#listen there’s progress on all other shitty habits that one might take a bit longer

[ghostickle]

47 days clean btw I think that’s the furthest I’ve ever made it

[alfredosauce50]

Mille feuille [Policeman! England x reader]

Synopsis: He knew what he signed up for when he put on the blue uniform. But nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

He did everything by the book. And yet, for the first time in his career, he’s responsible for a failed hostage situation. While he faces the aftermath of devastating guilt knowing he couldn’t save an innocent life, he spirals down a path of self-destruction. You’ve just returned from France after studying patisserie, and you immediately notice. He turned back to smoking. Drank more. Talked less. Unable to watch him lose himself, you encouraged him to take on new hobbies as a distraction. He has no idea where to begin until he eats a dessert you left for him in the fridge. He never mixed well with kitchens, but maybe, just maybe, he could surprise himself, and you.

Wordcount: 4,998 Warning: Light gore in the beginning. Proceed with caution.

It was meant to be a peaceful night.

The vibrant pulsing of red and blue forced him to squint. But there was nothing he could do to muffle the ear-splitting wail of sirens. Everyone in the neighborhood had been asleep, now slowly arising to the disturbances in the streets. God, he wished he was still in bed too. His job couldn’t guarantee such a luxury, so he was sent out in his car along with several other officers. And it wasn’t a task he could simply put off for tomorrow.

For the past hour, he had been shouting through a loudspeaker. Reasoning. Instructing. He tried everything. Then, pleading. Assuring. Nothing he said was unaccounted for. But in their frazzled state of mind, they never budged, keeping the barrel of a gun aimed at the poor girl’s head.

He could pull the trigger at any moment and send her into oblivion. Her life was dangled over the edge, and whether she’d keep it depended solely on his ability to convince him to lower the gun. “We’re here to help you, Adam. If you put it away, we won’t hold this against you. It’s a promise.” The said man shook his head, keeping the firearm pressed against her temple with a shaky hand.

“No... No! You’re just... You’re just saying that. I’m gonna end up in jail like the rest, aren’t I?”

The Brit swallowed thickly. “No, you won’t. We’re going to get you the help you need first. Alright?” He spotted the man do just that, albeit slowly. But perhaps, he was celebrating too early. Before he lowered his arm completely, he gestured to all the cars with his brows knitted together. “Tell them to go away first. I don’t wanna see a single one of you’s. How do I know you’re not lying?”

Arthur cursed under his breath and reached for his communicator.

“Get them out of here. All of them.”

It was a risk he was willing to take if it meant he could save them both. He could feel it in his gut. The SWAT team was getting into position in the surrounding buildings, ready to let the bullets fly. It was only a matter of time before they could get a clear shot. But as he spoke with the troubled man, he couldn’t bring himself to resort to that as a solution. If he could talk to him for a little longer, do what he asked, surely, things would turn out how he wanted them to.

The cars pulled out of the driveway. “They’re all gone. Now all you have to do is drop the gun. Then you’ll be home free.”

Adam loosened his fingers around the firearm, but that was when Arthur’s communicator crackled again.

“We have a clear shot. Permission to engage.”

“No. Hold your fire. He’s nearly there.” He whisper-shouted that into the device, but his mouth was too close to the loudspeaker. While the hostage-taker could only make out a few words, fire was enough to spark fear and reduce him to a primitive state of mind. Darting his wide eyes over the nearby infrastructure, he felt his heart sink at the black windows watching his every move.

“Fuck.” The officer breathed, watching all his progress undo itself as the other’s face contorted with betrayal, then terror. Then, he kicked the door open the door behind him, and dragged the girl inside. “No!” Dropping the loudspeaker, he chased after him. As he dashed through the dim halls behind the shopping district, he was forced to listen to her bloodcurdling screams. And it was the last sound she’d ever make before her life came to an abrupt end.

A gun went off. The explosion echoed to him and all color drained from his face. But he persisted, following him to the backdoor of the bakery where it all began. Beads of sweat had formed around his forehead, but he never cared to wipe them. Not when he was now met with the biggest mistake of his life. Not being able to save one. There on the bloodied tiles laid the girl he’d been trying to save, long dead and gone.

But the fear on her face was fresh.

Standing over her body was her killer, grinning at him tiredly.

“... I didn’t want you to find me, and she wouldn’t shut up.”

Arthur couldn’t even respond. Instead, he pulled inwards, staring wide-eyed at the corpse of a young girl. He’d failed to save her, and it was slowly dawning on him. So even when the man raised his gun again, the guilt quickly amassing in his tightening chest stopped him from lifting a finger. But he knew he wouldn’t die here. Instead, he’d be cursed to live a fate worse than death.

Watching the other point it at himself, he grit his teeth when a finger curled around the trigger.

Bang.

Blood splattered all over his face.

He’d never forget the taste of iron on his tongue. The stench of gunpowder. But it was the sight of them that would be ingrained in his mind forever.

A week had gone by. But it still felt like yesterday they died in front of him. He’d relive the moment, again and again, the memory haunting him like the vengeance felt by their tortured souls.

In every moment of silence, the screams of the girl would fill them. And every time he closed his eyes, he’d dream of the same minute where he’d run through those halls. Find her dead body on the ground. Then watch his twisted smile contort as he blew himself apart. All his mistakes that Godforsaken night cost both of their lives, and the regret grew so unfathomably potent, he began to question the worth of his own.

How could he have been so reckless? He’d clearly bit off more than he could chew, thinking he could save them both. He couldn’t. And he walked out in shame with blood on his face. But he felt it. The invisible blood on his hands.

He should’ve given the sniper the green light. That way, he could’ve saved at least one of them. The girl who stayed overtime at her shitty, minimum wage bakery job.

He failed to do anything right that day, and this was the devastating aftermath.

He wished he could just forget it all.

But no, he was alone with his thoughts. You weren’t here, so there was no way to channel his emotions, let alone get over it. Not as long as he could still think, anyway. So he opted to do the unforgivable. He’d pick up bad habits he dropped for you.

Every day, he’d visit the same bar, order the same drinks. Drink until he could barely see his own hands. Hangovers weren’t a problem, so what was stopping him? His department was considerate enough to put him on leave, so he had all the time in the world to do nothing in particular, nothing except this. Downing the last of his beer, he slammed the glass on the counter and groaned at the bartender. “Can I get a whiskey over here? I’m running low.”

The other shook his head and clicked his tongue. “No can do, man. You’re drunk enough already. I think it’s time for you to head home.”

“Wha-aaat? I’m not drunk.”

“Yes, you are.”

Arthur leaned forward with an accusing glare. “I’ll have you know... I’m a... I’m a cop, alright? If you don’t listen to me... I might just... Arrest you.”

The bartender furrowed his brows. “Uh, sure you can.” He scoffed, continuing to polish a glass in his hands. “It doesn’t matter what you are. If you’re drunk, you can’t have any more. It’s the law. And newsflash pal, it applies to you as well.”

“... You’re no fun.” He slurred out, sliding himself off his stool. Before he could fall flat on his face, he wound up stumbling forward a few steps. Then, he spun to him with next to no grace and pointed at him with an index. “But I’ll see you tomorrow. You better have that... Whiskey ready for me when I come.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you’re still alive to drink it.”

“No promises.”

Even he had no idea how he made it back home in one piece. But he did, collapsing right on his bed in the first couple of seconds upon getting inside. Kicking his shoes off and throwing off his clothes to a random spot in the room, he slid himself under the covers. He couldn’t tell if it was his inflamed skin making the sheets so cold, or if it was because you weren’t here. Speaking of which, his phone buzzed with a reminder in his calendar.

Holding it above his face, he scanned the contents. That was right. You were arriving at the airport tomorrow afternoon, and he was supposed to come and pick you up. He almost forgot.

Then, the first thought he had through his pounding headache was one of relief. Your plane wasn’t landing in the morning. After that came the excitement to see you after months of your absence. The house didn’t feel like a home without you, because home was wherever you were. He would’ve packed his bags and flown to France with you, but alas, he had a job, and this job ended up ruining him. But never mind that.

He needed you now more than ever.

It was a little after one did he arrive at the airport, but he didn’t leave his car before squeezing some eye drops in. Blinking that away, he fixed his hair in the overhead mirror. You’ve got this, Arthur. You look positively dashing. Was what he told himself, but he wished he’d believe it too. There were bags under his eyes, and there was tiredness dulling them that never seemed to go away even after sleeping in for a week.

Stepping out of the vehicle to walk to the entrance, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t walked this much in a while.

Upon getting inside, he fixed his hair again after the wind tousled it. However, there was still one untamed lock sticking out on his head, but he never had the time to deal with it when you came walking out of the international arrivals. As he watched you glance around expectantly, a smile immediately lit up his face and his heart swelled with warmth. It was so obvious how your mind worked--how you’d been thinking of him. It was completely normal after he agreed to come, but it filled him up with nostalgia nevertheless.

This nostalgia would only deepen into something else entirely as the day would progress. A potent kind of lovesickness.

“(F/N)!” He called out, the sound of the familiar voice turning your head his way. “Over here, love!” You let out a euphoric squeal, pushing your suitcase so it would roll in his direction--all so you could pounce on him.

“Arthur, oh my god!”

He caught you in his arms and breathed out a few laughs, then buried his nose in your hair. Oh, how he missed this scent.

“Welcome home. You don’t know how much I missed you.” Arthur knitted his brows together at that, the words he spoke prompting a rush of emotions to come sweeping in like a tidal wave. Only now did he realize how much he actually missed you. The epiphany was overwhelming, even, leaving his chest to ache in all the right places.

Thank God you were here. Your presence was nothing short of a reality check, and feeling you envelop your arms around him pushed him closer and closer to the edge. But hearing your voice broke him.

“Mhm... I’m home, Arthur. And I missed you too.” Pulling away to feel heat radiate to your face, you were shocked to see tears streaming down to his chin. He was crying. Concern flashed in your eyes and you cupped his red hot cheeks. He was never the type to be emotional, let alone in public.

But seeing you was enough to start the waterworks.

He just couldn’t take it. The contrast between you and him was drastic. Even after a flight, you were bursting at the seams with energy and a love for life. You’d been studying and practicing your craft for months, while he was buried up to the neck with work he was barely keeping up with. And eventually, it all caught up, drowning him and leaving him in the worst shape he’d ever been in.

“Hey... What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

He hung his head to hide himself. He even had to make a mental note to talk away from you because of the traces of tobacco in his breath.

“... It’s alright. I’ll tell you when we get home.” All you heard was a faint whisper. From that, you understood he didn’t want to ruin the mood of a reunion, but by his definition, he already did.

It wasn’t something you’d hold against him for. Frankly speaking, you were just worried sick. But that was exactly what he wanted to avoid.

Reaching out to his untamed lock of hair, you patted it down. And there, it stayed.

The ride back was mostly quiet. While you enthused him about your travels, you came to understand his one-line responses of ‘that’s nice’ or ‘good job’ it was best to stay silent. Whatever he was holding in was serious. He’d never been like this before, so soft-spoken, so jaded. It showed in his grayed complexion. Hollow cheeks. You even thought he’d start tipping off when the conversation died. Though one had to wonder if it was even a conversation at all.

When you managed to unpack and shower, you went straight to the kitchen to check the pantry. There was nothing but cereal and instant food. The fridge only had condiments too, not even milk.

“... Arthur, when was the last time you went shopping?”

He rubbed the nape of his neck. “Uh... Like... Two weeks ago.”

At the start of your relationship, this wouldn’t have been alarming considering how disastrous he was on a stove. But you started teaching him a few basic recipes even a child could easily manage, so you wouldn’t have to worry about him starving.

Turning to him with a small sigh, you walked up to him and held his hands. “What am I gonna do with you, huh?” You smiled softly. “Don’t tell me you’ve only been eating instant stuff while I’ve been gone. I know your taste isn’t that bad that you’d start eating cereal with water.”

He lit up like a Christmas tree and his face scrunched up. “Of course not! I’ve just been eating other things. Like... Like--” Take out. Air. Water. “--cereal bars.”

“Oh really? Which brand?”

Arthur closed his eyes as a frown downturned his features. “I can’t ever lie to you, can I?” You grinned.

“Nope. Now, what do you say we go on a little shopping trip?”

He blinked. “But you just got home, love. Aren’t you tired?”

“Sure I am.” He squeezed your hands as an apologetic expression contorted at his face. “But I can’t have you starving, can I? I’d say you’re looking a little worse off than me, to be honest.” Arthur separated his lips to interject, even when you were right on the mark. Raising a finger to his mouth to shush him, you offered another reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll drive. And I’m a little more energetic after showering. So cheer up, okay?”

His cheeks flushed red once more, but not out of embarrassment. Then, heat built up behind his eyes. “... Right. I’ll do my best.” It wouldn’t be long before his vision would start blurring.

He always loved how observant you were, but just this once, he wished you wouldn’t have to worry about him. But that was too selfish to expect of you.

Throughout the whole shopping trip, he looped a finger around one of your belt loops. He actually wanted to hold your hand, badly, but couldn’t.

You were pushing a cart after all, and while you made your way around the store, you’d catch him staring at you from behind. Even after checking a few times, his gaze on you never faltered, which left you flustered to know he’d been watching you the whole time. He never made a move to leave your side either, and remained stitched to you by the hip.

“Arthur, you wanna make yourself useful and go fetch me some milk? I didn’t bring you here just for you to follow me around.” You gave him a side-eye, finding him tense up with an awkward smile.

He was always so adorable when he was caught off guard.

“Oh yeah. Did you need anything else?”

It would only be a matter of seconds before he’d start blushing.

You hummed and reached out for his hips. “Actually, yes. Vanilla beans. Vanilla Extract. Oh! And puff pastry.” Spinning him around, you gave him a light push on the back. “Off you go now.”

Stumbling forward a few steps, he looked at you over his shoulder.

There it was--his cheeks were rosy as he stared at you through a frown.

You waved at him with a grin.

“What are you standing around for? Go!”

When you had dinner with him, you came to realize that shopping ended up being the best part of the day. Rather than indulging himself in a conversation with you, he sat there quietly and fiddled with his food. He only managed to finish half of it before scraping together the courage to tell you he was full. From that, you knew it wasn’t just stress that made him so down.

It only became more apparent when you laid in bed with him, feeling his kisses pepper over your neck and shoulder. Even after brushing his teeth, you could smell the traces of his cigarette breath. Hadn’t he quit ages ago? Needless to say, you were about to get to the bottom of it all, and find out what happened while you were gone. Clamping a hand over his mouth before he could seal it with yours, you leaned in. “Not so fast. I can smell the tobacco.”

He froze. Panic gripped hold of his system and he pulled away.

He was much too careless. Again.

But never mind that. “... Sorry.” Burying his hands in his hair, he turned away from you with a look of shame. “I was meant to drop the habit years ago. But I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.”

It always broke your heart to see him so apologetic, so you didn’t hesitate to hug him. “Don’t be sorry. I know you’ve been struggling, and I’ll help you through it.”

An hour had passed since he told you everything, and it was only then did you process what he said. And you mirrored his every emotion and thought, managing a few tears yourself as he spoke to you.

The guilt he shouldered wasn’t something anybody should ever have to experience. And as thoroughly convinced he was it was his fault that two people were dead, you reminded him he wasn’t a God. He had no way of foretelling the future. He was a flawed human being, and he couldn’t blame himself for it. Not forever, at least. But you couldn’t expect him to move on so quickly.

So you’d help him forgive himself.

And you would start with this. While he had his face turned to the side, you moved it back to you. Leaning in slowly, he tilted his head to an angle fit for a kiss. Before he let his lips brush against yours, he whispered this. “... Are you sure you wanna do this? You’ll taste it...”

You furrowed your brows together and tightened your coils around his neck, bringing his body in to feel it press flush against yours.

“I don’t care what you taste like. Nothing will stop me from kissing you.”

“Fuck.” He breathed, screwing his eyes shut as his heart began to ache.

This ache then spread from his chest to the very ends of his body as he lingered over what you said. It was a miracle how mere words from you would leave him completely inundated, inundated with a terrible case of lovesickness. And he had no intention to hide it. “Kiss me now, then...”

You did exactly that, sealing the gap between your lips and his. When you did, tears overwhelmed his eyes once more, streaming down your cheek until you could taste the salt of them in your mouth. Securing his hands on your waist, he fell on his back and pulled you over him without parting. The whole night, you slept on top of his chest, and he never loosened his arms around you.

When he woke up, you were nowhere in sight. And it hurt to see you gone so early in the morning, but it wasn’t as if he could make you stay. He was the one on leave, not you. There was still a café to be run, and you were in charge of opening today. Forcing himself to get out of bed, he sauntered into the kitchen and opened the fridge. This time, there was actual food inside.

He scanned the contents before pulling out a plate with cling wrap over it.

On the top was a sticky note.

Breakfast :)

Since you couldn’t come to France with me, I’ll bring France to you!

Smiling to himself at that, he unwrapped the plastic to reveal some kind of fancy-looking dessert. In between three layers of puff pastry was a yellowish-white cream with marbled chocolate on the uppermost layer as garnish. Without wasting another second, he pulled open a drawer to get a fork. Stabbing himself a piece, his mouth was already watering before he even tasted it.

It was delicious.

But in the next minute or so, it was gone. He’d never eaten something so quickly. Hell, he practically inhaled it. That was when he realized that one slice wasn’t enough.

Setting the plate in the sink, he peered around the fridge to see if he could find some more. He huffed out a sigh of disappointment when he couldn’t. What he did find was some leftover ingredients. While he had no idea what went in these... Whatever they were called, he guessed they were made from the puff pastry he found. But the cream was the real gamechanger.

He could try baking the pastry, but he figured he’d wait for you to come home to do anything else.

When you did come home, you found him sitting around the kitchen island.

“I’m back!” Before he kissed you on the cheek as per usual, he scurried over to you and inspected the bags you were carrying. No desserts in there. A weird smile curled at your lips as you watched him stand up straight again. “Aren’t you curious? What were you expecting to find in there?”

Arthur rubbed the nape of his neck and laughed nervously. “Oh... Nothing. Just that... Dessert you had in the fridge for me. It was really good, by the way. Thank you.” Before he let the subject change to something else, he gripped your shoulders much to your surprise. “I know I might be asking for the impossible, but... You always have leftover ingredients in the fridge, and I was wondering if you could... You know...” As he trailed off as his face reddened.

Oh boy. If he was asking you to make some more, he wouldn’t be this embarrassed. But no, it was something entirely different he wanted.

“Could you maybe... Teach me how to make it?”

You blinked a few times at the unexpected request before bursting into a fit of laughter. That was when he exploded in numerous shades of crimson. Was it perhaps too much to ask for? He always was terrible in the kitchen, and it became an inside joke between you and him. “I-I mean, you don’t have to! I was just thinking... Because you told me to find something to do to distract myself and everything--”

Before he could ramble on and go on a tangent, you gave him an affectionate pinch on the cheek. “I didn’t say no, dummy. Of course, I’ll teach you.”

He lit up. “Really?”

You nodded. “Why not? If you want to make use of scraps in the fridge, I won’t stop you.” Leading him into the kitchen, you saw that he already brought out the puff pastry to thaw. "You’re a smart cookie, aren’t you?”

He totally wasn’t going to throw it straight in the oven. Definitely not.

With what you had readily available, you and Arthur made a small batch of mille-feuille. It turned out amazing, which was a given considering you did all the heavy lifting. Nevertheless, he was smiling like an idiot as he dug into his creation. That was when an idea struck you. Since he asked to be taught how to make it, you needed to test what he learned, didn’t you?

This would certainly keep him busy for the next few weeks.

When you proposed the idea, he paled. He took what he said back. There was no way he could do this himself, as simple as you made it look.

“On second thoughts, maybe not--”

You were you, he was him. Arthur. The man who could set his cereal on fire. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but it wasn’t far off the mark. It was only recently did he figure out how to make pasta. The pre-made kind. As hopeless as that sounded for a fully grown adult, it was enough for you to believe in him.

While he couldn’t share the same optimistic sentiments, you always saw the good in him that he couldn’t.

“I want you to. This'll keep you busy at home. It’s better than hitting up the bar, don’t you think?” He fell silent. He wasn’t arguing with that.

So a few days later, he gave it a go like you suggested, only to end up wasting a whole pot of cream.

It was lumpy. Inedible. Disappointing.

Hanging his head by the counter, he prodded at the small bumps inside the mixture, defeated. He really couldn’t do anything right. You’d tell him he was stretching things, but he couldn’t stop his train of thought from venturing off to a topic he forbid himself to linger on. He was unable to do his job, and he couldn’t do yours either.

“Goddammit.” He grumbled out bitterly. “Sorry to disappoint, (F/N)... I think you have too much faith in me.”

Speak of the devil.

“I think I have just the right amount of faith, excuse me.”

He nearly jumped. “(F/N)? How long have you been standing there?”

You made your way to his side to peer over his shoulder. “Just a few seconds. I wanted to check up on your progress.” Seeing that things didn’t turn out well, you pat him on the back. It was an improvement nevertheless, so you weren’t giving up on him yet. “You didn’t burn it, so I’m proud of you.”

Not that it was that great of an achievement you made it out to be. That was precisely why he found himself red in the face.

“Just make sure to stir it quick enough. And make sure you cook the cream on low heat. Try again in a few days. Don’t give up yet!”

Leaving the kitchen at that, he was left to his own thoughts.

He couldn’t say he believed in himself, but he’d give it another shot. Like you said, baking was far better than his take on coping mechanisms. Even if he was terrible at it. But unbeknownst to him, that would change over the next few weeks as he improved. And slowly but surely, he’d come up with something on par with what you’d serve in your café. Piping out the last of his cream, he stacked the last layer of pastry on top before forking a piece to his mouth.

Dropping the fork to the counter in a clatter, he ran to his bedroom--or more accurately put, the bedroom he shared with you--and pulled you into the kitchen. Did he just bake something? Good? Something that didn’t taste like raw dough or scorched rocks? He was in too much disbelief to trust his own judgment. So he made you try it. And surely enough, you were in just as much shock.

“This... This is amazing. I could actually sell this.” You stared at him with wide eyes, feeling a wide smile work its way to your face. “People would pay for this, Arthur. And you made it!”

He dug his hands through his hair. “Oh my god. I actually did.” He shook his head. “Or maybe I was possessed. By the girl... At the bakery. It could be possible. Maybe she followed me home and--”

You pulled him in for a kiss to shut him up.

“Nobody possessed you. You made this yourself, so give yourself the credit you deserve.” Your wide smile softened. As always, you saw the good in him that he couldn’t. And every time, you would prove him wrong about himself. You just hoped he would realize it too--he wasn’t the static person he thought he was. Like everyone else, he could learn and grow.

Pulling you in for a tight embrace, he breathed out a few shaky laughs.

“I really did.” He murmured out airily.

It was only just a few baby steps he made, but eventually, he’d come to learn the hardest thing of all that baking followed as a close second. It could take months or even years, but with you around, he’d learn to forgive himself.

[purplesurveys]

787

Stage one: Emotions. How often do you take actions you regret? Not super often, but it’ll come up once in a while.

Do you often feel guilty? As someone who was raised in a verbally abusive household and was always blamed, corrected, or shamed for not knowing any better, you bet your ass I feel guilty all the time. ‘Sorry’ is probably in my top 50 most used words haha. Do you have a short temper? A little bit, yeah. I got my mom’s impatience for most situations and I’m also a bit of a perfectionist, so if I’m in work mode and I see that something’s askew I’ll be fussy about it until it’s fixed.

When was the last time you lashed out at someone? This afternoon when I was feeling super stressed and was venting to Gabie, but I had the vibe that she wasn’t all ears. And why was that? Because I would assume anyone would feel shitty when they’re ranting to someone they trust and that person acts like they aren’t listening?

Does it always seem like the entire world is out to get you? I have weeks like this, but it’s not constant. Overall, I think the world is mostly decent with me. Have you ever had a serious mental break down? Yeup, tons. What led up to this? (sadness, depression, fury, confusion, etc) I’m not getting into them lmao? Do you believe it is just natural for humans to feel lonely? Of course. Everyone goes through their own battles that makes them feel this way, and sometimes the physical presence of other people or having a packed schedule wouldn’t be enough either. Do you ever feel lonely, even in the presence of those you know or love? Yeah, that’s what I was just trying to say in the last question. There’ve been a few times I wasn’t feeling my best, and I thought going to Skywalk was going to fix stuff but it didn’t. Do you believe that these are the "best years of your life"? High school and college were, but I'm expecting to stumble a bit in the next few years as I try to navigate adulthood and make the best of my 20s. I think it’s normal though as I know most people feel the same when they’re in their mid-20s, so I’ve come to terms with the fact that it might not be the best years for a while. Or do you follow the "the best is yet to come" philosophy? Yeah, but I also don’t just depend on the future to be great. I’m able to realize when there’s good things happening in the present too. Does it sometimes feel like your life is being wasted or not going anywhere? Occasionally. Nothing good comes out of those thoughts though, so I never entertain them. Tell me about the last time you were truly, truly happy. Sometime in January. I drove my girlfriend to her place and there was no one home, so we used that time to catch up and talk and watch Titanic haha. Being it was the beginning of the sem, I still didn’t have any class requirements or org deliverables so it was really just an evening to spend time with her. I love moments like those the most because it’s when I’m reminded how much I love having her around. Stage two: Relationships. How long was your longest relationship? My current one, which is running at four years. Though we’ve been linked together for much longer than that, so whenever I wanna impress people a little bit more I also sometimes say six years hahahaha How old were you when you had your first boyfriend or girlfriend? I was 16. Do you (or have you ever) had feelings for the SAME sex? Yes, that’s my situation right now. Do you consider yourself gay or bisexual? How strongly do you feel about it? For a while I thought I was bi because I liked Gab and had small crushes on some guys we were friends with in high school. It was also because everyone in school who also liked girls considered themselves bi, so me thinking I was bi was mostly an environment thing and I just thought I was one of them as well, because it was all I heard about. Through the years other orientations were given awareness, and eventually I found that demisexuality is most fitting for me. Have you ever had your heart broken? Many times in a lot of ways. Did you ever honestly believe you were going to marry your high school bf/gf? I mean, I still think that until now. Is it harder to get dumped or do the dumping? I’ve only been on one side of this so I wouldn’t know how to compare. Have you been able to stay good friends with any of your exes? Yes, but it took a while before we could mend our friendship. We couldn’t talk to each other for a couple of months but we patched things up after realizing our friendship was too important to throw away just because of a breakup. If so, is there any tension (sexual or not) between the two of you? There was, after a short while lol. Hence us getting back together anyway. Would you ever date someone that your friend liked or HAD dated? I wouldn’t do that. When was the last time you were kissed? First week of March. Are you a virgin? Do you believe virginity is "sacred"? No and no. How many times have you been in love? Was it always real? Once and yes. Stage three: Friendships. Would you say that you have a lot of friends? Yep. I’m really glad I’ve met a lot of progress when it comes to this. All I wanted in Grade 6 was one friend and now I have more friends than I ever imagined having, so it feels pretty awesome. Have you ever been considered to be a "loner"? Yeah, throughout elementary and some parts of high school. People would only talk to you if you shared the same interests, and back then I couldn’t find anyone who was like me. It made it hard to talk to anyone period because everyone already had their own set of friends. How often do you hang out with your friends? I obviously can’t now, but before the lockdown I would hang out with at least one friend a day. There’s always at least one person at our org lounge so it was easy to find someone to study with, get street food with, have lunch with, etc. Do you have a specific hang out or house that you go to? Yeah, the org lounge that we call Skywalk. It’s habit for anyone in the org to just drop by there when we have free time, or if we wanna hang out together. If my orgmates and I don’t feel like being at Skywalk, we go to a nearby bar called Tomato Kick. I have another friend group that includes Angela, and for that bunch we typically go to another local bar in the area for cocktails and shisha. Have you ever done anything illegal to help a friend? Other than giving them movie files I’ve pirated...no not really lol If not, would you be willing to? What would be your limit? Eh, I don’t like breaking the rules so I probably wouldn’t go all that far to begin with. Who is your best friend? VERY best. Choose. Angela. Have any of your friends ever stabbed you in the back? Yes, but they’re not my friends anymore. Did you forgive them? Are you still friends? No and no. Are your friends the only people that "get you"? I don’t think so. I’ve become pretty flexible through the years and can mostly adjust depending on who I’m with. Do you think your friends know you better than your own parents? They absolutely do. Have you ever lost a close friend because they died? I didn’t count Nacho as a close friend (cause I’m super particular about that title lol), but he was my friend all the same. Have you ever lost a friend because they gained a bf/gf and dropped you? No, this hasn’t happened. Are your friends your support system? =] Yes. Stage four: Family Life Are both your parents alive? They are. Were you raised by your biological parents? Technically I was raised by my grandma for most of my childhood haha, but yeah both my parents were present. Has your family ever been broken? I have an aunt (dad’s sister) who has had a couple unsuccessful relationships, but nothing in my immediate family. Do you think your parents respect your space? My dad does, which I hugely appreciate. My mom doesn’t know the basic rules of privacy and has never even learned how to knock. She just barges in, which puts me in a sour mood literally every single time she does it. Are you close with you siblings, if you have any? I’m a little close with my sister, like we crack jokes together and never fight and stuff, but not emotionally close. For instance I wasn’t able to physically comfort her when her cat died, but I made sure to flood her Messenger with messages to let her know I cared. I don’t have any relationship with my brother whatsoever. How often does your family fight or have big arguments? We don’t normally fight as a family. It’s mostly me and my mom who butt heads. Does your family hold very high religious beliefs? My mom does... we’re just forced to go along with it because she’s a bit of a brat and if we don’t do things her way, she’ll slam doors and bump against us on purpose, petty shit like that to let her know she isn’t happy. Are you the "black sheep" of your household? I used to be. I was a handful to deal with and there was just a lot of angst inside of me; and I attribute that to the abuse I got from my mom early on, which I’ve never gotten a resolution or closure to. Throughout my teen years she was able to twist the story and surface as the wonderful mother while I was the troubled teen that would never amount to anything, so it definitely looked like I was the black sheep. Thankfully I rose above it as I got older. Have you ever in anger told your parent(s) that you hated them? No. How often are you diciplined or punished or grounded? This has only happened a handful of times. Grounding isn’t common here and as mean as my mom was, she liked sticking to verbal abuse than punishment. The worst thing my parents did was take my gadgets and that only happened like twice. Do you feel like you are allowed to express yourself inside your own home? No. I have a whole-ass four-year relationship my parents have no clue about. Are your parents very controlling of the person "they want you to be"? Nope, they give me freedom which I give them credit for. They never told me what course they wanted me to take in college, what career they want for me, none of that stuff. Your family really does love each other, doesn't it? I guess. It could always be a little more, though. Are you planning to move away when you turn 18? I’m 22 now and I’m still here, so.

[ncbodyknows]

starbright audition: interview

Starbright audition tape Choi Youngjae Outfit

{ tw: weight talk }

The only thing Youngjae could think of right now was the fact that he was being an absolute fucking idiot. He wanted to put all the blame on Moonbok who said he wasn’t going to make dinner for a whole month if Youngjae didn’t join and while that meant that there was going to be no one nagging him about his eating habits, perhaps the artist had grown too accustomed to his room mate spoiling him. Right about now having to take care of his own food seemed a lot less worse than having to join this shitty audition. But in the end he couldn’t deny the fact that he was still here, in the end, out of free will. He could easily just have lied and said that he went but didn’t get through and the nagging witch at home would have been none the wiser.

Moonbok had better pay him with a darned good meal after the trouble he was going through today.

Perhaps some part of him was still clinging to the stupid idea that this idol business might be something for him after all. But what he didn’t want to admit out loud was, that when he had been a trainee he had actually had friends and something to wake up for each morning, something he was greatly lacking nowadays where his partner in life was his dog and the only one he could call his friend was the nagging housewife-esque male living in his apartment.

Maybe he wanted to return to those days. Maybe he actually enjoyed singing more than he liked to lead on. Maybe he really was hoping that one day his career path could lead him onto the road of an idol rather than just a painter that no one would ever know about other than really specific people who spent their lives criticising other people’s hard work. He loved painting, it wasn’t that. But he also loved singing and performing, and nowadays he wasn’t sure which one he loved the most any longer.

Entering the brightly lit room Youngjae couldn’t help but think back to his time at the mgas. Overall an awful experience he had to admit, but yet what had truly given him the passion he possessed. It was the first time he had felt truly bitter about being rejected for his performing skills rather than just being a loser. Hadn’t there been an interview back then as well? Honestly he couldn’t remember any longer. Seating himself while the crew performed the necessary tests, Youngjae did his best to pull out the professional smile from whatever corner of existence it might have gone into hiding in.

“My name is Choi Youngjae,” he introduced upon request. “I’m 22 years old and I was born in Tokyo, but I’ve been living in Korea for about four years now while I finished my university. I’m newly graduated.” Not knowing if the explanation was even needed, he added such an amount of information thinking that it could be useful knowledge for them to know that he had a free schedule nowadays.

Why do you want to be an idol?

Honestly speaking he probably didn’t but it was that potential what if that nagged him, the unknown that caught his interest. “As you might know I trained under Sphere before,” he began, thinking carefully about his words, “and although it wasn’t intentional my contract ended early because of my constitution. I really regret this happened.” Until now he was being surprisingly honest, and Youngjae wondered to himself how long he would be able to maintain that. “I’ll admit that before that I was pretty lost, and while this might sound cliché, I think I might have found a purpose during my trainee days. I love singing. I want people to hear me sing and feel inspired and motivated by me. And I desperately want to be able to return to that.”

Singing is your best skill then? What do you need to work on in that case?

“It’s probably no secret that I’m not the best dancer out there,” he admitted with a light chuckle, “and I can’t rap to save my life. But I’ve come to realise that I’m pretty adaptable and surprisingly willing to learn.” Why did this feel like a job interview now? Was he being too stiff? Too formal? Fuck this. He hated this thing and just wanted to go home right about now. Fuck Moonbok for forcing him into this. “I daresay I was getting pretty decent at dancing but unfortunately I haven’t been keeping up with it during my... hiatus. I’m already taking singing lessons, and beside being a full time student and a part time worker there’s not a lot of time for stuff like that. I’ve probably become a bit rusty.”

Who influences you in life and music?

Another chuckle escaped him as his profile was looked over again, the interviewer probably pausing at the unfamiliar names that filled up the sheet. “You probably don’t know any of them: half of them are artists and half of them are jrock groups,” he explained trying to be helpful. “I love art and as a professional visual artist, these are the artists I find myself most inspired by as well as, hmm, maybe appalled by. You can find beauty in art and the aesthetic, but also beauty in the darkness and disfigurement, the surreal. I think it’s a very interesting thing how artists can express the world we live in differently.” Placing a thoughtful index finger on his chin as he spoke, Youngjae let a hand run through his hair once he was done. “As for music I’ve just always been a great fan of rock. I can’t help it. Have to admit that kpop has been growing on me though. I got to listen quite a lot to Convex at the company so I suppose they inspire me too in a way.”

How come you haven’t listed any family ties? Where is your family?

“Dead.”

Can you tell us a bit more?

“No.”

With the single words as replies, Youngjae’s glance hardened, making it obvious he didn’t want to talk about the subject and that it would be rude and out of order to ask any further about it. So far he had managed to keep his background a secret somehow and now wasn’t the time he was going to casually spill it.

Okay. Moving on. In your own opinion, what is the biggest obstacle you have had to overcome so far?

“Probably my issues with my weight.” As soon as the subject was changed, Youngjae was ready to talk again. “I was very underweight during my days in Sphere which eventually led to me being hospitalised, and it’s been a great challenge to change my daily habits to gain weight again. I know it’s still a work in progress, but I’ve definitely been getting somewhere and I’m not in any particular danger any longer.” Honestly it had been a huge change in his life when he had to gain weight and for a long time he couldn’t from the fact that he had fucked his metabolism up so much, but it was slowly starting to rise whenever he got on the scale in the morning. And although it was still hard for him to admit he had a problem, he also had to acknowledge that he was feeling better mentally whilst eating regular meals. “It’s probably a boring tale of self discovery, but it’s the truth all the same.”

That’s about it. Thank you for coming.

“Thank you for taking your time to listen to me,” he returned and stood up with a bow before leaving the room again.

[peachychibi]

if it’s over, will it be enough?

When will it be enough?

He never said he’d call but I still waited patiently for his name to light up on my phone screen that night. This expectation was just another corollary of a six-years long habit. Ah, I guess at this point in time, that would be the most suitable definition for what we had. A habit. Or maybe a routine, convention, pattern, norm, whatever you named it. Those terms were all perfect to describe us. The navy blue clock on my bedroom wall kept on ticking, the tick-tocking sound never bothered me this obscenely before. It was 9PM. We usually talked around this time, chatting about nothing in particular. Just.. sharing anything that came through our minds. We were both complete chatterboxes, we loved hearing our own voice almost as much as we loved responding to each other’s stories. It was not exactly my fault for expecting his call for he’d usually text me if he wouldn’t be able to do so. He did not need to, that much I did understand, yet he still did. Like I said, this night-call was a routine, it was our thing somehow. Maybe he’d text me soon, I thought while cocooning inside my blanket. He was probably stuck in a traffic jam somewhere, or perhaps his phone battery died. I ran through all of the feasible scenarios, what could be the reason for this anomaly? Well if it happened more than once, could it even be called an anomaly? I could not even start to muster what I actually wanted. Even if he called, did I even want to talk to him? Did I have anything of importance to say to him? Why did the fact that he had not dialed my number for the past two weeks trouble me so much? Was it because we had no proper communication whatsoever in the past month? >> “Hey, sorry, I was out with the guys.” >> “I miss you.” >> “Have a great day at work!” Those were his typical messages these days. When did this thing become so stale? “It’s normal if you miss him.”, I remembered what my friend said after I told her about this uneasiness I’ve been feeling. What I failed to explain further to her was that, I was not even sure I miss him at all? Heck, I was not even feeling anything other than discomfort. The omitted twisted part was that I was only feeling agitated over breaking a series of habit we crafted for the past six years. Not over his lack of presence in my life. How will you know if it’s enough? Two lovers seeing one another after two months of being apart, one would reckon the meeting would be affectionate at most. I guessed that sweet romantic rendezvous would be happening right now if only the two lovers in subject were not us. Was there still a thing called “us” in this instance? We were sitting across each other in a family diner, every single corner of this particular place was familiar to me. We have been going to this diner since we were both high school seniors. If you bet that I had memorized the whole set of menu then you would most likely win. I did not even need to read the menu paperback again to know my (and also his) orders by heart. As cliché as the whole situation was panned out to be, I did feel like our distance that night was a hundred miles. It was hard of me to even explain what was going on between us. If I got to quote the lyrics of this certain famous pop song, we don’t fucking talk anymore. I was busy with my phone and so was he. I was busy looking around just to avoid having eye contact with him. The existence of “Us” had never been this awkward before. I tried to initiate some conversations, like how was his job hunting progress so far, what was he doing these days, his recent camaraderie with his friends, were his parents well.. I could not help but feel like an HR officer asking standard questions to a job applicant. He was nice to me though, he was engaged to the whole banter once he made an effort to. However, it seemed to me that another cliché quote was in order to fully illustrate the whole night: We were conversing but not communicating. Did this make sense? It was a Saturday, our night out on a weekend was normally long and full of harmless fun. Going out and going home afterwards was not something we were accustomed to. One way or another, we would be set out to spend the night going along with any impulsivity that crossed our minds. Yet, that night, I knew it was going to be different. “So, where do we go from here?”, the question held a heavier burden if it was to be thrown out of context. “Up to you.”, he replied absentmindedly. He ended up taking me home early. Is it finally enough?

We graduated October last year, I got a job on February. A shitty job but it paid me a great sum, it was okay for a first job. It was a temporary job anyway, I was going to stay until I finally got a breakthrough or something. He was still applying here and there, waiting for interview calls from now and then. Clearly, this was one of the thing that sort of drifted us away. I barely got time for myself due to my toxic working hour, while on the other side, he got all the time in world. Did he feel like I neglected him? Was he insecure at the slightest bit? What the hell happened, seriously? Did we just drift apart for no particular reason? Was our time up? Was it finally enough? There was no other way to soften this up, our relationship was dying. Six years were a long time to be together, some of the luckier ones might make theirs last forever. We were lucky enough to get six years, but, that was it. Denial has always been my thing even though I knew given the chance I would not exert more of my energy to put up with it any longer. ‘I need to talk to him, I have to.’ That was in the back of my mind and the words were on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be realized to life in front of him. Nevertheless, I resisted, I did not know what stopped me. I guess I was too afraid to face the consequence. I was too much of a coward to let go. I thought I should just wait till I gathered all of the courage that I’d need. Alas, I should have known that the truth was impatient.

Tell me it’s enough.

“Hey!”, his voice was booming in the middle of the café. Funny how I could finally see him turning back to his old self just when I decided to end everything.

 “Hey, have you been waiting long? Sorry, it was hard to find an empty parking slot here.”, I greeted him back as I sat across him. He smiled and shook his head, trying to reassure me that it was okay.

 How could it be okay when I knew it was not?

 For now, it’s enough.

As opposed to his cheerful demeanor that I witnessed earlier, his face was akin to a white sheet right now. Of course, who would not be shocked after your girlfriend asked for a break up out of nowhere.

Was it really out of nowhere though?

The thing was that, he just landed himself a job. I felt happy and ecstatic for him, I really did. I sincerely wanted the best for him. To make this sound less selfish, I would like to put this to another perspective for you. Wouldn’t you be just as conflicted as me, if you found out about your dear boyfriend milestone not through your own boyfriend but through this drunken Instagram story that his friend posted at midnight?

Apparently he was out partying with the other lads to celebrate this momentous event. I mean, I did understand. How could I be so self-centered to make a fuss over someone’s happiness? Believe me, I was not that stuck up. He could party all he wanted, he deserved it. But, in the light of the current downfall of our relationship, this just supported the idea that I already knew yet withheld for some sentimental reason. He did not need me anymore.

I was not about to be a hypocrite and play victim in this story. Honestly, I needed him just as much as he needed me now, which was not so much.

As much as he ignored me, I also neglected him quite a lot too.

As much as he tried to listen to me, I realized my stories would not be as relatable to him as it used to be.

As much as I wanted him to stay, I knew I would not want to do the same.

“It’s been six years, do you think it’s not worth fighting for anymore?”,

“I know what we have is worth it, but the question remains, do you want to keep fighting for it?”

As much as my heart begged for him to refuse, I understood that we both have agreed way before this day had come.

[amorremanet]

what's your novel about??

Oh my gosh, nonny, thank you so much for asking!!

Okay, so the absolute shortest version — the, “summarize this thing and make it sound as shitty as possible” meme version — is, “Superpowered LGBTIQ neurodivergent and/or mentally ill mutant weirdos with emotional problems (and their self-appointed sidekick, who isn’t a mutant but is very enthusiastic about the work) investigate some seemingly unrelated incidents and accidentally uncover a neo-fascist supervillain club that’s trying to take over the U.S. on as many levels as possible — currently, by pulling strings to sabotage the lead-up to the still-upcoming 2016 election — and the neo-fascist supervillains are, unfortunately, very good at this.

“Also, our heroes start out as a ragtag group of misfits with superpowers [or, in Pete’s case, enthusiasm, wit, dedication af, adaptability, and a rather sizable collection of lime-green hot-pants], and progressively become both an actual team and a set of accidental rising stars in the superhero world. Is it a bit of a tired plot? Yeah, especially given how often superhero teams have to do some kind of song and dance like this — but: 1. it’s done so often because it resonates with people and, when done well, it can work; and 2. tired or not, it’s something that viewers/readers deserve to actually see happening, rather than just being told, ‘oh yeah, now they’re a team, okay? okay cool.’”

At least, that’s the plot of the first book, since…… I can’t make anything simple or less-difficult for myself, series are often more fun in general, and I just have a lot of characters here who I love, so the whole, “These incidents are starting to string themselves together in really suspicious ways, oh shit fuck goddammit, the election is being sabotaged” plot is just the start of things.* The bigger series plot would be more about trying to deal with further attempts by the neo-fascist supervillain club to wreak all kinds of neo-fascist supervillain Hell all over everything.

Then, the way I’m looking at this, structurally? Is that I have an ensemble cast, in the end. There are different tiers of importance among the different characters, because that’s unavoidable — I mean, I rail against JKR’s habit of treating her characters as plot devices first and people second, but even if you all treat your characters as people, you have to prioritize some of them over the others at different points, or else you end up worse off than George RR Martin, drowning in impossible goals and strangled by the giant pile of fictional people you made up to tell stories about — but I still view the cast as fundamentally an ensemble.

However, for the sake of reining in my horrible attention span and trying to avoid GRRM’s example, each installment has a focal character, whose own personal story of the moment gets to exist alongside the bigger plotty plot-stuff of each book (…I am a serious business writer, oh yes I am). As an approach, this has its drawbacks — balancing things without making it all too coincidentally intertwined is a big one — but I also love it because, to me, it reflects the way that life has several different levels to it that aren’t always intimately woven together, but still affect each other and need to find some kind of balance if you’re going to get anywhere

Anywho, the focal character for book one is Sebastian, because on one hand, he was here first. Like, he was originally for a game that my Sunday night RP group was playing this past summer, which was still the same-ish idea of mutant superheroes, except that it was more closely modeled on the way that Aya Brea’s powers work in the Parasite Eve games

Meaning, “the system is very openly based on Parasite Eve, it says so in the player’s handbook and everything,” rather than a motley hodgepodge assortment of superhero comics and movies/TV, speculative fiction in general, LGBTIQ theories and histories and cultures, “okay, I’d kind of like to be more active in superhero-related fandoms, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that the stories I want to tell right now are not easily mapped onto characters who already exist, I won’t feel fulfilled in trying to change them so I can shoehorn Sam and Steve and Nat and Bucky or Dick, Jason Stephanie, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Harper into them, so I’ve got to just say, ‘fuck it’ and do my own thing”

and, “what if I did [something that is a big and very, very deliberate middle finger to either Marvel or DC, possibly both, for some reason or another]” — e.g., “what if I made a pair of characters who are a pretty blatant satire of/commentary on/response to/whatever Marvel’s perpetual, annoying as fuck Cherik-baiting, except that they’re actually married — and they will be literally married as soon as the U.S. Supreme Court rules on Obergefell v. Hodges in-universe — and also they are old lady lesbians, nah nah nah nah nah nah *flips off Stan Lee et al. with both middle fingers while doing a, ‘come at me, bro’ dance and generally being a Stunning Bastion Of Authorial Maturity Lmao Not Really*”

So, yeah. I had to rescope some things after my RP group dropped that game, but in the name of, “developing my character and giving Jake, my DM and high school friend, material with which to torment my character, and also, Double-Cross’s system actually makes character development and characterization pretty important elements to playing the game,” I’d already written way too much stuff to just let it go, and Sebastian had endeared himself to me in a big way, and I just went, “Fuck it, I’ll write my own thing with him in it, it’ll be fun.”

I don’t remember when he decided to look like Hayden Christensen, only that I tried to stop that mental image from solidifying, and trying to stop it only made it worse, so I just gave up and went, “Fine, whatever, look like Hayden Christensen, see what I care.” But then, more importantly than, “Sebastian gets to go first because in fairness, he was here first”? Well.

On a thematic level, I feel like this little mutant disaster’s biggest personal story of the moment (trying desperately to get his shit together after making it to 30 without his clinical depression getting noticed as depression, much less treated; trying to stay sober and find something to do with his life that feels even vaguely fulfilling, which for him would mean, “helping people, doing some kind of good in the world, trying to make someone else happy because he is fairly certain that he never will be, period”; trying to actually deal with the past and move forward, not forgetting it or forsaking it entirely, but also not being frozen and chained to the past, learning from it and building something new)…

…has the most common ground and overlap with the current round of big plotty plot-type stuff, since it’s all about things like, “whoo, the formation of a new team! whoo, the new team getting it together and learning how to work as a team and trying to figure out their team identity and values! oh no, emergence of previously unseen threats that have not actually come from out of nowhere, even though it kind of looks like they have, and are more complicated than previously estimated! oh no, we can’t just delete them from existence because they’re insidious and entrenched in more places than we entirely realize at first, so how do we even fight this! ohhh no, progressive realization that we’re fighting a symptom rather than the actual facts problem, but we can’t just NOT-treat the symptom or shit is even more fucked than it will be if we treat the symptom by not the actual problem, and in some ways we don’t even entirely know what the bigger-picture problem is yet! oh man, what do we do!”

—so, like. These two threads work together better than they would with different parts of the larger, longer story.

(And then there’s Pete, who is an admitted authorial pet of mine, just like GRRM blatantly favors Tyrion and JKR visibly projects onto Harry and Hermione, and who I feel lends himself better to a format more like, “Dunk and Egg”-esque novellas, or a collection of, “chronicles of side-kicking” short stories about his little side-adventures and myriad hijinks that aren’t always immediately relevant to the main story but that are really fun. But I also feel like that might just be an excuse to write more weird adventures for him that aren’t necessarily tied together in the right order, like novels generally need to be unless you have some kind of reason not to do that.

idk, man, I just really love my stale cinnamon roll Dramatic bb theatre kid with a heart of gold who will tell you that you’re wrong and he so does not have a heart of gold while he is digging around Seb’s kitchen and making dinner for himself and his Princess because an unfortunate side-effect of one of Seb’s superpowers — the toxin filtering part of his mutant healing factor — is that his body doesn’t only filter out poisons, gases, narcotics, caffeine, and alcohol… it also filters the antidepressants that he gets given a prescription for about ten hours before abruptly being thrust headlong into his newly-awoken mutant superpowers.

Which is a huge mess all over — though, yes, there is a huge part of this that is a pretty deliberate, “fuck you” to literally every piece of media that goes, “and then the hero found out they had superpowers or magic or the fuck whatever and lol suddenly no more mental illness or disabilities or any kind of neurodivergence or anything neener neener” — and anyway, Pete’s hypothetically just found Seb half-spaced out and listening to, “Careless Whisper” on repeat, and Pete is going to tell you that he doesn’t have any kind of heart of gold because he’s a heartless wretch shut your mouth……

…while he’s making them dinner and going, “okay, come on, Princess. Sit up, let’s try and get you through this. No, don’t argue with me. You did the same — or similar, anyway — for me in that entire ten-day stretch when you knew I wasn’t eating disorder okay but couldn’t get me to talk about it and we’ve been over this: if that’s what friends do for each other, then it cuts both ways, so come on. Dinner. Do you want me to put on Labyrinth, The Princess Bride, Female Trouble, Ten Things I Hate About You, or some other thing until you feel like talking.”)

But anyway, as I was saying.

I look at the attempt to find thematic crossover between the plot parts of a book in the series and the story parts of a book as being kind of like how, in the first three seasons of Community, whatever class the Study Group had together was a of synergistic reflection of certain season-long themes and developments for them as characters and in their relationships.

Like, in season one, they were learning how to talk to each other and the basics of building relationships with and understanding each other, so they took Spanish, a language class.

In season two, they took Anthropology — in-universe described as, “the study of humanity” and which is presented as being so open-ended that shitty memetic youtube vids are as valid an object of study as humanity’s development and use of tools, and the different processes by which humans work together to do greater shit than we can do solo — and in that year’s shenanigans, the Study Group cemented their trust as friends, but also went through Hell together in several cases, and in the last two episodes (the cowboy/Star Warts paintball two-parter), they had to face the question of whether or not removing one of them for his shitty behavior (Pierce) would be better or worse for the overall health of the group.

And in season three, they took Biology, defined in-universe as, “the study of life” (which isn’t wrong irl, but the specific phrasing is important to me, here), and they spend a lot of time exploring and developing their lives, both together and individually, both at Greendale Community College and more importantly outside its walls. There’s also the season-long theme of evolution, because the Study Group have evolved as people and continue to evolve — which reaches its biggest culminations in the finale, not just in Jeff’s Winger Speech, but also with five of the big seven (Annie and Britta are sort of adrift but Troy, Abed, Shirley, and Pierce all have moments, and Jeff has the BIGGEST, most obvious moment).

So, with the books, I’m trying to do something kind of similar. Not quite the same, because…… well, TV vs. novels, school setting vs. a variety of settings but none quite as structured as a school (even one that’s as, well, Greendalian as you get on Community), a million other reasons besides — but having some kind of thematic synergy between the plot part of each of the books and the focal characters’ personal stories in each book…… idk, it gives me a comforting sense of structure to play with?

And aside from that, I feel like it’s probably a better choice for the sake of the whole stories because having those points of connection means they can more easily work to enhance each other, rather than distracting from each other. Like, one of the biggest issues that I have with shoehorned-in romance plots in stories that don’t need a romance plot? Even overlooking how they are almost invariably white and m/f and heteronormative and can be all kinds of, “uggggh” in several other ways besides, it comes down to whether or not they work, thematically and tonally, with everything else.

[this is where i had a tangent trying to illustrate my point by talking about pointlessly shoehorned-in white, m/f romance plots in otherwise no romo stories, then cut it after i started to feel moderately ashamed of how many examples and trends about this that i just have in my back pocket]

The point being: you can use dissonance and conflicting juxtaposed parts of the story to different effects, but it’s often harder to pull off and you do need to have some idea of what you’re doing, otherwise you’re going to end up with a huge mess and no idea where to start sorting through it (I say this based on having done this exact thing several times before)

So, in the interests of not doing that, I like the idea of trying to find the big points of synergy and connection between any given book’s focal char’s story, and the plot points of that installment and how it fits into the larger story. And, for the sake of book 1, Sebastian’s big story of the moment is the one that lines up best with the plot stuff, thematically.

Also, apropos of nothing but, he spends like all of two minutes coming up with his nom de spandex, and ends up with Pete being Unimpressed at him because…… Really, Princess? Princess, really. Like. Princess. Really. Your family is obnoxiously insistent on your Frenchness, even though you were all born and raised in fucking Baltimore and your Dad’s family hasn’t been in France itself since your ancestor sold the old ancestral marquisate and came to save the Revolution with the Marquis de Lafayette… and now you turn into a nine-foot-tall wolf-man…… and you picked out the official, “it is on your actual facts government-issued vigilante hero license” name of…… Gévaudan.

Really, Princess. Fucking. REALLY. Ugggggggh, you’re more creative than that, why did you pick the stupidly obvious werewolf name ffs, your family isn’t even FROM Gévaudan or anywhere in its general damn vicinity, why did you have to pick THAT name, it’s BORING.

And now I don’t know how to wrap this up so I’m gonna abruptly stop talking (apart from the footnote below, which I wrote a couple hours ago, whoops)

Thank you so much for asking this and giving me a free excuse to talk about my novel, nonny

*: Given my chosen subject matter, I feel like it has to be? Partly, yeah, it’s authorial self-gratification because I love my weirdos and their adventures.

But another part of it is the idea that it’s not enough to punch fascists in the face. Like, yes, by all means, we need to do that, too — but fascism is insidious and easily enabled by so many aspects of our contemporary societies. So, we need to resist the urge to simplify the discussion. We can go, “Fascism is wrong, period” while also trying to understand the different ways that fascism draws people into supporting it, how it can spread so far and so thoroughly in nominally non-fascist societies, and its different manifestations and ways of working, so that we can better fight it.

Additionally, we’re products of the same societies that create people who do become fascists and we can easily become complicit in both fascism and oppression more generally, so we need to hold ourselves and each other accountable while trying to fight fascism, instead of putting it off for later, because…… historically, and based on several different precedents? Putting off addressing the internal issues among ourselves doesn’t work; it just creates fertile ground for more problems to breed and makes it even harder for people down the line.

And there aren’t any easy answers here. There are some part of them that are easy or at least easier than others — e.g., agreeing on the statement, “Fascism is wrong and we should oppose it” — but unfortunately, not everything in life and resistance can be as easy as, “This thing is wrong, we should oppose it.”

Even getting into the questions of HOW to best and most effectively fight back against fascism gets complicated, to say nothing of situations where there isn’t an obvious Right Side or Wrong Side, no matter how many people try to turn those discussions into Right vs. Wrong and get into a lot of binary-thinking moral absolutism that ultimately upholds a lot of the shit we’re nominally trying to fight, and does more harm than good to everyone involved.

(ftr, those discussions are not things like, “Fascism is wrong, Y/N,” but more like disagreements between people, none of whom are outright in the wrong, but all of whom have different sets of values, different kinds of grievances with each other [some fair, some not so fair], different points of view on any given topic, and so on, usually about things like, “is it more important for people to be free but with more potential for people to abuse that freedom in hurtful ways, or for people to be safe but in ways that give us new ways to hurt each other in the name of safety,” however the Hell these issues are manifesting in a specific context at any given moment)

And, well. It’s a precarious line to walk on, as someone who wants to be as ethical and responsible a writer as I can be and as true to my handful of basic guiding principles as possible. Principles that I have because…… uh, I want to be as ethical and responsible a writer as I can be? And I want to always work on failing better, as @saathi1013​ would put it?

so, if you’re going to do that, you kinda need to have something to stand for and try to be more aware of what’s going on in the world, more aware where the content you’re making fits into those discussions, and more aware of yourself and how you work so that you can try to find places of potential Unfortunate Implications or places where you’re not actually living up to the values that you want to put in your work — c.f., JKR’s handling of House Elves and Muggles in the HP series, or how she wants the books to be anti-abuse but gives Dumbledore a free pass on hardcore manipulating both Harry and Snape [to say nothing of how he doesn’t do shit to make Snape act like a teacher, not a bully, because of reasons], and gives Molly and Arthur a total free pass on all of their unadulterated abusive bullshit

—and part of all this is knowing what you stand for, knowing what you think and feel as much as you can, and being willing to actually interrogate your positions and adjust your views and stances as you come into new information, new experiences, etc. Call it a belief, call it a good idea, call it whatever you want, but for me? You have to have some kind of principles to stand for/by, if you really want to be ethical and/or responsible content creator, because if you don’t have your principles, then what’s guiding you in this, exactly? Principles are what separate people who at least try to be ethical and/or responsible content creators from fuckbishops like the Dadaists, the Marquis de Sade, and the creative team of Family Guy.

And one of my principles here is, essentially, “People are people, and this means, on one hand, that all people deserve basic human rights and civil liberties. But on the other hand, it means that many of our problems are, in the words of Pterry and Gneil in Good Omens, caused not by people being either Good or Evil, but by people being fundamentally people. We’re all a bunch of disasters to varying degrees, and most situations are not going to come down to Good vs. Evil, but to (as Richard Siken puts it) need against need, where everyone is at cross-purposes and everyone has the potential to be doing wrong by/unto someone else, even if some of us are going to come out more wrong than others based on our actions and/or the context of the situation.”

Which all basically adds up to…… yes, “Fascism is wrong” is a simple and straightforward statement, but there are situations and debates that arise surrounding most simple, straightforward statements that are tangled up and complicated. In this case, for example, how fascism takes root and spreads, how to best fight it in which situations, how it takes advantage of structures and practices even within non-fascist communities and uses them to fester and draw people into supporting it + what the fuck to do about that especially since at a certain point all of us become complicit in it to some degree or another, by virtue of being people who are alive and take part in our civilizations, and what’s at stake for everyone in all these discussions + how best to approach the question(s) of priorities

(…see, what I mean when I say that yes, I have interest in contemporary sociopolitical goings-on for their own sake but also bring them back to the novel pretty easily and regularly? It’s kinda unavoidable when you’re living in the times we are now, writing about superheroes who have to fight very explicitly neo-fascist supervillains)

So, anyway, the TL;DR of my basic point here is that I do try to approach my writing with principles in mind, but I don’t believe in oversimplifying shit — based on what I’ve encountered so far, I believe that oversimplifying things in a lot of these discussions usually starts in an understandable sort of place, but only ends up creating more problems for everyone in the long run, because it too easily fosters binaristic thinking and moral absolutism, dehumanizing each other, creating arbitrary hierarchies that we always end up using to justify hurting each other, and so on — and I don’t want to be a preacher in my work. I’d be a lot happier if I inspired actual discussions.

……Unfortunately, I’ve been in fandom and literature generally for too long to think that this is going to happen without the risk of people playing the apologist cards, the [douchebag character] in Leather Pants card, and all of that good stuff, but…… well.

I’m just trying to tell myself that this is a risk I’m going to have to live with, and if I do everything that I can reasonably do to prevent that and it still happens anyway, then hey, I’m in good company with George Orwell (all the people who have read 1984 as a defense or endorsement of right-wing anything when Orwell was a Socialist, he just opposed fucking Stalinism), Dr. Seuss (the anti-reproductive rights brigade who co-opted Horton Hears A Who to make it a screed against abortion), Emily Brontë (everyone who thinks Heathcliff is romantic and awesome when no. NO. fuck ALL the way OFF, he is an abusive jackass who literally kills a puppy and torments a generation of kids into reenacting his and Cathy’s relationship, just to get back at her for dumping him, and whose author was a fucking abuse survivor, now can everyone please get off her tits and stop using her book to justify their own abusive garbage behaviors), and so many countless others

But that’s a whole other kettle of monkeys, and I should only be so lucky to maybe someday have enough people reading anything I write that there are actually popular misinterpretations of anything. Like, would it be ideal if the misinterpretations didn’t happen? Yeah, but that’s not how writing works and it’s not how reading works and it’s not how most contemporary socialization trains us to read and see things, and everyone who reads anything I write is going to come up with their own interpretation because I can’t tell them how to read it, so

*shrugs* The Author Is Not God, y’know? I can do the work to try and best actualize my vision of things, but there will be things in it that other people see that I didn’t intend or didn’t notice, and my version of the story can’t be the absolute truth because the readers’ input is just as vital to the life of a written work as the work itself. It’s an unavoidable risk of writing shit on shit, so we make do, the end, I guess?

[grubhivemind]

RYAN: -it's been another long day at work, but the walk from the shuttle stop to her apartment feels even longer as the white noise of city life in the background offers little distraction from the worries buzzing around in her head. sometimes drowning it out with music helps, but tonight she isn't really feeling it and simply lets it all happen during her trek.-

JACK: -Ryan seems so out of it she might not even notice the hobo guy sitting at the top of a city mailbox like he's riding a horse. He's not homeless exactly, but he is wearing his trenchcoat and crocs combo. Jack looks like he's kind of... people watching? Impossible. This man is blind. No way to prove his lost whatsoever.-

RYAN: -yeah right, like there's any way she's going to miss THAT. she does have to do a double take as she passes, though.- ... 

RYAN: jack. :thinking: -doesn't really question his being there, just observes it. that's him alright.-

JACK: -was in the middle of guzzling a handful of trail mix.- Hm? -turns his head as if to listen closer.- 

JACK: God? Long time no hear from you, bud. You sound attractive. Love what you're doing with the voice.

RYAN: yep. its me. gorgeous and deserving of worship. :sparkles:

RYAN:  just popping in to ask... whats goin on lil dude? having a nice sit down on that mailbox there? think theres room for a little divine intervention so to speak?

JACK: In the wise words of lyrical poets come and past-- maybe. Just maybe. You'll gonna be the one that saves me. 

JACK: And after all. 

JACK: You're my Wonderwall. 

JACK: -scoots forward and invitingly pats the space behind him.-

RYAN: -snorts and shimmies over to take a seat on the mailbox, sitting back to back with him.- its always refreshing to hear a devout young man reciting hymns. 

RYAN: -kicks her legs as she dangles them off the side, looking all around at the city.- this is an interesting new vantage point.

JACK: Wouldn't know. But I think there's a perfume-slash-soap store upwind. 

JACK: Guess I am enjoying the sights in a way.

RYAN: -she thinks she peeps the soap store. confirmed.- you do look like you have your eye on something.

JACK: I'll try to reel that in a little. -munches some granola.- 

JACK: I'd ask what you're doing out here but... 

JACK: That seems a little inappropriate.

RYAN: uh yeah. -peers over her shoulder at him with a brow raised.- considering i live a few blocks away.

JACK: Hmmmm. 

JACK: I guess that explains a few things.

RYAN: ... jack. 

RYAN: are you lost?

RYAN: and if you answer that with some cryptic witticism im gonna shove you off this mailbox.

JACK: That's asking a lot. -Grunts. But he doesn't really feel like explaining himself so he leaves it that.-

RYAN: -sass is definitely MUCH WORSE so she just looks ahead again, irritated.- 

RYAN: i guess it doesnt matter either way.

JACK: You're probably right about that. You're so... -makes a point of picking through his words as carefully as possible.- 

JACK: Understanding.

RYAN: -feels her cheeks burning suddenly. maybe she's just tired after a long day, but she's feeling more defensive than usual.- are you being sarcastic?

JACK: No. You're not... 

JACK: Doing anything wrong. -brushes his hands of granola. It's free for the birds now.-

RYAN: -shoulders slump as her frustration fizzles out suddenly, but her head still feels hot and a little dizzy.- 

RYAN: ... its hard to tell sometimes.

JACK: It's not your fault. -he could swear under his breath.- But maybe that's the problem. 

JACK: God. 

JACK: I should elaborate. -rubs at his face with a deep sigh.- Neither of us know what the hell we're doing. And it doesn't help when... 

JACK: Neither of us know whether what the other is doing is bad until it's too late. 

JACK: I've just been taking note of that that familiar creeping feeling where... I've been absent. But I don't realize I'm doing it til I'm walking circles in the middle of fucking nowhere and the only reason we're talking right now, is because you came out here by chance. 

JACK: ... 

JACK: Why are you the one looking for me but it's never the other way around? And why... 

JACK: Why are you putting up with that.

RYAN: -the dizziness is making her stomach churn at this point and all she can think to do to settle it is draw in deep breaths. it takes her a second to think, to really think of what the answer might be.- 

RYAN: maybe cuz i think its some way of repenting? i dunno. 

RYAN: you know when i left i... left this giant mess. everyone worrying about me. and burned by me. i just... 

RYAN: i guess i dont blame you for not wanting to be around me because nobody really does. 

RYAN: and i keep hoping i can make up for it if i try to reach out to people. and try to fix it. but you... 

RYAN: ... 

RYAN: if im really not at fault here like youre saying then that theory is gonna get me nowhere fast huh? suppose it already has.

JACK: I just have to ask you. 

JACK: Why it's worth compromising letting people treat you like hell. -fingers grip at the metal below.- 

JACK: I'm not... 

JACK: Helping you be a better person, Ryan. I'm not helping you at all.

JACK: I'm selfish, I'm mean, I'm--- 

JACK: Fucking crazy? And all you ever do is try and try your damndest to make me feel like a real person. 

JACK: When I don't. I really don't. 

JACK: So why do you end up with all the crap?

JACK: Don't you see how wrong it is??

RYAN: -a tight stinging throat adds to the plethora of unpleasant physical manifestations of her awful emotions. why does this have to keep happening this way? it really seems like she falls into the same habits over and over. and it always blows up in her face.- 

RYAN: i dont know??? 

RYAN: i mean is it???? yeah maybe i dont feel like i deserve it but at the same time i have all this evidence stacked against me that says actually ryan in some ways you kinda do deserve to go through hell to get even a sliver of heaven. 

RYAN: it just. it fucking sucks. -pushes at tears that she can't keep back any longer.- 

RYAN: because youre right. i dont know what im doing any more than you do. nothing i do makes any sense to me. nothing ever seems to work out. everyone around me ends up distant and more often than not im the one creating the distance. 

RYAN: the only thing that ever seemed to make any sense to me was how i felt when i was with you but thats-- thats not... 

RYAN: enough. is it?

JACK: N... -faulters a moment, unsure of his answer.- I don't think so. 

JACK: I just... 

JACK: Can't be someone who gets away with this crap. Who can't even pull his shit together enough to make you feel like-- 

JACK: You're supposed to feel when you're together with someone. Like all this struggle and strife is worth it because... 

JACK: At the end of the day, you're a better person when you're with them. But between us... Fuck. 

JACK: It's just not true. -he takes a deep shaking breath, hating himself with every minute.- Ryan... 

JACK: Why'd we get back into this. We really... were not ready for it.

RYAN: -she's trembling too, still slumped slightly against his back and savoring the touch knowing exactly how this going to end. she laughs, an awful aching, watery laugh, before she answers his question, rhetorical as it might be.- 

RYAN: we did it cuz were stupid. 

RYAN: we dont know whats good for us in any other aspect of our lives so-- fuck! -the nervous smiles crack into sobs. but it's still funny, because after everything she's gone through lately, this is the first time she's really let herself hurt, or let herself cry.-

JACK: -He's just... shitty. He feels it happening as they speak. He can't face her or do anything but let her lean against his back. Somewhere in all the heavy, Jack's hand reaches to find hers.-

RYAN: -she grasps back, entwining fingers and holding tight. it feels desperate, but she can't deny that it helps her calm down... after she lets herself cry a little bit longer, anyways. she tilts her head back against his shoulder to look up at the stars.- 

RYAN:  -it used to be that she'd stare at the sky and only want to flee far away from any kind of pain or confusion. but for once, she feels tethered to the earth, and maybe that seems she's finally grounded herself, if only a little. maybe that means progress. it's hard to tell with an aching heart, but with jack holding her hand despite everything, she feels like maybe healing is still possible for her.- 

RYAN: ... -sniffles.- you should go home.

JACK: I will. 

JACK: Just felt like the fresh air was doing me better than sitting in one place. -just keeps holding her hand-

RYAN: okay. cool.

RYAN: ... yeah. 

RYAN: i agree. -well... she's not letting go either.-