#nothing in any piece of fiction has ever made me cry much less this intensely and so many times

[mudaxolotl]

just finished my current skyward sword playthrough and beat demise on my first try for the first time and also straight up sobbed during the fi cutscene at the end like i always do

[wh6res]

taeyong — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. when your soulmate gets a wound or cut, flowers bloom on the same spot in your body.

synopsis. you’re desperate to meet your soulmate. maybe you can put a stop to the flowers stubbornly blooming on your wrists.

warnings. tread cautiously. mentions of mental illness (depression, attempted suicide), swearing, manipulation, implied self-harm, dubious content, forced relationship, unconsensual touching near the end, ty pulling the sadboi agenda

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

by the time you’re graduating high school, you’re used to the sorry glances people sent your way. 

for someone so young, you have more flowers blooming on your skin than any adult. a few small pieces of it blooming in the corner of your cheek, near the jawline. a few of them on your thighs. 

but the most concerning piece is the one on your wrists that are fully covered by the flowers, your skin nowhere to be seen with all the lilies of the valley tainting your skin. 

yet the worse has got to be the summer before senior year. you had been halfway done with the college entrance examination for a local university. your parents said the pain you felt the first time will turn into a mild itch whenever the flowers form on your skin. 

it started small, absentmindedly scratching at something on your neck. initially, you thought it was the heat, your sweat, and the fabric of your clothes irritating the sensitive skin. but when you walked up to the proctor to turn in your exam, you knew that apologetic stare like nothing else—but his eyes had flickered down to your neck. 

when your friends blew up your phone, asking where you are to celebrate, you lied and headed straight back home, head ducked, collars upturned, hiding the lilies of the valley wrapped around your throat like some insignia. 

a year later, you end up studying soulmate theory in university. they say it’s a useless course as there can be no scientific explanation to soulmates. you like thinking you chose the course because of sheer interest but really, you’re just finding an explanation, some external reason that probably bore no results but you trudged forward anyway. 

you’re restless in the pursuit of finding him—or her, you couldn’t care less. the hurt you feel weighs heavy in your heart each time you feel them blooming on your wrist, mind plagued with worry. 

your roommate interrupts your deep thinking as she practically throws herself onto your bed. “i have an idea!” she cheers, determined. “why not part-time in the school clinic? that way if people come in, you can compare their cuts to your flowers.”

“now, you just might be onto something there.”

the hunt for your soulmate still wasn’t easy despite working in the university’s clinic and it only got worse each day. your schedule is killing you, you’re slightly getting behind in some subjects, and you practically live in the library. 

contrary to popular opinions, soulmate theory can be a fucking bitch to study about. what with learning psychology, astrology, and botany all together. it was interesting how all these things can be factors in how people are paired to become soulmates. interesting, but rather complicated in a sense, too. 

they say psychology and astrology dealt with two people’s compatibility. while botany, the meanings of the flowers themselves, was theorized to predict how the soulmate connection will affect their relationship—ultimately, roses were a really, really good sign. 

you have been busy messing up your hair, utterly frustrated and irate—astronomy’s messing with your head and you can’t go a minute without scratching your wrists as the flowers bloomed after the other. 

then something unexpected happened. 

a lanky guy dressed in an all-black ensemble walked into the clinic. well, it was more of a being carried between two guys by the arms rather than walked in. everything about his clothes looked way too big to fit his delicate frame and it hardly looked like it was for fashion style purposes. his skin hugged his body to the bone, eyes sunken, and he looked so frail that a tiny shove would’ve sent him sprawled on the floor. 

his name was taeyong and he lied on the bed unconscious, with handkerchiefs wrapped around his wrists like bandages—courtesy of his friends, who looked deathly worried for the fate of their poor friend. if he had lost any more blood, he would’ve died. you had never seen the clinic in such chaos, people running around, anxious. your leg muscles were sore from going back and forth from the nurse’s side to the cabinets storing all the medical supplies she needed. 

it had been a whirlwind, and after your superior had patched and properly bandaged his cuts, you were left to look after him in the meantime as nurse jung tried contacting his guardian. 

his friends—who you learned were named yuta and jaehyun, were snoozing outside on the bench across the hall, parallel with the clinic’s double-glass door, as they waited for their friend to wake up. 

depression. suicidal. taeyong has been like that for his whole life, jaehyun stated earlier. you can only shoot a sorry look at the unconscious boy lying on the hospital bed. 

it had already been dark outside when you came in to switch out his bandages for new ones—only to realize that his cut is exactly where you had been scratching earlier before he showed up. 

you retracted, unbelieving of what that possibly entails. along the way, you’ve pieced together that your soulmate is probably struggling through something heavy, something that weighed him down so much that it made him believe hurting himself is the only solution, what with all the flowers on your skin. 

“it’s him…” you mumble, wide eyed as you eyed the faded scars around his wrists, eerily aligned to the flowers blooming on your own. 

you didn’t want to overwhelm him, that much was sure. you didn’t want to chase him away if he gets uncomfortable. so for weeks you started leaving anonymous notes in his locker. not the sappy love letter types, just little words of encouragement that could make his day better. 

when their friend breaks out into the tiniest of smiles, yuta and jaehyun’s thankful eyes would scour around the halls. sneakily looking for you behind taeyong’s back. they understood where you’re coming from and hadn’t spoken a word of disagreement when you told them you didn’t plan to make yourself known as his soulmate yet. 

and as if the notes were not enough, you start giving him his favorite starbucks drink every now and then—on days the flowers didn’t bloom as much as it normally would. you turn up half an hour early before lectures so you can place it on the table where he usually sits with his two best friends. even if his class is on the other side of campus, you’d still go. 

but it only took three weeks of creeping around until you’re caught by your soulmate himself. 

“do you want something from me?”

you didn’t know what to say, cat got your tongue as you stood before him holding the drink. you couldn’t weasel your way out and say the drink’s yours, not when he caught you standing before his usual seat, not when you were already leaning forward to place it on his desk.

“uhm… i…” you stutter pathetically, not being able to meet the intensity of his eyes. 

“jaehyun and yuta aren’t exactly the most lowkey, especially with how much their eyes wander when i open my locker. so, do you want something from me? what are you playing at, stalker?”

the name he called you stung like a bitch but you can’t blame him for it. you knew him, he doesn’t know you. you’re giving him gifts anonymously. even if they were all from the goodness of your heart, from an outsider’s view, your actions still appeared sketchy.

“soulmate,” you correct him. 

you watch his features twist into confusion, only for it to morph into shock once he’s digested what you just said. eventually, he schools his expression back to indifference. his stoic face is so intimidating, you thought, biting your bottom lip and fidgeting on your toes. 

“what?”

“i’m your—i’m your soulmate.”

his eyes flicker downwards to peak a glance at the bouquet of flowers painted on your skin. colors as beautiful and vibrant as the day you got them, the stems of the bell-shaped flowers intricately woven into each other. for a split second, you even twist your arms a little, showing him the rock hard proof of your claim. 

ever since you found him, you’ve always contemplated for the better part of your limited free time about what his reaction will be when he finds out you two are soulmates. will he accept you? or worse case scenario, pretend you didn’t exist? the possibilities are unknown especially with someone who seems to be going through so much that the last thing they wanted is this person who thinks they’re entitled to be part of their lives because the universe made it be that way. 

not that you feel entitled… taeyong can reject you all he wants and you’ll give him the space he needs—

he’s crying. 

and not the simple, small tears slowly streaming down his face one by one type of crying, no, his tears were an onslaught. full-on sobbing as he threw himself onto you, wrapping his arms tight around your shoulders as he buried his face into your neck, words heavily muffled by your coat. 

“is it—” he hiccups. “true?”

you blink, from all the reactions you’ve gone through in your head, crying was the very last thing you expected from him—crying and hugging you like you’re the last person on earth and he’s been touch-starved until he found you. 

maybe that was the case. 

you wonder what jaehyun and yuta felt whenever taeyong ditched them to spend time with you—and that was pretty much all the time since he’s found you. he’s like a puppy, following you around wherever you go (unless he has classes) and had been neglecting his friends. whether it was intentional or not, whether his two friends were cool with it or not, you don’t know. 

you try your best to smile every time he runs up to you on the other end of the hall, spotting you coming out of your own respective classroom after lectures are done. 

he’s beaming like a child, inviting you to this cafe he wants to take you to—and pathetic ‘lil ‘ol you just can’t seem to say no to those huge expecting eyes.

but you’re not blind to the slight scowl on yuta’s face nor the razor sharp smile on jaehyun’s features. they want to hang out together, just boys, but now there’s this soulmate who’s suddenly more important than them—what happened to bros before hoes?

but they knew taeyong needed you. heck, he never once smiled like the way he did before he met you. it was like he’s become this whole new person with a child-like innocence reflecting his eyes. 

“so?” your soulmate prompts just as his two friends came over, flanking him. 

taeyong deflates the moment he sees the hesitance in your eyes. “uhm… i actually have a shift in the clinic, and nurse jung said the clinic isn’t some hang out place, so you can’t, uhh…” you trail, not wanting to finish the sentence. 

a little white lie can’t hurt anyone, right? 

taeyong shouldn’t depend on you all the time, not when he also has friends who care about his well-being and mental health just as much as you do. being soulmates didn’t mean he has to spend every waking moment with you and the faster he realizes, the better. 

when you dashed away before he could even mutter out a reply, you miss the frown on his face, his eyes never once leaving your frame until you turned the corner. 

people often favor the underdog. they have this gnawing urge in their gut to sympathize and unknowingly root for their own plot twist or happy ending. 

people look at you and your soulmate and think you have poor, suicidal and depressed and sad taeyong eating at the palm of your hand, following you around like a lonely duckling—the undeniable underdog in a coming-of-age movie, the person shoved around until some bigger, more capable person comes to their rescue (in this case you, unfortunately).

but appearances have always been deceiving. 

your little 3-week head start with getting to know your soulmate had only been on surface-level. you just wanted to help him but taeyong’s obvious attraction—can you even call it that? you’d like to think it’s more of infatuation—is off-putting for you. from standing way too close to putting an arm around you, from walking you to your lectures to walking you home, from the light headpats to having the guts to kiss your cheeks. 

it’s too much and it wasn’t as if you basked in the public display of affection. whenever you tried telling him off in the most gentlest of ways, taeyong would frown and curl in on himself, eyes glossy, darting around, and looking like a kicked puppy. 

you couldn’t leave him like that just because of some harmless skinship, right? he’s just excited and happy he’s found you. weren’t you also the first one to initiate? with all those notes and gifts you’ve given him? and now you’re backing away just because of a few touches?

“you know,” your roommate plops herself on the couch next to you, netflix movie playing as background. “you’re not obligated to fix him. you’re his soulmate, not his psychiatrist.”

you sigh, head diving into the couch pillows. “i’m not trying to fix him, i’m just…”

she raises a prodding eyebrow. 

“…i’m just trying to be there for him.”

taeyong likes to think that he wasn’t doing it on purpose. but the sense of rush and sick pleasure running up and down his spine whenever you force a smile and give in to his wishes proves otherwise. 

all his life he’s been pushed around. tasked to buy his old man beer and cigarettes and an assortment of drugs. if he turns up empty handed, guess who becomes a punching bag? and he has always been alienated throughout his school life. immature elementary kids aren’t exactly the kindest and would’ve picked on every single thing to appear cool to their friend groups. and poor little scrawny taeyong who didn’t speak and didn’t defend himself was just too easy of a target. 

“uhm… you don’t—don’t need to walk me home all the time.” do you think so low of him that you believe he doesn’t sense your fake little giggle?

“but i like walking you home,” he pouts, jutting his lips just a wee bit more for extra measure. he makes sure his eyes are as round and glossy as can be, he noticed those puppy eyes are what gets to you the most. 

he can tell by your tense shoulders, the clear hesitance in your face, that smile that looked too sweet to be real, and your averting eyes. you needn’t say anything for taeyong to figure you out. he isn’t blind to the lack of comfort you’ve developed by being with him. 

he has to think of something or else you’ll be slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

he asked you out on valentine’s day. it wasn’t the simple, forgettable act of popping out the “hey, do you want to go out on a date with me?” question while holding a bouquet of flowers. taeyong made sure you’ll never forget this certain day that he had laid his claim on you—not that it needed to be vocalized, it was his wounds that made flowers bloom on your skin. the soulmate connection should be enough.

but taeyong wanted to go the extra mile.

with the help of his friends (yuta’s popular and jaehyun can be very persuasive), he’s got people handing you lilies of the valley every ten feet until you reach the auditorium in the main building. despite it blooming on your skin you’ve never really seen them in the flesh. they’re like dew drops, bell-like flowers growing in an elegant dip from it’s main stem and appearing no bigger than your thumb.

you were awed, but skeptical.

you meet taeyong by the end of your little journey, standing on a decorated stage with a bouquet of the flowers nestled delicately in his hands. the natural sunlight bleeding through the open windows giving him such a beautiful glow that you couldn’t take your eyes off him. he had smiled and timidly gave you the flowers while asking.

“will you be my girlfriend?” 

if only you’d look close enough, that sugar coated smile contrasted greatly to the sly flickers in his eyes. he knows how your actions are dictated by the reputation you’ve built. taeyong knows you'll say yes, because if you didn't, how could you have rejected your own soulmate who has made you the light of his life? he’s been nothing but kind to you and you’ve only pushed him away! you’re a monster! you should’ve saved him!

if him alone can’t make you say yes, maybe the pressure-induced stare of the whole student body can.

and as you shivered amidst taeyong’s suffocating hug, feeling the triumphant smirk against your head and his prodding nose as he sniffed your hair, you now understood why your body bloomed this specific woodland flower. 

lilies of the valley are beautiful.

but lilies of the valley are poisonous, too.

the flowers remind you of taeyong. 

making things official has only made things worse. taeyong has promised you that after being together he won’t try hurting himself anymore and that he’s a big boy and he can attend his therapy sessions alone. but the itching in your skin is as constant as ever and you just got off the phone with the receptionist of the clinic he goes to. 

“are things alright? i haven’t seen taeyong since three weeks ago.”

if there’s one thing you absolutely hate doing with your soulmate, it’s confrontations. for the three months you’ve been together, taeyong has always, always spiraled out whenever you confront him about something. be it the mildest or the most superficial thing, what started out small will turn into a complete whirlwind and he’d be in a fit of tears by the end of it.

every single time. 

you prefer happy taeyong than sad taeyong—if you can avoid it for as long as you can, you will. but you’re at your breaking point. him lying to you about his therapy sessions is the pin that popped the little balloon of security you’ve been protecting. 

when you arrive home, he’s already there, crouched and sifting through your bookshelf. it wasn’t a surprise or anything out of the ordinary, he possesses the key to invite himself into your apartment any time. “hey, you’re home!” he immediately stands, barreling towards you. 

he encircles his arms around you protectively as he pulls you flush against his body. you feel the tip of his nose prodding against your neck, hearing him inhaling your scent like cannabis. 

you learned to ignore it, this habit of his—but just because you do doesn’t make you any less uncomfortable than the first time he did it.

you don’t bother hugging him back. 

you were too pissed off to keep up with pretenses. 

“the clinic called, said you weren’t attending your sessions. why were you lying to me?” 

when pushed into a corner, you were never one to beat around the bush.

“i don’t like going alone, i told you that, remember?” he quickly replied, shoving you away. “i wouldn’t have to lie to you if you would just come with me for my sessions, don’t you think? you’re blowing this out of proportion when it’s all your fault.”

you wanted to pull at your hair. scratch that, you wanted to pull at his hair—no, not in that kind of way. 

“how the fuck—” you stop. taeyong hates it when you curse. cursing will do you more harm than good. you inhale through your nostrils, willing yourself to calm down. “how is this my fault? i told you i have to run errands for professor kim!”

“then quit working there! they’re not even paying you, it’s just for extra credit! which you wouldn’t even fucking need if you weren’t flunking astronomy so bad.” taeyong must’ve seen your features twisting into that of betrayal. he was there when you were crying your eyes out because you failed the exam. he knew the subject was taking such a big toll on you. 

how could he…

“don’t fucking look at me like that, kitten. you know it’s the truth.”

what is the point of this, some form of payback he’s subjecting you to? just because you didn’t come with him to his sessions? six months in this relationship and you already feel so drained, how would the universe expect you to keep up for a whole fucking lifetime together with him?

“why…” you choke, the tears building up in your eyes as your voice breaks. “so what do you want me to do, then?” you ask, because you genuinely don’t know. 

does he want you to choose? is that it? you didn’t want to lose the credits, but you didn’t want to lose this relationship either, no matter how much you’re drowning in the toxicity of it all. 

because this is your soulmate. 

certainly, the universe wouldn’t destine you to each other if it would only bring forth chaos, right? taeyong has mentioned time and time again that this is his first relationship. of course, he’s depending on you to show him the ropes. 

but it seems he isn’t really a big fan of how you do things. 

“quit.”

you shake your head defeatedly. “you know i can’t. i’d have to take the whole subject again next semester and—”

“i said quit, dollface.” the finality in his tone renders you speechless. “then fucking take the subject again next semester! i don’t care. that’s your consequence for neglecting your major. why the fuck do i have to suffer, too, if my soulmate is such a failure?”

his words cut deep, deeper than flesh, cutting through bone as your knees the urge to buckle and collapse before him. “taeyong, please—”

“honestly, i don’t even know what you’re doing with that professor. you always brush it off whenever i ask you!” the glare he sends could kill. “is this… is this why you’re so adamant about not quitting? then again… what kind of professor is willing to pass his students just by interning for him? i can’t believe i’m only realizing this now!”

this is bad. this is very, very bad. 

“whatever you’re thinking about is not true! trust me—”

but as if he can’t hear you, he dawdles on, trying to connect the dots when there is absolutely nothing to connect. 

“you suck dick for grades? how could you do this to me? how can you do that to yourself?” 

you don’t understand exactly why he’s crying again so you don’t say anything. not because his fierce accusations were right but because even if you try hard to convince him that nothing is going on with your astronomy professor, he’d still cry and whine and paint you to be the bad guy. 

“what… what use do i have in this world if my soulmate thinks i’m not enough? and i lost you to some guy who smelled like prunes of all people!” you would have laughed if the situation had been different, but taeyong was dead serious. “i’m useless. i’ve been useless with my family, my friends, and now you. i can never do anything right, can i? i can never make anyone stay. i can’t even make you stay!”

and like a switch that has been flicked off, your conflicted emotions vanish in thin air. gone are every trickle of anger, confusion, and irritation you felt as he makes a beeline to the coffee table, smashing the little ornamental fish bowl and pointing a shard against his dainty wrists. 

“no!” you tackle him to the ground, groaning when you feel the shard dig into your side yet you made no effort to get off of him. blindly, you reach, twisting his wrist to drop the piece of glass. “you promised!” you wail, clutching the collars of his shirt as you pull him close to you. “stop, stop hurting yourself.”

you feel him shaking his head, his own onslaught of tears staining your shirt as the negativity he’s been bottling pours over like a tsunami, dragging you under the currents with him. “no, no, no…” you splutter, snot running disgustingly down your nostrils. “it’s not true, none of that is true. you’re my love, my moonlight, i’d never betray you for anyone or anything!”

“but—but your professor, the internship—”

“i’ll quit. i’ll take the subject again next semester, it’s not a big deal, okay? don’t worry, i’m here. i’m so sorry!”

it was all too easy.

the thing with noble people like you is the foolish sense of responsibility lying underneath your skin, it’s gravitational pull so strong that you don’t bother to think before you speak, to think before you act, to think before you make promises, because what’s important isn’t yourself, it’s the person lying meek and helpless before you. 

quit, you say? taeyong wants something more.

the evil lying inside pandora’s box can never remain dormant, not when meddlesome people like you who think with a one-track mind pull the lid off its hinges, preaching how every evil can have their own redemption.

a hand finds purchase around your waist as an eerie blissful smile stretches on his lips, eyes clouded over. “really? i’m your moonlight?”

“yes—”

“would you prove it to me?”

he doesn’t make room for your hesitance to settle, he lunges, hands wrapping around your face to pull you into a kiss. it wasn’t like all the other kisses you’ve shared with him, no, this one had a dark, underlying purpose. his hands digging into your open wound to make it bleed, tongue sliding into your mouth the moment you gasped in pain.

your hands press on his chest, trying to push him away but taeyong’s thoughts are running wild. you blush in sheer humiliation when he lets out an almost pornographic moan. with a sinking realization, you’ve become hyper aware of something poking at your abdomen.

no, not yet. you weren’t ready yet!

“taeyong, wait—i’m not—”

“you said you love me, didn’t you?”

[kaiwritess]

hii love! i think i have an emergency request? or idk really lol kill me anywaays, what would Daichi, Kuroo, Bokuto and Sugawara do if they found little notes in their so's phone/phonecase/wallet which are telling them not to eat, starve themselves and stuff like that? (1/4)

TW: EATING DISORDERS; CONTINUE WITH CAUTION

+ idk, i just feel my mindset going back to these kinda things and i know its bad but at the same time i dont want to stop, because i feel like i am in control and i dont want others to butt in and tell me to eat and stay fat, but then again, i would love to hear it from someone so that i would know that someone cares about me (2/4)

+ but i lowkey know that no one actually cares about me and im not important to anyone, so all i do is looking at myself in the mirror and crying and seeking comfort from fictional characters who would probably think that i am ugly and fat and hate me too oops🤷‍♀️ (3/4)

+ and i am sorry for dumping all of this on you, i promise i dont want to make you feel sorry for me or anything, it just came out? finally i could actually send it to someone instead of writing it into my journal, it lowkey made me feel better. okay so, if this triggers you, then please, feel free to ignore me, i know what this shit feels like, and the last thing i want to do is make you feel bad, seriously. and i am also sorry if seemed to be rude, i swear i know my manners, just not right now:(

author’s note: okay first things first, you don’t ever need to apologize for venting! i’m honored that you’re opening up to me, and it truly means a lot. i’m sorry this took some time to write, and in the end, this was more like how the guys would react, and less of what they would do, if that makes any sense. i’m certain that all the hq characters would aid you with recovery. and i know we don’t know each other in real life, but i wanted to let you know how proud i am of you for staying so strong. times get rough, and the fact that you’re staying strong is amazing. i love u so much, and thank you again for opening up.

S/O Has Harmful Notes in Their Belongings

Daichi Sawamura, Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Kotarou, and Sugawara Koushi

trigger warning: eating disorders

[DAICHI SAWAMURA]

Daichi was always wary about your behavior. He picked up the small hints you unintentionally left behind, like how you always found an excuse to skip a meal.

His worries significantly increased when he began to notice the small notes in your wallet. Sure, there was a possibility that it could’ve been a grocery list, but every time you opened your wallet and saw the note, he saw how sad your eyes got.

He found out about the whole thing after he got a hold of your wallet. You dropped it while walking, and his curiosity got the best of him. As soon as he read what was on the piece of paper, his heart plummeted.

Daichi tries to avoid confrontation, but in circumstances like this, it seems like confrontation is the only option. Although he tries to bring it up calmly, Daichi finds himself having a difficult time forming words. What could he say to make you feel better? How can he help you?

“What have you been hiding? These notes... how long have you been carrying them?” his voice cracks.

From then on, Daichi will be monitoring every meal, making sure you’re getting enough nutrients. Despite all his actions, he can’t help but feel so helpless...

[KUROO TETSUROU]

Like Daichi, Kuroo was always concerned about your appetite. It didn’t help how you always avoided restaurant dates or anything that had to do with food for that matter.

Nevertheless, he brushed it off as you having a small stomach, which is something understandable as Kenma also barely has an appetite.

One day as you were walking to the grocery store, Kuroo noticed that you were holding a piece of paper. When he questioned you about it, you said it was a “to-do list for school”.

Kuroo saw through your lies easily (lying to him is one of the hardest things to do in the world), and immediately called you out on it. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you. Let me see it,” he said firmly, taking the note out of your hands. He read over the words at least ten times, each time beating himself up for brushing off the red flags you left behind.

Oh man, this dude is going to feel so guilty. He’ll probably blame himself for not being able to help you when the signs were glaringly obvious. By now, you’re crying, angry about how he found out.

All Kuroo can think of is helping you, and that’s it. Nothing else. He pulls you in for a tight embrace, unable to stand how you were dealing with alone. He says softly in your ear, “I’m so, so sorry for not noticing before. Please let me help you.”

[BOKUTO KOTAROU]

It’s no secret that Bokuto can be utterly oblivious sometimes. However, through Akaashi’s influence, he found himself improving on picking up important signs.

At first, Bokuto didn’t think much of your “unusual habits”. There were many times where you checked your phone before eating something, but hey, doesn’t everyone do that?

It became a routine. Before every meal, you checked your phone, turning the screen away from everyone else as if you were hiding something.

He found out what you were hiding in the middle of a coffee date. Bokuto was sitting beside you, trying his best to hold his tongue before saying or doing something stupid. You checked your phone as usual, but this time, Bokuto’s overwhelming curiosity made him act without thinking.

“Hey, what’s on your phone?” he asked, leaning towards you. Before you were able to close the notes app, he caught a glimpse of one, very concerning phrase: “Don’t eat a lot, or you’ll regret it.”

Everything clicked for him; all the times you checked your phone before every meal, how you had an unusually small appetite, etc..

For the first time, Bokuto is speechless. His eyes are wide and his mouth was slightly agape. You didn’t know what to say, nor could you think of an excuse for what was on your notes. Before you could even stammer out a syllable, Bokuto looked at you dead in the eyes with a look of pain, and whispered, “Why?”

[SUGAWARA KOUSHI]

Sugawara isn’t a stranger to the red flags of eating disorders. His incredibly perceptive nature allows him to notice the signs you leave behind, like how you barely eat any of the meals he cooks.

His concerns were confirmed after finding about your disorder unintentionally. Sugawara was helping you clean up your room when he discovered a little note that escaped from your bag. After reading the words you wrote, he dropped the note with various intense emotions.

Immediately confronts you about it. “[Y/N], can we talk?”// “What’s this?” he shows you the note with trembling hands.

You knew you were unable to make up a lie, and so you confessed about everything that was going on. The tears kept flowing, and you were so ashamed that Sugawara found out. You knew how much it hurt him.

After you told him everything, he started crying as well. He’s so thankful you told him, but at the same time, Sugawara felt so... scared. He hated how you did this to yourself, yet Sugawara doesn’t know how to help you recover. There was no promise that you wouldn’t do it again in the future as well.

Dropping to your knees, you let out the sobs you tried to hold back. You thought he would be mad, so you were surprised when his thumb wiped your tears away.

“I promise I’ll help you through this. You will not be alone, okay? So please... please let me into your heart.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Thanks for reading!

- Kai

[incomprehensiblelentils]

I did not get around to this yesterday but, a short selection of fictional things that meant a lot to me over the last decade! ...it is going under a cut bc it is Too Long sorry lmao.

Books

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng: this book came out in September 2017 and I have read it four times already. It’s the kind of book I want to write but I’m not sure I’m clever enough to: every event and every character is so purposeful and you won’t catch everything the first time through. Every time I reread it I find something new to marvel at. I hope the Hulu series is half as good

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng: this was the first piece of fiction I ever found with a family with a Chinese father and a white mother. This family is a lot less functional than my family, but I've read this three times because that means the world to me. 

Ash by Malinda Lo: I discovered this in 2011 and it was the first f/f novel I ever read, and as I would later learn, one of a handful with a happy ending at the time, particularly in YA fiction. For a long time, I reread it every time I felt hopeless. I just reread it again last month and it is still as beautiful and meaningful to me as in 2011.

Girls of Paper and Fire by Natasha Ngan: This is an Asian-inspired fantasy (becoming more common now, but still irritatingly rare) written by a queer Asian woman, with f/f. I think it is only the second one of these, after Ash? It is frustratingly rare, anyway. The worldbuilding is incredible also.

The Astonishing Color of After by Emily X.R. Pan: We are getting more stories about biracial Asians, but they are still pretty rare and I treasure every one. This one felt so real to me.

The Miseducation of Cameron Post by Emily M. Danforth: The first half of this book captures so beautifully what it’s like growing up queer in a religious environment when you don’t even have the words or self-awareness to know what you’re feeling. This was another one I read over and over again when I was feeling low.

The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater: this is just a book for horse girls. I don’t know how else to describe this lol. I also feel like the romance is super downplayed until the very end, and honestly barely feels like a romance to me, so that’s refreshing!

Movies:

Pacific Rim (2013): I remember having this weird feeling when asked to give my top 3 movies once in high school, like maybe my favorite movie hadn’t come out yet so I couldn’t answer properly. I was right; this is the movie I was waiting for. This is my favorite movie. The feelings this movie gives me is the standard I hold all movies to.

Terminator: Dark Fate (2019): but Megan, didn’t this just come out? Yes, and it’s my other favorite movie now. I love (almost) every second of this movie. This movie made me feel a way that I thought maybe I might never feel again, after a certain other franchise movie this year took a dump on my heart. I don’t care that we’re never getting a sequel, we got this and that’s enough for me.

Thor (2011): Those of you who have been around awhile know that I really love this movie. I loved it before we all jumped on the Thor train after Ragnarok and I will continue to love it probably my whole life. It just makes me happy.

Aquaman (2018): This is Thor but underwater and with a biracial hero. It made me cry in the theater and I do not want to hear any negative opinions about it, I find them personally wounding.

Belle (2013): The fact that Gugu Mbatha-Raw isn’t a superstar is tragic, and this movie is gorgeous and lovely and made me feel a lot of things as a biracial person.

Mad Max Fury Road (2015): I remember seeing the trailer for this in the theater and going “yikes that looks like a thing I would never watch.” Joke’s on you, past me!!!! I find this a deeply stressful but glorious film that I can only watch like, once or twice a year.

Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010): I do not need or want to hear about how this movie is Problematic, I know all of its issues, and yet. It brings me joy and it was one of the first movies I saw when I was just starting to break out of my religious upbringing and I laugh until I cry every time I watch it.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015): I am starting to realize that I am not and never really was a Star Wars Fan, which is to say that like...I love this movie specifically, I love the characters, I love the interactions, I love the stuff that happens. I do not so much love Star Wars as a whole? I like it fine! But this movie is the only part of the franchise to really make me go “oh, I get it.”

Professor Marston and the Wonder Women (2017): This was a weird little movie that nobody saw and nobody talked about, but I adore it because it’s so gentle and romantic. I don’t know how accurate it is to history and frankly I do not really care.

Big Hero 6 (2014): are you tired of me mentioning I’m biracial yet? This movie has biracial protagonists and a cute squishy robot and no romance and superhero stuff and I love it so much.

F8: The Fate of the Furious (2017): I went to go see this on a whim with my wife and it was one of the most joyous theater experiences of my life. I don’t know, I just love everything about it.

TV shows:

Community: This only kind of counts because it started in 2009 but I started it mid-s2 so eh. Seasons 1-3 of this show are written on my heart, I can quote a ridiculous amount of dialogue from them and these characters will stay with me forever. Warts and all, this is my show.

Dollhouse: Another technicality but like, I met my wife because we both loved Bennett Halverson so I gotta put this on here. It’s pretty significantly affected my life! Also I find that it holds up fairly well, if you’re down for the admittedly iffy premise and an ending that’s a bit of a mess narratively due to sudden cancellation.

Agents of SHIELD: I would never claim that this show is “good” but I do think that it has mostly figured out what the hell it’s doing. And it has been a pretty significant part of my fandom life for the last 6 years, so to leave it off this list would feel wrong. It gave me Daisy Johnson, first canon biracial superhero as played by a biracial actor, and for that i will always be grateful.

Warehouse 13: I could not tell you why I fell so deeply in love with this dumb, badly written show that shit the bed in the final episode more spectacularly than I could have imagined, and yet I did! I think probably it is because I love found family so much, and also I find goofy camp charming more often than not. And of course, there is Bering and Wells, the femslash ship that fandom forgot. I will never be over how no one knows what we have suffered!!!!!

Runaways: wow was this a surprise! The Runaways comic is my favorite comic besides Marjorie Liu’s X-23 run, and this show has basically nothing to do with it, and normally that would piss me off but they got my kids’ personalities down so well and all of the actors are so perfect that I really can’t complain. And also, this show has canon f/f and neither of them die at the end! Which is...better than some other shows I could mention!

Doctor Who series 1 and 5: I had a very intense Doctor Who phase in college, and after all was said and done and I quit the show for a time, I realized that although I love a lot of the characters, and Thirteen’s run is pretty good so far, what I really loved was Nine’s run and Eleven’s first season. That is the show at its best to me. Eccleston is my Doctor and Amy is my favorite companion.

Legends of Tomorrow: Look, I am as shocked as anyone that this, the scrappy underdog of the DCTV lineup, is the one that’s most emotionally competent and has the best character arcs! But here we are. Season 4 was some of my favorite TV I’ve seen, uh, ever.

Albums

Dirty Computer by Janelle Monae: I listened to this for basically a year straight after it came out. It’s just ridiculously good.

Something Fierce by Marian Call: This was my on-repeat album in college. i drew a lot of strength from it, and I think that it’s still the best album to recommend to people who ask me about her.

Standing Stones by Marian Call: I heard most of these songs live at concerts before they were quite done yet, so it was really special to get to hear them all collected together like this. I’m going to get a tattoo with a lyric from one of these songs because no one’s quite been able to put my basic philosophy into words quite like Marian.

Heartthrob by Tegan and Sara: Hot Take, I know, because a lot of people hate this album, but it was so affirming to go out and buy A Lesbian Album from A Lesbian Band in 2013.

The Rent movie soundtrack: I know, I KNOW, but in my defense, my parents got me this for my birthday my first year of college and I needed it so desperately. I can definitely still do “La Vie Boheme” from the beginning and probably most of the other songs too.

In the Heights OBCR: I can only listen to this when I want to cry, but it’s my favorite musical. I got to see the show in 2018 and it was incredible. I think it’s better than Hamilton and I can’t wait for the movie to come out.

Trouble by Natalia Kills: this album is really great and also it says fuck a lot, which I used to be very nervous about hearing or saying, and this helped immensely!

[tomasorban]

THE ZODIAC: CAPRICORN THE GOAT

Date of Rulership: 21st December-19th January; Polarity: Negative, female; Quality: Cardinal; Ruling planet: Saturn; Element: Earth; Body part: Knees, Joints, Bones; Colour: Black, dark grey, and brown; Gemstone: Turquoise, Amethyst; Metal: Lead.

Following on from Sagittarius, Capricorn is a sign that is immensely focused on how developments made in various disciplines like science, economy, law, and psychology can be used to improve living standards, raise collective consciousness, and foster a powerful society that runs as quickly and efficiently as a Japanese bullet train or a Swiss Rado watch. The Goat possesses the memory of a Tibetan monk, or rather an Indian elephant and its intuition extends far, far back before the conscious will crawled its way out of the primordial sludge. Interestingly, everything about this primitive state of chaos unsettles and scares the Goat. In fact lack of structure and organization, whether on a personal level or a collective level, induces psychological complexes within the Capricornian psyche that may drive it over the edge. In light of this, one can begin to understand this star sign’s compulsion and obsession with developing systems that tabulate and organise information into coherent hierarchies, raising and enforcing social standards and laws, and encouraging individuals to turn their passions and interests into full-time careers. According to the Goat, compartmentalization is a must; how will contemporary society function effectively, grow, and prosper without specialists to put forth broad-based models and inspired leaders to assess their levels of practicality and decide whether or not they should be implemented. Capricorns are innately good at taking on the comprehensive responsibilities of such collective ventures for they are naturally born leaders and committed ones at that.    

People born under the stars of this constellation are usually of an intellectual adroitness beyond their actual years. A personalized form of the Capricornian formative energy might be a three year to four year-old toddler with a very high IQ. Have you ever watched one in action in a kindergarten playground? These little mischievous angels are masters of manipulation. They loiter about sizing other kids up, figuring out what makes them tick, and subsequently flicking on the mental switches that will elicit complete acceptance, veneration, respect, and affinity on their part. Moreover, they also love the power that comes with positions of elevated status and authority and will always pick roles where they are able to order everyone around and be the centre of attention. The wisdom and insight pervading these little beings carry is extraordinary; they learn and identify what behaviours are encouraged and rewarded by parents, teachers, and other adults and will cunningly adopt them for the sake of obtaining what they want. Mature Capricorns very much like mischievous children with very high IQs. They are creatures of atypical restraint and a calculated, cautious temperament that can use their charm, wit and infective cheerfulness to ascend the wrungs of the social ladder and miraculously leave the people they mingled with to get there feeling cherished and esteemed. This talent serves them especially well in professional endeavours whereby expertise, skill level, and personality provide the requisite ammunition in catapulting an employee to the top of the pecking order. The Goat wants to please and to be pleased; a mutually satisfying situation it hopes will assist in its plans to achieve widescale success.    

If we were to attach a Jungian archetype to this star sign it would definitely be The Perfectionist. Mediocrity, poor performance, procrastination, and indolence are non-existent in the Capricornian language and dictionary. The Goat expects much of others and even more of itself, a characteristic which sometimes proves beneficial and sometimes detrimental. It gravitates towards and gels well with those who are equally ambitious, driven, conscientious, and tunnel-visioned but can intimidate meeker and more submissive character types that lack focus, aspirations, and long-term goals. Generating a vision that will contribute something valuable to the society in which it lives and slowly lighting the hermetic fires that will bring it to fruition is big on its lifelong list of things-to-do. Lamentably, a motivated Capricorn can become so fixated on achieving success in all areas of his or her life–finance, love, and professional career–that he or she becomes merciless, indifferent, and as unyielding as a piece of sandalwood trapped between two giant boulders. Unlike a great many that capitulate to the ideals of political correctness, Capricorn is not afraid to employ disciplinary action against inferiors that persistently transgress.

Being a cardinal sign Capricorn is no stranger to activity, fast-paced rhythms, and spirited involvement.  The Goat prefers to circumnavigate the world over and over and over until its limbs drop off rather than remain motionless and caged up in some suburban neighbourhood. It likes to be in constant motion physically, mentally, and intellectually; it wants to be creative and innovative in adding to its chosen field of inquiry but at the same time it yearns for recognition, honour and vindication as validation of these valuable contributions. Just as the sure-footed mountain goat can persevere in traversing precipitous terrain that other animals wouldn’t go anywhere near for fear of plunging to their deaths, so too does the Capricorn soul exude inner strength and resilience in the face of adversity. Unlike some of the other members of the zodiac which give up prematurely or won’t even try for fear of failure, Capricorn will keep chipping away at a foot of a megalithic problem until so much of it is underrun that it collapses in on itself. Of course there are times when the Goat’s unrelenting efforts don’t pay off and this can create psychological torture that leads to bitterness, depression, neurosis, and even psychosis if the condition remains unaddressed. An afflicted Goat can become so riddled by insecurities, self-doubts, and psychological hindrances that it will invert its own social nature and seek solace in escapist activities like daydreaming, reading romance fiction, playing computer games, and watching movies.

“What doesn’t hurt you will only make you stronger!” the resilient Capricorn shouts. “You must endure pain, suffering, and symbolic death during the course of your life in order to become the person you were meant to be. Life is all about improving the world in which we live and adding to it in a constructive manner. Hence there is no room for laziness, lawlessness, or immoralities. The world is our only home. What good would it be to us if it were an asymmetrical place of anarchy, confusion, and absurdity? Everybody needs to have a meaningful role in society that contributes to the harmonious functioning of the whole. Look at bees, for instance. Their society is a sort of autonomous monarchy comprised of drones, female workers, and the queen herself. All these little beings are intensely aware of their position and function in the hierarchy and adhere to it like the universe adheres to the laws of physics. They are all as assiduous as each other and we would do well to borrow and implement the same approach. Success in life comes through industry, focus, and hard yakka (hard work) folks; nothing more, nothing less.

Some people say that I resemble the winter solstice in that I’m sometimes cold and chilly, reserved, and rather impersonal in my dealings with others. This is not my true self, but rather an iron armour or shell which the contingencies of life have forced upon me. I’m a realist so I’d be the first to admit that the world can be a cruel and nasty place. Even though most wouldn’t admit to such, self-interest happens to be a primary urge amongst human beings and their tireless search for validation usually entails a confrontation with the less flattering attributes of the collective temperament. Hence it’s important to put up psychic defences that will guard your soft, squishy, and sensitive interior at all times. The human soul, my friends, is an abyss of human sentiments, and mine is no different. I will sing, dance, cry, laugh, and share intimate details of my life with individuals who manage to gain my love and complete trust, namely those that are going places and doing exciting things with themselves.  As you know, I’m a sucker for security, attention, and status and the best way to get it is to be around those VIPs best able to open doors and facilitate it. I’m not an elitist in any way, but relationships built on synthetically constructed dependencies are an outgrowth of the Western culture in which we are born and raised. We need to work with that rather than against it for the sake of acquiring what we want!”

Capricorn the Goat is connected to two symbols that link the constellation with the reascention of the sun from its seasonal slumber. The first of these is a terrestrial goat or goat-fish crossbreed that has its iconographical origins in the ancient civilization of Mesopotamia. This is depicted morphologically as a sea monster; sometimes as a hybrid goat-fish with the four limbs of a goat and a fish tail and at other times as a sea goat with the posterior of a serpent. Most early cultures perceived that their collective histories were woven into the heavenly constellations and the Sumerians were no different.  Foremost of the symbols belonging to the Sumerian god Enki were a goat and a fish, both of which had amalgamated into the astrological totem we recognise today by the second millennium bce. Originally, Capricorn probably descried an early matriarchal situation of the Middle East in which the earliest monolithic structures of Babylon rose vertically out of a semi-arid breadth of shallow lagoons, reed banks, mud flats, and marshes. The horns of the goat were celestial markers for Mesopotamia’s two principle cities, Babylon and Nineveh; the first was built along the river Euphrates and the second along the Tigris, respectively.

Constructed during the Ptolemaic Period (323-30bce) of Egypt’s illustrious history, the circular and rectangular zodiacs in the Temple of Hathor at Denderah bequeath to us the ancient zodiacal pictograms for the twelve signs. A fleeting glace will show that the vast majority of these have remained largely unchanged. With respect to the Capricorn constellation, the zodiacal band on the circular Denderah zodiac shows the figure of a goat with two legs adjoined to the rear end and tail of a fish. Though the signs and figures of the sky represented on these chronometers express a markedly Chaldean and Hellenistic influence, we can be sure that the autochthonous Egyptians explicitly understood the celestial zone and functional image of the sign as a marker of astronomical rebirth and solar reascent because demotic representations show an ankh, the symbol of life, and an aquatic tadpole with its hindquarters on solid ground (the inverse of the sea-goat image). Hence the Egyptians may have been aware of the twelvefold division of the zodiacal band way before Babylonian cosmogony merged with that of their own under a Hellenistic patina.

The Greeks themselves, who borrowed leisurely from Chaldean astrology, forged an association with their god Pan and with Zeus’s foster mother Amalthea. According to a cycle of Hellenistic myths that chronicle the Titanomachy, a ten-year war between the fearsome Titans and the renowned Olympians, the horned goat-god Pan fought the monster Typhon. In order to evade detection and escape unscathed, he dove into the tepid waters of the Nile. The section of the river into which Pan jumped encompassed magical properties and instigated a physiological transformation upon anything it came into contact with. Thus the parts that were submerged in water, namely his lower body and legs, morphed into a fish whilst his head and upper torso remained unchanged. On the other hand Amalthea was the she-goat that suckled the infant Zeus in a grotto of Mount Aigaion on the Mediterranean island of Crete. In order to save him from being cannibalised by his own father Cronus, Amalthea gathered the Kouretes, the armed and crested dancers of the earth, and prompted them to create an aural bedlam as to mask the cries of the infant.

The second symbol, an astrological shorthand used by astrologers in the casting of horoscopes, is a squiggle comprised of curves, a loop, and sometimes a straight line that could be interpreted as the goat’s horns. Looking at the variant forms of the Capricorn sigil, it is easy to see how the zodiacal imagery was appropriated to create a much simpler and rudimentary illustration recalling the Capricorn’s dualistic nature and primary ambition. With half of its being in the watery chaos of other worlds and dimensions and the other half trotting on three-dimensional and material notions of solid ground, Capricorn wishes to find a balance between the ethereal and material and the sigil no doubt demonstrates this. There are many sayings associated with Capricorn, the best known being that time itself would end when its cluster of stars huddled above the horizon. This sentiment probably has its origins in the fact that the sun transits this section of the zodiacal band at a time when the formative forces of Mother Nature are at the weakest, as well as in the perception that Saturn, the deity intimately connected with cosmic law and the mediation of time, was exalted in this sign.

In the northern hemisphere the constellation of Capricorn appears in the night sky at the time when the solar orb has descended to the nethermost regions of its celestial journey, also known as the winter solstice. Many cultures of the world such as those of the Far East have interpreted this time as the astronomical resurrection of the annual cycle, and therefore a marker for the New Year. This was usually a just and prosperous period which might be equated with a Golden Age when the earth gave back to its mortal children abundance by sending down the rains and offering up a good harvest. It’s probably no surprise that the ruler of this sign, Saturn or the Greek Cronus, holds a sheaf of corn in one hand and a sickle in the other. Together these symbols denote an earned condition of fecundity, justice, and strength which so often comes when one is patient, diligent and perseveres in their chosen field of physical or intellectual inquiry. Taking into consideration the time of the year in which the sun traverses its domain, its earthly, cardinal nature along with its planetary ruler, it would not be unjustified to claim that the Capricorn psyche is honourable, self-disciplined, ambitious, and grounded with partial participation in mystical and speculative philosophy. Just as the astrological pictogram suggests, Capricorn is a very versatile sign once it has completely evolved and can switch from a worldly and ambitious extroversion to a spiritual and contemplative introversion in the manner that nymphs, the larvae of dragonflies, will desert their aquatic environment and transition to an avian mode of existence upon reaching adulthood. Consequently Capricorn’s formative energies reconcile the conscious and sure-footed will with its intuitive and psychic origins, the somnolent unconscious.

[aahsoka]

anyways the crux of the problem a lot of us (and just specifically me) have with r*ylo is:

they tend to take Finn’s existing personality traits and plot arcs and give them to Kylo Ren; sometimes erasing Finn as a character entirely, which is rather racist, even if they claim to have no ill intent (you can be unintentionally racist yknow that’s what most racism is). I suspect it’s because Finn has real tangible chemistry with Rey but I’ll avoid getting into that.

romanticizing abuse & non consensual actions. Saying him invading her mind was romantic, or the bridal carry when he abducted her, for example; did y’all ever think it was romantic when Voldemort got inside Harry Potter’s mind? No, because they weren’t a woman and a man you could project heterosexual fantasies on to.

crying that they’re being harassed by people who were mostly just making jokes about not liking the ship and specifically tagging them with the anti tag and censoring the ship and/or character names so they could be easily filtered or wouldn’t show up in the tags at all. Yea harassing people for ships isn’t good, but maybe in general we should act less like we’re more righteous solely because people are angry at us. That’s not how it works. Especially when some people use it as a defense to creating harmful content (like romanticized rape fiction).

that our first Star Wars female Main Jedi protagonist would end up with a character who is both a murderer and an active player in a fascist government. Important to note that he is also a grown man, who is very capable of making informed decisions, and therefore entirely culpable for all of his actions. That she would choose someone like that, who hurt her friends, herself, killed people she cared for, has used textbook abusive manipulative tactics to get her on his side, is scary and not a good romantic story. One movie does not give enough time for him to legitimately redeem himself enough for a romance between them to be appropriate. (I’d say maybe enough for him to be awkwardly on the good side a la the Malfoys at the end of Harry Potter or like a criminal who names names for a more lenient sentence but that’s it).

“reverse anidala” drives me crazy as someone who really enjoys the anidala tragic love story (it’s a little Romeo & Juliet Shakespearean tragedy where you’re inevitably heading towards a bad ending and there’s nothing you can do to escape it, really). When Anakin and Padmé are together, it’s specifically the parts of the saga where Anakin is a hero; where he is trying his best to be a good person and do the right thing. Padmé falls in love with him because he’s genuine, heroic, and a little bit reckless. Once he goes off the deepend; killing children & his friends, actually actively supporting fascism; she’s 100% not on board, quote “you’re breaking my heart”. She was in love with someone & had to leave when they started to hurt others and herself. Even maybe she shouldn’t have gotten on board with it when he killed an entire village of sand people, (but granted, they abducted his mother & he was obviously remorseful immediately afterwards + he’s basically a teenage soldier at this point; not saying it’s not bad, just that this is markedly different from all the times Kylo Ren has committed murder) but I also think the way the anidala love story concludes drives home that their relationship probably wasn’t the best idea anyways. Another popular comparison is Pride & Prejudice. Mr. Darcy may have been rude to Elizabeth and may have made mistakes that affected her family, but none of the things he did were as serious as Literal Murder or Abduction. Once he realized how he had misjudged the situation he immediately apologized and made big strides to make up for his mistakes. Elizabeth comes to realize she also misjudged him, that he was only trying to look out for those he loved just as she was looking out for the people she cared about. I have no idea how in the world that is anything like the relationship Kylo Ren and Rey have except for that it’s two people who are at odds with each other, at least in the beginning. And Mr. Darcy is kind of broody I guess and usually has long dark hair. The thing with Kylo Ren is that he has already treated Rey and her friends poorly and that’s not something that can be forgiven easily, or someone a person should be in a relationship with. He’s also not a character who has friends or loved ones that he cares for that would make him sympathetic, unlike Mr. Darcy or Anakin. Anakin killed for the people he loved, it was terrible and bad! But we understood what got him there. We understand those intentions and how they can go awry if you choose to believe the end justifies the means. Darcy is a similar reflection of those intentions, except that his mistakes aren’t near as monstrous & easily forgiven. Kylo Ren is motivated by what? Entitlement? A slightly unstable family dynamic? I know Luke ‘almost killed him’ but he had already begun exploring the dark side at that point so what got him there? Not a desire to protect his loved ones that’s for sure. I’m just very personally bothered by these parallels, as they are unequal, and they undermine what I think is good about these other stories.

that they so actively push for it to be canon. You do realize you can have just as much fun with a non canon ship as a canon one. You don’t need to see it realized on screen to have fun with your villain and hero fall in love stories. We all know Rey is just your self insert so you can have romantic trysts with Kylo Ren because you think Adam Driver or sith dudes are hot or w/e; it might be better to just accept and acknowledge that, rather than stand on your soap box telling everyone it’s the best.

Anyways, in conclusion, I don’t like this ship. I’d say it’s fine for you to indulge in it as a guilty pleasure (like I’m a sucker for vaderdala, it’s not like that’s “morally superior”). But I think the entirety of that group of people who ship it really need to consider the ramifications of what they write and what they romanticize and who they’re erasing from the narrative (coughFinncough) and what kind of message it would actually send if it was truly canon.

I also apologize for mentioning Harry Potter so much I have no idea what that was the material I drew parallels to; there are so many other books and shows and movies I’ve interacted with far more recently than Harry Potter. Maybe it’s because it’s a widely known piece of literature so it’s easier for others to see the comparisons I’m making? Hopefully.

And I won’t interact with this ship on any level except to make jokes at its expense because it fills me with an intense rage that stems from all of these many issues that I take from it. Even if it’s just someone innocuously enjoying it as a crack ship who doesn’t romanticize the bad things about it. It’s been ruined for me forever by the vocal fandom surrounding it.

[deathbyfics]

Love for the Final XO

I didn’t want to lose these or leave them to rot in my inbox or not acknowledge them or delete them. I want to keep these forever because they’ve truly meant the world to me and I love each and every one. You guys have really shown me such love and support and I can’t express how grateful I am. 

So this is just going to be a massive post of responses I got from the final. No URLS will be posted. 

Thank you thank you thank you! xx

Hi! I've just finished the last chapter and it really moved me. I loved every second of Hide and XO and, let me tell you, you wrote a perfect end. I'm aware that you struggled while you were working on the fic and I saw it reflected in it. I really hope you listen to your own words and keep going on despite whatever happens in your life. Keep being positive and keep doing whatever makes you happy. Once again, thank you so much for writing such a beautiful story and congratulations on it. Lots of love from Spain ❤️

Oh my goodness, the final chapter is up. I've grown up with this fic. It helped me come to terms with and embrace my sexuality. I...just need a moment before I jump in. Thank you for everything.

I stop reading fanfics about one direction a long time ago but for some reason I always kept up with yours. I think it was they way it had them in it but it wasn’t solely about the band and it was way more realistic then an other story i have ever read them. It was truly an amazing and beautiful story thank you for continuing to write it all these years , I’ll truly miss it.

I cried throughout for Avery, Harry & their families, a bittersweet ending for a couple who had faced all that life had thrown at them with such strength, togetherness & love. They really were there for it all. Madeline's wedding was beautiful & the letter from Avery was perfect, but my god you really got me with the letter to Harry. I've loved, cried & laughed over this past 4 years sharing in their story, thank you so much Bee it's been one hell of a journey & I've enjoyed every single part❤️

I've been reading Hide since it first started and you would update every Friday. At that time I was so unhappy with my life and the situation I was in and Hide was one of the only things that I looked forward to each week. 4 years later I've much happier with my life but I've still always looked forward to all your Hide updates. You wrote an amazing story that inspired me and helped my confidence at a time when I desperately needed it. Hide is so much more than 'fanfic' to me, it will always Stick with me and I will always remember it as one of my favourite pieces of writing I've ever read. The last part was heartbreaking but fitting and you should be so proud of the world you created with Hide Bee. Xx

Oh my gosh you ruined me. But in the best way possible, I think? You are truly talented. Keep writing, my love. Congrats on closing this beautiful chapter of your life. I wish you nothing but the best. Thank you for it all. Even though I've been continuously bawling for 2+ hours. I think I'll be crying for a long time.

Words are hard to come by for me but I just want to THANK YOU for all the hours and all the days (and years) of dedication you've put into Hide. I loved every second of it, it's been a wild ride and the ending was super hard and emotional (I was in tears, actually fucking tears) but I feel like it was the perfect ending to their story. SO THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU. I will never forget their story, never, ever.

Bee, I just want to thank you with all my heart for creating Hide. I've learned so much from it since I started reading it in my first year of uni. I identified so much with Avery's insecurities, realized that I needed to work on my self-love, and have been working and growing since. I'm so grateful that I've been able to read this beautiful story you've written. Thank you thank you thank you. I don't doubt that you'll accomplish your dreams as a writer from this. i wish you all the best <3

I am sitting here in TEARS reading the last part of this. It's so beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing this piece of art with us. It truly as been an amazing ride and I'm so touched with the story. The end of an era!!!

Wow... Where to start? I'm sobbing in tge bathtub here. That was amazing and beautiful and sad and perfect. You were one of the first authors I ever read like 5 years ago when I first got into this fandom. I rec hide to anyone who will listen and even those who won't. Avery and Harry were so real. You made them come alive and gave them real world problems. I love their kids and their life. This was an amazing perfect ending. Tears and all. Thank you.

Literally sobbing. I can't say I loved it bc I don't think anyone could love reading about someone dying. Especially someone who they've grown to love as a character. However, it was beautifully written and a beautiful ending to a love story that was bigger then anyone. I can appreciate the way you wanted it to end, and there's nothing I can do to change it. But thank you for bringing Harry and Avery to us. The fact that it made me physically sad means you've done your job as a writer. All the❤️

Okay I just finished it and I had a serious panic attack just now. It definitely wasn't compeltely from reading it (I had one this morning too) so don't feel bad but it triggered me and I couldn't catch my breath there for a bit. Now that I'm calmer HOLY SHIT BEE! What a beautiful story. I can't believe I've been here since you started it, before that even. The Harry that you've created is almost exactly like how I imagine he is in real life so good job on that! I think Avery has the best  character development in the story. She's real and struggles with self love just like the rest of us but she learns to love herself and be confident. I still remember the feeling I'd get when you'd upload a new chapter. I would get all excited and I would read it in one sitting (thats like 2 hours). Today I felt different when I saw that you finished it. I knew it was going to be the end and I didn't want to be sad. I think that even though the ending has really gotten to me, I understand why  I understand why you ended it like that. You are real and this story is real and so you weren't going to end it all happily ever after. Avery got her happy ending in a twisted way and this story IS and always has been Avery's story. Seriously, thank you so much for sharing their world with us. And thank you for seeing your vision through instead of changing things to please other people. Please give us a heads up before you remove it once and for all cause I'd really like to reread it again. 

The fact I started reading Hide three years ago and how much has changed since then is crazy to think about, but all I can say that you have created something so so beautiful. I've been sobbing for the last few hours, more than I've ever cried from any published fiction. Thank you for creating Harry & Avery. For describing a love so fierce and powerful that inspires me to settle for nothing less. Thank you thank you thank you.

the ending was so beautiful, i took my time reading carefully to soak it all up. and i haven’t stopped crying since, thank you so much for giving us this 💖

I'm full on crying. I couldn't finish reading it because it literally hurt so much but you're such an amazing writer!

i haven't been able to stop crying oh my god that was intense. YOU MY FRIEND ARE SO GIFTED IN WRITING

you actual cold hearted bitch (i'm just kidding i love you so much) how dare you

I'm halfway reading through the last chapter and I literally cannot finish it. I'm an emotional wreck as I type this to you. My eyes are all puffy and my nose is running. I needed a break before I continue reading but I just wanted to say I love how beautiful you made Harry and Avery. From the beginning of Hide, I never thought I'd see them as an unconditionally loving couple. Also, bee this fanfic has helped me open up to my being honest with my feelings and to being affectionate. Thank you.

We're just gonna act like I wasn't crying my eyes out the entire time. That being said it was so beautifully written like all of your work is.

It's hard to form into words how sentimental I feel toward Harry and Avery. Hide feels like more than a fic to me, I guess. I've followed them for as long as I can remember, I would get so excited seeing you post a new chapter each week. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You created a beautiful story and I will be forever attached to Havery. Xx

I just finished "Summer" and i'm a mess and have no words. I just wanna thank you for such a beautiful story and wish you very good luck in life, Bee. And i sincerely hope you get to, one day, write a book because you can fucking write!! xx

I have been following this blog now for a little over two years now and I have never, ever felt so many emotions in one story in my whole life. No book, no fan fiction, nothing has ever come close to this before. As a young, aspiring writer I want to say thank you. Thank you for sharing your work with people. Thank you for creating such developed, mature and realistic characters. Thank you for making a fictional character be an inspirational and empowering woman who I admire. Hide has been the best piece of writing that I have ever read not just from a fanfic standpoint but from a romance story. So bravo, Hide was really, truly incredible work. Really well done with everything. I admire you and hope that you will continue writing more in the future, I will be first in line at any book signings. Well done and thank you again, Bee. x

Bee, I wasn't ready. Was not prepared in the least. I cried the entire time, literally felt like I was going through it with them. I'll miss Harry and Avery so much. I was reading back on your old blog when you were updating each chapter. I want to say the story was only maybe 10 chapters in when I found it and have been with it ever since. My fav story/characters of all time. You are so talented and I'm so happy I got to come along on this journey. Thank you! xoxo

I'm a blubbering mess. Bee, words don't do that final chapter justice. It was perfect. I've been an avid follower and reader of your fics since the good ole' days of your Can't Do Better series. When you first started Hide, I instantly fell in love with Harry and Avery's story and would find myself yearning for Sunday to come around so I could read the latest chapter. Knowing that I was about to read the last ever installment of Harry and Avery's journey, my emotions/expectations were all over the place however your writing once again blew me away and exceeded every expectation I didn't even know I had. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Please continue to write, you truly have an amazing gift. Congratulations on finally finishing XO!!! It truly is an end of an era...excuse me while I cry my eyes out a bit more haha xx

How. How. How could you do this to me? I swear I haven't stopped crying. This is just heartbreaking ... your writing is absolutely beautiful. My mom died 12 years ago and left me and my two brothers and I related to Maddie so so much BecaSe I got married 2 years ago. And my dad is my hero so watching him go through that and now reading this has brought back so many memories that are just heartbreaking but that remind me that time heals all wounds.Thank you for this even if my eyes are swollen🙈

That felt so real? I feel like Im in this thing and im experiencing it for real? I hadnt even noticed that everything was blurred and my cheeks were wet. You're so so talented and I truly needed a moment of silence to just tell myself that I was reading fiction. I love literature but I have never had this feeling before, I dont quite know what to call it. It enough to say that you are incredible, and your writing ability is outstanding.

THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. I have been keeping up with Hide/XO since I was a senior in high school (four years ago). I even canceled plans with the my friends because I knew you posting that night. But I don't think I have ever cared more about fictional characters in my entire life. Harry and Avery were the most emotional, vulnerable, accepting, flawed, provocative, loving characters I have ever encountered and it's all because of your genius mind.Thanks again for sharing them with us❤️

I've been here through it all Bee. The only thing I can think to say after reading what is probably the most beautiful thing I have ever read, is thank you. I don't remember the last time I've cried while reading a story, but I promise I ugly cried from beginning to end. You are so, so talented. We didn't deserve this kindness, this kindness of you sharing your works with us, but I'm so thankful you did. We loved Harry and Avery and we LOVE YOU. So thank you Bee. Thank you thank you thank you

Hii so I've never written in before but I just felt like I absolutely had to pop in and thank you. If you'd told me when I started this fic that four years later I'd still be checking into your tumblr daily to see if I would get another small window into Harry and Averys life I would have told you to fuck off and yet here I am. Truly, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for sharing this story and for creating a love story and characters so realistic I feel as if I actually know them. Xx

oh my god i was literally ugly crying while reading it bee you broke my fucking heart it was so beautiful

I saw that preview and knew. I just fucking knew. It's 11:41 pst and I am bawling my eyes out!! I have been with you and this story for years and to see it end is so so heartbreaking. But GOD Harry and Avery's is so beautiful and pure. Thank you thank you thank you for sharing this with us. I'm still crying and I'll probably be crying for a long time.

Oh my goodness 😭😭 my mother is a breast cancer survivor. We got so lucky with her process and reading how it could have gone for us was surreal. I was in tears the entire time. Your writing is beautiful, I have fallen in love with Avery and Harry and they have taught me so much. I read your Hide posts the moment they used to come out on Friday nights and XO has never disappointed. Thank you Bee. I know it wasn't always easy for you but I appreciate every post. I will miss this story so much!

To be honest I had to take breaks in between the reading because wow ! I cried and got emotional and I absolutely love the way you wrote this one

That was literally the most depressing thing I've ever read in my entire life, damn you and your amazing writing omg

This is undoubtedly the most beautiful love story ever written. Thank you for giving us all this wonderful gift, even if I haven't stopped crying since I began reading this last part. A million times thank you.

Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you. I have a certain attachment to Hide and that was a beautiful way of finishing it off. Well done, Bee. Thank you

I am here in the dark BAWLING MY EYES OUT!! 😭😭😭 Girl, I haven't cried this much since the first time I saw the notebook. I loved Hide so much. It's so much more than just fanfiction tbh. This was amazing writing, thank you so much.

I have no words other then thank you for the gift you have given me. This story touched me in so many ways that I can't even explain to you but it is hands down the best damn fic I read in my life ( and trust me it's already a long one). Heartbroking ending, went back to Hide at least 5 times in the past year and a half and will be going back to many more. Except I might not go to the ending again. Amazing. Wish you the best in life

You've put us through one hell of a ride with XO/Hide and its been fucking incredible, to say the least. I've never cried more reading a story before. Harry and Avery are forever immortal in my eyes and i'll reread their love story for as long as I possibly can. This story has changed me as a person and I can't thank you enough. Although i'm incredibly sad it has come to an end ill always love it. Havery's story means the world to me and bless you for being the creative writing legend you are xo

Hide/XO (really the entirety of "Death by Styles") has literally meant the world to me these past few years. It's what I read and re read over and over again when I've needed an escape and what's kept me believing in love and fate and happiness. It may sound silly, me talking about this story like i've got some sort of attachment to it, but I do and i've loved every second of it. I've cried, laughed, and loved because of this story and I thank you for that Bee. Thank you. XO

I aspire to write a story as well as Hide/XO one day. I've read a lot of romance novels, Hide is by far my favorite. I had a feeling when you posted the warning for us to get tissues that the ending would be that way. I cried from start to finish. It was heart breaking, beautiful, and amazing. Thank you for writing such a beautiful love story. I'm glad I was able to be "here for it all." Xx

That was heartbreakingly beautiful. Thank you. Thank you so much for always making me feel with your writing.

its taken me 2 hours and 15 minutes to read that chapter. oh my god. i have never cried so much, ever. thank you for making hide, it truly is the best fanfic EVER. you are a beautiful writer. that chapter was amazing, but it was emotionally traumatising and i don't think i will ever be over it. i have been reading hide for years, so thank you for sticking with it and making it beautiful from start to end♡♡♡

Thats a chaptet that im never going to be able to re-read, but it was a beautiful, heartaching and overwhelming end to this amazing world that you created with Avery and Harry. Its been 40 minutes that i read it and im still tearing up thinking about it. Thank you so much for sharing this amazing love with us and, though it was a bitter sweet goodbye, it was filled with everything that made Avery and Harry. Its been a pleasure Bee.

I have no words except thank you. Thank you for writing a beautiful story and thank you for giving it a beautiful ending (even if it did rip my heart out). I cried so much that I had to stop at some points so I could wipe my eyes to read. You are a very talented writer and I am so thankful that you shared your gift.

Just wanted to thank you for writing Hide. I've been here from the beginning and I've absolutely loved it. I cried and cried during the last chapter, I feel a real loss. But it's been lovely and you're a fantastic writer. Thank you for sharing your gift with us <3

I followed you when you had just finished up CDB. Have been here with hide since the beginning. I think I started following in high school. I'm finishing up college soon! It's been a wild ride. So dope of you to share this story with us.

I cried the entire time reading this chapter. Even the smutty scenes. HOLY SHIT. Bravo!

Jesus, that was possibly the most heartbreaking thing I've ever read. Part of me is so mad that this is their end. Like, they were meant to have it all. I was crying through the whole piece bc I knew that not only was this the end of Avery and Harry but it was THE END of Avery and Harry. I'm just so sad for them. It was a brilliant piece of writing and I can only imagine how you felt writing it. I shall miss them very much. Thank you for giving them to us ❤️

I am heartbroken absolutely heartbroken. I am actually crying. You are phenomenal your writing is literally making me cry. I have been following you since you started writing Hide and I've loved watching you grow as a person through it and I feel I've grown up through the time this fic was written and became an adult. So it's really interesting to read this as an adult when I first started reading this as a teenager. Wow a complete round of applause to you. You wrote Harry and Avery so perfectly

I've been reading your story for 2 years already? When I found out you had a dry run I tried my best to send you positive messages. You not updating was never an issue then I saw your note that you're finally ending Harry and Avery's story and I don't know what to feel, but one thing is for sure I want to say thank you for everything. All the emotions you've made us feel as your readers I'll always love your stories! I'll even name my daughter Avery! Here for it all? Always. Thank you.

Your the only writer I've come across where you write Harry as I see Harry and it makes your stories that much more better, believable and relatable. I hope you work through your writing dilemmas because your talent shouldn't go to waste.

I just wanted to say I love your writing, and you are so talented. I had a really tough school year and between a lot of school work and friend troubles and it was really rough. Your writing has always been such a bright spot and a great distraction. I hope you feel better and know that so many people (who've never even met you) love you and care about you. Sending hugs from Boston❤️❤️❤️.

The entire time I was reading Hide, I could help but think "Harry would definitely do that" or "That is such a Harry thing". Even though I don't personally know Harry, your Harry in Hide reminds me of real Harry more than other fanfics I have read. He is goofy, carefree, sweet and an all around good person with his sarcasm and dry sense of humour. Well done. I supposed this comes from observing him for 7 year.

I would just like to say how much I love your writing and it will always hold a special place in my heart. I loved reading harry and averys beautiful story. And although it's fictional I feel as if I truly know them and I'm proud of how far they've come. It's bittersweet that their story is coming to an end as well as your time writing fanfiction. I hope in the future you continue to write, even if just for yourself, because you truly have a gift and your characters have such depth My friend and I came across your fics a few years ago and truly fell in love with your stories. We actually started telling each other "here for it all" and it became a special saying that had a deep love and meaning behind. My friend actually got it as tattoo. I'm not as daring but those words,your words, mean a lot as well as your stories. It has been an honor and privilege to read your writing. All the best to you. Excited for the last bit of havery's story. Here for it all ❤️

You are 1D of a fanfiction. Your work is the best fanfic I have read hands down. With all due respect to other amazing writers on here, you are in a completely different category. Your story about harry and avery feels real and raw and every single time I read it( and trust me I read it over and over again), it's like getting to know them and their story all over again. It's a perfection for me as a reader. So thank you

It's so bittersweet because I followed Hide since the beginning when you still had your old blog. I absolutely loved the new shot and the entire XO Series. Although I'll miss Harry & Avery, you've more than done their story justice. You should be really proud Bee! I know you've had ups and downs with this fandom but thank you for finishing Hide and thank you for everything else xxx

I never have the right words to express how your writing makes me feel. I can't even tell you the exact number of times I read Hide series. The warmth, the kindness, the rawness and realness in your writing is beyond words. I don't even know ATM if those are real words. You render me spachless and for that I thank you. This is supposed to be just a fanfic but you made it into something real and very touching. Cheers love and once again thank you for sharing your amazing writing

I’ve been trying to figure out what to say since finishing Hide. The problem is, words can’t explain what you’ve done. My mom passed away from breast cancer when she was 44. Far too young to have experienced that, while all of Hide has been incredible. The way you chose to end their story was fantastic. It was real. The way harry was written in the last part reminded me so fully of my dad and how he felt after losing his wife and having to raise kids on his own, a life he loved but did not expect. You did Avery and Harry so much justice and the way I feel about this story and how you’ve written it is inexplicable. Thank you. And you better publish something some day, the world deserves to see you’re writing. I hope you had fun last night (I was there too!) it was incredible. God bless that beautiful boy and his ability to bring out the best in people. Keep doin you, Bee! Xo

I just wanted to tell you how much the story you have created means to me. I have been in love with the idea of Avery and Harry for such a long time, I can't even remember for how long. I loved coming to your tumblr to see new chapter, I loved that you have showed me that true love can really exist, I loved everything about it. It isn't just a fanfiction about Harry, it's an amazing story that can easly be published and I'm sure it would have been a bestseller. I don't remember how I found your tumblr, but I can't describe how happy it made me. As I'm writing this I'm sobbing uncontrollably. The last shot was just too much. It felt like I was really saying goodbye to Avery. It was a sad, but a perfect ending to an amazing story, that I probably would re-read 100 times more. Thank you for creating Hide, Thank you for everything.

I am crying so much. I can't, it was beautiful. I didn't expect it but it just made me want a love like theirs, I know it's fiction but that's the love you made them have, is/was gorgeous. You did amazing with this story 👏🏻

Thank you so much for sharing Harry's and Avery's story. I'm in tears while typing this message. I almost couldn't finish because that would mean the end. It's been more and more difficult to find stories and books that I can be 100% invested in. Your story has made me feel every emotion under the sun and I can't thank you enough for this experience. Everything was beautifully written from start to finish. I've been following your blog for quite some time now and know you've struggled writing their story so thank you again for not giving up on them and yourself. You really are a fantastic writer. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Hello! I've been a long time ghost reader but I just finished the last installment of Harry and Avery. I just...it's been a while since I've cried from a story. The whole story has taken me on such a roller coaster but I loved every second of it. Being able to be apart of their development and growth, both individually and together, has been a privilege. The way you write them is incredible and I'm in such awe of you. There aren't enough words to describe how in love I am with Hide, XO, and the last 4 seasons (if I'm missing any installments i'm sorry). Your other stories...oh don't even get me started on your shorter fics cause I won't shut up about em!

I have never sobbed harder in my lifeI really want to hate you. I want to hate you so badly. But this was amazing and perfect and incredible. I'm wholly heartbroken.

I haven't stopped crying and this is all your fault haha I'm a sophomore in college and I first started reading this my sophomore year of high school. Some of my friends know of this story. You won't believe me if I say this but I always felt like Avery would die young...? She lived too much and so fast. She had this larger than life love and this grand and luxurious life and compared to how her life was before it's a huge contrast. She lived a life that is very respectful as well. I'm just sad because the way you ended this hurts a lot. I guess deep down I knew it wasn't going to be a fairly tale ending for these two but that is what you gave them and I respect you for it. I wonder if you cried as well during this because This must have been a very emotional journey for you. Thank you once again for sharing this with us. My favorite love story will be these two. Warm hugs and kisses to you dear

Not going to lie, I was upset at first when I read you were killing off Avery because I love her so. But, it was perfect. I'm still ugly crying. Thank you! I don't think I can say it enough. I may need to go and read it again for the 12th time. And that's not exaggeration. Love these two and this story!

Hey Bee! Just wanted to say thank you for Hide and XO. I discovered your writing at a not so great time in my life. And for a  long time, it was what I looked forward to every week. Harry and Avery hold a special place in my heart. It might sound weird, but I sometimes think of naming my nonexistent daughter Avery cause the name reminds me of good times. I've never cried so much during a fanfic as I did the last part of XO. It was absolutely beautiful. Thank you for writing it. I know it wasn't always easy, and I appreciate every word you put into it. Thank you. 

jesus christ i sobbed the entire way through that ending, it was a beautiful story and a perfect way to complete something you worked so hard on. thanks for sharing such a wonderful story 😊

wowowow I have never cried so much while reading a fic. the entire series has been incredibly amazing and beautifully written. thank you so so much for continuing the story through all these years and every up and down. here for it all💜💜

[emilyofjane]

The Host’s Origins

The continuity of the Author/Host storyline has always bothered me. I know it’s already been written a million times before, but I wanted to write something that bridged the two together, and do my own little take on how the Author became the Host. And since Mark said he won’t be making any future videos about the Host, what do I have to lose? ˉ\_(ツ)_/ˉ Enjoy!

—

The Author. The Narrator. The Host. For years people have tried to label me, to try and put a name to this mysterious power I possess. They see my abilities as a spectacle, too busy "ooh"ing and "aah"ing over the lights and effects to admire the performance underneath. They fail to see that there is more to my character than simply the stories I write – that I was once an ordinary man with a real name, long before my days as a writer began. He is a man of which I have long forgotten in the past, and yet it feels like only yesterday since I knew him. This is his – our – story.

My life began not unlike that of any other. I was born in a hospital to a pair of loving parents, and it was from them that I received my birth name: Bertram. There was no special meaning behind it, no secret message or omen hidden between the lines, so not even it could foretell the future I was destined to have. To everyone around me, I was just a normal person, and therefore I saw myself in this way, as well. It would be a long time before I'd realize that this was far from the case.

I'm not sure when I first realized that my abilities were unique. I had to have been at least 5 years old. Even at this early stage of life, before I even picked up my first pencil, I could see that I wasn't quite like the other children. While the other kids ran and played, I would sit and observe quietly, taking in every last detail of my surroundings. I would see every push and shove, every scraped knee and broken elbow, every laugh and scream and shout. My elders always scolded me for this, constantly telling me to stop mumbling to myself and join the rest of the children, but I always persisted. This little game I made – of narrating everything around me – would soon turn into a tedious habit that would nag me for years to come.

My first supernatural event, however, didn't come until much later, around age 10. I remember that I was sitting at my desk when it happened, pen in hand. I was upset with my parents; I had asked if we could adopt a pet, but they had rejected the idea. So I pulled out a piece of paper and created my own "pet" – a beautiful white dove named Bianca. I drew a crude sketch of the bird and below it I described everything I could about her, from the sound of her cooing and her favorite treat all the way down to how she ruffled her feathers when she preened. I was halfway through my writings when, suddenly, I heard a soft cooing noise underneath the desk. I pulled out my chair and looked down in my lap, only to see the exact same dove I had been writing about. She gave me an inquisitive look, as did I, and quickly I realized that there was something special about the things that I write. Just as Bianca came to life in my mind, she came to life outside of it, as well.

I discovered that everything I write...happens.

Honestly, I didn't know what to make of this power, at first. With this ability, I could create something out of nothing, transport myself anywhere in this world and beyond, and change the world around me in ways I never thought possible. Needless to say, that was a lot of responsibility for a child to bear. I was terrified, yes...but, at the same time, I was absolutely enthralled. Who knew what kind of amazing stories and heart-pounding adventures could stem from such power?

So, for the longest time, I kept these powers to myself. During the day, I'd put up a foolproof facade, masking myself as a normal student at school and a typical teenager at home. But as soon as the sun set over the horizon and the rest of the world drifted to sleep, I would stay wide awake, and, with Bianca peering over my shoulder, I would write. This is how the rest of my childhood was spent, pouring over my works of fiction and testing the limits of my newfound power. I look back fondly on these moments, as they are some of the happiest moments of my life. Writing had truly become my lifeblood, my passion.

But then, the visions started.

They started out small, at first. Whenever I laid eyes on someone, I could see their actions just a few seconds before they actually occurred. I would see a man tripping over a wire, and five seconds later, he did. I would see a car skid out of control on a snowy day, a dog leaping up to greet its owner, a young baby start to cry, all just moments before they happened in real life. It was strange, seeing and narrating the future but not being able to do anything about it. I mostly just ignored it, keeping the discovery to myself, as I did with most of my powers.

As the years went on, however, the visions became harder and harder to conceal. I began to see minutes ahead into the future, then hours, slowly but surely trickling into days and even weeks ahead of time. People, places, and events began to blur together in my mind, a thousand predictions happening at once. My narrations grew longer and longer by the day, and everyone around me thought I was insane. It was overwhelming, to say the least.

I began to isolate myself in my studies, spending less and less time in the real world and living vicariously through my fiction. I avoided people as much as I could, for all it took was one glance into another's eyes to have their entire life's story flash before my eyes and tumble off my lips. When I did go out in public, I was almost paralyzed by the constant barrage of visions, my mind aching from the sheer influx of information. I eventually left the city entirely and built my own secluded area in the woods; at least there, those visions couldn't haunt me. I still poured my heart and soul into my stories, but now they were more to me than just a creative outlet or a form of release; they were my lifeline, my link to humanity, the only thing that could preserve my sanity in this lonely life I pursued. Writing was the only thing that could put my mind at rest.

It wouldn't be long, however, until not even my writing could keep the visions at bay. I began to see them regardless of whether or not I looked a person in the eyes. Anyone who even came close to the forest would have their lives flash before my eyes, paralyzing me from what would sometimes be miles away. Some days, they would fog my mind so intensely that I couldn't even think of a topic to write. Bianca was the only one who could soothe me during these times, but she had grown old and frail with age. Once she was gone, I had no one left to talk to, no one to distract me from this reality. I was completely and utterly alone.

Finally, one day, I reached the breaking point. From the very second I woke up, those dreaded visions blasted my brain. I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't blink away the madness. I could only lie for what felt like hours in my bed, trying and failing to block out the visions. Eventually, I gathered enough strength to move one finger, then two, until finally my whole hand shakily grasped the nightstand beside me. I struggled to stand, the visions blurring the world around me, numbing my mind, weighing down my body like lead. I fought for every inch, slowly and agonizingly making my way to the other end of the room. There was a floor-length mirror beside the bedroom door, and I collapsed in front of it, my whole body writhing in pain. It would be at least 10 minutes before I pulled myself up to my feet and glanced at myself in the mirror.

My eyes were bloodshot, every last vein visible from the strain. My breathing was heavy, my heart pounding. The world blurred once more, and suddenly I saw myself amongst the visions, my life literally flashing before my eyes. I saw myself from all perspectives, every last possible outcome of every decision I would ever make in my life. Some decisions would lead to happiness, others to sorrow, but most of them just foreshadowed a painful, unending loneliness. I saw myself in shambles, driven to insanity, wishing for death to release me. My whole body was shaking, at this point; is this really what my life would come to?

I began to see other people in the visions; these people sort of looked like myself, but at the same time, they did not. I saw a southerner, a monochromatic face, a game show host, a man with a pink mustache. Their faces were all identical to mine. Who were these doppelgängers – versions of myself from different timelines? Or was I simply going insane? At that point, I was banking on the latter.

Then I saw the face of a doctor, looking down sadly at me from a hospital gurney. He reached for something outside my plane of vision, and I could only assume that this was me just moments before my death...

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I gouged my eyes out, right then and there. Blood poured down my face like hot tears, but I didn't care. Slowly the visions began to fade, in sync with my eyesight. My body had grown physically weak from the onslaught, and I fell to my knees. I heard the shattering of glass, and the broken shards stabbed into my arms and legs – I must have hit the mirror on the way down. Even without the visions, my head still writhed in pain. The last thing I remembered before passing out was the sound of my front door opening, and one last word slipped past my lips: "Help."

I awoke to the sound of hospital equipment beeping and buzzing all around me. I tried to open my eyes, but the black void remained. So my suspicions were true: I really did render myself blind. Slowly I reached my hand to where my eyes used to be and felt a soft, linen cloth wrapped around my face. Somehow, I still had a sense of where everything was, despite having no vision whatsoever – must have been my mysterious powers at work.

I moved my head upwards, as if to look up at something, and suddenly I felt the presence of another person – the doctor. I sat myself up in my cot and turned my head towards the stranger, and I could sense that he was smiling.

"You gave us quite the scare," I remember him saying. "But don't worry. You'll be all right."

I asked for this good samaritan's name, and he told me to call him Dr. Iplier, or simply "Doc." I could still feel wisps of visions dance across the blackness of my vision, but it wasn't nearly as intense as before. I gathered just enough information to see that this stranger, this godsend, was the same doctor I had seen in the mirror. I could sense that we were similar, both struggling with a power we could not control, and that comforted me. I realized that for the first time, possibly in my entire life, I was not alone.

Eventually I took up residence with Dr. Iplier and the rest of my doppelgängers, the same people who I had seen in my reflection, the faces who looked almost identical to myself but at the same time differed so greatly. For the first time in years, I could interact with these people without being bombarded with countless visions. I have grown to love and appreciate everyone here, and in return they have accepted me for who I am. Some days I regret losing my eyesight, but all that I have gained in exchange for my vision reminds me that it was worth it.

I realize that I may never again be the man I once was, but I have found peace in this fact. I shed my birth name for this reason; Bertram is a name of a tortured and lonesome man, an artist who relied on his artwork to survive. Now, however, I am mended – not quite complete, but I am not broken, either. Now, I find joy in my writing once again, a feeling I had not felt in a long time. Now, I am happier, more at peace with myself and others, and in certain ways I am almost whole again.

Now, I am The Author. The Narrator. The Host. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

[englishchinesetranslations]

This is a piece about me visiting Riyadh, several times, for Formula E.

Formula E is an electric racing series that says OK, boomer to 20th century petrolhead culture.

I am a high-performing, self-absorbed diva who writes about cars for a living.

Riyadh is the capital of Saudi Arabia.

Riyadh. It’s not a place, in the western imagination — which despite my scattershot efforts to broaden my horizons I definitely have — it’s a synonym for the Saudi Arabian state. Which, again, in the western imagination is one millennial and a network of shadowy contract killers.

The name Riyadh inspires fear, like a monster under the bed, something unknowable and threatening that doesn’t say anything about a city nine million people live in. Like most people, I hate admitting I’m afraid of anything real so in my mind it’s never been more than an imaginary metaphor to shield my own delicate ego.

I don’t think about the place much outside headlines. Or well, didn’t used to.

If you asked me if I’d ever imagined going to Riyadh a few years ago, I would’ve had to first work out if I could imagine Riyadh. In my mind — and I have an international relations degree so this is extra embarrassing — it was a mediaeval fortress. Perhaps some heads on spears on the walls. I’d seen some pictures on the Daily Mail or something and for some reason never considered whether this was a bit racist.

This starts in Berlin, 2018. Formula E, a street-racing electric motorsport series, announce the championship is going to Riyadh. Which is a ridiculous concept because Riyadh isn’t even a place with streets, in my mind, because I have not yet managed to stop being racist about this and actually learn anything.

More ridiculous is that I can’t go — I’m one of half a handful of full season journalists in this series that I decided to upend my life for completely a few years ago and I can’t go to the season opening race for the next ten years.

Because of strict Sharia law in the Kingdom, I can’t work in Saudi Arabia without my dad or husband giving me permission. Which at then-31 years old, divorced and resigned to my parents disapproving of everything I do for some time now is extremely laughable. I can’t work in motorsport there at all, classed as a dangerous profession. And how the hell am I going to get in in the first place?

There is some quite emphatic shouting on a street near Tempelhof when a fellow journalist asks me what I think of it and accidentally triggers the nuclear codes on my brain. I can’t do this, are they joking? How can I even continue in the series, I used to work in the humanitarian sector, for crying out loud.

I spend a night stewing in my hostel bed and wondering how all this can be thrown back into my face so hard. And then, trembling with rage and the less hot emotion I don’t like to think I’m capable of, demand answers from then-Formula E CEO Alejandro Agag in a press conference where he’s meant to be passively introducing Nico Rosberg.

The press conference is important because he tells me that there will be women there, that there will be arrangements made, that I can go. Which is the moment Riyadh has to stop being a fictional, mythical fortress to me because if I can, then I can’t not. No matter what else I think right now, I can’t let my male peers go and exclude myself so now even worse than being banned from Riyadh I have to actually go there.

Then my handbag gets stolen on the U-Bahn and I have bigger problems in the immediate, because the British embassy’s closed for a royal wedding.

Why is going somewhere so bad? Especially if you’ve already sucked down the moral serving of working in motorsport, gone the distance and done the deeds to get there.

I don’t want to shy away from the facts, here. Firstly, that motorsport is an intensely conservative world — all sport is. Formula E is by miles and miles the most liberal, even confrontational element of at least the cars bit of it but there are no openly gay drivers at a top level, there are very few women.

It’s bizarre to me, as someone who lives in London’s very leftwing queer scene, to work somewhere where shaving half my head was a bit edgy not just ‘had a breakdown on Tuesday, lads.’ I am more left wing than most normal people and motorsport as a whole is considerably more right.

I love my job. I whine about doing it, constantly but I love motorsport. I am obsessed with it, it’s what makes me feel the most and I am fascinated by the tech and I adore my friends in it, this is a job I have worked insanely hard to get — not something I am being forced to do, disinterestedly. But there is a disconnect between the realities of it and myself as a person.

Even motorsport people, however, were shocked by us announcing we were going to Riyadh. Until this event, the FIA (motorsport’s global governing body) had never sanctioned an event in Saudi Arabia, not because there was no interest from the Kingdom (Saudia, the national airline, have been an F1 sponsor for decades) but because until recently, women were completely banned from driving.

That changes, in the months between the announcement and the race — because it had to, as a condition of the event happening. You can view that as the Eprix clearly directing positive change or not if you want but the fact that it had to is important as part of the situation, as part of understanding why people were shocked we were going there.

Saudi Arabia operates a guardianship law for women, who require their husband or male relative’s permission to do things like open a bank account, get a job or a passport. Women are required to wear an abaya (the usually-dark coverup garment that covers you from foot to neck) as well as modest clothing and muslim women must wear a hijab. All Saudi Arabians must be muslim and a religious police force exists to enforce strict adherence to sharia law.

Kissing in public is absolutely banned, as is alcohol and western music. There are no cinemas and media is restricted. LGBT acts can get you imprisoned, publicly whipped or even executed. Human Rights Watch lists the “dissidents” who are detained on long charges in Saudi Arabian jails — they are women’s rights activists, people who have criticised the government, protestors who in most countries would be considered very mild. Torture is documented by HRW as being widely used as an interrogation tool against detainees.

It’s not fully whataboutism to say “well, other countries have terrible records on human rights, too and sport still happens there.” But Saudi Arabia has been off the table for a long time, not least because events like this — people congregating and especially in mixed gender settings — have been banned for a long time by the government themselves.

So is Formula E so financially or morally bankrupt to take the Saudi Arabian money and go there? It’s not like the country has a longstanding connection to electric technology and green solutions — absolutely the opposite, Saudi Aramco is the world’s largest producer of crude oil.

It’s complicated. WWE were the first big sports brand to announce an event in Saudi — but WWE isn’t really a sport and isn’t governed by a sporting body, wrestling a strictly choreographed entertainment product, despite the athleticism. As a consequence, the event in Riyadh could be bent to meet existing Saudi restrictions — no female wrestlers, no women in attendance, etc.

The FIA couldn’t do that and neither could Formula E. The event was somehow going to have to cater to, well, people like me. And they could have done that by spending the Saudia money on ferrying us around so we never saw anything but for whatever reason, they didn’t. They’ve never told me what to tweet or what to write about it. I don’t work for them, they didn’t sign this off and if anything happens to me as a consequence of writing it it’s not their problem.

They’ve got me access to princes to ask questions and put me in front of an exhaustive list of local TV and newspapers to prove that, yes, there is a woman — I’m aware I’m a bit of the PR to all this. And that that’s why people question whether what I think about it is true and why I’ve spent over a year writing this and why it’s so long.

I am incredibly sick of the persistent accusation Formula E journalists do not ask about this. That the media has not had to think about it, that nothing’s been written. So here you go, I’ve written it all.

There’s a view that these big, international events happening in Saudi Arabia is ‘sportswashing’ — that the intention is for Saudi Arabia’s international reputation to be rehabilitated by being thought of as a sports venue. That brief, highly-controlled environments are giving an unrealistic view of life there.

The events are short, for sure. I have made three brief trips to Riyadh and I am not about to pretend that I know about ‘normal’ life there in any meaningful way. This isn’t intended to be documentary about Saudi Arabia writ large, it’s about what it’s like to go there as a journalist to cover the events and what I’ve seen and the people I’ve spoken to. A lot of it’s just about what goes on in my head during the weekends — it’s part travelogue.

I don’t think about Riyadh very much for the next few months because I don’t know what I’m going to do about it, until Formula E call me a few weeks before testing and ask if I’d like to go on a trip. Would I. My entire method of managing my fragile psychology is dependent on going off somewhere every few weeks and the pent up home time is sending me scratchy, I say yes before I’ve even heard where it is.

It’s Riyadh, obviously. They post me some abaya and I read some not very reassuring travel advice, most of which doesn’t make much sense, while trying to work out a way of covering up my confrontationally queer hairstyle.

At Jaguar’s season launch I scope out who else is going — it’s all men but then again, there are not many things like me in motorsport. I contemplate my own death in a mediaeval fortress a lot, because this, for some reason, seems likely to be something Formula E would be sending me to.

The flight over is blandly sober. My hobbies and interests are pretty much covered off by “getting extraordinarily lit on flights” so the self restraint to ask for coffee instead of wine, before we enter Saudi airspace and they stop serving it, is an immense struggle. I also keep falling over my abaya and still can’t do anything with the headscarf to save my life.

My male peers are not having these problems. One of them has a gin and tonic, for a start.

In my head, Riyadh airport is a jail. The entrance to fortress Riyadh, machinery of a despot. In my mind, this is where it goes wrong — where my hastily-issued travel authorisation is judged invalid, where the men are let in but I’m not, where somehow this turns into The Gang All Go To Saudi Prison. Sitting nervously on plastic chairs, we wait for our visas to be done and I try to be sanguine about my upcoming, certain death and consider if I could actually fancy one of the dudes or if I’m just surprisingly horny about my own mortality.

Spoilers: I am not dead.

When we get through customs, the Saudi fixer shakes my hand. My very limited googling has informed me this is absolutely illegal unless we are married and my heart leaps out of my chest because oh here we go, here’s where I die. It’s so stupid it’s unreal, my tabloid-mythological Saudi overlayed like VR on what’s in front of my face.

I’d say it’s the fact it’s 40 degrees centigrade at 1am but realistically it’s just me being ignorant as all get-out and believing whatever I read, especially the most ghoulishly outrageous bits, instead of being willing to find stuff out. Which is a particularly stupid situation for a journalist.

Riyadh is, through the window of the taxi, very clearly not a mediaeval fortress. It has Starbucks. It has Nando’s. Its late but there are people walking around and when we get to our hotel, it’s easy enough for me to buy a coffee, go for a quick wander around the block and then stare out of my thirteenth-story window at a sprawling city glittering with lights. Not as built up with forbidding glass as Dubai, not quite as antiquarian-ramshackle as my beloved Marrakech and there’s something somewhere to it, a little chaos and disorganisation, a little… rule-breaking tendency that twangs on strings tied to Tbilisi.

Riyadh suddenly isn’t a story to scare naughty children with, it’s a place — where nine million people live. And I realise I have been quite stupid about this. Embarrassingly, shamefully so. I don’t get anything like enough sleep, thinking about it because I hate being wrong and I’m not quite sure how I so bullheadedly was so off the truth.

At the showcase I interview some Saudi princes. In the back of my mind lurks a vociferous argument I had with my ex-husband once, where I called him morally bereft for even considering working with the Saudi state. It is funny when you schadenfreude yourself.

My image of a Saudi Prince at the time is very limited. And by limited I mean I can name one.

I have not thought about HRH Abdulaziz bin Turki AlFaisal Al Saud. At this point, he’s the person personally tasked with making Formula E happen and he is vibrating with anxious tension about making it work. In my steady realisation that Saudis are people, too, I clock that they’re as nervous about screwing this up for us as we are of doing something wrong. Maybe a lot more so.

Abdulaziz is funny. I worry halfway through the interview I’m going to get in trouble for flirting with him because when I listen back to it, we laugh a lot. It’s the slightly anxious giggling of people doing something weird they’re not sure will work, at the start and then just genuine jokes. We “do a bit” about everyone telling Saudi they need to make changes for decades and then telling them they’re going too fast when they do.

I find out most Saudis, in fact almost all Saudis, are aged between 15–30 and think about what that means for the life expectancy in this bakingly hot, dry country. 90% of the population works in agriculture, which must be backbreaking in the extremities of the peninsula’s climate and that quality of life is poor, especially compared to the state’s wealth. It is very obvious he is a devout reformer and wants to urgently improve things for Saudi Arabians, starting with what he knows (he used to race in Blancpain GT in Europe) by bringing motorsport and technology to push the country away from the oil enriching — and endangering — it.

He’s not a cold despot, or a charismatic liar — there are plenty of both in motorsport let alone other fields I’ve covered — he’s a little bit thousand-miles-an-hour, talks more like Formula E’s bouncy kiwi Mitch Evans than a politician and with slightly more honesty, not offended when I push things and offering more to ask about than he tries to hide.

If the whole trip has wrongfooted me a little by just bringing Riyadh out of the mythical then this does something else. I do some gormless, rapid recalculations, brain as vacant as that meme because despite my almost unshakable sense of western entitlement it has finally got through that there’s a chance the race in Saudi is not actually about me.

In all my righteous, ask-a-manager fury about having to do this myself, I haven’t thought about the Saudi equivalent of me. Who wants to watch motorsport, work in it, has been denied it right up until now unless she was privileged enough to get to other states — and 90% of the population isn’t. Doing the maths in my head, that 70% 15–30 year olds includes about 13.6 million women my age or younger who’ve just got the right to drive as part of the FIA negotiations for the race. And the right to work at it. And here I am pitching a fit because I have to comply with what might as well be a uniform, to a tourist, for a weekend.

Ok, somehow I have got some perspective. But that doesn’t make this all automatically fine, does it.

Aseel Al-Hamad, a Saudi woman who’s just driven an F1 car at the French grand prix, is there. There’s a flamboyantly camp young Saudi YouTuber or something who is flirting with everyone. I still can’t drink coffee without dripping it on my headscarf.

Everyone keeps saying “it’s just a normal place.” Which is true — it has coffee shops and supermarkets and I eat an extremely salty salad with two other journalists after we get back to the hotel and none of us get arrested for not being married to each other. But also that dumbs it down, to just our own flighty concerns about how to exist here.

I can’t stop thinking about those stats. Saudi, which I’d thought of as ruled by old zealots, is so modally young that I am above the average age here.

There are young, excited Saudis at the showcase. Obviously, because that’s what 70% of the population are. 39 million people live here, who I’ve either thought of as generically oppressed or generically oppressive, drawn on some very primitive gender grounds. When I worked in humanitarianism, no one ever mentioned being humanitarian to Saudis and to my genuine horror, against all my ethics, I’ve casually dehumanised an entire population.

Don’t tell me, sitting from the west and spitting blood on social media at the idea of racing series going to Riyadh, you haven’t done something the same. Because I’m pretty good at this and yet somehow I can get my head around going to New York while toddlers sit in ICE detention, can get on with living in the UK despite knowing full well the horrors my own government is committing but I didn’t know any Saudis, you see. So somehow it hadn’t occurred to me they might want things like entertainment and sports and other things I take for granted and don’t assume I should be denied just because the prime minister’s done a racism again.

Formula E wasn’t taking a compromised event — not like WWE’s male-only show for a select few. It was going to be an Eprix like any other, bar the podium champagne. Not only that, there’d be women on track.

Saudi Arabia was about to go 0–60 by never having had women driving to hosting an event where, during a test, the largest number of women, anywhere, ever would be driving current, top flight machinery alongside men. A statement, yes but not intended to me about Saudi but to Saudi women about motorsport. I mention it to the prince, who thinks it’s quite funny as a statistic — he’s raced in Europe, after all, he knows what the numbers are like in our glorious egalitarian societies.

(If you don’t: they’re atrocious. I can name every woman who’s ever got as far as single seater racing, while I can’t remember which men were in F1 5 years ago, there’ve been so many.)

I tell someone on Twitter that if other countries wanted to do it they’ve had the preceding 70 years and well, where is the lie?

The flight to Dubai, en route back, is weird. I rip my hijab off in the airport terminal, no longer able to cope with my own inept wrapping and try to stop the side-shaved bit of my hair standing up. A male journalist asks me why I bothered with it in the first place and I try not to give him too much of a death glare because actually it’s becoming apparent things aren’t what I assumed.

I absentmindedly delude myself into thinking I’ve been invited to hang out with the guys, not just tagged along by proximity, for the rest of the journey and it hurts for about half the subsequent season that I’m incapable of learning not to make assumptions, despite the big ol’ wisening experience I just got lavished with. But those are other places.

Jamal Khashoggi is brutally murdered in an embassy in Turkey shortly after our showcase trip and the number of names of Saudis most people can think of increases to two. One deceased.

I nervously ask Formula E, at testing, if we’re still going. We are. It’s fuel for some very gory nightmares for a few weeks and can I really go there? I feel pretty strongly about dismembering journalists.

As the days tick down to going, mythical Riyadh re-descends on my mind. I forget the place I saw in broad daylight and brood on the fact I’ll be arriving at 1am, totally alone. It’s stupid fear, not the healthy respect I have for the fact travelling so much on my own, anywhere, is generally dangerous.

My usual attitude to being presented with a dangerous opportunity is to immediately take it. My sense of self-preservation isn’t impaired but my survival skills are over-developed, it’s left me with some excellent stories I can never put my name to and which I often only tell softened versions of, to avoid upsetting anyone. I can think or… Well, let’s say manoeuvre or lie or cheat or manipulate myself out of almost anything and the things I can’t, I can chalk up to a big bucket of Things That Are Making Me Weirder And Weirder But I Just Can’t Stop Doing Them.

I don’t think that will work in Saudi Arabia. And I’m so incapable of behaving myself. I’ve already forgotten the manifest demonstrations I saw that Saudis handle strict rules the same way everywhere else with them does, ie by each pretending they must apply to other people and look like you’re doing it when it matters, my own MO for everything.

Meanwhile my own unelected leader in the UK nearly tanks us out of the European Union for the first of what will be several, increasingly grim times and I have this vague feeling of unassailable doom.

All the thinking about going to Saudi has stopped me doing any thinking about actually going to Saudi, which because I booked my flights late and am permanently broke, is via two Ryanair flights, a gruelling overnight layover in Milan Malpensa (0/10, do not do) and 11 discombobulated hours in Jordan that I thought I was going to enjoy but it turns out the fear is kicking in.

The silly thing is, the thing that scares me is a taxi driver in Ammam who I throw some Jordanian dollars at while bruising my thumb forcing the lock down at some traffic lights to escape after he tries to essentially extort me. But if I can’t handle Ammam how am I going to handle Riyadh? A lot of me wants to turn around and go home.

I get to the airport for my final flight much too early and when they tell me I can’t check in yet, it all suddenly hits and I unexpectedly sit down on the terminal floor and cry hysterically for ten minutes.

By the time I get on the plane, I’m delirious with panic. The insane idea I am going to get arrested at the airport dominates my entire thoughts — after all, last time I was with Formula E but I’m not normally in the group, the showcase a one-off excursion.

Also, most pathetically given I’m 32 not five, I have not told my mother I’m going to Saudi Arabia. My mother disapproves of most things I do but I feel like there’s a relatively legitimate case for that here and also that I am a gutless coward for not being able to take that on. Gutless cowards afraid of being told off probably shouldn’t be trying to do this.

I cry so pathetically with fear the Flynas staff, who are spectacularly kind, give me a free coffee and one sits with me, thinking it’s the thermal-buffeted take off that has me hysterical, not the country they live in.

It is, obviously, not Formula E’s responsibility to check I get anywhere. Or where I’m staying or in particular I’d really rather they didn’t attempt to regulate what I’m doing because I reserve my right to get up to all kinds of things without them trying to stop me. But sometimes there are moments when I think anyone would quite like to think there’s someone who’ll know if they don’t make it to their hotel and I’m having one, feeling much too vulnerable to be able to do this. The monster under the bed is scaring me, mooom.

Needless to say, it’s fine. Uber is very well-regulated in Saudi Arabia and the process of transferring to my apartment hotel is extremely straightforward and despite my sudden inability to do maths convincing me it costs three times more than it does, really cheap from a London perspective.

The guy at the check-in desk thanks me for respectfully wearing Saudi-compliant clothes; my hair at this stage is still difficult to not look aggressively asymmetrical and I’ve finally learned how to do a hijab but it sort of unnerves me. Am I either appropriating or colluding with something, here? After all, I’m not muslim. I’d be a terrible muslim, I already miss wine.

I really need to sleep but don’t, which turns out to be basically what I spend most of my time in Riyadh doing because my brain won’t stop turning over and there’s not enough hours before I have to get up and go to the track anyway.

Here is where things get interesting, of course. Because I’m not staying in a hotel full of Formula E people, I’m not staying with anyone else at all, I’m just any old regular person in Riyadh, staying in the kind of place an average-income Saudi might if they were visiting from Jeddah.

Formula E don’t have my address, I didn’t have to put it on my visa application (handled by the championship so I have no idea how difficult it would be to get one as a journalist otherwise) and unless someone very carefully trailed me from the airport then I’m just out here alone. I’m staying in Al-Aqiq, which is a neighbourhood sort of near Diriyah and as decentralised as the whole of Riyadh seems to be.

Riyadh is a weird city, from my perspective — it seems to have no centre and there’s motorways everywhere. In any 500m walk, you can find at least two demolished buildings with the rubble in situ and another one under construction, a petrol station and a kebab shop. Every road feels like a dual carriageway and I don’t understand the shops.

Not for the reason I assumed I wouldn’t understand the shops, which was more specifically cultural issues. I don’t understand the shops because they sell things that make absolutely no sense to me whatsoever — I’m staying in an apartment hotel and there’s a petrol station nearby, a coffee shop on the forecourt.

That’s reasonably sensible to me. I can also get my head round the oddly Roman-themed kebab shop and the phone shop the other side — fine, that’s how modern life works right?

What I do not understand is the stationery warehouse that also sells party gear and interior design trimmings that seems, by all accounts, to be the big shop in the area. It’s sized for a DIY shop and stocked by the crazy crap aisle in Lidl and although it sells me an exceptionally good pencil sharpener that I’ve jealously guarded ever since, I cannot work out what the heck its deal is. It opens at like 7am and has supermarket trolleys available but every time I go in everyone’s buying like one box of paper plates?

There will be no answers. Some elements of Riyadh, I have to accept, I will not fully understand.

But I find myself going in a lot. I buy some weird new stationery that doesn’t really set me up for the season, because Al-Aqiq doesn’t have much else going on. I get really invested in trying every type of latte flavour the petrol station coffee shop does because it sort of gives me a sense of direction in my attempts at exploration that are otherwise coming up short because I can’t find anywhere to poke around, sleepy residential and mosques the main features of the area.

I assumed it was because I was sort of on the outskirts but this continues to puzzle me a year later. I’m used to cities with centres, high streets — I don’t know if it’s the heat or just a different, dispersed way of doing things or because (and I definitely have noticed this) Saudis don’t really have a culture of congregating places, turning up in crowded scenarios or what. But the structure of the town kind of makes no sense to me, and maybe never will.

There’s, seriously, no public transport on the enormous roads and coming from London that confuses the heck out of me. Contrary to the imagined SUVs of gulf state, most of the cars on the road are old and Japanese — Toyota Camrys and Hyundais, clearly proudly cared for but long in the tooth on mileage. There are almost no European or American cars and the ones that exist look weirdly out of place, a Renault Megane looking like an undersized curiosity in a line of Honda estates.

From that, you can probably gather I walked around a bit. I actually walked around a lot more than I initially intended to, especially on the first day I was trying to get to the track.

This is where it gets a bit technical about the business of motorsport, which is that for the first and only time this year, I need to get to the accreditation centre and pick up the pass that will let me into the circuit — and the rest of the season. This is a very minorly stressful process — and only so because I haven’t been to the circuit before so there’ll be a degree of wandering around trying to find the right place.

What happens is that I initially book a taxi to the wrong place, as it turns out there are several bits of Riyadh called Diriyah. Then I rebook a taxi and it goes to a different version of the wrong place, including having to get through several military checkpoints that my taxi driver is increasingly confused why I think I should be going through — and to be fair, so am I. There wasn’t any of this last time.

I bail out when I see some Formula E hoardings on the basis I must be nearby. This is a stupid idea. I’m the wrong side of the track and have to walk through it to get to the thing that will let me get the lanyard that says I am allowed to go through it but there doesn’t seem to be any other sensible way of making it there.

This feels like the sort of thing you could get into a lot of trouble for. It feels more like that when I get to some catch fencing that hems me in so totally I realise the only thing I can do is walk a long way back, to possibly not be able to find a way through or to climb it. Reader, despite the clothing situation and the fact I am carrying a rucksack full of precious scarred Macbook, I climbed it.

Jumping down the other side, I realised one of the reasons was because it was next to what looks really like a military compound and there’s a bored-looking dude with a gun staring at me. To quote Matt Fraction’s Hawkeye: ok, this looks bad.

There’s a sort of weird thing that happens when you are in a genuinely bad situation. Like, this is obviously not what I am supposed to be doing and it’s hard to guess whether the FIA or the Saudi government will get angry at me wandering into places I am clearly not meant to be first — or most severely. Technically I haven’t signed my behaviour waiver with the FIA for the year yet and also they probably have fewer guns.

As you can probably guess by the fact I’m writing this a year later, the next 45 minutes are quite stressful but ultimately end up in the accreditation office with extremely smudged eyeliner but no permanent damage. And for the record, the Saudi soldier I end up speaking to through Google Translate is nothing but helpful.

Which should probably be the end of me getting lost in various places in Riyadh except it’s kind of only the beginning. I very rarely get lost, I’m great at yeeting myself round the world and reading cities from their layout alone — I don’t know if it’s just that Riyadh is so decentralisedly alien to me or if it’s just the same thing that happens where I cannot stop myself trying to read Arabic the wrong way round and it’s just that I’m too stupid to understand it.

Whatever it is, I get lost a lot. Nearly continuously. I have to develop an uncharacteristic level of chill acceptance for not knowing where I am or when I will next be able to work that out. For sometimes wandering at length down motorways, in the rain, trying to hope that there’s a point on the horizon where GPS will work and maybe I won’t run out of road before then. It’s never that horrible, as an experience — Riyadh actually has fairly decent pavements — it’s just slightly bizarre and adds to my sense of being constantly wrong-footed and out of my depth, which is the kind of on-the-edge-of-fear feeling that makes me crotchety and unobservant and the whole problem ten times worse.

Anyway, that’s for later.

Occasionally, people call me inspirational. How inspirational of me, pursuing a career in a male dominated field. How inspirational of me, tootling round the world on my own and with no budget. How inspirational of me to not have ended up dead given all that.

It’s a weird feeling. I am outrageously flattered by it but I don’t feel very inspirational; I’m broke, I have a professional respect level probably best described as ‘tolerated’ (and barely that) and I’m hardly out here getting awards. When I finish a season I mostly feel a crushing sense of disappointment at myself for not having done that better.

Which is the kind of thing, when the drivers say it, you feel moved to say something encouraging. But it’s true — I’m frustrated by the number of times the titanic effort to get to a race limits the ambition of what’s possible there. And I’m kind of breaking myself a bit and in denial about it.

Anyway, should I really be an inspirational figure for dragging myself to Saudi Arabia on budget flights and white-knuckle bracing to hang on for another season? Probably not. After all, the whole reason I can do this sort of thing is because I’m an overpaid London media professional with a devastating sense of entitlement about travel.

It gnaws at me a bit, because all weekend when I’m in the Riyadh paddock young women keep coming up to me. They grab at my media pass, newly-minted and full-season heavy in the folds of my abaya and we stagger through conversations in Arabic via google translate or if they know enough English to talk.

It’s very exciting and inspirational, seeing a woman journalist succeed. I know because a few months previous to this event, I got amazingly drunk and embarrassed myself telling Suzi Perry how much she inspired me. I look up to the broadcasters and the journalists I find digging through old magazines and suddenly realise that’s a woman’s byline, often from a point when I assumed there weren’t any.

To be honest, I think most people just assume there aren’t any of us either way. Women in motorsport are grid girls or PRs — at least, in that same spooky, popular imagination where Riyadh’s barely a map location but you definitely have an opinion about it even so.

As far as the young women grabbing at my pass are concerned, I’m as ludicrously mythical as I can’t seem to stop myself thinking about their city if I let my mind wander for even forty seconds. A female motorsport journalist, travelling around on her own and from their perspective the most extraordinary thing, which is that I’ve apparently come to Saudi Arabia of my own volition. In fact, I’ve had to work really hard to do so, when I could have just… not.

This is kind of incomprehensible, to the Saudi teenagers. They’re excited by the idea I’d do it but when I live in London and can go anywhere, why would I? And on my own? I must obviously be the kind of incredibly celebrated and important person who thinks they can get away with that sort of behaviour and I don’t have the heart to tell them I’m actually panicking a bit about whether I can get anywhere to even take my coverage this season.

Riyadh’s one of the problems, actually. Editors don’t want to be seen to be endorsing it and the ones I can get to take it say they have to include critique of the situation, which is maddening when they won’t let me write about anything I’m actually seeing.

Ok, yes. Here is the situation: the Saudi government has paid for the race. Someone, somewhere, always pays for a race — championships sustain themselves on hosting fees and Formula E doesn’t go for the scalp like F1 but ultimately ‘who is willing to pay’ is a major persuasive factor to an events’ viability. Not to peel back the final veil but this is how big sporting events work, everywhere.

It’s proved controversial in the past. Montreal paid extra to host a season-ending double-header over several seasons, then it turned out the (I’m compelled by journalism standards to write the word ‘allegedly’ here) corrupt mayor had made promises the city wasn’t willing to keep.

It put Formula E in a position where, contractually, they had to sue the city for a settlement — not the most popular thing to do but FE itself can hardly just wave away a contract or they’d look like mugs everywhere else. Also probably, you know, needed the money for something because no one knows more about how much doing all this costs than my Ryanair-seat-shaped arse.

And why? Why wheel and deal to make a global car racing championship happen. Well, I don’t know — there’s no actual point, is there? There’s not a moral at the heart of this, a heartwarming lesson for humanity that’s perfectly illuminated by the chance to watch one millionaire athlete smash another millionaire athlete into a concrete barrier in a shower of carbon fibre.

You’ve got to tell yourself something to sleep at night though, right? There’s got to be some reason you’re doing it. We make it up for any job, the reason you’re logically doing these things. Here’s mine.

The planet is dying. That’s not hyperbole — the seas are emptying of whales drowned by plastic as fast as they fill with Antarctic meltwater. We can’t put either of those things back, there isn’t a fix except prevention.

The sky is choking, we’re shutting off the stars with satellites and smog and after a few hundred years of building a world dependent on massive — and mass — mobility, we’ve realised we can’t use the types we’ve been reliant on. We talk about the screaming, hurtling destruction of the only place we can live in bland, corporate terms, these words like ‘mobility’ and ‘transitive economics’ neatly editorialising the end of the world as the closing remarks of a conference on disaster mitigation.

It’s terrifying. It’s so incomprehensibly, mind-crushingly fearful that even if you can somehow get yourself together enough to think about it, it’s really hard. Scientists say the risk numbers are into the bit where human minds actually don’t understand them because we just can’t really be that scared.

Which is a problem, because the last thing we need right now is numbness. A few years back, I’d slipped a long way into it — not really specifically the planet but more that some very immediate things were going very wrong in my life and the only way I could continue to get up and go to work instead of lying down and screaming was to just not feel anything. Which isn’t very sustainable, you need a cathartic ability to make sense of things even if they’re terrible.

There’s lots of crutches people use — alcohol (a generally reliable and disastrous one for me) and other mind-altering distractions, getting overinvested in box sets, obsessively hyperfixating about your OTP, pinning your emotional wellbeing on the success of a sports team.

I went for pinning my entire psychological and professional future on Formula E being the thing to dive into right that moment. In the moments where I couldn’t think of a reason to carry on, there’d be another race on the horizon. In the long nights where I didn’t want to live anymore I could motivate myself with the sheer, stubborn desperation of throwing myself into getting in.

Frivolous, yes. But Formula E does also have a point: on this dying earth, amidst the keynotes on the end of transport, we need to do something. Just stopping flying or transporting or using the massive systems we’ve rigged to plug the earth in won’t work. Same as we can’t put the whales back in the barren sea, we can’t just pull the brakes on a tangled juggernaut we’ve spent decades chaotically assembling because as much as we urgently need to, to save lives, if we do then people will literally die.

It’s complicated. It’s those things too big to think about and we needed solutions before I was born, are living through the dying moments of panic while we scrabble for a fix that makes things least-bad. The trolley dilemma between apocalypse and slightly mitigated endtime.

We’ve got to be brave. We’ve got to do things like say ‘we actually cannot use oil anymore’ — for fuel, for plastic, for millions of things that keep us alive in abstract or direct ways. The 20th century was built on such a proliferation of oil products it’s hard to imagine extracting them from your home, you can’t even extract them from your supermarket trolley without making a very contorted list.

And there’s so little time. There’s so much to do. We’ve got to fix cars and planes and medicine and supply lines and food and it’s really hard to think about it all because there’s nothing you can do, you need some sort of thing to rally around.

Yes, it’s cruder than a barrel to say that Formula E can be that thing. It’s a racing series, it’s a day out, it’s entertaining sport — but it’s also a test of shame for automakers caught out in dieselgate, it’s an on-track annoyance that says actually it is possible to make electric cars populist, you can do this.

If all the absurd, awful things we have to deal with now were built in the panicked competition of the twentieth century, then welcome to the 21st edition of that scrap. There’s no time to tear into the companies and people that have orchestrated it — half of them are dead and none of them care but if you can make a system where to succeed, they have to do what you want then that’s something else.

There’s never been and I hope there never is again a moment where motorsport, as inch-grabbing competitive hot lab for transport, has had such a crucial moment. All the years of F1’s development need to be drowned out in the next half-decade by the wind-up banshee howl of electric technologies making up for decades in absence.

And you can’t politely do that on the streets of Monaco as a nice little spectacle. You have to go where you’re not wanted and explain that, actually, you are what is needed. You can’t disrupt anything without causing a little chaos and you’re gonna have to do some stuff that scares you and other people might not approve of.

So for all that, I’d better be fucking inspirational. If I’m the in, I’d better live up to it. If I’m, somehow, the lens that someone can see something worth getting excited about through then I’d better wipe off the grime and get on with it. If I’m how someone can see themself being part of this, across whatever incomprehensibly vast gulf, then I’d better not be churlish about it.

Yes, I am a colossally privileged westerner. Yes, I am ignorant and disastrously naiive — no one looks at me in a paddock and takes me seriously. Formula One journalists consider my curious electrical proclivities like discovering the intern is into something kinky and I’m never going to get a Pulitzer.

But in a paddock in Riyadh I’m a thing people haven’t seen before because all that colossal western privilege means I get to do things they’re not allowed to. And things people have never seen before are inspiring, whether they’re race series screaming round a UNESCO world heritage site or grandstands where women sit with men or Jason Derulo’s shiny jeans.

And the government paid for it, yeah. It’s a little incomprehensible. Why would the Saudi government pay for an event that’s hardly aligned with an oil state’s economy?

One answer is the propaganda. A greenwash over ARAMCO’s continued production of the majority of the world’s crude oil. But New York has an Eprix and no one looks across the Atlantic and says ‘well, the US is green now’ any more than anyone thinks of Oman as the home of football.

So if you talk about greenwashing, you either think the Saudi government is hopelessly naiive or that the entire world is, stricken by lack of knowledge about the place. Formula E is part of a plan, though — the Vision 2030 programme of reform and transformation, which includes a focus on opening Saudi to visitors.

Saudi Arabia has a lot of visitors per year, to Mecca. But visas for non-Muslims were very hard to come by until recently, with tourist visas not at all and a lot of the country restricted.

The first year, lots of journalists were flown out by the Saudi tourism board and taken on an ultra-luxury, whistlestop tour of the Kingdom. I obviously wasn’t one of them. This doesn’t come from a place of delusion where I think those lovely people from Saudia took me on such a nice trip, I learned so much during the cultural briefings between private jet flights…

The thing about being the unexpected element, that weird thing no one expected to see in a paddock anywhere let alone Saudi Arabia, is that no one notices what I am doing most of the time because they assume I’m just recording a Vine or gazing wistfully at a drivers’ hairline or something. I don’t really get fussed around by teams or pushed out of garages or moved away from conversations because despite it being pretty obvious by this point that I do know what I’m looking at, I am also still the comedic relief.

It has turned into a bit of an act. If I actually am I tremendous dumbass then I can’t get mad when everyone treats me like one.

And no one cares what I do or where I go. As soon as I leave the circuit I’m a black shape as swaddled as any of the others. Which is why I think I can trust what I saw and what I think about Riyadh, why I don’t think anyone there was trying to impress me.

The teenage girls, after all, were there for the Black Eyed Peas concert. It was purely incidental that they discovered nice western ladies women could be motorsport journalists in the process, that my big, heavy permanent pass drew so many eyes because I couldn’t get the lanyard to bend to sitting right yet.

One of the women I speak to wistfully says she’d like to be a journalist herself but she’s been arrested before and couldn’t face it happening again. Which is where the teenage excitement melts away.

The reality is that I’m seeing Saudi Arabians get to do stuff they haven’t been able to previously which I take wholly for granted. I’m not inspirational, I’m just an exotic glimpse of someone who, for all my bleating and crying about going to Riyadh, is in absolutely no danger whatsoever.

And when I blend away into the night the only thing that stood out was I have no cocking idea how to keep an abaya out of the puddles from the unseasonal downpour. But going to Saudi is not about me.

I don’t think you can fake teenage girls. You can fake loads of things but you can’t pretend it’s plausible a restrictive state faked teenage girls’ enthusiasm. (the next year I’d get in a mosh pit with them but that’s later)

I meet a really lovely, wonderfully dedicated Saudi journalist out there. She’s a credit both to her youth and frankly to motorsport and I don’t think she even half realises how great she is at making both internet content and quality traditional journalism.

(I’m not putting her name here because this is a reasonably low-risk piece for me, I think — but I wouldn’t force anyone else’s name to be put to my words, any more than I was willing to let my own be edited)

So there are Saudi women doing this. And you should listen to them about the race far more than me and what they say is obviously the same thing I say about the London Eprix; of course you want the sport you love in your city.

Boris Johnson’s an odious prick and I’m allowed to say that. I don’t have to express gratitude to him for facilitating the event, when it happens next year. He didn’t have anything to do with it and I can be British without having a single miligram of respect for the people running the place.

I can’t tell you what Saudis think about their own leaders because I don’t know — but the attitude is definitely quite different. The situation is different, the structure is different. I don’t want to say that people are lying when they say they’re grateful to the leaders for bringing sporting events there because I don’t know that they are.

The politics of anywhere is complicated. There’s not a requirement to engage, except when there is. When you have to go somewhere the issues loom in massive print or your prime minister keeps straight-up lying about things that will get people killed.

People think we don’t ask about this. But what is there to say? I can tell you what was said in a press conference, I can tell you what I inferred from the total disregard for a lot of the stricter rules that’s obviously running through Riyadh.

Saudi Arabians like being Saudi Arabian. Much more than I think most British people like being British but that’s kind of cultural. It will come as no surprise that a young population finds strict religious law grating and wants reforms, that the handful of cinemas that have opened in the past few years are popular, that people like being able to go on dates and go out for dinner without being strictly separated into male and female and they love to party. Some of them probably wouldn’t say no to a beer.

If I tell you that Saudi Arabians (largely) approve of the race, will you approve of the race now? If I tell you that there’s young Saudis, especially women, getting the chance to do stuff they really want to do because we bring the circus to Riyadh, are you onboard? Not if you weren’t before.

I would say: why do you think you deserve the opportunity to go to things and they don’t? What are you gonna tell my friend, ‘hey, an accident of your birth location means my politics ban sport from your country?’ I don’t know if that sits right with me, personally.

Here’s some tea: the Riyadh paddock, in that first year, is the nicest motorsport paddock I’ve ever worked. As a woman. I mean, I always work in paddocks as a woman but like in terms of me being there, womanly, it was the nicest.

Within the Formula E paddock, people behave pretty much like they do in a lot of the rest of Riyadh, from what I can tell. Western women uncover their hair and some fully do away with the abaya, by year two that ratio increases to pretty much everyone but me shedding it as soon as they’re through the gates.

Women have never been banned from motorsport, in liberal western Europe. We make up 1.5% of race license holders — over the course of 125 years of motorsport events — and it’s conventional for men in racing to be able to say wildly misogynist things without it affecting their careers but we’re not banned and never have been.

Women always have been in motorsport, working and as pure fans. Most people in it start as one, end up as a combination. It’s a passion field, you can’t commit to the schedule otherwise.

But we’re a minority. And people quite often either forget we’re there or forget that any group who are so completely marginalised actually kind of needs some extra catering-for. You get used to it after awhile and kind of forget but you will never be one of the boys.

Riyadh isn’t like that because this is a totally new event. They have to make sure that it caters to a population not used to attending these kind of events at all and also that it specifically advertises to and makes itself welcoming to women, because otherwise they’re at risk of getting in trouble with the FIA. The organisers here 100% have to prove how liberal and reformed they are.

Which means everything includes me. People add “and ladies” every time they say “guys,” everyone asks for my opinion about things, I get brought to the roundtables and possibly actually given more time with people than the men.

It’s so strange and flattering, it gives me not a weird impression of Saudi Arabia, who I completely understand the motivations of about this and yes I know it’s PR and an act. But it’s an act that’s working, I do feel welcomed not specifically to Riyadh but to motorsport in a way I simply never have back home. It makes me a bit genuinely hysterical about having to go back to normal paddocks.

I don’t think Riyadh deserves a medal for it or anything — but it makes me think a lot about the ‘regular’ motorsport events.

Back to that first year; it’s fine. I distract myself by looking after one of my friends, who is finding it all much harder and who I designate myself the food and drink carer for the majority of the season.

By the time we’re leaving the circuit I promise to come back for a week next time, to see more of the city. I’ve already made myself a playlist for the way home and although I’ve been cheerfully, relentlessly convincing myself I am coping fine and the kilometre and a half down a dark motorway I’ve walked every night doesn’t bother me and I feel perfectly safe, there’s a cathartic reason it opens with the Pet Shop Boys’ Home & Dry.

But it’s done. We’ve been to Riyadh and nothing bad happened and I ate some really great falafel. Also had one of the best experiences of my life when I walked up to media pen on the test day and there was a near-equal number of female to male drivers due to a test stunt where teams were allowed to run a second car if a woman drove it.

Yeah, it’s a stunt. But it’s the one that means Saudi Arabia has now had the most women driving in a mixed-gender, top flight motorsport series, simultaneously, of any country ever. If anyone’s mad about that then motorsport has been happening for 125 years and somewhere else could have done it first. I mean, this is just sport. Somewhere could have done that. Somewhere could do it now with a larger number. In the interim, well played HRH Abdulaziz.

I decide maybe I don’t want to drink any wine in Cairo airport on my way back, for roughly the amount of time it takes me to get off my plane, walk to a place that sells wine and immediately order some. It tastes so good, I have a little cry.

Thus ends year one of what’s going to be ten years of me taking myself to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, as a lone woman and trying to get around.

Something weird happens the day after that season’s final race in New York, which is that I go to a lunch with a load of other journalists. They’re all F1 and important and cool, I probably shouldn’t have even been invited. Especially given I’ve just got off a heavily delayed overnight flight from JFK and I am not feeling it.

Anyway, I inevitably mention I’m from Formula E and this guy goes off at me about Riyadh. Then when he discovers I actually go, he goes even more in on me and my moral decay. I’m genuinely shocked by the ferocity of it, especially from a group of people who go to Bahrain.

I’ve got used to having to explain myself but this guy just won’t let it lie, says I’m dancing on Khashoggi’s grave and and mocking the idea of journalism, supporting crimes against women. I kind of think, privately, that that’s a bit much coming from the lofty podium of working in, uh, famous humanitarian agency Formula One but then at the time I also do that so perhaps that’s not a great stone to start throwing in a room full of people who do too.

I don’t manage to get my brain together enough to sell it to him. I mean, I don’t know if I want to sell it? Do I actually think it’s good that we go, not just survivable?

You know what, I do. I think it’s difficult and it stresses me out and every year it makes the season opener tough and you know, people shout at me over lunch and things. But look, if you just close the door on Saudi Arabia then how’s there gonna be reform? How is freedom of the press and rights going to improve if you don’t know anything about anything that happens there? Or anything about the country? The people that live there?

It’s 2019; the same way that Saudi Arabia can’t stop the flow of information as a young, internet-savvy population gets extremely online, you can’t stand in the way of things

My most succinct summary of why I think we should go, though, is simpler: Formula E getting paid to race in the home of oil and sit there going ‘that’s bad’ without getting censored is the biggest middle finger move.

Ah, Riyadh alone: round two. Now, surely, I would be armed with enough knowledge to not screw up constantly by disappearing into my own bizarre alternate reality.

Guess what? I absolutely do not. If anything else I’m even worse. I get really, really anxious in the runup — partly because this year my mother knows I am going and oh boy am I getting told off. Which is pathetic, what the hell, what kind of tiny, baby child am I?

I booked my flights really early this time, before testing. They were way better flights and I was excited to be going home via Beirut because apparently I am a lot better at inventing fictional versions of countries that sit in my brain like mirages than I am at reading the news.

Anyway, great life choices aside (it’s not like this is even my worst one) I, in theory, should be really chill about this. Except I miss the FIA email to apply for a visa and end up doing it late and it doesn’t turn up for ages and I get really stressed and then also ill and I start a new job and everything is really full on and I want to throw up.

I don’t do my packing until the last minute, then prepare by drinking too much wine and sleeping through my alarm so I have to book a last minute Uber to Stansted. Which isn’t ideal because I’m not sure if I’ve been paid but better than missing the whole thing.

Anyway, my point-blank refusal to ever check my bank balance is very much a me thing rather than anything directly connected to Saudi Arabia. So, off to Stansted and I have to re-buy everything I need and obviously forgot in the airport but again, this is pretty standard behaviour for anyone who’s as much of a total mess as me.

This doesn’t seem like the way to do it. I can get most places half-cut and sloppy but this is not most places. Nevermind — also it turns out Pegasus serve surprisingly pleasant in-flight wine and by the time I get to Istanbul I’m feeling quite relaxed; I have hours of stopover for it to wear off in, don’t worry.

I don’t want to go. It’s got into my head. I’ve been getting all these weird emails with hate-filled fantasies about me getting killed and I keep thinking about the guy at that lunch and also about the texts from my mum and the way I don’t feel cavalier enough to be doing this.

Why am I going? Because it’s my job to go. Because I have stuff to do. Because I have this endless compulsion to do it and it’s a massive privilege. I don’t know. It’s all weighing on my brain, am I an instrument of state PR now? I wouldn’t put up with that from anywhere and besides, I don’t think I am. I’d probably be on a fancier flight if I was.

But getting onto my late-night flight in Istanbul, I know it’s descended again. The fictional, fearful Riyadh is in my head and every radical thing I’ve tweeted from the past year is haunting me. What the hell am I doing going to Saudi Arabia?

And the thing is, I can’t (at this point) recognise it’s the VR. Yet again, I’m expecting to get arrested at the airport, to get trailed, a million paranoid things that won’t happen. But now they’re incredibly real in the sort of simulated reality everyone’s told me definitely exists and is more important than my own memories.

I’m not normally like this. I haven’t been sleeping enough (I’ve had ten hours sleep over five nights) and it’s really starting to show.

Still, on the plane now so better live with it — obviously I get to Riyadh without incident and am through the airport with a warm bag of falafel and a coffee, into an Uber where I manage to stagger through a mostly-Arabic conversation and send a selection of my wilder and more enthusiastic tweets about politically safe but morally questionable topic: Lando Norris is really hot lately.

I know I said I’m never going to win a Pulitzer but with that kind of bold reporting, I really should.

Finding my hotel takes a bit (it’s another, different dubious apartment hotel) and by the time I’m in and arrived, it’s like 3:30am so I just pass out in the massive bed. By which I mean, look at memes on my phone and rewatch the camping episodes of It’s Alive and wonder at which point I stopped just writing about semi-teenage idiot sportspeople and actually became one.

Nevermind, anyway, soon enough it’s time to revisit ‘finding the accreditation centre.’ This year I am determined not to have to climb any catch fencing so pick my Uber dropoff point VERY carefully. It is to absolutely no avail and I end up lost in the enormous Diriyah Season compound down near where Ruiz and Joshua will be going at it in a few weeks but certainly there are no electric cars currently.

Because I’m still freaking out and only managing to psychologically sustain myself by internally commentating on the situation it gets steadily worse as I wobble across the paddock on a combination of caffeine, adrenaline and inadvisable 4am hotel tap water. Once I actually find the place, collect the thing and get in the media centre things feel less out of control, except that I need to write two season previews before anyone wakes up in the UK still.

At least there’s fruit and coffee.

Thursday is a bit of a mess, for me. I don’t eat enough (I’m vegan and it’s a genuine problem in paddocks) and I’m so sleep deprived I’m really not coping very well and keep having to watch Calming YouTube Content to get a grip on myself and churn out another thousand words. To be fair, all of this is just the business of being me, doing journalism so can’t really be attributed to Riyadh or anyone there.

A team are doing an event later where I’m meant to be interviewing someone who I inevitably don’t get to interview because scheduling is a nightmare and also it’s really obvious that I am about one second from falling asleep on the floor and considerably over my stress limit. Another woman in Formula E asks me why I’m letting the side down by wearing an abaya (most team personnel are taking them off the second they enter the paddock) and I just snap.

It’s because I’m on my own. Because I arrived at 1:30am. Because everyone’s spent the last month telling me how stupid I am by going here and how certain I am to get killed and it turns out even I have a limit to self-determined risk enthusiasm. Because if anything happens to me, no one knows where I am and Formula E don’t look after me -

This comes as a surprise. They don’t? Surely no one lets me run round Saudi Arabia totally on my own?

Oh, they do. And being alone is psychologically testing and I feel so pathetic at how pitiable it all sounds. One of the drivers sympathetically tells me that sounds “really fucked up, to be honest.” It, err, doesn’t help.

By the time I get back to my hotel the absolute most I can manage to do is go to a shop and buy the ingredients for a big night in in Riyadh. Which is to say, some crisps, some mystery thing in a jar that turns out to be definitely not vegan kind of fake cheese with the consistency of mayonnaise that tastes amazing on crisps (food waste is bad) and one of everything from the drinks section.

I love foreign supermarkets. Full of weird stuff. This one is crucially full of men who are understandably surprised to see a western lady wandering around shaking like she’s on a billion drugs and trying to find the hummus (I can’t) or work out which colour of water is fizzy in these parts.

Obviously there’s no beer in Saudi Arabia but there is a wide selection of like beer-adjacent malt drinks that have weird fruity flavours and also cider-adjacent things with frightening coloured labels. I go for a beer-adjacent thing in flavour ‘original’ and a threatening can of Mirinda which poses the question about itself: watermelon or cantaloupe?

(my investigative powers don’t stretch that far, it mostly tastes of heavy-handed corn syrup)

I’m freaking out, though, because when I was in the supermarket the guy packing my bags gave me a present. It was just a chocolate wafer thing and I was concentrating on understanding what number I needed to pay so didn’t really pay any attention until I left and suddenly thought: what if they’re setting me up to be done for stealing it?

There was no evidence for this at all. Every Saudi I’ve met has been genuinely helpful or openly friendly, the worst reaction being a kind of morbid curiosity about why anyone would do what I am doing. But instead of using all 10ft-across of my weirdly gigantic hotel bed to get the sleep I really, really desperately need I obviously just send myself insane googling ‘setup to be arrested Saudi shops’ and variants thereon. It’s so stupid and I am only getting stupider as I waste precious resting hours on doing the opposite of that.

Now fully convinced I will be in jail before the end of the day, it’s time for the Friday race. Either you’re into motorsport and therefore know how race day works or you’re not and so don’t care but basically a lot of things happen all at once and I have to stop writing worryingly thirsty things about drivers in other series and do some work for once.

I’m really in the toilet, brain-wise, by this point and have to cry in the loos three times during the day. Which is difficult when the loos keep being closed because of some kind of water supply issue (Formula E uses temporarily-built paddocks so these things happen) and requires quite a lot of timing effort.

Also people keep interviewing me, which actually now seems to happen more than I interview other people and the whole thing feels completely ridiculous. Why are you interviewing me? I’m an idiot and I can’t remember my own name or feel most of the left side of my body because I last had ‘adequate sleep’ about three weeks ago and for some reason I forgot to bring any socks with me so I have these really aggressive blisters and I’m probably going to go to Saudi jail over a chocolate bar.

A lot of stuff is happening to me and very little of it is conducive to doing anything useful. Which then gets in my head more and this is how every weekend goes, except with an added, imaginary carceral threat.

I relay my woes to one of my friends who advises that maybe it really would be a good idea to eat something that isn’t crisps and get more than three hours’ sleep and like ok, I can believe that.

My Saudi friend notices I am having a meltdown and says she’s worried I hate her city. It finally kicks me into functional gear — I can’t be coming over here, making people feel bad about the fact I have a wholly imaginary version of their country down over my head like a visor.

So that night I first go to the concert after Formula E and purchase ‘potato,’ the most vegan thing I can find to eat. This helps somewhat and gets me into the mindset where when my taxi drops me off, I head off to the malls near where I’m staying (which are not the grander, designer sort you find in some of Riyadh) to complete the incredibly trivial task of buying socks and ordering stir fry.

Socks it turns out are easy, as there’s a shoe shop nearby and I could’ve saved myself a world of pain really easily. Which is pretty much the moral of this entire episode: stop making your life really hard and driving yourself insane and instead of just doing things like a normal, woman.

Dinner is also easy in that I get an absolutely monumental quantity of stir fry vegetables from a mall food court place and eat them in a sort of blissful semi-coma while listening to the sounds of Dr Dre’s seminal album 2001, over the mall tannoy. I seem to be staying in a very Asian district this year and most of the restaurants seem to be authentic Indonesian places.

This helps the sleeping problem enormously. It turns out just ‘not being scared’ is really key to getting six straight hours in bed and so being able to operate normally. And that’s the thing, what am I even scared of? Myself?

(to be fair, I am definitely the biggest danger to me)

It feels better. But I’m still relieved when I leave — it’s all the things: my own stupid ideas, the judgement from other people, the pressure of trying to make sure I’m doing it right.

Before I do though, I go to the last concert with a group of Saudi young people who I’ve tagged along with. Everyone is covered in glitter and dancing suggestively and jumping on each other and starting mosh pits. It feels like being at a gig I am about 15 years too old for in any other country, except that unlike if it was in London no one sloshes a pint of Tuborg down my back at any point.

It definitely does not feel like government collusion when at the end of his set, a Lebanese rapper does a dubstep version of Bryan Adams’ Everything I Do (I Do It For You) and I, an old person, absolutely lose it in front of this surreally gigantic stage, surrounded by excited young people.

For me, I could go to a gig like that every night of the week in London. But this is one of a handful. The first western music concerts were played at the Eprix the year before and there’s something there that feels big. You can claim the sport is a distraction for the rest of the world but you don’t televise concerts, these are for the Saudis.

(The concerts actually caused a really problematic ticketing situation this year where people were buying them, looking like the Formula E numbers were good because it was a combined ticket and then not turning up — when the organisers were asked they admitted they screwed up and would be trying to fix it next year)

This is what it comes down to, about the race. It’s a good track, it’s one of the best ones we have in fact — it’s produced two exciting races this season and despite torrential rain making the first year difficult, it worked then too. And yes, we have done all the bits about turning up to torrential rain in Riyadh; it snowed on the Sahara when we were in Marrakech once, too.

Climate change doesn’t really deal in imaginary metaphors.

So it’s a good track, the drivers like to drive on it, it produces a genuinely good sporting event. It takes electric racing and green principles, confrontationally, to one of the homes of oil. It has forced some small changes — which should not overshadow the achievements and struggles of Saudi Arabians themselves in getting those.

If you think it is just sportswashing then that’s too simple, it isn’t. It depends if you think the Saudi 2030 Vision plan is for you, probably sitting in the west and still thinking of this as some distant horror theme park, or for people there.

There’s an open PR angle, but those stats — the ones from way back at the show case, about how low life expectancy is in Saudi Arabia and how generally Saudis have a poor quality of life — well, a lot of this is not about how you see it. It’s about things like the massive investment into grass roots sport (especially motorsport, a nice upside to the now-head of the Sports Authority being an ex-racer) might improve things for regular Saudis.

You want to know what going to Riyadh is like? It’s a bit boring. People want stuff to do, same as you. And to meet people — each other and weird, jetlagged British women who can barely hold a coffee without tipping it down themselves.

So long as we acknowledge the other stuff (and we should do it everywhere) then I think you’re taking the wrong side, if you believe your opinion trumps their right to access that.

Ok here’s some more tea: Riyadh is covered in rubbish. If you want proof I’m not lying, here it is: the whole place is absolutely bedecked in trash.

This happens a lot in places with poor infrastructure, which Riyadh absolutely has. Because making life easy for people to get around and to meet up and to get places hasn’t been a social or specifically political priority, Saudi quality of life suffers in more ways than one. Who cares if the streets are filled with garbage if you never go out?

But people do now. Young Saudis go out in big groups and nearly all Saudis are young. Stepping around overspilling rubbish becomes the first thing I get the hang of keeping my abaya out of because man, it does not smell ok.

Rubbish in a city is a pollutant and I really hope, for the people living there, that Riyadh sorts this out. It’s all the ‘being a metaphor’ thing, isn’t it? Metaphors for governments don’t have extensive municipal recycling programmes.

I can’t tell you to unconditionally support Formula E racing in Riyadh. I don’t think you should unconditionally support anything, really, apart from maybe Lando Norris but we’re all just having a big one about that at the minute.

But anyway, this wasn’t to tell you what to think. It was slightly just to write about going there because not many people do and slightly because everyone keeps insisting no one in the Formula E media is thinking about this stuff when I have tortured myself for weeks with it. Also some of the anecdotes are funny. I could write a lot more, from my run-ins with ‘rose Lattes’ to the time I bought a lime juice and recklessly refused extra sugar in it only to discover I’d got an actual pint of just undiluted lime.

But this is long enough and it’s already much too much about me, for something that really shouldn’t be. We all have to live in our own heads.

[kingsmanassemble]

I’m baaaack and this is my screaming from 2x09 through to 3x02 because i’m trash!! (Honestly cannot tell you which screams are for which episodes so this is gonna be a mess, sorry pals)

Ummm i have a LOT of screaming about how beautiful silver is so imma just get that out of the way now. My kink is fictional characters being threatened/thrown around/generally beaten and bloody and 2x10 was a G I F T in that respect!!

First off (idek what ep this was i’m sorry) vane holding the knife to Silvers throat!!! Turning his question back on his, that was intense (but i loved it 👀) And HOW EASY IT WAS FOR VANE’S PALS TO HAUL SILVER OVER THE T O P OF THE CHAIR AND ONTO THAT TABLE LIKE D A M N.

That’s most of my weird shit out the way but i talk a lot about my love of how characters on this show are allowed to have emotions and this was no exception. There is genuine fear from Silver in that moment, that’s obvious and i love that despite somehow ending up as a pirate he’s still afraid (i mean lets be real they’re all afraid of something) but it’s plain as day. BUT HE STILL STAYS LOYAL. HE REFUSES TO BETRAY THE CREW THAT HE HAS BEEN DRAGGED, KICKING AND SCREAMING INTO CARING ABOUT.

And um everyone, E V E R Y O N E standing up when they grabbed Silver??? “That’s our brother you’ve got there” I died :) they all give a shit about one anothr and it still destroys me.

Anyway, Charles deciding to save Flint, plot twist os the century?!?!? And has there ever been a more iconic power move than Charles Vane throwing his chained hands in the air and having Charlestown decimated??? The answer is no. That moment was absolutely perfect.

Ditto Flint turning Ashe to face Miranda’s dead body; that was powerful. Letting him stew in his betrayal as he slowly dies, everything he built crumbling around him because that’s what happens when you’re a piece of shit. That’s the closest thing Flint can get to revenge.

It hurts my soul that he went there with nothing but good intentions, with the hope of maybe regaining a shadow of his former life and instead lost Miranda, any reminders of his former life and his hope too. I will never, ever get over the absolute heartbreak i felt in that moment.

A sidenote now re: flints hair. Shoutout to my housemate for pointing this out and @prouvairablehulk for confirming. The dealio with the hair then. When James is in the navy he has long, tame and styled hair. When he becomes a pirate it’s shorter, less cared for (in sync with the loss of his love, his life and the beginning of a downward spiral) and, as we open on season 3, the shaved head. The symbolism of having lost Miranda too, everyone he cared about (Silver aside because i don’t think he’s quite realised that yet ;)) AND a steep, slippery slope of his misery, darkness, insanity??? (But lbr when you know the full story it’s not insanity at all. It only seems that way to everyone else. That man is d e p r e s s e d.)

Aforementioned flatmate also decided to h u r t me by saying that Flint has no centre any more :) :) (i’m fine).

B U T Silver is tuned in to Flint, he’s noticed the shift in his moods and he knows that’s more than just flints usual saltiness. (Sidenote again: the more i think about it the more it hurts me that other people just see flint at face value. He’s just an angry, insane, power hungry man to them because they don’t k n o w. Everything about him makes so much more sense when you see his whole story.)

I also adored how (appropriately) outraged Vane was about the slaves. Nothing much is said about his time as a slave but i love that he doesn’t back down easily, only when Jack appeals to him as his friend (as someone who cares him, as someone who DOESN’T WANT TO LET HIM DOWN 😭😭) that he relents and even then he shows them respect and helps them out because he can never forget that part of himself.

My last scream is about that entire fucking storm sequence it was so intense i think i stopped breathing. It was (as always) filmed so beautifully.

The raw emotion of the moment between Silver and (i wanna call him Bub so Bub he shall be named) Bub as he dies was just d a m n. Idek what to say it made me cry. They held hands and Silver cried and he begged and he screamed and it was soul destroying.

(Also their conversation before that??? We said we’d take care of you. I’m fine, it’s just allergies making me cry :))

In conclusion: fuck this show. No, but really the filming is persistently beautiful and it adds so much to each of these moments, makes them ten times more powerful and i am in awe of it tbqh. I love how you can cycle through nearly every emotion in each damn episode; there’s always somethin that i can pick out to scream about and it’s fantastic. Basically i will never be over this show, it’s so intense, it’s so emotional, it’s so beautiful.