#these fanfics were actually very different from one another and depended a lot on what the author's fantasy is

[faeofdusk]

I was just going to ramble on the tags, but it was getting so long I decided to do it as an actual addition. With the caveat that I only read fanfictions in portuguese back then and some might have been exclusive to the brazilian scene, here are some of the memories this post unearthed

The silly interactions between the author and the characters that would happen before and after each chapter, almost like some behind the scenes extra. It was usually for the author to ramble about their thought process and make silly jokes about their ships, about how hot their favorite character is and how much they hate another one

Too often the hated character was hated simply because they "got in the way" of the main ship, be it by being part of a love triangle or by being the canon love interest of half of the ship, and would be subjected to all sorts of tortures in these after scenes

Sometimes these interactions would be longet than the actual chapter (which itself would also be riddled with authors note with silly jokes regardless of genre)

This sort of silly interactions spawned two subgenres of fanfictions: the "fanfics gone wrong", the "Talk Shows"

Fanfics gone wrong would silly comedy pieces where the author tries to write a serious story, but things keep going wrong. There are many ways this could happen, but a common one was for the whole thing to happen in a studio of sorts and things keep going out of control. Things like they not being able to afford the electricity bill so the studio has the shut down the sun and noe the scene takes place at night.

Talk Shows were just the author interacting with the characters without worrying about silly things like writing an interesting fanfic in the middle. There would be an attempt of normalcy at the start, but shenanigans were inevitable

There were also reaction fanfics for a time, but those weren't as exciting. Too many times it would just be the characters reacting to their own future story, which would be reproduced verbatim and be intercut with the random comments from the character's past version. It was specially problematic if the source material is an actual novel that is just being copy pasted.

And honestly? I ate that shit up everytime. I would read those into the night and have to muffle my laughter because it was late and I wasn't supposed to be in the computer. Sometimes I still giggle when I remember a random joke from one of these or cringe at my own.

Let's never do anything like that ever again.

full offense but none of you would have ever survived fanfiction.net in 2009

[jasminedragonart]

Another little fanfic nitpick. For those of you who need it, I will be putting a reference below for those who are writing about children. This is just from my experience as someone who has a nibling as well as someone who has educated children for a good few years now teaching a wide variety of ages.

So, here is your child chart:

Ages 0-1: Blob. They can barely function without help. They need carried to do the most basic of things. Some of them can walk but not all, and their walking is not without a LOT of hand holding. They can make noises that sound like words, and maybe even say one or two, but they have no idea what those words mean. There is nothing behind their eyes. Will primarily be fed on milk for the first 6 months and then move onto solids once their teeth come in.

Ages 1-2: They can say a few more words. They can recognise those who look after them and say simple things. My nibling knows tractor and cat. They can walk. They will have a fascination with something weird, like their feet and putting and taking off not only their own shoes but other people's. There's a little bit behind their eyes but for the most part they don't know where they are or what is happening around them. They may still be on milk for the first half of their first year but they'll move onto primarily solids and water for most of their diet.

Ages 2-3: They're a little more switched on. They know what behaviours will give them attention and be it good or bad they'll do it. They might be toilet trained but it's all dependent on the parent. They babble. A lot. It's mainly a string of words they'll know but they'll all have different meanings. Shoe could mean, where are my shoes. It could also mean, hello, how are you, I haven't seen you in a while. It's all part of the communication process. They might move onto actual sentences midway through their second year but they will be short and the words extremely simple. They like to run around but their attention spans are still small so they'll lose interest after a while. They will climb out of their cribs and across the baby gates as they've figured it out. My nibling is currently costing my sibling hundreds of pounds because they now have to buy a new toddler bed despite my nibling not necessarily needing one yet. This is because they've figured out how to climb out and the crib is now a safety hazard.

Ages 3-4: They're at a really interesting phase here. They're a lot more independent than they were at 2, which for some is pretty independent, but they also regress a lot. They might not sleep very well, they'll fall down a lot more. This is because they know a lot more and understand a lot more around them. They're actually turning into a little person at 3. On the tail end they'll be a sort of mentor to those younger than them, babies and toddlers fascinating them as they try and understand what's happening around them.

Ages 4-5: Whatever progress they've been making is gone. They now have nothing once more behind their eyes. They are just chaos, turning in circles and licking the floor. As someone who had to teach 4 and 5 year olds, their attention spans are horrific and they will wander off back to their parents to sit on their parent's knee while they glare at you for not understanding that they don't know what left and right are. There will be the odd one or two who find sentience again but this is rare. Sentience is usually not found until age 6. that being said they can communicate a lot better, speaking in bigger sentences. They can also start to learn to write and retain some knowledge imparted on them.

Ages 6: They're back and meaner than ever. They can and will tell you the truth. They will tell on their parents, teachers, friends just because you've told them lying is bad. They are brutally honest and will share their opinion. They will talk for hours on end and call your name seventy times if they think you haven't heard them properly.

Ages 7: They're a fountain of knowledge at this age. They usually have specific hyperfixations and interests that will influence their lives from this point onwards. They'll love getting messy, playing outside and watching cartoons. Their reading level should be fairly decent if they go to a good school and have a good support group around them. This is the best age to get them interested in a sport as they actually have the attention span to enjoy it, maybe even compete in it if they want to join a football club or something. But they are still really young so they will take everything as truth if you tell it to them.

Ages 8: This is one of the last truly childhood years. They're still ignorant of the wider world, and not much truly changes between seven and eight save a lot of friendship building and deeper interest and understanding in their interests.

Ages 9: This is where they start to understand a bit more grown up things. They might be taught about puberty at this age, by that I mean, in my school we had someone come in and warn us about periods. It might seem young, but some girls can get their periods earlier than others and develop earlier than others. They'll understand that girlfriends and boyfriends are a thing and while they'll still thing it's disgusting there will be a deeper understanding that it's something that might happen to them rather than the bliss of years before when pretend weddings were something fun they emulated because they saw it on TV or in their family and wanted a big party like that too.

I might do a separate post for ages 10 and up but this is the basic stages of childhood. So next time you think your five year old in your fic can run away successfully from home just remember, they can't. They are five. There is nothing going on up there except big feelings and big emotions. They will likely cling to their parents and if they do run away, it's literally just around the corner and they will come back inside when it gets cold enough or they want more attention. Your five year old doesn't know left and right never mind can wield a sword. At least make them eight. Dick Grayson was 8 when he became Robin, I feel like that should be the benchmark for every child who is put into a situation. Make them 8 otherwise they don't know what's going on.

If there's more to add, please feel free to. This is, again, just what I've observed from years of working with little kids.

[narastories]

on the topic of writing software

I want to ramble at you about some writing software options. 98% of the time I'm perfectly content with LibreOffice Writer (and previously I used Word, back when Microsoft products were less shitty). But every now and then when I have a new project (like now - more on that later) I start looking for something shiny and new to try. And I fell down into another research rabbit hole lol

I usually don't talk a lot about this bc my needs are very simple, and not sure how useful my opinion is to others, but I enjoy the topic. It's an intersection of creative writing and tech nerdiness and I like both of those things. Also what writing software you prefer really depends on the type of writer that you are, and everyone has a slightly different writing process and I find that fascinating.

Now, as I said, I'm coming at it from a slightly tech-nerd angle. I don't care if the installation is clunky, I'm happy to see the words open-source, and the need to create an account will already mildly piss me off (:

Don't worry, I'm not as intense as the guy writing his novel in Vim. Though fucking respect. And I can't say I'm not tempted to try it even with the steep learning curve lmao (Seriously, if you don't know Vim is notorious among software developers.)

Anyway, things I've tried so far:

Manuskript: this was listed as an open-source Scrivener alternative (though I haven't tried Scrivener. so.). I gave it a go when I was writing heart worth the trouble and it was pretty nice. It helped me when I had to move scenes and chapters around. But overall I think it was made with plotters in mind bc it wants you to enter a lot of information upfront. I'm not a planner/architect type of writer so this type of software is a bit overwhelming for me. Still, the fact that it's open source and works on Linux gets kudos from me.

Wavemaker: I recently played around with this, and I actually surprisingly like the features it has. You can put multiple books in a project, which is very nice if you like to work on different things, like fanfic, novels, etc. The mindmap is a feature I liked, though it's a bit clunky bc it collapses the text fields when you exit, and once I added an image field by accident that I could never remove lol I do like a bit of a snowflake method, so that feature is cool, and the cards are pretty straightforward too. Usually, my problem with these apps is that I don't even want to touch half of the features so they are pointless to me, but the features of Wavemaker were kind of nice. It's a web app that you can download and use offline but it's still working from your browser if that makes sense. That was what I didn't really appreciate. Also, it doesn't give you a lot of options to back it up. You either save the wavemaker file, export it into a document (which is fine, but it adds an extra step to the backup process) or you sync with Google Drive *shudders*

Things I want to try out:

Calmly Writer: now this is just purely a text editor that focuses on being very zen, streamlined, distraction-free, etc. It's pretty and it has typewriter sounds. (Yeah, I'm not immune to a pretty UI and harmless fun features alright? I can contain multitudes :P) It has an online version, but you can also download it, and works on Windows, Mac, and Linux. On paper, the desktop app requires a license, but the way they put it is that you can evaluate it for free and the evaluation doesn't have an enforced time limit... So. As good as free. (Though if I really like it, I would totally consider buying a license for 20usd that I can use on 3 computers, that seems fair. I appreciate a license over a subscription model for sure.) Honestly, I think this is the one I'm going to try next bc it just integrates perfectly into my writing process. That being: a multitude of messy, hand-written notes and notebooks + a document editor + backups on hard drive and GitHub (yes, really) ^^"

Shaxpir: This is on the opposite end of the spectrum basically, but out of the "fancy" ones, I kind of like the look of this the most. I like the statistics part in particular. But honestly, I probably won't try it bc it doesn't have a Linux version which would be a pain in the ass for me, and is cloud-based. I kind of don't really trust them, which is my biggest issue with these companies. (Although the creator's heart seems to be in the right place when it comes to AI. Basically, some of their features are based on machine learning and language models. For example, it will recognize passive voice, if it's an adverb with "-ly" or the emotion of a word. Which I think is all cool and fine and shouldn't be lumped in with generative AI. But he also had a website that did this analysis for already published works, and when people pointed out that it was sketchy, he took that down and I can respect that. I'm not sure how much it influenced the actual features of the app, maybe I'll just take a peek out of curiosity. The whole thing does make me have trust issues though lmao) If anyone has experience with it though, I'm interested to hear about it.

Obsidian: not a dedicated writing software, but rather an elaborate note-taking app. I heard good things about it from smart people lol If I really wanted to access my writing on my phone, I would probably use this bc it works on every platform and has end-to-end encrypted sync with version control. I heard you can also integrate it with GitHub which is always music to my ears lol But the setup probably takes a bit of time and I'm not particularly motivated to do that right now.

So yeah, those are the options that appeal to me right now. If anyone used these and has opinions, I'm all ears :D

[lalalychee-x]

"1x1— I think I'm okay"

Angst! Rodrick Heffley x reader pt 1

"Hush your mouth, you talk too much..." romantic. + platonic

♡ Um! This whole series is SLIGHTLY a vent thing! But it's still an x reader! It's sfw unless labelled otherwise, but read the CW carefully!! I used the doawk fanfic "Dysfunctional Perspective" to help build around this story to give it some depth. Please check it out on r/loadeddiper on reddit! We have to establish some things first, though! So welcome to part 1 of "Think I'm okay!" CW: self harm (sh), weed/drug use, smoking, child-abuse, scars, healing scars, implied sexual assault (sa), obssessive disorders, classic crude teenage humour, skin-peeling metaphors?!, conflicted relationships, suicide attempts, suicide jokes, OCs or characters from Dysf. Perspective are included (even if they don't have the same plot-devices). masterlist of all parts: word count: 5223 song4this: 1x1" by Bring me the Horizon

This whole series is kinda to depict Rodrick closer to his cannon and less tiktok-ified version! It's also to convey two very different struggles of teenagers with similar coping mechanisms. Enjoy!!

♡ Rodrick and reader, School's fuck-up/Loser x School's Valedictorian/Popular Princess.

♡ Reader is depicted as popular, feminine, having a lot of friends.

♡ Rodrick is not depicted as popular but as well-known...but with few actual friends

♡ Reader is afab, female-dressing anyway, wearing skirts to fit a stereotype (it is a plot-relevant thing, I promise)

-------story starts here-------

It started as just another teacher’s errand.

You were used to them by now—the way your name always came up when someone needed a favour. Trusted. Organized. Sweet. Of course she’ll do it. She always does.

“Can you bring these up to Rodrick Heffley?” your teacher asked like it was nothing. Just a stack of notes and an excuse scribbled for his absence.

You paused. A little too long. “Sure,” you said, with that perfect little smile. The one you’d perfected to keep people from looking too closely. Too long.

You stared at the name on the top of the notes.

Rodrick Heffley.

The loser. The burnout. The guy who never showed up and when he did, never gave a shit. You didn’t run in the same circles—if anything, you existed in opposite galaxies. You were pink pens, honour roll, friends who planned everything two weeks in advance. He was torn denim, smelling like weed and rage, and scribbling band names on desks in black Sharpie. Everyone knew he was a mess.

And yet. You're sacrificing your hard-earned reputation, chipping away at it by rushing around and asking if anyone knew where the Heffley's even lived. Because fuck, what are other people going to think? You? Asking where his HOUSE is, running around like a neek with a stack of catch-up work in your hands. It was pissing you off.

Eventually, you did follow badly scribbled directions from a punk behind the school who knew his brother Greg, apparently from some disaster party that you didn't attend many months ago.

You sighed, walking up past the driveaway, up the pavement, knocking on the door. To your surprise, it creaked its way open under the force of your fist. It was open. You deadpan, cursing under your breath,

"Mrs, um, Mr. Heffley?" You think it's rude to intrude, god is this trespassing? Isn't it a crime—

You overthink for a bit longer when you realise it's been a bit too long... and there was no response. You peek in, the smell of Enigma Alexandra de Markoff perfume... do all white moms wear the same damn fragrance when they go out?

You scrunch your nose, then deduct that his parents were out. And you didn't know Rodrick very well but you were expecting some sort of sound from a noisy teenage boy... music or crude TV shows...

When passing him in the Music room in school, he was never quiet. He made his presence known, either by smashing drums like his life depended on it or yelling about some shit band no one else liked. But now? Silence. Eerie, suffocating silence.

You stood outside the cracked door, fingers curling tighter around the paper folder.

Then you heard it.

A noise—low, choked. Gurgled?

You spiralled up the stairs, pushing the front door to the Heffley house loosely shut and navigating across the upstairs hall.

And there he was.

Not sprawled on the couch with a smirk or blasting music so loud it’d rattle the drywall. Not throwing a dumb smirk at you like he always did when you passed him in the halls. No. He was slouched over the bathroom sink—in an unknown-band t-shirt, trembling, shoulders taut with some horrible tension. A single flickering bathroom light above him buzzed softly, and that was all you could hear for a moment, besides your own breath stuttering in her chest. The rest of the house had gone silent, like it, too, was holding its breath.

The sink was speckled red.

Bright, wet, and fresh.

His knuckles were clenched around the porcelain edge, his body swaying slightly like his legs weren’t even holding him up properly. Blood dripped from the underside of his arm, from angry, shallow cuts that hadn’t even stopped bleeding yet. His jeans hung loose on his hips, unbelted, and his hair was messy in a way that meant he hadn’t even tried to style it—it hung in his face, casting jagged shadows under his eyes.

He looked like a shadow. A ghost.

And when he blinked, slowly, blearily, then turned his head over his shoulder to look at you—you knew.

He wasn’t fully there. Was he high or something?

Eyes red-rimmed and distant. He looked at you like he couldn’t quite remember who you were. Like he’d forgotten how to process anything. A joint sat extinguished near the windowsill. The air was heavy with the stale tang of smoke and iron.

“Oh my god…” you whispered, and your voice cracked hard in the middle of it. It wasn’t pretty or elegant or composed like how you usually sounded at school—it was raw. It hurt to hear yourself sound like that. A way you knew all too well.

Rodrick blinked again. His brows furrowed, barely. He didn't even know you at first glance, only recognising you from your clothes, dolled out in glitter like a bad Regina George fashion trend.

“...What are you doing here?” His voice was gravel, slurred and slow, like he had to drag each syllable through his throat. Like his mouth couldn’t keep up with the rest of him. “You’re not supposed to—shit, go away.”

You didn't. Who would? Who could?

You chucked the manila folder of notes and handouts behind you, scattered across the carpet in the hall. Your heels clicked once—twice—as you stepped inside the bathroom and kicked them off so fast one hit the doorframe.

You would've whined usually, if anything happened to your precious shoes and outfit, but you couldn't care less. You were slipping on the tiled floor in your tights, hurriedly stepping in.

He was bleeding.

And you were the only one who gave a damn.

Your jacket soon followed, flung onto the counter before you even realized you were unzipping it. He looked alarmed, staggering back only to let more blood flow out of the cuts with the added pressure. Okay, maybe lunging at him out of panic wasn't the best approach, but what else could you expect a teenager to do?

“Rodrick,” you hissed, hands reaching for him, voice too high-pitched and breathless, “What the fuck—what the fuck are you doing?!”

“I’m fine,” he muttered, eyes rolling back as he tried to push her away with one limp hand, but his knees buckled, and you barely caught him before he hit the tiles. “Don’t touch me.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, something hot and ugly building in your throat; was it tears? Or rage or irritance? “Just—fuck—shut up!” Your hands trembled as they caught his bleeding forearm, flipping it gently over to see the damage. Your fingers hovered just above his skin, scared to touch him but even more terrified not to. “You’re not fine, you asshole—you’re fucking bleeding.”

Rodrick didn’t answer, with a slurred expression that said "No shit."

He didn’t need to say it.

Not when his body leaned heavily against the sink, head tilted down, breaths coming in shallow, embarrassed gasps like he was suddenly realizing how exposed he was. His skin felt cold—clammy—and you hated that you knew exactly how that felt. You'd been here before. Not in a bathroom with someone else, but in your own room, your own quiet hell that was ironic because your whole room was pink and covered in pop-band posters. It was so different to this, but it made the white lines on your legs throb.

Until now.

Now you were here, looking.

He turned slightly, just enough for the fluorescent light to catch the raw red slashes across his forearm. Still fresh. Still wet. His eyes were glassy, pupils blown too wide. Either high—or so out of it he still hasn't registered who you are and what you're doing.

And he looked so fucking tired.

“Come here,” you whispered, voice suddenly soft and shaking as you tried to guide him down to the closed toilet seat. You pulled paper towels from the holder with frantic, jerky movements, biting your tongue to keep it steady. “Let me—just let me help, okay? Please. Don’t be stubborn.”

His lips parted like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t.

And that scared you more than anything.

Rodrick Heffley, king of eye rolls and snide remarks, didn’t argue.

You swiped around the cuts, hands gentle and practised, the air too quiet now, too heavy with everything left unsaid. You pressed the clean cloths firmly against the bleeding gashes, and your eyes burned.

“God, you’re such an idiot,” You mumbled under her breath, voice breaking again.

"What'd I do—"

His voice sounded slow, hurt and it pissed you off. "Are you stupid?! Do you think I'm stupid, Rodrick?! What do you think you've done?"

It came off harsher than it should have and you realised after you'd said it; you had horrible communication skills.

Your voice cracked against the walls and in his ears, louder than you expected it to be. It echoed over the tense, suffocating silence between you, and for a moment, everything stood still—except for the blood running in slow trails down his forearm.

Rodrick flinched. Visibly. Like your words physically slapped him across the face.

His expression shifted instantly. From distant and dazed to bitter and defensive.

“Oh, of course, you’re not stupid,” he scoffed, attempting to pull away, his free hand clenching around itself in a tight fist... like it was the only thing keeping him upright. “Why would you be? You’re perfect. You’re everyone’s fucking favorite.”

You blinked, stunned by the venom in his tone, the way his voice twisted the word perfect like it burned his tongue to say it. Speechless. What do you even say to that?

He laughed under his breath, low and humourless, a sound that didn't belong on someone like him, a face like his... “Must be nice. Being the pretty little princess with straight A’s and clean wrists and people who actually give a shit.”

You look up at him from the floor, angry. So fucking angry but you can't speak.

"You—” he gestured vaguely at you with a slightly bloody finger, and it smeared against the underside of the sink with his clumsy motions—“don’t fucking get it. You’ve never had to lie about where you’ve been, why your hands are shaking, or why you can’t stop fucking up everything you touch!”

You stood up off the floor, finding the words but no less furious. “Don’t pull that edgy bullshit with me. What RIGHT did you have to say that? But I’m still alive. And so are you.”

His eyes widened, lips parting just slightly. Like maybe—for the first time—he wasn’t sure what to say. You both paused, looking at each other like some sort of stand-off. He wouldn't take you seriously, usually, especially in that outfit that looked like everything pink from Hillary Duff. But for some reason, whether it was the light or the fact he's had one too many blunts today, the pink dulled out and you looked furious.

He looked away, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled. His hands flexed at his sides. He was still bleeding.

And you couldn’t let him sit there and rot in it.

Not even as your knees hit the cold tile with a soft thud, your skirt bunching around your thighs and your palms stinging from the fall. You were right there, sitting on his bathroom floor, breath unsteady, heart in your throat.

The sink was still running, the water pink with diluted blood swirling down the drain. But it smelled stronger of bleach in that corner of the bathroom since you chucked whatever cleaning product you could find into it to get the blood off.

Rodrick just stared forward, jaw clenched like a vice, as you reached for his arm. You didn’t flinch, even though your hands were shaking. Even though your stomach flipped at the sight of the fresh gashes and the way his skin burned red around them.

“God,” you whispered, fumbling with the sleeve of your jacket to press against his arm. “You’re such a fucking idiot. Looks like someone ran a cheese grater across your arms.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here,” he snapped, voice rough and tight. But he did crack a slight smile at the comparison. But again—he didn’t move. Didn’t rip his arm away from your grip.

“You think I give a shit?” Your voice cracked, fingers pressing into the bandage as blood soaked through it. “You’re bleeding all over the place, Rodrick, and you’re still trying to act like none of this matters?”

He scoffed, looking down at you with tired, red eyes and an absolute shit-eating grin. “What, you think you’re saving me? Is that what this is? Poor little princess comes to fix the fuck-up? Do you think you'll get extra credit for this?”

“I’m not trying to save you, because I frankly don't fucking care,” you snapped, trembling as your hands worked, your breaths shaky and fast. “I’m trying to stop you from dying in a bathroom next to a blunt, in a stupid band tee because that's a stupid way to die!”

That shut him up.

For a second, the only sounds were the faucet still running, the wind rattling the windowpane as evening fell, and your ragged breathing.

You looked up at him, tears burning your waterline, fingers still pressing down on his arm as if keeping him here—on Earth—with you, even if the cuts weren't that bad. Your whole body was cold from the tiles, knees numb, lips chapped. But you didn’t care. Not when he looked like that. Pale and distant, like he’d already floated a few feet above his own body.

Rodrick’s mouth moved like he had something to say, but all that came out was a low, choked breath. Like the fight in him had cracked somewhere invisible, and all that anger was just a shield for the real thing underneath.

“No one can just ignore...that,” you whispered, referring to how you found him. “What was I meant to do?”

He let out a bitter laugh. He thought you were unusually nice. “You are annoying.”

You bit your lip to keep it from quivering. “I know.”

“I still hate you.”

“You’re allowed to.”

"Do you want me to?"

"I'd rather you did, actually."

The air did settle eventually with dry chuckles and crude insults—but barely.

It wasn’t calm, not really. Just a different kind of heavy. The kind that followed the storm of yelling and blood and shaking hands. The bathroom was still freezing. You could feel the tile digging into your knees, cold biting through the fabric of your skirt. Your jacket was ruined—streaked with red, crumpled on the floor beside you.

Rodrick joined you on the floor, sat against the side of the tub now, slouched low with his arm outstretched as you carefully swiped antiseptic over the cuts. It stung like hell, based on the way his jaw twitched, but he didn’t say anything. Just stared straight ahead, chest rising and falling like he was still coming down from something—rage, maybe. Or a high. Or both.

You kept your hand steady, even though your fingers were still trembling.

“I need to let this dry before I bandage it,” you muttered, voice quieter now. Worn out. “Otherwise it’ll trap the bacteria and—”

“I’m not a dumbass,” Rodrick cut in flatly.

You glanced at him, rolling your eyes and standing back up. “I never said you were.”

He looked at you then—really looked. His eyes were bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in two days, dark circles bruised beneath them. His hair was a mess, falling into his face. Blood stained his hoodie sleeve and the hem of his jeans. But even now, like this, he looked defiant. Angry.

Or maybe just ashamed.

You turned away, hastily busying yourself with scrubbing the sink to avoid looking too long. Well, that's when you really clocked that there was a joint on the window sill.

"Well, there goes any idea of letting some fresh air into here." You mumble, setting the rag down with a wet slap against the sink.

"Huh?" Rodrick perked up.

"It's suffocating in here. But as soon as I open that window, the smell of weed gets out, the neighbours know then we're busted." You cock one hip, staring at him.

Rodrick scoffed, furrowing his eyebrows and putting the implication of your words together, "Why the hell do you care if I get busted for some indo?"

"Because I'm in here too, dumbass." You pause, looking away like you were hiding something, "...I wouldn't tell. Then you know... everyone would find out about all this."

Rodrick doesn't reply, silently noting your consideration for him.

"Don't get funny ideas." You felt the need to clarify as your cheeks burned. Then, without turning to him, you asked, “Is that why your eyes are red though, or is that just the part where you almost passed out in front of me?”

He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Does it matter?”

You turned your head to look at him again, brows drawn tight. “Yeah. Kinda does.”

Rodrick rolled his head back against the bathtub, letting it thud lightly as he sighed. “It was just a hit,” he muttered. “Helps me stop thinking about… stuff.”

You sighed.

Rodrick glanced sideways, catching the expression you were trying not to show—disappointment maybe, or maybe just that hollow, too-familiar look. He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that face. You don’t know what it’s like.”

Your lips twitched. Not into a smile—god, no. But something colder. Something tired. “You think I don’t know what it’s like?”

He blinked at that. Like he hadn’t expected you to sound like that.

You wipe your hands on your skirt, half-heartedly since your fingers were already pruning up.

"The fuck does that mean? You know I'm stupid." Rodrick scoffs, staring at you in disbelief, like he's challenging you.

You froze.

The bandage in your hand suddenly felt like it weighed ten pounds. Like every heartbeat thudded directly in your palms. You stared at it for a second. Then let out a sharp sigh, your whole body tensing as you shoved the gauze roll into the sink cabinet with a dull thump.

“Fuck’s sake,” you muttered, rubbing your face with both hands.

Rodrick blinked at the sudden shift. “What?”

You didn’t answer at first. You just took a step back from him. Toward the mirror, where you could see your own reflection—frazzled, stained, still looking too perfect in all the wrong ways.

"Never planned on telling anyone."

Then Rodrick snorted lightly, like he couldn’t help himself. “Why the hell are you telling me, then?”

You let out a short breath—half-laugh, half-pain. “Because you’re bleeding in your bathroom sink, and I’m scared you’re gonna die.”

That shut him up. Again.

You didn’t look at him when you reached down to unzip your skirt. You just did it, stripping down to the sheer black tights clinging to your legs. And then, carefully—slowly—you hooked your fingers under the waistband and began to peel them down.

Rodrick sat up a little straighter. His eyes flicked down, brows furrowing in immediate confusion.

Because there they were.

Scars. Thin, faded, some pink, some darker. A few recent, irritated. And burns—scattered, angry little circles on your thighs. Like tiny ghosts of every time you'd lost focus, lost control. Like years of “accidents” that were never really accidents.

You stood there in your underwear, half-shivering, arms crossed over your stomach—but it wasn’t about modesty. It was about baring something else entirely.

"Um, yeah, it was like... punishment for myself, rather than trying to feel something."

He was flushed.

His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how to react—still sitting there against the tub, shirt stained with blood, but now watching you like you weren’t someone he knew at all. Like you’d just peeled back your skin and shown him something holy and fragile and fucked up all at once.

You just stood there, exposed, breathing in the antiseptic air and waiting for something—anything.

And then he finally spoke, voice hoarse:

“…You did that while studying and with your friends and stuff?”

You blinked, surprised. “Yeah.”

He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, eyes flicking back to your legs, then up to your face. “That’s like… really fucked up.”

You genuinely let out a loud laugh. “You think?”

You sat back down on the cold tiled floor with a sigh, pressing your skirt into your lap like it would make this any less awkward. It didn’t. The silence felt like a thick fog between you. Still wearing your blouse and nothing else on your legs, your thighs out and marked, your expression deadpan.

Rodrick shifted where he sat. His knee bumped yours. You didn’t move.

The antiseptic on his arms was drying now. The sharp, sterile scent was losing its sting.

“You ever think about just… ending it?” he asked suddenly. Voice low. Almost thoughtful. Like he was wondering what it’d sound like out loud.

You didn’t even flinch. “You mean like… before or after I force myself to study derivatives for three hours a night?”

Rodrick snorted. “Okay, damn.”

You looked down at the bandages. “But yeah. All the time.”

He blinked. Then muttered, “Cool, cool, that’s normal, right? Like, ‘Oh, I got a D-minus on a quiz, guess I’ll swan dive into traffic.’”

You coughed a laugh that was definitely more like a sob. “Or when you walk into your room and see a curling wand and just start thinking about not curling your hair.”

“Shit, that's out of the box...” he muttered under his breath, eyes widening slightly. “You win.”

“I’m not competing with you for most suicidal, dumbass,” you muttered, pressing your forehead to your knees for a second.

He nudged you lightly with his elbow. “Yeah, well. If I die first, you owe me a funeral playlist.”

You lifted your head. Stared at him, completely straight-faced, referring to his clothing style. “You want your funeral to sound like a Hot Topic in 2007?”

“Hell yeah.”

“…What the hell.”

Another silence passed. You fiddled with a loose string on your skirt.

He looked down at his arms again. The blood was dry now. Scabs already crusting where the antiseptic had done its job. But he still looked hollowed out, like the inside of him was somewhere a hundred miles from here.

Then he looked back at you. At your exposed thighs, marked and silent.

And finally, a question, quiet: “Why the legs?”

You shrugged, voice dry. “Because people don’t usually check there. My skirt covers it and no one really stares there... you know? My mom doesn’t do laundry.”

He nodded slowly, like that made awful, perfect sense. “Yeah. Yeah, I get that. Most people wouldn't risk getting called a pervert.”

A few more seconds of quiet.

You shifted, groaning as your back hit the tub with a thud, "Fuck, this floor is cold."

"Well, sorry, I don't really hold mental breakdowns in style." He retorts back, not even looking at you as you scowl.

This back and forth went on for a while. The silence is deafening in that too-bright bathroom—white tiles, beige towels, that fake marble countertop that looks like every white-family suburban house ever. You’re sitting on the edge of the tub now, arms wrapped around yourself because you’re still kind of in shock, Rodrick perched on the toilet lid with his head down, bandages hugging his forearms, still damp with antiseptic.

You glance over at him, unsure what the next move is, and your mouth twitches.

“This is so fucking weird,” you say, breathless with disbelief.

Rodrick looks up, eyes red—not from crying, but from the leftover high, lids half-lowered. “You think?”

“I was supposed to be doing chem homework,” you mutter, then laugh. Really laugh. Head tilting back, the kind of breathless laugh that borders on manic. “Now I’m half-naked in your bathroom and I’ve seen your blood and your scars and you’ve seen mine. Like. What the fuck.”

Rodrick snorts. “Kinda romantic.”

You throw a balled-up, bloody tissue at him.

There’s a pause again, but it’s not the tense kind anymore. It’s… weirdly peaceful. Intimate. Almost like after a storm, when the world’s gone still.

You glance at the tub, then at him. “Y’know what would wake you up faster than that blunt?”

“What?”

“A cold bath. Like chuck a few ice cubes from the freezer in there.”

His head whips toward you like you just said the most evil shit imaginable. “Are you outta your damn mind?”

You’re already standing up. “Maybe. But you’re the one who said it was romantic in here.”

“I take it back.”

“You’re such a baby,” you smirk, turning the blue faucet handle hard until the water blasts out, freezing cold. “C’mon. We’ll scream together.”

He watches, dumbfounded, then lets out a breathy chuckle that he tries to hide. But he doesn't protest, swinging the door open and making his way to nip downstairs. To the freezer.

And somehow—somehow—the night ends with both of you screaming out your frustration into the echoey walls of his bathroom as ice water pours over your heads, both shivering and alive and messy and laughing at god knows what, because for once… you’re not alone in the weird, horrible way your brain works. You swear at some point you tried to see how many ice cubes you could stack on Rodrick's usually-hidden forehead like a deck of cards.

Soaked through and shaking, your skirt on this time, tights tossed across the room like shed skin. Because skin was a running theme apparently, cutting off layers of shame in the same way you both cut layers of skin.

Eventually, you both down as you sit opposite each other in the tub. Dripping. Shivering. You’re in your bra and skirt, which is plastered to your thighs and basically translucent now. Rodrick’s shirt is half off his shoulder, hair dripping into his eyes, lips slightly blue. You’re pretty sure this is how people catch pneumonia.

And then—then—it hits you.

You slap the side of the tub. “Shit!”

Rodrick flinches, wide-eyed. “What?!”

“The maths notes.”

“What maths notes?”

“The reason I came here, dumbass!” You throw your hands up, looking around like the notes might still be floating somewhere in the air. “I was supposed to give you the equations for Thursday’s test! You think Mr. Beaumont’s gonna believe this as an excuse?!”

Rodrick blinks, then breaks into a cackle. “Oh my god. You still care about school right now?”

You glare. “Yes? Some of us have reputations to uphold?”

“You just showed me your scars and helped me bandage my arms, then dragged me into a cold bath in your bra,” he wheezes. “I think ‘reputation’ left the building twenty minutes ago.”

You slap your wet hand over your face. “I’m going to die.”

“You’re already in my bathroom. Half naked. In my tub. You’re basically already in hell.”

You throw one of the thicker ice cubes that didn't melt yet straight at him, and he yelps as it knocks him square between the eyes.

The two of you stare at each other for a second—then start laughing again. Breathless. Tired. Shaky. But real.

And when you two finally get out? The bathroom is quiet now—just the dripping of water from your clothes and the sharp sound of your own breathing filling the space. Cold tiles against bare feet. Clothes stuck to wet skin. Neither of you speak, not really knowing how to shift from whatever the fuck that just was into something resembling normalcy.

You keep your eyes glued to the wall tiles as you change, tracing the cracks in the grout like they matter, like they’re not just old and chipped but deliberate. You can hear him moving behind you—zipper, shuffle, that little groan he makes under his breath like putting on clothes is somehow a personal attack.

“I should ask when your parents are getting home,” you mutter, voice flat but testing the waters.

There's a pause. One that lasts too long.

Rodrick snorts. “Why? So you can rat me out like the perfect little fucking narc you are?”

You roll your eyes, still not turning around. “Jesus, I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t wanna get caught soaked and half-naked in your bathroom, dumbass.”

He doesn’t laugh. Not really. Just lets out this low, bitter chuckle like it scraped its way out of his chest.

You pull your skirt over your thighs, still damp and clinging. It’s awkward, weird, way too intimate for two people who still hate each other.

“I mean... they won’t be back till late.” He sounds far away. “Probably.” Then quieter: “Hopefully.”

Something about the way he says it makes you freeze. You turn your head slightly, eyes catching his reflection in the mirror. He’s tugging his shirt over his head, jaw clenched, eyes low. That same tension from earlier. Like he’s bracing for something.

You chew the inside of your cheek. “They hit you?”

The silence that answers you is enough. Not a yes. Not a no. Just silence.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, the word tumbling out before you can stop it.

“For what?”

“For... I dunno. Asking. Assuming. Existing.”

He huffs, then finally turns to look at you. His hair’s still wet, dripping onto the stained collar of his shirt, and his eyeliner’s smudged—not like he meant to wear it, but like it’s just always kind of there, from two days ago or something. He probably doesn't have his own eyeliner, much less make-up remover.

“My dad thinks hitting me builds character,” he says finally. “Greg just—Greg doesn’t care. He’s got his own shit. And Mom... Mom just makes casseroles like every white American mom ever and tells us to stop yelling. Classic fucking sitcom family.”

You swallow. The air in the bathroom feels thick. You sit back down on the edge of the tub, wet and miserable and weirdly heartbroken.

He leans against the door, arms crossed. “What about you? Gotta be exhausting. Must suck when people find out you’re actually... kinda fucked up too.”

You glance up at him. “It’s not a competition.”

“No, but I’m winning,” he smirks, and for a second you wanna throw the empty antiseptic bottle at his face.

But instead, you laugh. Just a little. Just enough for your chest to shake and your throat to loosen.

Rodrick looks at you like he doesn’t understand why he likes that sound so much.

You both sit there for a second—just two messed up kids with blood on their hands, wet socks, and secrets sticking to their ribs.

“Okay,” you say, standing up. “We need to get out of this house before I start trauma bonding and make out with you or something.”

He blinks, surprised. “You wish.”

You grab the math notes still crumpled outside the bathroom. “No, you wish, you loser. I’m still delivering these. Like the good little girl I am.”

Rodrick watches you leave, eyes on your back, your calves, the little limp from your cold feet in wet shoes.

He doesn’t say it—but he’s already thinking about the next time he’ll see you, even if he knows it's going to go back to seeing your dolly-curly hair bobbing in the corridors from afar... and nothing else. But at least he’s not dreading that fact anymore.

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♡ Please do not modify, steal, plagarise or post on other platforms without asking. Thank you! Please do leave requests!

[myalchod]

On the WoT Series Finale ...

Okay, now that I've had some time to mull over things, some (potentially incoherent) Thoughts on 3x08 ... well, specifically That Thing and some broader tropey stuff.

I get why people are upset -- I absolutely do, especially given that this show has made some rather unfortunate choices vis a vis optics. Colour-blind casting is wonderful, but it also means that you run the risk of accidentally (or subconsciously) falling into tropes you didn't necessarily think through. Valda and Fain are both examples -- the actors for both are utterly wonderful, but the two Most Problematic Whitecloaks being particularly dark-skinned definitely has Unfortunate Implications, especially contrasting Valda against avuncular, generally well-intentioned Geofram Bornhold. And there's a trend in this season in particular with PoC characters being the ones who die, especially in more unpleasant ways. Ihvon dying over Maksim. The White sister in Liandrin's cabal being the first to go (and to get absolutely smashed in the process). Ispan's death versus Nyomi's. Loial, generally.

At the same time, I get why there are deaths. The source material has eleventy billion characters; it was inevitable we'd see them, especially as the show goes forward and focusses more and more on the 'kids' without the need for established names to carry the show. It's even more inevitable as plotlines proliferate, and threads have to be tied back in and the show made to work within its constraints. I hate them -- I have a habit of picking out, as my favourites, characters who very often end up dead (or, if not, sidelined, but that's not important here). When I read the books, many years ago, Siuan was my unequivocal favourite from the moment she first showed up, and when I read the spoilers last night, insomniac and trying to convince myself to sleep and not watch, I was simultaneously shocked and not surprised.

So I went in knowing that Siuan was going to die, but I didn't know how they'd handle it. And it was heartbreaking. But thinking about it, in the aftermath, there's one thing in particular that I actually do like about the change, and that is how it makes her an active participant in the Tower's breaking. Not that she causes it -- that happens in both books and show -- but that she isn't silenced, stilled, bundled off into a cell, and then basically vanishes from the Tower. We see more of her mistakes play out on the screen, but in addition we see her try to make amends for them. "I am Aes Sedai" felt like a challenge as much as a proclamation -- a reminder of what the words mean, of what the Tower should be, at this time above and beyond any other. It felt like more agency than I remember her having in the books. (Could it have been done without her dying? Arguably yes. But if she was going to go out, and if they wanted to give Sophie a suitably dramatic moment to play, this was the best opportunity within her book arc. Could it have been done without such a violent -- if mercifully off-panel -- death? Again, arguably yes, but as someone pointed out on Bsky, it's a definitive shorthand for Actually Deceased in a show where anything short of death can be Healed, and even more than that if you're the Dark One, but that's another story.)

Would I have liked to see the show go a different way? Maybe. There was a lot of speculation floating around about ways show Siuan's storyline could go, especially in connection with Moiraine's book arc, and especially after Siuan and Mat's conversation I really warmed to the idea -- it would have been lovely to see more of their dynamic, and there were some very interesting ways that could have wound. My ultimate response depends a lot on how the rest of the show (which we hopefully get!) plays out. But there will always be things you wish a show did that it doesn't, and that's what things like fanfic are for. I've been disappointed many times, and this one hits me less hard than some, because even if I dislike it at first blush I can see how it makes narrative sense.

But again: I get it. I get that there are actor conflicts, and cost ramifications, and any one of a thousand things that might have precluded Sophie's continued involvement as a regular -- and if they followed book!Siuan's storyline, that would have probably warranted regular involvement. I get that there are issues with killing a woman, a character of colour, a lesbian in an onscreen relationship -- so many issues, taken in the context of an industry that is pretty awful to minorities of all sorts, and especially when it comes to SF/F. I'm not saying all of this to try to convince anyone one way or another, but mostly to kind of get my thoughts on the events of the finale worked out, when it's not what I expected.

Your feelings on this, whatever they are, are absolutely valid. If you walk away from the show, that's your prerogative -- goodness knows I've done that with shows in the past. If you choose to defend it or to adopt a wait-and-see attitude, those are equally justifiable. Everyone has to decide what their personal break point is with the media they engage with. I hope, if you do walk away, that you're able to keep whatever joy the show gave you; feeling like a piece of media you love has betrayed you is always painful. Personally, I hope we do get more of this show, and I'm willing to give them a chance. I haven't agreed with all of their choices, but overall I'm still enjoying it, and I'm definitely eager to see what comes next ... though not to wait two years for it, assuming it's a similar cadence.

(Anyway. I hope that was some measure of coherent in the end. But now I'm going to try to do something entirely different with regards to another character on this show, so I'll shut up instead of going on any further.)

[azaharinflames]

I saw your answer to the fanfiction anon about how the buddie fandom is all about isolating buck from everyone else until the only one that's left is eddie. And thinking back to most of the fanfics I've read, that is exactly what happens. Like the theory that if you isolate two roosters for long enough, at one point they are bound to mate. I believe one of the major reasons behind that is the fact that Buddie only works through the fandom lense but once you broaden your perspective though, you are left with a very ordinary relationship and everytime i see any post by a buddie fan, I have to really wonder if they have ever had friends because if you think that is romantic behaviour, then me and my best friend are practically soulmates bound through the ages (well, we are but not like that). which is probably why it's so hard for the GA - particularly people who are not used to how fandom sees things, to care about buddie. because believe it or not, most people have an eddie in their life. actually most people have someone better than eddie in their life but that is a discussion for another day. raising a kid? my mother's best friend has half raised me even though i have a full set of parents, to the extent that she is still the only one whose approval i need for academic decisions. doing chores? i used to do my best friend's dishes every week because she hated doing them. people thinking they are together? our professor in college genuinely thought we were together and this is back when homosexuality was illegal in my country. shipping is fun, it's cool to find meaning where there might be none. it is death of the author at its finest. but that doesn't mean that you get to burn the book and posit that your version is the only version that's real. be a fan, don't be a white colonizer.

Couldn't agree more, Nonnie!

It sounds bad, and it is not my intention to be mean, but it does feel like a lot of them either lack a deep friendship in their irl life, or they choose not to see the similarities. I spent hours on end next to one of my best friends, helping her with her enrollment in her Master's because it was confusing her. A friend called me when she had something bad happening to her because she felt like I could be the one giving her comfort. One of my best friends had his Dad go through a very bad health crisis, and I spent days by his side so he wouldn't be alone. And, newsflash, I'm not in love with any of them.

When it comes down to it, I think this is why I can't bring myself to ship Buddie anymore, not even in a casual way. It is what stopped me from shipping them that much initially (Tommy coming into our screens was just the nail in the coffin) - I'd read a fanfic, and then go and rewatch the series, and I would realise just 1. how different both things were (yet how it was almost an unsaid rule that fanon was the actual canon) and 2. That Buddie just wasn't there in the way that was pushed in the fandom. All the moments of jealousy they claimed happened? Didn't happen. Buck spending all of his free time with the Diaz boys? Didn't happen. Buck and Eddie being co-dependent to the point everyone teased them about it? Didn't happen.

Their friendship, even? Not even half as good or deep as the fanfics write it to be. But that's a whole other rant lol.

My point is, it's fine to have a world created in fanon. My OTP isn't canon, all of my works exist solely in fanon. And it's fine! But a line is crossed whenever they try to force fanon into canon, and harass everyone who refuses to do that.

Also - I really don't like how they make Buck this defenseless man-child that needs Eddie to fight his battles because everyone is so mean to him, and only Eddie can save him. Bffr. Buck lived on his own for years, was a nomad for years. He's been shown to have a temper if pushed and poked enough. His sunny outer persona distracts people from it, but honestly? Buck can fight his own battles perfectly fine on his own (and has, in fact, done exactly that for the entirety of the show).

[bedlamsbard]

i will say—the whole "reaction shot roundup" thing that post is mentioning also just comes off as...relatively bad cinema. like, something you could make work if you were GOOD at it, but also something that a lot of people attempt to do without a lot of skill when they have too many cast members to effectively balance. YOU, on the other hand, do write in a cinematic fashion but you are so fucking good at it. the way you paint pictures in scenes and the way you build and release tension is just pitch perfect. it's tv/movie magic translated into a different medium at its finest

Aw, thank you. I mean, part of my reaction was definitely the bog-standard "this person is saying a thing that I COULD relate to so DOES it relate to me?" which I'm as susceptible to as the next "I am uncomfortable when we are not about me?" birb.

but also I genuinely think that this writer is talking about several different (though related) things and falling back on "it's television's fault!!!" instead of actually like. thinking about them. now I don't know what's going on in creative writing classrooms, I'm a history teacher (though I'm teaching 'how to write research papers' this semester and next semester), but I think these are just...normal "how to write fiction" problems. like the fact that OP isn't using any actual examples from published fiction makes it just sound like they have just noticed something so therefore it's A Problem And Those Darn Televisions And/Or Video Games Are At Fault.

there are very, very good pro writers who are very visual and very cinematic in multiple ways, which is not just about balancing reaction shots or pacing or stunning visuals. John Jackson Miller, who writes primarily tie-in novels, is really good at it. part of that is because he's also a comics writer, so he's used to thinking about things visually and how that translates to prose. (I know everyone thinks about Kenobi and A New Dawn with JJM, but the Knight Errant book and comics are interesting because he did both prose and comics for the same character. Also if you like JJM's stuff, go read his "behind the scenes," there's stuff he said about writing the KOTOR comics that I think about to this day.) Martha Wells is also great at it, so is S.M. Stirling; so are many others, those are just the first three that come to mind because I think they're three of the most visual writers I read regularly. And all three are tie-in writers and very good tie-in writers and good tie-in writers, like good fic writers, have to think about translating between media. (One sign of a bad tie-in writer -- who may otherwise be a very good writer -- is that they struggle with translating between media. Tie-ins are a very specific genre and even medium which I think many people don't realize until you read a terrible Star Wars novel written by an author who writes really great non-IP novels and then can't figure out why it feels Wrong.)

I do think writers (and readers and viewers) should think about how to translate something that's natural in one medium (film, video games, prose, comics, whatever) to another medium, because it's not as straightforward as "you just can't do it because they're different media." You can! You may have to think about it differently, but you can still do it! Some of the best writing advice I've ever read has not come from prose writing, it's come from comics writers about writing comics. Depending on your genre or your medium, advice for writing novels may not apply -- I don't structure my fanfic the way I would structure a novel, because I write serial fiction. My scene beats and chapter breaks are not necessarily translatable to a novel, because that's not what I'm writing and that's not how I expect people to read it. (I mean, for one, if I was writing novels, I would not be writing 10K chapters, because for a novel, that's insane.)

anyway, that was about like. six different vaguely related things, the tl;dr of which is something I don't usually say but which comes down to "perhaps OP, as a creative writing instructor, should think about what they're doing in THEIR classroom instead of blaming the television." (this is based on the whole article and not just that bit that's excerpted.)

[saiilorstars]

Chapter 11: Let's Make a Deal

TVD ||  Enzo x OFC

Story Masterlist | Rosalie’s Masterlist

Also on: Fanfic • Ao3 • Wattpad

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag@arrthurpendragon@transformerfan97@stareyedplanet @foxesandmagic@kmc1989  @castielscaplan

‿︵‿︵‿୨🥀 ୧‿︵‿︵🥀 ୧‿︵‿‿︵‿୨🥀 ୧‿︵‿︵‿

The voicemails piled up within hours.

First, it was Stefan. Then it was Caroline — a lot. Rosalie's phone wouldn't stop buzzing. She hadn't brought her charger when she ran off and struck a deal with the Travelers, which meant that she would only have to deal with the phone until the battery died. But that very quickly ended and decided to turn the phone off completely.

She just couldn't face them.

She kept replaying what Elena told her and was terrified of what the others would think of her. More than that, she was scared that Elena was right and that she was more of a cargo than an actual friend to everyone. Ever since she had officially started her new life, everyone had taken it upon themselves to take care of her. They were kind about it and, truthfully, very helpful, but that shouldn't be her life. It wasn't the way her life should look like.

Nobody should be babysitting her.

Nobody should be over-coddling and protecting her from everything.

She was guilty of letting it happen. The idea of having friends again was a novelty for her and she liked the attention. She liked Stefan, she liked Caroline and Bonnie and Jeremy and Matt and hell…even Damon. They reminded her of her old friends. They were funny and chaotic and so good for her. Yes, they had about a million problems but it made each day that much more interesting.

But no more.

Elena was right.

She was a headache to them and it wasn't fair. She was the one who wanted to come back to life. She was the one who wanted to live a new life. Her new life should depend solely on her. She should be figuring stuff out on her own.

Like right now.

She made the decision to help the Travelers so now she would get herself out of it. At the very least, she should be able to figure out a way to stop them. And then after that, she would start to seriously thinking about her future. She was 21 for God's sake — again — and she had to start acting like it.

She was still human though and very outnumbered in her current situation.

From the moment they took her from the farmhouse, she was shuffled from one spot to another being interrogated about her knowledge. There was no time for rest between all of their plans.

Rosalie groaned and passed her hands over her forehead and then hair. "No, you are not listening to me! I actually think that you might have some hearing problems because it seems like everything I told you just went through one ear and out the other!"

In the span of two days, Rosalie also learned that, yes, she could hate someone else besides Silas. Her name even started with an 'S' too. Sloan.

Sloan was the pseudo leader of the Travelers for the moment and she was relentless…and deaf.

"Do you not understand everything I've told you?" Rosalie dropped her hands on her side. "What you want to do is insanity! You can't…" she was cautious to lower her voice, "You can't bring him back. He's on the Other Side. Has been for over 2000 years. Do you know how much power it would take to bring him back?"

"You did it," Sloan remarked, gesturing at Rosalie, "And you seem perfectly fine."

"There were several differences between me and Markos. First, I am the creator of the Other Side. Second of all, at the time we escaped, the Anchor was still an immortal being. The new anchor is a-a half ghost and half human being now. The Other Side is tied to Bonnie Bennett and if anything happens to her, you risk bringing back every supernatural being that has ever died!"

Sloan remained unfazed by what Rosalie was saying. It was evening and Rosalie was exhausted from an all day traveling route. She sank down in an old rusty chair; the room wasn't even a room, it was a stockyard and they were inside one of the cargo boxes.

"That's why you're here," Sloan came up behind the chair Rosalie sat in and grabbed the witch by the shoulders. Rosalie stiffened with her gripping fingers. "If you care so much about the Other Side, then you'll help us at no cost."

"Oh, please," scoffed Rosalie, "Like you were actually going to pay me at all. Look," she glanced over her shoulder, "believe it or not, I am sorry for what was done to the Travelers."

"You should be," said Sloan darkly. "It was your fault, after all."

Rosalie resisted the urge to snap. She needed to get the bigger picture across. "I would gladly help you try to undo the curse that was placed on the Travelers. I can swear to you right now that I'd happily work with you but to bring Markos back? That's not gonna end well. First of all, he hates me."

"Unfortunately for you, that's not really our concern," Sloan said, giving Rosalie's shoulders a gentle pat then moving around the chair to face the girl. "You're the direct link of your family. You're exactly what we need to bring Markos back."

"I don't have any magic," Rosalie argued, but Sloan scoffed.

"We both know that's not true. The Travelers know exactly what you and your little flock of weirdos are. Your story has been passed down from generation to generation. We know the truth. How you ran from your coven, you and the other 5 witches born under the red moon. All of you had magic, little of it, but enough to get you by at the time."

Rosalie glowered at the woman.

Sloan smiled confidently. "I'll let you think about your predicament and we'll pick this up tomorrow morning."

"What?" Rosalie watched Sloan leave the cart oh-so casually. "What does that even mean!?"

"Sleep tight!" Sloan called.

Fat chance, Rosalie bitterly thought. It was freezing outside and none of the Travelers had bothered to give her something more warm to wear. What she ran off with is what she was wearing.

She spent the night not sleeping but instead going round and round with different thoughts. At one point, she turned her phone back on and was immediately flooded with missed calls, voicemails and texts. She only saw the senders' names, not daring to answer or give a call back.

"And honestly, did you think nobody would ever get tired of babysitting you?"

Rosalie closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. How annoyed must everyone been this whole time? She should have never left the cabin. She should have started making her own way.

Well, the Travelers certainly weren't babysitting her. She was hungry and cold and very much alone. But nobody was babysitting her anymore.

Early in the morning, Sloan returned to the train cart and greeted Rosalie good morning. "Here," she offered Rosalie a snack bar.

Rosalie had no idea what a protein bar was but her stomach was growling. "If you're not gonna let me go, you should at least let me get some real food," she said and sat down on the edge of the train cart, her legs dangling below. She pulled the wrapper off and took a big bite. "Nobody can use me if I'm dead."

"We'll be moving by tomorrow morning," Sloan said, bringing her hands on her hips, "What with us having to be constantly on the move, right?"

Rosalie deadpanned the woman while she finished swallowing.

"Today we're going to start working on our actual goal. We have a to-do list."

"Mm," Rosalie took another bite of her bar, "And where do I fit in besides being your sacrificial lamb?"

"You'll have multiple roles. The most important part right now is that we need the doppelgangers' blood."

"Which you already took," Rosalie said, said in-between chews, "Like two buckets, from what Stefan and Elena said."

"Well, turns out it's useless if we don't make sure there aren't more doppelgangers out there."

"Well, there isn't," Rosalie shrugged. "Katherine Pierce is dead, Amara's dead — thank God — and Silas is gone forever. Check and check."

"We thought so too," Sloan said with a sour smile, giving Rosalie the implication that whatever she was going to say wasn't a lie. "Until we tried using the blood and it didn't work."

"Wait, what?" Rosalie tilted her head. "Are you telling me there's more doppelgangers out there? H-how is that possible? Elena's—"

"The Petrova doppelganger. She's all accounted for…"

Rosalie's eyebrows knitted together while Sloan's words digested. "Wait…" she shook her head, "Are you…are you telling me there's another doppelganger of Stefan?"

"Technically it'd be Silas' doppelganger—"

"Except he can burn in hell so we're calling it Stefan's doppelganger. Is there another one?" Rosalie left her almost finished protein bar on the ground of the cart and hopped off to face Sloan. "Is there actually another of Stefan's doppelgangers living and breathing right now?"

Sloan nodded. "There has to be, otherwise the blood we collected would've worked."

"What do you even want with their blood anyways?"

"That's an answer for another moment. What's important right now is finding that other doppelganger and we can't do that until we have Stefan Salvatore here."

Rosalie scoffed and laughed. "Yeah, that's never gonna happen. He'd never help you and I don't blame him."

"Oh, trust me, he'll want to help," Sloan said rather confidently which left Rosalie suspicious and wary.

"What did you do?"

"According to our brothers and sisters in Mystic Falls, Elena Gilbert has been given the ripper virus injection, same as Damon Salvatore except this one is lethal."

"What?" Rosalie's eyes widened. "When did that happen!? And what do you mean it's lethal?"

"Wes created a variant of the virus using werewolf venom and it's currently killing Elena."

"Oh my God…well…we have to figure out how to fix her — I—"

Sloan chuckled. "Don't worry, we already have. Or, rather, Wes did…before he was killed."

"He's dead?" Rosalie gawked. The surprise wore off quickly, however. "Well, serves him right for everything he did. So…there's an antidote? He made one? I thought the whole point was to make it so that nobody could fix his virus."

"We took his work and engineered the cures," Sloan explained. "So you see? Stefan will come, but we'll need you to ask."

"Me? N-n-n-n-no," Rosalie shook her head. "I can't do that. I'm, uh, trying to sort of avoid them…"

"Aw," Sloan feigned a pout, "Well now you'll sort of have to not avoid them…unless you want Elena to die, of course."

Rosalie rubbed her forehead. "No, I…of course that's not what I want…" As bad as things had gotten between her and Elena, she would never willingly let Elena die. She dragged her hands down her face and groaned. "I hate this! And I hate you!" She pointed at Sloan. "Because you haven't listened to a word I've said since we met!"

"Oh dear God," groaned Sloan, "Enough! You said you would help us and now you're stuck with us!"

"I only did it so you wouldn't let one of my friends get murdered for some weird experiment a delusional madman was conducting!"

"Then you should thank us because we kept our end of the bargain. Now it's time to get to work."

"I don't even know how to get Stefan here! My phone's out of battery!" Rosalie flapped an arm back at the train cart where she'd left her phone. "I haven't talked to anyone in two days so it's gonna be a little hard."

"That's why we brought you some back up so get to it!"

"What back up?" Rosalie demanded angrily. She didn't trust a single Traveler not to kill her just for an ounce more of power for their stupid resurrection spell.

"I suppose that'd be me…" Enzo appeared out of nowhere.

Rosalie's eyes widened as she gasped. "Oh my God, you're okay!" She rushed towards him on an instinct and skidded to a stop in front of him. "You're fine!" She said with absolute relief. "You're — they didn't tell me anything!" She threw a dirty look back at Sloan. "For the past days, she's been my only companion and that's enough to make anyone go mad!"

Sloan gave a roll of her eyes. "Enzo is gonna make sure that you get that doppelganger here…or else Elena Gilbert dies."

"Wait, what?" Rosalie scrunched her face and looked at Enzo, confused. "You're working with the Travelers?"

"It's a long story," he replied, "Why don't we take a moment before we hit the road?"

Rosalie looked back at Sloan suspiciously. The Traveler offered her one smug smile and took off, warning them that they had better be on the road in the next half hour.

"You shouldn't be working with them," Rosalie said to Enzo almost immediately when they were alone.

"Ah, but you're working with them," he countered and curled a hand around her arm. He turned with her and walked towards the train cart.

Rosalie scoffed. "Yeah, but I actually know the Travelers. I lived with their ancestors and trust me, they're a lot more vengeful after 2 millenia."

"So you willingly walked into a pact with them—"

"To help you! Did you forget the part where Damon was about to kill you?"

"How could I forget?" Enzo rubbed the side of his neck where Damon had bit him. "But the question stands, what do the Travelers want from you now?"

"Our history is intended to become the future," Rosalie replied. She hopped into the cart and sat down. "The Travelers are witches who were cursed by, erm…some witches 2000 years ago...and one of those witches killed the Travelers' leader, Markos…who I also used to know. Now the Travelers really want to bring Markos back."

"And you're going to actually help them?"

"Don't really have much of a choice. I made a deal so now answer me, what are you still doing here? With them?"

"I wasn't with the Travelers when I left. Wes needed one more thing from me. I let him experiment on me."

"You did what!?" Rosalie practically screeched. Enzo almost laughed at her horrified reaction. "After everything, you let the guy touch you again!?"

"There was something good out of it, trust me," he smiled.

"Oh, like what?"

"The antidotes to the ripper virus, for one…"

Rosalie paused. "For real?"

Enzo nodded. "The Travelers took it, of course, and they're not exactly keen on sharing it with me until we bring them Stefan."

"So there's no other choice? We have to bring Stefan…" Rosalie heaved a long sigh and threw her head back.

"Sensing some heavy reluctance…" Enzo tilted his head at her, "You know, I've been thinking about something ever since we left the farmhouse…"

"Hopefully your life choices?"

"Why did you show up on your own? From what I've seen, it doesn't look like Stefan lets you out of his sight. And yet that evening, you showed up all by yourself

"I told you. Elena blackmailed me because of you—"

"Ah," Enzo raised a finger at her. "You called me first."

"I texted you, which is completely different and not the point here! Besides, you gave me your number first! Anyways, Elena blackmailed me, period."

"Yes, but, from what I gathered, you weren't travelling just with Elena. And from what Damon told me, you have a new best friend by the name of Caroline, I believe?"

Rosalie groaned and slid off the cart. "I'm not doing this! Let's just go get Stefan already and hope that he doesn't automatically kill you on sight."

"Why don't you just call him then? Save us the trip?"

"Phone's out of battery!" Rosalie reached inside the cart and pulled out her phone that was pitch black on the screen. "So let's just hope he's in a talking mood."

"Or maybe we could try a different avenue?"

"Yeah, like what?"

~ 0 ~

Even before they entered the abandoned building, Enzo said he heard noise coming from upstairs. Someone was already at Wes' old lab, no doubt searching for the antidotes. As much as Rosalie wanted to know who it was, Enzo swore he didn't recognize the scent.

Caroline stopped Wes' recording midway when she felt their presence behind them, specifically Rosalie's scent. "Rose!" she whirled around with wide eyes and an undeniable relief on her face.

Rosalie gulped nervously.

"Oh my goodness! You're okay!" Caroline took two steps forwards before she saw Enzo standing behind Rosalie and scowled. "Who the hell are you!?" She didn't think twice and zipped forward, bringing Rosalie away from him.

"So werewolves are real? I always thought that was, you know, a joke…" Enzo said distractedly, not quite phased by the heavy glare on Caroline's face.

"Oh, they're very real," Rosalie said wearily, "Even got a frikin original hybrid running around here. Well, not here-here but you know what I mean. Caroline, stop glaring, your face is gonna stay stuck like that."

But Caroline could do no such thing. "Who the hell are you?" she demanded again.

"I'm Enzo. .." He was enjoying every minute of Caroline's hostility.

Recognition flashed across Caroline's face, only making things worse. "Ah, the Enzo…"

"No…the other one."

Rosalie deadpanned him and his smirking face. "You're not funny. And Caroline, for the love of God, stop glaring!"

"I can't help it!" Caroline exclaimed. "Where've you been, Rosie!? We've been calling and calling and —" she rounded on Enzo angrily, "You took her!"

"Caroline, chill!" Rosalie exclaimed.

"Yeah, what she said," Enzo said calmly. "I didn't tell her to go anywhere, much less with the Travelers. That was all on her own." His eyes then flickered to Rosalie. "But that was still a God awful choice."

Rosalie groaned. "Shush!"

Caroline scoffed in Enzo's face, not believing him for one second. "Yeah, right! I know all about you!"

"Really? I'm flattered," Enzo smirked.

"Enzo," Rosalie sighed.

"You know what? I don't have time for this," Caroline decided and turned away from Enzo, making her way back to the shelves of vials. "I am on a mission and when I find the antidote, Rosie and I are out of here."

"Caroline, I'm not going back," Rosalie's words stopped Caroline in her search. The blonde looked at her like she just said the craziest thing. "But we're here to help. We know about the virus and we also have the antidotes."

"What? Seriously? Oh my God!" Caroline said gleefully.

"Ah, correction," Enzo raised a finger, "We" — he pointed at Rosalie then himself — "don't have the antidotes. But we know the people who do."

Caroline's face dropped and she immediately looked at Rosalie for help. "What is he talking about?"

"The Travelers have the antidotes for both Elena and Damon but they're not willing to hand it over unless Stefan agrees to meet with them."

"And we're supposed to trust them?" Caroline frowned and subtly glanced at Enzo. "And him?"

"Hey, I'm here for the same reason you are," Enzo said, "I want this vampire-feeding virus out of our lives. I got the nasty end of that side a few nights ago."

"Why?" scoffed Caroline. "You want your killing buddy back? Is killing innocent people not as much fun when you're alone?"

"Right. Damon mentioned you get a little judgy. Then again…he also said you had a thing for accents."

Caroline gasped incredulously; Rosalie wasn't able to hide her snicker in time. Caroline whacked her on the side.

"Don't laugh! Wasn't it you who said 'why do they always help?'"

"Well now hey!" Rosalie cried, offended, "Why do you have to drag me into this!? We're all on the same side so let's just work together nicely and without snapping necks, alright? Caroline, call Stefan and tell him he needs to come."

"But I don't understand. Why are you working with them? Why are you here with him—?"

"Caroline, just do it!"

Begrudgingly, Caroline stopped arguing and pulled her phone out. "We are not done with this conversation," she warned Rosalie before dialing.

Stefan's voice came from the other line within seconds and Caroline put him on speaker for Rosalie to hear. "Hello?"

"Bad news…" Caroline considered her words as best as possible, "It's not the same virus."

"What is it?"

"Dr. Creepenstein was working on the next phase of the virus. When Nadia was sick, he was experimenting on her blood and he figured out a way to extract werewolf venom from her blood and put it in the virus."

"Wait.. what do you mean "werewolf venom?" That means it's fatal…"

"Hello! You don't think I would just drop this on you without a silver lining! There's an antidote," Caroline said, "It just requires you to come meet the Travelers."

"The Travelers?" Stefan said incredulously. "You're joking, right?"

"I wish I was…" Caroline said, staring at Rosalie, "But I have it on good authority that they have the antidotes and they're willing to make a deal."

"No, I don't trust them," said Stefan. "Damom said they took Rosalie."

Rosalie grabbed the phone from Caroline and spoke up. "They didn't take me, Stefan, I made my own deal. I can't get the antidotes from them. They want to see you first."

"Rosalie!? Where the hell have you been!?" Stefan exclaimed. "We've been calling you like mad. Listen, there's something you have to know about what Elena said — well, not her but—"

"We're gonna text you the address and we'll meet you there," Rosalie said shortly and handed the phone back to Caroline.

Caroline (and Stefan) were all but dumbfounded by Rosalie's attitude. In the end, Caroline did as Rosalie had said and texted Stefan the address of where the Travelers would be waiting.

"Rosie, maybe we can get there together?" Caroline asked hopefully, but Rosalie shook her head.

"Thanks, but I'll just head back with Enzo." Rosalie left the room without another word, nor glance.

Enzo gave a wave of his hand to Caroline, irritating the woman with his smug smile as he followed after Rosalie.

~0~

Caroline was the first to see Stefan arrive at the stockyard. They were both equally anxious given the situation and hurried together towards the others.

"Rosalie, hey!" Stefan spotted the witch a few feet ahead of them and was relieved to see her okay. Rosalie too was happy to see him alright when he came to hug her. "Hey, you're freezing!" He pulled away and glared over her head at Enzo. "What, you couldn't give her anything!?"

"I'm curious, is everything going to be pinned on me today or what?" Enzo said. "I haven't seen her in days either, mate."

Rosalie sighed and told them both to shut up. "I'm fine," she reiterated to Stefan. "Thanks for coming. I tried to get the Travelers to just send the antidotes but they wouldn't budge."

"Yeah, what are you even doing with them anyways? Here, of all places?" Stefan could see their breaths in the chilly air and yet the only mortal with them was the one without a jacket.

"It's not important—"

"I think it is considering you've been ignoring all of us. We know about Elena and what she said to you—"

"I don't want to talk about that," Rosalie turned away quickly.

"Yeah, but we do!" Stefan turned her back. Caroline came up beside them insisting on the same thing. "What happened wasn't the way you thought it did."

Rosalie pushed their hands off her and stepped back a few steps. "I said I don't want to talk about it!"

"But Rose—"

"No!" she cried. "Sloan, get out here already! I know you people love to lurk so come on out!"

True to her words, Travelers started coming out of everywhere. Caroline and Stefan looked around as they slowly became surrounded by Travelers.

"Welcome," Sloan came forward with a polite smile on her face. "As you heard, I'm Sloan. You met some of the travelers when they were taking a bucket of your blood."

"Oh yeah…" Stefan smiled sourly, "How could I forget? So, Rosalie says you have the antidote to the ripper virus?"

Sloan nodded. "We do, thanks to Enzo."

"See? I told you not everything was my fault," Enzo shot Stefan a smug smile. He pretended like Caroline hadn't scoffed so loudly at him. "I was trapped in that bloody farmhouse with Damon, set to have my head ripped off, when out of nowhere, Wes showed up with the Travelers."

"Mm, right," Caroline crossed her arms, "that's where Rosie ran off with them. Sounds like your fault again."

"Caroline," sighed Rosalie. "They were going to let Damon kill him. He did you guys a solid."

Caroline scoffed again, looking away from the two.

"Wes was running low on vampires and he needed one to continue his work, so I let him experiment on me," Enzo said flatly. "Among other things, it allowed him to make an antidote."

"See? After 60 years of that crap…" Rosalie stopped for a moment as doubt struck her and she glanced back at Enzo questioningly. "Sixty?"

"Closer to 70," he said flatly, the ire of said period very much still raw.

"See? Like 70 years and he went back and now we have the antidote!"

"Stop agreeing with him!" Caroline exclaimed.

"I'm literally pointing out facts!"

"Enough," Sloan cut in, rolling her eyes with disinterest. "The point here is that We took the antidotes when Wes died. And seeing as Elena is valuable to us, we're in the process of using Wes' resources to find a cure for her virus as well."

"Alright. Fine," Stefan said, "When will it be done?"

"First, we have to find something."

"Okay. What do you need?"

"Another one of you."

Stefan's first instinct was to chuckle. Seeing Rosalie's devoid face helped him pause. "Hold on, hold on, what do you mean, there's another one of me out there?"

"You never stopped to think there might be another doppelgänger running around?" asked Enzo. "Clearly, you don't know your traveler lore."

Caroline laughed condescendingly. "I'm sorry, and you do?"

Enzo didn't outright answer but his gaze flickered to Rosalie in front of him, leading Caroline to sharply stare at Rosalie.

"It was a long car ride!" she said defensively.

"Can someone just explain this already?" Stefan said impatiently. Every minute they wasted talking about car rides was another minute that Elena went crazy.

"You're a doppelganger, Stefan, which means that almost every aspect of you is special in the supernatural world," explained Rosalie. "That includes your blood and right now that's what the Travelers want to make useful. They recently discovered that it wasn't."

"From the buckets they took from us…" Stefan understood.

"Yeah," nodded Rosalie. "The thing is…the Travelers won't stop till they get your blood to work. Markos wants it."

"Markos?"

"He's, uh, the leader of the Travelers." Rosalie muttered. "I knew him in my time."

"Alright, so what then? You do a locator spell until you find this guy and then you kill him? That's the idea?"

"It's more of a linking spell," Sloan corrected him.

"Uuh, the last time witches linked me to my doppelgänger, my brain was fried and I lost my memory!" Stefan looked directly at Rosalie for some help.

"If it's any consolation, I won't help this time," Rosalie put her hands behind her back.

"You know that's not what I meant," Stefan gave her a look. She shouldn't be here, period. It had nothing to do with her skills as a witch.

"Can we please just have a moment?" Caroline interjected, making it clear that the 'moment' in question was between them and Rosalie.

Sloan got the gist and looked at the witch beside her. "If you want your answers, you'll get them to accept the nice way." Further behind her, she sent the same warning to Enzo. "One way or another, the Travelers are getting the doppelgangers blood to work."

~0~

Between Stefan and Caroline, Rosalie was dragged away from the Travelers for a moment and without lifting much of a finger.

"This is a waste of time!" Rosalie exclaimed incredulously. "Your brother and friend are on the brink of death!"

"Oh, Damon's doing fine chained up in the basement," Stefan said, and at Rosalie's surprised look, Caroline scoffed.

"Yeah, you missed a lot!" she stepped forwards to whack Rosalie's arm. "That's what happens when you bail on us! What the heck, Rosie! We were worried sick about you! And put a sweater on already!" She started pulling off her burgundy coat to give to Rosalie.

"Caroline, stop it!" Rosalie backtracked a few steps from the two. "I bailed without a thicker sweater so let me deal with the consequences! Just let me deal with the consequences of my life choices! Gah!"

Stefan lifted an eyebrow at her. "Let you deal with the consequences of your life choices?" Rosalie looked away from him. "Okay, we need to talk for real."

"I already said I don't want to talk about it."

"Well tough because it's important," Caroline said. "We know what Elena did — or what you think Elena did…"

Rosalie scoffed lightly. "I know she's your friend Caroline and you have every right to defend her, but I really don't want to hear it."

"What Elena did to you — it was out of line," Stefan said sternly. "Blackmailing you, making you feel bad about yourself…it was all very…unusual for Elena, wasn't it? Something you'd never expect from her, right?".

Rosalie shrugged. "It's been in my experience that the people you trust most are the ones who turn on you in the worst way."

Stefan nodded, feeling that sentiment to his core. "You have no idea how much I get that. I'm sorry you had to go through that but it wasn't Elena who did all that stuff. It was Katherine."

Rosalie's eyes flickered to Stefan and her first instinct was to scoff. "Katherine? Seriously? She died, Stefan."

"Yeah," Caroline said grimly. "And she passed herself into Elena's body when we weren't looking. And then for the next 3 weeks, she impersonated Elena in every aspect."

Rosalie stared at the two for the longest time, her brain working to connect the dots she abandoned a while ago. She had mentioned several times that something was off with Elena but nobody ever paid attention. If Katherine Pierce was in control of Elena's body then it made sense that she would hate her. She refused Katherine a longer life.

Katherine was Elena…

Fury crossed Rosalie's face as everything began to make sense. "That brilliant bitch!"

Caroline laughed on the spot. She'd never heard Rosalie curse so blatantly.

"Katherine, she—she told me all this awful stuff and then threatened to tell you about—"

"That you had Enzo on speed dial? Yeah, we know," Caroline crossed her arms. "And we will be discussing that when we go back to Mystic Falls but for now, we just need you to know the truth."

"Katherine's dead, for real now," Stefan informed her. "We used the Traveler's blade."

"Good riddance," muttered Rosalie. "I hate her."

"Trust me, we do too," Caroline nodded. "Elena's infected because of her."

"Which means you have to do what the Travelers want," Rosalie apologized beforehand for all the pain.

"It's fine, I can handle it," Stefan assured her. "I just need to know that the antidotes will be going to Elena and Damon."

"I'll make sure of it," promised Rosalie. "But I do have to tell you that I can't go back to Mystic Falls with you."

"What? Why not?" Caroline smiled, confused. "We just told you that it wasn't Elena who said all that stuff. She feels horrible, by the way."

"I'm sure she does, but look…as awful as those things were, Katherine wasn't wrong. You do babysit me." And to make her point, Rosalie gestured to the coat still hanging over Caroline's arm that she intended on handing over. "Ever since I came to live with you guys, you've taken care of me — over-cared for me — and I shouldn't have let that happen."

"We don't — we don't do that!" Caroline was even more confused by what she was hearing. "We just want to help you adjust to the new world! Two thousand years is a lot of time and we just want you to be safe."

"And I appreciate that, I do, but you can't do that my whole life," Rosalie said. "I'm mortal again which means that I'm going to age and I'm going to die and I want to know that I lived my life this time. I want to make my choices and make mistakes and learn…" She chuckled. "That is the best part about coming to life again. I get to learn new things and live them. But you guys…I mean…Stefan won't even let me go out to the Mystic Grill on my own."

Stefan gazed at her silently but attentively listening to her every word. Next to him, Caroline was still having trouble accepting the truth.

"Rosalie, we're your friends, we look out for each other."

"You don't do that to Bonnie," countered Rosalie. "You don't do it to Matt either. I like knowing that people actually care for me but I can't go back knowing that you're going to be behind my every step. Katherine had a point and I can't deny it anymore."

"You're being reasonable and I respect your honesty," Stefan said, "But you have to understand that we couldn't just let you go out without knowing anything either. It's dangerous."

"I know," nodded Rosalie. "And trust me, I know danger too. I know where I stand and I'm sorry that you got dragged into this doppelganger mess again."

"It's a good thing we have a witch we can trust," Stefan gave her a little smile that thankfully got her to give one back. "I'll do what the Travelers want, just make sure Elena and Damon—"

"I will. I promise."

~0~

Rosalie was the one to lead Stefan and Caroline back to the Travelers. Sloan was waiting for them and wasted no time when she saw them approaching.

"That's for you, sit," she pointed Stefan to an old chair positioned in the middle of the Travelers.

Stefan didn't move an inch from his spot just yet. "Where are the antidotes?"

"You'll get it when we're done."

"No. You'll hand them over right now. I'm here…I'm doing everything you want me to."

"I'll take them," Enzo cut in before it turned into a senseless argument. "I'll make sure the appropriate parties get them." One of the travelers came up behind him and handed him the serums. "If you don't trust me, someone's welcome to join."

The jab went to Stefan and Caroline of course and neither resisted the urge to roll their eyes at him.

"We trust you," Rosalie spoke up and sent him on his way.

"That 'we' is a very loose term…" she heard Caroline mumble beside her.

Sloan once again motioned Stefan to take a seat. This time, Stefan obliged and walked towards them. Caroline startled at the heavy blade Sloan pulled out.

"Wait!" she called. "You said you weren't going to hurt him."

"No. I said I'd try not to hurt him," Sloan corrected her. "We need his blood for the spell."

'Wait a second…" Stefan looked up at Sloan suspiciously, "Rosalie and Tessa didn't need my blood when they linked me to Silas." At the claim, both he and Caroline looked to Rosalie for an explanation (and reassurance that nothing was being pulled over them).

"The Travelers don't have access to the kind of magic me and Qetsiyah had," Rosalie explained. "They have to perform their spells via other methods. I'm sorry."

Stefan didn't get a word out before Sloan had already grabbed his hand to slice his palm. His blood trickled over a round bowl and eventually filled up. Sloan dipped her index fingers into the bucket then pressed them against Stefan's temples. The moment Sloan and the Travelers began to chant together, Stefan screams out in pain.

Caroline gasped and made to move but Rosalie grabbed her arm to keep her in place. She was sorry but it was completely normal.

"Why is this taking so long?" Caroline's patience dimmed as time went by and Stefan's screams didn't lessen at all.

"Establishing a link with a doppelganger who could be anywhere is a big thing," Rosalie explained, guiltily watching Stefan. "If I knew where he was, I'd say but I…I have no idea. Watching doppelgangers wasn't exactly my forte on the Other Side."

"Can't say I blame you. I wouldn't want to watch copies of the man who killed me for all eternity."

Rosalie nodded. "Yeah, but, I think Silas was a one-off evil version. Stefan is nothing like that." Which only made it even harder to watch.

"Isn't there something you can do?" Caroline said hopefully.

"I can't stop the spell…" Rosalie said slowly, her mind racing with alternatives, "But maybe…maybe I can ease the pain a bit."

"Please," Caroline said helplessly. It looked like Stefan was in even more pain in these last minutes.

Rosalie took a deep breath in and moved forwards, ignoring Sloan's suspicious look as she neared them.

"If you stop us, you won't get your answers," she warned Rosalie in-between chants.

"I'm not stopping anything, I just want to ease his pain a little…" Rosalie bent down in front of Stefan and reached for his hand. "I know it's hard to talk right now but if you can hear me, I'm going to try and help you out with an old trick of mine."

Caroline watched anxiously as Rosalie began to murmur her own spell. For a moment, it didn't seem like it was helping Stefan. He screamed and groaned but a few minutes later, Stefan's screams were cut short with a deep gasp. Despite Caroline being several feet away from them, she froze and held her breath waiting to see what kind of reaction Stefan would have to Rosalie's influence.

His screams faded for a moment and ironically it was the same moment that Sloan was able to see an image of the doppelgangers.

"Just a little deeper…"

Rosalie remained focused on her spell. She clutched Stefan's hands in her own and gave him what she once did for four months under the lake: peace.

"I see him! He's in a city!" cried Sloan. "He's in Atlanta!"

Caroline beamed. "Good! That's great! You found him!"

"Keep going!" yelled Sloan. "Push harder!"

Caroline flinched as the flames around them burst higher into the air. "You said you know where he is! What are you doing?" she yelled at Sloan.

"We're not done…the link isn't strong enough. We need more information!"

Caroline was horrified as now both Stefan and Rosalie grunted in pain. "You're pushing him too hard! He's going to lose everything! And it's affecting Rosalie too!"

"Stupid intervention on her part!" snapped Sloan. "We need the doppelgänger dead. Louder!"

The Travelers' chants grew louder and louder. Caroline pleaded with them to stop. She snapped. In the blink of an eye, she was behind Sloan with a knife against her throat.

Sloan didn't move but she wasn't backing down either. "If you hurt me, they'll kill you."

Caroline didn't budge either. "Tell them to stop. There's a way we can all get what we want."

Rosalie yelped and let go of Stefan's hands, falling back on the ground. She rubbed her forehead where pain lingered. The Travelers power combined was not to be trifled with and she got a good taste of it.

"Sloan!" Caroline pressed the tip of the knife against the witch's neck. "C'mon, we can make a deal! Looks like you made some with Rosie and Enzo! Let me join!"

Rosalie dropped her hand and looked at Stefan who had gone back to screaming. "If you kill him, there's no guarantee that you're going to kill the doppelganger too. The link isn't stable and you know it, Sloan."

Sloan's eyes shifted from Rosalie to Stefan to Caroline. In the next second, Sloan pulled her fingers from Stefan's temples. The pain and spell was too much for Stefan, he fell unconscious instantly.

Caroline pulled back as well, now wearing a grin on her face. "Great, let's make a deal."

"Caroline, don't. Sloan's not exactly trustworthy," Rosalie warned and got up from the ground.

"You made your deal," Caroline reminded her.

"Yeah, and I'm not exactly happy am I?" Rosalie waited for Caroline to say something, but the blonde had a fixated gaze on Sloan waiting to hear the deal. Rosalie let out a heavy sigh. "Alright, fine, whatever deal Caroline makes, I'm in on it too. Just add it to my list of demands."

"No, Rosie, this is my deal—"

"Shut it, Caroline, we're both in on this." Rosalie dusted her hands off and walked up beside Caroline, eyes set on Sloan. "It's got to do with the doppelganger, right?"

"We need him dead, one way or another," Sloan said sternly. "If we can't kill him through the link, we'll have to find him and do it ourselves, i.e, you two."

"What?" Caroline said incredulously. "You want us to kill some poor innocent man?"

"Well, you don't want us to do it our way so now it'll be up to you to decide how to end it so long as you end him. Tom Avery is his name and by the looks of what I saw, he's a paramedic in Atlanta."

Caroline shook her head. The idea of killing an innocent person was a lot to handle—

"Fine, we'll do it," Rosalie declared and Caroline gasped.

"Rosalie!"

"There's no other choice, Care. It's either we do it or they will and they're gonna fry Stefan's brain again only this time, it'll be permanent!"

Caroline's face scrunched as the facts settled in front of her. "Gah! Fine! We'll do it!"

"Great," Sloan smiled wickedly at the two. "We'll give you some time to get yourselves situated but I'm gonna tell you right now that Stefan stays with us."

"What? No!" Caroline scowled at the idea.

"We'll need him to help you find Tom Avery. You know we won't kill him…"

"Oh, like that's a hell of a reassurance!"

"Well, we also need to know that you'll keep your end," Sloan remarked. "Because believe me, one way or another, we're gonna get what we want."

"Alright, yes, we get it," Rosalie said sharply. "You'll have what you want. For now, we're moving Stefan. I think we can both agree that after this crap, he'll need some rest."

"C'mon Care," Rosalie called the blonde and grabbed a rag to wipe the blood stains off Stefan's head.

~0~

Stefan was completely out for the next couple of hours. While Caroline freaked, Rosalie assured her that it was completely normal. They put him in the same train cart that Rosalie had spent chilly nights in.

"He's going to be out for a while," Rosalie forewarned her so that there weren't any surprises.

Caroline thanked her and turned away from Stefan. "Would you please just take my coat already? It is freezing out here."

Rosalie waved Caroline off and looked around. The travelers agreed to give them some privacy but it wasn't like she really trusted them. "I can handle a little cold, Caroline. I have dealt with worse."

Caroline groaned. "So this is your plan? To just cast us all aside because of some dumb words that Katherine Pierce said to you?"

"They weren't dumb, Caroline!" Rosalie exclaimed. "That's the worst part of all this! That Katherine didn't tell one lie! I don't want to be babysat! That is not why I can't live with the Salvatores! That's really not why I became friends with you guys!"

"Great, because that's not why we became your friend either!" Caroline had to laugh because it was all so insane, and thanks to Katherine! "You might not believe us but we really came to like you. I think we just…we just wanted you to have the best new-life experience because the world can be a really awful place."

"Caroline," Rosalie half smiled at the woman, "I know what the world is like. Need I tell you my story again? I'm not stupid. I mean, okay, maybe I do need to be a little less naive but I'm intelligent. You may not believe me but before any of you guys even existed, I was an adult. I did adult-stuff with my coven and for the Travelers. I can figure stuff out on my own."

"I know, I know," Caroline nodded. "And, okay, maybe we could have dialed it back a little bit on being overprotective. You want to live and part of the experience is making your own mistakes. Just trust me, there's gonna be a lot of them."

Rosalie chuckled softly. "I imagine so."

"Will you please come back with us after we get done with this mess?" Caroline put her hands together pleadingly. "Katherine is dead, and Elena feels really bad. She wants to apologize and obviously she will…just after we make sure she doesn't die."

"She doesn't owe me anything," Rosalie said. "Katherine did all that, not her. She'll be okay."

"At least come back with us so we can talk together. We do have some things to discuss," Caroline said in a high mighty voice, "Starting with what the hell you were doing talking to Enzo of all people!?"

Rosalie rolled her eyes at Caroline's dramatics. "I thought we were done."

Caroline's scoff said a very different thing. "Not until you tell me why you didn't tell me about that?"

"I didn't think it was that big of a deal…at least not until Elena — Katherine — said it was."

"You are free to speak to whoever you want," clarified Caroline, "But I don't know why you would pick him of all people. He's dangerous! He's killed people! He killed our first roommate!"

"I don't want to play this game but Stefan is literally the Ripper," Rosalie said bluntly. "And are we really going to pretend that nobody else in our group killed people?" Rosalie didn't want to point out the long list of lost lives at the hands of their friend group. Thankfully, Caroline got the point.

"Okay, well, we don't kill people for fun!" She said exasperatedly. "You guys have nothing in common!"

"I don't know, we were both locked away in some capacity. Him in a cage, me in a place where I couldn't possibly have any contact with any living being."

Caroline was no happier to see another of her points discarded. "It just makes no sense, okay?"

Rosalie smiled, sensing Caroline was about to give up.

"He shouldn't be talking to you! I don't trust him!"

"That, I can give you based on his past actions," Rosalie shrugged. "But all he's really done through our talks is just ask me for my recommendations."

"What?" Caroline's face went flat.

"Yeah, you know — my favorite things to eat so far? Places I've been to? Though that one's a bit harder considering I never really went out of Mystic Falls up until today."

Caroline scoffed. "Give me a break," she mumbled under her breath.

"Care, right now, we should just start planning on how we're going to do this," Rosalie said when she saw how irritated Caroline was getting.

However, Caroline would prefer not to brainstorm on how to murder efficiently.

"Or…" Rosalie started after a few moments of silence in which she presumed Caroline's thoughts were spinning with guilt, "You can maybe stock up on some things that we'll need for the road trip? I'm mortal, after all. And maybe it is a bit cold out here." Caroline playfully rolled her eyes. Rosalie chuckled. "Atlanta's a while from here, isn't it?"

"Like 7 and a half hours, not including traffic…"

"Yikes, what are we gonna do for 7 hours? I can't drive, by the way."

"Aww," Caroline brought a hand to her chest, "you thought I was actually going to let you go anywhere near the steering wheel?" The two girls laughed together.

"Yeah, that's probably for the best," Rosalie nodded to herself. The idea of touching the steering wheel scared the hell out of her.

~ 0 ~

When Stefan woke up, it was dark out. He felt himself on the edge and soon realized he was in an open train cart. The first face he saw was Caroline (who was practically staring at him but that was beside the point).

"Hey…" she said with a relieved voice. Rosalie had been right, he was out for a long time.

"Hi…" Stefan said slowly, squinting his eyes at Caroline for a moment, "Rebekah, hi."

Caroline panicked instantly. "Oh my god! Rose!" She looked around for the witch in question for some help.

Stefan snorted and laughed. "Kidding!" He gave her a teasing look while she debated with herself whether it was right to smack someone who'd gone under a heavy spell. "Lexi, right?"

"It was funnier the first time!" she spat.

"Did it work?"

"Erm…sort of…"

"Sort of?" Stefan didn't like the sound of it. "What do you mean 'sort of'?"

"Well…" Caroline had spent the last hour thinking of the best way to explain to Stefan what their plans now looked like. "Sloan was doing the spell but it was…it was too much, Stefan. Sloan was going to fry your brain to kill your…other you. I wasn't going to let that happen."

"So what did you do?" Stefan presumed that's what she wanted to get to.

"She made a deal for your sake," Rosalie called as she approached them, now donning Caroline's burgundy coat. She smiled warmly at him. "I think we're very lucky to have Caroline Forbes as our friend."

"Rose, hey," Stefan tried standing but he was still too weak. He slumped back down and Caroline helped him adjust himself so he was more comfortable against the wall. "Listen, you have to—"

"I know, Stefan," Rosalie nodded at him. "Caroline told me everything while you were out. I think I know how to bond with Damon now. I despise Katherine Pierce and I hope she's rotting in hell as we speak."

Stefan smiled at her. "I can't argue on her behalf…but that's about the darkest I've heard you ever be with someone."

"Did I not make my feelings towards Silas clear?" Rosalie feigned concern over the fact. She climbed into the cart for more warmth and sat beside the two. "I have to up my game."

Caroline smiled at the interaction and was so glad that things were semi back to normal for them all.

"Um, Care, we might have a situation…" Rosalie said to the blonde, prompting Stefan to remember he had not heard what this new deal was all about.

"What kind?" Caroline grew nervous that the Travelers had gone back on their word and wanted Stefan for the linking spell again.

"Turns out…we are not the only ones who made their own side deal with the Travelers," Rosalie said glumly. "Yeah, apparently these people have a lot to give. That hasn't really changed, honestly. It's why my faction hid with them. They were big on numbers and networks."

"I don't understand," Caroline shook her head.

"Yeah, me neither," Stefan said. "What is going on?"

"Don't get mad," Rosalie put her hands on each of their shoulders and looked between them, "Because it's important to remember that we are all on the same side and that I had nothing to do with this. We have someone coming with us to make sure Tom Avery dies…" She squeezed her eyes shut in anticipation of how they would react.

"Let's go, the engine's running!" Enzo shouted seconds before he appeared in front of them.

"What?" Caroline's head flipped in Rosalie's direction.

Rosalie put her hands in front of her. "Remember, I said I had nothing to do with this! You can't get mad at me!"

"What the hell are you doing for the Travelers?" demanded Caroline angrily.

"Same as you, blondie," Enzo replied. "I have my own agenda and for this one issue, we're all on the same side."

"Nu-uh, we do not need you!" Caroline declared. "Rosalie and I are more than capable of doing this on our own."

"Were that true, the Travelers wouldn't have forced me to come."

Caroline's mouth opened to continue arguing but Rosalie cut in. "We're going to be spending a lot of time together for the next couple of days so let's just be civil, yeah?"

"Exactly," Enzo nodded, "I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

Caroline scoffed at him, clearly not trusting him. Stefan looked at all of them like they were insane.

"You cannot do this," he told the girls. "I can't let you."

"Stefan, they're gonna do this with or without us," Rosalie said, "If we don't do this, they're gonna fry your brain worse than what Qetsiyah and I did. And yes, it's possible to do worse damage."

"Well then I'm coming with you guys," Stefan said decisively and even started trying to get up again.

"No mate. You aren't," Enzo stopped him. "They need to use you to get us as close as possible to your little doppelganger."

"We'll be good," Rosalie assured Stefan. "It'll all be good…you'll see…" It sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than anything else. She pushed herself up to her feet and told Caroline to be quick.

Enzo was there with a hand to help her come down the steps. "You know, we could get one of those ridiculous-named pies of yours on the way, an authentic one."

Rosalie scoffed. "I may be a little outdated on my maps but I'm pretty sure Arkansas is the other way."

"Alright, fine, one of those coffees of yours…"

"Now we're talking!"

"I don't trust him," Stefan muttered to Caroline as they watched them leave.

"Don't worry, I don't either," said Caroline purposely. "We'll be safe, I promise."

[lemonluvgirl]

The Miner's Wife by MockingJayFlyingFree (Review)

Hello Hunger Games fanfic readers, this week I am reviewing the wonderful and compelling tale of The Miner's Wife written by MockingJayFlyingFree. (Trigger warnings for  Drug abuse, alcohol abuse, forced prostitution, non-con, and mention of abortion.)

I picked this story first to review because it's at the top of Everlark Fic Questions Top Ten Fics by Statistics and because I've read it before so I figured reviewing it would be easier since I was familiar with the story. So with that reasoning explained let's get down to the review.

The story is set in Single Victor AU where Prim was never reaped but Peeta Mellark was. Peeta went on to win the 74th Hunger Games by himself and Katniss stayed in the Seam and married Gale at age 18. She had two children with him before a mine accident killed Gale and left her financially ruined and starving. In a last-ditch effort to feed her children, she turns to prostitution and finds some unlikely help in the form of the two District 12 victors.

One thing I really liked about this story was the setting felt a lot like the original trilogy. There's a certain grimness and desperation that makes it feel very authentic but the stakes are more adult in nature. There is also some extra world-building. We get to see the before-unseen shady dealings of the Capitol Elite who were not as prominent as in the original trilogy, as well as more of the Vicors/Mentors (from the Quarter Quell) who were previously one-dimensional characters in the original trilogy. By changing the timeline when the story takes place, 12 years after the 74th Hunger Games we get a different view of some very familiar characters, and different perspectives on some characters who were never fleshed out in Suzanne's Catching Fire.

Like the original books, the story starts in District 12 which is a microcosm of what is happening to Panem at large.

Peeta Mellark is back home after weeks of mandatory attendance at festivities in the Capitol. The district is dirty and grey, the people struggling even more than usual. There has been another large mine accident and many families have been affected. Including one familiar protagonist.

Katniss is all grown up with a family. She is once again thrust into the role of sole provider and head of her household. Except this time going beyond the fence to hunt won't save her family in time. She is forced to make the hard decision between her family's survival, staying true to her own values, and holding onto her dignity. Once again she chooses to do whatever is necessary to ensure her loved ones can live another day, which echoes back to the part of Katniss' character we saw in the original trilogy on the night before the start of the Hunger Games where Katniss said she couldn't afford to think about the moral quandies of killing other children because she had her sister to consider. The meaning implied is that Katniss' mindset going into the Games was doing whatever it took to win to get back home to her family because they were counting on her.

On the other side of the equation, we have Peeta Mellark. The story actually starts with his point of view and right off the bat we see that this story's version of Peeta Mellark is more in line with the hijacked version we became familiar with in the Mockingjay novel. Peeta is worn out and barely hanging on. It's been over a decade since he won his games. He's been mentoring children and watching them die for years and he's been sold as a prostitute in the Capitol for almost as long. The story delves into his depression and his alcoholism, as well as his dependence on drugs. It also touches on his past suicide attempts and his suicidal ideation. Yet through all of that, his desire to protect the people that are important to him is still there.

We see from the get-go that even though Katniss never had to go into the arena and Peeta made it out alive, they are still fighting a battle for survival mentally and physically every day. They have both been exploited in different ways and are dealing with the lingering effects of trauma. Katniss with the trauma and grief of losing both her father and the father of her children to the same mine that has killed so many Seam people, and Peeta with having to endure the horrors of being a young and desirable victor sought after by the Capitol elite, as well as mentoring a new crop of tributes every year.

The human tragedies playing out in District 12 set the stage for Katniss and Peeta's paths to cross again merge in new ways and evolve from what we saw in Collins' books. The struggles they face may be slightly different from their teenage counterparts in the original trilogy but one thing I think MockingJayFlyingFree does well is stay true to the inner core of these characters. Katniss is still a consummate survivor who in the right circumstances with the right people is won over by compassion and empathy. While Peeta goes through a horrible ordeal of having his humanity stripped away and becoming a ghost of himself, he is brought back by those who understand his pain, and his mission of trying to save the girl he threw bread to when he was eleven.

Their struggle to stay true to themselves, and find freedom and peace under an oppressive totalitarian regime is very inspiring and at moments heartbreaking. While this story does not have a clear-cut happily ever after it does end on a hopeful note and readers walk away with a very authentic and thought-provoking experience.

I enjoyed reading this story immensely and I can completely see why it's on the list of top ten Huger Games fanfiction stories. I highly recommend this fic to readers who enjoy the grittiness and high stakes of the Hunger Games.

[sunbunnyyy]

So I just saw your tags on the Mo Xuanyu art I reblogged - please talk Mo Xuanyu headcanons to me!

(I saw fanart with him and Jgy the other day and I'm like actual Mo Xuanyu is not explored enough. I need more of him)

Thank you ♡

hello friend!!! sorry I’m getting to this after so many days have passed—obligatory work life etc commitments that left me drained and not ready to answer!

I’ll list my biggest headcanons—I’ll admit that I haven’t explored him as much as I’d like, but these are the things I take into every scenario regarding him!

1. Mo Xuanyu is trans!

There’s something a little bit tragic to me about the way gender is handled in Ye Olde Ancient Societies. As much as I love what The Untamed did as far as removing some of the perceived gender biases of MDZS (such as female cultivators being Kept Apart in Cloud Recesses and showing us maybe?? one? female sect leader?) I do love playing around with two types of characters—those I can shoot with my “trans laser beam,” and tragic ones.

My specific headcanon for Mo Xuanyu (which gets explained in wi3!) is that his mother was told if her child was a girl, she would not be acknowledged and Second Madam Mo would be cast aside. Knowing what that would mean not only for herself but for her child, she raised Mo Xuanyu as a boy, and it wasn’t discovered until much later by a certain Jin that the truth was revealed. For his part, Mo Xuanyu never felt like a girl, and never wanted to portray himself as one.

I think Mo Xuanyu being trans also adds a fun little layer of struggle to Wei Wuxian’s return—he went from a cis man to a trans man and suddenly has to deal with that dysphoria, too.

2. Mo Xuanyu is a little crazy, but not the way he’s described in the books.

This is another thing that comes up in wi3–Mo Xuanyu’s mental health vs. his intelligence!

While Mo Xuanyu never thought twice about being a boy, it sure doesn’t change the dysphoria of being told you’re something that your body doesn’t reflect! Not only that, but the poor treatment from the Mo family against him and his mother that I can’t believe didn’t happen in the ten years between when Jin Guangshan abandoned him and when he brought Mo Xuanyu to Carp Tower? During such formative years, it’s not a wonder to me that Mo Xuanyu’s not quite all there.

(I resonate a little with this headcanon. Okay, I resonate with this headcanon a lot, actually.)

But! I don’t think Mo Xuanyu’s unintelligent. The opposite, actually—I think he’s very intelligent, although not quite as smart and calculating as our boy Jin Guangyao. Because of the treatment at the hands of the Mo family, I don’t think Mo Xuanyu’s mother was healthy enough to have as much of a hand in Mo Xuanyu’s life as Meng Shi did with Jin Guangyao, but he was a young master of an affluential family who were under the belief that Jin Guangshan could, at any point, come back and claim Mo Xuanyu like he said he would. They would’ve given him at least some education, because it wouldn’t have reflected well on them had they not. And, given that they were an affluential family—they have a Manor and a Village, after all—they likely could’ve afforded much better learning materials than Meng Shi (who did her best!).

3. The Incest.

The allegations that Mo Xuanyu came into Jin Guangyao and whether or not they’re true are such an interesting thing to play around with in my brain.

I think this aspect for me will vary greatly depending on what I’m writing. They may be true in one fic, or completely fabricated in another. Or maybe they’re only slightly true! As mentioned previously, Mo Xuanyu isn’t quite in full control of his cognitive thought processes. I’m not sure if I read it as a headcanon or part of canon or one of mxtx’s interviews or even a different fanfic or the wiki, but I read somewhere that Jin Guangyao was actually quite kind to his half brother, despite the pointed way with which Jin Guangshan brought him around as a way to bully Jin Guangyao. I think that would have a very lasting effect on Mo Xuanyu, who likely only saw kindness from his mother by that point in his life.

Whether or not Jin Guangyao takes advantage of it… 🤷‍♂️ again, varies on the fic I’m writing, I think!

These are my big three at the moment. I’d love to hear any that you or anyone else might have! I really want to write a modern fic and it’d be fun to have Mo Xuanyu in there being the annoying younger brother to Jin Zixuan and Meng Yao* he deserved to be.

[bigalockwood]

Hey hey Lia 💜,

I only just realised that you were doing the fanfic asks, so I am a little late, but I am wondering about 8,17, 18, 27, 29 and 37 ( I know these are a lot of numbers, so feel free to just answer the ones you want to)

Wishing you a so wenig stressig wie möglich weekend!

Sophia thanks for sending so many!! I love talking about writing 💜💜💜

8) Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

This took me ages to decide. I'm actually not even proud of it because I think it is necessarily particularly well written, but because it's a topic I have very strong feelings about and it felt so validating when I saw how many people resonated with it!

“No, you misunderstand, they didn’t out me. They just asked me about my sexuality and, you know, it was necessary. It’s the sort of thing they’d have to ask me for damage control.”

“Wille, I get that your life can be sort of strange at times and that it often follows different rules and all that, but that is, by definition, still what it means to be outed. I’m glad it didn’t feel like another violation of your privacy to you, but they still shouldn’t have done that,” Simon said, vehemently.

[...] “I’m sorry. I wished people stopped acting like they have any right to know our sexualities. [....]

17) Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

Depends on the story! Royally Whipped I'm mostly writing in order since I don't have much time to write the chapters, so I'll only write down ideas for future scenes. For my new WIP I've written parts of different chapters already. In the chapters themselves I jump around and hardly every write one in chronological order.

18) Do you use any tools, like worksheets or outlines?

No. I have a very, very rough outline, but it mostly only has specific scenes or emotional stages I want to write towards. I never keep to any outlines and overthrow them within minutes after making them, so I no longer bother with them lmao.

27) How do you feel about collaborations?

I did one ages ago, when I was still in school. It was a lot of fun and I'd definitely be open for it again, but it certainly takes up more time and you need someone you can trust in.

29) If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Honestly? The answer is none, just because I don't think I could do any of my favorite stories justice. Not because I think my writing is bad, but because I love them as much because of the special something they have thanks to the author who's written them. Wouldn't say no to a sequel or prequel written by them though asfdhsfdkja

37) Talk about your current wips.

I've briefly talked about my next projects here. But my BIG WIP's right now are Royally Whipped which is very close to being done (probably two more chapters) and then #Simon's revenge.

Some people have been asking for a social media chapter for RW, which is extremely flattering, and I love reading those, but don't even know how to begin putting one together. So, that might happen, if I ever get my shit together (or someone else volunteers to do it ahsjfdasj).

Simon's renevge is a AU where Wille isn't Prince (still rich tho) and meets Simon under... interesting circumstances. Simon is seeking revenge on someone else and poor Wille becomes emotional collateral damage. It'll be less fluffy than RW, though hopefully just as fun. It's very gremlin!simon (channelling all his dodgeball energy). I have a moodboard that I might post soon and maybe some snippets leading up to it's release, if anyone's interested.

[all-things-normaler]

i wanna write fanfics but i'm not sure how to keep everyone in character and to write normal dialogue. do you have any advice? thank you!

Okay so, I've written fanfiction and roleplayed for nine years, and I know it's scary and hard at first, but eventually with enough practice, writing will become as easy as breathing air.

First thing I do is envision the scene in my mind, like a movie! What's the setting? The mood? What kind of characters are here? What's the plot? Materialize all of this in your brain and do not force yourself to make dialogue, it'll come up to you naturally. Think of yourself as the actor for all these characters, feel their emotions, study their motives, backgrounds, passions and even body mannerisms.

If you're dealing with a pairing or characters that correlate with each other, try to think. What are their similarities and opposites? Are they really all that similar or is it one or two few traits? This is where the Venn Diagram comes in! That's the method I've been taught at school, and honestly, I could make a list but the Venn Diagram helps me visualize things better. To be honest I have sharp memory to things I'm fixated in, so I don't do it physically, but it's very useful! And YES, while studying these characters annotate everything that could be useful in writing dialogue.

Do they have an accent? A lisp? Is there any vocabulary depending of where they were raised?

I have things to say about these things in dialogue and the first two are more personal and up to my taste.

Personally when people write "accents" that aren't like Country or Irish accents that actually have different words in the vocabulary, when you replace the letters to make the "sound" and in a way create new words, not only does it look messy, it IS messy to read! It's an unfortunate phenomenon in the Team Fortress 2 Fandom lol.

EXAMPLE: "Viz is not good. Vhat was a vad decision."

For these instances, use regional words and spellings for the dialogue, it says much more than what I've told you. Are they british? Use words like "favourite" instead of "favorite" etc. Trust me, the readers aren't dumb people, you can do ONE paragraph describing that your character has an accent and they would understand.

I think my gripe against that style of writing isn't only aesthetically but also because I'm bilingual (my native tongue being Spanish) so honestly, it would look a little offensive reading a fanfiction where my type of accent is typed like that.

When writing bilingual people ALSO avoid this:

Like prideling said, that one's a big example of what bilingual people do. Even in their own native language! I constantly forget to say "accurate" in Spanish lmao.

And we do not "switch" languages, we aren't Dora The Explorer. We can greet and talk normally to people. Only times I'd say bilinguals happen to jump back at their native tongue accidentally it's when they're surprised? It's happened to me, but for a very short time. Bilingual readers prefer to be represented with the struggles of knowing two languages and showcasing their culture throughout descriptive paragraphs over anything.

Anyway, moving on... DIALOGUE!

This is a classic. Do NOT get comfortable with the verb said. Try using other words like: exclaimed, announced, warned, shouted, whispered, etc!

The more you write, the more you'll learn about these verbs, adverbs and adjectives and it'll come handy tremendously. We don't want to have too much repetition do we?

I am also handing you this emotion wheel that will be incredibly useful if you're starting writing:

Speaking of repetition... Remember that thing I said about studying your characters? Try to avoid too much repetition of one word between the two characters. As you may have noticed people have a cadence and ways of speaking. If you do that a lot, people will break from the immersion and think it's you who's talking, not the character.

Another classic! SHOW, DON'T TELL.

If you're into writing, you'll probably have heard this saying before. All writers have committed this sin when they started writing, using adverbs and adjectives too obsessively instead of narrating how the character feels.

Is your character anxious? How about instead of doing:

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! What am I supposed to do now!?” He anxiously exclaimed.

We do...

“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He tightly gripped onto his jet black hair and ripped it from his scalp into shreds. Pain was the last thing he cared about when a bigger torture was on his mind. His chest constricted, his lungs having less oxygen filled with hot air. The corners of his eyes burned, and his brain constantly banged to the corners of his skull begging to free it from this horrible outcome. The man started to lose his senses, he couldn't smell the horrible stench from his machines, or feel the bottom of his feet anxiously walking in circles, his fingers were getting tingly and numb. Onceler couldn't even see the insides of his destroyed mansion and the deforestation he caused from his window. All of it was a blur and too much too handle, the weight of his actions fell into his mind and stomach, forever scarred and stuck like that last stump in the middle of what used to be a vibrant Truffula Tree forest.

“What am I supposed to do now!?” He scratched his knotted throat as loud as he could, ripping his vocal chords. It didn't matter if he could hear himself now, he didn't listen to his real soul in the past, and now, no one will listen to him now. No matter how much he begged for help.

Alright, that was a little big example there haha! But you get it right? Here's a picture to help you visualize better.

Mind you, the first example isn't bad to use! Just don't constantly use it. It's good to show a story throughout the actions of your character!

Alright, what else... what else... oh yes!

Be mindful of spellchecking bots!

I'll be honest to you, I do use them! They come incredibly handy because sometimes I mess up verbs or I just simply add too many spaces or create typos without meaning to! But remember that bots are bots, and at the end of the day they don't have humanity. They're AI. Therefore, these bots might make suggestions to change certain words because they don't recognize it as part of the vocabulary, but if you do click on everything they suggest, your dialogue will become very robotic and lacking of stylization. Keep those peepers open!

Use a beta reader?

I never had one. To me, writing is a very personal thing and for me to have one, they would have to share the same fandom that I'm writing of to be trustworthy. Beta Readers can be useful because they can point out mistakes other than spelling ones. Something the bots CANNOT do. They can point out weird things in dialogue, plot holes, etc.

Learn of your narration voice.

The way you narrate is your brush strokes of art but in writing! What type of a narrator are you? The unreliable type? The classic? Or just a narrator with a god complex? Have fun with that! And remember, if you want to narrate not as a narrator or yourself but as one of the characters, REMEMBER to study the character. Basically, the first tip I gave you.

Stuttering.

Don't overuse it. And we don't always stutter like: "b-b-but!" NO! Instead, try slurring the words, and adding ellipsis (the three dots ...)

Not only is it more realistic, but it looks better on writing.

This image is something I struggle with too, but it'll be useful to see it now!

Honestly, my path for writing has been rocky and I raw-dogged this shit, so it's an honor being able to help you! If you ever have any doubts keep coming here! I love to get in more depth, but I've been making this post for like an hour already!

I think that's all I can give you for now! Lots of people that have read my fanfics and roleplays have pointed out that dialogue is my forte! It's rather flattering. As always, I don't give tips or boast about my writing without evidence, so here's a snippet of a Normaler fanfic I'm writing:

“I brought you some things. Water and a towel. Hopefully that's enough.” She handed him the materials and he gladly took them, opening the water bottles and damping the towels.

“Thanks. It's tomatoes. I doubt there's a lot to get me dirty with those.” He chuckled awkwardly, before rushing to rub the towel against his cheek.

Norma smiled, raising her eyebrows.

“I take it that you're a foreigner?”

“You can tell?”

“Your accent. Yeah.” Norma stretched her legs as she sat next to him. “You're one of those cowboys?” She grinned back at the man.

The Once-ler laughed, and my... did he have a goofy laugh. Not what she expected.

“I wish. It sounds like fun, but where I come from, rural life is pretty boring.” He continued to rub the towel against his clothes.

“Greenville doesn't like foreigners.” She explained bluntly. “They always come here with bad intentions.” She furrowed her eyebrows with a teasing smirk, causing the Once-ler to dramatically gasp, a hand on his chest.

“B-But I ain't coming here with bad intentions!”

[dunnounderscorewhatever]

How Byakuya met Hisana (some possibilities/AU maybe?)

As previously mentioned on this post, I've been thinking about Hisana a lot lately and that obviously includes how she and Byakuya met. Truth is, there are many possibilities and you will probably find all of them in some fanfic (I am currently working on a rec list of ByaHisa/ByaSana fanfics which explore various different scenarios of how these two met, so if you're interested keep an eye out on the tags).

I have different scenarios in my head and some of them might be slightly AU depending of your own headcanons and interpretation of the source material (which was not much tbh). We were given so little information about Hisana that she just became this character I can basically assume anything and everything about.

First scenario: Hisana as a shinigami

This is one of the easiest ways to explain how those two met. Maybe she was a seated or unseated officer at the 6th or 13th. Better yet, can you imagine Hisana at the 11th? What a plot twist that would be.

He falls in love, goes against his family and marries her. But how did she get sick though? Maybe from some mission gone wrong or some successful mission in which there was a high price to pay?

Second scenario: Hisana as a maid

Another scenario that could explain how they met, but also calls into question how are the staff of the Kuchiki family hired? They must probably come from Rukongai, right?

Third scenario: Hisana as a courtesan

I've read many fanfics in which Hisana worked as a courtesan and they could perfectly fit in the story. Byakuya could have been her client and they both ended up falling in love, he had enough money and status to get her out of that life and bring her to Seireitei.

Fourth scenario: Byakuya on a mission

Another common scenario I've encountered in the fics of this pair is Byakuya going on a mission and for whatever reason it is at the 78th district. He either ends up getting hurt or helping Hisana in a way. I don't know why but I believe if Kubo ever writes anything about how these two met (he will never do it), I see him using this scenario. Don't ask me why, it's just a feeling I have.

Yadda, yadda, yadda, he takes her from her little hut in the woods to his manor in Seireitei and marries her.

I've also read some theories around the internet that both Hisana and Rukia were never actually alive which could have explained them ending up together in Inuzuri. Hisana is a very mysterious character for me and either she or Byakuya are unreliable narrators for me sometimes when I'm rereading the revelation scene. But I think that if Byakuya knew of anything else he would have probably told Rukia by now, but who knows for sure? I think not even Kubo knows lol

Anyways, does anyone have any other theory or scenario they would like to share?

[wildelydawn]

2 7 11 17 18 35 40 47 73 for the writers ask game

I know it's a lot feel free to not answer all of them hahaha

Hello my dearest!! I will do all of them for you <3

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

It's very minor because he has so few lines/so little presence in the story, but it's when Big dies in II4Y. I didn't want him to die but I realized he needs to die for Kim to understand what permanent loss is. In chapter one, Kim is dealing with a break up, which is definitely a sort of loss, but once Chay and him begin to matter to each other again, Kim begins to realize that loss can be a lot worse, a lot more permanent. By chapter four, he's sort of gotten everyone back, right? Chay is talking to him, he's hanging out with his brothers. Big's death shocks him into remembering that it can be all taken away very quickly.

7. tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

I know that my first fic was something written for classic Fruits Basket, but I can't remember the plot for the life of me. It was probably fluff or a retelling of Kyo's transformation when his bracelet comes off. The earliest, actual fic I can recall the plot too very vividly is a Supernatural Megstiel fic, in which I rewrote parts of Hello, Cruel World so that Meg Masters finds Castiel's trenchcoat and body. Unfortunately, I deleted that story because I wrote it at the height of SPN, and Megstiel was a rough ship to write at the time lol. I wish I hadn't deleted it! It would've been cool to take another look at it now, or maybe even potentially rewrite.

11. what’s something neat you’ve learned while doing research for something you were writing? also, how much do you worry about doing research in general?

The entire process of making Thai desserts/food for BSC90 has been so great. Like, truly unmatched. Outside of fandom, my research is really depressing and almost always about the Law/law. So to really deep dive into how these foods are made and how chocolate was/is produced in Thailand is really fun. I do take research pretty seriously, and I do what I can to be as accurate as possible. Right now, I'm pretty knee deep in reading about football/football RPF, and I recently followed a bunch of popular players on my Instagram, and that's been pretty wild. And, of course, can't forget my favorite Dutch politicians either. Though, that research wasn't for writing. I just really got interested in reading about the Netherlands and far right government officials. I find myself just rereading or watching Dutch debate whenever I can find translations, fan-written or official.

17. what is your favorite line you’ve ever written?

God. It changes so often, especially depending on my mood. Right now, it's from YLTTL:

The subtle but decreasing hesitations in WIK’s motions make Porchay unsteady and ashamed at the same time. In his dreams, he envisioned WIK as the criminal: keen on stealing Porchay’s heart and laughing mercilessly while walking away, leaving Porchay naked on the floor. He imagined, the other week, after WIK had left him alone, that at their best, they could only ever be temporary bliss: a mistake, heat of the moment, other clichés that left Porchay feeling angry and confused. He had resolved that if the moment were to come, he’d give himself entirely to WIK and blindly hope that WIK would do the same, and they could leave without saying anything more. 

Their togetherness, he cruelly imagined, would be one born of force, passionate with no regard for the future, a story as old as time: those with power taking advantage of those with none.

18. what is your most and least favorite part of writing?

The action of writing is my favorite part of writing. And also finding out if someone reread something of mine. Least favorite part is posting/submitting/publishing.

35. tell us about a character who’s very different than you who you love a whole lot

Definitely Chay. Chay is so different from me. I think what we have in common is poverty and independence, but other than that, Chay is such a bold, forward, dynamic character. He takes what he wants! When I wanted to ask out my current partner, I wrote a letter and then fled the country. Chay, on the other hand, just fucking shows up to where Kim is and calls it a date. I think he's the bravest character in the whole fucking show actually. All of what he does, what he navigates, is mostly done alone and independently and, up to a certain point, by choice. I admire that so much. He takes risks, even if it ends in detriment to himself. He's never static, he's never standing still. He feels things and acts on those emotions. Now, whether he processes them properly or maturely is up in the air, but he's not wallowing for long, and I truly think in a post-canon world, he would continue to do what he can to move on and adapt to his new life. That can be "Chay having a ho phase" or "Chay integrates into the mafia" or "Chay runs to Switzerland, meets Kang Yohan from The Devil Judge, and becomes a vigilante judge when he comes back to Thailand."

40. best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten.

"You're probably going to get decimated, but everyone will have questions." This came from my dissertation advisor/mentor. And she was right!

47. what story are you most proud of?

It's definitely a tie between YLTTL and Still Painting Flowers for You. I'm quite proud of the latter. It's short and it has, what I feel, is a good balance of canon and a reflection of two very important women in my life.

Thank you for all these questions, my crunchy little friend! It was so fun to write this out hehe.

Ask me writer things!

[scummy-writes]

How do you deal with writer's block? How do you execute ideas even with writer's block?

ohhh this is a good question. I may not have good answers.

It may depend on the type of writer's block you have, as I feel like there isn't just one singular over-encompassing type.

Sometimes, the writer's block is having all the inspiration, but nothing is coming out. This one plagues me the most because 90% of my fanfics and similar nowadays are just me daydreaming 24/7, and writing some of those daydreams down. Like a lil movie in the background. In theory I could write so much, but I struggle with actually putting pen to paper and considering the actual word choices used.

What I end up doing here is read or....write.... So the reading I try to find a published book that is different from my usual writing style and removed from fandomism, this is to personally help me distance myself from fanfic a little, to see how the pacing in a longer piece may be- which can help with learning to describe 'smaller' scenes and movements, or see how the writer handles scene transitions and similar. And, well, I read! And when I'm reading, I will usually pick the writing apart.

"I really like the way the writer described this movement, how could I describe that in my own words?" , "Wow, you can see how these last few paragraphs built up the foreshadowing for this turn of events, lets break down how they did that." , and... well... sometimes it does turn into "Yikes!! I really dislike that!!! If I were to rewrite that in my own way, how would that go...?"

And I've found that I often struggle to finish books, because I'll get that train of thought going so much that I'll have to put down the book to actually write.

Another thing I will do is that I will open up a wip, have it in a window taking up half my screen, then open a blank document to put on the other half, and rewrite everything word for word. This often helps me catch mistakes, odd sentences, and similar, and it's an easy way to simulate actually being able to write without having the 'blank document woes' where I'm too scared to defile a blank document. I find that once I get in the process of this with some good music, once I catch up to where my wip left off, I've rewritten a few sentences or added in more details I thought of with a fresh mind, and I'm able to go past where I initially left off.

(thats how I set up the screen)

If it's the type of writer's block where you have NO ideas, no will to write and only the vague *want* to write............ you may need some rest. A lot of people talk about social batteries, on how people need to recharge after a social function with some alone time or similar, and then their battery feels recharged! well... You need to do that for creative outlets as well!! You need to make sure you're taking care of your body, and also your mind. Recharge your creative mind by reading, watching, and listening to new or old and beloved things! Play a fun video game with a story that's interesting to you, read a cheesy romance novel, maybe even just clean some dishes and daydream as you do so. Once you remove 'gotta write gotta write gotta write gotta write' from the equation, and chilling out a bit, you end up getting inspired again after a while.

Typically with this one, I will end up writing notes that are very. bland.

So... if it's neither of those, or you have tried a lot of these things, then my next advice would be to try some basic writing exercises. Look up prompt lists, try to write the first thing that comes to mind when one catches your eye- i dont care if it's shakespeare or dahl, you just smack it down on paper. Much like drawing, you gotta do warm ups with writing! it helps a lot when you're stuck! If prompts don't work, move on to rewriting a classic story scene or story in general with your favorite characters, think about how they would act in the situation instead and rewrite it. If its fanfiction, look at some of the events in the game or routes, rewrite it with you or your mc, or how you wished the route/event went instead. write with friends! have friends send you prompts or detail a vague outline for you and try your hand at it!

If it stems from being too embarassed to read what you're writing.... turn the text itty bitty and just Type, to where you ignore what you're seeing and are managing to get words down. You can always make the text bigger when you feel less embarassed!

That's what I can offer off the top of my head!! I think there are plenty of more tips than this that exist out there, absolutely, so maybe some folks reading this might be able to offer to explain what helps them!

[robbierants]

THE FIRST OFFICAL POST OF ROBBIE RANTS

Todays Rant: Transgender Representation In Modern Anime

Hello Yall! I was reading fanfics pn A03 and that got me thinking about modern representation in anime of Transgender, Gay, Lesbian and Bisexual people. Specifically Trans Rep.

Alright, so I did some research on what everybody else thinks about this topic. A lot of people who were not trans thought that representation in anime was complete bullshit. As a person who identifys under the trans umbrella, I've actually been quite pleased by my representation in media. Everyone knows about Ouran High School Host Club, the story of Haruhi, who goes to a high school for the rich and bored. They (I see them as nonbinary) makes friends and explores their identity, and everyone looks like they were drawn in Ibis Paint, I found the anime amazing and have seen it many times (ive read the manga 5 times in. Row man) . If you want an intro into LGBT in anime though, this is your go to.

Now if we want to talk about something very cerebral and powerful, Black Butler/Kuroshitsuji's Ciel Phantomhive is our guy. I see him personally as nonbinary (He/they respective)

Alot of people see his romp through gender in the first few episodes as a reflection of drag, or an excuse for man-in-drag humor. Well, there's a lot more to it than that. When I was coming out to myself, I was incredibly transphobic (being raised by catholic parents also doesny help) to myself, saying that "I can't be anything but a girl. It's not allowed". This mindset kept me from my own truth, up until a few months ago.

Ciel is very opposed to many things he defines as feminine and un-manly. When he has to infiltrate the party of a perverted count (I love his design tho!) he dresses in a frilly dress and pigtails. We can see how uncomfortable with it he is at first, squirming and complaining. Later in the series however, he comes to embrace parts of it. He wears clothes that could be considered androgynous, embraces a feminine side, and becomes quite the diva (I love Ciel Guys)

I like to think of the first season as a reflection of Ciel's mental state. He lives the first couple episodes blissfully, as a Cisgender male. In episode 4, he "dons an evening gown", and allows the possibility of this other sex.

I remember doing this very briefly when I was 10 with a suit. To be perfectly honest? It freaked me the fuck out. I was terrified of being who I was, so I ripped the idea from my mind. This is exactly what happens to Ciel. The only difference is that when I thought I might be man, I wasn't almost sold on the black market like Ciel.

Later in the season Ciel allows the possibility again, through subtle remarks at his butler, servants, and peers. He realizes that there are deeper levels to his psyche, and without spoiling anything, he confronts his traumatic past in a number of ways. One major piece of evidence is when the theme song changes midseason. Originally, the opening lines of the song say, "The monochrome blows Through our colorless encounter. I shall entrust each of my pains to you." Later in the series, the opening lines change to, "Since then, I've actually come to like the night. In a sea of dependence I forgot even to breath." If that doesn't convince you, nothing will. Ciel is nonbinary (He/They) who likes to wear femanine clothing some times. Don't @ me

Another awesome example of a Trans female in anime is Chihiro Fujisaki of the Danganronpa franchise. This is a slightly more to the point story of Transgender psychology. Chihiro Fujisaki is one of the many students trapped in the hellish prison school of Hope's Peak. Chihiro is "the ultimate programmer", having created game changing software and programs. Chihiro is also biologically male. We don't know this until she turns up dead, and the only reasonable cause of this was someone in the Boy's locker room murdered her. Chihiro got into the locker room using her birth sex as an excuse.

Chihiro is also known for being very socially awkward, depressed, and kind. These are all characteristics very common of teenage Trans females. I know a couple of my trans femme friends fall under these categories. Chihiro is a perfect example of a passable Trans woman flying perfectly under the radar until being looked into further. If you knew how many Trans people would kill for this, you'd realize how truly rare Chihiro is as a character.

Chihiro notably built herself what is known in the programming world as a "Construct".

For those of you unaware, a construct is a direct copy of the users brain, rewritten via computer code. "Alter Ego", as she is called, is a version of Chihiro built to protect and inform the other students.

Now, if only I had an artificial intelligence to answer peoples stupid questions about being Trans!

Of course, on the subject of Trans anime, there's enough transmisogyny to go around. Let me show you some iconic anime clips you may not have known were transphobic;

Naruto's "Sexy Transformation"? Transphobic

Ouran High School Host Club's Over-explanatory Lines? Transphobic.

Black Butler's Pronoun Butchering of Grell? Transphobic.

(CMON BLACK BUTLER!)

I hope this has informed you on the potential of Trans people in anime. I highly suggest you check out shows like Black Butler, Ouran Host Club, and Danganronpa.