#anyway forgive the deeply boring post—it's just helpful in thinking through things to write them out

[aeide-thea]

have vaguely been thinking it might be good for me to try running again ever (my deeply beloathed) but since whenever the fuck the last time was that i engaged in it at all i seem to have misplaced basically all my winter running gear and also acquired Convictions abt polyester &c, which is making it difficult to figure out how to outfit myself :/

[carolsideblog]

Undiagnosed Autism in Adults | Being Shamed for Special Interests

What is a Special Interest?

I’m 27 and I have autism.

Therefore, I have special interests. Generally speaking, in the context of the autistic spectrum disorder, a special interest is... just genuinely hard for me to describe or explain? Here are some links with definitions of special interests.

Autism Fandom Wikia

Ambitious About Autism

Amythest Schaber - Ask an Autistic, What are Special Interests?

Purple Ella - Autism & Special Interests 

... long post ahead / cw for cussing and swearinig ...

The Comfort of my Special Interests

My special interests are things that I’m deeply passionate about and something that I latch onto, almost as a coping mechanism. I have a variety of special interests that shift in and out of focus through out the months in a year, but I could prattle on and ON AND ON for HOURS about any of them.

When I’m immersed in my current favorite special interest, I am over the moon. I feel productive, the world makes sense, I feel like my life makes sense, and I can calm down faster from a stressful, overwhelming day.

Adulthood and the Expectations of Neurotypicals

But in adulthood, it’s generally not seen as a mature thing for an old woman in her twenties to STILL be fucking talking about “dumb shit.” Shit that’s “bad,” shit that’s “problematic,” or shit that’s not for “my age group.”

I don’t fucking know what women in their late twenties are supposed to do. I’m not a sensible enough of an adult to know.

I also know very well that my shit is problematic, bad, and/or not for my age group. I probably researched 5 hours straight on my special interest for nearly a month when I discovered it. I know books, games and movies that I’ve taken a shine to forwards and backwards, I know deep-cut fandom jokes in different things I like, I know who created what and when.

But this isn’t impressive to anyone. To the rest of neurotypical society, one needs to have a bunch of light hearted little hobbies that you can switch too whenever you want because that’s “healthy.” It’s “not healthy” whatsoever (apparently) to STILL be talking about something that I love, because I’m an adult and I should have hobbies and I should have a job filing away things and writing data in spreadsheets like a good little working woman.

Or whatever, I don’t know.

Guilt, Shame and Stigma

I just... don’t understand why people shame people for the things that bring them joy, even if the things that bring them joy are objectively poor quality or badly made. The things I love make me happy, and they make me happy for lots of different reasons.

Some reasons include...

It was close to my childhood and I have a strong attachment to it

It was the lifeline I clung onto when I was going through a rough part of my life and the memories I have of it bring me comfort

I felt proud investing time in researching information, collecting memorabilia, and becoming an “expert” in that special interest

To me, my special interests were so important to my ability to cope, it got to the point where some parts of them became almost like an addition to my identity; my special interests are part of who I am and how I navigate the world. It might come from not really having a strong sense of self in the first place, I don’t know.

So when people scold me for still talking about my special interests, or make passive aggressive, off-hand comments about my special interests, or when they’re even out-right criticizing my special interests, (”It’s a bad book, it’s a bad game, the movie sucks,”)

Even if I know they’re right, it feels like an attack on me. It feels like they’re scolding me for liking the things I like. It feels like they’re criticizing me for liking something bad. It feels like they’re being passive aggressive and unfair because they don’t like me.

Rationally and logically I know this isn’t true. But it still feels like an emotional punch in the gut. It still feels like people are policing what I should and shouldn’t like. And it pisses me off and makes me ruminate.

An Open Letter to Neurotypicals 

Hello, ally.

Life is hard. You and I both know that. But thankfully, there are loads of things in this world that can bring us joy. We have lots of things to keep us entertained, to socialize over, and to be passionate about.

But I get it: someone in your life keeps talking about that one thing all the time. Maybe you’re tired, maybe you’ve heard so much about this thing before, you’ve had enough or got bored. I dunno? But you’re tank is empty and you need a break, and that’s fair.

If for whatever reason your friend won’t shut up about something they really seem to love and it makes them happy... Be nice about it I guess?

If I could say anything to any neurotypical that I’ve spoken too in my lifetime right now, it’s this: be frank, honest, and straightforward. Don’t beat around the bush and don’t “drop hints.” Don’t always rely on people figuring it out for themselves. Just because things might come naturally to you doesn’t mean those same things come naturally to others. And this is okay, I only ask that you communicate clearly and honestly when you can.

If a topic is getting tiresome to you and you need a break, just tell them. Most of the time, it will be fine. When you’re up for it and wondering about a hobby or interest that someone told you about, bring it up with them again. It might brighten their day.

You don’t have to participate in the special interest of a friend if you don’t want too. Just be there for your friends, lend an ear if you can, and be supportive.

An Open Letter to the Neurodiverse

Hello, friend.

Don’t let people get you down about your special interests. If there’s something in this world that makes you passionate, that keeps you up at night because you’re so excited, that makes you rush to wake up  because you want to do your Favorite Thing in the Entire World™, then please keep embracing that thing.

It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fit the standards of neurotypicals. You don’t have to please people. If people are giving you a hard time because something makes you happy??? They’re probably not the right people to be around anyway. Someone in your life just kinda humoring you and you wish you had more? Same! But it’s okay. People who love you are listening as best they can, but please, I promise you if you keep looking, you will find your like-minded people and you will be able to find people to talk about your passions with.

If it makes you happy, if it brings you joy, if it brings you comfort, please don’t let that go if people keep nagging you for it. You have no reason to feel guilty or ashamed for something that helps you cope, that keeps you grounded, that makes you happy.

Also know that as much love and joy and comfort that your special interest gives you... remember you are still a whole entire person. You can wear your special interest as apart of you if you feel that brings you the most honest and genuine comfort and joy, but just remember that you don’t need to be limited to just this one thing. You have full permission to also be anything else you want to be in addition to this special interest. This is not to scold or shame you, but this is to remind you that you are a valid, whole person, and you are allowed to transform however you want too.

Closing Ramblings and Musings

I’ve been really bothered by this.

Like I’ve been thinking about this a lot, on again and off again, since November.

Through out my life, people have made lots of comments about my hobbies and the things I like. Most of them negative.

From the music I like to listen too, the bands and groups I follow, to the books I loved to read, to the movies I like to watch, to the games I love to play. I have my own genuine criticism and critiques that I have for a variety of things that fall under my special interests. I’m passionate and thorough with my feedback because I love all of my special interests so much, and I know they could be better.

I have a lot of complex feelings and a lot of things to reconcile with my special interests. It’s so hard to grow up and start to learn and realize how... bad they are all. How problematic some are, how poor quality or laughably simple they all are. I can give you all of my different reasons for why I like them and I could tell you all day about how I know they’re all bad... but I know some of the things I love are just laughing stocks and punching bags in pop culture to the neurotypical society. 

But I can’t just let them go. That’s what I couldn’t stop thinking about in November and December. I really just couldn’t let these things go. For personal reasons, for nostalgia reasons, for coping reasons. I love these things. And I carry a lot of guilt and frustration with myself because I can’t let these things go. I can’t just switch to new fandoms, new books, new movies, new groups. At least, maybe not yet. I don’t know.

I just don’t know. I want to reclaim the parts I love but I know that It’s not a real solution. There’s such a major divide between the special interests I love and what I actually believe in and stand for. They directly conflict with each other and it’s frustrating and complicated.

I really don’t know how to close this post, to be honest. This post won’t solve the problem I have. It won’t explain to the people who scolded me for my special interest, it won’t make them understand or forgive me about why I keep talking about a stupid book with a bad premise, it won’t make them understand why I have “bad taste” or why a 27 year old woman won’t shut up about something largely assumed “meant for kids.”

This was just to vent and maybe lend hope to people feel the same way or have the same struggles.

[pedros-mustache-main]

when your love reaches me (iii)

summary: 1978 is decidedly not 2020. nor is your life ever the same when you meet a guitarist, curly haired, soft spoken, and true.

word count: 7.5k

warnings: angst, language, yearning for a man in his 70s (c’est la vie, i guess), over-describing a moment i’m very passionate about (sorry, not sorry! ten points to the person who can tell me what moment it is LOL)

a/n: wow—this gif? yeah, match made in heaven. thank you all so much for indulging me in this mini-series. i really am very proud of this silly little thing & i’m sad that it’s over because i enjoyed writing it so much. thank you to @im-an-adult-ish​ & @deacyblues​ for helping me work out the rough spots in this one. would love to hear everyone’s thoughts because i’m very ~emotional~ about this mini-series!! xoxo.

part i, part ii

in this final chapter: you must adjust because it’s not in your cards to be with him, is it?

you run your hands down your face, feel the ring on your finger catch along the end of your nose, and sigh. two months—two months without him. two months to adjust to world you once knew but happily left behind. two months to gather the pieces of the life which cruelly slipped through your fingers like water. 

each day is the same. you rise early and take your coffee on the postage stamp terrace outside your flat. you watch the sun climb higher in the sky with each passing moment and let the warmth of your drink soothe the ache in your soul. you wash your breakfast dishes, mumble a good morning to rachel when she exits her bedroom to make her way to the shower, and dress for the day. you walk to campus if you have a class or take the underground to the museum if you have a shift. you come home, eat dinner, go to bed. repeat.

if rachel notices a change in you, she doesn’t say anything. in her mind, no time has passed between the morning where she asked you to come to the pub and the same evening you tumbled into the flat, drenched and sobbing. 

but you—you’ve lost a year of your life. there’s no getting it back, and the only thing that proves it really truly happened is the ring on your middle finger, the necklace hanging by your heart, and the undeveloped rolls of film in your bedside table.

there are few words to describe the unbearable pain in your chest. anything and everything reminds you of brian: the whisper of the breeze in the autumn-heavy trees; the feeling of your warmest cardigan around your shoulders; the sound of someone laughing in the museum.

but there’s more:

the scent of cigarette smoke reminds you of roger. the sight of two friends ribbing one another in a grocery store reminds you of crystal. a colorful jacket makes you think of freddie, a whispered snide remark takes you back to john, and two girls giggling reminds you of giddy moments with anna.

around every corner you turn there’s a memory you cannot avoid, and it hurts—desperately, keenly, deeply.

so you push it all away and soldier on, quiet and downtrodden. it’s easier that way. maybe, if you forget, you can move on and make it through life without him.

six months after you’ve left brian behind, you’re approached by your boss at the museum with an opportunity you’d only ever dreamed of: the chance to create and prepare your own exhibit. 

monica is firm when she offers you the south wing to reshape as your own. “blow this out of the water, [y/n], and there will be a job as assistant curator waiting for you after graduation. i want something fresh and exciting. think you can manage?”

you agree without hesitation.

for the first time in a long time, you can’t help but smile to yourself. this is your chance to put everything you’ve learned to good use, to put something tangible in your portfolio, to make a name for yourself. 

you’re buzzing with excitement and have to practically hold rachel hostage as you spout your myriad of thoughts and ideas. she’s your sounding board, even if she doesn’t want to be, but she’s honest where it counts most, and you’re grateful for that.

she glances over the kitchen table, laden with open magazines, cutout photos, and history books. her brow puckers. “this is... really boring, [y/n],” she says with a cringe, looking up with her blue eyes and freckled face.

your shoulder droop. “that’s it? that’s all you have to say?”

she shrugs and reaches for a photo, inspecting it with a critical gaze. “i mean, ancient textiles might be interesting to you and maybe five other people, but it isn’t exactly blowing me out of the water.”

dropping to the seat across the table, you huff. “well, we’re a photography museum, rachel. it’s not like i can whip up a few outfits and put them on mannequins.”

“excuse me, but fashion design is just as artistic as curating a museum—if not more so.” she sighs and puts the photo of a thirteenth century chinese table linen on the table. “there must be something else you’re interested in? something that other people will like just as much?”

you don’t mean to, but you let your eyes trail to the camera sitting on on the tv stand. you’d left it there after your return, uncertain where to put it. sometimes you catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of your eye and then you remember the tubes of film in your bedroom, undeveloped and unseen. 

rachel follows your gaze. “you know, you never told me where you got that.”

“it was a gift.”

“oh really? from who?”

you’re slow to answer. the truth sits on the tip of your tongue—the man i love, the man i was going to marry—but you bite it back. “my great-aunt. she left it to me... in her will.”

you aren’t sure what compels you to retrieve the six rolls of film from your bedroom, but you do. the tubes feel heavy in your palm and clang against the table as you put them down. rachel looks at them then back at you, waiting.

“she gave me these, too.”

“i didn’t know you had a great-aunt.”

“we weren’t close.”

“obviously you were close enough to get these things.” rachel lifts one of the tubes, turning it over in her palm. “wonder what the pictures are.”

“i’m not sure,” you lie. “maybe they could make an exhibit.”

“i think you’d have to develop them first then make that decision.” she rises from the table and shrugs on her coat. “i’ve got a date, so don’t wait up. and try not to let this consume you too much? you’ve been down and out lately. i think the work will do you good, but don’t let it take over, yeah?”

you nod and wish her well on her date. she leaves the flat in a flourish, leaves you to the tubes of film and the growing curiosity in your stomach.

you really should get them developed. if not for an exhibit, then for yourself. an entire year of your life is in those tubes, and you deserve to see the photos you’d taken to preserve that time.

it’s been six months. you’ve purposefully distanced yourself from anything and everything related to queen, be it a simple news story, a song on the radio, or any of roger or brian’s social media posts. it hurts to see them, to know that they’re so close yet so far away, that they have no idea what became of you all those years ago in japan.

still, it’s been six months. developing the film might be your first step toward a sense of closure. you don’t want to stay in your rut forever. though you’re comfortable with the idea that brian might be your great love and you’ll never find another, you know you can’t stay as you are, sullen and despondent. it’s like a break-up, really. you’re sad, heartbroken over the loss, but you know it’s time to step out of the hurt and into something different.

before you can stop yourself, you grab the rolls of film, your purse, and your jacket, and you head for the nearest photo shop.

a few hours later, you return with a heavy packet of freshly-printed photographs and a usb drive full of digital scans. there’s over two hundred photos to sort through, and you’ve yet to see one. 

flipping on the light to your living room, you sit down beside the coffee table, a glass of wine at your side, the table cleared of any lingering books or empty teacups. before you open the packet of photos, you open your laptop and type your search into the search bar. if you’re going to quell your curiosity tonight, you might as well quell all of it, and you’re dying to know what happened after you left. 

a simple internet search confirms what you already know: your presence within the group on the jazz tour did not alter any significant events. freddie still passed away, john still retired. a further search yields at least one previously nonexistent queen song written by brian may: “into thin air.” it was released in the album following jazz. you can’t bring yourself to listen to it, not yet. a deeper search unearths an interview brian gave a year or so after you left. the interview was published in a magazine editorial covering of each of queen’s band members and their lives when not on tour or recording. after freddie’s bit, there’s a photograph of brian at the top of a new page. he’s smiling, but he looks weary and he mentions you only once: “i was engaged for awhile, but that ended in an unfortunate circumstance, so to answer your question: no, i’m not looking for love. not right now, anyway.”

you close the laptop and lean back against the sofa. the ring on your finger feels heavy. your eyes fill with unshed tears, and you decide the photos can wait to be seen until tomorrow.

the packet of photos ends up sitting on the coffee table for two weeks before you invite your co-worker, shamik, over for wine and cheese and museum gossip. shamik is kind, a first-generation immigrant from india with personality to spare and an exuberance for all things american. he claims it’s his greatest curse that his parents brought him to britain as a baby instead of america, and it’s something he can never forgive them for. you’ve only interacted with shamik at work, but when you mention your exhibit project, he’s eager to offer his help. with no new ideas outside ancient textiles, you’re willing to take whatever advice or ideas he has.

sitting beside him on the couch, you spread your collection of papers and pictures on the table to explain your vision. he listens dutifully, nodding along, his eyes scanning the 3-d projection you’ve made of what the exhibit might look like once completed. when you’ve finished your spiel, he sets his wine glass down and nods to the packet of unopened photographs on the edge of the table.

“what’s that?”

you frown, shaking your head at the sudden turn in conversation. “sorry?”

he reaches for the manilla envelope. “oh, it’s hefty! what’s in here?”

you sigh and take the packet from his hands. it feels solid in your lap, like a brick. “photos from my great-aunt.”

he points to the sealed flap. “it’s unopened.”

“i haven’t gotten the chance to look through it yet.” setting the packet to the side, you raise your eyebrows. “well, what do you think? about the exhibit?”

“honestly? it’s dull. monica won’t be impressed.”

you throw yourself back against the couch with a groan. “what the hell,” you whisper. “i’ve got no ideas then.”

you know ancient textile photography would not be the most enticing exhibit, but it’s been an interest of yours for some time and would be easy enough to complete. shamik and rachel’s reactions do not bode well, you have to admit. having a job as an assistant curator right out of the gate would be beyond marvelous, and you desperately don’t want to screw it up with a boring first exhibit.

“let’s have a look at these pictures from your aunt!” before you can stop him, shamik reaches across your lap for the photo packet and rips open the top. “maybe that will spark some ideas?”

you lean forward, blush already rising to your cheeks as he pulls out the first picture. “oh no, shamik, i don’t know if—”

“holy shit!”

you shut your eyes, wincing.

“that’s fucking freddie mercury!” shamik grabs your shoulder, his fingers digging into your flesh. “did you know about this, [y/n]? that’s your aunt with freddie mercury!”

forcing your eyes open, you look at the photo trembling between his fingers. it’s a picture of you sitting beside freddie on the tour bus. (you think john took the photo in an effort to get you to stop taking photos of him when he was asleep while roger and crystal placed as many items on his head as they could before he fully awoke.) your head is against freddie’s shoulder, your eyes droopy with sleep. a lump rises in your throat, and all you can do is shake your head in feigned disbelief as shamik continues to shuffle through the photos.

“oh my god, your aunt was a groupie,” he cries, passing you another photo.

“i guess—” you clear your throat. “i guess she was.”

“you know”—shamik sets the pile of photos down and spreads them across the table, obscuring your vision of an ancient textiles display—“this would make a great exhibit.”

“shamik—” your voice is a warning, a sudden surge of anger rising in your chest, but he continues.

“no, really, [y/n]! there are so many photos here that tell such a cutesy little story. i mean, come on? freddie and this cat?” he lifts the photo in question. “it’s stuff people have never seen before from a totally different side of queen. it’s a fucking goldmine!” 

“absolutely not,” you say. “i will not put my aunt’s personal affairs on display.”

“think of monica, [y/n]! think of the job!”

“no, shamik!” you stand from the table and drop your plates in the kitchen sink with a resolute clatter. “i barely knew my aunt, but i know enough to gather that her time with queen was private. she didn’t say anything about it until she died. that’s got to mean something, and i don’t want to air it all out for everyone to see and speculate and gossip about just for my own personal gain.”

you’re shouting, fists clenched at your sides, by the time you finish. shamik just stares at you, his face blank and unreadable. he glances down at a photo. 

“she looks a lot like you,” he says, his voice even.

you huff and take the wine glasses from the table. “we’ve got strong family genes. now, please, i’d appreciate it if you just drop the whole queen thing. we can find some other idea.”

you gather the photos, shove them back in the folder, and toss the envelope in the nearest drawer you can find. the drawer slams shut, and you leave the photos there to gather dust.

you mull over shamik’s idea of an exhibit based on your photos for a month before you finally relent. monica’s riding your ass daily with questions about your progress. you need to get something down on paper for her to give to the contractors, so you begrudgingly type out a response to her most recent email:

monica,

i’ve landed on an exhibit topic at last. took me long enough, right? 

i’ve recently come into possession of a series of photographs taken by my late great-aunt. turns out she was a groupie with the band queen in the ‘70s. my exhibit will be centered around those photos. i’m thinking the exhibit will be titled “queen: unfiltered.” do with that what you will. :)

monica, much to your dismay, loves the idea and sends you right to work on gathering and laying out your vision while she begins the necessary promotion.

it hurts at first—looking at all the photos you took, remembering the way you felt so unearthly happy during that year. you cry each time you sit down to sort out the best of the pictures. the ones which capture a moment of levity amongst the band or are particularly well-shot go in a pile on the left. the ones which didn’t develop well or are too intimate for you to ever consider putting on display go in a pile on the right. your bedroom floor is a mess of drafted captions written on slips of printer paper, photographs with notes scrawled along the back, and used tissues. more than anything, you wish you could step into the world behind those photographs. you want to be back there—with him, with them—until you grow old and gray. knowing you can’t, that you won’t ever see him again, tears you apart inside.

but it helps. the exhibit forces you to acknowledge the time you spent with brian, with queen. instead of leaving the photos in a drawer, they confront you everyday as you sit down to work, and everyday it gets a little bit easier to face your past. as the tears subside, you find yourself laughing whenever you find a new photo of roger’s antics. your heart doesn’t clench as much when you run across another photo of you and brian. you can smile now when you look at his face. he really was so handsome...

you go so far as to frame your favorite photograph of your time together and place it on your dresser. he’s got his arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin settled on the top of your head. you’re laughing, your hands folded on his arms, legs crossed as you tilt to the side. he’s making a face, his tongue stuck out at the camera, and every time you pass by the picture, you can’t help but chuckle.

you love him still. you’ll love him always.

with three weeks before the opening of the exhibit, the stress is starting to get the better of you. you’ve bitten your nails down to the quick, there’s heavy bags under your eyes from lack of sleep, and you can’t remember the last time you consumed something other than coffee. despite the stress, you feel lighter. working through the photos, laying them out in order, writing the captions, pouring over the faces of the ones you love so dearly—it’s all helped ease the burden in your heart. for the first time in a long time, you slip out of bed in the mornings with a newfound sense of energy and purpose.

life will go on. just as you did when you fell into the past, you will find a new future.

arms laden with exhibit proposals and mock-ups, you brush into your local coffee shop—pretty bird—intent on getting some real work done on choosing the final photographs before you send them off to be printed. you order your usual and take a seat by the front. the air which wafts through the open window at your side is warm with spring and rebirth, and you breathe deep, cracking open the lid of your laptop. you manage to pick a total of twelve of the seventy-six needed photographs before you’re interrupted.

“whatcha workin’ on?” matthew, barista extraordinaire and casual acquaintance, sits down on the bench across from you. he has his own cup of cold brew poised between his lips, and the piercing in his eyebrow wiggles as he moves his brow up and down.

“an exhibit for the museum,” you say, pausing to roll your tight shoulders. “it’s my first.”

“do tell!”

you explain, briefly, how to came to acquire your dead aunt’s photographs and the general theme of the showcase. he nods in approval then snaps as if he’s remembered something.

“hold on. stay right there. i’ll be right back.” he puts his coffee down, scoots off of the bench, and darts to the back of the coffee shop. you wait and listen to the sound of the birds twittering outside before he returns with a framed picture in hand. “i just learned about this,” he says, taking his seat again. “this building used to be a disco back in the 70s.” he hands you the frame and points to a collection of people in the middle of a disco bar. “that’s queen. they came here once and somebody had the smarts to take a picture.”

your hands shake around the photograph, eyes darting from one corner of the picture to another. 

matthew keeps talking. “the place was called climax. can you believe that? the 70s were fuckin’ wild, mate.”

you nod, lips parted, and skim your fingers over the incredibly tall and recognizable form of brian in the center of the photo. you can see your shoulder, jammed between freddie and crystal, but the rest of your body is obscured. you lift your eyes from the frame and glance around the coffee shop, at the exposed metal beams and vaulted ceilings, at the disco ball still hanging in the center of the room.

makes sense now. why the building had felt so eerily familiar back then.

handing matthew the picture frame, you sit back in your chair. “wonder if my aunt ever came,” you say.

“maybe? sounds like she was in pretty tight. you know who you could ask?” you shake your head, uncertain of matthew’s question. “chris taylor. he was a roadie back then. he’s a regular here. comes in at least twice at week.”

you can’t stop the hand that flies to your mouth in surprise. you try to smother your gasp with a cough, but matthew still stares at you like you’ve sprouted another head. 

“you okay?” he asks warily.

nodding, you take a sip of your drink. “yeah, yeah, sorry! wrong pipe.”

“so, do you want to meet him and ask about your aunt?”

everything in you screams to say no. it’s too dangerous. you will surely break the moment you see him. crystal became your lifeline apart from brian during that year. he was your brother, your partner in crime, the one who kept you grounded when things got too wild. just knowing that he’s frequented the same coffee shop as you for the last six months brings tears to your eyes. you could have run into him. hell, you might’ve already. still, you aren’t sure if you’d be able to make it through a proper meeting without spilling your guts and apologizing for the way you left.

“[y/n]?” matthew pulls you from your thoughts. “what do you think?”

you hesitate before shrugging. you speak before you can stop yourself, before the rational and reasonable part of you can take over. god, you need this. if it’s your only opportunity for true closure, you’ll take it. “if he’s up to it then... sure.”

matthew grins. “come in tomorrow. i’ll introduce you!”

that night you toss and turn. you’re plagued with anxiety. will crystal recognize you? if he does, what will he say? will he be angry? what if he tells brian and then—

your bedside alarm goes off just as you fall asleep. it’s a struggle to drag yourself out of bed, but you must. there’s closure somewhere around the corner, and if you just move your ass, you’ll find it. you have one class this morning then your meeting with crystal. you’re jittery by the time you leave class, but you chalk that up to drinking two cups of coffee before leaving your flat and one in class. 

it’s drizzling as you make your way to the coffee shop. you hasten your steps, head bent against the rain and fingers curled around the strap of your bag. when you enter the shop, it’s nearly empty aside from a few lonesome students studying in far off corners. you can hear the faint thrill of music over the loudspeakers, but the blood that’s rushing to your ears blocks out most of the melody.

crystal’s already here, leaning against the counter, in conversation with matthew.

you stop in your tracks. he’s bald now, slightly pudgier with age, but he looks every bit as devilish as you remember.

you swallow past the fear in your throat and the anxiety in your veins and step forward. you voice wobbles when you speak. “matthew?” you direct your entrance to your friend because if you come right out and say crystal’s name, you will surely fall over in a puddle of emotion.

“there you are!” matthew jumps over the counter in one easy leap and lands to the floor beside you. he drapes his arm around your shoulders and motions to crystal. “[y/n], i’d like you to meet chris taylor. chris, this is [y/n], the girl i was telling you about.”

crystal’s staring at you through his blue-tinted glasses like he’s seen a ghost. his jaw has gone slack, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to formulate a sentence. 

you shove your hand into the space between you. “nice to meet you, mr. taylor.”

looking between matthew and yourself, he gathers himself, clearing his throat, and shakes your hand. “you too.”

“should we sit?” you motion to the same table you occupied the day before. “i can buy you a coffee for your troubles.”

he shakes his head and lifts his cup. “already got mine.”

“all right, well...” you glance at matthew.

“do you want your regular?” he asks.

“yes, please.”

“comin’ right up.”

crystal follows you to the table and sits down, his movements slow. for a moment, you sit in silence and allow his eyes to roam your face. you can’t tell if he knows it’s you or if he thinks it’s just a coincidence. you want to reach out and take the hand he rubs across the bridge of his nose, but you fold your fingers in your lap.

“thank you for agreeing to talk with me,” you finally say.

“you aunt,” he starts.

“yes, my aunt.” you pull a photograph out of your bag. it’s one of the few you took with crystal all those years ago. he’s got you in a headlock, his opposite fist grinding into the top of your skull. you slide the picture across the table. “you knew her?”

crystal lifts the photo, inspects it, before putting it down. he sighs, shaking his head. “i loved that woman. broke my heart when she left.” his gaze lifts from the table. “you look like her, have her name too.”

you look away, out the window at the side. there’s bird fluttering in a puddle on the sidewalk, and you watch it for a moment before turning back to him. “i think my mother loved her a great deal. i didn’t get the chance to know her, though. we only just found these pictures recently.”

his eyes narrow. “i mean, you really look like her.”

you force a smile. “thank you. that’s kind of you.” shifting, you tap your finger on the table. “i know her leaving wasn’t exactly...” you struggle to find the proper word, but he jumps to assist.

“natural?”

“well, i was going to say easy, but—”

“she fuckin’ disappeared! excuse my language.” huffing, he drops back against his chair. “one minute she was there, the next minute she was gone. i swear, i’ve never seen anyone skip town that fast.”

“she didn’t say anything about leaving?”

“why would she? she was engaged! she had no reason to leave that i know of.”

“was she happy?”

“hell yes. her and brian—i’ve never seen two people more fit for one another. brian just about lost his mind trying to find her, but it was like she never existed. strangest thing.” he pauses to take a sip of his coffee, looking askance, before his eyes whiz back to yours. “oh my fucking god.” 

you look up, fear sparking in your belly. “what?”

“[y/n]?”

you blink. your head feels dizzy with the way he’s looking at you, like he’s about to jump across the table and throttle you or hug you so tight your insides might squeeze out of your body.

“fuck,” he breathes. “it is you.”

“i don’t know know what you’re—”

“don’t play dumb with me!” he leans across the table and lowers his voice. “i was the one who got you that phony passport, remember? i always wondered why i couldn’t find your credentials. had to lie my way through it until i got the damn thing. you’re lucky everything was so lax in the 70s.” he shakes his head. “how’d you do it?”

there’s part of you that wants to deny, deny, deny.

but it’s crystal. you can’t lie to him any more than you already have.

“i had no choice in the matter,” you say plainly. “one minute i was here, the next minute i was there, and the next minute i was here again.”

his jaw works back and forth as he processes the information. “does brian know?”

“no—and i’d like to keep it that way.”

“i thought we might lose him after you left.”

you twist the ring on your finger. “if i’d had the choice, i would have stayed. i hope you know that.”

crystal nods. “yeah, i do.” he holds your gaze then motions to your bag. “so, this exhibit matthew told me about. you’re publishing all those photos you took?”

“yes. there are some pictures i’ve saved for myself, but my boss, monica, she got permission from the record label to go ahead with the others. it opens in three weeks.”

“i’ll be there if i can. i’d like to see those pictures.”

you smile, your first earnest smile of the day. “you feature many times.”

he ducks his head like an embarrassed schoolboy. “we were thick as thieves, weren’t we?”

“you and roger were thicker, but i’d like to think i had a part to play some of the time.”

he lifts his head and heaves a heavy sigh. “you know, when i said i loved you, i meant it. not in the way brian did. you were like a kid sister to me. i cared for you a great deal.”

before you can stop yourself, you slip your hand across the table to grasp his worn fingers. his shoulders shake on another sigh, and he lifts his opposite hand to wipe at his eyes beneath his glasses. 

“oh, crystal. i’m so sorry,” you whisper. it hurts to see him cry, to know that you’re the cause behind his pain. 

he waves your apology away, sniffing hard. “i’m just glad to know you’re okay. we thought you might’ve gotten picked up or—” he shakes his head and pats your hand over his, meeting your eyes. “you’re okay, though. that’s what matters.”

“will you really come to my exhibit?”

“anything for you, kid.” he thumbs the underside of your chin with a lopsided grin. “even after all this time, i’m putty in your hands.”

you grin and hand him a business card, which he tucks in the folds of his wallet. rising from his seat, he opens his arms and you practically trip into his hug. he holds you tight for the briefest of moments before pulling back. he pats your cheek.

“i’ll see you in three weeks, yeah? if i stay any longer i’ll end up a sobbin’ mess on the floor.”

you nod. “yeah. and, crystal?” he turns at the door. “don’t tell brian. please.”

he leaves without another word.

the day of the exhibit opening you are equal parts thrilled and a nervous wreck. everyone’s here—your family, rachel, shamik, even matthew. you haven’t seen crystal amidst the crowd mingling in the lobby, but you trust him to show. he’s always been reliable, and you doubt he’ll fail you now.

monica squeezes your shoulder as she passes you by in the staff hallway. “it looks wonderful, [y/n]. consider yourself hired,” she says and hands you a keycard. “i’m going to give you a piece of advice i got when i completed my first exhibit: go have a moment by yourself. look at your work, be proud of it. you deserve it.”

with trembling fingers and a racing heart, you make your way down the corridor to the south exhibit hall. due to a celebratory lunch with rachel the day before, you hadn’t gotten the chance to see the room in its final state. in retrospect, you’re thankful for the chance to see it for the first time alone. at least this way, if you cry, no one will have to know.

the door beeps as it unlocks, and you slip inside the room. you descend the handful of stairs which lead into the showroom floor and suck in a deep breath. 

before entering the exhibit, there’s a wall to the side with a simple explanation written in a white font:

queen: unfiltered — this exhibit preserves and presents never-before-seen images of the popular band, queen, through the eyes of an unnamed woman who spent a year traveling the world on queen’s jazz album tour. her images are intimate yet distinctive and offer a personal glimpse into the lives of one of britain’s most well-known bands. 

at the far end of the room hang four banners spanning floor to ceiling. the banners wave gently in the air blowing throughout the room, illuminated from lights on the ceiling and floor. each banner hosts an oversized photo of one of the band’s members in an image that best captures their personality. it took you hours to find the right photo for each man, but you stand by your choice for each one.

there’s john on the far left, head bent as he strums the bass across his knee. his lips are pursed in thought, a line of concentration on his brow.

there’s freddie next to him. he stands in a spanish alley way, cradling a stray cat in his arms. he looks serenely on at the camera, a rare moment of simplicity.

there’s brian sat in an overstuffed armchair, his gangly legs crossed, a book open on his lap. he has the corner of his thumb in his mouth, and if you squint you can see the edge of his tongue.

there’s roger on the far right. he’s smiling at the camera, his eyes bright with mischief and joy. there’s a party hat snug on the crown of his head, pulling the skin of his forehead taut.

on opposite sides of the room, two parallel rows of twelve photos hang in neat order. you decided to have every photograph in the exhibit printed in black-and-white and, in all, you painstakingly picked the forty-eight photos featured in their simple white frames. you walk along the wall, hands clasped at your waist, eyes running over the memories you hold so dear.

the afternoon crystal taught you ride a bike in barcelona: you’re sat on the handlebars after a hard fall, mouth open in a squeal of delight as crystal whips toward the camera.

roger and john tossing an apple back and forth in an ottawa grocery store: john’s smile is broad, the apple caught on film midair.

brian sitting on the floor of your hotel suite: there’s a tray of sushi at his feet, and he’s smiling at you, his hair wet from a shower.

freddie playing the piano in the airport in yugoslavia: he’d been so excited to see one, his shoes had slipped on the slick floor as he ran to it. he’d played dramatically, conducting those around him in a horrible rendition of “god save the queen.”

your eyes sting with tears as you glance about the room. you’re proud of your work. it looks good, professional and elegant, but more than that, you’re proud of yourself for the work you’ve done in mending your broken heart. though you will never live the life you’d once dreamed of, you will always have the memories—and that’s got to count for something.

when the double-doors open and monica ushers the first of the patrons in, you slip into the closest bathroom to wipe at the makeup smudged under your eyes. you’re happy, truly so, and you want to celebrate—celebrate both of your lives as they finally come together.

the room is crowded when you reenter, conversation and gentle laughter mingling in the air. you accept a tight hug from rachel when you see her and the congratulations of your parents. you can’t stop smiling, and you’re sure your face will hurt come morning, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?

your parents float away, hand in hand, and you find yourself alone in the center of the room, watching in awe as people you’ve never met look at your photos, at your memories, and nod in appreciation. your chest swells with an emotion you can’t place.

“i think this calls for a congratulations. you’ve outdone yourself, dove.”

you whirl on your heel, lip caught between your teeth in a poorly-concealed smile. “you came.”

crystal grins. the tie of his suit is rumbled and askew, and you reach out to straighten it. old habits die hard. “i said i would.”

“what do you think?”

“i think it’s fantastic. the lads would be proud.”

“maybe.” you shrug. “guess we’ll never know.”

“are you really so intent on staying hidden forever?”

you nod. “yes. it took everything in me to even talk to you. i don’t want to ruin their lives again by popping back up, especially because i’m not exactly old, am i?”

crystal laughs, shaking his head. “you must think you’re hot stuff if a simple hello could ruin a life.” his laughter fades into a simple smile. “now, i know you’re going to hate me and i’m willing to take that, but i did tell a certain someone about the exhibit.”

you can feel the blood drain from your face. “crystal, you didn’t.”

he winces. “i might’ve.”

you slap his arm and curl your fingers into his bicep. “you bastard!”

he holds up his hands in defense, decent enough to plaster a look of contrition on his face. “look, i didn’t tell him the context or what tipped me off. i just told him there was a new exhibit about queen and he was eager to come see. that’s all!”

you swallow hard, uncertain how to respond. “i—” your head twists back and forth in utter confusion. “i don’t know what to do.”

crystal’s face softens, and he nudges your shoulder. “go talk to him. he deserves that much, doesn’t he?”

you can’t argue with that.

giving crystal’s arm a grateful squeeze, your legs shake beneath you as you turn and see him—brian—across the room.

you don’t know how you didn’t see him before. even now, forty years later, he’s still unmistakeable: still tall, still gangly, but his hair has gone white and his strides are slower. the overwhelming urge to tear across the room and curl yourself around his back nearly overpowers you, but you shove it down and manage to cross the floor in slow, even steps. you keep your eyes glued to his back, your hands twitching at your sides. when you reach him and catch a faint whiff of his cologne, the same he wore all those years ago, you have to push back the tears that rise unbidden to your eyes.

you tap his shoulder. “dr. may?”

he circles around, as does his wife anita, her arm snug in his elbow.

brian blinks hard, his brow furrowed in confusion. for a moment, you let him stare at you as you stare right back. his eyes are the same. you’d thought they’d be different, but they aren’t. the realization stuns you silent.

anita glances between you both before smiling sweetly. “good evening, sweetheart,” she says, and her voice is so kind you can’t even summon the slightest bit of jealousy. “i’m afraid i didn’t catch your name.”

“oh, i’m sorry!” you laugh and find that smiling at anita isn’t hard. “my name’s [y/n] [y/l/n]. i created the exhibit. i thought i might come and introduce myself.”

“oh, how lovely!” anita claps her hands together. “what you’ve done is so beautiful, [y/n]. it’s nearly brought a tear to my eye.”

“that’s very kind of you, ma’am.”

“brian likes it too. don’t you, brian?”

he still can’t seem to formulate any sort of response. he’s frozen in place, and your heart lurches for him. to see the woman he’d once asked to marry him, the one so cruelly ripped away, while standing next to his wife... precisely why you never wanted to meddle in his current affairs.

finally, he seems to collect himself. he sucks in a deep breath and nods in agreement. “yes, i do. very much.”

“that means a lot,” you say, easing your smile back into place. “thank you.”

“i’ll leave you two to talk to for a moment. i see crystal hovering in the corner over there, and i’m sure you both have many questions for one another.” anita presses her hand on your arm as she passes. “lovely job, dear.”

she leaves, and you’re left alone with the greatest love of your life.

you wait for him to speak.

“you’re... alive?” it’s a question, not a statement.

“yes.”

“you’re the same age?”

“yes.”

“how did—” he shakes his head. “i don’t understand.”

“neither do i.”

his chin quivers slightly, and he looks away. “i thought you’d been taken or decided to—”

you dare to touch his arm. a spark jolts through your fingers at the slightest touch, but you hold firm. “nothing happened,” you explain. “other than nature righting her mistake.”

“i think—i think i need to sit down.”

“yes, of course. my office is down the hall. it’s quiet there.”

he nods and leans against your arm as you lead him down the hall. in the silence of your dimly lit office, he collapses to the loveseat beneath the window and drops his face to his hands. you hesitate in the doorway until he looks up. tears shimmer in his eyes, and you swallow hard, your smile wavering around the edges.

he stands then, crosses the floor, and cradles your face in his hands. “my god,” he breathes. “it really is you.”

with a laugh, you hold his wrists. “in the flesh.”

“how long’s it been?” his thumb works over your cheekbone and, though you know he should stop, you can’t bring yourself to step away from his touch.

“about seven months.”

he snorts. “try forty years.”

“you seem like you did well for yourself, though.”

he shrugs. “i suppose.”

“you’re happy?”

there’s a heavy pause before he says, “yes.”

“that’s all i want to hear.”

slipping out of his grasp, you put a modicum of space between you both. the air is thick with emotion, and your heart beats wildly against your chest. the love you thought you’d put to bed flares at the mere sight of him, even after all this time.

you drift your finger through the sand of your tabletop zen garden. “i told crystal not to tell you about me,” you admit.

“he didn’t—not in so many words.”

“i know. i’m glad he said something, though.” you pause, meet his gaze. “it’s so good to see you, bri.”

quiet falls over the room as he stares at you. you don’t squirm. you’re comfortable under his gaze, always have been.

“i hope you know i never stop looking,” he says. “even after anita, i kept trying to find you. just to know.”

“and i hope you know that i would do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant i got to be with you even for a time.”

your phone vibrates on the desk, skidding across your oversized calendar. you reach for the phone and flip it over before slipping it in the purse hung over your desk chair.

“i’ve got to go,” you admit, crossing to his side. “i’ve actually got a date.”

to your surprise, his eyes crinkle with amusement. “i’m happy to hear it.” he lifts a hand and smooths back the hair from the side of your face. he looks at you with all the love he did forty years ago, and you wish you could take a picture to remember forever. 

but then you remember: you have dozens of photos at home, and it doesn’t seem too hard to let him go now. not after the work you’ve put into mending your heart. you can face this, face saying goodbye for good. you have to, for his sake and your own.

rising to your tiptoes, you place a hand on his shoulder and kiss the corner of his mouth—one last touch, for you both. you wind your arm around his neck and whisper in his ear, “i love you, brian may. i always will.”

he squeezes you hard against his body, sucking in a ragged breath. “i love you too, [y/n].”

dropping back to your heels, you huff a breath and smile wide. “well, i’d better go.”

“yes, you’d better. don’t keep the lad waiting.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, your hand lingering on his. “okay, well... goodbye, brian.”

he smiles, and it’s the loveliest sight you’ve ever seen. he brushes you cheek with the back of his hand, whispering, “see you later, love.”

dipping out the back of the museum, you walk down the street, purse slung over your shoulders. you think you’ll be able to sleep well for the first time in a long time tonight. 

you hope he can, too.

~*~*~*

taglist: @bhmay​ @grigorlee​ @teenagepeterpan​ @just-my-sickly-pride​ @perriwiinkle​ @ubernoxa​ @anunknownnebula​ @coincidence-ithinknots-blog​ @captvinswaan​ @ineloqueent​

[nossbean]

Myrcella / Sansa Anon Here: Like Jaime and Brienne are both Beauty and the Beast, Myrcella and Sansa have the potential to be both Cinderella and the Prince/Knight. Myrcella a bastard disguised as a Princess and Sansa is a Princess disguises as a bastard. When the Starks fell, the old man could have written Myrcella as one of Sansa’s Protectors since she knows how to survive Cersei while when the Lannister’s fell from power, Sansa would give Myrcella a home. For cherry on top, Myrcella could 1/2

2/2 inherit Jaime’s sword skills and her desire to pursue that could be a way to escape being her mother’s mini-me, only valued for her looks, and toxic family as well as an attempt to gain some control over her life. I had more articulate thoughts on this but I wrote them down somewhere I can’t recall. In canon, you already have Arianne set up for the fairy godmother role and Brienne as a subversion of the typical stepmother. Either way, less creepy than any potential in-canon Sansa ships.

Honestly, anon, you persuaded me with these first two, but the absolute joy is that you came through with even more! I do wanna quickly say though that I support folx shipping who they ship and in whatsoever way brings joy, we’re all here for the love of the characters and the story after all <3

I am as ever at the moment, very late to the party, but I’m so glad you came back to share all this! A lot of what you’ve said by way of potentials has lived rent free in my head. I’m very into the fairy tale elements you’re describing (particularly noting Arianne as fairy godmother, and Brienne as a subversion of the typical (boring, sexist) fairy tale stepmother...!) and the incorporation of major themes that could be present in Myrcella’s arc (I’m poss wearing my clown shoes, etc, but I do think there’s a chance some of those could come to bear in the remaining books, with or without Sansa, so let’s hope) Your note about Myrcella inheriting Jaime’s sword skills set off a different thought in my head, that it would be interesting for her to instead pick up a lot of the knight’s code and utilizing it to her whims and needs, though without the fighting/sword skills element. There’s resonance and balancing there, then, with parts of Sansa’s arc, and also with themes in Brienne’s arc, and is again, a repudiation of much of what Cersei (and Joffrey) thinks and believes. Though am also very much here for more sword wielding ladies.

Anyway, onwards with the rest of your Sansa/Myrcella galaxy-braining:

Also, we know Myrcella wasn’t scared of Joffrey so we could have had Myrcella getting in his face to defend Sansa and having a tense stand-off. Plus, it would be a more explicit sign of Jaime and Cersei not being soulmates and gender swapped mirrors as the cruel and cowardly Joffrey being Cersei if she was a boy and brave and clever would be Jaime as a girl.

ANON. I am SO INTO playing with aligning Cersei with Joffrey and Jaime with Myrcella explicitly! It definitely could be there for the taking (that note about where did Myrcella and Tommen get their sweetness, I WONDER) but whether GRRM will take it... Things seem to be pointing Tommen-ward atm when it comes to possibilities with Jaime and his children, which is, idk, to be expected to a degree I guess. BUT ALSO, as is on the record, I’d really rather a sharp veer towards Myrcella instead (Tommen can come too I guess but centring Myrcella would be grand)

And also just: a Myrcella who takes on her brother (and by extension, Cersei) *on behalf* of Sansa would have been fucking incredible, and would absolutely have been particularly satisfying for the resonance it would have for Jaime’s later arc. And there’s every possibility Myrcella could have stood up for Sansa, or even if we frame it more as “against Joffrey”, at least at first. Also what you describe as being possible later by way of role reversal of who protects who, yes thank you please. Deeply into how that shapes Lannister-Stark relations and also honestly the potential impact on LSH storylines, in the event Sansa meets LSH in around the same time Brienne and Jaime are confronting her (I mean, that would substantially alter the timelines, possibly, but still!) 

Also ALSO, Sansa being sapphic would better show the limits societal scripts have a person’s perceptions, agency, and ability to connect with others since her character is so influenced by storytelling, imagination, and societal roles. It would also expand her understanding of womanhood and femininity, paving the way to reconcile with Arya.

Into this, as well! Don’t really have much more to say than that, really XD Oh, only that Sapphic Sansa is very satisfying to say, hehe. Anon, I ask if you’ve read this excellent meta about Sansa? It’s a long read but a good one. 

admittedly, Myrcella did luck out with getting the sweet, age appropriate, and non-creepy Trystane Martell as her canon love interest.

My cynical take here is that it isn’t coincidence that Myrcella lucked out with Trystane being sweet and being part of a family who (mostly?) wants her safe and happy not just because of her proximity to the Iron Throne but for her own sake, only to be almost certain to lose him, heh.

Sansa/Myrcella it could be about forgiveness, chosen families, breaking the cycles of violence and revenge, hope for the future, the importance of female solidarity, re-writing the future to include everyone.

Just here to say I am a sucker for each and every one of these themes, thank you.

Physical doubling is another shared feature of both Myrcella and Sansa’s stories. Everyone comments on how much Sansa looks like her mom and Littlefinger plans to unveil her identity using her red hair. Myrcella also looks like her mom and has a double in her cousin. Both are hurt and almost killed while in care of someone they should trust, Myrcella during the Queenmaker plot and Sansa with her Aunt Lysa.

Sansa’s themes of identity, self-preservation, perception, longing for something beyond your childhood home, the power and consequences of shaping stories through truth and lies can easily be mapped onto Myrcella.

Your Jaime and Myrcella post reawakened my dormant interest in Myrcella and Sansa, since Jaime is tasked with returning Sansa.

Again, mostly am just here for all this, particularly the potential theme sharing and how they could help one another through 😍🤩

Reading all this, I feel like you hit on one of the major things that GRRM fails with on the regular in ASOIAF, which is that women and girls... often like one another? Even when they’re, like, different from one another? 😱😱😱 And even if he didn’t want to pursue a shippy route, to your earlier point, there was plenty of room for friendship and solidarity between Sansa and Myrcella when they were both in KL, even with Myrcella being younger. There could be an added element wherein Myrcella goes behind Cersei’s back somewhat to do this, given Cersei would undoubtedly put the kibosh on it had she been aware - which again, would have had resonance later for that Jaime and Myrcella mirroring angle. Buuut that would require GRRM to recognize the power of relationships between girls and women, and I admit I remain stuck on the idea that apparently no woman or girl in Brienne’s life ever did anything but mock/deride her until Catelyn came along. I invite you to imagine that a small part of my soul is always howling to the heavens: NO ONE????????? (though this is, happily, an easily retconned detail, so my clown nose is honking that there may be even a throwaway note about some girl or woman in Brienne’s past in Winds, anyway, I digress)

I DUNNO, I’m trying to, like, contribute to this excellence but mostly I’m just picking up everything you’re putting down...! 

And finally:

I don’t have a Tumblr, though I enjoy reading fic and people’s meta, so I forgot I sent that ask to be honest, haha.

Again, I’m sorry for how very, very late here, but I am so very glad you did...!!!!

[warwaged-archive]

THE POSITIVE & NEGATIVE; Mun & Muse - Meme.

fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OC’s still can make it somehow work with their own lore, and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multi-Muses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm. tagged by: @theharellan ty so much! tagging: if you read this entire post I’m tagging you

My muse is:   canon / oc / au / canon-divergent / fandomless / complicated 

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO. Velanna is minor enough there isn’t a lot of talk about her either way (and I get it, given she’s a dlc character from Origins it’s understandable not as many people even know her), but I definitely see more dislike towards her than appreciation.

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. Honestly do not know! I have seen Debates about her personality and actions, but I don’t recall seeing people comment on her looks.

Is your character considered strong in the fandom?  YES / NO / IDK. Not particularly as far as I’ve seen, though I haven’t seen people say she’s weak either. Tbf given her introduction has you investigating murders that no one seems to think were caused by a single person and she literally turns a forest against those who pass through it, I think it’s hard to deny she is strong, though.

Are they underrated?  YES! / NO / IDK. Like I said, there’s very little talk about her at all, and very little appreciation. Velanna deserves more love c’:

Were they relevant for the main story?  YES / NO. She isn’t relevant for the story of any of the main games, given she isn’t even in any of them askdjfnskndf She is relevant to Awakening’s story, given she causes some trouble on the road to Amaranthine, and that’s how you meet her. You can kill her on that encounter, though, so for the rest of it she’s not essential (but killing her is boring guys why would you)

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG. In a way, since she’s causing some of the problems the Warden-Commander has to solve. Other than that, it truly depends on how you play it.

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO. Nope. Just a Dalish gal who became a Grey Warden.

How’s their reputation?  GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL. I lean towards neutral because Velanna isn’t a widely discussed character either way, but I would say it leans towards bad. Many people dislike her actions, and many more dislike her for her harsh ways towards the PC in the beginning (a non-dalish PC, that is). Velanna is very opinionated and angry and a lot of people seem to think that makes her annoying. A bad take imo but I think that’s pretty obvious dkfasndkfjanskdfjn

How strictly do you follow canon?  — For the most part I follow it, only expanding it for what we haven’t seen and filling the blanks. 

SELL YOUR MUSE! Aka try to list everything, which makes your muse interesting in your opinion to make them spicy for your mutuals.  —  I don’t know how to sell her to others so I will just talk a bit about what made her interesting to me. When you meet her, she’s so angry she’s been terrorizing the road and nearby villages so much people don’t even know what (what, not who) is responsible for the bloodshed. If you don’t bother to get to know her, it’s easy to think she’s just the anger, but if you do, eventually you learn a lot that might not justify her actions but makes them understandable, and that she’s so much more than Angry™. Velanna cares so much! For the Dalish, and preserving their magic and culture; for her clan, in spite of the fact her sister was the only friend she ever had; for her Keeper, even though they parted on bad terms; for Seranni, even after she chooses to leave with the Darkspawn instead of leaving with her. She’s outspoken and a great defender of her people, but not in a blind or arrogant way, and not in a way that causes her to inherently resent humans (it’s not history that causes that, but her own experience with having humans act violent against her clan and prefer to destroy the land to drive them away than attempt peaceful coexistence). She’s not driven by personal retribution, but by a relentless pursuit of justice that indeed is twisted into something more akin to vengeance. She acts on anger but she learns to be better. She’s been an outcast all her life, well before becoming the only Dalish in her group of Wardens, and she learned to be harsh to defend herself. She’s not easy to love, but she’s capable of loving deeply, and her loyalty to those dear to her is unwavering. She can be harsh because she’s so used to keeping people away in self defense, even if she’s lonely, even if it’s clear all it takes to get past that is treating her with kindness and respect. Velanna has a good heart, but that doesn’t mean she’s only capable of good.

In game, her growth depends on the PC of course, but the way I see it (and write her) there is no reason why her connections to other characters, such as Sigrun and Nathaniel, wouldn’t be just as important for it. They allow her to see beyond her anger, to move past her resent, and to stop judging people as if they were all equally bad. She goes from someone terrorizing humans in a forest and nearby road to someone who selflessly stands to defend them, even should it cost her own life. She goes from joining the Wardens as a means to finding her sister to actually taking on the role and its duties, not just as in fighting the darkspawn, but in being a protector.

And the way she values history, but not just the actual facts, the tales and legends and culture, how she understands their place as something of great importance definitely helped a lot in endearing her to me. According to Velanna, "Stories connect us to our past. They shape a people in profound ways. Without them, we are lost.” and I think about that a lot you know? It really gets to me c’:

Also she’s an awesome powerful mage who could and has killed a man (uh many men actually) but who blushes and stutters if you call her pretty because what are compliments she is not prepared to deal with those

Now the OPPOSITE, list everything why your muse could not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom perhaps think?).  — Velanna killed people so she’s evil and deserves no forgiveness ever (which isn’t always similarly applied to other characters BUT ANYWAYS). She’s angry and mean towards the protagonist and because of that she’s not cool. She’s whining about the Dalish all the time too so she’s just annoying. Also I never tried to talk to her and often don’t even leave her alive after the Wending Wood. aidsnfkajsdnfkjn seriously though, I can see why people might not like her, as she isn’t made to be likable initially and you gotta get past that to get to the more interesting bits. Velanna is indeed very much tied to her Dalish background, as it is not only her culture and origin, but also a great motivator for her actions, and often even the means through which you get to know her, so if you’re not interested in the Dalish I guess she wouldn’t be an interesting character (but imo, it’s only natural her culture is so important to who she is, given her background and her own feelings about her people. she’s so proud of her heritage, even if being part of that people makes her a target for no other reason than prejudice. even then, she’s so proud of it and so ready to fight for and defend her people and speak and stand for them! I just love her a lot but ok I realize I should be talking about why people might not like her so let’s get back to that). She’s not funny, she’s not friendly, and she’s actually rather angry and outspoken, and I feel like that ends up pushing her to the more ‘controversial’ side instead of being part of the popular or likable characters.  

What inspired you to rp your muse?  —  Literally just played Awakening and ended up like OH I WANNA WRITE ONE OF THEM and I wasn’t sure about who. It wasn’t clear to me, at least, so I ended up thinking about them and at first I was like hm maybe Nathaniel, but it didn’t feel right even though he was the first one I thought I wanted to write. So I thought about Velanna, and the more I thought about her the more invested I became so I was like yeah that’s the one and added her here aksjdnfkjasndf

The first thing that got me really invested in her while playing was the conversation you have with her when you gift her the diary. I just really love her talking about the Dalish and preserving what they have and how important and meaningful stories are. That said, the moment I met her in the Wending Wood I immediately wanted to get to know her. 

I’m just a big fan of elves in case you guys haven’t noticed yet asksjnfsjkdnfkdjfn

What keeps your inspiration going?  —  replaying DA, but specially Awakening, Dragon Age content in general, discussing her with others (talking about my muses is always very helpful to me in that sense), and honestly, others being interested on her too. Discussions about the Dalish or headcanons or other people discussing Dragon Age and their respective characters also help my motivation too tbh! I’m always the slowest to answer to anything, but that’s just how I always am. Those are all things that keep my love for her alive, and thus great part of my inspiration for her.

Some more personal questions for the mun.

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could lead them to get more comfortable with you or perhaps not.

Do you think you give your character justice?  YES / NO / I TRY!

Do you frequently write headcanons?  YES / NO / SORT OF? when the inspiration hits I literally cannot shut up

Do you sometimes write drabbles?  YES / NO. I’m usually more about them 5 page headcanons and threads and ask answers than drabbles 

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO. she lives in my head rent free (as do most if not all of my muses tbh askdfnaksdf)

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO / SORT OF?

Are you confident in your writing?  YES / NO / SOMETIMES. Depends but not usually askndfkajs

Are you a sensitive person?  YES / NO / SORTA.

Do you accept criticism well about your portrayal?  —  Depends on what that criticism is and if I asked for it? aksjdfnkjfn I do ask about my portrayals sometimes, and in that case I’m open to constructive criticism --- if there’s something you think I could do better and you can explain why in a nice way, I’ll definitely listen (though I may disagree, so there’s that). But if it comes down to rudeness or ‘you’re not writing her like I think she is’ then well that’s not my problem, I write her how I understand and interpret her. 

Do you like questions, which help you explore your character?  —  I LOVE THEM! Send me questions about my muses literally any time I absolutely love them!! 

If someone disagrees to a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why?  —  Depends, again. I’m not against discussing it, hearing what other people have to say and why they disagree (and if they say they disagree, I’d probably want to know why), but ultimately, again, it’s my portrayal so it might just be a case of seeing things differently. Like I said, I don’t mind discussing it, though. 

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it?  —  As to this, I just honestly expect people to act the same way I act when I disagree with someone’s portrayal, which is just moving on with my life and not interacting kasjafksdnfjk

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it?  —  Depends. They don’t have to like the character, but if it influences IC interactions or if it’s just people who hate a character getting off of bashing them through IC interactions even if it doesn’t make sense that’s a no for me. I don’t like seeing people hating on characters I love, but people are free to do post what they will. If there’s a tag and I can block it that’s fine by me, if it isn’t tagged I’m likely to unfollow.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors?  —  If it’s done politely I don’t mind. English is not my first language and learning about errors is a way to improve, to me.

Do you think you are easy going as a mun?   —  I think? For the most part? I do tend to get defensive over characters I love and asks that aren’t clear in tone and come across not so nicely (OOC asks, I mean), but other than that I think I’m pretty chill? Idk though you guys tell me aksnkajdsfnkjan

[recurring-polynya]

Sometimes, when I don’t feel like writing the things I am supposed to be working on, I have a document worth of drabbley post-TYBWA stuff where I’m working out how Renji and Rukia actually manage to get family-approval for their relationship and subsequently get married. It’s pretty rough and I never finish any of the parts.

In any case, @sillier-things mentioned recently that she liked stories about making babies and I told her I would write her a drabble, so I wrote a little story about family planning, because I am a thirty-eight year old, deeply boring woman, and because I need, in my heart, for Ichika to have been extremely planned.

So, I wrote this, mostly for me, and I hope you like it, too. If you don’t, I’ll just write you another one. Takes place in the late fall, between the TYBWA and their wedding, they are betrothed. (Renji likes to pronounce “betrothed” with three syllables and in his Byakuya voice). PG for some raunchy sex talk.

Some background from the other parts that maybe I’ll finish someday?:

- Renji beat Byakuya in a fight and then turned in his paperwork for dating Rukia

- Byakuya was will to let Renji marry into the Kuchiki family, but Renji realized that Rukia would be happier living a more independent life, and asked Byakuya if she could marry out of the family instead. Byakuya refused to let her marry a nobody, so he did what anyone would: named Renji his vassal.

- Renji somehow managed to buy a house that his 4th Seat won in a poker game off some other noble idiot (I wrote this part once when I got really nostalgic about their house from Between Tides, I told you I was a deeply boring person)

- Byakuya is not as recovered from his fight with As Nodt as everyone thinks he is. (Renji and Rukia know, tho)

Rukia sat on a tall bar stool, while Renji stuffed gyoza on the other side of the kitchen island. She was going down a long checklist. “Last one!”

“Surely not!”

“Surely yes! Do you want to use the good silver chopsticks?”

“The ones that are slippery as hell? No.”

“You’re getting pretty good at them,” Rukia said, propping one elbow up on the counter.

“I’m not worried about me. We get to invite our friends to this thing, too, right? In addition to all 900 of your relatives?”

“They’re your relatives now, too, Mr. Branch Family Head,” Rukia reminded him. “Whether you marry me or not. And yes, we can invite our friends to this thing, or as I like to call it, our wedding.”

Renji plopped another dumpling onto his tray. “Well, I don’t want Ikkaku to shove a metal chopstick in my ear on my wedding day, so can we please use normal ones? Is that allowed?”

“We can use the second most fancy chopsticks, I still wouldn’t categorize them as ‘normal.’”

“So, is that it? You’re really out of questions?”

“I’m out of wedding-related questions. You still haven’t told me why you’re making enough gyoza to feed your entire squad.”

“Because it’s easier to make them in big batches, they freeze really well.”

Rukia waved an arm at the room behind her, which was mostly full of boxes. “You don’t have anything better to do? You moved in three weeks ago, have you unpacked anything?”

“I unpacked the kitchen stuff, obviously. And you’re here. I know how you like it when I wear this apron.”

Rukia folded her arms on the counter and rested her chin on them. “Renji. You’re still sleeping in the barracks, aren’t you?”

Renji stared deeply into his bowl of pork and cabbage. It was much more forgiving than his fiancee. “This house is really big. It gets lonely at night. I still don’t see why I had to move in first.”

“How am I supposed to marry into your family if your family doesn’t even have a house? What sort of poor excuse for a noble are you anyway?” Rukia teased him.

“The worst,” Renji agreed cheerfully.

Rukia’s smile wavered a little. “It’s not too big, is it? For just two people?”

“It’ll be perfect when you’re here, I promise. If it’s still too big, we’ll get that bunny you’ve always wanted." 

Renji expected some shouting on the topic of bunnies, but instead, Rukia was quiet. He looked up from his dumplings to see her chewing on her bottom lip pensively. "Renji? Can I ask you something?” she asked as his eyes met hers.

“Nope!” he replied. “You said you were done! You blew your wad on centerpieces and great-uncles!”

She gave him a withering stare.

“Of course you can ask me anything, dummy,” he chided her.

Rukia sat up and leaned back as far as she could without falling off her stool. “Do you wanna have kids?”

Renji blinked. “Well…” he said slowly. 

Rukia waited.

“To be honest, I’ve spent a lot of time on my figure. I’m worried you wouldn’t find me attractive anymore if I couldn’t lose the weight afterwards–”

“Oh, shut up, you are the worst!” Rukia looked around for something she could throw at him, but the best thing she could come up with was a dish towel, which he ducked easily. “I’m being serious, here!”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he chuckled, not sounding very sorry. “Do you want to have kids?”

“No! No dodging! I asked you first!”

They stared at each other, eyes narrowed.

“What if we said it at the same time?” Renji suggested.

“That seems like a terrible idea, but it is fair. Let’s do it.”

“Okay, on three, then. One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

“Yes,” said Rukia at the same time as Renji said, “I do, but I feel it puts an unfair burden on you and I know being a good leader to your squad is something you take very seriously and I won’t feel like anything is missing from– did you just say 'yes’?”

“I knew you hadn’t thought this through properly,” Rukia muttered.

He threw a piece of wadded up dough at her head. She caught it.

“You moron!” she scolded. “You’re the head of a family, now! What kind of a dick do you think I am, that I would agree to marry you with no intention of bearing you an heir!”

Renji’s face split into a lopsided grin. “First of all, if you say the phrase 'bearing me an heir’ again, I am going to be so overcome with passion that I will be unable to wait until our marital vows, and I’ll have my way with you right here and now.”

Rukia rolled her eyes. As if he gave half a shit about wedding vows. As if they hadn’t done it already once today within five minutes of her walking in the door.

“Secondly, who the hell else would I marry? I’ve already incorporated Sode no Shirayuki’s tsuba into my family crest.” He shoved up his sleeve for emphasis, as if she had somehow forgotten what it looked like, the segmented oval of her released sword’s guard, bisected by a lightning bolt. She couldn’t believe he’d gotten it tattooed on the inside of his forearm on the same day Byakuya declared him a one-man vassal family. She also couldn’t believe he wouldn’t let her get a matching one until they were actually married. Apparently Seireitei tattoo artists were very serious about not doing clan symbols without permission. At least he was finally willing to wear long sleeves again, now that it was November. 

“That’s your problem,” she informed him.

“My favorite problem,” he announced. “The branch family thing is nice, I guess, but mostly I just care about being married to you. You don’t need to feel obligated to–”

Rukia threw the dough ball back at his head. It hit him square in the forehead and bounced off. “Look, you lunkhead. I don’t know if I would be any good at being a mom, but it’s just stupidly obvious how good a dad you would be, not to mention how hot you would be in one of those baby sling things. Don’t you dare try to deny it, as you stand there in your dumb apron, making your freezer meals.”

His cheeks had gone a little pink. “All I was gonna say is that I think you would be a pretty awesome mom. You can skateboard. I can’t skateboard. You… you really want to?”

Rukia shrugged, a little defensively. “We had a pretty shitty childhood, y’know, but we all took care of each other. We did okay. We were happy. I feel like… like it would be nice to actually take care of someone. Give them food and hugs and tell them stories and all the stuff no one ever did for us. That I would like to do that with you.”

Renji was regarding her strangely.

“What?” Rukia huffed.

“I just really like you, y’know,” he said softly. 

Now Rukia was the one with pink cheeks. “Also, I just feel like I could make a really good baby,” she proclaimed. “Especially with your help. Imagine a kid with my brains and aesthetic and your height and abs.”

“You do realize we’re just as likely to get an angry shorty with my hair and your stubbornness,” Renji informed her dryly. “Not to mention a foul mouth because there’s no way we’re gonna remember to watch our language around them.”

“Sounds perfect to me, either way,” Rukia replied.

Renji grinned and continued on with his dumpling stuffing. “All right, Kuchiki. I’m game if you are.”

“I am,” Rukia confirmed. “When do you want to start?”

Renji guffawed. “You do not mess around, do you? My hands are covered in ground meat at the moment–”

“Be serious! Besides, I already cast the all-purpose protection kidou on you today and I’m very good at it, so it’ll probably last a full eight hours.”

Renji shook his head and rolled his eyes. “You be serious. Wouldn’t you rather wait until you get a new captain in place?”

Rukia stuck her lower lip out. “Uhhh, there’s something I should probably tell you.”

Renji looked up, regarding her under lowered eyelids. “Yesssss?”

Rukia made a squirmy face. “The Head-Captain talked to me the other day. He, uh, said that with all the losses overall, and the fact that there aren’t really any good candidates, he wants to keep the 13th small for the next couple of years and let me, um, growintothecaptaincy.”

Renji raised one eyebrow at her, looking very proud, but not saying anything.

“He wants to do the same with the Seventh,” Rukia quickly excused. “And he’s going to talk to Captain Hitsugaya about mentoring me, both as a captain and with my bankai. That’s the real issue, y'know, that with a bankai like that, I should really know what I’m doing before I have any business captaining a squad.”

“I hear you,” Renji agreed.

Rukia narrowed her eyes at him. “Is that what you told Captain Kyouraku when he asked you to take the Seventh? He said you turned him down.”

Renji winced.

“Because you told me,” Rukia went on loftily, “ that Souou Zabimaru was much easier to maneuver than Hihiou Zabimaru.”

“Something about how I still had a lot to learn from Captain Kuchiki,” Renji grumbled. “Besides, the Seventh is Iba’s squad. He’s not that far from bankai. I even told Kyouraku I’d help him train for it.”

“It might be awhile before you get another chance,” Rukia pointed out softly.

Renji was stuffing dumplings very aggressively now. “Your brother needs me right now, you know that, even if I wasn’t gettin’ married to the most demanding woman in Soul Society next month. I don’t care that much about making captain. I care a lot about my family.”

Byakuya’s battle with As Nodt had very nearly killed him. At the time, Captain Unohana had predicted that, even if he lived, he would never hold a sword again. He had proved her wrong, of course, trained in the Royal Realm, taken up his haori again. But he wasn’t the same. HIs power was greatly reduced, his endurance as well. He could no longer reach the advanced stages of his bankai. 

Captain Kuchiki was one of the most powerful captains in the Gotei. It would take a strong opponent indeed to press him hard enough to even notice these changes. But Byakuya knew. And his lieutenant, who had finally bested him in battle, knew, too.

Byakuya’s previous strength might still return. It might simply take time. Having an eager young vice-captain– powerful enough to pass the captain’s exam, but lacking the experience, made a convenient cover for delegating combat and other physically taxing duties. Especially now that Byakuya had acknowledged Renji as a protege of sorts, head of a Kuchiki branch family, and promised Byakuya’s own beloved sister, it appeared outwardly that it was the captain supporting his vice-captain, rather than the other way around.

Rukia smiled fondly at the vice-captain in question. “I like you a lot, too, y'know.” She paused thoughtfully. “I don’t have to be a captain, either. It is a lot. I can tell Kyouraku to find someone else.”

“Tch!” Renji huffed. “Someone’s gotta bring glory to our family name. Makes more sense for it to be you, I’m the better cook.” He finished up the last of his dumplings, and put the bowl in the sink. “Although I suppose that puts a wrinkle in that thing we were talking about a minute ago.”

Rukia sniffed. “I don’t see why. We’ll make one right away, I’ll tell the Head Captain I need a year, and then I’ll get down to business after that. You can use the baby as an excuse to stave off any further attempts at promotion. And if Brother keeps trying to overdo it, we can plunk the baby in his lap.”

“Brilliant plan,” Renji assessed. “Zero foreseeable flaws. How many of these you think you can eat with dinner? I’m gonna freeze the rest.”

“One thousand,” Rukia proclaimed.

Renji rolled his eyes as he slid a tray into the freezer. “I have no idea how I am going to keep you fed, assuming I actually manage to knock you up.”

“I believe in you,” Rukia assured him. “On both counts.” She watched him as he continued to clean up. “You’re really on board with all this? You were probably looking forward to a few years of me bending you over the kitchen table as soon as we got home, not late night feedings and dirty diapers, huh?”

Renji finished drying his hands, and he reached over the counter to tip Rukia’s chin up with one finger. “Rukia. As much as I love having rauchy sex in inappropriate places with you– and you know that I do– the thing I’ve been waiting forty-six years for is to be a family, whether that means just the two of us, or us plus however many babies you demand I put in you. I’ve had enough waiting for one afterlife, to be honest.”

“How did you come up with 46?” Rukia frowned. “Forty-six years ago, we were still back in–”

“Don’t do the math,” he implored.

“Okay,” she agreed, smiling at him.

“We’re not gonna start trying before the wedding, though, right?” Renji asked, pulling off his apron. “I’m pretty bad at math, but your brother’s not.”

“I suppose not,” Rukia agreed.

“Then we should squeeze in as much lazy daytime sex as possible while we still can!”

Rukia shrieked gleefully as he ducked around the kitchen island and pulled her off her barstool. 

This was going to work out just fine.

[gracie-p8-officialblog]

Defending Christine Daae

I never thought I'd have to write a post with that title, let me tell you.

Because when I first heard of Phantom of the Opera, I was under the impression that everybody loved Christine just as much as I did. I mean, how could you help it? Well, I was wrong. It would seem that there are, in fact, people out there who don't share my exact opinion (shock of shocks) and who dislike Christine for various stupid reasons.

Now, I'm not here to point fingers at anyone or to belittle anyone's opinions in anyway, and blah-de-blah [fill in the rest of long boring disclaimer any way you wish]. But I AM here to defend one of my favourite female protagonists in a work of fiction! And defend her I WILL! IN THE NAME OF THE MOON!

Um, pardon me. Don't know how that last sentence got in there.

Now, on the internet, I've heard some flak about Christine, and though I'm not here to make anyone feel bad (see above) I do want to refute those points about her, point-by-point. (Hmm. Redundancy.) One of the biggest points against Christine is her choice to be with Raoul instead of the Phantom, who *ahem* TOTALLY needed her because he had a bad life and he taught her to sing! My opinion?

I don't think that means Christine owes him love. Appreciation and thanks, yes. But not love. The only thing he ever did that was worth any kind of love was letting Christine go. And she isn't some sort of consolation prize! It's NOT her job to fix the Phantom, only he could fix himself!

C'mon people! The two pretty much fit the qualities of an abusive relationship (emotional manipulation, throwing her around, restricting her from seeing other people etc.) And it’s kinda disturbing. “BUT!” You cry, “CHRISTINE REJECTED THE PHANTOM FOR A SHALLOW REASON! HE WAS UGLY!”

While I do understand what you’re coming from, I would like to inform you that it was actually his toxic behaviour towards her and murderous qualities that drove her away from him and made her choose Raoul. In “Final Lair”, she said one of the biggest burns in Gothic thriller history “It’s in your SOUL where the TRUE distortion lies...”  The Phantom's problem isn't with his disfigurement. No, the problem is with what he's allowed his disfigurement to make him. He's become so obsessed with the idea that no one loves him and no one will ever really care for him that he believes anyone who stands remotely in his way is just out to get him. So what does he do? He murders people whom he gets annoyed with. First Buquet, then Piangi, and finally (almost) Raoul. And that is DEFINITELY not okay! 

I think Christine saw him as more of a teacher, or a friend, or a... father figure, in a messed up way... which is more evident in the book on how she is both afraid and sympathetic for the Phantom. 

While not condoning his actions,  I do wish the Phantom could have found someone to love him. Good gracious, his final lines “IT’S OVER NOW THE MUSIC OF THE NIIIIIIIIIIGGGGGHHHHHHTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” makes me tear up every time.  Gah. I'm in danger of sobbing, too, but I really want to get this post done, so I will conquer myself and think of something Funny instead. *thinks* I know! Gerard Butler’s version of the “All I Ask Of You (Reprise)”. That’ll cheer me up and make me laugh XD!

In all seriousness, I know that Erik is unstable and violent. But I also know that he really IS a gentle, misunderstood soul. You can be both, you know. The unstable and violent side of him, unfortunately, triumphed- and his dreams, his desires for love, his castle on a cloud came tumbling down because of it.

And so... onto the next point, another common argument used to bash Christine is that she’s considered to be flat, boring and goes through ZERO development! But in actual fact, there’s so much going on in her head and goes through quite an emotional travesty that it’s almost impossible to call her bland!

She is deeply wounded by the loss of her father, and has this incredible musical talent which stayed in a state of diamond in the rough before being discovered by her “Angel of Music”. He trains her, not realizing that she is becoming the center of an unhealthy obsession, genuinely believing in her naivety that he is some benevolent spirit sent by her father, therefore bringing her a sense of comfort. She is a pious girl, after all, and being religious myself, well, such a reaction from someone who believes like her is believable though naive. Can we blame Christine for that? NO. How is she supposed to guess?

And now, let's talk about "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again", aka. The Christine Empowerment™ song! I feel like the difference between a good portrayal of Christine and a great portrayal of Christine, is based on how good their rendition of this song is. It is a crucial part of the plot. One of the reason The Phantom and Raoul appeal to Christine is because of the connection they represent to her dead father. Of course, Raoul actually knew her father and the Phantom uses his memory to manipulate her. At this point in the show, Christine has become disillusioned with Raoul and is afraid of the Phantom. She realizes through the song that the only way she can’t move forward is through letting go of the past, and getting over the death of her father. This fuels her actions through the rest of the show as it makes her realize that if she wants her happy ending, she must take charge of her destiny and earn her own agency! And the Phantom, trying to use her in the moment where she was probably at her most vulnerable since she is questioning herself about her entire life, only catalyses her decision. She performs in Don Juan Triumphant, because she knows that everything is up to her, and that she cannot let the Phantom keep on destroying her life.

As for her unmasking the Phantom in "Point of No Return", Christine did this in a way to show him that she refused to be controlled by him any longer. It is certainly not the most intelligent thing to do, nor the nicest, but again, her behaviour is explainable. But as said above for Erik, it doesn’t excuse her. And it shows how she was beginning to be able to resist his pull/spell/enchantment/whatever you like to call it on her!

I adore and admire Christine Daae as a character so much, and it was her actions and story arc that really started my love for this story. Christine's ability to love unconditionally and selflessly is so profound. Even though the Phantom put her and everyone else through lots of horrors, she still doesn't hesitate to show kindness towards him but makes sure that her abuser NEVER hurts anyone EVER again. She loves Raoul so much that she's pretty much willing to sacrifice her freedom and happiness so Raoul could be free. No matter what circumstances she is given, she will still put the ones she loves before herself no matter what, even if it means giving up a chance to save herself. I know most of us won’t ever be put in such an extreme scenario but Christine is such an inspiration of how to love others and believe in them despite flaws and bad sides. She inspires me to see the good in people. It’s so easy to be cynical and hardened in this world, and I think that Phantom of the Opera reminds us to have kindness and light in our hearts, even in challenging circumstances.

I would also like to add another moment of character. Think what it must have taken to prepare for the female lead role in a 3-act opera. Christine wasn’t even an understudy. In a matter of minutes, she went from member of the ballet corps to the lead role, and she had to rehearse and remember new music, character, blocking, and vocals. Not only did she prepare in time, she performed so well that she became a hit. This reveals, not only the skill and beauty of her voice, but also her concentration, diligence, and acting capability. Everyone hails the Phantom as the ultimate musical genius—and he is—but they overlook the implied extent of Christine’s skill.

She went through the loss of both parents, manipulation, being stalked, and knowing that the person she loves most has his life on the line - because of her. And then she literally gets off of her knees and shows her abuser the first form of kindness he has ever known. Not even the Phantom was strong enough for that; he gave up on the world far too early. Christine is the embodiment of courage and kindness; she teaches us to love and forgive those who have been awful to us, and to protect those we love even if it means our own suffering. But she no longer succumbs to the Phantom and makes sure her abuser never hurts anyone EVER again. Seriously, this girl is AWESOME! And this was in the 18th century! It's really sad that such a great character is overlooked by many...

It seems that Leroux really understood women... That we can be emotional, we are vulnerable but not weak... And emotion really helps us when we keep them in control!

Christine, in a nutshell, is a kind, observant, compassionate, trusting young woman–a too trusting at first–but with a spine of steel and determination once she’s drawn the line. She loves people deeply, but she picks up quickly on the realities of the situation. She has the strongest character arc in the story and makes the choices to grow and to move on. Yet she remains gentle and compassionate, uses her love to bless and not manipulate. She’s a layered character who grows. And there’s so much more to her than meets the eye.

[jewpacabruhs]

hi guys! so this post is gonna be a rambly mess but fuck it, here ya go. if u dont wanna read all of it, u dont have to; skip down to underneath the tl;dr in bold text for the important bits :)

(there’s a brief & non-graphic mention of a triggering topic in the next paragraph. please be sure to skip this next paragraph if the thought of suicide is going to upset you.)

alright. so i didn't share this originally, but i spent some time in a psychiatric unit this month. suicidality related. 1000% unrelated from anything online, i've just struggled with depression for a very long time & shit happens. i didn't intend to share that at all & i certainly don't want pity; i'm telling u guys bc my time in the unit was extremely eye-opening, and i have some insight to share. since i've gotten out, with the help of my newest anti-depressant (fourth time’s a charm lol), i'm seeing the world in a better light & i finally have the energy to and the interest in exploring what it has to offer, which frankly i've never had before.

with that has come the realization that i’ve come to do something very unhealthy, and i want to break out of it. and that’s how much i’ve come to rely on my fandom life. i don’t want to get too candid publicly, but mental illness took a lot from me, and i lost most of my life, my future, and my options in the last few years. next year will involve a lot of working on rebuilding things. but in the time that i let things fall to pieces around me & i absolutely couldn’t get out of bed, i had a phone and i had a laptop. so when i couldn’t get up and physically face the world, i built up a new world online.

and i don’t think that’s a completely uncommon experience. most people are able to better manage things, and evenly juggle real life with an internet life (like i did back in middle school), because most people can’t abandon their real lives entirely like i managed to; but i do think a lot of people nowadays rely on their fandom life and their fandom friends when their irl situation isn’t ideal. and that’s an excellent coping mechanism in theory, but i think it’s debilitating in the long run.

forgive me for sounding like an old person, but i’m a heavy nostalgist and a bit of an anarcho-primitivist in that i resent modern technology's influence on society - but that hasn't stopped me from letting it be a big part of my life out of accessibility. the internet kept me occupied during my low points, and i became dependent, but i've realized i don't wanna live like that anymore. i’m vaguely grateful that it usually kept me busy enough that i wasn’t thinking the bad thoughts as frequently, but more than anything, i’m resentful that my grasp on reality got lost somewhere along the way, and i let time get away from me, too. because, again, an internet life should be a fun hobby, but when it’s a lifestyle and it becomes an excuse to avoid dealing with our real lives, bc our real lives aren’t as rewarding or as exciting, then it’s unhealthy.

everything’s at our fingertips these days, but i deeply believe human interaction, fun, and fulfillment shouldn't be spoon-fed to us through a screen. it's easy access, sure, but at the end of the day, is it any way to live? compared with how much world there is to see, i’m no longer satisfied with the thought of sitting behind a screen for another five years. i used to be, when i had no hope and no drive, but not anymore. i’m not gonna let myself settle for staying busy with the thing that takes the least amount of work & movement. not only because i’m a whole ass adult who needs to start sorting my shit out for the long run, but also because i deserve better.

and it’s fucking hard! especially for those of us who are neurodivergent. i dropped out of school three fucking times due to crippling social anxiety and utter lack of ambition and energy. i lost all my friends through that (making friends post-school is hard af); the thought of having to go out and remake friends makes me wanna fucking cry. i have a hard enough time making friends online, i’ve even come to struggle with correspondence thru text & email. phone calls? outta the question. but that’s therapy shit, and i know i’ll get there. i just have to stop putting life off by staying in a comfort zone.

and it’s interesting; depression and anxiety really took everything from me, and while i was dwelling in my own misery, my adhd worsened and decided to make my entire brain revolve around my fixations, so i didn’t have to deal with my own life. can’t think about how much you wanna die and how much you can’t function in society if you’re busy thinking about a ship you like or a character you find interesting. so i latched onto the safety of that. aggressively. problem with that is that once you let your “happiness” (as much of it as you can feel in the midst of your depressive episode, anyway) revolve around an interest, that’s all you have. so you become dependent and reliant, and that’s never good, especially if you’re someone like me who feels pathetic & ridiculous when you realize it’s all you can bring yourself to care about. 

and i think that’s what i realized in the psych ward (where there’s legitimately nothing to do; i did soooo much more thinking than usual, and i already think too much haha); mental illness will try to fuck up your lifestyle, so you have to eradicate the things that’ll let that happen in the first place. for example, like i said, my adhd tries to counteract my depression by making me hyperfixate and/or hyperfocus on something else to protect me from bad personal thoughts, and that’s good in theory (doing something you enjoy when you feel bad, to distract urself, is the number one most basic coping skill you learn), but i can’t do it in moderation, i let it run my life, and that’s made me worse in the long run. so i have to force myself out of that completely and not let myself fixate on things that make me happy in the short term, but don’t ultimately further me as a person. having fixations helped me through some awful times, but now i need to force myself to grow up, you know?

and while tumblr and other social media is an excellent way to indulge those fixations, it’s an aggressive enabler, in more ways than one. what i mean by that... okay, so while i’m the type of person who self-destructs while unhealthy, i do occasionally lash out. and i know some people completely explode rather than implode when they’re not doing well. and that’s how you get discourse, i think. because when mental illness makes us care much more about our interests than we ought to, and someone has a differing opinion about that interest, the instinct is of course to attack, if you’re that kind of person. i don’t think i am, but depression and boredom go hand in hand, and i might be inclined to care more about discourse than i would if i were healthy, purely because it’s entertaining and something to do. 

that’s a long winded way of saying, while i stand wholeheartedly by my past positions, i do regret starting shit in the first place. i’m not the kind of person who genuinely cares about much and i have little to no sense of morality (im a chaotic neutral bastard), so the fact i was bored enough to start shit really goes against my character and says a lot about how bad i’ve been. so i apologize for all that. but, again, i think that's just what happens when something is truly your everything. and i think the chronic negativity of modern fandom is a result of how damn seriously we all take it, because we care so much and we’re so dependent. fandom’s supposed to be fun, but it’s just too damn stressful this way.

idk my point in sharing all this, but i do think it'd be cool if this kinda got yall thinking. even if you don't engage in discourse, if fandom is just one of your only consistent sources of happiness, that's not healthy either. we all gotta break out & exist more & louder & more positively. and unfortunately i think tumblr fandom (and maybe all modern fandom) is no longer a place that encourages positivity and health.

but for all my criticism, i do just wanna say how eternally grateful i am that i was fortunate enough to meet the people i call my best friends through tumblr. they're my family, truly, and all the bullshit in this fandom has been worth it simply because it brought them to me. i love them to death and i always will, even if interests change, even if we grow apart, even if we quit speaking entirely in the next few years, i love them with my whole heart in a way that transcends a simple fandom friendship and i'm so glad we bonded over sp in the first place. that’ll never change.

i will also always love south park itself. now that the cat's outta the bag about my hospital visit, i can brag about my most pathetic and obsessive accomplishment; the fact that i've never let circumstance stop me from watching a new south park as it airs, and i've now watched sp on 1) an airplane, and 2) in a psych ward. i win for most dedicated fan tbfh. dsjkf & i'll keep that tradition, and i'll still watch this stupid show til it ends! it'll always hold a special place in my heart, & kyman's still my most meaningful & long-term ship. i'll never stop loving it. 

tl;dr

so, to recap; for 2020 i'm making myself step back from fandom (not just sp fandom, but fandom in general) and quit letting my world revolve around my fixations so i can enjoy the outside world a little more, mental illness be damned, and the first step is gonna be quitting tumblr. this blog won't be deleted and i may occasionally post (maybe when next season airs) but you're absolutely free to unfollow bc this'll be a mostly inactive blog. i’m also unfollowing everyone, so mutuals, please don’t take that personally. 

i will, however, try to write more prolifically, bc fic writing is something i'm able to do in moderation & enjoy, and i hope to get back into it. so if you'd like, you can keep an eye out for any upcoming fanfic i may post - my ao3 is leere. i also have snapchat, instagram, & twitter my mutuals can ask for asap (bc ill be logging out for good by the afternoon of the 31st, which is tomorrow) - though i'm not very active on any of them. still, if you wanna have access to me, i’ll be there.

i want some connection to the fandom still, albeit without letting my life revolve around it, so i'll be starting a new open-to-the-public kyman discord server! the post with the invite for that will go up soon. nvm im too anxious  

thank you for reading, thank you for the good times (thnks fr th mmrs), and i hope everyone has a good 2020! 

[uptakeeasy]

THARNTYPE The Series

First and last tumblr post here.

Recently started watching TharnType and have already re watched it many times.

I have such an emotional response watching this series that I can’t explain it and hence this blog entry is just to help me unravel my thoughts. My foray into gay love stories started a few years back when I became disillusioned with cliched straight romances and wanted to watch something that still makes me believe in love(adult life is hard). I have come to such a point now that even gay stories don’t move me anymore and I am always looking for plot holes or rolling my eyes at seemingly romantic gestures.

BL is not for me. Most of the stories, acting, side characters become so cringe worthy and immature ,that I get second hand embarrassment just watching them ( sorry BL fans,I am an embittered,old cat lady). Anyway few days back I wanted to check out the BL universe to see whats new. Came upon Tharn Type,watched the first episode ,judged it,judged myself for getting turned on at the non con scene,hated myself,hated it.

Anyway to clean my palate I searched for top 5 BLs according to different  sources and started watching. SOTUS was hella boring, with that weird Hazing like ritual ( I have been to schools with that old school senior junior interaction and can’t stand it. Also I have problem with authority). Anyway tried the first episode ,didn’t click. Tried the second season ,didn’t click. Moved on to LBC. Was impressed by the extremely healthy relationship displayed by the main couple.But the chemistry was missing and the plot was way too simplistic and sugar sweet for my taste.Also I know people love Pete but I am not a fan of fragile flower characters( sorry not sorry).

Anyway after checking out TWM : Next chapter (and getting enraged at the cheating story line, like seriously you guys fucked up two beautiful relationships for drama) and Heroin, which I am not a fan of at all (I have zero emotional response to it) but I love the OST, I came back to square one because I was so frustrated by everything that I watched.

Checked out episode 2 and 3. Still squicked out by Tharn’s excessive touching but I did like the comedy(I think this is the first BL where I actually laughed at the jokes non sarcastically, that Techno character is hilarious), the music and the acting. It was also pleasantly surprising to see dark topics (sexual assault, online bullying(If I can call it that),homophobia) being addressed. Although they didn’t go too deep into these things but I felt that at least some thought was put into the writing and those were not just pointless plot devices.

Binged watched till episode 11 and became obsessed. The Tharn who I hated in the first three episodes became a gentle,kind,loving,bruised soul (who should keep his hands and lips to himself sometimes), hot headed, impulsive,immature Type (who needs to stop punching his boyfriend) became a softer, empathetic,intense lover who protects what is his. As an older adult I know the intensity of their relationship is almost toxic. Fire and ice looks good for drama but in reality can be explosive.

But, I don’t know what it is, somehow these two make me root for them. They make me believe that there is someone for everyone and sometimes the most imperfect things coming together can be close to perfection.

From the writing, I can gauge that the writer loves all the characters and sees them as actual human beings. We get to know something about everyone and none of them look one dimensional to me. I literally empathize with everyone. No one is evil (except Lhong,but I have a feeling that his backstory will make us understand him,not agree with his actions of course) and no one is a saint. They are actual people with flaws, big and small who can still be loved despite how broken they are or how detestable their actions may seem.

As for their love, it is obsessive,jealous and too demanding at times while at other times it is understanding,nurturing and soothing.Many BLs have so many characters and story lines that we end up getting a shallow character study of everyone. With these two ,I feel like I know them,what their motivations are,why they react the way on certain things,etc. Tharn and Type’s conversations actually feel like real conversations between lovers to me, discussing their past,their likes,dislikes,family,etc.(except the sex talk, I think most couple just do it,they don’t talk about it). Another thing I find refreshing is the reversal of roles outside the bedroom. Love it.

Also the plot is so engaging and fast paced. Kudos to the author.Personally I have a very short attention span so the fact that I am engaged throughout the 50 minute run time is nothing short of amazing to me.I have read almost everything that was available about the story and the characters online.  To me,Tharn and Type are the silly (sometimes infuriating) teenagers who grow into good,strong human beings together,helping each other along the way. After Broke Back mountain and Skam S3, this is the only love story that has moved me to tears.I have heard both the OSTs and Hold me tight actually makes this adult woman cry every time. That song is the series, everything that happens between Tharn and Type can be summed up through that wonderful ballad. I am going to learn the Thai lyrics just so I can someday sing it with a guitar.

I have learnt some things from this series,which make me think:

I hope people are kind to each other and learn to forgive each other.

I hope people learn from their mistakes and grow into better human beings.

I hope people find love in life and when they do, they fiercely protect it because it is a precious and elusive thing.

After the honeymoon phase is over it is normal everyday life, the chemicals present in the initial few days are gone, which leads to break down of so many relationships. When ennui of real life sets in ,one starts seeing the flaws in one’s partner. Every small thing becomes irritating. Tharn and Type have already seen the worst of each other and have accepted it, it makes me feel in my gut that they can make it. I read somewhere that they stay together till the end and actually become each other’s last ,the way they promised when they were 18. (if only real life was so sweet).

Well you know what, after watching the series and knowing the full story they make me believe that they can make it

PS: I know fans will be furious at my disregard for the other series’ mentioned but people can have different tastes and that is okay. I didn’t like them, you can hate TharnType, there is something for everyone.My intention isn’t to unfairly criticize them but just to express why I got so moved by Tharn Type.

I often don’t feel deeply about things,so thank you for moving me TharnType.

[pytsfantasy]

Unfaithful (Part 1) (Connor RK800 x reader)

Warnings : Sex mentioned (But nothing is nsfw/smut.), Angst? I think? but of course, not a strong one!

Talk : Hi! So this is my first time posting here! I’m not a native speaker, so I think there’ll mistakes for sure. Even though, I’ve checked them so many times. Please, forgive me! Hope you’ll understand what I’m trying to say. Feel free to criticize and comment. I’m willingly to take it and will try to improve for sure. :D 

There’ll be part 2 but I wrote it 3 ways and still can’t decide which way I want it to be. There are 1) Angst 2) Fluff 3) A little nsfw but of course, not explicit! Just a Dom!Con...(Ok. I haven’t finished this one yet but already has plan for a very long, long time. Just can’t help but blushing every time I try to write him dominating and can’t keep going on...) I’m considering to post it all like the game itself, it’s what you choice to read. ^^”

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

It was over. Stop. Y/N’s not and never going to come back to his arms. He had been repeating this to himself for almost a million times, his brown eyes followed the couple everywhere.

You kept clinging to your lover’s left arm and kissed your new boyfriend with smile and giggles. While he was sitting in the car beside the driver seat, watching you while waiting for Hank, feeling his artificial heart throbbing so bad, badly. There was nothing more than a painful glint in his eyes.

He still remembered how it had ended two weeks ago.

 .

 .

 .

He came back from work at Detroit Police Department. He swung the door opened with a relieved small smile and a bit of anticipation to hold your body in his arms but all of that vanished in a blink. All of those positive feelings was thrown somewhere at the back of his throat as he found himself in astonishment, eyes widened.

 “I’m sorry.” You pushed him away and walked out through the door he had opened. Your suitcases were held in your right hand.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” He followed you. You were looking left and right of the street.

 You turned around to face him. Then, inhaled deeply and sighed. You gazed into his eyes and threw your arms up. You closed your E/C eyes and declared in unfaltering voice. “We Broke Up.” You told him clearly, no hesitation. You had decided. It was over. You thought it was the best this way.

 Thoughts of differences between androids and humans started to creep and change your attitude toward your romantic relationship.

It was just a deviancy that had been deceiving him that he could feel like a human, he actually felt nothing, he couldn’t feel. It was just 0s and 1s that resulted emotions simulations in him.

Sex with him wasn’t boring but you know, detective androids weren’t designed to perform sexual actions, so he didn’t have a functional genital like those in the Eden club and this truth somehow had been disturbing you for a month. Your filthy human instinct and belief were whispering that sex wasn’t intimate and more like masturbating to a sex doll if the significant other never felt the satisfaction.

One day, you could die and he would still be here. Or in the reverse role, what if one day there was an upgraded model of his. The one who would be faster, stronger, more resilient and equipped the latest technologies. And imagine this, he got a badly injury during his duty, he would need spare parts but unfortunately, like other technologies, his model would be an older version and there wouldn’t have spare parts available. In the end, he passed away before you supposedly would. It may sounded crazy but there was a high risk of it to happen. And you knew, you couldn’t stand it. You felt fear.

After the android’ peaceful protest success, there were some people who were still against a new intelligent species and of course, against your attitude and relationship with androids too. Their words were criticizing, judging your life, bullying you with knives shooting from their mouth straight through your heart and vulnerability.

 “Crazy chick dating a good looking designed doll.”

“Weird girl who is so desperate to date a man but can’t find a single one, so she’s dating a tin can.”

“How does it feel to play kinky stuffs with some hard metal stick? Oh, or plastic? Oh, oh, or silicone?“

“Don’t you feel weird dating a thing that can’t truly feel love? You know, it seems like a one-sided relationship for me. I mean…I wouldn’t even like to call it a relationship.”

 So many reasons and voices convinced you it was the best way to end it up like this.

 He blinked, he was trying to gain conscious.

 “What? Why?”

The answered instantly parked right in front of him. The shiny black sport car tires squeaked as it stopped. The driver was some good-looking guy, an attractive one. Before he would be able to question you any further, you stepped in that car and disappeared along with that devil.

No doubt, no need to find evidences and reconstruct. You had been unfaithful to him.

The reasons were so simple and very understandable. He could guess it on his own without need to ask you why again.

You would never really accept him as an android. You doubted his emotions. You felt insecure about the relationship and cheated on him with an unknown guy.

If he wasn’t an android, you would stay with him, right?

Tears were slowly falling down. He felt like his Thirium pump was falling to pieces. He wished he was born, not manufactured. He wished he was born a human who you would want to be with forever.

If you took a second glance at him at the moment, would you stop doubting his existing emotions? Would these tears prove you that it wasn’t just 0s and 1s in his program?

Heartbroken, sorrow, cheated started to build another painful feeling, anger.

All those sweet nothings you told him at night and dawn, all those convincing shits you said you didn’t mind him being an android and deeply loved him for who he truly was, all those tight hugs welcoming him home, all those passionate warm kisses, all those roses you surprised him on Valentine’s day – They were all deceptive lies.

These emotions were just too much to handle. He tapped his chest, trying to calm down. His eyes were looking everywhere, trying to find a thing to focus on. His lips, hands, knees were trembling.

If you were here, you would lay with him on the bed, cuddle, softly tell him that it would be alright as your hand were running through his soft hair.

Oh. Why was he reminiscing that memories anyway? You never meant it. All of them was LIES.

And that was what hurt the most.

 .

 .

 .

That was what hurt the most and still to this moment.

He was sitting on the couch in the dark, repeating all those sweet memories and heartbreaking moments of you.

His hand laid on where you liked to sit on the couch. His hand longingly trailed all over where you liked to sit. He could remember your body shape, your curves, your warmth, your scent, your smiles and your sparkling eyes.

He could delete all those memories of you but when he had to confirm his intention to delete it, he always changed his mind and kept it there.

He missed you so much but also hated you at the same time.

[ninabeyou]

Jacksepticeye imagine: a night alone

A/N: This isn't a typical imagine (one-shot) because it's just @therealjacksepticeye/Seán in this one, well and the lovely @wiishu/Signe (mentioned only) and @pixlpit/Robin (more towards the end and if you somehow get to read this: Robin I'm sorry in advance). It's a (kind of) horror story about Jack and primarily Anti. Little disclaimer: The characters are not mine I'm just borrowing them for my story. Now buckle the fuckle up and I hope you enjoy!

Seán/Jack's Point of view:

Today was a day that I didn't really want to do anything I wasn't feeling the energy. Maybe because I kind of missed Signe. She was on a trip with her family. I sat down in my couch scrolling through all my socials. I reblogged some posts, replied to a few things. The instant chill packs were the best thing that happened to me, beside Signe of course. I sent her a goodnight message and read some really nice messages from one member of the community to another. A new message popped up. I read it. I've seen the username before but couldn't recall any posts of them.

'Dear Jack, sometimes saying the things I want is impossible, even writing makes me anxious. I'm scared to be judged and I know you won't but I'm still scared so just a simple thank you will do for now. You are my hero.'

I sat back and my eyes scanned over the message again. I wanted to do something but what could I do? I sighed and ruffled my hair out of my face, stupid hair. A reply was posted. Unfortunately not a nice one.

'Attention seeker you just want Jack to notice you.' It said.

I was getting frustrated. You cannot do that online. I raged down some words but before I could press the post button a really nice and inspiring reply popped up.

'Agree to disagree. You think that's the case but don't judge a book by it's cover, we all fight a battle the outside world doesn't see, so be nice and that's what our community stands for. We stand for kindness and humbleness we take care of each other. No matter how bad it gets.You have the right to have your opinion and I will respect that opinion as long as you don't disrespect another human being's existence. Before you comment think will this do more harm than good? If the answer is yes try to say it in a different way or just ignore it if you can't put it in another way but don't hate, please. You push people with real issues back in a box and hurt people that mistreat the fact that these issues exist. I hope you see where I'm coming from here. Thank you for reading. Poster of this post, I can't solve what you're going through but you're definitely not alone, we won't judge you, you are one of us and we care about you deeply. So please take care of yourself.'

I was blown away by how nice people were, it happened in my community every second but it fascinates me. It was really inspiring. A few reactions oozed in, but that one long reaction made me think. I got up and starting pacing back and forth in the living room. I had to do something with this. I had to show that the people in the community inspired me as well because I always say they do but this is a perfect example. A smile crept up my face as an idea popped in my head.

"Jack you're a genius." I smiled to myself, "And also talking to yourself."

I laughed at my realization and walked into my recording studio. Okay starting of with some tests. The setup was over sooner than I realized. I took a deep breath and warmed up my voice a bit. I was about to record when I heard a noise. I frowned. No one should be in here but me. I felt tempted to shout hello, but no one really replies as a burglar do they? I was debating wether I should leave it or be a detective and investigate. The death silence that filled the house convinced me to just let it pass. Probably nothing. I pressed record.

"And now a special reading your comments. Today I wanted to share something very special with you guys. I was scrolling through the twitts and Tumblr as I do and I came passed a post. It was someone who wrote that they were afraid to say what they wanted to say because they were anxious of being judged, which is a really brave move. Reaching out to me even though you feel anxious. I appreciate it, but then there was a mean comment and I was fuming with hate I really wanted to hate on him for hurting someone so courageous and I almost did. Luckily for me one of you was faster than me and she or he wrote a really nice message and I was really inspired by it. Everything she says in it is true. I don't know if I should read it out because it's very long but you can see it on my Tumblr. I don't really know I want to read it though." I said, "Okay I'm going to do it."

I read out the reply, but halfway through a glitch interrupted me.

"Sorry a glitch interrupted me." I apologized.

The noise was back. I was confused. To be honest I was a little scared I looked behind me just to be sure that no one was there. The noise was ongoing so I was doubting to check it out.

"I'm sorry weird things are happening. I'll be right back." I said and opened the door.

As soon as the door opened the noise was gone again, but this time I was going to investigate. All I needed was something to protect myself with. I closed the door behind me and snook into the hall. The first thing I saw that could be useful was a heavy book. It seemed to be the best option for now. I searched around the house but no one was there. I shrugged and went back to my recording room. The door was slightly ajar. I froze in my spot. I'm a 100 percent sure that I closed it. Someone was in my recording room. I took a deep breath and clenched the book in my hand. I pushed the door open, but I didn't see anyone. This was really weird. I sighed and put the book down.

"I'm going insane." I smiled to the camera "Anyway let's continue and yes I was going to attack the burglar with a book."

My screen glitched, again.

"Cute." I heard. "What is happening?" I asked.

I turned around and the message on the board had changed. It used to say "Butterfly Effect" but that had changed into 'I'm watching you Seán'.

"If this is a prank it's real good thank you, but I had enough." I said.

Red liquid started dripping from behind the whiteboard.

"What the f***?"

I touched it. A weighed fell from my shoulders as I realized it was just paint.

"It's paint now, but it'll be blood soon. Your blood." I heard.

I recognised the voice and was glued in my spot. A hand touched my shoulder and I turned around.

"This isn't possible." I mumbled. "It's pretty possible Seán because I'm here." Anti chuckled.

I stumbled back. My back against the board. Anti laughed and glitched around the room.

"It's in your head Jack." I said and covered my ears. "Kind of." Anti smiled, "Only better, I'm actually real."

Anti ghosted his knife over my body.

"Don't fear human, Jackaboy man is here!" I heard. "Glad you could join the party." Anti chuckled and glitched away from me.

Jackaboy helped me up.

"Are you okay?" He asked.

I nodded. I thanked him. Our friendly conversation got interrupted.

"This is just priceless. Jackaboy man, you impressed me who knew you were a backstabbing hero." "I'm not a backstabber. Neither are you." Jackaboy said. "True I prefer the throat. So I can see life pour out of their eyes. They'll know it's me. It's only fair for a villain like me." Anti smiled.

Jackaboy didn't really know what to say.

"You seem caught of guard 'hero'. Should I recollect your memory? I'm here because you wanted me to. You gave me this brilliant idea." Anti smiled. "No I was messing around it was quiet." Jackaboy said.

I stepped back.

"Jack don't listen to him. It's not true." "Take a seat Seán, this is a fun little story." Anti laughed. "Anti don't!"

Anti glitched and suddenly we were on top of the roof.

I looked down and almost screamed. Anti dragged me away from the edge.

"You're afraid of heights don't stand on the edge, weakling." Anti sighed. "Why are we on the roof?" I asked. "I'm going to tell you a story, have you been paying attention?" Anti asked. "I know that but why on a roof?" "A bedtime story under the skies doesn't that sound amazing? I'm the villain not a monster and after the story then I'll kill you. Perfection takes time weak creature." Anti smirked and let the knife roll between his fingers. "Anti stop!" Jackaboy man shouted. "Stop with what? Telling the truth?" "No ruining our home." "Home? You create chaos in his head just so you can be the hero and fix it. Dr Schneeplestien is not a real doctor and Marvin is fascinated by being a crook. Don't you see we're all villains! I'm not the crazy one!" Anti shouted he glitched towards Jackaboy. "Anti stop!" I tried. "You can't stop me!" He said and looked at me. "Anti please I don't want to hurt you." Jackaboy man sighed. "This was your idea, to be free that's what you wanted. Right?" "It gets bored but come on anti we can fix this! There is always another option." "Probably but this is the most fun one. He's weak! Once we're free I can create chaos and you can safe them. I'm doing you a favor here Jack. We don't need Seán. We would do much better on our own, just you and me. Secret allies. I create chaos and you solve it you'll be a hero. They'll love you like they love Spiderman. Come on Jackaboi man. Join me." Anti smirked. "Jackaboy man a hero." He smirked. "Jackaboy, no, he is fooling you." I shouted. "I'm sorry, Jack." He said and turned to anti. "It's okay I forgive you." I smiled.

Jackaboy turned back to me and saw the genuine smile on my face. He took a moment to think and stepped away from Anti.

"I'm sorry Anti I'm a hero." "No!" Anti shouted and glitched his way to me.

We were in back inside, well inside my old room.

"Anti what are we doing here?" I asked. "Listen." Anti said. "Top of the morning to you laddies, my name is Jacksepticeye and welcome to five nights at Freddy's: sister location." The words echoed through the room. "You're first appearance." I realized. "Here I was created to be a monster I was the scary one, the villain, the troubled outsider." "Anti? What's going on? Why did you bring me here?" I asked calm. "Because I liked it here. All my memories are here." "Anti do you miss it?" "I don't! Feelings are for the weak." He snapped. "Jackaboi man for the savior once more." Jackaboy said. "You, again." "You're predictable Anti." Jackaboi said. "Is that so Jackaboy?" Anti smiled.

Anti flashed his way towards Jackaboy man and pushed his knife into Jackaboy's stomach. I felt the pain myself. This was one of my worst fears. Anti looked in Jackaboy's eyes.

"I'm sorry my friend." Anti said. "Anti Stop!" I shouted.

Jackaboy man fell on the ground. His body turned into neon green lights as the symbol on my arm took them out of the air.

"How could you?" I asked. "Sorry you had to see that Seán." Anti smiled. "You're insane! Why did you do that?" "He was in my way."

A tear slipped down my face.

"I failed you, Jack. I'm sorry." I heard. "It's okay, hero." I whispered.

Anti turned around and his eyes were completely black. It freaked me out.

"Okay Jack, you got this." I mumbled to myself.

I swung my fist at anti but he wasn't even bothered by it. Anti stopped my fist and forced me down on my knees. I had never experienced so much pain. I used my other hand to free myself. Anti stumbled back and I ran as fast as I could.

I got out my phone and called the first person that came to mind. Robin.

"Jack? Why are you calling this late?" "Anti just killed Jackaboy and now he's after me!" "So one mental creation killed another mental creation? Jack are you okay?" "This is serious Robin!" I shouted and hid behind the tree.

Anti was nowhere to be seen. I heard his laugh though.

"You heard that too right?" Robin asked. "Yeah I've told you, it's Anti." "He's a creation Jack." Robin said less confident than usual. "I'm in the middle of nowhere in Ireland. He's real." I said "What the - No! Don't please!" Robin's line got cut off. "Robin?" I asked.

Nothing. I cursed under my breath.

"Peekaboo." Anti smiled. It made me jump. I hated the glitchy jump scares. "What did you do to Robin?" I asked genuinely scared. "Don't worry I haven't killed him. Yet." Anti said. "Leave him alone." "I would but you care about him, so I might as well torture you with it." "Anti stop this." I tried, "You're not as evil as you show yourself to be." "You're right weakling, unfortunately I'm much worse." Anti grinned and glitched us back to my home in Brighton.

Robin was lying on the floor. I went over to him. He had a wound in his leg and on top of head

"Robin?" I asked and shook his shoulder. "Jack?" He asked weak. "I'm here Robin." I said an helped him sit up against the wall. "There you go buddy. I've got you." I smiled. "How adorable." Anti laughed. "Jack, go. Get out. You can run, just go." Robin mumbled. "No time to be a hero Robin. I'm keeping you safe." I said determined. "No Seán, run. Maybe someone else will keep you here, Mark, Bob, PJ, Wade or I could always get her in here as well... you know our lovely Signe?" Anti smirked. "Leave her out of this." I said trying to calm myself down. "Don''t worry. I like her I'll only hurt her if you make it necessary." "You're the worst Anti." I said. "Thank you." He smiled.

Robin mumble something but I couldn't understand.

"What do you want?" I asked and gave into his threats. "I thought it was obvious. I want to be free and Schneeplestien had a plan to help me but then he turned on me so here I am. Trying to figure out what he meant. He was a horrible doctor but he had brains in contrast to you." "What did he say before you killed him?" "He said I'd never be free." Anti said and approached me, "But you know what Seán I rather die then be locked up in there." "My mind isn't a bad place." I defended myself. "No it's a beautiful place full of positivity, kindness, love and toys. I hate it. I'm the wrong one out. I don't belong there everything is so bright I might go blind just being in my home. All the colours make it so lively and it's not me. I don't give life I want to end yours, Seàn." Anti said and held the knife against my throat. "Anti Stop!" I heard Robin groaned.

I looked back and Robin was trying to get up.

"Another wannabe superhero, I see." "Anti leave him alone. Robin is our friend." I tried. "I hate superhero's." Anti said and sliced Robin's throat open. "NO!!!!" I shouted and caught Robin in my arms.

My heart broke into a million pieces.

"Robin was our friend." I cried. "He's just a human, you'll get over it." "No he wasn't just another human! He was my friend." I said and balled my fists. "Seán calm down buddy." Anti said and stepped back.

I looked at myself and I held a knife like anti. My instinct was to kill anti but I thought about how it all started. I tossed the knife to Anti's feet.

"Leave and never come back, please." I said and turned around. "Seán. what are you doing?" Anti asked. "I'm forgiving you. I just can't look at you when I do because you hurt my friends and that's not okay, but hate doesn't thrive out hate. Love does." "You sicken me." Anti said. "And I'm sorry just leave." I cried. "No. You can't win this. I'm the strong one." "Goodbye Anti." I said and took a deep breath.

I closed my eyes and everything went quiet. I opened my eyes and I was in the couch no blood on my hands nothing. Was it all just a dream? It felt so real though. I just had to be sure Robin was okay. I couldn't care less if he was asleep I couldn't lose my friend. I called him voicemail. I tried again and again. Why wasn't he answering.

"Come on Robin." I mumbled, "Just try again Jack he's probably just asleep."

I kept trying and I was getting worried. Tears were welling up in my eyes.

"Mhmm. Who is this?" A grudgy voice asked. "Robin?" I asked. "Jack? Is that you?" The voice on the other side asked. "Yeah." I sniffed, "It's me, are you okay?" "You're the one calling me at 3:30, Crying? And you ask if I'm okay? Jack, is everything okay?" "Yeah just a nightmare probably It's stupid sorry I woke you up." "It's not just a nightmare Jack. You called me like a million times what's going on?" Robin asked. "I was recording a reading your comments video and then anti was like a second me and he killed Jackaboi man and then you were there and he killed you and it all felt so real and I don't know I'm freaking out. I think I am losing my mind." I explain freaking out. "Jack breath, I'm okay and as far as I can tell I'm alive. Do you want to like video chat or something? We could play some games to distract you." "I don't want to keep you awake." "Sleep is for the weak. Isn't that something you used to say?" Robin smiled. "Okay, just let me go upstairs." I smiled.

Robin and I switched to video chat. We played some video games and chatted a bit about my crazy night.

"I sound like a hero." Robin smiled. "You tried real hard to be one. It killed you though.” I smiled. “Well don't get used to it I won't do it in real life." Robin joked. "Let's all hope that never happens again." I laughed "Yeah. Anyway you're okay now right?" "Yeah I'm fine. I'm holding on to the positive mental attitude. A nightmare won't change that. I have friends like you who pick up in the middle of the night because my imagination is absolutely messed up." I smiled. "Yeah don't make it a habit. I do need my sleep." Robin smiled. "Don't worry. I won't." I smiled.

I felt the happiness fill my body again. It was just a nightmare. Anti was still a piece of my imagination and not a real person. There was nothing to worry about. 

"Keep thinking that Jack." Anti whispered looking at me through the window.

[truthofherdreams]

spoiler alert

@emmabeauchamp bullied me into writing a Dreaming Prince/Captain Swan Soulmates AU with the tattoos thingy based on a tumblr post, which I did because I’m a good friend or something (ao3)

Gideon is a walking spoiler.

He figures it out when he's nine, glasses too big for his face, hiding under the covers with a book and a flashlight. He's always felt kinda bad, as long as he can remember, to have a soulmate tattoo about someone dying. About someone he doesn't know dying. Is it a person he'll meet in the future? Someone he will learn to care about? Someone important?

But suddenly he's nine, and reading under the covers way past his bedtime, and the loud gasp escapes his lips. He struggles, getting tangled in the blankets in his haste to reach his tattoo, but there is it. The messy handwriting, the words he's known by heart since he was four.

Gideon is nine when he starts Harry Potter.

His tattoo read, “Dude, I can't believe Dumbledore dies!”

Thankfully for him, his tattoo is high on his ribcage, so hiding it from the world isn't that big of a problem. It's not like he goes to the beach or the swimming pool that often anyway, and he has very little reasons to take his shirt off in public. Keeping it a secret is less complicated than he would have thought at first.

Not so thankfully, though, his life becomes a nightmare from now on. He meets Melody on his first day in high school, and she's so proud of her tattoo she wants everyone else to be too. Which means she wants to know everything about Gideon’s mark. Which means he has to try twice as hard to hide it away from her. He's pretty sure she thinks he's one of the very rare people who doesn't have a soulmate, and she pities him a little. Even his story about having a boring “Hey!” on his ribs doesn't convince her, not that Gideon tries to be particularly convincing. But it's still better than telling her the truth, isn't it?

The truth he has to keep to himself. And, seriously, it's ruining all the Harry Potter fun for him. When everyone else around him gets excited which each new book in the series being released, Gideon only feels dread in his stomach when he turns the pages. Is it finally it? The book where poor Albus Dumbledore meets his macabre destiny?

Once, he even wonders what would happen if he were to write to the author about it. Perhaps he would be the one to give her the idea, because Dumbledore was never meant to die but now she has to kill him off if it means some random kid from Maine can meet his soulmate. Or maybe she would backtrack on it and Gideon would be left with a meaningless tattoo for a soulmate he would never meet. Butterflies and hurricanes, the thought scary enough to stop him from grabbing a pen and a piece of paper.

Eight year of torture, the eight longest years of his life, before the fifth book comes out and puts him out of his misery for good. It’s almost a relief, really -- he’s probably the only one on Earth relieved that Dumbledore dies, and the thought alone makes his head spin. He doesn’t want to resent his soulmate for it, because it isn’t fair on the guy, but, really. His soulmate ruined Harry Potter for him. He kinda resents him, just a little.

Still, Melody is sitting in front of him at lunch, head in her hands, like the word crumbled around her and she doesn’t know how to react. Gideon would say he knows how she feels, but -- it wasn’t exactly a plot twist for him now, was it?

“It’s just a book,” he tells her, even if he knows it won’t change anything.

And, indeed, she glares at him, black hair falling in front of her eyes even when she huffs to push it away. She glares, before she squints. “Why are you reacting like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re not reacting at all.”

He shrugs, the truth sticking to the back of his teeth, before he remembers. It isn’t a secret anymore. It’s out there in the open for everyone to read, and it isn’t a secret he has to keep any longer. The sigh escapes his lips, loud and heavy, his shoulders sagging a little. Melody quirks an eyebrow at him, but still follows him outside the cafeteria when he gestures for her to follow him, the wheels of her chair squeaking on the floor. He finds an empty corridor easily -- everyone either in the cafeteria or outside during that time of the day -- and lifts his shirt up for her to see the words etched into his skin.

Unsurprisingly, she bursts into laughter.

 …

 Nothing happens during the following week, or month.

Gideon can guess why.

 …

 His hand in on Melody’s back, helping her down the stairs while she struggles with her crutches -- not for the first time, he offered to carry her, but she’s too proud to look weak in public. Her wheelchair is down the stairs, just next to the big screen, and so Gideon helps her down once almost everyone in the cinema has left the room. It’s only them and a handful of people, as they make their way down slowly. A bead of sweat rolls down Melody’s forehead, his hand reaching for her elbow, when he hears it.

“Dude, I can’t believe Dumbledore dies!”

Both he and Melody stop in their track, turning around as one to face the guy behind them. Medium-height, blond hair curling around a baseball cap, hoodie too big for his frame. That’s about everything Gideon sees of him, before he snaps.

“You! You’re the one!” The guy’s eyes widen, the pupils a deep green even in the darkness of the cinema, and Gideon barely has time to think, This is your soulmate, holy shit, before he goes on. “You ruined this for me! All of this! You ruined Harry Potter for me!”

The girl behind him -- she looks so much like him, only slightly older, that she can only be his sister -- loses it right here and then, laughing so loudly everyone else around them stops and stares. Not that Gideon cares all that much when, breaths laboured and heavy, he can only stare at the guy in front of him. Damn, but he’s pretty too, even if wildly confused.

“That’s not really how I imagined that being said,” he kind of half-mumbles.

His sister laughs louder. Melody huffs a snort too. Gideon only stares and stares and stares, unable to react, to answer, to do anything at all. And then the guy is smiling and he knows, truly, deeply, how fucked he is, because there are double dimples in his cheeks and sparkles in his eyes and this is your soulmate, goddammit, who cares about stupid Dumbledore.

From the corner of his eye, he sees that the blonde girl is now taking care of Melody, helping her down the stairs and, most likely, making sure to leave them some space. Gideon’s breath hitches in his throat at the thought, even more so when the other guy takes a step down and closer to him. He’s smaller than Gideon, not that it’s that difficult -- he’s been towering over everyone since he was about fourteen, too tall for his own good. And pretty. He’s so damn pretty Gideon has no idea where to go from there. He’s never been really good at the whole flirting thing, but everything happening right now makes it even worse.

“I’m Leo,” the boy says with the same mirthful grin.

I’m a mess, he wants to reply. But, instead and rather pitifully, “Gi--Gideon.”

“Nice to meet you,” Leo grins. “And sorry about the Dumbledore thing.”

“I will never forgive you,” Gideon deadpans. A little too much, maybe, because Leo’s smile drops for a moment, before he catches up with the poor attempt at humour and laughs softly. He has a beautiful laugh. The kind of laugh Gideon would very much like to hear all his life. Geez, five minutes and he’s so far gone it’s not even funny.

Leo puts his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and bites down on his bottom lip, drawing Gideon’s eyes to his mouth even as he moves closer still. Can you die of a heart attack so young? Maybe he’ll be the first one, a medical anomaly. “I can make it up to you, maybe?”

Call 911.

Help.

 …

 Emma sits on the hood of her car, eyes on her phone, when Leo gets out of the cinema. Even from afar and with his cap hiding half his face, she can see the smug grin on his face. Not that she blames him. Her little brother has always been more of a romantic fool than she ever was, has always believed his life could only be complete once he met his soulmate -- and why would he think otherwise anyway, with such a sweet tattoo on his bicep. She doesn’t blame him for the halo of happiness following him right now.

She doesn’t blame him, even if she tries her best to ignore the jealousy in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes, Emma wonders what her life would be like if she had never met Neal, if she had chosen another dark alley to come home faster, if she had left Ruby’s house just five minutes later. If she had never met Neal, and his stupid smiles and his stupid pickup line that matched the tattoo on her wrist. Neal and his lies, his deceits, his bullshit. Neal, who pretended to be her soulmate, just because.

“His name is Gideon,” Leo gloats once he’s close enough to the car.

“That’s a nerdy name if I’ve ever heard one,” Emma comments, just to be an asshole. Not that Leo cares, both because he’s used to their banter and because he’s too happy to care about anything right now. “But you’re into nerds so…”

“You’re into nerds,” he shoots back lamely.

She grins. “Got his number?”

Leo opens his mouth, before horror flashes through his eyes. It’s all Emma needs to lose her shit again, laughing out loud as she watches her baby brother stammer pitifully before he quickly says, “I’ll be back,” and runs back inside. Emma bites down on her lip, snickering to herself, before she shakes her head.

Romantic fool indeed.

When she checks her phone again, she has about three dozen Whatsapp notifications -- most of them from Anna on the girls’ group chat -- and she sighs loudly before opening the app. Knowing Leo, she has more than enough time to catch up on her friend’s shenanigans anyway. She’s scrolling through the conversation, mostly about Anna’s upcoming wedding, when she hears some kind of noise to her left.

Looking up, she finds one guy from the cinema walking toward the large dumpsters by the other side of the parking lot, his arms full of folded boxes. She looks at him from the corner of her eye, and he must sense it because he stops in his track and looks back. He’s wearing all black, from his pants to his shirt to the stupid cap on his head, which makes him look like some cat burglar in a Nickelodeon show, or something.

“Nobody ever told you it’s dangerous to be alone at night?”

A cold shiver runs down her spine at the word, and she fights the urge to scratch the skin of her wrist. It’s just a line. Nothing but a line. “Fuck off,” she mumbles instead, before she focuses back on her phone. Or at least tries to, because she can’t focus on anything beside those fucking words, can’t focus on anything beside the guy in the corner of her eyes who looks rightfully chastised.

“Sorry,” he says, taking a step forward, then stopping. He scratches his ear, and goes on, “It’s just -- don’t want anything happening to you, love.”

His English accent makes his vowels rounder and his pet name less annoying. When she looks back at him -- properly looks back, taking in his black hair and beard and the blue of his eyes -- he is almost blushing, like he’s actually embarrassed that his line was taken as anything but concern for a stranger. Which. It’s nice, she guesses. Not that she needs anyone’s concern, but it’s nice to know there are still a couple of good people on this stupid Earth.

“I know how to handle myself,” she answers. Then, because she sounds too much like an asshole, “But thanks. Appreciated.”

He smiles at her, a tight-lipped and awkward smile, before he takes a few steps toward the back door of the cinema. Thinks better of it. Comes back to her. Emma’s breath catches in her throat, her fingers reaching for the keys in her pocket so she can turn them into a makeshift weapon. Just in case, you never know.

“Listen, love. I know it’s bad form to ask those kinds of things because of privacy and all that, but would you mind telling me what your soulmate tattoo says?”

Emma’s mouth opens, her mind racing, her heart screaming. Run, run, run, it tells her. Run and save yourself, run and save me from breaking again. But her feet are stuck to the ground and her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and her mind is screaming and screaming and screaming.

“That’s personal,” she finds herself replying numbly when he takes another step forward and into her space. Close enough that she can see the scar on his cheek and the hope in his eyes. “Only to be shared with…”

“Your soulmate, I know.” He’s smiling now, his fingers reaching for the collar of his shirt. “But I’ve always been about leaps of faith, you see.”

And then he’s pulling his collar down, offering quite the view on his collarbone and his chest hair and Emma’s writing carved in black ink into his skin. The “Fuck off” in her loopy handwriting has something almost comical to it, in a very frightening way. She licks her lips, forcing herself to breath, not to move. She wants to run; she needs to run. Away, far away from him and his tattoo and its meaning. Far away from his hopefully eyes and tentative smile and beautiful face.

Instead, she finds herself reaching for her wrist, pulling up her sleeve. The cursive words are so tiny you need to look close if you want to read them. Not that Emma needs to. She’s read them enough to know them by heart, heard them twice already. Once by Neal, who was lying. And a second time by him, who isn’t.

“I can’t,” she whispers softly, “I can’t take a chance that this thing is wrong about you.”

When he takes a step forward this time, he’s so close she can count the freckles on his nose and feel his breath on her mouth, smell the burnt popcorn in his hair and on his shirt. The gasp gets stuck at the back on her throat when he takes her hand, his thumb rubbing circles against her palm.

He’s about to reply something -- some platitude she doesn’t need, perhaps -- when Leo calls her name from afar. His fingers slip away from her, leaving nothing but a shiver and the cold of the night in their wake. Emma refuses to miss his touch, and instead focuses on her brother jogging his way toward her, grin on his lips.

“Got his number. And a date.” He notices the guy then, and frowns. “Making friends?”

“Not really. Let’s go home.”

The guy opens his mouth once, twice, the hope in his eyes leaving place to a sad puppy face. Emma has to close her own eyes to stop herself from doing something stupid. Like believing soulmates are actually something in the cards for her. “You know where to find me,” he says so softly only she can hear.

When she slams the car’s door, it sounds like finality. Leo is still staring at her, before he mumbles something about how she can never let him have his moment and how she’s always stealing his thunder and making everything about herself, or something. She just turns the volume of the radio up to drown his rambling, and her own thoughts.

 …

 It takes five weeks.

But when she goes back, it’s not for a movie.

[murasaki-murasame]

Now that 2018 is more or less over and done with, I suppose it’s time for me to finally do a write-up for my top five anime of the year that I watched.

This is just gonna be about stuff that I actually managed to finish this year, so I’m gonna pre-emptively give an honorary mention to SSSS. Gridman, Bloom Into You, A Place Further Than The Universe, Liz and the Blue Bird, and Pop Team Epic for being anime that I know I’d love if I actually got around to starting/finishing them.

Anyway, the top five list is gonna be under the cut because this might get kinda long and I don’t wanna force people to witness my Terrible Anime Opinions.

#5: DEVILMAN CRYBABY

Oh boy, this sure is an anime, huh. I still struggle to wrap my mind around the fact that this actually came out this year, given how this year’s been about a decade long. There’s basically no way this one wasn’t going to be on this list. It’s a modern retelling of an 80′s classic that actually does a great job of working itself around the modern political climate, all while being super gorey, sexy, and gay.

The main reason why this isn’t higher is because, frankly, Devilman is the sort of anime that I struggled to have much of an emotional connection to, in spite of how objectively great it is. A lot of this might just be due to how it’s been about a year since I watched it, though. I definitely remember loving a lot of the stuff in the second half, but it didn’t quite balance out the way that the whole first half was kind of forgettable.

I’m glad that Masaaki Yuasa is getting a whole lot of new projects recently, though, and I wish that more adaptations of classics could be as daring and artistically unique as this one was.

#4: PLANET WITH

Even though this is a whole different type of genre compared to Devilman Crybaby, I had a similar reaction to it of having more of an objective respect for it than a subjective enjoyment of it, if that makes sense. Mecha stuff just isn’t really my thing, but this was undeniably fantastic in basically every way, so it deserves to be on this list.

Even though this was only one season long, it felt like it had more content to it than a lot of similar anime can manage to cover in three or four times the length, in a good way. If I had to commend just one aspect of this anime, it’d be that it’s an absolute master-classic in efficient storytelling that makes the utmost use of every single second of it’s run-time. There are a few characters who suffer a bit from having less screen-time and development than I would have liked, but the more broad story arcs and themes were handled almost perfectly.

Honestly, my biggest complaint with this, beyond my vague indifference toward mecha genre stuff in general, would be that I still don’t quite know how to feel about the way that it all ends in a message of forgiveness and hope. It’s probably the most well-written and hard-hitting example of that sort of ending that I’ve seen in a long time, but especially in today’s socio-political climate, I just don’t quite know how I feel about stories that are all about the power of forgiving people who have hurt you. But again, of all the stories I’ve seen with this sort of theme, this handled it the best out of all of them, so this is too minor and subjective of a complaint to be worth knocking it down too much for.

#3: RASCAL DOESN’T DREAM OF BUNNY-GIRL SENPAI

It might surprise people to see that a sorta-kinda-harem Bakemonogatari-lite show about a dude helping a series of girls get over their mental problems would make it onto this list, but it’s worth saying that Bakemonogatari is actually one of my favourite anime ever, so it’s probably not a surprise that this show’s on this list.

It does ultimately suffer a bit from how it really is just a show about a dude helping girls with their issues, and all of the genre baggage that carries along with it, but it’s definitely one of the most well-handled takes on this whole concept. Sometimes it can veer into being TOO quiet and casual, but overall I love how realistic and down to earth it is in discussing and exploring different things. It strikes a nice middle-ground between being too over the top, and too boring.

The strongest part of this as a whole was definitely the central relationship between it’s two main characters, who had an incredibly refreshing amount of communication and openness, while still being moody and imperfect teenagers. But on a more subjective note, the part that hit me the hardest and almost single-handedly ensured that this show would make it’s way into this list was the final arc of the season, and the way it explored it’s core topics of crippling mental health problems, and the complicated nature of recovering from such things.

This probably deserves a post all on it’s own, so I won’t go too deeply into it here, but the final few episodes of this show were some of the most surprisingly realistic and empathetic portrayals of severe agoraphobia and social anxiety that I’ve ever seen in basically anything. It was wonderful. It even managed to use seemingly cookie-cutter ‘little sister character’ tropes to explore how people can cope with their life situations. Most of all, it hit me surprisingly hard how it explored the way that people living with severe mental illness can pretty much develop a whole new identity and life centered around that, and how a central part of recovery can involve having to pretty much discard all those parts of your personality and daily life. It’s an idea that I haven’t really seen any other story explore, but the idea of recovery can become incredibly scary in it’s own right because of that. It can feel like the person you are now, the person living with mental illness, has to be killed in order to make way for the ‘real you’, the version of you who will live a completely different, but healthier life. It’s easy to think that recovery is a wholly good thing, but for the person going through the process, it can create it’s own grief. It means a lot to me that even an anime like this can empathize with and place value on the lives that people with mental illness lead, while acknowledging that it’s not as simple as ‘they’re more healthy now so what’s the problem?’. Seeing Kaede become a completely different person and forget all about who she had been for the last several years was low-key one of the most tragic things I’ve seen in an anime in a long time.

Basically what I’m saying is that we need more anime that have a nuanced and empathetic understanding of mental health. This show might have been kinda wonky in the long run [Nodoka’s arc in particular was just straight-up boring and predictable, and even Kaede’s arc ended on a relatively flat, ‘check out the movie sequel coming out in a few months! :^)’ sorta note], but it struck such a personal chord with me by the end that there’s no way it wasn’t gonna be on this list.

#2: REVUE STARLIGHT

I wasn’t sure where exactly on this list I should put this, since in a lot of ways it was another show that I had more of an objective appreciation for than anything else, but in the end, the sheer aesthetic prowess of this show lead it to being in the number two spot.

I knew from the start that it would at least be a visual and auditory treat, since it has so many inspirations in Ikuhara’s older works, but it still managed to genuinely surprise me with how ambitious and spectacular it was. I still regularly listen to a lot of the revue soundtracks because they’re just that great to listen to.

The actual story was definitely where I struggled to have more of a personal connection to it, although I understand why a lot of people did. It’s a very specific sort of story that’s very specifically about exploring what it’s like to be in the theatre industry, which is so completely outside of my own interests and experiences that I spent most of the anime just observing it’s story from a distance, if that makes sense. But I can definitely say that, as an exploration of the theatre industry, it was amazing, and got into some really interesting ideas.

Especially in it’s mid-season arc, which ended up being so uniquely interesting and surprising that it ended up making the rest of the show look worse in comparison. Sometimes I wish we could have gotten a whole anime about Banana and her whole complicated deal instead of her just having a three-episode arc that had to get fairly hurriedly wrapped up to prepare for the final arc, but oh well. In a lot of ways, this anime had a recurring problem with how it’s side characters and their focus episodes/arcs being WAY more interesting than the main two characters and their overarching journey. I think the last two episodes more or less did a good enough job at selling me on their relationship and what the story was trying to say with them, but ultimately it didn’t quite balance out how basically everything else about the show was even more interesting.

I do really want to rewatch this eventually, though. I think that, given it’s twists and turns and reveals, it might benefit a lot from a rewatch, and I might appreciate it a lot more once I can do so. But for now it’s not quite enough to be in my number one spot, although given the series that actually IS in my number one spot, this can probably be classed as my ‘objective number 1 spot’, out of the anime I actually managed to finish this year.

#1: TOKYO GHOUL :RE

Yeah, this one shouldn’t be a surprise to anyone that’s been following me for the last three months or so, lmao. This is one hundred percent subjective and entirely rooted in my own personal, emotional experience both with this adaptation and this franchise as a whole, so I’m probably the only person in the goddamn world who’s going to unironically place this as their Anime Of The Year, but here we are. If Revue Starlight was my ‘objective number one spot’, this is far and away my ‘subjective number one spot’. But honestly I think it’s always worth making that distinction. There’s always a big difference between things that you objectively understand are great, and things that just work perfectly for you as an individual, which is one of the reasons why I don’t entirely like the idea of trying to label just one thing as being ‘your favourite of the year’. But if I had to pick, this is definitely it.

Anyway, all that aside, I don’t really need to get too deeply into this since I’ve already written extensively about this whole adaptation. You can just go through my tokyo ghoul :re tag and find all of that. I did one big post for the first season of :re, and then posts for each episode of the second season. Sometime in the near future I’m probably gonna rewatch the whole thing, so I might do another, more comprehensive post about the whole thing, but we’ll see how that goes.

To be honest, part of my enjoyment of this is definitely rooted in pettiness, since it’s just incredibly vindicating to me that everyone else hated this adaptation so much after I had to suffer through so much bullshit in the manga when that was still going. But the more it went on, the more that any pettiness got weighed out by me just unironically appreciating pretty much everything it does as an adaptation, and how it improves upon the source material. In a perfect world, we’d get an adaptation that’s truly transformative and takes the story in a much different direction, but at that point I’m basically just asking for someone else to write a completely different story that just has similar themes as Tokyo Ghoul, so I can’t exactly fault the :re anime for ultimately following the same trajectory as the manga. But even then, I think it does a genuinely great job at taking the source material and telling a much better version of the same central story. It really went to show how many terrible decisions Ishida made with the manga originally, and how easily avoidable a lot of it’s issues were, even if you still want to tell the same general story.

I’ve talked about this specific element of the anime a lot, but I really can’t overstate how much the anime’s handling of Mutsuki’s character in particular just encapsulates everything I mean about how the whole anime just cuts out like 99% of the unnecessary, offensive bullshit from the manga, and is far better off for it. I have nothing but love for how the anime handled Mutsuki with infinitely more respect than the manga ever did, and gave him a much happier, kinder ending.

As I’ve already said before, I’ve had an incredibly complicated and hate-filled experience with this whole franchise over the last several years, but it’s nice to be able to give it a final send-off with a shockingly pleasant adaptation that fixes a lot of my issues with the manga. I’m much happier about moving on from it all now than I was right after the manga ended. 

It’s a kinda weird feeling to have my AOTY be an adaptation of a manga I really truly hate, which just makes me happy that it’s finally over once and for all, but for better or worse I didn’t have anywhere near as much of an intense emotional connection and history with anything else I watched this year, so it’d feel like a lie not to put it at the top of the list.