#this was meant to come out on Wednesday but I have impulse control of a 2 yr old so here you go

[tagthescullion]

The Undead Diary of Luke Castellan

Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians

Rating: T

Summary: It's not Luke's fault the Underworld is understaffed and some of its doors connecting with the living world are left unattended.

Words: 2929

AO3 link

I’d like to begin this story by saying this wasn’t my fault.

Not completely. Or well, not exactly.

The decision was mine, I guess. Except that it wasn’t a decision. More like an impulsive action that turned out to have big consequences.

But, in my defence —a line I’ve been using a lot these past few years, and, come to think of it, all of my life—, I was left unsupervised.

Let’s go back to the beginning.

I died.

Was it painful? Yes, very. Was it unfortunate? Many would disagree. Did I have it coming? I might have, yeah.

At any rate, my arrival in the Underworld had been most expected (by both the demigods alive and the ones whose deaths I’d had a hand in). All things considered, betrayal to the gods and my old camp-mates and whatnot, I hadn’t exactly hoped for a loving welcome committee. 

If I’m honest, my judgement and the execution of my sentence were far less harsh than I probably deserved.

Hades himself was in charge of my fate, and to my utmost surprise, he vetoed the judges’ decision to let me burn in acid in the Fields of Punishment. Instead, he suggested I made myself useful, to account for all the destruction I’d brought.

��My domain has expanded exponentially in the past century,” Hades had said. “Daedalus has proved a worthy addition to my efforts to keep it organised efficiently, and you will follow his example if you’re smart.”

And for the past year I had done my job well enough to keep the Lord of the Dead content.

Daedalus was grateful for another pair of hands, so to speak, for I’m not entirely sure I really had hands, or if my spirit’s consciousness believed it hard enough to make it feel that way.

The old man was an incredible and astute engineer, but he had trouble controlling his workers. I, on the other hand, had no idea how to even build a bridge with legos, but I had lots of experience in the field of leading reluctant people, monsters, and even minor deities into battle, which meant organising souls into efficient work groups was a piece of cake. And so I did —carefully watched by one of Hades’ Furies, of course—.

At the beginning, I didn’t see any fellow demigods. Not any I knew, anyway. I was sure some of the souls working under me had been demigods in the past century. 

It wasn’t that I didn’t have the time, Hades had given me Wednesdays off —I didn’t really know what day of the week it was, time is an elusive variant in the Underworld, but the Fury was kind enough to remind me—. I just didn’t have the courage to face my old acquaintances just yet.

I kept to the outskirts of Elysium. Souls don’t need to sleep, don't need to eat, don't need to do anything, truly. So I wandered around, looking remarkably like the souls who’d forgotten themselves after so many years. 

One day, I was spotted by Lee Fletcher. 

It felt like a dagger through my unbeating heart. Lee Fletcher had been my best friend and the second person I’d failed to convince to turn to Kronos’ side. I was glad Lee hadn’t joined in the end, but I’d been shattered when I learned of his demise in Zeus’ Fist at camp.

Lee didn’t look particularly surprised, though. 

“I was hoping you’d show your face around eventually,” he’d said. “You deserve a punch in the face and a friend to listen to an explanation.”

I had then offered my old friend a crooked smile. “That’s why I didn’t come round.”

Lee walked with me for a while in silence. I didn’t feel like explaining, and I suppose Lee didn’t feel like forgiving just yet.

After a couple of weeks, it became our Wednesday routine. Lee dared to speak before I did. He told me of what he knew of our respective siblings, and what he knew of everybody else, really. Demigods died and brought news even after the Battle of Manhattan. Obviously, a lot less frequently, but demigod life wasn’t easy in peace times either.

At some point, Lee managed to convince me to meet Silena. 

I assumed if anybody was also wary of our former friends it was her. She’d been a marvellous informant, but that had also made her an incredible traitor.

There was a fraction of a second of tense silence when we stood face to face. Then Silena bursted out into sobs and hugged me tight.

“We fucked up,” she cried. “We fucked up, we fucked up…”

I agreed, of course. Gods, we’d fucked up big time.

Slowly, Lee threw more people my way. 

Traitors at first, all of them filled with guilt and remorse. I imagine if they weren’t, they would’ve been burning in the Fields of Punishment with the acid the judges had wanted for me.

Then, there’d been a couple of kids who’d never joined my side. They were reluctant, I knew, but they clearly respected Lee enough to go along with him. 

Eventually, I got used to the nasty glares, but, more surprisingly, I started getting comments around the lines of, ‘Something had to be done, though’, ‘They really don’t care much about us, do they?’.

Through Lee’s diplomacy and my visible humility and apologetic behaviour —which wasn’t natural to me, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to start defending myself—, my old friends appeared on my Wednesday walks without being coerced. And I even stopped dreading those meetings so much.

That was until spirits started disappearing.

It was rather chaotic at first. There was fear around, which wasn’t common in Elysium. 

But then the fear turned into hope. They didn’t disappear. Rumours said they were going back to life.

My inner curiosity got the best of me, as it always did.

One Wednesday, I led Lee and Silena to Melinoe’s cave. She wasn’t home, which made me wonder whether she was in her father’s castle or just roaming around, scaring the shit out of innocent mortals. 

When Melinoe wasn’t in her cave, there was always Thanatos, I knew, making sure nobody snooped around like we were doing. Thanatos was a rather strict fellow, and a very good ally to Hades. 

In retrospect, it was easy to see he hadn’t been seen around in a long while. But then again, it’s easier to notice those things in hindsight. Time, as I said before, is hard to keep pace of in the Underworld.

“I don’t like this,” Lee said. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “Worst case scenario, they’ll blame me.”

Lee smiled. That had been a thing even before I left camp. Whenever something fishy happened, Chiron was always quick to point at me rather than Apollo’s golden son.

“I’d rather they blamed nobody,” Silena said. “This place feels terrible, let’s go back.”

I stared at my friends. Didn’t they realise? Thanatos wasn’t here, neither was Melinoe, the Furies would need some time to catch us.

“It’s a way out, guys!”

“Out?” Lee’s expression turned uneasy. “Listen, Luke, we shouldn’t mess around with that idea.”

“It’s been done before,” I insisted. “Or almost.”

“I’m with Lee,” Silena said. “What’s happened, happened. We can’t leave. We can’t go back.”

“There’s nobody here!” I took another tentative step into the cave. I felt a pull, pushing me out into the open, but I went further in. “It feels… strange.”

I felt warm and cold at the same time. I hadn’t felt much since I’d died. My spirit had felt a trace of sensation, but it was muted. As if it was a memory rather than the real thing.

Could I possibly go out? Into the living world?

Over the past year I’d pushed down those feelings of incompleteness. There were still so many things I wanted to do. So many apologies. But two in particular. There were two people I’d have given anything to see.

And perhaps, if there was nobody to stop us, we might be able to leave!

“Luke, stop it!”

But Lee’s voice grew dimmer in my ears. 

I could meet them again, my two girls. Explain, tell them how sorry I was. 

The force pushing me back grew stronger with every step, but it was no match for my determination.

Step after step, the sensations enhanced in my chest. Cold and warmth, and even a hint of nausea. The ground sloped down, slowly at first, then steeper as I kept going.

Then I realised I could smell. It didn’t smell like a musty old cave, it was the smell of summer. Of hot wind and freshly cut grass.

It only made my resolve stronger.

It was pitch dark. The light from the entrance of the cave had been lost completely. 

I went another step further. Then another step. And another step.

I took a deep breath. I could breathe. I was breathing!

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears. Loud, strong, quick. Deafening.

Another step. Another step. Another step.

The force pushing me back was so strong now, that I almost tripped. But I regained balance and managed to keep going.

Another step… Another step… Another step…

Then the ground disappeared. 

And I fell.

-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z

My first sensation when I woke up was warmth in my face. 

A memory stirred in my mind. The smell of ripe strawberries, the laughter of children free for the summer holidays, the rhythmic sound of waves, a towel under my body, and the warmth of the sun hitting my exposed skin. 

It was the sun. The sun! I was feeling the sun on my skin!

Then the feeling disappeared, and the brightness I could see through my closed eyelids banished.

A soft hand patted my cheek carefully.

“Hello?” Said a woman’s voice. “Young man?”

I opened my eyes slowly. Outlined by a halo of sunlight the face of a pretty woman of about thirty hovered around a metre away from me.

I tried to speak but my throat felt like sandpaper. 

“It’s okay,” she said. Her voice held a trace of an accent. “It takes a while to get used to being back.”

Back.

In spite of the burning feeling in my throat, my face split into a grin.

“Back,” I rasped. “I’m back.”

The woman helped me sit up. 

I studied her properly now. Her skirt, blouse, and sweater looked old-fashioned. Her hair was loose, but it curled in that style I’d seen in a thousand WWII movies. She had a warm smile and a clever look.

“I’m Luke,” I said, offering her a hand. “My name’s Luke Castellan.”

“Maria,” she replied. 

She looked at my hand and shook it after a second of hesitation. 

“I keep forgetting Americans shake hands. So impersonal,” she stated with a raised eyebrow. Her tone was teasing though.

“Are you—” I caught myself. “Were you dead too?”

“Right to the point, yes?” She smiled. “Yes, I was dead. I have been for a while. But now I’m here, and I need to find my son.”

“Your son?” I was surprised. 

My perception of ‘mother’ isn’t the best, but this woman didn’t look like a mom to me. She looked like an old time movie star, those that always had perfect make-up, in the black-and-white photos I’d seen in the cinema close to my place in Connecticut. 

“Yes,” she said. “My little boy. He should be an old man by now, I would have expected.”

“But he isn’t?” I wondered.

She shook her head, anger and sorrow transformed her expression.

“My daughter passed away,” she told me. “Not too long ago. She should have been old, but she was still a girl.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. I looked down, and when I spoke it was full of bitterness. “Children’s lives should never be at risk.”

And despite what many may think, I do believe that kids shouldn’t be put in the line of fire.

Maria nodded, swallowed, and composed herself so fast I felt a little thread of envy. If only I could’ve put up a cheerful façade that quickly…

“You don’t look old enough to die either,” she decided, giving me a once over.

“I think I deserved it,” I admitted. ‘It was my choice’ sounded a bit too harsh. “Besides, I’m 23, that’s better than dying as a child.”

Maria huffed. “23 is still so young.”

“As opposed to…?” I asked. 

She seemed horrified by my audacity. 

“A lady doesn’t ask nor answer that question,” she said firmly. “And neither should a gentleman.”

I shrugged. She sounded fancy. I guessed in whichever time she came from, old-money people stuck to those ridiculous social rules.

“What do you know of your son?” I wondered. “Do you know where we can find him? Hell, do you know where we are?”

I scanned my surroundings. My eyes were unused to the sun, which made me squint a bit. 

It looked like a meadow. The land was flat, not a hill on sight. The grass was green and soft under me, and far to my right, there was a big house.

“Italy,” she said. “Veneto.”

Holy shit. 

“A bit far from where I expected to be,” I said.

“The Underworld has many exits,” Maria told me. 

My muscles tensed. I had assumed she was a lost mortal, who had followed the path out of the afterlife by accident, but mortals in Italy wouldn’t be likely to call the Underworld by that name. Nor, I guess, would they be likely to have children who were supposed to be old but looked young.

“Oh, I know about all of this,” she smiled. “My children are— were, like you. Demigods. I’m… what’s that term he used? Clear sighted?”

I nodded.

Italian demigods. Did I know Italian demigods? Probably a fair few, but I wasn’t sure if any of the ones I’d met were from Veneto.

And she said she had died ages ago. Whoever her children were they would have been taken out of time. 

It rang a bell in my memory, but my mind wasn’t clear enough yet for me to recall properly. Not to mention I’d known dozens of demigods who had bizarre stories. 

Thalia was a tree for a while, she’d looked younger than she should have been that time she pushed me off that cliff. 

Annabeth and her little gang had been in that Casino thing in Vegas, that had messed up time for them, too. 

And the Sea of Monsters, there were a lot of islands there where children could have been stuck in time for decades.

“Are your—,” I hesitated. “Did your children ever get to camp? Camp Half-Blood, in New York?”

Maria’s expression turned dubious. “I think so. Bianca didn’t explain much, she didn’t stay long. But I reckon wherever my boy is, it’s in America. That’s the last place I saw them.”

That’s where she had died then.

“Then camp’s our best bet,” I said. “He’s alive, he’s likely to have at least crossed paths with somebody from there.”

She nodded. 

She turned and pointed at the house in the distance. “That’s my family’s home. You can stay there for a bit. To rest.”

She stood and offered a hand for me to get up too.

“I— Yeah, thanks,” I said. I felt weak. I’d just come back to life. She was right to say it took some adjustment. I wondered how long she’d been back. “I could use a place to sit for a bit.”

In exchange, I could help her find camp and her son. Assuming the kid was still alive, that was. I wouldn’t go to camp myself. I’d be stoned the moment I set a foot in there. But leading Maria there was the least I could do after she’d been so kind to me.

I just hoped her son wasn’t somebody I knew. That could make things awkward.

We walked for a bit in silence. As we got closer, the house grew bigger and bigger. ‘House’ was an understatement, I thought. The place was huge. 

Balconies, huge floor to ceiling windows, at least four storeys tall. It had a path that led to the main entrance lined with orchard trees, and off to the side there was a less pretentious dirt path that I assumed went to the servant’s entrance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, before I could stop myself, pointing at the immense building in front of us. “But did your family own Italy?”

Maria gave me a funny look. “It’s not such an ostentatious place.”

Perhaps if you are related to the Windsor family, then Maria’s family’s house isn’t ostentatious. If, like me, you come from the US suburbs, then it’s something taken right out of Downton fucking Abbey.

“My father was a marquess,” she explained, when she caught my cynical expression. “Sua grazia, il Signor di Angelo, and all the paraphernalia it came with. The house is all right, but we weren’t…”

But I had stopped listening.

Di Angelo. I did remember that name. Di Angelo was that little kid who’d popped out of nowhere with an army of undead soldiers and his godly father on toe.

But not even I couldn’t be that unlucky. 

“What’s your son’s name?” I asked, as casually as I could.

“Niccolò,” she said with a proud smile. “But everybody always called him Nico.”

Nico. Nico di Angelo.

Well, fuck. To nobody’s surprise, I could be that unlucky.

[foster-the-world]

Best time

Took the girls to a French Fry restaurant/stand in the West Village that I used to go to all of the time when I was in my 20's. Of course, they loved it. Then we went to the Tenement Museum. I love that place. They also liked it. I'm sure somethings went over there head but they still go things out of it. I made them write a passage about it because I'm that kind of Mom. I really want their writing to improve this summer. I was surprised neither of them knew what the word immigrant meant. A third to half of their class is immigrant children. I had booked a tour about a 13year old girl which was geared toward children. Unfortunately, turned out I had booked the wrong day. They kindly let me go on a different tour. We did one called "100 years apart" about a Chinese family in the 1970s and a Prussian/Germany family in the 1870s. The kids got to see a rotary phone and a tape recorder. We've always treated immigrants unfairly/blamed them for our problems and then gotten pissed off when the economy goes to shit when we limit immigration.

Baby boy loved the Danny Go show. He was so into it - my husband and I were dying laughing. We also found a really nice community pool that we took him to three times this weekend. Its free and huge. I'd been to the Central Park pool before I had kids and found it kind of gross. I falsely assumed all city pools would be like that. Was very happy to find out that was not true. Baby boys swimming is getting better everyday.

Don't judge (or do, whatever, we are doing the best we can) but baby boy (4yo in June) still sleeps in a crib with a pop up mesh tent over it. We know we should have gotten him out but there is no way he would stay in a bed if he could easily get out. With this set up he sleeps a solid 11-12 hours per night, without complaint. He knows he can't get out so he doesn't try. He doesn't cry and if he did we would go in. He's very, very bothered when he does not get enough sleep. He's impulsive when he gets enough sleep I cannot imagine his behavior if he did multiple nights without enough sleep. Last night he put a hole in the mesh tent and got right out. Normally he falls asleep within 5-10 minutes. Last night we stayed in the room and it took two hours. Then of course he was up in the middle of the night. He laid in our bed not sleeping for another two hours. I told my husband to warn his teacher. No way he's going to be okay at school today. By the time we see him at 5pm he'll be out of control. I'll sew up the tent tonight. I ordered another one. We should at least try a floor twin bed with a tent over it sometime soon. My Mom/Aunt are coming Wednesday to watch them over the weekend while we go to a wedding. I can't put that on her. I'm sure its like most kid things - someday he will sleep in a big kid bed and I wont even remember worrying about this. We just need to get it over with.

[th3-p-a1-nt3r]

Incorrect Quotes from Wren's Isekai life!!

This is just for fun, shout out to @pastelclovds for this AU and i hope yall enjoy

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren: Care for another sundae, weenie?

Am: I am not a weenie!

Ram: Relax, you’re among friends. *raises their drink*

Am: My friends don’t hang out at Weenie Hut Jr’s.

Cam: You tell ‘em, Am! *sips their drink*

Am: Cam, what’re you doing here?

Cam: I’m always here on Double Weenie Wednesdays.

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren: *Gently taps table*

Am: *Taps back*

Ram: What are they doing?

Cam: Morse code.

Wren: *Aggressively taps table*

Am: *Slams hands down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: I still have no idea how I’m attracted to you...

Wren: Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me, and no take backs, honey.

-----------------------------------------------------

*the TV is freaking out*

Wren: Don’t worry, you have to treat an electronic like you treat a patient on life support.

*unplugs the TV, then plugs it back in again. nothing changes*

Wren: Yeah, that didn’t work with my mom either.

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: So, what are we doing?

Cam: Wasting our lives.

Am: I meant for lunch...

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Wren: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Am: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

-----------------------------------------------------

Cam: Sorry I’m late, I was doing things.

Wren: Hi, I’m ‘things’.

-----------------------------------------------------

Cam, talking about Wren: WHAT THE FUCK I WAS ARGUING WITH THEM AND I SAID “OOH YOU WANNA KISS ME SO BAD” AND GUESS WHAT? THEY DID. THEY KISSED ME. WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO I DO.

-----------------------------------------------------

Cam: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know!

Wren: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus.

Cam: Stop.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: As top in this relationship, I think we should-

Wren: I can't believe you're pulling rank on me.

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren, taping a knife onto a Roomba: Be free, my child.

Ram, entering the room with a small cut on their ankle: Who the f-

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: Yeah, I’m a false prophet, but you believed me, so whose fault is it really that we’re in this mess?

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: If a demon possessed me, I’d just be like, “Okay, take it from here, good luck man.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: Yeah, I’m a false prophet, but you believed me, so whose fault is it really that we’re in this mess?

-----------------------------------------------------

Cop: What are your names?

Wren: Don't tell them, Cam.

Cop, writing: Cam...

Wren: Crap.

Cam: Nice going, Wren.

Cop:

Cam: Uh oh.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: We have a problem.

Am: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: There's no way they like me back.

Cam: Wren would throw themself in front of a moving car for you.

Am: Wren would throw themself in front of a moving car for fun.

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: It’s not that I don’t trust Wren, I just... don’t ’t trust their impulse control.

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: Coca Cola can remove rust from metal, imagine what it’s doing to your body.

Wren: Pfff, getting rid of the rust, idiot.

Am: THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS!

Ram wanting to piss off Am: Hmm... I've been drinking soda and my body's rust free... not sure where you're getting your facts from...

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren, to Ram: You wanna fight? All right, let’s take this outside. The stars are so bright tonight and the moon looks so nice. Here, hold my hand—

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: Wow. I keep stepping on a lot of crunchy twigs.

Wren: Those are bones, Am.

Am: *looks straight up* Not if I never look down.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: Look, do I consider myself attractive? Yes. But would I have sex with my clone? Also yes.

Ram: You’re meaner!

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren: You’re mean!

Wren: Yeah, well, you’re ugly too!

Ram: You’re uglier!

Wren: You’re a dumbass!

Ram: You’re a dumberass!

Wren: You think “dumberass” is a good insult!

-----------------------------------------------------

Cam: Who do we know that has handcuffs?

Ram: Well Wren and I-

Wren: *elbows Ram*

Ram: ...wouldn't know.

-----------------------------------------------------

Cam: Watcha got there..?

Wren: *petting a ostrich* A smoothie.

-----------------------------------------------------Am: When life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade. Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons, what the hell am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Am lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the person who's gonna burn your house down! With the lemons! I'm gonna get my engineers to invent a combustible lemon that burns your house down!

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: So, Wren, do you have a crush on anyone?

Wren: The only crush I have is this crushing anxiety.

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren: So, I've been thinking Cam-

Cam: That's dangerous.

-----------------------------------------------------

Am: Once Wren thanked me and I couldn’t decide between “No problem!” and “No worries!” so I yelled “No worms!” to them as they walked away.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: You spent all our money on THIS??

Wren, putting tiny raincoats on ducklings: They live outside. They need this.

-----------------------------------------------------Am: I tried to write ‘I'm a functional adult’ but my phone changed it to ‘fictional adult’ and i feel like that’s more accurate.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: You call it "really bad at darts", I call it "freestyle acupuncture."

Bartender: ...I'm going to have to ask you to leave the bar.

-----------------------------------------------------

Wren: Man, it smells like wrongdog out here.

Ram:

Ram: Wren, are you alright?

Wren: *sobs*

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: *shatters a window and climbs through it*

Ram: *turns around and helps Wren through it* Breaking and entering is wrong Wren.

Wren: Okay.

-----------------------------------------------------

Cam: I hate Am.

Wren: Don’t say hate. That is a mean word.

Cam: Fine, I LOATHE Am.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: Why don’t you go talk to them?

Am, sarcastically: Oh. Yeah, sure.

Ram: What? So you go tell them they’re cute, what’s the worst that could happen?

Am: They could hear me.

-----------------------------------------------------

Ram: *venting endlessly to Am about their week*

Am, every once in a while: *in a monotone* Wow, that is so wild.

[lugarn]

WIP Wednesday!

Processing my post-Only Friends feelings in the form of: A Sand/Top fic that's going to end up being quite long.

--

"One drink is too many," Sand says, and climbs out of the pool. 

He doesn't dry himself off with unnecessary aggression, but that's only because of long practice. At this point Sand's actually pretty good at not letting these stupid fights with Mew and Ray have unnecessary consequences, even if Mew's getting worse at having this particular fight instead of better.

Sand would wonder why, but he doesn't like Mew enough to want to know anymore. He did wonder, a year ago, but now he's just tired of having the same fight. It was unpleasant the first time and hasn't improved a damn bit after playing out the steps so many times.

"If you think he can't even have one drink, I don't know why you let him come to parties at the hostel anyway," Mew says, putting himself between Sand and Ray. "He's not driving anywhere, his liver function is excellent, so stop trying to control him every moment of the day!" 

Sand's heart beats so hard in his chest that it doesn't feel possible that he's not having a heart attack or something else equally serious. It's not, it's fucking apparently just something Top told him about last week called a panic attack. He said that it means you need to get away. Like an animal being chased. 

The explanation had seemed like bullshit at the time, but now, feeling the desperate thump, Sand thinks maybe it really would feel better if he did the impossible and ran. 

A year ago, Sand and Top were wary around each other. Now, they're something like allies, maybe even friends. If nothing else, Sand knows the things Top can be trusted with. The last meeting with Boeing had cured him of anything but nostalgia for his first love.

Not to mention it was hard to stay angry with Top when Top was so fucking sensible every time Ray and Mew dug in their heels. Ray's back on the other side of the pool, nursing his drink, and Top's already grabbing Sand's arm, hauling him bodily away from the edge of the pool when Sand wants to jump in after Ray and dump the drink out, beg him to think, please, think. 

That's why Top does it. Sand remembers after a few moments: Sand asked him to. Asked him for help, because he's coming to know himself about this. 

Sand can't stand against Ray.

Sand doesn't want to be complicit in Ray's drinking anymore, but he's learned: when Ray pushes, Sand will cave every time. And he can't keep respecting himself if he keeps caving every time. Sand lets Top pull him into the hostel, lets Top close the door between Sand and all of Sand's worst impulses.

"Run away!" Mew calls after him, barely loud enough to be heard inside. "You never could deal with him, coward!" 

Sand surges forward, hand on the door, ready to go back out, but Top's fingers around his wrist stop him. 

"You said you didn't want to let them keep goading you," Top says, in that particular flat way that means he's having feelings about something so he's gone completely wooden. 

"I know," Sand shouts--not at Top, just at the room--and throws himself down on the couch. He's barely there a second before he scoops up one of Top's great designer pillows and screams his frustration into it. The fancy designer feathers muffle Sand's frustrations beautifully. Not just his anger at Mew and Ray, but at himself. He should've known, should've fucking guessed the moment that Ray said he wanted to hang out at the hostel when there aren't any guests that it meant that Ray wanted to drink. 

He did know, does know, and he still came. "I'm such a dumbass, Top."

"It's incurable," Top agrees, dry as ever. 

Sand laughs. The panic and the anger and all the rest floods out of him and he laughs and laughs. It wasn't that funny and he does not give a single fuck; it was funny enough to break the tension.

[mikavlcs]

Hello darling!

Honestly confessing your feelings/not knowing how to do it if at all is such an uncomfortable situation and so painful sometimes. Wednesday could torture me and I'd prefer it to confessing. (Please abduct me Wednesday)

Wednesday not threatening you as much as others equals her practically saying "I like you, we are friends".

Lol I love that Wednesdays first thought to everything is murder. Lowkey same, people cam be so annoying 🙄

Oooh R isn't scared by Wednesday and even kinda enjoys torture facts. Two psychopaths have found each other!

A poem is a genius idea to confess to Wednesday. She's a great writer so if she doesn't appreciate it, nothing will ever impress her.

"After the 27th trashed page" are we talking about R here or was that you trying to come up with the poem? 😜

OMG A PUPPY!!! WE GOT A GOLDIE PUPPY!!! This is the best story ever! Well after the Thing pranks of course. But a puppy!

Yess we dognapped the puppy. That's exactly what I would do. Well done R! Wednesday will be thrilled 😂

Yoko, I love you girlie but let R take the puppy home in peace.

"I'm pregnant" BITCH WTF?? THATS THE BEST YOU COULD COME UP WITH?? Holy shit that was funny and just so stupid. At first I was gasping at my phone and then laughing. I love slightly dumb characters.

A beautiful and poetic name. Let's hear it! ...Choklit. I... I'm speechless. If R thinks THAT is poetic and beautiful then maybe writing poems isn't the correct thing to do...

Who the hell is Edgar?? Poe poe poe... (Eurovision Song Contest reference. My impulse control is also non existed. Sorry to all Americans who don't get this amazing reference)

WEEMS THANK YOU TALL SEXY LADY

Personal failure as a poet. How come when you come up with such poetic names like Choklit??

OH NO CHOKLIT IS GONNA RUN INTO WEDNESDAY WITH THAT POEM ISNT HE

Lol more exercise. I feel called out again... My small dog can outrun me too.

Ha, I knew it! LOL The werewolf line!! That was savage and utterly hilarious!!! Even Wednesday thinks so.

Choklit is the best wingman ever!

...a few lines above I said I like a slightly dumb character. That's me. Hi. I didn't understand a word Wednesday was saying about the poem. Wtf is a masculine or feminine rhyme?? I really know nothing about poetry...

Wednesday said yes!!! The poem was a success 🙌

For Wednesday I would also use the hell out of Google to impress her. Well done!!

hello!

i have no experience confessing to a crush but that shit seems so stressful 😭😭 (“please abduct me wednesday” is killing me btw) but a poem seems like a terrible way to do it idk. maybe that’s just cause i can’t write one well LMAO. and yes!!! a goldie! one of the three breeds i know of<3

the way “i’m pregnant” was just the first thing i thought of while writing SJSHSJ. i meant to change it but i guess it’s a good thing i didn’t 🙏 and yeah choklit is….a name!!! lol. the eurovision song reference was everything btw. that song was a Bop.

pls i had to read so many article and explanations about all those poetry terms (besides alliteration) because my stupid ass was just not comprehending it…poetry is so much more complex than i thought it was, respect to the poetry girlies bc i’m never touching this stuff again 😭🤚

thank you for reading‼️ your reactions are everything<333

[coleas97]

Wednesday, the 21st of February

As expected, it is confirmed to be not a good thing for me to be completing the prompts early. It gives into my anxiety and need to be structured and in control. My challenge for the rest of the year is to be "looser," or to learn to simply go with the flow. The idea of that frightens me. So until then.. structure.

In March, I am meant to speak of green emotions also known as: envy. I would like to believe that I escape feelings of jealousy but unfortunately, I find that it takes over me in unconventional ways. Within interpersonal relationships, I am not one to engage in long lines of questioning. My best mate speaks of his head spinning and blood boiling during jealous fits, I am unfamiliar with those feelings. However, in being brutally honest, I am wildly possessive. I wish for what's "mine" to be "mine." When in love, I give my all and expect the same back. I find that I am attracted to those who are wild and free-spirited and although exciting, it is absolutely terrifying when they wish to live a life that doesn't require the need to be physically around me often. I believe my form of jealousy is a fear of missing out, a fear of rejection, and perhaps a fear of not being needed. I also tend to reflect behaviours a partner may be demonstrating towards me. If my phone is being looked through, I am likely to look through phones. If I am being restricted, I am likely to restrict others. I am unsure of why this happens. The mother of my son often labels me as petty, and says I am talented in pettiness. Those labels make me sad and ashamed. However, I find there is lack of choice once my emotions take over. To work on controlling my emotions if and when I am hurt by something or someone, perhaps more time to reflect would help or more direct communication. I probably fear appearing as weak since I am often labelled as sensitive. Sensitivity, in my opinion, is a strength.. but others see it as overwhelming and I try very hard not to overwhelm others. Fear of being a burden is an underlying struggle that I often choose not to face head-on.

My last relationship resulted in infidelity on their part. Infidelity triggers my abandonment issues, my childhood trauma, my anxiety, and much more. I have forgiven infidelity within the relationship in the past, and so badly wish I hadn't. I was overcome not so much by jealousy, but a deep-rooted pain and a desire to inflict that pain back onto her. That may also be a form of jealousy, maybe? If a one-off situation (although it may still be painful) I am likely to sulk or take a break. But the repeated instances.. the accumulation of pain and the frustration of being involved with someone who believes that they can do whatever the fuck they want with absolutely no regard for my feelings or loyalty, is what drives me to make petty, impulsive decisions. I do not think of how my retaliation affects others in the moment, but I always do after the fact. I often put myself down for allowing myself to feel regret, as I'm not sure that those who hurt me regret doing so. In writing this, I am becoming increasingly aware of the fact that I treat others how they treat me.. I believe in hopes of "showing" them their behaviour.. as if to make them realize that it's harmful. I thought maybe that was the smart and mature thing to do but I am quickly realizing that it isn't. It may be a waste of time and energy and moving forward, I hope to stop that and instead, immediately leave a negative situation. There is no need to prove a point: an "Aha!" moment.

When it comes to material things or physical or personality traits, I believe I never feel jealousy. I think of this as unhealthy, as I believe it's more human to compare yourself than it is to be totally content with what you have or what you look like. I do not necessarily think of myself as intelligent or handsome or anything. However, I was raised by a mother and eventually a step-mother, who would reassure me of those things often. I am lucky in never feeling insecure about my abilities and always believed that I could do what I put my mind to. With the exception of my son, I am concerned about things that cannot be held in your hands or seen in a mirror, such as love, kindness, respect, perseverance. I genuinely rarely think about the rest. I don't believe I have ever wanted something that someone else had or thought I my life would be better if I possessed something I didn't have already. I am extremely grateful for that.

I suppose that's all I have to say, really. Work in progress, to sum it up.

[findmeinpops]

Chapter Three: I’m On Fire

Summary: You’re home alone when you hear an unexpected knock at the door. This is loosely inspired by ‘I’m On Fire’ by Bruce Springsteen, the lyrics are here and you can listen to it here. Enjoy! x

I’m On Fire: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

I Predict A Riot: Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14

Abbreviations: (Y/N) - Your Name (Y/L/N) - Your Last Name

A/N: I’m overwhelmed by the support that this is getting. I am very grateful and would like to thank you for commenting, liking and reblogging. Here’s Part 3, it’s a little longer than the others and I got a bit carried away. I was also a little tipsy when I wrote this. When I proofread there were SO many mistakes but I’m going to stop making excuses now and just let you read it. x

You hadn’t slept the previous night. You were dreading seeing Sweet Pea again; now that you knew it was going to happen, in school no less, you were very nervous. In bed you tossed and turned, images in your head of all the different ways your meeting could go, of all the ways you could mess up or make a fool of yourself.

Ronnie grabbed your arm as soon as you walked through the door. “You, missy, are going to help me greet the South-siders.” She didn’t give you room to argue as she dragged you to the table she had set up in the foyer. This was just great. There was no way in hell that you could hide from Sweet Pea now.

You, Betty, Archie and Ronnie were gathered at the table when you heard the tell-tale slam of the front doors, signalling the arrival of the new students. An army of serpents, all very menacing, walked in, led by Jughead. He seemed very much in his element, not something you had ever seen before. But it wasn’t him that was the main focus of your attention. In the front row of the parade was Sweet Pea. He was almost a head taller than all of the other serpents. His eyes caught yours and that smirk made a reappearance on his face, making you turn a bright shade of red again.

Betty placed a reassuring hand on your back and, when you turned to face her, she offered a reassuring smile.

“Friends,” Ronnie gave a very convincing, welcoming smile as she addressed the serpents, “on behalf of the students and the faculty here at Riverdale High, welcome to your new school. To ease your transition…”

You zoned out as your eyes honed back in on Sweet Pea, he still looked as perfect as he did that night. He sensed your eyes on him and turned to face you. Embarrassed about being caught, you everted your gaze before deciding the scrutiny was too much and turning to walk away.

At that moment, the opposing army of bulldogs and vixens, led by Cheryl Blossom herself, stormed down the stairs, very much prepared for a battle. “Stand down, Eva Perón” she called and chaos ensued as the two groups met – the perfect time for you to escape.

Quietly, you slipped through the crowd and down the corridor, to your locker. Everyone was occupied by the hostility in the foyer so no one was around. You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding and decided to get your books and head to class. As you opened the door a hand grabbed hold of it, Sweet Pea had followed you. He leant coolly against the lockers exuding confidence and bearing a look that told you he knew just how hot he was.

“Thought you’d get away without saying hello?” He looked you up and down with a smug grin on his face. He was pleased with how uncomfortable he made you.

“I didn’t think you needed a personal tour, I’m sure Cheryl would happily oblige.” You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of an easy defeat.

Sure, you almost kissed, but it was an almost. You hadn’t been thinking straight but now you were, in theory.  Just one look at his charming smile and you were fumbling like a little girl. You couldn’t help being attracted to him but you should know better than to follow through with it.

“How personal? I think I’d rather you gave me the whole tour.” To emphasise the implications of his words he roamed his eyes over your body as if he wanted to eat you alive. You pulled your jacket tighter around your body, you were tempted, he couldn’t be that bad if your dad did business with him. Just one more look into his eyes and you began leaning in, closing the gap between you.

“Alright that’s enough pomp and circumstance,” Principal Weatherbee broke up the battle in the foyer but simultaneously gave you an out and saved you from a decision you would have regretted, “everyone let’s get to class. Now.”

Before he finished his sentence, you were gone, leaving Sweet Pea stranded in the corridor.

You were first to class and made your way to the back corner of the room. You tried to control your breathing in an attempt to calm yourself down. You couldn’t believe how stupid you were being and how much he messed with your head. It was as if just being around him made you lose all your inhibitions. He was a drug which made you feel wondrous things, and you wanted more, but you knew you shouldn’t.

The room began to fill up and, to your relief, no one sat anywhere near you. You needed to be left alone. The bell rang as the teacher entered and quiet settled over the class. You began to write the date at the top of the page and took no notice when the door opened.

“Sorry I’m late miss” It was him. Why, oh why, was he here. Sweet Pea made eye contact with you, giving you a smug grin when he saw the empty desk beside you. No.

You shook your head desperately to try and deter him but his grin only widened as he sat himself next to you.

“Hey, Y/N, fancy seeing you here!” The mock surprised look only annoyed you more as you retrained your eyes to the teacher. He was not going to distract you.

During the first half of the lesson you were able to successfully avoid his obvious attempts to gain your attention. It started with him asking for a pen, then what the date was and then how to do the question. And then each and every question. He tried everything to change the topic of conversation but every time you simply ignored him and returned to your work.

He didn’t give up though. When it became obvious his actions were futile he kicked it up a notch. Slowly he skirted his chair towards you, not enough that the teacher would notice, but just enough to make you squirm.

With this new proximity, he placed a subtle hand on your knee. Every muscle in your body tightened and you felt a new heat between your legs. Your head snapped towards him as you gave him a warning glare. He took no notice and simply moved his hand a little higher. This development only heightened the, what only could be described as, electric feeling in your body. It felt like a charge ran through your body with no means of escape.

As if Sweet Pea sensed this, he raised his hand a little higher so it sat on your inner thigh, uncomfortably close to the source of the electric feeling. There was no way you could continue.

If you moved his hand it would only return. If you made a scene it would only draw other people’s attention and give him the satisfaction he needed.

You didn’t know if you didn’t like it, you were pretty sure you did, you just didn’t want to like it. You shouldn’t like it.

You felt his hand begin to creep a little further and that was enough. You stood up, closed your book and fled. You didn’t look at anyone, you just wanted to get out, but you knew everyone’s eyes were on you.

You’d only made it half way down the corridor when you heard the classroom door swing open. The brisk, heavy footsteps told you all you needed to know about the identity of your pursuer. You quickened your pace, turning the corner.

“Y/N! Wait!” You turned to face him. His expression was not one you expected, it was one of concern. “Are you okay? Did I push it too far? I- “

You cut him off before he could continue, “I just- ”

You lunged forward, onto your tiptoes, rapping your arm round his neck and pressing your lips against his. Your lips met for a few seconds before he pulled away, looking to your expression for some reassurance. The flame of desire flickering in his eyes was mirrored in yours, you were sure of it. He felt the same way you did, there was no doubt about that.

This time he was the one who leant forwards, gripping your face and pulling it up to meet his, kissing you forcefully, desperately, hungrily. You felt the electricity discharge as it continued to flow through you and into him. It felt as if every cell in your body exploded, the rush of endorphins was blissful, it was better than you had imagined. He placed his hands underneath your back side and lifted you so your legs wrapped around his waist, evening out the height difference.

Turning, he slammed your back against the lockers as he began to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck. The euphoric feeling intensified and you pushed a hand into his hair, gently pulling against it, your other handing roamed his back.

Then the hallway flooded with students and the two of you leapt apart. His lips were swollen and his hair tousled. You were both breathing heavily and kept eye contact from either side of the hall. However, the realisation that you needed to move broke the trance as you fumbled to pick up your discarded bag before rushing off, getting lost in the stampede of people. What had you done? He was a serpent and you had been taught that serpents should never be trusted. But how you wanted to.

“Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby,

Edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley,

Through the middle of my skull”

Tagged: @swordsandserpents @justmesadgirl @galaxy-hale @nepriaa @wybcalum @happilydeadontheinside @we-chemical-kids @iamaunicorn4704

[eggrestes]

ladrien fic recs!

there are SO MANY amazing ladrien fics i cant possibly cover them all but here are a few!

(all the ratings used are ao3 ratings)

((this is a very long post!))

FLUFF

Of Ivy and Sunlight by cyanise [ T, 1509 words, 1/1 ]

When Adrien takes to wandering the streets of Paris in ungodly hours, Ladybug has no choice but to keep an eye on him. Still, things are bound to get a little out of hand between two overloaded teenagers with a lot of love and not enough self-control. 

a lovely post-chat blanc fic :’) it has a great flow and is just soft and so sweet and it’s just perfect. gosh i cannot really say more other than read it!!! also almost all of their other stuff is also ladrien so do check it out!

This can't be happening by PlaPla [ T,  6,467 words, 1/2 ]

Ladybug is unsure whether accompanying Adrien to a gala as his not-date is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to her. But when their table mates turn out to be none other than her long time friends Alya and Nino and with Adrien acting weirder and weirder she finds herself with bigger worries than an unrequited crush.

a djwifi/ladrien double date? hit me up! i love identity shenanigans, ball dancing, ladrien, and djwifi and this is a perfect mix for me. i know it’s incomplete but it doesn’t end in a cliff-hanger really, the part 2 is just a promise of more so it doesn’t feel incomplete! PlaPla also has a short oneshot of ladrien going for a motorcycle ride.

Falling again by emsylcatac [ M,  4,506 words, 2 Works ]

They had been dancing around each other for a while now, and while fifteen year old Adrien would have been ecstatic at the idea of dating Ladybug in secret, twenty-two year old Adrien knew better. But Ladybug wasn’t making it easy. It was like… she, too, was falling for him. And that surprisingly enough, she didn’t mind.

* * *

Or Adrien trying (and failing) to keep things professional between him and Ladybug when the two of them partner up for a mission. Older AU

things are a little steamy~ here (don’t worry, it’s only implied it’s very mild and closer to a T rating than the M) but it’s a great mature take on their dynamics! emsy has more ladrien one-shots in her collection of one-shots!

i'd love to go on a date with you by sae_what  [ G,  6,480 words, 1/1 ]

Once it had been falsely announced throughout Paris that Adrien and Ladybug are in a relationship, Ladybug pays him a visit to turn him down gently.

Only, she doesn’t. And instead, she has a formal dinner date. With Adrien. At 8 pm. Tonight.

LADYBUG IN A SUIT!! aaaaaaaaaaaaaa. okay but for real it’s so sweet and also??? they are on a date!!! a rooftop date!! (too man exclamation marks oops)

Always Welcome by  chatonne-rousse [ T, 1,683 words, 1/1 ]

Ladybug knows that Adrien's window is always open for her to swing by and stop in, whether for video games or a chat or, like tonight, for soft kisses and sweet nothings.

He loves these visits. His girlfriend is always welcome. Always. (Especially for kisses.)

Written for Ladrien June, day 8: bluebell eyes.

established relationship, pre-reveal ladrien. there is something very home-y about this fic and it’s all about the comfort and quiet that i adore about it!

Five Times Gabriel Agreste Caught Ladybug in His Son’s Bedroom (and the One Time He Caught Chat Noir) by agrestenoir [ T,  1,923 words, 1/1]

Gabriel Agreste keeps finding Ladybug in his son's bedroom. As a super villain and father, this will not stand.

this crack fic is... honestly so hilarious. it’s all through gabrie-i-am-trying-to-parent-and-failing-a-lot-agreste’s POV so it is so much ridiculous! 

an uncurtain discovery by  Missnoodles [ T, 4,684 words, 1/1 ]

When he returns from school on Wednesday afternoon, Adrien discovers the darkness in his own home. He struggles to come to terms with it. To his utter mortification and delight, Ladybug is nearby to rescue him.

(He does not discover that his father is supervillain. That will happen on a different Wednesday.)

Adrien is being a cat and gets tangled in the curtains on his window and it’s utterly ridiculous. all the bug and the cat tendencies make it funnier and adrien’s inner monologue is just a cherry on top!

secret valentine by a_miiraculer [ T,  12,245 words, 1/1 ]

this is the moment that we will come alive brace yourself for love sweet love, secret love

If Adrien had known that getting himself stuck in a tree would end like this, he would've gotten himself stuck sooner.

A drabble series.

i just,,,, don’t have words for how much i love it! it’s ridiculous, it’s cute, it’s funny, it’s whole-some and just ladrien. the writer also has a M rated multi-chapter ladrien kissing (no the M is very much real here) and a heroic adrien and ladybug one-shot too! 

Those Benevolent Stars by peachcitt [ G,  23,696 words, 3/3 ]

“Will you come back?”

She looked up at the deep blue sky, as if she could somehow find the answer there. “I shouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head and looking back at him. But the stars were still there, caught in her eyes, and Adrien persisted.

“But will you?”

or

adrien meets his soulmate, a thief who calls herself ladybug. he falls for her, but she seems determined to maintain a space between them.

oh my god this au.... just no words!! it’s poetry and it’s tender and it’s about the yearning and just!!! perfect :’). Her current ongoing ladrien june fic is also akin to this (and the fic i linked before it) so do check it out too! (literally check out all of their works it’s so beautiful)

Flowers on the Window Sill by LNC [ G,  2,144 words, 1/1 ]

The first time Ladybug saw him, really saw him, the universe stopped.

this fic feels like poetry and it’s so lovely. LNC is always short and direct but it always hits right in the feels while also being hilarious. Her  other ladrien works are just as good and i highly recommend going through them because it fulfills all of the ladrien needs (along with Reiaji)

whatever a sun will always sing is you by komorebirei [ T,  32,980 words, 37/37 ]

“I didn't think you'd actually... do anything," Adrien admitted, cheeks prickling with warmth. "I-I mean, I never expected... I didn't know you watched my interviews.” That definitely wasn’t how he'd imagined confessing to Ladybug.

“Of course I do!” Ladybug squeaked. “Uhh, that is…” She looked down at her hands, nervously turning her yo-yo over, over and over. “Maybe you’re not the only one with a crush.”

(After an unexpected confession, Ladybug and Adrien start dating in secret. A progressive character- and relationship-study quilted from drabbles, with the intention of digging treasure out of the cove that is Ladrien. Written using kashimalin-fanfiction's kiss writing prompts from Tumblr.)

it does such an excellent job at exploring this dynamic along with the characters. it’s such a sweet fic, each chapter short and fun!

ANGST

whose woods these are (I think I know.) by  Reiaji [ T,  105,000 words, 25/25 ]

Four years after his future turns to cinders, Adrien is a servant in the house he was meant to inherit. Disowned by his father and abused by his stepmother, his days are filled with drudgery until he meets a masked huntress in the forest behind his father's chateau.

As his friendship with Ladybug turns to first love, he dreams of a future spent at her side.

Then, on the eve of the Princess's masquerade, he meets his guardian—and is granted a wish.

[Ladrien Cinderella AU]

Warnings: Child abuse, Graphic depiction of violence

this is absolutely gorgeous. it has so many troupes and so many amazing character arc and great build up and everything just flows so well. it left me in awe for weeks and i just. want to experience reading it for the first time again. look at this gorgeous art inspired by this! {and you have to read  leonard bernstein too because LETTERS and LADRIEN and YEARNING}

i would do it again (oh, a thousand times) by bugabisous [ T, 2,266 words, 1/1 ]

Knowing you can bring someone back doesn’t mean you’re free of the pain of seeing them disappear before your eyes. He can’t imagine he’ll be able to look at her directly without replaying every horrifying moment when he felt her slip away in a puff of smoke.

When it happens once again, he already knows he’ll be trying again. He just can’t give up.

it expands on adrien’s feelings in the episode desperada (my beloved <3) and it is just ouch. such great angst, such great potential. the kind of tragedy that it offers is unusual for ml (it gets only rivaled by chat blanc tbh). to rival this angst bugabisous also has a fluffy one-shot :)

when the world gets too heavy (put it on my back) by Taliax [ T, 4,720 words, 1/1 ]

Chat Noir isn't allowed to cry over his father. But even when he's just Adrien, Ladybug won't abandon him.

Hawkmoth reveal hurt/comfort + Ladrien

the plagg and adrien bond written is just perfect, and oh this hits right in the feels :’) it hurts all in the right way. tali also has so many other ladrien works in all genres too

By Your Side by omniousunflower [ T, 4,361 words, 1/1 ]

(Angry and alone, Adrien waits on top of the Eiffel Tower for his lady.)

“So, how did my kitty get stranded up here?” Ladybug asks.

Groaning, Adrien pulls his knees toward his chest and presses his face against them. “Because he’s stupid and impulsive.”

“Chasing pigeons, then?”

“No.” Shame burns in Adrien’s veins, white-hot now that Ladybug is here to witness his stupidity. “I threw my Miraculous, and Plagg wouldn’t get it for me.”

post-hawkmoth defeat, and adrien is not doing well at all. i am cheating because it is post reveal, pre relationship but it’s still ladrien. this fic is a roller coater of emotions, starting from a slightly crack scenario to a cute, awkward, hopeful ending.  More Than You Know is another of sunny’s angsty ladrien work!

Breaking The Rules (AKA The Ladrien Fistfight) by ThisKwamiNeeds_aNap [ T, 8,714 words, 1/1 ]

Marinette may or may not be dying, but she’s still going to do her best to fix every single problem in the world. She’s not expecting Adrien to be the one who tries to stop her. (Takes place immediately after Kwami Buster)

Warnings: panic attack, broken bones, PTSD. please read the tags!

*slaps this fic* this fic can fit in so much angst. it just?? left me in PAIN oof. it says ‘ladrien fistfight’ on the lid but nooo there is marinette is just having a freak out and it’s all so much??!! and it’s not just marinette there is adrien too and chloe and alya and- wow it’s amazing. love it so much it fills up my angst needs :’)

so that’s it for now! my personal commentary isn’t impressive nor does it do justice to the fic but i still hope you read a few of these!! happy reading!!

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 10

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:46am

To: mreyes@fbi.gov

Subject: Coffee?

Hi Monica,

It’s Dana, from pathology. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee tomorrow around lunchtime? I have a break in classes from 11-2, so anywhere in there would be fine.

I hope things are going well with VICAP.

-Dana

From: dscully@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:48am

To: fmulder@fbi.gov

Subject: Wednesday/Thursday

Hi,

I’m mildly shocked that you hadn’t already emailed me before I got in today. Are you alive?

If you’d like to meet up for lunch or coffee this week, I can do Wednesday or Thursday, sometime in the 11-3 timeframe. Let me know which works for you and I’ll block the time out so nothing else ends up on my schedule.

From: mreyes@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28, 1997 11:12am

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Coffee?

Hi Dana,

I’m so glad you reached out. I’d love to get coffee tomorrow; I can meet you just outside the autopsy bay at 1pm, if that works?

I look forward to it.

-Monica

From: fmulder@fbi.gov

Sent: April 28th, 1997 12:16pm

To: dscully@fbi.gov

Subject: RE:Wednesday/Thursday

Hi Scully,

I see that my exceptional self control has paid off in spades. I am alive, and have resisted emailing you this morning through a combination of sheer will and a two-hour budget meeting.

Wednesday sounds perfect, I’ll be there at noon. Don’t ask me how many hours that is from now because I haven’t calculated it and I have no idea.

———

About an hour after returning from her coffee date with Monica, which was very pleasant and is something she hopes to repeat, she starts to feel just a little bit achy. She pushes through the rest of her work for the day and by the time she slumps through her apartment door at six, there’s no denying that she’s sick. She takes some Tylenol and goes to bed, hoping it will have passed in the morning, but when she wakes up it’s even worse. She calls in sick to work and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes again, the phone is ringing. She ignores it, only for it to start ringing again the moment the machine picks up. Dragging herself out of bed with a pained moan, she trudges to the hallway, retrieving the cordless phone and walking back to her bedroom as she answers.

“Hello?”

“Scully! Are you okay?”

“What? Yes. Mulder?” She burrows herself back under the covers with the phone tucked against her ear.

“Yes, it’s me, you didn’t answer my emails all morning and never showed up for our coffee date. I was worried.”

“Shit, Mulder, I’m sorry. I came down with something yesterday and called out sick. I totally forgot we were having coffee today.”

“You’re sick?” he asks, clear concern in his voice.

“Yes, just a virus or something, I’ll be fine.”

“Can I bring you something? Soup? Juice? Bad movies?”

She chuckles a little. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“Who's gonna take care of you?”

“Mulder, I’m a grown adult with a cold, I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” She can tell by his tone that he wants to do this more for himself than for her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want you to see me all sick and disgusting, Mulder. It’s too soon to ruin your image of me,” she says somewhat sarcastically.

“Seeing you sick is not going to change how I feel about you, Scully,” he says very tenderly, and she knows he means it. Still, she doesn’t like the idea.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to make you drive an hour for nothing. Rain check?”

He sighs noisily. “Okay, fine. I think you inadvertently left ‘stubborn’ off your list of flaws, though.”

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin all the surprises,” she replies with a smile.

He reluctantly says goodbye, and as soon as he hangs up, she calls the first number on her speed dial.

“Hello,” calls Missy in her typical singsong greeting.

“Missy, can you come over?” she whines, little sister mode in full effect, “I’m sick.”

Missy arrives forty five minutes later and fusses around, gathering a glass of water, Tylenol, and the thermometer that is buried in the bottom of a bathroom drawer. Dana has relocated to the couch, and makes a face around the thermometer propped under her tongue when Missy sets four crystals of different shapes and colors on the coffee table, along with two herb-filled capsules. The thermometer beeps angrily and Missy plucks it out of her mouth, shaking her head.

“One hundred and two,” she says with a frown, “here, take these,” she holds out two Tylenol and two of the herb capsules with a glass of water.

Dana takes the Tylenol and leaves the others.

“Whatever those are, I’m not taking them. And you can pack up your crystals,” she says to Missy as she pops the Tylenol and chases them with a big gulp of water.

“They’re just echinacea, Sis, they won't kill you. And neither will the crystals.”

“But they also won’t help,” Dana says dryly, setting her water on the coffee table and burrowing back under her blanket.

“Well, I’ll just leave them right here,” Missy says, standing and going to the kitchen. “Why’d you call me, anyway? Shouldn’t playing sick maid be Mulder’s job now?” She’s looking through cupboards, pulling out a pot and a can of soup.

“It’s too soon for him to see me all congested and disgusting,” Dana replies, stifling a shiver. “He wanted to come over, but I told him not to.”

There’s a knock at the door. Dana sits up, exchanging confused looks with Missy.

“Did you order food?” Dana asks, and Missy shakes her head, moving to the door.

Dana watches from the couch as Missy opens the door to find no one on the other side. She looks at the floor, then down the hall one direction and the other. She stoops down and picks something up, then walks back to the couch with a paper bag.

“What is that?” Dana asks, and Missy shrugs, setting it on the coffee table and sitting at Dana’s feet. There’s a sheet of paper stapled to the bag, and Missy plucks it off, opening it while Dana explores the contents; a carton of tom kah gai soup.

Missy’s face is a mask of confusion as she reads whatever is written on the paper.

“What does it say?” Dana asks, and Missy hands it to her.

Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.

Dana’s chin puckers as her bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “Oh my god,” she gushes, “it’s Mulder.”

“What the hell does this mean?” Missy asks, taking the paper back and reading it again. “Does he write poetry or something?”

“No,” Dana answers, pulling the lid off the container and breathing in the spicy coconut smell, “it’s a quote from Jane Eyre.”

“Oh my god,” Missy says with a disgusted look, “you two really are meant for each other. This is sickening, Dana, you realize that, right?”

Dana is smiling, taking sips of the hot Thai chicken soup that he somehow knew she needed. “Yes, he’s also a giant nerd, if that’s what you’re saying. But beyond that, I don’t think we have much of anything in common, actually.”

“You both work for the FBI,” Missy offers.

“Yes, but in totally different areas. And he’s an atheist, and believes in unverifiable phenomena like aliens and spontaneous human combustion. And he’s impulsive and easy going, and he makes decisions with his gut,” Dana lists off Mulder’s attributes like she’s describing the trim level on a car. He’s cute, and he has a leather interior.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t use any of those words to describe you,” Missy says pointedly, setting the note on the table, where Dana plucks it back up and reads it again. “But there’s something to be said for being with someone who’s different from you.”

“I don’t really buy into the idea of ‘opposites attract,’” Dana says flatly. “I think that’s just a lie people tell themselves to justify horribly mismatched partnerships.”

“I think ‘opposites attract’ implies that your qualities clash, like the odd couple. One is messy and the other is clean,” Missy replies, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “But I heard about this idea of ‘perfect opposites’ which is more like someone who complements you, or helps kind of level you out. So perhaps you lean to the extreme in some areas where Mulder leans to the other extreme, and you learn to meet somewhere in the middle.”

Dana gives her a doubtful look. “What is the middle between believing wholeheartedly that Bigfoot exists, and knowing that he doesn’t?”

Missy takes this under serious consideration. “I think,” she says without a hint of sarcasm, “that the medium would be accepting that it’s possible that he exists, and possible he doesn’t, but there's no way to know for sure.”

“So a Bigfoot agnostic?” Dana asks, and Missy nods in confirmation.

Dana shakes her head. “Maybe you should have gone out with him, I think you two might be better suited.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Missy says with a coy smile. “Speaking of which, does he have any single friends?”

Dana shrugs around a gulp of soup. “I don’t know, I haven’t met any of his friends.”

“Well, when you do, keep an eye out would ya? Now that I’ve lost my single buddy, I may as well get back out there. God knows it’s torture enough hearing your lurid tales from the bedroom.”

“Missy, I haven’t told you a single lurid tale,” Dana chastises.

“I know, what’s up with that?” Missy retorts in mock offense, “speaking of, what happened when he took you out to dinner Sunday night?”

Dana shakes her head.

“Oh come on, Dana. I have no life, let me live vicariously,” Missy whines.

Dana shakes her head again. “The only thing I’ll say is; maybe don’t eat off the kitchen counter,” she says before giving Missy a guilty look.

Missy’s mouth drops open.

“Wow, I’m not sure if I’m more grossed out or jealous,” she says as she stands, “I’m gonna get out of here, if you’re good. I think I need to go pick up a guy at a bar for some meaningless sex.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for coming by. If you need a condom there are some in the bathroom,” she adds with a sarcastic smile, and Missy sneers at her.

“Ha, ha,” Missy replies as she slips on her shoes and opens the door, “last time I checked, you can’t get pregnant from a vibrator.”

Dana gives her a sympathetic pout and Missy pulls the door closed behind her.

———

It’s a quarter past eight when the phone rings, and he pushes Priscilla onto the floor to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“I can’t find it,” says a garbled voice.

“Hello?” he asks again, “who is this?”

“It’s really cold. It’s also too hot,” the voice says around a sound like fabric moving over the mouthpiece.

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mulder, where are you?”

“I’m at home. You called me at home. Is Missy there?”

“No, she had to take her vibrator to a bar,” she answers, and it’s clear that she’s completely delirious.

“Scully, I’m coming over,” he says, standing up to find his shoes and wallet. “Hey, Scully, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you stand up, and walk to your front door?”

She sighs. “That’s very far.”

“I know it is, but I need you to unlock the door so I can get in. I don’t think your super would be very happy if I broke it down.”

He hears her groan and her voice becomes quieter, then disappears. He waits, and just when he thinks she may have hung up, she picks the phone back up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did you unlock the door?”

“Mulder?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Mulder, where are you?”

He snickers a little. “I’m on my way over, did you unlock the door?”

“I...I don’t remember,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.

“That’s okay, go back to bed. I’ll figure it out. See you soon, okay?”

“Okay, bye, Mulder.”

He waits but the line doesn’t go dead. He hears her shuffle around a bit and then it’s quiet for a long time. Setting the phone on its cradle, he drives over to her apartment.

The door is, thankfully, unlocked, and all the lights are off.

“Scully?” he calls out, not wanting to scare her. “Scully, are you awake?”

When he gets no response, he slips off his shoes and makes his way to her bedroom, calling out her name intermittently. He finds her twisted up in her sheets, and one touch to her forehead has him jerk his hand away with how hot she is. He strips the blankets off of her, finding her in only a T-shirt and panties underneath. Next he finds a washcloth in the bathroom and soaks it with cold water, then grabs two Tylenol and a glass of water. When he returns to the bedroom and drapes the cloth over her forehead, she starts and opens her eyes momentarily, but then closes them again.

“Scully,” he says softly, shaking her shoulder, “I need you to wake up, honey. I need you to take these.”

Her eyes open slowly and she blinks at him with heavy lids.

“Mulder?” she asks groggily, and he gives her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m here. Can you sit up and take these?”

He helps her prop herself up just enough to swallow the Tylenol and a sip of water before she collapses back against the pillows.

“I feel like shit,” she complains, but her eyes are already closed and she’s on her way back to sleep.

“I know. Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

———

She wakes up to harsh beams of sun pouring directly through her eyelids. Her first thought is that Ethan forgot to close the blinds again, but then she remembers that she and Ethan aren't together anymore and he doesn’t live here, so she must have forgotten to close them. She moves to roll out of bed and is met with the shock of aching muscles, and remembers that she had been raging with fever last night. She probably shouldn’t have let Missy leave, but thankfully the fever seems to have broken during the night. She rolls away from the window, no longer motivated to get up and close the blinds, and finds herself nose to nose with a sleeping Mulder.

“What the hell?” she says out loud, and he opens his eyes and smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says softly, “how do you feel?”

She gives him a perplexed expression. “Confused. How long have you been here?”

He chuckles “I knew you were out of it, but I didn’t think you were that far gone. You don’t remember?”

She shakes her head ruefully.

Mulder rolls to his back and stretches, then turns back to face her. “You called me last night, totally out of it, and I came over to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you get in?” she asks skeptically.

“You let me in.”

Her eyes widen.

“You were burning up, I just force fed you some Tylenol and kept an eye on you. Around 3am you started shivering, so I think that’s when the fever broke.”

She is quiet for a moment, taking in her surroundings. “Mulder...am I not wearing pants?”

He holds up his hands in self defense. “That’s how I found you, Scully, Scout’s honor.”

“What time is it?” she asks, feeling disoriented.

He peeks at his watch. “A little after nine.”

She sits up too quickly and gets dizzy. “I’m late for work,” she says, one hand to her head.

“Scully you were delirious with fever six hours ago, you’re not going to work. I called for you,” he says, sitting up too.

She gives him an incredulous look. “You called out sick to work for me?”

He nods.

She sighs and looks away from him. “I got the soup, and the note,” she says, “thank you.”

“Of course,” he answers, rubbing a palm over her back.

She looks back at him, taking in his sleep rumpled hair and second day stubble. She furrows her brow, a slight scowl on her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she says with a defeated tone, and he laughs.

“I’d sure like to be, if you’ll have me.”

She groans and slumps against him, sighing as he wraps his arms around her, petting her hair.

“Okay, fine,” she says flatly.

“Well don’t sound so excited about it,” he teases, and she pulls back and smiles at him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she says softly.

“Thanks for letting me,” he replies.

[itsmeevie01]

A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot! 

Yay!

 I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

 Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

 Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

 The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

 As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

 Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

 Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

  From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

 From: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

To: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

 After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

 As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

 From: Mari_Beri2001@gmail.com

To: timdrakeeeee99@gmail.com

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

 Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

  i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

Tag List

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[radioactivepeasant]

Fic Prompts: Star Wars Wednesday

(Part of an au I did on my deviantart a while back that I'm still fond of. This short fic was a little too long for one post. So I'm posting it in two installments. It can be read in its entirety here)

There are certain crustaceans native to the Mon Calamari homeworld that require a somewhat bizarre method of cooking. They are placed in tepid water alive and the temperature is very slowly increased so that by the time they actually notice that they are doomed, it is far too late to do anything about it.

Certain members of the League of Ungentlemanly Warfare, Imperial Chapter, were of the opinion that the same tactic was appropriate in the dethroning of an emperor.

Of course, hit and run had been the Rebels' primary tactic up until the months following Hoth, when inexplicably they were alerted to a clandestine organization within the Empire that had been working to overthrow Palpatine ever since Alderaan.

[[MORE ]]

Planetary enslavement and devastation they could evidently stomach, though some less so than others, but apparently planetary destruction was quite a different matter to them. How...conscientious...

Admiral Ackbar, upon noticing the name of the foremost conspirator -- leaving all members of the Alliance save one utterly dumbfounded -- wondered whether some motivation might come from one of the last known Force users wishing to rebuild his way of life, seeing as the only other known Force users were part of the Alliance. General Kenobi certainly didn't correct him, but he'd shrugged in a slightly tense way.

This was the explanation they gave the rest of the Rebellion when people started to wonder why Commander Skywalker was acting as something of a courier between the two chapters of the League (named, evidently, for an organization from long before the Clone Wars and made up of such notable figures as the young count of Serrano, Dooku). Most of Rogue Squadron almost didn't mind as much as they might've thought. Despite some...ideological tiffs...with their temporary allies from time to time -- and they were all quite sure it was temporary -- no one could deny a certain thrill in raiding suddenly unguarded Imperial supply lines, or pulling off hijackings of Imperial corvettes when they knew resistance would be lower than usual.

There was even a day when Rogue Squadron, the Infamous Ghost Crew, and Solo pulled off a mass heist of an entire ship full of tributes meant for the emperor. Half went to pay for the Rebellion -- war is expensive! -- and the rest found its way into relief efforts across the galaxy.

Bit by bit, holdings were destabilized, key political figures were replaced or assassinated, and every once in a great while someone would catch sight of General Kenobi in his old armor, chuckling quietly to someone on a private comm line that "nothing's really changed after all, has it?"

And all the while, the Imperial chapter of the League of Ungentlemanly Warfare quietly hushed up the reports, rerouted complaints, and helped place Rebel infiltrators in key locations. Several different intelligence networks were now sending out reports of "rebel collusion" from Hutt-controlled worlds, and reports of treason from towns controlled by Black Sun. General Veers, for his part, was unexpectedly having a grand old time dealing with the matter. But then, no one really liked it when Hutts controlled a system.

So by the time the Emperor took his personal star dreadnought to oversee a construction project near Endor, his hold on the galaxy was considerably shakier than he might've foreseen.

"Will he be expecting a betrayal?" Leia had asked bluntly the night before the final attack. "You did both say he was a powerful Sith."

"Very powerful -- mind your footwork, Leia, Ataru is not to be attempted lightly!" Obi-wan had been a touch preoccupied with Leia's forms.

"He will no doubt expect my attack," Vader had sounded almost cavalier about it, "But I am not a...subtle man." Luke's choked laugh had been studiously ignored. "I attempted a coup when you were nineteen and I failed. He will no doubt expect me to rely on impulse and anger and betrayal once more."

The fact that he'd failed a coup was not exactly confidence inspiring, though his continued existence suggested it hadn't gone too badly wrong.

[agaystormcloud]

The Pressure That Comes Within - Miraculous Ladybug

   In which Chat is the only person who doesn’t expect something from her

Good old MariChat :D  (Feel free to DM any criticisms on my work)

(1 paragraph mentions Self Harm and Eating Disorders and may be potentially triggering, if you would like to skip it is marked by *** lines)

......................................................................................................................

There was a lot of pressure in Marinette’s life, despite what everyone assumed from her. Her teachers expected her to be a good example for students like Chloe, she had her job as Class Representative ( or she used to), her friends expected her to help babysit and hang out with them, her parents expected her to get good grades and help in the store sometimes, Jagged and a few other people expected her to be able to do commission work, Paris expected her to be the hero they needed, and Chat… Well she didn’t know what Chat expected from her on either side of the mask

There was a lot of pressure in Marinette’s life, despite what everyone assumed from her.  Her teachers expected her to be a good example for students like Chloe, she had her job as Class Representative ( or she used to), her friends expected her to help babysit and hang out with them, her parents expected her to get good grades and help in the store sometimes, Jagged and a few other people expected her to be able to do commission work, Paris expected her to be the hero they needed, and Chat…  Well she didn’t know what Chat expected from her on either side of the mask, he’d visited Marinette a handful of times in her home.  He was usually a very welcome distraction from her problems, and something to pay attention to while she worked.  On the other hand, in the mask all he expected from her was her kindness and to be his partner (like everyone else, that meant saving Paris, but with him it was different.  He also supported her, they were equals).  

  Knowing all of this, it wasn’t very hard for Marinette to feel overwhelmed and out of control sometimes.  Of course, individually everything shouldn’t be that overwhelming, but all together ended up with a very tired and overworked teenage girl.  With the extra push of Lila isolating her from her friends, and the news's remarks on Ladybug’s appearance.  

  The obvious solution would be to talk to tikki, but she was often tired after their fights, which were some of her hardest times.  She very often thought of alternatives, most of them more destructive than you would be led to believe from the holder of the miraculous of creation.

*** Possibly Triggering content***

  She’d tried monitoring her eating to curve down her weight, but her impulses were too strong.  Afterwards, and whenever she thought back on the situation, she labeled herself as a fatty or pig.  Someone unable to control themselves, yet again.  The other option, was much worse to think about, she’d thought about S*lf H*arm before, but the closest she’d gotten was scrubbing away at her frustrated doodles on her arms.  She hated to admit that she wanted to do more, but she shelved it away under ‘forbidden things’, she chickened out again, like always.

**content end**

  On the subject of destruction, a certain black cat usually helped, but he only came by on Wednesdays and Fridays (his patrol nights), if at all.  She stepped out onto the patio, silently pleading Chat would just show up and help her solve all her problems.  The cold night wind bit her skin, and she responsively tugged on her scarf.  She was alone with only her thoughts to keep her company, all of them.  The ones that yearned for self-destruction as the solution pulled at her arms, thoughts of each responsibility swirled around her head, and she was coated in a layer of guilt.  Not everything was as magically solved as with her Lucky Charm’s reset.  

  “Screw magic” she whispered hoarsely, as she hadn’t really spoken in hours.  She slipped back into her room, grabbed her new sneakers, and threw on a comfortable outfit.  The cap she’d designed, but everything else was just laying around.  

  As she slipped out the back door, she didn’t quite know where she was going, but she reasoned being lost in her thoughts justified being lost in Paris.  Her feet carried her from street to street until she landed at the eiffel tower, looming high above her.  She grabbed a ticket and climbed the steps of the tower, an odd experience compared to just swinging up.  Daring herself, she climbed out and sat just off from where she and Chat usually met for patrol.  Collecting her thoughts felt almost easier up there, it was familiar.  She was almost done (the same regard to crying), and started getting up, and back to the allowed areas.  As she turned to leave, she was met with a block in her path, and stumbled, she would’ve fell if not for him grabbing her arms to help her back up.

  “Careful there, purr-incess” he warned her, pulling The shorter girl back up onto the platform behind him.

  “Thank you, Chat,” she replied, taking in the scenario.  She might have been able to help herself back up regardless, but she considered herself lucky to have Chat there to catch her.

  “And what would you be doing up here all by yourself in the middle of the night?” He wondered, looking down at her.

  “It’s just.. everything I have to do, it’s all a lot sometimes.  I can usually handle it, but not tonight apparently” She tried to wipe the tears and tiredness left on her face away, almost succeeding.

  He murmured something under his breath, “ I can relate to that, Marinette.  Do you want to talk about it?” he offered, knowing it usually helped to talk to Plagg when his responsibilities piled up, “Or may I just help you home?  I’d feel bad leaving you here to walk so far alone”

  “ That would be.. nice, Chaton.” She, as per usual started to ramble,  “As long as you don’t mind that is.  I wouldn’t want to be a bother with all that you do.  You and ladybug must be very busy saving Paris all the time, that is?”

  He chuckled softly, moving closer and offering his hand, “No one’s ever a bother, especially you”  She took his hand, and he was off.

  They landed back on her patio, where everything had started for the anxious girl, her mind racing and thoughts out of order.  

  “So, did you want to talk about it, princess?” Chat asked, as he’d offered earlier.

  “Yea, that’d be nice.  Would you mind if I grabbed something from my room really quick?  I wouldn’t want to bother you or anything?”

  Chat nodded, reiterating she wasn't a bother, “go ahead, I’ll stay”

  Marinette scuttered down into her room, pulling out her box of baked goods, and coming back up to the roof area.  She tore a croissant in half, offering the other side to Chat.  “It’s just, everything’s a lot and almost everyone in my life expects something from me, and usually I can bear it, but lately I’ve picked up a few more things and it’s all too much.  I don’t know how to tell people without offending them, because it sounds like they’re not worth my time anymore, and that would mean not being a good friend.  That’s one of the things I’m most known for, and if I’m not that, what am I?”  She started, offering the open box while she talked, “and- well.. And there’s this girl at school who’s been spreading lies and rumours about me, and people keep telling me to set a good example, or they don’t believe me.  But with her threats, which I know she can fulfill.  I don’t know what to do anymore?”  

  Chat murmured, brushing crumbs off the top of his suit, “ No one deserves to feel like that, Mari.  Have the teachers at your school done anything?”

  “ No, everyone believes her or expects it to solve itself really”

  “You should file an issue with the teachers at your school, they shouldn’t be taking her word over yours and not helping you with all this.” he checked the time on his baton, “ I have to go for the night, as it’s getting late.  But, I’ll hope to find you again on Friday?  Let me know if the issues persist, I’m sure they’d hate to ignore someone as lovely as me” He proclaimed, flexing and chuckling,  the green-eyed teen took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, leaping away and grumbling to himself as soon as he was far enough away.

  Marinette was left feeling a little better, brushing away her thoughts of one cute cat.  She’d file a complaint with her parents to the school board.  

  The next day at school found her a bit better, and Adrien seemed more aggressive towards Lila, which seemed weird compared to usual.  When she complained about Mari ‘bullying’ her, Adrien slid into the seat next to her, where Alya used to sit before she moved next to Lila.  They ended up chatting for part of the period, with little to no sputtering from the raven-haired girl.  Adrien helped her correct her notes, and she ended up looking forward for school days to come for the first time in a while.   Maybe things were gonna work out in the end, and if not, she could still count on Chat.  She knew for sure now.

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

1826 Wednesday 5 April

6 11 1/4

Wrote the rough draft of index from 18 March to 1 April (this month) which took me till 8 3/4 - Went out at 8 55/60 to William Keighley and his son William who have this morning begun to cut and lay the fence at the bottom of the wood, in Mitholm holm - came in at 10 5/60 - took a turn or 2 on the terrace - then came upstairs - my long expected Letter from Mrs. Barlow (Paris) 3 pages the ends and under the seal - great deal of useful information respecting our journey, and a pattern of corded muslin to match for Madame Galvani - must not travel veturino - must not go to Bordeaux - one or other will not suit my aunt at all - the livre de postes very correct - follow this and cannot go wrong - Par poste (of 6 miles)

'1/50 for each horse, that is trente sols par cheval - trente sols par postilion, to the latter you give an additional dix sols, par poste, as 'un pour boise' or etrennes for himself which brings it to 2 francs for the postboy - they will often charge you 15 sols greasing, mending etc. which you can look to'.....'Captain Droz calculates the expense of posting from 9 to 10 francs par poste'....'Mr. and Madame Droz seemed to recommend Montpelier - a great many good physicians reside there also should I be in Paris when you visit it you will call on me or not just as you please'

She then proceeds to tell me of having been at a call at Mrs Kidds her Mrs Kidds society improved etc etc. such is all the notice taken of my seeing her or of my returning her letters etc. her letter is mere chit chat and about our travelling and as cold or rather as indifferent as possible never once addresses me by my name pointedly avoids any address at all concludes with

'did Madame ever tell you that she had passed fifty six at the abbaye saint germain (military prison) with her lover and that she had spent a thousand francs per day in giving dinners to his friends etc. etc. wishing you a long continuance of happiness and prosperity and that every blessing may attend you hereafter allow me to remain your very sincere friend CMB'

What a letter her style how altered is she then going to be married that her being in Paris in the autumn is uncertain my heart misgave me as I read her pages I felt I know not what my aunt asked if I had had a letter from her she wished to speak of her I said her letter was deadly cold I knew what she meant did not blame her it was my then mind not to call on her and I turned the subject I could not speak on it my heart was full tears were almost rushing to my eyes and all my blood seemed in my head perhaps she will not write to me there will be little more intercourse between us a feeling of desolation came over me tho I thought of Pi [Mariana] she must go back to delta [Charles Lawton] we will hurry thro Paris I will see no one there my mind seemed unstrung unable to attend to anything how can she be so cold so soon

I hurried up from breakfast at eleven and a quarter said to my aunt I would write my journal it always did me good

Came upstairs at 11 1/4 - have just written all the above of today - it has done me good my mind is more calm I begin to feel as if I could care less about it I will not write to her from the impulse of the moment I begin to reason on the altered style of her letter the change is too sudden the last was all religion this all indifference I cannot help returning to my old thought she is deep she wants to catch me is it not possible the change in her manner is studied she expects and means me to notice it I will take my time and muse upon it and play cautiously I will lay my feelings aside if she really did love me as she said she cannot be really indifferent so soon I will be calm and composed I have always had flying doubts of her we shall now see and try the truth - poor Pi [Mariana] I can trust her and she will suit me best perhaps after all I have known and tried her long my journal has indeed done me good the tyrannous feeling of the moment of mortification and I know not what is passing by God be thanked oh that I was better better in the eye of heaven -

Mrs. B- [Barlow] says,

'with vetturino horses you travel ten leagues a day, neither more nor less, you are not permitted to stop where you please, and the postilions always take you where their horses can be best accommodated, and this generally proves to be the worst and dirtiest Inn for the travellers to travel post, or vetturino, will come to much about the same expense, but the latter can only be tolerated in Italy'....Travelling post 'is just once again as expensive as the diligence conveyence; besides that, you will find their charges at Inns much greater; and also, if an accident occurs to their carriage on the road, you may detained on your journey a fortnight or more to get it repaired'.....

Vide line 13 et sequiter of the last page - I am much better she answers all my questions about travelling so particularly or I should begin to feel rather indignant at 'should I be in Paris when you visit it you will call on me or not just as you please' - Mrs. B- [Barlow] met Madame de B- [Boyve] at Mrs. Kidd's - very civil to her and most attentive -

'She never pronounced your name' - 'Monsieur de Cussy said you would require 4 horses, so did Monsieur Droz - the latter calculated that it would cost you from 800 to 1000 francs to get to Montpelier or a similar distance' -

Had just finished the above of today at 12 40/60 - Whitley has sent me a wrong periodical this morning 'the Edinburgh Journal of Science', conducted by Dr. Brewter, instead of the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal conducted by professor Jameson - my father came - downstairs about an hour - gave him money to pay the men Riley and company who will have finished walling tonight at Northgate - From 2 1/4 to 3 40/60 wrote the latter 1/2 page 3, and the ends, and under the seal, very small and close, of my letter written this day week, and on Saturday and finished today - very kind letter - tell her of having hired Mc.D- [Macdonald] say today whether she suits us or not we shall always be equally obliged to her Miss Mc.L- [Maclean]

'If we like her the credit is yours; if we do not, the responsibility is our own - Never have a fear when you are good enough to do anything for us - we do not measure intentions by their success' - Bad her not fidget herself about that over which she has no control 'and if the interest of the debt does not amount to more than half your income never mind it her brothers good management may bring all round - I wish you could make over all your cares to your brother, take a certain income, be it what it might, and go, and be wherever suited your father best' - Our plans uncertain - 'we shall go to Paris in the 1st instance, and thence, I think to Montpellier - we should fix upon Florence for the winter, but I am doubtful how my aunt will be able to bear so long a journey - Dr. Scudmore says Nice' - ask her advice and to get us what information she can - 'I have not yet read Dr. Clarke on the different merits of these places - If it should turn out that my aunt is not able to go abroad (and Heaven only knows what will be the event), we must try Bath - You know it is not my custom to look on the dark side of anything; but, turn which way I will, the prospect is unclear and cheerless - Never dream of saying too much on the subject of your health to me - I think of it perpetually with much anxiety - Except on this account, you Sibbella, are the only one of my friends who has never given me a moment's uneasiness; and my regard for you is perhaps better, and steadier than you think - You will take my letters as they may be; and I will keep my promise, and write 'pretty frequently' - It is not in my heart to disappoint you in anything - 'Incomparable woman!' I write as in the person of your niece - Find fault with her and not with me - I think of you when I am happy - I think of you when I am not so - I seem to remember you only as I saw you at Esholt - Now and always, here and even where, it would delight me to see you and those who love me best, love you for my sake, till they love you for your own - I have thought more deeply than you may have fancied, on the contents of your last - I, too, have been, perhaps foolishly, plunging myself in debt by a very dear purchase which, somehow, I could not resist - but there are melancholy contingencies which seem as if they must happen, that, with economy, will clear me in 2 or 3 years after their occurrence This is not so much my reasoning, as my aunt's, whose conduct towards me is, in everything, most kind, most liberal, and most admirable - Our income will be lessened I know not how much as yet' -.....

''I will allow I am not congenial to Miss B-' this makes me smile - Poor Miss B-! she does not much suit either you or myself - I sometimes think, how nearly she had prevented all lasting intercourse between yourself and me! Sibbella! Could she have recompensed you for the loss of one whose regard for you will endure unaltered to the end? - Now that you understand me better, and know me well enough to believe me reasonable, and have forgiven me the sins of dress and address, I will acknowledge, there was, and is, and ever will be a tinge of romance in the colouring of my regard for you - But does it offend you Sibbella? or do dishonour to your judgement, or injustice to your heart? or have you even one prejudice that it would alarm? There is little, perhaps too little of romance in my feelings towards the world in general - My great regret is, that I did not know you earlier - A bulletin of your health at the end of your letter, if you please - and you, too, have dreamed of ossification! - you are right - What matters it how we leave this world, so our passage to the next be smooth? Good bye, Sibbella! May we meet there where consolation is not wanted, and, while we are here, may you believe me always very faithfully and affectionately yours AL - Tell us your opinion - Montpellier, Nice, or Florence? I think it will be Montpellier' -

Twenty minutes reading over my letter then From 4 to 4 3/4 wrote the last 41 lines of today - wrote the rough draft of the index of these 5 days of this month - wrote a note to Mr. Whitley to go tomorrow to desire him to send me the right Edinburgh Journal, and returning him the wrong one - Read over Mrs. B-'s [Barlow's] letter again - I feel quite composed about it now and quite reconciled-

Dressed - Dinner at 6 1/4 - tea and coffee at 8 1/4 - In the evening looking over and burning papers out of the cupboard opposite the door - after my aunt went to bed and to have her bath at 9 1/4, sat up looking over the top middle drawer of my uncle's bureau - burnt my uncle Samuels pocket book full of orders payments and patterns and burnt etc. etc. - Fine day, tho' a little damp and rain early in the morning and about noon and towards evening - Barometer 1/2 degree above changeable Fahrenheit 49° at 10 35/60 at which hour came up to bed - wrote the last 4 lines - hurried into bed having to curl my hair - E..O.. -  

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/9/0080 - SH:7/ML/E/9/0081

[astrozones]

Sanders Behavioral Health, Chapter 2: Roman Has a Rough Time

Angsty fic incoming

my discord server if you wanna join- Astro’s Zone

Three hours.

If Roman had to guess how long he had been staring at himself in the mirror, it was three hours.

From an outside perspective, Roman might seem conceited and narcissistic. But while staring at the mirror, all Roman could see were mistakes.

His hair looked messy, people were going to laugh at him.

His freckles stood out. He could cover them with makeup, but if others found out he was wearing makeup- god he could barely stand the thought.

His face looked odd in general. And his weight? Don’t get him started! Looking at his arms, his legs, his chest, all he could see were flaws, flaws , flaws !

Roman felt tears threatening to spill and shoved his head into a pillow. Why did he have to be so… ugly? Why must whatever God up there curse him like this? And no matter how many times his grandparents and aunt told him he wasn’t, he just couldn’t see what the fuck they were talking about.

Well, at least he was in therapy. Maybe they’d fix him.

Roman’s parents weren’t too fond of him, he knew. They were the only ones that would admit the truth, that he was ugly, and that they didn’t deserve such a disgusting son. They would take any opportunity to get him away from them, and once his distant relatives had suggested taking Roman to therapy, citing his ‘sudden declining happiness’, and ‘inability to eat’, his parents had leaped at the possibility, taking the chance as soon as they could.

They had talked about putting him in the six-hour program that started earlier in the day. The only reason they didn’t was because the school would start coming after them for attendance issues. Well, more than they usually did, anyway.

Roman glanced back up at the mirror, frowning. He couldn’t go to school looking like this, no, they’d just make fun of him.

Another day of skipping school it was.

His parents wouldn’t care, they never did until they were being yelled at. He’d just creep downstairs and tell whatever parent was down there taking a swig of alcohol that he was staying home, they’d just grunt and wave him off. And once the school called, they’d tell them he was sick, and rush upstairs to yell at him that he hadn’t told them before heading off to work.

Today was no different.

--

It was about noon when Roman opened the cupboard for the first time that day. Skimming over the options, he bit his lip. There was nothing there that he wanted . He had everything he should want, plenty of options that many kids would kill to have, and yet Roman didn’t want any of it. He didn’t really know what he wanted, he was barely hungry anyway. He’d just come back to it later and choose something then.

He ignored the voice in his head that told him he wouldn’t.

Grabbing his backpack, he made his way back to his room to start his homework. Well, “start” his homework, which actually meant wallowing in his sorrow while thinking about the week so far.

Therapy was… okay so far. He couldn’t tell them a lot of stuff, just that he was insecure. He wouldn’t tell them about how he hated looking in mirrors, or that he struggled to even eat a snack during the day. No, no, then they would know too much. If his parents found out, there would be consequences. Not hitting or anything! His parents would never abuse him.

Never.

His first day had been mediocre. He filled out questionnaires, and they played a board game for rec. Nothing important. Nothing new. Nothing, just like how he saw himself.

At least he wasn’t the only new kid. There was the hoodie kid, who he had made uncomfortable with his stupid assumptions , and who he had given a terrible nickname to. Really, Roman? You could at least come up with something better . And Patton told him he arrived last week Wednesday, and Logan two days prior. So, all in all, they were all new. Which was great!

Roman couldn’t help but feel happy at meeting the others. Sue him, he loved meeting new people! The prospect of finding out something about a person you barely knew was fun, at least to him.

You should stop, you’re prying into people’s lives when they don’t want you to. The voice in his head said. Roman didn’t acknowledge it in the rest of his internal monologue.

Logan was nice, despite his attitude the day prior. On Roman’s first day, he had been very helpful in his own, stubborn way. They had a couple of back-and-forths, and while that might seem aggressive to others, it made Roman feel more comfortable. Logan liked him enough to argue without any hate behind it.

Patton was unbelievably kind. He would go out of his way to help Roman and Logan, even when they were battling via a board game. Patton had hugged him the moment he saw Roman, but when Roman had seemed apprehensive he backed off a little bit. Not to say that he calmed down in the slightest, he was practically bouncing in his chair when they played.

And then there was Virgil, the one who had taken on the resident ‘New Kid’ title. He was quieter than the others, more resigned. When Roman had actually started getting him to talk, he started coming out of his shell, or hoodie, a little bit. This made Roman extremely happy, at least he was likeable enough for the more apprehensive to talk to him! Roman had also noticed that Virgil had black nail polish on, which made him want to do his own.

Well, Roman never really had good impulse control.

20 minutes later, Roman’s nails were red and absolutely fabulous.

5 minutes later, Roman realized in a panic that he had run out of acetone, and would have to either pick at his nails or go outside with nail polish on. He was a boy! He would definitely get made fun of, and Roman was not in the mood for that today, no thank you.

He settled down on his bed, ‘forgetting’ about the homework that was glaring threateningly at him from his desk.

Roman ignored it.

Roman spent the rest of his free time scrolling through Instagram and YouTube.

And then it was time to go.

--

Roman settled into the lobby seat, earlier than he had planned. The lobby was silent, and felt awkward with no background noise. He was used to buzzing, the wind, birds chirping, literally any noise, but in here? Nothing.

He wasn’t very comfortable.

Minutes went by as Roman sat, waiting for the others. He knew he shouldn’t have come so early, curse his anxieties over coming in late. He was currently in a very heated stare-off with the carpeted floor as of now. Just waiting.

After what felt like hours, Virgil entered the room in all of his emo glory. He looked surprised at not being the only person to arrive obnoxiously early.

“Oh, uh, hey. Roman, right?” Virgil muttered, walking to the front desk to sign in. Quick, Roman, act normal!

“The one and only,” Roman said, with a grin that felt as fake as the Kardashian’s “drama”. And it appeared Roman was a good actor, since Virgil didn’t react at all other than a scoff. Jesus, the voice in his head said. No wonder he doesn’t want to talk to you, you’re so boring. Roman grinned at Virgil, attempting to seem more… well, positive, but Virgil didn’t seem to notice him. Or he’s just ignoring you.

The receptionist grinned at Virgil once he was done. “You should go sit by Roman and talk!” She said, apparently oblivious to the anxiety radiating between the two. Virgil spluttered for a few seconds before walking towards Roman and sitting down. Both of them were silent for a few seconds, both trying to think of something to say.

“So, what’d you think of your first day?” Roman asked, just barely hiding the stress he was feeling. Acting really was the only thing he was good at, and despite how much his parents shunned it, it was useful in situations like this. Situations he faced every day, really.

“I don’t know, I guess it was fine.” Virgil said. “Nothing really happened, y’know?”

Nothing . He hated that word.

“Eh, you’re right. Still, rec was fun, yeah?”

“Rec?” Was all Virgil said, staring at him in confusion. Oh, right.  

“Rec is, well, just what we say to shorten the whole recreational therapy thing. Sorry, I keep forgetting you’re new!” Goddamn it, Roman! You’re such an idiot . “I guess you just… fit right in, yeah?”

“Fit right in with the mentally unstable. Great,” Virgil deadpanned, causing Roman to snort.

“I mean, I suppose you could say it like that.” He said between quiet giggles. He hadn’t expected that answer. Virgil gave a small smile in return, clearly feeling at least a bit awkward. Oops.

“Well, today’s gonna be way different,” Roman started, with a smirk. “‘Cause you’ll have to actually join us in the cafeteria this time.” As he said that, Virgil’s smile slipped and he groaned, practically shoving his face into his palms. Roman laughed. “Me too, man.”

“Really? Would’ve pegged you for the type to be ecstatic about being around others.” Virgil stated, turning in his seat to face Roman a bit more. Roman shrugged in response.

“I mean, kinda? There’s pros and cons to it, y’know? And-” Roman cut himself off before he could continue. Stupid Roman, you don’t just rant all your problems out to an innocent stranger. He shook his head. “Eh, nevermind, I dunno where I was going with that”

Virgil looked slightly concerned, but didn’t comment on it. Roman slapped another cheery grin on his face before continuing. “So, what’d’ya think of the others?”

“Well… one seemed nice, Patton, if I remember correctly. I don’t know about Logan though… No offense to him or anything!”

“Logan’s pretty nice from my experience. I may not have spoken to him long, only a couple days, but those days were pretty chill. I guess something happened? Maybe it was so many new people or something?” Roman started tapping his foot on the ground, and fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. He didn’t want to insult Logan, but his behavior yesterday was pretty aggressive.

Virgil started chewing on his hoodie strings, which only slightly muffled his voice when he answered. “I guess. I’ll just… go with the flow. I don’t… want to get myself into something I can’t get out of, y’know? I’ve had enough of that in my life.”

“I don’t think I’m following here…”

“Oh! Um, I didn’t really… uh mean to say that out loud…? Heh, sorry… just not really… um, open to talk about that?” Virgil stammered out, shrinking into his hoodie.

“Heyheyhey, no need to worry about it! I’m not gonna pressure you into something you don’t wanna talk about. After all, this is therapy, we’re gonna go through worse. Probably.” Roman quickly responded in a panicked state. Virgil buried his face in his hands once more, muttering “don’t remind me we’re in therapy”. Roman smiled. He didn’t want to call it too soon, but… maybe he could make a friend?

--

After talking for about 10 minutes, everyone had arrived and Becca called them into the back. From here, it was a game of ‘try to get to the check-in room first’ to get into one of the two spinny chairs. Usually, Patton and Roman would get the chairs, as Logan would say, “There’s no use grabbing a revolving chair when we’re only going to be here for a few minutes.” But with the addition of Virgil to their daily group, Roman wanted to make sure he got one of those seats. They were the most comfortable, and they were fun! Both were a plus.

Arriving first in the room, he plopped down into a spinny chair, spinning himself around before grabbing a check-in sheet. Success!

Becca joined him in the room soon after, Virgil trailing behind her. After Becca handed Virgil a sheet and motioned for him to choose a seat, he sat in the swivel chair beside Roman.

Patton and Logan joined them soon after, having been walking slower while they talked. Patton didn’t look disappointed as he lost the title of Swivel Chair Holder, only smiled brighter as he grabbed a sheet and asked Logan to sit beside him.

Logan himself, however, looked at Virgil and winced, presumably because of his behavior the other day. Logan looked apprehensive, torn between sitting by Patton or apologizing to Virgil. But once Becca kneeled down to show Virgil what to fill out, Logan knew his chance was gone.

Well, that’s what Roman thought, anyway.

The room was silent other than the sound of pen on paper. Roman tapped his foot unconsciously as he thought.

See, at Sanders, they ask you to rate your anxiety, avoidance, and depression every day. But instead of using 0-5 or 0-10 they decided to use a 0-7 scale for who knows why.

So, what was his anxiety today? Roman bit the inside of his cheek as he thought. Maybe a 4? Or maybe a 5? Well, seeing as his anxiety was raising as he struggled to find an answer, he put down 5. As for avoidance and depression, 3 and 4 respectively.

Just a couple more questions down, and then he was free to doodle. It had become a ritual during his time here, despite not being here that long. Today’s piece of art was a doodle of a Prince. A crown, sash, and a dazzling grin, and he was done. He glanced up to see Virgil was the only one still filling out the sheet.

Well, he supposed he could add some more sparkles.

Once Virgil was done, Becca clapped her hands and asked for them to share. Patton went first, going through his emotion, his anxiety, avoidance + depression, and other questions. Logan was next, doing the same but refusing to share his emotion. Then it was Roman’s turn, and he sped through it as quick as possible, not wanting to concern any of the others.

On Virgil’s turn, he went quiet and stuttered numerous times throughout the reading. He was reluctant to speak about the bottom four questions, specifically. Well, kinda. There were the two questions of ‘since yesterday have you had thoughts of harming others/have you actually done it’. There was also the ‘have you had thoughts of harming yourself/done it’. Quietly, Virgil asked not to share, and Becca agreed, though looking thoroughly disappointed.

--

Pulling out his binder and a pen with an excessive plume, Roman sat down at the middle table. Patton and Logan sat near him, while Virgil took a seat at a corner table, Becca joining him soon after to brief him on the ins and outs. Keep in mind, there were only three tables, so the options were at a minimum.

Shocked back into reality by someone sitting next to him, he turned to see the other therapist, Charlie, seated at his right.

“Hello, Roman! You finished your introduction exposure yesterday, right?” She asked. And she was right, yesterday had been spent introducing himself to the various staff around the building, and at the extreme lack of such, had to introduce himself to some of them twice . At Roman’s nod, she continued.

“So, today we’ll set you up with a couple more exposures, based on what you’ve told us. So, here,” she started, pointing at the next unnamed category on the page. “The first exposure is to put a mark on your face. It has to be noticeable, too. Just use a pen for that one, you don’t need anything special. Then all you need to do is talk to people.”

Nodding, Roman scribbled it down on the page, telling himself he wouldn’t do that one until he absolutely had to.

“And the next one is just wearing jewelry. Anything like a necklace, bracelets, rings, will work fine. You won’t have to wear them the whole day, just do trials for about 30 seconds. If you don’t have anything to wear right now just bring some tomorrow and we’ll start then.”

Fuck. Now he had to.

“Uh, yeah I don’t have any… jewelry. So, for the first one, do I gotta like… do any specific thing, like a word or…?”

“Just a line will do.”

And with that, Roman got up to go to ask to go to the bathroom, only stopped by Charlie’s hand on his arm. He gave her a questioning look.

“I was just gonna go to the bathroom… to put the mark on my face. Is something wrong?” He asked. Charlie shook her head.

“Do it here. If you use the mirror, it will loosen some of the anxiety. The point of this is to combat the anxiety, full on. No avoiding.”

“But I like avoiding.” Roman mumbled to himself. He didn’t think anyone heard, but the quiet giggle from Patton proved otherwise. Charlie just gave him an encouraging smile.

Sitting back down, Roman picked up his pen, while Charlie walked to her computer. Roman stared at the pen as if he were about to make a life-changing decision.

Just put the pen on your face, it’s not that hard . Except it was hard, at least for him. God, he really was a failure if he couldn’t force himself to make a mark on his face.

It was oh-so-simple. A mark on the face. But all Roman could think of were the consequences. They could laugh at him, they could ignore it, and worst of all, they could point it out . Just the thought of people making assumptions or putting themselves in awkward situations just because they didn’t want to embarass him made him want to throw himself off a roof.

He could feel his hands shaking, and, looking down, the rest of him was shaking too. Calm down, he told himself. What was one of the coping methods he learned?

Name 5 things you can see. He glanced around. The table, the window, Patton, Virgil, and his binder. Okay.

4 things you can feel. His clothes, the chair. He could feel his hair flopping into his face, and suddenly another spark of anxiety ignited in his chest. Deep breathing, Roman. Deep breathing. He could feel his hands starting to shake again.

3 things you can hear. All he could hear was the tap of fingers against a keyboard, what else… He strained to hear, and found he could hear the cars on the highway, something his brain had apparently decided to discard. And the sound of the door opening, with Logan walking in to prove it.

What was next? 2 things you could smell. Okay, well, he couldn’t smell much. There was the smell of mint, but other than that he couldn’t smell anything. He found himself glancing around, anxiety increasing once more. And, yes! A whiff of perfume blew past his nose.

1 thing you can taste. Well, not much. Did the inside of this mouth count? Well, he supposed it had to, since he wasn’t about to go lick the wall.

Roman took another few moments to himself, distracting himself by tapping his foot against the floor.

-

He found himself in front of Nurse Vicki’s office, a pen mark on his face and the dread of what was to come. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door and let himself in.

Vicki turned to him. “Hello, Roman,” she greeted. “What do you need?”

What was he supposed to say? Charlie told him he wasn’t supposed to mention the mark, and rather to just make small talk. He would rather have had a topic but he hadn’t taken those improv classes for nothing!

“How has your day been?” he said.

Welp. He had taken those improv classes for nothing.

Vicki explained that she was doing well, she had gone to her sister’s house after group yesterday, so she was happy about that. She didn’t mention the mark.

Thank god .

He cycled through a couple other staff, anxiety slowly loosening its grip as he progressed. And no one had pointed out the mark! When he looked at his sheet after his sixth trial, he noticed his anxiety had went from a 6 to a 4, and he was feeling proud of himself as he walked into the hallway once more.

He spotted Virgil down the hall, fiddling with the timer in his hands. Roman strutted towards him, intending to make Virgil his seventh trial of the mark exposure.

“Hey, Virgil, you busy?” he asked. Virgil shook his head. “Aight, cool. How’re exposure’s going so far?”

“I don’t like them.” Came his response. Roman laughed, replying with, “No one likes them.”

“All I’ve been doing is introducing myself but… I introduced myself to all the staff and I still have 4 trials to go before I’m finished and, honestly-” Virgil ran a hand through his hair, voice strained. “I don’t know what to do and I’ll feel awkward asking Becca what I’m supposed to do now… Sorry for ranting…” He finished.

Roman smiled. “I just finished that exposure yesterday, and Charlie, er, the other therapist, told me we can introduce ourselves to the same staff twice.” Virgil wrinkled his nose at this, frowning slightly.

“If I’m being honest, that’s even worse.” Virgil started fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He seemed apprehensive about something, whatever it was Roman had no clue.

“Uh, also… you have a mark on your face. Uh, just figured I’d tell you, sorry”

And with that, Roman felt his anxiety get to a 7 faster than soda out of a newly opened can. “Heh, yeah. I mean, uh- thanks, Virgil. I’ll fix it when I can. Um, gotta go now, so, see ya!” He called as he powerwalked his way back to the cafeteria. He could barely hear anything as he sat down in his seat, staring out the window across from him. Oh, god. Someone had noticed. Someone had noticed and now he was going to laugh at him behind his back. He was going to tell Patton, and Logan, just how stupid Roman was. Roman stopped breathing for a few moments, trying to calm himself down.

Virgil wouldn’t do that, he was just trying to be helpful. And Roman had run away from him, oh god , he was probably confused and Roman had not helped the situation. He supposed he would have to apologize later, he was too frazzled now. He wanted so bad to wipe the mark off his face, but he knew Charlie and Becca would be disappointed in him if he did.

5 minutes later, he felt much calmer, his breathing normal, and his chest felt less compressed. His anxiety had come to a 3, so he stopped the timer at 6 minutes and 24 seconds. He scribbled down the results as Virgil came back into the room, seemingly just out of an exposure, so Roman gave him a smile in lieu of an apology, not allowed to talk to someone while they were in the middle of an exposure.

Roman decided he would apologize at rec.

--

Roman never got to apologize. Today’s rec was a hands-on activity that left him with no time to talk to Virgil. And just after rec, he saw Logan talking with him, and since he didn’t want to stay there too long, Roman decided he would just get in the elevator.

His mind told him he should take the stairs, else he would just gain more weight.

Once he got down, he took some time to shuffle through his binder, he had a weird feeling that he left something, and-

The elevator dinged, and the door opened as Virgil, Logan, Patton, and their parents shuffled out. Patton tugged on his mom’s shirt, telling her to stop for a moment. He practically bounced up to Roman, a grin on his face.

“Roman! I’m glad I caught you. I got Virgil and Logan’s phone numbers, and I was wondering if I could have yours? No pressure, of course! But it’d be nice if we were in touch outside of therapy. And I can give you the other’s numbers so we’re ALL in touch!” Patton extended his phone to Roman, the latter of which taking it and inputting his number. Maybe this could work out after all?

[ Hey, this is Roman and I sure as hell hope this is Virgil.]

| yea its virgil |

[ Oh thank god. Just wanted to say sorry for running off on you earlier, wouldve said it after rec but i saw you talking with Logan and didnt want to intrude. ]

| don’t worry about it, it’s fine. |

| what’s not fine is you sending that right as i walk into my house |

| i nearly faceplanted the ground cause of you |

[ And i oop- ]

| did |

| please tell me that was ironic |

| i might have a stroke if it wasn’t |

[ Youll never know ;) ]

| oh my god |

| i just |

| i can’t |

| have a good night Roman |

[ Right back at you, buckaroo ]

| oh my god  |

[realitv]

media’s unseen audience: a very late and disorganised meta i guess? but also a deep dive into media’s fried little brain

i always write media as having an inner dialogue wherein they address the ‘viewer’ when emulating hosts and other television personalities. originally, this was an address to the reader themselves - a very explicit way for me to break the fourth wall and have media speak in a metadiegetic context (in having media address the reader, the reader becomes a piece of a narrative within the narrative of the thread); but over time, this has become more than just a break in the 4th wall. it has now become a question of ‘who watches the watcher?’ 

this address is both metadiegetic, and is also diegetic in nature; meaning that this choice i’ve made through writing now also occurs within the narrative of media’s world and media’s character. this address is not only for you, the reader, but to an audience within media’s world. media’s characterisation and the way i write media deals with the paranoia and fears that come with the innate feeling of being watched. media watches us, media is very open about it. but we watch them too. just as media consumes us, we consume them. it’s mutual. when media addresses this audience when i write, there is one watching them. where else is media’s one lazy eye looking towards? just where else is media focusing on? their audience.  i took a lot of inspiration from the way fleabag interacts with the camera and speaks to us, the audience when i was trying to think of how to explain this choice in my writing. media is able to interact with both us and their audience in replies; they can acknowledge us and them, speak to us and them; even control what we and they see, but no other character within the narrative - be it a muse from another fandom, or a character within american gods; like shadow or wednesday - can see or interact with this audience. they may see media interacting with this audience, they may hear media interacting with this audience; but will not see it. media cannot see the audience either, but they know that the audience is tuning in, and must always keep an eye on their audience and their reactions. to date, media has been booed numerous times, and is in very low approval with the diegetic audience.  with that in mind, media is always being watched, just as they are always watching. by the consumer, by watch dogs, by us. everyone. there is no aspect of themselves or their life that is not made fit for public viewing and consumption. most everything that they do, say and encounter is broadcast to this audience, as media is never - was never? - meant to be a private institution. to adhere to regulations, audience expectations, and to keep watchdogs quiet, media must heavily regulate how they do and go about things. it’s an enormous amount of pressure upon media to constantly adhere to a strict set of rules on what is, and what is not quality broadcasting. in order to adhere to those rules, media runs on a script. while media can be impulsive by nature, most of what they do and say is already written out for and by them on a strict script that not only they keep to, but a script that anticipates the responses and actions of others based on a series of tropes, common plot threads and lines, and characteristics. the more media knows about a person, the more accurate their script will be to them; but that script cannot account for human, god, or their own behaviours. when someone goes off of media’s script, media becomes extremely irate, and will deviate from their own script as their emotions get the better of them. and with that in mind, media is not a fan of change. ironic, considering the changes they have undergone in order to remain relevant. they’re fine with larger changes as a whole; but small things -- say, their coffee cup which one resided on the top shelf was demoted to the bottom shelf, or a program they enjoy moved timeslots, the paper now publishes at a slightly earlier time, a change of relationships or a sudden lack of something (or someone) that is always there -- they cannot deal with that change and often have trouble coming to terms with it; as everything in their world is already hinged and set on that series of established tropes and plotlines. 

and so to recap this word vomit fuck hell    - media is indeed addressing you, the reader when i write “hello, viewers!” and the like in replies.    - media is also addressing a diegetic audience that exists in their own narrative that is constantly watching them. media exists watching and to be watched. it is a strain.     - in order to please this diegetic audience and keep the approval they need to survive and function, media must adhere to broadcasting rules and quality control     - media runs on a script based on tropes and recycled plotlines, for what sells better than nostalgia?     - do not deviate from media’s script, it makes them sad.     - media is very bad at dealing and coping with change. 

pic related it’s media not only looking at the person they’re addressing, but also focusing on the audience (us!) and their diegetic audience. :) 

[loreweaver-universe]

I know what this feels like.

Oh, it’s the Loreweaver Mental Illness Power Hour, by the way, so brace yourself, because today we’re talking about suicidal impulses.

I live with chronic depression and obsessive-compulsive disorder.  The latter doesn’t sound like anything debilitating--we’re raised on media depicting it as quirky and silly, after all--but there’s a lot of symptoms that people don’t talk about much.  Intrusive thoughts is one of them.  Basically, you get a flash, or an impulse, or an invasive thought you didn’t summon up, that isn’t a hallucination or anything, just a “why did I think that?” moment.  These can range from the innocuous to the atrocious.  In my case, they tend to take the form of a failure or embarrassing moment from my past, something I Did Wrong that bugs me to this day.  I can’t escape them; they come multiple times a day, particularly when I’m alone or not distracting myself.

And when I’m not medicated for my OCD, they cripple me.  I can’t let them go.  They come, and they stay, and I get locked in a loop of thinking about them and mentally beating myself up about them, until I spiral out of control, sometimes to the point of an anxiety attack.  This was every day, multiple times a day, that I’d get these moments.  I spent days at a time trapped in the grip of my own anxiety, in constant emotional pain, which I could only hold off by distracting myself by obsessively reading and playing video games.  If you’ve ever wondered why I spent so long having end-of-the-month rushes to do a handful of liveblogs at one go, this is why.  I was so locked in my own head that I kept putting liveblogs off and off and off until the month was over, which caused its own set of anxiety, which meant that after the rush I was worn out and exhausted, which meant I’d put off my liveblogs...it was another loop.

And in the midst of this, all this constant stress and torment, sometimes it felt like too much.  I’d think of how much better it would be for the pain to stop, for it all to go away.  I didn’t think I could bear it.  I wanted it gone.  I wanted to be done.

I wanted to not hurt anymore.

What made it worse was that while I was locked in my own head I let my life deteriorate.  There were times when I’d shower once a week.  I didn’t ever brush my teeth.  Laundry was a once-every-few-months concern, and I wore disgusting dirty clothes rather than wash what I’d done.  I let friendships go by the wayside.  I let two romantic relationships deteriorate in various ways.  By the time I got to spring of this year, I was destroyed.

And I wanted to not hurt anymore.

I’ve never acted on any suicidal impulses.  I’ve got a pretty good understanding of my own psychology, and I’ve gotten good at heading these things off when I have them, identifying them as the mental illness talking and setting them aside without hurting myself.  But...for a long time, I was having these thoughts, when I was at my lowest points.  Which was often.  Thoughts that I’d be better off dead, better off not hurting anymore, better off not tainting the world with my incompetence.

There were points where I considered checking myself into a hospital, though it never actually wound up happening.  Eventually, things came to a head in the second of those relationships, and after I realized how I’d lashed out (emotionally, don’t get any ideas), I realized that I really did need treatment.

What wound up happening was better than I could have dreamed.  Late in May, I was prescribed a drug called Risperidal for my obsessive-compulsive disorder.  Over the next two weeks, I started working in little routines into my life.  Things like making my bed, brushing my teeth in the evening, things like that.  On Monday, June 10th, I liveblogged.  On Wednesday, June 12th, I liveblogged.  On Friday, June 14th, I liveblogged.  I’ve been liveblogging every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday ever since, with the exception of last week where I moved the Monday and Wednesday liveblogs to Sunday and Tuesday to work around getting teeth out.  I’ve worked a ton of routines into my life.  I’m taking care of my hygiene.  I’m washing my clothes.  I’m doing chores on the days that require them.  It feels good.

It’s not perfect.  My medication isn’t perfect.  We’ve been adjusting it to get better coverage for my day, to keep it from wearing off in the evenings and leaving me in the bad places I was before it came along.  I still get suicidal impulses every so often.  But I’m still able to ignore them, still able to set them aside and focus on other things.  My intrusive thoughts don’t rule my days anymore.  But...I still know what it’s like to be in pain every day, to not have any hope for improvement.  I know what it’s like to have things come crashing in on you, to the point you feel like, for example, falling off a bridge into the water below.  There’s a little river by where I live.  I’m being quite specific.

The things that cause Taeko pain, here?  I don’t have any way of relating to them.  But the pain, I understand.  I understand it very well.

What I’ll say to any of you out there living with this kind of pain is that there is hope.  Your life can get better.  You can reach a point where you’re no longer in constant pain.  It’ll never go away completely, but it can become a much smaller thing, a much more manageable thing.  Hell, I’m not even done improving myself.  I’m much healthier, but I’m still getting to better points with my medication--I’m up to three and a half milligrams every day, from the one I started with, and the difference is astounding.  Get some therapy.  Get some medicine, if it’s appropriate.  You can learn ways of coping, anything from breathing exercises all the way to dominating your own mind.

You can do it.  You can get better.  I did, when I didn’t think there was any hope.  There’s hope for you, too.  I promise.