#over the past 6 months or so a lot of trauma has been surfacing

[soggypotatoes]

whenever i remember that high school as a time period existed (or school at all really) i get this awful visceral tug in my gut, like... this sick feeling... i don’t think about it at all anymore unless i’m reminded of something... thankfully! school was such a mountainous draining terrible thing, this huge weight that engulfed everything in my life and it’s so weird to me that it’s just gone now, so far behind me that i don’t even think about it. so so so so so so weird. but it obviously still inhabits a very deep part of me, and whenever i’m reminded of those years... damn. that shit was so traumatic, i’m 26 and still unable to function bc of what went on there :’)

[erythristicbones]

OC Time! :3c

What is the relationship between two characters like and who's someone that comes and shakes that up?

OR! Alternatively (since I just had one I cant talk about yet) what's a big character or story breakthrough you've had recently? :0

Okay, since I'm working on revisions of my book EOTA today, I've got that story on the brain and I'm absolutely gonna talk about Kirsen!!! Specifically the relationship between Kirsen and Imogen, which gets touched on over a couple different chapters, but ultimately just can't be explored in-depth during the book itself. Also......this is gonna get long, fair warning AKDHDKFJDK

So, to start it all off: At the start of EOTA, it's only been a handful of months since Kirsen and Imogen ended their 1-2yr relationship. I think in the original draft I put a hard number on it, something like 6 months since they broke up? But I think it'll read better if I leave the period more up to interruptation. Anyways, the point is that Kirsen is someone who grows very, very attached to people and things are left unresolved.

Because it says from the get-go, from the very moment their past relationship is mentioned, that Kirsen and Imogen didn't break up because they stopped loving one another. In fact, they still have very strong feelings for one another. It's just that they recognized that they simply couldn't provide what the other needed and deserved in a relationship.

Imogen's aging mother is essentially the person in charge of their town, Pointes. She runs everything and keeps the town safe and functional. While she could have chosen anyone to take her place, she raised Imogen with the idea that she was going to inherit the position. This is the culmination of her entire life so far and really, Imogen does very much want the position.

Kirsen is someone who...well, there's several parts of her personality that come together in an unfortunate way. She was raised with a hunter's disposition; she needs to be out, she needs to be moving, she needs a job, she needs a prey. And unfortunately, Kirsen has a lot of trauma that she has been desperately trying to avoid acknowledging her entire life. If she stays in one place too long, she can't have a constant distraction, she can't hide her bad days from the people there, and she risks people trying to force her to acknowledge it.

Imogen needs a partner who will be there by her side, who will be the support she needs while she takes on a very taxing, pivotal role. Kirsen needs a partner who will be willing to travel with her, who will recognize her need to run and be there to pick up the pieces when everything does catch up to them. And no matter how hard they try, they are both intimately aware that they cannot provide those things for one another.

Ultimately, I think they both recognize this and yet cling to the hope that something in their lives will change and, magically, all of their differences will disappear and they will be able to live together happily.

[Enter Lucida] :)

Kirsen is now having to work with Lucida to save the world. It provides a great distraction from her struggles with Imogen- except that Kirsen thinks Lucida is attractive and falling for the person you're going on a perilous quest with is not exactly the brightest move. So now she's juggling feelings for two different people and knowing fully well that neither situation is ideal for her currently.

And there are specific scenes where Kirsen is clearly leaning into her attraction to Lucida so she can forget about Imogen, only to then have specific scenes where she (for instance) makes out with Imogen bc "surely this will absolutely help me not fall for Lucida and have no emotional repercussions at all".

Its- at the end of the day I think the three of them have such interesting dynamics with one another (and that's not even touching on Imogen/Lucida being weirdly passive aggressive and jealous of one another bc they both ALSO like Kirsen)and I can only scratch the surface of it in the book itself, bc technically the romance plays second fiddle to the Saving The World Shit ya know? I could write essays on these three idiots, I love them

[fragilevixenfic]

My AO3 Fanfiction Links (Current)

“I’ve never really thought about making a “Master List” of my own work but I figured, now is the time to do so. If any of the links are incorrect just let me know. I fix. 

Adding in a “keep reading” tab because the list is starting to get long and intense.

Each fic is categorized and easily referenced. I’ll update as I go.

X Files

Series

Into The Shadows

XII (COMPLETE): A serial killer targets victims and leaves behind symbols of his affection -- but who is his intended target and what will it take to discover the truth? (This has a lot of trigger warnings)

Dance In The Dark (ONGOING Chapters 12/? Posted **UPDATED):  With the continuing murder trial of Miles, Mulder, Scully, and Max are confronted by the VCU with a case that seems to be mimicking the pattern by their, now infamous, psychopath on trial.

Echoes and Whispers

Parallel (COMPLETE):  The aftermath of the three little words that Mulder says to Scully in his hospital bed after being rescued from the Queen Anne as it re-appeared in the Bermuda Triangle...and the strange connection that Scully starts to feel to a memory that Scully couldn't possibly have.

Only The Night (ONGOING):  Mulder and Scully begin their undercover assignment as an engaged couple with the assistance of Skinner at the University of Maryland to catch a serial rapist, putting their newly formed physical bond to the test in this sequel to “Parallel”.

Casefics

Falling Away (COMPLETE):  Kersh’s assignment partially splits the team as Scully goes undercover under the watchful eye of Mulder as they both assist on an operation with SWAT and FBI personnel. (A gift for Greta)

Veritas se revēlet (COMPLETE):  (The title is roughly translated to let the truth be revealed in Latin) An impromptu wild goose chase leads Mulder and Scully to the drifts of a winter-locked Tonopah, Nevada—where a little more than the embodiment of Mulder’s imagination takes shape between the walls of the Mizpah Hotel in the dead of winter. (A gift for @monikafilefan)

She Walks at Night (COMPLETE):  Mulder’s knack for getting himself and Scully into sticky situations leads them to the heart of NOLA at the tail end of Hurricane season after barely surviving a Floridian storm—to investigate a rumor of a notable Voodoo Queen and missing girls trying to bring her back. (A gift for @starbuck09256)

Intrigues in the Dark (COMPLETE):   A string of suicides leads Mulder and Scully to a sleepy, coastal town in Oregon for the second time—on their return to The X File—as tensions run high and nothing is as it seems. (A gift for @admiralty-xfd)

By Light, Unseen (COMPLETE):   A series of re-opened cold case murders with one link…they’d been drained of every drop of blood and wore the same, haunting stare toward the sky with their lips aghast as if they were still screaming. (A gift for @serahsanguine)

Post-Series

A House is Not a Home (COMPLETE):  The mere thought of raising a newborn in a world full of horrors has every part of Scully’s emotional irrationality over firing on a chilly, winter evening. Mulder wants nothing more than to show her that not everything is gray and grim. (for @danceswithcybermen)

Remember the Reason (COMPLETE):  Post Series (Part 1 of the “Little Redhead Series”). Mulder and Scully already knew that life with a newborn would be difficult but the first Christmas with their two-month-old daughter throws every curveball…some worse than others, some more humorous. (For @underworldobsessed)

Confectioners Sugar & Snow Drifts (COMPLETE):  Post Series (Part 2 of the “Little Redhead Series”). Mulder spends the morning bonding with Eliana by having a Christmas baking session while Scully is out shopping for gifts. Messes, mayhem, and a healthy dose of laughter ensue. No moment is ever dull as the snow falls outside.

The Easter Bunny was a Fox (COMPLETE):  Post Series (Part 3 of the “Little Redhead” Series). Scully has to pick up Bill, Tara, and a couple of surprise family from the airport, leaving Mulder alone with their 6-year-old daughter, Eliana, on Easter Morning. All she has for him are curiosities as Easter’s non-Christian ideology unfolds before her eyes…creating the most unique bonding opportunity for a father and his daughter. (For Flicked_Switch)

Angst/UST/RST

Caught in the Rain (COMPLETE):  A dark, rainy night leads Mulder and Scully to a hole in the wall bar where glasses of Scotch and unresolved tension is re-visited.

Or We Can Burn (COMPLETE):  Post Never Again - expansion and continuation of the aftermath surrounding what Scully has been hiding from Mulder.

It Lingers (COMPLETE):  The aftermath of trauma and the lingering effects of Mulder’s risky attempt to recover the truth about Samantha’s abduction leads to a revelation from Scully about her own coping mechanisms and flashes into a past she doesn’t fully remember...and the path to which they lead thereafter. (For @red2007)

Fluff/Humor

Nervous Laughter (COMPLETE):  It’s been two full days since their tender, albeit brief, moment at the stroke of midnight and Mulder decides to be brave and methodical by inviting Scully over for a little movie and popcorn night for a film that has stayed locked in his mind as her favorite—The Exorcist. (This is a gift for @rationalcashew)

Lamplight & Shooting Stars (COMPLETE):  It’s Spring-time in DC and spontaneous, mutually taken vacation time has become a personal mission of Mulder’s to surprise Scully with so much more than an escape from their norm—and the unseasonable, uncomfortable city heat. (For @underworldobsessed)

Into the Nightlife (ONGOING):  A little paid vacation time never hurt anyone, right? (Not giving anything away this time)

Smut

Insomniac (COMPLETE):  Another lonely, sleepless night, another dingy motel, and another town that isn’t home for Mulder…but, something changed, with the last gasp of the air conditioner as his partner, and best friend, chooses to walk through the adjoining door. (Expanded writing exercise)

Vultus in Speculo (COMPLETE):  The last of the paperwork on the Strickland case has been finalized and filed and Scully goes off for a drink at a known FBI watering hole. Mulder is invited but doesn’t show up until after Scully is halfway through a drink—giving him an opening to inquire about a whole lot more than her flirtations with the Sheriff in the booth of a rooftop bar. (written for @msrheadcanon

Phosphorescence (COMPLETE):  Still reeling from their experience in North Carolina, Mulder and Scully take a much-needed excursion to the coast of Oregon, where a flicker of light becomes more than a curiosity in the middle of the night. (Written for @anniexami)

The Darker Side of Love (COMPLETE): Mulder does not want to talk but he does not want Scully to leave, either. (This is for the MSR fanzine vol 3)

Ficlets/Drabbles/Short Prompt Collection

Affirmations and Protestations: “Fluff and Angst” Prompts (ONGOING):  

 Chapter 1 - "You Weren't Supposed to Hear That" - prompt #5, 61, 77

Chapter 2 - "Shout!" - prompt #19, 61 (From Valerie)

Chapter 3 - "Litost" - prompt #1, 85, 97 (From Monika)

Chapter 4 - "Ad Infinitum" - prompt #42 (From Minuete)

Chapter 5 - "Brick" - prompt - After Scully calls Mulder in the ep Emily, she asks him to bring her some things from home. Her journal falls to the floor and Mulder sees some things written about him that she has never allowed him to know. (from Monika)

Chapter 6 - "I'd rather be oblivious" - prompt #46 (from Annie)

Criminal Minds

Angst/UST/RST

Dulce Periculum (COMPLETE):  Maxine and Spencer have continued seeing each other, in spite of the interference brought to the surface by Cat Adams. Spencer continues to work closely with the BAU after it nearly dismantled, with signature members scattering to the winds, leaving behind only a few, including himself, to keep working on their caseload. After a long, intense case, Spencer returns home to a little more than a can of worms. (A gift for an anonymous prompter)

Law & Order: Special Victims Unit

Angst/UST/RST

Chasing your Silhouette (COMPLETE):  They’d learned each other’s quirks and intricacies on the job—but when did it become over the line? When did physicality become a detriment to them once they’ve taken off their shields? When did they realize the line in the sand no longer existed? (This is meant to take place a couple weeks after “Zebras” – had to assume a timeline, I don’t remember actual dates)

Paternity Redux - Time Just Stopped (COMPLETE):  Her strength has always been immeasurable—but sometimes, something has to give and a string breaks. Nothing will ever be the same.“I’m trying my best, that is enough.” - UnknownThis is part of a challenge, to right a series of wrongs in an episode that has perpetrated many a discussion of “What Could Have Been”. WriterKC, Liv.Einziger, JustAnotherBookWorm78, MrsWellRested, EORocks, AlexisDawn, ChriskaPeach, and I have stepped up to the plate to do just that.

Oblivion (ONGOING 9/? Chapters posted ***UPDATED***):   The undercover operation in Oregon takes an unexpected, unpleasant turn for Olivia Benson as an injury turns her life, and career, upside-down leaving her with pieces of her memory scattered in the wind.

Humor

Unlock the Door (TENTATIVELY COMPLETE 2/2):   Olivia returns home from a celebratory series of shots with Kim Greylek and lets Elliot Stabler hear a little more than she ever intended to in the aftermath.

Series

Polaroids and Promises (COMPLETE):   The Special Victims Unit has undergone an enormous amount of changes in the past six months, to the point that they are drastically undermanned—until a transfer from the 13th precinct brings new life, and a little chaos, to the team. Will her addition prove to be a permanent shift or a flash in the pan?

Discarded Dignity (COMPLETE):   Elora continues to gain much-needed confidence as a member of the Special Victims Unit but an arrival booked for trespassing, assaulting an officer, and disorderly throws her progress into chaos as her past jumps to the surface. Will she be able to look beyond the misstep to solve one of the most convoluted cases she’s faced? 

Contract Corruption (ONGOING 10/?):   Dickie Stabler and Justin Andrisani are in over their heads--and the members of SVU and the Organized Crime task force must come together in order to set things right.

Law & Order: Special Victims Unit/Organized Crime Crossover

Series

Words of love, words of lies, words of loss

Age of Regret (COMPLETE):  Elliot Stabler has never been good with words but ten years and a double on the rocks in a lonely room will make a man pour his heart out…in any way that he can.

Infidelis (COMPLETE): Elliot had been haunted by too many ghosts; expectations, fantasies, and a promise that he knew should never be kept. It was time to lay them all to rest. “I do not regret you…I regret what you did to me.” - Unknown

[drarryspecificrecs]

2020.11

Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3 this month

1. When The Smoke Clears by GoldFrostbite13 [M, 158k]

►Harry just wants one normal year at Hogwarts. But when ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy asks for forgiveness and offers his friendship, Harry's life begins to change more than he ever imagined it would. Meanwhile, bitter enemies threaten to tear their fragile realities apart...

2. Ruined Omega by @madriddler [E, 97k]

►Harry Potter, the Chosen One, has been outed as a Ruined Omega! An Omega who lost his purity in a past relationship, and never claimed. Vilified by the media, and shunned by his friends, Harry finds solace from an unlikely source that leads to past lies coming to the surface, an old man's attempt to control Harry, and courtship from a past enemy. With new friends and new enemies, the poor Omega has to survive his 6th year of Hogwarts with the whole world watching.

3. 'And The Forest Met The Sky' by Silverhood [M, 87k]

►The war is over, and in the ruckus a lot of developments had gone unnoticed. Now at the start of 8th year Harry receives a letter from Gringotts, a rather disgruntled one, and another from Narcissa Malfoy. With this letter, Harry also comes into a rather surprising inheritance and a more surprising twist of events. How long will Harry hold up? [...]

4. Turning Over a New Leaf, Entering the Next Phase, And Other Rot Like That by Allychik6 [M, 80k]

►For Harry, it's all in a day's work [...] And then there's a pelt found outside Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and Harry is sucked into a string of crimes. Crimes where his only lead seems to be Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, who can't seem to keep himself out of trouble, who seems intent on shaking up the delicate balance of Grimmauld Place, who keeps stealing food from Harry's plate and irritating his Auror partner. And when did he get so fit?

5. There Will Be Time. by dracoseratonin [T, 62k]

►With his mental health steadily deteriorating and an impossible task weighing down on his shoulders, Draco Malfoy’s will to live is becoming weaker and weaker as the days pass by. Upon choosing a date and time, Draco stands at the top of the astronomy tower, revelling in the final moments of his life when Harry Potter pulls him back to safety and promises to save his life. Now Draco must fight a new battle within him and decide whether he will love the boy who lived or betray him.

6. Recollect by Relevant_Peach [M, 60k]

►Harry Potter awakens in hospital, with no memory of his life. He knows a couple of things. He likes ice cream. He remembers how to apparate. And he's gay. His girlfriend is in for the surprise of the decade. As Harry learns more about his former life, and the choices he's made, he wonders whether the curse that robbed him of his past is actually a curse, or a chance to do things the way he wants for a change. Fortunately, a hot blond Harry meets in a bar is willing to come along for the ride as he figures it out.

7. The Journal by @eelwinks [E, 59k]

►After Voldemort's death, everything was supposed to get better, supposed to be better. Harry was meant to live a normal life. However, he very-unfairly found himself with crippling depression and an anxiety problem—his Mind Healer says he has PTSD. [...] Now Harry thinks he's ready to return to Hogwarts for an Eighth Year.

8. Broken by @gryffind0r-d0rk [T, 44k]

►The Dark Lord has finally been defeated. All Harry Potter wants is to finish his last year at Hogwarts and live a normal and happy life. But that can be challenging when you're the most famous wizard alive. And when your eighth year changes everything.

9. Survive Your Naked Eyes by Ladybmorebelle [M, 43k]

►Twenty years ago, Draco ran away to Ireland, and Harry followed him. A few months of passion and frenzy and youth and wildness - doing all the things that kids can do after years of trauma and abuse - and then Harry ran back to safety. Now, Harry realizes that he cannot continue the life he built, and Draco isn't sure he can ever love again. [...]

10. Nott to Worry by @brokenpitchpipe [T, 40k]

►Upon arriving at Hogwarts on the first of September, Theodore Nott planned to spend his eighth and final year at school studying for his N.E.W.T.s, avoiding his classmates, and dodging their theatrics long enough to graduate. Instead, he found himself ensnared between the entirety of the eighth-year class (who'd convinced themselves that Draco and Potter were secretly shagging) and Draco and Potter themselves (who actually were, and were frankly awful at hiding it.)

---

※ Fics from H/D Fan Fair : Sex Fair 2020 & HP Suds Fest 2020 are listed elsewhere. ✔ other lists : monthly || daily (NOVEMBER)

[cargopantsman]

Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here

Trigger warnings: All of them, because I am lazy. Also none of this is sensical.

Utter, hyper-caffeinated brain noise.

The problem with the concept of a "sense of self" is it already tries to concretize an amorphous abstract. It makes us want to point at some thing and say "Well... that's me." Whether it is a set of ideals that we try to live by, a set of activities that brings us a sense of joy or fulfillment, or, gods forbid, and entirely different and other person that "completes us."

I've always had an affinity for trickster figures and shapeshifters. The wearers of masks, the truthful liars, the artisans of duality, yada, yada. Since I was a child my first instinct has always been to blend in. If into the background, great, but if need be, if I needed to blend into the social fabric around me, I could do that too. To throw this into the high school backdrop; I wasn't a social butterfly, I was shy as could be, but I got along with the jocks, the goths, the nerds, the art freaks, the band kids, the preps, the whatever. Where ever I was I could fake that I belonged there. I was comfortable drifting in between worlds. (Looking back, I could have caused a lot more chaos with the information I was privy to at the time...[Oh, there's a constant point. I'm good at keeping secrets, keeping confidence. I'll lie my ass off to keep a secret.]) Does any of that really help drive a sense of self though? When your natural instinct is to mirror, to blend, to fade? When your point of pride is walking into a room unnoticed and, even better, leaving a party unseen? Does being a ghost count as an identity?

"Expression of Will" comes to mind... what does that mean? Ok, so some abstract thing is inside of you and you manifest it objectly outwardly. I was an artist. I made images in my head and "kind of" manifest them on paper. Some times people see that paper...  I was a writer... images in my head "became" words and some people saw that. I combined them into comics. Some people Saw that. Is that a lasting affect? Maybe the fights I've been into?! That time in 2nd grade someone was picking on a friend and I laid them out... the time in 8th grade someone was picking on me and clocked them down. Or in high school when someone decided to start some rumors and I held them up by their throat in the air until they turned blue? That was an inward thing that manifested outwardly. Nevermind good or bad, but was any of that... me?

Hmm. The beast. The primal... come back to that later.

"Expression of Will," "Expression of Will," "Expression of Will" ... What the fuck even is "Will"? Is this why philosophers get their heads so far up their ass? Is it a desire? The will to live.... living requires eating and the amount of times I forget to even do that... Maybe been looking at the phrase all wrong...

Will to Live (noun) It isn't a thing.

Will (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Why does that sound better?

Desire to Live (noun)

Desire (verb) to (preposition) Live (verb)

Okay, that feels better even, but still... Sense of self, will, desire, expressions thereof. Are these just the aimless desires and wills? The fleeting flights of frivolous fancies festering forlornly in frontal cortices?

The self with the will can direct the desires towards living. "Get in the fucking robot Shinji!" "I don't wanna"

The (ghost) with the (strength) can direct the (impulses) towards (being). Getting too close to a concept of a soul on that one huh?

Forget self. It's a useless moniker right now. There is no self. It's just this mind alone for the first time in its entire life. (Not alone alone, there are friends, but they've learned more about me in the past two weeks than the past 6 years so...) "What did they learn?" asked the projection of self that defines itself by interactions with other.

I thought we were forgetting self.... not an option really. Sentience is a bitch like that. But they've learned I'll put up with a lot of bullshit under the guise of strength and integrity when I should've callously called this whole thing ages ago. That I can shut myself down completely in the interest of bodily-self preservation. (Not Self-self preservation, fuck the English language). What did I sacrifice? What did I shut down?

Everything.

That is less than helpful.

The Beast. Vince. Your Shadow.

My Shadow...

What do you desire?

Blood in the cut, tears in their eyes, power over someone that wants that power over them...

Do you want that? I don't want it, I just need it. No... I want it.

Is that all you are? A sadist? An animal?

Maybe... probably not though. A caretaker, and a sparring partner. A trickster and a shapeshifter. A crafter whose tools are destruction.

Next problem, grandeur. Mythologizing everything. But how to see a thing if you don't blow it up/magnify it?

You lack a sense of self because no one ever tested your sense of self. No one actually fought you for who you are. To find out who you are. The ex didn't. An old friend did until she got scared by what she found there.

You don't want to be yourself because it's not nice is it? You were raised to be nice.

College. I controlled the group. Never hit anyone after high school aside from set matches in classes or sparring for funsies. They all saw my eyes and stopped if they were getting out of hand.

The Dom-Friend.

Don't use the d-word on me.

Destroyer? Yeah, that one's fine. That one fits. He says as he carelessly tosses lit matches around his entire life. Can we bring up the phoenix or is that too grandiose? Why shouldn't it be grandiose? We spend every day of our lives going through the same kind of tedious bullshit all the time why not make our inner lives a bit bigger, a bit richer?

A bit darker.

Why do you want them to bleed? Hurt and comfort. That's a big theme, a trope if you will. Why not have both at the same? Why not let her think that I'm about to kill her but let her rest in the trust that I won't? Why not let me think that I'm about to break her while believing she is the most precious thing in the world?

Caretaker. A caretaker kills all the time. Tearing out weeds, uprooting the prized plant to move it to a better place for its growth.

Growth.

The self isn't going to be found just in ones self... not in another either. No, the self has to be found in everything. The things one wants to run to and run from. The soul (oops) is formed by what it crashes into right? The mind recoils from traumas races towards panaceas, why not, if one can, flip the polarity on the two. Bring the darkness screaming into the light so you can see it, bring the light quivering into the darkness so it can loose its terrifying brillance. Balance in all things right?

You're not a very positive person, they say. No... I'm not. It lashes out in bad ways sometimes, sure. Control, control, you must learn control. But being negative isn't bad. Not if you can grow from it. No plant can survive the sun for 24 hours. Trees sleep in the winter. We sleep, we heal, we grow.

Self-Destruction!! That's a fun one... seven fucking months downing a bottle of whisky a night. Whooo boy. Do Not Recommend.

Got a nice stay in the underworld though and trudged up a lot of shit. Now I'm sitting here with my ears ringing because I finally hit the personal limit on Monsters and my brain is overclocked enough I can finally see shit at 4 angles at the same time. I am a god damned quantum supercomputer of emotions right now.

Faith and faithlessness are the same thing. Have faith, trust the future, don't expect anything, don't plan your now for your future. Sounds sadly like live in the moment type bullshit, but life is weird and people are complex. Shifting drifting clueless animals that want to be safe but don't want to get stuck in anothers arms even when there is one whose arms are so safe.

The damage runs deep... and two people with damage running that deep. Hmm. How much healing can falling do? The other just puts a bandage over a puncture wound and both try to ignore it, but then the blood gets pumping, the heart pounds and poisons surge to the surface. It's neither one's fault really. Life is a trial of knives and we don't always have time or concern to tend the wounds properly. There's always something else that needs to be taken care of first.

Divorce is a helluva drug. It is maddening, the freedom to finally to be yourself is line having the lineart stripped off, there is a terrifying infinity in front of you and the only thing to do for awhile is melt. Let the slings and arrows just pierce and sink in. Anyone else tries to push the sludge of you into a shape might get hurt when they find the arrows. I want to go absolutely feral in a way. In a way the whole COVID mess is keeping me under lock and key so I'm just prowling around the empty house like I always have been, but now there's some sense... of purpose.

I'm raging against any depression, the executive dysfunction is going to have a talking to. The sense of self is going to be found in stripping this house down to bare walls and making a blank canvas. Bring everything down, ruin it all, start again.

My self is emptiness, it always has been. I can be anything, but I should be wary of ever wanting to be something. (My career options are AWESOME). But this is a different emptiness than before. Before I pulled the trigger and splattered the brains of the marriage across the floor I was just a void, and inky black pit of nothingness. Somehow, having the Shadow rise up and finally start getting along with the rest of me, the emptiness isn't.... void. It's just nascent possibility and that shouldn't scare me.

It does, of course, terrify me. First time in 40 years being legitimately alone is terrifying, should have done this kinda thing when I was 20, but... I was an idiot back then (60 year old me laughs from the future). But I think I can get a grip on the concept that "I" don't exist, but I'm real... ever changing ever dynamic, not who I was while I was married, but a mix of the me before, a angry beast now, and something yet unseen in the future.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

[heartmeadows]

So, uhh hi. I’m sorry about my last post. I do think I overshared, not by much but still by enough that I’ve felt ashamed ever since. And avoided posting anything else or responding to anyone. I’ve needed time to figure things out and I have actually finally overcome some big obstacles that have been in the way of my healing, recovery, whatever you wanna call it. I’m unfortunately gonna ramble so it’s gonna be under a read more

It’s taken over 6 months for me to even be able to truly feel and be present, and stop isolating myself, pushing people away, and avoiding facing my fears and troubles.... among other effects, symptoms, etc. of trauma. Trauma fucks you up. I think by now most people know that. But I’m ready to stop wallowing in self pity and hate, and letting my C-PTSD run the show. I can do better, I can be brave. I know I have more in me. It’s just that whenever I take steps back and/or I get hurt I need time to recover my strength to get back up and keep going on. With survival, recovery, all that. I do things my way no matter what. And it’s a mess most of the time. But there’s also the other side of it all. I don’t have a word for it. I suppose what I mean is that despite it all the pain me and the people I love, and even strangers and any of us, have experienced and keep experiencing there’s still hope. There’s hope, joy, light and beauty in life even during the darkest times. Sometimes the pain just blinds me too much. I could keep going on about... a lot. Pretty words. Wise words. Things I’ve learned and things I’m learning. But I have a tendency to write or talk too much, or not at all. I really find it hard to be in the middle, I always will be bipolar. Not in a quirky way, not in an ableist way some people tend to use words without understanding their meaning. I mean that I have bipolar disorder, among other issues or qualities. I guess I’m not exactly making sense fully or making any definitive point. But it’s not like I can currently can. I’m still figuring things out. I just mean that I’m me. I don’t know how to be anything else, nor do I want to ever pretend again to fit in. I learnt some dark but needed lessons the hard way. I won’t ever allow my loneliness to be a way for people to hurt me because in my desperation to feel like I belong I turn to the wrong people and trust the kind of people no one should. Anyway, I digress.  It’s one step and one day at a time. And it’s ok. And I’m ok. And I’m also not ok. I’m a lot of things. A collection of paradoxes. Always liked that sentence and still find it something I could pretty much get tattooed because I relate to it on a deep level no matter how pretentious it might sound to some people. But yeah, I’m rambling. It’s well past midnight, I just had a cigarette and a cup of coffee earlier in my garden in the lovely summer air. The nights are already getting darker but I enjoy that. I don’t mind that my sleeping schedule keeps changing constantly and that I am living both a life of night owl and an early bird. Guess I’m a versatile bird lmao. Honestly, I’m going through that whole “sudden” moment of clarity at the most inconvenient time ‘cause it’s not like I can get my shit together right now. I’ve just found the positivity and hope I’ve been searching for. I’ve found solutions to a lot of problems. It’s that same old “I know all the answers to the questions I’ve had lately” but not really that hyperbolic. I’m thankfully not manic. I know what I need to do in order to start getting better again. I also know that it’s gonna take a lot of courage to do most of the things that will help me get forward. It’s not gonna be easy. But it’s time to stop waiting for things to change without actually working to change things. I’m just... over the past. I’m ready to let go of the pain and of the person I was that I’ve been longing to be again, and also of the regret and shame of the person that I became at times that I never wanted to be. I thought that I had to cling onto the past in order not to lose myself after going through trauma that made me truly feel like I’d lost everything to the point I went too far and attempted suicide four fucking times. After years of not even so much as cutting myself. You know, not my first attempts but my worst ones because it’s a miracle after miracle surviving these overdoses. It’s hard to understand I guess. I really thought I’d lost everything. That they took everything from me. But I was wrong. I understand now that after everything I’ve finally come to a point where I can re-invent myself. To choose where I want my life to head towards and who I truly want to be. I’ve already come so far, for example I’ve finally overcome my addiction to hard drugs. And I never thought I could do that. But I kept trying. I kept going. I relapsed last year and that lead to all the misery that has followed me. But I got through it. I still have my other, physical addiction to meds that are for now the only way I can cope with my physical issues and also numb myself to a point. But I know I’ll find a way out of this one too. I won’t let anything or anyone destroy me anymore. I’ve made mistakes and I’ve learnt lessons the hard way. I’ve paid the price of asking too many questions in life and wanting to find the answers by being stupid, reckless, too trusting, too lonely, too self destructive. I guess I still have to figure out how to stop rambling too much, especially when I’m pretty sure without all the context a lot of this doesn’t make sense. So, I’ll just try my best to finish this post with saying that I’m ready to let go, move on and re-invent myself again. Like I said. But not fully, like I have done before. I’m not changing my name again (and people have stopped calling me by my deadname, if it’s ok to use that word to describe my birthname that isn’t my name at all, not in any way, and I changed it legally a long time ago too) or dying or cutting my hair, nah. I’m not fully happy with the surface level of my identity and life right now because I’ve gained weight, gotten more ill and started to age in a way I know is caused by being unhealthy (stupid to keep smoking still even after being in a coma and a breathing machine way too many times by now because of the overdoses)... It’s hard to make this short, sorry. What I mean is that I’m disappointed and hurt with where my choices and the consequences of not only my acts but others have lead me to. But it’s not over. Because I’m alive, I survived and I still have a chance to change things for the better. And to truly be myself and get back on track on my journey of self improvement and recovery, healing. It’s not too late like I thought. I can still be Lena and for that to mean that I can become someone I can truly be proud of. To be someone the people in my life can look up to. And to keep following the path I create for myself, to pursue my freedom and my passions. To let go of the self destruction. To walk the path of light and accept the dark but not let it control me. I can find balance, mentally, physically and spiritually. I can heal. Everything’s gonna be ok. So I’ll just stop here. I’m gonna go sim, to be honest, and I’ll hope to post sims stuff again soon enough. If anyone actually read this annoyingly long post I thank you for your patience and for listening to me, so to speak. It’s important for me to post this so that I can come back to this in those moments I feel low again. To have a reminder that will give me strength to keep going on.

[captain-morgan]

So I just watched/finished all of Bojack Horseman and I just gotta say:

holy shit

Look I don’t post a lot so obviously this is just me talking to the void but I just gotta get it out.

At the moment I am and have been dealing with a lot of shit. Chronic pain, depression, anxiety, worthlessness, and the feeling like I will amount to nothing.

And watching this show was... intense. You sit there and watch episode after episode of this very flawed character become even more flawed with no sign of stopping. Bojack goes through the whole series fucking up constintly and claiming he will change but never does. You watch the show and think that this guy is the hero of the story, that everything will be alright in the end. But after the final episode you are left with the numbing reality that he is the villain.

Throughout the show I started to get less and less on Bojack’s side. I mean he literally does some horrible shit, whether it’s almost sleeping with penny to choking his co star/girlfriend while high on pain meds. He continues to do shitty things yet he never changes or gets in trouble. And that’s the point in some way I guess. The fact that he doesn’t receive any conciqences is why he never does change, despite his desperate want to.

And yet while watching it and knowing how fucked up he is, you still feel sympathy. You learn what his childhood was like. What happened to his parents. What his parents did to him. And then later what he did to Sarah Lynn. It’s the cycle of trauma. The cycle of abuse. And it’s those things that make you look at a character like Bojack and see all the fucked up shit he did, yet you feel for him cause you can understand why he is that way. But you can also understand that while still hating him because it’s not okay and it will never be okay to do what he did.

I think the episode that hit me the most in this way was “That’s too much, man”. When that episode ended and I was left with the haunting fact that Sarah Lynn died, I sat there with this unbelievable feeling of sadness and disgust. Bojack took what was essentially his daughter and killed her. He tainted her whole life. He was her father figure and fucked it up, hard.(Literally too). And after she was 9 months sober, he gets her back on her addiction and then provides her with the drugs that would eventually kill her. And yet despite loving her, he leaves her there for 17 minutes to cover his own ass before calling an ambulance.

I’m sad to say that it took me til that episode to fully realize who the fuck Bojack is. A flawed, selfish, narcissistic, asshole who keeps trying yet failing to do good. I sat there after that episode and looked back on the whole series before that and it hit me. It was all there from the very beginning. And that’s the saddest part, it’s the whole point of the show. To not notice until it’s to late.

And it’s so fucked up that that moment wasn’t even his rock bottom.

Don’t get me wrong, Bojack does do nice things in the show but those don’t negate the horrible shit he did to all the people in his life.

So, as I am watching season 6 and seeing all that shit come back to fuck him over even after he has done the work to change, it’s heartbreaking. Because everything he did to fix himself, to become better, didn’t fix the past in any way. It just made it worse when it came to surface. And that’s heartbreaking because I fully believe people can change. They can better themselves and that’s great. But it also reinforces the fact the even though you changed, the people you hurt never have to forgive you. And that’s the important part to me.

Bojack is not a good person. He never was. But he is a beautiful character. And that’s why he is so important. He’s proof that, yes, you can change but that doesn’t change anything that you have done.

So watching this show while being in such a horrible place in my life, is so fucking special. Because I get it. (Obviously not in the same way as him because holy shit he is fucked up) I’d like to change too, I want to get better. But it’s so hard, it feels like it’s impossible. So then watching a show like this and screaming internally at a character to start the process already is... depressing.

Because that’s you, you’re yelling at yourself. And yet you still have trouble doing it even though you know it’s so desperately needed.

And that’s just one of the reasons why this show is so beautiful yet horrificly tragic.

Obviously there is so much more and so many more characters to think about and learn from and that’s why it hits so hard.

Bojack Horseman is one of the best shows I’ve ever watched.

And also the show that hurt me the most

[marshmallowprotection]

You've probably received an ask like this before, but do you have any specific thoughts/headcanons for Ray Route AE, in regards to the twins, as well as Saeran and MC's relationship? And what I mean by that is... do you think Saeran would have an easier time (even just slightly) getting over his hatred for his brother than he does in 707 Route SE? How would they interact? Would it be similar to how many people interpret their interactions for after the SEs (brotherly love-hate type deal), except maybe toned down a little?

And as for Saeran and MC, I'm not so much referring to the contents of their relationship, but Saeyoung's reaction to it, how he feels about it, etc.

I hope this makes sense, because I love the way you explain things and I would love to hear your thoughts on these ^^

[417]

Hopefully, Cheritz will give us a canon answer soon. I’ve definitely had the time to compare the two of them since I spend so much time in Saeran’s headspace playing around with this and that. Now, if we compare the events of the Secret Ending and the events of Ray Route, Saeran is in a very different headspace by a long shot. His place in his life is also drastically different. Unknown spent two more years in Mint Eye than GE Saeran did. There’s a vast difference between 6 months of being trapped and two years of being trapped. 

Both Suit Saeran and Ray were long buried in Unknown’s consciousness with no MC around to keep them tethered to the front. It was only a matter of time until either of them couldn’t function with what Rika did. I view Unknown to be another personality that split from Suit Saeran after some point during that two year period. Unknown and Suit Saeran have some things in common but they don’t read to be the same person to me. 

SE Saeran is just Unknown post-therapy and confrontation with Saeyoung, so I don’t see them as separate people, but the same person just in different eras of life. I’ve got a whole other people I could make about how it’s possible that Ray could flood back to the surface in therapy, as well as Suit Saeran, but they may not have the same names by that point. That’s more so just a big post on the way that their system works and how all of them cope with their trauma. 

But that wasn’t your question, but I’d be glad to answer that too at some point if you’re curious! Some people are torn on if Saeran has DID or OSDD specifically, and that’s a whole other topic. Anyways, back to the task at hand, SE Saeran in question went through literal hell for a very long time. He is fraught with so much anger and pain. He physically lashed out at Saeyoung and took weeks if not a few months to truly come to terms with what happened. He has to live with blood on his hands as well. 

We all know that SE Saeran tried to get rid of himself and Saeyoung, too. His emotional crisis is a strong one. He’s hurting so much until Saeyoung can get through to him and they can start to heal. It wasn’t easy. It was a fucking mess and that’s how life is. After what they went through? It’s wrong to assume that it would be simple or without pain and tears. Even after the Secret Ending comes to a close and we see Saeran with everyone, he looks so tired. His emotional state isn’t healed. He’s going to be dealing with panic attacks and much of the lingering PTSD for years to come. Saeyoung will as well. 

It’s going to be a constant battle for them. 

But, they’re both trying and the MC, as well as the RFA, are going to be there to help, which is great. A good support system is important but that’s also going to be messy because... well, you know, the truth wasn’t completely revealed to all of the RFA and that’s a ticking timebomb in itself. Saeran’s got issues trusting and being around much of the RFA. He can’t be around Yoosung or Jumin for obvious reasons. 

Either way, the Secret Ending has a lot of weight to it and it’s going to hurt just as much as it can get better for the Choi boys. Saeyoung believes that things can get better, and he’s willing and ready to stand by his brother to fight for their happiness. You know how much turmoil Saeyoung went through because we watched it. We know that he’s willing to do whatever he has to do for the ones that he loves. 

Even if it feels like pulling teeth. 

Now, thinking about what happens in Ray Route, we see the boys past revealed to the world with a direct attack. Saeran is able to realize that he was lied to and manipulated by the people that were supposed to take care of him. He is able to find out on his own that he needs to leave Magenta if he truly wants to be happy and free from his chains. We watch him be so damn strong and turn against the brainwashing and gaslighting. What he did should not be glossed over because going against your abuser is not easy. 

I was so proud of him for learning that for himself. He says himself that MC isn’t the one that got to him completely. It was a combination of factors that allowed him to see it. From how Ray was treated to how Saeran is treated, how they are promised things, and how those things are taken away. How it just didn’t make sense that Rika was disrespecting him and taking away everything. Nothing at all made sense anymore. She said one thing and did another. He decided to fight it even though it made him feel sick. 

You can watch his actions on the last day. How talking about Mint Eye as a bad place makes him gasp and choke, and whenever he tries to give his brother a chance... well, you see how he acts when you’re still holding onto your phone so tightly, asking him to take a chance on the RFA. He nearly has a panic attack when he tries to even say that he should look into it, much less talk to the RFA about it. He knows that he’s been tricked but he’s bouncing between what he has been told and what he’s trying to learn. 

That’s not an easy process. Saeran is going to be dealing with a lot after the events of his ending that we know of. The sudden fusion of Saeran and Ray can actually happen, I know some people feel like that was out of the blue but that can very well happen whether they make the conscious choice to do that or not and it was the best thing for the body at that time. GE Saeran isn’t Ray and he isn’t Suit Saeran, he’s not the two of them smashed together and he’s not one or the other. He’s someone made up of those parts but also his own person. Again, that’s a whole other thing that I’d have to get into here. 

Saeran has a lot to deal with as far as his trauma goes but you know what the difference is between GE Saeran and GE Saeran? GE Saeran had the choice to set himself free and SE Saeran had no choice. He was cornered like an animal and just... exploded. He was put in a position that he couldn’t decide. GE Saeran had the choice to leave Mint Eye on his own. That already makes the world of difference in his recovery. If we’re talking reasonably here, he definitely needs to start seeing someone to talk about what happened as soon as he feels ready to open up. 

So, he’s going to be spending a lot of time working on his problems and God knows how long it’s going to find Saeyoung so he’s likely to be making some good progress on his own. His relationship with the RFA is already pretty good compared to his counterpart as well. He gets along with everyone in the RFA, and he’s particularly close with Jumin, which makes sense given their natural wits. 

Now, therapy and getting a support system is good for Saeran. He’s got his MC as well with him. However, that doesn’t mean that he’s ready for Saeyoung to be back. When they find his brother... he’s going to need time and space for this to work. But, I imagine that he’s in a better headspace to handle it. He will tense up if Saeyoung hugs him and gets overwhelmed to see that his brother is alive after whatever he went through. Saeran will have to gently stop him and let him know that he needs time, he can’t handle all of this at once. Saeyoung needs to take it easy too. 

He’s got to react to the fact that he’s no longer bound by the agency and that he can live a life not hiding behind a mask. That’s going to be his own journey in itself that we could talk about for a while and I hope it doesn’t get glossed over because Saeyoung’s got a lot of his own woes to work on. So, don’t expect it to be perfect or anything here either. 

Saeran is able to breathe through the unease this time, but his MC will be there to hold his hand and help him speak to his brother about it. That first meeting is going to be a lot. It might trigger him, too. That would be the first time that Saeyoung is able to see that Saeran has someone that cares about him and that would be the selling point. If his brother is overwhelmed and scared and the one with him holds his hand and gently calms him, and removes him from the issue at hand, he’s sold. 

No hesitation. 

You protect Saeran, you show Saeyoung that you love Saeran, and that’s all he needs to see to trust you. He may not know all the details at that point but you can fucking count on him to be on board. He knows how to spot liars and people with bad intentions, and you don’t have that. 

He wouldn’t forget to tell you that, either. 

I think even more than that when he’s around the MC, he will notice how they just know when to touch Saeran’s hand and calm him. Saeran and his Mc have this silent communication. They don’t even really need words. They just look at each other and understand. That’s not something that is easily found in any relationship and when you see people that work in harmony you can’t help but smile. Saeyoung has hardly ever seen Saeran smile and you know when he sees it, he feels grateful that someone was there for Saeran when he couldn’t be there. 

There’s going to be guilt and other feelings in that but he’ll swallow that down. One more thing to add to his list of things to talk about when he’s ready to get his own help. 

Saeyoung and GE Saeran are going to interact slowly but surely. They’re going to be awkward... tense... maybe not angry, but there will be tight moments that feel overwhelming for both of them. Saeran might get angry and Saeyoung might be upset so there’s no avoiding a fight here and there but it may not be as violent as with SE Saeran and Saeyoung. Them getting to know each other is like getting to know a stranger... it’s been nearly a decade, they really don’t know each other at all. 

Sad as that is, it’s fun to get to know each other again. Saeyoung gets to learn things about his brother all the time and he writes that down, trying to make things right and make up for the past... Saeran swallowing back his shame and telling his brother that he’s not mad, and them just looking forward. It’s not always easy but I do think that GE Saeran and Saeyoung will have a different kind of relationship given purely from the fact that Saeran was allowed to choose recovery instead of being forced into it. 

[choicesenthusiast]

Reconceptualizing Witness

Yeah, you read that right. I never thought I’d even look at Witness ever again, given that every time I do, I suddenly feel compelled to bash my skull with a rock. But we’re currently in the biggest Choices drought ever, in the middle of a global pandemic. I say desperate times call for desperate measures.

If you wanna see what else my delusional brain has come up with, I’ve done this for TNA and DS too. This is a series where I just come up with “what could’ve been” for flopped Choices books.

Let’s get into it!

So MC. Dear, old, bitchy-ass MC. We’re introduced to her, a very successful Bostonian businesswoman, plus a sex god, apparently, which is always a good bonus. She witnesses a murder after ditching a hookup the next morning. Pretty interesting concept to begin with.

You’re still put into WITSEC, and it turns out your hookup is now your hot bodyguard, because, wow, what a small world we live in! Enter: a case of “hot-for-bodyguard” to add to PB’s strange obsession of weird subordinate power dynamics. They even pulled the “and they were roommates” card. Now instead of these two instantly banging it out on every conceivable surface in Nantucket, and later, Ireland (they were willing to do it in a bog for fuck’s sake), how about we take the "general-appreciation-for-protecting-me-to-hey-you-kinda-hot-tho-to-unresolved-sexual-tension-to-fuck-on-everything” route.

Considering MC literally watched a murder go down in front of her, a lot of Book 1 could have focused on PTSD and being thrown into a new environment and forced to live a lie for the sake of your life. And not just the “jumping at loud noises” PTSD, but also the altercations in mood, or reactivity, or arousal (which we’ve established is a very big part of MC’s character). MC’s already so afraid of commitment (for some unexplained reason, so let’s chalk it up to a bad past relationship. Not a “rough childhood”. We’ve had too much of those), so it’s not difficult to shut everyone out emotionally. But she learns to eventually open up to Cassian and that’s how they grow so close. But no fucking until, like, late in the book. Draw it out, make them dodge it until they’re sure they want it (which, we all know, they do, so the payoff is 100% worth the wait).

As for Cassian, I literally could not tell you one single thing about them that I remember from the book. Thank you, Wiki, for letting me know they worked undercover with the Irish Mobsters, because I totally forgot about that, and I’m sure the writers did too. They could’ve made Cassian’s story all about how their time in the mob changed them, and maybe they could have some PTSD too. Maybe they and MC can bond over it, or something. Maybe during the final confrontation they would accidentally choke and MC would have to save them instead, instead of getting shot and miraculously healed in 2 days. Maybe give them a deep dark secret. I would take anything other than the horny Mary Sue we got in actuality.

99.9% of Vol. 1 was simply the two of them being horny and focused so much on a physical connection, but in single-LI books it’s important for both the MC and the readers have an emotional connection with the LI, or else it’s very difficult for the reader to get invested. As MC’s actually forced to build this new personality under WITSEC (which could totally be up to reader choice, like you’re actually building an MC instead of the usual set backstory), she gets confused about who she really was and if she was really happy in life. A lot of mulling over the past, a lot of existential crisis stuff. Cassian is the one who reminds her of what she wants to be. I don’t know what, exactly, that is, but this is where choice can also come into play.

99.9% of Vol. 2 was simply the two of them being horny and avoiding 3061859 possible near-death experiences two years later, so how about we don’t do that. Also, let’s remove the whole “mobster child wants revenge” plot, because that was just juvenile. Juvenile delinquent. Hahaha. Anyways, Vol. 2 also tried to highlight the importance of family, what with the mobster child, and the Boss Marshal breaking the rules to call his family, essentially putting you in danger, and the visiting Cassian’s childhood home and their dead relatives. So we play into that more, further expanding upon why Cassian’s so guarded (this would not be 2 years into their relationship, so we still have plenty more to find out about them and their backstory), and in the end, you’re asked to become their family when they propose. Based on how much you opened up to them and connected with them throughout the book (calculated via point system perhaps?) your either say yes, stay together but unmarried, or keep it platonic with... benefits.

Boom. The end. We don’t have to sit through 6 months of torture, but instead a compelling story about trauma, WITSEC, emotional connection, and of course, a hot bodyguard. Let me know what you think and what Choices flop I should reconceptualize next!

[inessencedevided]

Oh yeah, titles are totes valid. I like yiling patriarch cos when you think about it it doesn't make sense. He didn't create the town of yiling, and he technically doesn't even live there. He sould be called burial mounds patriarch or smth.

Anyway, enough about titles (also if I have made a mistake due to translation error or misunderstanding, whoops). Which OG sect leader do you think was the worst, and which one was the best? And which next gen sect leader is best and worst?

I dislike jgs most, cos yikes. Wrh might have been a tirant and war criminal, but at least he wasn't as big of a dick as jgs. Can't really decide who the best is, cos they all had issues, you know?

Worst next gen would have to be jgy, not cos I dislike him as a person but because he definitely commited war crime and genocide. Idk best here either cos once again, *slaps top of cgl* these cultivators can fit so much trauma and issues. I do like imagining how the now sect is run. One twink mastermind and his hunk retinue? Love that for them

-the axe cultivator

Argh, 🪓-cultivator (there's an emoji! :D). I'm so sorry! I'm terribly behind again in answering you. I promise, I like your asks but I want to give them proper attention and the holidays were surprisingly busy this year.

That question is very creative! And hard ^^ I had to think about all my answers, even the seemingly easy "worst sect leader of the OG". Because while jin Guangshan is definitely a pompous ass and overall shitty person who is more concerned with sleeping with every woman in Lanling than his duties and who didn't step up during the sunshot campaign and then decided to use the power vacuum afterwards to his advantage, he at least, you know, did some sect leading. Which is not something that can be said about one Qingheng-Jun. That guy just left his brother and eventually and increasingly his teenage son in charge. Now what is worse? Bad sect leading or no sect leading at all? I don't know if I can decide ^^

Ah yeah and Wen Ruohan ... 🤷‍♀️ obviously he wasn't great, but he's also the least three-dimensional "villain" so I never really bother with him ^^

The best og sect leader? Does lan qiren as an acting sect leader count? ^^ obviously he too has issues, as you said. I believe lan qiren, as a leader, as an uncle and as an educator was deeply influenced by the things that happened with his brother. I can only imagine how deeply it must have hurt him to see his brother abandon both his people, him, his brother and his own children for the sake of one woman. Whatever your opinion on qingheng-jun, I believe we can all agree that his actions must have deeply hurt and disappointed lan qiren. We don't know what he was like before those events, so we don't know just how mich of his extreme rigidity is due to those events, but I do believe that they hardened him and made him more inflexible. Maybe he was much more of a free spirit before. Maybe he was a lot like Lan Wangji, but instead of loosening and expanding his understanding of the relationship between morality and rules, the events that shaped him let him to harden them. We don't know. But we do know that he picked up the pieces his brother left him. My point is, you can think about his style of leadership and teaching what you want but you cannot deny that he is devoted to the people in his care and that's not something you can say about a lot of the leaders of his generation.

Now, to the next gen leaders:

This is, in a way, even harder to decide ...

I wouldn't call jiggy the worst sect leader so easily. His record, imo, is very much mixed. The watchtowers, if I recall the novel correctly (it's been 6 months since I last read it ^^), were a pretty good way to get help to people who usually fall under the radar of the cultivation sects. So while he definitely sacrificed a lot in his rise to the top, he seems to have tried to help the common people (something that cannot be said about his two predecessors).

But ... who then? I thought a lot about it and I think I'm inclined to say Nie Huaisang. Don't get me wrong, I love him as much as anyone, but I also remember the part in the novel where, when wangxian investigate the "man eating bunker" (i wonder how accurate that translation is) a town's person sais that they don't expect help from the nie sect because ever since Nie Huaisang took over nothing gets done and they neglect to help the people within their territory. Now, we know that Nie huaisang cultivated a reputation of general incompetence so people wouldn't suspect him to scheme against jin guangyao, but in doing so, he obviously neglected his duty to the people under his care. Which is, imo, pretty consistent with his character. Nie Huaisang us ruthless when sufficiently angered and has no qualms to cause casual damage to achieve his goal (see Mo Xuanyu's suicide to bring wei wuxian back). His revenge was his first priority and so he placed being a good brother over being a good sect leader.

Best? Is also dificult. I honestly can't decide between Lan Xichen and Jiang Cheng? There are so many factors to consider here! (There were already woth the ones above, really): what actions count towards the assessment of their leadership? What makes good leadership at all? (Which is funny because I'm doing my masters in political science rn and that's one of the biggest questions in political theory. But I only really know "Western" political theory. Chinese philosophy i have only ever graced the surface of) which is to say ... I can't really decide.

Jiang cheng put his sect above all else. While there's a lot of debate about whether that was morally right, it's certainly what helped him rebuild his sect as quickly as he did. He is brash and sometimes cruel, but his deciples clearly trust him and admire him.

Lan Xichen is an incredible diplomat. He is calm, fair (i.e. when he decides to listen to wangxians accusations against the sworn brother he loved and investigated them himself) and proactive when he needs to be. (I know, he is often accused of being too passive within the fandom, but I don't think that is necessarily the case. In a world where most leaders seem to base their judgement on rumor and hearsay more often than not, he withholds judgement until he listened to all sides. That is not a flaw in leadership) Now, in the end, he seemingly follows his father's footsteps by going into seclusion. I would argue, that still doesn't place them on the same step leadership wise. A. The situation with Jin Guangyao and madam lan, imo, aren't equivalent. It's hard to judge madam lan because we don't know what let her to kill the lan teacher, but I think it's unlikely she deceived qingheng-jun in the process. Jin Guangyao actively deceived kan xichen for years. When lan xichen learned this, he decided to investigate and was badly hurt in the process. The outcome, seclusion, may be the same, but the reasons are different. Also, the novel heavily implies that lan xichen will eventually emerge and take up his duties again.

All of this is to say... I can't decide ^^

I'll answer the other putstabding ask tomorrow. It's past midnight now and I should really sleep. Thank you for being so patient 💙

Btw, happy holidays, if you celebrate 🥰

[korpuskat]

Summary: Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over. Rating: Explicit (citrus, violence) WC: 7,131 Warnings: Violence against reader, menstruation >Chapter 1 >Chapter 2 >Chapter 3 >Chapter 4   >Chapter 5 >Chapter 6 >Chapter 7 ======

You stand on your porch and kick the rug back into place. The wind last night had turned up one corner and dragged it just far enough to not hide the staining beneath. You sip your coffee and drag a chair over to hold down the troublesome corner with one leg.

It’s not a pretty thing- just a brown woven mat that covers between the stairs and your front door. You’d taken the time to paint your stairs- and the columns on each side a fresh, fetching blue, but painting your whole porch would be much harder. So you didn’t bother. You’d scrubbed it down with bleach to remove as much as you could and eventually gave in and just bought the rug to cover what you couldn’t scrub free. Which was a lot.

If you squint you can make out the road through the white blankets of snow. You’re sure there’s a dark green car nestled up on the shoulder of the country highway with two freezing people inside, one with binoculars pressed up to the glass. You’d spoken with them a week ago, even brought them hot cocoa as a peace offering. They’re just there to remind you now.

It’s freezing out, long icicles hang from the roof over your porch and the handrails. But you stand there, warm your hands on your cup and peer out into the distance. You want something other than a forest green sedan. You want to see something other than a tan hat peeking over the snow mounds when one of them has to piss. So you stand there and scan the trees, hope the eyes you feel on you are not just the police’s.

The wind kicks up and you shiver, duck back inside before your coffee cools too much. January had arrived with a vengeance, bitter cold and unpleasant and with a violent snowstorm. It had snowed again two days ago, the perfect fields untouched around your house. Not a single set of footprints maring the pristine surface.

You had no need to leave now. Your house was back in working order, save for some items the police kept under lock and key in hopes that Michael Myers would turn up again.

The idea of Michael in court- maybe even trussed up in a suit- made you smile.

You settle onto your couch, curled up in one corner as you flick the television on. You rub at another painful cramp in your belly as the static fades. The news plays, an update on the families of four fallen officers. A man weeps and recalls his husband’s bravery and valor and the horrors of not even being granted an open casket for closure. It changes to a woman speaking about her brother, you recognize her.

She’d lain flowers at the end of your porch one morning. When you stepped out she startled and something dangerous flashed in her eyes. She kept it reigned in and curtly explained herself and left. She hasn’t returned. The yellow flowers she’d left are frozen solid, preserved in ice.

In the end, you were tried only in the court of public opinion.

”Simply not enough evidence.” The district attorney had said, gritting out the words. There was outrage; two men had been murdered on your doorstep, a murderer’s fingerprints all over your house. Blood soaked deep into every crevice of your home. You were complicit.

You are complicit.

Hateful letters appeared in your mailbox for the first week- sometimes worse.

And then it leaked. Some broken-hearted nurse somewhere dropped your medical evaluation online.

Paragraphs upon paragraphs of dutiful descriptions of the bruises, new and old, on your arms, neck, hips, and thighs. The half-healed perfect impression of Michael Myers’ teeth on your shoulders, your chin. Invasive, personal details- inflamed, bruised cervix. Scrawled in nearly unreadable doctors’ handwriting: Definite proof of insemination.

And after it all, there were pictures. At least the nurse had conveniently excluded the more revealing photos. But even the initial exam had been damning. Your eyes were glazed over and far away, empty. Too easy to mistake one kind of trauma for another.

Blues and purples ringed your wrist and neck like gaudy jewelry. Amateur internet detectives even outlined on your neck the shape of Michael’s hands where he’d choked you, pinpointing the exact places where his fingers met at the back of your neck.

The outrage turned overnight- you were a victim. Coerced became the word they liked, coerced over duress or hostage. Why else would anyone help Michael Myers?

The hate mail faded, replaced with tearful outcries of the injustice. Well-wishers hoping your life would get better, more than a few requests for interviews. You politely declined them all, answered only once that you simply wanted your life back.

And you had it. More or less. There were still faded bloodstains on your porch and two empty slots in your knife block. Your bed was empty, but neatly made.

Another cramp makes you flinch and press harder into the skin between your navel and the hem of your jeans. The caffeine of your coffee was not helping, but you enjoyed the warmth too much to set it aside. You even had that back in your life- the stress of it all had pushed your cycle back and bloodless through November and December. Come the new year, it finally retaliated. You’d rather it stayed a thing of the past, but in an unfortunate way, being surrounded by blood was becoming familiar.

But your life was not quite complete. There was only one thing missing; it would snow again tonight.

The thought brings a warmth through your chest. You don’t know how you know, can’t begin to explain how you know. The police released you from “protective custody” a month ago, but even still they lurk at the street. They wander through the Mortons’ property in guise of looking for evidence, yet they stare to your little cabin. He hasn’t been able to get close enough yet, not without a conspicuous trail of bodies.

It could have all been a blood bath. He could’ve killed every cop that touched you, reclaimed you and resumed your frantic run. It’s what the police expected, a mindless killing machine to appear at your door again. They even wonder if he’s dead now- why else would he stop?

You want to laugh at them, want to scold them for thinking of him as something so lowly. He’s smarter than that. The clean snow that surrounds your home tells you so.

You finish your coffee, push down on your belly before the next wave of pain comes. The news moves on as you leave the living room, move into the kitchen. You’ve been waiting for this.

You cleaned the slow cooker a week ago and froze some beef chuck. You pull that out and leave it in the sink to begin to thaw. The slide of a knife out of your block feels taboo, a personal little thrill as you begin to cut up vegetables. It’s wrong. You don’t stop smiling.

Though it hasn’t thawed much, you drop the beef right in the center of the ceramic pot. You scrape carrots and onions and potatoes into the slow cooker, pour in water and broth and a healthy mix of spices. It’ll be done by nightfall; if he liked your soup, he should enjoy your pot roast.

The thought warms you, bring a queasy sort of calmness. Like the forest when the wolf is near. You plug in the slow cooker and set a timer. You’ll be ready. You’re sure it’s tonight.

With that beginning to heat, you pour another cup of coffee. A pang from your belly reminds you how terrible caffeine is on your period. You curse at nothing and realize one other thing you’re still missing. You should’ve remembered! He’ll need bandages and you need medication. Especially for when he arrives.

Your ibuprofen is tucked inside the first aid kit the police kept as evidence. You haven’t replaced that yet. You’ll have to go old-fashioned on it. An old plastic water bottle is good enough. You turn the hot tap on full blast, dipping your fingers under the water and waiting for it to heat. You fill the bottle, listen to the quickly rising pitch. When it’s bursting you screw the cap on and take your improvised heating pad with you to the living room.

Six weeks. You shake your head, press the warm plastic directly to your belly. The muscles there begin to relax and you watch as a talk show begins. Six weeks and finally it would all be over.

You start to doubt yourself when the shadows of the trees stretch long over glistening snow. Your heart hurts, anxiety rearing its ugly head. What if you were wrong? No, no. He’d be back. He came back twice before. Had he finally gotten what he wanted from you? It can’t be- surely that’s too much to invest just to have sex when he could’ve taken it so much earlier.

You pull a pillow to you and hug it close, push the warm bottle flush with your skin. The first whiff slides in from the kitchen. He’ll be back. You press your eyes closed and hope you’re right. He liked your soup too much.

It’s cold. You blink awake- it’s dark in the living room. The TV plays on, bathing the room in too-bright, multicolor lights. You rub at your arms through the sweater- it’s damn cold. Too cold. It’s never been that drafty before-

The kitchen light is on. You stand, water bottle and pillow dropping to the floor with a thud and wump. You step closer. Your heart soars; wet boot outlines track down the hallway and around the corner- you can hardly breathe.

You peek into the kitchen. The rich smell of the cooking- or perhaps cooked- pot roast fills you, helps to fight off the chill that bites through your sweater. But aside from the light being on, the kitchen is empty.

Thrill overtakes disappointment; the puddly bootprints are still there. They stop in the middle of the hallway already smaller and thinner than the larger, glistening pools towards your bedroom. He should be here, you know, but if he hadn’t woken you… You follow the bootprints backwards, down the dark hallway and into your laundry room.

Wind whistles, fresh snow pours in through your back door. Outside, a single set of tracks from the trees are already filling in in the falling snow. You grin- A single set of tacks. He’s here. You’d left it unlocked just for him, had been leaving it unlocked for weeks. Your smile hurts its so wide.

You kick the snow aside and push the door closed, squint against the freezing winter wind that chaps your cheeks. It closes- and suddenly your house is all too quiet, the buffeting sounds of the storm locked out once more.

You turn, heart beating out of your chest- but the doorway to the laundry room is still empty. The little bits of half-melted snow on the tiled floor confirm again he’s been here and yet he hides. You creep back towards the hallway.

What if it wasn’t him?

The first touch of alarm slides over you. If you had an intruder… you carefully wrap your hand around the molding and peek one eye around the edge. You gasp, shoot upright-

A hand, big and cold wraps around your throat. He turns, slams you into the wall at the end of the hallway. Your cry doesn’t make it past his palm, your hands find his chest, dig your nails into thick fabric-

And he presses in close to you; you smell machine oil and rust and long dried blood. Low and steady breathing, made louder through the tiny nose holes. Above you empty black eyes bore into you, the plain emotionless face of a white latex mask ghostly in the low light. You sag in his grasp, fingers twitching to pull him closer. ”Michael.”

He stares down at you, stiff and unchanging. It’s about as warm a welcome as you expected. But he’s here, he’s not out slaying your neighbors, and you can’t hide how comforting his presence is. Even as he makes your heart race, makes your hands tremble with the growing tension- you’d rather him be here.

He leans in close, close enough for you to feel his hot breath escaping the mask, close enough for you to smell the bitter, metallic tang of old blood deep in the crevices of the mask. He’s nearly cheek-to-cheek with you, white latex fills the left side of your vision- and air whistles in through the nose holes.

He stands there- then slowly cocks his head. He switches hands smoothly, his left coming around your throat before you even realize the right hand has moved to his mask. He pushes the latex up; it’s awkward and difficult with one hand, but he lodges it over his nose and leans close again.

You whimper, close your eyes expecting the sharp imprint of his teeth- and get only cold air pulled over your shoulder, the long noise of Michael’s slow inhale. He’s smelling you. The thought makes your blood rush- what does he find? He moves close, septum almost touches your skin as he sniffs again.

His head tilts the other way. Cold fingers slide under your shirt, pushing the thick sweater up. He feels your stomach, the chill permeates your skin, makes you cramp again. You flinch, flex your stomach away from him in protest- it does not go unnoticed. The mask tips to look at your face- and he rucks your shirt up. He looks at your stomach, runs his hand over your skin, searching for something.

He doesn’t find it. He leans in close again, inhales just over your navel, makes you squirm. He pops the button to your pants and pulls them down to your knees without unzipping them. Cold air makes your skin prickle, makes you press your thighs together, but Michael’s quickly warming hands make up for it. Again, he feels over your skin with probing, curious fingers.

He tips his head again, this time releasing your throat in favor of dragging his hand down to your sternum. He pushes there, makes you short of breath and keeps you pressed to the wall.

And Michael Myers sinks to his knees before you. You don’t have to meet his icy blue eyes to know he still has all the control. His right hand is almost delicate as it curls into the hem of your underwear and slides the thin fabric down your thighs. His mouth twitches at the sight of your bloodied pad.

You think you know what he was smelling. You flush, feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment and wish he’d stop his exploration already.

His fingers slip between red-tinged labia for only a moment. You whimper as he brings the now bloody digits before his eyes, looks closer. The suffocating presence fills the hallway, threatens to drown you then and there.

His left hand grabs your hip hard; the right delves between your legs, brushes harshly against your over-sensitive clit and finding your entrance. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, nails scraping on the wall as he pushes just the first knuckle inside. It should feel amazing- the first time he’s been inside you at all since the motel. But you’re too sensitive, too tender-

He withdraws just as fast, makes you clench your jaw. The hand at your hip is bruising, demanding your attention- and he holds up the two bloody fingers before you. They glint in the moonlight that seeps in from the laundry room. You can’t see his eyes but you know from the painful bite of his nails in your skin that you’re in danger. Chills race down your back, adrenaline floods your veins. Something just short of rage leaks from his fingers into your thigh.

You don’t know why he’s so furious, that makes it so much worse. He looks to you and you know he expects something from you. why has your blood infuriated him? You can only hope he’ll be more helpful if he knows you don’t understand. “What’s wrong?”

It’s the wrong question. He’s upright before you can blink, the bloodied hand wrapped tight around your throat. It’s clear now the grasp he’d used before was only for control, for keeping you still and where he wanted you. This time his fingers bite into the base of your skull, pressure from his palm makes your vision staticky.

Real fear makes you twist your fingers into his coveralls, stare wide-eyed into the mask’s eyeholes. His mouth is distant, and horrifically emotionless. His voice is the same monotone, disconnected from the rage in his fingertips. A single grunting word. “Who?”

Your mind races. He was mad- you were bleeding- You can barely form words over the pressure on your throat. “Who… hurt me? Michael, I-“

He growls, deep and primal, and surges forward. He’s hard, grinding up on your side through the coveralls. You whimper, fight off fear and lightheadedness to chase any possibility. Rage, blood, he’s hard, sex maybe-

Oh.

It’s not rage, it’s jealousy.

You shake your head, only making your vision swim harder. “Nobody, nobody.” You tap at his hand weakly in a plea for air. ”Michael.”

The suffocating presence does not subside, but his thumb eases off your jugular. You blink, feel your head bobbing. “It’s my period. People with…” you pant, wish there was a better way to explain, but between the hypoxia and Michael’s limited patience you opt for fast over comprehensive. “vaginas just, bleed sometimes. It’s not… It’s not a sex thing, Michael.”

He doesn’t relax, keeps the same threatening hand over your neck. You squeeze his wrist in what you hope he understands is meant to be sincerity. “There’s nobody else, Michael. Just you. Only you.” You pause, seek the mismatch of his eyes. “Ever.”

Only then does his head begin to tilt, a long moment passing before the bloody, violent hand loosens around your neck. You sigh, lean back against the wall. The mask sweeps over you, slow and deliberate. His right hand slides down your body, over your bunched up sweater and down over your belly, brushes through the dark hair- and nudges back between your legs.

You whimper, “It’s sensitive…”

Michael doesn’t seem to hear you. He doesn’t look up, but instead brings his middle finger back up where you can see it. It’s glossy, near black in the low light, just as it had been before. And Michael brings it close to his lips- You can hardly breathe.

His pink tongue slips out and licks, long and slow, over his fingertip. He isn’t looking at you. This isn’t for you. His head tips slowly as he considers something, thoughts hidden behind his mask.

He grabs at the rolled-up fabric of your jeans caught on your thighs, thumbs curling into the leg holes of your underwear as well and shoves. You yelp as he forces them down, your skin exposed to more cold air. You shiver, go back to digging your nails into the wall because you know well enough you can’t stop him now. You even lift you leg so he can tug the denim off one leg- and he settles that thigh onto his shoulder.

The cold air dries the blood to your skin, making it prickly and stiff, pulling at the hair on your thighs. Even on his knees, Michael comes right up to your sternum. He presses the palm of his hand to your stomach, a silent command to stay still.

You cup your hands over your mouth, hold your breath- and can’t stifle a gasp as his tongue, scaldingly hot on your cold skin, touches to your thigh. He licks at the blood drying there, slow and methodical. HIs hand fits easily under your knee, pushes your leg out farther so he can find more. His scruff scratches at your skin, tickles your inner thigh, and his tongue delves into the sensitive crease between hip and thigh.

You squeak, instinctively try to bring your legs back together- but Michael’s hand is firm under your knee. The mask tips up in warning; with anyone else you might complain that you can’t control if he’s the one tickling you, but Michael’s already wound up. He’s rough enough when you’re compliant, you’re not sure what he’d be like if you were obviously rebellious.

But his tongue laves across your inner thigh again, saliva chilling uncomfortably on your skin, until your skin is pink with diluted blood. A ghost of teeth on your skin is the only warning you get.

He sinks in, ripping at the delicate flesh there and you try so hard not to squirm too much. Your nails scrape on the wall behind you and you cry for mercy, “Ow! Michael, please, fuck!” He ignores you, sucks hard there until you’re sure he’ll really take a bite out of you.

He lets go with a wet pop, freezing air somehow better than the painful heat of Michael’s mouth. At least it doesn’t feel like he broke skin this time.

With your weight on the other leg, his cheek presses fully to the warmth between your legs for him to taste the blood that’s gathered on the other thigh. You whine, rock gently against him in hopes he’d understand. But Michael is in no hurry, his patience is near unlimited- and he holds all the control.

He cleans the blood from you with a twisted jealousy- he’d been furious at the thought of someone else making you bleed. That makes a cold shiver shake your shoulders. He wants your blood for himself, he wants to be the one to make you bleed. He has and he will again, you’re sure of it.

He gives the other leg only a nip, a glancing scrape of his teeth that still makes you stiffen, ready yourself for the piercing pain of his bite. Instead he sets your leg on his shoulder, slides his palm close to your body. The blood has stuck some of your short hairs together, they tug and part painfully as his thumb slips between your labia and pulls your pussy open.

Being watched now while you’re bleeding is just as exposing as when he’d peered so observantly at you before. You bite your lip, expectantly watch the mask, still half-wrapped over his nose, as though it would whisper to you what he thought of your body.

You don’t have to wait long.

His tongue swipes over your swollen, irritated clit. You scream, nearly jump out of your skin- it’s too much, the nerves of your pussy too raw to be able to focus on the pleasure behind it. You instinctively try to pull him away- wrap your fingers in long, soft hair and try to make him ease up on this torturous touch-

But all you get is the wobbling of latex, a displeased grunt, and a punitive lash of his tongue against your clit. His right hand still holds you open- so the left curls into the same soft hair you did and pulls the mask off, dropping it to the floor.

His eyes hold you in place even as he his tongue slips deeper, towards the source of the blood. His gaze is icy, dangerous. An edge of a threat written across his scarred face- he’s already warned you to be still once. You can’t help it, the sensation is too much, too powerful on your hormonally-wrecked body; he tries to lick at your entrance and his bumps against your clit.

You sob and reach for him again, weak pleads for mercy already spilling from your lips, “It’s too much, please, please.” Your fingers find his scalp and the short, coarse hair there. Too short to pull him off, you can only push weakly at him. Cool blue eyes narrow- and you cry out as his hand wraps around your wrists. There’s no kindness to his grasp; he pins your hands with brutal efficiency, keeps them just at the end of your sternum to keep them out of his way as he licks into you.

You writhe, fight to free your hands, try to close your legs around him, but he pays you no mind. Only brings your hips forward, away from the wall, so he can press in closer. Each time you twist, his stubble scrapes across your thighs- now so sensitive it burns. You whimper, try to still your movements if only to minimize the pain.

The edge in his gaze softens, his tongue flattens against you and gives a slow lick across your weeping pussy. His attention returns to claiming every drop of your blood, not quite closing his eyes, but no longer focused on you. The briefest pause of his relentless attack makes the wires cross in your brain. Each touch still hurts, sharp pangs of unmitigated pain- and yet the warmth of his tongue, the soft texture as he slides down to suck at the bottom edge of your labia.

He tongues into you, just barely slipping the tip of his pointing tongue in- and his nose presses to your clit again. You whimper, close your eyes, and rock against him. The motion sets your thighs alight again. You shake and try to spread them wider- which is hard enough with one leg propped up on his shoulder, but you roll your knee out to try to give you at least a little more room.

He pushes closer, grinds the bridge of his nose into you. You sputter and grind back- pain and pleasure warring under his touch. He slides up, wraps soft lips around your clit. Your head thrashes back and forth, shaking desperately to get away and to pull him closer.

You look to him- and his eyes are trained only on you. The piercing blue and milky white hold you, makes your breathing stutter to a stop- until his tongue laves slow and purposeful across your clit. He draws the moan from you and the dangerous glint in his gaze returns. Your reaction has caught his interest again.

You whimper and he licks your clit again, the point of his tongue edging from bottom to top, pushing the hood of your clit back. You jerk under him, whine, his tongue already returning for another swipe, slow and steady. Your mouth falls open, breath caught in your chest as you can’t decide between a gasp and a scream.

He continues on, lapping at your clit with merciless precision- tears burn at the corners of your eyes and you know he wants it to hurt. He passes over you again, warm and repetitive, and you want to beg him to stop- it’s so good and it hurts and he’s made you suffer enough, but-

The pain has masked how good it really feels. Stimulation good or bad has been pushing you up and up. All at once pleasure is winning out and you’re right at the edge and you’re gasping, head lolling back against the wall. It’s all too raw, too acute on your senses- but the first wave of your orgasm crashes over you- and Michael does not stop his incessant torture. You shake, grinding against him without even feeling the burning rub of his whiskers across your thighs and labia. You wobble on your one leg and hope Michael would catch you if you fell.

You don’t have to worry; his hand securing your wrists keep your torso pressed to the wall, no matter how hard you buck. And he still doesn’t stop, moving back down to lick languidly at your entrance, tasting your release. You tremble in the aftershocks, each motion of his tongue on your skin brings a new skittering pleasure until you’re whimpering with soft pleas for him to stop.

You yelp with a startled, ”Oh!” as he stands, your leg falling from his shoulder to sit in the crook of his arm. He stares down at you, and in the low light you can see the sinful red discoloration of his beard, the proof of his bloodlust. He lets go of your wrists, and your arms fall limply to your sides. He reaches to his crotch- and, oh. These are new coveralls, nice ones, the kind with a double zipper. He unzips no more than he needs to, withdrawing his cock and revealing nothing else.

He’s expressionless, cool and guarded even with how much he’s already made a mess of you. He presses his cock against you and oh, the heat of his mouth was nothing compared to this. He ducks down for a moment- and his three-fingered hand slips under your other leg and hefts you up. You grab at the wall on instinct- your shoulders and neck still grounded, but your lower body is supported only by your legs caught on his elbows.

It only makes you more aware of how much control he has, how strong he is- that you can’t escape him now. You draw an inhale through your mouth and stare up at his eyes. He’s so hard to read, but you can’t imagine he’s not enjoying the frantic too-fast pace of your breathing, the hammer slam of your heart against your ribs. He adjusts- and lodges himself right up against you.

You bite your lip, push away that same feeling of overstimulation- and he fills you in one brutal thrust. It knocks you against the wall, nearly folds you body in half as he moves closer, finds just how he wants to hold you. His hands seek out your wrists again, pin you down to the wall, and like this, you can’t even move.

He rocks into you again- and though it hurts- he’s too big and your period has you too sensitive, you moan and let your eyes fall half-closed. It feels right, feels like what you’ve been missing for so long. He fills you entirely to bursting, his pubic bone meeting your clit with each roll of his hips.

It’s too much, but you can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop the little noises that slip from your lips unbidden- and he draws them out with such precision. A liquid heat settles inside you, your first orgasm easing the way for you to numbly bypass the too sharp pain. His cock bounces against your cervix and you know you’ll have the same, deep bellyache as before.

With him holding your legs, you can’t even meet his thrusts, can’t get any sort of leverage at all. It feels so good, his cock fills you, even as overstimulation tinges nerves. He moves steadily in his familiar, somehow comforting just barely too hard, achingly slow thrusts. It makes you mewl, scratch your nails against the wall in frustration- you want him to move faster, to bring you that same white hot pleasure. But his pace is as unchanging as his face, cool and unaffected by your growing plight.

Your lip trembles dangerously; hormones have already destroyed your fragile hold on you emotions, Michael’s cruelty was pushing you to the wrong edge. “Michael…” your voice wavers.

His head tips in bland acknowledgment.

“Please,” you know it’s useless to only beg. Everything happens by his will, petty pleadings alone won’t change his mind. Maybe something else would. You lick your lips, inhale slowly to draw up your courage. “I need you, Michael.”

Something flashes in his eyes, his fingers tighten around your wrists. He shifts you in his arms, urges your legs higher onto him, tilts your hips back further. He doesn’t say anything and other than the intensity in his eyes, he may as well have not heard you at all.

The next drive of his hips you understand. He spears into you, knocks hard against the sensitive patch inside you before sliding in deep. You gasp, clench around him in the sudden, lightning pleasure- the next thrust makes you cry out. Pleasure builds fast as Michael’s hold on you stifled the instinctive, rhythmic rocks of your hips. The heat deep within threatens to burn out all thought, all rational ideas beyond Michael Myers’ cock inside you.

But as you focus on the liquid pleasure between your legs, the rough impacts of his thighs on yours- your breath catches. The added sensation has your head spinning, but there’s a problem. He’s tortuously slow. No, he’s a sadist.

Another thrust has you mewling, cunt clenching desperately on his cock. Your body pleads on instinct, begs him to stay deep inside, to chase his pleasure with reckless abandon- but all you get is the parting of his lips, soft pants of exertion. Even that makes you feel closer, thinking that he’s enjoying the wet, slick heat of your body. The soft glaze to his eyes, the dusting of pink across his cheeks-

It brings you right to the edge. You’re close before you can even process it, the heat threatening to boil over. You’re moaning and waiting for one more harsh thrust to push you beyond the point of no return-

It doesn’t come. Focus returns to Michael’s eyes before you can find release, his hips stilling while you’re stuffed full of his cock. No, no- frantic desperation overtakes you. Primal need makes you writhe on him, weakly trying to fuck yourself on him.

Your left leg drops- the adrenaline rush of falling ceases all other movements. And it does not stop when Michael’s hand wraps around your throat. You manage to slip an inhale in before he presses down and constricts your breathing. He pushes in close to you, until your body is right up against the wall again. Like this, he fills your vision, reminds you just how tall he is. His intense gaze returns, staring at you with his mismatched eyes- waiting for something.

Hypoxia sets in fast, your mind losing track of what’s happening-

Before he pushes into you again. Pleasure lights up the parts of your brain still functioning. Your eyes roll, but he picks up his pace. Your eyes threaten to close, the darkness collecting in your vision with each passing moment. But his fingers loosen, readjusting so he can deny you even unconsciousness.

Without his arm to support it, your left leg dangles uselessly, waving in time with Michael’s powerful thrusts. With newfound freedom your left hand grabs at his arm- not to beg for air, but only for stability, to pull him closer. Just to feel the fabric of his coveralls under your fingers.

You blink, try to focus- and realize you’re drooling over your chin. A weak moan slips past his fingers, and he’s rutting into you. He grinds against your clit, fills you, rubs deep inside- over and over until it’s all you can think about. His chokehold steals all thought, everything beyond the torture he provides and pleasure that boils over.

It comes in waves, weak and distant with your oxygen-addled brain struggling to keep up between savoring the pleasure and processing the sharp snaps of Michael’s hips. You clench hard around him, vision going double and blurring. You twitch, fingers digging into thick fabric, left leg kicking against his calf. Each motion inside you drags it out, keeps you suspended somewhere outside yourself.

Through the haze you feel hot breath puffing on your cheek and hard grind of his hips. His hand tightens and your ears ring. Low, guttural grunting fills your head, warmth spilling between your legs.

His grasp loosens. Awareness returns with low, shallow gasps. You’re dead weight in his arms, every limb lax and useless, but he holds you aloft, keeps you pressed close to him. He stands over you, breathing slow and even through his parted, chapped lips. The same deceptive peacefulness has descended over his face; his eyes are closed softly, not pinched or pressed- the usual hard edge to his countenance is long forgotten in post-orgasmic bliss. Your free arm, because he still holds the other to the wall, wobbles, but you manage to reach the back of his neck, feel the short hair curl over your fingers.

His lids lift, dark eyelashes fluttering. He looks to you, and you cannot name what lingers behind the soft blue of his iris, but it settles deep behind your ribcage. You grin and know you must look half-crazed, loopy and drugged out and everything else you could call someone who smiles serenely at a serial killer. It doesn’t matter; a laugh burbles up through your chest, soft and airy, and tears prick at your eyes because he’s back and he’s real and oh my god your thighs hurt so much-

He tilts his head, confused by your strange display of mixed emotions- laughing and crying and wincing all at once. You shake your head, dismiss it all. “I missed you.”

His thumb rubs over your irritated throat, you think that’s as gentle as he can be.

He pulls out- you whine at the burning drag on your walls, the whisker burn across your labia and thighs. And wince at the soft, wet dripping noise from the floor. Michael lowers you and steps away- leaves you braced against the wall, struggling not to slide down to the floor. Something slides down your inner thigh and it stings.

Michael’s gaze stays on you for a long moment, watching the heaving of your chest, the absolute mess he’s made between your legs. He looks lower- to his cock. He’s softening already, but his head tips as he looks- and takes it in hand. He doesn’t stroke, but glides a finger over the shaft. You blink, squint, and look closer-

It’s covered in blood and cum. Long red streaks mixing into a milky pink mess of your mutual pleasure. You blanch, remember what had drawn Michael into fucking you in the first place. With what he’s done to your thighs, pads will be excruciating. You sigh, “We both need a bath now.”

His eyes lift and meet yours. Even now he makes you shiver with his intensity. The empty gaze has returned and you mourn for the strange, foreign look that surfaces from time to time. You know it’ll return. But now, Michael’s dopamine and oxytocin slurry has subsided back to his regular difficult self- and you watch, disgusted but not surprised, as he tucks his cock away into the coveralls and rezips himself.

And yet, it almost makes you break out into laughter again. He doesn’t even wipe his hands. He’s disgusting and you’ll probably fuck him again before the night is out.

“Okay, give me a minute then. There’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” You lean on the wall for support and navigate around him back to your room. For now, you leave your pants and underwear in the hallway- you’ll have to clean up later anyway. Footsteps behind you tell you he’s following you. Some things haven’t changed.

You retrieve underwear and a set of pajamas, keeping your legs pressed tight to hopefully minimize any drips. He follows you to the bathroom and stands in the doorway just to watch you clean up. It should be so much more embarrassing, but you’ve held his dick while he peed.

You pee, ignore the tiny smug upturn of his lips that does not disappear when you wipe and wince. In the stark bathroom light you can see the pink tinge that covers your vulva and thighs, along with the red outline of his teeth on your left leg. Honestly, it could be worse. From the first beginnings of a yellow-green shadow over your wrist, it’ll probably all darken more. Your throat throbs in reminder.

You’ll have to wear more scarves. You think that’ll be just fine.

Michael watches, face blank and inaccessible, as you press a pad into fresh underwear and carefully pull it up. It hurts, but you realize something as your skin complains: you’re not cramping anymore. There’s a dull ache behind your belly button where Michael’s dick has tried to pry you open further, but the rolling, sharp pains that would make you double over have ceased.

You change into the pajamas and drop your shirt- the only thing remaining of your earlier outfit- into the laundry hamper.

He follows you to the kitchen- and Michael’s stomach growls. His brows draw together in sharp disapproval of his own body’s noises and you struggle to keep your smile under control. At least he liked the smell. You retrieve two bowls, Michael watches from the hallway as you ladle out the pot roast- making sure to give Michael some vegetables in a vain hope he’ll eat some.

You offer him his bowl- and in the kitchen light you blush at his still dirty hands and the blood caked into his white stubble. Of course. If he can kill without being disgusted at the gore, this probably was clean to him. You shake your head and move towards the living room.

It’s still dark, illuminated only by the television playing an evening police drama. You step towards your normal chair in the corner, only to find Michael’s hand at your side, pulling you with him. You blink up at him in the darkness, but his hand falls away when you stand in front of the couch. He sits and immediately begins devouring messy spoonfuls.

You sit next to him for the first time, feeling the casual touch of your leg against his, the warmth that radiates off him now that he’s out of the snow. You watch him as he stares at the screen, apparently taken with whatever show was playing- and you wonder if this is what he feels like. Watching, wondering what goes on in other peoples’ heads.

Your bowl sits warm in your hands, the thick, hearty smell drifting to you and making your mouth water. You smile at him and lay your head against his shoulder, closing your eyes and enjoying the touch for a moment. The motion of his arm as he eats, the soft noises of his breathing, nearly drowned out by the television.

With your curtains drawn, nobody will know he’s here. Fresh snow will cover his tracks. Nobody will come looking for him. You sigh, open your eyes again- and find the mixed blue and white looking down at you. You press closer, rub your cheek over the thick, rough material of his coveralls, feel the shape of his arm beneath. Three words slip from your lips.

The strange softness returns to his eyes.

=====

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[ashintheairlikesnow]

This might be a more serious question, which most likely will have a simple answer, but... What do you do when you feel like your stories are too "cliched" or trope-y enough that it doesn't let you stand out in the crowd? Or maybe it feels like everyone is doing the exact same thing you are? It's something that's been on my mind recently concerning my writing and I'm wondering if you have any personal tips about it. Sorry if this is too personal a question, just curious about your thoughts.

I write it anyway.

What stands you out from the crowd is very RARELY going to be some blaring new amazing plot idea no one else has ever done, or hasn’t done in forever, or twisting the trope or whatever. Like, things are cliched or tropes for a lot of reasons, and often that reason is simply that the trope is GOOD. People LIKE it. What sets you apart is going to be your characters, their personalities, how they bounce off of each other.  Tropes/Cliches I can tell you exist in my writing right this second:

1. Nate is 100% The Grumpy One is Soft for the Soft Boi 2. Love Conquers All - Nate and Danny GO THROUGH SOME SHIT and loving each other is what brings them back from Alberta, because Nate loves Danny enough to finally break past Abraham’s control over him 3. Love Conquers All - Family Edition: Ryan and Danny’s brotherly relationship is strong enough that Ryan is able to let loose the monstrous half of his bloodline for the first time in his life in an attempt to save Danny from death 4. Found Family - Danny finds his family in Nate and Ryan and Mina, not in his parents. Kauri finds his family in Dustin and Jack and doesn’t go back to his parents or try to return to the life he was living 5. Stoic Victim - Dex 6. Hypersexual Rape Survivor - Kauri 7. Touch-Repulsed Rape Survivor - Danny 8. I Can Overcome My Trauma Just For You - Danny and Nate Those are just a few. Someone with a couple of hours on TV tropes and my stories in front of them could no doubt come up with DOZENS. 

The key isn’t to try to never use cliché in your story, but to understand that you will, sooner or later, do just that. And the cliché isn’t the problem, it’s how you write it. It’s the characters you build and the worlds they inhabit. It’s YOU that makes the difference. 

Example: The Box Boy thing became HUGE on whumpblr. Tons of people telling variations on the story. That’s a trope, now, essentially, because it became such a Thing! Kauri is kind of a cliched part of that whole trend, but my story isn’t really focusd on the Box Boy aspect of it, but rather Kauri grappling with reality as essentially a captive domestic abuse victim who is able to make One Big Stand and get away, only to get out into the world and still have that life hot on his heels, trying to drag him down. And how his recovery doesn’t look like everyone else’s, and he has to grapple with whether or not he’s actually recovering at all.  Dex, Seb, and Peter are all Box Boys, and clichés in their own right - Dex is the Stoic Victim who is actually a fully-realized, intelligent man desperately trying to survive with some part of himself intact. Sebastian is the one who accepts life as it is, and makes the best of things, and appears on the surface to be living a pretty easy time of things... until Karen starts slowly murdering Dex over months and Sebastian has to fight against the realization that going with the flow means allowing the only family he has to die. 

Peter is the Defiant One who manages sometimes to speak up, with a quiet unspoken love for someone he can’t act on, trying to protect anyone and everyone as best he can even when he is, in effect, helpless to do anything more than help Dex sneak out of the house or steal food for him so he won’t starve. 

All of those characters have tropes and clichés built into them. What resonates with people isn’t that they’re NOT cliched, but the personalities, their connections with each other, and the world-building around them and their stories. 

So essentially, this was a really rambling way of saying, WRITE THE TROPE. Write the cliché! Write the story your brain wants to write and understand that what will set YOU apart is going to be the people that live in your story! you got this, I think you can take a cliché and make it resonate. 

Go on.

Go write it! We’re all waiting to see what you can do, because we know you can do something awesome.

[the-sober-story-so-far]

A pre-snippet to the past 10 years

 Hi there, i’ve got quite a few posts to catch up on since i’m on day 3 of sobriety but I feel like any story should start with where I was these past 10 years. I became a mother at 19, happily. My son was planned, I had met the love of my life a bassist in a metal band and fell in love with the lifestyle that came with it.

 When I had first met Matthew I had never partied before, I was in a very abusive relationship before where I wasn’t allowed to experience what most teens did. Parties, drugs,drinking, hell even my proms. So when I met Matt (before i was pregnant keep in mind) I went wild. We would party almost every night, we fell in love fast too. One of those loves that just hit you right in your face like a bullet. We were inseparable and we were both wild as could be. Once we had decided to slow down and stop going out as much we decided we wanted to get married and start a family together no matter how young we knew that regardless it was meant to be. So we were engaged, we were actually trashed when we got engaged it was pretty punk rock if I say so myself. In the middle of an alley in baltimore, he didn’t have a ring and it didn’t matter. We were just jamming to some Coheed and Cambria in my car drinking a 30 pack parked in this alley when he suddenly told me to get out of the car and follow him. At that point he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him. I thought he was just drunk or joking at first and I remember I kept asking him the next day if he was serious well, obviously it turns out he was. 

 So fast forward a bit, we were engaged and started trying to get pregnant and it took a few months but with luck we ended up pregnant. We decided to get married at the courthouse since we were already on the way to getting married that year anyways. Then we had our beautiful son, I was sober my entire pregnancy. I remember the first week after I had him I got trashed though just to celebrate 9months of pain and hell but at this point i was still a social drinker. The toddler years were happy years, we would only drink on the weekends or here and there when friends would come over. It wasn’t to the point where I had a problem yet. 

 Then he turned 4, and life got really hard. Problems with my family arose, financial problems as well. My mental health declined and i was diagnosed with Bipolar Type 2, as well as OCD, Severe Depressive, Severe Anxiety and Borderline personality Mercurial type. As well as having PTSD from my childhood with my parents. My mom almost passed when I was younger from liver failure. She ended up having a transplant and living. I had an emotionally abusive father, my mother’s mental health was never stable I actually use to remember her waking me up at 4 am and screaming at me as a child for things I had done the day before. I witnessed so many fights and insane moments a child shouldn’t. I then ended up in an abusive relationship from 14-18 with a boy who would hit me, verbally abuse me, gaslight me, manipulate me and then one day eventually sexually assault me in my sleep. The thing about trauma is it always catches up to you.

 And that’s where I think it all started going wrong, it began catching up. I moved out in my first apartment with my husband and my son and finally had freedom. We had lots of parties, I met lots of “friends” who only cared about where the next party was or who had the drugs. I began partying more and more, and made decisions I was not proud of. Including hurting my husband more than I ever could have even fathomed, I don’t like to speak of it. I have faced my guilt about it daily but in short I was unfaithful. Even if it was one time, it was inexcusable. My cousin had moved in with me, and though I love her back in that time she wasn’t the best influence either. She always wanted to party or smoke weed as well. We became partners in crime, we always wanted to get into some chaos and have fun. Then we were forced to move back to my parents all 4 of us this time due to a shooting in my apartment complex where we were no longer safe. It was unbearable living there during that time, before my mom began fixing herself and facing her own demons and dealing with my father and his emotionally abusive ways.

 So we ended up moving to my grandparents, where we were later kicked out of for having people over partying almost every night. At that point I had also assumed I wanted to be polyamorous, which indeed I am not. I am bisexual yes, but the polyamory was just an excuse in my own mind not to work on my own marriage and fix the damage I had unleashed upon it. When we lived at my grandparents was when the peak in my drinking began. I began drinking daily with my cousin starting early in the morning drinking bottles of rum and vodka all day to the point of blacking out, mixing clonopin with it. Smoking spice, smoking weed, just drugs and booze constantly. One night I overdosed and slit my wrists so bad that the scars are still there to this day I am lucky to be alive and you’d have thought that would have been enough to stop me from my path of destruction but it did not.

 I did end up quitting spice, once we were kicked out of my grandparents I saved money at my job and we rented a place with my cousin and a “friend”, the drinking only got worse there. More parties, more drugs. I started dabbling with Molly and Adderall while i was there and almost ecstasy. My mental health declined so bad due to being worried about a relationship with a girl I thought I loved and spending my money on substance that we lost our house after I lost my job.

 I moved back home again with my parents, just my husband, my son and myself and the drinking continued then for a few months it was daily drinking until one day I did finally get sober and quit drinking, months later I started to become incredibly sick and was still sober but thought I had cancer from how violently ill I was but I was too afraid to go to a doctor for it, instead in my fucked up mind I decided to attempt suicide twice. I lost many friends along this journey from the choices I made, and from who I was. I felt that being sick was my penance for being such a piece of shit for so long.

 Months passed after this, I was sick for at least 9 more months vomiting at least 9 times daily sometimes more. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t shit and I knew something was wrong but I had doctors who didn’t care to find out, who brushed it off as IBS because I was “young and healthy”. 9 months they let it go, it turned out to be my appendix and a dead bowel. The day my appendix ruptured sepsis poured into my abdomen and i was dying, I was actually dying like I had wished for all those years and then it was in that moment that I knew I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live, I wanted to fight. I had my surgery and had 3 months of severe complications including seizures, fluid ruptures and a massive hole left in my abdomen from those fluid ruptures. September of that same year my intestine popped up below the surface of my skin and I had to have my first hernia surgery, it was successful until November of last year when it tore open and I had my final one. During the process I was foolish enough to keep the same doctors, to be dismissed over and over until the first hernia surgery when I had finally had enough and found doctors who actually cared. However, now I have severe PTSD with practitioners not to mention a nurse  who physically and sexually assaulted me and a doctor who possibly did while I was under anesthesia. This is getting back to the trauma creeping up on you, it all has a purpose.

 So, I went through severe anxiety, and experienced what real PTSD was. I was still sober until one night my husband and his friends and myself were all hanging out in the garage and they said have a beer you’ll be fine and that was when it all started again.

I used to look forward to every Friday and Saturday just wanting to get drunk to feel something, all the while i was still using marijuana daily as well. Well, maybe not to feel something i’d say more to feel nothing. And then it went from 6 drinks to 12 drinks, from Saturdays and Sundays to every day of the week. From 6 packs daily to 12 packs daily. From 12 packs daily to 15 drinks daily, from 15 to 18 and so on. This was a year ago i relapsed and this is my first 3 days sober since it all happened.

 This is to document my journey, this is to look back and feel pride in how far i’ve come and this is so that I know I can do anything and how much I refuse to go backwards. If you’re reading this, i hope if you are in a place where I was it gives you strength, I hope you never feel alone. 

 Welcome to my sobriety diaries.

[dailyaudiobible]

08/22/2020 DAB Transcript

Job 4:1-7:21, 1 Corinthians 14:18-40, Psalms 37:30-40, Proverbs 21:27

Today is the 22nd day of August welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I'm Brian. It is a joy and a pleasure and an honor to be here with you today as we reach the conclusion of another of the weeks that we get to share together this year. I think this is the...the end of the 33rd week of the year, give or take a few days. Anyway, we’re well underway in this voyage. Yesterday we began the book of Job, and we talked about that. We’re gonna continue that today. We’re reading from the expanded Bible this week. Job, chapters 4, 5, 6, and 7 today.

Prayer:

Father, we thank you for your word. We thank you for another week on this adventure through the Scriptures in their entirety in community, what we call the Global Campfire, we thank you for bringing us this far. Every day of our lives You have been faithful and we are here and sometimes we need to remember that, we’re here, and that is because you have brought us here. And, so as we end another week and release it, because that's all we can do and it becomes a part of our past, it becomes part of the story of our history, we are grateful for your faithfulness in our lives. Holy Spirit come, continue to lead us and guide us into all truth, lead us deeper into Jesus. Reveal the narrow path that leads to life that we might walk upon it every moment of our lives. We pray this in the mighty and majestic name of the Savior, Jesus. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base and it's where you find out what's going on around here. So, be sure to…to know what's going on around here. Check out the Community section. That’s where the Prayer Wall is and that is constantly a haven for prayer - to pray and to be prayed for. So…so, check that out.

If you want to partner with Daily Audio Bible, you can do that at dailyaudiobible.com. There is a link on the website on the homepage and I thank you, I thank you profoundly, especially as we move through the summertime for your partnership. If what's happening here is…is life-giving than thank you for your partnership. So, there’s a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address is PO Box 1996, Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, of course, as always, we are a community that loves one another and prays for one another and if you're shouldering burdens that you shouldn't ought to carry alone you can reach out. There’s Hotline button in the app, like there’s a Hotline button in this community that you can reach out any time of day or night and share your story. And, so, that's the little red button at the top or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today, I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Well hello my DAB family this is Mark Street from Sydney Australia today is the 15th __ of August __. I desperately need your prayer because of my health. I woke up this morning __ to hospital and I found out I’ve had a mini stroke. There’s still debating on what to do about it. I’m not…I’m not in fear of my life because I love God, but my family needs me. I want to be around to help them. So, could you please…please pray that the doctors will __ I’m healthy and get past the stroke. And I thought I was leading a healthy life, but they’ll teach me how to eat and be healthy and through God. Thank you family, I love you. Mark Street from Sydney Australia. Bye.

Heavenly Father I’m coming to You on behalf of my brothers and sisters in Christ are lost a child. I pray for those who one night find themselves tossing and turning weary but unable to rest. I pray for those laying in bed begging You for the oblivion of sleep but unable to hear You’re still small voice of the turning of the broken heart and the anguished screaming of the mind as they try to comprehend the incomprehensible. Lord they need to feel You near right now. In the absence of light and sound and activity let Your presence being made known to them. Let all the Scriptures they have hidden in their hearts begin to surface one by one. With each breath of Your word they exhale let them inhale Your piece. Help the Lord to count their blessings even in the midst of their overwhelming grief. Help them start with the blessing that is their child’s life however brief it may have been. Show them things they can be thankful for - true things, just things, pure things. Help them to turn away from the grief toward You. Let their tears be healing ones that wash away the sharp edges of their grief. If they seek solace in music let it be songs of worship that draw them closer to You. Take each wakeful moment and use it for Your glory and their good. Father I ask Your mercy upon those who walk this valley without You, who’s hope died with their child. Of us all Lord, they are the most wounded because their pain is not tempered with eternity. Draw them to Yourself Lord. Put one of Your children in their path, perhaps one of us that understand a portion of their pain that can lead them to You. I pray they will seek their answers from the only one who has them and may they find peace with You to be the only answer they need. I pray all these things or something better in the name of Jesus. Amen.

Hi this is Vickie from Arizona and I am excited. I just wanted to call and share a praise report because I had prayed about losing weight and I…I’m down 30 pounds today. So, I’ve been doing a diet and I’m excited because I had tried so many different things and nothing worked. So, I am just getting close to goal and my clothes are fitting me better and I’m just happy. So, sometimes you just gotta give a shout out to God when, you know, praise…pray and then praise. Because a lot of times we don’t share the victory. And I know I had called in about weight loss before. So, I wanted to share that victory because I feel like God is listening, He’s attentive to the cries of our heart, that He did say He’d never leave us nor forsake us and what’s important to us is important to Him. And sometimes I feel like we just focus on what we need instead of focusing on what He’s just given up. So, I just want to take this opportunity to give a shout out and just say thank you God for coming through, thank You God for always making a way where there doesn’t seem to be a way. Thank You for opening doors that we need opened and closing doors that need to be shut in our life. Thank You that You are always good, that You’re…You know us so intimately and so…so delicately God. I just thank You that You are an on time God and whatever we have need of Father God that You are making away, You are ordering our footsteps, that we are the apple of Your eyes, that we just…we just know that we love You Father, that God we just thank You for everybody who’s in a struggle today Father God I just lift them up to You and I ask You for victory. We just declare and decree victory over the Daily Audio Bible family in Jesus’ name. Amen. Have a blessed day.

Hello DAB family this is Bouncing Pouncing Love and Joy calling from Minneapolis Minnesota. My fiancé and I met young year ago yesterday. He introduced me to the DAB then and I have been listening faithfully ever since. I am thankful for the blessing Brian and all of you are in my life. Please pray for my fiancé Chris’s son Gabriel. He is 36 years old. A few months ago, he cut himself off from his family. Chris feels dishonored, heartbroken, and concerned for his son who suffers from PTSD and physical trauma from his three tours of active duty in the military. Please pray for peace for Chris and that the Lord would be working in Gabriel’s heart and mind to bring him to a life of obedience and faithfulness to his Father in heaven. Thank you for your prayers. God hears each one and we trust that Gabe will have a powerful testimony one day because God doesn’t do waste anything he allows us to walk through.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family this is Angel in Maryland I just want to thank Brian first for doing what you…you do. I’ve been listening since 2013 off and on and I picked it up again a few a few days ago and I’m celebrating because I’ve listened for 21 consecutive days. They say if you can do something for 21 days it’s a new habit. So, please pray for me family that I continue and that I actually end the year solid, having listened every day. But I do want to encourage the caller Daniel from Tennessee. He…he called…well it was on today’s recording, August 17th. But Daniel you have the five children and you’re a widower and your story really stood out to me because you described your current stable job as “depressing.” And I am in a very similar situation and you want to venture out and your own and I really identify with that. So, I just wanted to call in and encourage you because my birthday was actually August 13th and in that message Brian in the commentary kept repeating the phrase keep going and I felt that was for me on my birthday because several times over my life my dad has told me, you know, the phrase of the Maasai warrior, those of the warriors in Kenya that wear the beads on their necks, their rite of passage is the kill a lion with their bare hands and their motto is keep going. And that’s what’s keeping me going. So, in Jesus name you will be successful. In Jesus name I will be successful. So, stay encouraged Daniel. Amen.

Good day neighbors this is Lisa of the Encourager calling. I know I’ve been absent for quite some time now, but I did get everything done with my house after the tornado hit. And fortunately, everything worked out really well. So, I appreciate any and all of your prayers during that difficult time. And I’m calling to continue to pray this evening for all of your children in your lives and for whatever they’re going through. I just want to continue to pray for our children. And if you don’t have children your grandchildren or your nieces or nephews. So, I’m gonna start this off by praying for them. Dear Lord I thank you God so much for the Daily Audio Bible and what it means to all of us and the community that we have together. And I appreciate Lord Jesus the Daily audio Bible community and the love that they have that we share with each other. I want to pray for each one of them and their children Lord God and whatever situation they might be encountering whether that is illness and if it is going back to school with COVID and the stress or maybe it is staying home and working on schoolwork remotely or maybe it is a child that’s addicted to drugs or maybe it is a child that’s in prison or a teenager or young adult. I’m praying God that your hand will be upon each of them Lord and that you will bring victory in their lives in each one of these difficult situations and that your hand and love will be upon them. And I thank you Lord God so much…

Hey DAB family this is David the Beloved Child of God in Northern California and I’m calling on behalf of Barb in Alberta who called in and asked to pray for her adult children. So, let’s pray. I pray for my own adult children as well and all of those who have children. Lord we just pray for our kids. We ask that You would reach out to them, protect them, guard them, keep them safe in You Lord. Lord I heard Barb say that she wished she would’ve provided a greater foundation. Lord, You be their foundation, You be their stronghold, protect our children from this world, this culture that is screaming at them with all kinds of noise. Protect them from evil Lord. God we just ask that You will also give us peace and allow us to wait on You and trust You and know that You love them more than we love them. God, we ask that You would do a miracle and that we would see it, that we would see it’s Your hand involved. God, I pray for peace again. We need peace in this crazy mixed up world. God, I ask that You will give us wisdom and even boldness when we need it. Lord help us to love. Help us to love our kids only the way that You can love our kids God. Fill us with Your Spirit so that we can lead them closer into You and…and to just know how beautiful they are. God we thank You so much for allowing us to be parents and forgive us for the times that we break Your heart for the things that just seem to be leading us astray away from You. __ peace in Jesus’ name Amen.

[writcraft]

Rec List #1 Theme: 2018 Favourites (Non-Drarry)

One of my fandom resolutions is to rec more in 2019. I’m going to post rec lists for some of my favourite HP fics divided up by theme/content/ship or whatever I fancy throughout the year, aiming for one rec list a month with two in January. I thought I would kick off 2019 with two lists of 2018 favourites. This first one excludes Drarry because I’ve read mostly Drarry this year and limiting myself to ten recs per list would be impossible if I included all the Drarry I’ve enjoyed within a list of just ten. The second list will be my favourite Drarry fics of 2018, then I’ll move on to other themes for the remaining months.

Usual caveats for recs apply. This is by no means an exhaustive list, I could have recced many more. I’ve read and enjoyed a whole raft of terrific stories and this rec list is simply based on my personal tastes which may not be everybody else’s cuppa. Please heed the content warnings the author has flagged on AO3 in each case, some of these fics contain darker content and I haven’t listed out any warnings in my recs and summaries.

#1. A Radical Change in (Self) Perception by AnyaElizabeth

Severus Snape/Harry Potter | 57,114

Harry should know better than to touch museum exhibits, especially in a magical museum. Now he's in trouble...

My Rec: I haven’t read a huge amount of body swap fics and I can’t remember the last body swap Snarry I read, and I was so intrigued by how the author would handle this premise. I devoured the whole 50,000+ words in one sitting I was so engaged by this charming story. The body swap forced Harry and Severus to spend more time together but it did so much more than that - it enabled them to better understand one another and also themselves, when they saw each other through a different lens. The writing is terrific and if you’re a Snarry shipper this one is guaranteed to give you all the warm and fuzzies. A great addition to the wonderful Snarry fanfic that has posted throughout 2018.

#2. Hallo Spaceboy by @shiftylinguini

James Potter/Teddy Lupin | 10,075

“If this mirror could talk,” James remembers declaring, already one drink down and trying to tidy up his ridiculous costume eyeliner, “it would say we look bloody amazing.”

Teddy’s arm was warm when he wrapped it around James’s shoulder, pulling him closer.

“We always do, love.” Teddy tugged on a long curl of James’s hair before tucking it behind his ear, then smoothing the whole lot of it back. “We’re the fittest blokes at the party, us.”

James’d had to give up on the eyeliner after that; he was grinning too hard, flushed and happy and basking in Teddy’s attention (fit blokes, we’re fit blokes, that’s us), and he couldn't bloody stop.

Or: James kissed Teddy last night. This may or may not be the end of the world.

My Rec: A thoroughly charming fic featuring trans James waking up in the morning and coming to terms with a kiss with his best mate Teddy Lupin the night before. I loved the quietness of this story, the way James being trans was part of it but not the primary focus. James feeding bread to the ducks on a grotty park bench is honestly such a beautiful, persistent and soothing image, and I loved the whole story from start to finish. It’s got lovely, warm coming of age vibes to it and I felt James’ conflict and fears come through so well in the telling of this story. Wonderfully written.

#3. Of Reckoning and Ruin by @half-light-01

Severus Snape, Albus Dumbledore | 10,585

"And it is the eternal rule that drops of blood spilled on the ground demand yet more blood." 

One year after Lily Potter's death, Severus Snape's Dark Mark comes to life. Caught between a creature that wants him dead, and a Headmaster who needs him alive, the young Hogwarts professor is forced to reckon with his past and negotiate his future.

My Rec: I discovered this terrific fic at the end of this year and boy oh boy am I glad I did. The relationship between Severus and Albus is, in my view, one of the most complex and fascinating of the Harry Potter series. This story explores the darker sides we see of Dumbledore in canon through his interactions with Snape, but most of all it is a complex and fascinating character study of Severus, his grief, his guilt, his inner turmoil. The author really gets into the grit of both characters without flinching away from it and the creature in the story gives it a very unsettling quality which forces us to question who can be trusted, if anyone. A really engaging, well told story with a deft handling of complex characters. 

#4. my heart beat a tattoo on my ribs by @candybarrnerd / icarusinflight

Ginny Weasley/Luna Lovegood | 7,403

Ginny can't understand why anyone would want to mark themselves by choice but she still agrees to go with Harry when he says he wants a tattoo.

My Rec: I loved this beautiful story of tattoo artist Luna and a Ginny still processing the trauma and grief of war. The friendship between Ginny and Harry is wonderfully crafted and the dull ache of grief that grips Ginny is beautifully handled - it’s softly done and never overwrought and the story is ultimately one of healing and hope. A really terrific, sexy read and one I’ll definitely return to again.

#5. Distortion by DorthyAnn (JenniferMarie)

Harry Potter Centric (see AO3 for more detail) | 8,924

Harry wakes in darkness. A darkness that goes on and on without end. He can’t see or feel, he doesn’t know what’s happened. All he can do is hold on, replaying his memories to keep him sane. Until it’s over. Until he can go home again.

My Rec: This is horror as I love it the most. A strange, unsettling, superbly written story which grapples with identity, perception of self, loss of identity and evokes a creepy, oppressive sense of things going horribly awry. The Potterverse is so rich with details of magic and potions which can be used to alter ones own perception of themselves and the rest of the world, and the author uses the magic of canon in a deft and eerie way to create a gripping, unnerving tale of psychological horror. 

#6. Soft Touch by perverse_idyll

Severus Snape/Harry Potter | 15,167

Harry's love life has been dismal, and he finds himself checking into a therapeutic massage clinic just to get off - the same clinic to which Snape had been delivered three years earlier for physical therapy.

My Rec: Perverse Idyll is one of those authors whose fics I read and they stay with me for a long time after. One of the first Snarry authors I properly discovered on the journals, Perverse Idyll and I see Snape somewhat differently at times (although the meta conversations that results in are always an absolute privilege and pleasure) but I think that’s one of the things I find so compelling whenever I read PI’s fic. Perverse Idyll takes Snape to places I struggle to as a writer, and I find him absolutely captivating. He never loses his sharpness, his bitterness or his moral ambiguity and there is nothing more compelling than reading an unapologetically brittle Snape from the deft hand of a terrific writer who knows the character inside out and has formed deep, intricate views about his complexities and motivations and lets all his flaws sing instead of silencing or softening them in an attempt to make him more palatable. This is such an electric, sensual, sexy story with tension ramped up to the max. Brilliant.

#7. Rooftop Ruminations by @thealmostrhetoricalquestion​

Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley | 12,209

Ginny barely registered the evening. The musician, whose bow wrung sounds from the strings with a casual, carefree elegance that Ginny would have usually envied, was just a blur in front of her face. The steps she took to the Rialto Bridge once everyone was ready felt too light and airy, and Luna’s hand in hers was just a wisp of citrus-scented silk. The night grew cooler and Ginny didn’t feel it. Simpering crush, Daphne had said. Pansy had a simpering crush. The words bobbed to the surface of her thoughts and pinched at her wrists and looped around her ears. She kept glancing at Pansy in her velvet skirt and towering heels, and she kept not knowing what to feel.

She wasn’t sure who she wanted Pansy’s crush to be on, and she hated that she didn’t know.

My Rec: This is such a gorgeous piece of writing. The scene setting is so immersive and wistful somehow, there’s a quietness to the pace of the story and the telling of it that made it such a wonderful read. I found myself completely engaged by the unfolding of the story, the richness of the details and descriptions sprinkled throughout, the handling of Ginny’s grief, the sparks and flickers of her feelings as she explores her growing attraction to Pansy and past feelings for Luna. I highly recommend this beautifully told story. 

#8. The Frame by mindabbles

Sirius Black/James Sirius Potter | 11,703

What are the ethical implications of falling for a person you're named after? How about the logistical complications of falling for someone who shouldn’t be alive? James would rather, he finds, not look too closely at either, not when Sirius makes him forget anyone else exists. 

My Rec: I left a prompt for Next Gen Fest involving time travel and James Sirius meeting his namesake and I was so excited when I saw it had been claimed. This fic was absolutely terrific. The idea of the portrait / painting being suspended on the wall mirrors this moment of James Sirius and Sirius suspended in time and I love that the author chose to end the story when they did, leaving things open and ambiguous but in a way that still felt very satisfying. Sirius and James are brilliantly characterised and there are wonderful doses of humour throughout what is a fairly tragic premise. The sex is hot enough to burn and the story has a gentle hopefulness which left me feeling really warm and content, despite the openness of the ending. We see James Sirius and Sirius in this one, suspended moment, as one might view a painting or photograph. Brilliantly written, with nods to Jeddy and Wolfstar too. I loved it.

#9. Games People Play by kelly_chambliss

Minerva McGonagall/Severus Snape | 5,610

Life is not easy when you are Severus Snape or Remus Lupin. But sometimes, there are compensations. 

My Rec:  I fell in love with this fic when it posted anon and for this year’s HP Crossgenfest and I wasn’t surprised when the author was revealed to be the immensely talented Kelly, one of my favourite writers of the older women in the Potterverse with a brilliant grasp of Minerva and Severus as characters. The story weaves Remus into the narrative and as ever Kelly’s prose is delightful, the use of second person working particularly well for this story with its shifting POVs. Severus displays moments of his surly, jealous, childish self but also appears a much reformed man although Kelly expertly retains a level of ambiguity around his true motivations in a fully-fleshed out, rich story of human complexity and the ways in which our past informs our perception of the present. If you only ever read one author writing Minerva McGonagall again, read Kelly. Although we are in the heads of Remus and Severus, it is smart, perceptive Minerva who is the star of the show. Wonderful. 

#10. Summer’s End by Barry_Manilows_Wardrobe

Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald | 9,505

Gellert was the embodiment of summer: sunlit hair, warm skin beneath Albus's hands, and a smile that made Albus feel hot down to his very bones. But all summers must come to an end. 

My Rec: This story is utterly breathtaking. The writing is so confident and rich and the characters and their doomed love beautifully rendered. I read the fic with a lump in my throat, a gorgeously angsty, evocative tale of loving too much, too young, of powerful, intelligent wizards losing themselves in one another and the heat of an irrevocable passion which pulls them towards one another before everything breaks apart. At times the writing is so lyrical and poetic, I had to go back and read several phrases over and over, to really take them in. An absolutely stunning tale of lost love and the path that his past sets Albus on as he sets about preparing Harry for his future trials. Captivating, from start to finish.