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somedaylazysomeday · 9 months ago

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Noisy - Part Four

Despite your agreements, Viktor is being very loud... Again. You go to confront him about it.

Viktor x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI.

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: Frustration, concern, hints of growing intimacy, unprotected sex, creampie, feelings

Previous | Masterlist

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You couldn’t sleep.

You turned to your side, away from the window. Maybe the faint glow from behind the curtains was what had kept you awake. Or maybe all the thoughts crowding your mind were on that side of the pillow, sneaking in through your ear until they could snarl and snap inside of your brain.

Another sleepless night was not what you needed.

A moment later, you amended the thought. If there was going to be one night you couldn’t really rest, this wasn’t the worst night for it to happen. You didn’t have anywhere to be the next day and no real plans. You could sleep as late as you needed to recover what you were losing to your racing thoughts.

With that realization, you gave in and let your mind whir rapidly as it performed a variety of calculations it apparently thought were necessary.

The first - and accordingly most concerning - thought was about your impending departure from the Piltover Academy of Science, Technology, and Innovation.

You had been a student at the Academy for almost a decade. Your undergraduate work had been completed on time. Graduate work had slowed you down slightly as you started taking more advanced courses that required more field work. And your doctoral program seemed to have stretched on for an eternity. That was mostly because the Academy’s work-study program had left you attending courses only half of your time.

Even then, your main focus for the last semester had been on writing your dissertation.

From everything you had learned about other schools, Piltover’s Academy was unique in the way dissertations were presented, especially in practical fields. Instead of a simple essay, Academy dissertations were written as a proposal. You were to identify a problem, hypothesize about causes and solutions, and create a plan to help alleviate the problem or treat those suffering from it.

When you were finished with your dissertation, you would submit it to your mentor, Professor Ukkud. Once she went through it with you and you completed any final changes, she would present it to the Council of Piltover. They would read it, discuss your proposed solutions, then give you a chance to answer their questions and defend your intended methodology.

If you successfully defended your dissertation, you would gain a doctorate. You would also be approved a specified amount of Piltover’s money to put your proposal into action, backed by the Council. Doctors whose experiments and solutions helped people were often offered jobs in the government itself, working to improve the lives of Piltover citizens.

Your identified problem - the pollution in the Undercity, particularly the fumes found in the Sump sector - was easily proven. The causes were of concern to Piltover. The solutions were simple and relatively cheap. It was, by all accounts, tailor-made for a successful dissertation defense.

Except that you had been advised to start over.

Your meeting with Professor Ukkud that afternoon had been profoundly disappointing. It had been your first meeting with her since you had discussed concepts. The professor had left the Academy for several months as she delivered a beautiful boy. She and her wife had spent much of the following time bonding with their newborn son and, by the time she returned, your dissertation was almost complete.

Which was why it was particularly heartbreaking that you had presented your lovingly-crafted work to Professor Ukkud only for her to sit in uncomfortable silence. She listened to your explanation, but pushed the dissertation back to you unread. When she finally spoke, it was with an expression of sympathy and a delicate sort of tone.

“I understand your passion for this project and I think it would have a positive impact on the Undercity. However, I feel that there is a strong chance the Council will deny you the funds you’ve requested.”

You had been aghast. The Council rarely refused funds, and when they did, it was often because the attached proposal had been subpar. In a few cases, they had denied funds and awarded the defender their degree anyway, but it had happened only twice that you could remember.

It was considered slightly shameful to receive your degree with no accompanying funds. It was a sign that the Council thought there was no situation in which your special knowledge could play an role in improving Piltover.

“But… But this is important research…” you had protested, knowing it wouldn’t matter. “My solution is simple and cost-effective, and no one can argue the impact it would have on the lives of those living in the Undercity. Especially the ones who live in the Sump sector, but it could make a difference for people who live much further away.”

Professor Ukkud shook her head sadly. “I agree, and I believe there is a strong possibility that your proposal would improve lives across the Undercity and even along the border of Upper Piltover where the river is narrow.”

“Then I don’t understand the problem,” you’d said, openly frustrated.

“Simply put: the Council will not divert funds toward a project that will mostly impact the Undercity.”

You had suspected as much as soon as Professor Ukkud suggested you change the topic of your dissertation, but it was startling to hear her say it so directly. Worse, you knew she was right.

You wanted to rail against the unfairness of it all, but the prejudices of Upper Piltover ran deep. There was no other explanation for the poor conditions half the city lived in - and perhaps more, since censuses tended not to go well in the Undercity.

And, even worse, you partially understood. The Undercity rebelled against Upper Piltover on a regular basis, and most of those rebellions were violent. Yes, they were rebelling against a lack of representation and the fact that the Council didn’t put any effort toward improving the Undercity, but you could imagine that the proud Piltover people would see helping them as rewarding the very violence they were hoping to stop.

None of those thoughts had left you. Instead, you slumped and stared down at the stack of pages resting on the table. They represented literal months of your life. When you weren’t helping Ukkud in her classroom, you were researching or writing or editing or experimenting, all in the process of crafting the perfect dissertation.

“What am I supposed to do, then?” The question had sounded more defeated than challenging. “I can’t rewrite it. The semester is ending soon.”

“I think your best option is to stay an extra semester,” Professor Ukkud opinioned, looking visibly relieved that you weren’t planning to argue with her about it. “You could try to create a different dissertation, but in the limited time… You would either end up with an inferior proposal or be too exhausted to defend it.”

You hadn’t had anything else to say, by then. What was the point? Instead, you thanked the professor for her guidance and left the classroom. You’d spent the rest of the afternoon sulking and mulling over your options.

The way you saw it, you had two: spend an extra semester at the Academy to create another dissertation and proposal about an issue you weren’t as passionate about, or…

Or present the dissertation you had already prepared.

Professor Ukkud was right, you probably wouldn’t be funded. But you could leave here and go somewhere where you could make a difference. You had taken several grant-writing courses during your time at the Academy. It would be far more difficult to do things on your own. But wouldn’t it be worth it?

You turned onto your back once more, eyeing the ceiling with disgust. Now that you had rehashed everything about the disappointing meeting and rethought about the difficult choice that faced you, you had hoped sleep would come. But you were just as awake as you had been before and you clearly weren’t going to make any important decisions that night.

Sliiiiiide. Scrape. Scrape! BOOM.

Your initial jolt turned into you sitting bolt upright in bed as a tremendous noise came from the apartment above yours. You looked up at the ceiling, like you could see through it if you stared hard enough.

When that didn't work, you started to lay back down, but paused. Viktor knew you didn't need to be awake early the next day and had no specific reason to stay quiet, but this was excessive even for him.

Immediately, your mind started jumping to negative conclusions. What if Viktor had tripped? What if his cane had caught on something, leaving him tumbling to the floor? If had fallen badly enough to hurt himself, how would he call for help? Would anyone notice until the weekend ended?

The last thing you wanted was to imply that he couldn't take care of himself, but it would be good to check on Viktor, right? He couldn't be offended if you were making sure he wasn't hurt. And if he was, you could always pretend you were upset with him for making so much noise. He didn't know you had already been awake…

You pulled on a sweatshirt over your pajamas and started the trek upstairs. You had been casually sleeping with Viktor for months by that point, but you didn't go up to his apartment as often as you had expected.

And who could blame you? Not only did Viktor prefer to keep people away from the experiments that filled his apartment, but he also didn't have a bed. You liked to think you were fairly low-maintenance, but you did prefer not to have sex on the floor. Unless it you were in a particular mood. Or a hurry. Or-

You pulled your thoughts back to your current mission. Viktor could be hurt, and you needed to make sure he wasn’t in pain and waiting to be found.

The first obstacle was that you didn’t have a key to his apartment. It had never been necessary before and you were struck by the strangeness of that for the first time. Your relationship was strictly casual, but it would have made sense for you proximity to lead to more opportunities for hooking up. Including swapping apartment keys.

And so you knocked, your taps on his door were firm with an edge of urgency. Even as you waited for a response, you planned: if you knocked again and there was no answer, you would break down the door. How you would accomplish that, you weren’t really sure. As you eyed the solid wood of the door, you wondered if you might be overestimating your own abilities.

Fortunately, you and your poor shoulder were spared from seeing how you fared against the door when it opened and Viktor’s brown eyes peered out. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” you asked, a little nonplussed.

“Of course,” he told you.

“What are you doing up here?”

Viktor looked overly innocent, which was a good as a red flag in the current situation. “Nothing in particular. Why?”

You squinted at him. “Well, I heard a really loud noise a few minutes ago. I thought you might have fallen and knocked yourself out.”

“Do you really think so little of my balance?”

The dry question was met with a hard stare of your own. You had seen him trip over nothing, and if something impacted how his cane landed, he was virtually guaranteed to end up on the ground.

Graciously, you decided not to bring up any of that. Instead, you said, “You’re out of breath. A little odd for someone claiming not to be doing anything in particular. And it’s really dark in there…”

You tried to see around him and into the apartment, but Viktor leaned into your line of sight. “Seriously, did you knock over a lamp or something? It totally dark in there. Wait, not totally… Are those candles? I don’t think you’re allowed to have candles in the dorms.”

Viktor sighed heavily, letting the door swing out from his grip. You took a moment to process his bare feet and rumpled hair before accepting his silent invitation and stepping past him into the apartment. As always, you almost struggled to believe that his apartment shared a layout with yours, since his was decorated so dramatically differently.

His furniture was almost entirely missing, with the exception of a very old and well-worn recliner that he slept in. The rest of the space was taken up with various experiments. They had changed since the last time you had been there, but precise layouts of chemical, biological, and mysterious experiments still spread across every available surface. Each one was accompanied by a notebook containing neatly written notes.

It took a moment for you to check, but you couldn’t see anything around the room that would have caused the amount of noise that had brought you upstairs in the first place. That was good, since it meant that Viktor probably wasn’t hurt and trying to hide it from you.

There was a bare circle on one of Viktor’s countertops, all the experiments carefully swept clear. In the middle of the circle was a cluster of candles, throwing warm light dancing around the room.

“Well, at least you made sure nothing would catch on fire from your illegal candles,” you conceded.

Viktor came to stand beside you. “Well, nothing that I don’t want to be caught.”

Your eyebrows raised without your permission as you gave him a sidelong look. “Are you lighting things on fire in your apartment? Need I remind you that I live downstairs and that the building is ancient? And flammable?”

“Besides,” he continued, ignoring you. “I think they set a mood quite nicely. Don’t you agree?”

“What mood are you trying to set? Angsty serial killer, or are you going for-”

Viktor leaned close, the motion so sudden that you pulled backward. You would have thought it was just a rushed attempt at a kiss, but the way he was looking at you was anything but romantic. His amber eyes were studying your face like you were one of his experiments. You didn’t care for the feeling.

“Is something wrong?” he asked abruptly.

The bluntness of the question threw you off, made you less able to create a believable story. “Not- Not really? Bad day. Then my upstairs neighbor keeps being noisy.”

“Today was your meeting with Professor Ukkud, was it not?” he asked. It was a rhetorical question; Viktor had proven to have a near-eidetic memory when it came to the things you told him. “Did she have many critiques for your dissertation?”

“Something like that,” you admitted.

“Strange,” Viktor mused. “I thought it was rather brilliant.”

Your eyes snapped to his. Viktor was smiling slightly, but he seemed sincere. He had read your dissertation.

When you had asked him to the first time - claiming that you needed another set of eyes on it - he had refused. His explanation was that his ties to the Undercity were too strong, that he wouldn’t be able to look at your proposal with any objectivity. That had seemed like a lie to you, but you hadn’t pushed. A boundary was a boundary, even if he wasn’t giving you the real reason behind it.

“You… you read my dissertation?” you stammered.

“Of course,” he told you. “It’s you. How could I no-? Unh!”

You felt a little guilty about the way that his throat had collided with the top of your shoulder as you pulled him into a hug, but you couldn’t stop yourself from gripping him with your full strength.

It was only when he stroked a hand down your back, hushing you gently, that you realized you were crying. The entire story spilled from you then. Every detail about Professor Ukkud’s recommendation for rewriting, your crushing disappointment, and the nagging fear that she was right and that to present before the Council would be to set yourself up for failure.

Viktor held you close, making appropriate noises as the stream of words pouring from you finally slowed, then stopped. “Do you want to talk it over? Consider your options?”

“No,” you refused, smiling tearfully at him. “I feel better just telling you about it. But I could really use a distraction. That is, if you don’t mind? I know I’m all gross…”

Viktor’s soft lips halted your apologies and explanations. You still felt as gross as you had claimed to be, but you sank eagerly into the kiss. It wasn’t often that you let Viktor lead - normally, you were too excited for that - but you gladly followed the soothing motions of his mouth against yours.

“We do not have to-” he started when you pulled back to breathe.

“No, but I really, really want to,” you admitted openly.

“In that case…” Viktor stepped away. You immediately felt the loss of his warm body against his, but he was holding a hand out to you. When you took it, he started leading the way to his bedroom.

It took until you were at the doorway to remember why this was a bad idea. You tugged slightly against his grip. “I know I said I want a distraction, but I’d rather not get eaten by one of your plants, Viktor. That’s not exactly what I’m looking for right now.”

“Do not worry,” he assured you, pushing the door open. “I removed them last week.”

“...Why?”

He laughed openly at you. “You’re too young to be so skeptical.”

And then he stepped through the door, pulling you in behind him before you could continue protesting.

To your surprise, Viktor had been telling the truth. The plants that had dominated most of the bedroom the last time you’d been inside were gone, as were the colorful lights that had illuminated them. He had even removed the protective tape from the light switch.

Even without turning on the notoriously harsh overhead lights, you could see Viktor’s bedroom clearly enough for your mouth to fall open. “Is that..?”

“Yes, it is,” Viktor confirmed, smiling more broadly than you had ever seen.

You started forward, but paused. “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Is this a trick? A mirage? An optical illusion?”

Viktor only chuckled at you, gently shaking his head. You moved closer despite yourself, extending a hand until your fingers rested against the soft, sheet-covered surface of a real, tangible bed.

“It’s real,” you reported, awe heavy in your tone.

Viktor rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “I know, I moved it in here today.”

You rounded on him. “Is that what was making all of the noise? You shouldn’t have put it together yourself, Viktor. I would have been happy to help you.”

“I didn’t build the frame myself,” he said dryly. “I know my limits. I had some members of the housing administration bring the pieces and assemble everything for me this afternoon.”

“Then what were you doing that made so much noise?” you asked. “And how did the housing administration not freak out when they saw your collection of experiments? You have to be doing irreparable damage to the interior of this place.”

Viktor looked offended. “I know how to perform an experiment with minimal risk to the environment, myself, and others. And did it not occur to you that I could be trying to surprise you?”

“Honestly, the idea of you moving the plants was surprising enough,” you admitted. “But where are they? Are they okay?”

“They are fine.” You relaxed at the answer. Viktor’s plants may have tried to eat you, but that didn’t mean you wanted to think about them rotting somewhere. “The experiments were a success, so I had the plants moved into the lab for further testing and eventual propagation.”

You nodded, impressed despite yourself. Viktor’s efforts to grow plants using various colors of light had seemed ridiculous and frivolous when you’d first learned about them, but he had eventually told you that there were implications for growing them in the Undercity.

“Now,” Viktor said lowly, taking a step closer to you, “Are discussions about my botanical experiments distraction enough for you?”

You thought about it for a moment, but decided that, no, it wasn’t. “I think I need a distraction that’s a little more… hands-on.”

As you said the last, you grabbed Viktor’s spare hand, placing it on the curve of your hip. The warm weight of it made you tense with anticipation even as Viktor rolled his eyes. “You are impossible.”

“Flatterer,” you accused, leaning in for another kiss. Viktor dropped his feigned grumpiness immediately to seize the offer of your lips. Eagerly, you lost yourself in his embrace.

By the time you remembered that you were a physical being in a physical environment, you had changed positions entirely. You were sitting now, making good use of Viktor’s new bed. He was in front of you, cupping your cheek with a careful reverence that made you feel distinctly melty.

His graceful fingers traced up and down the stretched-out collar of your sweatshirt. “Tell me you are not wearing anything complicated under this.”

You shook your head, grinning. “No, you’re still the king of complicated clothing.”

Viktor gave you surprisingly wicked smile. “I planned ahead.”

And then you watched, fascinated, as he unbuttoned the few buttons on his vest. With it gone, you found that his shirt was held together only by the buttons that would show above and below the vest itself. With three more buttons undone, Viktor was bare from the waist up, and looking very proud of himself for it.

The laugh that burst from you was loud and joyful. That moment of silliness from Viktor had done more to lift your mood than hours of ruminating had. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Flatterer,” he returned. “You are also falling behind in this particular race.”

Your eyebrows shot upward. That was a challenge you had no intention of letting stand. You stripped off your sweatshirt in a single motion and - luckily enough - static friction pulled your sleep shirt off at the same time.

You gave Viktor a triumphant look, then both of you were fumbling to remove your own pants. Viktor had buttons to deal with while you did not, but you were stymied by the shoes you had put on to climb the stairs. He beat you, but only by a margin of seconds. You cut off any intended boasting with a deep kiss. And since you were already there, you straddled his thighs at the same time.

Viktor’s hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you back slightly. “No, I’m going to be on top this time.”

For the first time in a while, you felt a little uncertain. “Is that a good idea? Your leg-”

“-Will be fine,” he told you firmly. “It has improved with all the exercise it has gotten lately. Nothing long-term, but I can do this. Let me do this?”

The soft entreaty, more than anything else he could have said, convinced you. You gave a shallow nod and Viktor set to work. He guided you down to the mattress - and you were privately disappointed that the sheets didn’t have time to smell like him yet - and settled on top of you.

The weight of him was solid between your thighs, even with him bracing a hand against the bed’s surface. You were always mildly surprised at Viktor’s size - his height and narrow build often made him appear far more slender than he truly was.

You did have admit that you liked the position for how close everything was. When you were on top, you often felt further away from him than you wanted to be. But with Viktor taking the lead, his free hand roamed your body as both of your hands did the same to him. He alternated between kissing you and nosing along your skin while you did your best to suck tiny bruises into every stretch of his neck and jaw that you could reach.

After a span that seemed both endless and impossibly short, Viktor pulled away with a groan. “I am uncertain how much longer I can wait to be inside of you.”

Everything between your legs gave an eager pulse, your muscles helpfully lifting the cradle of your hips to press yourself more firmly against him. The length of him slipped easily between your folds, pressing against you.

You gave a stuttered breath at the contact - he wasn’t entering you, but the angle of him left his head brushing firmly against your clit and the sensations were dazzling. Viktor must have been in a similar frame of mind, because he gave another groan. This one was hoarse, verging on desperate, and you throbbed.

“Please,” you asked, lifting your hips once more.

It took a fumbling moment for Viktor to reposition the head of himself against your entrance, but he made up for lost time by sliding home the instant he was in place.

The noise you made was inarticulate and loud, and you were grateful that the only apartment connected to Viktor’s was your own empty one. Viktor was silent, but when you remembered to open your eyes, you found that his had fluttered shut. There was a wrinkle of concentration between his dark brows, but something about their upward tilt gave him a hint of beatific supplication. He looked like he was praying.

He drew in a breath - a long, shaking inhale - and opened those gorgeous eyes.

“You are never anything less than incredible.” His fervent, matter-of-fact delivery was sincere enough that you believed him. It wasn’t enough to remove the soreness of the day from your heart, but it certainly didn’t hurt.

But you were neighbors with benefits, not a couple. This level of emotion seemed taboo, somehow forbidden for two people in a casual relationship. You pushed your response aside, teasing, “Are you talking about me or my pussy?”

“You.”

The only way to hide your response to the affirmation would be to close your eyes, and that was a sacrifice you weren’t willing to make. So instead, you leaned up to give him a kiss, hoping to convey some sense of what he meant to you. You couldn’t be sure what came through, but at least he began moving inside of you.

Viktor felt exquisite inside of you and it was hard to concentration on anything other than the pressure he put on your g-spot every time he moved into or out of you. But in the quiet spaces in his rhythm, you gathered yourself enough to watch him. Not only was watching Viktor one of your great joys in life, you were also searching for any signs that this position was hurting or straining him.

True to his claims, it didn’t seem to be. Viktor’s pace was eager, nothing but intense focus on his face. The noises he made didn’t sound pained, either, and you let yourself relax into enjoying the entire experience.

Your finger traced along the lean muscle of Viktor’s chest, danced across his ticklish ribs, and met briefly behind his back. The feeling of his muscles tightening and releasing as he drove into you and pulled back out was intoxicating. It also made you aware of the way your hips were surging up to meet his thrusts, turning every stroke into a earth-shattering collision.

When your timing matched up with Viktor’s, it felt like he was pushing his way up into your stomach. The depth of it was a little strange, but it didn’t hurt. Far from it, actually. You jerked so hard that Viktor paused.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No,” you told him, adding, “If you stop, I’m going to hurt you.”

He laughed, and the desperate need pulled away long enough for you to see the humor in it. “It feels wonderful, Viktor. Please keep going.”

Viktor took you at your word and started thrusting into you even harder than before, but much faster. The pleasure came roaring back with a vengeance.

In moments, you were clutching at Viktor’s shoulders both to keep yourself from being pushed up the bed and in an effort to keep yourself grounded. This was overwhelming, but in a way that left you ready for more even while you were still experiencing it. This was something addictive, you realized, but you couldn’t even begin to worry about that.

Especially when your body started to tighten around Viktor’s.

“Close.”

Your panted warning made Viktor nod. He dropped his pelvis a fraction of an inch, making his occasional brushes against your clit far more often and intense. Seemingly instantly, that contact pushed you unceremoniously over the edge.

Viktor managed to keep his pace even with your body locking down around him. You shook and panted and gasped - and made some sounds that were far more dramatic - as he worked his way closer to his own orgasm.

When you drifted back down to earth, you were content to watch Viktor work above you. He was close, you could see it in the way his arms trembled, the drop of sweat from his temple tracing down over jutting cheekbones.

“Close,” he hissed, pushing into you so hard that it sent a shockwave through your body.

You smiled at that. You had asked him once why he warned you when you had already come. He had simply shrugged and told you, “It seems the polite thing to do.” It was so perfectly Viktor that you had laughed then. It still made you smile.

Viktor plunged deep inside of you, giving a low and hastily-stifled groan as he came. He was particularly beautiful in the throes of pleasure, you noted. His pale skin was slightly flushed with exertion, lips swollen and red from kissing you. When his head tipped back, you could admire the marks you had scattered across his neck. His eyes were closed, but you could picture the stunning shade of amber they would be when they glowed with pleasure.

When he was finished, Viktor’s arms were shaking badly enough that you were worried, but he managed to lower himself beside you rather than collapsing. You wouldn’t have minded that so much, but Viktor’s limbs were so long and angular that collisions tended to leave you with large, unfun bruises the next day.

“Are you okay?” Viktor asked.

You pulled your attention back to the moment. “Yes, of course. Why?”

“You are usually talking by now,” he told you. His eyes were still closed, but a tiny smile played around the fullness of his lips.

With a hum, you said, “Good point. Maybe we should talk about all of this.”

Viktor’s eyes opened at that. He looked wary. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” You sat up slightly, wincing at the way his cum started trickling out of you. But you pressed your legs together, ignoring the sensation in favor of counting on your fingers. “The candles, the bed, the mysterious noise with no apparent cause…”

“That is what would make a noise mysterious,” Viktor agreed, an edge of sarcasm in his accented voice.

“Shush. Anyway, I’m working on a theory…” You paused to recheck your work, but arrived at exactly the same conclusion you had come to the first time. “Were you trying to lure me up here for some reason?”

“‘Lure’ is an ugly word.”

“That’s not a real answer,” you informed him. “Were you planning something? Something I derailed by bursting into tears before you could get to it?”

“It wasn’t important,” he told you. “Not by comparison.”

His closer hand was resting against the mattress, between his face and yours. You laced your fingers with his, and he returned your smile. How could you be sad when there was magic like this in the world?

“Will you tell me what it was?” you requested softly. “Please?”

Viktor’s smile turned a little sickly and he swallowed, but nodded. “I wanted to- Well, I still want to… Ask- If you might want something more serious.”

“With you?” you checked.

Now looking distinctly queasy, Viktor nodded again. “With me.”

You beamed, feeling inexplicably close to tears once more. “I would like that a lot, Viktor.”

“You-?” Viktor’s eyes were wide, even as he feigned a casual attitude. “You would. Very well. Then I believe we should enter into a romantic relationship together.”

“I believe the same,” you said, giving him your best grave expression. It wasn’t particularly solemn, not with the way you had been grinning a moment before, but it was enough to make Viktor roll his eyes as he tried not to smile. “When should we begin?”

“In my opinion,” Viktor said carefully, “we already have.”

“Fair point,” you conceded, squeezing his hand as you leaned in for another kiss.

---

Author's Note - As I've said on a few different fics I've posted this year, this is my last Fanfic February! The tolls of writing over 100,000 words to post all in one month is pretty high, especially when I have so many other ongoing projects.

I have some additional ideas for this story and I might continue it when I've caught up on the other works I've been ignoring. For now, I think this is a good pause point.

Thank you for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #arcane #arcane 2021 #arcane netflix #arcane viktor #viktor #viktor x reader #viktor x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #spicy #lemon #not suitable for minors #minors dni

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yrluvjane · 2 months ago

Note

hey jane, i hope you’re doing well ! 💗 i’m not sure if ur still taking requests. but if you are, could you pls write fluff w barty crouch jr. (marauders era) where reader and barty like each other but are oblivious and their friends are like beyond frustrated w them bc of how oblivious they are 😭 (and can you include the brushing hair out of reader’s face or behind their ear thing - sorry LOLL)

I'm doing well, thank you! 💗 And of course, I'm happy to take your request babe!

Barty sat next to you, eyes darting to you every few seconds, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips whenever you laughed. You, however, were equally as oblivious, caught up in a conversation with one of your friends, your hand occasionally brushing against Barty's arm as you spoke.

"Honestly," muttered Evan to Regulus, his voice barely audible over the chatter, "if I have to witness another one of these painfully awkward interactions, I might hex them both."

Regulus chuckled, nodding in agreement. "It’s like watching two Puffskeins trying to communicate."

The pair continued their conversation, completely unaware of the whispers of their friends. At one point, a strand of your hair fell into your face, and without a second thought, Barty reached out to brush it behind your ear. His fingertips grazed your cheek lightly, lingering just a second too long, his eyes catching yours.

"Thanks," you murmured, feeling a sudden warmth spread across your face. For a moment, you both simply stared at each other, a small smile playing on your lips.

“No problem,” Barty replied, his voice softer than usual, a rare tenderness in his eyes that he didn’t often show.

Evan and Regulus exchanged an exasperated glance, then turned to the others for support. “Did they really just—?” Evan began, but stopped himself, choosing to bury his face in his hands instead.

On the opposite side, Pandora looked like she was on the verge of combusting. "How can they not see it?" she groaned, her head thunking dramatically against the table. "They're hopeless!"

From her spot beside Pandora, Dorcas snorted into her pumpkin juice. "Hopeless doesn’t even begin to cover it."

“Just watch,” Regulus said with a sly grin. “This is the part where they’ll awkwardly change the topic.”

And, as if on cue, Barty cleared his throat, clearly flustered by the moment. “So, um, have you finished that Potions essay yet?”

You laughed softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Not yet. I’ve been kind of distracted lately.”

“Yeah?” he asked, a teasing tone sneaking into his voice. “By what?”

You shrugged, smiling. “Oh, you know, just… things.”

Your vague answer only seemed to make Barty more curious as he leaned in closer. "Things? Care to elaborate?"

“Maybe,” you replied, biting your lip. “If you ask nicely.”

Regulus rolled his eyes dramatically and whispered to Evan, "Are they seriously flirting with each other and not even realizing it?"

Evan groaned in agreement. "Merlin, just snog already and put us all out of our misery."

Without thinking, Pandora, fed up with the situation, loudly dropped her goblet, the clang echoing through the hall. "Will you two just admit you like each other already?" she blurted out, causing several heads to turn in your direction.

You and Barty blinked, looking between your friends and each other. "W-What?" you stammered, cheeks flushing.

“Yeah,” Regulus added with a smirk, “this is getting painful to watch.”

Barty's eyes widened, a rare moment of vulnerability flashing across his face before he regained his composure. "You think I—what?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Like her?”

“Yes!” practically the entire group chorused in frustration.

You felt your heart race, turning to Barty, whose face was now an amusing shade of red. “Well… do you?” you asked, your voice quiet, suddenly feeling hope and nerves bubbling up inside you.

Barty stared at you, his bravado faltering. He glanced at your friends, who were all staring at him expectantly, and then back at you. “Yeah,” he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I do.”

A slow, surprised smile spread across your face. “Really?”

Barty chuckled nervously. “Yeah, really.”

“Well, good,” you replied, “because I happen to like you too.”

A collective sigh of relief and groans of frustration echoed from your friends. “Finally!” Evan exclaimed. “Now, can we please please just have a normal breakfast?”

Barty rolled his eyes, a genuine smile on his lips now. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. But I’m still finishing your Potions essay.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Only if you ask nicely.”

#marauders era #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr fluff #barty crouch jr blurb #barty crouch jr x you #barty crouch jr x fem!reader #harry potter

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hughiecampbelle · 3 months ago

Text

Dating Jordan And Having The Power Of Perfection Would Include:

Requested: Hey❤️!! Since your request are open I wanted to request something w/ Jordan Li. Jordan and Reader are dating & reader’s power of being perfect. Sorry if it’s too complicated and I do absolutely love your writing! - anon

A/N: I had this book as a kid where this family had powers and the mums was perfection and idk, it's so nostalgic 💕 I did make it a little darker so it's more in line with the universe. Thank you for requesting my love! I hope you like it! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

At first, Jordan hated you

The two of you were in constant fight to secure the second place/third place spots

Because of your abilities, you had perfect grades, perfect essays, perfect technique in fighting and training

You weren't exceptionally strong or indestructible, but you always knew the perfect way to take down your opponent

At events, your clothes and hair and jokes and words, everything was perfect.

You were the perfect face of God U besides Golden Boy

Your powers were non-threatening and would probably win you several jobs after graduation that others could only dream of - many of them for Vought

They could always use someone like you

You and Jordan met through Luke. When he said you were perfect, they thought he was kidding. When they met you, they realized who you were, and it instantly clicked: you weren't just good at what you did, it was impeccable

Because you were in constant fight for second place, because it was almost daily that your places changed and swapped, they thought of you as competition

It isn't until a gala do they see you as a person instead of a set of statistics and characteristics they have to be better than

You're all smiles talking to a group of older men, laughing when you should, making fun of them just enough so that they don't feel threatened. When they leave, you drop the facade, taking a drink off a silver platter and sitting beside them. Jordan notices this change, scooting closer to you, trying to sound nonchalant

"I didn't know you could have rough nights." They joke

You try to play it off, coming up with the perfect excuse, but they say you, they knew better than to believe you

You and Jordan bond over your equally terrible night: they open up about their parents wanting them to be one way when they're much happier as they are. You tell them about the growing pressures of your perfection

In elementary school it was a bit of a joke: you were a straight A student, you were good at whatever you tried no matter the experience level, you made friends easily. Your parents joked you were the best child they could ask for

When middle school hit, things started to change. The powers had been there since you were a baby (you rarely cried, you ate everything and never spit up, you were happy and easy and bubbly) but now you were old enough to realize you were different from everyone else. You picked up instruments you'd never touched before and was able to play them perfectly. Sports you had zero interest or experience in came easy to you. You tried to fail tests and mess up speeches and start fights, but something in you took over, something controlled you and made you do and say the right thing

By high school you weren't studying for tests or doing any of your course readings. You joined every club and extracurricular, showing up only when necessary. You slept through classes and tried to party as much as possible, but your body rejected every bad choice you put it through: you aced tests, you were exceptional in all your activities, even the alcohol you drank wouldn't touch you. You were always perfectly sober

You wanted so badly to fail, but it went against your nature

You weren't surprised when you got into God U. You had the best GPA, you wore so many chords at your graduation you lost count, you were exhausted from perfection. You needed a change and you hoped college would be that change

Jordan hadn't realized how confining perfection could be

You couldn't help but answer questions in class, your arm shot up, the words came out compulsively. There was no controlling it

After this, they see you so much more different than they initially thought

Jordan seeks you out after that, losing their typically cold exterior for a nicer, softer one

They used to blame you for their shortcomings, but now they realize it's quite literally out of your control

Hanging out more with Jordan

They kind of insert themselves into your life more, finding you between classes, switching seats to be near you, offering to help you with your physical combat. It's kind of a silly excuse, but they'd do anything to get to know you better

Despite not needing their help in combat, you say yes anyways

You love watching them switch between their powers

That is kind of your first unofficial date and, afterwards, they ask you out on a real one

You are, of course, perfect and they can't help but fall for you

Luke is the first to ask if you're dating or not

When you didn't have classes with Jordan, you had them with Luke, who couldn't help but notice the change in Jordan

They used to get so annoyed when he brought you up. Now? Now they were all smiles

Andre definitely made fun of the both of you (nicknaming you The Perfect Couple)

It earned him a punch in the arm, but there was no denying your perfection

Cate was glad to have another couple in the friend group

Eventually meeting Jordan's parents who love you instantly

"Y/n is pretty perfect." They say, only half-joking

Studying together all the time, your dates are pretty academia focused. When you're not worrying about grades and still fighting for the second place slot, Jordan is showing you off at the clubs in your teeny tiny, skin tight outfits

Despite being perfectly sober, you can still have a good time

They can't keep their hands off you when you dance together

Jordan isn't big on PDA, but they get jealous sooo easily and that's when they become handsy

Because you're perfect in every way, you find that a lot of people develop crushes on you. You make sure Jordan knows they're the only one for you

You love how driven they are, how passionate they are

You've never minded their powers and always want them in whatever form they take

To you, they are perfect. Yours might be compulsive, but they're all natural

Jordan comes to you with almost anything

When they see what Brink does to Luke, they keep it a secret, not wanting your perspective of them change because they'd rather stick with their mentor than their friend

You know nothing about what's going on the school. To you, everything is perfectly normal

#requested #jordan li #jordan li headcanon #jordan li x reader #gen v #gen v headcanon #gen v x reader

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asterythm · 5 months ago

Text

on the ending of in stars and time:

an essay from someone who couldn’t sit with it at first, & a love letter to the fic that brought me here anyway. (…spoiler warning for in stars and time, naturally, but you knew that!)

if siffrin isat has taught me one thing it's that vulnerability is cool, actually, and being forthcoming and generous with love when there is love to be shared is how the coolest kids do it.

so. hello isat nation of tumblr dot com. i'm here because even after cutting out several chunks to shorten this significantly, i busted through the ao3 comment section character limit and still had more to say, so i needed somewhere to put it all that would let me go longer.

i’m pretty sure this post is for, like, three people, one of whom is me. but look, it’s been moved here to the webbed site so if you wanna read it anyway i won’t stop you!

=====

i think what it is, ultimately, is this: the ISAT canon ending was beautiful. it was an objectively well-written ending with so much love and hope and thematic satisfaction.

it also left me, for a period, with a deep and unshakeable sense of dread.

:)!!!!

now enter @faedemon's "None Forward & Two, Two, Two Steps Back" (hiya, fancy seeing you here), a two-chapter alt act 5 in which siffrin finds a New, Worse way to break the loops.

despite being, as mentioned, a notably worse outcome for everyone involved, this alt end managed to cut straight to the heart of that dread and settle it — and not in the sense of "oh, i like this alt ending better", or “oh, the canon ending looks better in comparison against this worse alt ending”, so much as "oh, thanks to this alt ending i am finally able to sit in a place where it no longer feels like the canon ending, as a beautiful outcome which felt impossibly lucky to get, is the only outcome in which life can go on — and my ability to accept it, and the game as a whole, is elevated for it."

which!! i mean!! i don’t know that that’s exactly what you set out to do; None Forward is explicitly a tragedy!! and one, as your tags say, written because the canon ending didn't ring true for you.

but I realized that the thing that was stopping me from enjoying ISAT’s canon ending was that ugly hard core that was still so, so scared after the canon ending of every way we (that is, siffrin + i as the player moving in that incredible ludonarrative lockstep with him, holy moly the harmony in this game) had not yet grown to earn it.

=====

(I’ll take a sec here under the cut to say that when I played ISAT, and then for much of the month that followed, my main reason for engaging with it and its related content at all was that it was a piece of media that came fervently recommended by my incredibly dear friend @iconocat , who it had massively, violently impacted and whose media recommendations in general I trust more than anything.

so i played ISAT, and it was incredible. but even though it's a piece of media that just about hit on every point on my list of Things That Set My Brain On Fire, it failed somehow to. well. set me on fire — at least to the extent I was expecting it to. I still enjoyed myself in the few weeks afterwards of running through fan content and intentionally plunging myself into media analysis, but I was never convinced that I would be engaging with ISAT to the extent I was if it wasn't for the sake of trying to intentionally hack my brain to the point where I could share with my friend something so important to her at the same level of genuine investment.

I’m telling you all this because, legitimately the same night I posted “nothing but a dull ache” (ie, if you're not charlie faedemon and are somehow caring to read this anyway, the epilogue oneshot I started feverishly writing the morning after reading None Forward), I realized through my rambling in my friend’s discord dms that reading None Forward was the moment the fire finally caught. I spent a month burying myself in ISAT content and asking myself “Is this natural yet?”. after None Forward, the answer to that question finally became a sure, wholehearted yes.)

=====

so anyway, back to the essay.

don't get me wrong. it's really, really nice, to read a story where the moral is less “you should have asked for help", and more “there are people who will unselfishly give the gift of a love that saves even when you cannot save yourself".

but that whole ending also was only able to happen because 1. they broke in a way no one should ever have to break, and 2. everyone involved got lucky.

which, in media, happens all the time!! it is not inherently dissatisfying for a narrative to wrap by saving you with luck and love in the nick of time!! in fact it should be incredibly satisfying, after the unambiguously-negative downward spiral into Director Siffrin who had begun to learn what to say and do to make his family behave exactly the way he needs them to, for a stroke of unpredictable luck brought about by factors entirely out of his control to finally be what sets him free.

but like... I think it's because the story is set in a situation where it's no longer true that luck and randomness is a factor by which anything significant can change.

we're hammered over the head with it: until and unless you do something to alter the course of events, they will not be altered. when you are the only dynamic element the world is reacting to in an otherwise looping course of events, you don't get to rely, anymore, on the idea that at any moment something could happen to save you. you have to assume that nothing will happen unless you make it.

and siffrin?? siffrin's literal motto was "stick to the script"!! they spend the loops with a mouth that kept closing tighter and tighter and tighter until i got to act 5 and watched them implode. and then I’m saved, and I know I haven't earned this. I get to the end and I'm still not telling them anything!! I wasn't supposed to get the good ending!! but I get away with it anyway with open arms and acceptance and unconditional love, and it's. kind of nauseating?

how am I ever supposed to learn and grow, if I didn't manage to change my behaviour even then under the threat of Eternal Looping Torment, and still got the good ending anyway? how can I prove there was an alternative way I could have broken free if things hadn't turned out so lucky in that one terrible act 5 loop?

I can't. and that's terrifying.

(aside: I’m speaking in the first person here to emphasize that the thing that got in my way is not because I don't believe siffrin is deserving of this love — quite the opposite, I think the driving force behind the good ending is that siffrin went scorched earth and saw he was loved anyway — but because this is a game designed to frequently encourage the player to deeply feel what siffrin is feeling throughout its course and. well. as a thing to happen to a fictional character it's beautiful. as a takeaway for the player, it's... harder.)

and that's where None Forward comes in. (i’ve already written thousands of words in comments and epilogue fic declaring my love by now, but i mean. im hoping you won’t mind just a liiiittle more.)

None Forward shows a devastatingly written, all-too-believable version of what might have happened if siffrin didn't get lucky, and the loops continued, and they kept clinging to the script and refusing to Look At It and successfully stagnating and stagnating and stagnating as they were so determined to do. and it's bad, it's worse, it's way way worse — but there's no reliance on outside factors. it comes completely from within siffrin and loop, the only dynamic pieces in the world, finally breaking out.

it was the terrible, nightmarish unfairness of the loops brought to their natural, just-south-of-inevitable conclusion.

and yes, it's a terrible, unfair conclusion, but the loop still breaks.

in a roundabout way, it... gives me so much hope. if the outside factors were different, if the stars did not align just right to allow siffrin's family to get there on time to save them, if siffrin never learned to open their mouth, which by all means seems like the likeliest course of events... they'd still get out. worse for wear, and separated by a gap unbridgeable, but out.

there is a future. there is freedom.

=====

to speak more specifically on dull ache, if you'll forgive the indulgence, just since this was originally meant to be in a reply to the author in my own comments section:

I think I so desperately needed to write it with a focus on the family siffrin left behind because I wanted to prove, if just for myself, that in that barely-dodged alternative there still could be a future for everyone. (isabeau's just happened to be the voice in which dull ache came to me, but the point was to create an epilogue for all four.)

for the rest of the family, who was not quite so deeply ravaged but was still left in a bad way at the end of None Forward, and for whom randomness is not pretty much unequivocally good just by virtue of being better than the alternative like it is for siffrin and loop (more on that in a sec), I could see it mattering more to set specific pieces up precisely, and I could actually imagine the pieces I could set up that could have a meaningful impact in the immediate future.

so. y’know. I set them, in the way I happened to want to. granted, with some extra... divine indulgence, but siffrin's departure from their family's perspective at the end of None Forward was definitely Wrong but not so obviously wrong that I could believe that without it they wouldn't otherwise either (a) go hunting him down to force out the truth, which felt Worse, or (b) just "accept" that it was as simple as Siffrin not actually caring about them/brushing them off and thus intentionally fade him into the distance in their minds to deal with it. which felt like the WORST POSSIBLE THING.

you'd think it might make more sense to have done this for siffrin and loop, instead. they're arguably the ones who need it most, after all, so why not build them up from rock bottom as a sweeping show of "things get better"?

but... i think it doesn't need to be written to have faith that it will happen: the very fact that Siffrin is about to set out on a new journey in a reality where everything is a dynamic player just. immediately gives me hope all by itself. random lucky things that save you are so much more believable and wonderful when random lucky things in general are happening all the time, and you have all the time in the world for them to happen.

and anyway, I don't think this is the kind of future you’d write satisfyingly as a sequence of events at all. to heal from this is something that will take an incredible amount of time and nonlinear progress.

until one day, through a series of disconnected small quiet gloriously-random lived experiences, without knowing when it happened or being able to trace it back, you realize, oh —

somewhere along the way, you came to know how to live again.

#in stars and time #isat siffrin #siffrin nomiddlename nolastname #oh siffrin. you are so important. to them. to everyone. do you really not see it yet?#none forward au #scheduled post #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #atlasisms

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thatonebirdwrites · 25 days ago

Text

Realized a truth yesterday about how far I have come in my healing

My abuser destroyed my love and joy of writing. I've alluded to this story off and on, but honestly, the only time I ever came close to encapsulating the horrors of that time was the poetry I wrote during therapy.

In fact, the only things I wrote in this dark period of my life was either:

Poetry, which came at a great price.

Essays that I treated like a college assignment.

For several years, attempts to write anything were physically painful. I couldn't write my original fiction at all. Attempts to write fiction left me in spirals of panic, where I drowned in the flashbacks of my abuser.

The one consistent thing in my life had been stolen from me.

It slowly ate its way into everything I wrote, until I could barely write journal entries, and I've written in journals since first grade.

I tried everything to repair this, but that looming abyss of horror obliterated my attempts each time.

One of my chosen family offered a suggestion I'd never considered.

"Bird, what if you write fanfiction?"

But how does one undo years of hurt? Could fanfiction be the key to rediscovering a loophole in my trauma?

When I asked my chosen family, one of them countered with a question, "If there was one thing about a favorite show you'd change, what would it be?"

"Asami needed more screentime to explore her trauma," I replied. "Oh, and Lena and Kara from Supergirl deserved to kiss at Alex's wedding."

"Well, go write that."

Which sounded utterly terrifying. So I dabbled and wrote shorts to familiarize myself with the lore, but that wasn't helping me. It only spun me in circles. I kept tumbling back in the terrifying void that the abuser had hurled me into years ago.

Fanfiction was meant to be shared, right?

So I wandered to AO3, and I read a Korrasami story by Paxbanana. Then I read a supercorp story by @snowydragonscave.

Each word those authors painted on the page spilled hope into my veins. I discovered other stories through the tags on these tales.

These stories on AO3 brimmed with creativity, amazing talent, and lit the flames of a tenuous hope.

Maybe I could find my way back to fiction writing.

Maybe I could eventually return to my original SF novels.

Fanfiction might just be that loophole.

So I took tentative steps in the Korrasami fandom because it's smaller, quieter, and older than Supergirl's. The first fics I posted were not up to my usual writing standards, but it'd been so long since I really exercised my fiction writing muscles.

When I panicked about whether to share or not, my Legendfire chosen family deluged me with words of support. Reminded me that no matter what the response was, I deserved to be heard.

So I posted my fics to AO3 for the first time. The trickle of kudos and kind comments startled me.

People liked what I wrote?

It wasn't even good, I thought.

So I tentatively wrote more.

Then, after a sixth rewatch of Legend of Korra, I found myself wondering, "What if I rewrote Book 2 so that Korrasami happened by the end of it?" Then I wondered if there was a way to reveal Raava's tale piecemeal to Korra and the reader, and thus Book 2 of Shared Moments was born.

I wrote at a feverished pace because I was terrified that if I dared to stop and rest then I'd lose my ability to write fiction again, where the claws of my abuser's legacy would suffocate me once more.

Not a healthy approach, especially as my fear of loss almost burnt me out mentally and physically.

A new approach appeared after a week long, forced break from writing. I randomly read a ficlet by @fazedlight, and felt so compelled that I wrote a follow-up from Lena's perspective.

Not my best work honestly, but it taught me an important lesson. I don't have to write feverishly in a desperate bid to cling to the act of writing.

It hadn't left because I took a break (mind you, the break was partly due to a week long hospital stay, but that's not the point).

I was still able to write after a break.

The claws of my abuser had started to fade.

So I snatched up Kate and Kia from my original science fiction novel -- The Lost Ones -- and dived into a scene with them.

That was a mistake. It set me back. Panic soaked my neurons, dissociation stalked me, and I almost deleted all my fanfiction and nuked my AO3 and Tumblr from the agonizing pain of that set-back.

That's when I got a surprise message from a Korrasami fan @snazzy-korra, who wrote a wonderfully kind message. (Which became the start of a beautiful friendship). That saved me from my own urge to self-sabotage my own healing.

I put away all the original writing, and acknowledged I had not healed enough for it.

But fanfiction?

I could still write that, even if I never felt fully satisfied with the prose. So I returned to carefully staying in the fandom lane. I suspect this journey is why my fanfiction focuses heavily on healing.

A few weeks after that fateful start of a new friendship, I found some GIFs on Tumblr from Supergirl Season 4. The idea for the scene formed, and I tentatively wrote it and posted to AO3.

Also not my best writing. Honestly, I didn't really like it at first. I knew I write it better. That I had written better prose in the past, but I couldn't get past that suffocating terror of loss yet.

I named the fic Confession, and it became my first Supercorp fic on AO3. The amount of kudos and comments on that fic deluged me, and I almost drowned in the shock.

Korrasami felt like friends whispering stories to each other around a campfire.

Supercorp was a whole-ass writing and reading community that felt as big as a city.

To say I was a bit intimidated at first? Maybe terrified? Is putting it lightly.

But then I read more fanfiction by fazedlight, snowy, @luthordamnvers, nottawriter, and others. (One of them shared a link to a supercorp server, and I have a bad habit of collecting discord servers only to lurk out of fear of revealing how broken I am).

Little by little, fanfiction began to heal what I thought had become too shattered, too broken for me to ever recover.

Maybe writing could be a joyful act again.

At that time, I wasn't there yet. My soul still hurt. I still trembled in fear, shrouded in dissociation, lost in a feverish fog, desperate for any nugget of hope that healing was possible.

I didn't really understand how to interact with readers that first year of fanfic writing, and I made mistakes thinking I could befriend people. I still make that mistake, and I often end up hurt by it.

I didn't have to try to appease these readers and live up to what was impossible expectations that I set on myself. I didn't understand yet that fanfiction writing didn't mean I had to keep writing a story when reader's demanded.

Part of the healing process is relearning trust in my own mind.

I'm not there yet. I'm better, yes, but the healing is not a linear process.

A few months ago, I re-learned the lesson of how nonlinear healing truly can be. I reacted badly to someone who left a bizarre and accusatory comment on the most vulnerable fanfic I've ever written -- my Shattered fic.

Shattered was a fic where I poured my heart and soul into exploring my pain and healing, where I dared to share that with others in this fictional lens. I had not done this since before my abuser.

The accusations in the comment (and DMs) triggered massive flashbacks. I panicked, dissociated, and spiraled into a dark place, especially after reading the claim that 'that no one can stop another from writing.'

My wounds still bleed at times, where for several years of my life, my writing was stolen from me, ripped from my hands, torched by abuse, until I was nothing but a husk of a person.

This happened in the same week as my disability healing, and both threatened to torch my healing progress.

I came very close to deleting my AO3 account and Tumblr yet again.

Yet this time my friend, Raveneye's random picture of a cat reminded me of a crucial truth:

Reach out when in crisis.

@fazedlight and @nottawriter came to my aid right away, faster than even my LF chosen family (which is impressive). They talked me through the panic. They provided support when my mind was on fire, when I dissociated so bad that I lost days if not an entire week of time. Their encouragement and kind words prevented a major backslide in my healing.

While they helped me on that front, my LF chosen family showed me the evidence that my perception of reality is accurate.

That two-pronged approach rescued me from spiraling into a very, very dark place. (The disability hearing being that same week really was the icing on a major trauma cake.)

That incident is life reminding me yet again that healing is a nonlinear journey, but it's not one we must walk alone. We can reach out to others for support.

We may not know one another's stories until those stories are shared with each other, and even then, it's often not the full story. it takes time and effort to truly listen and seek common ground.

That's not easy to do, so finding a community of people who holds space for a shattered, broken husk of a person like myself? Where I mess up more than I can count? Who struggles against the spiral of panic and dissociation?

I never thought I'd ever find community again.

I realized recently that a piece of me still believed my abuser's claims that I'm unworthy of such care, that no matter how much love or support or hope I try to share with others, no matter what I write, no matter how hard I try to heal -- I was doomed and too broken for care or support.

But so many people have, often without realizing it, taught me that my abuser is wrong.

I am worthy of care and support.

And yes, it is possible to hurt someone enough to suffocate the words from them.

Because it happened to me.

But it's also possible to heal someone enough to rekindle their spirit.

Because that too has happened to me.

Re-learning how to write from my heart and soul? That is an ongoing journey I continue to this day.

It's why I write Shared Moments.

It's why I write Shattered.

It's why I write this meandering post. What I shared here is the tip of the iceberg of my journey. It's not the full story, as it can't be. That is beyond my ability to write in a nonfiction setting.

I can only share tidbits like this here and there.

But I am slowly rediscovering the heart of my writing -- where I explore my story through fiction. Where I explore themes I care about through fiction. Where I explore justice and healing and hope through fiction.

Can I lose all this yet again?

It's possible.

But I realized yesterday that even when people hurt me, intentionally or unintentionally, I no longer face it alone. Yes, sure, I might be physically isolated due to my disability, but through the power of the Internet, I found community despite that.

My abuser sought to rip me from my communities, from my Legendfire Chosen family, and slowly kill me. She almost succeeded, and for a few years, she did succeed in killing the one joy in my life -- writing.

But I found that joy again.

And I found it in fanfiction. Yes, it is true that I am still too hurt to write original fiction yet. This haunts me still, but I'm a step closer.

I have rebuilt connections with other people. I've found a new community who have been kind and welcoming. Who put up with my weirdness and fractured mess of a mind, who listen when I overshare, who let me listen to them in turn, who write with me, who share supportive messages.

When I mess up, they give me grace, accept my apology, and we work through it. When they hurt me, I do my best to offer the same, to try not to let the trauma speak for me.

Because of them, I have a fighting chance at surviving any future painful events.

Never underestimate the power of your words. Never underestimate the power of your presence.

I am here today, writing this, because of people whose writing and kindness helped me weave my spirit together again.

And to those people, I will forever be thankful.

May they never forget how amazing, how awesome, and how powerful they truly are.

Take care, and keep on writing, friends.

#trauma #healing journey #healing #yet another post where i try to articulate how fandom has literally saved my life.

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sirfrogsworth · 1 year ago

Text

Last week was crazy.

I honestly can't believe all of it happened in the span of a week. Well, I guess it was more like 10 days. But it was another... Alot.

It all started when I got my disability denial letter. I couldn't wait until I got into the house so I opened the envelope as I walked back from the mailbox. Once I saw the bad part I had an instant panic attack in my driveway.

I ran inside...

Okay, that isn't true.

I walked very quickly inside...

Nope, still not true.

Okay, I walked at my personal top speed which is probably still slow for most people... but the point I'm trying to make is that I was attempting to hurry despite only saving myself about 3 seconds of travel time.

But the hurrying made me feel better, okay?

Out of breath from my geriatric-style powerwalking, I called my lawyer's office immediately. And... he is on vacation. Won't be back until the next Thursday. I spent the entire weekend going through every panic state a body can feel. I go from angry to depressed to anxious to panicked to angry (again) to scared to more scared to extra more scared. Visions of homelessness danced in my head.

I can't sleep for over a day because my brain won't shut off. Finally my body gives out and I fall asleep on the couch watching random YouTube videos. But falling asleep on the couch is bad because I'm not hooked up to my CPAP machine. Then I finally do hook up my CPAP and my damned mask breaks. Thankfully it has happened before and I have a cool hot glue and duct tape solution. But it is hard to manage hot glue and tape when you haven't slept in days and your eyes will barely stay open. So a few burned fingers later, I am sleeping comfortably in my janky duct tape-laden CPAP mask.

Monday rolls around and I decide to go into problem solving mode. Problem solving is my superpower, so I was going to lean into that in an effort to reduce my anxiety. The denial letter said they had no records from before I was 22, so I put on my detective hat and began the hunt to prove I was sick before 2004. My aunt helped me dig through my mom's document drawer. I distinctly remember an essay I wrote to the disability people back when I first got sick. It was part of the paperwork they had me submit. It was a first hand account of my symptoms back in 2001. It also had an essay from my dad talking about how sick I was. I felt like if I could find that, the records surrounding it would all be related and from the same time period.

We go through the entire drawer and only find a few things that might be helpful. Then I realized my mom had a *second* drawer full of documents and my aunt was blocking it. So we start going through that and find a folder labeled "Ben's Disability Stuff." I would have never kept any of that stuff but my mom kept *everything* and it was all in chronological order.

She is still looking out for me.

And she may have kept me from being homeless.

We find the essay and records of my ECT treatments and the names of doctors and all kinds of evidence of my medical woes before 2004. And even if they won't accept it as direct evidence, I can use these documents to show doctors I was their patient. And my primary care doctor said he would be willing to talk to those past doctors to help me convince them to write a letter on my behalf. All they really have to say is they treated me for severe depression and fatigue. And because my mom kept a list of my prescriptions and my ECT treatments, I'm hoping that will be enough to convince them even if they don't remember treating me.

Wednesday I had my monthly checkup. And I got to peek at my main doctor's records from before 2004. It's all handwritten notes and a little hard to read (bad doctor handwriting is the most accurate stereotype in existence). But it clearly says I had depression and was undergoing ECT treatments. It even mentions one of the doctors I want to write me a letter. It's not a lot, but it is first hand, direct medical evidence from that time period. I think it will be very compelling to whoever reviews my case.

I also talked to the nurses/assistants in the office about copying my entire chart, and I thought we were on the same page, but as you will see later... we were not on the same page.

I exit the building and remember how far away I had parked. And once again I forgot to use my cane—even though I keep a spare in the car. The main lot was full and the disabled parking was occupied, so I had to park in the secondary lot. My legs were holding up so far, but it was already a lot of walking for me. Very slow walking.

His office is in the same complex as the hospital. Which is my next stop. It's the same hospital that I have been going to all of my life. And the hospital where both of my parents died.

But I need vintage medical records and that is where they keep them.

Or so I thought.

I drive from the medical office parking lot to the hospital parking lot and only the spots farthest away are empty. And because of goddamn global warming, it is 90 fucking degrees in late September. I park, lock my car, grab my man purse, and start hoofing it to the hospital entrance. I'm so nervous about getting these records that I forgot my damn cane again.

My thoughts are basically, "What if they only keep 7 years of records like everyone else? What if the records from Christian Northwest aren't kept with the records from Christian Northeast? (Christian NW doesn't exist anymore.) What if they won't send them to my lawyer? What if it costs a thousand bucks? What if, what if, what if..."

I get to the front desk and ask the lady where the records department is. She gives me directions that my brain is only capable of half paying attention to. Then I realized I left the records release form from my lawyer in the car. So I walk another half mile in the heat to my car without my cane. And initially, my thought was, "Well, at least I can grab my cane once I get the form." But by the time I got to my car my thought was, "AHHHHHHHHH THAT WAS A LONG FUCKING WALK. KILL ME!"

And so I forgot my cane.

Again.

I get back to the lobby and wave at the lady who gave me directions. I pretend like I remembered and confidently walk in the direction I recall her pointing to. I found the elevator. Thankfully this particular elevator only goes two places. Which seems like a waste of an elevator, but... whatever. I get off on the second floor and am met with a big sign with all the departments and little arrows next to them.

(I'm sure you knew what I was talking about but I'm trying to break up this wall of text with images because I am a professional blogger person.)

I see "Medical Records" and a leftward arrow. I used my keen detective skills to surmise I should probably veer left.

I find myself at the beginning of the world's longest hallway.

Without my cane.

And it is flooded with sterile florescent light and the walls are adorned with the world's most inoffensive art.

Here is a painting of a plant. Here is a painting of a bird. Here is a painting of a bird sitting on a plant. Wait, is that a... WATERFALL??

Suddenly Indiana Jones' voice shouts in my thoughts...

So, if you had to guess, do you think the records department was...

A.) near the beginning of the hallway? B.) in the middle of the hallway? C.) beyond the world's longest hallway in the world's second longest hallway?

As I enter the world's second longest hallway, I notice the art is repeating itself. I've seen that bird sitting on a plant before. I worried I was going in circles, but it turns out they probably just bought the inoffensive art in bulk and weren't concerned about repeats. I get about halfway down the second longest hallway and see a big sign sticking out... "MEDICAL RECORDS."

Note to God: The real world needs a fast travel mode.

I was a big sweaty mess and my legs were like jello. I lumber through the door and find a young woman scrolling through her phone and probably wishing she was anywhere else. She was behind a huge partition with a plexiglass divider—probably still there from COVID days.

I mean, it's still COVID days. But no one is acting like it so I am just pretending it is all over like everyone else seems to.

She notices an out-of-breath Hagrid towering over her and apathetically inquires, "Can I help you?"

I hold up a finger as I try to gain my composure and figure out exactly what I want to say. I usually rehearse this kind of thing beforehand but with all of the anxious thoughts spiraling through my brain, I totally forgot to do that.

"I need to ask questions about records." "What kind of questions?" "Well, how long are the records?" "I'm sorry?" "What year do they start?" "What year do you need?"

I'm suddenly realizing why I rehearse these things. So I take a moment and breathe deeply. I form the proper question in my mind.

"How far back do you keep medical records?" "30 years."

I shoot my hands up like I just scored a touchdown and say, "OH THANK GOD."

She is very confused.

"30 years, oh my god. 30 years just saved my life."

She is still very confused.

"And do you have records from Christian Northwest?" "Yes, we have everything from all Christian hospitals."

I try to give her a brief explanation of my situation and she cuts me off. "Fill out this form."

I look at the clipboard and it is a release form.

Do you remember way back when I walked an extra mile to and from the car to get a release form that my lawyer prepared? Well, turns out they have their own version of that and I walked all that way for nothing.

I finish the form and hand it to the bored, indifferent front desk lady. She tells me someone will be out in a moment. So I sit in the uncomfortable waiting chairs and try to rest a bit. A much tinier young woman walks to the front desk partition thingie and calls out my name. But due to her diminutive stature, she is completely obscured by a pillar and I have no idea where the voice is coming from. We do this little awkward dance on either side of the pillar, attempting to see each other, and finally we both end up on the same side. She starts looking over my form and seemed a little annoyed that I left a section blank. I wasn't sure what kind of records I needed and there was no box that said "everything everywhere all at once."

What I really wanted was any document with my name on it from the beginning of time.

But I was worried about asking for too much labor from this person so I started negotiating for some reason.

I was like, "Well, like, I really need like anything you have from before like 2004. And then maybe, like, some general records after 2004. Like, the pre-2004 records are super important. But, like, I also need to show I was sick all my adult life. So if there are like, summary records? Or, like, something?"

I couldn't stop saying like. I was turning into a Kardashian. Again, some rehearsal was probably warranted.

"I just don't want to be a burden and make you dig up all of my records. I mostly need my ECT records from 2001."

"What is ECT?"

"Shock therapy. It's for depression. I just need to show I was really sick before the age of 22."

"And who is this guy on the form?"

*ramble mode engaged*

"Oh, that is my disability attorney. You see, I'm trying to get a special kind of disability, but I need to prove I was sick before the age of 22. So anything like that before 2004 would be very helpful. But like, if you have less detailed records after 2004 that is good too. Because I may need to prove I've been sick my entire adult life."

*continued rambling until I notice she stopped paying attention*

She did not need to know all of this. And I was not answering the questions she needed answered. I was nervous and babbling and oversharing and I couldn't snap out of it. And I was really concerned if I asked for too much, she was going to be upset. But then she told me all of the records were in a warehouse and she would not actually be finding them for me. She just places an "order" for them. So this weird negotiation thing I was doing to keep her from being annoyed at me was pointless.

And I also realized... this is super important.

I yell at myself, "Ask for everything, stupid! Quit trying to get halfassed records because you're worried about inconveniencing someone."

Finally I just say, "I want every medical record you have from before I was 22 until now."

And she was like, "Sure."

Well... that was easy.

I thanked the tiny lady and the bored lady and exited back into the second longest hallway. My adrenaline was surging. I kept yelling, "30 YEARS!!" in my brain. I had to tell someone this amazing news. I had to tell them right that second or I might burst. So I grab my phone from my man purse and dial Katrina.

The thing is, I only call Katrina when something really bad happens. People don't make phone calls anymore. People text! So when she picked up the phone she answered with a very worried tone. As if somehow a third parent of mine died or something.

"THIRTY YEARS!!!!" "WHAT IS HAPPENING??" "They keep records for 30 years!" "OHHHHHHHHHH!!! That's amazing!"

She probably didn't hop for joy in real life, but in my mind I like to pretend she did. I start explaining everything that just happened and how they most likely have my ECT records and then I realize I am in the middle of the world's second longest hallway and I don't remember which direction leads back to the world's longest hallway. And because I am having unusual and extraordinarily good luck, a medical worker was walking by right at that moment.

"Which way back to the elevator?" "This way!" "Oh great! Thank you!" "Or that way. There are two elevators."

There is that normal luck I recognize.

I can feel the universe realigning itself. But that is okay, because...

THIRTY YEARS, BABY!

I talk to Katrina as I traverse the two longest hallways. Thankfully I was going in the correct direction and found the proper elevator. After a nice chat about various things including problematic 80s movies, we hung up and I decided to treat myself to a hospital cafeteria chicken quesadilla. They are surprisingly delicious and I ate them every single day while my dad was in hospice. Those quesadillas were a single bright spot during one of the hardest times of my life.

So I walk up to the grillmaster and look at the menu.

"Wait, where is the quesadilla?" "We stopped making those two weeks ago."

Universal realignment completed. Luck has returned to its original state.

A male nurse in front of me commiserated. "Yeah, man. I miss them too."

I walked back out to my car both happy and depressed. An odd combination of conflicted feelings. But my day was not over yet. I needed vaccines and groceries. Naturally, I went to the grocery store with the CVS. I got my dad his last booster there, so I was confident they could take care of me. I grab a shopping cart and pick up a few things on the way to the pharmacy. I get in line at the little vaccine check-in spot. The woman in front of me is getting her booster as well. Otherwise, the pharmacy is empty and the three employees are just scrolling through their phones.

After the previous booster seeker was taken care of, I tell the woman I need a booster and a flu vaccine.

"I can give the flu shot now and set an appointment for the booster." "You never required an appointment before." "We just started a few weeks ago." "Can I make an appointment for, like, now?" "No, sorry." "Do you have the booster in stock?" "Yes." "Do you have someone here qualified to give the booster?" "Yes." "Do you have any other appointments right now?" "No."

I tried very hard to keep my composure and remain polite.

"I am disabled. It is very hard for me to get out of the house. Returning another day would be very difficult. Can you please make an exception?"

"I can get you in tomorrow."

I probably should have asked for a manager at this point. But I had no energy for confrontation. She started preparing for me to get the flu shot, but I told her I was going somewhere else. My happy news was quickly being soured by weird rules that made no sense.

But I did see a cool robot.

I got my groceries and loaded them into my car. Some were frozen items so I made sure to turn the A/C on full blast. I called another pharmacy. It was the one run by the Jamaican family who came out to the house to give my parents boosters during the height of COVID. I asked if they could do walk-in vaccinations without an appointment. And in that beautiful accent, they replied, "Sure, come on by. We'll take care of you."

Their shop is in Ferguson. Which I'm sure the news has convinced people is a constant warzone or something. But the main street, West Florrisant, is actually really neat in spots. A lot of small businesses catering to the Black community. There was a soul food place and an African hair braiding place and a Taco Bell. Okay, it wasn't all Black-themed shops, but the pharmacy was directly next to the "Wumzy African Attire" tailoring shop that was combined with the party planning store.

And in the back was an African beauty supply depot.

Three shops in one! Just a very efficient use of space.

And looking through the window of the tailoring shop was like a feast of colors for the eyes. I don't know how they get fabric so bright and colorful. Really beautiful patterns too. I tried not to look like a creep while staring inside so I just walked reeeeeally slow toward the pharmacy entrance.

I just wish people knew that side of Ferguson. It's a beautiful community that was really dragged through the mud by the national media.

I digress.

I walked into the pharmacy and it was long and skinny. They had a few shelves with over-the-counter health products. But the main area was pretty empty. I guess they want to make sure they can accommodate long lines without people having to wait outside. But their working area seemed really cramped. There were some awards on the wall and news articles. Apparently, they are very involved with vaccinating the local refugee community. Something you won't see at pointless appointment-having CVS. I just felt like I was in the right place even if my frozen items were thawing and my legs were buckling from constantly forgetting my cane in the car.

The shop was run by the pharmacist and matriarch. Her son took my information. He looked about 18 and was a bit shy—but very kind and helpful. He directed me to this little partition they set up for vaccinations and they had a liquor bottle full of hand sanitizer. The label had a big "DO NOT DRINK" warning. I found a picture of the exact one on Google.

I washed my hands and rolled up my sleeve. The pharmacist greeted me with my shots prepared. Some people have a sort of magic touch when it comes to giving shots. I'm not sure if it is a special technique or just lots of experience, but aside from a little pressure, I didn't even feel the needles going in. And my arm was only mildly sore despite the double shots.

I really wanted to thank her for sending someone to vaccinate my parents when no one else would. But I was really tired and chickened out. So I just thanked her and drove home.

I unloaded my groceries and collapsed on the couch. I could barely move at that point. Everything hurt.

But... 30 years.

I was feeling good the next day despite everything. My body hurt, but my brain was contented from my success. But there was more to do and everything was trending downhill. I called those doctors mentioned in my personal medical records. I knew it was a long shot, but I asked if they kept records from 2001. They did not. However, I thought the psychiatrist who did my ECT was dead. And it turns out he is just old-as-heck and still practicing. So even though he doesn't have records and probably doesn't remember me, I am hopeful he will write me a letter.

My other psychiatrist from back then is also still practicing. No records there either.

So far my phone anxiety wasn't getting the better of me. But I still had more calls to make and I could feel my brain starting to get melty.

My pocket knife doesn't open correctly and I couldn't get anyone to email me back from SpyderCo. So I called their office in Colorado and tried to get someone to talk to me. I got bounced to three different people and finally a guy told me that model is just hard to open. So that was pointless.

Melt. Melt. Melt.

And finally, I had to call the dreaded CPAP supply place.

It did not go well. At all.

You can read more about it at that link, but the short version is I got angrily sighed at for asking reasonable questions about what the hell "chart notes" are. And the lady refused to answer those questions for no reason I can fathom. She eventually brought me to tears and got angry at me for doing so. And it turned out the call was pointless as well.

Oh, and my lawyer was sick. Remember him? Vacation guy? Who skipped town at the exact moment I got my disability denial letter? Yeah, I had been waiting for 7 grueling, anxiety-filled days to speak with him and he gets sick the day he returns.

Brain is melty goo.

Hey, Universe! I think you are overcorrecting with that luck realignment. I appreciate the 30 years of records thing, but can you let me enjoy it a little?

Friday arrives and I still have calls to make. The CPAP lady really messed up my brain and so just dialing the numbers was freaking me out. But I decided to start with the worst first. I called the CPAP lady and she finally had her precious "chart notes" and put my order through. She was cheerful and helpful and I was confused but thankful.

I thought maybe things were looking up in my phone call adventures.

My next call was to my primary care doctor's office.

One thing you need to know about my doctor is he is a bit of a... hot mess. A very smart, capable doctor. He knows his stuff. I suspect he has an eidetic memory due to his instant recall of medication names and doses and things that happened 8 years ago and detailed descriptions of medical conditions he only heard about in school 40 years ago. Aside from that, he is kind and compassionate and he has my back no matter what.

But he is technologically stuck in the 80s. His personal life is a roller coaster of drama. He once hired his girlfriend of 2 months to work at the office and his regular staff secretly whispered "She's so awful" behind his back. (They broke up soon after.) He is disorganized and constantly running late. And he takes on tons of frustrating patients because they have nowhere else to go. I admire him for treating so many poor elderly folks without any family to take care of them, but you can tell it is extremely challenging at times and a lot of that labor is delegated to his staff.

His office manager is probably the only person on the planet who can tolerate him being a hot mess.

Unfortunately, she is also a hot mess in completely different ways.

She tries to speedrun through everything. It's probably because she has a million things to do and is trying to fit 12 hours of work into an 8 hour workday. I try to be sympathetic and understanding of that. But one of her methods for speeding things along is attempting to use her psychic powers. You will start telling her what you need and she will do this thing where she cuts you off and tries to predict said need.

"I need a prescription for..." "Your thyroid meds are due, right? I'll send it over to the pharmacy." "...insulin. But I have a question about..." "So thyroid and insulin? No problem. I'll send it over." "...increasing my dosage." "Wait, what's yer question, hon?" "Was it 50 units..." "No, it's says 100. Okay? I'll send it over. Take care." "...twice per day or 100 units once in the morning?"

Often her predictions are so bad that it actually takes a lot more time to correct her than it would if she had just let you finish speaking. And this is especially problematic for me because I rehearse everything I need to say and she constantly interrupts and so I have to end up improvising new things to say that I never accounted for. And I'm already anxious and not thinking clearly so I do a poor job of explaining my needs and it just ends up in disaster.

So I have a complicated situation. I need my entire written chart copied and sent to my lawyer. I know it is a lot of work for the office staff. They probably have to copy several hundred pages. But this is probably the most important evidence in my disability case. And my lawyer has already volunteered to pay the several hundred dollars it will cost. It's worth it because if my case goes well, I could get years of back pay.

I call and get the young woman whom I really like on his staff. She is very quiet and unassuming but secretly the star of the office. Like a ninja of competence. If you really need something done properly without mistakes, she is the best one to go to. But her job does not include handling the records, so she transfers me to the office nurse. The office nurse does not process new information well. You often have to explain things several times. And if she gives up trying to understand, she hands you off to the office manager.

The Final Boss, if you will. I was really hoping I could avoid that.

"Okay, so my lawyer needs all of my written records..."

"He needs to fax a form saying what he needs, okay honey?"

"He already faxed a release form asking for records and I brought in a new copy yesterday with all of his mailing information..."

"He didn't fax anything. He needs to tell us what he needs. I'm not seeing any form. Just tell him to call me."

"He is out sick today and he already faxed the form and I brought a second one just in case. I signed it and dated it and I watched Competence Ninja put it in my chart. It asks for everything..."

"Okay, I see it here. This doesn't look right. He needs to tell us what he needs us to send him."

"It says in the letter, 'to release any medical information, including medical records, written letters, treatment reports, testing results, or similar information.' Should it say something different?"

"I've been doing this 20 years and I've never seen anything like this. He needs to be more specific. I ain't sending him all that, hon."

"So, this is for my disability case. I already talked to the nurse about this. And I know it is a lot, but the doctor's records are the only direct evidence that I've been sick since 2001."

"So you just need something from 2001? Okay, the lawyer needs to fax something saying that."

"I need the entire handwritten chart copied and sent to the lawyer. We need a full record of my illness because..."

"This is ridiculous. You're lawyer is fucking lazy. I've never seen anything like this. And I'm worried he is not going to represent your interests."

"This is not a normal disability claim. If you'd allow me to explain I think you'd understand why I need..."

"Disability should already have all this. We shouldn't need to send this. This is fucking ridiculous and you need a new lawyer. You're going to lose your case with his lazy ass."

"This isn't normal disability. I need to prove that I've been sick for a long time and..."

"This is going to cost a fortune, you know? We charge 50 cents per page. You're going to be out hundreds of dollars."

"Okay, but I will be out thousands of dollars if I don't get this copied."

"Fuck it. I am going to copy this ONCE. No more after this. UNDERSTOOD?"

And... she hung up on me.

My heart was beating out of my chest with panic and my eyes were blurry with tears. And in that moment, I thought I had done something wrong. My doctor gave me his personal mobile number so I call him up with tears apparent in my voice. I explain what just happened and that I was really sorry and that I didn't mean to upset her. He told me she is "just like that sometimes" and I shouldn't take it to heart. They have a very serious deadline for something due that day and she was very upset and I was collateral damage. I asked him to apologize for me and he said there was no need. He said we'd work it all out on Monday when this deadline wasn't stressing everyone out.

It wasn't until I calmed down a bit that I realized I did absolutely nothing wrong. That she was just being a big jerk and taking her other problems out on me. And I was probably the one deserving of an apology. I also remembered this is not the first time she has blown up at me. She was the one who tried to make me get a ventilator instead of a proper CPAP machine years ago. She said, "My mom has one and it works fine." And I was like, "So if I travel I'm supposed to take 12 pounds of medical equipment instead of a 1 pound device that fits neatly into a backpack?"

I get why my doctor made excuses for her. She works very hard and puts up with him. He'd never be able to find anyone that would last a week doing that job. And I have a feeling he probably defended me after I called. I played what he said back in my brain and noticed a frustrated tone. Despite what he said, it seems clear he was pissed.

I can make amends and figure things out with her. That isn't an issue. But I am worried that between her and CPAP lady, all of the progress I've made trying to reduce my telephobia was erased. I really was getting better calling people. I used to need Katrina hanging out on Skype while I called anyone as moral support. And while it still helps, I've gotten a lot better at calling strangers on my own. But now, I'm not so sure.

I might ask if there is an office email address I can use from now on. If I can write out what I need there is no way to get interrupted. I can be clear and detailed and use my writing skills to communicate way better than my phone skills.

I don't know.

It was just a crappy way to end a stressful, exhausting week.

But it wasn't the end!

Friday evening my sick lawyer finally called. I had rehearsed all kinds of things I wanted to say to him. But it turns out, all of my emails already did most of the talking—proof that I write a great email. He was really impressed with all of my detective work. And he said if those records pan out, he is very optimistic about my case going forward. He also said that he was expecting a denial. And it was probably good that we got that out of the way quickly. And now we get to mount more of a defense, which is what lawyers are good at. We talked for about 20 minutes and came up with a battle plan. He explained the process going forward. But he mentioned one thing that worried me.

This could take a while.

A lot longer than I was expecting.

I explained that I currently have a runway until about June 2024. That's when the mortgage money runs out. However, my brother should be willing to release my inheritance in March. I hope. I have a hard time trusting anything my brother says anymore. But if he does, then I should have another year of mortgage payments. But I am definitely going to have a Plan B just in case my brother finds a new way to disrespect my father's wishes.

The lawyer said there is a quick thing and a long thing. The quick thing has a low chance of success. But it is worth trying. The long thing is a hearing with a Social Security lawyer. He said a lot of these lawyers are miserable and don't want to be there and don't really care. Which is a good thing because they'll just be like, "Fine, whatever." But it can take a long time to get a hearing due to backlogs.

So, as long as I can gather all the evidence and the hospital records have my ECT stuff, I think there is room for hope. A little hope. After years of chronic illness I know hope is sometimes dangerous. So I allot a tiny bit of hope to keep me going forward, but not enough hope to leave me devastated if things go tits up.

So... umm... I think that is the end of this novel of a post. I feel bad that I don't have a big climax or twist or cliffhanger. Should I add a big CGI dragon fight?

Even though a more down-to-earth kung fu fight with my brother would be a more satisfying conclusion?

Or I could pull an M. Night Shyamalan and reveal that I've been dead for quite some time.

This post is getting really long.

Why are you still reading this?

I am thankful that you are. I just needed to get all of that out. I hope I wrote it in a compelling way and you weren't bored.

I love you all.

#long post #i see dead frogpeople

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 5 months ago

Note

AITA for editing my sister’s college essay?

[☀️🛟🎓 to find it later]

I (22f) have a younger sister (17f) applying to college this fall. Her english class recently gave an assignment that was essentially “write your common app”. For context, I am known for editing college application essays, I have done so for several family friends, and I don’t pull punches. As such, I asked if I could help edit her essay, and she agreed.

It was a great essay!! I helped her out with some smaller grammatical things and to tighten up sentences, and she submitted the class assignment.

Here’s where I may be the asshole. Later that night I kept rereading the essay, and I noticed a few issues in the middle portion. I wound up heavily editing the essay on my own document to make the emotions came across clearer and to tie in some key metaphors.

The next day, I wound up asking if I should share this document with her, and she ended up agreeing. I tried to give her an out because I could tell she was a bit annoyed, but she insisted that I share it now that I brought it up. Immediately after I shared it she called me crying, saying that she felt as though I had steamrolled over her work. She was sad because she liked it, and angry that I butted in. To be frank, I did inject too much of my own voice into this rewritten essay.

My sister has admitted to feeling very pressured when compared to me, as I achieved a lot academically and have a steady career. My parents and I have tried to reassure her that she is not expected to emulate me, but no matter how many times we say it, she won’t internalize that I am NOT a bar she needs to measure up to. She doesn’t seem to realize that I struggled and failed so many times in so many ways b/c she didn’t actually see it; she was too young at the time.

I want her to grow beyond what I could achieve, and I want her to be confident in herself. She’s incredibly smart, but she thinks I’m smarter because we have different strengths and she devalues her own.

I feel guilty because it was not my intention to “lord over her” by writing her essay “better”; our writing styles are different, but her essay came across as dry and I wanted to give an example of how she could inject more emotion into the turning point, which is arguably the most important part of a college essay. However, I fear she took it badly, and I should have been more careful given how she views me.

I really don’t want her to make the same mistakes I did with my college applications, and I know that getting into college has become incredibly difficult post-pandemic. Objectively, some of her test scores are below where mine were, and her extracurriculars, while good, are slightly “less” than what her peers are doing (our high school is extremely competitive) so I want to ensure her essays are as polished and punchy as possible to give her the best shot at getting into the colleges she wants. We’re not hiring any college application tutors, so I’m the only major mentor she has for this, since our parents did not attend college in the US.

My sister and I def talked it out and we both apologized to each other, so we’re all good. I admitted to being too pushy, she admitted to not handling criticism well and putting me on a pedestal, and we both agreed to handle essay help differently in the future.

AITA here? On the one hand, I was harsh in my delivery and should have given her more opportunity to edit using her voice instead of forcibly tossing mine into the mix. One the other hand, college apps are getting tougher and tougher and she needs as much help as she can get (not a dig at her intelligence, everyone needs help these days). Though sis and I worked it out, I’m curious to know what the general opinion is.

#aita #am i the asshole

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kotir-propaganda · 1 year ago

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Mossflower has so much going for it, like I’m not even being biased because my blorbo is in it. I will die on the hill of it being Best Redwall Book for several reasons.

-It’s as early Redwall as you can get without actually being Book 1. As such, it avoids a lot of subjects and patterns that would later become repetitive tropes... but it also avoids the Book 1 jankiness of horses and human structures and the implied existence of Portugal. The world as we will come to know it feels more or less fully realized here. The abbey’s not here yet, but its foundation literally is- and we also get our first look at Salamandastron and the extent of Mossflower Wood as a whole.

-It has some of the most solid protagonists around. The legendary hero Martin is here, but he’s at a low point for most of the story and has to work his way up to that legacy! And this is where he does it, this is what future Redwallers remember him for, not the events of Martin the Warrior. Also, Gonff is here? Hello? Maybe the single most charismatic character in the series? Not to mention Dinny, how often does a humble mole actually get to go on a quest in these books?

-This isn’t even getting into how badass all the rest of the woodlanders are, too, but... they absolutely are. This is a small band of rebels that’s been driven from their little houses, they don’t have the luxury of those huge sandstone walls to protect them, but they’re still fighting like hell and outsmarting their enemies to boot. Some of them are seasoned fighters, but some of them are just ordinary families, all banding together to take back their homeland. And they keep it up the whole time! They’re not just waiting around for a guy with a sword to tell them what to do!

-The villains are probably the most nuanced in the whole series. Seriously. There are four whole wildcats here (don’t forget Sandingomm!) and only ONE of them is unquestionably evil. It’s absolutely implied that Verdauga was a fearsome warlord in his day, but if nothing else, he raised ONE kid who turned out to be about as Lawful Good as you can get, and he actually scolds Tsarmina for being mean to her brother!! I wish we could have spent a little more time with Verdauga, honestly, I have so many questions for this man.

-There are a decent handful of morally grey characters here, actually. Chibb spies for the woodlanders, but he’s not the most dependable and is motivated by payment more than sympathy to their cause. Snakefish allies with our questing heroes, but he minces no words in warning them that he’ll just as soon eat them if it comes down to it. Even Argulor is really just out here looking for a bite to eat and can you really blame him, because ashleg is a snack

-Tsarmina herself is irredeemably cruel, but even still there are multiple facets to her. On one hand, she’s scary- big and powerful and ready to rip into anything/anyone with her bare claws. At the same time she can be a clever strategist when she wants to be- poisoning her father and framing her brother, and later manipulating two of her obstacles, Argulor and Bane, into taking each other out. And still yet it can be kind of funny to watch her in action, as she gets humiliated by the resistance on multiple occasions. And maybe there is even a little pathos there, as we see her mind start to slip, and get some glimpse into the deep fear and paranoia that completely overtake her at the end.

-There are just great supporting characters on both sides. Mask is amazing, Fortunata is fantastic. And yeah, Blorbo Supreme Ashleg is here, and I don’t NEED to write a whole essay about him to promote Mossflower as a whole but... having him here is nice! It helps!! May we all follow his example and pursue happier lives for ourselves!!!

-Mossflower laid the foundation for so many events and characters of later books. I mean yeah, it’s a prequel. It’s there to support the first book and by extension, everything that comes after. But so many other great titles in the series have a direct line to Mossflower, from Outcast to Long Patrol to Lord Brocktree and more. Did you enjoy those books? You’re welcome. The threads were already there, just waiting to be expanded upon.

-at one point a wooden leg gets used as a projectile weapon and if you don’t think that’s the best thing ever, I don’t know what else to tell you buddy

#redwall #mossflower

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explodingchantry · 3 months ago

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I have a video essay planned for my opinions on the confused (not confusing, but confused) politics of dragon age and it will be like 7 hours long with only 3 views but it will be the best essay I'll ever write. As part of it I want to include sth interesting I've realized in my da2 replay: that of the different ways the qunari conflict and the mage conflict are written.

See, both conflicts are meant to be nuanced but actually have a pretty clear answer based on our own real life liberal ideals. For the qunari conflict, the ideal is "don't be fucking racist": characters who are openly bigoted against the qunari such as sister petrice are ridiculed by the narrative, which is obvious in the framing of all quests in which she takes part and in the dialogue and within the game itself; the enemies you fight which aid her are called "fanatics" and "mob" within the game. It is nuanced in that the qunari aren't exactly... Friendly, and they have a history of colonialism of their own, but the narrative is actually still pretty black and white. They remained peaceful for 4 years in spite of numerous provocation, until their literal most important cultural and religious artifact was refused to them which led them to violence to retrieve it. It's nuanced because it isn't "the qunari are fully innocent" but also isn't "the qunaris are cunts and the racism was warranted". The qunaris are people with flaws that deserve criticism outside of the fact that they're qunaris. The narrative is very clear that those who hate qunaris on principle are bigoted idiots.

For mages, and furthermore anders, suddenly the narrative is more muddled. You could argue it's because the situation is more complex, and in some ways you'd be right. But I was shocked upon my replay of how often anders' sanity is put in question. How even a hawke who ROMANCED HIM will call him deeply troubled to defend him, or downright call him crazy... Once again whilst defending him. The latter is admittedly partly due to purple hawke options sometimes just being.... Downright disrespectful and mean, but it remains striking. Even more so when you note how often anders' rejection of templars and the chantry are rejected by other characters, including mages themselves, whilst fenris' vitriolic hatred of ALL MAGES REGARDLESS OF BACKGROUND is only challenged by anders - who, again, gets his sanity questioned several times throughout the game, minimizing the perceived value of his opinions - and potentially hawke, sometimes, in a few dialogue options.

And don't even get me started on the whole blood magic portrayal lol.

You could attempt to say that, well, while the writers wanted the qunari conflict to have a clear answer, they didn't want it to be the case for mages. But.... Did they really? At the end of the game Orsino's stupid blood magic blob monster transformation is very obviously framed as tragic, meanwhile again Meredith's sanity is shown to have been compromised the whole time which puts every one of her previous actions into question. I'm pretty confident in my opinion that the writers likely meant the message to be "the mage/templar conflict in general isn't black and white but in this instance siding with Meredith is obviously wrong" (as a note: it is far more black and white than the narrative pretends it is and mages should be free, obviously.) this is backed up by the fact that, you know, SHE WAS THE FINAL BOSS AND WAS CORRUPTED BY RED LYRIUM.

There's a better, deeper discussion to be had regarding dissecting those two narrative threads and observing how the writers' bias affect both, I think. Because as soon as you try to say the writers write certain characters OOC or show negative bias towards a certain group, like mages, people will try to spin it as it being because the writers want to present a nuanced issue. The thing is that, yes, they are trying to do that - but they are doing it in an imbalanced, biased, and sometimes downright mean spirited way. Because I haven't even touched on how everyone refers to anders, even when they refer to him positively. There's always a but. Even deeply sympathetic characters disapprove of his activism. That sways the balance the writers apparently attempted to have. It sways it pretty fucking badly.

#Dragon age replay saga

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hhave-a-nice-day · 1 year ago

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ripping my hair out screaming throwing up being spiderman as a metaphor for being queer the essay is writing itself okay okay okay. so the metaphor is more interpretation in the first one but not this time baby!!!!! they fully went into it okay okay listen. being spiderman means being queer. gwen doesn’t come out to her father because she fears rejection the same way that miles does. they both fear their parents asking why they “lied” to them about who they are which queer people sometimes get when they come out, that they have been hiding and lying to their loved ones. when gwen does come out she does not get a good response and therefore she runs away to be with more spider people (i e more queer people). miles has been feeling alone and once gwen is back he no longer feels like he’s alone and when he sees the life she gets to live with all these other queer people, he wants in. HOWEVER. his experiences of being queer are not the norm, they’re not what everyone else experiences, and he doesn’t want the experiences to be the same. he doesn’t want to be in pain and he doesn’t want others to be either. as a result, he’s shunned by the people who should be a part of his community and should be the ones to accept him no matter what. it could be argued that this is a metaphor for assimilationist queer and radical queers. the people who believe you have to fit in/suffer to be accepted and the people who are loud and angry and won’t stand for that. when gwen comes back it turns out that her father was going to accept her after he reflected and realized that she was more important than any preconceptions he had about her based on who she was (also do not get me started on the trans colors in the scene where she’s talking to her dad. something something trans (color) coding on a scene where a person demands respect and demands that the other person know that they are not a danger and simply doing their best to be good in a massive movie that many people are going to watch in the midst of horrifying anti trans violence i Will cry). as a result of realizing that they don’t need to conform and be what anyone tells them to be both inside their community and out, they create their own community where they can make the change that they need to. i think that’s most of what i have to say. i need to watch this movie several more times.

#this may be completely incoherent #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse spoilers #and also don’t get me started on how the scenes of the kids telling their parents that they’re spiderman #TOTALLY read as coming out scenes. like 100%#anyways gwen stacy trans #hobie brown trans #miles morales trans #spiderman trans #i could keep going

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amerricanartwork · 10 months ago

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True Love Conquers All (Lilypad Essay cont.)

Ever since I realized the fairytale parallel was one of the main reasons I ship Lilypad, I've wanted to draw this, so here it is! Sig and Moon as Prince Phillip and Princess Aurora!

Actually, though, besides the drawing I'm also making this because I wanted to expand on that point from my Lilypad essay; there's still more I wanna gush about regarding the fairytale parallel!

I was too nervous to say it before, because it's derived largely from my personal tastes. However, I really wanna just write about my opinions on it now. Much of it's actually the feelings I've had about several ships before in various other fandoms, yet I've never really had the courage to express these feelings openly because I have yet to find even one person in any of these fandoms who feels the same way. However, I started thinking about it again, and I think it's about time I get it out somehow, at the very least to express these feelings in some tangible way so they don't stay bottled up forever. And maybe, just maybe, to find someone who likes these themes as much as I do!

Again, it's definitely very personal, so I don't mind if you completely disagree with all of it. But with that being said, if you want to read an additional 1,846 words on Lilypad fantasies, it's just below the cut!

To elaborate on why I love ships with fairytale parallels so much, it has to do with the poetic feeling stories like Sleeping Beauty seem to carry. I must preface that I don’t know the original fairytale, I’m pretty much entirely going off the 1959 animated Disney film, but even so I still love various themes within it and how they can be applied to other stories. Sleeping Beauty isn’t the only old Disney movie where I interpret these themes, or even the only animated story in general where these themes can be interpreted, but I think it’s overall the most similar to Lilypad specifically because of the whole “fair maiden dies and gets revived by the prince’s love” dynamic.

Something I’ve come to realize, especially upon developing a love for Rain World specifically, is that I adore stories about accepting one’s own nature and learning how to have it coexist with your personal goals rather than conflict with it. Sleeping Beauty has this not only through the eternal bond between Aurora and Phillip (I mean, “Once Upon a Dream” literally seems to be about how the singer will always love the person they fell for even if their love seemed too good to be true), but in the whole curse put on Aurora and the “true love conquers all” message. The conflict is all about how to ensure Aurora’s safety despite the impending doom of Maleficent’s curse on her, which is made more intense by how the curse can’t really be stopped, only lessened in severity. However, the inevitability of true love’s triumph over all obstacles, and really the inevitability of nature as a whole, is just so beautiful to me because it’s something so universal. As much as we may try to hide it, we humans are still animals, and still a part of nature as much as any other animal is, so the idea that forces as powerful and omnipresent as natural phenomenon could just as easily be on your side and working to help you reach your goals instead of trying to hurt you and keep you from them is very comforting specifically because of how powerful and inevitable these forces are. I mean, if forces like those can pose a seemingly impossible challenge when they seem to oppose your goals, what if they could also supply seemingly invincible support if you learned to work with them? Hence, why true love conquers all. It’s basically, “I can’t stop this thing, but maybe I don’t actually need to”. And the fact that both this and the next theme I’ll write about are present in stories which are, by this point, quite old, and can even be interpreted in newer and more recent stories just helps to further support their eternal, everlasting power by adding a sense of real-life timelessness to it all that I just find so beautiful!

Part of my love for stories like this actually comes from a specific natural force I freaking love and have been craving more of ever since I rewatched the old Disney movies and really begun to appreciate the poetic themes of them, and that force is the classic attraction between men and women. I’m not gonna get super into it now because I imagine I’ll have other chances to talk about this (again, Lilypad is far from the first ship I’ve derived this theme from, and I doubt it will be the last), but I’ll provide an intro of sorts to it here. If you’ve seen my full Lilypad essay you already know I’m a BIG fan of “inverses attract” ships, where the characters display opposite sides of the same base trait, conflict, or subject, and when they come together they help balance each other out in ways no one else can by offering each other the benefits unique to the other side of that subject. Well, simply put, if you ask me, what better example of this “inverses attract” dynamic exists in real life than the natural inverses of male and female, where the strong protectiveness and creative nurturing combine to literally create a family, from which all people come? The presence of the inverses attract dynamic is always nice to see in ships regardless of gender, but whether or not it occurs in this way specifically — that being whether or not it showcases the inverse characteristics of men and women and the positive potential when those forces combine as a team — is another major factor that, throughout my fandom experience so far, has determined which pairings I actively ship rather than just mildly smile at from time to time. (And on a side note, now that I have much more skill in art and feel more confident about my art, I figured it’s about time I start acting on that love more openly!)

So what in the WORLD does this all have to do with Lilypad?

Well, even disregarding how this very idea will basically be the major theme of my personal worm-off-the-string AU (I may elaborate on that more later because it’s just SO perfect for these particular characters and can even be interpreted in the base game to some degree), I think Lilypad, at least as I choose to imagine it, is the Rain World ship that best embodies this idea — that nature and instincts can actually help you once you simply stop fighting and accept them — more than any other in the fandom for a variety of reasons.

I’m actually going to start with how Looks to the Moon and No Significant Harassment, as strange as this may sound given who and what these characters are, actually do still display that feminine and masculine energy I love at least when I picture them, especially with Sig being confirmed as a “he” according to the wiki. It’s clear to me that Moon is very feminine (I mean, c’mon, her design in the CGs, how the moon is often associated with femininity and feminine things in real life, how she tries, even after her collapse, to connect with Five Pebbles and nurture their relationship in a very caring way, etc.), but I wanna elaborate on how part of the reason I love Sig as a character and the slag reset keys as a plot point so much is because it perfectly demonstrates that masculine protectiveness that happens in stories like Sleeping Beauty, where a man faces great trials all to rescue the fair maiden. Again, it may not have happened literally because Hunter had to deliver the slag keys, but the sentiment is the same if you ask me! And it’s always so nice to see because, again, he literally brought her back to life! How could it NOT be a sign of deep love and devotion that someone would go through so much trouble just to make sure you’re okay?

It’s also great because I imagine the local group would have a tendency to not always take Sig seriously because he’s so careless about their purpose, so I’m sure the slag key stunt would also warrant a lot more respect for him from the other iterators. This is another thing I love seeing — both when the character everyone else overlooks finally uses their full power and their peers have to re-evaluate their impression of them, but specifically when men feel inspired to use their full power and skills to help the women they love! I love it because it demonstrates just how powerful and valuable femininity can be, shedding light on a more subtle kind of power, that being power through influence and aura rather than raw strength and stubbornness. Heck, I like to imagine wanting to protect Looks to the Moon and make sure she lasts as long as possible is a major reason why, in my AU, their physical interactions are when Sig and Moon finally begin to act on their love despite it having existed almost since Sig came online. Moon’s collapse would’ve shown both of them directly that she won’t be around forever, and if you ask Sig, someone as beautiful, kind, intelligent, noble, and all-around beloved as Looks to the Moon deserves to at least enjoy her life a little more before she fades (again), even if all the iterators falling apart is inevitable. But, coming back to what I said about nature, the inevitability of the eventual end is what makes the time they have left all the more precious!

And that’s the next part of Sleeping Beauty and fairytale-esque stories I see in Lilypad — there’s also the inevitability of this dynamic, which hits hard with Rain World iterators specifically because their whole purpose is fundamentally opposed to natural phenomena. Solving the Great Problem is, as far as I know, all about trying to escape the natural cycle of life, death, and reincarnation, and likely about escaping all natural cycles as a whole. And the iterators exist specifically to facilitate this rejection on a massive scale. So think about how poetic it would be that even they, seemingly so far detached, so far above these things, STILL fall in love and embrace these forces despite every attempt by the Ancients to prevent them from doing so! It’s made better by the fact that the iterators are machines and, even though they’re very much biomechanical ones (a big example of natural phenomena still manifesting in them despite their attempts to separate from it), one can argue they’re therefore somewhat detached from nature inherently, especially that bond between masculinity and femininity I discussed. So again, the fact it still finds a way to show up in them despite seemingly having much less reason to exist and the iterators themselves likely having much less desire to possess it just re-emphasizes how eternal it is. But once again, are they (and by extent, we the audience) sure that’s such a bad thing?

Lilypad in an ideal scenario, to me, is of all the Rain World ships the strongest embodiment of “true love conquers all, and that’s not a bad thing after all!”

And it makes me more eager to develop my worm-off-the-string AU because I imagine that’s where their relationship really gets to flourish. Moon and Sig can finally enjoy that physical aspect of romance, and Moon in particular would, by that point, more confidently join him in rejecting the Ancients’ ascensionist philosophy. Not to mention how cute it would be to see them drawing parallels between their relationship and the love the Ancients used to feel for one another long ago, once again supporting true love as a truly timeless phenomenon. And it would branch off to not just embracing their romance that existed for so long but could never fully go anywhere, but learning to enjoy and partake in all the aspects of the world that were denied to them and that they were told to deny for who knows how long! And when it comes to not just for Sig and Moon, but the local group as a whole, what could be more poetic than that?

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Man, a HUGE thank you to anyone who made it to the bottom of all this! To know that anyone bothered to at least consider what I have to say in this fandom is always nice, but with this in particular I greatly appreciate anyone who read it all! And again, PLEASE let me know if you agree with any of this, especially the parts about masculine-feminine teamwork. I'd love to know even one other person in one of my fandoms who's into that as well, and maybe even hear possible additions to it!

Regardless, I've gone on about this for so many words already. I hope you enjoyed the ideas, or at least the art! Thanks again for reading!

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