow, she could almost taste it. 

Snow was Nesta’s favorite. Feyre wasn’t particularly fond of the cold and Elain always complained about her flowers not blooming in the wintertime, but Nesta thrived during this season. She never took the insults about having “such a cold heart” too seriously considering it was the cold made her feel positively alive. 

And to top it all off, it was Christmas Eve. The gift-giving part of Christmas had never particularly been Nesta’s favorite — there was too much pressure on gift exchanges as an adult — but the decorations and the music and the lights and smells and foods … positively magical. 

Nesta had no delusions about her personality, she knew she wasn’t an easy person that didn’t take as much joy out of life as others did. But standing out in her front yard, fifteen minutes till midnight on Christmas Eve, not a soul in sight as the snow fell gently around her in silence … 

Nesta was in her happy place, and nothing — nothing — could ruin that for her. 

“Shit — fuck — dammit all to hell!”

Nesta deflated, the soft corners of her lips dropping into a scowl immediately. Her chin went from being tilted up to the night sky to almost touching her collarbone. 

Turns out there was someone who could ruin her happy place after all. 

Nesta’s blood began to boil as the magic around her shattered, replaced with irritation that ran through her like a lightning bolt. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the snow around her had turned to steam — that’s how mad she was. 

“That asshole is supposed to be gone,” Nesta seethed, turning on her heel and stomping around the side of her house to the back where her incredibly annoying brute of a neighbor was disturbing her happy place and ruining her snow moment dammit. 

“I told Az to replace the spare key — did he replace the spare key? No, he didn’t, and who is surprised? Nobody! That’s the fuck who!” 

Nesta could feel the blood rushing to her face and ears, her teeth grinding as she saw him standing on his porch, fiddling with his front door. 

Cassian. Even his name annoyed her. His shoulder length hair and heavy black pea coat were covered in snow, and his broad shoulders were turned just enough that she could see his hands shaking sans gloves as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and uselessly pressed the power button over and over again. 

He roared out a few more choice curse words before turning on his heel and hurling the dead phone. 

It landed right in front of Nesta’s feet, flinging snow up on the front of her snowman pajama pants. 

“Oh,” Cassian said, his shoulders relaxing and his eyes widening at the sight of Nesta standing at the edge of his front yard. If she hadn’t been so spitting mad at him in that moment, she might have appreciated the bewildered expression on his annoyingly perfect face. “Nesta.” 

“Oh, Cassian,” she mocked. “Aren’t you supposed to be on a flight to the other side of the country and not disturbing my peaceful snowy Christmas Eve?!”

And just like that, his fire that always matched hers so well came roaring to the surface, wiping away that look of bewilderment and … adoration? No it couldn’t be … right off of his face. 

“Well excuse me, princess!” he shouted right back, bounding down the steps to the snow covered grass and sauntering towards her. “I didn’t realize my cancelled flight was going to be such an imposition on you!”

Nesta could feel the blood pounding in her head as he got closer, that lovely sound of fresh snow crunching beneath his feet tainted by his sarcasm. Oh and damn him for looking so nice, his hazel eyes especially bright as the snow gleamed between them. 

“Oh your flight was cancelled?” she spat, “That’s too bad, I would feel sorry for you if you weren’t such a big oaf cursing in the middle of the night while the snow is falling magically!”

She knew she looked ridiculous standing there in her red snowman pajamas with a matching beanie and a heavy green robe. She knew she was fighting a battle nobody would win — nobody ever won in their screaming matches, except maybe her migraines.

But he infuriated her beyond reason. They had been living next to each other for a little over a year and ever since he and his stupid brother-friend-fellow-idiot Rhys (who happened to be dating her little sister, which made her hate him even more) had shot the side of her house with paintball guns like freaking twelve year olds, she had never been around the brute and not felt inclined to strangle him. 

And now? On this night? On the best night of the whole damned year? Unacceptable. It could not stand. 

“You know what Nesta—” he started, pointing a finger in her direction, but she wasn’t having it.

Nesta strode forward smoothly, smacking his finger out of the way as if it were an insect bothering her. 

“No you listen to me, Cassian,” she hissed, enjoying the way his eyes widened as she leaned in close enough to feel his warm breath on her face, tilting her head back because of his height, “you are entitled to a bad day, to a cancelled flight, to a locked door, and even to a dead phone battery. You can have that. Okay? You can have that. But what you cannot have is my snow! You are not allowed to interrupt my snow time, you are not allowed to take away my one happy time of the year, okay? Okay?!”

In the back of her mind, Nesta noted that she had probably woken up more than one of the neighbors with her shouting, and there were at least two dogs barking in the distance. 

But in the front of her mind, all she could focus on was Cassian looking down at her (damn his tall self) with a look of utter confusion. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just …”

“Just what, Cassian?”

“I just thought that … are you really only ever happy this time of year?”

Nesta deflated. She could barely think straight enough to blink as his voice washed over her. She was so used to him shouting at her the way she shouted at him that sometimes she forgot how nice his regular speaking voice was. And when had they gotten so close?

“I mean I know we fight but I thought … well damn, sweetheart. I thought you enjoyed our little spats like I did. Do.”

Nesta felt her cheeks heating despite the chill temperature. Of course she didn’t enjoy their arguments, who the hell enjoyed arguments, that’s just …

But she did. She did enjoy the bickering and the shouting because with him it was all surface and never actually cutting. He never really tore her down like so many others had, he never commented on her coldness, he never brought up her insecurities … they bickered about stupid things like the importance of paintball (or lack thereof), and the Red Sox versus the Yankees, and how often he should cut his grass in the summertime. 

And damn it if those weren’t some of the best parts of her day. Damn it if being around him didn’t have that same glow to it that the snowfall did. 

And damn it if she hadn’t been blind to it this whole time. 

Cassian, taking Nesta’s stunned silence as something other than it was, huffed in resignation and leaned down to pick up the phone he had thrown moments before. He hissed, stretching out his surely numb fingers. 

Nesta finally came back to her senses. 

“Wait when did you even get back?” she asked, feeling strange at using her normal tone of voice with him. “I didn’t hear your car. Or that death trap you ride.”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “That death trap is called a motorcycle, and you are always welcome to take a ride with me. But my damn car ran out of gas about a mile down the road. All the stations were closed and I didn’t think I would be coming back here today, but—”

“You walked a mile in the snow?” Nesta asked incredulously. “Without gloves?”

“I didn’t think I would need them!” Cassian shot back, though it held no bite. “I expected to be in the nice, contained heat of my car but damn it all if my flight was cancelled, then I ran out of gas, my phone died, and fucking Azriel never replaced the spare key under the mat last month.”

Nesta huffed, lifting her eyes to the snow falling around her once again. Cassian continued to mutter on and on about stupid Azriel and a broken gas gauge, but she wasn’t paying attention. 

Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it, she thought to herself. He’s a brute and Elain and Feyre are gone and it’s your Christmas Eve and you don’t owe him anything. He’s a big boy, he can handle himself.

“Stop talking,” Nesta snapped, pressing her gloved palm to her forehead. Cassian, to his credit, shut up. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she muttered under her breath, reaching over and grabbing one of Cassian’s freezing cold hands before turning on her heel back towards her own house, pulling him along with her. 

“Uh, what are you doing there sweetheart?” Cassian asked, trying and failing to mask the way his voice cracked .

Nesta could feel her eye twitching. “Look I know we hate each other, but it’s Christmas Eve and your flight was cancelled and even though you’re … you, I can’t just let you freeze to death out here.” 

She could feel Cassian’s grin behind her, but Nesta just trudged on through the snow, dragging Cassian behind her up the two steps to her front door and inside her home. 

Cassian practically moaned when he stepped inside the toasty warmth of her home, and Nesta promptly ignored the tingling that the noise set off low in her stomach. 

“Shoes and coat off,” she snapped, pointing at the bench and coat hanger next to the door. Cassian promptly obeyed, giving her a salute that she pursed her lips at so he wouldn’t see her smile. 

“You know sweetheart—”

“I told you not to call me that.”

“—I’m starting to think you like me more than you let on.”

“Think what you want, I don’t care.” Nesta knew her words fell flat when she took in the way his black button down shirt tightened over his chest and shoulders as he pulled off his coat. 

Why couldn’t her annoying neighbor look like a troll instead of a Greek god? Why must life treat her this way?

“Go warm your hands up by the fire, I don’t want to take you to the hospital for frostbite.”

Cassian chuckled, the sound a low rumble in his chest as he obeyed. He hissed as the blood rushed back to his fingertips with the heat. 

Nesta bit her lip, watching the muscles in his back ripple as he knelt down in front of the fireplace. He had been in her house before, the brute tended to follow Rhys like a puppy whenever the former came around to see Feyre, but he had never been in the house alone with her before. And never late at night … when the snow was falling outside … on Christmas Eve … 

Stop that, Nesta warned herself. This isn’t a damn Hallmark movie, pull yourself together.

But … he had a point earlier that she couldn’t shake. Sure, the snow was her happy place. But … inexplicably, bickering with him had the same feel as snowfall. The same magic.

“Hey Cassian,” she called out tentatively, her voice softer than it had ever been in any of their interactions.

Cassian whirled around so quickly he almost lost his balance. His eyes were wide as saucers.

“You know sweetheart, I think that’s one of the first times you’ve called me by name so nicely,” he said with a small smirk, recovering from his shock quickly. “I liked the way it sounded.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes, but she knew there was a softness there that she rarely let others see. Oddly enough, she wasn’t scared to show that softness to him.

Maybe it was the snow, maybe it was because it was Christmas time … whatever it was, she didn’t care. She could give into the magic of it all this one time. Maybe try a bit of that joy that everyone else found so easily. 

But she would find it her own, very Nesta-ish way. 

“Listen here you brute, I’ll make you hot chocolate, but you’re not getting marshmallows.”

Cassian’s surprised smile, lit up by the glow of the fire, was infinitely more magical than the snow. 

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog and happy December! 

[doomedandstoned]

Closer To The End (part III)

I contend that human beings are not suited for the world we've fashioned for ourselves. Cases of anxiety and depression are practically ubiquitous, and suicide in all age groups is once again on the rise. Some will suffer mental afflictions that last years -- perhaps even for a lifetime. This is the third and final part of my story.

~By Billy Goate~

Cover art by Ruso Tsig additional art by Karl Briullov

I'm so tired of hearing that I'm wrong Everyone laughs at me, why me? I'm so tired of being pushed around I feel like I've been betrayed

We take each other's love, forget to give back Isn't it a pity, how we break each other's hearts I know we're only human and not to blame But who the hell are you to cause so much pain Why...

MEDICATION

My parents have been anti-establishment for as long as I can remember. In the climate of the 1980s, the institutions of the day were being called seriously into question. One of them was the authoritarian nature of public education (there's a reason why Pink Floyd's "Another Brick in the Wall" resonated so strongly with people). It's no surprise that my family got caught up in the first wave of the homeschooling movement. Other areas of modern life began to be called into question, as well, taking the family down a dark, windy road that led into conspiracy culture, extreme libertarianism, and religious dogmatism.

This distrust of the "experts" put us at odds with the medical establishment, too. "Doctors only know how to do two things," mom would often proclaim loudly in one of her famous rants, "cut you open or prescribe you pills." Natural medicine held the keys to recovery from all ills, be it cancer or the common cold. "All those chemicals aren’t good for your body," she insisted. "God put everything we need for healing in the ground." I’m not here to knock naturopathy (I was an ardent follower of this way of life for years) nor my mother for her convictions, but there are some things that can’t be cured by Saint John's Wort and herbal tea -- major depression being one of them.

At one point, my anxiety, melancholy, and a generalized feeling of social isolation reached such a heightened state I turned to hypnotism, enamored by an obscure radio program hosted by Roy Masters and his Foundation for Human Understanding. I was too young to understand the significance of most of the bullshit he was spewing, but it was the comprehensive approach to life that appealed to me. I wanted answers -- all of them. About the only thing I got out of it, though, was learning how to make my own arm go numb through self-hypnosis.

Later, I'd get caught up in a movement of Biblical counseling that rejected psychiatry altogether. "Christ has given us all things we need for life and godliness," says the holy writ, ergo we need none other than Jesus to cure our mental ills. Furthermore, the thesis said, since "God has not given us a spirit of fear" it must mean that the root of depression and anxiety is ultimately sin against God. The answer? Confess your sins and walk by faith, not by sight. In short, pray the sadness away. All of this had limited effectiveness in coping with the claustrophobic cloud of melancholy that was constantly with me.

Cough & Windhand: Reflection of the Negative by Windhand

The stigma of psychiatry and modern medicine kept me from treating my depression for damn near a decade. Somewhere in my late twenties, after a prolonged and particularly dark depressive spell, I decided to talk to my medical doctor about antidepressants. He started me on the industry standard, the well-known and well-marketed Prozac, which became a household name in the '90s. I took the first dose at bedtime and when I woke up, I was seriously hating the daylight. Feeling extraordinarily fatigued, all I wanted to do was sleep. I called in a rare sick day from work. The next day I was feeling groggy, but well enough to return. Giving it the good ol' college try, I took Prozac for several weeks as directed, but the side-effects just weren't worth it for me. That’s when I was referred to my first psychiatrist.

It was a weird feeling sitting in the waiting room for my appointment. I felt like I’d joined the ranks of the fragile, broken, and confused, perhaps even the insane. It was hard for me to see myself sharing anything in common with the others that shared the tiny lobby. The psychiatrist who greeted me looked like a regular chucklehead -- you know, one of those sidekicks from a sitcom that's not coming to me now. (It just came to me: Glen from the Tom Green Show.) A paunchy man in his 30s with wavy dirty blonde hair parted to the side donning wire-rimmed glasses, the shrink pulled out a notebook and started asking me about my background, while he busily took notes. Turned out, the man was very methodical in his approach. Over the course of the year, we cycled through all kinds of drugs -- Paxil, Effexor, Wellbutrin, Lexapro, Zoloft, and a lot of other names I'm not remembering, before finally settling on Cymbalta.

Certainly, this was something I didn't want to share with my coworkers, much less mom and dad. The first time I told my brother I was taking antidepressants, he was outraged. “You don’t need that stuff in your body. You don’t need pills to feel good.” I don’t know what it is about antidepressant medication that offends people so badly, but some people feel it is their personal mission in life to get you off of them. Why all the evangelical fervor? Are they secretly afraid they are "nuts," too? It’s not like I’m trying to get everyone else to take my medication, but suddenly these people, well-meaning or not, are trying to get you off of your meds.

I’ve seen YouTube videos from a guy claiming that God has cured him of his bipolar disorder and he flushed all his pills down the toilet (bad idea, by the way). Then a month later, he comes back online crying uncontrollably, talking about how he feels like God is testing him and asking viewers to pray to stop Satan’s onslaught. Moral of the story: It's dangerous to let people's religious opinions and untested hunches drive the agenda for our mental health.

I'm very reluctant these days to talk to anyone about my depression, because of all the rush to judgement involved. Ironically, it's this breakdown of community that I believe is at the heart of much of our mental health issues as a society. Look at the comments on any confessional video addressing burnout, depression, or anxiety and you'll find everyone is suddenly an expert who knows so well the precise and perfect solution to your problems. Well-meaning or not, it's incredibly annoying and I'd rather not have trouble with it. Hell, it took me two years to finish this article.

Depressed people are often viewed with the same cynical dismissiveness ascribed to angsty hormonal teens. "It's just a phase, you'll get through it," you're told with the reassuring wave of a hand. Besides, they remind you, "Happiness is a choice!" Because they are feeling chipper today, they have little patience for you dampening their mood. Others call you edgy when you say the pressures of life are so great that you feel like just turning off the lights on all of it. Still others will view you as selfish for leaving the family reunion early (or not wanting to participate in holidays at all). When you spend the whole weekend in bed sleeping, they'll accuse you of being indulgent, not realizing sleep gives you a respite from the hurt, guilt, and regret of painful memories or the misery of an unstable home life. Or the well-meaning "It Gets Better!" It doesn't always get better as life moves on.

Then there are those who try to talk you off your meds, entirely (cue: the ridiculously overwrought Facebook posts). We've all been privy to those conversations that strike a conspiratorial tone about how it was really the pharmaceutical companies that led to Chris Cornell's death. "You should just get off the stuff," they argue -- be it from noble intentions or just pride from clinging to an opinion they've stubbornly invested in.

Then there are those who are convinced that since Jesus (or Buddha, Allah Oprah, Jordan Peterson or juicing) gave them an escape from their depression, certainly it is the universal cure for all that ails you. Understand that I was a committed Christian for decades. I know what it is like to feel spiritually serene and I value many of the things the church gave me as a young adult, namely the fellowship, tolerance, and love. I know the feeling of peace that comes from believing in someone who reigns over the chaos and cares about your every need -- an ultimate being who will make sense of the nonsense one day.

I don't wish to diminish anyone's faith or diminish your personal experiences. The fact is, however, that major depression is as much a physical illness as cancer is. Certainly, there are transitional feelings of unhappiness, emptiness, and despair that come from facing situations that seem out of one's control -- the nightmare roommate, being laid off from a job, losing a loved one. It's also true that in most cases, this sadness can be overcome by a new perspective, trying better strategies, or simply allowing the passage of time to do its healing work. Depression can be impacted by one's beliefs, but there is a kind of depression that exists independently of one's perspective on life.

SUICIDAL TENDENCIES

Apart from this series of articles (which took me a good two years to publish), I've stopped sharing my depression with other people. It's annoying, because most people don't know how to listen and empathize. They want to jump in with a solution that, if implemented by nightfall, just might make a difference by daybreak. It's just more hassle than it's worth. Over time, I've gone from being someone with an intense need to belong, to not caring what people think about me at all. I'll often go out of my way to avoid anything deeper than transactional relationships. Once a social butterfly, you'll find me quite the hermit these days. As a consequence, while I was once open to sharing my feelings of loneliness and despair, I rarely mention them any more on social media and practically never to my IRL friends. I would be the last person to call a suicide hotline, by the way. Judge me if you wish, but I'm just being honest. If you want to know what is going on in the head of a severely depressed person with suicidal ideation, here's a least one brain you can peer into.

There's a general consensus that suicide is a selfish decision, even a cowardly act. This was a casual opinion of my own for years, as well. Not until suicide touches someone in your life -- or when you enter its despondent realm yourself -- does the ridiculousness of that notion becomes apparent. Understand that for a person to commit suicide, they have to overcome the brain's own strong predilection for self-preservation. It's not so easy to take the step of ending your life. Something has gone terribly wrong with the brain's ability to convincingly cry, "STOP!" for that to happen.

In my worst bout of depression, following the demise of long-term relationship, I reached the point where every waking moment was sheer misery. Some call this anhedonia -- the inability to feel pleasure. Normally, when we are feeling blue, we seek out something to stimulate our pleasure receptors. That's why ice cream, chocolate, and Reese's Peanut Butter Cups are popular go-tos for the bummed out. For me, it's always been music and movies. On this particular week, though, I had somehow lost the capacity to find any joy whatsoever in the usual pastimes. Anything that attempted to pacify my mood met with my contempt. The only thing I could do to escape the agony of just being alive and conscious was to sleep...and sleep I did. At first 8 hours a night, up from my usual 7. Then it advanced to 9, 10, 11, 12 hours. When dawn came, a wave of misery washed over my mind again.

Once, I woke up feeling so despondent that I knew with absolute clarity that I could end my life. Today, I could actually do it. Immediately upon this realization, I wept bitterly. I've not cried like that before or since. If anything, I've become more stoic about the idea of suicide. Don't get me wrong, my internal sense of self-preservation is still quite strong. The problem is that in moments of severe depression, that instinct is dampened. You'll do just about anything just to get rid of the feeling of misery making it unbearable to be awake.

DOOM AWAKENING

One of the most important developments in treating my depression, besides medication and therapy, was the discovery of doom. There's an old expression that misery loves company. I don't know about you, but when I listen to music it's not generally to cheer me up. No, I want my tunes to have a certain level of commiseration with what I'm feeling and going through at the time. When I discovered (quite by accident) Saint Vitus, I knew I'd found my soul food. I can't fully explain that eureka moment when Dave Chandler belted out that first downtuned note on the guitars on "Born Too Late" or when Wino joined with plaintive lyrics for "I Bleed Black." This resonated with me powerfully. It brought chills. This was medicine for my weary head, a kind of mental morphine to dull the pain. I'd come to the Roseland Theater for Down and left with Saint Vitus.

As a funny aside, my roommate (who accompanied me to the show) and I rehashed the bands of the night, giving our two cents on this or that. One thing he said still makes me smile a little inside. "What did you think of Saint Vitus?" I asked. "I don't think they're the kind of band that will withstand the test of time," he remarked. "Well," I rejoined, "they have been playing now for over 30 years and were the co-headliners on a national tour, so their sound must be resonating with a good number of people." Sure, it wasn't for everyone, but on that night my doom had come.

Every song on 'Born Too Late' (1986) so perfectly captures the malaise of the deeply wounded soul, not just in lyrics but in the whole vibe. There's a thick, smoky haze permeating the record and it reminds me a lot of what it feels like after you've poured out your heart until you've got no more tears left to cry. Come on, don't pretend you're so macho that normal human emotions elude you. It's hard to put doom into words, but I'll try: on the one hand you feel emotionally exhausted because you've emptied out all those pent up feelings of loss, fear, regret, and frustration, on the other hand there's a feeling of "reset" and it often makes things much clearer to sort through. For me, when I've exhausted all my emotional resources, I'm left with a feeling of blithe acceptance. A sense of being dealt a set of cards by the impartial hand of fate. That's the kind of vibe that Saint Vitus captures perfectly for me on this record.

I spent entire weekends on those long, wonderful rabbit trails of discovery. "Dying Inside" led me to Trouble's "The Tempter" with its oh-so-tragic central riff. Lyrically, the songs I was running across could not have been more apropos.

Pentagram, The Skull, and Candlemass were not lingering far behind. Then came the more recent monoliths of doom: Electric Wizard, Windhand, High on Fire, Burning Witch, Khanate, Pilgrim, Serpentine Path, Usnea, Demon Lung, Ancient VVisdom, Dopelord, and the NOLA sludge scene, along with lesser known but equally as powerful acts like Undersmile, Shepherd's Crook, Reptile Master, Purple Hill Witch, Witchthroat Serpent, March Funèbre, Beldam, Hooded Priest, Regress, and 71TONMAN (listen to the Spotify playlist).

Doom metal spoke to me with a sharp realism that I connected with immediately. When you have no strength left to get angry at the world, you switch your listening habits from Car Bomb to Cough. You can say, I suppose, that doom was my salvation. It kept me hanging on a little while longer. The salve of those slow, low riffs gave me a strange feeling of consolation. "We know life sucks, too. Welcome to reality." It's like being awakened to the Matrix, but feeling there's not a damned thing you can do to change any of it. Your fate is sealed. It's an honesty that is both refreshing and freeing, I suppose, though one does wish to reclaim the notion of hope.

Believe it or not, even after writing all of this, optimism is my default mode. When I'm feeling well, and even when my depression is at low levels, the needle always leans towards inspiration, creativity, even a mischievous sense of humor and an aw, shucks smile that people tend to notice. I don't want to be depressed. The problem is that severe depression can make you feel, illusion or not, like you're paralyzed from doing anything about it.

As I've experienced more and more cuts and scrapes of life, I've become increasingly numb to it all, like the massive build-up of scar tissue. Things that upset me easily in the past might still hurt, but I've come to expect them, so they have the impact of a dull table knife. Perhaps I'm becoming a nihilist, despite my optimistic tendencies. It's hard not to be. Don't worry about me, though. If anything, I want to stick around to see what's going to happen next. It's the inborn curiosity we all have inside of us -- the same thing that I imagine kept Stephen Hawking going for decades after being wrecked by a disease that cruelly mangled his body into its famously misshapen form, stealing away his most basic expressive freedoms -- save for the power of his eyes and the thoughts behind them.

I've also made a deliberate attempt to pursue treatment (both psychiatric and psychological care) for my depression, which I urge you to do if you are likewise laboring under its crushing weight. The perspective of time, coupled with a remedy for mind and body can have a significant impact on your perspective, if not your life circumstances.

THE WINDY ROAD AHEAD

Learn from your mistakes, don't dwell on them. Repeated affirmations like this one may seem trite, but they are ultimately true. You can be free from the chains of guilt and move forward, as one performer puts it, "from strength to strength."

Don't kill yourself (literally or metaphorically) for someone else or for someone else's decisions. It may bum you out that a roomie decided to take your money and run or that you were rebuffed by a long-time crush or made jobless through corporate-wide cuts. You don't own that, they do.

Walks

Get off the couch, move that bod. Something as simple as a walk down the block or a drive out of town can do wonders for your perspective. As a homeschool teen living under the strict rule of a radical fundamentalist household in rural East Texas, my one salvation were those long walks in the open field -- especially when my parents started having loud, intense fights related to my mom's own mental health. I sorted through so many of life's problems (most of which seemed much larger then than they do now) through those solitary, hour-long strolls.

I really miss that where I live now, in a more congested neighborhood, so I have to find other ways of getting away from it all (getting up and out a half-hour before the other walkers, for instance, helps). Even if I don't want to rustle myself awake and move around to do as simple a task as taking out the trash, sometimes the feeling...let me revise that...quite often the feeling follows after the decision has been made and the body is in motion.

Projects

Another piece of advice I have for coping with depression is to channel your frustrations in projects. When I'm depressed, I throw myself into my work. Hell, Doomed & Stoned started because I needed a project to pour myself into. My counselor asked me once, "If you woke up tomorrow without depression, what would be different about your world?"

She encouraged me to start with the things that were in my immediate vicinity. "Well, there wouldn't be mail strewn all over the floor. My dirty clothes would be in the hamper, my clean clothes folded and put away. I'd take the time to cook myself a meal, instead of running out the door eating a quick bite out of some package."

Good, let's make a list and start there. Do at least one of the things on your list between now and the time we meet again next week.

Talks

Despite my isolationist ways, I begrudgingly admit that talking often helps, too. Though I'm an introvert and am horrified at the idea of sharing my feelings with others, I've reached points in my depression where I was compelled to tell others about it. It's as natural to do that as to cry out when your body is experiencing jolting pain. I'm one of those verbal processors that tends to sort through my problems by talking to someone else. Often, pride or shame or lack of trust gets in the way of sharing with our family and friends, so at the very least the much talked about Suicide Prevention Hotline could actually help you gain perspective on your situation.

Journals

If you don't talk, at least journal. Again, I'm not a journaler and this is the first time in almost three decades that I've written about anything related to my depression. Role play with me. You're a scientist studying the human psyche. How would you describe those feelings you call depression? When I was first asked to describe it to a counselor, I found myself at a loss for words. She helped me with prompts:

Can you tell me what it feels like?

"I walk around feeling like a dark, thick raincloud is hovering all around me all the time."

Do you feel it in a part of your body?

"Well, yeah, I guess. The head. And the chest. It feels like there's pressure building from all around me, like my head is going to explode. My heart feels like it's going to leap out of my chest."

What's happening around you when these feelings arise?

I'd then go on to detail some recent happenings. She'd press me further to describe the kinds of thoughts racing through my head in these situations. All of this was really helpful in getting me to define this nebulous, gray malaise that was following me everywhere I went.

I don't keep a journal, per se. Something about it feels needlessly egotistical, a vain attempt to reinforce the illusion in our YouTube fame crazy world that my life is worth discovering and remembering at some point in the distant future. And yet, writing down one's thoughts can be another effective way of untangling that anxious ball of feelings that keeps me from thinking rationally about the depression I'm feeling.

Today is my birthday, but I couldn't care less. It's not about getting old. I stopped caring about that 10 years ago. It's something about celebration, specifically when the attention is on me. I can't adequately describe how contemptuous I find it. My last birthday was spent alone in an empty house and a bottle of Scotch, catching up with past seasons of Game of Thrones. I was so glad it was over and the happy birthday wishes stopped. There's nothing special about this day for me.

At some point, my family stopped celebrating birthdays and holidays. I'm not sure when it happened or why. Certainly not for religious reasons, more probably for financial ones. I grew up in a family that barely scraped by, so birthdays seemed a luxury we couldn't afford. Now, it just feels indulgent. More than that, it feels sad. It reminds me of all the disappointments, hurts, and failures of the past year. It's not as though it's all bad, of course. If nothing else my birthday gives the illusion that a chapter has turned, with new possibilities for the future. I also have to come to terms with how many people out there actually seem to care about me, maybe even love me.

And later that day, I forced myself to go to a show I was quite enthused about, but didn't factor in depression being the party pooper.

I can't account for what it is that comes over me. There are people here that genuinely like me, who probably even want to get to know me better, but I push them away. Not so much directly, but indirectly, by excusing myself to use the restroom and then changing my mind midway and just leaving the venue -- without even the courtesy of a "goodbye" to friends or a "great show" to the bands. I feel awful about it afterwards, but in that moment it's like a flood of emotional pain washes over me and it feels like I'm carrying an anchor chained around my neck. I feel the great urge to find my way to unlit corners. To look busy and preoccupied. Would it hurt me to say hello? To smile? Perhaps not, but right now my psyche is tingling like some kind of Spidey Sense telling me, "Get out of here! Just get your shit and leave...NOW."

As dour and hopeless as that may feel, just the act of writing it down afforded me a release, which incidentally I did not feel until the writing was all said and done.

Hope, a new beginning Time, time to start living Just like just before we died

Hurt, falling through fingers Trust, trust in the feeling There's something left inside There's no going back to the place we started from.

ONE MORE THING

For those of you who are wondering what you can do for a friend, family member, coworker or just someone you know casually from shows you both frequent, I couldn't say it better than one of my longtime fellow travelers in doom, who offered up this advice:

"While it's all very well and fucking dandy that there are so many people telling those who are struggling to reach out to them, I don't think people are quite understanding just how mental illness works sometimes. People quite often don't reach out, because those that are suffering from mental illness, at times, feel like they are a burden by unloading their shit onto someone else, despite the invitation to do so. It's generally the same concept that leads on to suicide.

I obviously can't speak for everyone, but I can speak for myself when I say the last thing I want to do is reach out to anyone because I feel like I am a burden and everyone would be better off without me -- and that is ultimately why I don't reach out. The point that I'm trying to get at is if you see someone struggling YOU reach the fuck out. If you don't see someone who used to be around, YOU reach the fuck out. Think about it. It's not that hard."

Well said and completely on the mark. At the same time, if you're feeling alone and uncared for, you may look at people’s lack of inquiry as more confirmation that you are worthless trash. You may interpret a busy person's slight as utter rejection. Don't worry about what others may or may not think of you. You need to take care of you, for you. The future is fickle. Your fortunes can change on a dime, so why base your self-worth and your decision about whether to live or die by how you feel right now? Ride it out, seek out help, get a game plan in play.

I say this as someone who knows how hard it can be to get mental health. I was double insured -- through my employer and the Veterans Administration -- and I couldn't get a god damned psychiatric appointment to reevaluate and adjust my meds. I called all over town trying to get in with someone. "Sorry, we're not accepting new patients" was the universal refrain. The VA would just be too many month's wait, I told myself, based upon how long it has taken me in the past to get a conventional medical appointment. In desperation, I called up my primary care doctor who asked if I was suicidal. For the first time in my life, I knew with full certainty the answer was yes. The more miserable I felt, the more I contemplated dying. If I did it, it would be something quick and sudden, I would daydream in my most despondent moment. "You need to check yourself into the hospital now," she told me adamantly. I did exactly that. I walked into the ER and told them I was suicidal. They led me to a room, had me take off all my clothes, and put on a hospital gown. I stayed in a padded room waiting for a social worker to see me. It was a desperate move, but it did pay off in getting me fast-tracked to see a psychiatrist.

One thing I learned about medication from my new psychiatrist (because he was very caring, very careful, and hence very effective at his job) is that everyone’s brain chemistry is uniquely different. There can be other issues impacting mood, too, such as thyroid, environmental stressors, sleep problems, vitamin deficiencies, and so on. Again, it’s often hard to see whether the cart is leading the horse or the horse is leading the cart, in terms of the mind-body connection. Long story short, this doctor adjusted my meds to near perfection to get me through the rare summer-long depression I was experiencing.

Just a few months later, he got hired away to work for the County and I was left back in the same boat once again. I got a great referral, but didn't realize until bills came in I couldn't pay that the doctor was out of my insurance network. Believe me, many people prefer to go without care entirely than to go into debt and I was one of them (truthfully, I still am). I went another year until I couldn't take it anymore and this time in my desperation reached back out to the VA. Surprisingly, they saw me within a week and prioritized my suicidal depression. I'm now in a good spot as a result, but it was a long, windy, uncertain road getting here. I know it's hard to find help. Sometimes you don't know what's available to you until you knock a little louder and get people's attention.

The older I get, it seems the more stubborn I am, particularly when it comes to reaching out and asking for help. Perhaps I've always been that way and am only now realizing it's become a liability. After taking off three weeks during the holidays to catch up with the many projects that were piling up around me, I realized that my depression was sometimes stronger than my will to power through and do my best work. I would find myself sitting at the computer for hours trying to get started with a story, trying to edit audio for a podcast, trying to prepare a team member's submission for publication, and every time I would find myself coming up against something painful, perhaps similar to the long recognized creative crimp known as writer's block. I describe it as an inhibitor chip in my brain that sends pain signals to my psyche whenever I contemplate moving forward.

Of course, rationally, I know it's all just a matter of the will, right? That's what those who aren't experiencing depression will tell you, at least. They don't want to go to the gym, but they make the choice to do it anyway, so why can't you just "man up" and do what needs to be done? Well, those aren't so much the messages other people give me, as they are my own conscience. The guilt itself from a day coming and going without results adds its own layer of complication to my mood. Thankfully, I have a wonderful counselor who understands and is helping me to tackle this with cognitive strategies. This, coupled with sensible medical treatment, has at least helped me to find "even flow" again.

Finally, you're going to have some bad days where you may even want to be productive, but your body feels like it's in revolt. As a creative person who loves to pour myself into as many projects as I can when I'm feeling good, it can be extraordinarily frustrating to not even feel the will to check email, open a letter, or listen to a stitch of music. Most days, I'm trying to work in concert with my body's natural rhythms. I'm more of a morning person and get my best work done between 8AM and 11AM. Anything after that is going to be hit or miss with diminishing returns. With that in mind, I have to hold back from starting new projects before the ones already on my plate are finished, because when I'm feeling good, I think I can take on the world.

This is all a part of me rediscovering what it's like to feel balanced, bright, and in love with life. It can be frustrating to have that feeling back, only to watch it wither away as the week progresses. Since I have very high expectations of myself, it's natural for me to heap guilt upon guilt for all the missed opportunities, but beating myself up only compounds the problem (it took me a long time to really get this about myself, too). Every day is a struggle, but I've decided I'm staying in the fight for the long haul.

In short: Be patient with yourself. Be fair with yourself. Be good to yourself. Remember, this too shall pass.

"Someday you're going to die, just like some day I'm going to die. But until then, you fight like hell to stay alive, you get that?!"

-- William Holden, The Earthling (1980)

[jeichanhaka]

And Carried Me Away: Ch. 12

Chapter 1|| Chapter 2|| Chapter 3|| Chapter 4|| Chapter 5|| Chapter 6||

Chapter 7|| Chapter 8|| Chapter 9|| Chapter 10|| Chapter 11|| Chapter 12||

Chapter 13|| Chapter 14|| Chapter 15||

Chapter 12:

“James, that’s all right.” Hotch interrupted after silently glancing at William, reading the man’s discomfort in his face and body language.

Not that he needed to, to understand. If he was in William’s position, hearing such things about his daughter he would act the same. Even if it wasn’t from a convicted rapist. Though, Hotch noted uneasily, that though what James had said could easily have been a lie to inflame William, James hadn’t shown any hints of deception. The thirty-six year old hadn’t said those things simple to mess with either of them.

“We don’t need to talk anymore about Alsie’s and yours relationship. I just need to know if there are any other potential targets this unsub we’re tracking could have. He’s going after the women you assaulted.” Hotch elucidated, leading the conversation away from the rant James had gone into. “I especially want to know if you know a woman by the name of Olivia Sutters. She was killed by this unsub, same as the three women you mentioned earlier.”

“All of them…?” James shook his head slowly in a no gesture, though this expressed more disbelief rather than emotion. “Sutters? Sutters…Olivia.” He mumbled the name repeatedly, considering it. It wasn’t a name he recognized - definitely not one of his victims - yet it felt familiar. Like he’d seem it before, the family name at least.

-“Hey! KJ, lookie at what I found.” A sandy blond haired boy held up his hand and motioned for him. “It was in Somerfield’s study.”

“…I’m trying to sleep, go away.” James hissed, rolling over in bed and covering his head with his blanket. He listened for the other boy’s footsteps, to know when he’d gone. He grumbled when the steps stopped just at the room door.

“Fine. I’ll just turn the light off and…”

“No!” James shot up, his heart pounding in his thirteen year old chest. His eyes wide, he stared at the other boy terrified of the fingers nearing the light switch. The darkness and its threat terrified him. “I’ll look at it, all right?”

“I knew you would.” The other boy grinned, relishing in seeing James sit up in bed, waiting. The grin grew wider when James realized that the boy wasn’t going to come to him, but was going to force James out of bed. He watched James mumble a few swears before leaving the bed and approaching.

“What is it, anyway?” James asked, grimacing when the boy held out a pile of newspaper clippings. He took them while grumbling about how old they looked - if the boy wanted to look through articles, couldn’t they be recent? Or hell, have it be from an adult mag and actually be the full issue. Seriously, that would be worth a gander.

“Articles about murder. Serial murder.” The boy grinned, thrilled by his gruesome discovery. “And local at that. Apparently there was a bunch of women attacked and killed in the area over ten years ago. Their eyes were mutilated and…”

James glanced over the articles, becoming interested in them the more the other boy blathered on, his excitement catching. -

x

“…James?” Hotch stared at the younger man, curious and concerned when James seemed to zone out.

“Um?” James rubbed his chin and lips, delving on his recollection. His gaze shot up at Hotch, the man repeating his name.

“Do you know Olivia Sutters? Have you…”

James shook his head, thinking and staring at the other man though his brain was focused on his memory. “…there were newspaper articles. Bryce, another boy at the institute took them from Somerfield’s study. One mentioned that name - Sutters. Felicia Sutters. A young mother, raped and killed.”

“An article? James, when did you see…”

“I was thirteen. That article was from the late seventies. There were others from around the same time and some from the eighties. Somerfield had a lot of them, all about similar crimes. Like a collection.” James chewed on his lip, and rubbed his hands together. His eyebrows scrunched up as he thought of the name hand written in the book the unknown inmate had given him. “…one of the articles mentioned the FBI. Said an agent was looking into an abduction of a woman like the victims in the other articles.”

Hotch’s interest piqued at James’ mumbling, and he temporarily set aside asking about Olivia Sutters or the other woman the other man mentioned, Felicia Sutters. If Somerfield had had an article about the FBI, perhaps it could shed light on Somerfield’s reason for taking Rossi’s son. “James, the FBI agent mentioned by the article, was it Ros…”

“No.” James shook his head, his chestnut eyes catching Hotch’s. His brow creased in thought, before he continued. “Gideon.”

“What?” Hotch asked, surprise flashing in his eyes. He glared at James closely, determined to know if the other man was telling the truth or not. The younger man seemed oblivious to the older’s reaction, being too focused on his thoughts.

“The agent mentioned in the article, the one looking into the abduction…” James paused, confused by Hotch’s reaction once he noticed it. “…was called Gideon.”

0Local Precinct:

Cam grimaced, arms folded as she watched Catherine Joyce leave. Midway through their questioning, the woman had clammed up and refused to answer anything further. It irked her, especially when she noticed signs that the woman was hiding something. That there was something either about the possible unsub or Melissa that Catherine refused to say.

“Fitzgerald.” Tara said, standing in front of the younger agent.

“…she’s hiding something.”

“I know. I’ve already called Garcia to ask if she can find out what it could be. Maybe there’s something on the restaurant’s security tape we missed.” Tara replied, her own arms crossed as she thought about the surveillance camera. The booth where the Joyces had been sitting, had been just out of view of that camera. Same with the camera at the back door.

“That server…he’s probably the unsub. Or one of the other employees is.” Cam said, slowly dropping her arms. “Someone who knew there was a blind-spot the cameras couldn’t catch or who could change the position of the cameras undetected.”

“It could be a regular customer. Or the owner. Or maybe the unsub just got lucky.” Tara replied, though she didn’t find the latter supposition likely. “We should see if the others have found anything.”

Cam nodded. Before either could say anything further, the police detective in charge of the local investigation approached. Behind him was an older woman, with graying burgundy hair wrapped in a weathered scarf and a matching outfit.

“Agents? This is Olivia Sutter’s aunt, Patricia Mae Mathers. She identified the body.” The police detective spoke, his posture formal while his vocal tone betrayed just how uncomfortable he was. It was clear he either had never handled dealing with the next of kin in a murder investigation before or he was still getting used to it.

“Mrs. Mathers, I’m so sorry for…” Tara spoke, only for her offer of condolence to be interrupted.

“I know who did it.” Patricia Mae blurted, her tone assertive and without any hesitance. “And the bastard will not get away with it. Not this time.”

“Mrs. Mathers, you know who killed your niece?” Tara’s eyes widened slightly, though she studied the woman closely. It was more probable that the woman only thought she knew who it was, rather than actually knowing. There was, of course, the possibility that this woman would repeat what some of the media was saying - that it was James.

“I sure do. The same bastard who did what he did to her mother.” The woman replied, her tone hateful but it was tempered by the life-weary gleam in her eyes. It was obvious she’d gone through much that’d left its mark.

“Her mother?” Cam asked, folding her arms loosely across her chest, a sliver of confusion in her tone. Her heterochromatic eyes narrowed slightly, and she glanced at Tara briefly before shifting back to Patricia. “…Didn’t her mother die thirty-seven years ago? It was in the file Garcia assembled when trying to find a connection to the other victims.”

“Yes. And the monster went after Olivia because he couldn’t have my sister.” Patricia replied, her posture rigid - almost haughty - and her tone self-certain. Her words were spoken with such conviction that neither agent believed her to be fabricating, at the very least the woman believed her own words.

Yet it baffled them. This unsub was copying James’ crimes, attacking James’ victims.

“Mrs. Mathers, I…”

“Here. Read this.” The woman interrupted Tara, thrusting a newspaper article at the agent. It was yellowed with age and wrinkled slightly, with a bit of wear around the edges. Patricia Mathers had obviously kept it for some time. “This’ll prove I’m right.”

Tara took the proffered paper, and glanced at the headline from politeness and curiosity. Her eyes widened as she read it and continued through the first few paragraphs. Noticing Tara’s surprise, Cam read the article too, her lips parting slightly. She blinked, and then furrowed her brow before rereading it aloud.

“‘A local young mother assaulted…left for dead…her eyes gouged and…” Cam mumbled, thrown and intrigued by the similarities of that case to James’ crimes. Yet neither rape nor enucleation themselves were unique to any one unsub.

Tara, however, stared at one line in particular. A line that the younger agent could be forgiven not to have caught, not being part of the original investigation into James. ’…the unsub bleached his victims eye-sockets after enucleating them precisely with a scalpel.’

Tara took in a breath before ushering Patricia Mathers towards a more private room, and mentioning that they’ll be right with her to take her statement and ask questions.

“Lewis? What…?” Cam started to say, understanding that she’d missed something, something the older agent hadn’t.

“It’s the exact same M.O., Fitzgerald” Tara replied, handing the article to Cam. “Exactly the same as James’.”

“What? But that’s impossible, James wasn’t even born when this victim was assaulted and murdered. It’s…” Cam paused, confused even as she digested the information. “Does this mean that James himself chose to copycat another unsub’s crimes? How? Garcia would’ve found this case if it was in a database, yet…how could James have known about a case from before he was born?”

“…I don’t know. But…” Tara answered, glowering at the article. “I bet there’s someone who does. And he’s currently sitting in prison on felony child trafficking and illegal experimentation charges.”

“…Morland Somerfield.” Cam seethed, taking just a moment to realize who Tara meant. Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw.

0End of Chapter.

A/N: Damn, I already made it to chapter twelve and it’s still technically the first case of this fic (not counting Cam’s mom), but I guess it’s not surprising since I filled each chapter with so much non-case yet plot centered stuff. Which has to do with me not actually having created a character identity for the unsub when I started this case, now I have a basic idea.

[fangirlingabout]

Since you are a big fan of cartoons what are your top 10 favorite cartoons of all time? Honorable mentions can be included

Oh! Oh, cool! You seriously don’t know how cool it is that someone would care to ask, thank you!

Also, sorry for the wait. Seriously, that was excessively sucky. Life likes to get busy at inconvenient times, you know?

But dang, that’s such a hard question… 

Only one way to do this right.

Dammit, Anon, This is Hard

I’m not the type of person to decide on ranks (or anything) very easily, so I’ll say this: some choices were easier than others.

I should also mention a lot of these choices are very personal, and if this were a more objective list of the best shows out there, it would be totally different. I also don’t pretend to always have the best taste, these really are just my favourites that I’ve seen. Sometimes I can recognize that one show is probably objectively better than one I like, but that won’t necessarily stop me from liking something. Basically, my list, my bias. 

Still, I’ll do my best to explain my choices for those of you who didn’t have the same experiences with these shows that I did. I assume you don’t live in my brain.

Honourable Mentions

Is it hard to believe that the honourable mentions section was harder to decide than the actual list?

There’s just so many shows I’ve enjoyed and I think deserve to be lauded. If you ask me, “Well, what about ____?! Where the hell was ____?!” it would probably fall in this category.

I’ll try to keep it short, though:

The Fairly Odd Parents - I don’t think you could’ve grown up in the early 2000s without encountering this show in some capacity, but I absolutely loved it growing up; I played FOP video games, I watched it every day after school, I even remember catching all the movies on TV whenever I could. It’s always had such a great sense of humour, combined with the jazzy stylistic choices that gave it that extra punch. More recent seasons aside, this one is a 2000s classic.

Over the Garden Wall - I watch this every October now. It’s absolutely spectacular. I think the only thing holding it back is sadly that it’s a miniseries—and it’s not like I would change that, the story needed to be told the way it was. But it’s become seasonal for me, so it’s a favourite but… only briefly.

Rick and Morty - Damn, I love this show. Just give it one more season and let the plot really start to kick in, it may start to climb this list

There are also plenty of shows that I think could be on here had I gotten to watch more of them, and some of those include:

Batman: The Animated Series

Danny Phantom

Sym-Bionic Titan 

And here are shows I once had a bit of an obsession with that in hindsight… was a bit unwarranted (again, I never claimed to have great taste):

Hi Hi Puffy Ami Yumi

Yin Yang Yo!

Total Drama Island/Action

With that out of the way, onto the list!

#10. South Park

What can I say about a comedy that’s antagonized censorship on TV 20 seasons? Well, for one, there are moments that genuinely reward you for caring about these characters for so long. For example, there’s a gut-punch of a two-parter, You’re Getting Old/Ass-Burgers that legitimately made fans question if the show was in danger of ending, with just how fatalistic it’s tone is.

They’ve even since made the transition from episodic to serialized season-long stories—to varying degrees of success, admittedly, but I don’t know if a show, especially one this well-established (this happened in season 18) has ever done that.

In a strange way, South Park’s a show that innovates. It quickly surpassed any other show on at the time for most edgy/boundary-pushing—to the point that its offensive humour wouldn’t be acceptable coming from anyone else but South Park (which isn’t to say I don’t understand when/if people have an issue with it, but… more on that in a sec)!

I’d also like to give special shoutout to the South Park Movie, and the recent South Park video games, the Stick of Truth and Fractured, but Whole—all three of which are jam-packed with South Park goodness.

Personal Reasons: When I was growing up this was the pinnacle in shows my mom didn’t want me to watch. And with what little of a rebellious streak I had, I took that to mean it needed my attention. 

I remember watching it late at night (which just made it more scandalous!) with my brother, and separately with my best friend at the time, Daniel. We loved that kind of raunchy, crude humour! And in hindsight, like I said, I know there’s been plenty of times when they’ve made jokes in poor taste, but I don’t know. Sometimes when you make fun of everyone equally, there can be room for some less tasteful jokes. Especially when being a boundry-pusher is a big part of your identity.

As the old saying goes, “It’s South Park: what did you expect?”

#9. Clone High

One of the more obscure choices on this list, but I’ve mentioned it from time to time for sure. Coming from the writing/directing team behind Lego: Batman, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, and 21 Jump Street, Clone High was a short-lived 13-episode MTV comedy.

The premise was simple: clones of famous historical figures all go to high school together.

Done, simple as that. 

But what makes it so funny is how it parodies the high school drama genre while still existing as it’s own story with it’s own characters. Like, every episode is always announced as a “very special episode” and even in their short run, they managed to do the Drug episode, the holiday episode, the natural disaster episode, the dramatic Death episode, the class election episode—it just doesn’t let up.

Oh, and I’d like to mention Pan Pzza/Rebel Taxi did a stellar review that goes into the history surrounding the show along with some analysis of its content, so if I piqued you’re interest at all, you can find a more in-depth review over here.

Personal Reasons: This s a show my brother introduced me to. Watching videos or playing video games with my cool older brother was always awesome, so watching a show with him as tons of fun.

#8. Moral Orel

My god… this show is the absolute most brutal show I’ve ever loved. You can tell by my lists that I tend towards shows that deal with darker subjects in soft, even light-hearted ways, but this isn’t that kind of show.

Or, at least, the season that made it my 8th favourite show isn’t.

I should explain. Moral Orel was a show on Cartoon Network’s Adult Swim that had a total of 3 seasons (with a prequel special that came out years after the fact), and for most of the first two seasons, it’s a vastly different show than in its third season.

From the second season’s finale onward, Moral Orel becomes one of the most bleak, bitter, heart-wrenchingly real shows on TV. It’s breath-takingly bitter.

The first two seasons largely center around the main character Orel Puppington and his religious adventures in his hometown of Moralton. It started as a parody of Christian cartoons, in particular the stop-motion/claymation Davey and Goliath. 

Basically, Orel would learn a lesson from an authority figure in town and misinterpret it to the extreme. It could make for some funny commentary now and again, but in truth it was nothing special.There were a few early episodes worth watching, like the Lord’s Prayer and The Best Christmas Ever, but if that’s all it had to offer, its charm would wear thin.

This, on the other hand, is no regular series.

The fact that it started out the way it did makes the reveal even more powerful. You see, those more upbeat first two seasons, where the morals are skewed and everything’s just a bit cheerier than it should be come crashing down when Orel’s father’s alcoholism is taken devastatingly seriously during a hunting trip in the two-part season finale “Nature” parts 1&2.

Nature marks a drastic turn in the series tonally. From there, the series shifts focus from just being about Orel to chronicling the lives of several members of the town in the aftermath and the days surrounding that infamous hunting trip. The third season even starts counting down each episode (Numb, for instance is 1 out of 13). 

And the reason for this is that as Orel lost faith in his father in that season finale, we, along with Orel, start to see all the people in his life in a different, sometimes disturbing light.

If I’m making it out to sound a bit on the unwatchable side, I understand, you don’t always want to watch something that will bring you down like that. But to sing its praises just a bit more, the reason it struck such a chord with me is because there’s such a humanity to it. There is hope somehow, and goodness in all this messed up stuff. 

Personal Reasons: I used to stay up late watching Adult Swim, or use the TV to fall asleep to. I managed to catch episodes now and again, so it hit me hard the first time I saw some of the darker or more bittersweet episodes. 

#7. Steven Universe

We jump from one of the harshest shows to one of the sweetest! And yeah, I was surprised this wasn’t higher, too

And maybe it could change as the series goes on, but in the meantime, wow is this a fantastic show! We’ve talked about it a number of times on FGA, but I don’t think that’s any reason to not sing it’s praises some more!

Premiering in 2013 on Cartoon Network, Steven Universe, as you probably know (because this is Tumblr), follows the titular Steven and his emotionally-driven life with the Crystal Gems, alien rebels from a far-off Homeworld. 

Properly referred to as “singing and crying,” Steven Universe slowly runs the gambit from gorgeously heartbreaking to sweetly uplifting, all the while feeling like a mellow, safe, and warm place to be.

Like many people have said in many different ways, it’s a show that explores relationships. All kinds of relationships. It’s made massive strides in LGBT+ representation in kids’ shows, presenting it without the pomp and circumstance of a “very special episode.”

The gradually unfolding plot has fans like me hooked, even if the slower pace and hiatus plague can leave us hanging for quite some time.

Personal Reasons: This is yet another show that I’ve gotten watch and talk about with my girlfriend, so I think I’ll always remember it fondly for that. Fangirling.

#6. Avatar: The Last Airbender

It’s what I consider to be the greatest show of all time… and it’s this far down on the list. There really is no justice in Bias Town.

One of the best purely serialized shows out on this list, Avatar is a perfect example of a simple three act story-structure. It tells a complete, satisfying story that needed no more and no less.

And in that time, it managed to find the perfect balance for everything. Rich, interesting world-building reflecting real-life cultures? Check. Fun plots that moved forward the overall story? Check. Likable complex characters that humanize the world so no one side is undeniably in the wrong? Check.

The only thing that took a while to grow on me was Avatar’s humour. Can’t explain why, but once I warmed up to it, there were episodes and moments that made me lose my shit.

It’s such a well-crafted story, and I could probably just go on and on about how well everything was developed, but sufficed to say, it would probably top my list for what’s objectively the best cartoon out there.

Personal Reasons: I’m pretty sure I’ve said this before, but I actually missed out on Avatar’s original run. I vaguely remember being interested by it, but never catching an episode in full.

Years later, I somehow stumbled across it by chance, and oh my god. Oh my god, you guys. I watched most of the second and third season in one weekend. I couldn’t stop.

#5. Spongebob Squarepants

In last year’s Nostalgia Month, I fangirled a little bit about Spongegbob, and if you read any of that, you’ll know I’ve always been a huge fan. It’s one of the cornerstone series of my generation (just take a look at the Ocean Man meme that was a thing for a while—that song is buried in the credits of the Spongebob Movie, so you would have had to sit through the credits to get that reference), along with Pokemon and Fairly Odd Parents, so again, I couldn’t not have some experience with it, but I was pretty much a super fan.

And there’s kind of a reason for that. I can’t say what it’s like now, but in its early seasons, it’s humour was surprisingly intelligent and stupidly funny. There’s definitely a difference between stupid characters and a stupid show, and so long as you can see that, you’ll find a charming undersea comedy that became a household name for a reason (at least initially).

Personal Reasons: God, where to start. For one, I have a fear of fish, but I love swimming and the sea. That fear developed in second grade, ironically around the time I would’ve been the deepest in my Spongebob phase. I think it helped, actually. There’s a reason I have a random anchor as a logo. 

And you know, there’s some shows that you love so much that they come to represent a part of your life. All my elementary school days and even into middle school, Spongebob was something I was an expert in. I had as much merch as I could afford to get, I watched it religiously (even the DVD boxsets), I made my first best friend that way— it just ruled my world for a long while there.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way. The nostalgia goggles are strapped on hard for this choice, but I couldn’t honestly tell you I don’t have a sincere place in my heart for it. And always will.

#4. Gravity Falls

You know how the 2010s starting kicking a lot of ass for animation? I think more than anything—more than even Adventure Time (which I do love)—this is the show that represents that to me. Not because it’s dated, but in fact the opposite: because it’s a modern classic that will forever feel timeless. Something truly spectacular that we’ll always look back on and remember as ours.

Gravity Falls takes influences from all the best stuff, but makes itself unique by being incredibly inventive. Like, it really does remind me of any Matt Groening show because of it’s sense of humour and even a bit of the world-building, but the mystery and heart are so magnificently its own. These things are the backbone that take the the already stellar comedy to a whole other level.

The best word for it is just as I said: magnificent.

From beginning to end, it’s undeniably so. It rewards close-viewings and theory-makers ten-fold, and that detail-orientated approach makes the experience that much richer and more, well, rewarding.

You knew it was coming, but hell, I can’t deny a show that succeeds in doing so many things I love so, so well. 

Personal Reasons: I’ll never forget the experience of watching Not What He Seems for the first few times, or really, a lot of the episodes. Watching the fandom come up with theories about the Stan twins a season in advance, and then seeing those theories made reality in the most spectacular, theatrical episode of the television I’ve ever watched blew me the fuck away.

And getting to talk about it here and with LittleNightwing just made it more of an interactive experience, which is exactly the kind of thing Alex Hirsch wanted.

I know I’ve said this too many times by now, but I even wrote part of an episode for Gravity Falls: Deep Woods (a storyboarded fan-series inspired by the show). When episode three eventually comes out, if they haven’t cut it out for time constraints, my name will be in the credits. And having my name associated with anything related to this show is just an honour.

#3. Futurama

I don’t even know what I can say about Futurama that hasn’t already been said, but whatever, I’m gonna try because I have to include it.

It started airing back in 1999, which was appropriate, because the series starts us out by travelling to the year 2999 on New Years, entering into the new millennium as we enter into this new series. And from there, this lovable portrayal of a future that somehow seems not too far from our present day becomes awesome.

Everything is a little crappy. That’s not a diss on the show, it’s just the reality of the year 3000. It’s not some dystopia, but it’s no utopia, either. It comes with all the problems and foibles of modern day, just with different technology, space travel, and alien races.

And don’t get me started on how inventive it can be. The writers staff behind that show is one of the most educated on television—quite literally, with “three Ph.D.s, seven masters degrees, and cumulatively had more than 50 years at Harvard.”

And they put all that to use to make sure the science behind that sci-fi could work. In fact, they not only created their own alien language for the show, but writer Ken Keeler devised an entirely new math equation to resolve a plot point for the episode “Prisoner of Benda.” In the field, it’s referred to as the Futurama theorem or the Keeler theorem, and has since inspired research.

So when I say next level nerdy, I mean next level nerdy.

Futurama uses this incredible scientific and mathematical power to parody the sci-fi genre with a great sense of humour and a Simpsonian sense of heart. Pretty much all of the main cast has at least one tear-jerker episode, but none so powerful as the infamous Jurrasic Bark, an episode dedicated to telling the story of our main character, Phillip J. Fry, and his dog Seymour. It will tear you apart. 

Personal Reasons: This is yet another series I grew up with, and I think it taught me a lot about storytelling. Episodes like Luck of the Fryrish, The Sting, or the aforementioned Jurrasic Bark end on a incredibly bittersweet note, and to really earn that, the writers build it up expertly.

There’s also episodes like the Emmy-winning Roswell that Ends Well that take these wacky sci-fi concept to insane new levels. Whether or not I can execute on that, it taught me to always push an idea further.

Plus, I followed the series from it’s original run to it’s first cancellation to the four straight-to-DVD movies (that I ADORED renting from Blockbuster) to it’s return and final ending in 2013. It’s been one hell of a ride.

#2. The Simpsons

And at this point, you probably know the whole list. But let’s go through it anyway.

The Simpsons, for me, really is one of the most brilliantly stupid comedies out there. It seems there are a number of comedies on this list that could be written off as just brainless, but I think there’s a charm to that for me. Something that clearly doesn’t take itself too seriously when it doesn’t have to. The Simpsons, in that way, has always been rather inviting to me. 

Despite it’s now nearly 30 year run, it never seems to have an ego about itself, even when some consider it the greatest comedy of all time (me).

There’s an endless amount of hilariously quotable episodes, and like any good comedy, it doesn’t skimp out of the character development or sentimentality. It’s certainly lost it’s touch for the most part, as is the case with a lot of running series, but every now and again, even in the later seasons, it still manages to surprise. 

I couldn’t explain it’s legacy if I tried. It’s currently the longest running animated series, and at this point, seems to have outlived the entire era it was so adept at parodying, but it’s still so legendary I can’t fault it! Even the impossible finally does happen and the show takes its final bow, I know this funny family will keep me laughing for years to come.

Personal Reasons: This started as another show my mom didn’t want me to want, but the reason I got to watch it so much and maybe the reason I love it so much is because my dad loved it.

From that point on, I started collecting the DVD boxsets of every season I could, and enjoying all the early seasons I was too young to watch when they originally aired.

And watching Simpsons reruns in whatever capacity I could became tradition. I still do to this day, even if it’s just online now. It’s become sort of a comfort show, it’s that familiar to me.

Plus, there’s the Movie, and games (The Simpsons Hit and Run is so much better than it has any right to be)—I even wrote an essay on The Simpsons back in high school. 

It’s just been the huge, life-long love for me that will never truly end because of how much it shaped me as a person (as silly as that sounds).

#1. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic

Shock! Awe! Everyone is stunned! People never would’ve seen this coming if they know me… 

Alright, so I’m predictable (I prefer the term “reliable” but considering how long it took to get this list out…), but it’s strangely so well-suited to everything I love. This entire section is full of personal reasons.

There’s fantastic characters to love (and obsess over); a heart-warming, light-hearted, cute, and ultimately loving tone that’s inexplicably never too saccharine even when it by all means should be; a fascinating fantasy world to dive into; a remarkable at times Disney-esque musical element; an eye-pleasingly soft animation style; an unashamed love of puns—I mean I could actually go on about this for a full year.

I really, really could… over on my main blog (sorry for the self-promo, but it’s relevant).

Year of the Pony, MLP Editorials (which are a big part of YotP)

I’ve dedicated this entire year to talking about My Little Pony in an event I’m calling Year of the Pony. There’s so far been something pretty much every week, themes for every month—I love this show a lot you guys. I really, really do.

That really is the reason I’m doing this event. I’ve been a fan of this show for five, going on six years, and it somehow became my favourite show of all time, even when there are shows out there that I think are objectively better. I’m trying to dissect why that is bit by bit.

For instance, here’s an upcoming two-parter:

These two characters are sisters, and long story short, one was forced to send the other to the moon. This was a story that introduced the series in the first two episodes, and has since been explored by the fandom in every way imaginable. So I have to ask questions that’ll give me a way to talk about how much and why I love this particular story element.

It’s not the greatest tragedy out there, sure, but I’ve seriously gotta figure out why this has struck such a chord with me, you know? 

Obnoxious self-promos aside, I really did fall and fall hard for this series I think because it was still unassuming by the time I got to it. The was a fandom, sure, but I didn’t know what to expect (whether these “bronies” were just using it for memes and liking it ironically or what), and that made it a genuine discovery for me. 

And it’s that very unassuming, unpretentious sweetness that continues to make me love it, even though it’s made a few mistakes along the way. I don’t think it’s a perfect series, but it’s definitely perfect for me. And what more could I ask for in a favourite show?

But that’s just my list. Feel free to tell my some of your favourites or take up the challenge to put out your own list and send it my way! Show me how much better your taste is than mine!