#it’s not even imposter syndrome because i’m not worried about anyone finding out

[sunriseverse]

being a writer is so weird if anyone else did something for over a decade they would call themselves “very experienced” or “master level” and i’m over here like but what if it’s all actually bad :( what if i don’t know anything :(

[undercoverpena]

anon, I’m not going to post your ask because I didn’t feel comfy with the wording you used in it. but I’ll answer your question (rephrased)

question: how do you deal with one fic blowing up and another not?

the first thing I want to touch on is that you can’t go around lifting someone up to bring another person down—even if that person is yourself. you can’t go to someone and spell ill on yourself and expect the person you’re sending it to be super chill about it 😂 i do not want you to belittle your writing, whether on anon or not.

you can go to someone and be like “I love how you did X, I’m looking to get better at that” but, watch self-deprecating language (we’re all guilty of it is as humans) but it’s harder for me to even process what you’re saying when you’re on anon. I can’t clarify what you meant, I can only just make an assumption on the language you used.

which is why I didn’t post your ask, and I’m just hoping that I took the point out of it that you wanted to know 🩷✨

when you walk around believing you’re smaller than someone, the only thing you’re doing is telling yourself that you’re smaller than someone. it’s reinforcing a thought that your brain is creating to be mean (brain demons). negativity breeds negativity.

as a blog owner, we should celebrate the highs without fear that others will think bad on us. but the reason I don’t is because of mentalities like this where people assume I think I’m too big for my boots because I reached some pinnacle of followers. try to remember I am a multi-fandom writer, I collect souls as I wander aimlessly through the grass, and also, I’m no less wracked with worry, anxiousness or doubt than most. a number in my followers or on a fic doesn’t solve those problems or how I view myself.

now, to answer the question, I don’t? and I know that seems so easy to say right. like “oh, jo isn’t bothered”, she’s this and that. but the truth is, there’s no explanation. like sometimes, I’m someone’s cup of tea and another I’m not. sometimes I’ll write something people wanna drink up there and then, sometimes they’ll wanna wait, or skip past it. and it’s okay.

I don’t expect anyone to feel forced to read my work, and when they do it’s a blessing. that’s it. the beauty of fanfic and writing and art, is that there’s so much you can find exactly what you want, when you want it.

like, do I want to be beloved? yes, I want tattoos of peoples faces on me (haha, I kid, Pedro interview moment I promise). but I obviously want to connect with people, I want my writing to matter. but I try not to get hung up on it connecting on a scale — I just want to tell stories of people falling in love. I want people to be able to escape, and that isn’t represented in notes, that isn’t represented in numbers or anything. that’s a feeling, and I can’t measure that.

and I preach this a lot, but you have to find your people. the people who will want your particular style and swallow it up. the ones that connect with you when you stay true to who you are.

anyone can write a piece, but no one can write it like you. you can give five writers the same one line prompt and we’ll all interpret it differently. y’know?

now, do I sometimes sit all disgruntled that the fic snapped from a piece of my heart isn’t doing “well” (whatever that even means), of course! I am human.

but what I don’t do, is pick a part why that is. I just try to remember that this is what I wanted to write, this made me happy (or helped me work through things) or that (when the imposter syndrome passes) it’ll be something I want to read.

for instance, I am not a confident smut writer. smut does really well. I don’t actively avoid writing it, but I try to make it less of a focus on what I’m doing, because even if it does well, I am not good at it. and I never feel as proud of it.

however, there are times I have this idea and it’s smut and I literally harass friends with my idea before even attempting it—but again, I didn’t write it because smut does well here. I wrote it because the idea was stuck in my head 😂. I don’t expect it to do well, because going back to my first sentence, I am not a confident smut writer. the notes on it, mean nothing. what does mean something is me and my bestie screaming about what a slut I am and how proud she is of me 😂, that means more to me.

so to summarise, it’s hard to not be bothered, if you spend time looking at numbers. it’s a tough cookie to bite into it. but you have to find a core reason why you wanna do what you do, and keep that at the centre of you.

be dejected (if you need to be) when you stare at it and wonder why it didn’t “blow up”, but don’t let that fester inside of you, don’t let it stop you from writing. hold the reason you want to do this and remember that.

plus, every day you become a better writer, even if you don’t write every single day. you learn new words, see new inspo, hear new conversations. so, there’s always the next one, if notes are something you’re seeking.

love, jo 🩷✨

[leggywillow]

Fic Writer Interview

I was tagged by @feralkwe

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

10 🙈

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

170,541

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

He Thought Her Unsinkable (50)

Never Free (41)

Failed Attempts at Simpler Lives (24)

Ashes (12)

Torture Of Your Own Design (10)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to! I really can’t overstate how much I love and value every comment and how they make my day and really keep me going when I worry that no one’s interested, lol. I want the commenters to know that, even if sometimes all I can say is “thanks!” Because I can’t grab them by the shoulders and just shriek right in their face.

People engaging with my characters and ships and little situations is like… the point for me. It’s the DREAM, for real.

5. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Technically it’s the short Ashes, since that ends with Hawke dead and Anders and Justice gone. The one that makes me the saddest, though, is Strange Bedfellows. That fic spends more time getting to know the characters before destroying them.

6. What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Never Free ends the most hopefully, I feel.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Nah.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, which is the good part of focusing on niche content with OCs, lol. I may not rack up numbers but I also don’t get attention from the meanies.

9. Do you write smut?

Not really, but god I want to. I’ve put a grand total of like 2.3 smut-esque scenes in my stories, because I just chicken the hell out. I get SO self-conscious, and it just feels so bad lmao. No idea how to overcome this.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge, and I can’t imagine anyone has. Another benefit of creating niche content.

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I’m aware of. That would be pretty cool though.

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but it’s something I’d be open to if the right circumstances came up. It seems pretty unlikely at this point in my fandom life, but you never know.

13. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I feel like the Simpsons’ “SAY THE LINE, BART!” meme right now because it’s obviously Carver Hawke/my Surana. You know, the only ship I ever write and talk about.

The only other ship I’ve been both feral and inspired enough to write about is Hawke/Alistair, so that ship gets second place.

Mind you, this is strictly from a “writing fanfic” perspective. I love lots of different ships, including multishipping for the above characters.

14. What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

I don’t post many things so the only unfinished WIP (besides the one I’m currently working on) is my Hawkistair fic, He Thought Her Unsinkable, that I last updated in 2016. Two years ago I would have said it would stay unfinished forever, but now I DO have intentions of coming back to it. (I got thoroughly stuck with progressing both the plot and the ship and I’ve since thought up solutions for both.)

I’ll probably rewrite the whole thing though. There was a lot of room for improvement, and I cringe looking back.

15. What are your writing strengths?

This is hard for me because I’m so riddled with imposter syndrome and anxiety, but I think I do character dialogue well. I can hear voices very clearly in my head and it’s one of the few things my memory holds onto, so I fiddle with my lines until I can hear the character saying them in their cadence.

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

I struggle with descriptions for sure. Knowing how much or little to include, yes, but I also find myself just blanking out on descriptive words when I need them.

Me, desperately, to my own brain: We’ve seen a house before! I need words to describe a house!

Brain: I have never seen one of those before in my life.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

This is something where I try to stay pretty firmly in my lane, because I know it can be done poorly if you don’t know what you’re doing. And I do not, lol. If a character is speaking in another language, I just say that. I try to keep my usage of other languages to exclamations and terms of endearment if they come up naturally.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I wrote Animorphs fanfic on an old typewriter at my dad’s office when I had to be there after school as a kid and then later on some little word processor software for kids that looked like you were typing in a little book. (I’ve been desperately trying to figure out what 1990s software this could have been to no avail, for nostalgia’s sake.) I made some kind of human/Hork-Bajir hybrid OC that was basically like Wolverine with the badass retracting blades in her skin.

19. What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I only like writing fic when I have BIG AND SPECIFIC IDEAS that grab me, and that only comes with being incredibly hyperfixated on the source material until I’m comfortable with the setting… so basically I’m very content in my Dragon Age sandbox and don’t have much desire to branch out. That said, I do love my Dark Urge from Baldur’s Gate 3 and am very tempted to write about her someday.

20. What's your favorite fic you've written?

I think I’ll have to go with Never Free. Failed Attempts at Simpler Lives has more character interactions that I deeply enjoyed writing, but I’m really proud of the plot I wove together in Never Free.

Tagging @theluckywizard @rakshadow @inquisimer @nirikeehan and anybody who thinks it looks fun!

[mdhwrites]

Why I Answer Asks More Easily Than Make My Own Blogs

Or in other words: I have Avoidant Personality Syndrome. Literally diagnosed only a week ago. So to make things clear, I don’t know this the best either with it being so new but I’ll do my best to explain. The simplest and funniest way for me to put it though is that it’s what you get when Imposter Syndrome and Social Anxiety have a baby and it turns out to be the Anti-Christ. The long version is that it is a crippling fear of humiliation and failure in ALL things you do because of the way you perceive how others perceive you and you see yourself. Because you tell yourself the only outcome can be failure because you are worth so little, and they are worth so much more, there’s no reason to do anything because it will only mean pain for you and at best being ignored by others. In terms of my blog, it’s genuinely why Asks are easier on me than my own blogs. If it’s my own thought period, then I have no guaranty anyone is interested in the thought. If someone asks me though, then I know at least one person will want the thought and so I will succeed in one person’s eyes. It’s also where you get my relationship between me and my cat Mischief. Now Mischief is the best and I will not be accepting debate except with pictures sent to my ask box. This is where I would share a picture of her but Tumblr is being dumb and not showing me how to put in inserts like usual for some reason. So now with that out of the way, I also want to admit that she very social and very needy. She will straight up yell at me for attention and play times so she isn’t some cat who lays about all day (except when, you know, she’s sleeping. Because cats do that.) She also has, since a couple months after I got her, developed a knack for knowing when I’m heading to bed, even when she looks like she’s sleeping. When I do that, it’s time to get up, hop up and curl up on my chest, back, between my legs, over an arm, etc. like that because sleeping with me is her favorite place to sleep. She will also purr for like five minutes straight while just sitting on top of me, no pets required. Logic dictates that she definitely loves me. Yeah... Yeah guess who still constantly looks at his cat and asks, “I’m doing a good job, right? There’s enough space in this apartment? You have enough toys? I’m sorry I don’t play with you as much always. Depression and anxiety get in the way of that but I know that’s no excuse. I’m sorry I can’t give you a better life.” Is there a logic for it? No. Is there anything anyone can tell me to get my brain to stop worrying? Not really because of how I see myself versus my cat who, I should mention, is adopted from a shelter so I’m pretty sure finds my apartment that she owns as much as I do to be more than enough. It’s way more than she used to have after all. But that doesn’t matter to my brain. Nothing does. I question if even concrete proof like suddenly having a bestselling book would do it because my brain would possibly just try to create excuses for why everyone hates me, I’m still a failure and this isn’t real. It... It damages one’s ability to put themselves out in any way. I try to fight this as I’m an oddly sociable introvert *gestures at this entire blog* but there’s an Amischa story I want to do about Boscha growing up and why Amity’s betrayal in Winging It blindsided her so much and I KNOW that how people who don’t want me blaming Amity for anything might react to it and that adds a lot of pressure to even the idea of writing it. Pressure I didn’t have when I loved The Owl House and no one had decided to be a bigot towards me. Pressure I can’t get rid of and is likely half the equation for why this past year has just kind of been an ever worsening hell for me. And because Tumblr now is showing the option to me, let’s end this with a few pictures of Mischief as a pallet cleanser, hmm?

[legit9thlunaticwarrior]

i wanted to talk a little bit about mental health and how i’m doing recently

trigger warning: depression, anxiety, panic attacks, borderline imposter syndrome, disordered eating/thoughts

for a while now, i’ve been pretty low with a few days here and there where i’m genuinely happy. may and june were so rough in every way and august is seeming to turn the same direction.

i also have lost a lot of my passion for cosmetology. i hate this school and it’s slowly making me hate what once was comforting to me. my director legit doesn’t care, there so much unnecessary fucking drama, and i’m not having fun anymore. i never get to show my skills. i’m like a robot: haircut, root touch up, wash and blow, deep conditioning treatment, haircut, root touch up, wash and blow, deep conditioning treatment. same thing, over and over and over again. i’m good at what i do but i hate doing it now. it’s not just me, all of my friends are sick of it too. the only time we get to have fun is when we (rarely) get to work on each other.

i’ve been having a lot of silent panic and anxiety attacks lately and i can’t find the trigger.

my weight has been getting brought up a lot since i returned to normal life after being sick for a month. the weight i lost was not lost in a healthy way. i had become terrified of food and was rarely eating. when i was eating, it was bland foods. my weight and body image have been an issue of mine for almost 10 years. and that’s absurd and upsetting considering i’m turning 20. i don’t like being scared of food and restricting myself so much that i’m not enjoying anything anymore. i want to be able to go to shake shack with my lunch bunch and not worry about repercussions; i refuse to do that to myself again.

acting like i’m okay and forgetting things as a coping mechanism works until you’re crying uncontrollably at 2am and you can’t figure out what’s wrong. you’re just crying because you feel so full and heavy of emotions that you can’t verbalize to anyone without breaking down and fucking up your words. i know that when i’m stressed or anxious, something will hurt physically. my teeth and head have been hurting constantly for almost a week.

it’s like i’ll have the greatest high, the best fucking day ever; but then it comes crashing down so fast you can’t even recognize it’s happening, until you’re left in the rubble of it all.

that’s all i want to say for now. i just want to say thank you to all of you that follow me and show me support and love and kindness. i feel i don’t express that enough. i truly appreciate all of you dolls

[keefwho]

July 19 - 2023 Wednesday

7:51 AM

I think maybe I have a case of imposter syndrome. Something I was reading related to how I think, “They wouldn’t say I was good if they knew what I was REALLY like.” It makes sense too, believing you’re a bad or broken person despite operating well on the outside will make you feel like that quote. But as soon as I defuse from self criticizing thoughts and develop better perspective, my self opinion improves greatly. 

2:11 PM

I feel like writing every time I am in distress which is almost constantly. Its EXACTLY like when I had my major anxiety problem because there was actually no break. It was constant, every hour. I do feel like I’m taking my first effective step in getting better about my situation though. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself because it’s only been a few days now that I’ve been applying focus on just a couple of things. Those two things are reminding myself that I’m me as much as possible, and identifying/defusing from thoughts that cause me distress. Whenever I feel ‘bad’, I try to think about what exactly is making me feel this way. Often times it will come down to a thought or belief that may or may not be true but either way is occupying my mental space in an unhelpful way. I’m trying to improve on noticing these thoughts and not letting them get to me so much. I can still feel bad about things as long as I’m not getting too sucked in. 

3:29 PM

At my core I just want someone to share things with. Experiences and feelings. Some to feel open and safe with. Someone who loves me as much as I love them. The yearning is strong.

3:55 PM

The thoughts are coming on strong. Thoughts like: “How did I fuck up everything so bad.” “Can I really move forward.” “What if I lose them.” “I can’t talk to anyone, they’ll hate me.” “I’ll never see improvement.” “My relationships are on the downhill.” “What if I stay lonely today?”

But they are only words. They might be true or untrue. They are just appraisals made by my mind about everything I got going on.

Im always irrationally worried that today will be the last time I talk to my bestie. I’m afraid she will become too aware of how fucked up I am. 

4:48 PM

I’m deep in, trying to defuse from my thoughts. There are just so many. I also have to defuse from the thought that I won’t be able to defuse. Its INSANE. I could use some perspective if only I could find a way to get it right now. I feel like I’m stuck in the past in a place that doesn’t exist. 

For awhile I was hopeful that I could rekindle a friendship with someone I had a falling out with but I think I’m far too late. Its something I let slip away and I’m upset at myself for it. I see old pics and feel sad that they are probably looked at by the other person as something hurtful. I handled everything that happened very poorly, all because I didn’t know how to handle my feelings properly and didn’t have a good grasp on myself. Thats why I’m still afraid now. I’m afraid I’m going to mess everything up again for similar reasons. Things I can’t even see yet. 

10:44 PM

This morning I ate beefaroni with some saltines in it and an applesauce. Kind of a weak breakfast but it was different than usual at least and very convenient. I tried making a stellar cup of coffee with extra sugar but got some coffee grounds in it. I did a warmup off stream and a little bit late. I felt very strongly that I wanted to make something mushy for my bestie. Just a little thing to show her how highly I think of her. I started my stream after that and only went for 1 hour 15 minutes instead of 2 because of how behind schedule I was. Since the commissioner is paying double I could afford to do that. We watched the King Ramsey episode of Courage today. I was also kinda brain dead like I didn’t know how to make non-awkward conversation. After stream I procrastinated a little bit before my workout. It was a pain in the ass setting it up but I got my mic, wireless headphones, and xbox controller configured to play VRchat while I walked. I did stay occupied but unfortunately made no conversation with anyone. I watched Henry’s Kitchen stream on the side. I did 2.5 out of 3 miles on the treadmill and ended early so I could mow the lawn which would also count as my cleaning for the day. Half the lawn is basically fully dead at this point and I don’t know what to do about that. I had a quick shower before making lunch. I made Rice a Roni Pilaf with broccoli, green beans, spinach, onions, and tuna. It wasn’t bad but I didn’t cut the onions very well and I don’t like the texture of pilaf very much. At this point I was starting to get in a bad mood and eventually got around to doing today’s request but I decided not to do project work today. I felt like sulking a little bit instead. Also my eyes hurt. I knew I couldn’t just sulk though and tried to work just a little bit on anything I knew I wanted to do. I played Pony Town and made a little addition to my house. I made the Hopping Homies VRchat group and a stand-in banner. I set up 2 new channels in my server specifically for my art and VR content. Might expand that in the future but this’ll do for now. I watched XQC stream and hopped into his discord server’s VC and actually made some nice little conversation while all watching him together. I kinda trauma dumped but so did the other guy I was talking to. It would be helpful for me to stop saying “im fine” even to strangers when I’m not actually fine. I’m not trying to sympathy farm, just be open and honest about being down because it’s okay that I am. I had a little VR time with the bestie after that and a nice  feelings chat with her. I probably have something to talk about almost every night but I do worry if discussing each other’s sorrows so often could be a bad thing. Thats just my brain talking, I feel as though it is good but on the surface it seems like it could get out of hand. But maybe not. It’s something I’ll figure out by feel. 

I think today it would have been best not to make that sketch, only because I sort of promised I would give less to my bestie because of how it can make her feel like she needs to do more. I made sure I wasn’t doing it out of obligation or anything though, I really wanted to do it. I got satisfaction out of it. I definitely wish I hadn’t of procrastinated as much as I did or shirk my project time. I did do a good job of channeling my energy into doing things afterward though. I popped off around VR time because I really do feel like myself around my friend. I feel at home in a way. It’s one of the few times I know what I want and who I am.

[lgist]

How do I know? Something that has been eating away at me ever since I have started writing is how do I know if what I am writing is actually good? It is like I’m locked in a dark room firing darts at a dart board I cannot see, I hope I am hitting the bullseye every time but in reality I have no idea if what I am saying, thinking, creating, is at all resonating with anyone who reads it. This isn’t about numbers or statistics, I am talking the words and actual sentences that I produce. I’m always in fear that what I am actually writing is not at all what I imagine it to be and instead would fall into this category of “fake deep” writing that is so annoying to come across on any social media timeline. I can only hope and pray and as I keep writing I am sure I will keep getting better but in the back of my mind there is always a voice saying, “was that even any good?”. Of course I love doing it, I love creating something from the blank page of nothingness, but the actual content of what I am creating has me in a bind. This blog is perhaps relatable for other writers and I suppose any creative media, how do we know it’s any good? Especially when we just start out. I love the Dunning-Kruger effect but I find it terrifying, like where am I on the graph? Am I at the peak of ignorance? I feel as if what I write now is good content, yet there is always this voice that doubts me and my capability to write well. Imposter syndrome is a nasty thought process and I feel as if I am cursed. It makes me worried to write my next blog, I feel as if it needs to be a constant one up contest despite the wide variety of topics I might end up doing, that might be completely unrelated. This makes it especially difficult to get my raw ideas on paper, it needs to be dressed properly and have amazing manners before I am confident to present any of them. If I could let go of this bug, this glitch within the mainframe and replace it with code to naturally believe in myself, I would. Alas, the world is not that kind and the human mind will always have some sort of skepticism about everything, including ourselves. It permeates this very paragraph, I feel as if every sentence that gets put down is over dramatic and undersells my entire idea in the first place. I wonder what causes it, I wonder what evolutionary standard necessitated this line of thinking. Perhaps it is the constant need to be perfect, to be flawless. An imaginary concept that is alluring, to be without flaw is to be extraordinary. So once we get that feeling of “that was my best piece yet” it becomes this obstacle to overcome and can really bog down the emotional ecstasy of feeling out our passions. As it becomes a slog to meticulously overanalyze every aspect of every post, the fun and the chaos of engaging with our passions becomes boring and we fall out of love with the action entirely. It makes you forget about the reason you began pursuing passion in the first place, instead of doing what you love, it becomes work and work is the opposite of the natural nature of passion as passion should not feel like work. It should not be exhausting to engage with your passion, sure you can burn out at times but work is just mundane, colourless and detrimental to the passionate psyche. 

Maybe our compulsion to feel perfect is derived from the picturesque personas displayed on social media. People who have the white smile, perfect bodies, PR teams who tell them what to say and when. Young children will grow up with the mentally of striving for this unrealistic prospect of perfection, when in reality these Instagram models and celebrities themselves are human. They exist with fault, fault that is often left out of their perfect image and because of this anytime a fault is discovered it is what is put under incredible scrutiny. We want to avoid scrutiny at any cost, it is difficult to hear what is imperfect about yourself. So we hide our imperfections, photoshop away the humanity and unique attributes we were born with so we can all look like the spitting image of beauty. Standards have only raised in the information age. God forbid you make a mistake, it must be constant wins. When you only win and never lose, wouldn’t the feeling of winning become trivial? Our minds focus on loss much harder than the feeling of winning, I feel as if this is only exaggerated from the perfection we spectate on a daily basis. I mean it is always click worthy to hear your favorite celebrity fucked up. Perhaps if we stopped placing ourselves on pedestals, puppeteering our personal shows that which always have a happy ending and normalize failure, we would be more free to fluidly engage with passion. This would make it never feel like a job but a necessity to the very fiber of our beings. 

However, I do feel an important distinction when it comes to the idea of perfection is the need to be perfect and the striving of perfection itself. You can strive for perfection, perhaps you should, improvement doesn’t come free and you must learn the perfect method that which is personal to improve. Yet the need and compulsion to be perfect is entirely different, this compulsion will not let you improve, you will get stuck on the slightest of problems as you figure hundreds of solutions in your mind, giving yourself the paradox of choice as you choose the safest idea to seem perfect. Passion is not about safety, it is about rigorous experimentation. Experiments that might fall flat on their face or teach you something about yourself you never knew existed. For what is passion besides an avenue into your psyche, a place for you to escape and enter this flow that escapes time, as you can spend hours on a certain piece and it would only feel like 15 minutes have passed. The need to be perfect is an illusion of safety and kills motivation as you can’t breach your own standards. Dismantle your standards, see where it goes and if it fails, try again. I am still battling with the compulsion to be perfect, I want to write pieces that really get you to think. I am always worried I have not accomplished that feat with each and every blog. I worry I repeat myself too much, like a broken record. I worry I will run out of ideas, I worry, I worry, I worry yet I wont let it ruin my flow and I know I will keep improving with each post, neither should you. Experiment and have fun, let go of perfection and instead strive for each creation to be unique in its own right. Perfect your method of learning and improve alongside it, passion should burn and I’ll be damned if I let mine wilt away in a sorry excuse such as “I am not good enough”

_______________________________________

Exploring the very nature of my writing, I must admit I worry this also falls into the category of “fake deep” and you know what, I don’t care anymore. I will write what I feel like writing and if it keeps getting better, that is all I should worry about. We all have a creative mind within us it, is important to acknowledge our capabilities and never short sell ourselves, we all can do it. Much Love - S

[justabitbelowaverage]

The Importance Of Validation In The Mental Health Community

DISCLAIMER: I can not diagnose any of the conditions you have through a screen. If you display behaviors similar to those associated with the conditions I describe, it does not automatically mean that you have these conditions. If you are worried about your own mental health, please seek out a medical professional qualified to help you.

I discuss serious topics in this post. I don’t believe any material would be too triggering for someone to read but I can’t pretend to know how my words affect everyone so read at your own discretion.

I discuss topics including but not limited to: cognitive distortion, depression, anxiety, habitual lying, histrionic personality disorder, the idea of faking symptoms, and past internalized homophobia (Very briefly. You’d have to squint to see it)

I once walked in on my mother and sister reading my diary together when I was little and laughing about what I’d written. From then on, I got into the habit of hiding my diaries in places I knew nobody would find them. Well, after doing some Spring cleaning recently, I managed to unearth a lost diary of mine from at least eight years ago.

Among the entries of confessions of lies I told my parents and admissions of crushes I had on the “wrong” gender, I found something rather disturbing. Don’t worry, this isn’t just a post about my whole diary. Instead, it’s one little collection of words that continued to come up on the many pages.

I spoke to my diary like it was a person. Feeling like I had to resort to speaking to empty pages probably should have been my first warning sign that I needed therapy but that’s not the point I’m getting to. See, I would often apologize to my diary for rambling or instruct my diary not to tell anyone the secrets I was about to write. This is important because the thing that I kept saying in my most vulnerable entries was:

“I don’t know if I’m just making this up for attention, but...”

A child who knew that nobody but herself would ever read her diary was actively prefacing each entry with the fact that I may be a delusion pick-me girl. That’s...concerning, to say the least. The reason I said it was because there were so many people whose opinions I valued that convinced me to think that way.

I grew up with an older sibling who was a habitual liar. As such, they paved the way for me with parents that had little faith in whatever I told them. Most stories I told about teachers that treated me unfairly or random “malfunctions” as I was keen on calling them (ticks and stims) were met with a lecture about the dangers of crying wolf.

This created a disconnect in my own mind; an experience I wish could say was exclusive to me. I viewed myself as such an unreliable narrator that in a way, I caused my own mental illness on top of the ones that I actually did have but nobody believed me about.

That’s why it’s so important in the mental health community that we don’t ever accuse anyone of faking their symptoms. It can not only worsen the problem but open the door to new problems that I’ve been unable to even find a name for. A mental illness that convinces you that you are faking your own mental illness.

It’s a lot more common than you might think.

The closest thing we have to a similar diagnosis (to my knowledge) is anosognosia, a condition in which you are cognitively unaware of a medical condition such as a mental illness. But you can see how this is not the same as what I’m describing. What I’m talking about is the denial of your own mental illness even when you are aware of your symptoms.

Maybe if imposter syndrome and anosognosia had a child with a depressive disorder, that would relate more to this symbiotic curse of your mind concocting new mental illnesses based on your pre-existing ones.

Let’s say that someone is faking their symptoms. Let’s say we have a 100% guaranteed way to prove that someone does not actually have a condition such as depression or anxiety and we somehow know for a fact that their symptoms are inauthentic.

Why are they faking it? That should be the next question we ask instead of diving in with some kind of persecution. Their reason for faking one mental illness could be its own mental illness.

May I introduce you to: histrionic personality disorder.

This would be a mental condition where someone has a distorted sense of self, unstable emotions, and a detrimental desire for approval. This disorder can make a person display attention-seeking behaviors. It’s not like it’s an easy one to treat but that’s because personality disorders as a whole are...complicated.

But I digress.

What do you think would happen if a person with histrionic personality disorder were suddenly met with a barrage of hate for acting out to get attention? While nobody can say for certain, know that it could be cataclysmic. 

In conclusion, don’t take it upon yourself to determine whether or not someone’s mental health conditions/symptoms are authentic and especially do not try to tell them that they’re faking. It can have some real consequences that nobody seems willing to talk about lately.

But I also harbor the unpopular opinion that even a psychological professional can’t determine if a person’s mental health symptoms are “real” or not so don’t feel the need to agree with me.

In fact, feel free to voice your own opinion as you are always welcome. If you want a response, let me know. If my responding would make you uncomfortable, also let me know. My inbox is always open for asks and anonymity is always an option there.

[kcwritely]

On Realizing Dreams and Becoming a Writer

Hi! I’m a writer just dipping my toes into posting my original works. I’ve spent a lot of time on the fan side of tumblr, writing for my favorite shows, books, movies, and games. But I was always worried my own works wouldn’t live up to the same positive reception and praise as my fan works. So, I’ve been hesitant to share.

But now, I want to branch out and bring my personal writings to the public! Which I find absolutely terrifying, but we all have to start somewhere. I’ve already posted some of my old poetry, but that hasn’t exactly met the welcome I hoped for. So, I thought I would take a more personal approach and share a bit about myself.

I’ve been writing and creating stories ever since I was a toddler. Of course, it was all about pretend and play rather than actual literature at the time. My interest in writing began in earnest when I was around ten years old. My personal life had become unstable at that point, and it was during this time that I truly began to connect with and find solace in books.

I started seriously writing my own stories when I entered middle school. These were, of course, a bit silly. They are undoubtedly full of all the classic middle school tropes, hang-ups, and pitfalls. But this was the very beginning of a lifelong passion. So, I look back on those old works with fondness.

It wasn’t until I reached high school that I began to write and plot out novels. These, too, were ‘cringe’ and are still a bit embarrassing to look back on. But they were the foundation of who I am as a storyteller today. It was during this time that I discovered my love of world-building. I genuinely believe it is one of the best parts of being a writer.

Unfortunately, I also suffered from crippling self-doubt and a severe case of imposter syndrome. So, I never shared my work with others. I often felt that what I created was not refined enough to be read by anyone but myself or my supportive mother. This mindset followed me for many years, making it difficult to chart a clear path toward my future.

When it came time for college, I wasn’t entirely sure what to do. I have other passions and briefly considered following them. However, I ultimately chose to pursue my love of language and literature. I wound up becoming an English major. Although, I had no intention of becoming an author. At that point in time, my confidence as a writer was low. I just thought it would be better to put my talents to use as an editor. So, I pursued a minor in editing and decided that would be my career.

It wasn’t until the pandemic, after graduating college and a horrible stint in Corporate America, that I realized my life was my own. And I could pursue whatever dream I wanted. At first, this meant pursuing a career as a tattoo artist. A very different path, I realize. But I could not deny my love for the craft. Not to mention, this was another dream I had convinced myself was unattainable just because it was I who looked to attain it. Once I realized I could pursue any path I desired, as long as I put in the work and tried my best, everything changed.

I began practicing for hours daily to improve my art and become a tattoo artist. These efforts eventually led to my skills growing dramatically. I was so surprised to realize what I could accomplish if I wasn’t standing in my own way. It was the first time I truly thought of myself as someone with talent. I followed this dream for quite some time, building my portfolio and researching local shops that might need an apprentice.

It wasn’t until one fateful night when I was driving home from a bridal shower that the idea hit me. An old book concept from my high school days resurfaced in my mind, and I suddenly knew what the story needed. When I finally got home, I began writing these ideas down immediately. I didn’t even realize it was three in the morning by the time I finished. From that moment on, I became infatuated with my story. Rekindling a love I had long thought was lost.

With a renewed interest in my lifelong passion, I dedicated myself to my dreams. I decided that this time, nothing would keep me from achieving my goals, not outside influences and certainly not myself. Through this new resolve, I began working on my largest project ever, a seven-book epic fantasy adventure exploring a vast and diverse world of my creation.

Now, I want to share the process of such an undertaking with all of you! From conception to plotting, world-building to character creation, I’m sharing it all! I encourage anyone who is a writer or wants to be one to reach out to me. I am happy to share my experience and help other writers realize their dreams like I have begun to do for myself. If you have read this far, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing so. I wish you all the best in your writing journey, and I hope you, the reader, can learn something from my experiences.

Please feel free to reach out to me with any questions about writing!

[asketchysomebody]

So, it’s been quite a while since I’ve been around/really talked about what’s going on and making the same old ‘I’m going to do more on here’ spiel. And believe it or not, there’s an answer to that.

I’ve mentioned in a few places that I haven’t been doing too well mentally or physically. Since July of this year, I’ve gone through some really weird health stuff that I won’t get into here for the sake of other people who don’t want to see something like that on their feeds. I’ll just say that it’s gotten somewhat better(?) but not great. 

Mentally I’ve been in the gutter for the past 3 and half months. In part because of my health but also in part because of my not dealing with things going on in my life particularly well. I’ve been dwelling a lot on my past actions, and who I was, and putting myself down constantly for that while also dealing with some pretty intense imposter syndrome when it comes to basically everything in my life but mostly my writing.

I look at a lot of my old and new work and can't help but rip it to shreds in my head for being either stupid, cringe, bad, problematic etc. I have a hard time putting out my own original work without worrying about its quality or its content or just worrying about it existing entirely. I know I can't please anyone, but when I can't even please myself with a project that used to make me happy, then it's a bit of a problem.

Overall, it's been difficult to enjoy things and overall difficult to find interest or pleasure or happiness in things I do and…well, life. It feels like I'm just passing through life with unhealthy amounts of envy and…I'll say strong dislike for myself. I didn't talk about this before because when I was younger (maybe even recently), I had/have a horrible habit of dumping all of my issues onto people I'm close to instead of going to a professional help, so my solution to this is just never talk about it with people or talk about it as little as possible. 

So I'm saying it now, somewhat vague but not really on a post that will probably get lost with the rest of my stuff, but I'm going to be taking a break for the week of Christmas, maybe longer. I'm going to make a push to get out a project that's been sitting in my drafts for a while but after that, I think I might go radio silent to recollect my thoughts, reevaluate myself and my work, educate myself on things, and overall try to get to a place where I can just be happy.

It's all been a bit too much and my intrusive thoughts and negative view of myself have gotten so bad, I can't feel good about anything I do anymore. Hope y'all understand and I hope to see you all soon when I'm better. Maybe in a week, maybe in a month. Who knows.

Thank you and see you soon.

[miss-writes-a-lot]

So, it’s been quite a while since I’ve been around/really talked about what’s going on and making the same old ‘I’m going to do more on here’ spiel. And believe it or not, there’s an answer to that.

I’ve mentioned in a few places that I haven’t been doing too well mentally or physically. Since July of this year, I’ve gone through some really weird health stuff that I won’t get into here for the sake of other people who don’t want to see something like that on their feeds. I’ll just say that it’s gotten somewhat better(?) but not great. 

Mentally I’ve been in the gutter for the past 3 and half months. In part because of my health but also in part because of my not dealing with things going on in my life particularly well. I’ve been dwelling a lot on my past actions, and who I was, and putting myself down constantly for that while also dealing with some pretty intense imposter syndrome when it comes to basically everything in my life but mostly my writing.

I look at a lot of my old and new work and can't help but rip it to shreds in my head for being either stupid, cringe, bad, problematic etc. I have a hard time putting out my own original work without worrying about its quality or its content or just worrying about it existing entirely. I know I can't please anyone, but when I can't even please myself with a project that used to make me happy, then it's a bit of a problem.

Overall, it's been difficult to enjoy things and overall difficult to find interest or pleasure or happiness in things I do and…well, life. It feels like I'm just passing through life with unhealthy amounts of envy and…I'll say strong dislike for myself. I didn't talk about this before because when I was younger (maybe even recently), I had/have a horrible habit of dumping all of my issues onto people I'm close to instead of going to a professional help, so my solution to this is just never talk about it with people or talk about it as little as possible. 

So I'm saying it now, somewhat vague but not really on a post that will probably get lost with the rest of my stuff, but I'm going to be taking a break for the week of Christmas, maybe longer. I'm going to make a push to get out a project that's been sitting in my drafts for a while but after that, I think I might go radio silent to recollect my thoughts, reevaluate myself and my work, educate myself on things, and overall try to get to a place where I can just be happy.

It's all been a bit too much and my intrusive thoughts and negative view of myself have gotten so bad, I can't feel good about anything I do anymore. Hope y'all understand and I hope to see you all soon when I'm better. Maybe in a week, maybe in a month. Who knows.

Thank you and see you soon.

[bonkywobble]

Soulmate AU - Jake Jensen - t...imers are set on the wrist of every person once they are a certain age, slowly counting down until the day they meet their soulmate.

Fucking Brian

Pairing: Jake Jensen x Reader (Soulmate AU)

Warnings: awkward first meetings, humour, language, slight fluff. 18+ only. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION.

Word count: 750+ words

Disclaimer: I do not give anyone permission to take, repost, copy or translate my stories, regardless of whether or not they are credited. This blog and all works associated with are 18+ only. Minors please do not interact or follow.

A/N: Trying to break away from my imposters syndrome. Slowly going through the ask box. Dividers by @firefly-graphics. Will tag in the morning because I need to sleep now x

Main Masterlist / Add yourself to my tag list!

Your frustration mounts with every increase in your workload: Brian from marketing has yet another complaint made against him for not showing up to work, and fucking Cheryl keeps forcing IT to change her password for her because the stupid bitch never writes it down. Above all, your boss - still somehow Brian - has magically lost the handout you’d previously typed up for the company latest pitch, forcing you to sift through masses of corporate files to find and print the damn thing again. But even that isn’t the biggest upset of the day.

You’re meant to meet your soulmate today, yet because of all of this it looks like you won’t even make it out of the building. A quick glance at the timer that you’ve had on your wrist since your thirteenth birthday confirms your worst fear: 000:00:00:10.

Only ten seconds left.

No.

Fuck.

Your opportunity? Gone. Just like that.

Dropping your head in your hands as a mixture of anger, despair and disappointment washes over you, you fail to hear the set of heavy steps racing down the hallway. And it’s only when a disheveled blond man practically throws himself into your office - slamming the door closed with enough force to rattle the shutters on your windows - that you finally notice the commotion.

Failing to see you the stranger takes a moment to adjust both his breathing and his glasses. Your hand moves to rest near the phone at your desk, security only a phone call away. His eyes snap up at your movement, and that’s when you both hear it - your timers going off in sync.

Your gaze drops to your wrist and the realisation quickly sinks in, your confusion leaving you; it actually happened.

No way.

“Holy shit,” he lowly exclaims. “Holy shit, it’s you.”

You can only nod in delight, the clubbed expression on his face mirroring yours. This guy - this beaming, broad shouldered stranger with a puppy-like face - is your soulmate?

“Christ, I definitely did not expect to meet you this way. Granted, I thought it’d be more along the lines of me saving the sexy damsel in distress. I had a whole hero monologue planned and everything but technically I’m still on a mission so this totally works-”

“Okay, stop.” You cut him off, eyes blinking in slight bewilderment. You catch your breath as the realisations of he was running from the staff and you don’t know him begin to sink in. “Who are you, and what reason do you have to be hiding out in my office?”

His blue eyes widen as you point at the door. Before you can ask about the guards chasing him, you hear faint footsteps grow louder. Both of your heads snap towards the door.

Your soulmate steps forward, hand raising in a gesture that’s meant to placate your worries. It only slightly works.

“My name is Corporal Jake Jensen,” he swallows, “and I’m here to investigate a Brian Milson. I may have been caught going through his things-”

Of course it’s fucking Brian, of course this is his fault.

Goddamnit.

“-only because he’s into some mysterious, dodgy shit. Like, extra parking lot late at night, no witnesses, never ever leaves a tip kinda dodgy-”

It’s with a mixed bag of emotions that you cut him off again, too painfully aware of both the growing outside noise and his right hand steadily drifting towards his waistline, searching for something out of habit. “Story time later, under the desk.”

He stares confused at you for a second before a second downwards jerk of your head spurs him into action. Moving your seat as needed the captain scrambles into position. His eyes briefly meet yours as you push your chair forward again, and you feel with growing certainty that this man would lay his life down for yours in a heartbeat. (Albeit in a very overly dramatic way, probably.)

“Don’t make this awkward.”

“Yes ma’am.”

His breath is hot on your knees, making your own hitch. “And don’t try anything.”

There’s a very short pause before you receive another response of, “yes ma’am.”

You swear for the briefest moment before the latest hires in security knock on your door that you feel the pad of a finger gingerly graze your ankle, unsure if the action’s meant to be reassuring or teasing, or both.

(Jake confirms three days later on your first date that it was both after his flimsy excuse of “I liked your… shoes” fails to land. You also both agree that - as much as it pains the two of you - it was Brian and your mutual loathing of him that brought you both together.

Your soulmate sends a thank you card to his cell once a year.)

[saabbi]

Regret part 9

Light in darkness

Genshin Impact Adeptus! reader

warnings: self-deprecation, imposter syndrome

word count: ~1.7k

notes: please remember that you are loved, and not just in the fic itself.

[previous] [next]

No words are needed to exchange. Zhongli must surely be curious, worried even, to find out what happened in Snezhnaya. But he remained quiet, pushing away the rampant thoughts running across his mind.

What’s most important isn’t digging out what happened, but that you’re alright and safe.

Zhongli doesn’t miss the pale complexion on you, making sure to swing by Bubu Pharmacy to ask Baizhu for some antiseptic cream and aspirin just in case you’re still feeling unwell.

He brought you to his residency, which is unsurprisingly close to the funeral parlour. A few sprouting flowers in the interior caught your eye, the blue distinguish colour resembles that of a jewel. It must be a good season for glazed lilies to grow and bloom.

“Would you like tea?” Zhongli turns his head to you, holding up a few cups.

“Yes, please.” He also takes out some cakes, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him that you’re way too full for some tea snacks.

Zhongli is definitely inquisitive, his occasional glances and slight frown shows that he has much more to say apart from asking if you want tea and snacks.

But he didn’t ask you any questions, never pressuring you into telling him. He decided to wait until you feel ready to talk about it. For you, he can always wait.

You hold the cup in your palms, the warmth gradually spreading to your whole body.

“Zhongli,” you take a sip of the refreshing tea, making up your mind. “Can you ask Ganyu and Xiao to come? I… have something to tell you all.”

Zhongyi nervously nods with his heart thumping, not sure if he’s ready to hear what you have to tell them.

.

.

Silence fills the room, then your sharp inhales, the unsteady voice and shaking pupils as you begin to speak.

Your shaking voice, your spilling emotions, your trembling hands. The suffocating feeling in your heart and the bitterness in your throat. You keep on going, you can’t think straight, you feel light headed and exhausted, but you want to keep going. You want to tell them, the things you saw, the things you felt, the worthlessness eating you away.

Ganyu tugs your arm and hugs them tightly, Zhongli and Xiao each resting a hand on yours to remind you that they’re here. They let you keep going, even if you look like you’re in pain.

They listen in silence, allowing you to spill everything in the safe space. You stop for a second, hearing sniffles from the horned girl next to you.

Ganyu shakes her head, telling you that she’s okay, and that you can go on.

With trembling eyes and hoarse voice, you tell them, how you thought you would be okay even if the Tsarista didn’t need you anymore, thought it would be okay even if she throws you away. But you weren’t, your heart sunk to the bottom when she implied that you’re no longer needed, as if all the time you spent by her side as a faithful subordinate meant nothing to her.

You mentioned that you know the Tsarista is only interested in the power you possess, you repeatedly told yourself that if it’s what the Tsarista desires, you shall comply without any hard feelings, for you are her harbinger, her title-less twelfth harbinger.

So why did it hurt so much? Why did you feel something worse than physical pain? Like you were stabbed with thousand swords, mercilessly piercing you without a break, making you lose your breath and vision cloudy.

It felt like the world crumbled, blood rushing to your head and the sudden heaviness taking over your body.

Oh. In the midst of talking your own feelings out, you realised- you felt angry, desperate, hurt, betrayed.

You realised, that over the years, loyalty is not the only thing that sprouted. You always brushed it off, pretending like it never existed, but deep down, you felt angry.

Angry at the Tsarista for pulling you away from Liyue, angry at her for letting you go through terrible things, even if you can’t remember clearly what happened.

The mixture of admiration, loyalty, desperation and anger has always stuck within you whenever you see her cold yet graceful figure.

But you had nothing except her, so you clung onto your loyalty towards her and repressed other thoughts of her, ignoring the tingling senses and blindly telling yourself that you’re always loyal to the Tsarista.

Every single word that comes out, Zhongli takes them in all, even if it pricks his heart like thorns. He takes a deep breath and shuts shis eyes, he wants it to stop. But he knows he has to listen and share your burden.

He wants to listen, even if it hurts, lamenting for the times he couldn’t be there for you. But now, he could. And the least he could do is to listen to you.

In the past, Zhongli failed miserably as a guardian, but now he has the chance to be with the three of his beloved adepti once again. He’s the listener, he’ll always be willing to listen to you if you confide in him.

Zhongli takes one last gulp of his tea. He embraces the crushing pain in his heart and clasp your hand tightly.

You stutter and choke out some incomplete sentences in the process, words tying into knots, but it’s okay. There’s no need for you to rush, they have all the time and undivided attention for you to tell them whatever you want.

Your right hand feels like it’s about to be crushed, somehow. You glance over to the side and is met with another pair of amber eyes.

Glossy eyes filled with uncertainty, concern and shock. His mouth gaped open, unable to find words, so he chooses to hear instead of responding.

The way you described your journey in Snezhnaya feels lonely to him. Xiao is no stranger to the feeling of solitude, but your gaze feels far, far more lonelier than what Xiao has ever been through. He watched as unfathomable emotions swirl in your eyes, your gaze shifting every so often in trying to find the right words.

A part of him thinks that, perhaps he should’ve sought for you, or even just send a single letter millennia ago instead of pathetically dreaming in the Wangshu inn, then perhaps you wouldn’t have to always feel like you're all alone without anyone to rely on.

Xiao holds your other hand tightly. He doesn’t know how to show affection, but he hopes that this reassures you that you’re no longer alone.

Your lone narrative went on for minutes, then hours, until you lost track of time. You then mutter the last few sentences.

“I lost my powers, I don’t feel qualified to be an adeptus anymore, I-“ this part is harder to say than anything else. “I don’t know why I’m here, or anywhere anymore.”

“I feel like I…lost my purpose.” First was your abandonment from Zhongli, the bane of your misfortune. Then was the Tsarista, the one who broke you more than anything else. You feel lost in life, wandering without a purpose.

“I’m just a… nobody.”

Slam. The sudden impact on the table made you jump. You look up at Xiao who suddenly stood up and slammed his fists on the table with brute force.

His frown is deep, eyes burning with fury and looking at you with disbelief. He is livid.

“Don’t you dare say that one more time.”

Confused, you furrowed your eyebrows and tilt your head a bit. At first you thought he’s mad at the fact that you willingly let your powers be taken away from you, but that doesn’t seem to what he’s mad at.

“You are not worthless, not a nobody. I won’t forgive you even if you say that one more time, even if you said it yourself.”

Xiao clenches his fist tightly, glaring at you. He rarely gets mad at you, it makes you feel a bit guilty.

“Xiao’s right.” Ganyu joins in, her palms squeezing your arms with force making you turn to her. “Please do not say that, ever again. You mean everything to us, how could you- how could you say you’re worth nothing?”

Ganyu has a sorrowful look instead. You don’t know how to respond to them, you can’t figure out whether the present incompetent you means everything to them, or the you they once knew and adored.

You think of the latter one. After all, there’s nothing much on you that is actually worth something.

Zhongli seems to know what you’re thinking, as he slowly opens his mouth. “My child.”

“Nothing changes the fact that you’re an adeptus, one of us, with or without your adeptal powers.”

“No matter the past, present or future you, will always be the one we love.” His gaze firm and solemn, trying hard to convey his feelings to you.

“You don’t have to be perfect, it’s okay to be incomplete.” Zhongli stands up and treads towards you.

He stops next to you, bending down a bit before enveloping you into a tight hug. You stiffen up.

“Because no matter what, you are you, and nothing will ever change that. And the fact that we love you will always be true.”

Hic. You let out ugly voices from your throat, breaking into a ugly sob and staggered breathing.

The warmth warping you increases, with Ganyu and Xiao joining.

Zhongli soothes you by brushing your back softly, Ganyu patting your head and lightly ruffles your hair. Xiao appears to be quite awkward at first, but decides to rest your head on his chest and warp his arms around your head as you sob.

It’s so warm, so warm that it feels unreal. Words of affirmation and love is such a stranger to you, the words and actions they display makes your chest hurts.

Your heart tugs at you, but you know it’s not because you’re sad, it’s because you feel relieved, happy, and thankful.

You are loved. Even if you don’t realise it.

Love is not determined by how much one spends time with each other, nor will it diminish with time or distance.

Forgive does not mean forgetting. The past cannot be reverted. The resentful decisions Zhongli has made in the past remain embedded in history and cannot be undone.

However, it does not mean that relationships cannot be rebuilt. A step at a time, as long as you’re willing to, as long as you are here and with them, things can start over.

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for extra info/drabbles on this series: #adeptus reader asks please feel free to send some asks as well :)

taglist [request to be added/removed in taglist, or send an ask] @deathkat657 @porcosslvt @ryuukero @cruelstring @pandaquick @lill0w0 @yoomi-omi @pidgeison @sugary03 @creatorofstars @zaythetic @calfigaman @schleepyflocci @elephantasmosgocomics @yaesflorist @keiq0 @heijeuxx @yamatosworld @yuuuumiiin @sangchu @stupefried @wouldyoulikesomepollen @candyqueen10 @moonbintang @hiqhkey @hanniejji @photoglassuwu @normalisthenewnorm @just-some-stars @dearalatus @chinchillinbb @scoupshushushu @toshiswifey @sweetstrawberrybabe @lifenotgod @kztura @daphnyehh @alatusorrow @svftbunnie @nemuri-fictions @hydroyaksha\

Please tell me if I missed any one of you!! if someone changed their username and that’s why I couldn’t tag you, please by all means send in an ask/ comment on the original post to let me know!

[choiceskatie]

The Blessed Unrest

Chapter 3 - Somebody That I Used To Know

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Summary: Anna thinks she's prepared herself to face the inevitable, but something no one could have predicted shakes her to her very core.

Warnings: This series will contain NSFW content. If you choose to read, you acknowledge that you are 18 or older.

A/N: This took far too long to finish. I’ve been super unwell on and off and when I finally started feeling a bit better, I got a severe bout of imposter syndrome. I just felt like every fic I was reading was a literal masterpiece, and every time I tried to write I thought to myself, why would anyone read this when I can’t even come close to replicating the skill of those writers? Which is stupid, bc I’m not on here to replicate anyone. I enjoy creating stories as I read and turning those thoughts into my own little word. I know I’m not the best writer, but that doesn’t matter. For whatever reason, you guys read my stuff and that’s enough for me. I’m writing bc it makes me happy and if anyone enjoys it, then that’s just the cherry on top.

Anyway, just wanted to explain my prolonged absence and why I haven’t been reading either. I had to stop to finally get this done without comparing myself to others, and what do ya know? I actually liked what I ended up with lol. Now this is finished I can finally catch up on all my reading, and I’ll be back annoying all of you tomorrow lol. And now I’m rambling, but I seriously love every single one of you 🤍 hope you enjoy!

A/N 2: Just as a pre-warning to Sam stans, hopefully it’s not too disappointing that this chapter is predominantly Ethan. I promise your man is the star of the show in chapter four.

Word count: 8k. I know, I know, ok. I don’t know what happened and I’m sorry.

Thanks to my angel girl @lsvdw-blog for prereading 500 versions of this and being my biggest cheerleader, you made this infinitely better and I adore you.

Pairings: Ethan x MC ~ Sam x MC

Catch up here

Before she could stop and make an attempt to comprehend what she was doing, Anna was running from the ballroom, trying to keep up with Ethan's long strides as he held her hand firmly in his. Her heels hit the ground rapidly as he escorted her wordlessly through hallways and outside to a rental car, Anna too disoriented in her current state to verbally judge the flashy number. He opened the passenger door for her, gesturing inside with a slight smile. "Get in." She silently did as she was told, still in a daze as he closed the door and got in the drivers' side.

"What will your dad do? Aren't you here with him?"

He turned on the ignition and began to drive before answering her question, pulling out of the venue and heading the opposite way from the route to the Russo villa. "I spoke to him briefly before coming to help you. He'll find a way back to the hotel, don't worry." She nodded slowly, meeting his gaze in the rear view mirror before turning away from him and looking out the window.

After a few minutes of painful silence, Anna heard Ethan sigh and turned to look at him. The look on his face told her he was battling internally on how to speak to her, if at all. "What is it, Ethan?"

"I-uh,” he cleared his throat nervously, “I know that it's none of my business, but why doesn't Sam know that you're a doctor?"

"You're right, that is none of your business," she snapped back, Ethan wincing at the exact answer he had expected and the following tension he had wanted to avoid. Anna rolled her eyes as she sighed defeatedly, knowing she’d be curious herself. “Because I’m not a doctor, Ethan. I was, and I’ll never be able to revisit that part of my life so I see no reason to keep hashing out my painful past. And please, I really do not want to speak about Sam with you."

Ethan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he clenched his jaw, shaking his head ever so visibly as he picked up on her subtle sign. “So, it’s true.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re having an affair with Sam.”

The atmosphere in the car was suddenly, intensely different as her head snapped round to look at him, fire blazing in her eyes as she bit down on her lip, a poor attempt at grounding herself. "And what has that got to do with you?"

“For Christ’s sake, Anna. I helped you out of there because I thought you had fallen victim to the infamous gossip surrounding the Daltons! I never took you for someone that would break up a marriage. I thought you had morals.”

“Oh my god, you with your fucking morals again. Do not act like you know me at all. You threw me away for scraps a year ago and that changes a person. I’m not the same Anna you left broken-hearted in Boston.”

“You’re right. You’re not. I don’t know this Anna, I thought there was something unique about the woman I knew and something unique about what we shared. I didn’t think she went for every boss she could get her hands on. Clearly I was mistaken.”

Anna’s nostrils flared as she sneered at him. “Pull over.”

Ethan scoffed at her dramatics as he kept his eyes on the road. “Stop it, Anna.”

“Pull over the fucking car.” Ethan turned to look at her and decided to follow her command as he saw her already moving to take her seatbelt off. He pulled in and she immediately jumped out the car, Ethan following suit as he prepared to chase her down the quiet road through Naples.

He didn’t expect her to see her walking around the front of the car, barrelling towards him with a look of disgust on her face. “Anna, get back in the damn-” smack.

Ethan’s words were cut off sharply as his head turned, cheek burning as he recovered from the crisp slap to his face. His hand raised to hold his face in shock, his narrowed eyes making their way back to Anna, tears in her eyes and teeth gritting as she shook out her tingling hand and scowled at him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” She punctuated every word with a rough jab to the chest.

He gently grabbed her wrist, holding her back from him. “I thought I was someone special to you, but I’m glad to know the truth. You know, it’s all starting to make sense. My god, you really do get around.”

“What did you just say to me?”

“The rumour mill is still rife at Edenbrook, Anna. Some things never change.” He hissed, “don’t think that I haven’t heard about your little trysts with the paramedic and that damn scalpel jockey your entire intern year. Was I just another fuck to keep you going? Did you ever feel anything for me at all?”

“What have they got to do with anything? I spent time with them whilst I was pining for you. Sue me for attempting to enjoy my life whilst the man I truly wanted was pushing me away every damn chance he had! What did you expect?”

“It’s not just them though, is it? It’s Sam, too, and God knows who else. It’s unforgivable.”

“I don’t remember asking for your forgiveness and I sure as hell don’t fucking need it. You do not get to make me feel bad for trying to move on from you.”

“Who’s next, Anna? My uncle Mason? I mean, why stop at Sam when you could go for the top dog? You clearly love a man in power.”

“I’d choose your next words very fucking carefully, Ethan. You do not get to call me a whore. When I met you, I thought that I had found my person. The person who challenged me, who I thought respected me, who made me feel things I had never felt in my entire life. I was done with everyone else, I was ready to be with you. I begged you to be with me. But you left me. You abandoned me and any shot of a future we had together. You tore my heart to fucking shreds, Ethan. I’m all glued back together now, and I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke. You do not get to call me a whore.”

As she spat out her last words, both of their chests were heaving, eyes blazing as they stared each other down. Seconds passed with neither moving, the air thick with tension. Anna shook her head, eyes shutting tightly as she jumped out of her daze. “No, you do not get to do this to me. You do not get to make me into this person again.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Nothing. I mean nothing. Can we go? Please.” She was walking back towards her side of the car before the words had left her mouth, leaving Ethan standing in a trance as he attempted to deal with the magnitude of their words. Her car door slamming shut brought him back to life, Ethan taking a deep breath to steel himself before getting back in the car.

The rest of the scenic drive was completely silent, Ethan’s remorse rising every second of the journey. He instantly regretted everything he’d said to Anna. It wasn’t that he couldn’t believe that such callous and vicious words had left his mouth; that part was easy. He was known for his harsh commentary and opinions, and his words tonight were far from the worst he’d ever uttered. What he couldn’t wrap his head around was that they were directed towards the only woman he had ever loved; a woman that he’d fight for if he ever heard the same words thrown at her from another.

A year had passed: a year in which Ethan had thought about Anna more than he was ready to admit to anyone, himself included. It hadn’t taken long for Ethan to recognise the monumental error he’d made in pushing Anna away, practically forcing her to leave Boston. But it was done, and after a few stumbles, he was ready to accept his fate. He’d managed to push his feelings down to the deepest pit of his soul, doing everything in his power to block out the memories of Anna and the joy she had brought to his stale life. It was easier that way. Easier to pretend his feelings didn’t exist as opposed to facing them head on like a man and accepting the blame for his own demise. For their demise.

Alas, tonight it had become apparent that his coping mechanism was a ticking time bomb, because as he saw the love of his life cascade back into his life, the weight of the emotions he’d been refusing to acknowledge swept through him like a hurricane.

He turned his head ever so slightly, attempting to catch a stolen glimpse of her as she stared ahead. Clearly intent on ignoring him for the entire journey, he resorted to gazing at her through the mirror, catching his lip turning upwards ever so slightly as he stared at her. The moonlight shone through the car, illuminating her sun kissed face as he marvelled at the familiar golden flecks sparkling in her rich chocolate orbs. Her large doe eyes were still as beautiful as the day they met.

Time had been kind to Anna Valentine.

His smile was short lived as he looked deeper into the very eyes he remembered being so rich and full of life, suddenly dull of their usual sparkle he searched for. He was reminded of the last time he had been in such close proximity to the golden glow of her curious eyes, only the last time he had a front seat to her beauty, they had been blinded by a river of tears poisoning their usual twinkle. Tears caused by him.

He hadn’t been.

The year that had passed had had an irrevocable effect on her. That much had been made clear in their heated exchange roadside, but it was the dejected look on her face that made it all the more evident.

It was difficult to believe the young and promising doctor he had fallen for was the same woman sitting beside him; she was a shell of her former self. Was that all down to him? Has he damaged his former love that badly? Or perhaps a year in her new life had thrown more tragedies at her, of that he couldn’t be sure. But there was one thing he was sure of: he wasn’t letting Anna Valentine leave again, at least not without a fight.

They reached his hotel finally, having pulled off the main road to drive towards the coastline. He quietly parked the car and turned off the engine, unable to even open his door before Anna was up and out of hers. He quickly strode over to her, closing her door as she walked into the hotel without a second glance back. She must have sensed his presence behind her as she turned abruptly as soon as she entered the large lobby, coming face to chest as she had to tilt her head backwards to catch his face in their close proximity.

“Don’t you have to get your luggage?”

He shook his head. “We checked in before the party.”

“I see. Well, thank you for bringing me. I think I’ll just get a room for the night and then I'll work out what I’m dealing with in the morning. It was… good to see you again.” He couldn’t help but notice the words seemed painful leaving her mouth. “Goodbye, Ethan.”

Before she could take a full step away, Ethan’s hand gently clasped her wrist as he pulled her to a stop.

“Anna… wait.” She glared at their interlocked arms, prompting him to quickly drop his hold. “It’s 2am, you’re not going to be able to get a room. You can take the bed in my suite, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” She took a look around the large lobby, wondering why such an extravagant hotel couldn’t afford a 24 hour receptionist when her nanny’s salary would struggle to cover a night’s stay here.

She mumbled to herself as the dejavu slapped her in the face. “I’ve heard that before.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’d rather sleep anywhere else.”

With one last look of disdain, Anna walked away from Ethan, making a beeline for the lobby couches on the other side of the extravagant space, content in sitting awake for the entire night rather than ever spending another second with Ethan Ramsey. She collapsed onto the soft sofa, absentmindedly kicking her heels off and throwing her head back against the large cushions, feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, the overwhelming emotions of the night ready to consume her when she felt the couch move beside her. Her eyes snapped open as she heard a deep voice clearing their throat. There sitting next to her, looking much too comfortable and carefree for her liking, was the man she was trying to escape. His smouldering azure eyes gazing at her, the knowing smile gracing his face captivating her as much as his secret glances could a year ago. Her own eyes quickly narrowed as she broke free from his trance.

“Was I not clear?”

“Crystal.” He nodded, “but I’m not leaving you to sit yourself in a foreign country when you’re clearly vulnerable. So, if you insist on staying down here and refusing to take the bed in my suite, I’ve got no choice but to sit here with you.”

“Ethan, are you stupid? I’m sitting down here to get away from you. So, if you’ll please just leave me the hell alone, I’m staying here.”

She turned away from him again, closing her eyes and waiting, begging to hear his footsteps retreating. Instead, all she heard was a loud sigh and the feel of the couch dipping behind her as his arm curled around her, an intentional space between their bodies when he spoke. “I guess I’m not leaving either, then.”

She huffed as she slid across the sofa, trying to put space between them and praying he’d finally take the hint. It proved to be no use as he moved with her, their hips bumping and his suit caressing her bare skin as their legs brushed together. Her face scrunched up in annoyance as she glared at him. “Go to hell, Ethan.”

“Gladly. As soon as I know you’re safe and sound, Rookie.”

Her jaw clenched as she ever so slightly shook her head, the return of her old nickname bringing with it a cascade of pain and anger. She latched onto the rage: anything was better than the pain. “Don’t do that. I’m not your Rookie… not anymore.”

His eyes softened as a sad smile crossed his features. “You’ll always be my Rookie.”

Anna stared into his striking blue eyes, seeing nothing but honesty and sincerity before she had to physically shake herself from the daze, dangerously close to falling into their familiar trap. She turned her entire body away from him in an effort to calm down her racing heartbeat. Unlike the rage fuelling her earlier in the night, she knew the erratic thumping in her ears was now coming from the confirmation that one look from him was still enough to drive her crazy.

All she wanted to do was sit alone and mope. She had enough to cry about in her pathetic life without an old flame reappearing and turning her world upside down once again. She should have been worrying about the consequences of Sofia’s revelation at the party. She should have been searching for Sam’s name in the tabloids, wondering if the multiple affairs had made it to the press and ruined the company’s stellar reputation yet. She should have been trying to talk to Sam, to find her bearings before ending things once and for all, her resignation inevitable as she fled the country.

Instead, as she sat chastising herself for what she should have been worrying about, she felt her body betraying her, calming as she listened to the soothing sounds of Ethan’s easy breathing, a familiar lullaby she’d only been close enough to hear a handful of times before. Ugh, she so wanted to hate him. She did hate him, why was her body late to the party?

She closed her eyes, feeling the hot tears burning as she inwardly scolded herself. She had cried many a night over the very man sitting beside her, past the point that was remotely healthy. She had vowed not to shed any more tears over Ethan Ramsey, and yet here she was, willing to make an exception for this evening if he would just damn well leave her alone.

It had been a long time since she’d thought of Ethan. Or at least, since she had allowed herself to. After he left her in her apartment that fateful night and she had fled to upstate New York, she soon realised if she ever wanted to feel any semblance of happiness again, she’d need to forget him. Forget all about him and all that they shared together. She knew she should face her problems head on, but she couldn’t face another day spent heartbroken over the man. So she shut it all out, blocked off all of her emotions and attempted to get on with her life. She felt flat, but it was better than clinging onto their tragic love story. And then she met Sam. Sam. She still felt her heart flicker as he entered her mind. He had brought the light back into her life and passion back to her soul. Of all the men in the world, of all the men even in New York, she had to fucking fall for Ethan’s cousin.

Way to keep it in the family, Anna.

She found herself replaying all of the small moments she had shared with Ethan in their short time together as she allowed him back into her mind, the memories playing on a loop; memories that had been locked away for the better part of a year to preserve her heart.

Her mind drifted to that first night in the NICU as they both stayed to watch over baby Ethan, Anna consoling Ethan after he suffered a major loss and she took her first knock as a doctor. It was the first time she saw a break in his tough facade, a real human showing through in times of grief. She knew after that night that she was already falling in love with him, and dangerously, she even knew then she’d be the one to end up hurt. But she decided it was worth it. To her, any time with him was worth the inevitable heartbreak she’d suffer at the hands of Ethan Ramsey.

Had it been?

After all of this time, she still couldn’t decide whether she would take it all back if she could. As much as Ethan had hurt her irrevocably, he had shown her how to love. Perhaps that was why she sat him on such a tall pedestal; he would always be her first love.

After years of ambitious plans, always knowing she’d move in a heartbeat to further both her education and career, and therefore neglecting to look for a real romantic connection, she was ready to settle in Boston at Edenbrook. Was that why she had fallen for Ethan? Was she always going to fall for the first man that came bounding into her life on the first day of her intern year?

No. She may have little faith in fate with her current predicament, but she liked to think her and Ethan’s encounter was sealed long ago; written in the stars.

Even though he pushed her away for the majority of the year, he was always there for her in her darkest times. He was there for her through so much, but then, when she lost her license; when it finally mattered, he abandoned her.

He’s here now.

He came back. He’s fighting for me. I know him, much better than he likes to think anyone ever could, and I know that he’s hurting. Good, that makes two of us. That’s the only reason he could be so cold to me. If he didn’t care about me anymore, then he’d leave me to get on with my life without a care in the world, not holding on and refusing to let me go.

She told herself her decision was based on the stiff neck she dreaded waking up to in the morning, if she got any sleep at all, but she knew. She knew she wasn’t ready to let the man beside her leave her life for a second time.

Startling Ethan, Anna shot to her feet and began the walk to the elevator. She looked over her shoulder with an exasperated expression on her face, gesturing towards him. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he was taken aback at her sudden reversal. He quickly jumped up and strode to the elevator, hoping to get Anna up to his room safely before she changed her mind or wanted a rematch of their earlier screaming contest. He was utterly dumbfounded that she’d had a change of heart, fully anticipating sitting in the hotel lobby all night long in pained silence. Whatever was going through her head in the last five minutes had done him a huge favour, possibly granting him the chance to apologise for his earlier words, however undeserved forgiveness may be.

They made their way to his suite in near silence, the only noise coming from her high heels knocking against each other in her hand as she carried them by her side. He suppressed a chuckle at the sight of her walking barefoot through the opulent halls of the swanky hotel, a warmth filling his chest as he realised that maybe some things would never change. He had no idea what she’d been through in their year apart, but he was glad to see she was still the down to earth and carefree firecracker he had come to know.

Ethan opened the door to his suite, letting Anna through before closing it softly behind them. She dropped her shoes to the ground unceremoniously, immediately making her way to the mini bar cart in the corner of the living area. She squatted down, ready to make her pick when she looked up and caught Ethan’s brow quirking at her.

“If I need to be in your company, I’m going to need a stiff drink… or ten.”

He flashed her a smirk as he gestured to the cart. “By all means. I’ll take my usual whilst you’re at it.”

Her stomach fluttered as she pulled her gaze away, Ethan’s returning the gesture as she immediately poured him a scotch. It’s just a fucking drink, calm yourself. He thanked her as he took the tumbler from her hand, their fingers brushing together slightly as he watched her fight the blush rising to her cheeks.

“I’m going to take this out on the balcony,” he motioned towards the sliding doors leading out onto his seafront view. “I don’t suppose you’d like to join me?”

“I don’t.” Ethan nodded, slightly flustered but fully expectant of the rejection. “But I’m pretty sure it’ll be less depressing than sitting in bed drinking myself, so lead the way.”

They settled on the balcony furniture, Ethan taking off his tux jacket and draping it across the table as the humid Italian summer air brought a sheen to both of them.

They sat in silence for a long while, both of their minds racing on how to calmly approach the other as they topped up their glasses intermittently until the bottle drew empty. Only then, in her slightly drunk state, did Anna decide to go for it.

“So…” she cleared her throat as she looked towards the dark sea, close enough to hear the gentle waves rippling. “How long are you here for?”

“My father and I are actually here for a few weeks. He’s always wanted to travel to Italy, so when Sa-”, Ethan silently berated himself for bringing up the elephant in the room, the atmosphere suddenly feeling even more tense. He coughed before attempting to power through. “Once the wedding was moved up and moved abroad, he and I decided to make a vacation out of it.”

“The Dr. Ramsey is trying to have fun? Did you suffer a traumatic brain injury in my year away?”

Ethan smirked as he shook his head. “I’d hardly call it fun. I do enjoy visiting Italy… however it’s not as though I’ve very well got much else to do with the hospital closing down.”

“What?” Anna’s drink came sputtering out, choking as the wine doused her dress. Ethan patted her back, handing her a handkerchief as she wiped the liquid dribbling down her chin. “Edenbrook’s closing down?”

“Closed. Declared bankruptcy. Yesterday was our final day open…” Ethan looked at her curiously, brows furrowed in confusion. “You didn’t know?”

“Uh… no. I didn’t, actually.” Anna played with the hem of her dress as she fiddled guiltily. “I don’t actually keep in touch with anyone from the hospital anymore.”

Ethan’s head snapped back as he looked at her in shock. “No one? But you and your friends lived together… I would have at least expected you to stay in touch with Dr Trinh.”

“Please don’t make me feel worse about it than I already do.” She sighed. “It was just… too difficult.”

Anna had tried to stay in touch with her friends, all of the roommates alongside Bryce and Rafael. She’d even taken Ines’ number, the older doctor wanting to keep in touch after forming a close bond during their year working together. She really did try, but she hadn’t only lost Ethan when she left Boston; the man she thought was the love of her life. She had lost her entire life. She felt as though she no longer had an identity, everything she had been working towards since she was a teenager had suddenly been snatched away from her, and she was left with nothing. If she couldn’t be a doctor, who was she?

Her friends called and texted for a few months, hoping to stay in her life even as she settled in a new city, but it got increasingly tougher to catch up and hear about their lives when every single one of theirs revolved around the hospital, each of them practically living there. Every phone call was a painful reminder of the life she’d never get to lead. Sooner or later, she fell away from the majority of them, only choosing to speak to Sienna, and even then it was only due to Sienna’s incessant texting and worries over Anna.

Eventually, that communication dwindled until it ultimately ended, and although Anna felt major remorse at the situation, she finally felt as though a weight had been lifted from her shoulders as she could truly leave Boston behind.

Or so she thought.

She wondered what kind of karma she was due to be sentenced to the return of Ethan Ramsey.

Anyone else returning to her life from Boston would have been exponentially less excruciating.

“Anna?”

“Sorry,” she shook her head as if to attempt to literally shake the troubled thoughts from her mind. “No, I don’t speak to Sienna anymore. A few months after I left, I decided to change my number… I just didn’t give it to any of them.”

“I know.”

“You know what?”

“I know you changed your number. I, er-” Ethan cleared his throat as he shuffled in his seat, studiously looking anywhere bar Anna’s direction. “I may have tried to call you a time or two.”

The shock was evident on her face as she finally turned in his direction. “You did?”

“Yes. I… I actually went to the Amazon to work for a couple of months the day after I last saw you, I’m not sure if you were aware of that.”

“No,” her eyes were wide as she shook her head, “probably because my friends knew I wasn’t in a frame of mind to hear any news about you.”

“Ah. I see.” He swallowed down another bout of guilt as he was once again reminded of how much he had affected her. “Well, I was gone for two months, working with the WHO in Brazil. I signed on for the mission with wholly unrealistic ideals and completely inappropriate reasoning for taking the job.” Anna looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting on him to further explain but he made no effort to. “Anyway, when I got back to Boston, I tried to call you. And I, uh… I think I may have tried another time after that, too.” Shoot me. It would be less painful.

He cleared his throat as she looked at him in surprise, averting her gaze as he toyed with the rim of his drink.

There was pure silence for a moment before he heard a soft “but… why?”

This was it. The moment of truth; the words he’d longed to speak since that sorry night but thought he’d never get the chance to say. The words he’d truly meant earlier but were jailed by fear, instead projecting his own insecurities onto her.

He lifted his head, turning his body fully towards Anna as he reached across to take her hand in his own. Before he could graze the soft skin, a loud noise interrupted their moment, a moving blur of grey and white suddenly directly in front of them as his eyes bulged out of his head.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Ethan, calm down! It’s a seagull!” But as Anna tried to get him to stay still, she couldn’t hold back the boisterous laugh that came barrelling out. “Ethan!” She clutched her stomach as she struggled to contain herself and he thrashed, when suddenly the force of Ethan’s struggle sent his chair flying, his back connecting with the balcony floor forcefully. The bird flew away, clearly pleased with the terrorised looks on its prey’s face as she attempted to kneel down to help him.

His cheeks flushed red as he fought off the embarrassment over his unexplainable fear of birds, attempting to sit up and thoroughly avoiding eye contact with Anna until he realised she wasn’t making any noise. His head snapped towards her as she took a sudden inhale of breath, tears streaming down her face as she cried with laughter. His pursuit of a scowl died on his face quickly, the corners of his lips turning upwards subconsciously as he appreciated the first real smile he’d seen from Anna all night. He studied her intently as he watched her catch her breath, uttering apologies as she helped him to his feet.

And suddenly, it was as though a dam had broken within him. All of the little quirks Anna had, all of the memories they shared together; the sight of her smile lighting up her entire face brought it all rushing back to him.

It was as though Anna could read his mind, her breath now caught and a noticeable shift in her demeanour as she looked up at him. She wondered what was going on in that complex mind of his, albeit she was slightly frightened to find out. It had been a long time since she had fallen victim to the scrutiny of his intense gaze, and she found herself feeling shy and restless under it.

In an attempt to stop whatever was about to leave his mouth, a bright idea sparked in her tipsy brain.

“Let’s go swimming!”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot together as he stared at her in disbelief. “Swimming?” She nodded enthusiastically as he looked over the balcony edge to the sea. “It’s 3am, Anna.”

“And?”

And that was how Ethan ended up on the sand, at 3 o’clock in the morning, his shoes and socks forgotten at the steps up to the hotel as he watched Anna dip her toes in the water before moving in further.

“What are you doing all the way back there?” Anna shouted from her spot in the sea, the waves gently crashing against her knees as she turned back to look at him.

“Preserving a three-thousand dollar suit, Rookie. Are you really planning on going in wearing that dress?”

She ran back, giggling and lapping up the saltwater as it sprayed against her sun kissed skin.

She made it back to the sand, Ethan once again surmising how easy it was to smile when she was around, his jaw taking a workout after a year without her and her escapades. She was utterly contagious.

“Of course not.” She shot him a mischievous grin as she bent down slightly and crossed her arms over, reaching the hem of her dress as she pulled it up and over her head in one forceful tug, more than happy to discard any remnants of the wedding rehearsal. It was soon forgotten on the sandy beach, Anna’s hair swaying in the gentle breeze of the ocean as she shook her head and let out a giggle.

Ethan swallowed over the lump in his throat as his eyes trailed over the sinful underwear adorning her curves, green and black lace contrasting perfectly against her olive complexion. He longed to reach out and touch her creamy skin, yearning to discover if it still felt as soft and smooth as their only shared night many moons ago.

She cleared her throat as she noticed the trail his eyes were following, a shy yet scandalised expression crossing her face as she quirked her eyebrow at him. “Are you joining me?”

He grumbled under his breath as his fingers reached for his tie, loosening it before taking it off completely and moving to his shirt. Soon enough, he stood clad in nothing but his boxers, praising himself for keeping his gaze above Anna’s shoulders as he undressed and avoiding an embarrassing situation in his underwear.

“Don’t stop now.” She smirked, “I thought we were going skinny dipping.”

“You must be kidding. Not a chance in hell, Anna.”

“Relax, grandpa. Don’t get your knickers in a twist… or better yet,” she grinned, “take them off.”

Anna suddenly turned on her heel, biting her lip through a smile as she looked over her shoulder towards him. Her hands reached behind herself, deftly unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the sand. Ethan’s hands clenched into fists as he held himself back from reaching for her, silently pondering the turn of events that had led their night to end like this. She soon became restless under the intensity of his heated stare, and began to move into the water. With purposeful moves, her thumbs dipped into the scrap of lace she called underwear, dragging them down her legs before kicking them up with one foot and catching them midair. Once her lower half was fully immersed in the warm water, she turned back to face him, one hand covering what she could manage of her full breasts, her thong dangling from the tips of her fingers on the other.

With remarkable aim, she lobbed it into the air, the tiny piece of fabric landing at his feet as she called out to him. “Catch me if you can.”

She proceeded to float backwards in the water, the tops of her breasts rising through the rippling waves, leaving Ethan a shivering wreck as his fingers twitched against his waistband.

“Oh, to hell with it.”

Before he could change his mind, and before he could allow himself to further analyse the lack of control he struggled to exercise when it came to one Anna Valentine, his boxers were off and he was treading into the water towards her. She pulled her head out of the water, grinning wickedly as Ethan walked towards her. He took a few long strides before diving under the surface, completely submerging himself in the crystal clear water eclipsed by the dark night sky.

“Ethan?”

She called his name again and again, looking into the dark sea to no avail when suddenly she was forced from the water, Ethan emerging to full height with Anna in his arms, one looping behind her knees and the other’s hand pressed flat against her back. She giggled in glee as he spun her around, panting slightly as a small smile broke through.

“Caught you.”

Her gaze landed on his, both of their smiles only growing as they looked at one another like there was no one else in the world.

“Well, well, well, Dr. Ramsey. Looks like you do know how to have fun after all.”

He chuckled as he shook his head, eyes immediately returning to her grinning face, a warmth blooming in his chest as he recognised that same light in her eyes back again. Anna broke free from their connected trance first, whilst pulling her arms around Ethan’s neck to stay steady as she gazed out onto the wide expanse of the Mediterranean. His eyes threatened to travel the length of her exposed figure, a herculean effort to keep them anchored to her giddy face.

She reached her arms behind herself, her entire body stretching as her back arched and she yelled “I’m king of the world!”

Her only response was a raised eyebrow and a smirk gracing Ethan’s plump lips. “I’m pretty sure that’s my line, Rookie.”

Once again their eyes found each other, chocolate on sapphire as the adrenaline coursing through them began to wear off, finally allowing themselves to appreciate the touch of their bare skin on one another after a long year. Anna smiled shyly as she removed her arms from his neck, Ethan taking the hint as he lowered her back into the water and dipped down himself.

“You seem like a different person to earlier, much more like your old self.”

She bit back a glare and chuckled despite herself. “No, really?” She mocked. “What a shock: to think that it must help when you’re not getting called a slut.”

Ethan winced, his earlier outburst back at the forefront of his mind as the guilt burned his cheeks. “Anna, I’m so, so deeply sorry for that.”

“It’s fine, Ethan,” she waved him off.

“It’s not fine. It was utterly disgraceful.”

“I think the red patch on your cheek is enough payback.” She smirked as he couldn’t help but to grin back at her, shaking his head playfully.

“Either way,” he sighed as he regained seriousness. “I cannot apologise enough. I’m certainly not proud of myself for what I said. It’s just…” Anna watched his expression turn thoughtful as he spoke carefully. “I couldn’t have anticipated the onslaught of feelings that seeing you again would bring; feelings that I’ve neglected to face for over a year.”

Anna swallowed heavily, unsure of where the conversation was heading and whether or not he planned to share those feelings with her. “Oh?”

He nodded nervously, albeit feeling somewhat confident that she hadn’t immediately shut down the conversation. “About what you said earlier, that you wouldn’t have needed to look to other men if I had just given in to what we were both hoping for anyway… you were right. And I think it struck a cord because I already knew that, and I hate myself for the jealousy I feel over something I forced you into.”

Anna looked taken aback as she managed to stutter, “you felt jealous?”

“Obscenely.”

The heat in Ethan’s gaze was unmistakable, the usual bright blue nearly taken over by his lust blown pupils. Anna swallowed over a bout of fear and took a leap. She moved towards him slightly, and when she met no resistance or movement on his part, continued until she was reaching out to him, skating her fingers up his muscular arms as his breath hitched.

Her fingers danced across his shoulders before finally looping her arms around his neck loosely, all the while their eyes never leaving one another. They could hear the others breathing growing heavy, eyes heavy with longing as Ethan pulled her in closer, his arms finding their way home to her waist but tactically keeping their hips apart. The excruciating need to feel her body pressed against his lost in a battle to fear; fear that he’d ruined his chances once and for all; afraid of the bone crushing pain of her rejection.

“Did you miss me?” The words left Anna’s lips subconsciously, her eyes widening slightly as she realised she’d uttered her thoughts aloud. She was even more surprised at the immediate response and the confidence behind it.

“Yes. Every minute of the day.”

Anna’s heart leapt as she searched his eyes, looking for any trace of regret in his statement as he bared his soul to her, but all she found was pure honesty and vulnerability as his grip on her tightened.

She bit her lip as she weighed up her options. The man holding her had brought more pain to her life than anyone she’d ever known; he’d brought more pain to her life than she thought was possible. She should be pushing away from him, running a mile in the other direction and never looking back. But now, as she heard him confess that he’d thought of her in their time apart, all she wanted to do was pull him closer.

Slowly and carefully, she slightly rested her weight on Ethan’s shoulders as she brought her legs up, wrapping them around his taut waist as he suppressed a groan.

He watched as her mouth opened, waiting with bated breath as she finally whispered, “prove it.”

At last, he pulled her body tightly into his, watching as her eyes rolled back as he pressed his hips into her. She gasped as she felt him against her, his length hot and heavy as it nudged her centre, teasing her as he moved ever so slightly.

“Can you feel how much you affect me?”

She bit her lip as she nodded slowly as she took a sharp intake of breath. “I still think I could use further clarification, though.”

He recognised the invitation in her seductive tone, one of his hands leaving her waist to travel up her back and land in her thick hair. He tenderly pushed her wet hair off her face before taking hold of it, gently tugging it back to raise her face to him and compensate for their height difference as he slowly began to lean down, eyes flickering towards her plump lips when a sudden noise broke them out of their trance.

Was that…?

“Anna?”

Shit.

The pair broke apart, the water splashing around them vigorously as they both recognised the deep voice calling to them from the hotel steps a short distance away.

“Sam?” Anna weakly shouted, her voice lost in the dark void of night.

She looked towards the shore, noticing two figures walking down the pathway to the beach, wondering who was accompanying him.

“Sam?” She called out to him, louder this time, earning a look in her direction as he began to walk to her.

“Anna?” He narrowed his eyes as he struggled to make her out with lack of light. “What the hell are you doing in the sea at this time?”

His strides faltered slightly as he noticed his cousin emerging from the depths of the ocean with her. “Ethan,” he nodded towards him, confused by the scene unfolding before his eyes, but seeing enough to know he didn’t like it.

Ethan returned the sentiment, and groaned inwardly as the figure walking behind his cousin rose from the shadows, revealing himself to be his father.

“Son,” he smiled knowingly, much too happy to catch his son in such a predicament. “Anna, lovely to see you again.”

“Hi, Mr Ramsey.”

Sam stood expectantly, waiting for Anna to come out of the water so he could speak to her. She noticed the look on his face, shutting her eyes as she let out an embarrassed breath. “I…” her gaze flickered to Ethan’s father, before casting a sidelong glance at Ethan himself. She thought about whispering, but Sam himself probably wouldn’t manage to hear her over the gentle waves of the night combined with the necessary distance between them to keep her body underwater. She sighed as she faced the inevitable. “I’m not actually wearing anything.”

Sam’s jaw clenched as he questioned the nature of their midnight swim, but pushed his thoughts to the back of his mind and bit his tongue as he shrugged out of his suit jacket. He turned to face Alan and Ethan, raising his eyebrows as he said, “if you wouldn’t mind?”

They both turned swiftly, Sam walking right to the waters edge as Anna stood, immediately wrapping her in the jacket. Their vast size difference worked in her favour tonight, the jacket dwarfing her as he ushered her out of the sea.

Sam coughed to clear his throat, signalling it was safe for the other men to turn around. Ethan’s gaze hardened ever so slightly as his eyes fell upon Anna in Sam’s clothes, chastising himself for feeling jealousy at something so juvenile.

“Will you…” Sam wondered how to word his question, “do you need-”

Luckily Ethan correctly assumed the ending, waving him off as he shook his head. “I’ll wait here. You two,” Sam noticed his jaw muscles tense ever so slightly as he forced himself to spit out the rest of his sentiments. “You two go on yourselves.”

They both nodded and said goodnight, Anna stealing another peak at Ethan as Sam ushered her away, hand gently but firmly on her lower back as he held her clothes in his other hand.

He watched as they entered the hotel and let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes momentarily, only for them to snap wide open as he heard the rumbling chuckle of his father.

“I’m sorry, is this funny to you?”

“Son, I think this is the most I’ve ever felt like your father in 38 years.” His chuckle died down to a good natured giggle, his smile warm as he shook his head affectionately. “That Rookie must be someone special to get you to strip down to your birthday suit in public.”

She is.

Inside the hotel, Anna was now thankful for their staffing shortcomings, glad no one had to witness her traipsing through the halls soaking wet, completely naked under a man’s suit. Wordlessly, she followed Sam to the elevator, her thoughts racing as she wondered if he’d been able to see her wrapped in Ethan’s embrace as he walked out. Her thoughts allowed her to wonder the alternative; what would have happened if he hadn’t walked out?

She followed him inside, noticing he tapped the button for the top floor and breaking out of her daze as the doors closed over. “Where are we going?”

“I know the owner of this hotel, so when my Uncle Alan said Ethan had taken you from the party and this is where they were staying, I called for a suite.”

She nodded mutely, the air conditioning in the lift causing a shiver to run through her.

Sam reached out instinctively, pulling her into his arms as he rubbed her back soothingly. Resting his head atop hers, he sighed as his hands stopped their ministrations.

“Anna, I think you and I have a lot to talk about.”

**********

Taglist: @charlotteg234 @queenrileyrose @forallthatitsworth @ao719 @burnsoslow @mia143 @stateofgracious @mainstreetreader @emkay512 @jerzwriter @lsvdw-blog @starrystarrytrouble @ohchoices @schnitzelbutterfingers @choicesbutterfly @itzmequeenb @thefrenchiemama @txemrn @lady-calypso @kat-tia801 @shanzay44 @sfb123 @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @thegreentwin @liamxs-world @jooous @caroldxnvxrs @greatthings-blog-blog

I think I tagged everyone that wanted to be tagged! It’s been that long since I posted this story that I might have missed someone, or if you’re no longer interested that’s totally understandable lmao just drop me a message.

[ask-whitepearl-and-steven]

You've probably been asked this question before, but...how do you deal with self-doubt/impostor syndrome as a creator? I'm no artist, but I channel my creative energy into being a writer, and I have a ton of ideas that I want to explore in my writing, but I fear that if I don't utilize those ideas to their absolute fullest, I'd be letting down hundreds of people who like to read my work. Do you have any advice? I'd love to hear it. P.S. I love your WD!Steven comic.

OH! Ha, yes, imposter syndrome. Let’s... let’s talk about that. 

For those that don’t know, imposter syndrome is the phenomenon many creative people go through where they doubt their own abilities. Especially if a creator has gotten a lot of attention for their work, they begin to succumb to the pressure of being “good enough” to have “deserved” their audience. 

To put it simply, you feel like you’re an imposter that has somehow fooled people into believing they’re in for a ‘good’ story, and you will inevitably disappoint everyone when they figure out you’re not as ‘awesome’ or as ‘talented’ as they’ve been led to believe. 

It is self-doubt in its purest form, it is the fear of doing well and the fear of doing poorly all rolled into one bitter, stress-inducing onigiri. 

Let’s discuss self-doubt. I’m going to describe 3 things specifically to keep in mind for this. 

1) The Horizon Goalpost

You may have already read this in my other post about unrealistic goals. 

Basically this boils down to: Don’t set unrealistic goals. 

Utilizing Your Ideas To The Fullest is a wholly unrealistic goal to have, to be honest. No single idea can ever be ‘fully’ utilized because the concept will be different for everyone. Everyone will have a different idea of what the perfect, plot will look like. People literally argue about how shows ‘should’ have ended all day and all night. 

Saying ‘I need to write this story perfectly otherwise it’s garbage!’ is the same as looking at the sun on the horizon and treating it like a finish line.

We know the sun isn’t AT the horizon, and it is impossible to arrive at the horizon in the first place because it only exists as the limit of our vision... your story is like that. You do have limits on how much potential you can see. But that doesn’t mean your goal should be to catch up to it. Take it one step at a time. Many people don’t even START their story, let alone finish it. Set achievable goals. 

2) The Man Behind The Curtain

The second fallacy of self-doubt is the idea that anyone is at all competent. 

It’s false. No one knows what the fuck they’re doing - you included. That’s just how the world is.

Look, I’ll give you an example. Maybe when you were little you would go to your local grocery store and think ‘wow, everything is organized and works so well! The cashiers do their thing, the self-check-out is working... everything is running like a well-oiled machine!’ 

Then you grow up, work in retail and realize that everything except the storefront is held together with chewing gum and cello-tape. No one is ever 100% adequate, at least one person is having a mental breakdown every day, and everything is five minutes away from collapsing like a house of cards - all the while customers are none the wiser. 

This holds true for practically EVERYONE and EVERYTHING.

Sure, we may our good days where we function relatively well. But this is not a held constant and on average, most of us are struggling to maintain the illusion of Everything Is Fine while simultaneously worrying that we’re the only ones that do this. 

On average, we are all incompetent. The people that succeeded are not always better - sometimes they were just lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. For many of them, that moment happened when they were born to wealthy parents. For some, it was just about utilizing their 6 degrees of separation right. 

The truth is, there are THOUSANDS of people who COULD have been Beyonce, or JK Rowling, or whoever. The popular are not inherently more talented. They just happened to have the spotlight on them. 

3) Schrodinger’s Fanbase

The third thing to keep in mind when you write, or draw, or compose, or CREATE - is that your audience is not a set auditorium of people. 

And statistically, the beginning of your story is always going to be the point at which you have the largest number of potential fans. 

When you START your story, you only have to worry about satisfying people about the premise. You get them hooked and they’re more or less appeased - because the rest of the story is in their expectations. It’s in their head, and they will make up whatever they need to keep them happy. At that point, your story is still 90% their story (or whatever they think your story will be). 

The further you go into your story, the more you will narrow down your fanbase. People who expected it to take a different turn in chapter 2 will drop off. Then people who wanted something specific to happen in chapter 3 (but it didn’t) will also leave. 

And you know what? THAT’S FINE. That’s the normal way stories go. You cannot appease everyone at the same time - you will always have people who will be dissatisfied with the way you decided to do things. 

The important bit is - that doesn’t mean you are a worse writer. It just means that your fanbase organically shifts and expands as necessary. Your story will speak to different people at different stages. Let them enjoy it or not enjoy it. You cannot force someone to like something - but you CAN form connections to those people that do like it! 

In other words - let the fanbase exist as its own separate ecosystem, and don’t depend on it. It will morph and evolve as you write, and you and your fans will find each other and drift away as necessary. 

I also encourage other people - fans specifically - to allow consider this approach! 

I know we all love to kvetch, and yeah, it’s good sometimes to let off steam... But I don’t think hyperfocusing on something you dislike is healthy. If a story doesn’t satisfy you, don’t waste time forming an anti-fandom for it. Don’t fuel more effort and time into something that makes you unhappy. Just... go find something that you DO enjoy! Give THAT your time and attention!

Anyway, that’s just the way I think about it. Maybe it’s because I’ve been around long enough to know that pretty much every author and artist suffers from self-doubt and it’d be silly to hold myself to unrealistic standards that no one else is able to meet?

Hope that helps!

[straighttohellbuddy]

how the light gets in {Corpse Husband}

2. you’ve gone way too fast for way too long.

Summary: Supernatural Creatures AU. Them/Them Reader. After the success of your first stream, you find yourself wanting to get back to your YouTube roots, and what better way to do that than with a cover by one of the bands who holds a special place in your heart? And maybe you’re using it to distract yourself from thinking about how coming back to YouTube means coming back to the things - the people - you’d left behind. 

Maybe it’s selfish, but Corpse kind of wishes you hadn’t come back to YouTube; honestly, if anyone else had taken the world by storm, he wouldn’t complain half as much, except it’s you and he’s still mostly convinced that you might be an angel like him... Except better. Because of course you would be a better angel, you’re talented and driven and personable and essentially everything an angel should be, and - bar the talented bit, Corpse at least knows some of his worth - you’re everything he’s pretty sure he’s not. Except it seems like everyone loves you, and he doesn’t exactly have a good enough reason to be bothered by you the way he is, so he has to act like he isn’t. Which is a lot easier said than done, when you barely say a word to him and it feels like all of his suspicions are confirmed. 

A/N: 8471 words. Reader in the fic is stated to be 24. THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH SUPERNATURAL THE TV SERIES. me, trying to walk the line between 3rd person omniscient narrator and trying to make the narration feel like its somewhat coming from the POV character?? it’s more likely than you think! as always, i really appreciate feedback.

{ m a s t e r l i s t }

Taglist: @nanasort @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @theboywhocriedlupin @taikalinna @jaychirps @bingusmode @divine-artemis @realmejay @lovemelikepercy @balla-deer @miniritzcrackers @loraleiix @ppopty @easygoingtheatre @insanedeathwish @siriuslystupid @losvertown @janiathecat @wineandionysus @moonlightsimp @allylyew @chokingonflxwers @sicnesa @xxniksxx @mishisamess @preciousskye @yashinosakura @meleekabenjamin @whatamievendoinghere01 @lxurxn-02 @liljennyx3 @the-fusionist @benjaminka @lilysdaydreams @a-lonely-bic @letsloveimagines @melmachh @tama-chan-suneater @shio-yuki @fairywriter-oracle @easygoingtheatre @pixelbxtch @dreammoutlouddd @abysshaven @mediocrearistophanes @tsukishimawh0re @inkbyajm @jordiee95 @honkcorpse @kaiihaan @takenbyheartstrings @mrtony-stank1 @dangeroustreebread @xibrokensunriseix @corpseglider @artsyally @ellsbells2143 @machine-gun-casie @marvelsmurphy @bigmac-papi @danielle143 @fivedicksinatrenchcoat @starstruckllamapuppy @youretheonlyonewhomakesme @fee-btheweeb @parkerpeanuts @fanfictionenthusiast @evans-dejong @pancakebinnie @minbunbun @sabrinarahaman @thefangirl05 @jades-bullshit @fo-love @roses-and-grasses @thirstyfangirl @lovelysmp @325575 @wrongcielo @lukathecrime @lunariasilver @delicrieux @rebloogggs @kookiesandtae7 @mizxkii @effielumiere @happyyyandcrazyyy @teenageguitarist @prettylittlealiengirl @aroyalharknessblr @kylie-writes-stuff @annshit @haunteddeputymugpersona 

taglist is always open! message me if you’d like to be added xx

----

The day after your song drops, it’s on Spotify’s Top 50 Viral playlist, it’s charting on iTunes, it’s splattered across the internet, according to your manager, who sees fit to text you, congratulating you on what she assumed to be a masterful marketing tactic; releasing the song and immediately streaming alongside huge YouTube creators who have a wide and diverse fanbase, all plugging your music. She thinks it was a carefully calculated move, which makes you feel all kinds of scummy, like you were using your new friends. Thankfully, when you fire a somewhat defensive response about how you had no ulterior motive, that all you wanted to do was have fun and make friends, your tone apparently reads loud and clear, as you receive an apology a few moments later. Backtracking, she simply mentions that, even unintentionally, you had great timing, and she’s glad you had a good time, which is better, and you try not to dwell on your initial assumption. Years of your life had been spent worrying that the people you were close to just thought you were using them for views or fame; her words did little to quell that worry, so instead you tried to distract yourself, or at the very least, focus on the good that yesterday had brought about.

The best, of course, was Sykkuno, the hellhound who’d endeared himself to you almost immediately. Something about him makes you feel safe, though perhaps it’s that you’re unused to someone feeling so familiar; you like to think you’re a good judge of character, so for now, you’re trusting in your instincts, trusting in Sykkuno. The next best thing was a tie, between friends and freedom. Yesterday you’d been doing what you wanted to do, not what you thought you should be doing, not what was on brand, or carefully scripted; you were messy, stumbled over your words, and you laughed and deceived your friends as was the aim of the game, it was so freeing to be unfiltered. People kept saying it was nice to see you smile, to hear you laugh again. Huh. Part of you really doesn’t like that you know exactly what they mean, and more importantly, why people are saying that at all. But things are different now, are freer now; your brand was built on you, it’s nice to get back to that.

By mid-morning, you’d been sprawled out on your sofa for almost an hour, glad to be alone, to not have to worry about being seen, as you’ve phased your tail back into reality, and have it holding up your phone as you scroll through Twitter with one hand and fidget idly with the other. More and more you’re seeing supportive comments from people gushing about the few bars you’d sung of 5 Seconds of Summer’s Youngblood on stream yesterday. First your chat had loved it, now it seems the general consensus was that people would love for you to cover more than a few bars. While you tried not to listen too much to what other people wanted, you couldn’t help but admit that it was something you definitely wanted too.    

When you text your manager, new idea already taking hold of your focus, your earlier unsavoury text conversation seemingly forgotten, your manager reminds you that you should be working on your new album, putting together the tracklist for your EP. Ugh. 

It’s not that you didn’t have ideas, quite the opposite; you’re exploding with ideas, brimming, overflowing with them, for songs you wants to write and feelings you can’t express any other way, but the songs and collaborations you’ve already completed, their mp4 files sitting neatly on your desktop, you wanted to save them for the full album, like it was some sort of penance for getting to collaborate, getting to become friends with people you looked up to, people who inspired you. To you, their contribution was worthy of your full album. 

Well, that was part of the reason, the other part was that the songs you had designated for the album had a different vibe to your EP songs; albumtouralbumtour and imposter syndrome had both been written in lockdown, about very specific concerns you were having at the time. The EP was shaping up to capture a very specific moment in time, while the album was so much more than that. You couldn’t put read at five am on the EP, the collaboration you’d done with Troye, a lyrical-lament with a dissonant, upbeat melody, an apology for when you’re the one who cuts off contact with someone you’re close to and don’t know how to say why, and don’t know how to come back; yes, the fact that you and Ethan are talking again means that the song is technically relevant to this period of time, but it’s three years of regret and indirect apology compressed into in three minutes. It’s going on the album. 

But being stuck at home all day for months had made you all nostalgic for your roots, for when you’d started uploading all the way back in 2012, at 16, with no idea what a few videos would lead to. You missed covering songs you loved, the songs other people had written and that you had still connected with, the songs that made you want to write your own. Yes, you loved your own content, obviously, but from idea to video publishing, you knew a low-effort cover would take you maximum a day and a half if you were particularly inspired, which you clearly were. By now, you’d been doing this for so long that you knew the legality of it all like the back of your hand, and were in a stable enough place to be more than happy to pay royalties to the band you’d co-headlined alongside for your first international tour.

“What if I call the boys and ask them?” You decided to just call your manager directly, tail curled securely around your phone where you’d put her on speaker, pottering around your kitchen trying to find something to eat. Alison, on the other end of the line, sighed deeply, having been fielding these sorts of calls from you about once a fortnight since lockdown had started.

“Have you finished moment before impact yet?” She countered, and you wrinkle your nose; its as if she can hear the expression through the phone with the way she continues on, not giving you a moment to cut in, “listen, I won’t tell you what to do, but you need to make a decision about your EP tracklist soon, okay? The label’s breathing down my neck, you know you have more than enough songs for it.”

“Alison, the vibes -”

“The vibes, Y/N, I know,” she sighed deeply, but you could hear the faintest smile in her voice.

“I promise I’m working on my own stuff; I think moment before impact is gonna be a collab, but I’m not sure who with yet, but if it makes you happy, once I record this 5SOS thing, I’ll work on a demo of moment for the EP,” you concede, and you hear her hum in approval, “I promise I have all the songs in my head, I just gotta make sense of which ones are the right ones for now, you know?”

“I really don’t,” you could hear her actually smiling now, so you let yourself relax for a moment, hands braced on your kitchen counter as you looked to your phone, “but I suppose that’s why you’re the musical one and I’m the manager.”

“My favourite manager,” you told her sweetly, and her answering laugh is more of a snort. 

"Call the band, maybe they can work something out for you regarding royalties, if you plan to monetise it," she suggested, and you hummed, "keep me updated, okay? Make sure you're still working on your own stuff though."

"Alison you're a national treasure," you tell her feelingly; you don't even have to see her to know she's rolling her eyes.

But you take her advice, sending 'what if I covered Youngblood and posted it to YT? I'll pay you royalties' to the mostly dormant WhatsApp group you have with 5 Seconds of Summer, despite it being about six in the morning in Australia. Callum sends back a thumbs up almost immediately. Its all the confirmation you need to get started.

As you’re hunting through your house for a pick, turning over cushions, looking through junk drawers, you hear your phone go off, and you take a moment to check, surprised by what you see. A message from Sean. Huh.

[I see you’ve finally decided to join us in the gaming community, took you long enough 😊 If you ever wanna play something, just gimme a yell, you know Id be glad to have ya on my team.]

Considering the fact that it had been three years since you and Sean had properly been in contact, you find the message both surprising, and strangely heartwarming. There were a few people you’d purposefully fallen out of contact with, plagued by your own fears and self doubts. The people who you’d seen in person almost daily were the ones who you’d felt the absence of the most, but Sean, just by his close association with those people, along with a few other international friends, had been regretfully left behind also. Here and now, you can feel just how much you’ve missed him, how guilty you feel for giving in to your own anxieties and the negativity spewed by others. 

But you know you can’t dwell on the past, on your mistakes, all you can do is be grateful for the opportunity to reconnect, and take it.

[ID: A tweet and reply conversation between @yourtwitter and @goldeny/n, followed by a single tweet by @ZeRoyalViking, and a tweet and reply conversation between @yourtwitter, and @5SOS.

@yourtwitter: someone yell at me for doing another cover instead of my original stuff. quarantine got me feeling 17 again. might do the cinnamon challenge next. or finally do that Roast Yourself trend 4 years too late. | @golden_y/n: BRUH YOU BEST NOT BE PULLING OUR LEGS | @golden_y/n: I would empty my bank account to see you roast yourself. | @yourtwitter: Please Don't Do That YouTube Is Free | @golden_y/n: 😳💀💖

@ZeRoyalViking: stream today with some familiar and not so familiar faces!!

@yourtwitter posted an image of Griffin McElroy from the My Brother My Brother & Me TV show. Griffin is a Caucasian man wearing glasses and a blue checked shirt. He is visible from the chest up and is sitting behind a desk with one arm in front of him, with his thumb out, as if counting. The image’s subtitles have been edited, now reading ‘My friends are very much into the following: Bullying me on TikTok.’ | @yourtwitter: @luke5SOS is just mad im gonna sing his song better than him. he doesn’t use twitter anymore so i have the upper hand here. | @5SOS replies with a gif of Jason Momoa, who is incredibly muscular, with dark hair down to his shoulders, a black tank top, and sunglasses on, holding a microphone, standing in a confrontational manner, captioned ‘No, no, no. By all means, speak your mind. You got a problem with my boy?’ | @yourtwitter: HE WENT LIVE UNPROMPTED TO TELL PEOPLE ABOUT HOW I WROTE NOTIMETOSLEEP IN THREE DAYS WITH NO ACTUAL SLEEP, OPENED FOR THEM IN ARIZONA, AND IMMEDIATELY PASSED OUT FOR 16 HOURS AFTER WALKING OFF STAGE | @5SOS: we just miss you tho... and it is kind of funny. | @yourtwitter: the minute im allowed to safely leave lockdown im coming to australia to german supplex the lot of you. ❤️

End ID.]

Corpse’s whole ‘not thinking about you’ plan goes down a lot smoother when you’re not actively stealing his friends- what kind of Angel goes around stealing another person - another Angel’s, no less - friends?! Except, right, he doesn't actually have proof that you're an angel, just a hunch he’s apparently committed to... and, okay, you don't know you're stealing them... Sykkuno and Rae are allowed to have more than one friend. Obviously.

"Honestly, I'm still kind of riding the high from yesterday's stream," Sykkuno’s all kinds of elated in the voice chat, and Rae's quick to chime in, matching his tone, his energy, as she agrees.

"I cannot believe Y/N played with us! I’m sorry you missed it, Corpse, I think you'd love them," Rae is adamant, to which Corpse, from behind the safety of his monitor, makes a face.

"What makes you say that?” Even as he says it, as he tries to keep the negativity from his voice, his nose wrinkles, the expression shifting his eyepatch just a little.

“I don’t know, just something about...” Rae’s voice turns thoughtful as she considers, though Sykkuno takes the chance to pipe up, voice brimming with his trademark sincerity.

“You guys have weirdly similar vibes, like kind of a similar energy?” He tries to explain before a faintly embarrassed laugh escaping him, even with Rae humming in agreement, “not the exact same, obviously, but like, I don’t know, I think you’d really like them.” The problem with having Sykkuno for a friend is that he’s almost always trying to be genuinely kind or helpful. The problem is that Corpse can tell he believes what he’s saying. 

An angelic ability that often goes overlooked, even by angels themselves, is the innate ability to tell whether or not someone’s lying. It’s like a faint buzzing, low grade tinnitus, at the sound of a lie, something that can actually be pretty effectively ignored and forgotten, but right now, the lack of buzzing with Sykkuno’s words is frankly irritating. Not that Corpse can say that, he has no real reason to be jealous of your fast forming friendships with his friends, well, not any reason he can admit to on stream.

"You know what,” Sean muses, finally joining the conversation, “It’s been a while since I properly spoke to them, but I totally get what you mean,” fucking great; of course he agrees, “did anyone invite them to play; would love to have them here if they’re up for it.” 

"I think they're working on a thing today, but I can message and ask?" It’s Sykkuno who speaks up, the barest hesitation in his voice, and to that Rae makes a proud little noise in the back of her throat. 

"You met yesterday on the stream that I organised, and suddenly you're all best buddies? Gonna be honest, I’m a little jealous,” she admits, to which Sykkuno huffs a soft laugh, uncertain of what to say, though Rae’s tone is fond and she continues on, “seriously though, good for you, dude, finally getting the recognition you deserve -"

And on the one hand, yes, Corpse would agree that Sykkuno deserved infinitely more recognition and praise than he currently received, but on the other, the speed at which you two had aparently become close - a day! It had been a day! - sets Corpse’s teeth on edge. It was all he could do to keep quiet as the others chimed in, all their sentiments mirroring Rae’s.

All this frustration and resentment was almost definitely unhealthy, he was more than aware, but something about you had fixed in his mind; if it had been anyone else, anyone less talented or personable or productive, he could have probably handled it, but you...

All he gets is two games worth of peace before Sykkuno announces that he’s gotten a reply. Aparently you’re in the middle of recording a cover. Something about knowing that fills Corpse with discomfort, with envy, like he should be working on his music instead of being here. 

"But they say they're gonna take a break in an hour or say, so they might join us for a few games," Sykkuno’s tone betrayed his bright smile, and suddenly the voice chat was flooded with excitement from almost all in attendance. 

"Wait, really? Just like that, we'll be playing with Y/N?" Leslie sounds disbelievingly hopeful, but thankfully it’s only a few moments until the next game beings. While none of the others had picked up on Corpse’s silence, his chat seemed confused. Purposefully ignoring their questions and comments on the matter, he instead gives a few comments on the game, trying to come off lighter than he was feeling. 

He’s not quite sure what he’s going to do if you join the stream, he’d never actually considered that he might one day talk to you, have to confront the person whose very existence got under his skin, who might very well be the only other person like him on this side of the world. Unsurprisingly, his head’s not in the game.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?” Rae feels the need to ask when whatever response he’d given in a meeting had just come out as an incoherent mumble. Of course he straight up laughs at her question, which is answer enough, and she clicks her tongue disapprovingly, “you’re impossible.”

“Have you drunk any water today -?”

“Sykkuno you’re dead,” Sean interrupts Sykkuno, who had broken one of the main rules of the game simply to question Corpse about his health; he’s far too caring for his own good, but moments like this make for good entertainment, “dead people can’t talk,” Corpse is grateful for all of five seconds before Sean turns on him, reiterating Sykkuno’s question like a traitor; “Corpse, have you drunk water today?” In lieu of a proper response, Corpse groans, playing at being annoyed.

“I say we vote him out because if he is the imposter, we win, and if he isn’t, he has time to go drink a glass of water,” Rae proposes matter-of-factly, which just leaves Corpse spluttering with disbelief.

“That’s fucking stupid; I’m not the imposter, you’re basically throwing the game -” but the votes are already popping up, and unfortunately, for the first time all stream, everyone seems to be in agreement.

“Drink water, Corpse,” Rae, clearly the leader of this mutiny, orders, as Corpse watches his character get flung into lava, and very begrudgingly heeds her words. He takes his sweet time drinking a full glass of water and refilling it to take back with him, intermittently glaring from his kitchen at his computer, despite the game still going on; he’s got several tasks left, if they don’t catch the imposters, they’re doomed, and honestly he doesn’t care. Once the game ends, with the crewmates’ loss, as he’d suspected, they all find themselves back in the lobby. Maybe they’re waiting for him. They can wait longer.

As he settles himself back into his office chair, he pulls on his headphones in time to hear -

“- earlier than I thought because of a whole thing on TikTok and then Twitter, and then my manager texted me telling me-” It’s like he’s turned twenty again at the sound of your voice; you, bright, earnest, rambling to probably Sykkuno or Sean or Rae, probably not even aware of him, but he’s never been more aware of you. Not that he’d ever admit it to anyone, but your second EP, hyperfocus, had been in heavy rotation on his Spotify since he’d discovered it, since he’d listened to the crack in your voice, the exhaustion with which you spoke on i’m going through some stuff when Lofi had just been taking off as a genre. He’s... conflicted, going through an internal crisis while you keep talking, blissfully unaware, “- anyways, I think she’s just worried that I’ll end up threatening to German Supplex Harry Styles, or the late, great, Prince, and I’ll end up cancelled.”

“Y/N,” your name sounds equal parts amused and concerned as Sykkuno says it, with the air of someone who’s been privy to you and your antics far longer than just one day. The response you give is just as bright and cheery as your rambling had been, assuring him that you wouldn’t threaten to German Supplex Prince.

“You sure about that?” Sean was obviously grinning, judging by his fond tone, “sounds like something you’d try -”

“I’ve changed, Jack- Sean- fuck,” your muttered swear undercuts your attempt at earnestness after you correct yourself, clearly not used to calling him by his actual name. To that, Sean gives a fond chuckle, before going right back to ribbing you.

“I’m pretty sure there’s still video evidence of you trying to square up with Mark in person,” Sean points out, to which you grow huffy and defensive, playing up your frustration. 

“Well, that was for a completely reasonable reason!”

“Which was?”

“I thought it would be funny,” tone flipping completely, the words come out so sincere and bright it’s almost tooth rotting; if he didn’t know any better, Corpse would probably find himself being endeared by it, “and it was! Plus,” though here you give pause, and something about the tone of the conversation shifts as you chew on the words you’d almost said without thinking, “it was funny,” you said, softer this time. Sean, sensing the shift, does his best to pick the mood back up, reminding you that both you and Mark lost the competition you’d been taking part in anyways, and asking if you really had changed.

Before you had time to answer, however, Rae spots Corpse’s avatar moving ever so slightly, and immediately jumps on him.

“Corpse! Did you drink water?” She asks. He unmutes so they can all hear his deep, beleaguered sigh. “I can and will bully you into taking care of yourself,” her heart’s in the right place, and it is mostly a bit, so he can’t be too put out by the fact that she cares.

“I can’t believe you all voted me out because of it,” he chooses to respond instead, and Rae’s cackle echoes through the voice call.

“She also was the imposter, so...” Ze trailed off, a little sheepishly, to which Corpse rolled his eyes, not that anyone can see. Of course she was. But he’s not even given a moments before -

“You must be Corpse!” The moment the words leave your lips, every single goddamn nerve in Corpse’s body feels like it’s alight; everything overwhelming, unfamiliar,. white-hot, he’s suddenly desperately trying to keep his various abilities in check, since he really doesn’t want to short out his whole system, end the stream early, and probably cause his building to go into a blackout, just because of whatever this is. The whole world has changed with four words; better and worse and more more than anything. It’s... it’s a confirmation of some kind, and he tries to hold onto that vindictive feeling in his chest. You are familiar, you are something he recognises like no-one else he’s ever met before; you are like him. Is it better or worse now he knows it’s the truth?

“Must I be?” He manages to respond, keeping his voice as level as he’s able, shooting for vaguely amused and trying not to let any of the past few seconds sudden overwhelming panic and triumph bleed into his voice. But the moment you hear him, there’s a sharp gasp; that same something, understanding, recognition he’d felt, you feel it too.

“Y/N, you okay?” Ze had asked, and you made a vaguely muffled noise of unconvincing confirmation. Out of sheer, idle curiosity, Corpse opened a new tab and searched up your YouTube channel where you were streaming.

“Maybe we should have warned ya’,” Sean offers with a light laugh, before lowering his voice, immitating and announcer as best as he could, “warning! Corpse is about to speak!” Which at the very least got Corpse to laugh, though he refused to give anything away as your stream loaded, and the banter continued in his ears.

“Har har,” you muttered sarcastically into the voice chat, right as the stream finished loading, and - you. Well dressed, face in your hands, heels of your palms pressed against your closed eyes; honestly, he doesn’t exactly have any prominent initial thoughts about you, watching you scrunch your face up in your hands, dealing with the same thing he had to, though your face was live to thousands. Beside you, the text chat for your stream was going almost too fast to read, but he managed to follow a few threads of thought here and there.

[an eye thing! they’ve got an eye thing!] [someone @ y/n_creature_spec on twt!!] [who has an eye thing??] [lmao love that they were so shocked hearing corpse that it set off their eye thing] [hello!! vampire here!! we have eye things!!] [u cant be a vampire it’s the middle of the day] [THERE ARE COUNTRIES OTHER THAN AMERICA YOU KNOW] [i am willing to put MONEY on the idea of them being fae of some kind.] [^^yeah they just didnt want us to see their eyes sparkling like an anime character.] [that feels like smthn corpse could bring out in people]

And then you’re blinking back to reality, bringing him from his thoughts as for one terrifying moment, it’s as if his gaze locks with yours. Expression so bright and inviting, despite the way your eyes were watering just a little, you hold eye contact with your camera for a moment before looking at your screen, mumbling something about an eyelash in your eye; Corpse lets out a shaky breath. Chat seems unconvinced, but at least the other streams take you on your word. For a few more moments, he quietly watches you, watches the way your eyes roam your screen as you order your thoughts, and for all that he’s thought of you, he’s never properly looked at you. It’s taken him until now to acknowledge that there was definitely a reason for your success beyond just your talent; certainly you could have become successful from your music alone, but your career certainly wasn’t hindered by the fact that you’re actually quite- suddenly, Corpse is overcome by the sense that he’s intruding, exiting out of the window immediately, even going so far as to push back from his desk, fingers spread wide, braced against the edge, trying not to think too hard about... any of it. If he thought too hard about what it meant to have another angel in LA, he would drive himself mad.

“Well, Corpse, it’s good to meet ya, been told great things,” to him and him alone it’s so clear you’re trying so hard to play it cool, though Corpse couldn’t fault you for that, doing the exact same thing; again, when you speak to him, it’s like his whole being is hit with a rush of warmth; it’s less overwhelming this time, somehow scalding but bearable now.

“I see Sykkuno’s been spreading lies about me,” Corpse fires off instinctually, to which Sykkuno splutters protests at the implication, despite your bright laughter, and Sean’s shout to the contrary.

“Don’t be mean, Corpse, Sykkuno would never lie about you,” Sean is adamant, and Corpse can tell he’s being honest, just as the tell-tale ringing in his ears knows the next words from Sean’s mouth are utter lies; “me on the other hand? Y/N whatever you do, do not listen to Corpse’s music, it’s just the worst.” Before the implication, the reality of what he’s saying sinks in, for just a moment, Corpse feels a rush of affection for Sean, so clearly and earnestly plugging his music, right before your voice re-joins the chat and Corpse remembers exactly who Sean is plugging his music to.

“Fuck you, J- Sean, I do what I want,” while you played along, amused and light, Corpse himself was at a loss for words. You ask him - him specifically, he knows, he knows with absolute certainty you’re asking him - if he’s a musician, and everyone else chimes in before he can even think about finding his voice.

“Don’t search him on Spotify! Don’t do it!” Sean, on the verge of laughter, seems delighted by the turn this conversation has taken as the sound of aggressive typing fills the chat from your end. What the fuck. What the fuck?! No matter his thoughts and opinions about you and your possible supernatural origins, you were still Y/N, literal Grammy winner and Golden Child from the Golden Age of YouTube, playing along as Sean used the world’s worst reverse psychology on you to get you to listen to his music. Oh fuck, this is not how today was meant to go.

“I don’t wanna hold up the game, I’ll listen as I play,” you tell them, almost painfully polite, though Ze agrees to start the next game. If Corpse’s mind wasn’t in the game before, there’s no way in hell it was now.

Three minutes into the first round and he’s failing miserably at card swipe when he chances a look at his chat; people were spamming lyrics from Miss YOU! and Cat Girls Are Ruining My Life! which was sweet but nerve wracking, since he’s pretty sure it means you’ve already listened to one and moved on to the next. If you’re an angel, and you know he’s an angel, what in the hell would you think of his music? Honestly, even if you weren’t an angel, you’re still you, and his music was... well...

When the first meeting is called, and it’s discovered that you’ve been murdered, there’s a strange sense of relief that comes with it, even as he’s being accused of your murder. He’s got a solid alibi, so they end up voting out Sean, and the game continues. Despite the brief reprieve from your possible judgement, his heart still feels as though it’s skittering erratically around his ribcage. 

Rae comes along when he’s doing Simon Says, and shoots his little avatar. The moment he becomes a ghost, he lets out a long breath, giving himself a moment to relax, to collect his thoughts, catching back up with some questions with chat  he hadn’t quite realised he’d been holding, and chances a look at his chat again.

“Of course I’m tense,” he finds himself musing quietly to his chat while the remaining players were arguing over the top of each other in a meeting, “pretty sure most of hyperfocus has been in my Spotify wrapped every year since it was released,” for a few moments, it doesn’t even occur to him what he’s said, or that he’s said it out loud, but when it hits him- oh, oh no, it feels like too much to admit, and he has no idea what to say next, how to backtrack, how to at least pretend like he doesn’t think about you or your music any more than any other person would. However much he may resent certain aspects of it, he still knows he has a reputation to uphold, and panic and denial have never been a part of his reputation.

So he keeps his mouth shut, bites down on the half-hearted excuses and explanations that keep springing to mind, keep pressing against his teeth. He does his tasks quietly, thanks the people donating, and pretend it never happened until the round ends, heart in his throat. He knows, the same way a human survivor in a zombie apocalypse movie knows, that he’s just putting off the inevitable, and that someone’s definitely already clipped it and is probably uploading it to Twitter or Tumblr faster than he could protest.

“Y/N I’m so sorry!” Sean’s the first one to talk when they’re back in the lobby, which leads to your laughter filling the voice chat, telling him it’s okay.

“I didn’t even care, honestly I was just vibing,” the smile in your voice is almost enough to distract from the strained edge to your words, something not quite right, but so faint Corpse isn’t sure if it was really there, and he’s not quite sure anyone else heard it either. Except -

“Y/N?” Sykkuno says your name like it means something that no-one but you and him can decipher, something concerned, almost a question, checking in without being too obvious. 

“Yeah?” There’s that strained tone, just a little more audible this time, before you process who’s talking, how he’d said your name, and - “yeah,” firmer, calmer, a reassurance. 

“Vibing?” And he says it like that was his question all along, like the two of you hadn’t had a full conversation in three words. When the others started asking about what you thought of the music, it’s clear none of them have picked up on the hint of strangeness that had been in your tone, and you deliberate before answering.

“Am I- is it- it’s weird if I quote it, isn’t it -?”

“Jacksepdicy how I whip that!” Sean practically yells into his microphone, cutting you off and somehow making the line sounding even more Irish than he himself did naturally, which startles a laugh from Corpse, “it’s my name in a song, I think about it daily,” he announces, voice oozing pride, and despite the situation and headspace he found himself in, Corpse feels his heart grow warm knowing that even a line like that had brought Sean joy.

“I thought,” you pause for a moment, presumably to double check which song you were about to reference, “I thought Miss YOU was a whole mood,” you admit, the faintest smile in your voice, and something tightens in Corpse’s chest at that.

“You not gonna quote it?” Rae teased.

“Too nervous to follow Sean,” you fired back.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get there one day, Y/N,” Sean laughs fondly, and you all joke around, playing up the bit, while Corpse’s mind is stuck on the fact that you never once addressed him when talking about his music. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, it meant he didn’t have to deal with the sudden, fiery sensation your voice brought with it, so not bothered, persay, if anything he’s glad to know you liked it... But it’s weird that he knows so acutely -

“Hey,” and you don’t even say his name, but there’s that feeling again. Each time it grows less intense, like he’s been inoculated, and no instead of his nerves being ablaze, it’s as if he’s suddenly sitting beside a bonfire, each and every time you speak to him. The others voice their confusion at your sudden vaguness, but Corpse answers without even thinking, because of course he knows.

“Yeah?” 

A few moments pass, while the others carry on amongst themselves for the moment. The two of you sit in this one moment together, neither quite sure how to feel about it.

“You’ve been awfully quiet,” you point out, though there was only the barest him of the earlier strangeness in your voice, now overpowered by something that made it almost sound like you were pleased. At this, however, even more confusion arises when the others figure out that Corpse had ‘guessed’ correctly, that you’d been talking to him. But he can’t really hear them, or, well, he finds himself tuning them out, swallowing hard before he pushes to talk.

“Am I not allowed to enjoy the moment?” He asked, trying to ignore the weirdness of it all, keeping his tone light.

“I’m just surprised; it’s your music after all.” 

“You like hearing my voice?” Despite the surprisingly cocky way with which he speaks, he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, wincing internally. Of all the people he could have said that to...  

“I never said that,” and though your own tone matched his, something teasing, something that could almost be misconstrued as flirty in the right circumstances, he’d heard the faint thread of discomfort, feeling it all too much himself. But your words, and thankfully your tone, was overshadowed by both Sykkuno and Sean jumping in to assure Corpse that they enjoyed hearing his voice.

“If you and Y/N ever collaborated, you know it’d break the internet, right?” Rae interjects, all kinds of smug and knowing, followed by a chorus of approving voices all broke out in unison as the rest of the lobby considered the possibility.

“Rae, you know our Twitter mentions are going to be going off for the next month now, don’t you?” You groaned.

“Maybe it’s a sign!” Rae exclaimed, delighted, before her tone turns teasing and fond, “and besides, aren’t your mentions always going off?”

[ID: The first four posts on Y/N’s Tumblr dashboard.

blueheart-anon hearing y/n and sean interact again after like 3 years unlocked memories like im a fucking sleeper agent. having war flashbacks to 2017′s ‘y/n is septiplier’s kid’ phase. how do i lock the memories up again im going to die of embarrassment why were we like that [tagged: #y/n #y/n y/l/n #jacksepticeye #sean mcloughlin #i WILL NOT add the ship tag i mentioned #blue talks] [7 notes] [▶️🗩↪️🖤]

fangloriousbastard  ↪️fangloriousbastard fangloriousbastard Rae: Y/N & Corpse Collab When? Y/N: 🔪 - fangloriousbastard Y/N IMMEDIATELY MURDERING RAE AND THEN CORPSE I- - fangloriousbastard Y/N MUTTERING THE JACKSEPDICY LYRIC WHILE MURDERING HIM WTF IS HAPPENING?? - fangloriousbastard SYKKUNO NO BBY IM SO WORRIED - fangloriousbastard Y/N IM BEGGING U TO STOP SAYING CORPSE LYRICS BEFORE U KILL UR FRIENDS - fangloriousbastard WAIT WHAT Y/N AND SYKKUNO BOTH VOTING FOR THEMSELVES INSTEAD OF EACH OTHER - fangloriousbastard “ride or die guess im gonna die” y/N PLEASE U MET HIM YESTERDAY - fangloriousbastard y/n’s still listening to corpse’s music we love to see it - fangloriousbastard WAIT NO ZE KILLED SYKKUNO IN FRONT OF THEM AND THEY WON OMG SO MUCH IS HAPPENING DID THESE MOTHERFUCKERS QUOTE AN ACTUAL THE OFFICE MEME AT EACH OTHER - fangloriousbastard Y/N: YOU KILLED MY BOY Ze: you’ve known him A Day! Y/N: you don’t have all the facts Ze: which are? Y/N: I love him. Y/N: Not in a weird, shippy way tho, but like, come on, man, look at him! Sykkuno��s avatar: 🌱                          👁👄👁 Sykkuno irl: 🥰 - fangloriousbastard ahem anyways corpse & y/n collab when? - y/n 🔪❤️ - fangloriousbastard 👁👄👁 - fangloriousbastard aren’t you supposed to be streaming?? [tagged: #HEWWO??? #among us lb #why do i only remember they’re following me when i post outrageously stupid content #btw y/n if u kill sean again i’ll cry] [43 notes] [▶️🗩↪️❤️]

fyahproof-y/n  ↪️ selkiey/n selkiey/n y/n’s explicit ‘i love him but not in a weird shippy way’ is the LOUDEST fandom vague i’ve ever heard in my life [286 notes] [▶️🗩↪️❤️]

crpshsbnd  ↪️ 221b-theres-a-bee crpshsbnd hope corpse is feeling okay he’s been kinda quiet this stream - 221b-theres-a-bee if someone suggested i make music with a grammy award winning artist i might be kind of quiet too - crpshsbnd asjdskldfjkdsf u right, still, hope that’s the reason. [tagged: #how do i always forget they won a grammy #actually i know why i keep forgetting #because every time i remember they won a grammy i remember the video where they jousted corndogs with joe sugg #and the winner had to deepthroat theirs for the camera #and y/n won but felt like an asshole for making joe deepthroat his corndog alone #and they ended up almost throwing up because they went too far with it #so hot #so talented #so very stupid sometimes] [3 notes] [▶️🗩↪️🖤]

Twitter is kind of a hellscape, Corpse decides, scrolling through his notifications as the stream’s winding down, seeing about a thousand different people tagging both you and him, asking for a collab, or seeing fit to show you both every single time one of you had mentioned the other in stream. Or had simply interacted. He’s not quite sure how to feel about hearing you mutter ‘make it rain, leave her wet, like a snowflake’. Unsurprisingly, a considerable few people had thought to clip the interaction where he’d apparently instinctively known you were talking to him, which he thoroughly regrets. There’s enough speculation about him online already, he doesn’t need people cluing into the fact that he might not be entirely human as well.

So now, he’s sitting idle in the lobby of the game as everyone’s thanking each other, discussing when they might get together to stream again; he’s quiet, disconnected from it all even though he knows he’s still live, he can’t help but stare at his phone, frown at your Twitter profile. You’re not following each other. A lot of his friends follow you, are mutuals with you, but you and he are not following each other, and he’s not sure if he’d like to change that. But it would make sense, right? It’s what’s expected.

Your pinned tweet is the single you released yesterday, which he still hasn’t listened to. The cover is cute; you’re - fuck. He refreshes the page. In the few moments since he’d clicked on your profile and now, you’d tweeted, thanking everyone for joining the stream, while you’re still in his ear, alongside everyone else, distinctly not addressing him. Maybe he should DM you, be upfront, ask about what you are, if his suspicions are true.

He hits the back button and goes back to scrolling through his mentions. 

“Hey.” Your voice, soft and earnest despite that warmth that crackles through him; he’s half distracted, hand moving instinctively to push-to-talk, and -

“Yeah?” God fucking damn it. Not again. He’s really gotta stop answering on instinct just because he knows you’re talking to him. He hates that he knows.

“Good to meet you, Corpse,” and there was a strange sincerity in your voice, and he responds in kind, but his heart’s not in it. There’s too much on his mind, too conflicted in his heart to tell the truth; his own words makes his ears ring. He can’t even lie to himself.

So he says his goodbyes, waits for the lobby to clear out and chatters away to his stream about when he might be on next. Upon ending the stream, he immediately opens the latest email from his producer, his latest project glaring back at him from the screen. 

Yes, his various ailments have his body aching, but the interactions he’s had with you are giving him a headache when he thinks too hard about them, and he feels woefully unproductive. Never Satisfied stares back at him, so close to being finished, mocking him. Scowling harder, he listens to what he has so far, making tweaks and notes, glad for the distraction, glad that his producer had as chaotic of a sleep schedule as he did. This was the home stretch; one more all-nighter and it would finally be done.

He texts Heartful that he’s getting to work.

It’s four in the morning when he finally stops for a break, his good eye starting to itch from staring at a screen for so long. With a yawn, he leans forward, out of his chair, groaning as he straightens up to a mostly standing position. Hands braced against the edge of his desk, he lets out a resigned sigh and wills his wings into existence. The weight of them curled up tight against his back, as was customary for them to be when non-corporeal, has him leaning a little further forward. Another yawn and he lets them uncurl, lets them stretch out behind him, knocking over an empty microphone stand as they went. He’d get that later. A grateful groan escapes him, it’s been far too long since he’d even had a half-assed stretch like this, wings helping to stretch all the aching muscles in his back that were simply impossible to stretch otherwise, no matter how much he’d twist. Even so, his studio wasn’t big enough to properly stretch them, and he really didn’t feel like laying on his living room floor right now; he’s kind of concerned he’d just fall asleep there. Instead, he kicks his chair to the side and hits shuffle on one of his Spotify playlists, doing what he can for himself in the limited space, and finally going to forage through his cupboards for something resembling a meal. Maybe drink water, Rae’s damn voice in his head.

At least with his wings around he didn’t need to bother turning on any lights; he’s gotta find joy in the little things.

Today, or well, the past twenty-four hours, was a series of cruel jokes, he decides, all leading to the moment he curls up his wings and sits back down at his desk. The moment he puts his headphones back on, he’s greeted by your voice, and he almost jumps a foot in the air, concerned that you’d called him.

"- who I became, dreading when the music stops, what if I just fade away?” In the split second he’s realised that it was just a song, just your voice, crooning, gentle and sad against a soft beat and the sound of rain, as i’m going through some stuff playing in his ears, it’s too late. Already his aura had gone off, and his computer cuts out, as his monitor cuts to darkness, so suddenly all he can see is his own, exhausted reflection in the monitor, backlit by his own wings... Not exactly flattering. 

Thankfully, it was only his computer that was affected, as he can still hear his refrigerator humming in the other room, so he wedges himself beneath his desk to reset the breaker for the power board that his whole system was connected to, grumbling to himself the whole time. 

If he was being honest, however, he was glad he didn’t have to hear more than a few seconds of your song. For a long time it had been one of his favourites, though at this point he’d rather die than admit that. Yes, it’s a good song, but it’s the last thing he needs to hear right now. If he listened to you voice half the fears he still tried to ignore, well right now it may kill him, and he was so close to being finished with Never Satisfied. So close.

Instead, he gives himself the moment in which his system is rebooting to scroll through Twitter and Instagram on his phone, checking his mentions for good fanart to appreciate, only to stumble across one of your stan accounts tagging both you and him in a clip that he hadn’t seen earlier. He’s not sure what possesses him to click it.

“Don’t follow me baby, swear I’m going to hell,” Corpse’s own words leave your lips as you’re focused on the game, on being imposter, leading Sykkuno into electrical to fix lights, and something about it sounds wrong and he can’t quite put his finger on it. He’d heard other lines of his leave your mouth, clips from the stream he’d been tagged in, and it always manages to surprise him. When you sing his songs, even just a little bit, something in the back of his mind, something that had appreciated you as an artist all this time, it’s grateful, it’s excited, it’s overwhelmed. He wouldn’t deny that part of himself, he couldn’t, it didn’t feel right, but upon hearing this line, that grateful part was overshadowed by a visceral bitterness.

The line had been a moment of self deprecation, the only Angel he knew of who, granted it was by some of his own choices, was almost certainly going to Hell, if you believe in that sort of thing of course. But you? Every single part of you seemed to be the exact antithesis to him; you’re what an Angel should be, and him? Well, the line said it all really. It’s just... it feels like you’re mocking him at every turn now that he knows, or well, strongly suspects. With evidence. Which you’re probably not; if you’re an Angel, you wouldn’t go out of your way to mock another angel, so now he’s all in his head, frustrated at himself for being frustrated at you for just... liking his song? 

He really should message you about earlier, clear things up, get out of his own mind and stop jumping to conclusions. Finding another angel was big, no matter his personal reservations, he should try and take this opportunity, right? Except that you hadn’t reached out to him either.

Damn it; he knows he needs to stop thinking about you and focus on his own shit. He turns off his phone and gently tosses it to the floor, out of sight out of mind. 

Maybe he’ll feel better when he finishes his song, feel more productive, feel... complete for just a few moments. Maybe he’d stop comparing himself to you. Maybe.

[ID: Two tweets, one from @sp00kybihh, and one from @yourtwitter, followed by a retweet and reply conversation between @ashton5sos, @yourtwitter, and @y/nirwin.

@sp00kybihh: why did y/n’s smile every time corpse just knew they were talking to him without them having to say anythign make me feel things?? u no we love day 1 ride-or-die y/nkunno, but corpse & y/n just seem to get each other wtf 🥺🥺

@yourtwitter: australians are asleep post forbidden youngblood cover

(Thumbnail of Y/N sitting in front of the camera, dressed casually, visible from the chest up. There is a black microphone on a stand in front of them that they’re holding. Their mouth is open, as if halfway through singing, their eyes are closed, their background is a simple, white wall. Above Y/N, in black, VCR font, is the word ‘youngblood’. There is a large play button in blue and white in the middle of the thumbnail, to indicate that it is a link to a video.

Link: youngblood - 5 seconds of summer | y/n y/l/n cover i miss my boys. i miss people. thank you 5sos for being cool about me covering this <3</i> twitter: @yourtwitter 🔗youtube.com)

@ashton5sos retweeted the link and commented: Y/N you said it was gonna be low effort, this is killer! All it’s missing is some drums. Reminds me, I’m still sad we never got to record that thing we wrote in New York. | @yourtwitter: ASHTON IT IS 8AM I HAVE HAD NO SLEEP AND WAS NOT EXPECTING SUCH A QUICK RESPONSE I WOULD DIE FOR YOU | @yourtwitter: also lmfao i forgot about that ny thing that was good, from what i remember. do u still have that recording of us?? i may or may not have forgotten everything about that night apart from it being a blast #bringbacknewyork | @ashton5sos: Calum has it but also its 2am and he’s asleep, which you should also do. You know the boys are gonna love this... #bringbacknewyork | @y/nirwin: thank u both i have decided to pass away effective immediately #bringbacknewyork

End ID.]