#happy ten years to a finale so traumatizing it a) made me make a tumblr

[sleevebuscemii]

everybody shut up. today is the 10 year anniversary of the bbc merlin series finale.

[weapon-ish]

alright long long sappy weird post incoming abt my own personal story of being an ao3 author with a "sorry i haven't updated in a while! [some of the wildest shit you've ever heard] haha i should be back at it more regularly soon though! thanks for your patience!"

for context i last posted a fanfic, my first and only one i published, TEN YEARS AGO. like almost ten years and one month to the day. i was fourteen?! and it was well received and boosted my confidence a lot - several writers i really admired complimented me, and a few artists even made fanart of it (and ALL the art was amazing!!!!!!!!!) it absolutely blew my mind. like, people were so freaking nice to me about my very first published fanwork, and it really really meant a lot to me then and still does now, that people cared enough about something i made to make something in response.

but also it made me nervous to put out anything else. i had other stuff i'd already written, and i had more ideas. but what if i just got lucky the first time? or the semi-sequel i was planning just didn't live up to the first one? all kinds of stuff that i think is probably really really normal for people to feel about Sharing Their Work. but i was very in my head about the whole thing. if i couldn't do it just as good or better the next time, i didn't want to do it At All.

and unfortunately, in the most typical fashion for an ao3 author, i had a life-altering medical emergency almost immediately after publishing. i had been sick for a while, trying to hide it. but it turns out i was, like, dying sick. like "i'm now permanently disabled" sick. and i'm okay enough now, but. life got significantly harder after that. many days i barely had the energy to watch television from my bed, much less sit at my desk and actually Write Something. my brain was fried and scrambled. my body was wrecked. i was deeply traumatized by my experiences.

(i will never, ever forget the kindness of one of my favorite fanartists; she drew me a card with my favorite characters holding balloons that spelled out "get well soon!" i didn't cry much in the hospital, but i cried a lot about that. i looked at it every day that i could physically operate my phone. i still have it saved. she sent it the first week i was in and i looked at it as much as i could for the next month i was there.)

for about a year, i didn't leave my house except for medical appointments, or maybe to visit my brother, and those visits were mostly just us sitting on the couch and watching things together. even that was hard, i'd fall asleep. but he was good to me.

and even when i got a little better, i still couldn't really leave the house, i could just sit at my computer. but i started making friends on the internet, actual good friends, people with similar experiences and interests. and when i was sixteen, after i finally got another surgery i really needed, i went on my first trip in years to visit an internet friend. i flew to another state by myself to meet a person i met on tumblr. crazy, right? but it was awesome. we're still dear friends. and a little later, another friend rode a bus halfway across the country to stay a week with me over a school break - and they were amazing. i met both those friends again, i even saw one of them last year, we still love each other so much.

having my brother and those internet friends genuinely gave me will to live. they saw what i was going through, and loved me relentlessly through it. they were completely understanding and accepting of my disability, even the objectively gross parts of it, and never made me feel bad for it. they showed me that my life, while radically altered, was not anywhere near over - that i could be disabled and also extremely happy. i didn't know that. in that hospital, i was so close to being entirely hopeless about anything ever being good again. on that airplane, at that bus station, i was so full of excitement and elation to be living. even when we weren't together, there was promise for more chances to see each other. even if i was tired, or in extreme pain, or nervous, i had love. so much love.

but i still lost a lot. head still scrambled, brain fog constant. i fell out of touch with creative writing, which was something i had loved since i was a small child. i mean, how do you write when it's hard to even read? i was a voracious reader as a kid, but not so much After. i say After because even though it all happened when i was just fourteen, i felt like i lost any chance to be a kid. like i lost a massive part of who i was, because i was used to who i was being what i could do, and i suddenly couldn't do those things. not the same way.

i was afraid to even try anymore. my skills had degraded and the prospect of having to truly work at what was once so easy, so natural to me - it seemed absolutely insurmountable. chatting about headcanons, sure, easy-ish! stream of consciousness. writing? actually writing things to show people? much harder. i even wrote my diaries in cryptic ways, strange fonts and multiple things overlaid in different colors, just to make sure nobody could judge the quality of - of my writing to myself.

and then, yknow, other life things happened. trying to graduate. getting a job and working myself to death to impress people (who did not care in the slightest about how hard i tried, and tossed me away like trash for being disabled.) the death of a very important person in my life. moving out. a string of questionable relationships and one actually really really bad one. trying to recover any of my sanity or self esteem after being abused by someone i trusted. bouncing between housing situations and sleeping in my car. finding love! the real deal! surviving the first half-year of the pandemic as an immunocompromised person with six roommates all working service jobs. multiple other devastating deaths. yknow, like? other insane shit? just really truly bonkers shit?

and in the last two or three years, i've gotten a chance to... relax. slow down. i live with just my wife now, in a decently sized place. i repaired my relationship with my parents. i have a polycule of extremely wonderful people, and really incredible friends. i'm not afraid of my partners. i'm respected by the people in my life. i'm allowed and encouraged to like things, to really like things, to not be ashamed of being autistic and having special interests. i'm encouraged to be creative in any form i want to try. my physical health isn't great, but it's stable. i'm stable.

and i decided... i wanted to write again. to try. even if it wasn't easy like it used to be. even if it wasn't "as good" as something i did ten years ago, nearly half my life ago. even if nobody cared except my friends. to just do it because i have thoughts, and feelings, and they're bouncing around inside my heart and my brain and my soul and i want to let them out! i want to share. i've decided that i do not have to be afraid of sharing.

and, like, is that kind of a silly point to come to? that i lived through hell and now... want to be unashamed to write and post fanfiction? maybe, i don't know, maybe a little bit.

but also, it's been almost exactly a decade since i got my shit wrecked by my own biology. i wrote and shared that first fanfic while i was trying to hide an extreme illness from my family - i had been getting sicker for months, and i didn't know why. but i didn't want help. i was deeply convinced it was better to die slowly than inconvenience anyone.

i wrote and published a silly fic to distract myself from something horrifying that was happening to me. and few weeks later - shit well and truly hit the fan, and i did die multiple times, and then i got to live with the consequences of not asking for help when i needed it. (and the consequences of medical malpractice! that's a big one too. not everything was on me. like, definitely some of it, but not all of it.)

and now i'm, like, pretty happy with my life. i have so much good all around me. i actually want to live, i have plans for my future, i have goals. and. i have the kindness to just. let myself enjoy things, process things creatively, think more kindly about my own work. be less hypercritical of myself and less fearful of judgement. so. i want to write? about things that interest me? not to distract from something awful, but purely as an expression of something inside me that wants to connect to the outside world. as a means to get back to everything i (intentionally or unintentionally) cut myself off from. it seems right.

in conclusion. earlier today i posted my first real live actual fanfiction in over ten years. and that's on the spiritual healing powers of being gay & transgender

[oldadastra]

Letter to Lucasfilm

So, I’ve written a letter to Lucasfilm. It could be better, but this is what came out this afternoon. I hope others who are writing will share what they are putting into the mail. I was trying to be concise, but it still ran to several pages. Find it in its entirety below the cut:

***

Lucasfilm, Ltd. Attn: Fan Mail PO Box 29901 San Francisco, CA 94129-0901

December 30, 2019

Lucasfilm/Disney:

I am writing to express my anger, shock, disappointment and deep sadness with the final installment of the Star Wars saga, Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker.

I was ten in 1977 when the original film was released and have loved Star Wars ever since. I was thrilled by the reopening of the saga in The Force Awakens, and delighted by the excellent script, rich visual storytelling, nuanced character development, and thematic direction of Rian Johnson’s The Last Jedi.

Disney took on a sacred trust when it acquired Lucasfilm. Star Wars is deeply important to many people, and if you couldn’t do justice to the characters and themes of the saga, I’d argue that you had no business being involved in these stories. There is so much Disney/Lucasfilm got wrong in Rise of Skywalker, I’m struggling to gather my thoughts or express them coherently, but here goes:

Ben Solo. You created the most compelling character in the new trilogy by destroying the happy ending of the original trilogy. I was willing to go along on the ride Abrams and Kasdan began in The Force Awakens, because the fate of Ben Solo felt like it mattered. The questions raised in the new films: the nature of good and evil, the degree to which one’s family legacy defines a person, whether a one can atone for past sins; all of it felt alive and urgent in the person of Ben, a character I loved like one of my own children from the moment we so traumatically met him in The Force Awakens. His story was the beating heart of the new trilogy. His story is the one that mattered. His life was the one to be saved.

Ben solo was never an exposition device, cool villain, or disposable baddie to me. He was Han and Leia’s only child; loved, targeted, broken, lost.

The Rise of Skywalker redeems Ben Solo in the final act of the film, only to destroy him. Was it always your plan to kill the last Skywalker in the final installment of this story, to render the overarching message of all nine films as tragedy? If so, I wish I’d known this was your intent; I would never have engaged with these stories and made an emotional investment in them. If tragedy was your goal, that was certainly your choice to make, but I’d argue that you owed it to the audience and the cast to do a better job of it.

For example: You give us evidence that Han and Leia’s child was targeted by evil old men from before his birth. It’s a disturbingly explicit allegory of grooming and child abuse.

You give Ben Solo a backstory which implies he is guilty of vile, Anakin-style crimes against other young people, coding him as a school shooter, and then chose to exonerate him of this crime in a comic book, where the general audience will never know he was innocent. It’s a form of character assassination.

You consigned Ben Solo to the darkness for almost the entirety of three films, then denied him his voice in the final acts of his own story. “Ow?” The only words the redeemed Ben Solo will ever speak. Apalling.

You brought back Palpatine for this film (arguably rendering the message of the first six films meaningless), identified the Emperor as Ben’s tormentor all along, then denied Ben the opportunity to fight his enemy in the final act of the film.  Rise of Skywalker literally throws Ben Solo into a pit, and forces him to climb out alone and unaided while Rey is whispered to by “all the jedi,” offering her words of encouragement. It’s grotesque.

I’m getting lost in rage and sadness again here, so let me just say that even if you inexplicably didn’t care about the last Skywalker in the Skywalker saga, you have done a grave disservice to Adam Driver in your treatment of his character in this these films.  Perhaps you’ve heard of Driver’s non-profit organization, Arts in the Armed Forces? He’s deeply committed to the importance of stories as a way to make meaning out of the inexpressible. Did he really sign on to this project thinking that the final message of his character would be to say that even if you are able to come back from the darkness, your final act must be to die? That imperfect children don’t deserve compassion, forgiveness, life? You owe Mr. Driver an apology, but you can never really atone for what you’ve done to him.  

You ended a nine-film, forty-two year saga with all the Skywalkers dead, and a Palpatine the last one standing. You spent three films tormenting Han and Leia’s child, only to kill him in the final act.  What you did to Ben Solo (and frankly to us, who loved him) feels more like a horror story than anything else. In my dreams, I walk right into your offices and flip over tables.

There’s a lot more I could accuse Rise of Skywalker of bungling, but I assume you are hearing this feedback from others besides me, so I will summarize:

Rey Palpatine. Was is all about the midiclorians after all? By making her Palpatine’s granddaughter, you deny Rey everything that made her special; you deny her agency, and you negate the beautiful message I thought you were trying to communicate in the first two films with Rey Nobody: that the force belongs to us all, and that anyone can be a hero

The erasure of Rose Tico. It’s difficult to interpret this as anything but a capitulation to a loud, racist, and misogynist element of the fandom. It’s a very bad look, Disney. Please pay attention to the message you are sending.

Character development in general and a truly horrible ending: Rey goes back into her child-like costume, Ben Solo spent much of the film forced back into his stupid mask. Ben disappears at the end with no one to mourn him. Rey ends the film alone in a desert wasteland.

Rise of Skywalker is the most bleak, hopeless, and depressing Star Wars film ever made. As days go by, it’s becoming clear that it was also poorly written and edited. These stories matter to us, and we pay close attention to them. Disrespect us at your peril.

I don’t expect anyone will ever read this missive, or care at all about what an old shepherd on a mountainside thought about the execution of your multi-billion dollar movies. This is a personal exercise in catharsis as much as anything.

But here are a few notes in a language you might understand. I made some quick calculations about how much money I’ve spent on Star Wars over the past four years, and I’m sharing that with you now.

Movie tickets:  I’m one of those people who sees movies I love more than once (I saw Empire Strikes Back eighty-one times in the theater!). I saw The Force Awakens and The Last Jedi at least ten times each. I’m not counting the cost of tickets for my extended family, whom I brought along to a number of screenings, or tickets for birthday party guests we treated to these movies. My teenaged daughter came along for all the screenings I am including, so I calculate I spent about $360 on tickets. We also bought tickets to Rogue One and Solo, so it was actually more, but you get the idea.

Books, tie-ins, DVDs, merchandise: I invested in The Art of the Force Awakens and The Art of the Last Jedi books, as well as at least one SW Visual Dictionary. I bought DVDs of the films of course, and CDs of John Williams’ beautiful scores. I bought and read a number of books; Boodline and the Leia novel, The Force Awakens novelization and Junior novelization, Aftermath, and a couple others whose titles escape me. At least seven action figures. Toy light sabers for me and my daughter. Posters. T Shirts. I know I’m not remembering everything, but it adds up to an expenditure of at least $347 in books and other Star Wars merchandise.

Star Wars Celebration: I splurged on passes for my daughter and I to attend Star Wars Celebration in Chicago this past spring. It cost me about $400, and a last-minute family emergency meant we were unable to attend, but the tickets were non-refundable, so it was money I spent on Star Wars nonetheless.

Total: $1,107

A laughably small amount to you guys, I’m sure. Perhaps a contrast is useful:

Total amount I have spent (tickets for my daughter and I on opening night) on Rise of Skywalker: $22.

Total amount I plan to spend on Disney Lucasfilm merchandise in the future: $0

I invested quite a lot of my time in Star Wars over the past four years. I’ve written thousands of words in essays, appreciations and analyses (mostly on Tumblr), where I amassed a modest following of just over a thousand people. I’m sure I occasionally bored my friends and family by going on and on about Star Wars. This kind of ‘work’ has no dollar value of course. I will say that it was great fun while it lasted, though I feel foolish in retrospect, remembering all the times I came to your defense, arguing that the saga was in good hands, that you had a plan; that you were going to tell a good story.

Sadly, I don’t think you can fix the damage you’ve done to the Galaxy Far Far Away with The Rise of Skywalker. You made this film, made your choices, and put it out into the world. I have no control over where you go from here, but as a person who has loved Star Wars since I was a child, I beg you to take some time to reflect before making another Star Wars film.

You’ve broken so many hearts. Mine was one.

Andrea ____

...my full name and address, blah blah, I live in Vermont

[unsettledink]

Back in the days of LJ, I used to try and do a post at the end of each year, looking back primarily at fandom and fic. I fell out of the habit when everything moved to tumblr, and then it seemed like I didn’t have anything to say since I wasn’t writing or really participating any. 

But I always liked the idea of it, because I love to be overly reflective on stuff. And talk about my fic. Any excuse! I shuffled around some of the topics I used back then and added a few I’ve seen around that I liked. It got… long, because I TALK, so I split into two sections. 

*

Your main fandom of the year? 

    Marvel (MCU) for sure. Primarily with characters from Spider-Man and Iron Man movies.

Your favorite film watched this year?

    The Old Guard - I saw a couple trailers and everything about it looked like catnip. ‘It’s probably going to be so dumb, but I don’t even care,’ I thought. And then it was so good. It was so much fun and so much smarter than I expected and I loved each and every character and it just made me happy in so many ways.

Your favorite book read this year?

    Red, White, and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston - I read it twice this year actually. It’s so… cute isn’t the right world. Sweet and hopeful and soft and comforting and intense. I liked every single character which is pretty rare. I cried during the sad parts and then again at the happy ending, like straight up sobbed - both times. I already want to read it again.

Your favorite tv show watched this year?

    Schitt’s Creek - I started it on a whim and because a lot of people had said it was good. The episodes were short so it wasn’t a huge time investment. The first season was a little rough, but there were enough funny moments that I hung on, and then… I kept getting fonder and fonder of these idiots as they grew. And THEN… it kept not disappointing me? 

     You grow to expect certain scripts, twists, jokes, especially in queer story lines. To wait for the bad thing to happen, because it always does. Instead, Schitt’s Creek kept going, ‘hey, here’s the set up for that! Guess what? We’re not doing it. Here’s the happy version instead.’ The relief of having that happen again and again - the last season I’ve watched (I’m sort of saving 6) I cried a bunch but it was always because I was happy. 

Your favorite album or song to listen to this year?

    1896 - I’ve been waiting for the new Steam Powered Giraffe album so eagerly for aaaaaages. Finally getting recordings of Zero’s songs! Lying Awake remains my favorite off the album, with Eat Your Heart and Bad Days on the Horizon high up there as well. I’m loving what Zero brings to the band.

Your best new fandom discovery of the year?

    I don’t know if I really did discover that much? I stuck pretty closely to old fandoms and the ones I picked up in 2019. Maybe Zodiac? It was definitely inspiring, and I want to write and read more in it. 

    Maybe the couple discords I joined? I still really dislike discord and am not on there much, and mostly lurk when I am, but having somewhere vaguely like the comms I remember makes me feel a little less isolated. It’s the potential, that maybe if I said something I might make a friend, or someone might actually want to hear what I say. 

Your biggest fandom disappointment of the year?

    The Watch - I mean, I knew it was going to be a disaster with every word said during pre production. I wasn’t ever going to be happy with it. And then it came out and was even worse and uglier and … disrespectful not just of the source material but of actual people connected to Terry. I’m beyond disappointed that this is what we got, and it’s probably going to be a long time before we get anything else. 

    Devil All the Time was terrible, but I didn’t have especially high hopes. It still didn’t manage to meet them. Yikes.

The most missed of your old fandoms?

    Maybe MASH? Someone I follow started talking about it and I was reminded all over again of the wonderful fics in that fandom. I went looking and a lot are gone (still on my computer, lol, but not online), but rereading was such a trip. A slightly depressing trip, but still. 

The fandom you haven't tried yet, but want to?

    Hmm. I’ve kind of not had the energy to invest in other fandoms at the moment? When The Witcher was having it’s big moment back in January, I had a feeling I might enjoy it enough to fall headfirst into the fandom, so I avoided watching it. Ikr? I don’t have the time or the energy to actively seek anything out. 

Your biggest fan anticipations for the New Year?

    SO EXCITED about Winter’s Orbit. I mean, the third Spider-Man movie for sure, with worry. The second Venom movie, ugh yes. I have tentative hopes for Jungle Cruise? Jumanji was stellar and I always enjoy Dwayne. I have both hope and dread for the new Suicide Squad - I did love Birds of Prey, so if it’s along those lines, yay. The Hitman’s Wife’s Bodyguard because it should be some fun garbage, my favorite kind. I don’t know how I feel about Dune, but, uh, I’m anticipating it. It seems highly unlikely it will actually happen, but The Wheel of Time TV series. 

I want to be excited about Black Widow but it’s hard. It’s not the story I’ve been wanting to see, and I’m angry about Natasha not getting a movie until she’s dead.

You know. If any of it is released for real.

The Good: 

I moved to a better place. I got a better paying, better benefits, better environment job that lets me work from home. The house acquired 3-7 more cats depending on the month. I was able to get some serious problems on my car fixed. I have insurance and was able to start on some health stuff. No one I know got sick or died. I wrote a LOT.

The Bad: 

Aside from the obvious? Depression hitting extra hard during the winter. Having to put two kittens to sleep. Have my car be hit three times in our parking lot. Being driven INSANE by one of the cats for months while the vets were all closed. Kidney stone. Dealing with several health problems. Stalling for months on Gotcha.

The Indifferent: 

Not leaving the house often or easily. Enjoying a new fandom but not doing great at making connections (still real awkward, bud). Raising kittens and saying goodbye. Need new tires. Reading a lot of fic but not a lot of books. Having more pay but more expenses as well (wth insurance??). 

*

2020 fic stats

Number of stories: 39

Number of fandoms: 6? Or 2, if you cluster the others under mcu

Total number of words: 152049

Average word count per story: 4kish

Longest fic: Causality (18k, P/Q)

Shortest fic: Can’t, Won’t (1k, P/Q)

Most comments received: Sieche (49, T/P)

Fandom you wrote the most of: MCU Spider-Man - I only wrote TWO fics that didn’t feature that fandom, wow. And one of those was still MCU.

Fandom you wrote the least of: Zodiac (1!)

Events you participated in: Marvel Trumps Hate, Kinktober, IornspidersGeorg Exchange, Starker Festivals Exchange, MCU Secret Santa, Spiderio Big Bang

*

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted?

    SO MUCH MORE OMG. I mean, even just counting posted stuff! (I probably wrote a solid 300k of Gotcha this year.) I did not expect or plan on doing Kinktober, so that’s a whole 31 fics right there. I also wasn’t planning on doing any exchanges - I have a History - but then I did three? And beyond that, I did not expect for everything to get so LONG.

Topic you wrote that you would never have predicted in January:

    Tony/Quentin. Goddammit @the-me09 They were like hey, they could be interesting! And while I agreed, I had no ideas for them. THEN they had to go and write Just Bodies That Collide and next thing I know, I’ve got ten fics featuring them and two-six series focused on them or Peter/Quentin/Tony. What the fuck. 

Leitmotif of the year:

    Vulnerability, I think. I had a bunch of things typed up and they all circle back to vulnerability in the end; sex, being seen, being wanted, sharing trauma, asking for help, trying something new. Offering a soft spot in the hopes it won’t be hurt. 

Favorite character to write about: 

    Tony Stark, for sure. There are just a bunch of slightly different takes, and a lot of canon to work with (kind of frustrating too though). And I’m a sucker for emotionally damaged snarky traumatized characters that are viewed poorly both in universe and out. 

Favorite kind of fic to write:

    This year? Fluff and smut combined. Maybe that’s not the right term really. I keep looking for and writing, even in the angstiest fics, for those soft moments. Sure, maybe it’s a super smutty kink scene, but I want the affection to be obvious. Maybe everyone is consumed by guilt, but I want it to be based in caring too much. Maybe there’s no real love, just sex and even that’s messed up, but I want to find that tiny bit of fondness. 

    And I want happy endings. Or endings that look like they’re going to be happy, at least, even if there’s all the angst first. I don’t think I’ve killed anyone this year? Who AM I? 

Biggest disappointment:

    Not finishing the rough draft of Gotcha. I was making such good progress in 2019, from August to December. Even after the move, I basically finished part 6 in January. I fumbled around and fussed with 1 a lot, but that had already been given one draft, really, and I got through half of 4 before I slowed to a stop. I’ve barely gotten anything accomplished on it since June. Bits and pieces here and there, but nothing significant, not like I was doing. I can excuse October, due to 80k invested in Kinktober (yikes!), but aside from that… I’m sad. I’ll finish it eventually, but I really thought I could have the first draft done in a year. I’m sitting at about 480k out of what I’m almost certain will be 700k. 

Biggest surprise:

    Kinktober! It was kind of spur of the moment, decided just a week in advance. I’ve tried month long or even like, 20-25 day long challenges and I don’t think I’ve ever completed one. I thought there was a good chance I’d do so again, so I gave myself a little help and made my own list of prompts, things I knew I liked and hadn’t done much of yet. And it worked? I actually completed it, what the hell? Despite spending five days travelling near the end! Despite falling behind in getting ahead and writing a bunch of stories the day they were to be posted! Despite apparently forgetting how to do short form! 

    I, uh, could have done without the spawning of eleven series or sequels or continuations jfc WHY SELF.

Something you learned this year:

    Ideas breed ideas. I swear to god, the second I sit down to think through a current idea, I wake up the next morning with three more. 

    Words need to be restocked. I need to consume new - not rereads, not fic - content every so often to refresh my word bank. It is astonishing how quickly writing goes again after I’ve done so.

    I can write so much more than I thought I could. I can do so much more than I thought I could. Yes, I can complete challenges without dropping out early. Yes, I can do exchanges and not regret it. Yes, I can write more than 100k, more than 200k, more and more - and I can write 10k+ easily too. Though I wouldn’t mind if I could once again write less than 10k without feeling like I’ve cut off in the middle. 

    My time is shrinking, and if I want to write as much, I’m going to have to make the time. I can’t rely on three days off a week, on seven hours of uninterrupted overnight shifts, on hyper focused writing binges that leave everything else around me on fire. 

Most memorable comment: 

    So, so many! I can’t pick one. I’ve been really lucky to get a bunch of really detailed, enthusiastic, analyzing comments across all different fics. One of the types that always sticks with me are the ones like ‘I didn’t think/know I liked this ship/kink/twist, but fuck, apparently I do? You made me, what the hell?’. 

What, if anything, are you going to try to do differently in your writing in the new year?

So with writing Gotcha but not posting until it’s done, my view of what I’ve written vs anyone else’s is extremely skewed. I’m sitting here thinking, hey I’m 400k in and got another 10k done today, so much writing! While anyone looking at my AO3 account (for most of the year) is like, you’re averaging three months between fics :(

    All that to say I want to try and get something posted more frequently while I’m working on Gotcha.

    Also, writing for kinktober was really interesting - pushing myself to write every single day, often for that day’s post, forced me to get back into shorter form fic. Which used to be all I did? But it was surprisingly hard to just stop and not write more. So I’d like to challenge myself to write more fics under 10k at least. Maybe even under 5k though that might be asking a lot lol. I might get there with the many continuations of those fics I’d like to do. Does that count?

Goals:

   I want to hit 365 fics. :) I’m only 32 away!

    Aside from writing - 

    I’ve really enjoyed the reading record sideblog I started this year. I’ve let it lapse a little the past month or so, but I’d like to keep it going strong. 

    I’d like to leave a lot more comments. I want to get better about allowing imperfection - I want to write The Best Comment, but in the end? Probably 90% of fic writers are going to be happier with a comment expressing enjoyment in any way over no comment at all. 

And not just on fics, but on general posts as well. It’s hard not to feel… weird and stupid and invasive and rude leaving any sort of comment on someone’s post if I don’t know them at least a little. I have godawful rejection sensitive dysphoria and a lot of interactions that ended poorly; I’m really not good at people. But as dumb as it feels to say those things, I know I am thrilled and warmed and happier when there’s a reblog with tags or a note or a comment or an ask or just, any small interaction that shows someone out there notices and cares, at least a little. There’s no reason I can’t at least try to offer that to other people. 

    I’d like to make/run a couple challenges of my own, later in the year. I’m still figuring out what I want to do and what I could do. I’m really interested in doing something that’s not focused on creators, but the readers; some sort of comment or rec challenge maybe.

    I want to find a cheerleader for Gotcha. I’m struggling to keep up my motivation to write it when it’s already in my head, where I can ‘read’ it any time. There’s a line between depending too much on external validation and trying to generate all your validation yourself, and I’m getting to a point where I think I need to ask for help (gasp! The hardest thing EVER). 

*

(Part Two: Pick Some Fics)

[amydancepants-peralta]

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

A probably-too-long Peraltiago soulmate AU where your body stops ageing until you’ve met the one you’re destined to spend the rest of your life with.  Inspired by this post, and encouraged by @fezzle because her mind is amazing and we both fell down the rabbit hole on this one 😅

You can find the rest on AO3, because it’s waay too long to post on Tumblr. 🍕 

(all I wanna do) is grow old with you

Amy’s breath fogs up the glass of the mirror she’s facing as she lets out a heavy sigh, eyes taking one more scrutinising look over her appearance.  Same olive coloured skin, same dark brown hair.  Same smile, same shrug of her shoulders.  Once again, nothing had changed.

She had been five years old when her mother had explained the Rule of Life as they knew it - that once you reached your 30th birthday, your body simply stopped ageing, and the only way to kick it back into gear, was to meet your soulmate.  

To a young and idealistic Amy, it had seemed like the Ultimate Romantic Notion - that you couldn’t possibly grow old until you’d found the right person to grow old with.  And in her early twenties, when appearances and vanities paid more value than they should, she had been in no hurry to find The One.  Until she’d reached her Age Limit of 30, and realised that beauty lay within those who had found their other half.  Wrinkles and streaks of grey in heads of hair were enviable, not feared.  The lucky ones would walk the streets with pride, unable to bridle their joy as they gripped their partner’s hand with their own. 

Watching her family and friends grow older while she remained stagnant never seemed to get easier for Amy.  Standing in the sidelines as the next phase of their life would begin, she couldn’t deny that it stung a little when her youngest of brothers, Luis, had salt and pepper flecks of colour in his previously jet black hair at the last Santiago family gathering.  Or that her best friend Kylie now tried her best to conceal the crows feet that had begun to appear around her eyes, sunglasses framing her face whenever she and Amy met up for lunch.  

Try as they might to hide the changes in their appearance - which she knew was out of love for her, to not rub in that they had found what she hadn’t - the only thing that the people surrounding her couldn’t conceal was the overwhelming exuberance that radiated from each and every one of them.  That sense of completion - the elation that finally, the rest of their life can begin.

 Amy turns her head in profile one last time, a discerning eye tracing her hairline before giving up with a shake of her head.  Last night she had been on a date with a man named Gabe (a match from an online dating app that she’s definitely going to delete), and at the end of the night she honestly had felt as though things could be … kind of promising.  He was handsome, with similar interests to her, and while he spoke about investment banking maybe a little more than Amy would have liked, he certainly seemed like a worthy option when it came to her soulmate.  And so, with the freshly risen daylight’s sunbeams streaking through the windows of her apartment, and her alarm buzzing incessantly beside her, Amy had jumped out of bed, making a beeline for the mirror.

However, it would appear Gabe was not a match.  Her appearance had not changed in the slightest.  And today was just going to be another day, like all the others, without Amy knowing her soulmate.  

She gets ready for work with the clocklike precision that only a life uninterrupted can bring, casting one last downcast glance at her reflection as she turns to leave.  Perhaps the universe had a point - Gabe was definitely not the one for her.  But … he had to be out there, somewhere.  

*

It’s another ten hours before Amy is shuffling into her apartment again, finally home after what can only be described as a less than mediocre day.  

As a detective for the 99th precinct, she and her partner Rosa had developed a finely tuned friendship that had resulted in an impressively high arrest rate.  And today, they had been given the case of a jewellery store robbery - a robbery that had unfortunately turned rather high profile, as one of Brooklyn’s most well known residents, a celebrity chef named Cadi Nicholls, had been robbed in broad daylight, from the inside of a jewellery store.

Ms Nicholls had, despite several requests from various officers, been overly vocal about her ‘traumatic’ experience on social media, and in an effort to have the case closed before things turned ridiculous, Captain Holt had put his best two detectives on the case.

They had been so confident they would catch the thief.  Until they watched the security footage.

The perp appeared as if from nowhere, sliding Nicholls' diamond tennis bracelet right off her wrist without her even knowing, before yanking the sapphire ring she had just purchased out of her hand and running like hell.

Frustratingly (or conveniently, depending on who’s perspective you looked at it from), the security cameras outside had been out of order for days leading up to the robbery, so when it came to the getaway car the two women had absolutely no clues.  

Instead, they had spent the entire day interviewing countless witnesses, knocking on apartment door after apartment door until they tracked them all down.  All of which felt like a reprieve after finally escaping their interview with the chef herself; an hour long ordeal that she had insisted on live-streaming to her ‘concerned followers’.  

By late afternoon they had returned to the precinct, feet throbbing in protest, spreading out the case file over Amy’s desk as they re-examined all of the information.  The witness statements had been vague at best, and until they found a different camera that might have caught the getaway car they were officially out of leads.  

Exhausted, she had been on her way to Rosa’s desk to see if her partner wanted to get a drink of commiseration after their shift ended, when she noticed something that stopped her in her tracks.  Rosa Diaz was not a vain woman by any means, but right at that moment she had ducked her head down on the monitor, carefully shifting the strands of her hair into a specific position.  And as she moved them into place, Amy saw what Rosa had been trying to hide.

She had greys.  Only a few, and still ashy enough that it wasn’t immediately noticeable.

But she had greys.  Which meant that she was ageing.  Which also meant that she had found her soulmate.  

Her partner had looked up, eyes turning apologetic as she noticed Amy watching her, and began to explain.  “Her name is Jocelyn.  I didn’t expect to - ”  Amy raised her hand, halting the conversation as she plastered a smile onto her face.  

“It’s fine, Rosa.  Great, actually.  I’m really happy for you.”  

And she was happy.  Honestly.  Detective Diaz was a hard nut to crack, but underneath the leather-bound exterior was a kind, caring soul who genuinely deserved the best.  And obviously, this Jocelyn was it for her.  So Amy was happy for her partner.  

And also a little bit jealous.  Kinda defeated.  And almost certain that her soulmate simply didn’t exist.    

But mainly, happy.  

Now that she is home, Amy dumps her bag onto its respective hook, kicking off her shoes near the doorway and shedding her blazer before heading towards the kitchen.  She’s desperate for a glass of wine to take the edge off her less than average day, and had a Bordeaux stashed away in her cupboard laying in wait for the night that she could finally raise a toast to the person she is meant to spend the rest of her life with.  Clearly, that was never going to happen to her (and tonight was as good a night as any to enjoy a glass of red), and once she finally yanks out the cork with her cheap corkscrew, she abandons the tool on the counter, sauntering over to her couch with the bottle in one, and a glass in the other.

*

Less than an hour later, Amy has changed into her cosiest clothes and is perched on the couch, tipping the bottle upside down and frowning as no more wine seems to come out.  

Damnit.  Somebody’s been drinking my wine.  She cranes her neck, surveying the room with narrowed eyes as she searches for suspects, only to come up dry.  

Clearly, the perp has already fled the scene.

Her stomach growls as it protests at the lack of food - and abundance of wine - it had been given.  With only a slightly steady hand, Amy pulls out her phone from it’s position amongst the couch cushions, opening up a webpage to search for delicious food near me + quick delivery.  She had only moved into this apartment three months ago, after saving her hard earned money for far too long, and was still slightly unfamiliar (and yes, perhaps a little too drunk) to know what takeout options were nearby.  

The swirling symbol of a loading webpage disappears in a blink, the flashing logo of Sal’s Pizza taking its place.  She nods enthusiastically, because pizza is great and she doesn’t eat it enough, scrolling her way through the options before settling on the perfect combination and adding to cart.  

When this story gets told in the years to come, Amy will blame the empty bottle of wine for making her do this, but in the comment section of the order, she remembers a meme that her niece had recently shown her and types: send your cutest delivery boy.  Giggling loudly, she presses send before another thought could be made, and as the digital countdown comes onto her screen she stumbles into the kitchen, in search of another bottle.  

*

Jake Peralta rolls his shoulders against the stainless steel panels attached to the kitchen wall, legs feeling heavy as they dangle off the counter he’s perched on.  

It was nearly at the end of his shift at Sal’s Pizza, and the later hours of the evening always seemed to drag, but he’s thankful for a moment of peace.  

Sharing the delivery role with two other guys that he only knew as Scully and Hitchcock, he had spent the better part of the dinner rush covering their jobs as well as his own, both men claiming that they had gotten lost in the supposedly complicated streets of Brooklyn before returning to the restaurant several hours later, the pizza sauce stains still obvious on their chins.  Jake’s responding eye roll had been poorly concealed, and he had retreated to the familiar company of his buddy Charles, the chef, in the kitchen before he ended up saying something regretful.

That in itself had turned out to be a risky move, having to instead listen to Charles talk on and on (and on) about his recently discovered soulmate, Genevieve.  

And he’s happy for his best friend - really, he is.  But every single mention of their chance encounter, sparked by mixing up their specially ordered local delicacies at their nearby deli (his octopus ring pâté, hers rare eyeball soup, both horrifying) was just another reminder that Jake himself was no step closer to finding his.  Not that he’s even sure he wants to find his, but … still.

(Also, he was one more TMI conversation about their subsequent love making from taking the handle of both spatulas in the utensil jar and jamming them into his ears.)

The computer in the corner lets out an obnoxious ding! as an online order comes through, the attached printer grunting as it spits out a faded version for the chef.  Jake shuffles along the counter, butt squeaking against the steel as he rips the paper free, sneakers hitting the tiled floor with a slap as he slides it into place.  “Chet’s up, Charles.”

“It’s a chit, Jake.”  Charles looks up from his position on the counter opposite, hands concealed as he kneads out a heavy pile of dough.  “Do me a favour, read it out for me?  I’m a little tied up here.  Not as much as Genevieve was tied up last night, but still - ”

“One large deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa!”  Jake cries out quickly, desperate to drown out the sound of whatever Charles was about to describe.  His friend nods in response, dusting off the extra flour from his hands as he heads over to another bench, the process of putting together a Sals Pizza so familiar it has become second nature.  

He glances back up at Jake, right hand mixing in the hot sauce.  “Any special requests on it?”

Right.  The special requests option, a relatively new addition, had been the catalyst for some truly strange demands.  After the horrifying command last week for the delivery boy to sing out the ingredients like a show tune upon arrival, Jake had been doing his best to avoid ‘special requests’ altogether.  With a hesitant glance, he narrows his eyes at the bottom of the receipt before letting out a laugh.  “Charles my good man, I believe I have been summoned.”

“Huh?”

Jake pulls the receipt off it’s holder with a flick of his wrist, brandishing it high in the air as he turns towards his friend with a smile.  “Says so right here.  Send your cutest delivery boy.  Clearly, that’s me.  I’m adorable.”

His friend gasps, spinning around to read the chit himself before turning to Jake in glee.  “Jakey!  This isn’t just any order.  This is fate!”

Tipping his head to the side, Jake scratches the side of his cheek as he studies Charles’ reaction.  “Fate has come in the form of a deep pan pizza?  Honestly, I’m not surprised … but I think I always imagined it would be meat supreme?”

Charles’ hands freeze on top of the pie, a few shards of grated cheese slipping from his fingers as he shakes his head at Jake.  “No, silly.  The person who’s ordered the pizza is your fate.  Not the pizza itself.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  I’m sure of it.”

“Oh come on.  That’s ridiculous.  You don’t even know if this is for a person, or a company, or even some kind of robot that’s managed to gain sentience ..”

The chef’s head appears suddenly over Jake’s shoulder, peering at the details printed along the bottom of the receipt before giving him a solid side-eye.  “Says right here, Amy Santiago.  Sounds like a pretty great name for a soulmate, if you ask me.”

Rolling his eyes, Jake walks towards the oven, picking up the pizza peel from it’s holding place and lifting the next order into the grill.  “I keep telling you, Charles.  Not everybody is going to end up with their soulmate.  The whole thing is flawed.  It didn’t exactly work out for my parents, did it?”

“You’ve just gotta have faith, Jake!  The universe has greater plans than you or I could ever imagine, and sometimes you just have to let the signs guide the way.”  Charles countered, ripping the receipt from the order holder and shoving it into Jake’s shirt pocket, pointing towards the oven once his hand is free.  “Order will be up in eight minutes, Mr. Cutest Delivery Boy.  Don’t be late, destiny is waiting.”

It’s close to twenty minutes later before Jake is standing in the hallway of an unfamiliar apartment building, double checking the address on the receipt before raising his hand to knock (people are very willing to accept pizza when it is delivered, even if they haven’t ordered any - a fact he had to learn the hard way).  The pizza box in his hand keeps sending wafts of deliciousness in his direction, reminding himself that he’d unintentionally skipped dinner this evening, and he makes a deal with his stomach to fill up after this delivery.  

There’s a muffled sound of the Jeopardy theme song playing through the doorway when Jake knocks, and he hears the clank of glass against a surface before the door begins to swing open.  Twenty bucks says this is some nerdy professor, Jake thinks to himself, drawing on his biggest smile, ready to play the role of Cutest Delivery Boy to a tee.  

And then, his heart stops in his chest.

The woman that answers the door is crazy beautiful.  Beautifully warm toned skin with the most expressive eyes, her dark hair scraping her shoulders as she opens the door a little wider.  

“Heyyyyy, the pizza guy is here!”  The mystery woman smiles, leaning heavily against her doorframe as she gasps, pointing.  “And he brought PIZZA!”

If this was what nerdy professors looked like, I DEFINITELY would have paid more attention in class, Jake thinks to himself as he continues to smile, handing over the pizza to the woman’s outstretched hands.  “One deep pan, extra cheese, extra salsa.”  His voice switches into automatic pilot, reciting the line that had been forced into his memory, hands landing on his hips in the signature pose as he forces a too-wide smile onto his face.  “I hope we managed to fulfil your special request, ma’am, and it’s a good evening now that you’ve got a Sal’s Pizza.”

Her dark eyes blink dazedly for a moment before a deep blush rushes over her cheeks.  “Oh right, my uh … special request.”  They travel down Jake’s frame before heading upwards again, holding his gaze until she bites her lip.  “Yeah, I’d say you did, Pizza Guy.”

Now it’s Jake’s turn to blush, sweaty hands dropping from his waist and dangling uselessly by his side.  He’s always been a connoisseur of the Art of Flirtation, but tonight he finds himself more than a little tongue tied.  Inconveniently, Charles’ voice creeps into Jake’s mind.  Your soulmate is on the other end of this delivery.  She giggles at his obviously embarrassed reaction, shoulders bouncing as a squeaky hiccup escapes. 

Shuffling his feet, Jake’s brain switches into overdrive as he frantically tries to think of the perfect pickup line to make, but before anything incredible can be formed he begins to really take in his client’s appearance.  Her glazed over eyes, the vice like grip of her hand on the doorframe …. “Uhh, I’m always up for a bit of flattery, but … I think you might be a little intoxicated.  Do you know how much you’ve had to drink?” he asks, brows furrowing slightly as he watches the woman sway.

She shrugs, turning the movement into a dorky little side-to-side boogie as the ads begin playing on the TV in the background, an annoyingly catchy song about paper towels taking centre stage.  “Only a couple of glasses.”

Jake looks past her, taking in the incriminating evidence of two empty wine bottles sitting on the table next to the couch.  “Just a couple, huh?”

She follows his gaze, swinging her head back to him as a giggle escapes.  “Well, I mean … the bottles are made of glass, right?”

He can’t help but laugh, nodding at her observation.  “Yes.  Yes, they are.”

“See?” She laughs along with him, holding onto the pizza box with one hand as she begins stepping backwards, moving her feet into what he thinks is an attempt at the moonwalk.  Her feet, which may actually both be left, are dangerously close to tripping over each other, and just as he reaches out a hand in warning the two lefts connect - pizza box flying out of her hands as her arms begin to flail about, desperately searching for something to grab onto as she begins to fall.

Jake’s feet can’t move fast enough, and she hits her head on a small side table, landing on the ground with a thud before he can get to her.  She stays still, head twisted to the side and moaning loudly as he kneels down on the ground, paying special attention to her extremities in case she’s actually hurt herself.  “Are you okay, ma’am?” he asks.  Her receipt is still in his pocket, and he really wants to grab it out right now to remember her name, but it’s way too late for that now.  Damn my goldfish memory!  

“I’m … I’m fine.”  She swings out an arm, letting it slap against the hardwood floor near Jake’s crouched position as she turns to look at him.  “The floor is just a little spinny, that’s all.”

He stifles a grin as he looks at her determined face, already knowing that there was no point in explaining to this woman that the floor was, in fact, not spinning (or ‘spinny’, as it were).  Instead, he responds with “Yeah, spinny floors are the worst.”

She smiles at him, and his heart skips a beat just like the first time, and he kinda really wants to know her name.  “He gets it!  Thisguygetsit.” She slurs, pointing an intoxicated finger at Jake.  And he knows that she’s drunk … and he knows that she probably doesn’t have any idea what she’s saying … but tiny little butterflies begin to flutter in Jake’s stomach, gaining traction the longer she lays there, pointing her finger at him.  She’s adorable, he thinks to himself.

But, she might also be injured, and so he offers her a hand up, pretending not to notice the tingling sensation when her palm meets his.  She groans as he helps her up, right hand clapping onto her scalp, wrinkling her face and looking at him accusingly.  “How did I end up on the floor, anyway?” 

Jake grins at the woman, pointing with his free hand towards the discarded pizza box, explaining - “You were dancing away with the pizza, and tripped over your two left feet.”

Her eyes look at the box warily, looking to Jake, then back to the pizza.  “That makes sense.  I am left handed, after all.”  She nods, a movement quickly thwarted as her head obviously throbs in protest.  

Jake’s eyebrows knit together as he watches her clutch her hand to her head, and as she moves towards the couch, he clears his throat.  “Uhh, listen - I’m no expert, but I think you might be in danger of having a concussion.  Is there somebody else here, who can watch over you tonight?”

The woman’s head drops as she shakes her head slightly.  “No.  I live alone.  All alone.”  Realising the gravity of what she’s just said to this stranger, her head shoots up quickly, and Jake pretends not to notice her reactive wince.  “But I’m a cop.  A badass cop, in fact.  And I could kick your butt from here to next Sunday, Pizza Guy, so don’t you go trying anything.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender.  “Whoa there, officer.  My intentions are honourable, I swear.  I just think you might have hurt yourself a little bit, and you shouldn’t go to sleep until someone has made sure you’re okay.”  Pausing, Jake lowers his hands a little as the woman’s gaze turns less accusing.  “Is there somebody you can call?”

She shrugs.  “Rosa, I guess.”  Picking up an empty bottle, she shakes it, willing more wine to appear.  “Yeah.  Call Rosa.  Tell her to bring booze.”  She giggles, her face dropping just as quickly.  “Probably won’t come, though.  Too busy with her soulmate or whatever.”

There’s an odd mix of sadness and hope that comes from this woman speaking of her friend’s soulmate.  It was hard not to hear her bitterness, and Jake could feel himself beginning to reconsider his own opinions.  If someone as sweet as this woman is hasn’t found her match, maybe this whole soulmate thing wasn’t as ridiculous as it seems.  Clearing his throat, he twists his mouth to the side slightly before speaking.  “I’m sure if she knows you’re hurt, she’ll come over.”

Another shrug, the light from a nearby lamp catching onto her hair and making it shimmer a little.  You’re falling, Peralta.  “Maybe.”

He waits for a pause, and she looks up at him expectantly.  “Um, I … I don’t have Rosa’s number.” His tone is apologetic, which is crazy, because if anything it would’ve been weirder if he had known this Rosa’s number.  He wipes a hand across his face, trying to push some sense into his brain, and as he rubs his eyes the woman begins fishing around her couch cushions, pulling up throw pillows until she thrusts her phone into the air in triumph.  

“I do!  I have Rosa’s number.”  She unlocks the screen, handing the device over to Jake without hesitation.  He takes grip of it, watching with confused eyes as the woman shouts an answer to the game show host still on her screen before grabbing the remote control on the coffee table, fumbling at buttons until the TV switches to mute.  Turning her attention back to Jake, the woman’s eyes light up when she realises he’s still holding her phone in his hand.  “Hey!  I’ve got a great idea.  Let’s call Rosa!”  

If this had been anybody else, Jake is pretty sure by now he would have given up and left this crazy client to their own devices.  But there was something so wholesome about her vulnerability, so open to the complete stranger that he was, that he really wanted to make sure she had someone take watch over her tonight.  So with a grin taking over his face, he scrolls through her contacts until he finds (thankfully, only one) titled Rosa, pressing the call button before handing the phone back to the giggling beauty covered in crumpled sweats on the couch. 

She takes it from him with a smile, a surprised gasp escaping when the line connects and she calls out “Heyyyyy, Rosa!”

His heart squeezes a little as her face crumples into confusion, shaking her head in a futile response to the voice on the other end of the phone.  This woman is adorable.

“Whaaat? Noooo I’m not mad I’m not - I just got pizza and hit my head with it and now Pizza Guy thinks I shouldn’t go to bed and I know you can fix it so canyoufixitRosa?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Jake takes a quick glance around the room while the conversation continues.  It was a stark contrast to his own hole in the wall apartment, to say the least.  But oddly, he felt comfortable here, with the warm coloured tone painted on the walls, plush couches with ample throw pillows and the sweet smell of vanilla coming from … well, coming from somewhere. 

“Honestly, I’m fone - I mean, I’m fine.  It’s just … this pizza has stars on it and the couch won’t stop spinning and okay maybe I hurt myself?”  Jake watches as she drops her head into her free hand, voice lowering slightly as she mumbles, “Bring Joss .. Joz … Jocelyn over too if you want.  You totally should.  I’m fine.  Really.”

As though suddenly remembering Jake’s presence, the woman looks up and gives him a thumbs up, smiling in victory.  “You’re the besssst, Rosa!  I totally owe yo-” stopping abruptly, she looks at the phone in her hand with another giggle.  “She hung up.”

He laughs along with her, watching as she flips open the lid to the pizza box and digs out a slice, taking a step back towards the doorway, suddenly very aware that he’s been standing in a relative strangers living room for longer than normal.  “Well, as long as somebody is coming, I should leave you to enjoy your pizza ma’am.”  

Her hand pauses mid-way from her mouth, several ropes of cheese forming a bridge between pie and human as she turns her attention towards Jake.  The words are masked by a mouth full of pizza, but he makes out the words thank you, Pizza Guy! as he turns to leave.

And even though there is still a part of Jake that thinks this whole ‘waiting for your soulmate before your life can begin’ is a little ridiculous, he still sits in his car near the front of the woman’s apartment, waiting until a leather clad figure with dark curly hair appears, stomping up the staircase and slamming her finger on the same apartment number that he had half an hour ago before being buzzed into the building.  He tells himself that he’s just being a good person, making sure that a patron of his employer was safe, but there’s a tiny part of him that already knows that he cares more for this mysterious woman than he should.  

** this thing is 16k long, so find the rest on AO3! **

[raggedyhive]

Before

Now that the prequel is finished, I’m actually going to acknowledge its existence through Tumblr in a li’l masterpost. Chapter summaries here differ from the fic.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23759617/chapters/57067543

Chapter One: Grif - Thunder burned across him, arced up his body in a single, rapid movement.

For a second, everything felt like it was crushing him, the weight of gravity carrying against him in the voices of those around him, in his own voice yelling in his sister’s defense.

Chapter Two: Kai - On instinct, she threw out her arms, palms parallel to her body. Her neck drew back, hair flying behind her like a halo.

The milliseconds stretched.

She could feel every muscle working, feel her heart rest from one pump to the next.Flames burned within her. The ash from her lungs ignited. Electricity zapped across her veins, and she felt alive, and--

And the blasts exploded from her palms.All she saw was light -- a pure, radiant white engulfing the whole of her vision.

Then, she heard it. The tumultuous BOOM! deafened her, shattering everything around her. It was an atom bomb, an epicenter, everything so wrong and right in one moment.

Chapter Three: Bullshot - He needed to talk to someone, someone who didn't look at him and automatically saw a villain. Someone who could be stable when he wasn’t.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“The hell does--”

“Please,” he added.

His leg pulled out slightly. Bullshot suspected she’d planted her feet against the building. “Carolina.”

“Carolina. Let me go, or I’ll kill you just like I killed Mayer.”

Chapter Four: Sarge - This was going better than Sarge would’ve ever thought possible.

He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’ll be able to survive anything, woncha Lopez?”

Lopez idly drummed his fingers on his other arm. The motion was smooth, humanoid. “... Déjame adivinar: tienes TEPT y estás tratando de ignorar tu traumática historia de fondo al crearme, algo que no se puede matar, como si eso compensara toda la muerte que has visto en tu vida demasiado larga.” [Let me guess: you have PTSD and are trying to ignore your traumatic backstory by creating me, a thing that can't be killed, as though that would make up for all the death you've seen in your too-long life.]

That was quite a bit of content there! Poor thing must not have realized Sarge didn't understand him. Still, he may as well reward the effort. “Nicely put, Lopez!”

“¿Dónde está la autodestrucción?” [Where is self-destruct?]

Chapter Five: Richard - He locked Mike’s armor.

Then he pooled toward the mainframe, more careless than before.

He slipped into it entirely, grasped at everything, hurled it into himself. The data swam around him, too much too fast to make sense at the moment, but it was all coming for him.

He created a direct line to his father’s own system. Just in case.

This was ugly. It was messy.

Too much too fast. He was panicking. He wasn’t supposed to panic. This was easy for him why was he panicking what the hell was going on--

Names and faces ran past him. Mission reports, private documents, numbers and orders and lists and--

His body was struggling to keep up.

Richard tried to pull back, but the floodgates were open.

Chapter Six: Tucker - “Two percent.”

Pop!

He blinked. Huh. It went through. That was… really unexpected. But seeing as his odds were so low--

Pure energy thrummed through him in a beat, emerging around the entirety of his body as though it had been waiting. Tucker was buzzing, everything feeling like static and out of reach.

It occurred to him that he was probably in shock.

“What the fuck?” he said, but it came out twisted and warped, sounding more like the faint, high-pitched buzz that idled behind old televisions.

He looked at his hand.

It.

Was not.

A hand.

Chapter Seven: Alpha - He wasn’t annoyed at the interruption, exactly. Vaguely exasperated, perhaps; but he could understand on a technical level what was happening to Alpha. It made logical sense, such as logic as applied to emotion could make sense, which was a tenuous matter but nonetheless predictable. “You know this already, Alpha. You are the current host alter. An unusual manifestation for a host, but you will do quite fine, I am sure.” Best not to be specific with this alter. “Would you like to remember any events leading to now?”

Alpha was finally settling down in the recesses of their brain, now taken to prodding cautiously at Delta’s thoughts. He allowed this. Why do I have the feeling that has a price?

No longer yelling. That was an improvement. “It does. I can predict the consequences, but I don’t house our all of the memories either. I can share my findings, if you’d like.”

Findings from what? Your, like, ten seconds of existence?

Delta hummed. “It has been much longer than that.”

Chapter Eight: Michael - Marie’s seven-year-old frame was riding on Michael’s shoulders. She kept pulling his hair in the directions she wanted him to go. It was fun. She was laughing. He was laughing.

He always let his sisters win. Michael never captured the flag, but he did get captured a lot. This made his sisters happy, and they’d smile and giggle and crawl over him in triumph. This made him happy, too.

They stayed outdoors most of the time. Michael made sure of this. Going inside was dangerous, so when the respective flags were collected, he was the one to bring them in for a wash that wouldn’t quite rid the muddy stains.

Order of reading these chapters isn’t technically important, but I put them in the way I believe makes the most sense (though they’re largely independent from one another at this point). This fic does contain death and graphic depictions of violence. It is preceding a much, much larger fic that will eventually emphasize these details even further, so please be careful.

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

Original tweet: “Frustration for no season5. Series was about connecting, in the end everyone parted ways. Not asking better ending, just wish different...”

Chris C’s quote tweet response: I actually think you figured out what we were trying to say.

[note: quote tweet response has been deleted, and can’t seem to be found even through the wayback machine :< ]

[CN: spoilers, major character death]

So yesterday was the two year anniversary of this tweet, which I’ve been meaning to write about since maybe November of 2017? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of it in the past couple years. 

Halt and Catch Fire is about many things, and like every thing made to be watched, read, or listened to, it’s going to mean even more things than it’s about, because it’s going to mean something different to every single person who cares about it. But of all the capsule, concise, elevator pitch type descriptions we could come up with, ‘It’s a show about how things end’ would be an accurate one, even if it’s blunt and a little bewildering. Things change and/or end, we lose things and we fall out of touch with people when we move on. The show has always been about that, and that’s why three of the show’s five leads are traumatized, bereaved loners to whom Dallas is not home, and the other two leads are estranged from their families and households in other ways, even though they’re locals. Everyone in the is cast lost, on some level, and in part because they’re struggling to adapt to losses, setbacks, and other changes they’ve had to go through. 

By the end of the series, they’ve all experienced another ten years worth of setbacks, but I feel like they’ve all gotten better at coping with life. After prison, divorce, a cross-country move with the little start up that could, seemingly irreconcilable estrangement from his son, nearing bankruptcy, a second marriage, and a heart attack, Bos gets a clean bill of health. And suddenly, it seems, he’s not afraid of retirement, of relaxing, of getting to his last thing. Maybe this is partly because he was there for the last years of Gordon’s life, and he saw the way Gordon worked at facing his health problems and learning to be present head on. Gordon is definitely wiser and much more evolved by his final episode, he isn’t obsessed with his own brilliance or being recognized anymore, and he’s learned how to balance his personal and professional goals. This of course is partly because of and also made possible by his divorce from Donna. Because she’s a mom, Donna has been balancing work and home for years, she’s a veritable pro at it, but by the end of the show she’s figured out how to own her ambition, and she’s become the kind of leader and executive that she was always meant to and also always wanted to be. She’s earned the freedom she wanted from the work-home balance grind, but at some cost, and she eventually learns how to live with that cost. It probably helps that she gets back the most important thing she lost, her relationship with Cameron. Cameron has paid, too, for her desperation to belong to someone and feel apart of a family, which is arguably partly why she couldn’t get over Donna’s betrayal of her trust, and why she married Tom and moved 5000 miles away for seven years. She eventually learns to face and correct her mistakes. She learns to stop thinking of herself as a child or young prodigy, because it’s time for her to grow up, and refusing to do so isn’t serving her. She learns to accept that she played a part in her falling out with Donna, and to let go of her anger with her. But it’s not just with Donna, she also learns to see and accept J*e for what he is, and she finally figures out that they want different things, and ends their relationship. And while J*e does not seem to be at peace with that just yet by series’ end, he’s learned some other important lessons, probably too many to list here, actually. But in terms of where he ends up, J*e’s revelation is that, in the wake of Gordon’s death and the end of Comet and his relationship with Cameron, he can and should get off the tech merry-go-round. It was never about tech for him, the way it was for Cameron, Donna, and Gordon, and his entry into it was largely about his abusive father’s shadow. By leaving town, J*e withdraws from everything in his life, yes, but he also gets away from his grief, and he finally gets out of his father’s shadow. It’s not ideal, but it’s what he and a lot of bereaved people need, and to that extent, it’s a happy ending, and a sign that he’s actively working on dealing with his baggage.

I would like to believe that like the characters, I’ve gotten better at dealing with life. This show has unquestionably helped me to get better at coping with grief, loss, and epic friend breakups, and I think it’s helped me gain a healthier sense of perspective, and if not, it’s at least been there for me as I figured these things out and became wiser with age. A thing you can’t know in your early or even mid 20s is that even though life is ‘too short,’ life is also long. It’s very easy to become overwhelmed by painful early life experiences; you have to get through them to realize that even the worst and most life-altering traumas will not always be the defining thing of your life, there’s a lot of stuff ahead of you and that a certain amount of change and flux and endings are normal, that there’s still time for you to be happy, or at least, happier. No matter how old you are, if you’re reading this, I hope that you’ve learned something about this from watching this show (or maybe even from following along here), and that that information will be useful to you at some point even if it isn’t right now. 

It will sound silly, but I hesitated before starting this side tumblr, partly because I figured there’d be tons just like it (lol), but mostly because I knew that the show would eventually end, and that at some point, I’d have to stop posting new content here, and that I might fall out of touch with whatever friends I might make here. (I didn’t even actually expect to make that many friends or mutuals here, I can’t believe how many of you I’ve gotten to talk to!) That fear of a good thing ending won’t be relatable to everyone, but I have hunch that a significant portion of Halt’s audience will get it. 

Even if not, I am so, so glad that I didn’t let my unnecessary but habitual preemptive anxiety and sadness over things ending, over connecting and then parting ways stop me. It’s made a long few years immeasurably easier and less lonely, and it still does, even if it’s not the same as when the show was still airing. (Which is why I’m still posting here, and will be for a while, hopefully until after I can completely a full series rewatch.) It’s not like I’m looking forward to the day when I wrap up this blog, but, I’m also not irrationally (‘irrationally’) depressed by the idea of it anymore.

Halt was was always preoccupied with ‘the future,’ so it’s not hard to imagine the characters of the show feeling or thinking something like this, it would make sense for the show to end with the characters, or most of them, no longer feeling quite so scared of or depressed by the void of the future? I can’t be sure if that’s the vibe the finale was going for, and I feel like it’s a little bit sunnier than Chris C.’s tweet is. It’s what I got and what I’m still getting out of all of this, though, so I’m content to share this interpretation here, and to think that maybe it’s at least part of what the writers’ room was trying to say. 

[packhuntcr]

♒ - cooking/food headcanon asked by @thehearsc

Attempt #2 because tumblr ate more than half the first one, about which I’m super salty.

So, you totally only asked for one but...

I have lots of thoughts on this subject, okay?

Thought #1: Watery mac and cheese? Ten thousand percent the responsibility of one (1) Jacob Seed. But it’s not incompetence. Think about it. The boys grew up poor. Mac and cheese was cheap, plentiful, filling. They ate an asston of that boxed mac and cheese crap. And, being the oldest, Jacob was the one to make it. So, eliminating incompetence as a reason... it was absolutely an unsubtle protest to Joseph asking him to go. True, it’s a rare time even Joseph can make that great ginger sasquatch do something he doesn’t want to do. But just because he wasn’t forced doesn’t mean he had any kind of desire to share oxygen in the same vicinity as Nick Rye or any other idiot. And vexation loves company every inch as much as misery. So, that tupperware of sloppy noodles and processed cheese-product gets dropped onto the table, staring Joseph dead in the eye with a ‘I’m only here because of you and you bet your skinny ass I ain’t happy about it’ expression. I’m pretty sure it was a culinary ‘fuck you’ to Hot for Preacher and every other soul at that barbecue. 

Thought #2: Going back to jacob’s familiarity with cheap, crappy food. Jacob grew up in a house that lived paycheck-to-paycheck in the best of times. As he got older and the number of mouths to feed increased, it became paycheck-to-it-might-be-awhile-before-the-next-paycheck. Throw in there their mother’s progression to a breathing ghost that can’t be assed to rouse to the cries of her children, and it wasn’t Mrs. Seed cooking. It was Jacob.

And not well.

Especially earlier on, before John came along, Jacob had a talent for both burning and undercooking the same item of foodstuff. It got better with practice, but there was precious little to work with. Fresh produce or meat was rare. The boys always ate like preppers: canned, items from that sad clearance shelf in the grocery, things that were cheap, filling, shelf stable. And when the pantry went empty, it was the eldest son out scraping together enough to fill his brother’s empty bellies. Jacob begged. He borrowed, he stole, he hoarded what he could from other sources. Some evenings after school saw Jacob waiting for the food pantry in a line that stretched around the corner, the tips of his ears burning bright as his red hair. But sating hunger, feeding his brothers was more important than his pride. Seasonings were expensive, intimidating to a boy who had to teach himself to turn on the stove to warm the contents of  a steel can. More so, they did nothing to quiet the hunger and thus, were ruled unnecessary. Though he loved both his brothers, John was easily the favorite. John had no memory of their mother’s cooking, knew no other source of nutrition. So the baby happily ate whatever mess Jacob could pull together where Joseph had to force down a mess of oatmeal, peaches in heavy syrup, and vienna sausage. Which doesn't sound awful... Until you consider it was totally mixed together in one pot. But they were fed, went to bed with stomachs that didn’t growl most nights. It was enough.

Thought #3: If you think of it, school lunches were probably the only reliable source of food Jacob knew. They didn’t even last that long, but they were reliable up until that point. And there’s Jacob, at lunch knowing he’s got brothers at home without it. Knowing that the meal that evening or over the weekend isn’t guaranteed. So Jacob’s going to hoard food. He’ll never eat a full portion, not even of school’s sad PB&J. The boy grows up on half-portions, just enough to get by that he might have something to take back to share, to tuck away for thinner times. Dude’s thin most of his life. 6′4″ and gangling, but on such a broad frame. Jacob Seed wasn’t made to be slim. Look at the size of his hands, the breadth of his shoulders. 

The first time Jacob finishes a meal without being hungry, he’s 18 and in the army. 18 fucking years old before he goes to bed with a full belly. Because, up until that point, he’s been too poor, been setting food aside, been trying to feed two more on enough for one. By the time he’s made it through Basic, most of his hope of finding his brothers again is beat out of him. He’s also in a place where food is plentiful, pushed upon him. He’s got a bit of money for the first time in his life and exists in a system that wants him healthy and strong. And lord does that boy fill out. Jacob, in his twenties, is a mountain of a man. Towering, that broad frame finally filled out with the physical labor to ensure it’s all muscle. Then that third tour happens. Miller happens. And Jacob never wants to be that hungry again. So the hoarding resumes. And it never stops. Not when he’s homeless. Not when his brothers find him again.

I guarantee you there are caches of food throughout the county. Jacob is a beast about waste. Take enough, take what you need, store the rest. By the time we see him in Hope, dude’s had a reliable source of nutrition for 8-10 years at minimum. But he’s still thin; his hands look massive compared to his body, disproportionately so. He hasn’t rebuilt that muscle that he lost. Because rebuilding and maintaining that frame is excessive. He doesn’t need it and he’d rather set that food aside for later when things won’t be so easy. You bet your ass he has nightmares about those first few years if he survives the Collapse. Jacob's the one going "no, fuck you we need food for ten years, not seven" and living in terror of blight and nuclear winter.

Thought #4: Pork. I see many within this fandom expressing Jacob’s refusal to eat pork, his inability to stand the smell of cooking bacon. And I totally get it. I mean, there’s a reason people are referred to as long pig. And, of course, the incident with Miller is a hugely traumatic moment. It's a moment that left mental scars every bit as prolific as the physical ones. But, for me and my Jacob, this fails to take into account his pragmatism, the overwhelming practicality of the man. Think about it: henrefers to people as ‘meat’. He actually went so far as to overcome taboo and kill his friend in the desert and consume him in order to survive. 

And pork’s cheap. It’s prolific. It’s an easy choice when feeding the hundreds of the project. It cans easily in many forms. Jacob’s not going to turn it down. He’s known hunger. He’s known starvation. And he’s not going to waste a thing. Jacob Seed would eat your fucking puppy before going hungry. He’d eat you. Hell, the only ones he wouldn’t eat are John and Joseph. Even that is only because, without them, he doesn’t much want to survive. So yeah, Jacob will eat pork. Jacob will eat just about anything you lay before him. He’s probably the only Seed to not turn green at the notion of the Testy Festy. It’s just meat.

What will get him though, is scent. See, when he and Miller got separated int he ambush, they weren’t completely without supplies. Each had only what they carried. A camel-back of water each, the contents of their packs and pockets. There’s a bit in the way of snacking there. Enough for a day or two. But Miller, ever a vain man, Miller had a can of body spray in his pack, guard against the desert sun and BDUs. And he used it. Prolifically. One small comfort in a pit of misery, who’d blame the man? Jacob. That’s who. Jacob would swear Miller went through that entire can in a matter of days. Out in the middle of BFE and the man reeked like an Axe cloud in an under-ventilated middle school locker room. It was pervasive, irritating Jacob’s sensitive nose. So much so that he’d swear he could taste it in the meat pulled from a spit over a small fire. But he ate it.

That’s the trigger for Jacob- strong smells. We all know more than half of men’s soaps, deodorants, and sprays smell the same. And dude cannot stand it. It feeds into his grimy state. Who’d want to bathe regularly with that memory in a bottle right there? Given the years, the severity of the trauma, it’s spread. Any strong, chemically manufactured scent will remind Jacob. He thinks John fucking reeks with all that hair product, cologne, fine soaps and detergents. 

[sharpiefaceontangerine]

Harry Styles’ New Direction (Harry’s 2017 Feature in Rolling Stone)

(because apparently I didn’t have the full text on my tumblr and u can never be too careful)

January 2016. There’s a bench at the top of Primrose Hill, in London, that looks out over the skyline of the city. If you’d passed by it one winter night, you might have seen him sitting there. A lanky guy in a wool hat, overcoat and jogging pants, hands thrust deep into his pockets. Harry Styles had a lot on his mind. He had spent five years as the buoyant fan favorite in One Direction; now, an uncertain future stretched out in front of him. The band had announced an indefinite hiatus. The white noise of adulation was gone, replaced by the hushed sound of the city below.

The fame visited upon Harry Styles in his years with One D was a special kind of mania. With a self-effacing smile, a hint of darkness and the hair invariably described as “tousled,” he became a canvas onto which millions of fans pitched their hopes and dreams. Hell, when he pulled over to the side of the 101 freeway in L.A. and discreetly threw up, the spot became a fan shrine. It’s said the puke was even sold on eBay like pieces of the Berlin Wall. Paul McCartney has interviewed him. Then there was the unauthorized fan-fiction series featuring a punky, sexed-up version of “Harry Styles.” A billion readers followed his virtual exploits. (“Didn’t read it,” comments the nonfiction Styles, “but I hope he gets more than me.”)

But at the height of One D–mania, Styles took a step back. For many, 2016 was a year of lost musical heroes and a toxic new world order. For Styles, it was a search for a new identity that began on that bench overlooking London. What would a solo Harry Styles sound like? A plan came into focus. A song cycle about women and relationships. Ten songs. More of a rock sound. A bold single-color cover to match the working title: Pink. (He quotes the Clash’s Paul Simonon: “Pink is the only true rock & roll colour.”) Many of the details would change over the coming year – including the title, which would end up as Harry Styles – but one word stuck in his head.

“Honest,” he says, a year later, driving through midcity Los Angeles in a dusty black Range Rover. He’s lived here off and on for the past few years, always returning to London. Styles’ car stereo pumps a mix of country and obscure classic rock. “I didn’t want to write ‘stories,’ ” he says. “I wanted to write my stories, things that happened to me. The number-one thing was I wanted to be honest. I hadn’t done that before.” There isn’t a yellow light he doesn’t run as he speaks excitedly about the band he’s put together under the tutelage of producer Jeff Bhasker (The Rolling Stones, Kanye West, “Uptown Funk”). He’s full of stories about the two-month recording session last fall at Geejam, a studio and compound built into a mountainside near Port Antonio, a remote section of Jamaica. Drake and Rihanna have recorded there, and it’s where Styles produced the bulk of his new LP, which is due out May 12th. As we weave through traffic today, the album no one has heard is burning a hole in his iPhone.

We arrive at a crowded diner, and Styles cuts through the room holding a black notebook jammed with papers and artifacts from his album, looking like a college student searching for a quiet place to study. He’s here to do something he hasn’t done much of in his young career: an extended one-on-one interview. Often in the past there was another One D member to vector questions into a charmingly evasive display of band camaraderie. Today, Styles is a game but careful custodian of his words, sometimes silently consulting the tablecloth before answering. But as he recounts the events leading up to his year out of the spotlight, the layers begin to slip away.

It was in a London studio in late 2014 that Styles first brought up the idea of One Directiontaking a break. “I didn’t want to exhaust our fan base,” he explains. “If you’re shortsighted, you can think, ‘Let’s just keep touring,’ but we all thought too much of the group than to let that happen. You realize you’re exhausted and you don’t want to drain people’s belief in you.”

After much discussion, the band mutually agreed to a hiatus, which was announced in August 2015 (Zayn Malik had abruptly left One D several months earlier). Fans were traumatized by the band’s decision, but were let down easy with a series of final bows, including a tour that ran through October. Styles remains a One D advocate: “I love the band, and would never rule out anything in the future. The band changed my life, gave me everything.”

Harry Styles reveals the inspiration behind his new music. Here’s five things we learned about Harry Styles’ new album.

Still, a solo career was calling. “I wanted to step up. There were songs I wanted to write and record, and not just have it be ‘Here’s a demo I wrote.’ Every decision I’ve made since I was 16 was made in a democracy. I felt like it was time to make a decision about the future  …  and maybe I shouldn’t rely on others.”

As one of the most well-known 23-year-olds in the world, Styles himself is still largely unknown. Behind the effervescent stage persona, there is more lore than fact. He likes it that way. “With an artist like Prince,” he says, “all you wanted to do was know more. And that mystery – it’s why those people are so magical! Like, fuck, I don’t know what Prince eats for breakfast. That mystery  …  it’s just what I like.”

Styles pauses, savoring the idea of the unknown. He looks at my digital recorder like a barely invited guest. “More than ‘do you keep a mystery alive?’ – it’s not that. I like to separate my personal life and work. It helps, I think, for me to compartmentalize. It’s not about trying to make my career longer, like I’m trying to be this ‘mysterious character,’ because I’m not. When I go home, I feel like the same person I was at school. You can’t expect to keep that if you show everything. There’s the work and the personal stuff, and going between the two is my favorite shit. It’s amazing to me.”

Soon, we head to the Beachwood Canyon studio of Jeff Bhasker. As we arrive, Styles bounds up the steps to the studio, passing a bored pool cleaner. “How are ya,” he announces, unpacking a seriously cheerful smile. The pool cleaner looks perplexed, not quite sharing Styles’ existential joy.

Inside, the band awaits. Styles opens his notebook and heads for the piano. He wants to finish a song he’d started earlier that day. It’s obvious that the band has a well-worn frat-house dynamic, sort of like the Beatles in Help!, as directed by Judd Apatow. Styles is, to all, “H.” Pomegranate-scented candles flicker around the room. Bhasker enters, with guru-length hair, multicolored shirt, red socks and sandals. He was initially busy raising a new baby with his partner, the singer and songwriter Lykke Li, so he guided Styles to two of his producer-player protégés, Alex Salibian and Tyler Johnson, as well as engineer and bassist Ryan Nasci. The band began to form. The final piece of the puzzle was Mitch Rowland, Styles’ guitarist, who had worked in a pizza joint until two weeks into the sessions. “Being around musicians like this had a big effect on me,” Styles says. “Not being able to pass an instrument without sitting down and playing it?” He shakes his head. It was Styles’ first full immersion into the land of musos, and he clearly can’t get enough.

Styles starts singing some freshly written lyrics. It’s a new song called “I Don’t Want to Be the One You’re Waiting On.” His voice sounds warm, burnished and intimate, not unlike early Rod Stewart. The song is quickly finished, and the band assembles for a playback of the album.

“Mind if I play it loud?” asks Bhasker. It’s a rhetorical question. Nasci cranks “Sign of the Times,” the first single, to a seismic level. The song began as a seven-minute voice note on Styles’ phone, and ended up as a sweeping piano ballad, as well as a kind of call to arms. “Most of the stuff that hurts me about what’s going on at the moment is not politics, it’s fundamentals,” Styles says. “Equal rights. For everyone, all races, sexes, everything. …  ’Sign of the Times’ came from ‘This isn’t the first time we’ve been in a hard time, and it’s not going to be the last time.’ The song is written from a point of view as if a mother was giving birth to a child and there’s a complication. The mother is told, ‘The child is fine, but you’re not going to make it.’ The mother has five minutes to tell the child, ‘Go forth and conquer.'” The track was a breakthrough for both the artist and the band. “Harry really led the charge with that one, and the rest of the album,” says Bhasker.

“I wish the album could be called Sign of the Times,” Styles declares.

“I don’t know,” says Bhasker. “I mean, it has been used.“

They debate for a bit. Nasci plays more tracks. The songs range from full-on rock (“Kiwi”) to intricate psychedelic pop (“Meet Me in the Hallway”) to the outright confessional (“Ever Since New York,” a desperate meditation on loss and longing). The lyrics are full of details and references – secrets whispered between friends, doomed declarations of love, empty swimming pools – sure to set fans scrambling for the facts behind the mystery.

“Of course I’m nervous,” Styles admits, jingling his keys. “I mean, I’ve never done this before. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m happy I found this band and these musicians, where you can be vulnerable enough to put yourself out there. I’m still learning …  but it’s my favorite lesson.”

The album is a distinct departure from the dance pop that permeates the airwaves. “A lot of my influences, and the stuff that I love, is older,” he says. “So the thing I didn’t want to do was, I didn’t want to put out my first album and be like, ‘He’s tried to re-create the Sixties, Seventies, Eighties, Nineties.’ Loads of amazing music was written then, but I’m not saying I wish I lived back then. I wanted to do something that sounds like me. I just keep pushing forward.”

“It’s different from what you’d expect,” Bhasker says. “It made me realize the Harry [in One D] was kind of the digitized Harry. Almost like a character. I don’t think people know a lot of the sides of him that are on this album. You put it on and people are like, ‘This is Harry Styles?’ ”

Styles is aware that his largest audience so far has been young – often teenage – women. Asked if he spends pressure-filled evenings worried about proving credibility to an older crowd, Styles grows animated. “Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music – short for popular, right? – have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.“

Styles drives to a quiet dinner spot in Laurel Canyon, at the foot of Lookout Mountain Avenue, onetime home to many of his Seventies songwriting heroes. He used to have a place around the corner. As the later tours of One Direction grew larger, longer and more frenetic, he offers with irony, “It was very rock & roll.” He’s not a heavy drinker, he says, maybe some tequila on ice or wine with friends after a show, but by the band’s last tour there wasn’t much time even for that. John Lennon once told Rolling Stone that behind the curtain, the Beatles’ tours were like Fellini’s Satyricon. Styles counters that the One D tours were more like “a Wes Anderson movie. Cut. Cut. New location. Quick cut. New location. Cut. Cut. Show. Shower. Hard cut. Sleep.”

Finding a table, Styles leans forward and discusses his social-media presence, or lack thereof. Styles and his phone have a bittersweet, mature relationship – they spend a lot of time apart. He doesn’t Google himself, and checks Twitter infrequently. “I’ll tell you about Twitter,” he continues, discussing the volley of tweets, some good, some cynical, that met his endorsement of the Women’s March on Washington earlier this year. “It’s the most incredible way to communicate closely with people, but not as well as in person.” When the location of his London home was published a few years ago, he was rattled. His friend James Corden offered him a motto coined by British Prime Minister Benjamin Disraeli: “Never complain, never explain.”

I mention a few of the verbal Molotov cocktails Zayn Malik has tossed at the band in recent interviews. Here’s one: “[One D is] not music that I would listen to. If I was sat at a dinner date with a girl, I would play some cool shit, you know what I mean? I want to make music that I think is cool shit. I don’t think that’s too much to ask for.”

Styles adjusts himself in his chair. “I think it’s a shame he felt that way,” he says, threading the needle of diplomacy, “but I never wish anything but luck to anyone doing what they love. If you’re not enjoying something and need to do something else, you absolutely should do that. I’m glad he’s doing what he likes, and good luck to him.”

Perched on his head are the same-style white sunglasses made famous by Kurt Cobain, but the similarities end right there. Styles, born two months before Cobain exited Earth, doesn’t feel tied to any particular genre or era. In the car, he’ll just as easily crank up the country music of Keith Whitley as the esoteric blues-and-soul of Shuggie Otis. He even bought a carrot cake to present to Stevie Nicks at a Fleetwood Mac concert. (“Piped her name onto it. She loved it. Glad she liked carrot cake.”)

This much is clear: The classic role of tortured artist is not one he’ll be playing. “People romanticize places they can’t get to themselves,” he says. “That’s why it’s fascinating when people go dark – when Van Gogh cuts off his ear. You romanticize those people, sometimes out of proportion. It’s the same with music. You want a piece of that darkness, to feel their pain but also to step back into your own [safer] life. I can’t say I had that. I had a really nice upbringing. I feel very lucky. I had a great family and always felt loved. There’s nothing worse than an inauthentic tortured person. ‘They took my allowance away, so I did heroin.’ It’s like – that’s not how it works. I don’t even remember what the question was.”

Styles wanders into the Country Store next door. It’s a store he knows well. Inspecting the shelves, he asks if I’ve had British rice pudding. He finds a can that looks ancient. He collects a roll of Rowntrees Fruit Pastilles (“since 1881”), Lindor Swiss chocolates (“irresistibly smooth”) and a jar of Branston Pickles. “There’s only two shops in L.A. that stock all the British snacks. This area’s kind of potluck,” he says, spreading the collection on the counter.

The clerk rings up the snacks. In the most careful, deferential way, the young worker asks the question. “Would you  … happen to be …  Harry Styles?”

“Yep.”

“Could I get a selfie?” Styles obliges, and leans over the counter. Click. We exit into the Laurel Canyon evening.

“Hey,” shouts a grizzled-looking dude on the bench outside the store. “Do you know who you look like?”

Styles turns, expecting more of the same, but this particular night denizen is on a different track.

“River Phoenix,” the man announces, a little sadly. “You ever heard of him? If he hadn’t have passed, I would have said that was you. Talented guy.”

“Yes, he was,” agrees Styles, who is in many ways the generational opposite of Phoenix. “Yes, he was.”

They share a silent moment, before Styles walks to his car. He hands me the bag filled with English snacks. “This is for you,” he says. “This was my youth …”

Harry Edward Styles was born in Worcestershire, England, in true classic-rock form, on a Tuesday Afternoon. The family moved to Cheshire, a quiet spot in Northern England, when he was a baby. His older sister, Gemma, was the studious one. (“She was always smarter than me, and I was always jealous of that.”)

His father, Desmond, worked in finance. He was a fan of the Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac, a lot of Queen, and Pink Floyd. Young Harry toddled around to The Dark Side of the Moon. “I couldn’t really get it,” he says, “but I just remember being like – this is really fucking cool. Then my mom would always have Shania Twain, and Savage Garden, Norah Jones going on. I had a great childhood. I’ll admit it.”

But in fact, all was not perfection, scored to a cool, retro soundtrack. When Harry was seven, his parents explained to him that Des would be moving out. Asked about that moment today, Styles stares straight ahead. “I don’t remember,” he says. “Honestly, when you’re that young, you can kind of block it out. … I can’t say that I remember the exact thing. I didn’t realize that was the case until just now. Yeah, I mean, I was seven. It’s one of those things. Feeling supported and loved by my parents never changed.”

His eyes moisten a little, but unlike the young man who wept over an early bout with Internet criticism, a powerful moment in the early One Direction documentary A Year in the Making,Styles tonight knocks back the sentiment. Styles is still close with his father, and served as best man to his mom when she remarried a few years ago. “Since I’ve been 10,” he reflects, “it’s kind of felt like – protect Mom at all costs. … My mom is very strong. She has the greatest heart. [Her house in Cheshire] is where I want to go when I want to spend some time.”

In his early teens, Styles joined some school friends as the singer in a mostly-covers band, White Eskimo. “We wrote a couple of songs,” he remembers. “One was called ‘Gone in a Week.’ It was about luggage. ‘I’ll be gone in a week or two/Trying to find myself someplace new/I don’t need any jackets or shoes/The only luggage I need is you.'” He laughs. “I was like, ‘Sick.'”

It was his mother who suggested he try out for the U.K. singing competition The X Factor to compete in the solo “Boy” category. Styles sang Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely.” The unforgiving reaction from one of the judges, Louis Walsh, is now infamous. Watching the video today is to watch young Harry’s cheery disposition take a hot bullet.

“In that instant,” he says, “you’re in the whirlwind. You don’t really know what’s happening; you’re just a kid on the show. You don’t even know you’re good at anything. I’d gone because my mum told me I was good from singing in the car …  but your mum tells you things to make you feel good, so you take it with a pinch of salt. I didn’t really know what I was expecting when I went on there.”

Styles didn’t advance in the competition, but Simon Cowell, the show’s creator, sensed a crowd favorite. He put Styles together with four others who’d failed to advance in the same category, and united the members of One D in a musical shotgun marriage. The marriage worked. And worked. And worked.

You wonder how a young musician might find his way here, to these lofty peaks, with his head still attached to his shoulders. No sex tapes, no TMZ meltdowns, no tell-all books written by the rehab nanny? In a world where one messy scandal can get you five seasons of a hit reality show …  how did Harry Styles slip through the juggernaut?

“Family,” answers Ben Winston. “It comes from his mom, Anne. She brought him and his sister up incredibly well. Harry would choose boring over exciting … There is more chance of me going to Mars next week than there is of Harry having some sort of addiction.”

We’re in Television City, Hollywood. Winston, 35, the Emmy-winning executive producer of TheLate Late Show With James Corden, abandons his desk and retreats to a nearby sofa to discuss his good friend. More than a friend, Styles became an unlikely family member – after he became perhaps the world’s most surprising houseguest.

Their friendship was forged in the early stages of One D’s success, when the band debuted on The X Factor. Winston, then a filmmaker and production partner with Corden, asked for a meeting, and instantly hit it off with the group. He became a friendly mentor to Styles, though the friendship was soon tested. Styles had just moved out of his family home in Cheshire, an inconvenient three hours north of London. He found a home he liked near the Winstons in Hampstead Heath. The new house needed two weeks of work. Styles asked if he could briefly move in with Winston and his wife, Meredith. “She agreed,” Winston says, “but only for two weeks.”

Styles parked his mattress in the Winstons’ attic. “Two weeks later and he hadn’t bought his house yet,” continues Winston. “It wasn’t going through. Then he said, ‘I’m going to stay until Christmas, if you don’t mind.’ Then Christmas came, and …”

For the next 20 months, one of the most desired stars on the planet slept on a small mattress in an attic. The only other bit of house-dressing was the acoustic guitar that would rattle into the Winstons’ bedroom. While fans gathered at the empty house where he didn’t live, Styles lived incognito with a couple 12 years his senior. The Winstons’ Orthodox Jewish lifestyle, with a strong family emphasis, helped keep him sane.

“Those 20 months were when they went from being on a reality show, X Factor, to being the biggest-selling artists in the world,” recalls Winston. “That period of time, he was living with us in the most mundane suburban situation. No one ever found out, really. Even when we went out for a meal, it’s such a sweet family neighborhood, no one dreamed it was actually him. But he made our house a home. And when he moved out, we were gutted.”

Styles jauntily appears at the Late Late office. He’s clearly a regular visitor, and he and Winston have a brotherly shorthand.

“Leaving Saturday?” asks Winston.

“Yeah, gotta buy a cactus for my friend’s birthday,” says Styles.

“My dad might be on your flight,” says Winston.

“The 8:50? That’d be sick.”

Winston continues the tales from the attic. “So we had this joke. Meri and I would like to see the girls that you would come back with to the house. That was always what we enjoyed, because we’d be in bed like an old couple. We’d have our spot cream on our faces and we’d be in our pajamas and the door would go off. The stairwell was right outside our door, so we’d wait to see if Harry was coming home alone or with people.”

“I was alone,” notes Styles. “I was scared of Meri.”

“He wasn’t always alone,” corrects Winston, “but it was exciting seeing the array of A-listers that would come up and sleep in the attic. Or he’d come and lounge with us. We’d never discuss business. He would act as if he hadn’t come back from playing to 80,000 people three nights in a row in Rio de Janeiro.”

“Let’s go to the beach,” says Styles, pulling the Range Rover onto a fog-soaked Pacific Coast Highway. Last night was his tequila-fueled birthday party, filled with friends and karaoke and a surprise drop-in from Adele. He’s now officially 23. “And not too hung over,” he notes.

Styles finds a spot at a sushi place up the coast. As he passes through the busy dining room, a businessman turns, recognizing him with a face that says: My kids love this guy! I ask Styles what he hears most from the parents of young fans. “They say, ‘I see your cardboard face every fucking day.’ ” He laughs. “I think they want me to apologize.”

The subject today is relationships. While Styles says he still feels like a newcomer to all that, a handful of love affairs have deeply affected him. The images and stolen moments tumble extravagantly through the new songs: And promises are broken like a stitch is … I got splinters in my knuckles crawling ‘cross the floor/Couldn’t take you home to mother in a skirt that short/But I think that’s what I like about it … I see you gave him my old T-shirt, more of what was once mine … That black notebook, you sense, is filled with this stuff.

“My first proper girlfriend,” he remembers, “used to have one of those laughs. There was also a little bit of mystery with her because she didn’t go to our school. I just worshipped the ground she walked on. And she knew, probably to a fault, a little. That was a tough one. I was 15.

“She used to live an hour and a half away on the train, and I worked in a bakery for three years. I’d finish on Saturdays at 4:30 and it was a 4:42 train, and if I missed it there wasn’t one for another hour or two. So I’d finish and sprint to the train station. Spent 70 percent of my wages on train tickets. Later, I’d remember her perfume. Little things. I smell that perfume all the time. I’ll be in a lift or a reception and say to someone, ‘Alien, right?’ And sometimes they’re impressed and sometimes they’re a little creeped out. ‘Stop smelling me.'”

If Styles hadn’t yet adapted to global social-media attention, he was tested in 2012, when he met Taylor Swift at an awards show. Their second date, a walk in Central Park, was caught by paparazzi. Suddenly the couple were global news. They broke up the next month, reportedly after a rocky Caribbean vacation; the romance was said to have ended with at least one broken heart.

The relationship is a subject he’s famously avoided discussing. “I gotta pee first. This might be a long one,” he says. He rises to head to the bathroom, then adds, “Actually, you can say, ‘He went for a pee and never came back.’ ”

He returns a couple of minutes later. “Thought I’d let you stew for a while,” he says, laughing, then takes a gulp of green juice. He was surprised, he says, when photos from Central Park rocketed around the world. “When I see photos from that day,” he says, “I think: Relationships are hard, at any age. And adding in that you don’t really understand exactly how it works when you’re 18, trying to navigate all that stuff didn’t make it easier. I mean, you’re a little bit awkward to begin with. You’re on a date with someone you really like. It should be that simple, right? It was a learning experience for sure. But at the heart of it – I just wanted it to be a normal date.”

He’s well aware that at least two of Swift’s songs – “Out of the Woods” and “Style” – are considered to be about their romance. (“You’ve got that long hair slicked back, white T-shirt,” she sang in “Style.”) “I mean, I don’t know if they’re about me or not …” he says, attempting gallant discretion, “but the issue is, she’s so good, they’re bloody everywhere.” He smiles. “I write from my experiences; everyone does that. I’m lucky if everything [we went through] helped create those songs. That’s what hits your heart. That’s the stuff that’s hardest to say, and it’s the stuff I talk least about. That’s the part that’s about the two people. I’m never going to tell anybody everything.” (Fans wondered whether “Perfect,” a song Styles co-wrote for One Direction, might have been about Swift: “And if you like cameras flashing every time we go out/And if you’re looking for someone to write your breakup songs about/Baby, I’m perfect.”)

Was he able to tell her that he admired the songs? “Yes and no,” he says after a long pause. “She doesn’t need me to tell her they’re great. They’re great songs … It’s the most amazing unspoken dialogue ever.”

Is there anything he’d want to say to Swift today? “Maybe this is where you write down that I left!” He laughs, and looks off. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “Certain things don’t work out. There’s a lot of things that can be right, and it’s still wrong. In writing songs about stuff like that, I like tipping a hat to the time together. You’re celebrating the fact it was powerful and made you feel something, rather than ‘this didn’t work out, and that’s bad.’ And if you run into that person, maybe it’s awkward, maybe you have to get drunk … but you shared something. Meeting someone new, sharing those experiences, it’s the best shit ever. So thank you.”

He notes a more recent relationship, possibly over now, but significant for the past few years. (Styles has often been spotted with Kendall Jenner, but he won’t confirm that’s who he’s talking about.) “She’s a huge part of the album,” says Styles. “Sometimes you want to tip the hat, and sometimes you just want to give them the whole cap …  and hope they know it’s just for them.”

In late February 2016, Styles landed a plum part in Christopher Nolan’s upcoming World War II epic, Dunkirk. In Nolan, Styles found a director equally interested in mystery. “The movie is so ambitious,” he says. “Some of the stuff they’re doing in this movie is insane. And it was hard, man, physically really tough, but I love acting. I love playing someone else. I’d sleep really well at night, then get up and continue drowning.”

When Styles returned to L.A., an idea landed. The idea was: Get out of Dodge. Styles called his manager, Jeffrey Azoff, and explained he wanted to finish the album outside London or L.A., a place where the band could focus and coalesce. Four days after returning from the movie, they were on their way to Port Antonio on Jamaica’s remote north coast. At Geejam, Styles and his entire band were able to live together, turning the studio compound into something like a Caribbean version of Big Pink. They occupied a two-story villa filled with instruments, hung out at the tree-house-like Bush Bar, and had access to the gorgeous studio on-site. Many mornings began with a swim in the deserted cove just down the hill.

Life in Jamaica was 10 percent beach party and 90 percent musical expedition. It was the perfect rite of passage for a musician looking to explode the past and launch a future. The anxiety of what’s next slipped away. Layers of feeling emerged that had never made it past One Direction’s group songwriting sessions, often with pop craftsmen who polished the songs after Styles had left. He didn’t feel stifled in One D, he says, as much as interrupted. “We were touring all the time,” he recalls. “I wrote more as we went, especially on the last two albums.” There are songs from that period he loves, he says, like “Olivia” and “Stockholm Syndrome,” along with the earlier song “Happily.” “But I think it was tough to really delve in and find out who you are as a writer when you’re just kind of dipping your toe each time. We didn’t get the six months to see what kind of shit you can work with. To have time to live with a song, see what you love as a fan, chip at it, hone it and go for that  … it’s heaven.”

The more vulnerable the song, he learned, the better. “The one subject that hits the hardest is love,” he says, “whether it’s platonic, romantic, loving it, gaining it, losing it  …  it always hits you hardest. I don’t think people want to hear me talk about going to bars, and how great everything is. The champagne popping  …  who wants to hear about it? I don’t want to hear my favorite artists talk about all the amazing shit they get to do. I want to hear, ‘How did you feel when you were alone in that hotel room, because you chose to be alone?'”

To wind down in Jamaica, Styles and Rowland, the guitarist, began a daily Netflix obsession with sugary romantic comedies. Houseworkers would sometimes leave at night and return the next morning to see Styles blearily removing himself from a long string of rom-coms. He declares himself an expert on Nicholas Sparks, whom he now calls “Nicky Spee.” After almost two months, the band left the island with a bounty of songs and stories. Like the time Styles ended up drunk and wet from the ocean, toasting everybody, wearing a dress he’d traded with someone’s girlfriend. “I don’t remember the toast,” he says, “but I remember the feeling.”

Christmas 2016. Harry Styles was parked outside his childhood home, sitting next to his father. They were listening to his album. After lunch at a pub, they had driven down their old street and landed in front of the family home. Staring out at the house where Styles grew up listening to his father’s copy of The Dark Side of the Moon, there was much to consider. It was a long way he’d traveled in those fast few years since “Isn’t She Lovely.” He’d previously played the new album for his mother, on a stool, in the living room, on cheap speakers. She’d cried hearing “Sign of the Times.” Now he sat with his father – who liked the new song “Carolina” best – both having come full circle.

Styles is moved as he describes how he felt. We’re sitting in Corden’s empty office, talking over a few last subjects before he returns to England. “I think, as a parent, especially with the band stuff, it was such a roller coaster,” he says. “I feel like they were always thinking, ‘OK, this ride could stop at any point and we’re going to have to be there when it does.’ There was something about playing the album and how happy I was that told them, ‘If all I get is to make this music, I’m content. If I’m never on that big ride again, I’m happy and proud of it.’

“I always said, at the very beginning, all I wanted was to be the granddad with the best stories …  and the best shelf of artifacts and bits and trinkets.”

Tomorrow night he’ll hop a flight back to England. Rehearsals await. Album-cover choices need to be made. He grabs his black notebook and turns back for a moment before disappearing down the hallway, into the future.

“How am I going to be mysterious,” he asks, only half-joking, “when I’ve been this honest with you?”

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY Recaps: Vol. 5 "Unforeseen Complications"

This is a re-posting from Oct. 28th, 2017 in an effort to get all my recaps fully on tumblr. Thanks!

This RWBY review had to be put on hold while I finished Stranger Things 2. In all honesty if you're reading this instead of watching the new season... please re-think your life choices.

For those of you who have binged properly you'll already know that though RWBY doesn't do holiday-themed episodes, they're still bringing in the Halloween spirit this week with the rather terrifying title "Unforeseen Complications." We open on Blake, Sun, Kali, and a pacing Ghira, wearing his tiny reading glasses that everyone was gushing over when the promo picture first dropped. Luckily we haven't lost the adorable cat Dad (yet), but things aren't looking good, especially when he's given this much screen time in a show that just loves breaking up happy families. Ghira is prepping a speech in regards to Adam's recent power-play and the only thing that eases the tension is a warm, family hug.

And Sun's awkward fourth-wheeling. Honestly, that was funny about ten episodes ago. For a side character that's been thrust into one of the main cast's storyline, Sun sure hasn't justified his place there yet. He's done little in the way of really assisting Blake in her work and the injury that worried everyone last Volume was explained away this very episode, amounting to nothing. The guy either needs something to do or finally needs to clear out--which, I should add, Blake wanted him to do weeks ago.

Sun aside, Ghira remains a favorite among fans for his sweet nature, fair views, and unending support of his daughter. His speech here, laying out Adam's rogue faction in the White Fang and his involvement in the Fall of Beacon, isn't anything that the viewer didn't already know about. In fact, the scene is a little confusing if you don't catch that Blake's story is apparently taking place a month behind everyone else's. There's no overt indication of this using text on screen and given that we're following so many characters, there's no easy way to imply an ellipsis, let alone that we're jumping around a suddenly non-linear timeline. I had originally taken Ghira's warning that Adam intends to kill Sienna as an indicator that news of her death hadn't reached the island yet. However, it was pointed out to me later that Ghira mentions Haven opening in two months time whereas Ozpin, later in the episode, says that school starts up in a month. I'm not sure why RT has chosen this form--or why they've made it so convoluted--but I'm trusting that it will somehow benefit the overall structure of the Volume.

Ghira's call to assist the humans in Haven certainly doesn't get an outcry of support from the crowd, but he's entirely undermined when Ilia (dramatically) throws off her cloak and reveals herself, shouting that they should never help the humans when they've done nothing but harm the faunus in turn. Sun tries to grab her (he fails) but the damage is already done. As we see through the camera focusing on our two creepy fox brothers, Adam's splinter faction has wormed its way in deep. We know thanks to Ilia's scroll that Adam not only plans to attack Haven but take out their CTT tower as well. RWBY is chock-full of themes surrounding communication (or the lack thereof) and literally taking out the kingdoms' one way of contacting one another is highly reflective of that. Combine that with Ilia’s few words sowing so much discord. Divide them and they’ll fall, and all that. 

The real action of the episode though is with Team RNJR. After a full two weeks we finally get to see the gang's reaction to Professor Ozpin's return and oh boy, it did not disappoint.

Ruby: "Isn't it weird?"

She's so excited about this! Qrow reminds the kids that this is strange for everyone involved, including the boy you're hounding, so they sheepishly give Oscar some space. He admits that he's a little nervous because he's never met real huntsmen and huntresses before, which is a wonderful callback to Ruby's excited, "Can I have your autograph?" to Glynda in Episode One. She's come far enough now that she's the one people look up to with awe. There's also perhaps a bit of rosegarden here, but that's obviously a ship that can only happen if Ozpin gets a body of his own.

We then (bless) finally get some actual information regarding this Oscar-Ozpin situation. Oscar shows everyone his "parlor trick" where, with a flash of green aura, gold eyes, and white hair, Ozpin takes control of his body, making everyone emotional with a sincere, "It is so very good to see you again, students."

It's a remarkably light scene for all the revelations. Like I've been noting in all these recaps, Ozpin admits how pleased he is that Ruby and the others can retain their sense of humor in the face of confusing and traumatizing circumstances. We get another callback as Ozpin apologizes, saying that he wasn't exaggerating when he once told Ruby he'd made more mistakes than any man, woman, or child. We learn that he has been “cursed” by the gods for failing to stop Salem centuries ago. For thousands of years Ozpin has lived, died, and reincarnated in the body of a "like-minded soul," though there's still no explanation of what exactly constitutes "like-minded” in this scenario. 

Jaune: "So who... what are you?"

Ouch. Though not an entirely unwarranted question when you’re suddenly dealing with the impossible. Ozpin says that he is the "combination of countless men" who have spent their lives trying to protect Remnant. The implication that he only reincarnates as a man aside (seems like a missed opportunity there), this seems like a pretty firm confirmation of the merging theory. The person we know as Ozpin might not entirely erase Oscar, but it certainly sounds like they won't remain completely separate people for forever. Indeed, Ozpin says straight out that at some point, "eventually," they'll “merge” and become the new Ozpin, a man who retains the memories of all his past lives. It’s all still horrendously murky, but honestly, if Oscar doesn't have at least a little bit of a freak out over this I'll be sorely disappointed.

We still don't know who or what Ozpin was originally. Was he just a man who took on too much, cursed by the gods for his failure or arrogance? Was he the wizard, one of the few capable of wielding magic in Remnant, thus making his survival (and the curse to ensure as much) a necessity? Ozpin isn't saying just yet. After assigning Qrow to find them more huntsmen he turns his sights on Team RNJR, telling them that they'll need to get into "fighting shape" before they can face Salem.

There is nothing that I don't love about this scene. Bringing back Ruby's lack of skill in hand-to-hand after Yang's character short spent so much time emphasizing it? Check. Implying that we'll finally unlock Jaune's semblance this Volume? Check. Ozpin confirming that outside the confines of his headmaster persona he's a happy, dramatic showoff?

Triple check.

All poor Oscar asked is that Ozpin not do anything embarrassing while he has control of their body and what does this man do? Act extra as fuck of course, performing a backflip onto the chair and spinning his cane far, far longer than he needs to. Nora is the only one unimpressed by this display, but I personally can't wait to see Ozpin training the kids. It should be especially interesting given his sudden loss of control--Oscar coming back unexpectedly and losing his balance, toppling them off the chair. Training is hard enough. Training while you're stuck in the body of a weak, undisciplined child... that's something else entirely.

The end of our episode takes us back to Weiss, still guarded by Raven's bandits. It's a moment of psychological torture, with her captor taunting Weiss with her own weapon and demonstrating that the one tool she has, information, is severely outdated. Ironwood has recalled all his troops from Mistral, including Winter. She's not around now to save her little sis’ like Weiss had hoped.

Which is hilarious, because in no world does Weiss Schnee need saving. Our last shot is of the miniature knight she's made out of a tiny glyph and her confident smile. Can't wait to see what she's planning to do with that.

Other Details of Note

I was incredibly nervous during the later half of Ghira's speech where he's just going, "We have ALL this INCRIMINATING evidence on this ONE SCROLL that I'm going to WAVE AROUND out here in the OPEN where anyone could EASILY STEAL or DESTROY IT..."

The faunus press all using their scrolls instead of cameras or old-fashioned pen and paper. It's a small but enjoyable bit of world-building.

The voice acting for Ozpin as Oscar was incredibly well done. Jury's still out on whether the echo is just a byproduct of his control or is somehow more meaningful. One theory currently says it's used whenever Ozpin says something that references all of his past lives, not just his last two.

Qrow immediately gets Ozpin coffee. Or hot chocolate. Whatever it is. He might be in the body of a 14yo, but you know as soon as he has control he needs a mug in his hands.

... Qrow then breaks the table and the mug. Hello, semblance. I'm looking forward to seeing more of that as the Volume goes on. Does the bad luck get worse the longer Qrow stays in one place? Is that why he's so eager to leave and recruit more huntsmen? What exactly are the rules here? No one has laid them out and (like silver eyes...) no one seems very interested. 

Oscar upon learning that he'll be training too: "Wait, what?"

And you've gotta love Nora. She went from thinking over how she could bribe her powerful, dignified headmaster ("No wait, he has a school") to flouncing about and calling him their "little cute boy Ozpin." I really hope she ignores his request and keeps calling him that indefinitely. It's very amusing.

[knight-intraining]

Gwen's guide to a more positive outlook

Let me start by saying that if you think "must be nice to be neurotypical Karen" - you need this post!! I have bipolar disorder and anxiety and it took me a long time to get here. But you can do it! Even with a mental illness screaming in your head that everything sucks.

These steps are in an “easy to implement” to “hard to implement” order. That doesn’t mean that you can’t change the order or take on multiple steps at once. However, long-term change doesn’t happen overnight: it helps to take on challenges in phases or steps. Then once one thing is a habit, you move on to the next thing. If you take on too many steps at once, you might get overwhelmed and give up.

Step one: Commit to the goal! You have to want it or it won't work.

Step two: Take any medicines/attend therapy. You can't do everything single-handedly.

Step three: Stop all self-deprecation! It's hard to be positive when you think you're worthless. (Here’s a post I made about how to do this: https://rising-phoenix-21.tumblr.com/post/170320454891/gwens-guide-to-loving-yourself) 

Step four: Challenge negative thoughts! Reply to things like "what if I die" with "that’s not going to happen". Something that helps me a lot is to say what is the worst thing that could happen, then what is the best thing that could happen, and finally what is most likely to happen.

Example: I have to go to an unfamiliar place and am very nervous about it. My anxiety is telling me everything that could go wrong and making it hard for me to actually go.

What is the worst that could happen? I do the wrong thing and everybody dies.

Okay, what is the best thing that could happen? I magically know everything to do and they think I'm the best person ever.

What is most likely to happen? Someone will be there to show me the ropes/tell me the rules and I can ask them any questions I have. I may make a mistake but they will be understanding because they know I'm new.

Other examples:

*remembers embarrassing thing and cringes forever* “I am the only person who remembers this, no one else does and therefore there is nothing to be embarrassed about”. Alternatively, "they are not going to remember that in (insert my opinion of how long it will take for them to forget) 30 seconds. *counts down from 30* see, they've already forgotten all about it and I can forget about it too" or "yes I made this mistake but I learned from it and it is in the past so I don't need to worry about it anymore".

*makes a mistake, worries everyone hates me for it* “It's okay, they know I'm new. This is a learning environment, everyone makes mistakes and they are expecting this”. Alternatively: “they never told me to do X and therefore there is no way I could have known and this is not my fault”. 

Step five: Accept when something bad happens. You are going to feel bad about it and that is okay. Let yourself feel the negative emotion until it has run its course. Having a positive outlook does not mean you're happy 24/7 and never cry. However, recognize that this feeling is not going to last forever, you will feel better, and things will get better. Saying it out loud may help.

It’s easy to start wallowing in a negative emotion and/or relapse when something bad happens. This is where your support network comes in! They will help keep you accountable and on the right path. When you are in a bad place, it also helps to look back at good memories and mementos.

Step six: Start writing down 1 (or more) good thing/s that happened or something you're thankful for everyday. Aim for everyday but if you end up only doing this once a week that's okay too. This one seems small but is seriously so important!! When you force yourself to think about something good that happened on a bad day it makes it Way easier to see the good on a regular basis.

Step seven is similar: Enjoy life! Take pleasure in the little things! Yes, sometimes things suck but it's hard to remember that when you're singing along to your favorite song with the windows down and a soda in your hand. Or cuddling with your dog or swimming or doodling your favorite character. When you're having a good day/good moment, take a second and just breathe. Think about how amazing you feel in this moment and how awesome life is.

Then when something tries to tell you that it's all bad, you can look back on that moment, on how amazing you felt and know that IT IS A LIE.

Keep mementos of the good days and the fun you have like photos/ticket stubs/birthday cards, etc.These also help with the bad days.

Step eight: Give yourself things to look forward to. Something that really helps me is picturing physical things about my future. Like I’ll picture what my classroom is going to look like or imagine what kind of Mom I’m going to be or what my wedding is going to look like. Sometimes the future is a big scary void and filling that void with something as small as “I’m going to have a dog” makes the future something to look forward to instead of fear. Doing this on a smaller scale is also helpful, “next weekend I’m going to see a movie”. You may not know where you’re going to be in the next year, but you know you’re going to see that movie and you can look forward to it.

Step nine: Remove negative media from your life! Is that song about your life before your recovery? Pitch it! You're not in that place anymore. If you're recovering from self-harm, all songs talking about harming yourself have to go! If you're a recovering alcoholic, all songs about heavy drinking have got to go! Those songs just put you back into that mindset, they mimic the bad place you were in and you don't want to be there anymore!!

If you are not in recovery, get rid of songs that have a negative message- "life sucks", "there's no hope", "things are never getting better". Is there a song that makes you think of your ex and it makes you sad? Say goodbye to it!

That isn't to say you can't ever listen to "sad" songs or songs that make you cry. The key is to not listen to those on a Regular Basis. Because then you're just making yourself sad on a regular basis, and what good is that?

Unfollow triggering blogs! Utilize Tumblr's filtering system! Renovate your dash so it's full of positivity/cute animals/recovery and inspiration/good news and not just the bad! This applies to all social media, not just Tumblr. (Facebook’s unfollow button is your new best friend). 

The same goes for TV/movies/books: if it is going to trigger you/make you feel bad/mimic a bad place you were in: get rid of it! Don't watch it!

This doesn’t mean you have to watch “family-friendly PG nothing bad ever happens” bullshit all the time. But you need to be in a good mental place for it. If you know you can handle it, watch it! But if it's going to just make you cry in a non-cathartic way, don't torture yourself.

And sometimes you consume media because you want catharsis you were robbed of in the moment and that is okay. As human beings, we tend to bury our emotions especially in traumatic situations. So re-visiting that place/that emotion in a safe way can be very good for recovery. The key is to not consume media that you know will upset you/ruin your day. And to not consume negative media 24/7.

Sometimes, this means that you don't watch the news, and that's okay! We were not made to or meant to consume negative events on such a large scale. You can only take in and deal with so much negative information! If you need to turn off the news, do it. If you need to take a break from social media, do it. Do what is best for your mental health. 

Step ten: Surround yourself with positivity! Refill your music collection with upbeat songs that make you wanna dance, that make you excited, that make you happy, etc. Try to listen to them often and early in your day. Put up inspirational quotes! Follow inspiration blogs! Consume lighter media that makes you laugh/makes you feel good.

Step eleven: Recognize when you need to step away from a situation. If something bad comes up but you know mentally/emotionally you can't deal with it right then. Say "I can't deal with this right now, I will do it later" and walk away. Obviously, this isn't possible all the time. But that's why you should do it whenever you can! Giving yourself time to prepare and time to process is super important! It helps your mental health and prevents you from making mistakes. Both of which make it easier to have a positive outlook lol. 

Step twelve: Reduce the conflict in your life. Conflict isn’t good for our mental health and it makes you feel bad. It also reinforces the idea that it’s “you against the world”, that there are no good people in the world, that no one understands you, etc. If you find yourself arguing with someone everyday, cut them out of your life-that is a toxic relationship. If you find yourself disagreeing with/getting angry at a blog, unfollow it. Anger is important and not necessarily a “bad” emotion but it also isn’t good to feel that way Every Single Day, it gets in the way of positive emotions. 

Step thirteen: Surround yourself with positive people/build a support network. Make friends who are “full of light”, who are optimistic, and who make you feel good when they’re around. Building a support network is super important for when bad things happen: they are there to remind you of the good and to keep you on track in your recovery and in your new positive outlook.

Step fourteen: Remove negative people from your life. When I say "negative people" I mean someone toxic, someone who brings your mood down (on a regular basis), someone who can never see things in a positive way/everything is doom and gloom, and someone whose behavior triggers you(!!). This is a really tough one because, quite frankly, you don’t always get to choose who you interact with and breaking ties is hard.

If you HAVE to interact with this person: try to limit your time with them, keep your mind on positive things even if they're talking about negative stuff (you may even try to steer them in a positive direction), and cleanse your aura after they leave AKA if you feel "gross" after interacting with them, do whatever will get rid of that feeling, whether it be prayer or a crystal or a shower. 

How to break ties with someone? What I usually do is ghost them, whether that is the best/healthiest method is up for debate. If they call you out or you don't want to ghost, just tell them "you're a very negative person and I just can’t be around that. I'm sorry but I have to do what's best for my mental health". If they can't/won't understand that, block them. That's their problem, not yours. I know this sounds selfish and rude but it's true: you have to do what's best for your mental health. You have to be “selfish” sometimes.

Step fifteen: Keep making goals to improve your life! Having a positive outlook is just one of many things that will make your life better. Improving your physical health will make you feel good, reading more books will make you feel good, reaching your goals makes you feel good! The better you feel, the easier it is to feel good about life.

Step sixteen: Repeat the above! You are forming a new habit here and re-training your brain. It isn't enough to just do this for one day or one week. You have to commit to having more positivity in your life. And when you're surrounded by bad news, it's easy to fall back on a hopeless outlook. When your brain is telling you that it's hopeless, it's easy to believe it. But one day, you will get to a place where it isn't as hard. One day, something bad will happen and it won't sting as much because you know that the pain won't last forever and that it’ll get better. This can and will become your new normal. 

[botanistlester]

Sweet Pea (33/34)

Summary: A nickname that goes bitter in your mouth. Cries for help that no one listens to. Gentle hands that make you quake on the ground you’re standing on. When Phil first met Nico, he thought he was a gift from the heavens. But behind the mask lies something daunting, something unnerving, that Phil never foresaw. Through his journey, he finds solace in Dan, the regular at his workplace, who seems to be the only one who sees through Nico’s mask to the darkness underneath. Warnings: Abusive relationship, violence A/N: Holy crappu! Chapter 33! Only one more chapter left and then this fic will be finished! I literally am in shock right now honestly. I'll save all the gushy stuff for the next chapter, but i'm still in shock lol. The final chapter is more like an epilogue so it may be out before Saturday since I already have half of it written! So keep your eye out for that! Sorry this chapter is late, i had a lot going on these couple of weeks and then like three hours ago I was almost finished with this but my roommate asked if I wanted to watch The Killing of a Sacred Deer (it's a movie i promise) and i was like. Um yeah who do you take me for OF COURSE! So here we are, three hours into sunday, and I'm an ass! Thank you all for reading this and for your lovely comments! The song at the beginning is from Somebody That I Used to Know by Gotye

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Chapter Thirty-Three

Now and then I think of when we were together. Like when you said you felt so happy you could die. Told myself that you were right for me, but felt so lonely in your company. But that was love and it's an ache I still remember.

-

University starts before Phil is truly ready for it.

One moment, he feels like he’s just minding his own business working and lazing around the house, and the next he’s scrambling to do last minute school shopping (i.e., buy a pack of pencils and that’s it). It hits him hard, but his friends are there for him and he even shares his creative nonfiction class with Charlie, so he can’t be too terribly mad.

The first couple of weeks go by rather slowly. His professors are all nice, and Phil had gotten a doctor’s note from his psychologist saying that he may have to miss school sometimes due to an ‘underlying mental illness’, which really just meant his post-traumatic stress disorder that occasionally flared up here and there. While it had gotten better, he wasn’t completely healed yet. Apparently that shit either took years to go away, or even never went away. But Phil was optimistic and every time he could smell Nico’s old cologne or watch Nico’s favourite show without going into freakout mode was a win for him.

Things got stressful fast though, sadly, which is true for all of university. One moment, he was just minding his own business, scrolling through tumblr at odd hours of the day, eating snacks, and the next he was scrambling to finish a ten page paper about why sex education in school is important while completely forgetting to eat as he rushed to finish. Dan was practically shoving food down his throat during it all, berating him for not starting the paper earlier.

What a hypocrite, honestly. Phil had seen Dan rush to finish a paper multiple times because his depression had gotten in the way of doing it earlier. At the least, he should at least understand when Phil did it too.

But then again, maybe he did understand. Maybe he was shoving food down Phil’s throat and promising him a bubble bath after he finished because he knew exactly what Phil was dealing with emotionally, knew how hard it was to complete things on time when the world was pressing on your chest in a way that made it hard to breathe.

After a while, his brain had had enough of the strain and decided to give up after five pages, spewing out a load of bullshit that didn’t make sense in the slightest. Phil buried his face into his palms, his eyes tearing up, and pressed his fingers against his eyelids to keep the wetness from leaking onto his cheeks. It didn’t really help too much other than to make his eyes hurt with the pressure.

“Why don’t you take a break?” Dan asked softly, draping a soft blanket around Phil’s shoulders. He kissed the side of Phil’s head, nuzzling his nose into his hair. “Email your professor and see if she’ll let you turn it in a day late.”

Phil laughed humourlessly, wetly. He didn’t think it was that easy. Plus, wouldn’t that just make him look bad by asking for special treatment? “And let my professor know that I was slacking on this assignment? I’d rather die.”

Dan hummed and pulled Phil’s laptop off of his lap, ignoring the small protests that came out of Phil’s mouth when he did so. Without asking, he replaced the laptop with himself, plopping on Phil’s lap like he was a dog. He poked Phil’s nose. “Mental health isn’t being lazy or slacking, my dear boy. It’s an actual disorder of the brain that renders you incapable during periods of time where you would otherwise be okay. Sometimes you can be in a bad place for weeks, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Your professors already know that there’s something going on with you. Asking for an extra day to complete the assignment is just you trying to be responsible and practicing self care. If you don’t finish tonight, then you’ll look like you don’t care about it at all and you’ll get points taken off of your assignment. Which would you prefer?”

In the end, Phil emailed his professor. Although he did do it with a lot of whining and grumbling, just to make Dan mad. (It doesn’t matter that Dan doesn’t get mad at him anyways, no matter how hard Phil tried. He was always way too understanding, damn it).

After only five minutes of refreshing his gmail anxiously, Dr. Lucifer replied with a chill, ‘Don’t worry about it, I’ll give you until Wednesday to complete it. Feel better Philip!’ There was even a smiley face at the end, so out of place after Phil had carefully constructed his email, made sure there were no typos, practically typing out a double spaced, 12 point Times New Roman persuasive paper about why he needed an extra day to complete. And then here was his professor, signing off with a fucking smiley face.

“Was that so hard?” Dan asked softly, brushing a hand through Phil’s hair.

Phil pouted and, because he was a jerk, pushed Dan off his lap light enough that Dan wouldn’t get hurt and could catch himself when he fell. “Shut your mouth, Howell, you owe me a bubble bath.”

Phil did end up getting his bubble bath, complete with a robot bubble bar from Lush, candles around the tub, and his favourite anime playing on his laptop that was set on the toilet so he could see. However, he also got an armful of Dan, which was something pure and good.

When Dan joined the bath, it didn’t matter that they were both too giants trying to fit into one tub. It didn’t matter that Phil’s legs started to go numb after a while or that they had to get out quicker because they got too hot too fast. All that mattered was that they were spending time together, with Phil’s arms around Dan’s waist, gently running his nails over Dan’s stomach because he knew that Dan liked it when he did that.

Most of the time, Phil liked to be held by Dan simply because it made him feel safe and warm and loved. But today, Phil wanted to be able to hold somebody. Holding something against his chest made him feel like his heart was full, like there was someone who needed him and who he needed in return. It was so relaxing, in his opinion, especially when that person was Dan, who he could press kisses all over his shoulders and neck. Who’s hair he could mess with, twirling a curls around his finger and pretending like his fingers were curling irons.

It was nice. It got Phil’s schoolwork off of his mind, that’s for sure. And when Dan turned around, capturing Phil’s lips in his, asking if he wanted a ‘good job blowjob’, Phil definitely didn’t have any complaints.

-

Phil had a break in between his Poetry and his Creative Nonfiction class where he liked to go to the different dining halls to grab some food. Depending on the day, Phil would meet up with either Louise, Dan, or both, and they would have a meal together, talking about how their classes were going, or how life in general was going. Phil really liked Louise and he was glad that they were getting to know each other better, thanks to Dan.

Plus, seeing Louise and Dan together reminded Phil of how he and Chandler used to be. They had their own inside jokes and would sometimes just break into laughter as soon as they made eye contact for no apparent reason. Louise made fun of Dan with no shame and Dan laughed so loudly that his voice would go all high pitched and squeaky.

Whereas most people may feel like they were a third wheel after something like this, Phil didn’t feel that way at all. It was nice on days where Phil didn’t feel up to talking too much, and it was nice on the days when Phil wanted to join in and create his own inside jokes with them. Watching the two of them together was a gift in itself, because Phil liked to watch how Dan interacted with people who weren’t, well, him.

When Dan wasn’t talking to Phil, his voice was louder and more brash, more obnoxious. He was more sarcastic, kind of mean, but only in a joking way. He liked to tell people to fuck off, liked to tell them that they were twats. He cussed a lot and was a dramatic piece of shit that was so painfully obviously studying something in theatre.

With Phil, Dan was all smiles and soft voices and warmth. Sometimes he would get all competitive and act like he was the most important drama queen on the planet, but then other times he would be all cuddles and kisses and compliments. Phil would love to tell the whole world about Dan’s big praise kink whenever Dan was in his boasting mood with Louise, but he didn’t. When he smiled at Phil, he made these doe-eyes that really made him look in love, tone quiet when he teased.

In short, Dan was a lot gayer with just Phil around.

Today was just one of those days where Phil didn’t really feel like talking. Dan understood this and didn’t press him for answers, knowing by now that Phil sometimes just needed time to be quiet and think about life. Everyone had those days, and Phil was having a day like that now.

Dan was holding his hand on the table, and Phil was grateful once again that they had opposite dominant hands, that way they could hold hands while still eating. Phil was eating a taco bowl made with spicy shrimp and Dan had gotten a sub sandwich with a taro bubble tea. Despite Dan’s efforts to make Phil try the drink, Phil refused, saying that he was afraid it would taste like a potato.

Louise and Dan were in a dispute about which bubble tea flavour was the best. Louise was stuck on mango while Dan said that the milk tea and taro were definitely the best. Phil just smiled and sat back, sipping on his own earl grey bubble tea. He liked it, but it wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted at all. He just hadn’t been in the mood for anything particularly fruity, so this was the most logical answer.

“How’s your tea, Phil?” Louise asked, drawing Dan’s attention towards Phil as well.

Phil shrugged and sipped at it again. “Spicy. Wait, no that’s not what I-” he was cut off by the sound of Dan trying to hold in a laugh, but failing miserably as it came out with a snort. He made eye contact with Louise, whose eyes were watering from trying not to laugh, and then they all burst into laughter. The table was practically vibrating with their noise, and Phil’s throat hurt from cackling so hard.

When Louise could finally get in a breath, she wheezed out, “Phil, that is the whitest thing I have ever heard you say.”

“I forgot what the word for herbal was!” Phil whined, which only made Dan laugh harder.

“Earl grey isn’t even an herbal tea, Phil!”

Phil pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Your mum isn’t even an herbal tea.”

Louise shook her head, taking a few deep breaths to try and calm down. Her makeup was a bit watery and messed up now, but it didn’t look bad. If anything, it was just endearing. “I can’t believe we’re still using your mum jokes.”

“I can’t believe you’re my friend,” Phil shot back, shaking his head in disappointment at himself. In all honesty, he was really grateful for both Louise and Dan, and they both knew that. Without them, Phil would probably just be sat in his apartment with no friends and sad piano music playing in the background.

The epitome of depression.

Just then, Phil glanced around the dining hall that they were in and his eyes came to a stop on someone who looked slightly familiar. It took him a moment to realise why they looked familiar, because this person had curly brown hair with blonde highlights, and Phil didn’t know anybody with blonde highlights.

But apparently he did now, because Nico was standing across the dining hall, in line at the bubble tea shop. As opposed to the other times Phil had seen him, this time he was completely alone and staring right at Phil with a hard frown on his lips.

From where he was sitting, Phil couldn’t see the freckle constellations on his face. He couldn’t see the colour of his eyes or how they shined emerald in the light. He couldn’t see the lines between his eyebrows or each individual strand of hair. He couldn’t smell his cologne or hear his voice.

And yet, Phil could hear his voice. He could smell his cologne. He could see the fucking freckles on his face and the glitter of emerald in his eyes and the lines between his eyebrows and each individual strand of hair. If somebody had asked him if he could draw constellations connecting each freckle together with only a pen and a piece of paper and no map, then Phil would be able to do it perfectly. Because even a year later, the memory of Nico was still burned into his head so intensely that he still couldn’t forget all of the tiny details that made up the man.

Dan squeezed Phil’s hand but Phil was so focused on the matter at hand that he hardly noticed. He could feel panic build up in him, making his skin pale and shaky. He felt nauseous, but it wasn’t as overwhelming as it had been whenever Phil had seen Nico before. This time, it was just a smooth thrumming in his bones, vibrating him, making him feel like his skeleton was trying to shed off his own skin.

He hated that he was doing this in front of Louise, hated that he was showing weakness once again in a public setting. Every time he thought that he was doing well, that maybe for once he was taking his PTSD by the balls and throwing it against the wall for good, it seemed to be thrown back in his face in one way or another.

“Phil.”

Nico didn’t look away and Phil couldn’t bring himself to either. They were frozen, thinking about a time when they were together, when Phil had put Nico first no matter what it did to his own mental health. Back when Nico’s opinion meant more than his own, when he had done everything to keep Nico and had gotten nothing in return but harsh words and a cold shoulder. Now being with Dan, Phil doesn’t know how he’d been with Nico for so long when he had constantly felt like shit. But he also knew that it wasn’t that simple. He’d been trapped by the sick idea that that was what love was supposed to be like, thanks to all of those sick love stories that made him believe that love meant sacrificing parts of yourself for your partner even if it makes you sad.

“Phil. Phil, hey.”

Dan’s hands were on both of Phil’s cheeks then, turning his head to face him. His hands were cold against Phil’s hot cheeks, but his eyes were warm like tea. His eyebrows were crinkled with concern, his thumbs rubbing over Phil’s cheekbones to try to bring him back to the present.

When he finally got Phil’s eyes on him, Dan smiled softly and bumped their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose against Phil’s. “Hey,” he murmured quietly.

Phil tried to smile but he only succeeded in his lips twitching up slightly, eyebrows furrowed like he was worried about something. Face pale like he had seen a ghost. “Hi,” he whispered, voice shaking slightly.

Ignoring Louise’s presence completely, Dan pressed a kiss to Phil’s nose. Feather light but full of feeling. Full of care. A small I’m here for you. Phil glanced out of the corner of his eye, back over towards Nico. He saw the way Nico was gritting his teeth, clenching his fists. Saw the way Nico muttered under his breath and then turned away, getting out of line and walking out of the dining hall.

“Hey,” Dan said again. “Look at me. Are you looking at me?” He pulled away and pressed kisses against Phil’s forehead, his cheeks, the corner of his lips. Phil was looking at him now. He was always looking at Dan. “Good. Keep your eyes on me. I’m here, okay? Everything is going so well, you’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you, you know? You’ve gotten so far and you’re doing things for yourself and even if you trip and stumble sometimes, you don’t let it stop you. You keep going no matter how hard it is. You’re so strong, Phil. You always have been.”

Phil closed his eyes, let Dan’s words wash over him. With Nico out of the room, he was starting to calm down, but it was hard to completely grasp the present enough to get himself out of the past. It was almost as though he had hands grabbing at his legs, trying to pull him under until he was gasping for breath, completely submerged in memory that he didn’t quite want to remember.

Slowly, Dan started to pull him out, whispering to Phil how he inspired him every day to be a better person, how Phil had gone through hell and yet had gotten out despite not believing in himself. When he ran out of things to say, he started talking about what was going on in their lives at the moment, how Phil had gone back to school and was doing so many things with his life now.

When Phil’s breath audibly stabilized, Dan kissed him lightly on the lips and pulled back slightly, looking at him with that calm smile on his face again. Phil’s eyes fluttered open and he stared into the warm brown, his heartbeat starting to calm. Dan grinned. “Better?”

Phil nodded and managed to smile back, albeit a bit shakily still. “A bit,” he rasped out. “I mostly just feel tired now.”

“Do you need to go back to the flat and skip out on Creative Nonfiction for today?”

This time, Phil shook his head. “No, I should go,” he sighed out, bumping his forehead to Dan’s and putting his hand on his knee, squeezing it lightly. “My writing journal is due today and I don’t want to deal with asking another professor for another extension. Better to just get it over with.”

Dan was beaming at him and he looked so full of sunlight that Phil was afraid he might burst. Phil gave him a quizzical stare, and if Dan was a dog with a tail, he would be wagging it right then. “You didn’t freak out that bad!” Dan exclaimed as reasoning for being so excited. Phil pursed his lips as Dan continued. “You didn’t pass out, you didn’t start crying or have to leave. Fuck, you’re even going to class afterwards. That’s amazing, Phil!”

Phil was absolutely floored. He didn’t really think about it like that. All he had been thinking was that it was ridiculous that he was still dwelling in the past, that he was still panicking. Because he did panic, he did get anxious and upset. But this time, he had actually been able to get a hold of his emotions without something drastically changing. “I…” he started, and then laughed awkwardly, shaking his head in amazement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

While there was still anxiety inside of him, Phil hadn’t had a full blown panic attack. And it was while Nico was in the room. Every time Phil had imagined seeing Nico again, it had never turned out well. He had always thought he would freak out or pass out or all of the above. But this time, he didn’t do any of those things.

“We need to celebrate,” Dan joked, and it was then that he seemed to realise that Louise was still there. Poor Louise, who was just eating her food and scrolling through her phone without paying them any mind. She was so obviously trying to give them space, but her ears perked when Dan started to speak to her. “Louise, do you wanna buy Phil an ice cream?”

Phil laughed in shock, shoving at Dan. He shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t just ask people if they’ll buy things for me, Dan!” he scolded his boyfriend, giving him what was supposed to be a harsh look.

Louise jumped at the chance to be a part of the situation though, because she was reaching across the table and grabbing Phil’s hand in both of her own. With the most serious expression on her face that Phil had ever seen, she said, “I will buy you every goddamn ice cream in the world if that’s what you want.”

They stared at each other. Phil with his mouth hanging open and Louise with an unreadable expression. The longer they stared, the more laughter built up inside of Phil at the absurdity of the situation, and then they were both giggling. Louise squeezed his hand. “Seriously, Phil. I’m buying you ice cream whether you like it or not.”

“Fine,” Phil huffed. “Let’s have a full blown party in that case. I expect strippers.”

“Can’t forget the strippers. They’re essential,” Dan said.

Louise nodded and pulled out a mini notebook from her purse, jotting something down inside of it with a pink pen. “Got it. Ice cream and strippers. I’ll throw Phil the best gosh darn anti-panic-attack party there ever was and you better be there. Or else.”

Phil didn’t know what the or else meant, but he knew that he was going to be there for sure, surrounded by people who he loved and cared about, and who felt the same for him. Because this was the kind of thing that people should throw parties for apparently, and he was just going to have to accept that.

Accepting it wasn’t very hard, after all.

Chapter Thirty-Four 

[0ompa-loompa]

Assignments, final projects, try-outs, mock weeks, finals, college applications, these are what senior year is made of. Naturally, it’s the period of time when you most feel the urge to jump off a cliff. From the first week of school, I could already see the differences senior year brought to my school mates. People were starting to realize that they had to receive great marks, they had to get accepted into good colleges, they had to do this and that as ways to an accomplished future.

Over the years of being a high school student, every time there was a free period, or just any studying-free moment at school, we would watch movies, gossip, or simply be on our phones for hours. Now in every free periods, my classmates would take out these heavy-ass books that can be used comfortably as pillows and actually study. Or re-write their notes. Or revise a subject for next week’s quiz. Anything to keep them working (just curious, do these symptoms apply to all senior year students around the world?).

Since junior year were pretty traumatizing for me (thanks to student government), I had been planning all holiday to give my 110% for senior year. Long story short, I hit it off since day 1 and came out alive six months later. Although it resulted in me spending 3 days sleeping in after end-of-term exams were over, I’m really happy for having been very productive this entire term. I know there’s still 6 months left and the worst parts are yet to come, so I decided to share a few tips exclusively coming from someone *glares at myself* who did remarkably awful the previous year and somehow found a way to crawl back from death

1.       Know Where You’re Going

Getting to the very last year of high school, this is the MOST important part of surviving. Without having your long-term goal, it would be like taking down hundreds of obstacles without having a destination in mind. You don’t know where you’re going, but more monsters keep showing up on your path. Trust me, you’ll eventually get tired and stop trying midway. Losing motivation when you’re in the most vital part of your study can’t be a good thing.

Do research on the degrees you’re interested in taking, from their passing grades to job prospects. Make sure you actually enjoy the subjects needed for those degrees. For example, if you can’t stand Biology, better if you don’t consider attending medical school, and the same goes to other subjects as well.

2.       Maintain Productivity

The amount of school work you’re getting can be overwhelming, that is why you have to do them as soon as possible to prevent them from piling up. You don’t have to finish them all in one day, it’s impossible and careless. At least try to do them bits by bits until the night before due when you can go over what you’ve done and fix a few imperfections or cross-check your answers. Try doing this to multiple assignments instead of focusing on one or two assignments the entire week.

I usually bring unfinished assignments to school so I can get to work when I have free time, usually before after-school extras, or while waiting for an extra course. This way instead of going on Tumblr for hours, I’ll be figuring out math problems and (hopefully) have the homework done by ½ when the course starts.

3.       Gather Motivation

Take a look at that magnificent building, I will build tens of those once I become an architect. Have you seen the latest VSxBalmain collection? I’ll someday be working alongside Olivier Rousting .

It’s very important to keep being productive and use every free time wisely. While you’re at it, make sure to keep your motivate-o-meter at high level. Motivation and inspiration can come from anyone, anywhere and it doesn’t even have to come from anything relevant to your life goals. I usually get a boost of motivation after watching a couple videos of my favorite Youtubers (which has no correlation whatsoever to being an engineer), and I recently  got a huge inspo from reading Crazy Rich Asians. It seriously motivated me to work my ass off and be rich.

4.       Don’t Stop ‘til You’re Proud

Catch up on things you don’t fully understand. If you had a problem with certain subjects or materials, find the answers right away, don’t wait until the day before quizzes or mock tests when you will desperately need answers. Ask teachers, your friends, or our most trusty friend the internet. You can also download several applications to help you study, like Khan Academy and other similar apps. Once you put one problem out of sight, it will become easier for you to put more aside . This is what happened to me last year, I had problems understanding Chem but I refused to actually figure them out, thinking I would learn the materials later. 10 laters later, I got a 7 for end-of-semester test while my classmates received 9s and 8s.

So you have studied for this particular test and still got a bad mark. Shit happens honey, tough it up. Even while I’m writing this, I fully understand that the theory of ‘picking-yourself-up’ is much easier said than done. Give yourself some time to breathe, and start with “okay, where did I go wrong?”. Figure out the errors to make sure you’re not doing them the second time. Consider it this way: the subject has betrayed you and you’re getting a revenge. I planted this idea the very first day of senior year, the thought has driven me to never quit trying. It’s almost like Elle Woods to Warner, but instead it’s me and Physics.

5.       Get A Rest.

Senior year doesn’t mean you lose all hope of going on shopping sprees, watching the latest movies, or taking care of your Tumblr blog. If anything, I’ve watched more movies with my friends this year than I did previous years, simply because we have little time to relax so we made the most of one when we had the chance to. As long as you keep track on your to-do-list, stay discipline on your schedule, a little catch up on KUWTK won’t hurt.

Don’t push yourself to the point of falling down. Read books, paint, dance, even play games (Mobile Legend is the hype these days it’s getting annoying), anything to keep you sane and motivated. Never let the pressure of GPAs and prestigious colleges take positivity away from you.

6.       Don’t Over-Rest.

Yes, hun, I was just telling you to enjoy your senior year and now I’m telling you to not over-relax your way. Maintain a schedule, make agreements with yourself and stick to it. “At 8pm I will start on Math homework, and the rest is for tomorrow”. “I will work my butts off from 8 to 10 am then I can go on Tumblr”. “I will start on my History papers and take a rest after 2 pages”.

I’m not telling you to work 24/7 because that’s not healthy, I’m ALSO not telling you to spend all your weekend in bed and procrastinate because it would defeat the whole purpose of learning to be productive. Once you let yourself procrastinate, It’ll be easier for you to do it for the second, third, and fourth time.  Sometimes you just need to gather your will, get up and face those text books.

Well, there you go. These are all the things I have been doing to not only survive, but to do well in high school. I have been doing all these tips religiously for the past 6 months, it’s almost impossible not to feel tired or even want to just cut it off. But studying routinely makes me feel in control of what’s happening currently, what’s going to happen next, what I want to be doing in the future. So get up and let’s kick asses together.

[letmewritemylife]

I posted 650 times in 2021

93 posts created (14%)

557 posts reblogged (86%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 6.0 posts.

I added 264 tags in 2021

#agata varano - 51 posts

#marvel - 36 posts

#mcu - 36 posts

#writing - 22 posts

#lara johnson - 21 posts

#oc - 20 posts

#mcu fiction - 20 posts

#original character - 20 posts

#oc fiction - 19 posts

#stephen strange x original character - 19 posts

Longest Tag: 135 characters

#a stupid italian who wants to learn german and russian even though everyone told her theyre the hardest languages for italians to learn

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Wanda is extremely relatable because I too live in denial that Infinity War and Endgame ever happened and like to escape reality in a dreamworld where I am happy and loved by everyone

216 notes • Posted 2021-01-30 19:30:48 GMT

#4

TFATWS comment because these posts get more visibility than my fics

Sam is an icon and an idiot who doesn't turn down his phone during undercover mission and I love him for that

"What did you do?" You can't tell me this whole scene is not based on an incorrect quote

Bucky pretending to be the Winter Soldier and kicking ass shouldn't be so hot yet here we are

I'm saying that it was hot because I want to ignore how much trauma bucky was reliving

Please stop hurting my baby, I've already suffered too much because of a fictional character with a staring problem

Bucky and Sam are an old married couple and everyone, including Zemo, agrees with me

Zemo being Sam and Bucky's sugar daddy >>>>>>> the plot

Also Zemo insulting the us every two seconds isn't something I expected to see in this show but okay

He's low-key a Sambucky shipper too and you can't tell me otherwise

Turns out the dramatic bitch who collects old cars and sets shit on fire for no reason but the fact that he's dramatic is much, much better than dollar store Captain America

Friendly reminder not to insult Wyatt Russell, it's not his fault if John Walker is a piece of shit and he is just doing his job

Sharon Carter. That's it, that's all I had to say.

Thank you Sharon "I kill ten people all alone and look hot as hell while doing it because despite being surrounded by men I still have the longest dick here" Carter for making me question my sexuality again, as if I didn't have to bear a hot chaotic lesbian witch for weeks in Wandavision and try to convince me I'm straight

Ayo has been around for like 5 seconds and still served, that's some queen level shit

389 notes • Posted 2021-04-03 09:42:56 GMT

#3

Marvel finally understood that bitches care more about chaotic trios than the plot. It's me, I'm bitches

427 notes • Posted 2021-02-08 11:08:42 GMT

#2

Me: "I'm not attention starved and I sure as hell do not need affection"

Also me: "All my favourite ships are made up of traumatized people who find peace and comfort with each other and discover the true meaning of trust and affection and seem mean and cold but are actually pure rays of sunshine around each other and they fall asleep cuddling and there is lot of fluff involved and-"

535 notes • Posted 2021-09-02 12:19:52 GMT

#1

Thesis: Italians can only conquer Europe if they're gay, dramatic theatre kids

Proof:

Julius Caesar

Maneskin

1899 notes • Posted 2021-05-23 13:13:18 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[simkjrs]

gamer au asks

Anonymous said: the first time godgame izuku manifests his quirk scotchtapeofficial@tumblr /post/163140897577/

im laughing this is such a traumatizing way for izuku to discover his quirk oh my god 

Anonymous said: Very important question: Does Gamer Izuku go/ne to the sunchip's place (from carboys)

i havent finished car boys but the answer is probably yes

Anonymous said: if izuku can mod maybe one day can he figure out how to make it that everyone figures out that something isnt his quirk and that the reality is a simulation or are they all parts of the simulation too

this is actually in my chat log... izuku makes a mod so that everyone has awareness of continuity (or lack of) so when izuku mods the world everyone sees the changes and knows they’re not normal. and panic 

Anonymous said: what if monoma copied the gamer quirk? or some villain had a switch-bodies quirk and used it on izuku and another character?? would they just go on without noticing anything unusual or not??

monoma is overwhelmed by the gamer quirk so by the time the five minutes are up he hasn’t made any headway in actually understanding it, unfortunately. it gains izuku’s interest though because maybe it’s possible... that monoma has the potential to become a real person in this simulation, too... 

i’m not sure about the switching bodies quirk. if this person switches bodies, theoretically that means, since they have izuku’s brain and body, that they would be able to use izuku’s quirk.  but if they have izuku’s brain and body, and not their own, would they even be able to switch back? 

i feel we should retroactively question whether or not this whole ‘gamer au’ quirk is even a quirk, and not just some inexplicable, strange phenomenon that only izuku is privy to 

@valerii376 said: Izuku adding Tsuyu as an admin and her losing her cool

good ask 

“i’m sorry,” izuku says to a panicking tsuyu, “i just couldn’t stand being the only real person in the world anymore. i hope you don’t mind” 

@viperofsand said: A funny thing about the gamer au is people being like 'oh how did you become this nihilist in this age of hereos' and Izuku being like '...i already said that reality is a lie you ain't listening'

“even the heroes are just an artificial construct. their actions, their speeches, their paradigms... it’s just a program. a code. it doesn’t mean anything at all.” 

Anonymous said: Then he's like, 'well that wasn't bad but how about something else?' and the best thing in the world in our lifetime are giant fluff pups. So izuku wins at life at that point. but no, why stop there. She's already three stories high, so clearly she needs education. So he edits the dear oversi-PERFECTLY sized dog to attend his school. And due to her wonderful size she clips through the ceiling. Either no one notices or cares but thats beyond Izuku 2/

So, Izuku realizing that he only chipped the iceberg of unreality. He can get lightsabers if he wanted to. Delve through all of fiction, put it in life and no one will be the wiser. Cause chaos and it's everyday life. Life doesn't have a hard concrete surface it used to. when he 'mods' life into having a terrible texture. He sees the blob humans and thinks 'ha ha wow this is bad'. In which he, accidentally, pushes himself further away from reality and, even more accidentally, from people. 3/

While accepting his new unreality, barreling into a world in which he can create and change at will. People are npcs. Izuku is the player. The world is a rpg. Eventually Izuku is so far out of touch with reality, he becomes borderline nihilistic and "Oh dear god these are living humans what am I doing" 4/4

5+ I have no idea how I did all of that or what I was doing. But theres my take of what might happen (very roughly and loosely) in the gamer izuku au. I hope you enjoyed it (or not ¯\_(ツ)_/¯). This is just something silly (is spiraling down into nihilism silly). This mega might also come out as needlessly edgy. BUT A BIG POINT you've been lowkey giving me a will to write. Don't to bother you!

your first ask got eaten by tumblr so i’m just going to guess that it was about the dog and izuku figuring out that he can change her size 

this series of asks actually follows the vague direction of where i want to go with the gamer au, congratulations :p i’m glad you were inspired to write! 

Anonymous said: haha would anyone even know about Izuku's quirk?

probably not... there’s nothing he can do to prove that it exists outside of his perception. at least until he finds the console and figures out all the console commands. then he can delete buildings at will but at that point he’s already registered as quirkless and this is too difficult to explain anyways so he just, doesn’t tell anyone 

Anonymous said: WAIT WHAT HAPPENS IF GAMER IZUKU MESSES UP AND DIVIDES BY ZERO?

ERROR

Anonymous said: So like if gamer izuku were to like accidentally die, (a building falls on him or something) would he have a respawn point? Or would he just go back to where he last saved during the day?

i think he’d go to his last save 

Anonymous said: if we’re going with godgame izuku realizing the world is a simulation, maybe he eventually tries to break the world by modding it ala ‘final pam’ style: turning people into helicopters. setting mineta’s size to scale .0001 and losing him.

yes. 

@angryqueermermaid said: GOAT SIMULATOR

im laughing??? YEAH. GAMER AU IS JUST ONE BIG GOAT SIMULATOR EXCEPT FOR THE WHOLE WORLD.

Anonymous said: I'm crying thinking about all of the fucking glitches I've seen and the shit I've seen done in gta specifically - like there's a video where mc just. becomes a fucking blue whale. through modding.

the potential of this au is limitless 

Anonymous said: Gamer AUs have become my recent obsession as of late, and can I just say that this is, like, one of the greatest gamer AU ideas ever.

thank you! 

Anonymous said: godgame izuku making mineta so small he's practically non-existent and then someone steps on him. mineta is dead.

glad we’re all in agreement about mineta!

Anonynous said: can Izuku just. hack through the layers of reality and make himself a millionare. take away humanitys use of quirks. save, punch bakugou, then reload the save? GIVE KIRISHIMA ALL THE HUGS OH GOD IM DYING. change the code of the universe so that there is no more corrupt people and the Socio Economic system is All Fine and everyone is Happy. glitch out and nap for ten years. please expand simk you already have my soul what more can I give you

izuku CAN set his money to $999,999,999,999,999 but if he spends too much of it he WILL devalue the currency. he could probably disable people’s quirks from the console, but hasn’t figured out how to do it as an “area effect” thing yet so if he wanted to get rid of all quirks he’d have to manually do it one by one. he cannot change the universe’s code to fix everything, thus contributing more to his belief that the world is meaningless, as are his abilities to affect it. 

Anonymous said: That. Was a very good AU. I approve, and it made me burst out laughing. Can Izuku pull up a mainscreen thing or just pause time if he wants too? Just... pause the game that is real life and hop over to another layer of reality? Does he ever see a loading screen when going into a new area? Have a map he can access at any time? ANYWAY I JUST WANT TO SAY THAT I LOVE YOUR BEAUTIFUL MIND AND THE WAY IT WORKS AND THAT ALL OF YOUR AU'S ARE GREAT AND SO IS THE GAMER ONE PLEASE GIVE US MORE INFO THANKS

he can pull up a mainscreen but when he exits he’s in the same place as before. a loading screen when he goes to a new area... is probably something that happens. eventually he gets a map and a quick travel function. he doesn’t know exactly how it works but he’s not complaining 

anything is possible 

[dimensionhoppingrose]

In My Veins (19/20)

Title: In My Veins Rating: K+ Pairing: Ten/Rose, human AU Summary: –Telepathic bond soulmate AU– Everyone kept saying kids couldn’t develop telepathic bonds, that it was completely impossible. John Smith and Rose Tyler defied the impossible.

Notes: Well I finally managed to hash out a soulmate AU enough to be happy with writing it. All the blame for this entire story goes to @lastbluetardis​, who not only encouraged it, but also allowed me to yell at her about it until I was happy enough to start writing it. Blame her entirely.

Read it on A03

Catch up on Tumblr

Note: Guess I found time write after all.

Seven more months.

Rose was starting to get anxious. She knew she wasn’t always the easiest person to deal with, and sure, John was in her head all the time, but that wasn’t the same as living with her.

It’s pretty much the same as living with you, John pointed out when he picked up on those thoughts. Rose shrugged miserably.

Living with me means you have to put up with me taking too long in the shower and staring at the fridge because I can’t decide what I want to eat or if I want to eat and getting up every ten minutes because I can’t sit still—

Oh, well when you put it that way you’re right, that sounds awful, John cut Rose off dryly. Take a breath, Rose. I love you. Believe it or not I already know about a lot of your little quirks because I experience them every single day. There’s almost nothing you could at this point that would surprise me. Unless you have a secret cache of bodies somewhere that you've been hiding from me for almost ten years. Then we might need to talk.

Rose giggled a bit despite herself. No bodies. She paused for a moment. We’ve known each other for almost ten years. Feels like longer.

Why, because I’m so insufferable? John teased, and Rose rolled her eyes.

No, I just… I feel like you’ve always been here, you know? She couldn’t remember a time when John hadn’t been here, in her head. And she liked it that way. She liked having him here.

I like having you here too, John said, and Rose could just imagine the stupid little smile on his face as he said that. I love you.

I love you too. Rose definitely didn’t have a stupid little smile of her own as she said those words. Definitely not.

* * * * * * * *

“Ooooooh, this one’s nice.”

Rose’s parents, unsurprisingly, had been unwilling to let her look at apartments with John alone. Honestly, what kind of trouble did they think they could get into? But Pete had insisted on coming, and Rose hadn’t felt like arguing with him. Sometimes, it was just better to let her parents have their way.

“One bedroom,” Pete commented, and Rose had to resist the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yeah, Dad, we’re going to be sharing a bed. We don’t really need a second bedroom.” It was more money for something they didn’t need.

“I know, I know…” Pete didn’t look too thrilled to be hearing that, of course. Rose didn’t bother dignifying that with an answer. She had never bothered trying to explain to her parents that John didn’t care about sex. There was no point. They’d never believe her.

Not that it mattered once she was eighteen. She could do whatever she wanted and her parents couldn’t stop her. Including share a bed with her boyfriend.

Sad that sharing a bed is all we aspire to, John spoke up. He was out in the living room talking to the lady showing them the apartment, but apparently he was paying attention to the conversation. Rose stifled a laugh, but something in her eyes must have told Pete she was talking to John, because he raised an eyebrow.

“Come on, it’s nice though, isn’t it?” Rose asked quickly, distracting him.

“And how does John plan on paying for it?”

“With money, I would hope,” Rose said, a bit sarcastically. Pete gave her a look, and she sighed. “He got a second job on campus. He’s done all the math and it’ll be a bit tight, but he can afford it. He’s really good at saving money. He has no life.”

Rude!

They left the apartment, heading for the next one on the list. They had a long day ahead of them. This is weird, John said uncomfortably. He was grateful Pete hadn’t felt the need to break out the limo just to look at apartments (that was for special occasions), but he did have his personal driver driving them from place to place. It made John feel awkward. I could have just driven us.

It’s nothing personal, but Dad doesn’t trust anyone else to drive him around, Rose said gently. He was in a really bad car accident when I was a baby, and it kind of traumatized him. That’s what Mum says anyways. He hasn’t been behind the wheel of a car since and he hired a driver as soon as he had the money so Mum wouldn’t have to keep driving him everywhere. Charlie’s the only person besides Mum he trusts to drive him. He’s been Dad’s driver since I was five.

John cast a look at Pete, noting that he did seem rather stiff and tense. He hadn’t spoken the entire way from the mansion to the first apartment. John had assumed it was because he was unhappy with the task at hand.

That’s fair, John said quietly. I guess I wouldn’t like being in cars either if I’d almost died in one.

Pete relaxed once they were out of the car at the next place, though still not completely thrilled as they looked through the apartment. Rose liked this one a lot too. She had a feeling she was going to like most of them, though. “Hey Dad, this closet’s pretty big,” she said teasingly as she looked into the closet in question. “Maybe we could put a bed in here and have a second bedroom.”

“Very funny.” Pete pinched the bridge of his nose, far from amused by his daughter’s antics.  Rose made a face at him.

“You knew I was going to move in with him when I turned eighteen,” she pointed out. “I told you that.” He’d had plenty of time to process it.

“I know, Rose. I just…” He sighed. “Nobody wants to think about their daughter growing up. You’ll understand someday.”

John had been talking to the man showing them the place, but he went oddly quiet at Pete’s words, and Rose felt the rush of anxiety that went through him.

What’s wrong? Rose asked, surprised. She hadn’t been expecting such a reaction.

Nothing, John said quickly, and before Rose could question it further he was thinking about money and commutes and a thousand questions, all of which he proceeded to ask the man and distract from Rose. She scowled at his back and went back to touring with her dad.

Okay, seriously, what’s wrong? Rose asked on their way to the next place. Pete wasn’t going to distract them from a conversation in the car. John was trying desperately to think about anything else and make it hard for Rose to break through and figure out what his anxiety was. John. Knock it off and talk to me.

John sighed faintly. I just… do you… do you want kids?

What? Rose asked in disbelief. Where the hell is that coming from?

What your dad said earlier.

What did he… oh. Rose blinked as realization set in. “Nobody wants to think about their daughter growing up. You’ll understand someday.”

What does that have to do with anything? I think we have a few years before we need to worry about anything.

I know, but do you want kids? John felt like he should already know the answer to that. He was in her head all the time, after all. But it wasn’t something that had ever really come up.

I… yeah, I do, Rose admitted. She wouldn’t deny she had half-daydreamed about having a family with John someday. It would be amazing. But I don’t want to start one the minute we move in together or anything.

Yeah, but making a baby kind of involves sex.

Oh. Oh. Oh Jesus. Rose nearly rolled her eyes, but resisted. John might get the wrong idea. Is that what you’re worried about? We can figure something out. Maybe we can adopt. Honestly I don’t know if I’d want to pregnant. I don’t remember much from Mum being pregnant with Tony but I definitely remember her throwing up a lot. It sounds awful.

John smiled weakly. Adoption might be good.

Now will you please relax? Rose knew he was a bit insecure about the no sex thing, even if he tried not to let her see it. She wanted to put him at ease. Nothing was going to make her love him any less. He’d be a lot happier once he finally allowed himself to believe that.

Do you think your dad would rip my head off if I kissed you?

Rose smirked and leaned over, pressing a kiss to John’s lips. She thought she saw Pete twitch a little, but he couldn’t get mad; she had instigated it, after all.

* * * * * * * *

Five more months.

John had started his second job right before the semester started, and he was basically always tired. Rose didn’t like it. Are you sure you can handle this? She asked, and John could just imagine the frown on her face. He was sitting at the library, trying to study, but he kept getting distracted by yawning.

Yeah, of course, I’m fine.

You keep saying that. Rose didn’t seem impressed by his bravado. That was okay. Really, he was too tired to put up much of an act. I don’t think you know what fine means.

Very funny. John yawned again, and was momentarily distracted by an equally haggard and exhausted-looking student walking up to check out a book. Really, I’m okay. And it’s worth it to have the money for our apartment.

I wish you’d just let Dad help you. I bet he’d be willing. He was really impressed with how thoroughly you looked into apartments, Rose pointed out. John had gone just a little crazy with apartment hunting. There were roughly twenty spreadsheets and diagrams buried in the hard drive of his laptop from all the research he had done.

He’ll be less impressed if he thinks I can’t afford it, John said. He could almost feel Rose rolling her eyes.

This is some bloody man ego thing, isn’t it? Gotta prove you can pay the way for your lady and all that?

John bit down a laugh. Are you ‘my lady’ now?

Well I wouldn’t say you own me or anything.

I wouldn’t say that either. You’d slap me.

A ripple of amusement went through the link, and John smiled tiredly. God he loved her laugh.

* * * * * * * *

John’s dreams had always been a little weird — especially during high-stress study times when he seemed to have reoccurring nightmares about his books trying to eat him — but they had only gotten stranger since he’d started working at the library.

Tonight it had been some textbook chasing John down a row of library shelves screaming “YOU PUT ME IN THE WRONG SECTION” and while it hadn’t woken John up, by some miracle, Rose had snapped awake right as a second book had joined the textbook. The images from the dream turned fuzzy has Rose’s conscious mind took over; it was hard for them to say each other’s dreams when the other was awake. And honestly, Rose was just as happy for that. She’d had more than enough of books chasing her to last a lifetime.

Rose rolled out of bed, yawning. She was thirsty, so she went down to the kitchen to get a drink. She paused on the way there, noticing the light in the sun room was on. That was weird. Maybe Tony had snuck downstairs to play a video game or something. Rose went to check, deciding it would be perfect blackmail material since she had used up her “I saw Tony and his boyfriend shirtless and kissing” fact.

She was a bit surprised to find Jackie sitting on the couch, flipping mindlessly through a photo album. “Mum?” She asked quietly. Jackie jumped, looking back.

“Rose! What’re you doing awake? Did you have a bad dream?”

“No. Well, yeah. Kind of.” Rose shrugged. “John did. Still is, actually, he hasn’t woken up. It bleeds over sometimes though, and his dreams are weird.”

As usual, Jackie went expressionless at the mention of John. Rose ignored it. “What are you doing up?”

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep.” Jackie shrugged, looking back at the photo album. Rose hesitated before going to join her. She was surprised to see it was pictures of her — from her eighth birthday, if she wasn’t mistaken. Jackie flipped the page to Rose blowing out her candles, and sighed. “Did you already know John by this point?” She asked. The question surprised Rose.

“This was the day the bond formed completely, I think,” she said quietly. “Remember the entire month before my birthday, I kept getting headaches? I think it was from the bond trying to form. John got headaches that entire month too. We’ve talked about it.”

Jackie kept her eyes focused on the picture, tracing her pinky along the tiny contours of her daughter’s face. “I don’t hate him, you know.” The out-of-nowhere declaration surprised Rose. She nearly said she had never thought Jackie hated John, but that was a lie and they both knew it.

“You act like it sometimes,” she said instead, and Jackie sighed.

“He just… he got so much of you, Rose. He’s known you for almost ten years and he knows you better than your father and I ever will. It’s a lot. We raised you, and we love you, and there are things about you we’ll never know or understand. But he does.”

It took Rose a moment to realize what her mother was getting at. “So you’re… jealous… of John?” She said slowly.

“Of course not!” Jackie protested, though after a moment her expression shifted from offended to almost a little ashamed. “Envious, maybe. It’s hard, feeling like you don’t understand your own daughter.”

“Mum…” Rose sighed, leaning over and hugging Jackie tight. “You don’t have to understand every little thing. I love you. And I know you love me. That’s all that matters, right?”

Jackie wrapped her arms around Rose, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. “Yeah. That’s all that matters.”

A bolt of fear ran through Rose’s mind as John jerked awake. Get fire! He yelled incoherently, and Rose bit down a laugh. The books are gonna get me!

The books aren’t going to get you, John. Go back to sleep.

John mumbled something even Rose couldn’t understand, and Rose felt him relax as he fell asleep once more.