#oh and don’t get me started on my editing process. I make myself ill doing it

[ardentpoop]

I don’t think im cut out to be a Real Author for several (self-deprecating) reasons, but chief among them is that I WOULD be the type to have a nervous breakdown looking at my goodreads reviews every 2 seconds. which would probably make me fucking insufferable to be around

[aurienneirua]

trying to think about how aurien would take castor’s death since i haven’t really articulated it quite yet . .

i think ill be using how blue diamond from steven universe take’s pink’s death as a bit of an projection onto aurien and inspiration !

well, ill start on how aurien was with solei’s disappearance . since me and @billwasnot actually discussed this before, i feel like i can articulate and word this much more then i usually do . ill also limit how long this is since that’s probably for a whole nother post .

( edit after finishing : wow im a really bad liar )

to put it into simple and hopefully straightforward words, aurien did not process solei’s disappearance at first, and her feelings about it in extension .

when they finally started to bubble up, she shoved them down . they poison parts of her in response, and she’s stuck in a cage and cycle of grief, slowly shutting down mentally and emotionally . even when she and solei reunite, she still has them shoved down .

now, finally onto cas !

for him mainly, id say she feels empty after his death .

she falls into a prolonged period of time where she either feels just . . empty, or all she can feel is pain and grief .

although she openly expresses her emotions now and doesn’t shove them away, she instead wallows in them, refusing to move on because she just doesn’t want to .

the words im referring to starting at 1 : 07 and ending on 1 : 16 being :

“ im sorry . im so sorry . i should have done more . ————— says it will all be over soon . i wonder what you would think . “

also think blue’s tone matches her exactly as well lol . quiet and low .

the words “ im sorry . im so sorry . “ transferring onto aurien in the way of how she knows she failed to save him, and “ i should have done more . “ being how she wishes that she could have, and regrets greatly how in the end, she did not .

also gonna put down some lyrics from what’s the use of feeling blue as well since that can also fit auri . .

“ why would you want to be here ? / what do you ever see here ? / that doesn’t make you feel worse then you do ? / and tell me, what’s the use of feeling, ( blue ) ? /

oh, how can you stand to be here with it all ? ( here with it all ) / drowning in all this regret ? / wouldn’t you rather forget ( him ) ? /

start looking forward and stop looking back, oh “

( formatting style originally by @sotogalmo ! )

ok, first, “ why would you want to be here ? / what do you ever see here ? / that doesn’t make you feel worse then you do ? / and tell me, what’s the use of feeling, ( blue ) ? / “ would probably be about her extreme unwillingness to move on ? and maybe also how as a result, she only feels worse and worse, inflicting pain upon herself because she feels she deserves it .

secondly and lastly, “ oh, how can you stand to be here with it all ? ( here with it all ) / drowning in all this regret ? / “ this one’s a more clear one for me . . she definitely is drowning in regret . another possible thing would be that the lyrics “ how can you stand to be here with it all ? “ can maybe be her actually asking herself that . .

how can she still stand here— why is she still here with everything that’s been going on ? she’s not special . so many people matter so much more then her . why does she live ?

anyways, i wrap it up here . . partly because i don’t think i have anything else to say, this post is already getting long, and im pretty disappointed about how this came out .

i came in with a clear mindset, ( which normally helps a lot when im trying to write things like this ) but it got muddled pretty easily . although i want to take more time on this, im not really patient with myself, and ive been having a lot of trouble wording things lately .

i don’t know how long it’ll take to “ word this right “, but i know it’ll be long combined with some other factors . I think I’ll maybe come back to update or expand on this though . . anyways, any thoughts about my depressed pookie aurien ?

( castor : @bluemoonscape )

( side note : lolol id love to hear your and possibly cas’s ( if he were still alive COUGH ) on this ! also i already have a little au in my head where auri and solei save cas . . and auri shoots and shatters a screen displaying kyo that was distracting cas mizi all in style . . may i know how he would react to this and hold up if they did save him . .

[guqin-and-flute]

Episode 73: Koala Chlamydia Is A Problem [My Brothers, My Sister and Me Excerpt]

[MBMSAM AU] [First Installment] [Podfics!] [Ao3 Link]

[COVER ART BY THE FANTASTIC LITTLESMARTART]

Jin Zixuan: Do we want another question?

Qin Su: Sure, yeah, got one right here. 'When I was younger, I was really skinny and weak'--hey! Hey, now, negative body talk, much! That's super judgmental of yourself!

Mo Xuanyu: And of us people who are skinny and weak right now! [teasing] Right, Yao-gege?

Meng Yao: [calmly] I'm not affiliated with you.

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [cackles]

Qin Su: 'When I was a kid, I was really skinny and weak, so I made it my mission to get as jacked as possible so people would take me seriously. I put in a lot of hard work, changed my exercise routine and diet and it worked. But now, as an adult I'm a 6 foot 7 dude--'

Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] 6 foot 7 ?

Qin Su: Just a mountain of a man. '--6 foot 7 dude with serious muscle mass--'

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [sotto voce] Good God .

Qin Su: '-- and a pretty intense resting face. I routinely make children cry just by existing and everyone shoots me nervous looks in the grocery store. It gets to me sometimes. I’m not a bad guy! I just look scary. What are some ways that I can make myself less intimidating?’

Mo Xuanyu: Huh.

Qin Su: I mean, let’s see...puppies are unintimidating. Can you devise a system where you carry a few around with you at all times? Maybe in some saddle bags, everywhere you go?

Mo Xuanyu: The movies, the gym, on dates… .

Jin Zixuan: Sure, until they start pissing down your legs. Then you’re not just unintimidating, you’re the guy no one wants to stand next to at the bus stop.

Meng Yao: I mean, it still does the job, doesn’t it?

Mo Xuanyu: You could get a butterfly tattoo, like, directly on your forehead.

Meng Yao: Okay, please explain to me your thought process on how exactly that would make anyone more approachable.

Qin Su: They still want to be able to navigate human society, A-Yu.

Mo Xuanyu: Ew, why? 

Jin Zixuan: Let’s see...what makes someone approachable….Who is the least intimidating of all of us?

Qin Su: [immediately] You.

Meng Yao: [affirming] Mm.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [incredulous] What?

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Oh yeah, you’re like...you’re like a poodle. Or a--

Jin Zixuan: [highly offended] Excuse me! I'm the oldest and definitely the tallest one here!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [ill concealed snort]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [pityingly] Oh, da- ge .

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: Or a golden retriever.

Qin Su: Please don't tell me you think that being tall translates into you actually being scary. You’re tallest by, like, 3 inches. At most, that’s just part of the equation of being scary.

Meng Yao: And the rest of Zixuan’s equation is just filled with collared polo shirts. Which absolutely tanks the intimidation ratio.

Mo Xuanyu: That doesn't tank yours, though.

Meng Yao: I wear button downs. It’s not the same. [Vaguely disgusted undertone] Collared polos.

Jin Zixuan: Excuse you, polos are weekend wear and there is nothing wrong-- I can be intimidating!

Qin Su: [doubtfully] Ehhhhh…

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [badly stifled snickers]

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: I can! Just because I’ve never had to intimidate you --

Qin Su: Let's just say; citation needed

Mo Xuanyu: Please, jiejie has you beat.

Jin Zixuan: [indignant] Wha--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: He's right, gege; an unopened jar of mayonnaise has you beat. And I'm no unopened jar of mayonnaise. 

Mo Xuanyu: That shit is opened .

Meng Yao: That’s a Tinder profile quote.

Qin Su: What? 'Spicier than mayo?'

Mo Xuanyu: [half singing, half chanting] ‘My mayo brings all the boys to the yard, and they’re like-- [normal voice] this is really underwhelming.’

Meng Yao: [musing] ‘Saltier than soy sauce, spicier than mayo….’

Qin Su: Why do we always come back to food? Are our Skype calls haunted by starving Victorian ghost children? Are we possessed?

Mo Xuanyu: [mournful, high pitched, bad British accent] ‘My name is Bartholemew and I’m starving. Please, spare some mayo.’

Meng Yao: It’s your own fault if none of you bother to eat before we record. You all had the schedule.

Mo Xuanyu: [crunches loudly near mic]

Meng Yao: [falsely happy] Hey, thanks! Thank you so much, A-Yu, love the level spike on that one. Editing mouth noises out of our podcast makes my day brighter.

Jin Zixuan: [under his breath] Just...unbelievable….You all….

Qin Su: [smiling] I think we broke him.

Meng Yao: [laughing] Zixuan is limping behind the conversation indignantly, brandishing his cane….

Mo Xuanyu: [sympathetically] Awww.

Jin Zixuan: I--! I am a high powered businessman! I am trained in martial arts and archery and swordsmanship --

Mo Xuanyu: [mouth full] Oh please, gege, you’re a pod caster.

Jin Zixuan: [forcefully] I am a CEO--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: [ignoring him] I think Yao-gege is somehow the most and least intimidating out of all of us at the same time, if we're all being completely honest with ourselves and our place in the world.

Mo Xuanyu: Aww, I thought I was at least a contender!

Qin Su: Honey, you're feral. There's a difference.

Mo Xuanyu: What does a kid have to do around here to be intimidating?

Meng Yao: Learn how to chew with your mouth closed, for one.

Jin Zixuan: [indignantly] A-Yao? Are you not going to deny this?

[Brief silence]

Meng Yao: [calmly] I don't think I'm scary.

Qin Su & Mo Xuanyu: [instant uproarious laughter]

Jin Zixuan: Oh, come on! He's like...a little koala bear or something! How is that scary!

Meng Yao: [offended] Excuse me--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [still laughing] I’m gonna pee --

Meng Yao: -- koalas have smooth brains and eat poisonous leaves all day. Are you calling me a poisonous idiot bear?

Qin Su: [wheezes] Only in private.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughter trailing off] Wait, wait, hold on. Don’t all koalas have chlamydia or something?

Qin Su: [renewed laughter]

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [startled laugh] What?

Mo Xuanyu: Chlamydia! I think that I read--!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god, I think I’ve actually heard that. The plague, the bubonic plague, isn’t it? Or that--Some sort of--that disease people used to get where bits of you fall off?

Qin Su: Beheadings?

Meng Yao: [voice strangled from laughter] Yes, A-Su, that ancient disease the French Revolution that all koalas have--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [snickering]

Mo Xuanyu: [loud and close to mic] LEPROSY .

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Ow--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Holy shit--

Mo Xuanyu: It’s leprosy and you’re thinking of armadillos, da-ge. 

Jin Zixuan: [muttering] Aren’t we all….

Qin Su: [solemnly]  Armadillos and guillotines. Every damn minute of every damn day.

Mo Xuanyu: And I googled it, I’m right; koala chlamydia is a problem.

Meng Yao: And we’ve just found the title of this episode.

Qin Su: If most koalas have chlamydia, I feel like they have other problems they have to deal with.

Mo Xuanyu: Those pesky, promiscuous koalas!

Qin Su: Get them some damn sex ed! Use those eucalyptus leaves for protection!

Meng Yao: [pleasantly] That’s just about the worst thing I’ve heard all day.

Mo Xuanyu: Eugh, that menthol, though. Like Vicks for your dicks!

Meng Yao: I hate it.

[crosstalk]Jin Zixuan: [pained] PSA: don’t do that. Ever.

Qin Su: The voice of experience?

Jin Zixuan: I don’t think you actually want an answer to that, meimei.

Meng Yao: You people make me hate learning and also knowing things.

Mo Xuanyu: Also I've been looking it up and mountain lions are the ones that can have the bubonic plague.

Meng Yao: Choose your fighter; chlamydia ridden koala, leprosy ridden armadillo, or mountain lion with the Black Death.

Qin Su: Well, at least the mountain lion could inflict some damage. Use it like a poison delivery system, like an anthrax letter to secretly infect people.

Meng Yao: [patient teacher tone] ‘A mountain lion is to an anthrax letter, like a koala is to a…?’

Qin Su: [mock frustration] Oh, man, I know this one….

Mo Xuanyu: 'I can't come into school today, I got attacked by a mountain lion.'

Qin Su: [acting concerned] 'Oh my God, are you okay? Are you gonna have scars?'

Mo Xuanyu: 'Worse. The Plague .'

Jin Zixuan:  Okay, glad we got our animal infections all sorted out--back to what we were talking about. So, riddle me this--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [delighted, Riddlemancer voice] Rrrriddle Me Piss, kids--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao & Qin Su: NO!

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Oh my god --

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] I don't actually have anything today--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: A blessing .

Mo Xuanyu: --but I'll get you next time.

Jin Zixuan: No, I need to know, genuinely, this is not a bit-- why do you think A-Yao scarier than me?

Qin Su: I mean, what's not scary about a smooth brained bear full of toxins and chlamydia?

Meng Yao: [disgruntled] Uh huh.

Mo Xuanyu: Technically, they’re not bears, they're marsupials! And I think Yao-gege is more of an armadillo--hard on the outside--

[slight crosstalk] Qin Su: --And full of leprosy on the inside. 

Meng Yao: [further from mic, keyboard tapping] 'And to Mo Xuanyu...and Qin Su...I leave... absolutely nothing, except...this bag of dog shit and...spiders…..'

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Awww, A-Yu, we're being written out of his will again!

Jin Zixuan: Listeners, am I wrong? Am I crazy? He’s the size of a toddler--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still away from mic, keyboard tapping] ‘And to Jin Zixuan...I leave--’

Jin Zixuan: He looks like a sugar glider baby that got turned into a human man--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘This box...of useless...tetanus filled screws….’

Qin Su: Da-ge--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: ‘--that i...encourage him to use…--’

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [snickering]

Meng Yao: ‘As acupuncture needles.’ There. Sent to the notary. Now, what were we talking about, again?

Qin Su: Da-ge, all those things might be true--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [flatly] Wow.

Qin Su: But here’s a test. What would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Jin Zixuan: [immediate, sounding businesslike and slightly aggressive] I would contact their parents and set up a meeting with the school officials and make it very clear that they are never to do that again.

Qin Su: [grinning] Okay. Yao-gege, what would you do to someone picking on A-Yu in school?

Meng Yao: [calmly] Absolutely nothing you could prove in a court of law.

Mo Xuanyu: [bursts out laughing]

[crosstalk] Qin Su: I mean--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Uhhhh--

Qin Su: You see? Also-- [quick sing-song voice] 🎵 This is a joke, for legal reasons, this is a joke 🎵 [normal voice] He’s got that--that--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [lingering laughter] Yeah, it's that menace. Da-ge, you’re like--you’re like if a duckling--okay, you remember when I brought you to Hot Topic? You were like a duckling at a Death Metal concert.

Jin Zixuan: [defensively] The music was so loud--

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [pityingly] Oh, Zixuan.

Qin Su: You're like if a golf course got turned into a human. 

Meng Yao You're what would happen if you gave mac and cheese a social security card and keys to a lamborghini.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Okay.

Mo Xuanyu: [laughing] You're the lightly salted almonds of people. 

Qin Su: You're like a wholesome Hallmark movie fucked the concept of the suburbs.

Jin Zixuan: [unamused] Sure. Sure.

Meng Yao: You emanate the peril of a box of lethargic kittens.

Jin Zixuan: Wow. My own family. This is coming from the physical manifestation of a My Chemical Romance song--

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: [smug] You say that like it’s a bad thing.

Jin Zixuan: -- and the woman who cries at the Land Before Time every time she watches it. I think this is a case of glass houses, here. Let ye who are intimidating... 

Qin Su: Oh, so we’re not roasting Yao-gege back?

Meng Yao: Not sure how me being compared to a STD riddled marsupial for about 5 minutes straight escaped your notice, A-Su, but alright. 

Jin Zixuan: I feel that you are all being...heinously short sighted, here. Are you seriously trying to tell me that A-Yu is scarier than me, a full grown man?

Meng Yao: I would certainly be more warranted in my concern about him stabbing me than I would about you.

Mo Xuanyu: Oh my God, gege, that was like 5 years ago and I already said I was sorry--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: [loudly] What--

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Did we actually help this person? I mean--

Mo Xuanyu: We always help, jiejie.

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: Hold on--

Qin Su: We learned a lot about exactly how disturbing the animal kingdom is, but….

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: No, go back--

[slight crosstalk] Meng Yao: Dress like a middle aged accountant, share minion memes on Facebook, and buy your son a puppy so you have an excuse to talk to the dog and not people. There you go. Done.

Jin Zixuan: No, rewind--Xuanyu, you stabbed our brother? 

[brief silence]

Qin Su: [brightly] Well, that's going to do it for us today, folks--!

Jin Zixuan: A-Yu!

[crosstalk] Mo Xuanyu: It was only a little!

Jin Zixuan: How can you stab someone a little ?! 

[crosstalk] Qin Su: Thank you so much for listening in this week--

Jin Zixuan: With what ? Why?!

Mo Xuanyu: It honestly wasn’t that bad, he made it sound like--

[crosstalk] Jin Zixuan: That's not an answer --

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [begins laughing]

Jin Zixuan: A-Yao--!

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [still laughing]

Qin Su: [brightly]  We hope you enjoyed our enlightening romp, here! We want to thank Sister Sledge for the use of the song We Are Family. A-Yu, how about that last Yahoo?

[crosstalk] Meng Yao: [farther from mic, clearly grinning] Ohhh, boy. 

Mo Xuanyu: Okay, okay--anonymous Yahoo Answers user asks….[exaggerated, desperate voice] ‘I can’t afford a freezer. Where do I put my deer meat?’

[Outro music begins quietly]

Qin Su: [laughs] I’m Qin Su.

Jin Zixuan: [sighs, disgruntled] I’m Jin Zixuan.

Meng Yao: [grinning] I’m Meng Yao.

Mo Xuanyu: [sheepish] I’m Mo Xuanyu.

Qin Su: And this has been My Brothers, My Sister, And Me! Thank you to everyone, see you next week and remember; send your trash dad straight to jail!

[spacerockband]

Rewatching your animations and animatics is certainly inspiring. It's making me wnat to make my one stuff. But I must ask, what is your general animation process?

you sent this so long ago and i completely forgot to answer it im so sorry!!!

uhh my animation 'process' is actually a nightmare fueled by me working on random pieces that i get inspiration for in random orders hours and then dropping them and ignoring projects for weeks or months at a time. if you want actual specifics, though, i use clip studio paint for animation and stills and export those to adobe premiere to edit the videos as a whole! (probably going to have to find another vid program eventually because my college gives us access to the adobe suite and i really don't want to pay that subscription, though)

(also have used photoshop and autodesk paint for animating in the past both of which suck in their own special ways. autodesk does have a “flipbook” type style which was helpful to start animating on though, i just don’t like other parts of the program. clip studio ive found is the best program once you get over the extremely non-intuitive format and finally watch a how-to video, as i refused to do for a while)

for animatics specifically i often use not a whole lot of actual frame-by-frame animating, and often use more storyboard style still frames that i cut in premiere to get timing right- but as ive gotten better at animating i find i do this less and use more frames. this... obviously takes longer though

usually for animatics i fluctuate anywhere between 6-12fps, most often settling on 8 even though this is NOT the standard and im going to have to reteach myself a lot of timing stuff probably when i go back to 12. in my defense animating a bunch of long stuff by yourself is hard though and the cheap clip studio only lets you animate 2 seconds at a time. which is. ugh.

ummm oh also i often do really quick thumbnails in my sketchbook with the general expression/lyric or audio/pose and angle layed out so i have a reference point. it's very important to give yourself a little map to follow especially if you leave a project unfinished for months and forget everything you were going to do with it.

as for the animating itself lots of timing stuff i end up re-doing once or twice to make sure it fits the audio or music im timing it to (which i do a lot while im also teaching myself), and then go in and clean it up (or,, not, i probably should clean things up more than i do, though)

honestly animatics mostly was me jumping from doing comics to doing comics with audio, and then gradually working in animation skills as i figured them out lmao. (and taking an animation class, but i didn't start that way and neither do a Lot of animators)

OH! and learning about film was actually really really helpful for me in starting animatics- knowing about shots, timing, film theory stuff- and of course scott mccloud's making comics is a graphic novel ill never stop heralding.

i have no idea if this helps but i tried to cover as much as i could!! 

[courtney-deserved-better]

whats ur writing schedule/process like! not in a “write faster” way, but i think once you mentioned writing in script form? and i like the way you wrote ur most recent fic! just curious bc ur works are just really good :)

this is a great question!!

if its not slippery slopes, ill usually get an idea for something and periodically jot down notes when they come to me until I feel like i have enough information to start writing (or if im just motivated), that's what i did for my horror challenge rewrite. and for stuff that's like... rewrites of an episode that aren't as character-focused as slippery slopes, i usually read the episode transcripts and try to replicate that total drama style with my own writing

for shorter oneshots, i usually just get a vague idea and run with it until i find a good ending spot, then i go back and clean it up a bit so the structure works

slippery slopes is an... interesting cycle. chapters are getting long enough that i cant just write them in one sitting any more (i think ch5 was the last chapter i did that for) and instead ill agonize over the beginning (always the hardest part to write for me) but once i get going with that i usually finish the chapter within a few days. then i reread the previous chapter to make sure it flows ok (and there aren't any contradictions) and then ill give myself a break where i dont do anything total drama related before coming back to edit and post. though before I do all that I type up notes and rough dialogue bits

and then once i post it it's like... a weight off my chest? like ive been purged or something?? idk its a weird sensation but im just like i Physically Cannot Write Anything For This Right Now and i don't start on the next chapter until that goes away. and then i either start the beginning and do nothing for a week before going back and finishing the chapter or i go into a manic state and write nonstop for a few days. right now i haven't reached a point where im ready to begin writing chapter 10 but i have a lot of notes for it.

(also as soon as i finish posting a chapter i try not to go on my laptop for like 12 hours so i don't obsessively refresh my email for comments. i love reading comments so much holy shit. please comment guys it makes fic authors feel so happy we will love you for it)

as for scripts: i am working on being a writer professionally, but specifically a playwright. writing in a script format comes more naturally to me than writing prose. funnily enough, i started posting fanfic just to practice my prose (and fix stuff in cobra kai that i didnt like) but things sort of... ended up here? idk man but im enjoying it.

right, so because writing in a script format is easier when im really struggling with a section in a fic ill usually scrap whatever i had and write it like a script, then translate that into prose. i was very excited to write the family videos for chapter 9 of slippery slopes, but i was Having Issues, so i redid it as a script and then rewrote that as prose. ill put the script version under the cut if you're interested in that.

but thank you so much for the question!! i do think my writing process is a bit unconventional but hey i think things are turning out well! if you have any more questions feel free to send them in!!

ok here is the last scene of ch 9 of slippery slopes in script format:

[SIERRA]

MOM: Hi honey! Omigosh this is so exciting! I bet you’re having such a great time! Especially since Chris is there! Is Chris watching this? Hi Chris! You know, I loooved you on that ice skating show. Your hair was fantastic! Well, it always is, haha. Do you really make your own hair gel? I’ve been trying to perfect the recipe but you’re just so hard to track down! Oh, you’re such a funny guy! I laughed sooo hard when you made all those jokes about marrying Chef.

Chef: hey!

Chris: ok just for the record, I wasn’t joking, we are married, Sierra tell your mom we’re married

Sierra: …can we just turn it off please

[COURTNEY]

DAD: Courtney, sayang, I know you’ve been going through a lot right now—

MOM: So you’d BETTER make it count. You’ve made it this far before, I want to see you getting all the way to the finale this time. And winning it. Enough moping about those hideous, good-for-nothing slackers! That’s what you get for hanging around freaks like them. You’re doing this for the million, now get the million. Is that clear?

ZARINA: And kick ass!

DAD: Zarina!

Video cuts out.

Alejandro: courtney you good?

Courtney: no, she’s right. Mama didn’t raise no quitter

Alejandro: [knows she’s still upset about duncan and gwen]

[ALEJANDRO]

MOM: Hola, Alejandro. We hope you are doing well, especially in such unsavory conditions. I’m glad to see you’ve made it to the final four— we expected nothing less, of course.

DAD: You have been utilizing your skills quite well. Though I wish you hadn’t been so… blatant about it. You’ll have to work twice as hard once this is over to convince people you’re trustworthy. But surely you were aware of that going into this… odd endeavor. That’s just politics. Reputation is everything.

JOSE: [snorts] Oh, and what a reputation you have, Al. I could easily compile hours of footage of your failures, but I, unlike you, do not waste my time on the frivolities of reality television. Though you always have been lacking in taste. Especially with that bratty girlfriend of yours— oh, my mistake, aren’t you dating the whiny weakling? It’s so hard to keep track! [laughs]

Alejandro: callate!

MOM: I’m sure Alejandro is just working an angle on them.

DAD: Whatever the case is, do not disappoint us.

[NOAH]

MOM: Hi Noah, I’m sorry, I don’t have time to record a full video, but I’m proud of you! Here are your sisters!

ISWARI: A million dollars? A million [bleep] dollars? Win it, Noah! Win it!

RUTH: Dude!! This is crazy! I know you can do this— good luck! Ark misses you! [holds up Ark who barks]

MARA: Are you insane? Why aren’t you dating Alejandro already?

Noah: shut up, mara, just because you can’t keep a boyfriend—

ANYA: Don’t let ‘em trick you! No mercy! Crush their skulls if you have to— no, wait, you’re not strong enough for that. We’ll get there!

LIYA: I say this as your sister, someone who loves you but is constantly annoyed by you— for someone who is quite literally a genius, you sure can be an idiot sometimes.

BALLARI: Okay, I literally have no idea how you’ve made it this far without an athletic bone in your body— are we sure you aren’t adopted? I’m kidding

ABS: You’re stubborn as hell when it comes to me, so you better be stubborn as hell when it comes to winning! And when you do win, get me a frozen yogurt machine, will you? I promise I won’t make you rock climb again!

JAEL: If you lose this, I’ll kill you with this racket. And then use your guts to make myself a new racket. So don’t fuck it up. Again.

Noah: [frozen, ashamed]

Sierra: well that was a mess

Courtney: ok show of hands, who felt better after hearing that? [no one raises hands]

Chris: yeah I was expecting this to be a lot more heartwarming…

Chef: chris just look at them. If they had stable home lives they wouldn’t be doing reality tv

Alejandro: can we please stop talking about this. Also aren’t you supposed to be flying the plane

Chef: oh fuck

Chris: yeah sure. I think im gonna call my mom

Everyone: …

Noah: ok so that was really shitty. Why dont we all go to first class and try and ignore our problems

Everyone: yeah ok sounds good

***

Courtney: so that sucked

Alejandro: at least your dad seems ok

Courtney: true. What are your guys dads like

Noah and Sierra: bold of you to assume I know my dad. Jinx

***

Alejandro: that last girl… you mentioned a sister who does tennis and hates you

Noah: yep

Alejandro: why?

Noah: none of your business. but… it is pretty justified

[lmjupdates]

Lauren Jauregui on her Sense of Self, the innate magic of spirituality, & her upcoming EP

Portrait by: Halie Torris

Portrait Reference Photo by: Munachi Osegbu

Interview by: Isabella Vega

Photos by: Tristian Hollingsworth

One of the most surreal moments of my life was sitting in the Zoom room, waiting for Lauren Jauregui to enter. There was a plethora of thoughts swirling in my head, mostly nerves - I had never met someone who I had such a deep cosmic connection with, someone I'd spent the last eight years following and looking to guidance for.  What if they weren't all I thought they would be? Then, I spotted the Lauren Jauregui Edition of Coup De Main on my desk shelf, and that's when it hit me: I had manifested  this entire conversation. God put this person in my path for a reason, all those years ago, and I was about to find out why. As I let her into the Zoom, I had no idea the emotional journey the next forty five minutes would lead me. What unfolded was something I always dreamed, and somehow, almost predicted: that in meeting the woman I had spent a lifetime loving and learning from, in truly baring our souls and sharing our life philosophies, a few of my internal puzzle pieces would click together with every laughing breath and anecdote dripping off of her with intellect and authenticity. I present to you: a candid conversation with Lauren Jauregui - how she describes her Sense of Self, her ideas on the current mental health movement, and her upcoming EP.

Isabella: How would you describe your Sense of Self in one sentence?

Lauren: I guess my sense of self is just kind of… This is complex now that I’m sitting and thinking about it! I’m like ‘what does my sense of self mean?!’ I guess it’s just kind of the awareness that I’m embodying. Yeah, like, how much I’m showing up for myself and the self care aspect of all of it. That’s usually when I feel the most sense of self, when I’m aware of my body and my mind and my heart and how it’s feeling, so self-care.

Isabella: Now more than ever, there seems to be a growing awareness/spread of information on mental health, a sort of movement throughout social media platforms. Is there any facet of this growing movement that you would want to change or is there anything you would like to add to the conversations?

Lauren: I mean, I think there is always room for improvement in how we approach things. Again, this is a topic that is new to all of us as a collective, we’ve been under the oppressive thumb of capitalism, imperialism, and colonization for a very long time, and we still live in a settler-colonial state. I think that the disparities between how mental health affects different people is definitely a nuanced conversation. I think that acknowledging state violence can not just be talked away is important, and I don’t think that we talk often enough about how people of color’s mental health suffers because there are systemic things in place to oppress them and to hurt them. That are still in place and that we still debate and that we still have to have conversations about, which has been centuries of people talking about whether or not it’s ok to brutalize people of color.  I think bringing that into the conversation a lot more - state violence’s impact on our mental health. A lot of the time we are just, like “Oh, I’m traumatized because my parents treated me a certain way” or “I’m traumatized because this person did something to me” but what we don’t really address is those behaviors of other folks like parents - something I’m trying to acknowledge is saying “I know my parents didn’t have the tools, and that’s something I’m learning through my mental health journey.” That’s not something I understood off the bat. I thought that the things that had happened to me in my life were the reasons why I was this way.

When you start going into the journey, and when the journey involves the spiritual element of the journey. That’s another thing, I would love to have more conversations about spiritual illness. Where the lack of faith and the lack of belief in self is the root cause of a lot of depression and anxiety. That disconnect from God and the disconnect from the belief that reality can be what we manifest it. We have to take responsibility for the way that our world looks right now, and the way we look, and the way we operate and hold one another or don’t. It really has to come down to every individual person wanting to show up for themselves more and understand themselves more.

I would like to have more conversations about the connectivity between everything, the intersectionality between this stuff.

Isabella: I love that. As someone who’s religious and has a very strong spiritual connection to all of that, that’s what I love about you so much - a lot of people are scared to talk about religion and spirituality, whilst you just go there, and talk about something that is so foundational to our beings.

Lauren: Yeah. I’ll challenge that a little bit and say it’s not necessarily religion. I feel like religion can be an instrument used to pin us against each other. It’s about spirituality because God is a reflection of us and lives in each of us. That’s why God looks so different everywhere because everywhere you go, God looks like the people there, because God is self. Self is God. As far as, like, when you think of the higher self, when you pray, whoever you pray to - this being is here for you, and you see yourself in them. Whilst you can understand that they are there for the rest of the world, as well, that connection regardless of religion, that understanding that there is something greater than yourself, is benevolent?

Isabella: Yeah.

Lauren: And that’s so important. I think we often forget about that, and I know that my darkest times were when I forgot that God existed. And when I didn’t trust in God and their vision for me. A lot of times, we feel like things are happening to us, but really, they’re happening for us.

Isabella: So, I’ve heard whispers through the grapevine of there being an EP in the works. Congratulations! I’ve been waiting!

Lauren: Hahaha!

Isabella: How do you plan on continuing your pure self expression through the release of a shorter form project and an eventual album?

Lauren: Well, I think that music is where I am the most self-expressive. It’s my safe space. I think writing in general, whether that’s my journal, or if that’s my notepad, or wherever. I used to just think a lot, and thinking a lot really messed me up, it gave me a lot of anxiety, and I used to think in loops, which I still do, but I’m better at catching myself now. That self expression is just a pertinent element of why I do music. I feel like I naturally just wanna talk about feelings! I’m just an emo shawty, I really love to put my stuff into words, and I feel like the challenge of putting it into a three minute or four minute song is kind of dope, because you get to kind of get it out. You don’t have to think about all of the things, you have to curate what you’re talking about and how you get the audience to understand your storyline in a concise, intentional way. Whether that’s short form or long form, it’s definitely my approach to making art.

Isabella: I love that! So, I don’t know how much you can say, and it’s alright if you can’t say much! I just wanted to know - what’s the vibe? I know you’ve worked in the past with the brilliant Kid Harpoon, who helped make Fine Line by Harry Styles, which is my favorite album of all time and saved me in so many ways, so will you two be working together on this project?

Lauren: On this specific EP, I am not working with him. I have other songs with him, because he and I make beautiful music together. I love Kid Harpoon. He’s a good friend and a really beautiful collaborator. On this EP, nothing’s produced by him on it, that’s not to say that we won’t work together again or the songs that we made won’t be released in some other format, but this one, I’m almost done with mixing now.

Isabella: Oooo!!!

Lauren: Yeah! I’m just in the process of getting all of the visuals together and making sure everything is packaged nicely and looking good for everybody!

Isabella: I’m so excited!

Lauren: Yes! I think it’s very close, and while I totally understand why everyone is expectant of something from me - I get that and I totally understand - this process of making this music has been WAY more profound than just the music itself, it’s been a huge rediscovery of self. It’s been unlearning like no other. It’s been a messy and painful and joyous process in all kinds of different ways. To me, it’s been so much more than what I can give people. That’s the beautiful after effect to me, so people feel seen, heard, and safe, like there’s someone else who understands where they're at. I focus a lot on the things that I think about, so I hope that whoever listens to it can feel the potency of the self-discovery that went into this and realize why it took so long. Self-discovery isn’t something you do in a couple of weeks, especially everything that I’d been through. I’m a very sensitive soul, and everything that went on really shifted my perception of self into a very toxic place that I needed to come out of, I really needed this time. Everyday, it’s made me trust more in God and God’s plan. Everytime I thought I had it figured out, ready to release, every single time, God would derail and say “Wait, there’s something bigger.” Every time, I was like “God! Let me put out this freaking music!” Isabella: Hahaha!

Lauren: And God’s like “yeah, yeah! I know! But people have to know who you are! And YOU don’t know who you are! When you know who you are, then we can give it to the world!” I know who I am now!

Isabella: That’s amazing to hear. I really hate when fans try to claim the intimacy of “knowing you” when we only know the public version of you, but I’m a very big empath, especially with the public figures I vibe with, I choose them very wisely. I’ve followed you for a very long time, so I can see the change from “Expectations’'' to “50 Ft.”

Lauren: Right!?

Isabella: Yeah! You’re a new, spectacular whole, and I hope you know how proud I am.

Lauren: Thank you!!!! I’m proud of you, too! You’ve been on this journey with me.

Isabella: Thank you! I really think I have! It’s taken a while for us to put this interview together, and I really feel like God put us together at the perfect moment, because mentally, I feel like I’m in the perfect place to meet you.

Lauren: God’s timing is something else!

This introduction and interview has been condensed for the online format. The full interview appears  in Issue 2: Rumination, open for orders until June 10th. If you've read this whole thing - I love you to actual pieces - use code 333 at checkout for a special discount!

https://www.senseofselfzine.com/product-page/issue-2-rumination

Source: https://www.senseofselfzine.com/post/lauren-jauregui-on-her-sense-of-self-the-innate-magic-of-spirituality-her-upcoming-ep

[athina-blaine]

MoMM Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1 (Preview #1)

(Note: this is not the finalized draft; anything featured is subject to edits or deletion!)

Chapter 3: The Empty Corridors

“To be honest, I’m not entirely sure I deserve that. Your friendship. After everything I’ve done since…”

“Of course you do. Listen to yourself; it’s not like you wanted to frighten me.” An inch of space sat between their hands. “Is this …? Um. Is this okay …?”

The winds continued to howl, and Martin's hand lay limp on the bed sheets. His face grew hot, and he started pulling back. Stupid idea. But then Jon slid his hand closer until their fingers brushed. Emboldened, Martin wrapped his hand around Jon's, his burn scar grazing the soft skin of Martin's palm.

He squeezed gently.

“No one deserves to be lonely, Jon.”

Jon had no response, staring out to the storm that continued knocking on their windows. He stared, and he let Martin hold his hand.

Chapter 4 - The Storm, Part 1

Martin was an optimist. He had to be. Anything else would have been utterly unbearable.

That being said, he was… relatively confident things would get better. Jon had confided in him the terrible secret of Magnus Manor and the truth of this hellish storm. The Lonely. And understanding a problem meant you were one step closer to solving it, right? It meant one step closer to getting out of the cursed estate you’d found yourself trapped in.

Most importantly, though, the two of them were talking again. Above all else, that gave him hope.

 Jon was waiting for him in the foyer the next morning. His nose was buried in a book, but when Martin approached, he looked up, and Martin liked to think he looked pleased.

“Good morning,” Martin said, hoping he didn’t sound too flustered.

“You as well. Would ... would you be amenable to sharing some morning tea? If ... if you're still offering ...”

“Y-yes, of course.” So yesterday hadn’t been a fluke; Jon wasn’t going to leave him alone again. “That sounds great. Um. English Breakfast, then?”

Jon smiled, nodded, and fetched them both a pot and one cup apiece. The porcelain warmed Martin’s aching fingers, a refreshing respite from the chill that crept so subtly through the halls.

They drank, and they talked about very little. Martin’s tongue burned with questions (–what’s it like living with these entities? How do they manifest? Will we get out of here soon?–), but he restrained himself; the age lining Jon’s face had soothed as he sipped his tea,  and when he asked Martin how he’d slept, there was a shy twist to his mouth.

Right now, Martin wanted to enjoy himself. Enjoy Jon and a warm cup of morning tea. There would be plenty of time to agonise later.

In the meantime, he’d just need to keep busy. Now was as good a time as any to give cleaning the manor another chance. Masochistic, maybe. Impossible, certainly. But at least this time he didn’t have to worry about being reprimanded. Probably.

One of the many study rooms that littered the estate would be a good place to start. Small as it was, its sooty fireplace and dusty couch was enough of a time sink for his purposes.

He was in the middle of battling a particularly stubborn stain when the door opened and Jon peered inside. Despite everything, Martin couldn’t help his trill of anxiety, made all the worse when Jon kissed his teeth.

“Must I iterate that it’s not necessary for you to – ”

“I want to.” It was still such a shock to just see Jon, to have them talking, that the words came out in a breathless, jumbled mess. “I promise. I-I like cleaning, honest. It keeps my mind off … you know, things.”

Jon paused mid-stride. For a moment, Martin thought he was going to be chased off anyway, and then he’d have to actually beg to clean, because the thought of spending another minute with nothing to do but contemplate their situation– 

“I–” Sighing, Jon brought a hand to the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Yes, fine, if you insist. So long as you understand that it is absolutely not an expectation of you.”

Martin’s shoulders sagged with relief. Another hurdle crossed.

He’d just convinced himself to relax and finally let his mind wander, soothed by the familiar, tediousness of cleaning a fireplace, when Jon unclasped his cloak, lying it over the sofa. 

“What are you doing?”

“Assisting you, obviously. Having you clean it in my stead when I’m the one responsible for it falling into disrepair doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Doesn’t bear thinking about. What didn’t bear thinking about was a man of Jon’s stature doing menial work like this in the first place. But Martin was hardly about to refuse his help … or his company, so freely given. “Um. Thank you. You don’t have to be so hard on yourself, though. There’s literally no way you could have kept this place clean all by yourself.”

“I appreciate the reassurance, but the point is moot.”

Well, if Jon wanted to roll up his sleeves and work at a grimy fireplace, Martin wasn’t about to stop him. When Jon literally rolled up his sleeves, he bit back a smile. The skin of his forearms was paler than that of his hands and face, smooth and free of blemishes. When was the last time he’d enjoyed a bit of sunshine without his shirt buttoned up to the chin?

Not that Martin had any business considering a thing like that in the first place. God, his face was burning again.

“I hate cleaning,” Jon murmured as he dunked the spare cloth in the water bucket. “Nothing ever stays clean.”

“Yeah. Gotta do it, though. Oh, you should keep your elbow up. You won’t tire out your arm as quickly.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” Jon sighed. “Perhaps the fault lies with me. I’ve never been particularly good at domesticity, after all. The rare times my grandmother was home, the only thing we talked about was how untidy my room was.”

Martin’s ears perked. The opportunity to learn more about Jon and his past? It was too enticing to resist. “Your gram wasn’t home much, then?”

“Not often. She was the matriarch of our family, so important business kept her in the capital most days.”

Oh. How … odd. Martin didn’t know anything about how noble families handled representing themselves, but … “I figured your mom or dad would take care of that sort of thing after a while. Did your gram just enjoy the work?”

“Both of my parents passed when I was a child.”

Martin’s stomach plunged to his feet. What a stupid blunder to make. “I’m … I’m so sorry.” 

“It was a long time ago,” Jon said, waving him away. “I was barely more than a baby at the time. I simply don’t remember enough of them to mourn their loss.”

Martin wasn’t sure if that made it worse. For all that Martin mourned the absence of his father, at least he had fleeting memories of warm hands and a deep voice to prove he’d existed at all. That he’d had a father once. “Still, that must have been … a bit lonely.” 

“Not at all. I always had my governess’ supervision. She provided the structure and discipline I required.” Jon laughed, a wistful, breathy thing, and lowered his head. “I was … a rather troublesome child.”

That did even less to make Martin feel better, because he suddenly had this image, unbidden, of a little boy with big eyes and gangly knees, head hanging as his grandmother told him off in clipped tones, before leaving once again to the bustling capital. No hugs, or gentle forehead kisses. Just a scolding about his messy bedroom.

I’m sure you were wonderful, he wanted to say. I’m sure you deserved better than that. 

But he was probably just projecting again.

“I’ve always liked cleaning,” Martin said, instead. “Makes me feel useful. My mum, she’s … she’s been sick most of my life. Nothing too serious,” Martin added quickly as Jon turned his head. “She just gets tired a lot. You know, hard to stay upright most of the time. There wasn’t a lot I could do to make her feel better, but keeping things clean helped.”

“I … I’m sorry to hear your mother is ill.”

“We were really lucky, actually. We lived in the same town as a really good doctor. He was really generous with us, but eventually … I-I couldn’t keep up with the bills running the farm all by myself, especially after our last goat died. We had to sell a few years ago, and I had to find work in the city.” Even after all this time, his throat tangled at the memory of leaving his childhood home. “Managed to land a really good job at the lord’s castle, so I always had money to send home. Every month. Haven’t been late once, yet. Until …”

“… Until now.”

Martin opened his mouth, because, well, he wasn’t late yet. There was still time for Martin to send his letter: about a week or so. That was plenty of time. But he refrained, because saying as much to Jon felt … dangerous. Like he was tempting fate. 

Things were going to work out. They had to. The storm was going to clear, they were going to get out of here, and then … 

“Your devotion to your mother is admirable,” said Jon.

Warmth ballooned in Martin’s stomach, spreading to the tips of his ears. It was an absurd thing to receive praise for (oh, you love your mother, really going above and beyond), but … well, it was still nice to hear, every once in a while. Or at all. “Thank you.”

It took most of the morning, but, with their combined efforts, they managed to restore the fireplace to an off-colour white. Martin stepped back, basking in the glow of a job well done. Jon, however, didn’t appear quite as chuffed as Martin felt. Rolling out his wrists, the man collapsed onto the couch, kicking up a cloud of dust in the process and triggering an intense coughing fit.

“Break time?” Martin asked, taking a much more gentle seat. His only answer was more coughing. Poor thing looked utterly done with the whole enterprise, if the curl of his nose was any indication. “So, what do you do for fun around here?”

“Fun?”

“Yeah. Unless you really intend to help me clean this room all day?”

Jon laughed, turning away sheepishly.  “I … yes, um … Well, this and that, I suppose. Reading, mostly. I’ve always had a penchant for it, and I’ve yet to make my way through the library. Um. Music, although it’s been quite some time since the gramophone worked. I took to baking for a time. I like to think I’d gotten rather good at it.”

“Wait, so you did bake that bread? When I first got here?” Martin thought back on it, how crispy the crust was, the soft and tasty inner dough, how fresh it had been. Martin couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten fresh bread. “That’s seriously amazing.”

“It’s hardly a complex task. But … yes, thank you.” Martin wasn’t sure if it was the haze of the dust, but Jon’s face looked a bit darker, a bit flushed. But then, the good humor in Jon’s eyes fell away. “And then there was the garden, of course. It was … well. A disaster, to put it mildly.”

“What happened?”

“Well, I killed everything, didn’t I?” Jon’s eyes dropped to his lap, shoulders sinking. “Not a single bulb flourished under my care. I … I eventually figured it was more merciful to give up than keep trying.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s not that bad.” Would be better to start with anything but roses, he wanted to suggest. You’re just setting yourself up to fail. But that would certainly come across as annoyingly patronising. “Maybe I can lend a hand?”

“Pardon?”

Wait. No. What business did Martin have making an offer like that? It wasn’t as if he knew any better about keeping things alive. But something about the resigned nature of Jon’s tone tore at him; his mouth had fallen open of its own accord. 

“I-I mean … Well, it might be fun, yeah?” Martin tried. “Personally, I’ve always wanted to learn how to garden.” 

“Is that so?”

Martin nodded, intending on leaving it there, but Jon was watching him, waiting. Oh.

“W-Well, uh, when I was a kid,” Martin said, face warming, “I’d always dreamed of having a, um, like a little cottage? That I owned? With a great big plot of land in the middle of a forest somewhere. Would get married, settle down, grow flowers and all kinds of food together. It’s … it’s a bit silly.”

“Not at all,” Jon said, eyes softening, and Martin’s heart fluttered something fierce. “I think that’s lovely.”

He smiled, hoping it didn’t come out as a grimace, because it had been a long, long time since he’d indulged in that particular fantasy. It just wasn’t feasible, these days, having a little cottage of his own or … or finding someone who’d want to marry him when he’s never even had a serious relationship before.

“Thank you, though, for your offer,” Jon said, cutting through Martin’s thoughts. “I’ll … be sure to consider it.”

The tight knot in Martin’s stomach unwound just a bit. “‘Course.”

By that point, the dust had become utterly unbearable, and they were forced to evacuate.

.

The brass of the door handle glimmered under the lamplight, rusted with age and disuse. How long had Martin been standing here, knees locked and shivering beneath the thick chill? Ages, by now. Griffiths was going to have his skin peeled for shirking his responsibilities like this, and the head butler would be perfectly within his rights.

But every time Martin tried to remind himself, that he still had so much work to do –

“… Hello?”

That voice. Still out there, somewhere behind the old door. Distant, but not beyond Martin’s reach. If Martin had already been here for ages, then that voice …

Wasn’t anyone coming for them?

If he opened the door, he could just take a quick look. Call out, see who needed help –

“And what do you think you’re doing, young man?”

Martin yanked his hand back, hand burnt on the molten brass.

“M-Mum?”

“I always knew you’d leave for good someday. I could see it in your eyes, you know. You couldn’t bear to take care of your poor, sick mother, and now you’re off to traipse about the countryside with some invert.”

“I didn’t leave.” Tight pressure strangled Martin’s throat, the back of his eyes burning. “I’d never do that. Where are you? I’m coming, I-I’ll find you–”

“And what, pray tell, would be the point of that?”

“Mum, please, just tell me where you are, I’m coming–”

“You’ve always been a wretched liar.”

.

Martin lurched upright, sucking painful gasps through his aching teeth, his sleep shirt sticking to his sweaty skin. No light permeated the windows— he may as well have been in a tomb, for all that he could see.

Jon was out there somewhere. Alone. As was his mother.

I’m coming back to you. I’ll find a way out of here. I’m doing everything I can– 

Liar.

Martin curled up onto his side, wrapping trembling arms around himself. Even though there was no one else to hear him, no one to stifle himself for, he drove his teeth into his lip until his mouth filled with the dull taste of copper.

Check out the Monster of Magnus Manor here!

[smolbeandrabbles]

Innocence - Andrew ‘Pope’ Cody x Reader (Animal Kingdom)

@mandy23b​ @wltz-bby​ @happyskywhale​

GIF CREDIT: X

‘This is gonna be one hell of a night, I know you want it...’ ~ Kim Petras, There Will Be Blood.

Author’s Note: Basically, this is a fic in response to #ThatOneFic on AO3. I got a little bit of ‘if you can’t beat ‘em join ‘em.’ syndrome and then decided I was better than that.  Could have written the one that’s in my drafts, but doing my Director’s Cut and then talking to everyone about it really got me like... 

Why not start some probably not very good smut with murder, after all? 😉

Can I disclaimer myself? The notes for this (written, as tradition states at like, 3am) are just pure filth. And I was horrified reading them back. So yeah, you’re not... getting that, but you’re getting remnants of what it could have been...

Added 800 words during the editing process because he needed it. I’ll fight for my vision of Andrew one fic at a time...

Innocence - Halestorm

Disclaimer: AK nothing to do with me / Part inspired by my own Director’s Cut analysis of Andrew & further fic research / lyrics & gif not mine

Small ‘need to know’ info: David is a policeman, and readers oldest brother.

Premise: When a drugs deal goes awry on the wrong side of town, and the police on the case, Andrew has one place to go. You’re used to this behaviour, but there is something about that dangerous side of him you just can’t resist - and you don’t want him to hold back...

Words: 5639

Warnings: Swearing / Sex / Sinday/Sunday Smut / Drugs references

____ You see it from the outside You're running toward the wall Swinging from your blind side But you don't know me at all I've been here too many times before And your tears don't mean a thing I only come when you scream Is this what you wanted Did I make your dreams come true? You're sitting in a corner Wondering what you got into And you ache for things you don't understand That your tears don't mean a thing And I only come when you scream, I told you Child, don't follow me home You're just too perfect for my hands to hold If you choose to stay, you'll throw it all away And I just want to take your innocence There's no such thing as fate Only yourself to blame You never walked away Child, don't follow me home You're just too perfect for my hands to hold If you choose to stay, you'll throw it all away And I just want to take your innocence

---

The scent of bleach filled the apartment; opening the front door gave you nothing more than an instant headache. You were lucky it didn’t make you gag, and you stood blinking for a few minutes – surely the feeling of your eyes stinging was only phycological?! Slipping your bag from your shoulder you exhaled deeply, followed by an inhale you instantly regretted, groaning and dragging a hand over your face. There could only be one culprit. What the hell had he done this time? He was probably long gone by now, tidied away and back home “ANDREW!” This was certainly more a cry of frustration to yourself; it wasn’t like you’d actively get mad at someone so volatile. This time you were met by an answer, coming from vaguely the direction of your bathroom. “Okay. But it wasn’t my fault this time.” You jumped immediately, dropping your bag, hand to your heart. “Geez! Are you incapable of giving me anything other than a heart attack!?!” Instead of being verbally answered, the man himself appeared; the white shirt and black slacks were ill fitting. Like he’d just grabbed the first possible thing he could from some shelf or other. Judging by the sizing, they were likely your brother David’s. Your eyes instantly narrowed; only one reason Andrew wouldn’t be wearing his own clothes. “What the fuck did you do?” He held both his hands up, the attempt to stop you from jumping to conclusions clearly not working by your unimpressed face: “Got caught in the crossfire, that’s all.” You folded your arms, daring him to pull the other: “Oh yeah, my whole apartment smells like bleach because you got caught in the crossfire.” His face was deadly serious: “You can’t expect me not to retaliate now, can you.” Your body’s instant reaction to that was to move away from him, but your jerk away was not followed by a step back, “So you did kill someone.” His eyes flicked over your shoulder for a split second, “Not exactly.” “Andrew!” “Would you rather I was dead?” He touched his hand to his chest, immediately making you defensive. “Don’t say things like that--!” Of course not, you never liked thinking that it was a distinct possibility. The corporate world of the men you used to date – of the man you almost married – was a million miles from the one standing in front of you right now. Andrew turning up here unannounced was not unusual, but it usually meant something had pushed him here. It was that thought that prompted your next question; “What happened?” “Drugs run gone wrong.” Too blunt. You opened you mouth, eyes going point a-z - you weren’t really looking at anything, you just didn’t want to look into his eyes when you knew all they’d show was how deadly serious he was – “You know, sometimes I wish you’d be just a little more subtle with me, Andrew.” You shook your head “But, I know that’s not your strong suit.” He gave a shrug, “You asked. Usually you don’t want to know.” “Yeah well, now I wished I hadn’t.” You indicated to your bathroom, “What state is it in?” “It’s fine.” You pushed passed him with a huff; “I’ll be the judge of that!” You couldn’t actually stand in there for more than a few seconds at a time, but when finally you deemed it safe, you couldn’t help but conclude that he was right. Even if he was on thin ice. “How much damn blood was there for you to need that much bleach?” Andrew gave you a single slow blink; “I like to be thorough.” There was an edge to his voice that sent a shudder up your spine that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Yeah, you knew that. “Did you come all the way up to my apartment in blood stained clothes?!” “Not exactly.” “This I don’t want to hear.” “I know there’s cameras. I know the blind spots and trust me, no one saw me.” That was about the only thing he’d said so far you did trust. Andrew was far too good at this – if he said no one saw him, then no one saw him. Or they were already sworn to silence. “And your clothes are where?” Because if they weren’t in a dumpster about 6 miles away, you’d throttle him yourself. “Oh no, you-” “It better not have been a shirt I liked!” This blink meant nothing, and his face remained stoic. So it probably was, now doused in someone else’s blood. Vital evidence, of course. You sighed and stepped towards him, “The police?” “Drug land wars. It’s gonna look like exactly what it was.” “Promise me this isn’t traceable?” “It wasn’t our side of town. But you know that means nothing.” “A…Andrew…” You took his face in your hands, beneath your fingertips the tiny litter of scars you could still feel, but not see. His body was littered with such marks – you doubted he’d ever consider healing properly before he was off to the next big ‘adventure’. “Tell me you’re gonna be okay?” He placed his hands gently on your waist, but shook his head, “I can’t. You know that.” Andrew would stretch the truth, perhaps even lie by omission; but never blatantly. Not to you – not to someone who cared about him in the way you did. You shook your head, fingers holding him a little firmer before you placed your forehead to his: “I’m just glad you’re safe.” It was all you could say, but you meant it. It could have been his blood all over someone else’s clothes, with their significant other now holding them the way you were holding him. Instead they were likely getting news that the person they loved was dead, and you got to feel Andrew Cody breathe. He wasn’t holding you like a man who loved you, you weren’t even close. You weren’t about to unpick his feelings right this second, but you knew exactly what that meant.   “You can’t stay, can you?” He shook his head again, slowly, detaching himself from you. “Not today.” Not I’m sorry, not I love you, just not today. His brothers were at the scene, but Andrew was the one that was in trouble. You wondered if that meant he should be staying – or if he thought staying would put you in danger. This was meant to be his safe house… then again, maybe he needed to get back to his family. Andrew had a knack for disappearing by coming to you – for exactly that reason, no one would think to look for him in this part of town – if the Cody’s didn’t know where he’d got to, they’d be facing chaos. You weren’t about to tell him that his presence god-knows-how-long later dressed in someone else’s clothes probably would only add to that. “If you need me…” “I’ll come back.” He only gave a single nod, those blue eyes telling nothing but the truth. Andrew let you steal a single kiss before he was heading toward your front door, he opened it without a word, pausing only to half raise his hand to say goodbye. You wanted to tell him you loved him, it didn’t seem like an appropriate moment, and with a last lingering look your apartment door closed, leaving you alone. You let out another breath, this time loud as it built into a groan, hands running into your hair: ‘What the fuck am I doing!?’

***

You weren’t exactly in the know on this type of thing, and living across Melbourne in your apartment, you saw Andrew by arrangement, or when he chose to see you. Crime in Melbourne didn’t interest you until it had to – and half the time it was only because he forced your hand. A shoot out on the wrong side of town attracted the attention of the police. The Cody’s weren’t in favour with the police at the best of times, so this only made the cops go haywire. You were none the wiser, but the boys knew it. The law would be all over them – Baz was surprised that they weren’t already, and to counteract this, quickly managed to set a plan in motion. Although it was enacted with an air of panic. “Alright! This time we take no chances, its lockdown. We can’t go anywhere; we move slow and cautious and don’t do anything.” Baz stilled and thought for a moment before turning to his friend, the most likely candidate to get into the wrong kind of trouble. They’d all been there, sure, but it was Andrew the police would come down hardest on. “If we do, we gotta stay put – if necessary, hide. Pope, that means you-!” Craig and Darren immediately began arguing about “How can the house be safe!?” and Baz had the job of reasoning about alibis and how they usually got out of this with help from Ezra, commonly - without evidence - nothing went anywhere… and trying to knock some sense into their panic. Andrew wasn’t hearing any of this, instead he just sat calmly, eyes on a fixed spot – staying here wasn’t his only option. In fact, it was an option he’d rather not take. He stood, wandering off to his bedroom, exiting barely a minute later with a bag. At this point the others realised that he was in fact, leaving, and their yelling after him didn’t cause a turn back. Andrew Cody left without a word. “Andrew!! POPE! Where the HELL do you think you’re going man?!” Baz was too preoccupied with his friend to bother holding the other two back, and yet they didn’t attempt to chase their older brother. He knew the answer that Andrew wouldn’t give; “Y/N.” Darren turned to him with wide eyes; “Is that even safe-!?!” Baz thought that was doing you a disservice as a head strong city girl, you knew what you were getting into. You knew who Andrew was. “Man, I don’t even know where she lives. It’s perfect. After all, who is gonna ask a girl - who barely knows the names of three drugs - where the hell Andrew Cody is. She’s the last place you’d think to look...”

They all heard the car engine start, and as it pulled from the drive they were left in silence. “Should we stop him?” “Nope. It’s not worth it. Pope’s made his choice, best he lay low and out of it for now.” Craig tipped nearly his entire body as he mused his thought; “How did he even get her anyway!?!” Baz frowned, “It’s not about how he got her,” Although he was sure he knew the answer to that,  “it’s about how he’s keeping her.” “Fear?” Baz was almost worried that that was Darren’s gut answer and shook his head firmly. “No. No that’s not it. Pope wouldn’t hurt her.” “You sure about that. He’s got pretty violent tendencies...” This particular incident was a case in point. “No. Because she really WOULD leave.” Unless it was truly accidental; you’d kicked him out for drugs – he lay a hand on you (in a way you didn’t like; he’d seen the scratches and bruises that often adorned your hips that you seemed to like showing off sometimes) Baz wouldn’t think you’d be incapable of calling the cops yourself. That wasn’t a thought he liked. “Oh, she loves him, dearly…” “So what is she to him?” There was a tone of disgust in Craig’s voice, Baz gave him a significant look, “At the very least, a safer space than he’ll ever have here.”

** Weekends alone were nice. You liked waking in someone’s arms, you liked wasting your time on nothing, maybe you’d be treated to a walk somewhere, but it was likely that if Andrew was staying the weekend, you’d not leave your apartment. But alone you could very nearly sleep the whole thing away, eat whenever you wanted – maybe do a grocery store snack run, see your friends at all your favourite Melbourne coffee bars, take your car up to your parents for the weekend to see the kids… but staying under the covers with nothing but your dreams was the priority.   And given that the smell of bleach was finally completely dissipating from your apartment, tonight was the best you slept in days. However, when you woke this morning you weren’t alone. Which was fine either way, your boyfriend had a key and this behaviour wasn’t uncommon, but he was not beside you in bed. Rather, standing at the foot of it staring at you. Andrew Cody wasn’t even blinking, and the only thing that would indicate that he wasn’t a statue, was the rise and fall of his chest for every breath he took. He’d been here for a while, simply observing your sleeping form, your movements and your breathing; Andrew didn’t want to wake you when the dreams seemed good. He didn’t scare you, or make you jump. If anything his presence made you feel a little safer, but by the indication of your clock it was nearly midday… what was he doing here? You flattened yourself out onto your back as you stared right back at him, but his eyes didn’t hold yours very long, raking themselves down your body. The fluctuation of his breathing changed, and you could read that like a book. This man was clearly DTF. And although you couldn’t possibly believe that Andrew would make the journey across the city just for that, it wasn’t out of Andrew’s remit. “What?” Your voice was still soft as you pushed yourself up with your arms so you sat. “Andrew? Baby, what?” Your pulse was elevating to meet the look on his face, the hunger in his eyes. Clearly your body was more than happy to read the signals of his and be roused from its dreams to give signals of its own. Your tongue danced across your bottom lip as you lowered your gaze to the rest of Andrew’s body. You couldn’t deny that you could feel the rise in your arousal and this time, as his eyes came up to meet yours again, your body tingled under the weight of his stare. You wanted him right now too. “C’mere.” You encouraged him, tipping your body back to rest on your hands, head inclined. Andrew didn’t need more than that invitation, crawling onto the bed, hands either side of you. You could hear his breathing now, and he was close, but still not touching you. You continued watching the way he was still staring at your body, the change to the colour of his eyes – he was putting too much thought into this and it was torture. Andrew inhaled you, and you could almost feel the heat coming from him. For a moment you realised you’d been forgetting to breathe, and as you did so your body gave a throb, stomach knotting deliciously. The scent of him covered you. With Andrew this close you didn’t think there was any going back from that. “Do you want me? Andrew? Babe? Do you want me? You can say it...” He still wasn’t looking at your face, and although his head movements were neither confirmation or denial, they were indecisive. With no verbal reaction, but consent certainly needed in order to continue, you closed that gap, grazing your lips to his cheek you nudged his head back just enough to ghost his lips. “I want you, too. Baby, I need you.” If he wouldn’t consent verbally, you would simply let him know you did. He immediately let out a growl, pushing you back into the sheets. Even if you expected kisses, you didn’t expect them to be this harsh and it was very nearly shocking – was Andrew only trying to hold himself back? He pinned you down; knees by your hips, feet between your legs. But you didn’t struggle against him, hands shooting to his shoulders and through his hair – Andrew didn’t pin your wrists. You could feel your hips widening for him – knowing immediately that you wanted him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to you. Shifting himself so that you were still pinned, Andrew pulled your underwear down your legs, discarding them. All the while his lips were still on yours and he wasn’t affording you much breathing room. Some would say this was too close, but this was just where he liked to be. His hands ran smoothly back up your thighs and your hips wiggled underneath his, looking for anything. Andrew answered you sooner than expected, clearly he wasn’t in the mood to wait for this, and slowed his hands to part your thighs just that little more. You immediately moaned into his kiss as Andrew ran his index finger teasingly through your folds. You knew he wouldn’t stop there, and you had to leave his lips in order to draw enough breath to whine as he circled your clit slow. Andrew freed you from being pinned just so you could feed your legs into a more comfortable position whilst still giving him access to you; already flushed, you knew he wouldn’t have to do much to work you up. Dipping his fingers into your arousal as he brushed his thumb across your clit, it wasn’t long before he pushed a finger inside you and even shorter before another joined it – widening you for him. You weren’t even sure you were fully awake yet and your mouth to brain filters hadn’t kicked in, hands shaking as you undid the buttons on your own shirt. “Fuck baby, I need you inside me. Oh, baby please, fuck me, hard. Harder. Edge me, tease me, make me yours.” Clearly neither of you were quite sure where that had come from by the look on his face, but if Andrew thought that was what you wanted, that was what he would give you. Andrew knew what the way you were talking was doing to him as he undid his belt and jeans; it was weird to hear out of your mouth sure, but you were only succeeding in turning him on even more. He removed his fingers from you and thrust in with more force than you expected – causing you to cry out again; not entirely in pain. He growled, lips to your neck as his nails dug into your hips, you pulled his body closer, locking your legs behind him. You drew Andrew deeper; but that was exactly where you wanted him. Here we go with another set of bruises I luckily never have to explain… No trips to the beach for another week, then. If this was back at his, if he’d have called you and asked you to come over – which wasn’t often but it did happen - then this would have to be quiet, and you got the feeling that he was going to be so rough with you that it would be impossible to be silent. But also Andrew liked it when you weren’t – he liked hearing the sounds that he was capable of drawing from you. For just a second he placed his head against yours, and that single kiss was gentle; you thought you were already breathless, perhaps in anticipation, but still managed to say it: “Baby, I will be as loud as you want.” It didn’t take long before you were blissfully sighing his name, moaning and arching you back into him and the travel of his hands. You had to admit you were insanely turned on, but also, in your house you could turn the volume to 10, because that’s what he enjoyed. Andrew didn’t hurt you when you had sex, it wasn’t something that occurred to him; sure he held you tight enough to leave marks and scratches, but he wasn’t actively hurting you. So him being this rough was an unusual experience. But Andrew also didn’t usually talk, beyond the occasional phenomena of his own quiet sighs, and his whispers of your name. So, you weren’t sure if you had unlocked or awakened something in him that was always there, but he never knew you wanted, or Andrew was simply playing into your request – but the threatening growl in his voice as he spoke basically had you doing as he commanded on the spot, “I’m gonna make you cum over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and then when you can’t take it any more I’ll finally cum for you.” You whimpered your ‘what!?’ in such a way that it didn’t even sound like a word – your fingers clinging onto him and tangling into his shirt for dear life as he continued his reckless rhythm inside you. You felt too high on the feeling of him fucking you, but you would take him at his word – that was exactly what Andrew was going to do, unless you told him to stop. And he would, if he didn’t want to hurt you, he would. He'd be out the door faster than he could apologise if not. Did you want him to stop, was the question? Instead you responded in kind; “Fuck me Andrew. Do whatever you want with my body, it’s yours.”

Andrew didn’t say anything unless it was worth saying, unless he meant it (at least sober) - that was like an unwritten rule. Although maybe with you like this he wasn’t entirely sober, ever. But it felt so heat of the moment and foreign to him - what he was telling you wasn’t calculated… it wasn’t even truly blunt information but it turned you on. And that clench of your muscles around him was something that he could feel. The same way he could feel your pulse under his fingertips, and your warmth: that was your life, your heartbeat and it jumped with your excitement. The sound of it with the ticking of his watch; everything was suddenly so sensory to him. It ran wild the harsher he was with you and the harder you panted; desperate to take on more air. He didn’t have to associate that sound with life, either, he knew that noise when taking it. Andrew wasn’t sure if he was supposed to find that sexy or not; but he thought he did.

Every little sign of your body was all he needed; Andrew could pay attention to that minutia of detail, whether it be the sounds you made, or the shake that you fought so hard against, the movement of your body under his, how it felt to have your fingertips glide over him, for your lips to press into his skin, smaller tensions of resistance… but also how it felt to be inside you - how being a little rough and talking a little dirty seemed only to make you wetter, a little tighter, a lot more desperate for him - as if suddenly all your senses had heightened too. Maybe this was just something you both needed. But all of this was bringing you pleasure - that’s what mattered most. That Andrew was bringing you something positive; HE was doing this to you. He didn’t know why you stuck around; he gave you plenty of reason to leave. But you proved a point, even if really you knew you were only proving it to yourself; that Andrew Cody could make a positive impact on people’s lives. You wanted nothing more than to desperately confirm to him that he wasn’t just some tool his family could use for violence without mercy. Andrew could be this for someone; a life partner, needed, wanted, loved... And it wasn’t just you - but the way your whole family felt about him; Andrew deserved a real family.

He watched the sweat dance on your skin for a minute, acutely aware of the way your nails were digging into him; “Andrew, PLEASE, give me more-!” You weren’t just a someone though. You were you. You of all the damn people in this city, let alone the world. You could have anyone you wanted - you almost got married. Whether that man be long gone or not, occasionally it crossed Andrew’s mind that if it wasn’t for him coming into your life, your absolute fascination with him, the fact that this was practically an affair… you would be married right now; in some extravagant mansion in some fancy part of Melbourne. But you weren’t, you were with him - having loud rough sex in your apartment in a moment where you were thinking things didn’t get much better than that. Andrew proved to you that you didn’t have to settle for what you thought you wanted - but you could just as easily find what you really needed, even in the most unexpected of places. For Andrew, he couldn’t help but admit there was an excitement about the potential of corrupting someone not from his world, nor should have ever crossed the line into it. And yet here you were, beneath him.

He didn’t go back on any of his growled promises; and every time you came it felt different. Because this wasn’t just about one thing – not just the physical act; it was how you were feeling about him, and how Andrew felt for you. How he listened intently to what your body was telling him and changed it up - how you vocalised what you liked (and maybe when he got a little too rough). Emotions might have been hard to find in Andrew Cody but they were buried there somewhere, and they were real, and sometimes he gave you a glimpse of them. Even if it was just the look on his face right now, as you came for him again, and again, and again… The slight sympathy in his features as you begged him to cum for you, in short sharp breaths that he could really barely register as a sentence: hot and flushed and sweaty and spent… but his; completely his. Heart, Body, Mind and Soul. And Andrew didn’t need to look at the marks across your skin to know it.

By the time he did finally come undone inside you, your energy was completely drained, body shaking beneath his. You were both drenched in sweat and breathing hard – but every second had been worth it – and your body was singing from every single high you were still on. You couldn’t be sure you were even down from the first yet. You weren’t sure if your mental note should be: we should really do this again, or, we really should never do this again! So you’d put a pin in it for now, far too tired to do more than sift your fingers through his hair as he lay quietly on your chest listening to your heartbeat. Whatever that decision would be, you couldn’t help thinking on the fact that you wanted this more often, you would keep Andrew here if you could… If you thought that was ever possible. One day you’d work up the nerve to broach him moving in, for now you lay still and quiet. Now wasn’t the time… Now you just wanted to get lost in the way he made you feel. ** You had barely left the bed all weekend, if only to shower. (Which hardly ever turned out as innocent as it sounded). Usually exhausted, but hardly something to worry about. Andrew took good care of you. But he really had worn you out and after he’d set you on the sofa, so that he could change your sheets and tidy up, Andrew returned to your sleeping form. He tilted his head to watch you; remnants of that afterglow remained, smile on your face as your body curled up. Although you were tired you looked content, no worries.  Exactly how Andrew wished he could keep you. You were with him though, so that certainly wasn’t easy. He stooped, arms under your body as he pulled you into him. You groaned gently as he tipped you, head against his chest. Andrew gave pause again as you immediately sought the warmth of his body with a sleepy hum. His head gave an involuntary little shake as he carried you back to your bedroom. Depositing you back on your bed to curl up once more, Andrew stopped in the doorway only to make sure you had settled, before he closed the door on you and continued his tidying. *** Andrew thought about simply leaving, maybe it would have calmed down at home, maybe he could find somewhere else to lay low… But, although you’d talked this weekend you’d never quite broached the subject of why he was here. It wasn’t something important to you, he supposed, it wasn’t something you’d ask probably because usually you’d get a blunt answer. You didn’t need to know. And yet maybe this time you did. You were still sleeping when he re-entered your bedroom, and Andrew settled on the bed to watch you this time. However, your body didn’t stir, as it had when he’d arrived; you were relaxed and peaceful. Andrew knew you enough to know that you slept pretty light usually, but you seemed a lot deeper in this time around. He was right, you were exhausted. Through good things, at least. He placed his fingers gently to your neck, searching for the run of your pulse… when he found it Andrew applied increasing pressure, it changed under his fingertips; manipulated by his exertion on you – but when he did this, he could feel it stronger. That was your life under his fingertips; something that he could so easily take from you. And that thought almost scared him, you walked a razors edge - balanced constantly - and yet never seemed to let it faze you. You stood up to him without fear that he could turn around and kill you, even though Andrew knew how aware you were of that possibility. Andrew supposed you just never let it cross your mind. That you wouldn’t allow yourself to believe that your relationship could ever end that way. He would keep it to himself, of course, but Andrew had an uneasy feeling this relationship would only end when one of you was dead. Uncomfortable with the applied pressure, your body woke you; Andrew withdrew his hand fascinated with the way you took on more air as you awoke. It really would be that easy… You stretched slowly and turned to him, “Oh… my god. I-” you glanced to the clock, “…I’m sorry.” “You needed it.” Andrew gave a nonchalant shrug. “I thought you might leave.” “I considered it.” He was still being blunt, you weren’t all that sure Andrew would recognise the difference and let you down softly: “…I might need to overstay my welcome.” You pulled yourself up, taking his hand in yours, “You are always welcome here. What happened?” He would take his leave, if there wasn’t a reason he couldn’t return home. “You know.” “The same as before? So the police are after you?” You said it with an undertone of ‘I told you so’. “Appears that way.” “And you’re gonna tell me what it’s about?” That was a rare event. “…I told you.” He indicated, “But-” and shuffling over to his things he presented you with a large polished wooden box. You were immediately unsure you were going to like this, and opened the lid cautiously, only at the last second realising now your fingerprints were on this thing. ‘David would scream at me!’ You blew out a breath at the contents, unable to quite raise your eyes to his. The entire box was filled with drugs, of various types, surely you couldn’t name them all, but pills, needles and powder were all present in various shapes and colours. Spoils of war? The darker patches of brown you could see around the edges of the box were saying blood to you. You were silent for a long while, before you said the first thing you could really think of, “This... is a lot.” A lot for me. “I know.” You weren’t sure he let your sentence settle enough for him to really know. You became sad for a minute, fingers dancing across the surface of the box as you closed it, unsure of what to do. What you were supposed to do with this information now. Andrew continued, deciding to take the leap of: “I can’t be what you want me to be.” You raised your head, with a blink and looked at him; clear and true, dead in the eye: “I don’t want you to be anything.” You had never wanted him to be anything, you knew exactly who he was. “You might be what they say you are, Andrew.” Not that you would know, being so out of the loop. But you’d seen enough, in your opinion far too much, “But that is not ALL you are.” I know you... I. Know. You. You could think of nothing else than to gather him to you, you didn’t care if he reciprocated or not – it was something you needed to do. Even if it was only for yourself. You buried your head in his shoulder, lacing yours fingers with his. Andrew wasn’t looking at you, he wasn’t even really giving you anything back. But he wasn’t pulling away from you either – and that was just as important. You rubbed his arm affectionately, running up to his collar. Those blue eyes trailed to yours; and you held him there. Your voice was gentle, voicing the only thing that really mattered to you in this moment – his own safety. “Stay as long as you need, we’ll get through this, we always do.”

You always would.

---

Thank yoooooou for reading! 💙💜

[lyranova]

Well, her request is somewhat... unorthodox. Basically, one where Natsu’s a closeted trans-woman, who Lucy decides to help live as a woman. She takes Natsu out to get a make over, and buy some new clothes.

Of course! I’m sorry this took so long and I hope you like it, I apologize if it isn’t accurate or if your friend doesn’t like it. If i need to i can edit or change or delete this if your friend finds it inaccurate or anything ok? Also thank you and your friend so much for answering my questions ☺️! But I hope everyone enjoys! (Also pronouns change in this fic from ‘he/him’ to ‘she/her’ in case you guys get confused!)

Word Count: 1,827

Warnings: None

———-

Lucy was very happy today, she had just finished a mission all by herself and had earned enough money not only for her rent, but also for shopping! She hurried to Natsu’s home, she couldn’t wait to tell him the news and she would maybe treat him to some dinner if she had extra money left over. She couldn’t stop the warm smile from gracing her features as she came upon his small cottage, even though she had been here many times before it still always managed to bring a smile to her face. As Lucy came upon his door she just pushed it open, not bothering to knock, she assumed Natsu wouldn’t mind.

“ Hey Natsu guess what?!” She shouted as she entered his home, he wasn’t in the living room like usual, so she went towards his bedroom since that was the only other place he could be. She walked towards his bedroom and, without thinking, she pushed his door open.

“ No wait Lucy-!” She heard Natsu shout but it was too late, she froze in his bedroom doorway, unsure of what to say.

Natsu was dressed in a loose knee length dress, a pair of black sandals. His hair was long and wavy, almost like what Lucy would assume a princesses hair to look like. She saw Natsu’s eyes widen, in both shock and fear.

“ N-Natsu…” That was all Lucy could say at the moment, she was trying to wrap her head around what she was seeing. She was in shock. Natsu turned red and quickly faced away from her.

“ You weren’t supposed to see me like this, not yet anyway.” She muttered softly, her eyes staying on the floor. Natsu hadn’t come out to anyone yet about being transgender, the only one that knew so far was Happy, and he hadn’t told anyone. Natsu couldn’t look Lucy in the eye, she didn’t want to see the disgust that Natsu assumed would be on Lucy’s face.

“ Natsu...what’s going on?” Lucy asked softly as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. Natsu sighed before walking over to her bed and sitting down. She kept her eyes on the floor even as Lucy walked over.

“ I...I’m transgender Lucy, I have been for a while.” She spoke softly, Lucy had never heard her like this before. Lucy crouched down in front of Natsu.

“ Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked, she thought she was Natsu’s best friend, that she would tell her anything. Lucy was admittedly hurt that Natsu felt like she couldn’t trust her with this. Natsu began to pick at a loose thread on her dress.

“ I was scared, I was scared you would judge me, you would hate me even. I just...I just didn’t know how to tell you Lucy. I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.” Natsu told her softly. They sat there in silence, both trying to take in the information, it was mostly Lucy trying to process all of the information.

“ So, you were born in the wrong body?” Lucy asked, hoping not to offend her, she knew what transgender was but didn’t have much information on it.

“ Yeah, I always felt like there was something about me that wasn’t..right. Like, I never felt comfortable in my own skin, whenever you guys call me ‘he’ or ‘him’ it never really felt right it always felt like you were talking to someone else. I had never even considered that I was maybe not who I was supposed to be, until I decided to write a journal, like you do. Then it all made sense; all the things I was feeling, all the reasons why I was never fully happy with myself, it was because I wasn’t born in the right body.” She explained softly, still not looking at Lucy.

Lucy patiently listened, and she couldn’t help but wonder why she never noticed how unhappy she was. Natsu always had a bright, cheerful smile on her face, she always encouraged everyone and tried to make them feel special. But Lucy never did that for her in return, and she was so angry at herself, how could she call herself Natsu’s best friend if she didn’t notice how she felt? Lucy moved closer to Natsu and, to Natsu’s surprise, she pulled her into her arms and held her close.

“ It’s ok Natsu, I would never hate you! I care about you so much and all I want is for you to be happy, and if transitioning is what makes you happy and makes you love yourself, then I support you 100%!” Lucy told her as she held Natsu close, Natsu looked up at her with wide, hopeful eyes.

“ Really? Y-You don’t find this-?” Lucy shook her head and quickly cut her off.

“ Not at all. It was a little shocking at first, but the more I looked at you and seen how happy you are, the more I realized you’re actually being you instead of pretending to be something you’re not.” Lucy placed a small kiss on Natsu’s cheek, causing her to blush, before she wrapped her arms around Lucy and hugged her back.

“ Now,” Lucy started after they sat like that for a moment, just holding each other. “ let’s fix your hair and clothes.” She added as she pulled away, Natsu’s dress was a little ill fitting, his shoes too small, and his wig wasn’t put on properly.

“ Fix my-?” Lucy suddenly pulled her up and walked her over to the mirror in Natsu’s bedroom, she placed her in front of it before looking around.

“ Do you have any other dresses here?” Lucy asked before walking over to her closet to see if she had something that would fit a little better before seeing Natsu shake her head.

“ No, this is all I have.” Natsu told her softly, she whipped around to face the blushing dragon slayer, that was all she had? One dress, one wig, and one pair of shoes?! Nuh-uh, that wasn’t going to fly with Lucy.

“ Alright new plan! We’re going shopping!” Lucy declared with a firm nod before walking back over to Natsu and trying to fix her dress and wig.

“ S-Shopping? But Lucy I don’t think-.” Natsu started to argue but she watched the blonde shake her head in the mirror.

“ Yes you can! If anyone tries to say anything about you, or tries to call you names or anything like that then don't worry! Cause I’ll be there to kick their butts, even though I know you’ll be able to handle them yourself.” Lucy said with a soft smile, she watched as the pink haired woman smiled back. Between the two of them, no one would ever get away with making rude comments about Natsu.

“ Now, we’re going to buy a better fitting dress and some new shoes. Even replace this wig.” Lucy said and she watched Natsu shake her head quickly.

“ No. we’re not replacing the wig.” Natsu said defensively, causing Lucy to frown.

“ Why not? It’s kinda old and you could use a new one-.” Lucy started but was cut off.

“ I said no and that’s final! We can buy another wig or two for me to have but we are not replacing this one!” Natsu told her in a slightly raised voice, Lucy blinked before she realized why she was so protective of the wig.

It was special, it helped her become her true self, it helped her realize just how beautiful she was, the wig was a key part to all of this. Lucy nodded before standing on her toes and fixing the wig properly.

“ Ok. We won’t replace it. C’mon let’s go!” Lucy shouted, grabbing Natsu’s hand after fixing her wig, and dragging her outside so they could go shopping.

They were out for hours, they had gone to three different stores and bought a lot of new clothes and shoes and wigs for Natsu to have. Lucy even bought her some make up in case she wanted it. She was going to use most of the money she had gotten from that job on clothes for her, but Natsu needed them more, and honestly, she was having too much fun giving her a makeover!

“ Ok, so after we go to this shoe store we’re going to stop for some lunch-.” Natsu didn’t hear the rest of what Lucy was saying, this entire time she had thought Lucy would hate her, be disgusted with her, and never even speak to her again. But she didn’t. Instead, she took her shopping, fixed her clothes, accepted her, and loved her unconditionally. Natsu wondered if the others would be as accepting as Lucy, if they would all still love her unconditionally. She knew a lot of them would have a hard time adjusting to the news, but if Lucy was there, then she would be ok.

“ Also, have you chosen a new name yet? I was thinking about maybe going by the bookstore and finding a book full of names, hey, are you ok?” Lucy asked in concern as Natsu just stared at her. Lucy gasped in surprise as she was suddenly wrapped up in a hug and she could feel tears hit her bare shoulders.

“ Thank you, thank you for accepting me. For loving me. For making me feel like I can tell everyone and anyone, for helping me become who I really am. You’re my very best friend and I love you so much.” Natsu cried before placing a gentle kiss on Lucy’s cheek, causing her to blush. But she wrapped her arms around her and hugged her tightly.

“ I love you too, no matter what. I’ll always be your best friend and I’m always here for you. I can’t promise there won’t be days where I won’t slip up and accidentally call you the wrong pronoun, or the wrong name, and I apologize in advance for that. Just be patient with me, because I will learn.” Lucy spoke softly as her chin rested on Natsu’s shoulder. She could feel her nod.

“ I will. I promise. Oh, and as far as a name, I kinda already picked one.” Natsu said with a small laugh as they pulled away.

“ What is it?” Lucy asked curiously, she saw Natsu’s smile become the brightest it had been since she walked in on him.

“ Tana. My name’s Tana.” Natsu, now Tana, announced. Lucy played the name over and over in her head, and even said it a couple of times to see how it sounded, before she nodded and a bright smile was also on her face. Tana’s smile was always contagious, that was one of the many things she loved about her.

“ It’s nice to finally meet you, Tana.”

——

I hope you guys enjoyed this and i’m sorry if it isn’t very good! But thanks for reading and I hope you have a good day~!

[tiaragqueen]

Proclivity

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Modern! Minato Namikaze x Reader

✂ Word Count: 987

✂ Trigger Warnings: Possessiveness, isolation, implied depression

[Edited]

***

I'm so thirsty for yandere Minato and I can only find one so far *sobs* we need more of that guy.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Talk to me softly, there's something in your eyes. Don't hang your head in sorrow, and please don't cry. I know how you feel inside.” - Don’t Cry [Guns N’ Roses]

When Minato first proposed to you, it felt as if your childish dream had come true. He was everything you ever wanted from a man; handsome, gentlemanly, well-off, confident, intelligent, and calm. A perfect guy that most women would kill to have, and only seemed to appear in romance novels and movies. You didn’t believe your eyes when you first encountered him, thinking that he was only faking things to garner attention, but were soon relieved to learn otherwise. In some petty way, it boosted your ego when he’d asked you to marry him. You were about to spend the rest of your life with one of the most popular men in Konoha City, after all.

Regardless, you weren’t superficial enough to accept the proposal due to his looks and wealth. You loved him wholly, even though he’d never displayed his bad side to you.

What’s the worse that could happen anyway?

However, everything changed in the third month of your marriage. After moving you to a desolate estate in some unnamed suburbs – you never knew he had one, but you thought it was a nice, albeit concerning, surprise – he gradually restricted your freedom. From limiting your time together with your friends to assigning bodyguards whenever you went out. You thought it was his way of looking after your well-being and felt ‘touched’ instead. His occupation as a chairman came with certain risks, after all, so you couldn’t exactly complain.

You kept permitting things to happen, despite the obvious red flags your brain tried to warn until you woke up on one morning and felt glum for an unknown reason.

Minato looked up from the newspaper he was reading and raised a brow at your listless state. Your sleeping schedule was normal, you got enough sunlight every day, and he ensured to provide you with your favorite food and snacks. So, why did you look morose?

“Is everything okay, hun?” he asked, cerulean eyes examining your visage to pinpoint the source of the problem. You nodded meekly and kept playing with your breakfast, one hand propping your cheek. Frowning, Minato leaned forward and clasped your wrist to snap you out of whatever you were thinking about. “Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right? I’m not going to judge, I promise you.”

You stared at him for a moment before sighing. “I just… don’t feel really good today.”

“Are you ill, perhaps?”

You shook your head.

“No, I think... I think I need to go out more.”

Minato looked visibly relieved as he leaned against the chair and smiled. “Then, by all means, go ahead. I’ll tell the guards to accompany you later, unless… you want to wait for me instead? I think I can make an exception for today. My schedules aren’t very packed.”

“No!” He jolted a little when you abruptly stood up and exclaimed. Heaving, you slumped back on the chair and pinched the bridge of your nose. “What I mean to say is I need some time alone for myself. I want to do things without anyone watching me like a hawk.”

“Oh…?” Minato squinted slightly, but before you could spot the displeasure, he quickly reverted to his cordial mien. “Then, I’ll order them to look elsewhere.”

You dragged a hand down your face and grunted, resisting the urge to snap at him again. “I need some ‘me time’, Minato. I don’t want anyone to constantly look after me as if I can’t protect myself. I’m an adult, not a kid!”

“I know, I know, honey.” Minato immediately moved to your side and caressed your back. You tried to withdraw, but you couldn’t deny the way your body relaxed under his touch. Regardless, you bowed against the tabletop and encircled your arms around your head. “I understand your frustration, but you have to know that dangers lurk in every corner. I can’t always keep an eye on you, and I’m worried one of my enemies would get you someday.”

“And you think bringing a bunch of bodyguards with me wouldn’t attract any attention?”

“Yes, but they can protect you if someone tries to pull a dangerous move.” He cocked his head, trying to peek at your expression through the gap of your hair and arm. “If it worries you so much, I can try to decrease the guards. How’s that sound?”

“… Can’t you just tell them not to follow me for a day?”

Your voice was soft and slightly hopeful, but he could distinguish the telltale quiver of upcoming tears. It broke his heart to hear such a sorrowful tone from you, and yet, he reassured himself that you’d understand his reasoning someday. You’d understand that everything he did to you was for your own sake, even if it sacrificed your freedom in the process.

Regardless of how callous it seemed, nothing was free in this world. Everything had pros and cons, and security needed the loss of independence to truly worked.

“I can’t, I’m sorry.” Despite his apology, he didn’t sound apologetic at all. Instead, it felt as though he was trying to justify his logic any further. “I care about you too much to let anyone harm even a strand of your hair.”

You buried your face deeper, and he realized that you’d started sobbing. Sighing, Minato slung an arm across your back and brought you into his chest

“I’ll call in absent and accompany you if that’s what you want.” he murmured calmly as he stroked your hair. “There’ll be no guards to watch us, so you can do anything you want in there.”

You didn’t know why he thought it’d be the best alternative considering he’d basically replaced their position, but you took the offer nonetheless. It was better than being followed by a group of stiff men in suits, although either choice didn’t allow you much freedom anyway.

Closing your eyes, you finally nodded.

[afoolforatook]

On fandom and tragic romance tropes, from someone who's lived it.

Okay, this is kind of…. Idk a very specific vent and tbh one I feel kinda bad about because I genuinely don’t want to make people feel bad for liking reading/writing romantic angst or tragedy and it’s really less of an individual issue than an overall attitude in fandom.

Like, it’s absolutely okay to like not happy endings, and angst doesn’t have to just be for cathartic relief. Angst isn’t only acceptable if it’s to process trauma, you’re allowed to like it just because that’s your taste.

But at the same time…. I can’t help but have very personal feelings about how a lot of fandom spaces treat tragic romance tropes…

(this got really long but... it's something I've wanted to address for a long time)

I'm far from secretive with the fact that when I was 20, my girlfriend Emma (19) was killed in a car crash, along with her younger brother, mother, and aunt, and that a lot of my art and writing is purposefully about processing and accepting that grief. Fandom has been a very important part of how I’ve gotten through the last five years, which I’ll get into a bit more in a minute, but tbh it’s also been a lot harder navigating fandom and especially anything ship-related since Emma died, because of how people tend to romanticize a character tragically losing a partner.

And honestly, it’s not just fandom, it’s media in general. And mainstream media focus on tragic sob stories, shock factor, and BYG tropes is definitely a big part of the problem.

But as much as fandom pushes against mainstream overuse of such tropes, there is a good portion of fandom that falls into the same type of issue. And not just ‘fandom’ in the usual sense, but literary communities, poetry, etc…

The amount of times I see stories or prompts about characters tragically losing their partner, and that being the climax of the story, and then next to nothing about that character actually navigating their grief or being able to eventually start a new relationship or just be happy is just…. It makes me feel physically ill.

Like, people saying how tragic love stories are more interesting than happy endings. Or seeing a post about tragic pairing prompts and people saying things like ‘or they think it's unrequited but then A dies and B finds a letter confessing and they really loved each other but now it's too late’ and more people being like ‘YES YOU GET IT THAT'S THE GOOD STUFF’

Just… really, honestly. It's okay to like angst, even really tragic angst. I’m not trying to guilt anyone out of that.

I just….. Most of the time people just talk about it like ‘oh yeah I love some of that good tragic love story shit’ and the stories focus on the build-up and the shock/trauma of the death as it happens and then the excruciating reaction of the survivor and then maybe a time jump to show them happy again.

But very rarely do people take the time to actually handle the grief. People like the good cry of a character mourning their partner, but the vast majority of creators and fans rush through or skip over everything after the initial drama and aftermath. The ‘tragedy’ is the only part they focus on, and then the story ends and they move on.

And like. Shit. I liked that stuff too, I wrote some of it, years ago. And I’m not saying you can’t ever just leave it there, or that if you want to write tragic romance you always have to explore all the long-term emotional consequences.

But try to have it in mind, to consider what message countless grief narratives that end after the funeral, or maybe a few weeks or months later, teach people about real-life grief. This goes for any kind of grief narrative, but the one I see most, the one I used to ‘enjoy’ most myself, is romantic.

But, after having actually lived it? And knowing I'll have to live the rest of my life as the part of the story that usually isn’t told? It turns my stomach the way it’s often handled.

Like seeing people gush about how angsty a fic/idea is, and ‘OH MY GOD SO SAD CAN YOU BELIEVE HOW TRAGIC HOW DARE YOU. I LOVE SEEING/PUTTING THEM THROUGH SO MUCH PAIN’ gets a bit uncomfortable.

Not because there’s something inherently wrong with ever reacting like that, but because most often I can turn around and have the same people not know how to react when I tell them about Emma, not know how to handle the same grief they were just gushing over in fiction, when it’s real.

Grief is isolating enough on its own, but then it just doesn’t feel great when the worst thing to ever happen to you is a huge trope that people gush over, while very rarely fleshing out the actual reality of what it feels like to go through that or how to respond to someone actually dealing with grief, and eventually having to deal with your own grief.

Tbh it’s why I really just kinda have an aversion to the word ‘angst’ in general, and don’t really like to refer to my own writing as angst, even though I know plenty of people might think of it as such. So much of fandom's handling of ‘angst’ has come to feel like voyeuristic tourism of the grief I deal with every day, and will for the rest of my life.

Just, I know people are always going to like tragic angsty romance, and that’s fine, and honestly, it's not even an issue of individuals, but of how fandom in general treats it.

And again, I really don’t want to make anyone feel bad for liking it, and it has its purposes. And even when it’s not for catharsis, it's okay to just like sad stories just because.

I just… I wish more people would keep in mind that it’s not just a tearjerker story trope. People really go through this. And they then often end up feeling very isolated because people around them don't know how to react to their grief, because their grief makes things awkward and a mood killer.

Like, if you love this kind of angst (and not because you personally relate to it or find it cathartic, but just because, just for fun) but then feel awkward around people talking about their real-life grief, maybe spend some time with that, and think about the topic as a real-world trauma and not just a dramatic story trope. (this doesn’t just go for grief. Any kind of trauma you don’t personally deal with, if you love reading/writing it but avoid actually listening to people talking about their real-life experiences with it, think about why that is.)

I just hate seeing loss and initial dramatic grief responses being this shock factor/tearjerker trope, without ever really seriously addressing long-term grief. Especially when it doesn't even do a time jump or anything, and just ends on the surviving character being forever destroyed; when it focuses on the idea of how sad it is for your favorite character to have to spend the rest of their life alone.

And that’s not even folding in any kind of BYG/queer tragedy tropes in canon or fandom spaces.

And like… on a much more individual, less practical point, I just… there’s nothing wrong with angst but honestly (and especially for characters whose canon is in no way tragic) every time I see it I just want to scream WHY…. Why do that to them!? I’m not saying you have to stop, or that you’re not allowed to write trauma you don’t deal with personally. But I will never not cringe a bit at the ‘painful enjoyment’ of a character going through the traumatic loss of a partner. And it’s a sentiment I don’t really see people being okay with in regards to any other kind of trauma.

I don’t have actual numbers, but it sure feels like fandom treats stories about romantic grief very differently than most other traumas. Other trauma, even other kinds of grief, like a close friend or a sibling or parent, etc. tend to at least try to touch on a theme of recovery, or that the emotional turmoil being covered isn’t just a fun angsty trope to spend a little time in and then move on. And of course, this isn’t universal and plenty of people don’t handle these other traumas respectfully or as anything more than dramatic fuel, but this is the trend I’ve personally seen in over 10 years of tumblr fandom. And to that point, even when traumas aren’t respectfully handled I’ve at least seen people try to bring attention to that, with posts about how to respectfully handle disability or addiction or mental health or abuse. I can’t remember off the top of my head a single post like that about grief, let alone specifically romantic grief. It seems to be commonly accepted that while most kinds of trauma can be explored, but still handled respectfully, the death of a partner can just be done for the Drama. People tend to try to learn about abuse or addiction experiences before attempting big angsty stories addressing that. But doomed romance and a grief-stricken lover (it feels like, in my experience) are much more likely to happen on a whim.

Generally, it feels like other kinds of trauma, while still part of ‘angst’ also keeps a sense of awareness of how that narrative reflects real people’s experiences. It’s not just heavy because it’s big dramatic fictional angst, but because it’s grounded in real-life trauma that everyday people who come across it might relate to. Like... I just feel like a lot of fandom spaces treat ‘major character death’ and tragic romantic trope tags as just filters, like they’re needed because ‘not everyone likes angst, it’s just not their thing’ without really acknowledging that it’s a real trauma that everyday people deal with, where (again, often, but of course far from always, and certainly not in mainstream) other tws and tags like assault or substance abuse, people understand that people they interact with might really deal with those issues and they try to not just use them as dramatic fodder and to portray them respectfully.

But grief, especially romantic grief, seems different. The number of people who will come across a fic or edit or piece of art about a tragic love story, and will have had that personal experience of losing a partner, is much lower than people with real experiences with abuse, or addiction, or mental illness. That’s not a bad thing. I wish none of you ever have to know what that feels like.

But because of that, tragic romance ends up seeming like this distant thing. Like it’s only in dramatic tv shows or movies or literature, or lives solely in angsty fandom spaces as a way to get out a good cry. It seems grand and Tragic, off in its own world of dramatic emotional story tropes.

It’s solely pretty dark edits put to song lyrics, or striking art, or beautifully written prose that rips your heart out. It’s Tragic Romance.

And there’s nothing wrong with that inherently. But for many people, it seems like that is what it becomes: fiction. An angsty trope.

I genuinely hope that’s all it ever is for all of you. I wish I could ensure that that good angsty hurt will only ever be a trope you visit when you need a good cry.

But it’s not just fiction.

It's not just angst for sake of drama or fun or poetic storytelling. It’s not grand or romantic or beautifully tragic.

It’s unbearable. It’s physical pain.

That’s not exaggeration or metaphor. It sneaks up on me out of nowhere and it literally feels like someone is crushing my chest. I’ve nearly broken my hand punching a wall because I needed to make something hurt more than this thing in my chest that isn’t even actually there but it hurts so much.

Tbf I think a lot of my attitude towards this really stems more from fandom trends from when I was younger, and I think a lot more people actually try to flesh out grief more these days. But I just remember so much tragic romantic fic and fandom love from when I was a teenager that didn’t go deeper than ‘look how heartbreaking this is it’s so sad, I wanna make everybody read it and cry and it’s just fun and a story, oh my god I couldn't live with that’

no, of course I don't have a few specific old fics or posts from like superwholock days in mind, that I used to gush over too, and now just the idea of makes me feel actually sick

Idk… like I said. I don't at all want to make anyone feel bad for liking that type of angst, and I feel kind of bad for criticizing it. It just…

It hurts seeing basically your exact situation on angsty prompt lists with people gushing about how good it hurts. Especially when the same people would be (and have been) deer in headlights when they find out you’ve lived the same thing. (Again, this goes for any kind of trauma trope, but most others I’ve seen at least some kind of discussion about before)

Just please, try to be mindful of not just how you write stories about grief, but how you talk about death angst in general. (again, certainly not everyone, but more and more) People know to not just romanticize abuse trauma or addictions or mental illness, and to research, and ask for advice to try to be respectful.

And it’s much more common for someone in fandom spaces, in their teens or 20s or 30s to deal with those sorts of trauma than having experienced losing a partner.

But we exist. And while there is plenty of media out there showing tragic young romance, there is very little (in my experience, after nearly five years of desperately looking) real-world acknowledgment and support, or proof that you’ll be able to survive that kind of loss and still be happy, and even less so if they’re queer.

In a couple of months, it will have been five years since Emma’s death. From day one I have not been private about my loss, whenever possible.

And in five years of saying “When I was 20 my girlfriend died.” to new friends, classmates, potential dates, fandom spaces, therapists, grief support forums, etc… do you know how many other people have told me that they also lost a partner as a young adult, whether queer or straight, by accident or suicide or illness?

Zero.

No one. I’ve had people say how they lost a best friend or a sibling or a parent. And those losses, those kinds of grief are certainly not any less traumatic than the loss of a partner. But even in real life, they’re different. Losing a partner, especially at a very young age when it’s likely your main romantic experience, has different emotional effects, and can be harder to find people who directly relate.

Five years. Zero people dealing with the specific facets of grief as me.

The ONLY times I have ever heard about stories like mine in real life are either the rare article or essay or celebrity story, of which I can probably easily count on two hands.

All the other representation I’ve found is in mainstream fiction and fandom.

And of those stories, those fics, that art, the vast majority have had the partner die in the last half, probably closer to the 75% mark, of the story or arc.

If I’m lucky, that last 25% will focus on the immediate aftermath and grief (especially in fic, while a lot of media might give you a few scenes, and then move on to other character arcs).

If I’m really lucky they’ll show some kind of time jump, to say ‘see, they’re still haunted by their lost love but they’ve tried to move on or can pretend to be happy’.

And so much fandom reception is centered around ‘it’s soooooo SADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD MY POOR HEART IT HURTS SO GOOD. LOVE ME SOME ANGST’, or romanticizing the idea of being unable to live without them, and if they can, it’s often never really putting focus on all the pain it took to process their grief.

Again, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with this individually, or that you shouldn’t gush and scream over fic or art or prompts that hook you because of angst. But it adds up really quickly, especially when, even when getting good genuine support from people, you still see no one else actually living with that feeling like you. The only place you find it is stories, and then you see people mostly excited over just how beautifully sad it is.

And that just feels… I can’t explain it honestly.

Just, think about how you react to or talk about fic or prompts or art about a character crying over their partner’s body, or attending their funeral, and think about whether you’d feel appropriate doing the same if instead, they were dealing with abuse, or addiction, or self-harm.

Again, that’s not to say you can’t ever gush or key smash or such, but is it all you do?

You don’t have to stop enjoying angst and tragic romance. But think about how I just said that.

Enjoy.

Do you only ever act like you ‘Enjoy’ it (and yes, this includes the ‘I’m such a masochist I just love to cry over them, it’s emotional release that doesn’t trigger me’ reaction), and romanticize it?

It’s fine to, sometimes. But do you also appreciate it, and try to understand the real-world weight of it? Do you know what you’d say to a friend if they told you they’d lost a partner?

That ‘love me some good angst’, Dramatic grief, being the main fandom attitude doesn’t just hurt me or others who have lost people close to them, partners or not.

A big part of fandom, and of just society, has no idea how to deal with grief, their own or others. It’s not a light conversation topic, it makes people feel awkward, or walk on eggshells around you, or tell you how they can’t possibly imagine having to go through that (btw, y'all don’t say this to people. About grief, or trauma, or disability or anything like that, just don’t. I’m begging you. And a rant about that kind of thing is for another day but... )

And then, when people inevitably face some form of major grief themselves, they feel ashamed for not handling it ‘right’.

It hurts, to try to find some acknowledgment of your grief, and only ever see stories that show just the first few weeks or months; the feeling of it never possibly being anything but constantly excruciating. Stories that end on ‘they were alone and sad and that is what their story, their love, will live on as; Tragic’. Or, that skip all the work and the doubt and the backsliding, and just show years down the road, when they’ve got a whole new life, and that grief, that love, is just a sad memory that they have ‘moved on’ from. Just a tiny trinket call back.

It feels impossible to survive, to ever be happy again, when you never see grief being treated as more than a tragic story point. And then, as you try your hardest to keep going, to process and heal, and connect to new people, while not forgetting the person you love, not letting them just become your tragic backstory, you see people gush over tragic love stories, over how romantic it is, over how characters loved each other so much they couldn’t live without them. (Thankfully a good bit of fandom seems to be pulling away from this, but it’s still common)

And, if that’s what it is to lose a partner, your soulmate… then… then how am I able to keep living? Even as painful as it is? If true love means not being able to live without the other person, does that mean I didn’t, I don’t, actually love them enough? Am I selfish for still actually wanting to live the rest of my life, even with this pain of the person I love being gone?

Would people read my, our, story and ‘enjoy’ it? Would they find this romantic? Would they scream over a prompt based on the worst event in my life, and have a good cry, and then move on, thinking how sad and beautifully tragically romantic that story would be? Would this person I love and miss more than anything, become just a Tragedy? Just an angsty sob story to gush about how wonderfully painful it was? Would it become about only my pain and heartbreak, and not about the cruelty of this other complete, unique, independent person who was robbed of their entire future?

Maybe that seems melodramatic or putting too much weight on tropes, or fandom. But remember.

Five years.

Zero real people saying ‘I’ve been there too’.

The only places I have seen my grief reflected (beyond a rare celebrity interview, or article) is in fiction, and mostly in fandom.

For over a decade I’ve seen people key smash and gush over angsty ships in fic and art, and I was one of them for a long time.

And then, when it became real life for me, all too often (not always, of course) people wouldn’t know how to handle my real grief. Even when I didn’t want to grieve, but wanted to remember all the reasons I love Emma. My real-life moments of ‘fluff’ that I cling to, become uncomfortable when they know the ‘angst’ to come.

And I don’t blame them. I’m not angry at them for not knowing what to say, for walking on eggshells. They’re not cruel for that, they’re not unsympathetic, it’s not that they just don’t try.

Because, if I’ve found so few real-world stories about this kind of grief, after looking so hard for so long, how can I expect them to have had much more luck?

If the only places I find stories about grief never focus on the reality of life after the funeral, and the process of not moving past, but learning to handle grief, then how can I expect broader fandom to know how to be comfortable around the ugly, boring, repetitive, not at all romantic parts of that grief?

Just, yes. Write, read, love your angst. But please just remember that ‘tragic love story’ happens to people, and while plenty of people might not want to read it because it’s just not their thing, or too depressing, there are those who see those dramatic prompt scenarios, and personally relate to them (I quite often say the events around Emma’s death read like a heavy-handed soap opera, or Queer Tragedy movie, and had had plenty of people agree, even before hearing all the details. And I have literally seen multiple prompts of ‘best friends secretly have feelings for each other, and then finally confess, only to get a short bit of happiness before one dies tragically’)

Write, read, love your angst, your tragic love stories, just please, be as respectful of grief (in any form, but this is mostly a shipping issue in my experience) as you would be (or should be) of other major trigger warnings. Gush and scream about the big dramatic ‘romantic’ tragedies, but don’t then ignore the raw, uncomfortable, vulnerable, cathartic explorations, or the real people dealing with real loss.

Because damn y’all, I’ve seen ‘I just love a good romantic tragedy trope, yes please rip my heart out’ said so many times, with the same tone as saying ‘That fake dating trope, that’s the good stuff’.

I’ve seen people gush over how much more interesting and beautifully cruel it is for young love to end tragically.

And I promise you. It’s not. It just fucking sucks. It’s not romantic or tragically beautiful or poignant. It’s devastating. And it goes on for so much longer than that last quarter of the story.

My grief is more than an angsty prompt. Our relationship, my love for her, is more than a dramatic sob story, more than just awkward sadness that kills the mood. Emma’s life, her memory, is more than my tragic backstory.

I want to be able to find my story in more than just fiction, I want to be able to get support from people who live with similar grief.

But I also want to see grief in fiction, in fandom, become more than a final character arc or Tragic love story; used for dramatic effect; grand and huge for a moment and then never fully processed, or mentioned again; just tragically romantic and heartbreaking and soooo good and angsty.

Grief is one of the only things we will all have to face throughout our lives.

I’m not just asking you to respect my grief or the grief of those around you. But your own future grief. I don’t want you to get there and feel like your grief is wrong, or means that you didn’t love someone ‘enough’ because it doesn’t manifest in a certain way.

Learning to accept grief; to be comfortable around raw, unpoetic, grief; to not hold up certain expressions of grief as Romantic or Poetic, but just honest, will eventually be personally useful for all of us, as much as I wish it wouldn’t.

I want my grief, everyone’s grief, to be seen, and understood, not just romanticized and dramatized.

My love story, Emma’s love story, isn’t beautifully tragic. It isn’t more interesting or poetic than a happy ending. The pain that I will carry with me for the rest of my life is not romantic.

But it is important.

[clumsyclifford]

hi my love i’m hope not too late but i would like you to tell me about my loves jewish cake, anything you want to but specifically baker calum 🥰 thank you i love you

of course you aren’t too late!!! ESPECIALLY to talk about jewish cake oh my goodness meg i shall die for you i love you. alright let’s see what i can dig up

ha’ahava hazot shelanu + it’s so simple

a cut, per usual

so let’s start WITH:

ha’ahava hazot shelanu

jewish cake was a labor of love for myself. little known fact about me is that i am in fact jewish! :) and around christmas time i always get a little prickly about the surplus of christmas spirit and in this case the amount of fic for it. and i’d sort of had this hesitant idea to write a jewish fic in the back of my mind for a long time, but it felt like a really big divergence from the Cast of Characters that was for some reason a lot more dramatic than any other circumstances into which i could place them, so i’d basically been hesitating for several months. in november we had a brief conversation about it in the club which looked like this

but the idea still made me a little nervous and so i kind of talked myself out of writing it, as always. and THEN, middle of december, iba sent me this 1d fic out of nowhere with this accompanying message:

and i kinda lowkey almost cried!! it was such a jewish fic. i read the word kvetch and i almost lost it. the fic was just so unabashedly jewish. and i was like...well. that’s what ive been wanting to do. so now i have no reason not to do it.

in the ao3 notes i talked a little bit about my internal debate over How Jewish To Go with the fic because on the one hand i really do understand that it can feel alienating going into a fic with zero understanding of the culture but on the other hand since it was MY fic i wanted to make it jewish the way i’m jewish. which is like...............very. i don’t think i ended up striking a balance so much as just deciding to say fuck it and write it the way i would want to read it, but i definitely think that was the right decision for me.

there was actually one more motivator for writing this fic, especially the WAY i wrote it, in eight chapters, and that motivator was that i wanted to break 400k on ao3 before the year ended. i just wanted to have an even number and 400k was a good goal. which i did achieve thanks to jewish cake fic being the 13.6k beast that she is! so that was also part of it

NOW! as for the PROCESS. i created the doc on december 22 and i originally kind of thought it was a little bitchy to write a hanukkah fic after hanukkah had already ended but was reminded that most christmas fic is neither written nor posted on actual christmas which reassured me well enough. i had already had the idea to divide it into eight chapters for the eight nights of hanukkah and i thought that would be a nice way to showcase different aspects of the holiday (seeing family, playing dreidel, opening presents etc) and also in certain cases (like the third chapter where they do some baking) some days that weren’t necessarily hanukkah-driven but just a nice natural consequence of being on break for hanukkah. i wanted it to feel like hanukkah feels to me!! normally i don’t like people seeing the way my outlines look but this one i don’t mind sharing so here’s what i had at the top of the doc for reference while i was writing. not everything in that first list got included but most of it did !!! 

i’m not really sure how this fic ended up being cake. i never used to default to cake but for some reason as i was diving into this one it just felt right. that’s all i can say about that. meg you have genuinely shifted my approach to fic i DO default to cake sometimes now and that’s on YOU. 

the very first thing i ever wrote down for this fic was this part that ended up going in the summary:

“Happy Hanukkah,” Calum says, smiling at Luke as their fingers intertwine.

Luke murmurs, “Chag sameach, ahovi,” and Calum’s face is aglow in the candlelight.

that was The Moment for me. i didn’t even write the rest of that scene until later but i had those two lines written down straight out the gate and i knew they were gonna close out the first scene because it just Felt Right. and i was right! very cool and fun for me

now the nice convenient thing about having this fic separated into eight discrete scenes/nights/chapters was that i didn’t have to write it in order, and i didn’t. i DID write the first night/chapter first, but then over the course of maybe a week, i wrote (deep breath get ready): the first half of chapter 2 (hemmings family) > the beginning of chapter 5 (the dreidel game) > most of the scene in chapter 7 > the beginning of chapter 3 (where they bake) > finished writing chapters 2 & 3 > started chapter 4 and finished chapter 5 > finished chapter 4 and wrote the rest of chapter 7 > all of chapter 6 > all of chapter 8 aka the proposal. i deliberately saved the proposal for last because i don’t think i could have written it exactly right without knowing the events that came before it but everything else was all over the place as you can see. 

a problem i ran into a lot, and i talked to my sounding board and fellow jew sam about this among many other things, was that i had a lot of trouble characterizing very obviously Not Jewish people in a way that made them Very Jewish. not even like, Jewish But You Can Ignore It. i wanted them to be front-and-center jewish like i am and that was hard for me to navigate because obviously my speech patterns and vocabulary as an american jew are extremely different from 5sos’s as australian goyim (non-jews) like i do use hebrew words in my day-to-day communication all the time and i somehow had to keep their mannerisms but also insert mine BUT not insert so many of mine that the fic became incomprehensible and it was just. a Challenge. here’s some insight into THAT crisis

and then again writing the other characters in other chapters

i sent sam the doc when i was mostly done writing it, mainly just to be reminded that at least one person was going to appreciate this fic, which worked out nicely because she very very much did. genuinely i cannot stress enough how insecure i was to write and share this fic. like i’m gonna be really straight up with you meg, i think part of the reason i had calum and luke baking sufganiyot was because to me that felt like a sort of bribe? i basically wrote what felt to me like the least appealing fic ever and then my mission from there was to add stuff in that would convince people to give it a shot anyway. i was trying to make it worth everyone’s while. the baking was my trade-off, i was like “well yeah it’s a jewish fic but maybe she’ll be happy enough that it’s cake and they’re baking that she’ll forgive it for being a jewish fic” yes i realize how kind of hilariously tragic this sounds but !!! you never get jewish fics!!! and you especially don’t get them in fanfiction for obviously non-jewish bands!!! anyway. we’re not gonna get into this whole thing but like. even though objectively i knew that i had been told again and again people would appreciate the fic i still had doubts and knowing something and feeling secure in it are very different things.

also, i didn’t remember this, but apparently i had a lot of problems with writing the proposal! here’s a sneak peek into that mental breakdown

don’t actually think the fic specifies (making life easier for myself) but they have already had dinner in that scene. so now you know. 

i could choose to not get this elbows-deep in the details of Crises I Had While Writing This Fic but instead i am choosing to go all out. here’s another thing i had trouble with:

(i did end up using transliteration obviously but i DO think actual hebrew would have been a cool flex)

and as for the title, ha’ahava hazot shelanu is the name of an ivri lider song that i love, and it translates to “this love of ours” and i realize titling the fic in hebrew was a Choice but i did talk to sam about this as well and that went roughly like this

by the way here is the song, i absolutely love it and i cannot recommend it enough. also i’m not sure how glaringly obvious this is but the chapter titles on ao3 are just hebrew numbers. like the first chapter is echad which literally means one. and so on. are they the correct genders? i don’t know ! fuck gendered language.

one more thing and then ill move on but an unfortunate natural consequence of writing a hanukkah fic (at least the way i wrote this one) is that it necessitates presents. so i had to come up with presents for these dumb boys to give each other. and to be completely honest with you i don’t remember how i did!!! the ones calum got for luke were trickier because they were actual things. for some reason this luke was always a version of luke that just kinda like, wore makeup, so that was just a question of figuring out an eyeshadow palette that would be Nice but not obscenely schmancy (i did ask the club for help since i know nothing about makeup but as usual i ignored their replies). but that by itself didn’t feel like enough of a gift, and so i tried to think of something that would be more than just the gift of an object. like, something that would maybe enable luke to spend more time on something he loves. piano music made sense to me because it wasn’t just a thing by itself it was a thing that encouraged luke to play piano and even to improve at it and to learn songs that he could be excited about. so! that was that

the trip to israel gift was a little bit of a retcon situation i really liked the idea that luke had been planning to give that “gift” to calum for a hot sec that he’d have had it ready, but i’d already written the scene where he and mali talk about israel, so i went back to it and edited it a little to hint at the idea (luke plays it off very casually because he is a clever boy) but i thought there was something very romantic in the idea of the israel trip, of luke planning a future with calum and a trip to a place that means so much to him (to me yes maybe luke and i are the same blah blah) and getting to drag calum around to falafel places and teach him words in hebrew and it just seemed like the appropriate trip for these two cute jewish boys to plan so i rolled with it.

okay moving on slightly!! to baker calum <3 baker calum was more of a cameo in the hanukkah fic, in the chapter i wrote with you in mind, but i can talk about it’s so simple here as well because i fucking adore that fic.

it’s so simple

so the inspiration behind the fic came from the “kitchens are for lovers” rhetoric and the realization that that would be the perfect...sort of thesis to build on for a fic for you in specific, because you are, in my mind, a very kitchen-based person, given your baking habit. it actually just worked out pretty nicely for me honestly because i’ve been wanting to write a big Kitchen Romance type fic for a while and you just gave me the perfect opportunity. here’s what i had at the top of the doc for the fic for you

and then once i sort of landed on the idea for the fic, it just made a lot of sense to make it jewish cake because, well, im gonna be real w you, because i identify very strongly with jewish cake and the kitchen-romance aspect felt like a very bella thing in the same way that jewish cake felt like a bella thing. and so i wanted to be able to romanticize these kitchens to share the way that i, bella, feel about them, and that was easy to do when the characters were so similar to me. not to mention this cake already existed in my head as a very settled, domestic duo, and they had their own home and had already had a kitchen-romance scene in the hanukkah fic and the whole thing just fell together perfectly. i had this sentence in my head and it was: “Shabbat in Luke and Calum’s kitchen looks something like this.” the kind of thing you would read in a fic summary right? and especially having it take place on shabbat felt like an extra layer of domestic easy romance to me so that was kind of my guide

here was my "outline” for this:

Romance :)))

obviously calum was going to be the one doing most of the cooking/baking because he had been established as the Kitchen Boy between the two of them and maybe i realized in the course of writing it that while i was luke, you were very much calum. so the goal was then basically to romanticize (1) the kitchen and (2) luke as much as humanly possible for you (see: message sent to helen and ainslee)

unfortunately i was unable to do baker calum justice as much as i would have liked because i could not have him baking anything complex because i can’t bake anything complex and if i had tried to describe him baking something complex and then described it wrong i would have died of shame so that is why he is only baking brownies BUT they have chocolate chips which hopefully makes up for it. also i just stumbled across this which i think pretty well represents the crisis i had regarding baker calum

:)))

re: the soundtrack (so to speak), i wanted to include some songs that i associate with you meg but you see the situation is that some of those songs are 5sos/mali/atl songs and so i couldn’t include those, for obvious reasons, which did narrow down my choices somewhat. fortunately i think the mcfly worked pretty nicely i mean yeah it’s a little obvious that i was forcing mcfly into the story but they deserved to be there. i think i’ve mentioned this but i genuinely have a memory of listening to star girl on a loop in my kitchen at home and in my head the hood-hemmings kitchen looks like my kitchen because i have zero imagination so it felt to me like these songs just belonged in kitchens. and that they’d be inherently romantic. woah i think my brain is short-circuiting i’m not sure i’m making sense anymore. point being i hoped that you would appreciate it nonetheless.

a note about the short introduction, because it’s very unlike anything i’ve put in any other fic to my knowledge. i kind of wanted it to feel like the prologue to a fairytale, almost. i wanted it to feel like the beginning of a movie, when the camera is slowly, slowly zooming in from a Big Picture down to one house on one street and then through the window into the kitchen while the voiceover is very serenely describing the scene. i wanted it to feel like we were in the kitchen before even calum was and that we were standing against the fourth wall watching the fic unfold. and also, i wanted to make the fic romantic as fuck, from the get-go. there was to be no confusion: this fic was going to romanticize the living daylights out of the hood-hemmings kitchen.

(also you may have noticed that despite having “london” in the list of Meg Things at the top of the doc, the fic never actually specifies that they’re in london. that’s because this fic was really an exercise in “how much can i hint that they’re in london without outright saying it so i don’t establish a canon that i may later regret” which went as far as me asking helen what her kitchen floors and counters are made of. like. if you want it to be in london then hell yeah it’s in london but i didn’t wanna lock myself into that decision just in case so i never actually said it but i hope it kinda felt london-y anyway lmao)

so...............i THINK that’s all i have to say. “all” as if i havent just written an entire dissertation but at least it’s done now. i sure did say a lot! that was a lot!!! but also a very very fun and interesting dive into the ~process~ of writing these jewish cake fics. also, for what it’s worth, the way hanukkah fic was received basically calmed all my fears about writing jewish fic, which was a relief for me. so thank you for loving it, i don’t think you know how much that means to me!!!! i love YOU so very much

[conduitandconjurer]

Hi there! I’ve lurked for a little while and just recently followed. You have a really interesting take on Klaus and I’d like to ask: what kind of things do you do to get into character so to speak? Are there any important things about his character you like to keep in mind when you write him? And as someone who has written for many years but is considering rp, any advice for a first-timer? Thanks and hope you have a wonderful day/night!

First of all you should know that I’ve been rping on various platforms for over 15 years at this point, and messages like this still MAKE MY WHOLE WORLD BETTER <33333  Thank you SO much for your gracious and generous kind words.  You took a second to extend a hello and compliment my hard work and it means so so much.

So Klaus and I are NOTHING alike, which is exactly why I choose to write muses like him.  It provides me an outlet of escape from my own life (which has its ups and downs) and it’s a creative and intellectual challenge to understand what makes a person so behaviorally different from myself tick. Most writers like to write characters who are like them.  And I do that too, but for me, I just need some single trait in a character that I resonate with. For Klaus, it’s his innate sweetness and vulnerability (which he tries and fails to conceal) and his need (and failure) to establish boundaries (with family and with ghosts), and finally it’s his fear of being insufficient as a person his family can rely upon (which he copes with by creating artificial emotional distance, and abusing substances, whereas I the mun marinate in guilt and try to overcompensate lmao).  While we’re still not alike, I can BEGIN to understand WHY he behaves the way he does, and I can build my portrayal off of that. 

Put another way, most of my muses are queer nonbinary he/him/they pronoun users, often neurodivergent, who are undergoing a moral struggle, usually somewhere in the antihero category, or even villains. I on the other hand am a queer cis disabled woman with PTSD who is a Lawful Good......and I think that, having a point for relating to but still not being exactly like my muses,  I almost begin to see myself as these characters’ mother or advocate of some kind.  I want to see them GROW and THRIVE.  From that urge, I derive the compassion that every writer needs to have for their character to (try to) portray them authentically.  

And that also means that the character is not going to remain within the bounds of their canonical portrayal. The way I write them will always START and be BASED ON that.  But the character will grow far afield of it.  Take Klaus, for instance. I sense you call my portrayal “interesting” (correct me if I’m wrong) because I choose to write Klaus as almost always post-season 2 AND sober.  He’s more at peace with himself than he was during the first season, he’s begun to properly process his grief for Dave Katz, he’s getting clean and staying clean, he’s becoming more emotionally reliable.  But he still makes mistakes, he still has the most severe, frustrating and painful (for him) case of ADHD I have ever seen, people still don’t “take him seriously” (his own words) and he has to grow a thick skin about their dismissive behavior.  

The fandom, even a number of Klaus rpers, like to keep Klaus in this depressing stasis chamber where he’s constantly nihilistic, selfish, and strung out, and a lot of people see Klaus’s addictions as the brunt of jokes, and while that’s cool for them, and I’d never ask them to censor their portrayal, that makes me uncomfortable. As a person who’s worked with, still works with, at-risk youth at the college level, I just can’t jive with it.  Addiction is an illness and it’s not funny, and there are underlying reasons for Klaus’s addictions.  And what I want to do is excavate those underlying reasons, and watch him get the support he needs. He is still a snarky, sartorial, chaotic, quirkily sweet goofball when he’s sober.  He’s still Klaus.  

Things I do to get in the headspace:

--Listen to playlists that I make for the character or mood. Music is crucial.  --Watch videos of Robert Sheehan talking. Doesn’t have to be as Klaus, but sometimes is.  If you can’t hear the character in the dialogue (not only word choose but little mannerisms and speech patterns), rewrite it. Don’t settle until you can hear the actor’s voice.   --Scream to my friends on Discord about how much I love specific elements of the character, to get psyched up. I’m so sorry, @apocalypsejumped, you are the main person I do this to with Klaus, lmfao.  

--Never EVER look at my follower count, because it’s gonna either depress or intimidate me. 

--Look at pictures of the character. I’m incredibly visual. Just looking at my own screenshots makes me want to dissect him more. 

For advice? Oh lordy!   Uhhhh..... 

Write a lot. Practice a lot. I have a PhD and have written book manuscripts exceeding 600 pages, but you don’t have to go that far, lmao. That drabble in your head at 3 am? Get up and write it down. That passing bit of funny dialogue you think your muse would say? Write it down. I used to carry around a physical journal. Now I use my laptop. 

Write fast and only edit minimally because this is for fun, avocational, and you don’t want to spoil it with too much plotting and refinement.

Drop threads that aren’t working for you. Again, this is not a job, and when it feels like one, scale back.

Resist the urge to over-format.  If your posts cease to be easily legible, the aesthetic will only impede the flow of your prose.   It’s okay to vary your writing voice character by character. My syntax, vocab/word choice, sentence length and structure, vary from one muse to the other, bc the standard rp pov is third person singular, present-tense, meaning your muse is narrating it all from their specific pov.  Klaus and say, a very serious, formal character, would not have the same internal monologue, or even exposition. 

Beware of writing partners who are passive aggressive or possessive, who get jealous of your writing with others, and guilt you for spending your time elsewhere than catering to their needs.  I spent eight years in one of these writing partnerships and only escaped last March, and I am still recovering emotionally. Writing partners can absolutely be abusive, so make sure to enforce healthy boundaries and when they are violated repeatedly, run.

Pick a blog theme that is clearly organized and accessible. 

Don’t pick “main” or heaven forbid “exclusive” writing partners until you have experimented with your chemistry with a number of “versions” of their character (especially canons).  Take your time and see who you gel with. Sometimes you can have a great friendship with someone and your writing together still doesn’t click. It all depends on chemistry.  

Pick a small group of like minded friends and write with them. Do not worry about “exposure” or “popularity,” they are over rated.  Fandoms are genuinely crazy.  Just sit in your sandbox with your trusted buddies. <3 

Anyone else reading this, chime in with some writing advice for nonnie! <3 They’re an experienced writer but new to rp! 

[pumpkinpaix]

Hello! and PSA

*waves* hi everyone! so uh, I’ve kind of had a bit of a surge in followers recently, and I thought I would make a bit of a PSA/intro post with a bit more targeted info than my about page.

anyways, I’m cyan! statistically speaking, you are probably here for one of the following reasons:

my fic

my meta

my gifs

my translation

all of the above

this is pretty much an mdzs blog on main these days, but I also rb a lot of other misc things because I have never been good at keeping my interests separate. it’s also my personal blog, so expect some of that? i am very all or nothing ahaha. my opinions change very quickly as I process new information, so like, something I said last week or yesterday might be different now! I’ve seen several people going through some of my older posts, and I’m just like oh dear, I said a lot of things six months ago that I no longer vibe with. /o\ please keep that in mind as you go diving in my blog!

i don’t have a BYF or DNI policy, but I reserve the right to block anyone for any reason because this is a personal blog first and foremost, and I do need to be better about setting my boundaries and curating my own online space! on that same token, you are free to follow, unfollow, block, whatever, even if we’re mutuals. <3

you’re free to come talk to me in my inbox or dms, but please be aware that there’s a very high chance I will never get back to you /o\ it isn’t personal!! I am just very mentally ill and have many difficulties with keeping up social interactions or talking to people.

in the interest of trying to be more open about myself, my brain, and what that means for me in an online/fandom space, I’m gonna do a boatload of mental health talk under the cut (or, if you’re looking at this on my blog proper or somewhere where the cut doesn’t display, it starts right after this paragraph), including mentions of self-harm/thoughts of specific self-harm etc, just so you are warned! I’ve been thinking recently that it’s good to try and take steps towards being more open about my issues, both for my own sake and others’. It’s long, because one of the fun things about my mental illness is that I am hyperverbal ahahaha (if that... wasn’t already obvious orz)

so if you’ve read pfmmpd, you can kind of get a sense of what I’m working with. a lot of how i wrote lwj was drawn directly from shit happening in my own brain, but like? dial that up from the specific issues that lwj had in that fic and apply it unilaterally across the board to almost anything you can think of.

I hesitate to describe my OCD as debilitating, but only because my specific cocktail of compulsions and anxieties and triggers push me to be hyperachieving and hyperfunctional. I consider myself pretty fortunate (?) in that regard. on paper, you could never tell how absolutely batshit my internal landscape is! which is very good for me practically in that I can hold down a job, keep scholarships, graduate with honors, have good prospects for my future, hold onto relationships (usually yikes) etc. but the fact of the matter is, I’m like. oh boy.

to give you a peek, here’s a non-exhaustive list of things that have triggered me to varying degrees of severity within the last like, week or so:

my dog

a chinese folk song

my mother reading a chinese haiku to me written by a young gay man

a chinese reader of my fic lovingly and gently giving me a history lesson on china and on mdzs while praising me

stepping on a piece of snow that didn’t collapse in the precise way i expected it to

writing meta

reading meta

ruminating on my triggers (honestly, I played myself)

seeing a twitter thread going around tumblr with decent information but the OP is someone who was exceedingly cruel to a good friend of mine

visiting my grandmother’s grave

deciding to visit my grandmother’s grave

discussing the concept of cuddling my partner whom i love and have been with for four years

self-harming (truly the height of irony, being triggered into self-harm and then getting triggered by the result of the self-harm hahahahahaha)

dropping off a package

trying to explain queer-coding to my parents

talking about stressors in my life related to covid19

having a very pleasant conversation with a person i admire

editing my translation

the fact that the “close” button on my accessibility sidebar on the translation website is the wrong color

choosing between eating all the shiitake mushrooms in my soup and purposefully giving myself a bad reaction or throwing one out and wasting food

thinking about playing a fun game with my partner and a mutual friend

my mom asking me to take a photo of some tea for her

my mom asking my opinion on a photo she was photoshopping

animal crossing

writing this fucking post HAHAHAHA

like!! it goes on!! endlessly! obviously, these triggers are not simply “bad” things. the chinese folk song and the haiku were both really beautiful and i love them! but I did spend a good amount of time curled up on my floor in the dark sobbing as i played the song on repeat. the haiku was one of the last straws that ended up with me screaming and crying and hurting myself. the snow??? like wtf the snow thing. I stepped on the snow and it felt wrong and my brain just started screaming SMASH YOUR KNEECAP. ???? (I didn’t, for the record, and I would never.) I love my partner very much! I love my friends very much, and my mother, and my grandmother etc. my triggers are infinite, unpredictable, and bizarre.

I’m saying all of this because I want to be clear that MDZS/CQL fandom specifically triggers me on a daily basis, sometimes very very badly. this is just a fact! it is no one’s fault! I have decided it is worth it for me to stay anyways. it is impossible for me to request people tag for certain things because I myself have no idea what my triggers are until I encounter them. It’s like a fun mystery boss encounter! sometimes it’s low level and i’m well-equipped to handle it. other times it’s a one-hit KO. We just don’t know! there are lots of very cool content creators in this fandom that I can’t follow because it would make my dash that much more high stakes. the original source canon material triggers me! all the events leading up to Lotus Cove massacre? I was shaking at work for three hours after consuming it for the first time.

Meta specifically is something I know a lot of people like me for, but it’s 100% the most triggering activity I participate in for this fandom. like, that suibian meta post I wrote that’s currently going around? Probably took me four or five hours of concentrated effort to write because I was compulsively panicking and rewriting and editing and panicking more and qualifying and editing and qualifying some more and then debating whether I should post it or not and then fighting with myself about my wording and then immediately regretting it and then every time someone commented on it (regardless of positive or negative!) my anxiety spiked. I started a reply to a response on that post and had to stop after a few minutes because I was already starting to trigger myself over it.

this is actually a pretty good outcome when it comes to meta! I recognized that I was hurting myself before I got any further, and I only spent like, five hours on it! it was good exposure therapy for me! the bad outcome is. well. bad, as you might imagine lmao.

I like writing meta. I like talking to people about it too! I like participating in fandom, I like writing, I like translating, I like all of these things. they’re just also really hard for me! there’s a couple meta requests sitting in my inbox right now that I want to get to, but it might take me like. a long time because of. you know! *gestures* Everything takes me a long time. that first chapter of the translation took me literally five months from beginning the project to posting a final edited version. It’s just over 1k words. D8

I try really hard to be chill and kind in public and I largely think I succeed on the kind part (I hope!). If you thought I had even an ounce of chill before this, perhaps I have disabused of that notion entirely now lmao. I’m not saying this for pity, but like? just so we all know what we’re dealing with here. I don’t want anyone to get hurt when I don’t engage with them or feel snubbed if I never reply to them. and also like, hey, if someone relates it’s like hooray, high fave, solidarity! we’re not alone in this world! or maybe this will help someone understand OCD a little better! I don’t know. I hope this post is a positive thing. BUT! I’ve spent three hours on it already, and i’m definitely starting to compulsively spiral, so instead of going back and editing it over and over, I’m just going to post it. thank you everyone for your understanding! I hope you enjoy your time on my blog! (*´▽`*)

[lutrain2020]

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Brook!

Commission: -

Social Media: Tumblr: @newobsessioneveryweek​​ AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brook182/pseuds/Brook182

Tell us a little bit about you!

Well, firstly I have anxiety, like, anxiety in many forms. By that I mean my psychiatric diagnosed me with, and I quote, "mixed anxiety" whatever that means. That said, I don't with rejection or unanswered messages very well. Also... OCD. Also also a tic disorder. So I'm a jumpy one. My eyes are also really weird. They're a weird mix of green, brown, and blue. It's hecin' strange. I love pizza and I think Oreos are overrated even though I love them too. I'm from South Africa 🇿🇦 and as a result, I love biltong. Deal with it. I'm not athletic but I used to love running when I was a kid. Lastly, I'm afraid of the dark and the ocean. I can't swim.

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing?

Jin (jinmukangwrites on Tumblr) is a big inspiration as well as Jay (Estajay) and Din (dinfeanorial). They are such amazing writers and I don't think I would have started writing if it weren't for Jin.

What got you into writing?

Writing has been my passion since high school. I loved writing essays and oral reports. For a while I've wanted to be a writer. I think the main thing that inspired me was my desperate want to have a creative talent/skill and drawing was way out of my league (though I have started drawing a month ago)

What's your favorite part of the writing process?

Editing. Just knowing that I've created something and FINISHED it is a great feeling. Editing is just putting a nice dress on a beautiful woman - so to speak. The final bit of work that will make a good story better. Grammatical correctness and proper punctuation is always a plus when reading a good story.

What's your least favorite part of the writing process?

Getting started. Picture this: you have an idea, it's a great idea, so wonderful you will have people weep at its brilliance. If only you could get it down into words. You sit at your computer just thinking about the idea and how to translate your thoughts into words. I always tell people that my thoughts don't translate well, and it's true. It takes an inordinate amount of time before I'm happy with something I've written.

Whats your favorite type of scene to write?

I love writing angst and as a result I love writing pain. I'm not a sadist - I swear.

What's the hardest for you to write?

I can't stand writing angst for one character only to have it turn into angst for a completely different character! I mean, stay out of this Legend! Go home Twilight, and dammit Time, leave your childhood trauma at home!

What's your favorite genre to write?

AnGsT iS kInG! Extreme is cool too. Fluff is a last resort.

What fandoms do you enjoy writing for?

I've only ever written LU fics, so... Only LU I guess. Oh, I actually wrote (and am still trying to write) a botw fix about Sidon and Link.

What's the work you are most proud of?

A Fashion Show Of Sort. My very first fic. It did pretty well. https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605962 Also Just Be Happy (It's a Warriors Fic) https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197189 Also an interactive sicfic I wrote https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683665 But serioudly, I love all (most?) of my children. Have a gander if you wish: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22183228 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21850423 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606745 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606619 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606556 https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606184

Is there a specific scene you are particularly proud of?

Wild didn’t get sick easily, but when he did it wasn’t pretty; headaches, fever, sore throat, puffy eyes, dizziness, nausea, the works. It started out as a dull throbbing in his head. Nothing too serious. Little did he know it was the harbinger of much suffering. It crept upon him like a Molduga; lying in wait until finally the illness reared its ugly head and struck him with such intense force that even the faintest whiff of food made him almost disgorge his stomach contents and before he knew it he was curled up in a loving mom-hug delivered by Sky who was whispering soothing words while he stroked Wild’s sweat-dampened hair. “You know, you don’t need to baby me. I’m fine,” Wild said as he tried to escape the embrace, though his congested, gravelly voice did nothing in the way of assisting his argument. Sky shushed him, gently but forcefully pulling him back to his chest. “You don’t need to act all tough just because you’re a hero. Everyone gets sick every once in a while.” “But I’m fi-” “Hush now!” Wild let out a loud, annoyed sigh of defeat. He was too drained to fight back anyway. Despite his insistence that he was fine, he was most certainly, in every way, shape, and form, not fine. In fact he felt positivity awful; His throat burned like he had swallowed a litre of acid, he was so congested that he had nearly choked while taking a long drink of water, his body ached to the point where he could barely stretch a toe out without wincing and his head pained as if Twilight had repeatedly struck it with his ball and chain. To top it all of Wild couldn’t even think about food without feeling sick to his stomach. “You’re insufferable. Why are you the one taking care of me anyway? I’d have thought Twilight would’ve jumped at the chance to play caretaker. Especially since he’s the one always yelling at me for not taking care of myself” “Oh he wanted to, but I volunteered first. Trust me, I did you a favour. Time sent him to go get firewood instead. Hyrule went too. They should back soon in case you want to get rid of me,” Sky chirped...

Is there something you had to work through that forced you to grow as a writer?

I had to learn to get over imposter syndrome. I had to tell myself that I was a good writer in order to be a good writer.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Nope, not one.

Where do you post your finished works?

Ao3! Brook182 is my username

[geekofmanyforms]

New Beginning:Chapter Twenty

AN: Sorry for the long wait. I hope you guys like this update. I changed a lot, and plan to continue on that route. I will still go by episodes but will be putting a lot more of my own spin on them. I plan on skipping ahead a bit, but it won't be a time skip kinda thing. I promise it will make sense and go, pretty smoothly, I think. I am beyond ready for the Originals to get here! Also, I don't know if any of you are as excited as I am for the reveal of how El breaks her curse, but I have officially decided how she is going to be doing that. It's not exactly how I had originally planned for it to happen, but I had a dream a few weeks ago and just loved the whole idea. It's a bit sad; I think it may piss a few people off, but that's part of the appeal:) As always, please review and let me know what you think. Don't be a silent reader. I swear I don't bite! Also, this story has thirty some chapters on AO3 and Fanfiction.net. Edited by my Beta Casey.*

A steady buzzing pulled me from my fitful slumber. My neck ached as I rolled out of the tight ball I found myself wrapped up in. The muscles in my back burned, searing in protest as I sat up and stretched my body. An unhealthy popping sound made me wince as I moved my neck from side to side. I pulled my red hair from where it had become stuck to my cheek and was once again thankful that there was no one else here to witness the side of me that was more troll than human.

My phone buzzed incessantly again, and I glared dangerously at the little black machine that was responsible for my being awake at the ungodly hour of five a.m. Before I could even consider seeing who dared to wake me, I knew I needed to get out of yesterday's clothes and find some sort of caffeine.

I grabbed myself a change of clothes before slipping out of my room and tiptoeing to the bathroom. Once I was safely inside, I went about my business, allowing the hot water to rinse everything away. As I scrubbed at my skin, I imagined the water washing away the metaphorical stain on my soul, as well as the visible grime from the day before.

After my skin was sufficiently rubbed raw, I left the shower and dried my hair, weaving it into a loose, side french braid. Aside from the lotion I rubbed into my parched skin, I left my face natural and headed back into my room to grab my phone and purse. Shutting my door on the way out, I skipped over the squeaky step and stealthily made my way downstairs as I pulled out my phone to check who had tried to call. My head cocked to the side when I noticed I had an oddly large number of missed calls, all from Damon. What the hell did he want? Just as I was placing my finger over his name, there was a knock on the front door.

Dammit!

Jenna, Elena, and Jeremy were still sleeping, for God's sake! I quickly headed to the door and yanked it open, a few strands of hair blowing out around my face as it passed me by. Cerulean blue orbs and a familiar cocky smirk greeted me. I narrowed my eyes, grinding my teeth together. I could feel my cheeks warming and hated myself for it. Damon smiled wickedly and leaned against the door frame, one arm lifted above his head. His usual button-up shirt was absent today, instead he wore a long sleeve black t-shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His raven hair fell into his eyes as he moved closer to me. I bit my tongue, my traitorous fingers itched to brush the hair from his forehead. His smirk widened as if he could read my thoughts, and I stepped away from him, flexing my fingers, which only made him chuckle.

I hated his face. His stupid, cocky, yet oh so sexy face.

His right hand moved into view, and I noticed a large coffee cup. My whole body reacted to the sight. Every ounce of my annoyance bled away at the thought of getting the fix I needed. My face lifted into a grin, and my heart raced with joy.

"You bought me an iced frappe?" I squealed. "Those are my favorite!"

I grabbed the cup out of his hands and took a large, dramatic sip, moaning as the chilled espresso beverage satisfied my raging urge for caffeine. Caramel; he even got my favorite flavor.

"Wish I could say I bought it out of the kindness of my heart, but," Damon laughed mischievously. "It's a bribe."

I stepped outside, the cool morning air brushing over my skin, and goosebumps pebbled up my arms. I locked the door behind me, pulling my shirt sleeves down to cover my arms. "What do you want, Day?"

I took another sip of the caramel frappe and started down the porch steps. Damon followed beside me, his hands in his pockets.

"Well, it seems that your sister spent the night doing the naughty with my brother."

His face turned up for a moment, an unpleasant hateful expression marring his usually attractive face. Jealousy isn't a good look on Damon, and I found that knowing it was my sister that brought forth that sort of reaction, made me feel physically ill.

"So," he continued, "I want you to join me in interrupting their morning. To throw them off. I also want your take on Stefan's whole 'let's work together' spiel.'"

Damon used bunny ear quotations when he talked of Stefan's idea and I huffed out a laugh, sliding into his car and leaning my head back against the seat in frustration. When he got in, I turned towards him, my eyes hard.

"Fine, but I'll tell you right now before we even get there, I won't be involved in anything to do with damaging their relationship. I know this is hard for you, seeing them together, but she is happy, and I won't help you ruin that."

Damon's eyes scanned my face, his own expressionless as he focused on reading me. I was an open book, at least at this moment. I didn't need to hide anything from him. In fact, he needed to see it. He needed to know he could trust me, but he also needed to know my limits. Elena and Stefan's relationship; the game he wanted to play with his brother, that was one of them.

Once he had seen what he needed to, he nodded, moving back into his seat. He pulled out of my drive and drove towards the Boarding House, only slowing when I took out a coin to throw over Wickery Bridge.

"Why do you do that? '' he asked.

I rolled up my window and looked at him, shrugging. "It's silly, but it's my way of remembering my parents. People throw coins in fountains and wells to make wishes, well I throw them over the bridge and into the water where my parents died as a way to remember them. I want to make sure that they know I haven't forgotten them, and that I wish they were still here."

My voice cracked, and I cursed myself for allowing emotion to poke through my normally stoic exterior. Damon brushed a strand of hair from my face, placing it behind my ear, a real, none sarcastic smile gracing his lips.

"There's my Elandra," he whispered as we left the bridge behind. "Always so soft-hearted,"

I looked away from him, trying to ignore the way his hand had felt on my skin. Finally, we arrived at the house and I all but jumped from the car the moment he stopped. I stepped into the house and headed upstairs towards Stefan's room. I could feel Damon following me but decided to sip my coffee and ignore him. When I reached Stefan's door, I stood to the side and allowed Damon to take the lead.

"This is so mean," I sighed.

Damon smiled, opening the door and taking my hand, effectively cutting off my protests. He approached the bed, slowly sitting down at the foot and smirking at the vision our siblings made curled up together, unaware of the world around them. They were snuggled up, spooning. It was an unsettling image. Not just because it was my sister I was watching, likely after she had just had sex. Which was just...disgusting. It was also like I was watching a vision of the past. I was finally able to see, first hand, what it had been like when Katherine was with Stefan, all while Damon was in the wings, pining and devastated that the woman he loved was with his brother, always just out of his reach. It made my stomach roll. Was that the sort of thing Damon imagined every time he looked at my sister?

I turned away, feeling more like my past self then I wanted to admit. My heart hurt; this whole situation was starting to bother me more than I expected it too. Katherine would love to know that, and I couldn't let her see it. I couldn't let her use the pain of my past to get what she wanted from me. Elena started to wake, and Stefan joined her seconds later. He wrapped his arms around her tightly as he kissed her on the cheek, a bright smile on his face. I swallowed roughly, averting my eyes from their private moment.

"Mmm. Good morning," Elena sighed contentedly.

This was so wrong. I am the worst sister ever.

Stefan pulled her closer and looked down at her flushed face. "I could get used to this,"

Damon sneered, tilting his head and choosing that moment to make our presence known. "Rise and shine, sleepyheads," he cheerfully said, slapping the bed with gusto.

I winced, turning my head away as they both jumped, my sister revealing her lacy black bra in the process. I quickly walked over to them, yanking the sheet over Elena with a growl in Damon's direction.

Elena narrowed big brown accusatory eyes at me. "Damon, Elara! Please!" she yelled, turning to face him and taking hold of the sheet.

Stefan, on the other hand, let the sheet fall, his bare chest in full view. Elena lifted the sheet to cover him again, glaring in my direction. I scoffed lightly, which turned into a full-on laugh when she bared her teeth at me in anger.

"Please, Lena. Do you know how many times I used to watch them swim in the lake with my brothers? I have seen both Salvatores bare-chested many times. Besides, Stefan is a brother in my eyes," I sighed, stepping next to Damon, who smiled up at me.

"You've seen a lot more than my bare chest, Miss Miller," he mock-whispered.

I blushed profusely and smacked his chest, avoiding my sister's fiery gaze. Stefan tried to reign in a laugh, turning it into a mild cough, which only made Elena grumble in anger.

"What are you two doing in my bedroom?" Stefan asked.

Damon scoffed, his face playful. "Oh, stop being smutty, Stef,"

Stefan pulled the sheet further up on Elena, making sure she was appropriately covered.

"Seriously, get out of here!" Stefan hollered.

I jumped lightly and grabbed Damon's arm, he shrugged me off with a laugh and leered at Stefan and Elena.

"If I see something I haven't seen before, I'll throw a dollar at it," he smirked.

I blinked several times at this and took a step back, my mind whirring at the oddly scientific idea he proposed. I wasn't entirely sure that's what he had meant, but the seed had been planted in my head all the same. Are Elena and Katherine COMPLETELY identical? It's a disgusting thought but an intriguing one. While all these weird ideas were flying through my mind, I didn't notice when Damon stood and leaned down, placing his hands on the frame at the foot of the bed.

"Now listen, we have some very important business to discuss," he said.

Elena sat back and sighed. "And it has to be right now?" she asked.

Damon sneered, crossing his arms. "Well, we have lots to do, now that we're all friends and working towards a common goal," he smirked.

Stefan and Elena exchanged a look, one that made me uneasy. I narrowed my eyes and stood side by side with Damon, crossing my own arms. Yeah, if they were working with Damon than Katherine was gonna win Miss Congeniality at the next Miss Mystic Falls pageant.

"So, to open the tomb, we need to find the journal to get the grimoire to undo the spell. First things first — since as you are Elena Gilbert, you're on journal duty," Damon said.

Elena huffed, pointing her bony finger in my direction. "Hello! Elara G-I-L-B-E-R-T!" Elena spat, spelling out our last name hatefully. "Why can't she do it?" she asked.

Damon turned towards me and shrugged. "Miller," he enunciated slowly. "She'll always be a Miller to me, and besides, I need her for something else. She is an all-powerful witch; journal duty is below her pay grade," he said with a cocky smile.

Elena glared at me, and I slapped Damon on the arm. "Damon, cool it. You're getting me into trouble," I whispered.

Damon turned to me with a wicked smile, and I raised a brow in question. "Since when am I helping? Elara I get, you bat your eyes and somehow convince her to help you," she petulantly said.

I placed a hand on my hip and ground my teeth together, ready to let loose on my childish little sister, but Damon placed his hand on my arm, stopping me before I could blow up on her. I let out a deep breath and tried to cool off, turning away as Damon continued with his little drama fest.

"Well, since Stefan's helping, and you have taken up residence in Stefan's bed, ergo…" he trailed off suggestively.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, my cheeks burning from the effort. Stefan looked at Elena, ever the knight in shining armor...or sheet as it may be at the moment, and smiled warmly at her.

"You don't have to do anything that you don't want to," he said.

Elena sighed in acceptance, looking at Damon with a gleam in her eye, one that had my spidey senses tingling. Something was definitely going on. I tried to catch her eye and knew for sure they had some sort of plan the moment she guiltily avoided my gaze. I shook my head and turned away from her. She could look for the journal all she wanted, but she wouldn't find it. I would borrow it from Jeremy myself, then use it to locate the grimoire and take it before either of them ever had the chance. I wasn't going to let them stab Damon in the back, not this time. He needed to know that Katherine wasn't in that tomb.

"I'll look for it tonight," she said.

I stood straighter, lowering my chin and staring them both down in anger and defiance. Elena laid back in the bed, pulling the sheet over her face in annoyance.

"Good," Damon said.

Stefan looked down at Elena in amusement and then glanced at Damon and me. "How do we know that this journal will hold the location of the grimoire? We're really going to take the word of this vampire? He seemed like a bit of a dimwit," Stefan said, obviously hoping to stall Damon a bit.

I placed a hand on the back of my neck and rolled my eyes.

"In lieu of any other options," Damon said

I looked at them both and shook my head. "The location is in there. Don't worry. We'll get the grimoire," I said, staring at Stefan with heated eyes.

He watched me closely until Elena pulled the sheet from her face and sat up. "Ok, what exactly is a grimoire, anyway?" she asked.

Damon shrugged his shoulders and looked at me with a smile. "A witch's cookbook," he said.

I started giggling, my chest shaking with the force of it. Stefan sighed, laying back on the bed as Elena had.

"Every spell that a witch casts is unique itself, so every witch would document their work," Stefan explained, speaking towards the ceiling.

Elena watched him, her brows raised in surprise. She looked at me in excitement. "Do you have one?" she asked, voice rushed.

I lowered my head, my laughter dying down. "Elena, I'm not really that kinda witch, but yeah, I have had a few. They were more like journals, though, with memories and thoughts. They did have a few of my own spells that only witches of my kind could ever hope to cast. But they have all probably been lost to time," I said thoughtfully. "Even if they hadn't, with as many different names as I have had, and lives I have lived, only I would even know it was mine."

I refused to tell her that there were a few people that could probably distinguish my handwriting enough to discover if a journal belonged to me. She didn't need to know that the Mikelasons were some of the few people who probably knew me well enough to piece together the different facets of my life.

Elena looked disappointed for some reason, probably hoping I would loan Bonnie a bit of my past. When would she learn that Bonnie would never be able to do what I can? We were two very different incarnations of the witch. She was one of nature: and bound to everything that goes with that. I am a witch of creation: my ancestors were chosen, created to be what we are. My magic was not a gift from nature, so I will never be bound to her or her rules. Nor, will I ever be forced to bow to my ancestors or any other witch for that matter, dead or alive. I felt lucky knowing my ancestors would never force me to do their bidding. I was free to make my own mistakes, and if or when I needed their help, I would always have the option of asking for it, free of fear. Whether they accepted, it was another story. I had been taught long ago that my family line of magic came from deep within our cores. Our very souls were infused with ancient magic, the magic we can draw from. That's how I can channel everything through myself, and am visibly able to show my own magical signature. I can push it outward, and use the force of it as a weapon.

The true story of how my family became infused with magic had long been lost. My mother did tell me as a child that the first of our line, Ashilda, had come across a stone arch after our family settled on their land. When she approached the arch - one she was sure had been there since the time of the old Gods - she found a peculiar script written across it. When she placed her hand on the jagged edge of the stone, she cut the palm of her hand. When her blood seeped onto the rock, a bright light engulfed her. It spilled into her body, lighting up her core, infusing it with the power that we carry within us today. My mother said the old Gods found our line worthy, and now every firstborn daughter is blessed with the gift of magic.

Who knows if that is what truly happened, all I know is, that I'm grateful to not be beholden to anyone, let alone mother nature. I had warned Bonnie once already of what could happen to witches that went against their ancestors, and I was glad to not be one of her kind. I shook myself from my thoughts and focused on the conversation unfolding in front of me.

"And I don't like that disadvantage, so…." Damon clapped his hands together. "Chop, chop."

He grabbed my arm and escorted me towards the door backward. I stumbled dumbly; wait, what had I missed while I was daydreaming?

"You know, I really like this whole menage a foursome team thing. It's got a bit of kink to it," he chuckled, and I rolled my eyes. "Don't screw it up," he said, pointing at them both as he pulled me out the door.

Damon slowly walked me down the stairs, once we hit the bottom step, I yanked him to a stop, my finger on my lips. I used my other hand and pointed at my ear and then the ceiling. He rolled his eyes, their blue depths staring upward where I knew Elena and Stefan were probably trying to act all innocent. After a second, his face screwed up in disgust, and he took my wrist, dragging me outside towards his car.

"What?" I snapped

I figured I probably didn't want the answer if the look on his face was anything to go by. He pushed me into the car, and I huffed in annoyance. I was really getting tired of his pushy behavior.

I watched him warily as he slipped into the car, slamming on the gas and speeding out of the driveway like a man possessed.

"He knew I was listening. Whatever Elena was about to say...he stopped her. Then she decided to...change the subject," he said through clenched teeth.

I crossed my arms and glanced out the window. "Well, good for her. Seems like Stefan may be more fun than I give him credit for," I said under my breath.

Damon, of course, heard me and made sure to hit every bump in the road on the way to my house. By the time he was back in my driveway, at the speed he had been going, my head was quite sore from hitting the roof of his car, but it was worth it. I was sick and tired of him fawning over my sister. I turned my head towards him with a sigh.

"Listen, Damon, I hate to say this, but I don't trust either of our Saint siblings. They obviously have a plan of their own. But what they don't know is, I have insider info."

At my words, Damon's head finally shot towards mine, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. When I saw he was no longer harboring anger towards me, I continued,

"I already know where the journal is. So, I'm going to go get it, and when I have it, I'll recover the location of the grimoire. Then I'm gonna put the journal somewhere they can find it, and they'll never be the wiser."

Damon's eyes clouded with confusion, and I smiled wickedly, leaning closer as if my next words were a closely guarded secret. I lowered my voice,

"I thought you might wanna have some fun with them. We could see exactly what they planned to do. Play with them a bit," When I saw his eyes spark, I quickly added my amendment. "But gently," I added.

His full, pink lips pouted playfully, but his eyes never lost their spark. "You really are amazing, Ellie," he said.

I laughed lightly and decided to taunt him a bit. "And just think I could have been all yours. Elandra Salvatore."

His eyes darkened, and my smile became predatory.

"Too bad, eh. If only I had been born a Petrova," I sighed, my green eyes hardening for a moment.

Damon leaned away from me, his pale face slackening, and I almost felt bad for a moment, but then I remember the pain I had felt watching him as he lusted after my sister all morning, and the guilt vanished. Rebekah would be so proud.

"I'll text you, Damon. Do not make them suspicious of us," I said, pointing my finger at him.

He pushed back his emotions, his mask slipping back into place as he nodded. I slid out of the car and headed inside to find Jeremy and the journal.

Jeremy was pretty easy to locate; like most teenage boys, he was lounging on the couch playing video games.

"Hey, Jer,"

He smiled at me and I plopped down beside him. His eyes never left the TV as he continued rolling the joystick on his controller in a circular motion, a determined expression on his face. I leaned my head on his shoulder and watched him play for a moment.

"I have favor kiddo. Well more like a question," I said.

At this, Jeremy paused his game and spun around on the couch, lifting one leg onto the seat as he turned to face me.

"What's up, Ellie Bean?" he asked in concern.

My heart lifted at the love his expression showed, and I vowed to make sure Elena never forced him into anything again. At least for as long as I could. I felt my stomach sink and tried to forget, for now, that I wasn't going to be around for much longer.

"You remember that creepy monster journal you were reading of our ancestors? Can I have it? I am doing research for a story I'm writing," I said quietly, biting my bottom lip as if I were embarrassed.

Jeremy blinked at me, briefly surprised. Like everyone else, he didn't know that I was into writing (which I am, just never in this life), then smiled brightly. "You're a writer, El?" he asked excitedly.

I nodded quickly with faux enthusiasm, leaning in after looking around the room. "I like to write fiction, but since writing is Elena's thing, I've never nurtured it until recently. Please don't tell anyone, especially that I asked about the journal. I don't want anyone to know I'm into that sorta stuff, Jer," I flushed. "It's kinda embarrassing..."

Jeremy grinned, slapping a hand on my shoulder. "Deal, but I gave the journal to Mr. Saltzman, so you'll have to wait until I can get it back,"

My eyes narrowed into slits. What the hell is Alaric doing with a hunter's journal?

"That's ok, Jer. Just keep this between you and me," I smiled, rising to my feet. Jeremy nodded, pressing start on his game. I waved goodbye and raced out the door, pulling my keys from my bag.

Well, it looks like I'm making a trip to the school.

I pulled into the school, only a few cars lining the mostly deserted parking lot. I spotted the exact one I was looking for and felt my tight jaw tick. I didn't know what to expect, but Alaric Saltzman was proving to become more and more interesting, and not in a good way. It seemed he was going to be a problem, something I never wanted him to become. I had never gotten a bad vibe from him, and I had always been able to trust my vibes or 'sixth sense' about people. That was the only reason I wasn't calling Damon right now and giving him the green light to go in fangs blazing.

I shut off my car and held onto the strap of my purse tightly as I walked up to the entrance, silently praising whichever God was listening when the door was unlocked. I was saving my magical reserve just in case. I was still building up my stamina. The more magic I used, the weaker it made me. I needed to train so that I could cast longer without weakening myself. Who the hell knew what I was walking into. I had never been alone with Alaric or gotten close enough, to get a good read on him. I knew he was human, but that didn't always mean weak. Humans had the potential to be quite powerful with the proper training. As I entered, I squinted in the darkness, glancing around. When I knew I was alone, I cast a low-level spell on myself so that I would blend in with my surroundings. I grimaced as the cold feeling of an egg breaking atop my head slithered over me. I exhaled in relief. I should be sufficiently hidden from all except those who were either trained in the craft or at least knew what to look for.

I tiptoed towards the History classroom, all the while keeping my ears and eyes peeled. As I neared the room, I could see a faint warm light shining in the darkness.

Hello...someone is home.

I peeked into the room and found Alaric sitting at his desk bent over the journal, pouring over its contents with avid interest. His eyes were strained with exhaustion, and I felt a pang of pity for the poor man. What was going on with him? I watched him read for a few minutes, just taking in his mannerisms, trying to understand a bit about him. When he stood quite suddenly, I gasped, stepping away from the door as he burst through. I followed behind him, noticing with interest when he stopped in the middle of the hallway, his back rigid. He spun around and quickly scanned his surroundings in a defensive position, that of a trained hunter. I knew that look. I had seen it many times before. Hell, I had used it myself after Kol taught me.

I've got you now, Mr. Saltzman. Interesting, very interesting. Do the council members know he is a hunter?

I held my breath while his eyes passed over my near-invisible form. I knew that to the trained eye, a shimmer could be seen, but unless Alaric knew a lot about witchcraft, he wouldn't know what to search for. I kept my breath held deeply and watched him wait, head twitching left then right. Finally, he gave up, feet smacking against the tile floor as he headed back the way he had started. Air escaped my lips as my lungs thanked me for the oxygen they so desperately needed. I gulped down a few lungfuls and followed after my mysterious hunter/history teacher. I would seriously need to pay better attention in class from now on. Who knows precisely what type of supernatural beings he hunts. No need to piss him off unnecessarily. I found him in the teacher's lounge, making copies of the journal. The glow from the copier illuminated his still form, and I bit my lip, unsure if him having a copy of the journal was such a good idea. I stood next to him and watched as he finished rather quickly. When he was done, he shut off the light, and I followed him back to his classroom, this time without any oxygen deprivation. He lightly tossed the original journal on his desk and slipped the copy in a drawer beside him. Sitting back in his seat, he covered his tired face with his hands. I saw a quick glimpse of the purple bags under his eyes and felt the pang of pity in the pit of my stomach again. I wasn't entirely sure what exactly it was about this man, but I had a bit of a soft spot for him. I could see he was a good man and that he would be suitable for Jenna. Still, he seemed to be just as stuck in the supernatural world as Elena was, and that would just put my family at further risk.

Would it be worth it to help this man? As he pulled his rough hands away from his face, his blue eyes locked with my invisible green orbs, and I felt my shoulders slump in defeat. Something was telling me Alaric Saltzman was meant to become involved with the Gilbert family. I could feel a firm sense of resolve fill me.

Ok, Alaric, I'm going to help you.

I nodded as a plan started to form in my mind, and watched him grab a handful of papers from a tray on his desk. Leaning over them he began to grade, with much less enthusiasm than he had before when reading the journal. A sudden movement outside of the classroom caught both Alaric and I's attention, our heads snapping towards the disturbance. I stepped away from Alaric and moved towards the journal, using his captured attention to my advantage, my hand reaching out to it. When Alaric stood, heading to the door, I took the journal from the desk, slipping it into my bag with ease. Alaric stepped outside the room, his back ramrod straight. I watched him closely, ready to step in if he needed me to.

"Hello?" he called out.

I rolled my eyes. Really?

I almost wanted to tell him how very teenage girl in a horror flick he was right now. When he left the classroom for the hallway, I slipped my hand into his desk, where he had stashed the copy he had made and grabbed it as well.

Sorry, Alaric…

I stepped out of the room and slid past him as quietly as possible. I could sense a vampire here with us, and it wasn't either of the boys. I didn't plan on staying to find out who it was. I cast a quick protection spell on Alaric, hoping it would be enough to give him the shot he would need to take care of himself. I couldn't stick around all day, protecting him. I looked back at him one last time, he was still calling out into the darkness and exited the school. As I hopped into my car, I sensed a familiar presence in the air. Stefan? How did he find out about the journal? I put my car in drive and fled the school before Stefan got the chance to see me. I drove as quickly as I dared, and pulled into my house ten minutes before I would have driving the speed limit. I grabbed the journal and scanned the pages rapidly, searching for anything that would tell me what I needed to know. When I found what I was looking for, my eyes ignited with hatred.

That stupid son of a bitch!

I should have guessed. I pulled the copy from my bag and stepped out of my car, walking beside the house. I grabbed Aunt Jenna's tin bucket from the garden and sat it on the ground in front of me, placing the copy of the journal inside. I stood, brushing the gravel from my knees and snapped my fingers, setting the pages on fire. I stood in front of the bucket, watching the pages curl and burn as the smoke swirled in circles. Once the pages were ash, I took the pail to the curb, dumping the remains in the trash can with a smirk. With the original journal in hand, I headed inside. I could hear voices coming from the kitchen but chose to ignore whoever it was for now. I sat down next to Jeremy, who was still lounging on the couch.

"Hey, Jer. Did you tell Stefan about the journal?" I whispered.

Jeremy looked up at me oddly but shook his head. "No, why?" he asked in confusion.

I frowned slightly, hoping I could believe him and sighed. "Who did you tell?" I asked.

Jeremy looked more confused than ever at my strange questioning and blinked slowly before realization dawned on his face. "Stefan was here earlier when I was talking to this girl Anna about the journal. She wanted to see it, but I told her I needed it once I got it back from Ric. He probably heard me," he said, shrugging.

I leaned against his shoulder and smiled. "Ahhh. Well, that makes sense. Cause see, I went and borrowed it from Alaric, but Stefan was there asking about it. I was nervous and didn't wanna bother them, so I just took it. I'll explain it to Alaric later. I was just curious why Stefan wanted it. Could you tell Stefan you went and picked it up if he asks? Just tell him that when you grabbed it, Alaric wasn't around," I pleaded with puppy eyes.

Jeremy must have sensed my need and thought it was because I was a bit nervous around Stefan. His brotherly instincts kicked in.

"Yeah, of course, Ellie. You don't have to say shit to Stefan!"

I grinned broadly and kissed his cheek, giving him the tightest hug I could. "Ok, I'm gonna leave this here on the table for now. Remember, this is just between you and me, ok?"

Jeremy winked at me, and I left him to the TV and his lazy day. I felt bad for using my baby bro like that, but I knew he would understand when the time came. I just couldn't wait until we could really team-up. I wanted to tell him everything. I headed into the kitchen and was shocked to find Aunt Jenna planted on the counter, her legs swinging happily, a glass of red wine in hand. Damon was standing beside her, cutting into a tomato. I held the swinging door open, my lashes batting in amused confusion.

"My father never approved of anyone I dated, which only made me want them more, of course. What about you?" Damon was saying.

I scoffed lightly, releasing the door, the breeze of it swaying back into place blowing strands of my air around. I placed a hand on my hip. What an utter crock of shit. His father approved of our union until I was found to be a witch. Of course, by then, he had known Damon had basically dissolved our courtship in favor of Katherine. It had strained their relationship even more than it already had been. He had thought it a stain on their family honor, a broken courtship was a massive faux pas after all.

Damon spun around to greet me, the sharp blade pointed in my direction. "Have something to add there, Ellie," he asked, brow raised in a dare.

I held my jaw together tightly. "No, I was just under the assumption that there was one girl your father had approved of, once upon a time. At least for a brief period," I said tightly.

Damon cocked a grin, his eyes blazing in triumph. Had he been goading me? Jenna looked between us momentarily before watching Damon go back to cutting up the tomato.

"Yeah, there was one, but I screwed that up royally, so she doesn't really count," he said in an almost whisper.

Jenna handed him her glass of wine and patted him on the back in a gesture of solidarity. I giggled under my breath when Damon chugged down the last of her wine before pouring her more, when he tried to stop in the middle of the glass Jenna took the bottle, filling the cups to the rim. Damon chuckled, going back to his chopping.

"There were a few guys. Logan isn't the only loser I've dated," Jenna said mournfully.

Damon looked at me and pointed the knife in my direction again. "What about you?" he asked.

I choked on my tongue and started coughing. Jenna laughed joyfully. "Yeah, El, what about you? I'd like to hear about this. You have always been so secretive, and Elena won't ever spill about you," Jenna said.

I leaned against the island and sighed deeply. Damon was such an ass.

"Umm. I don't really date. I have had flings," I said, avoiding Jenna's eyes.

Jenna spluttered, wine flying onto my face. I wiped the liquid from my cheek and bit my lip, wincing at her surprised expression.

"Elara Marie!" she gasped.

I raised my hands in the air and shook my head. "Hey, no judgment. I am not...I have no time...I just don't want a relationship, and I'm not stupid. I'm careful," I said, stuttering painfully.

Jenna observed me weighing her words, with a resigned sigh, her shoulders slumped as she smiled weakly. "At least tell me who?" she asked.

I laughed uneasily. "Um, Tyler Lockwood and a guy from the football team. No one that you know. After Tyler, I decided to keep things casual. No close friends. It's my rule," I explained, twisting my fingers.

"Well, at least it's not someone like Logan Fell. I hope..." she said.

I shook my head, and she smiled. Damon, who had been oddly quiet throughout our conversation apart from the savage sound of chopping, bit out a few words. "Did they ever find him?" he asked.

I turned away, rolling my eyes. That asshat had deserved everything he got.

"He's not missing. He's in the Bahamas working on his tan. Very entitled, that one. Marches to his own drum." She drained the remainder of her glass. "He's a Fell. They're all snooty," she added.

Damon chuckled and poured some more wine in Jenna's glass. Was he helping her get drunk? She smiled brightly at him and headed towards the living room. I watched her go, hoping Jeremy would make sure she didn't get too smashed. I stepped beside Damon and leaned next to his ear, in the guise of reaching for a slice of tomato. He made to slap my hand, but I growled at him.

"I found it," I snapped next to his ear.

He froze before he held a chunk of tomato against my lips with an expectant expression on his face.

"The journal?" he asked.

I opened my mouth and let him feed me with a roll of my eyes. I finished my mouthful and nodded before adding onto my sentence.

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm talking about. I know where the grimoire is. Also, our plan involving the Saints squared is in effect in the living room," I said with a wink.

Damon's brows raised, and he dropped the knife with a hearty laugh. "The Saints Squared?" he asked in amazement.

I shrugged with a nod. "Suits them, don't ya think. Everyone thinks they're so damn perfect. Can you imagine what that must be like? I'd go mad under pressure!" I said, placing my hands on my cheeks.

I'd hate to live life feeling like I had to be perfect all the time. He shuddered dramatically, and I couldn't help but laugh. Damon drew my attention, my laughter ceasing when he spun on his heel, facing the doorway with a smirk.

"Hello, Elena," he said.

I stepped away from him and looked at my sister, whose arms were stationed across her chest, her big brown eyes judging me harshly. I groaned and maneuvered around my sister.

"I have an Aunt I need to make sure has sobered up, and then I have to pick up something from the store,"

Damon smiled at my excuse but kept his eyes firmly on Elena; it was enough to let me know he would keep her preoccupied. Not that he would find his job all that hard. I stepped out of the kitchen and found Jenna seated next to Stefan and Jeremy on the couch. My eyes zeroed in on the coffee table, where I was pleased to see the journal missing in action. I bit my lip to keep the smile from my face and patted Jeremy on the shoulder.

"Hey kiddo, get Jenna some Advil and a bottle of water. I need to get something from the store," I sighed.

Jenna protested, but Jeremy laughed, ignoring her half-hearted swats and semi-slurred words. Stefan looked up at me, eyes curious and a bit weary, but I smiled brightly.

"I saw someone got Damon to cook dinner. It's been a while since he put his skills to a less homicidal use," I whispered with a giggle.

Stefan's lips twitched, and he looked away, focusing on the TV again. "I'll be back in a bit," I said, grabbing my keys and jogging out the door.

Time to go dig up an asshole.

I drove as quickly as I could, heading towards the old cemetery where I knew Giuseppe Salvatore to be buried. As I pulled up beside the gate, I cut the engine and popped my trunk before I slipped out of the car. Digging in the back, I pulled out a flashlight and winced as I slammed the trunk closed, the sound echoing and seeming louder in the darkness. I pulled my jacket around me, listening to the crunching of the wet grass below my feet as I journeyed into the graveyard. I slowly repeated a silly mantra in my head to keep myself calm.

Zombies are not real, zombies are not real.

As the old fashioned tombstones came into view, I clenched my teeth and tried to keep the Thriller music video out of my head.

Come on, Elandra, you're over a thousand years old. Get a grip!

I pushed myself forward, shining my light on the tombstones as I came across them, heading deeper and deeper into the graveyard. Finally, towards the back, I found a worn stone, the edges chipped and words faded. I bent down, brushing my hand along the aged stone, dirt and crumpled leaves falling to the ground. It read; Giuseppe Salvatore.

Asshole extraordinaire is a more fitting moniker.

I sat my flashlight down and sighed, thinking over exactly what spell I needed to use. I needed to dig him up and then put all the dirt back, making the whole grave look once again undisturbed.

I nibbled on my bottom lip thoughtfully, then with a huff decided I would just pull the dirt up, then refill it and flattened the earth, making it look as it had before. It would exhaust me, but I had my Blackwood branch so I would be ok. I lowered my hand over his grave and scrunched up my face in disgust. This was not my idea of fun. I took a deep breath and let my power flow, slowly turning my hand as I felt my core flair with magic, a warm burning deep within. I opened my eyes and saw the electric blue light glow through my skin. The ground in front of me started to quake, breaking apart as the earth flew skyward. My other hand shot forward, stopping its travel, and I took a heavy breath as the dark soil froze in mid-air. My hands shook slightly as I began to maneuver it to my right so that I could have it all together for when I needed to return it later. I lowered it into a massive pile and looked at the hole I had successfully made with glee. I had done it. I stepped next to the hole, looking down.

A light brown wooden coffin rested below, a smattering of dark wet earth still covering the lid. Jumping down, I landed next to it and brushed off the dirt, the cold rough wood rubbed against my skin uncomfortably and I tried to ignore the sensation. I felt around the edges until I found a spot I could grasp, and started yanking up the side. Holding my breath, I pulled it open, moaning when I looked down at the skeleton of the man who had once helped kill me. In his arms was Emily's grimoire. I looked away, a thick lump in my throat, and gently pulled the book from his grasp. I tried to ignore the cold, slimy feel of the hard bone but couldn't hold back a gag. When I finally had the grimoire in my grasp, I sat it on the edge of the coffin and rubbed my hands down my jeans with a shudder.

Ugh...so disgusting!

I quickly slammed the coffin lid shut, shivering as I slipped out of the hole. I sat the spellbook next to me and lifted my hands, watching the dirt fly into the air again, and fill the hole. Once the coffin was covered, I waved my right hand, flattening the soil and making it appear as if I had never been here. I nodded in satisfaction when my work was done. I sent Damon a text, smiling and rolling my eyes when he sent back a bunch of heart emojis. I picked up the book and my light as I headed back the way I had come. My prize in hand.

On the way home, I stopped by the store and picked up a few things we had run out of as a way to maintain my cover story. So by the time I pulled up at my house, I had been gone for a little over an hour and a half. I quickly ran my hand over my clothes to cleanse them and placed the Blackwood branch back in my purse. I made sure the grimoire was in my bag and stumbled out of my car, closing my eyes as I shook my head roughly. I was a little weak from overexertion, but the branch had helped to restore most of my magic, and I was determined to fight through the rest of my weakness. I was getting tired of feeling so useless. I was supposed to be strong and powerful, and I needed to be. Shit was about to hit the fan. I was going to start training again. I ran inside, tossing my keys into the bowl by the door. I released a relieved breath when I noticed Elena and Damon were just now bringing the food in from the kitchen. I hadn't missed dinner. Hell yeah! I was starving. I took the groceries into the kitchen and rolled my eyes as I watched Damon deliberately bumping into Elena every chance he got. Well, I could have done without the flirting.

Was she the one digging up his father for him?

I grumbled under my breath as I went back into the dining room and slumped down into my seat, glaring at my sister as she laughed at Damon's actions. Damon placed a bowl on the table next to me, completely ignoring my existence as he focused on Elena. His eyes were hard as steel, and I realized they had been having a conversation right next to me. What was with me and zoning out today?

"Then you understand what I will do if anyone gets in my way," he threateningly told her.

Elena visibly gulped, and I couldn't stop the giggle that escaped me. They both shot me a look, Damon raised a brow and smiled while Elena glared hatefully. Damon walked away, leaving Elena alone with me.

She placed both hands on her hips and stared me down. "What are you doing, Elara? This game you are playing with him is going to get people killed. People we love!" she snarled.

I stood from my seat and placed a hand on the table, leaning closer to her. "No, what is going to get people killed is you and Stefan standing in our way. He needs to get in that tomb, Elena. It is the only way. I'd ask you to trust me, but it wouldn't make a difference, would it?" I asked, my eyes tearing up despite my anger.

Elena looked away, her hair falling into her face. The fact that she couldn't look at me was all the answer I needed. I had felt a smidgen of guilt for tricking her and Stefan. Still, the way they were going about things, and the fact that she was refusing to even trust me, her own sister, was enough to wipe it all away. I sat back down, my head falling forward.

"We're done here, Elena. You have made up your mind. Chose your side in this, and I've done the same. It's a pity really, all this time we're wasting," I said, my voice breaking off as I lowered my head into my hands.

Elena stood beside me in silence for a moment before turning around and walking away. I shook my head, frustrated tears spilling from my eyes. I brushed them away and placed my hands on my knees. There was nothing more I could do about our relationship right now. I had to do things this way. I knew what needed to be done to ensure the future went as smoothly as possible. Damon had suffered long enough. He deserved freedom, and this course of action would give him that. I shook off my melancholy as Damon and Elena brought out the rest of the food. Dinner was a stressful affair, my anxiety, and I held hands throughout the entire meal. Damon made sure to poke at Stefan and Elena the whole time. I basically inhaled my food just for the chance at a quick escape. As soon as I was done, I stepped out onto the front porch, the grimoire, still hidden in my bag. I sat down on the porch swing and held my bag against my chest, the massive indent of the grimoire, an oddly reassuring presence.

I pushed my legs back and forth as I swung. I let the cold night air clear my head, the breeze blowing the smell of honeysuckle and roses towards me from the garden at the back of the house. I slowly swung back and forth, the rhythm almost lulling me into a coma-like state, until I noticed a dark shadow blocking the light beside me. I turned my head and sighed when I saw Damon, Stefan, and Elena all huddled together near the open window. I inwardly groaned as I listened to Damon pestering Elena and Stefan about the journal. I couldn't help but smile when Stefan mentioned Alaric. Looked like he made it out of his encounter with the vampires alive. Good for him. I would need to introduce myself for what I really am sooner rather than later. I stopped swinging, the toes of my shoes scraping against the wooden porch when Stefan brought Jeremy into the conversation. I stood quickly and stepped back inside the house just as Damon was heading back towards the couch where Jeremy was sitting alone, Aunt Jenna having gone upstairs.

"No. Damon, leave him out of it!" Elena panicked, her eyes revealing the fact that she knew Jeremy had no idea where the journal was.

I wanted to pounce on her Ala cheetah and rip her to shreds. She had the nerve to accuse me of being the one who would involve the people we love. Yet, here she was willingly allowing Jeremy to be pulled into this even though she knew exactly where the journal was. I stood towards the back of their little group and crossed my arms, jaw tight.

"Why, what's the big deal?" Damon asked, shrugging his shoulders.

He was definitely enjoying this little game. I caught his eye for a moment and smiled briefly when their blue depths twinkled with mischief. I let out a relieved breath and lowered my arms, my defensive posture loosening. As long as he wasn't really planning on pulling my brother into the thick of things, I could let him have his fun. They deserved it, after all. I stepped up beside Jeremy, and Elena froze momentarily, her brown eyes widening.

"Damon, Elara!" she whisper-shouted, as only she could.

I cringed my ears protesting as my mind conjured up images of nails on a chalkboard. "Elena, calm down! Get a grip. Jeremy is going to be fine," I said.

I plopped down on the couch next to our brother, my arm draping over the back, and shared a loaded look with Damon, reminding him to tread carefully. Damon sat on the arm on the sofa, leaning close to Jeremy with his best attempt at a brotherly expression on his face. I chuckled under my breath, and placed a hand on my forehead, adding a new item to my mental checklist, 'Teach Damon how to be less creepy.'

"So...I heard you found a really cool journal from back in the day. Who else did you show it to?" Damon asked, trying (what I hope was not his best) attempt at nonchalant.

My chest shook lightly as I silently laughed. I was sincerely hoping this wasn't Damon really trying to gather intel because if it was, I felt terrible for him. I kept my eyes off my brother and was beyond proud when he didn't glance my way once. I had to give Jeremy credit, he had one hell of a poker face.

"Huh?" he asked, playing dumb.

Damon rolled his eyes, face hard. "Don't ask questions, just spill," he said.

I leaned across Jeremy and slapped Damon on the knee. Jeremy chuckled and looked between all four of us with guarded interest. "You're kidding me, right?" he asked, looking directly at me.

Elena started to speak, I assumed to ask Jeremy who else he had shown the journal to, but I held up my hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

"It's ok, Jeremy. You can tell us it's not a big deal. It's just…I guess that come to find out...that journal was a little more valuable than we originally knew." I half-heartedly explained, trying to convey with only my eyes that he shouldn't tell them about me.

Jeremy looked at me for a moment, his eyes scanning my face before he turned his head to look at Damon and Stefan, expression protective. He took my hand and gave it a tight, reassuring squeeze.

"Just this girl Anna," he said.

I released a breath I hadn't known I had been holding and squeezed Jeremy's hand in thanks. I could tell he no longer trusted the Salvatores, and I wasn't sure how I could remedy that right now, or if I even wanted to if I was being honest. The Salvatores had the potential to be extremely dangerous, and although I loved them, I didn't entirely trust them to protect my human family. In immortal years, they were young, and sometimes the decisions they made were lethal.

Jeremy's trust in the Salvatores wasn't my main concern right now, I had too many problems to deal with at the moment to add another, so, onto the mental checklist, it would have to go. At this rate, my list was going to be a few feet long.

Damon cocked his head in question. "The hot, weird one?" he asked.

I blinked a few times and tilted my body around so that I could see Jeremy. "The what?" I huffed.

Jeremy blushed and nodded quickly, a hand on his neck. "Yeah," he said.

Elena took the lapse in talking to step in front of Jeremy. She looked down at him in curiosity. "Wait, who is Anna?" she asked.

I leaned towards Jeremy and patted my knees excitedly. "What she said," I smiled, pointing my thumb at Elena.

Jeremy looked at all of us again, noticing all eyes on him, two sets of them anxiously awaiting his answer and huffed in exasperation. Before he could open his mouth, Elena's phone rang, and she yanked it out of her back pocket, glancing down at the screen. Her brown eyes blazed with annoyance for a second before softening as she answered, quickly catching my eye and pointing to Jeremy and Damon. I rolled my eyes and gestured for her to leave.

"How do you know her?" Damon asked Jeremy as soon as Elena headed up the stairs.

Jeremy looked away from our retreating sister and leaned against the couch. "I just know her. She wants to meet me at the Grill tonight," Jeremy said.

I smiled brightly and covertly winked at Damon. This would be the perfect way to meet Jeremy's mystery gal and get away from Elena and Stefan.

"Perfect," I said, clapping my hands.

Jeremy blinked rapidly, looking at me in shock. Damon stood, taking my hand as he did. "I'll drive. Come on," he said.

I grabbed Jeremy's hand and pulled him towards the door. "O-Okay," he said in shock.

I pushed Jeremy out the door and looked behind us, catching Stefan heading up the stairs towards Elena's room. I shook my head, a flare of betrayal stinging me. Even without super vamp hearing, I knew he was heading up there to tell Elena he was going to read through the journal and find out where the grimoire was. I looked away from the stairs and buried the feeling of betrayal, he was doing what he thought was best. Just as I was. I followed after Jeremy and hopped into Damon's car.

"You still with me, El?" Damon asked.

I turned my head towards him in confusion and saw the flash of fear and uncertainty in his eyes before he closed himself off again. I checked the backseat where my brother was staring out the window before I took Damon's hand and sent him a confident wink.

"Of course, I am. There's nowhere else I'd rather be," I chuckled.

Damon squeezed my hand, his cold skin raising the hairs on my arm. I cocked my brow and used my other hand to motion towards the ignition. "We gonna go?" I whispered.

Damon rolled his eyes and gave me his best cocky smile as he started the car. I moved my hand from his and placed it in my lap. I really didn't need to blur any more lines with Damon. Once we reached the Grill, Jeremy headed inside to find Anna. Damon and I stayed towards the back of the bar and waited. After a few minutes, Jeremy was joined at the pool tables by a short, long-haired brunette girl. Damon growled in recognition, and I froze in fear. If he recognized her, that could only mean one thing; she was a vampire. I focused on the girl and was shocked when her smiling face turned towards me, recognition instantly ignited within me, and my back became rigid with stress. I had seen her before, back in 1864. I knew her and her mother, Pearl, which was obviously why she was here now, flirting with my very human brother. Katherine might not be in the tomb, but I knew Pearl was.

Anna had another thing coming, though, if she thought she could use Jeremy to get her out. A Gilbert or not. She would not be using him for her revenge. I stood next to Damon, a silent sentinel throughout Jeremy's entire 'date' with Anna. When the night winded down, I texted Jenna, making sure she was sober enough to pick Jeremy up. I told her I had a few things I needed to do before I would be home. She was surprisingly ok with my late night to-do list, and for that, I was grateful. She told me she was okay to swing by to get him and I was glad to have at least one thing easily handled. Damon and I followed Anna's scent to a dingy Motel where Damon quickly stole Anna's room key. Once we were safely inside her room, I sat down next to him on the edge of one of the rumbled beds and waited, my eyes glued to the door.

"You know I could do this part on my own," Damon said.

I rolled my eyes towards the heavens and looked at him in annoyance. "Yeah, cause I'm just gonna leave you to deal with a much older vamp all on your own. That's not gonna happen," I said.

Damon smiled briefly, then held a finger to his lips, his blue eyes crinkling as he stood zooming behind the door. I slowly stood and crossed my arms. A low clicking sound came from the door, and Damon pressed his back against the wall, just as Anna came inside. Damon sped in front of Anna, taking her by the throat, and slamming her against the wall, taking her by surprise for only a moment. Before I could take control of the situation, Anna had grasped Damon by the throat, turning the tables on him, and she started to squeeze. Damon gasped in pain, choking from the strength of her grip. I sighed deeply and waved my hand, ripping the two vampires apart. They both went flying in opposite directions, slamming into the walls with loud gasps of pain and annoyance. I shook my head with a laugh and stood directly in the middle of the two. Damon was the first to sit up, leaning against his knees with a groan.

"Damn," he said, rubbing his neck. "You're strong for a little thing,"

I smirked, glancing at Anna, who was looking at me in pure shock. "How?" she finally managed.

I pointed at myself and shrugged. "Original witch, cursed, Reincarnate. Very long story," I said, shaking my hand in a blasé way.

Anna looked at Damon and started to laugh, her whole body shaking. Damon's face scrunched up in anger as he stood, moving towards the little vampire. I held up my hand, putting up a magical barrier between the two. It pulsed briefly, in a thunderous flash of light, before disappearing. Anna and Damon flinched, covering their eyes.

Damon banged his hands against the invisible wall of magic in anger, his blue eyes furious. "Whoa, moron slow down. I'm not gonna let you get yourself killed just because you're mad that she is laughing at you," I sighed.

Anna stood up and stepped closer to the barrier with a grin. "So, how are you enjoying having your ex-fiance around while you're trying to get your lover out of the tomb?" she sneered.

I lowered the barrier slowly, and stepped right next to Anna, tilting my head expression blank. I focused on her mind, smiling when she crumbled to her knees, screaming in pain.

"Listen here bitch, I already know why you're here and what you want. I know Pearl is in the tomb, but ya see, you have nothing we need, so if you don't want me staking your mother the first chance I get, then you need to stay the hell out of our way. That means leaving my brother alone," I said, letting up on the witchy migraine I was giving her.

Anna gasped, her pained sobs letting up. She looked up at me in confusion. "Your brother?" she asked.

I leaned closer to her and smiled. "Oh yeah, you don't know who I am this go around. Elara Gilbert at your service," I said, waving brightly.

Anna's face whitened considerably, and I could hear Damon chuckling darkly behind me.

"Yeah, Jeremy is my baby brother. Now I get your anger at the Gilberts, I do. I mean, Jonathan Gilbert helped kill me, but ya see, they are family now so I can't let you exact your revenge on any of them," I said, my voice firm.

I stepped past her and opened the door to her room. Damon joined me and looked down at Anna. "You heard everything she said, Anna. We work alone, and if I see you anywhere near the Gilberts, I will kill your mother myself," he said, stepping outside.

I glanced at Anna one last time and bit my lip. "I'll get her out, Anna. As long as you don't cross me. I never had anything against either of you, and your mother was a nice woman, but you go against my family or me, and you will regret it," I said.

Anna looked up at me, her brown hair falling into her eyes. Finally, she nodded. "You have a deal. Just save my mother," she whispered.

I placed a fisted hand over my heart and lowered my head. "Agreed. I'll call you when we open the tomb," I said, before turning and leaving the girl behind. I just hoped I made the right decision.

Once we were back in the car, Damon looked at me in confusion. "Are you really going to help her save Pearl?" he asked.

"As long as she keeps to her end of the deal. It's the right thing to do, Damon," I said, turning away from him. "Now, let's go deal with our Sainted siblings," I sighed.

Damon and I stood just out of view, watching Stefan shovel the dirt out of Giuseppe's grave. Elena stood beside the deep hole, the beam of her flashlight the only source of light in the darkness surrounding us. We were both shielded from detection by a magic barrier I had placed between our siblings and us. I watched in disappointment as Elena used the situation to joke with Stefan. She smiled down at him shaking her head.

"What?" Stefan asked.

Elena continued to shake her head in amusement. "Not many girls can say they've done this," she said.

I scoffed lightly next to Damon, tapping my foot on the ground. "Get a room, Elena," I whispered.

Damon placed a hand on my lower back and snickered. Stefan continued to dig until a loud thud interrupted his low grunting. I rolled my shoulders in anticipation.

"Finally, it's about damn time. It didn't take me nearly this long," I ranted.

Damon stepped closer to the barrier, his shoulders squared and watched his brother toss the shovel out of the grave. Stefan quickly started to wipe the dirt from the coffin as Elena knelt down, leaning closer to the hole to get a better look at what Stefan was doing.

"Hold the beam steady, Elena," Stefan said.

Elena nodded and held the light towards the grave with both hands. Stefan found an edge and started to pry the coffin open. Breathing heavily, Elena leaned forward with a gasp as the lid creaked open. I looked at Damon, and we both shared a smile.

"What? No, that's not possible. The journal said it would be here," Stefan sputtered.

I lifted my hand and lowered the barrier stepping out from the shadows with Damon by my side.

Well, what do you know?" Damon playfully said.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled down at his brother. I stepped up beside him and watched Elena closely, her brown eyes narrowed as she took me in with distaste. Stefan slammed the coffin lid closed and pulled himself from the hole, speeding in front of Elena. Damon sneered at his brother and turned to me with a smile.

"This is an interesting turn of events, wouldn't you say, Elandra?" he asked.

I looked at my sister with a frown, my head tilted. "Very interesting, Day. But sadly, I can't say I'm all that surprised," I said.

Stefan lifted his hands in supplication but kept himself firmly placed between the two of us and Elena. I wanted to laugh as if I would ever allow Elena to be hurt. Yet here he was, acting as if I were the enemy, all because I was siding with Damon.

"I can't let you bring her back. I'm sorry," Stefan said.

I ran my fingers through my hair, pulling gently in exasperation. I stepped closer to Stefan and leaned near him. "Listen to me, Stefan. Katherine is not in the tomb. She has never been in the tomb. Damon just needs to see that so he can move on. You need to give him that," I angrily said.

Stefan looked at me sadly as if I were a small child being tricked into believing in a fairy tale. "I'm sorry, Elandra, but I can't take that chance," he sighed.

Damon stepped in front of me, pulling me away from Stefan with a growl. "I can't believe I ever, for even a second, considered trusting you," he spat.

Elena whimpered lightly from behind Stefan, and I rolled my eyes in annoyance.

"Oh. You're not capable of trust. The fact that you're here means that you read the journal, and you were planning on doing this yourself," Stefan said triumphantly.

I tried to step around Damon but was held back by his tight grip on my shoulder. Both Elena and I were being pinned behind the feuding Salvatore brothers, and I was beginning to lose my patience.

"Of course, Elandra and I were going to do things on our own, because the only people we can seem to count on is each other! You made sure I couldn't count on you many years ago, Stefan." Damon stepped closer to his brother, blue eyes rolling with emotion, and pointed his finger at Elena. "But you...If I hadn't had your sister...you would have had me fooled," he sneered, a thick pain in his voice.

Elena turned away, hiding her ashamed and hurt expression behind Stefan's shoulder. I shook my head and took Damon's wrist, pulling him away from our siblings and hopefully offering him what little comfort I could.

"So what are you going to do now, Damon? Because you know I can't allow you to open the tomb," Stefan said, stepping closer to us.

Damon laughed, smirking at his brother as he watched Elena follow carefully behind Stefan.

"What are you going to do, Stefan? All we need to open the tomb is a witch, and that won't be too hard to accomplish," Damon said, watching his brother with an intensely hateful expression.

As Stefan inched closer and closer to Damon, I held my bag tightly against my side. I silently cast a spell that would prevent anyone but me from touching it. I knew Stefan was planning something, and I was getting antsy. Stefan and Damon continued to dance around each other, each fighting for dominance. I slowly tried to inch away from them, unknowingly giving Stefan the shot at me he had been aiming for.

Stefan vamp sped in my direction. Before I could even take a breath, he was biting into his wrist and bringing it to my lips, feeding me his blood. The coppery taste ran across my tongue as I tried to fight against him. But it was to no avail, and before I could think to use magic, I had given in and started to swallow. The blood falling down my chin as I gasped for air. The thick liquid inched down my throat, and I gagged, trying to turn my face away from him, but his fingers held my chin tightly. I could feel bruises starting to form and just prayed for him to stop. When I had accepted enough, he pulled finally away. I quickly wiped the remainder of the blood from my chin and mouth, disgusted by the man I had seen as a brother. I didn't think I would be able to forgive him for this. At least not for a very long time. Before he could make another move, I twisted around in his arms, smacking him as hard as I could, allowing the hurt and disappointment to show in my eyes. Stefan looked away quickly and without an ounce of emotion, wrapped his cold hand around my neck, pulling me beside him. My feet lifted from the ground as he dangled me in front of Damon.

"Give me the grimoire, or I will snap her neck, and we will see first hand if her curse is affected by vampire blood," he threatened. "Are you ready to play Russian roulette with El's life, Damon?"

I clawed at Stefan's fingers but otherwise tried my best to hide the fear that was welling up inside of me. I could see everything I had been working for swirling down the drain.

I didn't want to die. That was a heady thought for someone like me to have, someone who usually had no choice but to accept death. Now though, all I wanted to do was fight...and live.

Damon stood in front of me, helplessly watching as his brother held my life ransom. I caught his blue gaze and followed it to my bag and then back to Stefan. I could see his resolve grumble as he started to give in. After everything, he was going to give in to save me. A small whimper of fear and disbelief caught Damon's attention, and flickering of hope started to grow in his blue orbs. Stefan's body froze in fear, and I watched his eyes darken as he realized that unless he released me, there was nothing he could do to save her. His shoulders stiffened, and I was sure he hoped that he could somehow still save Elena and get the grimoire out of this whole ordeal.

He was a moron.

Hopelessly I watched as Damon sped over to my sister, taking her by the throat. He quickly ripped into his own wrist, feeding her his blood. Elena's face turned to me, eyes round with fear, her lips stained red, as Damon's blood spread through her system. I could see the moment the realization of what it could mean for her finally clicked. Tears began to well in her brown eyes, as her whole body began to shake.

Damons hand held her steady as he stared down his brother, crystal eyes moving from Stefan to me in quick succession. "I can do one better. Give me Elandra, or you will have a vampire girlfriend, brother," he sternly said.

I watched the whole scene play out in horror, Damon had fed Elena his blood. He had made the decision to do to her what had been done to him. It was so easy for them to play with immortality; for me, it wouldn't work, but for Elena, it would, and it would be an eternity she never asked for. One that would cause a monumental disaster.

Oh God! There was so much that would be lost if Elena became a vampire. I could see the death and destruction of everything, and everyone we loved flitter across my vision, and panic began to set in. I could feel power start to course through my veins, sending a burst of magic across my skin. The bright blue burst of light caught Damon off guard, and he dropped Elena in shock. My skin glowed, a beacon in the darkness, and Stefan gasped in pain when his skin started to sizzle as if he had touched an open flame. I felt my feet connect with solid ground and caught myself as I fell forward, my hands landing on the soft grass in front of me. Stefan stepped away from me as I stood, my whole body still glowing with light. I turned towards the vampire that had held me captive, and I raised my hand, closing my palm into a fist, pulling him towards me. Stefan flew through the air, his eyes wide with shock. I lowered him to the ground next to Damon and he collapsed onto his knees. I quickly made my way to Elena, the glow of my skin dimming into nonexistence. Elena, still shaking, watched me in fear, doe eyes large. It was so reminiscent of the time I had once healed her when we were children that I froze momentarily, my eyes burning with unshed tears. I raised my hands with a smile, trying to reassure that I never wanted any harm to come to her.

"Lena, I am so sorry. I never wanted things to go this way. We were supposed to talk and nothing more. Stefan went too far tonight," I said with a wince.

My head was beginning to pound, one of the least fun side effects of vampire blood.

Elena shakily stood and backed away from me, heading closer to Stefan. "Elara, this whole thing has gone too far, and nothing will change until Damon leaves town. He can't be allowed to get into the tomb," she said, as she lowered herself down next to her vampire.

I ran my hands across my forehead and felt a cold hand against my neck. I glanced behind me and found Damon staring at Elena and Stefan with disgust. I shook my head and let out an aggravated breath.

"Elena, you really have no clue how very wrong you are. Damon isn't going anywhere, and the tomb will be opened." I took Damon's hand and started towards the car. I turned my head back, watching my sister help Stefan stand, checking him over for injuries. "Maybe when the tomb is open, and you both see that what you should be worried about was never inside it, then we can all work together again. Because we will need to be united for what's to come." My eyes connected briefly with Stefan's, and I tried not to show precisely how saddened by his behavior I was. "Please make sure she is safe tonight. She cannot become a vampire," I said.

Elena's head shot towards me as Stefan's eyes filled with a mixture of fear and curiosity. Turning away, I allowed Damon to lead me to the car.

"You gonna explain what you meant by that?" he asked me.

I glanced up at him and shook my head. "Not until you're free of Katherine," I said, slipping into the car. I leaned against the cold glass of the window beside me and closed my eyes. Tomorrow I would be heading to the Bennett house to procure us a witch.

It was time to open the tomb.