#this should probably just go in drafts but I've never used drafts before and I'm not gonna start now

[automaticnerdbread]

Big sigh

I hate trying to figure out how to talk to people again after isolating myself

It's whatever, like I just feel soo awkward

[mathmusicreading]

Blog(ger) Shift

I am, so weird and bad about original posting and about reblogging and about saving things on Tumblr and that's why my blog has been mostly inactive or the lurking consumer type. But I don't want my fears about putting myself out there, being seen and known, articulating myself well vs. having been told my whole life I'm too wordy and opinionated vs. not managing to articulate myself well enough to justify being verbose and passionate, etc. to continue to control me so much.

So for my new specific-interest sideblog that I'm not locking, I hope it being themed will help me with making more original posts and reblogging, and I'm publicizing that here to push myself and also welcome interaction.

RIP to my other public specific-interest sideblog and the fandom sideblog I took over for someone that I didn't take further and to my private sideblogs that were meant to make me reblog and save and say stuff because they would be personal and just for me. I still would like to make those happen and reblogging and posting things that matter to me here, and oh my heart for the content ideas I haven't been working on, but they're pipedreams with how I'm (not) managing my life and I keep kicking those cans down the road.

To the person who I developed a real relationship with as a beta but who by now I probably count as having disappeared on with how long it's been and my not coming back to explicitly say I still can't help and don't know when I can, I am so sorry. I'm being a coward languishing in hoping I can tell you soon that I can get back into beta-ing for you and talking, but that's turned into me not talking to you because I'm waiting to be able to say something positive. Hopefully my vaguing here can help push me into talking to you, or at least this is here for you to read if you happen to see it; and I want you to know you absolutely can talk to me, can call me out, and if you're so gracious as to still want to be friends with me and just chat despite my dropping being your beta, I'm here for you and still want to be your friend even if I don't know if I'll have the spoons to be a good one and I know my saying that preemptively isn't apology or justification enough.

Honest assessment, I'm going to curse and say my living situation and work have both become even more of a shitshow, and with those things in mind I can't begin to imagine handling a real project until basically literally a year from now.

Which segues back into the main topic of this post. My goal isn't to have my new sideblog be like an active mainblog nor to abandon this blog—people interested in that blog can and should still interact with me here given how primary vs. secondary blogs on Tumblr work, and in terms of using that blog to help make me be a better Tumblr user, I think I should make certain original posts here and reblog them there as opposed to them being original there. With my mental-emotional and time resources, I want that blog to be "active" for a given definition of active, but really I think I should see my objective as "clear out tabs and likes and photos and lists and notes and drafts, etc. from the last four months" by saving stuff there, as opposed to my goal being the original posts I want to make there, and actually my long-term goal should be to use that momentum to do the same for older digital and physical storage that hasn't been lost or stolen. In my failure to be an interesting person, do I at least manage to be fascinating as a basket-case? Ha. But, also, as expressed above the Read More, the exercise of my danmei/Chinese sideblog is supposed to be a foray into me allowing myself to be an interesting person.

[astrxealis]

the way i'm so unproductive regarding school on weekends but so productive on monday immediately ..... i should learn to adhere to this more

[ardensregias]

SEEING AVENTURINE IN THE LIVESTREAM MADE ME THINK ABOUT MEMOKEEPER! READER WITH HIM :o

I mean since he have such a tragic past, it would be very interesting to see someone who can look into his memories as a Sigonian

I'm so happy you like him too (⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠) hope I'm not troubling you

not at all :3 this will contains some leaks and fanarts i've seen about his past! may not be 100% accurate. also memokeepers can choose who they want to be visible to, but i'm not sure about the fortune telling part. this still looks bad despite being in my draft for days goddamn.

the first time he met you was when you're passing by ipc's pier point, only to spot an exhausted aventurine splayed on his million-credit couch.

since memokeepers are able to become invisible, you curiously approach his room, intrigued by his wealth. and out of kindness, you carefully moved him into his bed, before finding his 'aventurine' stone—which indicates his importance to the corporation.

your growing curiosity led you to pry into his past, watching all the hardships and suffering he had to go through during his childhood, which was supposed to be filled with joy and laughter. instead, you watch as they place thick and heavy chains around his neck and wrists, left him with little to no food, marked his neck with the word 'slave', and force the poor boy to work tirelessly. scene after scene plays out like a film, as a proof of just how cruel the ipc can be.

you stopped looking into his memories, tears forming in the corner of your eyes. you would never guess that this easygoing and arrogant man hides such a past.

eventually, you start following him around—watching him gamble, standing in the corner when he sleeps, even sneaking into the ipc's annual meeting just to make sure he's safe. you find him fascinating, the way he can acts so haughty while having experienced so many things he should never have gone through.

until one day, aventurine's guts tell him to catch this strange, mysterious creature that has been stalking him. but you're so hard to catch, so hard that he has to pretend to sleep to make you lower your guard and make yourself visible.

"snooping around again, little memokeeper?" he chuckles the moment you turn around in surprise. you do want to show yourself to him, but not this early! and when you tried to escape, he caught your hand just before you could teleport, pulling you closer, "since you already know so much about me, i can't possibly let you roam freely anymore,"

so now you live with a rich senior manager of the largest corporation in the cosmos, always stuck to his side—aventurine wouldn't like it if you were to use the knowledge about his past for something that'll ruin his business!

he spoils you, of course—while ignoring the weird look he gets from his subordinates and acquaintances when they saw him talking to the air. so you take care of him in return! comforting him when he has a bad day and making sure he did not forget his meals.

this is a memokeeper's love language me thinks: you also create light cones of the moments when he's the happiest—which are usually when you're around, and you bring them to the garden of recollection to make sure you have something to remember him when the fated day comes. aventurine also keeps some of these rectangle objects in his room, and he probably gaze at the pictures when you're away collecting memories.

bonus: imagine aventurine asking you to reveal his luck for today before he went to gamble, to which you refuse, since memokeepers cannot use their powers for self-indulgent reasons—congrats, now you have earned yourself a pouty aven!

[yuus-sentient-teddy]

"You're staying here."

A/N: Spoilers for Prologue, Books 1-6, and certain events. Sorry! I've had this story in my drafts for so many months. I hope ya'll enjoy it and please let me know what you think.

EDIT: I accidentally posted this while in the middle of editing and decided to still work on it while it was posted XD

". . . What? Hang on--"

"Calm down, we just need you to be our in-between in case the beast gets to us. Having you up here means you can get to the Headmaster faster--"

"Wait, stop. Stop." Yuu squinted at Leona, incredulous. "You could have one of your dormmates do that. Your dorm is based on athletics, I'm pretty sure whoever he is could get to the Headmaster faster than me. Not to mention, I'm a Beast Tamer, I should be going with you guys!"

"You're also magicless." Leona was mercilessly blunt with that fact. The words reminded Yuu of all the jabs of random bullies throughout the schoolyear, and they gritted their teeth. Before they could argue back, Leona said, "I'm not saying that that makes you useless, but let's face it: you're not going to survive that oversized house cat unless you can put up a barrier or counter a spell."

"I probably wasn't meant to survive a lot of things since coming here, but look what happened--" Yuu spread their arms out--"I'm alive anyways."

"It's probably because you had one of us or Grim with you," Ace said. "Dealing with the ghosts at Ramshackle the first night and every other thing after that, Grim. Fighting the Phantom in the mines, the three of us. All of the Overblots, a group of us." He was counting off each instance with his fingers, clearly not sorry for making a case against Yuu. "I know you're not thrilled about being left out of something as big as this, but without Grim, you're not going to be able to do much, let alone protect yourself. We can't keep an eye on you either, so it's basically better if you stay here."

He didn't shrink away from the look of betrayal and anger on Yuu's face and stood still when they marched up to him. "Okay, first of all, when have I ever asked any of you to keep an eye on me? Yeah, never. And second in case you forgot, I've handled myself pretty damn well when it came to random magic crap. I literally can't count how many times I almost got burnt by fireballs, impaled by ice, and struck by lightning by people that can't aim, and there are a lot of them at this school. Yeah, Vargas's 'catch-up' lessons helped with my speed, but my point still stands."

They held up a hand, stopping Ace from rebutting. "And if you're going to bring up Grim probably throwing out spells with weird side effects, don't. I've suffered enough curses getting thrown at me and potions being snuck into my food to get used to weird effects."

"Wait, people have been doing those things?!" Kalim's eyes were wide in disbelief and shock. "Why?"

Yuu half-heartedly tossed their arms, palms turning upward, as a form of a shrug. "Probably because they're assholes and I'm an easy guinea pig. If we're being a little pessimistic, it's probably also because no one would miss me. Magicless nobody from another world and all that."

"That's a horrible thing to think about!" Kalim cried. The Ramshackle Prefect was a helpful person and tried avoiding trouble the best they could. Not to mention, they weren't in line for something major like a merchant business or a throne. How could anyone want to trouble Yuu? (And how could Yuu think no one would miss them?)

"No surprise they'd think that," Idia mumbled.

"Hate to break it to you, but even if you got potioned and cursed a lot, there's still going to be something you won't be able to handle," Ruggie said. "I get what you mean, though. I got cursed and potioned a bunch of times before I started working for Leona and still a little after. At some point, you're more annoyed than bothered by whatever happens to you."

There were times he saw his freshman self in Yuu. Struggling to understand the lessons, having to bear with a handful of cruel upperclassmen or fellow classmates, left to carry out a difficult task on their own... he sometimes may or may not have been at the right place at the right time to offer help--in exchange for a favor, of course.

"That still doesn't mean you should throw yourself into a fight without knowing what could happen to you," he added, almost scolding.

"I know, but I still helped with the Overblots, didn't I? I think that's enough proof that I can handle being in dangerous fights," Yuu said, crossing their arms. Their sleeve got pushed up and a healing scar on the back of their wrist was revealed, which caught multiple eyes.

Savanaclaw and the Leech Twins remembered the cry of fear and pain when the Octopus Phantom's tentacle snatched their arm, right after they had stepped out of the way of a funnel of water. Octavinelle and Kalim remembered Yuu being sent flying after the Genie Phantom shot a spell that created a force upon impact. They would have hit the wall like a rag doll if Azul didn't catch them with wind magic. The VDC group members remembered them on the ground, twitching sporadically as one of the Hag Phantom's regular sized apples innocently rolled away like it didn't poison them through touch. (Deuce panicked so hard he summoned a cauldron to crush it even though just stepping on the apple was all that was needed.) And who could forget Yuu yanking their arm out of a nest of thorny branches that had been summoned by the Dragon Phantom? They had scars from thorns that got particularly stuck.

After realizing they were staring, Yuu followed the gazes and put their hands in their pockets as casually as they could.

"If you're worried about us thinking less of you, I assure you we wouldn't," Azul said. "There's nothing about the offer that you should be worried about. Again, it's not because your magiclessness makes you less valuable. It's simply letting you avoid another troublesome fight."

He didn't turn on the charm; no smiles or overly fawning words. He was dead serious and it made Yuu uneasy. Why did he want them to take the offer? Although--and this uneased them much more--it was starting to feel like most of the boys were conspiring to keep them out of the fight.

"After everything you've gone through, you pretty much deserve this. Don't worry about Grim, either." Deuce pounded his chest. "We'll be sure to bring him back in one piece."

"I. . . appreciate. . ." Yuu gestured vaguely while also feeling that 'appreciate' was a strange thing to say. They didn't appreciate being pushed out of something important without being heard, and they weren't sure how to feel about the unexpected concern for their wellbeing, especially at a time like this. "I appreciate you guys wanting to give me a break, but I really am serious about coming with to save Grim."

They saw shoulders slumping and heard frustrated huffs. "Listen!" they yelled, starting to feel frustrated themself. "I almost lost Grim once! I need to be there to make sure I don't lose him again. I know you guys can do what I can't, I've seen you all fight before, and I know you all will be able to handle what's coming, but I can't stand being on the side again! So, like it or not, I'm coming with. And why do any of you care about me getting a few scratches or hits from magic, anyway? It's not like it hasn't happened before."

No one responded.

". . . Guys?"

Finally, Leona clicked his tongue. "So annoying. I told you all it would've been pointless to do this."

"What's going on?" Yuu scanned the faces around them, noticing how uneasy Jack and Riddle looked, how Ace and Deuce seemed to have something to say, how irritated or hesitant everyone else appeared. Malleus approached them and they immediately noticed his brows furrowed in concern. "Tsunotaro. . . ?"

"Two night ago, we all shared a prophetic vision, likely similar to what you have been experiencing as of late. All of us were gathered together battling the chimera form of Grim in the same area as the current one. He casted spells that were beyond his usual abilities, including one that made it hard to breathe. Somehow, in the blink of a moment, you ended up alone with him trying to get him to come to his senses."

Yuu held their breath as Malleus said, "But then he opened his mouth and lunged towards you, and the vision ended. Forgive us for not telling you sooner. It is difficult speaking of someone's prophesied death and we did not want you to lose your confidence."

Multiple eyes carefully watched Yuu process everything he said. Some wondered how this would affect their character (Malleus admired them for their courage, considering their circumstances, and Ace liked them for their gutsy and surprising moments; hopefully nothing would change).

Others hoped that Yuu would relent and let the group fight Grim without them (Rook was regretful of leaving Yuu behind, but someone as special as them needed to be kept safe; Riddle simply didn't want to lose a dear friend).

And others prepared to rebut Yuu if they were still stubborn about going (Leona was mentally groaning and Vil shared his sentiment; aside from the Freshman Squad's reputation for having hard-heads, the two understood how much Grim meant to Yuu).

The Ramshackle Prefect started to observe them in turn with an unreadable expression.

Then they scowled. "You all realize how fucked up it is to keep that a secret, right? I mean, shouldn't I be told I might be walking to my death? Or is it--I don't know. You all think I can't make my own decisions?"

"That's the thing, Yuu. You care a lot about the people around you, and when it comes to Grim, you'd do anything to keep him safe. Even if we told you about the vision, I'm willing to bet you'd try to convince us to let you come anyway," Ace said. "You're right, it was fucked up to keep the vision from you, but we can't let you be so careless about yourself, especially since it's basically confirmed you might die."

"That cat has no idea how lucky he is to have a patient and caring person like yourself," Sebek said. "It wouldn't do for him to learn it through severely injuring you."

"And actually, none of us would be able to stand it if you got hurt or worse and we had the opportunity to prevent it," Ortho said. "You've done a lot already. Just this once, we want to handle this without troubling you."

Yuu silently stared at their Squad, mouth agape.

"When we found out you had gone with Epel and Hunt to find S.T.Y.X.'s headquarters, we seriously thought wouldn't see you again," Deuce said. "You gave us a heart attack with what happened in Scarabia. What you did then was unbearable."

"I know it's pointless to think about, but I sometimes worry over what would have happened if I didn't get my Unique Magic in time," Epel said. "Seeing that vision of Grim pouncing on you, though. . . it's made it harder to sleep at night."

"Frankly, the headmaster could be more considerate of you," Jack said. "Having to take care of Grim and being a Prefect can't be easy. Not to mention, what was he thinking tasking you with stopping Azul?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking to the side. "On top of being a little reckless, it makes it hard to not want to pull you back from any trouble."

"So, whatever you tell us, we're not taking no for an answer," Ace concluded.

The anger they had towards everyone for their audacity to keep the vision a secret was dimmed a little (just a little) by their friends' worry for their well-being. At the same time, the worrying made their heart tremble and throat tighten. They closed their eyes and took a deep breath. "You know, this whole time I was expected to be a stone wall. I forgot what it felt like to be cared about."

"Huh?" multiple voices chorused.

"What do you mean by that?" Deuce asked.

"Well, I was pretty much thrown into a lion's den and expected to survive it. I wasn't given much sympathy either by nearly everyone I met, especially during the first month." (A few of the boys internally cringed, remembering the hurtful words he had said.) "There's also the fact that most of the school consists of pricks who are self-absorbed year-round. It's not very comforting to know that if something happens to me, there's a good chance no one's going to give me a hand, except if it's people I get along with or people who can benefit from my suffering."

"I don't blame you for wanting certain attitudes to change, but you know as well as I do that you'll encounter pricks and predators anyway beyond the school walls," Vil said but not without some sympathy.

"I do," they said bitterly. "Look, I get it. I shouldn't expect the world to hold my hand or offer me everything on a silver platter. But--god damn it, would it have killed anyone or even any of you guys to have some sympathy? To be a little more decent?”

"I was able to bear the atmosphere of NRC for a while, but at some point, it gets so fucking tiring. A student population that can't be a smidge nicer unless they're beaten up or more upfront about their actual intentions." They shook their head, then made a derisive sound. "That's why I'm having a hard time processing this. I'm sorry, but I can't wrap my head around the fact that you guys, who come from Night Raven College, are actually showing that you care."

The corner of their lip twitched upward, forming a broken smile. Concern was visible on everyone's faces.

"Yuu," Ace said, "are you okay?"

". . . No. I haven't been okay since coming here, or maybe I wasn't okay before coming here and it just got worse. I don't really know."

They turned their face to the side, but it was too late: everyone saw a tear slide down their cheek. Except for Grim and the rest of the First Year Squad, no one ever saw the Ramshackle Prefect cry. It strangely made everyone concerned, and some reached out a hand.

"Yuu..."

"Prefect..."

They raised a fist to their face, as though it could stop the tears before they could spill. They took a slow, deep breath to calm themself, but they never let that breath go in fear a sob would escape.

"Yuu." A hand gently touched their shoulder. "It's all right."

They shoved the person away. They couldn't see who it was from the torrent of tears that suddenly spilled and blinded their sight. "It's not!"

"I was starting to believe people when they said I wouldn't be anything! They told me I was useless and dumb and a nobody. They told me I should've stayed a janitor because I couldn't do anything right. They'd try to beat me up for some etiquette I didn't know or for some stupid reason."

Insulting Yuu's parents and them. . .

Riddle noticed Trey setting aside a big cookie during preparations for the Unbirthday Party. It was for Yuu. Earlier that day, someone or some people had stolen their bag and stuffed it with crumpled paper and empty food wrappers. Their notebooks--thankfully still in tact--had been tossed haphazardly around the school and led to the field where the bag was left. Trey found all this out when Ace and Deuce returned to Heartslabyul dorm scowling. The Unbirthday Party went on as usual, and Yuu seemed cheered up by the cookie and receiving the honors of petting a hedgehog. Much, much later, Riddle caught a bully red-handed and dished out the consequences for breaking Rule #53: You must replace anything you steal. Sadly, it didn't deter other bullies from stealing Yuu's bag, but Riddle still punished whoever he could for breaking an important rule and troubling someone so undeserving.

Threatening to take a tooth. . .

Leona overheard a conversation while napping in the botanical garden. In between sleep and waking, he initially thought he was dreaming the times he overheard the servants whispering disapprovingly about him. What made him wake up was hearing plots to get Yuu kicked out. He couldn't be bothered to care what ridiculous crap the herbivores in the other dorms or his juniors in Savanaclaw got caught up in, but this was something different. Joke or not, someone had to step in before either party gets kicked out--and that's what he did, telling the students off for planning something ridiculous and highly risky (and glaring harshly when he recognized some of the students as members of the Magift Club). After the students scrammed, he settled back down to sleep and his mind wandered to Yuu. He felt a little deja vu when he thought how they needed a tutor to keep themself from failing (and Grim too even though that fur ball could pay to be less annoying). It would dig into his rest time, but he had an idea for what Yuu could do to make up for that. Say, help a certain hyena finish his given tasks quicker.

"It feels like I'm only here for people to use or take from. I keep wondering why it always happens. Is there something wrong with me? Was there some invisible sign telling people I was a tool that didn't need repairs? Was I cheap labor because I'm on the bottom of some hierarchy?"

Taking Ramshackle Dorm away. . .

Once, Azul came across a group of students playing 'keep away' with Yuu and their lunch box. For a moment, he was reminded of his child self, trying to get back a seashell from a couple of bullies who were tossing it to each other over his head and taunting his slowness. He snapped out of his memories when Ace, Deuce, and Grim entered the scene, magic ablazed and yelling. It wouldn't be the first time he would see this happen: anytime anyone picked on Yuu while using magic, their friends would come to their aid. (If Azul had to be honest, he envied the Ramshackle Prefect for having people like the First Year Squad look out for them.) But then, some time after his Overblot, he came across a couple of students on brooms waving Yuu's homework from their perch. The sight particularly irked him, but before he could step in, one of the bullies lost his grip and a couple of papers got blown away. The rest of the homework got lost when he and his accomplice tried grabbing the sheets. It all drifted onto the wet grass below or sailed over the trees, and the bullies, suddenly remembering they had something more important to do, left Yuu scrambling to salvage what they could. Azul wouldn't forget the Prefect's face when they asked, defeated, what he wanted in exchange for helping them with the missing papers. He neither wouldn't forget their face when they asked how he had been able to deal with being picked on so much. For once, he didn't feel the urge to strike a deal.

Using them for a plan. . .

When the high of partying in the desert died down, all Jamil could think about was how he would tell his family that he Overblotted and why. It churned his stomach picturing their horrified faces, and it was made worse when he wondered what the Al-Asim family would do if they heard that their heir had been caught in a dangerous situation by none other than the loyal best friend. What would happen to him and his family then? Amidst the inner turmoil, the Ramshackle Prefect and Grim were far from his mind until he and Kalim found them practicing for the VDC tryouts. A proper apology was due, but he didn't have one prepared. It didn't seem to matter to the two, though, as they acted like nothing happened. As though he didn't force them to "solve" another dorm problem right after Grim expressed not wanting to. When Vil Overblotted, he saw Grim rearing to fight while voicing how troublesome it was to deal with yet another Overblot. His eyes slid over to Yuu. . . and it was crystal clear they didn't want to deal with anything anymore. They stared at Vil's cackling, levitating figure with despair, eyes telling of exhaustion and mouth tugging into a grimace, a sign of reluctant acceptance. He tried to protect them when he could from poisonous spells--emphasis on tried, since he still had Kalim to keep safe--and afterwards, offered leftover food whenever Scarabia had parties.

"Was an Overblot all it took for people to see me differently? I can't control how other people act, only how I respond. All I can do is take things easy and forgive, but I don't know if I can keep doing it. It's just. . ."

Their voice trembled. "So hard to keep going when it seems like barely anyone wants to consider you."

Word spread fast around Night Raven College and it wasn't long before Vil recognized that Yuu was in a challenging position: they lived in a literal ramshackle dorm, had to live on a small budget, and were entirely new to this world. He had to hand it to them, they possessed quite the will and backbone. After all they experienced, he counted himself lucky that they warmed up to him rather quickly--which was why he noticed how tensely quiet they became the night after their friends snuck a bite of unknowingly cursed dessert. When asked, they told him bluntly that it was painful seeing food used like that. They were struggling to pay off lunch debts and it was made much worse when already broken windows broke a little more or parts of the roof had to be patched up after a short downpour. Vil could see a little hunger in their eyes as they talked of instances where they had to decide between repairs and eating dinner that night, even the next two nights. He didn't know about their struggles in the first place, but he nonetheless felt terrible about what he did and deeply apologized. For the rest of the VDC training camp, he ignored any footsteps that came from the Prefect's bedroom and headed downstairs, even as they made the floorboard creak loudly.

Idia sometimes thought about how the Prefect looked when they thanked him for listening to their rambles of all the anime they watched back on Earth. The two of them were sitting in Ramshackle Dorm's lounge, waiting for the next level of the game to finish loading, when he glanced over. Serene and distant, like they had recounted a fond memory. He thought back to all the isekai manga, anime, and video games he consumed. Some protagonists seemed pretty eager to be in another world, others were immediately wishing to go back home, but those who expressed homesickness did it in a cool way, like staring at a moon while sitting next to a best friend (he did remember reading fanfiction where it was more emotional, though.) None had a protagonist talk about something as mundane as the shows they loved to watch, let alone a protagonist who would talk to someone awkward like him. Didn't Yuu have their squad for these sort of heart to heart things? But they insisted that he was the guy they wanted to talk to; according to them, he was the most similar to the friends they rambled to about anime and would very likely 'get' what they would be talking about. Idia was simultaneously flattered and frightened: flattered because his expertise in the media was recognized and frightened because he was in a position reserved for those with high relationship levels. In fact, he panicked when Yuu suddenly got teary-eyed. The saving grace was the next level finishing loading and the characters getting thrown into chaos. The next time he came to Ramshackle Dorm, he brought with him some anime he thought Yuu would appreciate.

"And that's the thing. I don't understand how people forget there's more to a person than whether they have magic. There were times I wished no one had magic so they'd just shut up and stop acting like they're better than me or anyone else. It's like having magic is an excuse to be an ass."

Yuu sometimes joined Malleus on his nighttime strolls. Most nights they would be sound asleep, which was why he treasured the times they were awake enough to walk with him. The two talked about anything that came to mind: gargoyles, schoolwork, differences between Earth and Twisted Wonderland. Then one night, Yuu casually mentioned that many of the students were rather. . . unwelcoming. "Some of them act like I don't exist, but it's better than getting my homework stolen and thrown to the wind." He was surprised, but not unfamiliar with bullying from Lilia's recollection of cruel humans and various history lessons. He asked why. They shrugged, answering, "Probably because I'm low on the hierarchy. I don't have basic knowledge on magic on top of being magicless." When he said it still didn't warrant such behavior, they smiled sadly and replied, "Well, that's how it goes when you got something another person doesn't, and that other person just so happens to not really fit in a certain place." Later, Malleus was distraught to hear from Lilia that some of the students who were unkind to Yuu were of Diasomnia. The dorm was founded on the elegance of the Thorn Witch, surely the students would act with decor. But Lilia told him not to worry, he had a word with those students on being more open. But Malleus still wondered if there was something he could do. It turns out the answer was simple (even though it took place after his Overblot): hang out with Yuu during the daytime. They were a fellow student, were they not? So why should they be treated any different?

"Sometimes, I wonder if anything would change if I Overblotted. Would anyone wonder then why it happened and be nicer? Or. . ." Yuu let out a bitter scoff. "Would nothing change and people just see me more as an alien freak?"

They scrubbed the tears in their eyes. "Maybe I'm just a dumb ass and my Phantom would just eat me. It's not like I have anything else to offer it. God, what am I doing?"

The weight of what they had spilled for the past couple of minutes started crashing down like a crumbling shelf. They didn't want to see what the others' reactions were and continued to wipe their eyes with their hands and sleeves, even if there wasn't much to wipe. Their mind cycled through anything they could say to escape such an embarrassing situation. So sorry, I didn't know where it came from. Let's go back to arguing why I can't come with you guys to save my cat. He has been nothing but a pain in the ass, I should know, but he's become nicer and been my primary protector. He keeps insisting he'd protect me because he's the boss and I'm his henchman, and it's so endearing sometimes. And he's comforted me when I become so sick and just need someone to hold me--

"How long has this been going on for?" It was a gentle question. Yuu lowered their hand and found Ace and Deuce standing before them, the worry on their faces making their heart clench.

"A long time."

"Why didn't you say anything? We could have done something, you know," Deuce said.

Yuu shook their head. "This school runs on sink or swim. 'Losers don't have the right to complain.' And did you guys forget that we're freshmen? What can you guys do against the whole school? I actually talked about this with the school counselor and all he could do was apologize and tell me he'll put in a note for the headmaster."

Yuu almost laughed at the faces Ace and Deuce made. "I'm pretty sure I'm his first case for something like this."

"Still, you shouldn't just take everything lying down," Deuce said.

"I don't want to anymore, but I'm so tired of fighting. At what point can I stop?"

Yuu was once again seen under a new light. The viewpoint was different for each boy: from magicless outlier to honorary dorm member, notorious problem solver to exhausted errand runner, doe-eyed student to determined but kind mastermind, just to name a few. Yuu had laid bare wounds previously covered up by uniform sleeves, things they couldn't talk about or didn't feel comfortable sharing because otherwise they'd go against the school norm and grab negative attention to themself. Their closest friends knew of these wounds; others caught glimpses of certain parts. With the revelation, they all shared a similar viewpoint: an ordinary person so far from home, dropped into a magical, chaotic world and more vulnerable than what anyone realized. More exhausted and heavily scarred than what anyone realized.

"When Leona told me to stay here, I thought all along you guys didn't think of me as someone who could stand beside you and that everything had just been you all tolerating me." Yuu's voice dropped to a whisper. "That had hurt me more than any of you could know."

". . . Anyone who thinks you're undeserving of your position knows absolutely nothing," Riddle said. "Not counting your grades, you've proven yourself enough to have a place in this school."

Yuu gave Riddle a wobbly smile and he found himself feeling a little bashful. "Thanks, Riddle."

The smile suddenly became strained and they looked away. "I'm sorry. I know I said I took things easy and forgave, but--" they grimaced--"I can't bring myself to let go of some things you and the others did."

A/N: This accidentally became a two parter

EDIT: I forgot to add the link to part 2. Here it is

[broodparasitism]

Everything I've Learned About Querying from Talking to Agents (And Traditionally Published Authors)

Disclaimer: I'm UK based, as was everyone I spoke to. I didn't include any country specific advice, just what I think is applicable regardless of where you live, put it might be useful to know this is from a UK lens.

As part of my course I was able to go to a lot of talks with literary agents (a mixture of literary, genre and nonfiction) and I picked up a lot of useful information - a lot of it not quite so bleak as I feared! - and thought it might be helpful to compile it for anyone looking to query agents in the future, so, here goes, under the readmore:

Querying

Remember that agents want to find and publish new authors. They're not at odds with/out to get aspiring authors. They want to work with us. This is someone you're working with, so don't pick an agent you won't get along with.

Manuscripts should be queried when they are as close to finished you are able to manage. There are a few agents that are open to incomplete manuscripts, yes, but many more that flat-out refuse unfinished work. Manuscripts generally go through about ~15 rounds of edits before landing an agent.

Send query letters in batches - around five or six at a time. There is no limit to how many agents you can contact, but you can't contact more than one agent from the same agency, so make sure you've selected the most suitable one from each.

In most cases you can't submit the same manuscript to the same agent twice - so having it be as finished as possible is all the more vital.

Some of them will take a long time to respond. Some never respond at all. If it's been three months of nothing, it's safe to assume that's a rejection.

One agent said she took on about two new authors a year, which likely isn't true for them all but is probably a reasonable average. For all of them, the amount of queries they get can be in the three digits a week. I can't emphasis enough just how many they get. I take a lot of authors to mean that means it's a 0.001% chance and despair, but that assumes each manuscript has an equal chance, and they don't. Correct spelling and grammar, writing in a genre that appeals to the agent, quality sample chapters and respecting the submission guidelines (more on this later) improve the odds by a significiant amount.

One agent said he rejected about half of his submissions from the first page due to spelling and grammar mistakes and cliches, for perspective.

You'll need to pitch your book. If your book cannot be pitched in three sentences, that's a sign it has too much going on and you'll need to do some pruning.

Please don't panic if you cannot come up with an accurate pitch for your book on the fly - you're not supposed to be able to do that. A pitch takes many edits and drafts just like a manuscript.

Send your first three chapters and a synopsis (this should be a page, or two pages double spaced. It should not include every single plot point though, again, if major things end up not there at all, question if they're necessary for the manuscript).

Three chapters is the standard - as in, if the agent web page doesn't specify how many, that's what to opt for. If they say anything else, for the love of God listen. If there was a single piece of advice that the agents emphasised above all else, it was to just follow each submission requirement to a T.

There needs to be a strong hook in these chapters. If your manuscript is a bit of a slow burn, that's fine, but you can cheat a bit with a 'prologue' that's actually a very hook-y scene from later on.

Read the agent's bio page throughly and make a note of what they like, who they represent, and what they're looking for, and highlight this in the query letter.

Your query letter has to say a little about you. It doesn't have to be really personal information (but say if you're under 40, because that's rare for authors and they like that), and keep it professional but not stiff, they say. If you have any writing credentials, such as awards won or creative writing degrees, include them, as with any real life experiences that pertains to the content of your book. But no one will be rejected on the basis of not having had an interesting enough life.

Apparently one of the biggest mistakes for debut authors tend to be too many filler scenes.

In terms of looking for comparative titles, think about where you want your book to 'sit'. Often literally - go into bookstores and visualise where on the displays you could see it. It's really helpful if you can identify a specific marketing niche. Though you want to choose comparisons that sell well, but going for really obvious choices looks lazy. A TV or film comparison is fine - as long as it genuinely can be compared.

Do not call yourself the next Donna Tartt. Or JK Rowling. They are sick of this.

Don't trust agents who request exclusive submission.

Or any with a fee. Agents take a percentage of your advance/royalties - you never pay them directly.

In terms of trends (crowd booing), there's been a boom in uplifting, optimistic fiction, but more recently dark fiction has been rising in popularity and looks to have its moment. Fantasy and Gothic are both huge right now. Publishers also love what's called upmarket/book club fiction - books that toe the line between genre and literary.

But publishers aren't clairvoyant and writing to trends is a futile effort, so don't let them shape what you want to write. Some writing advice I got that I loved was to not even THINK about marketability until draft three or four.

If any agent requests your full manuscript - this is crucial - email every other agent you're waiting to hear back from and let them know. This will take your manuscript from the slush pile to the top, and you are more likely to get more offers of representation.

The agent that flatters you the most isn't necessarily the best. Be sure to ask them what their plan for the book is, and what publishers they're planning to send it to - you want them to have a precise vision. It might be that their vision misses the mark on what kind of book you wanted to write, and if so, they aren't the right agent for you.

Research like hell! A good place to start is finding out who represents authors you love (the acknowledgements pages are really helpful here). if you can, getting access to The Writer's and Artist's Yearbook is very helpful, as is The Bookseller, the lattr for checking up on specific agents. (I was warned the website search engine is awful, so google "[name] the Bookseller" to see what they've sold. That said, only the huge deals get reported, so it's not indicative of everyone they take on.

I also want to add Juliet Mushen's article on what makes a good query. I owe a lot to it, and I feel like it's a useful template!

Once Agented

Agents send a manuscript to about 18-25 publishers, typically. Most books will end up having more than one publisher interested.

It can be hard to move genres after publishing a debut novel, especially for book two, not only because it means it takes longer for you to establish yourself, but the agent that may be perfect for dealing with manuscripts for book one might not have the skills for book two.

Ask the agency/publisher about their translation rights, their rights to the US market, and film and TV rights. Ask also what time of year the book is going to come out, if being published.

It's less the book agents are interested in than it is you as an author. You will be asked what you're going to write next, so have an answer. Just an answer - you don't need another manuscript ready to go. One author said she flat-out made up a book idea on the spot, and she got away with it - just have an answer. (This is also useful to put on the query letter.)

Caveat that this is, of course, not a foolproof guide to getting a book deal, nor is it in any way unconditional endorsement of how the industry works - I just thought it would be useful to know.

[al-the-remix]

TikTok Chef!Buck AU please please please!

I didn't know I needed this :D

Okay, so I already wrote about this one a bit here and here, but I do actually have a rough draft finished for this fic as well!

Basically, Buck has a Tik Tok account like this dude that Tommy gats totally enthralled with before they meet during the Cruise Ship Incident

Tommy keeps getting notifications from ChefFirehose that he doesn’t know how to turn off, and even if he did, at this point he probably wouldn’t bother. He still watches all of Evan’s videos, albeit a little less guiltily than before–after the harbour station tour Evan had continued his peruse of Tommy’s Instagram account with what Tommy would classify as admirable shamelessness, commenting stuff like nice form :) on a gym shots from three years ago.  It still feels like Tommy’s getting away with something that he shouldn’t be when it’s as easy as opening up TikTok and clicking on Evan’s profile to get to see him half-naked and making provocative hand gestures with a cantaloupe. There’s actual porn he could be watching. Hell, he could re-download Grindr and get his rocks off in under an hour instead of drooling over the way Evan’s biceps flex and twitch as he rolls out pastry dough. It takes him back to his days of furtively jerking it to the gay porn mags hidden beneath ceiling tiles in the barracks and wedged between loose pieces of siding in the latrines during deployment, or cruising for hookups in Military M4M AOL chat rooms and Craigslist listings.  He slinks off to the bathroom to take a cold shower when he realizes he’s worked himself half-hard over some bread fondling. He can’t help it, it’s like Evan’s got an iron grip on his brainstem and won’t let go.  /// Tommy’s working in the garden in his backyard when his phone vibrates in the little spot of shade he’d left it in. Tommy eyes it sidelong. It feels like he’s quitting nicotine all over again and someone just lit up in front of him.  He wipes his slick palms on his shorts before reaching for his phone. ChefFirehose has posted again and Tommy clicks on it without thinking twice.  The new video is different from the others. For one, Evan has all his clothes on. He’s dressed casually in a t-shirt and jeans, both looser than the ones he often wears for his videos that look as if they could be spray painted on.  There’s daylight softening the edges of his face and lighting his kitchen in a buttery glow when he smiles.  "I've got a special video today for you guys. We’re baking a cake for charity–and we have a guest!" The toddler he plops on the counter beside him is one Tommy recognizes. Howie’s kid, Buck’s niece. “This is Sous-chef Jee and she’s going to be helping us out today.” That's when Tommy knows he's really fucked. And not in the fun, kinky way, but in the devastatingly I'm never going to recover from these feelings kind of way.  He contemplates the tomato patch, what’s the worst that could happen if he shoots his shot? Evan seems like the kind of guy that would be flattered rather than offended if Tommy was a little wide of his mark. Hey, why don’t you invite Evan along to Trivia night? He sets his phone to the side as he waits for Eddie to reply. They still needed a third person, he thought about asking Lucy, but with the way Evan had been probing him with questions during the tour Tommy had a feeling this was something he might enjoy. It’s not like there was any harm in asking. Buck? I was going to ask him to be my babysitter :( Tommy considers just leaving it there, but he can't ignore the tugging feeling in his stomach telling him to push just a little bit harder. Do you have anyone else you can ask to look after Chris? Maybe he should have just asked Evan himself, but if Tommy was wrong and Buck wasn’t actually interested, he’d probably feel more comfortable turning Eddie down than the guy he didn’t know all that well.  Yeah, it just might involve a lot of groveling. I’ll get back to you. Tommy pockets his phone and gets back to work. It's out of his hands now.

[nicosraf]

You inspire me…. Any advice for writing books ?

!! I'm honored u get a little inspiration from me! That's very sweet of you.

I struggle with advice because I've only written about 5 books and published... two-ish. (An old fanfic and ABM, which as you know is basically fanfic). But I think I have some specific advice since I'm revising right now and have a lot of thoughts... Here is what works for me (!):

Outline. I know it sucks but... please try it. (Or you'll end up like GRRM).

Draft without going back to read what you wrote, or at least don't read your unfinished manuscript in full. You will want to edit it. Don't edit it. Yes it sounds bad; yes you used the same word 8 times in a paragraph by accident; yes you can see a major plot hole. Don't fix it yet, maybe write it down somewhere so you don't forget to fix it later. You need to avoid editing while drafting or you will never finish the draft. This is the biggest advice I can give anyone, especially if you haven't written your first book yet.

Give each character a strong backstory, even if it never shows up in the plot. Sounds obvious but sometimes I have to remind myself of this.

Give your characters friendships, not just romantic relationships. Include tender scenes with friends.

A lot of writing is tedious and boring. Drafting is hard, editing is hard. You have to be disciplined. But finding motivation is also hard. Don't motivate yourself using the dream of a fanbase or the dream of becoming famous. You're setting yourself up to be hurt. (Not because any of that is impossible but because achieving it in the way that you dream is virtually impossible.) Motivate yourself using something more personal, if you can.

Re-do your outline after you draft. Why? Because you probably changed things while you drafted, you probably made some stuff up on the spot, character dynamics changed, etc. A new outline is good because you can see the story you actually wrote, which is helpful for editing for plot cohesion, moving scenes, adding and removing stuff.

Your draft is going to be bad. Don't freak out. Drafts are always bad. You're going to want to analyze the hell out of it though. What did you plan, what did you write, what worked, what didnt work, what themes are on the page, what themes should you remove, what themes should you amplify.

When editing a scene isn't working, rewrite it entirely. Yes it's more work. You'll be much happier though, I promise.

The first to second revisions should be for plot and characters and pacing; these should take the longest and be the most difficult. The last third to fourth revision should be about prose. Don't focus on prose when you're trying to fix the plot.

Let characters fuck up unforgivably.

Consider your audience heavily when you edit, but don't consider them when you draft.

I've given this advice before but when it comes to plot devices/objects, you want to give each device a moment of introduction, a moment where it's recalled, and a moment of use. (Ex. A knife is introduced in chapter 1, its mentioned again casually in chapter 7, then it's used to kill someone in chapter 14.) This is mostly to give each object its own arc that feels satisfactory but ur the boss about what works best.

Kill all your characters, but not physically (unless you want to). Make them change so much that, by the end, they would barely recognize who they were at the start.

This is book advice for the type of books that I've written. Things are very different if you're writing, say, contemporary romance, but I think this list is pretty general !! I hope it helps. Good luck!!

[tangibletechnomancy]

How To Use AI To Fake A Scandal For Fun, Profit, and Clout

Or, I Just Saw People I Know To Be Reasonable Fall For A Fake "Ripoff" And Now I'm Going To Gently Demonstrate What Really Happened

So, we all know what people say about AI. It's just an automatic collage machine, it's stealing your data (as if the rest of the mainstream internet isn't - seriously, we should be using that knee-jerk disgust response to demand better internet privacy laws rather than try to beef up copyright so that compliance has to come at the beginning rather than the end of the process and you can be sued on suspicion of referencing, but I digress...), it can't create anything novel, some people go so far as to claim it's not even synthesizing anything, but just acting as a search engine and returning something run through a filter and "proving" it by "searching" for their own art and "finding" it.

And those are blatant lies.

The thing is, the reason AI is such a breakthrough - and the reason we memed with it so hard when DALL-E Mini and DALL-E 2 first dropped - is because it CAN create novel output. Because it CAN visualize the absurd ideas that no one has ever posted to the internet before. In fact, it would be a bigger breakthrough in computer science if we DID come up with an automatic collage machine - something that knows where to cut out a part of one image and paste it onto another, then smooth out the lighting and colors to make them fairly consistent, to make it look like what we would recognize as an image we're asking for? That would make the denoising algorithm on steroids that a diffusion model is look like child's play.

But, unlike the posts that claim that they're just acting as a collage maker at best and a search engine at worst, I'm not going to ask you to take my word for it (and stick a pin in this point, we'll come back to it later). I'm going to ask you to go to Simple Stable (or Craiyon, or the Karlo demo, if Google Colab feels too complicated for you - or if you like, do all of the above) and throw in a shitpost prompt or two. Ask for a velociraptor carousel pony ridden by a bunny. Ask for Godzilla fighting a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man. Ask for an oil painting of a capybara wearing an ornate princess gown. Shitpost with it like we did before these myths took hold.

Now take your favorite result(s) and reverse image search them. Did you get anything remotely similar to your generated image? Probably not!

So then, how did someone end up getting a near perfect recreation of their work? Was that just some kind of wacky, one-in-a-million coincidence?

Well - oh no, look at that, I asked it for a simplistic character drawing and it happened to me too, it just returned a drawing of mine that I never even uploaded, and it's the worst drawing I've done since the fifth grade even just to embarrass me! Oh no, what happened, did they change things right under my nose, has digital surveillance gotten even WORSE?? Look, see, here's the original on the left, compare it to the output on the right - scary!! They're training on the contents of your computer in real time now, aaaagh!!

Except, of course, for the fact that the entire paragraph above was a lie and I did this on purpose in a way no one could possibly recreate from a text prompt, even with a perfect description.

How?

See, some models have this nifty little function called img2img. It can be used for anything from guiding the composition of your final image with a roughly drawn layout, to turning a building into a dragon...to post-processing of a hand-drawn image, to blatantly fucking lying about how AI works.

I took 5 minutes out of my day to crudely draw a character. I uploaded the image to this post. I saved the post as a draft. I stuck the image URL in the init_image field in Simple Stable, cranked the init strength up to 0.8, cleared all text prompts, and ran it. It did exactly what I told it to and tried to lightly refine the image I gave it.

If you see someone claiming that an AI stole their image with this kind of "proof", and the image they're comparing is not ITSELF a parody of an extremely well-known piece such as the Mona Lisa, or just so extremely generic that the level of similarity could be a coincidence (you/your favorite artist do/es not own the rule of thirds or basic fantasy creatures, just to name one family of example I've seen), this is what happened.

So from here you must realize that it is deeply insidious that posts that make these claims usually imply or even outright state that you should NOT try to recreate this but instead just take their word for it, stressing ~DON'T FEED THE MACHINE~. It's always some claim about "ohhh, the more you use them, the more they learn, I made a SACRIFICE so you don't have to" - but txt2img functions can't use your interaction to learn jack shit. There's no new information in a text prompt for them TO learn. Most img2img models can't learn from your input either, for that matter! I still recommend being careful about corporate img2img toys - we know that Facebook, for instance, is happy to try and beef up facial recognition for the WORST possible reasons - but if you're worried about your privacy and data harvesting, any given txt2img model is one of the least worrying things on the internet today.

So do be careful with your privacy online, and PLEASE use your very understandable knee-jerk horror response to how much extremely personal content can be found in training databases as a call to DEMAND better privacy laws ("do not track" should not be just for show ffs) and compliance with security protocols in fields that deal with very private information (COMMON CRAWL DOESN'T GO FAR OUT OF ITS WAY, IT SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN ABLE TO GET ANY MEDICAL IMAGES THE PATIENTS DIDN'T SHARE THEMSELVES HOLY SHIT, SOME HOSPITAL WORKERS AND/OR MEDICAL COMMUNICATIONS DEVELOPERS BETTER BE GETTING FIRED AND/OR SUED) - but don't just believe a convenient and easy-to-disprove lie because it aligns with that feeling.

[helslastangel]

mini "r/offmychest" (lmao?)

Honestly, it's so easy to think you enjoy having no friends when you have a ton of hobbies and not much to say. You truly forget what it's like to have big news or just something to share and wonder who to tell first. I don't remember anymore. It's been 10 months totally solo (and 3 years with exactly 1.5 friends, before anyone tells me that's "nothing").

I just... got some great news and instead of being happy, I sat in my room thinking of the first 5 people I immediately wanted to tell... but can't. Because we don't talk anymore.

Disclaimer because I know this is gonna offend people if I don't clarify: I mean local, IRL friends. I 100% believe online friends can be and are real friends but I'm exhausted of online interactions, so I'm talking about flesh-and-blood face to face friendship right now.

And no I don't have family like that. I'm THAT one in my family who everyone wants to vent or announce things to but would be perfectly happy never hearing me so much as breathe for the rest of their natural lives, so without friends, I have no one to tell anything or talk to in general. And I truly thought I had become okay with that until today. I genuinely thought I had managed to break my need to have people to talk to as I've been trying to reprogram myself to stop seek that out every chance I got like I used to.

But nope. Still there. It all came right back. I took 3 different naps trying to get rid of this ... icky feeling that some people call sadness I guess.

Anyway, that plus working a ton of overtime the past couple of weeks has me in my head and out of my mind all at once, so if y'all don't mind I'm gonna be keeping it playful or anecdotal for a few days. I'm not at the energy level I need to do the serious posts. I do actual research for those as I like to merge various perspectives with my studies and observations, so they take more out of me

I have a post in my drafts right now just talking about my mental health journey along with tarot, I'm just kinda nervous to post it and haven't decided if I should or not. I struggle with feeling envious of bloggers who can get personal without losing engagement because I feel like I can't be real for more than one or two posts at a time without a nosedive.

I am not even sure about posting this. though I will because as I've said before, I came back to Tumblr literally because I wanted somewhere to be myself, not to be stuck in performance mode like other platforms kinda force you too.

Anyway, I'm sounding whiny af and going further off-topic than usual which is my cue to shut up.

Just saying, that if some of you followed solely for astrology insights and observations (which I think might be the majority of you, based on the analytics), you don't have to worry that I'm never gonna post those again, I will. I just need to chill out for a bit and tell stories and post whatever jokes and nonsense I feel like until my mood and energy is up again. 🥰♥️

Tertiary Fe trying to work but I'm probably still nipple-deep in Si grip since January (iykyk).

[wannabevampire]

hello my vampires!

it’s allie! i don’t know how many of you remember me (goodness knows i don’t blame you considering i’ve been gone for TWO YEARS!!). but in case you forgot i use to write fanfics on here! mainly marvel, i was probably most known for writing fics about druig and matt murdock!

my life has changed A LOT since then. i moved across the country, started studying at my dream school in my dream program (#allieinstem), lived in THREE different apartments and dealt with oh so much roommate drama, became a bit of a party girl for a moment, worked a lot of different jobs, and fell in love :)

as we all know the world has FINALLY woken up and realized how hot Barry Keoghan is!! and a few weeks ago i caught myself thinking “huh i wonder what happened to that old tumblr account i ran that had over a thousand followers where i was a complete whore on the internet and wrote fan fics constantly??”.

i “abandoned” this account over two years ago, but I still think about it every now and then. i left suddenly and without notice for a multitude of reasons, but without getting too specific i was going through some insanely drastic life changes and my mental health wasn't the best.

I have retyped this post so many times because I'm not sure what to say! But I've been thinking about this account and how much it meant to me. As well as remembering my wonderful mutuals who were always so sweet, funny, and supportive <3

life has been really tough recently, not bad just…hard. and i remember how cathartic this community was for me. i’ve mentioned this before, but english is my second language and my writing has always been a huge insecurity of mine. and yet I felt so welcomed here and it gave me so many opportunities to write for fun!

to see that my fics, blurbs, and slutty fantasies are still being reblogged is so crazy and it makes me very happy! i'm not sure if i'll start writing again but i guess we’ll see :)

(regardless i might reblog a bunch of my old druig/barry content because of the current barry renaissance lol)

side note: went through my drafts and found an old matt murdock fic that i never posted???? it’s like 3.5k words lol and it's almost finished. so weird seeing my old work but like…should i post??

if you remember me at all or are interested in my old work please reach out to me! mutual, nonnie, follower, literally anyone!! i’d love to see how this little corner of the internet is doing <3

as always…

xoxo,

allie 🕊️

p.s. I have such a strong urge to reach out to my old mutuals who are still active because you guys are all such talented writers but I don't know if that would be weird since it's been so long! ahh!!! should I?? please say hi!!!

p.p.s should i post that matt murdock fic??

[imaginespazzi]

Ok bestie, anon who followed up on Amoore reporting back as requested ha. I should say we are on a similar page, her & Kitley are very tough to get a read on. And a lot of the online chatter agrees its hard to judge and goes back and forth on whether theres something more going on. For those interested, I suggest watching their youtube ch series for a general sense of them interacting. Entertaining and light vids, not overly long. Really just little things between them here & there that add up. And of course a person can review their socials..

Now onto the tea I came across online. Imperfectly summarized the best I can below. (Allow me to stipulate that I have no way of verifying any of this, so please understand Im not at all sharing any of this to be presented as true or false. Take it as simply passing along the posting of others for conversations sake here in a safe space. Comments/feedback/corrections welcome)

:

Its described as on/off thing, first beginning summer 2020. A VT insider says people are aware that Amoore hasnt been committed, to put it delicately/nicely. Leading most recently to a break of sorts last Dec-mid Jan. (Added pretty sure they are together rn though. And another person did point out if Liz was getting cheated on why would Georgia seem to maintain a good relationship with the Kitley family, which is a fair Q to pose). But notably, a strangely long break in their podcast took place over that period and for the first time in 3 years they didn’t spend XMas together or hang around each other over the holiday and when podcast recording returned they just said “we had Xmas” and didn’t talk about it. It was also pointed out that sometime in winter, Liz had tickets to see an NHL game and went w Cayla King despite her and Georgia talking about how they wanted to go together before. Only sus bc it happened to coincide w the time where Georgia was speculated to have gotten close to Kate Martin. Then suddenly they K & G werent interacting anymore and L & G seem back to being “besties”.

Sidenotes:

Liz’s "2020 love playlist"… apparently someone has screenshots that it used to be titled Georgia. Includes some fav bands/songs of Amoores. And a tune called Australia Street lol. Lots of love songs predictably, but some breakup songs were added to it at one point (the comment seems to insinuate during the time they were going through issues)

They're friends with a married lesbian couple (Youtubers/influencers? The Bellaires) who they once visited alone.

Also, fyi, Kate Martin is apparently recently back w her last ex, whoever that is - per talk re social media activity

You're my new favorite person omg because this is my kinda tea fr! Can y'all tell I love some good gossip?

I'm ngl, I was never the most invested in V-Tech or the girls on the team, so I don't really follow them. And I was pretty convinced Liz was straight so I just assumed her and Georgia really were just really close besties.

But this checks out with what I've heard/read too, that they were in that "undefined" kinda place, mainly because of Georgia and eventually Liz got tired of it. I definitely didn't know about the Christmas or the NHL stuff but that makes sense. Also from what I heard, they were probably done for good now with Liz going to the draft? But still being together also makes sense. I'm so invested in this now omg.

[dual-cetacean]

"Arthur Pendragon, the newly crowned King of Britton, is weary of the new life he leads. The battle that solidified his rule drained him of his vigour, and he aches to be carefree once more as he was as a mere squire. He treks into the Dark Woods to unwind from a stressful exchange of power. Unaware that this moonlit night would forever change his life."

Heyo! Here I am with the poll winner from last week (and a few more days)! It's Sonadow hours (Arthlot? I don't know their ship name, but it's King Arthur/Lancelot)

You can find the backstory for this fic under "Keep reading," as I go off on a tangent about its historyfic.

Please enjoy!

This fic is older than all of my other sonic fics. I am not kidding; I've had this draft lying around in my backlog for so long that I have screenshots of its layout and how I was supposed to present this on AO3. The date is September 2023, but my document files say December 2022. Since I usually type fics together in one document before deciding it can have its own document, so it is even older than that. This was supposed to be up ages ago, but I never found the courage and got swept away by the excitement of Sonic Prime. Even though I call myself a recent Sonic fan, that's not true. I grew up with Sonic X and read Sonic fan fiction on Fanfiction.net. (Oh, where has the time gone.)

Bit of a trigger warning for incest and statutory rape. As in mentioned, nothing is talked about graphically.

Now, while I am very particular about using canon as a guideline and knowing the source material like the back of my hand, this is one of my works where I will not do that. A lot of fucked up shit happens in the original compiled story of L' Morte d'Arthur (The Death of King Arthur). I will explain further in the ending notes of the fic, but for one, Arthur is aged up to 19 years old. As in the original legends, he is just called young, which is very vague. He is rewarded sex by a tavern woman for winning the battle, but it is implied she is much older than him. His age is unknown, but an opposing king calls him a beardless boy playing at being a king, and while there are plenty of men who grow a beard well into their adulthood or never, the implication of Arthur's youth and inexperience with life makes me deeply uneasy. So obviously, none of that shit is in here. Canon or not, fanfiction is here to have fun, and I won't write what makes my skin crawl.

I put this on the poll, not knowing if people would want to read this. But seeing as the poll was held on Tumblr, I should not have been surprised that it won by a landslide. I had forgotten how popular this niche ship is within the Sonadow community. And hey, I'm not complaining! I'm all too happy to share this. I read Sonadow since I was a teen, and Lansoni was a guilty pleasure of mine. I am all too happy to add to the collection! Although it is not really Lansoni as it is Sonic as King Arthur, and not actually Sonic being isikai-ed.

I am probably going to go on a SATBK binge after this. It is so weirdly nostalgic for me.

[tomurderornottomurder]

if we could just pretend; peter parker

pair. ceo!peter parker and male!reader

summ. peter reunites with an old friend. his old friend is a recovering drug addict. his old friend doesn't recover.

gen. angst, fluff, hurt/no comfort

wc. 8.8k

tw. death, drugs, addiction, overdose descriptions, blood, injury descriptions, decomposition descriptions, body descriptions from drug use, alcohol, guilt, food/eating mentions

note. can you tell i'm clearing out old drafts? song is if we could just pretend by flatsound. this has been sitting in my drafts forever and also this is the longest oneshot i've ever written. this has been two years in the making simply because i forgot it existed and got stuck several times and i did not know how to end it, so please enjoy and feedback is appreciated. as it's been sitting, my writing might show some of it's age but overall, i think it's solid. lastly, disclaimer that i have never dealt with drug addiction myself but have been around people who have so if anything is incorrect please let me know so i can improve/change it.

Where did you go, and what did you do,

With all that time, you too scared to move?

"I really appreciate this, Pete." You slap a hand on his shoulder, "I promise to make it up," You point a finger at him, "and you can hold me to that, alright?"

"You don't owe me anything, you know that," Peter replies, holding one of your bags.

The elevator dings and you step out. Peter's penthouse is extravagant and honestly just not like him. "Holy shit," You mumble. "You sure you live here?" You turn to him with raised brows.

Peter laughs softly, "I've got a few spare rooms so let me know which one you like best."

You throw your arms around his neck and press a kiss to his cheek. "Peter!" You drop your arms to wrap around his torso, "Ah, thank you so much."

Peter freezes up as his face turns bright red. He drops your bag to reciprocate your hug and rubs a hand up and down your back, "It's no problem." He's forgotten how affectionate you can be.

"You're the best, Petey!" You give him a squeeze before pulling away. You laugh softly, "Sorry 'bout the kiss, I'm just so excited! And oh my god have I missed you!" You wrap him into another hug and squeeze.

"Can't breathe," He mutters.

You pull away and put your hands on his shoulders, "Sorry, man." 

"Well, I hate to leave you but I'm going to be late for a meeting. I should be back soon, feel free to explore."

"You sure?" You quirk a brow at him, putting your hands on your hips.

"Definitely. Enjoy yourself,"

"Oh," You laugh as Peter heads to the elevator. "Peter Parker, you have made a mistake giving me such freedom."

He just laughs, "Don't burn the place down." He flashes a smile before the elevator doors close.

You twirl around in amazement, "You have really outdone yourself, Pete." You tour each room and finally pick one down the hall from Peter's. You unload your things and roughly set up your room to keep yourself busy. You explore the penthouse to get an idea of the layout and your mind piles questions up to ask Peter later. Out of pure curiosity and boredom, you peek into Peter's room. You smile at the light blue walls and vintage, framed posters. You take a step inside to get a better view and quirk a brow at a discarded bra on the floor. "Oh," You mutter. What have you been up to Peter?

"I'm back!" Peter announces, stepping out of the elevator. 

What is it like, to be by yourself, for three and a half years

For roughly three and a half years

"Welcome home, Pete." You smile at him. "So, what's on the menu?"

"I'll just cook something," Peter shrugs, taking off his suit jacket and hanging it up. "What do you like?" 

You shrug, "Anything you cook, I'll probably eat." 

"Great," He flashes a smile but you can clearly see how tired he is. He rolls the sleeves of his button-up to his elbows as he strides into the kitchen.

You follow Peter into his kitchen, taking a seat at the island while he sifts through pots and pans. "So, the famous Peter Parker doesn't have a personal chef or something?" You rest your head on your hands as you lean your elbows onto the island. You watch Peter as he gracefully pulls out ingredients and prepares them.

"I like cooking," is his simple reply.

"For your lady friends?" You smirk.

He cranes his neck in your direction with wide eyes, "What?"

You laugh, "I saw a bra on your floor. Is it from a girlfriend or a mistress?" You bite your lip to hold in another laugh as you watch Peter become more and more flustered. This is the Peter Parker I know. 

"I don't have a girlfriend or mistress," He points a pan at you. "But it's probably from a one-night stand," He shrugs, turning back to his stove.

"One-night stand? Is this my Peter Parker who couldn't ask out Liz Allan or Mj? How's Mj doing by the way?" He really has changed. 

"She's in Europe right now," 

"Good for her," You reply. "But back to my point, since when has Peter Parker been a one-night stand kind of person?" 

He shrugs, "I grew up I guess." 

"Being rich turned you into Tony Stark?" You chuckle, looking at him with pure adoration. He shakes his head with a low giggle. "Onto my next line of questioning then," You get up from your seat walking to his side. "You have alcohol?" He points to a cabinet. "Great. Now that wasn't my question," You reach up and grab some alcohol of your choice. "Why do you have so many paintings?" You lean onto the island, alcohol in hand.

He shrugs, "I enjoy art." He starts throwing ingredients into a pan.

"Are you okay? Did your meeting turn to shit?" 

He quirks a brow and looks at you as he tosses in more ingredients. "Why?"

"You're kinda snappy today. You can tell me what happened," You grab the bottle of alcohol and offer it, "and have a drink." 

He sighs, "Sure, pour it." He throws in a few more ingredients before pouring a bit of vegetable oil. 

"Anything special?" You ask, grabbing a glass from a cabinet. He shakes his head, focusing on his cooking. You smile and decide to whip him up the same thing you had when you got him to drink alcohol for the first time. "This is a classic, Peter Parker. And frankly, if you don't recognize it, I'll be offended." You smile at him as you mix his drink. 

He chuckles and shakes his head before turning his attention back to cooking. His mind is all over the place, especially with you here and by his side, he needs to focus on his cooking though.

"We make such a great pair," You start as you finish pouring his drink. "You can cook and I mix a mean drink." You slide over his drink and start downing your own. You sigh, leaning onto your hand and watching Peter. This is a nice moment, a nice break from the hell of your life.

Silence takes over the kitchen with the only noises being the moving of glasses and sounds of the food cooking. Peter's entire focus is on his cooking while your mind wanders. You watch him for a bit before momentarily drawing your attention away to refill your glass every so often. You think about how much he's changed since high school. How he's still the same yet vastly different. How your worlds greatly differ and how lucky you are for your path having come across his again. 

"Peter," You start -a bit too quiet for your liking- with your throat burning, guilt coming up just like puke does. "Peter," You repeat and this time your voice is at a volume you like. "What did you do?" You ask this too quickly. You catch how vague the question is and expand further, "I know we weren't the closest and we still aren't and I'm sorry but what did you do? What did you do in those years I was gone? I know I didn't keep in contact like Mj and everyone else did- and Ned stayed here so-" You cut yourself off. You're rambling too much. "I shouldn't have left like I did. No contact, not even a text or DM. That was shitty but I want to know what you did? What did you do by yourself?"

Peter turns to you with a soft smile but you can feel the sadness behind it. He really doesn't know what to say. "It's okay, you know?" His head is tilted down but his eyes peer up to look at you. "It's okay that you left," He wants to assure you and hope he does. He can't be sure that he's reassuring though because he's not sure the words he's using are right. "By myself," He mumbles to himself but doesn't realize it. He sighs before explaining what happened after graduation, how he graduated college early, and lastly how he inherited some of Tony Stark's company and started his own. 

"God," You shake your head after Peter finishes. "I wish I could say the same," You chuckle sadly. Your mind wanders back to before now, before college, just at the beginning of the disaster that your life is.

If we could just pretend, that I went to college

And that is why you, you haven't seen me

Your future looked bright. You just graduated and were sorting through college acceptance letters. Peter was doing the same with his Aunt. You really wanted to go to a college out-of-state; you'd lived in New York forever and wanted to branch out. Not only did you want to attend college across the country but you planned to study abroad; hopefully the college you chose to attend had one of those programs. You needed a new adventure and sure there was always something going on in New York with all the battles and things but you needed to be the adventurer. 

Your first weeks of summer were spent thoroughly vetting the few colleges that truly spoke to you. You were planning to visit each campus, even one with Peter though he was set on attending school near his home. It made you kind of sad to think about; you and Peter were set on different paths. But you knew Peter would keep in touch; he never broke a promise. He was good like that, such a good person, such a good friend.

---

Two weeks into college; things were rough. You liked- well, no. You loved it. A new atmosphere was really what you needed. It's just that starting over is hard. You knew no one, had to navigate campus virtually by yourself, and classes were difficult; nowhere near what high school was like. It was exhilarating, too! So much to learn, so many people to meet, so many opportunities. You were honestly so caught up in all the newness you had forgotten about Peter; obviously, you knew he existed, and every so often something would remind you of a memory you had with him but when he texted and called, you never answered. You were just so busy and every time you checked your messages, it was late and you didn't want to bother Peter; you were sure you'd get back to him soon enough. 

A year had passed before Peter stopped texting and calling. You didn't blame him and soon he completely left your mind. He hadn't been new enough for you and the guilt of this still burns in your chest.

Two years in and you were abroad in France. The country was beautiful, the people were interesting, the nightlife was exciting, and the drugs... the drugs were out of this world. The drugs took off the edge, they helped you forget, and they came in handy to crank out assignments. Well, that's how they started off, that's always how it started.

It wasn't long before you were in a week-long bender and lost in France. While high, you dropped out of college in a short, curse-filled phone call. You had missed your flight back to America anyway. From then on, you went spiraling further and further. Your mind was a blank slate and France held no consequences. You weren't native to the country and whatever happened there would stay there. You could abandon the country and fly home and forget it all ever happened. At least you thought you could.

I wanted to go, but not for this long

"Why can't you? What happened?" Peter asks as he slides a plate over to you and takes a seat next to you. He's truly worried, he hasn't seen you in what feels like forever and he just wants to know. He wants to be able to help someone he used to and still holds so close to himself.

You shake your head. You can't tell Peter what happened; there is no way you won't throw up if you do. You shrug and twirl the pasta Peter had made around your fork. "Well, I didn't graduate, unfortunately," You bite your lip. Fuck, I think I'm going to cry. Your childhood dream of graduating slipped through your fingers and all you have to blame is yourself.You choke down a sob before continuing with a chuckle to cover for yourself, "But hey! At least I got to get out of New York and I even went to France!" You beam at him before trying the pasta he's made you. Filling your mouth with Peter's wonderful cooking helps to stave off the sobs and quiet the burning sadness within you if only for a little bit.

"You can always go back," He proposes. "That's what Mj did," He adds, looking up at you with that bright smile of his. 

That smile sends you back to high school and all the good times you had with Peter. Your heart is full, swelling, bursting at the seams. This is a good feeling, you miss this; feeling good all over, your whole body filled with goodness. "I guess," You shrug. "But it feels like it's too late." The statement is one of defeat and both Peter and you know that. You gave up so easily and you can only hate yourself for it.

"It's never too late," Peter beams at you again. 

You can't help but smile back before replying, "I mean-" You sigh, "I guess I could but money's kind of a problem and I don't know if I can do the whole uh, going to lectures and mingling thing." You want to believe his words because some small part of you does but it's too real for you to face right now.

Peter wants to act laid back but he quickly replies, "I could always pay for it. I- I wouldn't mind at all," He suggests. "And if you want, we could sign you up for online courses! You could um," He bites his lip. Should I? And he does, "Stay here and attend your classes." It was hopeful and a stretch but Peter wants it. He misses you. He is worried about you. He doesn't quite realize it yet but now that you are back in his life, he wants to keep it that way; to keep you around and more importantly, keep you safe. He can't lose you again, that's too real for him to face.

You don't know what it is. Maybe having someone care for you is too much. It is terrifying. It's even sickening in a strange way. You really haven't kicked your addiction yet and it is so easy to get drawn back in. You wish it weren't but it just is. And now you're lying on Peter's living room floor, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head, and reaching out for someone who isn't there.

I overdid it

I overdid it

Well, Peter is there. He steps out of the elevator but he doesn't see you right away. Your body is blocked by his sofa but your coughs and gurgles fly over it. Peter's ears perk up and his spider-sense starts going crazy. He dashes and then jumps over the couch. He kneels beside you, his eyes wide, mouth going a mile a minute as he tries to say something- anything coherent. He quickly calls 911, holding your hand throughout and swiping his thumb over the top of your hand. He assures you that you'll be fine and keeps repeating that he's there.

Soon enough sirens flood the building and paramedics stampede into Peter's loft. Yelling and screaming ensue as Peter screams, fighting to stay by your side while police and paramedics yell. Three police officers have to not only drag Peter away but hold him down as he fights relentlessly to stay by your side. He just wants to know- he needs to know that you are okay. He can't lose you, it's too real.

As his body and mind calm so do his thoughts. His mind explores the possibility of him getting in the way of paramedics saving you and so he gives up, letting the officers restrain him with ease. But his mind wanders further and further. How did you get drugs? Why? Did he do something to set you off? What had he done? 

Of course, none of his thoughts hold any truth but the possibility that they could, begin within Peter a ceaseless torrent of tears. He's sure by the time you leave the building and the police finally let him go, he could fill thirty pools with all the tears he's shed. But there's no time to dwell on his thoughts, he has to get to the hospital and be at your side! He won't let you leave him so easily, not again.

Why did you say, that I was one in a million? 

Everything's been a blur. This moment now is blurry but you are present within it. Peter is sitting at your side, slumped over in a chair, one hand holding yours and the other holding his forehead as he mumbles curses to himself. 

Slowly, you turn your head and unknowingly squeeze Peter's hand. In an instant, he's looking up at you and your eyes are open staring back at him. He could just scream! "Y/n," Your name rolls off his tongue and out of his mouth breathlessly, desperately. You both hold each other's gaze and each other's hand. The moment is blurry but it is nice.

"Peter," You whisper back, voice sore and croaky. You squeeze his hand again, it says more than your words ever could. 

The pooled tears that have been swimming next to Peter's eyes finally fall and flow down his cheeks. Most tears follow the red paths down his already tear-stained face, a few divert creating new paths for the seemingly endless stream of tears. "I-" His voice and his pain catch in his throat. What can he say? What could he possibly fucking say? 

"Why did you have so much faith in me?" You have to ask. You have to know. And you assume by now he has lost all that faith and so you must phrase the question the way you do. Your chest and whole upper body hurt like hell. There's a burning near your heart and in your throat, there's a tightness strangling your throat and crushing your ribs but the look Peter gives you hurts much more. The guilt within you burns hotter than Hell could ever be imagined to.

Because I believed it

You lean into Peter and Peter into you as he helps you walk out of the hospital. At the very moment that your foot hits the pavement, rain starts to fall, pelting you both in a way that can only be seen as some divine punishment. Even so, to you, the rain is heavenly and a respite from the thick cleanness and infuriatingly boring white inside the hospital. Peter quickly slips his jacket from his shoulders and carefully pulls you closer to him before covering both of your backs and heads with the jacket the best he can. 

He rushes with you to the passenger side first, letting you slip into the seat he closes the door for you. You watch him only for a moment as he reaches the driver's side. You keep your head down, looking at your lap, and unwittingly begin to pick at your fingers. Your nerves are through the roof now more than they ever were in the hospital. At least in the hospital, you can expect Peter to be mostly calm but now you don't know how he might act. He's changed so much after all this time and who's to say he won't scream and yell at you? You swallow down your nerves as you hear Peter plop into his seat next to you.

Surprisingly and thankfully, the car ride is quiet. The rain pelting the car helps to ease your mind if only for a bit. You allow yourself a quick glance at Peter. His expression is almost unreadable if not a bit sad. Quickly, you turn away before you can start crying yourself and watch as cars and people and buildings pass you by.

Peter's mind is swirling with thoughts and question after question bounces around in his head. He wants to ask so many things but he can't and he knows that. He doesn't want to make you feel worse than he knows you're feeling right now. He just wants to let you have this time and hopefully, you can gather your thoughts enough to answer him when you're back at his loft. The whole time he drives though, his knuckles burn white as he grips the steering wheel too tightly. There's a tension that won't leave his body.

---

You two reach the building and before Peter reaches your side of the car, you step out, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, head held down as rain pelts the back of your head. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. The pelts of the rain help you keep a rhythm as you silently curse yourself and demean yourself with names. Each drop of rain against your skin serves as an insult your brain must deliver to itself. It isn't going to help but it does make you feel better. All the while you've been standing just outside the car, Peter has pulled his jacket over himself and motions for you to come under. You shake your head and trail a foot or two away still following him.

In minutes, you reach an entrance into the building and Peter holds the door open for you. You step through the threshold, head still down, and arms still wrapped around yourself. It's almost as if you were to move your arms away, your body would simply fall to pieces. Peter is at your side in a moment and you continue to follow him into the elevator. You both stand awkwardly and shivering a few feet apart as your clothes and body drip rain onto the marble floor of the elevator. This ride is as silent as the car but has a more threatening ambiance. 

The elevator dings and Peter motions for you to go first before he follows. "You should take a shower," He proposes quietly.

It must have been some coincidence because right at that moment a shower is exactly what you crave. You nod at him, following him to the nearest bathroom. You try to peel your shirt off while Peter fetches you some towels but you have no luck.

"Do you need any help?" Usually, he would be asking this in a teasing manner but the words could not have left his lips any sweeter than they just did. His voice is quiet and calm, a little wavering but not so much as to cause concern. He's still shivering and dripping wet himself yet he stands there looking at you with such kindness.

You nod, "Please."

He shuffles to your side and slowly peels your shirt from your torso. He lifts it slowly, softly asking you to put up your arms. He gets a quick glimpse of your bones just barely being held behind your skin and bruises littering your torso. His face is close to yours as he pulls the shirt over your head and you can feel his breath. One more moment and he is pulling the shirt off of your arms. He gets a glimpse of the bruised injection sites on your arms and has to hold his expression. "There," He smiles, looking into your eyes.

"Thanks," You immediately cross your arms back over your chest, both from the cold and embarrassment. God, I probably look like shit. 

Peter hasn't seen you like this since high school gym class and even then it was rare to catch you without a shirt on. 

"I've got it from here," You tell him and he nods before closing the door.

Peter lets his mind wander to high school gym class. You hated it so much but Peter needed it. He had so much energy and he needed an outlet. That was of course before he had become Spider-Man and then he joined in on your hatred of the class though, he always did better than everyone there. 

He wanders into his room to change before grabbing a towel to dry his hair as his mind wanders to a  vivid memory of one of the only times he had seen you shirtless back in high school.

The class had gotten done swimming and everyone was out of the locker rooms, except Peter who had to do extra laps and had just gotten out of the pool. He dried his hair as he walked over to his locker but stopped in his tracks when his spidey sense started to go crazy. He looked in every direction but there wasn't anything he could see. A few more steps revealed you, sitting on one of the benches, your shirt laying in your lap and a towel wrapped around your waist. 

That did catch Peter off guard but there was another thing: you were crying. Peter's stomach twisted in knots as he looked down at you. Suddenly, your eyes were on him. Shit! Why hadn't he said something? Now, he just looks creepy!

"Peter?" You asked in a hushed tone. You had looked like you'd been crying for a while. Your whole face was red along with your eyes, you looked terrible.

"Y/n," He returned your tone. He took a few steps forward and bent down a bit. "Are you okay?" 

You shook your head. You were in no mood to avoid your feelings. You hurt and you hurt bad. "No," You answered bluntly.

Peter took a seat beside you. "What happened?"

The memory isn't the most pleasant but he remembers how after that you stayed at his apartment for three days and that seemed to have done you good. He wonders what happened to the Y/n he knew back then. He doesn't feel any differently toward you, not at all but what happened to you to make you so miserable now?

He finishes changing and drying himself off and steps out into the hall. At the same time, you step out of the bathroom. Peter meets your eyes and walks over. He looks you over and smiles, you have a towel tightly wrapped around your waist and a towel thrown over your head. "Here," He places his hands on top of the towel at your head and dries your hair. 

You stand there, heart beating wildly as Peter helps you dry off. You notice his change of shirt and before fully thinking about it, reach out with your hand to slip it under his shirt before rubbing your thumb over the top of the fabric. You're sure Peter already saw the marks littering your body and right now you just didn't care. You want to feel his shirt and that's all you want.

Peter stiffens as you have a hold of his shirt. Your fingers aren't touching his skin since you hold the shirt out a bit but they did for a brief moment and the tingles it sent up his spine are unlike anything he's felt before. He accidentally stops drying your hair but continues as soon as he realizes that he's stopped. He sets his eyes upon you and it's a good thing you can't see his face. Anyone could see right through him at this very moment and pinpoint where his thoughts are. 

He finishes drying your hair with the towel and slides it behind your head, letting the towel rest on the back of your neck. For a moment, he holds each end of the towel toward himself and he can't meet your eyes now. His head is down but he is looking at you. 

Your head is down but you're looking at him. Your eyes dart from your hand still holding his shirt to the pecs you can just make out underneath his shirt. This is a moment of safety, of home, of tenderness, of friendship, of love. There's a silent agreement between you two and so, for the time you separate. You go to your room to get dressed as Peter goes into the living to wait for you.

"It's cold, isn't it?" Peter asks as you settle on his large couch. You nod and Peter sets a blanket over you. "I've got some hot chocolate on the stove," He knows that's your favorite. "It should be done soon." 

I thought i had something that you

Were too scared to lose

You nod again, wrapping yourself in the blanket. "Thanks," You whisper.

He takes a seat next to you with his own blanket wrapped around his legs. He swings his legs so they rest on the couch and leans in, his shoulder touching yours. "What's on your mind?" 

He genuinely wants to know, what the hell? You let out a deep breath and lean your head against his shoulder. "I was just thinking about high school. We used to be so different. I used to be so different. What happened to me?" You turn your head and stare into his eyes.

You don't know either. "I-" He's at a loss for words. "Whatever happened," He pauses and places his hand over yours. "It's not all bad." He smiles at you before standing. "Hot chocolate's ready," He says before walking off to the kitchen. 

You start picking at your fingers again as you wonder what you're going to do. You can't rely on Peter for everything, that's just not how you are. You didn't even have any money after blowing what little you had on what you OD'ed on. God, why are you so stupid!? Peter's nice enough to let you crash at his place and what do you do?

"Hey," Peter's presence pulls you from your thoughts. "Here," He bends over as he hands you a cup of hot chocolate. He takes his seat next to you again, sitting a bit more straight this time so as to not spill his drink on you. "'Thinking about something?" 

You nod, "Yeah, just..." You bring your cup to your cheek and bask in the warmth. It's been too long since you've truly felt any warmth like Peter's been showing you this whole time. "I can't stay with you forever," You muse, flicking your eyes to his, unsure of what he might say.

Peter chuckles, "Well if you want to, you can." He flashes that boyish smile of his at you and it hurts. His eyes and nose crinkle and his features are so bright. "I said it before, Y/n. I'll do anything for you." 

God, that hurts. He cares about you too much. "Peter," You stop him in his tracks. He shouldn't be saying stuff like this. He needs to protect himself from you. "Don't say that." He's too attached, you can't let him be this attached.

Peter's soft expression turns puzzled and he turns to look at you. "Y/n?" He's looking at the side of your face while you keep your gaze straight ahead. "If it's about staying with me, I can get you your own place. I know-"

"Peter," Your voice is stern but tinted with softness as you cut him off. "I've got to do this stuff on my own."

"No," Peter protests immediately. 

"What?" You sit up straighter now, looking at him deadly serious.

"You don't have to do anything alone. If it were me, you would say the same! I won't let you be alone with this." He sets his drink down on the coffee table as he continues to speak passionately. "I love you, Y/n." It's a confession masked as a friendly gesture of affection. "You're my friend." This covers his tracks though he wishes he didn't have to cover them in the first place. "I'm going to take care of you." It's the truth and it's real and he means it.

You can only look at him in awe, utter awe. He's serious about this.

"I-" He starts out confident but falters. Should I really say this? He catches the thought and tosses it aside. His confidence is back, only a bit less than before. "I can't lose you."

Something in you wants to slap him. He can't lose you? What the fuck!? You hold yourself back, hands tightly gripping your cup. You hang on his every word. Just what is he thinking?

Peter sighs, looking down momentarily, shaking his head. "I don't want things to be like before. I want to see you and be around you; I want to know that you're okay. And I want you to be happy."

You swallow his words and let them digest. They don't sound bad, at all. But there's a knot in your stomach and a scribbly, black haziness in the back of your mind setting off alarms.

Peter leans in as he says, "There's nothing wrong with asking for help." He sits back again, "You don't even have to ask, I'll just do!" He reaches out for your free hand, "I'm here for you." He gives your hand a small squeeze. "Just let me be here for you." It's a plea and it's all he can do.

Peter's greatest fear is loss. He's lost so many people in his life already he surely doesn't need to lose another. But losing you isn't exactly his main concern, it's seeing you live up to what you've always wanted, it's letting you chase your dreams and catching them, it's waking up every day with some real purpose, it's seeing you change for the better. His concern is you. His concern is your life. His concern is your well-being. His concern is your happiness and fulfillment. His concern is your recovery. And his concern is your change. He's lost you once, he won't lose you again.

It was all in the past now, you had nothing to be scared of. The road ahead is fruitful with opportunity. Peter is by your side. You're recovering. You can handle this. You've got it.

So if we could just pretend that I went to college

And traveled abroad, and did something different

Things go well for weeks and weeks, it feels as though nothing bad has ever happened before. But something sets you off. You see something on the street and return to Peter's loft as you cry like a maniac. You feel foolish for breaking down like you are, crying as hard as you are, and being unable to move from Peter's living room floor as you are. And even worse, Peter comes home.

He's taking off his coat casually as he normally would until he hears your sobs, then he rushes to your side. He rests his hand on your back and leans in close to ask what's wrong. 

Your body refuses to let you answer and so, you just cry as he sits there before slowly pulling you closer and into his lap. He pets your hair and smooshes his cheek against your forehead as he quietly whispers. You two sit like this for about an hour before you finally calm down. 

You try to wipe your tears away as fast and as best you can as you quickly crawl out of Peter's grasp, sudden and overwhelming embarrassment coming over you. "Please," You beg with your head held down, trying your best to keep Peter from seeing your face. "Can we just forget this all happened?" You're bent over now almost like you're praying even with your hands clasped in front of your head as your eyes though closed are pointed toward the ground. "Pretend I'm not some massive loser that wasted his life when you- you were here doing great things and I was just-" You sigh loudly, your head finally collapsing against Peter's floor. "Please," You cry out as tears start flowing heavily and you can feel a sob start to rack through your body, "please."

Your head hangs, chin pressing against your chest. Your eyes feel hazy and you can't see much. Your back is pressed against the cool brick of the wall behind you that you can barely feel due to the thick sweater and bloated jacket that warms your torso. Your legs are out in front of you and you laugh at their strange longness. You look at your feet next, the shoes they're adorned in, and how they too look strange and funny to you. You start laughing more and more, finding everything oh-so-funny. 

Anything but just sitting at home

For three and a half years

Writing song, after song, after song

Your arms now look as if shooting targets were made out of Swiss cheese. The holes only seem to get larger and darker, like the darkness could swallow your body whole if you weren't careful. And you weren't. Your eyes had always been dark but now they were pits, black holes of nothingness, no knowledge held there, nothing, just nothing. Your face is sunken like the tar roads in the summer, always sinking deeper and deeper or like the deep trenches of the sea where something terrible lies. Your lips are chapped like the hands of the working man, skin always peeling off, and never able to be quite comfortable because they are raw and red and always rubbing against each other. You're as thin as a needle, legs barely able to function as you walk bone on bone, the grinding like that of teeth against teeth. Speaking of teeth, yours seem to keep falling out, leaving your mouth pouring blood flowing like the divine wine of Jesus.

Where was Jesus now? Not here to save you. Your Jesus, your divine savior, Peter Parker is far away now, not because he chose to be but because there is nothing else he could do, nowhere he could be, not for you. And you chose your new savior, it was not him. It used to sting your arm but it doesn't seem to do just that anymore. It helps you ascend but not as long as it used to. Your belief is starting to wane but not quick enough, not quick enough.

So what is it like to be by yourself

The elevator dings as Peter reaches his loft. He steps out with his coat hanging off his arm. The place is quiet, the only noise being made by Peter as he hangs up his coat and steps into his kitchen. He opens his cabinet, the grip on the little knob staying far longer than it needs to before he opens it and lets the knob go. He reaches up just like you had on your first night. He grips the bottle tightly and sets it on the counter, it makes a noise too, a sort of clinking sound almost. He grimaces as he grabs the neck of the bottle and opens it, the smell stings his nose as he brings it close. His lips kiss the bottle and he swallows some down. 

The bottle accompanies Peter to his large and lonely couch, his tight grip around its neck, carrying it carelessly. He takes out the DVD that you left, your favorite movie, he's careful with it as he sets it in the DVD player (something you had ragged on him for not having when you were first there). (Something that he hadn't used since, not until today). (Something he would probably never get rid of now, only being thrown out when he was dead). He stumbles back over to his couch, falling onto it not as clumsily as he could manage but enough to shake up the alcohol in him. He extends his arm, pointing the small remote that came with the thing at the television and pressing play. His arm falls against the couch as the remote leaves his fingers, finding a new home in the arms of the faithful couch.

He watches almost angrily, there isn't anything like it, this emotion Peter feels. Is it really anger? Contempt even? Surely, not toward you. But the drug, toward the drug. ...Right? Or was he even angry? Hateful maybe. Toward you, toward the drug, toward himself. What was this that he was feeling? It's like an ache with no name or possible description. Empty isn't the right word. He's not hollow inside, he's all filled up, some even splashing out of him but what is it? What is this substance, this feeling, this emotion, spilling out of Peter Benjamin Parker? What is this thing that spills past his lips and fills up his head? Is it... you...? Surely not, that's ridiculous!

Peter doesn't notice until now, too focused on the movie he's seen far too many times, but his hands are trembling. His knuckles are a soft red, his veins are all in place, those little clumps of blueish-skin-pigment below the reddened knuckles, his fingers long and intermittently pale the ends a bit darker than the rest, all shake in chorus. He flexes his fist, bending his fingers and splaying them out, then he checks again. They shake just as much as they first did. 

And not feel like you'll die around everyone else?

Your hands were shaking, that was the first thing you noticed. It's almost exhilarating, they shook like they did when you first shot up. It was heaven. This was cloud nine. You were in paradise, lost in it. Your head was delirious, your eyes were bleary, your lips trembled as much as your hands, you were about to lose it all and all you could think about was how great this high was. You were about to die outside a house, just on the steps, of a den of drugs, a place filled with people dying just like you were about to, and all you could think about was how great this high was. 

Quickly, your thoughts shift to how awful this was. Your body lost control. You fell. Your head split against the concrete of the makeshift porch. Your back fell into the stairs that sat on either side were two dying drug addicts. Foam spilled past your lips and for a brief moment you thought of Peter then you were back to focusing on dying. You couldn't control your body. Your eyes would not work with you to see. They were gone now, they no longer wished to see the world. Your hands wouldn't do what you told them to. Your ears were ringing, there was so much noise, noise, noise! Why couldn't there be quiet!? Everything just needed to stop for a second, so that you could get a grip on things. You would set things straight. You wouldn't be found in places like this anymore. You would die somewhere resectable. But death doesn't care about respect, for him, there is no respectable place to die, and you are just another soul to be collected. Indifference is his gift but the indifference of the junkies you died next to led to searching through your pockets and hands all over your body and privacy violated and nothing left on you but the things they didn't care for. Your ID, some crumpled note you'd shoved deep into your pocket, a few too many wrappers for too many different things, and something else.

I thought I was one in a million

The distant clattering of silverware and private conversations set the stage as Peter sits across from a fine, young gentleman. He holds a menu in front of himself, his hair slicked back something you had told him made him look handsome you had said, his feet nervously sliding back and forth. Words come out of the gentleman's mouth and everything starts to fade out like watching a movie as your eyes blink more and more before you fall asleep.

It didn't go well whatever that was. A date, Peter supposes, an awful date. 

Peter holds a large bouquet of red roses. The dark red is contrasted by the white plastic that wraps around them. He holds them with both hands. He shifts his shoulders uncomfortably, his lips moving awkwardly against each other. His stride isn't really a stride, rather a walk but a quick one, like he has somewhere to be. A date perhaps? 

Well, thanks for nothing

Peter's stride leads him into a cemetery. He passes headstone after headstone, a few full-on statutes, and some grave markers. The roses are strange in his hands in this cemetery. He shifts his grip on them a few times. His collar feels like it's choking him and sticking his finger under it hasn't done anything. His thoughts don't consume him this time like they usually seem to do; some are seething, others are sad, most are guilty, and a lot are what-ifs. Never helpful, those what-ifs. Peter accidentally passes your grave before stepping back.

He reads the engraving as he always does before taking careful steps over. He sits above your dead body (that's buried several feet down), in front of your headstone (that stares back at him like a gargoyle), and underneath a weeping willow (that he wished he could see you under, not like this, not like this). "Well," Peter starts, setting down the roses, "he was allergic to roses." He sighs. "I miss you." He leans over, resting a hand on top of your headstone and closing his eyes.

He talks some more and if anyone were watching him, they might think he was having quite the conversation with a headstone. He moves his hands and looks at the headstone like a person, making eye contact with it, maybe even willing it to respond. It never does. And it never has. It's too bad you didn't have a spirit, you might have sat underneath that willow, leaning back against it, and watching Peter just for something to do. But you were dead and that was that. There was no coming back from being dead. Your body was buried beneath the earth and now you belonged to her. 

Peter groans as he gets to his feet, "Well, buddy," He rests his hand on your headstone, patting it almost like you would a dog, "I've got to get going. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" He pauses, not intentionally but he lets the silence hang in the air in hopes he might get a response. He never gets a response. There is no satisfaction or catharsis for him, only the silence of the whistling wind and the whipping of the willows as they reach as far off their branches as they can. Maybe if he hoped hard enough, one day he would get that long-awaited response and you wouldn't have died for nothing.

Peter's lids are heavy as he tries to blink away sleep. This never works just like all those other things. He always falls asleep; you never answer him. He just wishes you would answer him. Peter's eyes close rather quickly this time and nothing matters but the dream he can feel is real and he feels apart of it.

Thank you

Thank you

Peter's hand reaches out as you fall, your fingers graze his. He can see the desperate look in your eyes like a dog begging for its life. Your eyes are not only desperate but terrified too. (Like a dog that knows it's going to be put down, he thinks). Some noise comes from you, some words but his ears can't decipher them, like everything in his dreams they are distant, blurry, and unmemorable. He just wants to know what you're screaming. He can see the extension of your jaw, the crinkling and wrinkling in your face, and the raise of your brows but he still can't hear what it is you're saying.

Then the scenery shifts. You slipping past his fingers is no big deal as you fall onto a hospital bed. You look at him all tired like and puppy dog kicked. You are worn out and bruised like a dropped fruit or a childhood blanket. You look like you might be molding. Your face is sunken in, your eyes hauntingly dark and blank, the flesh of your nose beginning to rot away, and the plush of your lips gone now replaced by the hard, cold warning of your teeth. You're missing a few and your gums are starting to turn yellow. Peter can't save you. He can't do anything. He watches as you rot. He tries to leave the chair he's stuck in but he can't, his arms won't even lift off the sides. He can't get to you. You're so far away.

Before your body can fully decompose and shift into sand and fly away in the wind, again, the scenery changes. Paris. He can really only recognize it by the Eiffel Tower. You had talked about it before. A lot. Before you left. Before what happened, happened to you. Peter wanted to go there with you. He never got the chance. At least you had seen it yourself. He finds it strange that he stands in Paris but he can't see you ...like you're gone. But then everyone is screaming and there from the clouds falls a body. Your body is falling, your arms are spread out, and you're limp like a fish. In seconds, your back is pierced by the spire of the Eiffel Tower. Killed by the very thing you love. Or loved. Or did you even love it all? Did you just talk about it? 

There is no time for Peter to process seeing someone he loves getting killed right in front of him. He's in an alley now like the one you died in. There are homeless people and drug addicts, drug dealers, and you. You stand there like an angel with your skin glistening thanks to the sun and despite the grime in the air. Peter can't take his eyes off of you. He doesn't want to anyway. He needs to see you like this, happy and aware and bright-eyed and in good standing with life. He can't bear the reality of flesh and bone and blood and six feet underground. It's always been a flaw of his. Feeling those that are dead are not really, not really. They still linger, he feels them, he can't see or hear them but he knows them. He can feel the brush of fingers against his back or the jostle of his loose curl. They live within him, just outside of him, in his fingers and feet and the way his eyes move follows them though he can't really see them there.

A blood-curdling crack stops everything. In a moment, you're lying on the ground with blood running from your forehead down past your chin and drip-dropping against your neck. And Peter is down on his knees in front of you, holding your torso, pulling it up onto his lap, and he holds your head like a kid holds a teddy bear. He strokes your hair as you gurgle up blood. He can't do anything for you. He's stuck. He's not allowed to save you. He is not allowed to save you. You did not need saving. He didn't know what you needed and neither did you. With your head in his arms and his nose pressed against the line of blood down your forehead and your limp body against his thighs, he rocks back and forth, whispering things he doesn't know and you can't hear. You'll be okay. I've got you. I won't leave you. You can't leave me. You will live through this. And your dead, limp body is not motivated to live.

And there you lie, next to him in his bed, your head turned toward him, and you're smiling. The sun shines on both of you; Peter can feel it on his skin. Like being kissed by a god. Like being kissed by you. He's a cat in a sunspot and you're stretching out toward him. Your fingers brush against his cheeks and you're smiling at him. He fills your vision; Peter can see his reflection in your big, beautiful eyes. He wants to kiss you and you move closer. Your eyes stay on him the whole time, if it weren't so beautiful, it'd be unnerving. 

You're on top of him now. Your hands -fingers and palms- caress his chest, trace his collarbone, feather down his ribs to his hips. He shudders under your touch. He wants it again. He wants it real. He doesn't realize it isn't yet. On all fours, over Peter's body, you lean down and kiss him. It holds, lasting long enough for him to hold your cheek and to satisfy him if for a fleeting moment. You pull back, your eyes staring into his; he's in love. (You're not real). Your hands trail down his chest again as you sit on top of him. You're just looking at him.

And when Peter turns, now awake, he's alone; you're not there by his side. He reaches out across the sheets like you would reach out if you could. Poor Peter, he doesn't know. 

[sandalwoodbox]

Vidder asks: 12, 21, 27?

Thanks for asking!

(This is part of the Get to know the Vidder ask meme. See all my responses here and feel free to send me asks!)

12. Most underrated vid that you wished had gotten more views?

I'm going to say Stray Italian Greyhound for Dear Missy. I really like this vid because I think it most accurately summarizes what I see as the plot of the actual series - Lu Ke's journey to recognizing, accepting, and ultimately living her feelings for Shen Siyi. I'm pretty proud of how it turned out, and it can still fairly reliably make me tear up to watch. It's a really great show and more people should watch it! Even with the weird canonical straight ending it's pretty good tbh 🤣 it has things like men and women dating and breaking up and still being part of the same friend group 🤯 what a concept!

But personally I always advocate for just ignoring the heterosexuality in the last six episodes & just watching them for the bonus Lu Ke / Shen Siyi fluff.

21. How would you describe your vidding style?

Answered here with bonus "what is your vidding process" because I got distracted 😅

27. Advice for anyone just starting their channel?

I'm interpreting this to mean "advice for anyone starting out making fanvids"?

I'd say do what you want and don't expect anyone to see it. Exchanges (like Festivids) and cons (like VidUKon, Fanworks, or WisCon) are a great way to "force" people to watch your vids and not get criticism unless you want it. (YMMV - I am not sure what the experience of submitting to AMV contests is like, for example.)

I'd recommend using a modern fully-featured video editing program like Da Vinci Resolve from the beginning rather than something like iMovie - DVR is more complicated but makes it very easy to separate the vid itself from the source files. That is, you can move the files from your hard drive to a backup drive to free up space and work on something else, then put them back later if you want to go back to a previous fandom!

That said, if a low bar of entry is important, iMovie is also fine. Whatever works for you!

Bonus question 1 (from replies): How do you get ideas for vids?

It depends! Sometimes it comes from blorbos or otherwise loving a show such that I want to share it with other people. Other times it comes from frustration with something not being done the way I wanted in the show, or drawing out a theme that I think the show didn't fully explore. A large chunk of my vids are from Festivids, which is great because I can see what ideas other people have and then make treats for them if I'm excited about what they've suggested and think I have time to pull it off (which is usually only possible for movies and for shows I've already (mostly) clipped, in my experience.) From time to time I'll hear a song and think it's perfect for some character or concept, but I'll generally still end up spending a fair amount of time searching for other potential songs before I actually get started on the vid. More often I'll hear a song and think, that would make a fun vid but I don't know what for, so I stick it in a playlist that I go through every time I'm looking for potential vid songs.

If I have an idea for a vid, I write it down in a spreadsheet. I'll never make most of those ideas, either because I've moved on from the fandom or because I just ended up not liking it as much later. Here's a snippet of vids I will probably never make from my spreadsheet in case it's interesting:

Bonus question 2 (from replies): What makes a vid you're working on feel done to you?

I'm a bit of a perfectionist with my vids, so this can be tricky. I think I would say: Once I am satisfied that the clips on the timeline are doing what I want and there are no clips that I believe would be strictly better, I try to stop.

Overall my process is: I'll generally make a first draft that doesn't have things that feel obviously bad (but I might still have things I'm not satisfied with but don't know how to solve). I send that out for beta and work on other things in the meantime. Depending on how much I care about the vid / how uncertain I am about it, I might do multiple rounds of beta or send it to multiple betas at once.

Depending on the vid, I might do a pass specifically looking at clip timing or motion or color correction (for example, making sure dark scenes are possible to parse), or anything else that I particularly want to work well for the vid.

Once I have something that feels "final" I like to let it sit for a week to a month, then come back to it to see if there's anything else I notice that I'd want to change before calling it done.

But a lot of times I'm working on a deadline for an exchange or a con, which means that at some point I just have to stop and call it good enough.

By the time I'm done with a vid, I often no longer feel like I can tell whether it's good or not because I'm too deep in it, so I see things nobody else would. I can't necessarily tell how satisfied I'll be with a finished vid until 6-12 months after I've posted it. (So I try to keep that in mind if I'm agonizing over whether people will notice a cleancredits glitch that's only visible in the lower left corner of a clip for like 4 frames.)

I have a vidder friend who I can show things to at that point not for beta but just to ask, is there anything obviously wrong with this? Any reason I shouldn't post this? (The answer is usually: It's fine, just post it!)

[aaronstveit]

20 questions for 20 writers!

tagged by the bestie @afaramir abby thank you so much for giving me an excuse to avoid writing tonight <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 45!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 492,078 and literally a solid quarter of that is from c&b oh i'm laughing.

3. What fandoms do you write for? right now only for les mis but most of my works are trc and in 2019/2020 i wrote a bit for soc and aftg.....

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? oh i'm laughing these aren't even GOOD.... 1. [redacted soc fic] 2. makes me feel a little bit closer to you - pynch clothes sharing fic 3. c&b (my most beloved this is the only valid entry on this list) 4. i ain't gotta tell him (i think he knows) - pynch ithk songfic 5. all the time, all the time (i think of you all the time) - pynch fic where ronan is tutoring adam in art

5. Do you respond to comments? mostly yes! for like a solid 2 years i didn't but now i do again <3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? ummm i think the only actually angsty ending i have is all too well adansey fic? i'm such a happy ending girlie that's the only one i can think of that doesn't end happily. for obvious reasons.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? i like to think pretty much everything i write ends happily but c&b proposal fic is what comes to mind since i finally finished it THREE ENTIRE YEARS LATER very recently

8. Do you get hate on fics? no i have been very lucky so far actually!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? no because i am afraid

10. Do you write crossovers? i do not!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that i know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? nope not yet!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? only the theoretical AUs that coco and i like to talk about but never commit to writing <3 although really you could consider coco my cowriter on most of my fics (especially c&b) like so much of them comes from her fr. love you coco <3333

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship? oh i can't pick. that's like asking a mother to pick her favorite child. right now those dead gay french revolutionaries have my heart but tomorrow, who knows?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? ugh i hate admitting defeat but. but. i am aware that beloved beloved pynch band fic will probably never be finished. which is a SHAME because i have soooooooo much of it planned out i mean like. i've got full albums designed. most of the beats are mapped out. i've got fake tweets written up, i've got chapter titles and scene drafts. like the entire concept is there and i'm so obsessed with it. but i just. after all these years it is extremely unlikely that i am going to actually, you know. write it.

16. What are your writing strengths? beginnings. i am so good at beginnings. that's why i have so many wips. also i like to think i'm good at dialogue. i try to write conversationally even when it's not actually a conversation and i think that translates well to actual dialogue it's fun.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? endings. i can't end anything to save my LIFE. also just plots in general escape me. and i always end up writing 10k more words than i meant to.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? um other people who can do it definitely should! i however cannot do that. i did however use my extremely limited knowledge of the french language for the section headings in my most recent fic and i like the effect it produced i think.

19. First fandom you wrote for? all evidence of their existence has been wiped from the face of the earth but my very first fics were one star wars fic and one agents of shield fic circa like. 2015.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? legally i'm obligated to say c&b but right now actually i'm still very very happy with how exr rooftop fic turned out. literally the entire time i was writing it i was just having a blast. i love writing angst and stuff it's like chewing on a polly pocket toy. now that i'm evil i never wanna write fluff again. i'm torturing those fictional guys fr.

tagging besties @television-bodies @gingerpeachtea and anyone else who wants to do it! ♡