#like writing a character who is externally going around saying i am fine i am unaffected

[alwaysalreadyangry]

a lot of my fanfic writing is probably borderline television prose because i am often writing it while thinking about a movie or a tv show or whatever. but then again i do like to think about people’s fucked up sad thoughts and write about those too. you can’t make shame a major feature of your writing if youre only writing about the external gestures and what people are wearing, i guess

[sonic-love-island-official]

Sonic (Bio/Character design ramble)

Sonic's bio/ramble is here !!! This is not a drill !!!

Kudos to my sister, who took up writing Sonic's bio and commentary. She majors in Sonic Psychology, it's only right for her to continue writing, expanding on, and doing the titular character justice (because I sure can't ripp </3).

Info under the cut, as usual x

Sonic is a 25 year old influencer. He's lived in Green Hill for the majority of his life but his job and adventurous lifestyle often leads him far from home. Sonic's reason for entering the show was purely childish: a challenge. So Sonic arrives with the intent of messing around and having fun.

Sonic is free-willed and easy-going. This makes him a fun guy to be around and that's why he thrives on the Island. Given the fact he likes to have freedom... he's never tied down and struggles with commitment when it comes to love. He never stays in one spot for too long, therefore he can never stick around one person for too long. Sonic also has no type. Unlike other characters in the series or people on Love Island, Sonic gravitates to whoever he feels is giving a good energy back to him or someone he can bounce off (although he is not above basing things off physical attraction in some situations). Saying that he didn't arrive with the intent of finding love on the Island, doesn't mean he isn't genuine.

Ultimately, Sonic makes it clear that he doesn't quite know what he wants...

External design choices !! (visual appearance - incl. formation of base sim, references taken, makeup choices, fashion style... etc.)

Sonic is one of the characters I'm still not happy with and never will be because of the way the game works and my unreasonable expectations for this man. Sonic has been reworked twice in an attempt to get him perfect. When taking inspiration from the game series, Sonic took heavy inspiration from modern Sonic (Mainly the 2010's Sonic opposed to the early 2000's models.)

Sonic is the most iconic character in the series and so I wanted to do him justice by blending features of his design with the idea of him looking relatively desirable. In the first design his features relied heavily on his defining 'Sonic' features such as his pointy nose, big eyes and blue hair. His nose (in my opinion) was exaggerated when looked at front on and this was purely because of his skin overlay. His skin overlay was custom content and was the same that we used for Amy except there was one issue, it didn't work for males as it changed the way his facial features looked. As it looked fine on Amy, I thought nothing of it for Sonic, until it finally grated on me enough to change it. This is where his second design was made and thought out.

In Sonic's redesign, I gave more thought into how he looked beside other similar characters such as Shadow and Silver. As Sonic was the first to be made in the game, I didn't have the other two boys to compare him to. Now that the other boys were there to refer to, I could make sure they looked slightly similar. I decided to make their noses and mouths appear similar while keeping key things like eyes, hair and face shape unique. Sonic's eyes were kept rounded and big much like his canon design and so I wanted the eye colour to be accurate too. Sonic's eye colour is a slightly darker shade of green than Amy's and that was carried over into Sonic's design. When it came to his skin tone we had to look very closely at his Frontiers model. In a picture we looked at, we could see a slight olive undertone rather than pink. After some debate about it, we incorporated the skin tone into his redesign.

I've come to terms that I'll never be able to get Sonic right in The Sims 3, but I do like Sonic's redesign better (not to mention how proud of his side profile I am. He looks so good from side on <33). He went from looking older than 25, untrustworthy and unattractive, to looking Younger than 25, frankly cute and closer to his 'fakers', Shadow and Silver.

[ Acknowledging both designs is crucial, as a ton of screenshots have Sonic's older design in them as opposed to his newer one. And we'd rather perish than retake screenies because we altered him. I like to think it's a good display of what the design process looks like :) - bee ]

Sonic's fashion is fashion. As an influencer, he would receive a lot of branded clothes from sponsors or for product review. (This headcanon was formed from the SOAP shoes he wears in SA2). While also he'd need to keep up with fashion trends to maintain a good image. On the island, Sonic wears casual things such as sneakers (occasionally his classic red but he switches it up a bit), t-shirts, bomber jackets, jeans, cargo pants or shorts, things tend to be baggy for comfortability. Sonic also has a gold ring that he wears on his left, middle finger. This idea was not only a reference to the games and how many rings he collects, but more specifically a game where he wears a ring, Sonic and the Secret Rings.

Internal design choices !! (personality, characteristics, psychology)

I am a strong believer that Sonic is more complex than most think. He's very good at masking anything negative he's going through with a smile. A good example of this is in Sonic Frontiers. I took a lot of inspiration from Frontiers because in my opinion it is the BEST Sonic characterisation. I also took inspiration from SA2, Sonic X and many other games or media to count (Sonic's a pretty consistent character when it comes to some aspects of his personality.) In this, Sonic is a good blend of childish and mature. He tends to show his childish nature when interacting with Knuckles and Shadow or when things take a negative turn, he tries to lighten the mood with a joke to change the topic. His maturity shows when he gets fed up with people being disingenuous or rude to him and/or his friends. He also doesn't hold grudges and tends to see things that others don't. But Sonic isn't perfect because of his spontaneous actions and changes.

Sonic tends to act strangely if he feels things are getting too deep. He'll surprise everyone with an unexpected action that he can't justify himself. He cares for the people he loves, even if he doesn't know why.

Sonic tries to give people second chances when it comes to friendships and consistently tries to befriend or bring happiness to the most stubborn of people. It may be because he struggles with social cues on occasion, so he doesn't quite know when to stop sometimes.

When hurt, he places up a protective wall to try and shield himself from vulnerability. This is where Sonic shuts himself off from other people by friend-zoning or going cold in some situations. He keeps people who cause him to be vulnerable at arms length and will keep them there. So long as he can help it, anyway.

[ Except we do NOT give him that kindness. Everyone faces their problems eventually. Sonic most of all >:)) - bee ]

Fun facts / trivia :

A lot of Sonic media is included in this AU, so Sonic has 3 siblings. Sonia, Manic (triplets) and "Classic" (younger brother). This is because we thought it would be fun to add Sonia and Manic from Sonic Underground. Sonia ends up playing a big part in his arc. Classic could have been left or represented as a young version of Sonic but in the Twitter Takeovers, Classic is said to be a separate entity from Modern Sonic. And Sonic having many siblings just fitted his personality. [ I think I saw something about Classic/Modern Sonic and the dealio with them and the funky timeline, but I've forgotten what that was now. I love the idea of Brother Sonic so much to care lmao. Give him all the siblings. I trust him not to burn the house down <3 - bee ]

Sonic has ADHD. [ Yeah :) I mean- is this even a hc anymore. It's basically canon in my eyes hehe - bee ]

Sonic loves to talk and brag about his travels around the globe. Especially since he's previously visited Spagonia (home to the Sonic Love Island villa) before arriving on the show. This boy has a story for everything, and we mean EVERYTHING.

[imperial-nuisance-rudje]

if you click the unrebloggable red catboy haterade readmore it's your own damn fault

i am so tired of people trying to defend g'raha's writing in ew

"they're capable of subtlety" switching between being a manipulative asshole and the writer's most perfect prince who can never do wrong and is the wol's bestest friend 5ever (don't look at shb) and never allowing the player/other characters to say "dude wtf" at the former is not "subtle writing", it's complete lack of awareness that the character is being an asshole

like it was bad enough that the writers forced you to be buddy-buddy with him in shb with only a token option of expressing mild distaste , doing that and also making it very clear that he's still a manipulative shithead (because if he was meant to trying to put on a brave face they would have had a "dude wtf" line where he would have apologized in the post-credits, not acted like the promise made under duress was still valid) is just bad fucking writing given that on the other side of the corridor is zenos, who they constantly deny even acknowledgement of his humanity

you can try to compare it to urianger's writing but uri's writing never flinches away from the fact that he's being a fucker when he's being a fucker even when played for comedy, and they still have this gaping gap of not touching the fact that urianger functionally killed thancred's foster daughter/little sister onscreen (while they probably would have realistically hashed it out over like 3 years, you really don't get to see any of that at all so it's very strained; even having thancred still kind of mad before he gets snatched and having the more cordial relationship we normally see during shb would have communicated that better).

idk. so much of ew is just written really damn poorly (even parts that, in isolation, i find acceptable to actively enjoyable (ie the 6.0 zenos cutscenes) end up falling flat in context) because of external factors forcing the sardine treatment for plot points and i'm tired of seeing people pretend that it's not. i can't exactly compare the gameplay side well given i started in 6.0, but i can break down the writing just fine and ew's fucking dire even if you consider how heavily i weigh 4.2-4.3 against stb.

i really hope they sideline the scions besides krile (or tataru, but i think she's probably going to live in side content for a while and krile has been badly neglected for so long). i don't want to interact with g'raha again anytime soon but especially not if his writing remains this bad. either acknowledge that he can be an asshole and let me be colder to him or stop bringing him up, i'm fine hating major recurring characters if they're actually well written (asahi, varis, thordan) and the catboy isn't at this point, and even when he was better-written there was still the major problem of "let me call him a dick or at least untrustworthy you pricks".

"what about estinien don't you like him" if they just have him being a weird hungry vagrant that only shows up sometimes to be deeply strange and get mobbed by baby mamool ja that is ideal, actually, i love when he's a bit of a freak. or they could have him get adopted by another fancy prince, having him repeatedly reel in powerful fancy prince types with the power of

dragon autism

would be the funniest shit on the planet.

but like. i want a break from even the scions i like, barring maybe the twins, and the twins are best when i don't have to refer to them as a unit, yknow? i want new people to take center stage. i'm not going to get that given the trailer, but god. please. make this the erenville-and-wuk lamat show with cameos by the scions and not the other way around. they can come back in 8.0.

(plus, doing that might mean we don't have the fifth expansion straight of y'shtola death fakeouts (i counted: arr/hw (given timing it's hard for me to define where catgirl blunt best belongs), stb (vs Zenos), shb (sailor moon catgirl), ew (ultima thule)). i am so fucking tired of her fakeouts. do literally anything else with her as a character i BEG OF YOU. we all know you aren't killing Miss Final Fantasy 14. her fans would flay you. the merch sales would plummet.)

[captaindarksword]

why some people dislike b/b

www . reddit . com/r/RWBYcritics/comments/powvzp/why_some_people_dislike_bumblebee/

I am one of the last people to wade into the contentious issue of shipping, but the amount of misunderstood discourse surrounding this particular ship prompts me to weigh in.

A very common criticism of Bumblebee is that "it is forced". And the common rebuttal is that it is just homophobia speaking. After all, there are plenty of poorly developed straight ships out there. Why must an LGBTQ ship be held up to some lofty standards?

The thing is, it is a bit more complicated than that.

What the Story Builds Up Toward

Let me share my experience. I discovered the show only last year, and binge-watched through the whole of it, never having participated with the community during that time. As a result, I wasn't influenced in any way by meta reasons, as long-time watchers might be.

And you know what I took away from the early seasons? I totally believed that I was seeing a gay ship develop between two of our main characters. And I was perfectly fine with it.

The problem is, I am talking about Whiterose, not b/b.

Now, I will not get into a shipping war trying to justify one ship over another. What I will say is that Weiss and Ruby's interactions are very similar to how budding relationships are usually handled in media: an antagonistic beginning, plenty of bickering, transitioning into trust, friendship, and ultimately a relationship.

And b/b?

In contrast, Blake and Yang just.... co-existed. There was no dynamism in their interactions, which is fine of course, as they just seemed to be teammates.

Moreover, Blake had her own thing going with Sun. Once again, it was heavily built up, from Sun's transparent attempts to endear himself, Blake's blushing, and the whole Menagerie trip. It was pretty clear that Blacksun was going to be a thing.

Then V6 came along.

Suddenly, Sun was ditched, and Ruby's interaction with Weiss turned flat. Suddenly, Blake and Yang were acting weird around each other. And suddenly, they held hands and declared they were together.

Wrapping Up

The problem with b/b is that it landed like a bolt out of the blue, cannibalizing two properly built-up pairings in order to justify itself. I think I speak for many people in the community when I say that Bumblebee is forced not in comparison to some lofty standard, but in comparison to another potential relationship in the same show.

Just from the story itself, wr seems to be a far more natural ship than b/b. It is only after entering the community that I discovered the huge fandom backing up the ship, and it became clear to me that the reasons for making this U-turn were driven by external factors.

Now of course you might disagree. You may feel that b/b was built up just fine. That's alright. Just don't assume everyone who calls b/b forced has a problem with gay ships - chances are that their problems are only with the abrupt implementation of this one.

comments: I would say the direction change only began in v7  for nothing in v6 was inherently romantic and there was a reason for sun leaving. they wanted to make room to focus on team rwby jnpr and the new characters 

so a writing reason

[kaisooficpodcast]

Bunny's Young Family kaisoo SNS AU

I am Alexio Sospranio and you’re listening to the kaisoo fic podcast. 

This episode is slightly different because we will be going through an SNS au that is posted on twitter. Now for those who are not aware, SNS basically means Social Networking Service. In this day and age where we are chronically on our phones on twitter with memes and reaction pics saved, what would a universe look like if our exo members were in a universe whose main point of communication is twitter? Unlike ao3 fics which are text based, SNS au’s content itself follows the format of… twitter basically. There are comments which a character can tweet, and its followers are able to respond as a quote or in the thread. Alongside with that are the twitter DMs and iMessage. Occasionally, as with life, not everything can be through Twitter or message, so usually to give more context or for physical human interactions with dialogue and narration, sns au authors will post screenshots of their notes or docs for it.

Now for the SNS au we will be looking at today is, bunny, or @/meokmooi double ‘o’ on Twitter.

In this SNS au, kaisoo are in an established relationship, happily married. One or two hiccups along the way but nothing that tips the boat over, or ship for that matter. 

Introducing a bit on the author: 

Bunny has been in this fandom since 2015, that’s about 10 years. The pull factor that got her into this fandom was (baekhyun) when she saw a gif on him on tumblr throwing a bottle accidentally at his face LMAO) but became a minseok/luhan stan when she properly got into exo. Then the second time she saw exo was at the 2016 EXO'rdium concert. Bunny was in the standing area and kyungsoo was externally close to her 😭 and pretty much entered the concert as a minseok stan and left a kyungsoo stan. Bunny is currently into (exo, kaisoo, dogs). 

I have my beta Dudu with me today, 

Hello

and she will be taking the persona of Bunny. I asked our author of the day some questions prior to this session and this is what she had to say.

I note you mostly write parents kaisoo or lactating Kyungsoo, and the ongoing one you’re doing now is no different, which is perfectly fine. But my question is what about kaisoo in real life inspired you to have this SNS au, if any?

First of all I’m astounded to be known as someone who mostly writes lactating kyungsoo 🤣🤣

Haha, of course! You have like 4 different aus with lactating Kyungsoo.

I think what inspired me about kaisoo was mostly how clingy and childlike Jongin is with Kyungsoo, and how Kyungsoo in turn tends to mother him a little. Kyungsoo is naturally domestic and cares for his members and everyone around him. Seeing the video of when kaisoo had a cooking competition and Kyungsoo won, his cheeky expression towards the latter made me laugh- they bicker like an old married couple. 

Indeed they bicker like an old married couple! Really love that cooking competition and it really sets butterflies in MY stomach… i can’t imagine what it does to kaisoo in real life!

Now, bunny, —

The premise of this fic started off with Kyungsoo complaining about how Haesoo looks like Jongin when it was him who carried their baby. And of how we slowly get an in on how there was this bitch who wanted to steal Jongin from Kyungsoo and that taps onto Kyungsoo’s insecurities, which, thank kaisoo, Jongin eased Kyungsoo’s worries and I quote: 

Kyungsoo sobs, his face flushed from embarrassment. “I’m not your petite little sweetheart anymore”

“I know you don’t feel it, but to me, your postpartum body is my favourite. It’s sexy as hell. I love your stomach because that’s where our babies grew so healthy and safe.”

This moment… this intimate moment where one had just barred his heart vulnerably to show his insecurities… and then the other consoling him… it just sets the bar up so high. Like in real life, i know of married men who would go on dating apps to fuck bitches just because their wives are too loose from giving birth to their child? Which is honestly the most messed up way of thinking. But with kaisoo in this au, true love in real life is not entirely lost…

I follow this account where she would post up fiction related posts like talking about fanfic tropes, relationship dynamics and ao3 tags. And in one of her posts, read this and i quote: There’s something profoundly comforting about reading stories where characters who are struggling are deeply loved by someone who isn’t scared of their flaws. Even if it’s fiction, it exists in someone’s mind, in their heart, which means it’s not impossible to find in real life.

Bunny, what do you think?

I feel like Jongin was literally written by a woman. I can’t fault anything bad about him   . I can’t fault anything bad about him (except his questionable taste in shoes) 

I don’t have any desire to marry and have kids because of many reasons, but if I ever did it would be someone like kaisoo 🥲 i haven’t dated since getting into exo because they have highered my standards too much 😂

Honestly, that’s perfectly understandable. Especially now in this day and age… phew getting married and having children will be a huge struggle. 

Bunny, do you write kaisoo here, more specifically Jongin, to be someone who really shows how loving someone should be? Do you see any reflection of your own life in this sns au you have written? Be it the plot or the characters? You don’t need to go into intimate detail, maybe just a snippet of what inspired you in real life to write this fic.

I think I write him in a way I wish more men would be. I’ve had toxic relationships and part of my perspective with Jongin is my dream guy. I’ve not been with someone who is so loving like him, I’m probably delusional in hoping there is someone out there just like him though.

Aw that’s kinda sweet tho? You write Jongin as a projection of how you want your dream guy to be! Let’s manifest that! I hope you get someone like Jongin.

My next question is what was your favourite part of piecing up a story like in this kaisoo family sns au? 

Writing about stuff that not many writers write about (*ahem* 🍼 ) and also kinda playing out my own little fantasy of them 😂

What was the most challenging part of writing this particular AU? 

writing smut and conversations 🥲

Was this the original idea you had in mind when you first drafted the fic? How much has the story grown or changed while writing?

Not really, It was just going to be a one shot but here we are… 😂

Yea! And i am aware you started off this SNS au in October last year, 2023 and initially wanted it to be just a one tweet post, I mean this in the best way possible, but how did it escalate for it to be still ongoing in March 2024?

The amount of retweets and comments it received made me want to add more and I guess it escalated from there 😅 Because I have ADHD it’s taken me a lot longer to complete it and to come up with new ideas.

The power of comments from readers really do send a spur of energy for writers and that should encourage readers to always drop love and comments down to fics.

And bunny i just want to say that the photos you pick out are insane… Like how it is that you manage to find Kyungsoo’s pale skin sucking on a pacifier, kaisoo’s height difference, baeksoo huddled together on the street. Like it’s just crazy similar!

So my question here is: How does your search bar look when you look for the memes or reaction pics or those romantic pics that really look like the exo members?

Lots and lots of research on twitter and pinterest. my close mutual @moondaes (mimi) and i send a lot of pics and videos of “kaisoo look alikes” to each other, 95% of the content is NSFW 😅 when i’ve been needed a specific picture, she’s someone who i can ask for help. 

for memes, mostly twitter, i have a whole album just for memes on my phone and pinterest 😂 

I’m also in a kaisoo cult gc with 30 members that share some of the most questionable and unhinged memes.

OuO interesting!!! Upon doing your research and collecting resources, what is the process of making an SNS au? 

Mostly collecting pictures of their kids and the couple into a folder on pinterest- if something comes up i’ll add it to the folder to use for future tweets. I use the app TwiNote and Memi Message for the fake tweets and messages. I don’t really structure the posts or organise anything *damn you ADHD brain* I pretty much just go with it 😂

–

I see so you dont really structure anything… so its more or less self indulgent postings, which is so cute and it does make it very fun to read as well.

Which part of the process of building the plot, getting the photos and piecing it all up together is your favourite part?

I think people’s reactions and comments is my favourite part, seeing that there are people out there who enjoy my au honestly makes my day 🥲

Aw, again, listeners, readers, do leave comments!

Are we nearing the end of this SNS au? Could you give us a snippet of what’s next in our lovely kaisoo family?

We are!

A few more posts and we will be looking at the end. 

Hmmm, I’m thinking there might be another sibling or two ☺️

Now, dear bunny, do you have any other comments you want to share with listeners? Any teasers for ongoing AUs or a hint of upcoming AUs you have in your work in progress stage? 

I had to check my notes- I’ve got a few ideas that have been abandoned because they are too NSFW for myself and twitter and I don’t want to get mass reported 😂 I also struggle with writing scenes, especially smut. that’s why i find making these twt aus easier, more fun and realistic! 

After this au I will be making the prequel, so we will be able to see how the kaisoo in my current au all started! From meeting, first kiss, first everything. Moving in together, getting married, expecting their first child. But not without a lot of ups and downs - stay tuned!

Thank you bunny for your time in being on board with this kaisoo fic podcast, for your replies to my questions.

Dear listener, the link to the author’s twitter profile will be given below in the notes section. And with that we have come to the end of today’s episode. We will have a pause in April, and so do keep a lookout for new episodes May 13th and every 13th of the month onwards. 

To reach me, i am kaisooficdrunk on twitter and if you want you can drop me questions on my curious cat you can do so with the same username. There will also be another link that brings you to my tumblr blog with the transcription for today’s episode. There you can also find the other scripts for other episodes as well.

Thank you for listening, have a good day, dear kaisooist, and we look forward to the next episode. Stay tuned.

[traxanaxanos]

I don't know what I'm even doing with this blog anymore really, but I am at least going to use it right now to post a cranky book review. Spoilers for Becky Chambers' A Closed and Common Orbit

I really, really love Long Way to A Small Angry Planet, and have put off reading A Closed and Common Orbit since it came out because I was worried it wouldn't live up. I think a lot of the criticisms of A Small Angry Planet are a little unfair - It doesn't have enough conflict (interpersonal conflict is the majority of it! The external threats, while rare, did feel like they had weight to them). Nothing happens (It's more introspective than external, and there is very much a big climactic explosion). All the characters just talk to each other (space opera at its best). But A Closed and Common Orbit does, in my opinion, earn those same criticisms.

I think it really shows that she had a year to write the sequel. I wouldn't have disliked the book so much if it was structured differently, but I doubt she had time to really play with structure. My main point of friction with the book is I don't think the alternating time frames each chapter works. I'm not against playing with linearity like that, I love books that play with form and timelines, I just don't think it works in this book.

Pepper's past chapters have a really dire urgency to them, a weighty sense of danger and anger and the setting of an ugly, cruel world. Comparatively, Sidra just kind of wanders around, has a pleasant weekend. Sure, the universe hates AI and its illegal to jailbreak one into a body. Everyone says that constantly. Everyone is always cautioning Sidra. But ultimately, it's all talk. The threats never materialize. Sidra has one uncomfy conversation with an anti-AI bigot (very mild), who then immediately comes back and apologizes for their behavior and then there's maybe a small romance. Pepper is at constant risk of being torn apart by dogs or dying of dehydration. Real threats. Real forward motion. Sidra just floats.

The planet Pepper escapes is not quite an Omelas situation, Chambers really makes clear that the child-cloning slave labor child murder planet is not really a part of the rest of the galaxy, so it's not as if Pepper and Sidra's comfort and luxury and ability to go to parties and take fun drugs stems from that specific system of exploitation. But the reading experience is asking you to consider the horror of a child-cloning and killing forced labor facility, and then jumping to a chapter where Sidra experiences ~queer liberation~ by getting a tattoo and a bunch of (at this point rather trite and obvious, although to be fair might have felt a little more profound and new in 2016) musings about bodily autonomy and gender expression. Cool. Emilys 4 through 16 were killed in the time it took to get that tattoo for failing to meet labor quotas.

There is a hell planet out there and no one, not even Pepper, seems to ever think about the children still trapped there. It's just trite white internet queer feel-good markers in-between chapters that want us to take child exploitation seriously, but not too seriously because we've got to get back to the queer utopia. Sidra has parties to go to. I think if the book was structured in a completely linear manner this wouldn't feel so bad. Pepper would escape hell planet and then make a life for herself and go on to help others. The hell planet would still exist in the back of the reader's mind, but not every other chapter in a way that begs why no one is doing anything to stop the child murder machine.

Alternatively, the musings on what it means to be a person would be fine on their own (not my cup of tea in their current form, but fine), if the book had just been about that, a tight little novella about a ship AI becoming a person in a small human-sized body. No cutaways to child murder planet. Just a small, contained, introspective story. The two did not work in tandem as presented, where every other chapter begs us to care about child-murder planet and then the next chapter says "don't worry about that it was in the past. Check out this found family helping someone figuring out what it means to be a person." As if there's not hundreds to thousands of children who will never get to even make it to adulthood, let alone find out what it means to be a person, on that child murder planet from the last chapter.

Less important, but the heist ends before it starts (and also without any real threat), and should have been motioned towards more. Pepper makes one request on how to re-code Sidra, and then much later one request on if anyone has seen Owl, and then those searches are dropped immediately. There should have been more fieldwork to lead up to what wanted to a larger resolution, but those searches, much like the threat of arrest for a rogue AI, really fade into the background. I knew the book would end with Owl being found somehow, but not because the book did a particularly good job telegraphing it or setting it up, but because I've read a book before and know how a plot works.

The chapters written as sci-fi chat rooms felt too few, and could have been where the sleuthing was occurring, but they too seemed like they might have been a casualty of the tight writing window.

I think fundamentally I didn't like the book because it's such a liberal vision of the future, one that verges on the utopic, even as it halfheartedly tries to tell us "no no, ai faces a real threat. you won't see it here though." Our protagonists don't need to worry about the atrocities happening over there too much, because they're not happening here. Have another drink, do another party drug, have some queer sex, make your own little found family. Don't worry about those other people who live in that other place. They might as well not even exist, now that they're out of sight.

[grison-in-space]

Huh. That's a take I hadn't considered, but it offers a lot of food for thought. I'm going to noodle here along the notion that you want to write a character who is interested in thinking well of themselves or being a good person, because we're talking about virtuous flaws here and that makes no sense if we're not trying to create fundamentally virtuous characters.

It's also a thing that occurs to me in the sense of.... Insecurity is an enormous category, right? What does a totally secure person who is also selfish look like, and how does that create conflict in which you can sympathize with the character? (One of the great ways to cause a reader to sympathize with a selfish person, of course, is to note that character being internally somewhat insecure about the idea that someone can be both selfish and good, and then figuring out how to resolve that in a positive and internally consistent way.) If someone is selfish and completely secure and confident about it, is there conflict? If they're not very self aware about it and don't have any internal rules they're working out, we do have a word for people like that, and it is "asshole."

Fanfiction conflict usually relies, moreover, on some level of internal conflict--not just external conflict--in part because as a genre it's about playing with emotion against a wide range of complex backdrops. A totally secure, confident person who knows precisely who they are, what they think, and how that should translate into action? That person is a lot harder to figure that arc out with, because they have minimal internal conflict to work with. You can write a perfectly good novel about such a character, sure, but if you want to write fanfiction about them it's probably going to involve a certain amount of their being so totally emotionally disconnected that they have absolutely failed to notice their own emotional conflicts. Which: not going to lie, I love that shit. Absolutely love it. But it's way harder to write about in a fandom context because you have to construct realistic reasons for such a person to either have no idea what their emotions are doing or construct external reasons that the emotional desire is totally infeasible that you then have to work very, very hard to override.

At its base, insecurity is about constantly questioning yourself: am I doing the right thing? Am I really a valued member of my community? Can I trust what people say? We can see its flaw side here rather than its virtue side, so let's contrast the flaw side of insecurity with the flaw side of confidence: arrogance. Arrogance is acting confidently without collecting information around you and taking that information into account. Who is self projecting that? There are certainly writers who do that, but I don't think they're in fandom; I don't think that they generally find the genre of emotional realism too tempting.

I feel like there's something to say here too about the shortage of doms generally and the frequency of insecurity and the many fine ways it can manifest, but I think I'm out of words for the moment. But like. Confidence and security aren't easy for most people. Most people in leadership roles feign confidence at least some of the time. So internal insecurity is something that can provide a convenient hook inside a self-aware character's head and provide explanations for why a relationship doesn't exist already in canon, which can then be built into a story more generally.

Projection is definitely part of why fanfiction authors write characters as deeply insecure (even and especially when they are not in canon), but I don't think it's the whole story.

I think it's also that insecurity is seen as a "virtuous" character flaw. Saying that your main character is "too humble" is the fiction equivalent of telling a potential employer that your greatest weakness is working too hard. It's safer and easier than approaching those ugly but more interesting character flaws like selfishness, wrath, prejudice. Ugly things that exist in all people, to some extent.

If it is projection, it's an idealized projection to only paint one's cleanest flaws into their story.

[mrdanielbond]

Arrested Development - Benoit Blanc x Reader (Chpt. One)

Plot: After a drunken incident at a party, you are taken in for questioning. However, things are not as light hearted as they seem. The detective on the case? None other than Benoit Blanc.

[A/N:  Hey again! Guess who’s back with another story! So this was fun to write, gave myself a short space of time to do it and because I don’t appreciate Blanc enough as openly as I should do. Hope you all enjoy this story! I have to say I love a sassy main character that matches Daniel’s characters. There will be a lot of typos, I'm aware but I did this to challenge myself and I think this went well?]

Twelve hours. That was how long you spent inside that godforsaken cell. If you had sobered up a little more, you were sure to be stressed given your current predicament. However, there was no chance for that for a while. You were still dazed, a mild hangover kicking in, all you wanted to do was go home. No one said a word about the incident in question. Hell, the only thing you noticed was that five people were taken into custody at the same time as you...and there was screaming. An awful lot of screaming. You stared at the dreary, grim walls before you, trying to find something to distract you. Anything. If you spent another five minutes listening to water leaking from one of the pipes across you, you were certain you were certain you would burst it as some form of entertainment. Knowing you, it was probably a drunk and disorderly arrest. A slap on the wrist and maybe you would have your fine paid in no time. Not that this was ideal for you.

It was at that moment you heard footsteps. Ones that sounded all too loud, rattling against your head. A police officer opened the hatch to your cell door and you moved forward a little too quickly for your liking. “Stand back from the door, hands where I can see them.” Her hostility was heard through the other side. Slowly, you moved back with your hands in the air. This seemed odd. When one of your friends had described being arrested on drunk and disorderly conduct, they never mentioned the officers at work becoming so hostile. “I am being released, aren’t I?” You tried to get a word out of the officer but they simply stood inside. “Turn around with your hands behind your back.” Your eyebrows raised. There was something about this that seemed incredibly off. The officer stepped behind you and you could feel your wrists tightening, clicks of handcuffs. Yet you kept quiet, unable to register what you were about to walk into. “Move.” The officer said. “Hang on. Where am I going?” You finally snapped back. “I said move.” The officer now said nudging you out of your cell. Okay, so this officer was clearly prick. But all you thought was once you were out of the station you would go home and get your hangover sorted with a nice hot vanilla latte….

Except that didn’t happen. You turned away from the exit, walking further into the station and towards an isolated room. That’s when you stopped walking in your tracks. Irritating the officer even more. “Listen, I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me where I’m going and I don’t care if you want to trap me in another bloody room. I’m going home. ” Okay now you were starting to internally freak out. But externally, you held your ground, refusing to move. The officer glared at you.

Suddenly, another officer appeared. “Is there a problem here?” He asked. “Looks like we have a stubborn one.” She responded. That was when you were HOISTED by your arms. You tried to kick your way out of their grasp but damn the restraints, they ruined you. “Get off me! I want to go home!” You protested but it was no use. Once you reached the door, the two officers carried you to your chair, leaving your hands tied to the leg of the table. The door slammed shut before you could get a word out. Lord, how you wanted to headbutt those smug officers. Slowly, you looked around the room and you recognised this from all the crime dramas you spent your evenings watching. You were in an interrogation room. But why?

After a while of panicking once again, being left alone with your thoughts (which innocently started off as a reminder to pick up your dog from the neighbours to suddenly, what you had done the night before to be left in the station overnight) the door slowly opened.

Two people entered the room, sitting across from you. A woman, brunette, mid 40s in a dark pan-suit that clung onto her slim figure. The man to follow closely behind was an older man, late 40s or even early 50s, with dirt blonde hair. He had a stubble, parts of it patched with grey but it grew to the perfect amount. Thick rimmed glasses and a vintage suit that hid beneath his dark brown overcoat. Unlike the woman, he bore no police badge or sign to show he was the police. If anything he was someone in the background. And you couldn't lie to yourself, there was something about him that was alluring. The older gentleman with steel blue eyes gave you a ‘cool, silent, mysterious’ aura about him.

The lady dropped the file on the table, looking at you then down at the paper. You decided to play it cool, considering you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the handsome man and leaned back in your seat. “Good Afternoon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N.” “Nothing good about this afternoon.” You retorted. This caused the older man to lift the corner of his lip with a small smirk, while the lady did not look impressed. “How’s the hangover?” You didn’t say anything. Just scowled at her. God this woman was already getting on your nerves. She knew what you were playing at already. So with that, she turned to the tape and turned it on. A loud buzz filled the room. “My name is Detective Inspector Rosie Turner. This gentleman over here is Detective Benoit Blanc. Here with us is Miss Y/N, Y/L/N. Can you please state your date of birth for the record please?” “Isn’t it rude to ask for someone’s age?” Your eyes squinted, if you were going to be charged for drunk and disorderly conduct, you might as well have fun with it. “For the tape, Miss Y/L/N is refusing to state her date of birth which is…” As she stated it, you couldn’t help but feel the man known as Benoit’s eyes bore into you. It felt intense. Why did it feel intense? “Proves I’m a lot younger than you, I guess.” You snapped back. “Immaturity levels are the best way to assume one’s age anyway.” Rosie quickly said, turning back to the file. “So Miss Y/L/N, do you know why you’re here?” “School trip to the station? I don’t know. Have you got any paracetamol?” “The answer is no and we will especially not be administering any drugs of any kind to you.” She answered. “Well that’s just rude.” “Miss Y/L/N, you were at the party held by one, Henry Wong last night?” Okay, well now you were just confused. “Yeah.” “And what’s your relationship with Henry?” If there was one thing you learned, you didn’t want to sound incriminating. There was only one answer to give... “No comment.” “Did you have any form of relationship with one Mr William Parks?” “No comment.” Rosie’s eyebrows raised but you looked back at her with suspicion. What was she playing at? And so she leaned forward in her seat, rolling her eyes, knowing that you were going to be a problem for her. “Miss Y/L/N, are you aware that from this point onwards anything you say or do will be later used as evidence and relied on in court?” Your lips kept sealed. “William Parks was an accountant, around about five years older than you. Did incredibly well for himself in the business. His father Earl Parks owns a chain of gentleman’s clubs across the UK. William has been friends with Henry Wong back in their days at Glasgow University. Any of that ring a bell?” She got nothing from you.

The older gentleman across you seemed entertained by your presence. It was as though he tried to read you but kept up another certain interest. You hadn’t felt yourself being this analysed - close to being uncovered by a man’s eyes from a distance - ever. “Did you attend the party last night with Mr Parks?” “No comment.” This time you had the courage to look over to him. “Did you or did you not assault Mr Parks on the night of November 31st?” “No comment.” “This is serious.” “Can I call my lawyer?” You bit back at her. God she was annoying. That was when the older gentleman pulled Rosie aside, seeing her patience wear incredibly thin. “Do you mind leaving us alone for a couple of seconds? I want to try somethin.” He whispered quiet enough for you not to hear. “This is a bad idea, Blanc. She’s a handful for us and we haven’t even gotten into the line of enquiry properly yet!” “Just trust me on this. Alright?” He said, his smooth southern accent providing him with a bit of a silver tongue to ease the situation. And it did. Rosie’s shoulders loosened as she looked towards the door. “You better sort this out or we’re doing things my way.” “Scouts honour, Ma’am.” He said with a hand on his chest.

You couldn’t make out what was going on, but the annoying female detective had left the room...now you were alone with Benoit Blanc. The man who looked like he called a night of fun smoking cigars with a glass of scotch beside him and a book in hand - maybe even a western playing in the background. God, the irony. You were in handcuffs, this man stood above you and all you wanted him to do was take you on the table - no! No. You tried stopping yourself from having sinful thoughts about this poor man who was probably only hired as a supervisor to watch you misbehave. But whatever he did to ease his way into getting Rosie to leave, you were sure he could use such a skilled tongue on y- nope! You had to shake out of your thoughts...no matter how close he was. Even with the way he watched your every move.

What you hadn’t noticed though was this dashing sleuth had a southern touch to him and god he was hot...until he opened his mouth. "So, Miss Y/L/N." "Oh my god. That accent." Your eyes widen. “It takes a while to grow on people. My mama always said like honey, once you get a little taste you can’t get enough of it.” He had a point. His baritone voice really soothed you...just why did it have to be THAT accent? "I didn't do anything." You slowly managed to mutter. “And you should tell your stuck up colleague to do one. I’m not talking to here.” "Alright, little lady." He took off his jacket slowly, and you were able to see more of HIM. His well tailored suit, his immaculate build. And then he crouched before you. It caused your breath to hitch for a moment. “I understand being in a cell with a hangover sounding like everything we do is blowin up a storm but I’m trying to help you out here. I need you to comply with me so we can make things easier - for the both of us.” Oh. Good cop, bad cop. Typical crime drama convention. "Excuse me? Don't patronise me with your redneck, lawn shooting, sweet home Alabama bullshit. Can I just go home now?" Benoit chuckles. His laugh radiates the room, unsettling you - especially with a voice as deep as his. "Most women would say I've got quite the soft touch with the tongue too." "Yeah it actually sounds horrific." No it didn't. "I can't take you seriously." Oh how you really did take him seriously though. He leaned forward, looking into your eyes. A silence between you lingered. You were able to trace the lines of his perfect stubble with your eyes, the small wrinkles across his forehead. You still somehow felt that intensity. A burning desire for him inside you. Then he got up, walking casually back over to his seat, as though nothing happened. You managed to let go the breath you didn’t even realise you were holding. “Do you know what you’re being charged with?” He finally said. “Drunk and disorderly conduct.” He shakes his head. “Miss Y/L/N, it would appear you engaged in the most inexplicable foul play. You’re being charged with murder. That accountant William Parks is dead and by god, this has your paws written all over it.” And just like that...your world came crashing down...

[faebriel]

pspsps i think you should become toxic, as a treat. release the niki takes (if you want)

-danny

danny i am going straight to hell for this (DISCLAIMER c!niki is my pathetic little meow meow etc etc i am being toxic and c!niki-centric on purpose. i don't use tiktok this isn't informed by like the girlboss niki takes or whatever this is shit that annoys me in my own circles)

the girlboss takes suck we've all been through this i'm glossing over it

people will just not watch her streams and then say "this part of her character came out of nowhere 😒" smartass i don't watch like. fundy's streams but i don't complain when he does something i don't expect. tbh i haven't even watched all of niki's streams bc i got busy around season 2 but a lot of these details get picked up by tumblr so. look ok. like people will think the Only mental health moment she had in season 3 was the nuke thing and it's like. bestie no

semi related i don't think some ppl get what an unreliable narrator is. like. not to drag my fave but who the fuck is looking at season 3 c!niki and going Yeah This Is A Character That Has Her Shit Together And I'm Supposed To Take At Face Value

people Do Not understand how central her relationship with l'manberg is to her character. they just fucking don't. and i don't know how. like ppl will just ignore Everything she did in season 1 and how defense of l'manberg and its people was kind of Uh Her Entire Motivation throughout the manberg administration. doomsday was a big moment for her character bc of that. search for community in lieu of l'manberg is what motivated her joining the syndicate. Hello i am ringing the phone is anybody listening

also people complain about her burning down the tree as if anyone else gave a fuck about it. Like how do i say this uhhh its a moment that was very encapsulated on her stream. like if you were watching tommy's pov or something you might not have noticed it. and that's fine i think that suits how burning the tree relates So Strongly to her internal arc! but why do i hear so much complaining about it then

ALSO THE FESTIVAL. GOD. people will either go "actually c!wilbur orchestrated The Entire Fucking Festival" (no) or "actually he never did anything wrong in pogtopia ever". pardon my impulse to drag my fave but can we PLEASE talk about the fact that c!niki was Going To Get Executed, Was Then Exiled (i choose to believe this was part of c!schlatt's #plan to fracture pogtopia bc copium) And Then Rocks Up To Pogtopia Like Hi. and c!wilbur goes Yeah I Was Gonna Blow Up The Place Lol. and c!niki goes um. what. CAN YOU IMAGINE WALKING INTO THAT SITUATION HELLO. and like WE see c!wilbur hemming and hawwing for like two weeks about how to get c!niki out and how he doesn't think she would be a traitor or whatever BUT SHE DIDN'T. WHOOPS. (honest 2 god some of the most tragic miscommunication of the dsmp don't talk to me.) and THEN he's egging on the pit and like this post ain't about wibler but like if i am c!niki i pull up to pogtopia one of my besties says he was going to blow up the land i was standing on and then encourages his little brother and dads roommate to a punchup I AM GOING TO BE CONCERNED. AND SHE STILL FUCKING BELIEVES IN HIM LITERALLY UP UNTIL HE BLOWS THE JOINT UP !!!! like WHAT did you want her to do here guys come on i am so lenient with wilbur about the whole "left my bestie in manberg" thing bc There Were External And Internal Pressures That Outsiders Would Be Unaware Of but c!niki's feelings on the festival until she is given more information are fucking valid lmfao

also ppl will talk about like exile and the nuke stuff and blame c!niki for not visiting or participating or whatever like,, much more than everyone else. i do think c!jack has had stronger writing since the nuke plot re: tommy but the way that some ppl approach their c!niki crit gives me bad vibes

related point but more about cc!niki: when there are massive delays in lore or whatever bc of IRL things (this is about like sam or dream or whatever) it’s mildly frustrating but people don’t get personal with it, whereas i’ve seen so many people shit on how cc!niki wrote her character in season 2 and like, look, this comes back to not watching her streams but i feel like we should give her a smidge more slack for that period (or just not get weirdly personal at all! just criticise the writing like a normal person!)

like i have seen people straight up judging her career choices (no im not talking about bsmp or whatever i don't care) because of her minecraft character and look i'm not generally someone who says It's Just A Block Roleplay but jesus christ

second fucking disclaimer: i am not exposed to a massive amount of dsmp community or analysis, i literally do not touch twitter or tiktok, these complaints are not gripes with what i assume is the majority opinion across the board (probably the girlboss take, which i have already beaten to death like the dead horse it is so i'm not going through that again here). also i am very strongly motivated by the fact that there has been cc!niki crit around again bc of the elytra stream and michael piglin or whatever which is making me extra pissy re: criticism of her that gets way too personal

tldr critique of writing on the dsmp is fine, critiquing c!niki’s writing is fine, i am just bitching about how people approach it esp when criticism gets a little more personal than with everyone else

[omgsomeonesomewhereonearth]

I’ll Write This Scene a Thousand Times - Ch2

AO3 || Chapter 1

Ship: Moceit (Janus/Patton)

Warnings: Arguing, smoking mention character outed before they're ready.

Summary: Patton and Janus get into an argument. Feelings are hurt, and then they are shared.

Taglist: Technically, I don't have one yet, but I'm tagging some people from the first chapter who seemed interested in reading more. If you want to be added or removed, send me an ask or message.

@iclaimedtobethebetterbard @princess-rosie @symphony-soldier-29 @stardustsides @ent-is-undecisive @roka-logical-lies @ifyouhadntbutyoudid @3-has-charm @moceit

...

“Come on, try to be more cute!”

His new pretend paramour was turning out to be quite the demanding director. Janus pursed his lips, leaning idly against Patton’s incredible cozy couch cushions as he watched him tilt his phone this way and that, trying to find the most natural angle for a staged relationship announcement.

“You wound me, Patton,” he deadpanned, “I was under the impression you already found me rather cute.” Patton glared - no, that was the wrong word. Something incredibly intrinsic in the nature of Patton didn’t quite allow him to ‘glare’. Patton pouted at him in the selfie camera, freckled cheeks puffing out in frustration.

Clearly, he didn’t have much trouble with that particular direction, Janus mused.

“Why can’t you just smile?”

“I am smiling.”

“You’re smirking!”

“Same thing.”

Patton made a very petulant noise indeed, “This needs to be believable!”

“You’re mistaken if you think anything where I’m-” he shuddered, “-smiling, will be remotely believable.”

Then he caught a look at Patton’s face. As funny as it was to wind him up, Janus wasn’t sure he wanted to see him actually crack today.

“Alright, look, why don’t you come closer?” he coaxed, shifting slightly and encouraging Patton to lean against him, draping his arm around his shoulder

“There you go, how sickeningly adorable are we?”

Within the frame of the selfie, they were adorable. Patton’s honey brown curls and fluffy white sweater were the perfect contrast against his fitted black button down - ofcourse, he already knew that, they’d chosen their outfits ahead of time. To anybody who couldn’t feel the stiffness in Patton’s shoulders, they probably looked like the perfect couple.

“Okay… you ready?”

Just as the countdown ticked to one, Janus turned his head and pressed a quick kiss against Patton’s cheek.

The camera clicked.

Patton whipped around to face him immediately after, cheeks darkening, “You - I didn’t know you were going to do that!”

Janus grinned, reaching for his wrist.

“And this is exactly why,” he replied in a voice not entirely devoid of smugness. The picture had been caught before Patton had had the chance to react, still smiling widely as Janus leaned over to kiss him, “You’re welcome.”

Patton blushed harder, spluttering slightly and quickly prying his wrist out of Janus’ grip, scooting back as far as the couch would allow. Janus let him go, following the embarrassed motion with his eyes.

Once he was at what he apparently deemed a safe distance away, Patton mumbled, “It is quite a good picture, actually. Better than any of the others we’ve taken today, anyway.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said it was quite good, actually-”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t quite catch you saying that, would you mind -”

“Oh stop it!” the corner’s of Patton’s mouth twitched in what Janus chose to interpret as a smile.

He rose to his feet, feeling rather good about himself, “Well, now I suppose you can send that along to Logan for approval and we can be done here then? Er - not that this hasn’t been fun, or whatever.” he amended hastily. Nailed it.

“Oh, um - actually…”

Janus groaned, “I swear to God if you tell me we have to take another set of photos, ‘just in case’-”

“It’s not that,” Patton said quickly, “I was hoping we could talk.”

“Well, you’d better make it quick,” Janus drawled, “I do have actual engagements outside of this, you know.”

The words came out in a moment of pettiness and he regretted them almost immediately, partly because they weren’t remotely true - unless mooching around at his home counted as an ‘outside engagement’.

But as he said them, Patton deflated, his eyes downcast, his mouth drawing in to form a silent, plaintive ‘oh’.

“That’s okay!” he covered up quickly, as if he thought Janus hadn’t noticed his disappointment, “It was silly anyway, you don’t have to-”

“No no no, it’s quite okay,” Janus interjected hastily, “I can always take out the time for you, dear.”

Right, yes, flirt Janus. I’m sure that’ll somehow not make you the asshole here.

Patton gave him a wan smile. He gestured for Janus to sit, and he did, careful to leave space between them now that the camera had been put away. He watched Patton fidget for a few minutes as he tried to find the words he wanted to say.

“-So the night we… well, met, so to speak,”

Ah. Janus winced internally - he’d been wondering if Patton would want to have this conversation for a while now, and had dearly hoped he never would. Externally, he smirked. “Yes, I would say we were rather ‘well met’ - I’m glad you think so too.”

Instead of the frustrated groan that he was expecting, a burst of tiny, adorable laughter spilled out of Patton’s lips. Patton seemed just as surprised as him, lifting his hand to cover his mouth even as his shoulders shook and his dark eyes crinkled with delight.

It was hard not to smile back, with a laugh like that, especially when it had been his own idiotic joke that had caused it.

“That was quite funny,” Patton admitted as his giggles tapered off.

It had been terrible, but Janus wasn’t one to look compliment horses in the mouth. “Thank you, I try.”

Patton’s face sobered far too soon, “Um, did you - do you remember anything? From then, I mean?”

“I…” Janus considered, “I remember enough.”

The memories were hazy, though. He remembered leaving the premiere, going to get a drink. He remembered catching sight of an absolute vision in pale blue, gazing with wide, curious eyes at his surroundings, smiling and waving self consciously when he’d noticed Janus watching him. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what they’d talked about.

He hadn’t even known who Patton was, at the time, though he’d assumed he was at least semi-famous, given the usual clientele of the club.

“D’you - do you remember what I was acting like?” Patton asked haltingly, “Was I normal, I mean?”

Janus paused. He thought about the man he’d met , who laughed loudly and carelessly, who followed him eagerly to the dancefloor. Who looked at him like he would follow him anywhere, if Janus asked. He thought about the man he’d woken up next to, who’d been skittish, panicking, shrinking into himself when Janus so much as looked at him.

He thought about the way he’d felt when Patton laughed at his dumb joke.

“I’ve known you for about three days and you’ve been either tipsy or highly stressed for all of them,” he replied in a measured voice, “I’m hardly the person to ask how ‘normal’ you were acting.”

Patton nodded, though he seemed disappointed, his brow knit in confusion.

“It’s just - I don’t remember anything,” he started, voice strained, “I’ve gone over it so many times and I still can’t understand why I did it!”

Janus’ gut twisted far harder than it should have.

“Oh, thank you so much,” he snapped.

“That’s not fair,” Patton snapped back with just as much wounded ferocity, “You know what I mean - I’ve never done anything like that! I’m not like that, I stay out of trouble-”

“-Not like what, exactly?” Janus interrupted, narrowing his eyes, “Or should I say, ‘not like whom’?”

“Janus-”

Stop, he should stop, remove himself from the situation, calm down.

Janus had gotten to his feet without realising it.

“‘Stay out of trouble?’” he hissed, “We are grownups, have you considered that we shouldn’t be getting into ‘trouble’ for having consensual sex in the first place-”

“Of course I’ve considered it, but that doesn’t change the fact that we do, and we did!” Patton protested, “I’m just being realistic here, we both chose to be in this industry-”

Janus scoffed.

“And maybe you don’t care, but I-” Patton spoke right over him, “think I have a responsibility to behave-”

“Behave?” Janus laughed bitterly.

“You’re misunderstanding me-”

“Oh no, I think I understand just fine,” he interrupted, “I’m so sorry I led you astray, I assure you it won’t happen again.”

“I- I know it won’t?” Patton replied, dumbfounded, “Janus, I’m not trying to fight with you-”

“Well in that case, perhaps I should take my leave.” Janus cut in.

Patton looked dismayed, “Maybe that’s for the best, yeah,” he muttered eventually. He didn’t get up to show Janus the door.

Janus thought about slamming it behind him, but decided it would be rude and uncouth.

Besides, it would be far more satisfying to leave it open so that Patton would have to get up and close it. He was at the end of the corridor before he heard it click quietly closed.

He didn’t turn around.

…

Janus was mooching around in his flat. Janus was definitely not thinking about Patton as he did so.

Had he been about to cry, when he left? He wouldn’t have noticed at the time, what with his own anger, but the idea that Patton might have cried after he walked out made his heart clench.

Because that was fair, he grumbled to himself. It wasn’t like he’d said anything wrong, he was right - this whole charade they’d gotten trapped in, it was unnecessary and ludicrous, and it wasn’t his fault - wasn’t either of their faults.

God, he needed a smoke.

Just as he was reaching for the box hidden in his bedside drawer - why were they hidden, he lived alone - his phone buzzed. He’d been tagged in an image by @patton.theheart on Instagram. Ah yes. Even if they were both seething and furious at each other, the dance continued.

“Three perfect months with @totally_notalyre - we’re both so excited to finally share our relationship with you all!!! <3 <3 <3”

The comments were already flooding in, row after row of overwhelming positivity, keyboard smashing and heart emojis. Janus scrolled through them impassively, stopping to smirk at the ones raving about how attractive he was - well, he never claimed to be a modest man.

Then he saw one that made his blood run cold.

“So proud of you Patton!”

Followed by several rainbows.

And several more:

“I’ve been a fan of you since you were like, 16 and I’m so happy to finally see you living your truth!”

“Well done Patton! Don’t worry - your true fans will stick by you no matter what!”

“Thank you so much for sharing your true self with us, Patton <3”

The memories of the past few days, every version of Patton that lived in his head, flashed before Janus’ eyes in a very different light, ending with him cross legged on his couch, biting his inner cheek as he listened to Janus berate him.

He definitely needed a fucking smoke now. No he didn’t - he needed to call Patton, he needed to talk to him, to ask him - to ask him what? They were barely friends, and he’d just spent the afternoon yelling at him, what right did he have to demand answers?

“Calm down, Lyre,” he growled to himself, “Just call the man, be calm and subtle; you need to apologise to him if nothing else.”

“Hello?” Patton had picked up on the first ring. Did his voice sound subdued over the phone? Or teary?

“You weren’t out,” Janus blurted out clumsily. So much for subtle.

“I’m sorry?”

“When we had our… ‘encounter’,” he clarified, “You were still closeted?”

“Oh, that,” Patton replied flatly. He could practically hear him fidgeting over the phone, “Well technically, I wasn’t exactly closeted, I was just - trying to avoid talking about it until I was ready.”

“ …I’m so sorry.”

“No, no - it’s okay!” Patton said hastily, “I mean, maybe not ‘okay’, but looking on the bright side - I was planning on coming out in a few months from now anyway! So, you know, technically this took the pressure off!”

Despite his cheery tone, Janus got the feeling Patton didn’t quite believe himself. He definitely didn’t believe him. “You had one planned?” he asked.

“Well yeah, actually!” Patton admitted, “Technically, it’s still gonna happen - I’m gonna be releasing an album where I sort of share my experiences and feelings and stuff, so it’s not like I lost anything, I guess.”

You lost the right to control your own damn narrative, Janus didn’t retort, because he knew fully well that Patton knew that, he was just a relentless, infuriating optimist.

“Um… Janus?” Patton’s voice cut through his thoughts, “Just by the way - I’m not technically supposed to tell many people, so please just keep that quiet because I think Logan is already quite cross at me anyway?”

“Done,” Janus chuckled. Then he drew in a breath, ready to address the difficult part of this call, “Regarding my conduct earlier today - I believe I might owe you an apology.”

“No you don’t.” Patton responded quickly, far firmer than he’d ever been, at least with Janus.

“Patton-”

“You don’t,” he repeated, “Yeah, I mean - you could have been nicer, but you were right, and I said some less than nice things too! But, you know - when you sorta grow up in this industry, it becomes a bit hard to know which bits are normal and which bits are kinda…messed up? And our little spat today, it really kind of reminded me, so if anything, maybe I should thank you!”

“You should not.”

“Well-”

“If you can forbid me from apologising, I can forbid you from thanking me.”

“Yeah, okay, fair enough!” Patton’s giggle was just as infectious over the phone and Janus felt the corners of his mouth lift against his will.

“Ahem - well, lovely talking to you, as always, but I ought to get going now.”

“Goodnight Janus.”

“…Goodnight, Patton.”

[fallloverfic]

@rise-ha replied to your post "hey hey so glad to have found you on tumblr...":

glad u enjoyed the ask! i posted the ask, but i think i accidentally | ticked the anon box lol i like how positive u r abt the characters and main ship. there’ve been other sites where readers/fans are anti-seth x anyone, and they prefer seth to end up w/ no one at all which always struck me as counter-intuitive to the themes of his character (loss of agency, narrative of his story, trust in family, etc.) like, how can he relearn trust without being around other people and overcome his curse without suffering and taking action to fix the problems he caused? plus seth doesn’t seem like the internal introspective sort- he needs external interference to make him realize he’s even feeling things (re: sekhmet and his self-destructive feelings in S1). it’s also canon that when isis was MIA seth just spiraled for centuries n did ntg to climb out of the abyss of angst.

ur hypotheses on what might happen is interesting… but on the memory loss. i agree with u that in canon it's unlikely horus will lose his memory upon ascending, but it's quite intriguing for fanfic fuel: seth not realizing how much horus meant to him until suddenly he means nothing at all to the god!horus. if you'd ever be into writing that haha i'm still slowly going through your existing ennead fics XD - thanks for the all the great content!

It's okay! It happens XD Tumblr is a strange existence and as you can see I too am not doing so well using it alkdjlaj (I apologize if I'm doing this wrong, replies are just clunky and this got longer than I expected).

But yeah I love the main ship and I love most of the characters :3 I climb walls about them adlkajdlak

I definitely have a "ship and let ship" approach for folks who want Seth to end up alone or with idk an OC or something. To each their own, folks can do whatever they want.

From a canon standpoint, I do find it to be a deep misunderstanding of his character that being alone would somehow be the "best" ending for him. After all, we have that panel in S01E40 where Seth says, "I was afraid... of being forgotten by them." One of the few things we know Seth wants for himself is to be loved and not forgotten, and this has been repeated a few times at this point. So him ending up alone would not be happiness for him. It would, like you mentioned, be right back where he was during his kingship: depressed and self-isolating to the point of suicide.

That being said, a lot of folks who are pro this position have acknowledged that while this would be a sad Seth, he would be less sad than if he ended up in any of the ships people stick him with, particularly the four tops. Which I would personally argue against, particularly after Seth initiated the kiss with Horus when he realized that Horus loves him and didn't want to forget him, both things Seth wants the most. Heck, even ending up with Anubis would be better than ending up alone, since at least Seth has wanted to follow Anubis. But what's personal autonomy and choice, I guess? -shrug- But again, to each their own! It's not what I write and I have no interest in it! But folks do for a variety of reasons, and more power to em!

I think it's perfectly fine for folks to make fanworks and headcanons about the potential for Horus getting amnesia! That's the awesome thing about fanworks :D My opinion only affects my own thoughts and fanworks, and other folks can do as they please! A few folks have tackled the amnesia thing before, and I wish them the best! I'm not the biggest fan of amnesia plots generally (and I generally can't stand permanent amnesia because I view it as character death), and I'm very particular when I write them, I just think there's enough ambiguity and stuff with Horus' powerset and background that it's not guaranteed in canon. This particular set-up is unfortunately not a plot I have any interest in writing, and the only ENNEAD amnesia plotline I ever wrote involved Seth having temporary amnesia, and it was in my Dear Monster/ENNEAD crossover. Anything can change, of course, and I never say never when it comes to fic writing, but it's one of the saddest plots I think about (which I imagine is amusing, given some of the terrible situations I put Seth in lol but brains are weird sometimes) and I have other things I'm prioritizing, so it's a bit unlikely.

I wish you luck with any fics you try :D And thank you so much for reading them!! <3 <3

hey hey so glad to have found you on tumblr. it was a bit hard for me to find content creators for ennead on this site, oddly enough

i saw some of your ask me prompts and i was wondering if you could do 4 and 10?

Hello!! And welcome :3 Thank you for the ask!! And yeah, tumblr is very quiet for the fandom. Twitter, pixiv, Ao3, and instagram are far more hopping.

I think this is for the ENNEAD ask me meme, so I'll answer based on that!

4. Who is your favorite character (if you have one)?

Shockingly I know, after publishing 48 fanfics that star or otherwise feature him in some fashion... it is Seth alkdjaldja he is best boi for me. Sad man, angry man. Love him. He's beautiful, he's tragic, he's fun. I love the way Mojito is exploring so many things with him, whether it's suicidal ideation, self-destructive tendencies, self-blame for things that are out of your control, cycles of violence, anxiety, responsibility... Just a lot of things. I love his power set (no pun intended). Shapeshifter characters have been my favorites since I was little (big fan of werewolves and shifters generally, and always have been, pretty sure it's why The Little Mermaid and other similar stories about water people who can change their shape have always stuck with me), especially when they can like dissolve into particles and reform. And I love his relationship with Horus. He's also really smart and can be quite thoughtful and I love how creative he is. Also I love when he gets into Situations. Angsty, whumpy man.

Second place is Horus. I love him so much. He's gorgeous, he's such a fun character, and he's hilarious. And his wings are so gorgeous T-T He and Seth are so cute and I go feral whenever I see them.

I like most of the cast, though.

10. How do you think ENNEAD will end?

I don't have good luck with guessing what Mojito will do intentionally, so take this with a lot of grains of salt lol I do have some luck doing it unintentionally when I write things into fics with like, "This would be cool if it happened", and then it kind of does lol And I do have some luck guessing what she won't do, so. Anywho.

We know Horuseth is the endgame ship, so they'll end up together. I assume they'll rule Egypt together in some fashion or, worst case, go off into the sunset together. Seth will fully get his powers back and the curse will be resolved. I imagine whatever's going on with Hathor's mirror will also be resolved (I think Nephthys was split into two people, and she'll be recombined and get all her memories back, and I think Hathor did it to take revenge for Ra). I'm still on the fence for whether Horus will actually "ascend" properly or not, or what that'll look like. He's kind of a strange demigod (Nut calls him the "link between the gods and humankind" (S02E44)), so I wonder if he won't actually ascend/he already has. But his ascension might also just be different than other gods, at which point I think Isis will step aside and let him rule fully on his own, with her help as needed. He doesn't marry Hathor. She gets booted out of Heliopolis. I also don't personally think he's going to lose his memory. He could, but on top of the circumstances around the whole "ascension involves memory loss" thing being still kind of unclear and questionable, he's a special kind of demigod/god, and his power involves knowing things. I think he'll be fine.

I assume Osiris will be defeated in Duat in some fashion (possibly by Seth, Horus, Anubis, and maybe FG) and just be stuck down there, stewing (Mojito likes sticking to the original mythology in a lot of ways, and I don't think she'd like... perma-dissolve Osiris of all people), and he and Anubis will be on more of a balanced power stance, and just sort of share a power domain. I feel like part of ENNEAD's conclusion will involve Anubis leaving his control and just coming into his own power entirely. And he gets his memories of Seth back to some degree.

I assume FG will head home after/around when we learn his name and the Egyptians will be like "huh, well idk who that was, but whatever, I guess we'll keep an eye on [FG's home country], though." Which... if it's Greece or Rome... -cringes a little-

I also hope that Anubis will have a heavily implied partner of some kind. It's not gonna be Seth, and I don't really think it'll be Khnum, much as I love that ship (though I'm rooting for it fully and he's as likely as anyone), but it could be Isis, too. Mojito did do some Anubis/Isis art years ago. I just want him to not be so alone.

I think Isis, Seth, and Nephthys will reconcile to some degree. I don't know that they'll be very close, but I think they will be on speaking terms, though I honestly think Seth and Nephthys are the least likely of the group for this to happen with. It depends on whatever is actually happening with the mirror. Seth and Isis are already on the path to reconciliation. Nephthys is the only actually sort of static one.

If anyone would like to ask more questions, here's the meme again :D

(If this is for the fanfiction author ask me meme I linked, I can answer that one, too! I just didn't know which meme it was, and assumed based on context it was the ENNEAD one)

[botwstoriesandsuch]

hey Kip! I’m sending asks into different writer’s askboxes, inquiring about cool themes/development facts/stuff the author wants to share about their personal favorite work of their own. What’s yours? :)

Ok so this ask is old and when I first got it I was like “dang I don’t really have a lot to talk about, what should I talk about I could those revalink headcanons the Kip Cut that turned into a working fic uhh hmm maybe I’ll just make something new to talk about real quick” and then I did and now there is a 12+ chapter Revalink fic in my drafts and I’m gonna talk about that now, whoopsie doopsie [click "j" to skip]

aHEM, OK so allow me to break out the primary school white board because yeah, I have a lot of thoughts and the oxford comma has not yet made it’s home into my brain. oh and spoilers for paraphrase. for both all of Chapter one and future events in later chapters, but it’s really nothing you couldn’t surmise from the AO3 tags

so I really wanted to tell the story of Revali and Link learning and struggling to love again after the less-than-fortunate events of Botw, but I wanted a...how you say...fresher, approach on the subject? Like I know we always say that fanfic writers writing the same tropes and stories time and time again is good because we eat that shit up--but at the same time I had asian parenting as was told never to half ass anything ever, no matter what. So now I'm gay and extra and have depression maybe and oh would you look at that @motherhyrule has dropped a beautiful revalink prompt right into my lap

Great so now that we have, that, I shall take you on the step by step process on how to make a :sparkles: story. So step one is to spend at least five to eleven business days for your white board to dismantle your genre and themes and work them around your character arcs. Luckily I have prepared one ahead of time

s*breaks out those laser pointers that uni professors use* So let's start with defining genre. As define because I HATE you, fuck you. I want you to suffer and writhe on the ground, motherfucker. How dare you think that I would give you nothing but pure predictable fluff, fuck you and yours

is the set of expectations that your audience has when consuming a piece of media

And the great thing about fanfiction is that unlike movies or book where the genres are more vague like, "oh it's a noir mystery genre. so there's a crime, maybe a murder, and a detective and a criminal." or "oh it's a teen romance. so there's some white people and a morally questionable six-pack 18 year old love interest that will be painted as desirable for some reason" BUT with fanfiction HALF of the work out the window, because as soon as you see those #revalink #aro sidon #zelpha #revali is an idiot and #found family tags you already know what's up.

Now what's so great about genre and expectation? Well the fun thing about it is that

I will use it to fucking break you.

... ... ...

<3 For example! <3

In Chapter 1: Holes, you already expect there to be revalink, you already expect them to be soulmates with the soulmarks and there's angst and yadayada ya. Revali and Link have to match because thatttss what this is all about, this is about them! This is about cute, little soulmarks and romantic words!

But whoooopsie doopsie [disney channel laugh track plays] they DON'T match anymore! Link's got a different mark! The number one rule of this entire genre has been broken whoooooooooooooooops. *ba dum tiss*

You might notice with a lot of my writing that I do this a lot, this whole..."oop but there's one little thing that's different." TebaSaki sick fic? Ok cool, but what if Teba burns an irreplaceable relic of the Rito champion to fight a wizzrobe first to characterize why his dumbass clicks with Saki. Mipha deciding to persue Link? Ok what if she chases after a dragon to externalize this conflict as she pierces it's flesh for a scale. Link fighting a Lynel? Ok but what if it's actually a sidlink angst fic in disguise and it's also world building on how Link deals with the bloodmoon that erases all of his efforts which is sort of similar to how his existence was erased from Hyrule 100 years ago mwaahahaha! Ok now that I say this outloud I think I just have a pattern of using fight scenes to externalize character growth. I like fight scenes...anyways.

I think another great thing about the realm of fanfiction is that with the tagging system, I can basically use a chekhov's gun sort of deal, without doing any writing. You know I'm gonna use that gun marked "soulmates" but you don't know when I'm gonna shoot it, and you SURE as hell don't know how.

And huzzah! One of the main points of conflict both drives the tension between Revali and Link, solidifies the unique genre and setting of this world, while also creating a new mystery that will carry over for the next few chapters.

Is Revali right in that Link's rebirth makes him destined for someone new now? What will Link do with the information that his soulmark has changed? Why did it change? Did Revali's change as well? How does anything fucking work right now?

And sure, you might be able to tell where things will end with them, but you sure as fuck will not know how because I HATE you. Fuck you. I want you to suffer and writhe on the ground, motherfucker. How dare you think that I would give you nothing but pure predictable fluff. I am not your goddamn fairy godmother, I will do as I fucking please. You will suffer as you fucking deserve, fuck you and your little tiny--

/j

Oh! But you might have noticed on my little planning whiteboard thing that there was a little T-Chart! For Revali and Link! That's because the next important thing besides plot (and in a lot of cases, including this one, it's argued to be even MORE important than plot) is

~CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT~

[to the tune of that history of the world video on youtube]

So yes, it's a little T-Chart outlining their character views in relation to the themes. And the great thing about themes is that they're not something you can necessarily predict in the same way you can with the genre and plot.

But now see, I'm very lazy so I'm just gonna plagiarize @hyrule-kingdom-updates thingy [that you should read btw] because they said my point quite clear enough

Now I don't really need to care about those points about bond and relationships and being understood, because I'm dealing with already established canon characters. I'm not some NERD who dabbles with entire casts of ocs who even cares about ocs not me that's for sure ahaahahaahahahahahaahahahahahAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH *cries in my orphaned WTTU fic* AHAHAHA*sobs*DONT FUCKING LOOK AT ME THAT WAY I SWEAR--

/j I love ocs

But the points I do wanna focus on is the idea that characters provide new perspectives on the theme, and that characters growth can be tracked based on their wants, lies, and needs.

So see, themes can be predicted the same as genre/plot because while you can have the same fanfic plots and tropes, theme will always vary!

Sometimes it's a journey of selfworth with Revali! Sometimes it's an exploration of trauma with Link. Sometimes it's about how you deal with the vulnerabilities of love with Mipha. Sometimes there's straight up NOOOO theme, and people just be fucking, and kissing, and baking, and having a good time. And that is totally fine too!

But I'm not a fucking coward.

I'm gonna weave in themes with my plot, because I fucking can.

I'm not a weakling like you.

Do you hear me, 2019 Kip? Do you hear me Demmers? Do you hear me Quill? I'm coming for your ass. You think you're so great, but I'm coming for you. Rest assured that your graves will be as deep as your sculptured pride--

Heeeere is that T-Chart again, plus more!

yyyyyYou might notice that Revali and Link are quite parallel, to paraphrase. Ayoooo, see what I did there? *dabs* I'm a genius. Anywho

They both start off the same way: 100 years ago they were in love and happy. Basically the equivalent of childish naivety. For the first time in their lives, life is whimsical and charming, and they make each other happy. In fact, it's almost a flaw with how they perceive this happiness. But don't worry! It doesn't last long!

You know what happens.

I think the chart is pretty self explanatory. Revali builds walls fast enough to give a republican a wet dream. Meanwhile Link makes every aromantic in the chat groan with his doubled down sentiments in the idea that his chances of being truly happy again are gone.

Now, I can't exactly describe the full on process of the inbetweens, and where Revali and Link are gonna go from here, because...you have to read it for yourself! Heehee...but something I did think was fun was how these character views on the themes are revealed. Because you'll notice that, I never give exposition. Ever.

Ok well, let me rephrase that. I never give exposition scenes. I will never give you a big LOTR fancy wizard scene explaining the ins and outs of a character's question or the world's magic or whatever. I'm a very impatient Kip, and I value efficiency. Nonono, it's all about multi tasking, baby!

Chapter 1: Holes is divided into three parts.

Post 100 Years - Medoh (Establishes Ghost Rev/Bonk Head Link's view)

100 Years Ago - Flight Range (Establishes old Revalink views)

Post 100 years - Mark (Develops Ghost Rev/Bonk Head Link's view in contrast to who they once were)

I think the way that you structure flashbacks is incredible vital, as it's a very quick way to characterize people without having them say stuff like "I used to be like you, until I took an arrow to the knee" or whatever.

And with the main structure of the chapters and the fic as a whole is focus on their characters, that means I can hide whatever other stuff I want in those scenes, becuase you're too busy absorbing the fun character stuff to realizing I'm giving you boring exposition. Like for example:

Post 100 Years - Medoh and Mark

Foreshadowing for the end of the fic

Set up connection to Medoh with Revali

Link has defeated Windblight

Link has been visiting Revali every night for the past few days

Link has already met Kass and presumably Teba

Link doesn't have the Mastersword

Revali's Gale is still an ability that needs master and practice on Link's end

And that's just some of the stuff.

And see, the only reason I can efficiently give all of this information regarding character, and even exposition, is because of the theme. The themes make everything relevant, and everything circles and encompasses one another, so there's absolutely no wasted space. I mean don't even get me started on how it's gonna be to characterize the other characters around this

I don't wanna talk about the other characters too much either because that's spoilers, but you can probably take a gandar based on my notes.

And oh my god this is just on the theme of the faults that come with "soulmates" and "true love" and all that, and how even magical destined relationships still require work and effort, and that no one thing or person solves all your problems. And that's not even TOUCHING the shit on trauma and scars. I didn't think it was even possible for me to talk about botw without touching on that, ha. Ah well, I've been talking for too long.

Revalink has a lot o' writing potential so das pretty cool yeah, I am excite

[marlahey]

under the same roof part one: a stickler for the rules

a harry styles rpf ratings/warnings: references to stalking behaviour by a peripheral character, too many longing looks in a space too small to contain them, she’s clueless sometimes but we love her notes: surprise surprise! it’s good to be back my friends. as far as OG openings go, part one of utsr probably underwent the least amount of rewrites. the most notable change is sylvia’s age: she’s four-ish, going on five. just makes our lives a little easier in terms of continuity and logic! (please visit the masterlist to find all our other writing because I forgot tumblr is a BITCH and hates external links now. ugh.)  utsr masterlist | part 2 (7.12.2020) 

––

• tuesday, 1st february 7:48 pm • In spite of the biting chill outside, it’s about a million degrees in this lobby. You wonder if the heater is broken and if it’s always going to be like this here. The hair escaping your ponytail is pressed flat against the back of your neck, and you’re struggling to balance the crate between your chin and the massive box in your arms.

One of the corners is digging into your gut so you raise a knee to adjust it, but the box slips in your grip and you barely manage to hang on. There’s a faint meow from Chowder’s crate. The doors to the elevator whirr open with a ding and you shuffle inside. “Which floor is it again?” India grunts. The box that she’s carrying is lighter but larger—more cumbersome. It obscures half of her face and the way she’s leaning over can’t be any good for her back. “Eight,” you reply, strained. India stretches an arm out to the keypad, struggling to reach the right number. She misses. “Yeah,” you deadpan, “so press four twice.” The sound of a quiet, stifled chuckle turns your head to the back corner of the elevator. A young man leans against the hardwood of the elevator wall with his hands clasped in front of him. He is tall and lean; silver and gold rings adorn his fingers. His hair is wavy and cocoa brown, as though he used to have a businessman’s haircut but has let it grow out. He’s wearing grey tartan tweed pants and black ward lo Vans. Tattoos poke out of the sleeves of his sweater. It’s an arguably strange ensemble, but he pulls it off well. The man pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up his nose with a thumb, gaze trained on the floor. His lips are still pressed together against a smile that flirts with the corners of his mouth. Only then do you realize you’d been staring. You tear your eyes away as heat nips your cheeks and ears. In your tattered converse, mom jeans, and grubby moving flannel, you feel suddenly small. Chowder moews plaintively, like he needs to remind you of his current status in, on, and surrounded by boxes. “Is it just me,” India murmurs to you as the doors ding open on the second floor, “or did that take… is the lift broken?” “It’s the slowest bloody thing,” the man interjects, like it’s the bane of his existence. “You get used to it.” The elevator jolts to a stop on the fourth floor and the doors peel open in silence. Nobody moves. “Sorry, ” India murmurs. The man just shakes his head. The back of the door to the elevator is a mirror so you’re able to privately relish in the invisible threads of your curiosity that reach out to him. “S’ fine, ” he replies softly. By the time you’ve reached the sixth floor, you’re still peering at the man periodically from beneath your eyelashes. He looks up and holds your stare in the reflection of the doors moments before they part, and a ding sounds again through the small space. He smiles at you, poised, before pushing off the wall and stepping carefully between you and India to the hallway. The doors close once again and you are alone with your friend. She drops her box a few inches and bugs her eyes out at you from over the cardboard lid. “Dibs.” You step forward, laughing, and bump your box into hers. Finally, you reach level eight, pile the last two of your boxes by the front door, collapse on the mattress on your bedroom floor still covered in clear plastic packaging, and order pad thai. • friday, 30th march 7:23 am •

“Hold the elevator!” you call mid-jog, and immediately wince. You need to be better about calling it a lift. You make it through the doors of the lift before they close halfway, but not before noticing an arm outstretched to hold them open for you nonetheless. A cross tattoo and the bottom of an anchor poke out from the sleeve of his suit. It’s black velvet that has a navy lustor in the light. You’re in the same company now as virtually every other morning since you’d moved here—the man with the glasses who noticed you on that first day. You’re pretty sure his name is Harry, unless he’s pinning someone else’s name to his chest every day on a badge beneath red emboldened letters reading, The National Gallery, London. It’s surprising to see him as you get on, however, because he lives below you on the sixth floor. Perhaps he’d forgotten something today and needed to go back up… if this were the case, you’re glad to have caught him by chance. Every so often the cast of characters rotates. Sometimes a stout older man with an emerald green briefcase and a mustache rides down with you on weekdays. A slender woman who is almost always on her headset, hovering by the button pad occasionally makes an appearance. They both live above you. Most mornings, however, are like today. It’s just you and Harry together, without fail, if only for those few measured moments of quiet at sunrise. Perhaps you two are on the same tube schedule. For someone you see so often, you know remarkably little about Harry apart from the observable; he’s not one for small talk, has poor eyesight, and boasts impeccable taste in suits. It occurs to you that you still haven’t had a full conversation with him. You absently wonder if he’s single. You’ve even made progress from polite nods of acknowledgment to a consistent “Good morning,” from him and a nearly unflustered, “Morning,” from you (though realistically speaking, a smile before you’ve had your first cup of coffee is only manageable because India would disown you if she knew that you weren’t taking every opportunity to talk to this stupidly handsome stranger). “Thanks,” you murmur, stepping through the doors Harry’s held open for you. “Sure.” The ride down passes in silence. You can’t work up the nerve to speak until the doors part and Harry gestures for you to exit first, and by then it’s too late. You offer a faint parting smile. But, you reason, there’s always tomorrow. • sunday, 8th april 2:42 pm • The lift stops on the sixth floor in its descent as you look up from your phone. Harry’s voice is audible from the hall as the doors open and it startles you because he’s usually alone. You take a sip of your iced coffee as Harry steps inside, wearing a black knit sweater with pink and orange planets across the front, black jeans, worn leather boots, and wayfarers. In one of his hands, he carries an umbrella and rolled-up reusable grocery bag. In the other—most surprisingly—he holds the tiny hand of a little girl. She’s wearing frog rain boots, rainbow leggings, and a t-shirt that proclaims the future is female. Her dense curls are a shade darker than Harry’s, her eyes are closer to brown than hazel, and her skin is a warmer golden hue—but her smile presses a dimple into her cheek, identical to the one you’ve been staring at for months. He has a kid? Harry pulls her gently inside and she seems disappointed that the button for the ground floor is already lit. “This one pumpkin,” he whispers, pointing at the close doors symbol just beneath. She presses it with a firm clack and beams when the familiar mirrors slide across. “Daddy, can we please, please get bananas?” You almost choke on your cold brew. He has a kid. Is there a ring? Do you see a ring? You’d never noticed him in a wedding band before and he certainly isn’t wearing one now. “Shh, we won’t forget bananas… I wrote it down, remember?” With his free hand, Harry fishes out a folded piece of Hello Kitty paper from his back pocket and holds out her, more than happy to let his child snatch it from him. “Daddy, look at the pretty star!” You almost choke on your coffee again as Harry’s gaze follows his daughter’s waving hand, still gripping the pink, polka-dot paper with cat ears, all the way to the golden star dangling from your neck. “Yes, it’s very nice,” Harry nods down at her, agreeing in a voice that could only be used with a child. “Don’t point, angel… s’not very polite.” He smiles at you, almost apologetic, and gently wraps his hand around hers to lower her outstretched arm. “You have a million stars at home.” The lift stops on the ground floor. You gesture for Harry to exit first, a courtesy he always seems to extend to you, and you melt into a smile as he lifts one corner of his mouth in timid gratitude. He hesitates in the doorway on his way out. “Say goodbye, Sylvia,” he says. He has a dad voice. It makes your stomach flip. Sylvia flashes you those sparkling brown eyes once more and waves, suddenly shy. You wiggle your fingers and she buries her face into her father’s leg. “We’re workin’ on it,” Harry says, like it needs an explanation of some kind. He keeps his tender smile when he glances at you over his shoulder before he and Sylvia disappear out the lobby doors and into the rain, hand in hand. • thursday, 7th june 8:24 am • You’re pinning an earring in as you step into the lift. It stops on the sixth floor and then it’s silent as usual between you, Harry, and the mustached emerald briefcase man. You still haven’t had a complete conversation with either of them, but you hardly mind. It’s gratifying to have a few moments of peace before the triathlon that is your final exams, the gym, then straight into your evening shifts at work. Even though you’re looking forward to drinks tonight with India to celebrate the end of term, you’re weary and your body is stiff. Another sleepless night had come and gone and you’d struggled to cover the bags beneath your eyes with makeup this morning. You frown in your recollection of the nightmare, the same icy stare tormenting you. There is an older man with nearly translucent blue eyes, who you see so often around London that you’re beginning to wonder if he’s a figment of your imagination. Yesterday you’d caught a glimpse of him in the reflection of a shop window on your daily walk home from the tube station. He was staring straight at you, but when you’d spun around to look closer, he had vanished. It had unnerved you so much that you hurried straight home without stopping at the shops for kitty litter. London is a crammed metropolis; at this point it’s likely nothing, but that doesn’t stop you from losing sleep over it. “My daughter has that book,” the man with the emerald briefcase says, pulling you back to earth. You let go of your now fastened earring and hold up the book that was pinned under your arm so that the cover is on display. The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen. “This one?” The man hums, continuing, "I’m ashamed to say I don’t even know what it’s about.” “It’s sweet.” Harry’s eyes flash to the book and then your face as you speak. You flip it over and consider the blurb on the back. “A girl sort of accidentally starts working for this catering company one summer while she’s dealing with the loss of her dad.” The stout man brushes over his mustache with his thumb and index finger. “I never knew you were American!” “Oh, yeah,” you laugh softly through a shrug. Harry looks down to the floor and you catch the last second of his smile. “I am.” “What brings you to London then?” asks the older man. “I’m a student at UCL.” “Impressive. What do you study?” “I’m a third year in Law... um, I have a minor in Art History, though.” You peer over at Harry through the reflection of the doors, but he simply pushes his glasses up his nose. You’re startled by the lift’s ding at the ground floor. “Cheers.” The old man nods at you before exiting. “Cheers,” Harry adds like a reflex, stealing a side glance at you before brushing past into the lobby. You could have sworn you’d seen the dimple forming on his cheek to mask a smile. • thursday, 27th september 8:51 pm • You knead the back of your neck with your fingertips and frown toward the ground as you wait for the lift. You don’t usually get home this late but your research advisor needed you to come in a little earlier to your shift this afternoon, and you hadn’t been able to get in a workout until an hour ago. What’s more, readjusting to London’s time zone after spending the month of August back home is taking a toll on your sleep. You sigh and try to relax your shoulders. The first term in your final year at university seems determined to bury you early. You press the auto-lock button on the set of car keys India had loaned you, then once more for good measure. You managed to finagle a guest spot in the garage beneath the building, though it’s your first time using it. It’s eerie and poorly lit down here; you tread lightly into the lift. You’d seen him again today—the blue-eyed man—and by this point it had just been… too often. You had convinced India to let you borrow her car to pick up some archives for your advisor in Ilford forty-five minutes out of your way. It was the first time you’d been to that part of London, and you were still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, so you were already on edge. You remember crossing the street over to a small brook beside the road and when you glanced over your shoulder, he was there in your wake, watching you. It was the middle of the day but you were alone, so you faked a phone call and took an indirect route to the Ilford Historical Society. It was enough to solidify your suspicions that something more serious is happening. On the drive home, you had mentally worked out a time in your schedule to visit the police department and file a report. The lift stops in the lobby on your way up, and your worries from the day promptly evaporate. You smile at your feet as Harry creeps inside the tiny corridor with a very measured, and even gate. Sylvia is passed out, her arms draped loosely around his neck. He’s in a charcoal grey tuxedo tonight and his usual glasses are switched out for contacts. You reach out to press the sixth-floor button, and Harry thanks you with the beginning of a smile. The two of you are stood at the back of the lift together, shoulder to shoulder facing the mirror, so it’s easy to indulge in your gaze toward the small child in his arms. You don’t try to hide the fact that you’re staring the way you might have a few months ago. Even in sleep, Sylvia’s tiny hand clings to the fabric of Harry’s collar. She nuzzles into his neck when the lift jolts upward. Her cheeks are rosy, and she wears a pyjama set covered in primary-colored dinosaurs. Her dark bob of curls—which have grown longer since you’d seen them last—are spread out across his shoulder, and her bloated toddler belly rises and falls against his chest. You smile absently at the short trail of memories you have of Sylvia, but your reverie is interrupted when you notice that Harry is looking directly into your eyes. It makes you do a double take. Could you have imagined it? Is that a blush? Had you embarrassed him? You’re still staring at each other in the reflection when the lift reaches the sixth floor. Your eyes dart to the floor, and you only allow yourself to look up once Harry is stepping out into the hall, well in front of you. He pauses in the doorway to turn around. “Goodnight,” he whispers. “Night.” You hesitate before adding, “Goodnight, Sylvia.” Harry’s smile only grows wider, as though the two of you had shared some fond inside joke. Something catches your eye when you arrive at your floor. You crouch down and pick up a plush kangaroo toy in the corner, flipping it over in your hands. It’s ratty, and has been washed so many times that the pink cotton on its ears is beading. One of the miniature black buttons for its eyes dangles loose, and the synthetic fur is matted. What was once chestnut has faded into a dull, tawny copper. “S.S.,” you read curiously. The initials are stitched in red to the bottom of the kangaroo’s long feet. The sound of the doors closing catches you off guard. You jump to your feet, tucking the small stuffed animal into your purse as you hurry down the hall and fish around in your bag for your keys. • saturday, 6th october 2:31 pm • You step into the lift, fasten in your earbuds, and tap the button on the keypad for the eighth floor. Today marks your third trip to the Ilford Historical Society this week. Soon you’re going to need to ask your advisor for reimbursement to fill India’s tank, but on the bright side you hadn’t seen the man with blue eyes since the first time you’d made the trip…You just hope that this means he’s retreating and not that he’s getting stealthier. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and increase the volume of your classical playlist by a few notches. A flash of purple, white, and green bolts into the lift as the doors part at the lobby. Sylvia is in a Buzz Lightyear costume today. Harry’s tattooed arm swings through the half-open doors immediately behind her, going for the jet pack wings, but she squeals and escapes his hold. You watch the scene play out like a Tom and Jerry skit with La Traviata in the background as Sylvia darts around the corners of the lift and her father fails to corral her. Harry lunges for her, misses, lunges, misses again, then catches her by the elbow as she screams in laughter, squirming out of his grip. You silently pause your music and press the button for the sixth floor as Harry spreads his feet apart, catching Sylvia in his arms like a goalie as she tries to bowl through the closing doors. It’s fortunate that nobody else is trying to get in. She kicks her legs before adopting that pose children do when they don’t want to be held, and makes a rigid plank with her body. Hair disheveled and glasses sliding down his nose, Harry lurches for the keypad with his daughter wedged under his arm a few seconds after the doors close. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks once he sees the button for his floor is already illuminated. “Thanks.” You flash a quick smile. Harry sets Sylvia down breathlessly and she finds a hiding place behind him, her little arms wrapped around one of his knees. He leans against the back wall of the lift, the smallest backpack you’ve ever seen swinging from one hand with the initials, S.S. reappearing stitched onto one of the straps. You swallow and tug your earbuds out by their chord before slowly crouching down to eye-level with Sylvia. For a moment you look up at Harry because you feel the instinct to ask for permission for some reason, certain your expression is more serious than necessary. He’s frowning but he’s also smiling at you as though to gauge your next move—so are you, to some degree. You shift your eyes back to Sylvia, and reach cautiously into your purse. Sylvia’s eyes widen at the sight of the small kangaroo you retrieve from your bag, her mouth gaping in a tiny, square-toothed grin. It might just as well be Harry beaming at you himself with such a striking resemblance. Both of the kangaroo’s black button eyes are fastened tightly in place now. You make your voice light and ask, “Is this yours?” The sound of a zipper comes from above your head; you glance up to catch Harry pulling another kangaroo out of the backpack. How many kangaroos does she have? He passes the stuffed animal to Sylvia and you see now that it’s quite a bit larger than the one you’d found last week. It’s also different from yours because it has a long white stripe along its front with a wide, empty pouch halfway down its belly. Oh… perhaps it’s just the two. She cautiously approaches you with the larger toy in tow, until you’re close enough to snuggle the joey back into its mother’s pouch. She stumbles backward into Harry’s legs. You sigh in relief before rising to your feet. “Sylvia, can you say thank you?” Harry folds his arms behind his back and leans over to whisper against the top of his daughter’s head, but loud enough for you to hear. Her curls bounce as she bobbles her head in a bashful nod, wrapping an arm around dad’s leg again. “Thank you.” This child, you have to admit, is devastatingly cute. “We tore the flat apart looking for him this weekend,” Harry intones, shaking his head. “Where did you find him?” “In here,” you reply. He makes a noise, like the possibility had only just occurred to him. “Thank you.” “It was the least I could do.” You lean back against the wall opposite them as the lift reaches the sixth floor with a ding and you wave to the two of them on their way out. “Cheers.” Harry nods to you. “Say goodbye, Sylvia.” She gives you a small wave. Harry gently nudges her forward into the hallway with his foot. There is an interim of about ten seconds of quiet before Sylvia is hurtling back into the lift, making a beeline to you, and wrapping her arms around your legs. She beams up at you for the second time with a smile cut-and-pasted from her father. Bubbling laughter overcomes her, and you uncross your legs, unable to help yourself from joining in her smile. “Hello again!” you say, before it occurs to you that you probably shouldn’t be encouraging this behavior. “Vi,” Harry calls from outside the lift. She just giggles and buries her face into your knee. He appears in the quickly closing doorway, one hand keeping it open as he narrows his eyes. There’s something playful in it though, a practiced pretend serious. Your gazes catch and Harry winks, putting a finger to his lips. “Uh oh,” he says, “I think I hear a tickle monster!” Sylvia shrieks, but she’s not faster than her father, who’s crouched low to catch her by the sides, merciless fingers at work until the child instinctively releases you. She laughs and laughs and laughs as he scoops her up into his arms. “So sorry.” Harry’s apology is much less flustered than you would have expected. Sylvia wiggles in his grip, cracking up, euphorically naughty. You simply let out a breathy laugh as they finally both make it out of the lift together. Down the hall, you hear Sylvia’s giggle melt into a screech against gravity; you lean over to catch a glimpse of Harry flipping her upside down on his chest with her belly out, legs flailing back and forward over his shoulder. “Oh, you’re bad. You’re bad.” He does not show his daughter the mercy of waiting until they’re in the privacy of their apartment before the second round of tickling begins. “You’re gonna get Daddy in trouble.” • monday, 8th october 8:23 am • Riding in the lift alone is nice because you don’t have a full-length mirror in your apartment. You brush the cat hair off of the front of your sweater and fix one of the sleeves that had bunched up beneath all your layers. The yarn is a warm, autumnal bay that compliments your thick scarf and the gold buttons of your roomy black overcoat. You hear a ding and your eyes flash up to the floor indicator above the entrance. You almost lose your balance jumping back from your reflection when you see the illuminated number six. The doors separate and Harry steps in beside you, closer than usual. Today he’s in a forest green, double-breasted jumpsuit with faint pinstripes, and you can’t help but find it fitting that he works in an art museum. “Morning,” he murmurs. “Good morning.” You feel something tense pinned to the air between you two. “Did you fix Jojo’s eyes?” Harry asks after a beat, almost accusatory. Your eyes narrow at his reflection in the doors. It takes you a minute to summon to mind what he’s referring to. “Jojo?” He flushes a little, just enough to warm the tips of his ears. “The um—” Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “He’s… the baby kangaroo.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was embarrassed. But as you’ve come to learn, Harry just loves his daughter immensely. “It was nothing,” you reply evenly. Harry lets out a light, almost defensive scoff. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” “I know.” Part of you wonders if he’s the type to make a fuss over what you’d consider an innocuous gesture. You could see how an unsolicited favor from a stranger might come off as undermining to a young, single parent, come to think of it. The thought that you’d been the cause of Harry’s ire—or even his mild annoyance—makes your chest feel tight. The lift stops on the second floor. A group of three enters in staccato laughter, pulling your attention forward. Harry’s eyes meet yours in the reflection of the doors—just two seconds that maybe you could pretend were an accident—before you both glance away as though you’d been caught. The group leaves ahead of you into the lobby. “I just wanted to do a nice thing, you know. For her.” You’d been staring resolutely ahead in your admission, but dare yourself to glance sideways and look directly at Harry. “And for you, honestly.” You brush past Harry into the lobby without waiting for his usual beckoning you to go ahead, but sense him turn toward you at the last second. You do not look back. • wednesday, 7th november 8:23 am • “Ouch, shit―” You jerk your hand from your pocket, staring in disbelief at the tiny pinprick of blood welled on the tip of your pinky. Returning your hand carefully into your coat, you pull out the red paper flower just as the lift doors ding on the sixth floor and Harry walks in. Sucking on your finger is helping your wound, but consequently draws his smiling, vaguely concerned eyes. “Alright?” he asks. You nod with a little hapless shrug, holding up the offending fake petals with a black button center and protruding silver pin out the back. “Forgot I had this.” It’s only a slightly embarrassing admission. Commonwealth countries mark the day of the Armistice, November eleventh, in a particular, unfamiliar way; India had explained the Poppy Appeal briefly to you last week when the pins had begun to appear all over the city, and you finally had a spare pound coin for the volunteer offering you one yesterday after class. You have a scant three seconds to look at the poppy pinned smartly to the left lapel of Harry’s trench coat before he turns to face forward, but in looking down at the one in your hand, you realize you have no idea how he’s done it. Surely it can’t be that difficult? You frown down at your own jacket. A tentative stab of the pin into the fabric is met with an audible chuckle from the other side of the lift. You flush; Harry’s smiling gently with one corner of his mouth. You try a second time, going at it from a different angle. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?” You haven’t had enough coffee yet to justify how warm you’re getting. You shake your head, accepting defeat. “Best let me help you before you hurt yourself again.” Despite his offer, he makes no move to take the poppy until you sheepishly hold it out to him. Neither the mustached, emerald briefcase man nor the headset lady have appeared today, but the space of the lift seems remarkably smaller when Harry gently takes the flower and shuffles forward to get a grip on your coat. An impressive array of rings on each of his hands catches the light. You have no idea what to do besides stand ramrod straight. “Trick is to put the pin through twice so you’re not poking yourself on it all the time,” he explains, his eyebrows pulling together in focus. You watch his chest move as he breathes; the scent of Harry’s cologne wraps around you like an invisible shroud. It occurs to you that this is the longest interaction you’ve had since he noticed your careful restoration of Sylvia’s tiny treasured kangaroo. You wonder how long she’s had the pair of them. You also wonder if Jojo’s eye had been falling loose for a reason―if perhaps Sylvia preferred him a little rough around the edges, and it leads you again down a strange rabbit hole of is Harry upset that you did that? “I hope it’s okay that I fixed Jojo’s eye,” you venture. Harry pauses a moment, then laughs once, which draws you inadvertently closer together. “You’re funny. Which you shouldn’t be when I’m holding something sharp.” You almost stop breathing altogether. “Course it’s okay,” Harry continues without looking up. His nose is now scrunched as he pinches the tough wool. “She loves that thing, and I’m shit with sewing.” His eyes finally flick up to yours, a self-deprecating tilt to his mouth, and you smile tentatively. “Glad I could help.” With that, you’re quiet until he’s done and his concentrated frown relaxes into satisfaction. You watch Harry consider his handiwork, tracing the side of a petal with one of his fingers. “That should do it,” he says, stepping back. Your eyes meet again. You’ve reached the ground floor, but the doors simply sit open. “Looks nice.” He’s talking about the poppy. Your cheeks warm anyway. “Thank you.” Harry smiles slowly, as though he’s trying to pace the expression. “That’s alright.” He turns and ushers you out of the lift. “Have a good day.” “Same to you.” The edges of your poppy flutter as you turn the corner out of the lobby. Don’t turn around. Don’t ruin the moment. Who are you kidding? A quick glance over your shoulder reveals Harry loitering outside the lift, watching you. He starts a little, lifting a hand like he’s going to wave and dragging it over his hair instead. Harry turns abruptly. You almost feel bad for catching him out. You’re too busy walking faster and failing to smother a stupid grin all the way to campus. • thursday, 20th december. 4:11 pm • You’re thankful that everyone else in the parking garage has ruddy cheeks and runny noses from the storm—nobody would be able to tell by looking at you that you’d been crying all afternoon. Just when you thought you’d never see those blue eyes ever again, you’d felt a hand brush against yours on the crowded tube just hours ago. You turned to see whose pinky was resting atop your knuckles as he clutched onto the pole directly above your hand. The fear was immediate and visceral; every follicle of hair above your shoulders prickled, your lips went cold, and you couldn’t get yourself to start breathing again before stumbling back into the chest of some other unsuspecting passenger. How long had he been standing there? You bolted out of the doors the first chance you got, a good seven stops from home. You didn’t think you were followed but of course you couldn’t be sure, so you ducked into a coffee shop instead of jumping straight onto the next train. You used up all your data to call your parents, hardly able to hold your cell phone steady with the sheen of sweat on your palms. The police had no record of such a man you described. He was middle-aged, taller than you could have imagined so close up, and had a deformity or some sort of scarring on his upper lip. You would have recognized him if you stumbled across his photograph, but you’d gone through every headshot on the books within a ten-kilometer radius of London at the police station. You’d lost sleep combing through the online database of sex offenders in your area without any luck. And since you didn’t have a name or a concrete instance of harassment, they could only add the encounter to the file you’d started in October. Once you’d managed to get a hold of India, she immediately came to rescue you from the coffee shop and dropped you off at home. You insisted she pull into the gated underground garage rather than letting you off by the front doors. With a hand on your shoulder, she offered to stay the night. You had declined. There were some days when you swore you were going crazy, but all it took was one last look into his eyes on the tube today for you to know in your gut that he was real, he was watching you, and you were right to be afraid. You hadn’t heard the ding of the lift but you notice when the people around you begin to huddle on. It’s a tight squeeze inside. You sigh when you see that nearly every floor up to ten is illuminated on the keypad. You sneak into a corner by the doors and try to distract yourself by focusing on the overwhelming smell of rain carried into the lift on everyone’s rubber boots. A faint buzzing noise thrums overhead, and the light seems dimmer than usual—one of the bulbs in here must need replacing. The lift comes to a stop at the lobby. Your eyes are on the carpet, but you recognize a familiar pair of black leather boots ambling through the doors. You look up to catch Harry shaking the rain out of his curls with one hand. He licks his lips and scans the lift briefly, only moving from the entrance once he sees you by the keypad. His eyes change, the corner of his lips quirking up. Harry parts a few people to stand in front of you, chest to chest, carrying a box of Legos almost as tall as you, covered in fire trucks and construction vehicles. They’re the bigger, softer type of plastic blocks that come in lighter shades made for toddlers. You didn’t even know they made sets with so many pieces. It doesn’t seem necessary. The thing could be a column. Harry rests the box on the floor against his hip and even more people pack inside behind him, so many that you have to give up your corner spot which was already tight, and sandwich yourself in between Harry and the wall. And why is the person standing directly behind Harry trying to leave a voicemail? The two of you share a small laugh, looking down at your feet and shifting to get comfortable as the lift vibrates into motion against your back. Ding. Level two. Someone to the rear of the lift needs to get to the entrance. In order to let them through, Harry actually has to press up against you and prop his hand on the wall behind your head to avoid crushing you completely. “Sorry,” he says, strained. “It’s fine.” Ding. Level three. The last thing you need is for your heart to race like this after the mess of a day you’ve endured. To make matters worse (or better), Harry is close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off his body. You’re struck by the most staggering urge to just… lean forward a few inches. It would be so nice to bury your face in his sweatshirt, to be engulfed in the embrace of his arms, and to let yourself cry about your afternoon until you feel empty and full at the same time. Ding. Level four. You choose a button on his open black overcoat to stare at, flustered and humiliated by your own sensitivity. If it were any other afternoon you’d be having a field day with this but you’re too much of a coward to look anywhere near his face in your state. A single drop of rain falls from the end of Harry’s chin and lands on your collar. Ding. Level five. Your eyes are dry and puffy, your breathing is still ragged, and you seriously consider holding your breath altogether until you reach the sixth floor. You’d known since the coffee shop that you were going to cry the moment you stepped foot into your apartment tonight, but you hadn’t considered the possibility that it might happen sooner than that. You shake your head. Ridiculous. You look up idly to find that Harry is watching you. His expression seems serious now, oddly focused. You tilt your chin up incrementally. Harry licks his lips. Is anyone looking? How is nobody looking? You take a small breath and Harry’s gaze flashes again to your lips. Your palm brushes the back of his hand, hidden by the toy box, and he tilts his wrist toward you, spreading his fingers just enough to fit the tips of yours between his knuckles. His hand is cool from the rain and yours is warm from the car. How is someone still leaving the same voicemail? There’s space enough now in the lift for him to give you a few inches of distance so why is Harry drawing closer to you? Why is he leaning in? Ding. “It’s you,” you blurt, and swallow before adding more quietly, “This is your floor.” A few people stuff their cellphones back into their pockets, making their way into the hall. Harry clears his throat and leans over to lift the toy box. Your hands fall apart but he reaches out to gently brush the side of your arm in goodbye—unable, it seems, to meet your eyes. You watch him as he turns on his heel to shuffle out behind someone else, carding a hand through his hair. You close your eyes and exhale without a sound. You only open them in time to catch him glancing over his shoulder at you before rounding the corner. Neither of you had smiled. When the lift reaches the eighth floor, you almost forget to step off. You lean on the back of your door and sigh once you’re in your apartment, dropping your keys to the hardwood with a clatter. Alone in the dark, after one of the single most distressing days of your life, you press two clammy palms to your face and laugh—giddy—like a fool. • tuesday, 1st january 2:33 am • You swing your leg inelegantly out of the cab. Your foot slips on the road’s thin polish of ice. The ankle strap of your stiletto comes undone at the clasp as you only just remember that you began taking them off in the back seat. You laugh at yourself, nearly dropping your half-empty bottle of Prosecco, hobbling to the sidewalk through the rain with one shoe in hand. “Thanks—thank you, goodnight!” You wave your shoe in the air as the cab speeds away after having left a fifty-percent tip—it’s half past two on New Year’s Eve for Christ sake—and turn toward your building. Have the doors to the lobby always been this heavy? Perhaps it isn’t the best idea to try and hop back into your shoe while shouldering through the doorway, because you bang your head against one of the large, protruding handles with a metallic thud. “Fuck.” It hurts a little but the jello shots and bottle of Sangiovese you’d guzzled with India earlier are helping. You squint up because the lobby is spinning, and spy the outline of a man facing away from you with his hands in his pockets. He looks over his shoulder as he waits for the lift, lackadaisical. It’s a familiar profile. The half of his face visible to you is in shadow apart from the crescent moon-shaped hollow of his dimple sinking in as he smiles. “Hi,” Harry drawls with a chuckle. You step into your shoe without bothering to fix the ankle strap and wobble over to the lift. All night you had glided so effortlessly in your four additional inches. Now, you feel as though you’re walking a tightrope in flippers. “Hello.” You enunciate too much in your efforts to sound sober. You and Harry look at each other and smile until you laugh, at absolutely nothing at all. There’s no sign of his specs tonight; his hair is sopping, and the shoulders of his burgundy suit are damp. Harry gives you a once over. “You alright?” He’s slurring a little. You bob your head in a nod. “M’good.” The lift dings and you both lurch forward to step between the doors before Harry stumbles backward and gestures for you to go first. You almost fall forward again in your shoes and have to grip the wall on the way in to steady yourself. These need to come off. Harry moves to his usual corner, leaning against the back wall with a hand on either railing and you do the same in the next corner over. You shimmy off your heels to hold them in one hand while balancing your half empty bottle of Prosecco against your hip with the other. The carpet is coarse beneath your bare feet. You take a gulp of wine and the curled silver ribbon around its neck tickles your chin. You and Harry glance sideways at each other at the exact same moment, both of your heads leaning against the back wall of the lift. You have to lean forward and cover your mouth with the hand holding your shoes so you don’t spit out your drink in laughter. It’s not even funny, really. How many times had you both accidentally caught the other staring over the past year in this very room Harry’s chuckle builds into a laugh and the echo of it reminds you of Sylvia the day she’d clung to your legs. You’ve noticed that Harry’s eyes crinkle like hers, too, if he finds something especially funny. The laughter melts and you stretch the arm holding the bottle out to Harry. He looks down at it, then back up at you before taking it gently from your grasp and helping himself to a swig. “You know wha’s not fair? I’ve—” he hiccups. “I’ve got to wear a badge t’work. With my name on it. And I see you everyday—” “Almost,” you correct automatically. “Almost everyday… so you probably know my name.” Harry’s eyes narrow. “Do you know my name?” You nod, a bit delayed. He passes the bottle back to you and you admire the intricate embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeves. “I’ve got a pretty good guess.” “What’s your name?” Harry asks after a beat, rolling his back off the wall to lean on his shoulder and face you. “Charles doesn’t know either.” You tilt your head, frowning a little. “Who’s that?” Harry rests his pointer finger on top of his upper lip. You grin slowly before answering his question. Harry echoes you with an equally slow smile, his voice italicizing the sound of your name. It sounds like he’s saying someone else’s name—a person you’ve never even met. He says it again, like he needs to introduce himself to each letter. Your heart is about the only part of your body able to move quickly. Harry smiles widely. It’s as though every other one he’s given you before had just been practicing for this moment. “Nice to meet you.” You wedge your shoes and Prosecco beneath one arm, taking a step forward with your free hand outstretched. Harry shuffles to meet you halfway in a handshake and the height difference between you feels staggering barefoot. You remember the feeling of his hand in yours when it was hidden by the Lego box. It would be so easy to just shift a little and clasp them together the way you had before. You can smell the memory of whiskey on his breath and see the flush of his cheeks close up. “You look like a disco ball.” You laugh and he releases you, like the sound had awoken his sense of propriety. His eyes take you in again, almost reflecting the shimmer of sequins scattered across the fabric of your dress before he looks back up at you. “Yeah,” you agree, tugging the hem an inch down your bare legs. “My best friend dragged me to some formal thing the other American students were trying to throw together. Really random.” Harry nods so you go on after a pause. “You’re handcuffed to someone and have to finish a bottle of wine, but India and I didn’t coordinate beforehand so we both brought one.” “Seems like fun.” “It certainly was.” You raise the Prosecco and it sloshes up against the neck of the bottle in tiny waves. “And you,” you raise your eyebrows, “look like a Turkish rug.” Harry grins, inclining his head as if that were the highest compliment. “Where’s Sylvia tonight?” His face is full of mock surprise. Harry pats the breast pocket of his jacket before running his hands over the front and back of his trousers. He looks over his shoulders, comically frantic, scanning each corner of the lift until you begin to laugh. Harry smiles wider, a little too pleased with himself. “She’s with her mum and her mum’s fiancé this week—so I guess her, um… soon-to-be other mum… They were having a little gathering at their new place tonight and we did the countdown a few hours early for her.” “How sweet.” Without a second thought, you inch closer and begin reaching for a stray piece of confetti in his hair. You can tell you’re drunk because you indulge a little in combing your fingertips through one of Harry’s curls, though it’s probably subtle enough for him not to notice. He goes very still. “Did—did you press the thing?” Harry stammers, his attention jerking to the keypad. “I didn’ press the thing.” “Oops,” you laugh, and catch a glimpse of yourself in the reflection of the doors as you turn to watch Harry hit the sixth and eighth floor buttons. Though the rain has offset India’s efforts to tame your hair, what surprises you more is the bright-eyed expression on your face. It’s out of character for you to feel this exhilarated over a simple drunken conversation. But something delightedly nervous hums beneath your skin all the same. “Why are you so wet?” you ask as Harry returns from the keypad. A tad closer, you note, than where he’d been standing before. You lean on your shoulder to face him and he slouches a little to meet your height. “Walked home,” Harry replies. Your jaw drops. “In the pouring rain?” “S’like ten minutes—really not bad.” Harry shrugs. “I didn’t mean to get so pissed tonight. My New Year’s resolution was to go a little easy on the booze.” He shakes his head in a chuckle. “I can’t really handle what I used to since the little one came along. M’not much of a drinker anymore.” The lift jumps as you reach the sixth floor and your arm flies out to balance yourself in the same moment that Harry offers both hands to catch you. You clutch his forearm and then immediately let go. “Sorry,” you murmur, taking one last look at him. “Well, goodnight Harry. Happy New Year’s.” The look he is giving you is peculiar—on the verge of resignation, but not quite letting go of all hope. As though the last sober part of him is leaning forward on its elbows, asking if you agree without telling you first what it wants. Harry cranes his neck around to look down the stretch of hallway, his head falling back against the wall with a gentle thump. “You know, New Year’s isn’t really over until you finish all the champagne,” he declares, and you laugh a little in surprise. “Prosecco.” He waves away the correction. “Fine, all the Prosecco.” “New Year’s isn’t over until you get every last piece of confetti out of your hair,” you challenge. Harry raises his eyebrows, looking back to you. If he doesn’t get off soon, the doors are going to close. “New Year’s isn’t over until your shoes come off in the lift,” he shoots back. You burst out in a laugh. “New Year’s isn’t over until you’ve broken your resolution two hours into January.” Harry rolls his eyes. He smirks a little and it’s annoyingly charming in the dim, golden glow of the lift’s broken light. He’s stalling. All at once, you’re acutely aware of the lingering smell of rain and the faint hum of the light fixture overhead. You swear you can hear the echo of that never-ending voicemail from the day you’d slotted your fingers into his like it was a secret, just an arm’s length away from where the two of you stand now. He had tried to kiss you once before and you had stopped him. But now, in this moment, with your heart in your throat, you desperately want him to try again. Harry starts to speak and you don’t wait for him to finish. “Well, New Year’s isn’t over—” “—until you kiss someone at midnight.” You’re hyper aware of your own breathing in the daunting silence that follows. The lift doors seal closed. Harry is close enough for you to see the flecks of hazel in his eyes like sea glass. He floats his hand up as though he’s going to cup your jaw, but traces the tip of his middle finger in a line up your cheek to push back your hair so lightly it tickles. His jaw flexes and just when you swear he isn’t going to, Harry leans in. It’s gradual, as though he’s waiting for you to change your mind, but your heads are tilting and then the tips of your noses brush. If you turn, even minutely, the corner of your mouth will meet his. You can feel your pulse thumping in the side of your neck. It dawns on you that you’re both simply waiting to see who is going to do it. “It’s not midnight,” Harry breathes. “Don’t tell me you’re a stickler for the rules.” The warmth and dew of his laugh grazes your cheek. With that, Harry brushes his mouth against yours. It feels painstakingly tender, like he’s never kissed anybody before. You’re so spellbound that you’re hardly even sure how to reciprocate something so soft. Harry’s bottom lip hovers over the very tip of your cupid’s bow just before he pulls away. Was that even a kiss? The very edges of your mouths had met, but only just. You still feel the tingle of where his lips had been moments ago. You open your eyes and Harry is a few inches away now, looking down at you. His hand is still ghosting the side of your face, like he’s afraid he might break you. When had your own hand slid flat against his chest beneath the lapel of his suit? “Is this a good idea?” you whisper, sliding your hand out to trace one of the round, fabric buttons with your fingertip. He swallows roughly. “Maybe not.” “Okay.” “Okay,” he yields. But neither of you move away. “Maybe this should just stay between us,” you suggest after a beat, heart sinking in your chest. “Well then if it’s just staying between us…” Before you have the chance to inhale, Harry presses his mouth against yours, harder, like he means it this time. His lips are warm and soft as they move with yours. You’re on your toes as one of his hands slides to the back of your neck, the other snaking around your waist to pull you into him. It still isn’t close enough. It’s surreal to be kissing him after a year. How much time had lapsed in total since you’d seen him that first day you moved in? How many mornings had been spent beside each other in silence? You’d spoken through side glances and subdued smiles from opposite corners of a crowded lift more than you ever truly had with words. But this… this feels like threads made up of every intimacy you’ve ever shared in this tiny room pulling you together at last. You pull apart just before the lift dings on the eighth floor. You’re both somewhat winded as you rest your foreheads together, and you release two unintended fistfuls of his jacket. Harry slides his hands down your bare arms to cup your elbows, his thumbs stroking circles in the soft crook of your forearm. “Have some water before you go to sleep.” “I will,” you chuckle. You’re unsure why either of you are speaking so softly, there’s no need. “Goodnight, Harry.” “Goodnight.” He says your name like a promise—like he’s determined to make up for all the days he didn’t get the chance to use it. You didn’t know it could sound like that. “Happy New Year’s.” You smile over your shoulder before padding barefoot into the hall as he reaches out to push the sixth-floor button for the second time. The last thing you’re able to see through the closing doors of the lift is Harry rubbing a thoughtful hand over his stubble, smiling down at his feet. (part two)

[savrenim]

What does a “mathematical brain” mean ? My math teacher told me he didn’t know why I couldn’t get good grades in math because I have the mind for it so I’m very confused by what having a mathematical mind is supposed to be.

I really don't think there is such a thing as a mathematical brain? Especially because math is a huge subject, and different parts of it require very differently skills and instincts. Writing off an entire subject as "your brain is just good or bad at it/ you're just pre-disposed to be good or bad at it" is bullshit, especially in math, where any given problem will have multiple solutions and especially when you're first learning standard maths taught through the calculus sequence and not where it all came from and how it all connects with each other the best way to go about remembering how to do everything in my opinion is find the one way that really makes sense to you, and then stick to it.

I will say that "I am bad at languages" / "My brain is just bad at languages." The actual truth of the matter is, I'm... not bad, like, I certainly don't have any sort of auditory processing disorder, but at the very least sub-optimal at purely auditory processing. I am very bad at remembering people's names or hearing them right in the first place unless I see them written down in front of me, rip my DM for having to send me character lists every new arc of gay murder elf bachelorette or I just will call everyone the wrong name, I cannot do 'listening to podcasts' really well, I don't bother with audiobooks, etc. Very specifically, if something is purely auditory with no visual component attached, it seems like my brain just doesn't interpret it or remember it correctly. And again, this definitely isn't a disorder or anything! I mildly prefer subtitles, but I watch movies without subtitles just fine all the time. I can listen to podcasts so long as I have an appropriate activity like driving or cooking or laundry that I'm doing at the same time occupying just enough brainpower. I have zero problems with my hearing, zero problems with speaking to people in English, zero problems in general with learning/ learning disability. But oh boy, trying to learn a different spoken language. I did just fine, in fact straight As because tests were written, in six years of Spanish and three years of French, but I cannot for the life of me understand a single word in one of those languages. Despite the fact that I can still somewhat read French. The spoken bit never clicked. Teachers asked me why I did not join the honors sequence or even the AP sequence for the languages I was in because I was so good at it and I externally went "my courseload is busy enough" and internally went "you mofos those classes would actually grade me on the oral bits, I can do this now bc I'm good at charts and grammar and written things and memorization, but that will not make me good at speaking the language."

I am fairly certain if I devoted years to it and tried really hard, I could learn to speak a different language. I deeply admire people who do learn other languages. But it's Hard for me and I've decided to use my time for Other Things, and that's okay.

The thing with math is that it's similar. If you're dealing with anything up to and through a college calculus sequence, there are specific skills you'll be using and depending on how those skills are taught, they may or may not align with your natural instincts. For me, math is pretty much visualization. A lot of working with functions and manipulating values and what-not is at least for me something that I did with internal sketches of what was happening the whole time. For example, why is the solution to |x-a|<b a single interval but |x-a|>b two intervals? Well, the picture in your head of a number line, and think of point "a" and distance "b" then you're either highlighting "distance b close to a" or "distance b away from a". Or what is the domain and range of f(x)=8/(x^2-16). Well, the picture of x^2-16 is a parabola but most importantly it has zeroes at 4 and -4 and a minimum of -16, so once that sketch is in your head you kind of. Instinctively reconstruct the reverse sketch of 8/(x^2-16) by thinking of where it's positive, where it's negative, where it goes to 0, to infinity, or hits a local maximum/minimum.

For higher maths, the only thing that I can really think of in terms of having a "mathematical brain" is training oneself in formal logic for proofs. But again, that involves way more learning of tools (proof by contradiction, proof by induction, proof by construction) and figuring out on your own how to make them work for you than any one given particular type of skill. A lot of actual math research though is fucking around playing around with things until you see what stuff actually sticks. Whole bunch of trial and error trying to get things to work, and them either working or not.

I think the public perception of what makes a "good mathematical brain" is probably something along the lines of: (1) an exact/precise person, whatever that is supposed to mean, (2) someone good at memorization, and (3) someone who seems logical/organized? But that is kind of delving into stereotypes and way less what actually makes people good at math. But also I'm pretty sure pretty much every person has their own internal stereotypes, and a teacher will probably have their own specific stereotypes after teaching a class for years about which general types of students are usually good or bad.

But mostly, flat-out? Any teacher who tells you something like that is a shitty teacher, and fuck them.

[areyougonnabe]

Fic Writer Questions!

tagged by @palamedessextus !!! thank u i love to procrastinate on writing by writing about writing

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

110 on my main account (+ 4 on my sneaky sock for Crimes™ lol)

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

614,551 on my main account which is. hm. a lot

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

obvi the main ones are the terror (50 fics) and good omens (35 fics). beyond that: TMA, the OA, doctor who, LOST, red dwarf, what we do in the shadows, the aubreyad, legends of tomorrow, banished, MCU, bbc ghosts, jeeves & wooster, russian doll, true detective, twin peaks, fleabag, & it's always sunny.

so technically 19, but wow a LOT of those are because i am a fiend for crossovers. (true detective x red dwarf... twin peaks x hannibal... the OA x lost.... russian doll x doctor who...) and many of the others were one-offs for yuletide. i'm pretty monofannish when it comes to writing!

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

lol they're all going to be for good omens... let's see

1. "it's a new craze" - the podcast fic. imho this fic is the definition of "The Claw," a.k.a. the phenomenon that sees some fics plucked out from the fray to become super popular. i'm not denying that it's good! i still think it's pretty clever! but its popularity was probably as much a function of timing as of quality

2. "what a way to make a living" - the uber driver fic. honestly still pretty proud of this one, it flows well and is structurally interesting and genuinely very funny and the perfect length. i had a blast in good omens fandom writing comedic fic, this one

3. "dearly departed" - another one i'm still very happy with. my first ever finished multi-chapter fic & the story that proved to me i could sustain a plot and original characters and also that people would actually enjoy it. so a pretty big deal!

4. "blame it on my juice, baby!" - the fake love potion one. i wrote this fic while delirious with horrible fever cooped up in a tiny council flat airbnb bedroom in london. i think it's still pretty strong although since writing it i've developed a severe aversion to the "meddling friend engineers a get-together" trope in fic & so cringe a bit when i read it back, lmao

5. "greatest hits" - the one with the original songs! the songs are still good.... the fic is ehhhhhhh i guess.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

i don't respond to comments on most of my gomens fic anymore because 🤷‍♀️ but i do try to reply to everything i get on my terror fic/smaller fandom stories! my replies are usually very lame but i do like to take the time to thank people for reading.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

i usually don't write angsty endings because i'm a weenie BUT the one exception is probably my terror/TMA crossover which cannot be said to end well by any means lol

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

dearly departed has a very lovely ending... i will also plug my OA fic heat rises which is GREAT and has a GREAT ending and nobody read it because nobody watched the OA. i'm fine it's fine

8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

as mentioned above, yes, compulsively... award for craziest simply has to go to It's Always Sunny In Another Dimension which is, yes, an IASIP x OA crossover. i apologize for nothing

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not that i can recall, [bubbe voice] tenks gad!!!

10) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

i do i do.... when i first picked up fic writing again after college i thought smut would forever totally beyond me but after some very kind encouragement from friends i tried my hand at it & was off to the races.

i would not say i am an expert at it by any means but i have a lot of fun with it, & people seem to generally appreciate it, so i will keep going!

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

also no, phew

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

yes, a bunch of my gomens fics have been translated into chinese and russian, which is so so super cool!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yuh, i had a few legendary cowrites in GO! the slow show metafic with cherry @fremulon and the shitscript crossover extravaganza with hallie @kalelraejepsen !!! both tremendously fun experiences

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

that is a very tough one. if you go by my ao3 bookmarks it's aziraphale/crowley, which might be true still tbh... but i dunno. maybe ten/rose because that shit never leaves you.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

in terms of fic i already started posting, there's my one terror WIP with amnesiac tozer that i swear i WILL finish one day... and same goes for my good omens music & lyrics AU, which i fully expect to pick back up and finish off when i inevitably return to the fandom for series 2.

as far as stuff that never made it out of drafts, i started a hodgson-centric fic a few weeks ago that i got like 4k into before realizing i need to seriously refine my approach. so hopefully after exe fest i will get around to that!

16) What are your writing strengths?

well i am funny. so i've got that going for me. other than that ummmm i don't know. i don't think of myself as a particularly good or strong writer bc i really am just here for a laff. i think i can turn a phrase well and get the most out of imagery; i'm good at coming up with compelling story concepts and weird gimmicks, i guess?

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

i fundamentally don't know or understand how People Actually Act And Feel so i have a hard time getting realistic or interesting reactions and conflicts out of characters. my plots (when my stories have them at all) are very powered by external events, i wouldn't call myself a character-driven writer by any means. for the same reasons i struggle with voice and dialogue beyond superficial signposting via vocabulary/syntax. also, sustaining a long story/finding enough Stuff To Happen to fill it up/having the patience to keep writing... is something i need to work on for sure.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

i'm a lame american who only speaks english so honestly i don't really have thoughts!

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

i distinctly remember hand-writing in my notebook two or three pages worth of a story about what happened to the main precog in "minority report" after watching the movie when i was like seven. the first fandom i actually wrote fic for and posted it online was probably doctor who circa 2010 ish? but my warrior cats RP career predates that by a few years and i did a LOT of writing there. oh warriorsforest39 dot proboards dot com you are missed....

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

SEX GHOST AU! SEX GHOST AU!

tagging folks :))) @laissezferre @titleleaf @theburialofstrawberries @girdedheraround @flanneryoconnorfanfiction @wreathedwith if u want!!

[askyourwritergrandma]

how to make coherent fulfilling ending when i’m only writing the thing to put the characters in funny little scenarios that are deeply satisfying to me and me only??

First off, anon, you are selling yourself entirely too short. You're hardly the only writer that is "just" writing to put the characters in funny little scenes that appeal to themselves. We all do it, literally every person that writes, and anyone who says that they do not do so and/or they have never done so is lying to themselves.

Writing is many things, and you should take pride in your creation regardless of its intent. So, keeping that in mind...

Onto the Advice!

I would be remiss if I didn't start out this section by saying that if this is truly a fiction created for yourself, you absolutely do not need to have a coherent, fulfilling ending. Some things exist in our imaginations and our fiction as slices of life that really have no ending because they don't exist as a larger whole. When I am indulging myself in this sort of scene, I simply stop writing when I get to the point where I no longer want to add anything else. Sometimes this skips any kind of conclusion entirely.

That is ok. It is absolute 100% perfectly fine.

But since you asked about how to craft an ending here we go:

Conclusions are your musical fade out of fiction. In order for them to be satisfying you have to ask yourself what conflicts existed in your story. What did your characters want to happen, what kept them from getting what they wanted, and how did they overcome that. Internal/external conflict/whatever, something slowed them down.

What emotions did they experience during this conflict?

Did they grow as a person during this conflict?

What is the physical location/elements of setting of your story/scene?

Remembering that your conflict should actually be resolved prior to the proper ending of the story, the "ending"/"conclusion" is just meant to be that little bit at the end that leaves the reader with an echo of what your Protagonist is feeling.

So, you've written a story where Franz and Franklin were trapped in the unrelenting hell of a funhouse mirror maze (accidentally, because they were making out when the carnival closed) for the past 10 hours and they've suffered through hours of agonizing self-reflection (ha! literally) and emerged with the realization that life is hard, that Franz is fulfilled in his life as a crossing guard for the local clown school and Franklin has always wanted to be a deep sea fisherman but despite these differences, they do very much love one another your most natural ending would be something like this:

"I don't even know what I don't know about becoming a fisherman." Franklin was exhausted, on the point of collapse, leaning against Franz and the damned mirror behind them. They were both looking down rather than forward, sparing themselves of the terrible caricature of their own faces warped out of shape. "There's always a way to find out," Franz promised. "We'll figure it out together." They might have fallen asleep like that, snuggled together in the warmth of their reaffirmed love, kept safe from the unrelenting vision of their own faces, if not for the distant sound of a door being kicked. The gruffness of a voice cursing through the splintering wood. If they'd listened closer they might have been able to make out, "what the hell happened to this door?" But they were not concerned with what was being said so much that anything was being said. Someone was speaking that meant someone was here and they were finally going to be released. Franz and Franklin moved with such speed that they were fighting against one another, pushing each other back into place in their attempt to get to their feet. They collapsed in a fit of hysterical laughter, barely able to hear the cracking sound of the door finally opening. Franz wrapped an arm around Franklin's shoulder and pulled him closer, kissed his forehead wet-and-messy, as the first breath of fresh air blew into the maze.

(Example is intentionally silly)

The conclusion does multiple things, it takes into account that they are escaping their physical location which was both part of the conflict and an important element of the setting of the larger story. It reminds the readers (and you) that despite all of the shouting and conflict and name calling of the greater story, these two people love one another and are together regardless of what they face by having them literally embracing in the end. The final emotion is one of amused relief and togetherness.

I've condensed everything I want you to take with you from my story into a bite-sized snickers and sent you on your way.

Now, not every story has a fulfilling, happy ending but even if you're aiming for a bittersweet, horrifying, depressing, terrifying, etc ending the process is the same. You ask yourself if my conflict was 'unaware ingenue gets locked in a cabin with three serial killers' how to bring that to a natural ending. In this case, you can either kill the girl and have your killers walk out scott-free, show your conclusion them getting coffee at the local convenience store, exchanging barbs with the cashier about local college football or you can have your ingenue kill the three and she emerges from the woods blood-splattered, exhausted and forever traumatized but still ends up at that convenience store only she just kind of stands there while people take in the sight of her covered in blood. It fades out to the sound of them asking her what happened and if she's okay to the internal monologue of her deadened emotional state.

If your story is about Mickey, Donald and Goofy getting lost in a pumpkin maze it's going to end with either them being rescued by Minnie and Daisy, them destroying the maze in a panic (and laughing it off) or the pumpkins eating them and acting like nothing happened.

So my final advice is this: take the pressure off yourself.

If you've consumed popular media in the form of books/tv/movies you have an imposing notion of what an ending should be. That doesn't mean its real, that's just what the people making money want us to think is the One True Ending.

If you've consumed writing advice or taken classes of any kind, you are exposed to this elevated notion of what stories should be. I'm not going to tell you that writing advice/classes are bad but they do have an unfortunate side effect of making writing feel inaccessible. Take what speaks to you from any advice and just ignore the rest.

I hope this helped! Thank you for the ask!