#or 13 year old me making an edgy fic

[boredfaneliza]

So, I decided to watch ManlyBadassHero’s Mr. Hopps Playhouse 3 video cuz boredom and I thought the game lore is cool

UNTIL I SAW THE GOOD ENDING??? WHAT IS THIS SONIC ADVENTURES 2  ENDING IS THIS??? SDKJSDK

This feels like a wattpad fic AND I’M HERE FOR IT!!!

[itskicks]

hmmm for the character ask bingo, chrome khr?

no bingo but I love her 😚❤️ I feel like I have a million little hcs about her but I never really share them since they’re all domestic stuff :3 I see her as a naturally very gentle and quiet girl that has developed the will and desire to stand up for herself and the people she loves after everything she’s been through throughout the series, so seeing all the BAMF!chrome fics that make her edgy and merciless and completely forget she’s a 13 year old girl that almost died protecting a stray cat make me just go :/ like, no offense to anyone, but it’s such a shift in personality that it doesn’t feel like chrome anymore. a chrome that’s a kind girl but a pushover no more is more interesting to me than some cold hearted killer :P

[misireads]

Detroit by Katri Lipson

[ physical book, read in finnish ]

the story of two young ice hockey players whose careers abruptly end at the height of their NHL stardom: one of them, timothy, is paralyzed from neck down after a particularly nasty tackle in one of their matches; the second, nathan, goes haywire after the accident and gets himself fired from the team. despite their prior closeness, nathan refuses to go see tim in the rehab facility for over a year. the story's perspective jumps between the two boys, tim's nurse at the facility, and a random hooker that nathan hires to keep him company while he's psyching himself up to go see his best mate and the love of his life

➕ wow wow wow WOW, this was the first book in a long time that took me on a genuine rollercoaster ride. no expectations, many low moments, and i was blown away at the very end. honestly there were so many spots where i was about to drop this, and the fact that i didn't and was thoroughly satisfied and enamored by the end is just positive positive positive to me. this is a very strange book. in a good way.

➕ it's LGBT! lots of very complicated LGBT feelings too. i went in having no idea i was about to get some very dramatic gay hockey boys. damn. like this was some kind of modern gay romeo&juliet tier shit. absolutely blown away, again. this is the main reason i wanted to keep reading let's be real

➕ this author has a mad way with words. sometimes i didn't quite understand the allegories but it's the kinda thing that you just go with the flow. there were also some interesting style switches between different chapters which i just might steal for my next fic tbh

➖ initially i didn't know at all whether i even wanted to read this and was kind of ready to drop it after 20 pages because it's confusing as hell and you don't even know who the main character is. it starts with descriptions about timothy in the rehab facility but there's a lot of stuff from his nurse's and control freak mother's PoV and other random gunk that you're not sure which one actually matters. in my notes i've written "i just hope the boy is gay." well the boy turned out gay but then the hooker suddenly comes in, with nathan who is not mentioned as nathan at that point so my mental image of that initial scene was that we suddenly jumped to talk about middle-aged bums with no connection to the first chapter, "what even." then it dawned on me that oh. oh that's the boycrush? and the hooker is 19 years old? um… weird but ok.

➖ that's where minus number two comes in, the way the dialogue is written is kinda insufferable at most times. that's why the 20yo characters sound like middle-aged drunks. or alternatively like edgy 13 year olds, which i'm more aligned to believe from young jock men, but reading it is annoying as hell.

➖ janet, the blind prostitute, is such a… like why is she even here. does her character exist just to be a plot device in the last couple of chapters? because i didn't get a thing out of her otherwise. she has no character arc like the boys do, no background, nothing. i thought there would be an actual point to her being blind tied to tim also being disabled but no not really.

➖ up until the end i was so confused what this book was even about, like plot-wise. it sure is vague and just kind of. meandering?? as hell. originally it's set up in a way that makes you think that the boys' reunion will be the grand ending and that's the story, but no there's quite a lot still left at that point. although the ending was worth it, it was still kinda… like the arc of the story is strange.

⭐ score: 4 -- this purely thanks to the ending. i just liked it that much. i really mean it when i say this is the only book in memory i remember closing and putting down thinking WOW! to myself.

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

I really don't know how to phrase this in a way that doesn't sound weird, but I feel like DCLA shows stuck to you more if you went through puberty while watching one of them.

I'll explain: Many people that saw Violetta especially and saw it when they were like 6-9 years old, I feel like many of them just see it as "yeah I used to watch it as a kid and now it's nostalgic. But it's a kids show, i'm not interested in watching it anymore" (ofc, there are some who were around that age watching and are big DCLA fans today, but many people around that age barely think about it anymore)

But us who were around 10-13 when we watched, I feel like... we got another kind of attachment to it? Both that we could analyse and understand the show/s better than someone who was younger, but also... for some of us, we felt things watching the show. Especially some scenes.

11 year old me watched the On Beat performance a little too many times. I know someone who when she was 12 watched the Si es por amor mv and felt feelings she hated that she felt back then, but she couldn't stop watching because she was so intrigued and fascinated with it for some reason...

In sixth grade, for us who watched Violetta, we legit made up who would date who of the boys. And it wasn't just "omg he's pretty" like I think some of us actually had developed some real crushes. Especially the girl who had claimed Leon, she was full-on self-shipping with him (12 year olds... they be like that).

Then also, there has always been some more edgy and dirty fics of the shows. I remember being 12-13 and finding the most smuttiest of fics of Leonetta on like, wattpad, written by (PROBABLY) other 13 year olds.

Now, of course, i'm not saying "oh because us who went through puberty when watching have a more dirty view of the show/s" cause that's not the case for many. But I do think that being around middle school aged, you're going through changes and you watch a mostly child-friendly show that's NOT afraid to have pretty intense kissing scenes for a kids show... it sticks with you.

Now, I dont' know if I make any sense at all. Perhaps no one who was this age when watching for the first time really felt like that and it was only a very small amount. Maybe even people who were younger could see some things in a way that probably wasn't intended.

But bottom line is, I feel like at least 80% of the people who saw a DCLA show when they were younger and still love it today have been around 10-13 years old when first watching. Cause even if people were 6-9 years old when first watching, I feel like it's more uncommon for the younger fans to still hang around today.

[masterjedilenawrites]

The Sniper and The Medic: Chapter 2

Starring: Crosshair, Original Character “Joan Vo,” probably the rest of the Bad Batch at some point

Summary: Crosshair doesn't exactly like medical personnel. In fact, he hates them. They're always poking and prodding, calling him skinny, telling him he's not good enough. But then he meets the new medical examiner, the smart and kind and oh-so-pretty Joan Vo. And suddenly, he's not only looking forward to his medical check-ups, but he's also starting to question whether he wants to go to war after all....

Rating & Warnings: T/PG-13. Eventual fluff. Light angst. Who knows what else will pop up, but I’ll leave warnings when needed.

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be tagged for this fic.

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Chapter 2: Doctor’s Orders

She wasn't the first human girl he'd ever seen.

But she sure was the prettiest.

There'd been some contractors and other hired help on the planet, especially in recent years as the demand on the warfront left few bodies to fill the more ancillary tasks. A few had been female. Each time one came in, there was endless chatter among the clones about them. Crosshair had never understood the fascination, nor had his brother Tech. They often wondered if that was just another one of their defects.

Now he got it.

She didn't wear the traditional medical garb, or even the sterile robes the Kaminoans usually gave visitors. Instead, she was in what looked like the clone's standard issue under-armor, "blacks." Slightly different material and stitching, but same concept. It stretched around her figure, highlighting both her obvious female-ness as well as some muscles. Her pinkish-blonde hair was pulled back from her face, which was young, but also weathered. She wasn't another posh politician or edgy mercenary. She was something else entirely.

But her arrival did nothing to help his nerves; in fact, he felt even worse now. This pretty girl would be the one inspecting him. Frowning at all his subpar test results. Reprimanding him for not eating or exercising enough. Judging him.

He watched her with wary eyes as she entered and gave him a small but endearing smile.

"Good morning," she said, her voice a bit raspy, but calm. Soft. "I'm Joan."

She looked at him expectantly. He knew he should give his official designation, but he decided to say the name he'd given himself, in a rebellious attempt to show himself as human.

"Crosshair."

She held her smile, unperturbed by his lack of protocol. In fact, she seemed pleased by it.

"Crosshair," Joan repeated, sending a shiver through him. She had been holding a datapad, undoubtedly containing all the sad details of his medical history. He braced himself for the uncomfortable silence that would happen as she flicked through it. But instead she placed it on a table along the back wall and rolled out a chair to face him.

"Well, Crosshair, tell me about yourself."

He blinked a few times. "Um," he nodded to the back table. "My file should have everything about me."

"Everything?" she asked with an amused smirk. "Like your favorite color? What you think about before falling asleep?"

Her eyes narrowed at him, a challenge, but a playful one. He had no clue how to respond.

Before he could come up with something to say, her face relaxed and she pushed her chair back as she stood, returning to the back table. She grabbed a pad of paper and an exam scope. The datapad remained neglected.

"Crosshair..." she said his name again, causing him to fight to control another pleasant fluttering in his chest. "Does that mean you're really into guns?"

She came in front of him again, resting the primitive writing materials on the table beside his leg as she fiddled with the settings on the scope.

"I'm a sharpshooter," he said. That was something he had an answer for.

"Sharpshooter." She quickly scribbled the word down on the paper. "There's something about you. What else?"

He was silent again, back to being utterly confused. Why didn't she just look in his chart? Was this some sort of test?

A pale light came on the scope and she brought it up to his right eye. She didn't let him sit in confusion for long. "Have you thought about getting a tattoo yet? You could do something really cool with a reticule, or a target. Maybe a bullet?"

She moved the scope across his other eye. He tried to stay still for her, even though he really wanted to furrow his eyebrows at the random change in topic.

"I... haven't thought about it," he muttered.

She set the scope down and held up the pen, holding it slightly behind his head.

"Look straight ahead, let me know when you see it," she said, bringing it slowly forward. He grunted as soon as the pen entered his periphery; he couldn't say anything as Joan was already talking again.

"What do you think is the furthest distance you could make a shot from?" The pen was moved to the other side and the exercise repeated, though she didn't seem too interested in it. "Like an accurate one. A bullseye, dead on."

She sounded like the young clones they'd sometimes bring around to the training rooms on field trips. Wide eyes, reverent voices, in awe of the cadets they'd one day become themselves.

Crosshair allowed himself to frown as he answered her, quite frankly, silly question. "It's not just a matter of my ability, but the capacity of the rifle and range of the blast, as well as a whole list of environmental factors."

Joan brought the scope up to one of his ears, now, peering through it. He could feel her breath against his neck as she spoke. "Okay, so you have the best long-distance rifle in the entire galaxy. Perfect wind and lighting conditions. Nothing else in your way. How far?"

He thought about for a few seconds, and then confidently stated, "Thirty-five hundred meters. Easy."

She was looking in his other ear, but he could still see her smiling, impressed, out of the corner of his eye. It made his cheeks feel warm.

"What would be a hard shot to make, then?" she asked, coming back around to face him. She motioned to hold his hands out in front of him. As he thought about the new question, she instructed him to fold his thumbs inward and then curl his other fingers into a fist. Her own hands wrapped gently over his; they were cold but soft, and he almost lost track of his thoughts as he watched her guide his wrists to bend up and down.

"Any pain?" she asked, bringing him back. He shook his head.

"Well..." he said thoughtfully, "I suppose it'd have to be shooting blind. You can still get a lay of the land, use your other senses to aim. But if you can't see what you're shooting at...."

Joan hummed in acknowledgement, moving his palms to face upward, and tapping along his wrists. "Any pain?" And he shook his head again.

"I knew a sniper once," she said in a lower voice. "You know what he said were the hardest shots he ever had to make?"

She moved his hands into another formation, where his knuckles touched each other in the middle of his chest with elbows sticking out. He shook his head, answering both questions, the one she'd just asked, and the one he expected would come with this test.

"He said it's the ones you don't want to make." Her light-heartedness was gone and her face now looked old and tired. "He didn't explain further, but I knew he'd been on the Umbara mission."

Crosshair didn't need her to explain further, either. They'd been told about Umbara.

"I would've known," he couldn't help but say. It had been the first thing he thought of when they were debriefed on the tragic mission. He hadn't told anyone, knowing it wouldn't be taken well, but he still believed it. There was no way he wouldn't have been able to tell it was his brothers at the other end of his gun.

She regarded him with a cocked head, and for a moment, the judgement he'd feared receiving in this room flashed across her features. But then it was gone, and her usual squinted eyes and quirked lips fell back into place.

"And what if you hadn't?"

"I would have. I know I would have."

She shook her head. "That's not what I meant. You have to think about the what-if sometimes. Even if they're far-fetched. Just to know what your response would be. Hope for the best, and prepare for the worst."

He didn't know what to say to that.

But Joan didn't wait for him to respond, either. She picked up the pad of paper, which he just now noticed had a lot more scribbles on it. He hadn't realized she'd been taking notes the whole time.

She handed the pad to him.

"Your homework. Write down some things about yourself for next time, okay?"

She took a step back, as if to make room for him to get up and leave.

He frowned at her. "That's it?"

She smiled at him. "For today. I think you're next on the schedule for Thursday. Same time."

He looked between the paper and her. She laughed a little.

"Try starting with your favorite color," she said with a wink, and then turned to clean up the remaining things.

He slowly got off the bed and shuffled out into the hallway, holding the pad of paper like it was a strange object he'd never seen before. He wasn't really reading any of the things she'd put on there, just staring at it to give himself something to focus on. That visit was, by far, the most bizarre medical check-up of his life.

And it was the first that he didn't want to leave.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

As someone who has more recently jumped back into my 2014-15 obsession with creepypasta, I high key miss the devart and quotev days. Like, yeah my standards are Way higher and I can't even touch a lot of the stuff I used to enjoy, but things were simpler and like, I liked that especially long fics weren't focused on making everything clean/fluffy/I dunno how to explain it. Yeah it was a bunch of 13 year olds writing about their own mental health but everything feels so sanitized now in comparison to how edgy, "cringy", and problematic some of those old fics were. Creepypasta built me as a writer and reader and I love Angst most stuff recently feels very like, soft, for fic about supernatural serial killers. (also did quotev scrub their library? A lot of my Old favorites just, aren't there anymore? Or maybe they changed their algorithm cuz it's honestly hard to find anything outside of the immediate results).

I honestly haven’t used Deviantart in like,,,,, 4 years?? So I have no clue how it’s changed, I just know it wasn’t exactly the best platform out there while I was using it. Quotev also wasn’t that great either, but it was the only website I actually read fics on and there were a few good ones.

And I’ve got absolutely no fucking clue. I haven’t used quotev in almost 10 years so I wouldn’t have any idea what the fuck is going on on there

[thewriterowl]

You don't have to answer this but you're like the most visible Dinluke dark-ish content writer so I was wondering. There seem to be a lot of people who only write dark stuff on anon, is the reception that bad? Or is it just a compartmentalization thing? I'm trying to determine if I should post some darker stuff under my regular AO3 name or not and would appreciate some insight.

Thanks for reading even if you don't answer! Love your work 💜

Hello!

Hmm...i think it varies honestly. It's just about being comfortable. Dipping into the "dark side" (ha, my star-wars dad humor is so amazing) is a bit risky for any fandom. But Dinluke is 7-8 months old with only 1,150 works in it (in comparison to the OTP i just left, Stony, that has nearly 41,500 works). Something edgy and dark can stand out. Dinluke is also, as canon-speaking as possible, a super fluffy and soft ship so adding in something rather dark can feel risky or uncomfortable, even if the reviewers are typically kind and are not looking to just leave flames on a fic that goes over something they don't care for; but I do think some fear that can happen. There as also some "issues" on people showcasing they dislike the idea of Dark!Din and I think that may have freaked some people out (cause I mostly only see/saw Dark!Luke--which isn't my thing I enjoy).

But, honestly, I think some people want to keep their softer stuff separate. So maybe a compartmentalization thing. I think quite a few people who do it already have an audience and don't want them to be isolated or chased off by adding something so new. I also think a lot may have readers they know and don't want a conversation on it lol

I'm over 30. I've been in fan fiction since I was like 13. I've been dabbling and full-blow writing dark and possessive themed stories for years. I'm just a bit more comfortable with it after 20-years of doing it. and though I have people who follow me who know me LITERALLY (like BFF and my cousin) on Tumblr...i only feel mild embarrassment and shame cause 1) i know they have their own stuff, 2) we all are deep into fandoms and know the laws of "hey, let's not talk about it in real life unless we both want to" and

3) i am a dead tired Millenial who just doesn't care XD I have a job I hate (now leaving! but still not starting a career) trying to finish a degree, handling some heavy anxiety and depression and insecurities, that worrying too much over a fic is just...not possible?

I mean I do worry. I fret and think people are going to hate it all the time. But I just tell myself it's fine if people don't like it. It's ok if I get flamed. It's a fan fiction. I am writing ti for myself with the hopes others will enjoy and feel inspired to write something similar. My energy is going to worrying and hating my job rather than my Dark!Din content.

ALSO, I "protect" myself and others and over-tag. I put tags and warnings in front of every chapter. I will make sure everyone who reads knows what they are getting into. as rude as it may sound, it is not my fault if someone gets on, say, Little Bird, and hates it's dark content and tells me so, when I mention how dark it is and give all the warnings I can think of before the start of each new edition. If someone does that, it feels like they are looking to say something rather mean rather than anything else.

Censorship and exploring different aspects of creative writing in fan fiction can still be a tight-rope of a topic and debate.

I just leave myself open for critiques ("hey, you didn't mention this trigger--could you please warn us next time?" types) and just realize in all of this to just smile, thank the person for their time, and move on from feeling bad about it. It's about learning how to make it better the next time and ensuring people who truly wish to avoid it can do so.

I'm always up for people posting dark-stuff under their name! but really I can see why it's uncomfortable. so it is just about your own comfort and not

I hope this helps??? D:

[subtlereferencetomyinterests]

A Misplaced Imbalance of Fear

Ao3,   MasterPost

Relationships: Romantic Dukexiety, implied/minor Moceit (platonic or romantic)

From the power of my Art and my Shitposts comes This Fanfiction!!!

Warnings: Panic Attacks, Lots of Cursing, descriptions of gore (horror movies, it gets decently explicit so beware that), mild body horror (Remus is here and he Does Things Like That), Heavy Roman angst for a hot minute in the middle, making out (continuing my theme of remus-centric fics getting more ;3). They do some makeup and drink tea, baby. Mentions of picking one’s skin as an Anxious habit, and also ticking. Also stimming!!! nd sides 4 life bb. Also, a very brief alcohol mention (it’s soup).

Word Count: 6,553

God Fucking Fuck, Virgil was going to have a self-care day even if it killed him dead. Everybody else could do whatever overdramatic fuckery they wanted when they were topside, but he was all set down there in the Mindpalace, thank you very much.

Luckily, mercifully, thankfully, the rest of the sides all seemed keen to let Virgil have his space anyway. There wasn’t a thing stopping him from relaxing.

Well, except for himself, of course.

A thrum of condensed stress and fear tugged at Virgil’s abdomen, bubbling its way over his edges. It was equally his own and the others’, probably due to whatever conversation they were caught up in in the external world. He would not relent to the worry, nor was he summoned to help with the situation, but his body refused to stop shaking. Perched on the top of the couch, frantically clicking the buttons on a fidget cube, Virgil tried to watch the gore playing on the TV in a tired effort to calm his nerves.

Horror movies… helped. They were something for his brain to chew on for a while- their over-the-top and ridiculous plots, the obnoxious characters that almost always deserve what’s coming to them, the attention-attaining action- it was all a recipe for Distraction. But they weren’t working by that point, no matter how badly Virgil wanted them to.

And then- possibly because the universe loved to spite Virgil and Virgil specifically- a walking, talking headache flung himself into the common room about as elegantly as a wolfhound with rabies.

“Heyyyy,” Remus crowed as he sprawled himself out on the couch. Anxiety curled his legs closer under his body, unresponsive- he knew full well that any reaction would just be an invitation for trouble from the obnoxious trait. He’d remember what Logan taught them: don’t engage, just brush it all off.

Unfortunately, Remus seemed to be in a stubborn mood.

“Whatcha watching?” 

“Movie,” Virgil grumbled. 

“What movie?”

He eyed the side laying out on the couch below him, narrowing his gaze as threateningly as he could manage. He spat the words through gritted teeth and made it clear he was not having this today.

“It’s called Terrifier.”

Remus perked up at that, and oh God, if he was interested then he’d never go the fuck away.

“What’s it about?”

There wasn’t much Virgil could do but answer in as clipped a tone as he could; things hadn’t gotten too bad, too uncomfortable, yet. Maybe he could redirect Remus’ attention, if he was just boring and unresponsive enough?

“Just a cliche creepy clown flick. Not much to it.”

“Is it gory?” 

Virgil made a vaguely affirmative sound in his throat, gesturing to the screen. In truth, the movie’s impeccable special effects with gore was its main appeal, as the acting and plot was kinda atrocious. Violence was the exact reason he’d chosen to watch this. But he knew saying that wouldn’t help his chances of shaking off Intrusive Thoughts.

Remus looked ready to spout off something explicit, but he went dead quiet as his eyes fell on the scene on the television. Virgil was grateful for small mercies.

It was exactly the kind of thing that the creative trait would watch, after all; a woman getting sawed in half, lengthwise, starting from the- er, the wrong end. Under circumstances of a more typical anxious flare-up, the scene really could have been one of those ‘helpful distractions’. 

These were not normal circumstances.Yeah, this was one of those ‘too passive’ cases, but Virgil didn’t exactly have the energy for anything ‘active’. So, he stubbornly glared at the TV and pretended that his solution was working, because he had no idea what else to do. Perfect plan.

Preoccupied as he was with his internal issues, he very nearly managed to forget about Remus. Until-

“Holy fuck, this is gorgeous, you watch stuff like this?!” The Duke’s eyes were bright, but not with his usual hysteria. They were wide with genuine excitement, shiny and happy. It was- uncanny, that’s probably the word Virgil was looking for. He curled closer in on himself.

“Shouldn’t be that surprising, dude. ‘Scary’ is kind of my thing.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t seen this one,” the creative side was once again completely enamored by the television screen, “Don’t blood and guts and cool things like that freak you out? They always seem to do the trick when I try to mess with you!” 

“It’s different. The violence in movies, it- it calms me down, I guess. Cause it’s like, I don’t know, detached from reality?”

There was a pause that had Virgil hoping, naively, that Remus had grown bored at his spiel. But he wasn’t moving, he was just staring, gaze switching contemplatively from the screen to Virgil a few times over.

“It doesn’t look like that. If you were any more tense, all your tendons would be snapping like badly-tuned violin strings!” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Virgil pressed his back against the wall and shut his eyes tight. He could still hear- no, feel- Patton and Roman and Thomas arguing, snapping at each other back and forth as the situation escalated.

“Is this about whatever the others are doing? Why don’t you just stop listening to their shitty arguments?”

A harsh laugh escaped Virgil at that, dragging him back down to earth so he could blink his eyes open, glaring at the facet lying beneath him. 

“I can’t just stop, that’s not how I work. I need to keep an ear on them. Who knows what could happen if I didn’t?”

“Well, why don’t you just go talk to them?”

If he wasn’t already frustrated beyond belief, that would’ve fuckin’ done it for him.

“I don’t think I’d be much help. Not right now.”

“Why not?” Remus looked halfway between genuinely curious and mischievous, propping himself up on his elbows to get a better view of Anxiety.

“Seriously? Things aren’t exactly, like- normal between all of us.”

“What is normal?” 

Virgil opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came through. As much as it sounded like an offhanded, edgy 13-year-old atheist kind of remark, it was a decent point. Virgil had thought that there was something of a status quo forming between himself and the ‘light sides’, but how long had that even lasted for? Especially compared to the rest of his life? Everything was changing all the time. Was there anything to rely on, or was it just Virgil’s own wishful thinking for what their lives could be? After all, even in ‘peaceful times’, there had been plenty of in-fighting and disagreements and horrible uncomfortable conversations and harsh words and-

“Oh, shut that brain up,” Remus’ sharp voice pulled Virgil from his thoughts, “I know what you meant ‘normal’. You meant the six months when you got to forget about us Scary Monsters, and, DUH! It was probably way simpler for all you diet-soda-no-sugar sluts back then, but that doesn’t mean it was better.”

“Yeah, you would think that things are better now, wouldn’t you?”

Remus fixed Virgil with an unsettling sort of grimace, making the other squirm. It wasn’t the first time he’d done so by any means. 

“I dunno, but what I do know is that things are getting better. They’ll be the best they could be, soon.”

Despite himself, Virgil laughed. It was a faltering, anxious sound, revealing the true fear behind the taunting gesture.

“Really? With everybody at each other’s throats all the time?”

“While that does sound fun,” Remus sat up fully, twisting around to look directly up at Virgil, “I mean after that. After we’re all accepted. It’s inevitable- Inevitable, Anxious Lil’ Barista,” Remus accompanied the referential nickname with a wink. 

Virgil stared at him like he was crazy (well- like- crazier than usual, he guessed?). Remus just threw his head back and laughed before spinning his neck one-hundred and eighty degrees to face the TV while he explained.

“Point is, it’s painfully obvious that everything will sort itself out. It has to, or else the only other option is that Thomas is gonna drive himself insane by trying to suppress parts of himself and end up clawing his own brain out. One of those two things!”

While colorfully phrased, the certainty with which Remus delivered his point had Virgil taken aback. There was no way that Remus could possibly know that, but- in a backwards way it was comforting, how sure he sounded. He didn’t lie, not ever.

Virgil had never thought that Remus would settle for anything less than going out of his way to make others’ lives a hell. But maybe that antagonism wasn’t what exactly motivated the trait’s actions. Maybe it was just an unintentional side effect, akin to what Logan had said when Remus first revealed himself.

The moment of reprieve was over as soon as it began.

“Fuck! He just cut off her tits and wore ‘em, huh?” 

Virgil looked up and, to be fair, that was exactly what had happened on screen. Like he said, this movie wasn’t exactly poetic cinema, but it certainly was something. 

He scooted along the top of the couch, moving just a few feet before dropping down to sit properly beside Remus.

“3/10 drag look at best, really,” Virgil muttered, mostly to himself. He jumped when Remus shrieked with laughter at it, looking absolutely delighted. 

“I didn’t know you made jokes like that, VeeVee!”

Virgil shrugged noncommittally, focusing on the screen and not the facet beside him. Remus’ giggling was loud and distracting, but it wasn’t… unpleasant, unlike his typical villain-cackle was. 

Once Remus had settled down (as much as somebody like him could, anyway), he, too, focused on watching. The quiet was uncomfortable, but it didn’t stretch on for long. There was always something in the movie that The Duke felt the need to comment upon extensively, elaborating and giving details on the gore. Virgil found himself listening to the rants silently, almost enjoying the disruption. It certainly gave his overactive mind something to play around with.

“-skin doesn’t slice as easy as that, trust me-”

Aaaand there it was. Virgil winced, trying very hard not to show that the words had struck a nerve. He liked horror, gore, all that, sure, but there were just some specific things- squicks, you could call them. Remus would obviously use that to his advantage, so the only option was to try very hard to zone out and not look like he was disturbed.

“But even then- Hey, why are you making that face?”

Mission failed.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Remus shifted closer- invasively closer, his gaze studying. 

“You were calming down earlier, what's with the scrunch-nose?”

Virgil stared at his hands, chipping away his black nail polish. Remus was nearly as good at reading lies as Janus, and twice as hard to get rid of.

“It's just- skin, slicing, that stuff just-” he ticked, head spasming sideways briefly at even the thought of that kind of pain.

“Oh,” Remus said plainly, not even a hint of malice or mischief in his tone as he leaned back into his own spot, “Why didn't you just say so? Well, that last exploding head kill is way more interesting anyway, did you see that?”

That was… it? No taunting, no tormenting, he just changed the topic, like that? 

Remus, continuing to be weirdly perceptive, scoffed as though he was reading Virgil’s mind.

“What? Just because I like screwing with you prudes sometimes doesn't mean I want to give you a panic attack. Where's the fun in that?”

Anxiety nodded mutely, bewildered. Remus seemed appeased by that and quickly resumed his running commentary.

And if Virgil eventually decided to take part in the discussion, well, it wasn’t a big deal anyway. Just some polite conversation about bodily mutilation.

 The television darkened as the screen was washed by credits, filling the space where the disfigured face of the main character had been mere moments prior, the result of a pretty predictable twist ending. Virgil stood, arching his back up in a stretch. His arms raised higher, one joint or another crackling at the motion. Fuck, he was sore. How long had he been sitting still?

Remus hadn’t moved from his spot on the couch. He tapped his claws along the remote, exiting to the homescreen and looking expectantly at Virgil.

“You don't wanna watch anything else?” He asked abruptly, drawing a confused glance from his companion, “This is fun- and they're still arguing up there, so it kinda makes sense to stay, it’s really the best solution if you-”

Virgil huffed a laugh at the rambling. It sounded like some shit he’d say, for crying out loud.

“Dude, chill, I was just gonna make some tea before putting on another movie,” the clear relief that ran across Remus' face- quickly replaced by a wide grin- wasn't anything shy of… sweet. Virgil was sure this day couldn't get any fucking weirder, if he was finding anything endearing about the walking talking dirty joke before him. “Uh, you want anything? Since you're gonna stick around, and all.”

Remus jumped up, following Virgil into the MindPalace’s small kitchen happily. In one smooth motion, he swung up onto the counter and slid down it, seating himself almost on top of the stove.

“No hot leaf soup for me, thanks, but I will take one of those mugs!”

Virgil raised a brow, staring the creative trait down before shrugging. He passed him one of the mugs, a generic and patternless one- so that the other sides probably wouldn't notice its absence. He busied himself by setting up the kettle, trying not to wince at the loud wet crunch that resulted when Remus took a bite of his snack.

“Hey,” Remus said around a mouthful of ceramic chunks, “I know just the movie we should watch next.”

Virgil shifted around the various tea boxes littering the cabinets, searching for something with a kick. He hazarded a glance to Remus, immediately regretting the decision when he saw the blood dribbling down his chin from the cuts marring his lips. Anxiety cringed, turning his head back and grabbing for the first brightly-colored box he saw. It took him a moment to respond.

“Okay… what is it?” 

“It's awful- I mean, really, the acting is unbearable and it’s fucking insane- but it's funny. You like making fun of stuff, right? It's like that, but there's still a ton of agonizing death, which is always a fun bonus.”

“What's it about?” Virgil was hesitantly intrigued, his gaze flicking up from the steadily heating kettle. He wasn't exactly keen on staring down the gory scene of Remus’ mouth, so he settled his focus on the trait’s eyeball brooch. 

“Uhn-uhn! No spoilers, this is one you have to see for yourself. It's funnier that way.”

Virgil made a noncommittal sound, tapping his nails against the counters.

“Nothing too bad happens- not that you can't handle, anyway. No slicing and not many jumpscares.”

He resisted the urge to snap 'how do you know what I can’t handle?' because Remus actively trying to reassure him was. Something. Something that he appreciated, maybe, a little.

“Okay, fine. I didn't have anything else in mind. A ‘So-Bad-It’s-Good’ thing sounds alright.”

The obnoxious gnawing of Remus destroying what was left of his cup suddenly ceased, replaced by a stunned silence. Virgil finally met his eyes (finding that the lacerations around Remus’ mouth were already healing themselves, as if they'd never existed).

“You’re taking my suggestion?”

Virgil cleared his throat, finding himself unable to break the intense eye-contact now that it had been established.

“It's not a big deal or anything, man. Just a movie.” 

Remus nodded enthusiastically, a grin splitting his face ear-to-ear. Very literally. The expression was so unnatural and cartoonish on a human(ish) face, that Virgil couldn't help but be startled into laughter. Remus looked even more delighted at that reaction, leaning forward over the stove. At that point, Virgil very much couldn't suppress the noises, snorts bubbling up from his throat against his will.

“You look-” another bout of chuckling, “-you look ridiculous, Remus.”

“Aw, thank you! I was going for manic, but I'll settle for that, too.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, hunching in on himself to get his breathing back to normal. 

With no warning, Remus lifted himself up onto his knees and craned his body around the vigilant trait, snatching the kettle from the stove and flipping the dial to ‘off’. Instinctively, Anxiety recoiled from the proximity. The tension fell away when he saw that the other was simply pouring the hot water into Virgil’s mug for him.

“Dude, it wasn't whistling yet?”

“I know; it was hissing like it was about to start. You're boring and don't like loud noises, especially when you’re all on edge like this, so,” he set the kettle back down, passing the warm mug to Virgil. 

Virgil stared at him, then at the drink in his hand, then back up at the Duke. He was, for what felt like the millionth time that day, unsure of how to react.

He… really hadn't thought that Remus would pick up on stuff like that. He should probably start getting used to that, maybe.

“I'm-” Virgil dragged his finger up and down the handle of his mug, “I'm not that on edge anymore, actually.”

The look that Remus sent him was indecipherable. 

“C’mon, I’ll queue up that flick I told you about.”

“Yeah,” Virgil let out a deep breath, one he hadn't even known he'd been holding, “Yeah, okay.”

 The floor was bubbling, popping, blistering with red fury. It was lava, sending bright flaming sparks in all directions. Thankfully for Remus and Virgil, sitting close together on the couch and viciously mocking cabin fever, the vicious rage was exclusive to one small circle near the staircase.

Virgil, who had been happily tearing apart the leading guy’s acting, cut himself off abruptly.

“Shit- wait- shit.”

Remus shook himself out of his raucous laughter, looking up in confusion. His eyes finally settled on the crimson patch of carpet, a look of realization crossing them. His voice turned much quieter than what fit him.

“Oh, fuck.”

It was like a volcanic eruption localized entirely within the living room, fire blazing in a tall column. From the emotional display, Roman rose up, face nearly as red as his method of transportation. 

There was that brief moment, right when a stressful situation appeared, of antithetical serenity. Virgil felt his muscles slacken in shock, his long-empty mug falling from his hands and landing on the carpet with a dull thud. A rush of calmness hollowed out his chest, lingering for just a few seconds before being replaced by panic. Tension returned to his limbs mere moments after that, like it was pulling him taut.

Roman wasn't even looking at them- in fact, he hadn't seemed to notice his brother or best friend at all. The fire fell back down, leaving a charred patch of carpet that would likely take a long time to repair itself. The passionate trait growled, a sound that bordered on a scream as he clawed his hands down his face. He stamped his boot sharply against the ground, igniting another small fire with the impact.

“Fuck!” He cried, ever oblivious to his audience. With a hasty wave, the flames flickered and disappeared. Roman glared down at the blackened spot where it had been, winding his arms tightly around himself. He took a few shaky breaths, but if anything he only looked worse off for it.

“Fuck,” this time spoken quieter, but with no less vitriol. An immaculately-manicured hand raised itself to cover his mouth, tightening around his face desperately as tears slipped from his eyes down his fingers. He turned on his heel and took the stairs two at a time.

In his wake, as the television had been paused, the only thing that Virgil could hear was buzzing in his skull.

What had happened? What was happening, currently?! Things had gone so wrong and it was all because of Virgil’s negligence- what bad things could have been prevented if he had just been there? Or- or even just listening in! When had he even stopped listening? He was supposed to protect them but he just gave up, just because he ‘couldn't handle it’, and now something was Wrong with Roman and he couldn't even focus on listening to them all now, not like this. He couldn’t hear, couldn’t hear or see anything at all.

A rough, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist. Virgil's shallow breath staggered even more at the feeling, the warbly noise of speech failing to meet his ears. His eyes were closed tight, he realized, stinging with emotion behind his eyelids.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Four seconds, four strikingly gentle presses against the vein of Virgil’s wrist. If it weren't for the slight edge of a claw, he could've confused the motion for one of Patton’s.

The four taps were followed by a brief pause, then a steady round of seven taps. Another pause, and then eight. As Virgil focused, as much as he could anyway, on the presses, the screaming of his mind very gradually abated. First, he pried his eyes open, staring down at the hand around his arm. Watching the tapping, feeling it, was grounding enough for his hearing to return in time. Virgil could hear Remus beside him, breathing deeply as a guide, and copying the exercise became that much easier. In for four, hold  for seven, out for eight. Repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

Remus didn't stop when Virgil did it properly one time over, when he was still shaking and teary. He didn't speak up even when the well behind Anxiety's eyes ran dry, after what had to be a dozen rounds of even breaths. It was only when Virgil finally, hesitantly slipped his wrist out of the other's grasp on his own terms that Remus made any sounds.

“Do you remember when you taught me to do makeup? Late teens, early twenties, around then?”

Talk about a topic shift. Virgil glanced up in confusion.

“I guess so? Wasn't that, like, the only time that we hung out and actually got along?” They’d never exactly been close, Virgil had made sure of that. It was, in retrospect, a regrettable decision on his part.

“Yeah. I was so bad at it, remember?”

“Hell yes, I remember,” Virgil felt a tiny smirk tug his lips at the memory, “You literally never sat still. You were and are the most impatient person I've ever met.”

“I’ve gotten a lot better, Vee.”

Virgil glanced at the bruise-like eyeshadow circling the Duke's eyes, but refrained from saying anything. Knowing him (kind of knowing him? Starting to know him better now? Whatever.) it was most definitely intentionally off-putting, and probably not a good way to judge his actual ability.

“But I’ve seen how you do it, when you really, really try; I think you're still better than me with it, ju-u-ust barely.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” Virgil wasn't entirely sure where this was going, but he couldn't find the soft excitement in Remus’ eyes anything other than enticing. The creative side laughed, flapping his hand.

“It would be fun if you did it for me again! Just like old times, ey?”

Virgil stared at him, considering him carefully.

“You want me to do your makeup?” 

“Yes!” Remus leaned forward with his confirmation, but for once that didn't involve violating Virgil’s post-panic attack bubble, “It'll give you something to do with your hands other than peeling back all your skin, at the very least.”

Oh, right. Virgil not-so-subtly lifted his nails from his palms, wincing at the irritated red spots coloring his hands.

Truth be told, the idea wasn't… unappealing. It was an activity well between mindless and active, repetitive and artistic. Plus, he didn't exactly love being alone after attacks, and if anything Remus would be lively company. Company that he sort of, maybe, possibly was looking forward to spending the rest of the day with anyway, unfortunate events notwithstanding.

“Yeah, alright, if you're sure you want-”

“Great! Wait right there, bee-arh-bee,” before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Remus went limp and fell sideways off of the couch, falling right through the floor. 

In his absence, there was a void where his noise had been. Virgil stared at the paused movie scene, picking apart the little details of the frame just to have something to do. His mind drifted off to the state that Roman had been in when he entered. The sight of his friend so furious burned itself on the backs of Virgil’s eyelids. He knew that the anxiety wasn't all his own, either; he could feel it like waves from the other side of the MindPalace, the origin point clearly belonging to Roman.

He should check on him, shouldn't he? Or would that make it worse? Virgil certainly didn't feel like he was in any state to help. But then there was Patton to consider- something must have happened up there. Should he look for him, too?

There was a whoosh.

“I leave you alone for five seconds and you get right back to thinking!” Remus strode across the room, flopping right back onto the couch. Held in his arms was an enormous multi-pocketed bag, items clattering around within at every jostle their owner made.

“Overthinking is literally my whole job, man, this shouldn't surprise you,” Virgil shrugged, trying not to sound as relieved as he felt.

Remus simply rolled his eyes and dropped the makeup case onto Virgil's lap, sitting criss-cross parallel to him, their knees brushing slightly.

Virgil hesitated for a moment, scanning Remus' face, but all the other did was smile and blink (one eye at a time). 

Virgil zipped open the bag, rifling through and finding an overwhelming array of gaudy colors and odd products.

“Was there, like, a 'look' that you want to go for?”

Remus shrugged.

“Just go for it! I’m a blank canvas. The worse, the better.”

Virgil chuckled, picking out a few items to fit a theme he was coming up with and getting right to work.

Though it had been years since they’d last spent time together, it wasn’t awkward. In fact, it felt more comfortable than it had back then.

Remus managed to sit almost perfectly still, chattering the entire time that Virgil worked. Yet again his voice served as something like white-noise, wherein Anxiety only had to contribute whenever he chose. Remus only quieted when Virgil had to hold his face, tipping his head back to properly apply inky-black lipstick. And then, he remained silent for a moment, as they surveyed each other. 

Virgil had cleared his throat, warmth prickling at his ears, and the ceaseless rambling resumed after that.

In what felt like hours and no time at all, Virgil was finally satisfied with his work.

“Alright, you're all done,” he capped the bottle of mascara in his hand, rifling through Remus' bag for a mirror, “Wanna see?” 

Just as he felt the unmistakable cool surface of glass on his fingertips, Remus grabbed his wrist in both hands. 

“What-?”

“Not so fast! Now it's my turn,” he announced, his zealous eyes even more prominent on his face thanks to the thick wings of eyeliner around them. 

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Virgil looked from the assortment of garish colors that he'd mostly stayed away from in the makeup case, and then back up at the Duke.

“Usually: yes. But I am dead serious right now, Vee.”

Remus looked pleading, legitimately pouting. 

Virgil huffed. The side had gone out of his way to help him, when he really didn't have to, so…

“You're not going to just use this as an excuse to draw all over my face, are you?”

“I mean, no promises that I'll be able to restrain myself, but! Gimme a chance anyway, I can make you even hotter than you already are! Plus, we'll match then.”

“... Fine. Just- nothing too crazy, alright?”

“Again, no promises.”

Virgil groaned, but he still passed the bag to Remus.

 “Holy shit...”

Remus leaned over the basin of the bathroom sink, drumming his hands on the counter excitedly. He was starry-eyed as he observed the dark, dramatic colors covering his face: metallic emerald-green eyeshadow, excessively long lashes, and winged eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch. His lips were black as void, but shimmered like glitter. Everything about the look was dangerous, confrontational, and grim. 

“This is more out there than I’d usually wear, but. Yeah, holy shit.”

Virgil's expression, despite his best efforts, was equally awed as he peered into the mirror. The color around his eyes was mismatched; a lime to moss green gradient over his purple eye, lavender to royal violet over his green one- both colors contrasted by smudged black eyeliner under his eye. His signature Racoon Look had been maintained in that aspect, but it was even more exaggerated. In addition to that, Remus had taken to drawing various little symbols along Virgil's cheekbones, including things like upside-down crosses. Finally, there was the fuchsia lip-gloss, stark against Virgil’s paler-than-normal foundation. 

“It’s okay, I guess,” Virgil breathed reverently. 

“I love it!” Remus crowed, clambering onto the counter just to get a better look at himself. Somehow, he'd already managed to smudge the hell out of his eyeshadow, but it kinda… worked for him, if Virgil was being honest.

“Vee, we have got to do this more often!”

Virgil looked from his reflection to Remus', startled in a way he didn't entirely understand. The intrusive facet met his gaze through the mirror, the smile sliding off his face when Virgil didn’t respond to him.

“Right, Raggedy-Anx? It doesn't have to be this, specifically, if you really don't want to. We could just watch movies together, that's fine. Or we could do anything at all! Right?”

Virgil was still silent, lost in his mind. Remus fell from a kneeling position to sitting with his legs hanging off the counter, turning his back to the mirror.

“Was this a one-time thing? That's alright, too, if you just needed help calming down. I'm not as good as the others, I know, but if they're ever too busy again, you'll think of me when you need help, at least. Right?”

Finally, Virgil snapped out of his daze when he heard the panicked edge to Remus’ voice, feeling his anxiety as Virgil noticed the wild look that had completely erased his giddiness. It was a look that Virgil had seen plenty of times before, when Remus had been ignored far too long and was right about to start ripping things to shreds for some scraps of attention. Only then did Virgil fully recognize what the expression actually meant; the deep, terrified need that swirled behind the look, unsure of how to ask for what it really wanted after so many denials of that very want. 

“Shit, sorry,” Virgil moved to stand in front of him, eye-level to Remus even though he was elevated by the counter, “Hey, it's alright, Re, everything's fine.”

Remus was still trying very determinedly to smile.

“I know! Hell, I’m not the anxious one, I'm the one that makes people anxious,” his laugh sounded like it came from a throat full of broken glass, “I just- I liked this, ya know?”

“I know,” Virgil leaned forward, coaxing Remus' arms away from where he'd wrapped them around himself, “I like this, too.”

Remus let Virgil hold onto him, surprised into something like obedience.

“You? What?”

“I like this,” it wasn't as though Virgil was expecting to hug Remus, but it seemed to have happened on its own as they moved. It was leagues nicer than he could have imagined, despite the smell. “I like you…-r company.”

“That's weird,” Remus' legs curled around Virgil’s waist. Virgil rested his hands on Remus’ hips. He listened as the creative trait's breathing evened out, vaguely aware that the situation was similar to the one just an hour or so before. Except, the roles had been reversed, of course.

“I missed you. I know I never told you, but I missed you.”

Virgil felt guilt, hot and molten, dripping down his throat. He couldn't lie; he hadn't missed Remus when he left. But now he did, in a roundabout sort of way. He missed what could have been, all of the possible understanding and friendship and likely more that he could have had for so long with Remus- all of which he'd let slip by for years. Due to just writing the artist off as disgusting, or unnecessary. 

And perhaps some of that misunderstanding was Remus' fault as well, but Virgil couldn’t find it in himself to hold it against him.

“You don't have to anymore. Miss me, I mean. I'm- fuck, I'm so sorry.”

“Me too,” Remus said, pulling back to settle Virgil with a happy-yet-tearfilled gaze.

“Aw, hey,” he tightened his grip at Remus' hips, smirking, “You're gonna fuck up all my hard work on that eyeliner, Re.”

Remus laughed, loud and shrieky and him, smiling unnaturally and brilliantly wide once again. Virgil's breath caught in his throat- not for the first time that day, he found himself trapped up in that wild, energetic face.

Before Virgil was entirely aware of what he was doing, he was leaning forward, pulling Remus in by the waist. When the cackling finally stopped short, so did he, both much too far and far too close to the Duke. 

He didn't have the chance to explain himself, or apologize, or anything, because soon enough understanding flashed in Remus' eyes.

“Oh, oh yes, oh hell fucking yes.” 

Remus didn’t wait a second longer before closing the distance and smashing his lips against Virgil’s. A startled sound bubbled up in his throat, dying quickly as he acclimated to what was happening. Just as he did, he was reciprocating the kiss. 

Their teeth clashed together uncomfortably, and Virgil was hyper-aware of the threat both his own and Remus’ fangs posed if they weren’t careful, making it far from the perfect first kiss. But he wouldn’t have wanted that anyway, nor would he have expected it. It was, somehow, better. 

Remus' hand dragged down Virgil's back, his fingers fitting onto the notches of the facet’s spine. Virgil shivered, pressing himself flush against the counter (and Remus) and digging his thumbs into the trait’s hips. The motion earned him a beautiful whine from the other as the kiss deepened, growing less awkward and more heated by the second.

Virgil was unaware of how much time was passing, but when they finally parted, both were short of breath and significantly disheveled. Remus had his back pressed up against the mirror, his hair even fuzzier than its usual state, expression dazed and face flushed. From what Virgil could make out in his own reflection, he wasn't much better off. 

Just as soon as they'd separated, Remus' hand was on his face, his thumb dragging just under Anxiety's lip.

“You fucked up your lipstick,” he teased.

“So did you,” Virgil answered with a smirk, leaning into the touch. 

“I guess we'll have to fix it later.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Remus wriggled himself out of his pinned position, twisting around Virgil. He managed to situate himself and drop down from the bathroom counter, his manner suggestive, “Because all I wanna do right now is finish watching Cabin Fever with my new goth boyfriend and makeout during the boring parts.”

“Boyfriend?” Virgil ignored the jolt of warmth he felt at that, determined to stay nonchalant as he (subtly (not subtly)) slipped his hand into Remus’.

“You disagree?” 

Virgil pretended to think it over, leading them to the door and taking his time to click it open. 

“Nah, I don’t disagree,” he said finally, “I think I like the sound of that, actuall- yyyy.”

Virgil stopped short in the open doorway, voice dragging out in his shock. Behind him, he could feel Remus trying to crane around him to see what was happening, but Virgil didn’t move to accommodate him. Well, more accurately, he felt like he couldn’t really move at all, too busy parsing out the scene in front of him.

In the corner of the sectional- sharing a cushion- Janus and Patton sat, the former holding aloft a glass of wine, the latter snacking on a muffin. They sat with their legs tangled together, and had seemed to be engrossed with each other before the interruption. Both had paused mid-conversation to gawk in Virgil's direction, twin deer-in-headlights expressions on their faces. 

“What-” Virgil began, bewildered.

“The fuck?” Remus finished, pushing his way out of the bathroom.

Janus struggled to sit up into a more dignified position and take the reigns of the conversation. It didn't take him long to overcome his surprise at the interruption, his surveying gaze sweeping over the other two Dark Sides contemplatively. The look made Virgil’s skin crawl. 

“You know, we- well, we could ask you two-” he gestured at their interlocked hands, “-just the same question, couldn't we?” 

For a moment, there was silence. Virgil looked from Patton to Janus. Janus looked from Virgil to Remus. Patton looked at the wall like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Remus looked at everyone and broke the silence.

“You didn't see us,” he announced, sidestepping his way to the staircase and dragging Virgil along with him, “And we didn't see you.” 

Janus squinted, tipped his head, and nodded conspiratorially. 

“Deal.”

With that little grant, Virgil and Remus darted up the stairs and into the sanctuary of the dimly lit hallway as quickly as they could. Luckily for them, Roman was probably either in a deep depression sleep or far into the imagination by now, and Logan Did Not Engage with Interpersonal Drama if he could help it. 

There was a second for appreciating the absurdity of the situation (and catching their breath), before either spoke to each other.

“I’ve got a huge flat screen,” Remus piped up at last, jerking his thumb in the direction of his room. 

“Any of us can conjure literally anything we want at any time, so I'm not sure what's impressive about that.”

Remus scowled, albeit playfully.

“Hush! Come watch someone slowly be consumed by a parasite with me!”

Virgil rolled his eyes and let Remus drag him off, his complaints accompanied by absolutely no efforts to avoid the situation. 

Things were weird, there was no denying that. Maybe they'd end up being that way for a while yet, and Virgil knew he had a lot of news to catch up on, but he found that thoughts like that were way back in his mind. Whatever happened, he reasoned, he would still have this comfort. The arms of someone he was finally coming to know wrapped tight around him, playing up his back, a mouth trailing kisses on his neck as he half-watched horror films. Yes, things would be difficult with the others, but it was secondary.

There was someone on his side now. Solidly, unarguably there for him. With him. And that made it all feel a little bit easier.

[whattheheehaw]

I’m not good at explaining my thoughts, but can you debunked the whole Jet and Zuko are bad boys claims? People always say this to keep others from shipping jetara and/or zutara or when they want to trash talk Zuko and Jet characters.

Thanks for the ask and I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to answer it! To be completely honest, I’m not great at articulating my thoughts too 😅. However, I’ll try to answer this question as best as I can (given it’s 1am and I get rambly at this hour).

Before we get into the Jet/Zuko discussion, we need to define what a “bad boy” is, because there’s many different interpretations of the term. For this ask, I’ll be using the definition of the bad boy archetype from this site:

The Bad Boy is someone who hides. Something has happened to them in the past or currently is affecting them and they deal with it by putting up an armor around themselves. This armor protects them for those around them who might be able to see who the real them is. The Bad Boy wants to hide away but he must open up to reveal himself... the Bad Boy doesn’t purposely hurt people to make them feel his pain. He rebels instead of living the life he once did. But unlike the Rebel, he doesn’t truly have a cause for his rebellion. He wants to be heard through his rough exterior without being seen.

So I’m going to start off with Zuko, because I’m much more comfortable talking about his character. And this is primarily because Zuko was one of the main characters of the show and didn’t die at the tail end of season 2.

Honestly, I can never understand how Zuko is perceived as a “bad boy” by so many people. I mean, the only time when I can agree that Zuko’s character could somewhat be interpreted as a “bad boy” is during the first half of season 3. Yes, you read that correctly. Season 1 Ponytail Zuko was not a bad boy; he was a homesick, abused 13 year old child trapped in the body of an angsty 16 year old. Season 1 Zuko might have been angsty and broody, but have you ever met a teenage boy? He never even really rebelled. I mean, sure, he did some things that Iroh frowned upon but in Zuko’s mind, he’s still a prince of his nation—banished or not—and he still holds himself to the standards of a prince. The only time that I think he truly rebels is by becoming the Blue Spirit, but even then, he had a cause for donning that mask.

The only episode that I think shows Zuko in a “bad boy” light is the 5th episode of season 3, The Beach. This is when his angst and broodiness reached an all-time high, and he constantly lashed out at Mai, Ty Lee, and Azula for no reason. The episode eventually culminated in a confrontation reminiscent of The Breakfast Club, Zuko’s honesty with himself, and a dramatic “I’m angry at myself!” line, which are all hallmarks of a bad boy character arc. However, this is just one episode out of 61 and solely focusing on one episode to analyze this guy’s character is an insult to Zuko’s redemption arc that spanned the entirety of 3 seasons.

Another reason why Zuko isn’t a bad boy is that he doesn’t do bad things to get attention. Nothing that he does is a plea for help. The “bad” things that he does aren’t bad in his mind. Capturing the Avatar is just something that he needs to do in order to get his father to love him and welcome him back home. If anything, Zuko is just a misguided person with messed up morals that were instilled in him from a very young age. Zuko has a purpose for everything that he does, and usually this purpose is his sense of righteous anger. Both times Zuko confronted Ozai and rebelled against him, Zuko knew that what his father was doing was wrong. Zuko rebelled against those Earth Kingdom soldiers in Zuko Alone because he felt like he needed to stand-up for Lee and his family. And Zuko didn’t pick a fight with Zhao just because he felt like it. He fought Zhao because that guy had personally insulted Zuko, a prince, and his honor. And Zuko could have burned Zhao at the end of that fight, but he didn’t. He already proved himself to Zhao. Zuko has compassion, and shows it to people that don’t deserve it (e.g. in the Siege of the North, Zuko tried saving Zhao from the Ocean Spirit).

And the most important reason why Zuko isn’t a bad boy is because of his redemption arc. By the end of the show, he’s developed many strong friendships and makes an effort to be open and socialize with others. He’s not afraid to share his thoughts and emotions with others. He trusts people. He’s less broody and smiles more often. He acknowledges that he’s done bad things in the past and asks for forgiveness and makes amends. Are these qualities of a bad boy? I think not.

As for Jet, I think he fits the description of a bad boy pretty well. He’s aloof, hot, and angsty. He’s quite dangerous with a pair of hook swords in his hands. He smokes cigarettes He chews on a piece of wheat to be “edgy”. He’s done questionable things like drown a village full of innocent people. He deceives people to get what he wants. He has all of the traits of any popular male protagonist from a published Wattpad “novel”.

However, I don’t consider Jet a “bad boy” because he has a specific cause for his rebellion. Most bad boys participate in petty crimes like shoplifting or vandalism just because they can. Jet? Jet rebels against the Fire Nation because he’s witnessed their destruction first-hand. He lost his parents from an attack by the Rough Rhinos, and he saw his village burn to ashes right in front of him. He actively tries to destroy a system that he thinks can only inflict pain on others. And what does he do with the people (mostly young children) that have lost their homes because of Fire Nation attacks? He takes them in and acts as a surrogate-father-of-sorts. He forms a community with these people, bonds with them, shares meals together, and secures supplies for them. He’s in charge of their well-being and makes sure that everyone is ok. And these people look up to him as a leader and a central part of their family. So Jet? A bad boy? I don’t think so.

Calling Zuko and Jet “bad boys” are terrible misrepresentations of their characters, and if you think they fall under the bad boy archetype, I would suggest a deeper look into their respective character arcs.

As a final note, I’d like to address the shipping aspect of this ask. After being in this fandom for about 3 years, I’ve seen my fair share of Zutara and Jetara fics that have played off of this bad boy/good girl dynamic. And to be completely honest, I don’t think there’s an inherent problem with liking a dynamic like that. I mean, it’s not an accurate portrayal of the characters, but I won’t discourage people from shipping something or creating fan content because they like a certain trope.

[hovercraft79]

School’s Out

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 4, 103

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: mentions of smoking cravings, alcohol, difficult mother-daughter relationships

Summary: Somehow, Ada Cackle managed to survive her first year back at the Academy in almost twenty years. She wished she could say it had been a success, but she doesn’t like to lie to herself. Her mother didn’t hesitate to mention she hadn’t even managed to make any friends. Feeling adrift, she turns to the mysterious woman residing in Darkwood Cottage – the only person even more tied to Cackle’s than she is. 

Notes: This continues the story I began during last year’s challenge. If you haven’t read ‘Hello’, this one might not make as much sense to you.

In my head, this should be a trilogy of trilogies when it’s done, hopefully filling in a lot of Ada and Hecate’s backstory. Above all, it’s the story of two witches who meet, grow, and learn together; deal with crises large and small; and maybe even fall in love.

I’ve kept everything within canon (though I did keep the 13-year age difference between Ada and Hecate, there’s certainly room for Ada to be older than that). If you notice anything that I missed feel free to let me know. This is using the ‘Last Day of School’ prompt.

I started this fic on my last day of school this year, so of course, the title is ‘School’s Out’ by Alice Cooper.

As always, I owe Sparky my thanks for her editing skills – especially after dealing with the monster of ‘An Uncertain Spring.’ I can’t believe she’s still doing this for me, either.

Hecate stood at the edge of the woods, watching another class of graduates fly away for the last time. Bile rose in her throat and she swallowed. Hard. Five years, over and done with. Somehow, they managed to both fly and crawl at the same time. As the girls disappeared from view, Hecate realized they were the last of the girls who would have been students with her. Next term, none who knew her would be left. She told herself she was glad of it, but it rang hollow, even to her. With a curl of her fingers, Hecate transferred back to Darkwood Cottage.

-----

Ada waved as the last girls took to the skies. Summer had finally arrived, bringing an end to her first year back at Cackle’s. Her fingers itched for a cigarette, but her mother had insisted she quit. Thirty-five years old or no, sometimes it was easier to just give in. She wished her jangling nerves would get on with it, though. Feeling too edgy to transfer, Ada trudged back to her mother’s office.

 Alma peered at Ada over the top of her glasses. “That’s the last of them, then?”

“The Feverfew twins were the last to depart. I don’t know how two girls can possibly accumulate so many things. It will be a wonder if they manage to make it home with everything.”

“Two of everything,” Alma said, nodding. “They’ve never had to share.”

“Lucky girls.” Ada gave her mother a knowing look. She and Agatha had regularly been forced to share: clothes, toys, books. Why have two of anything when one will do?

“Spoiled, if you ask me.” Alma signed the last form with a flourish and put her pen away. “Is everything ready for the end-of-term staff party? Will we have a full complement?”

“We have a room booked at The Red Cauldron down in the village at seven. I believe they’ve included karaoke as part of the package.” She could only imagine the size of the bar tab that would be needed to get her up on the stage.

“I’ll pray Miss Gullet doesn’t get into her cups again this year. I don’t think I can take another performance of I Touch Myself.” She shuddered at the memory. “I’ve invited Mrs. Drill to join us as well.”

“As far as I know, everyone is planning to attend,” Ada said, trying to change the subject. “I didn’t know whether I should invite Miss Hardbroom. I did.”

Alma paused for a moment before shrugging a shoulder and carrying on with tidying her desk. “I doubt she’ll attend, but it was kind of you to invite her.”

Ada frowned. “Isn’t she usually included? She’s sort of like staff, isn’t she?”

“I’ve never thought so. More like an independent contractor, or a local farmer, I suppose.”

Pouring a cup of tea, Ada watched as her mother focused intently on organizing her desk drawer. Ada recognized the sign that Alma didn’t really want to discuss it. “What does she do all summer? Miss Hardbroom?” She schooled her voice into an artificial casualness. “How does she fill the days?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Alma replied, just as casually. “How she spends her days is her business, not mine.”

“Out of sight, out of mind… is that it?” Ada said, allowing her voice to fill with Tone.

“Hardly,” Alma fired back. Ada bristled, but Alma pinned her in place with a pointed finger. “Before you get your broomstick bent out of shape, tell me, daughter, what are Geraldine’s plans for summer? Or Gwen’s? No?” She leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers in front of her chin. “Go on then, I’ll make it easy for you. Choose any kitchen witch you please and tell me her summer plans.”

A shame-faced Ada opened and closed her mouth several times before throwing her hands up in defeat. “I don’t know.”

“Why not? They’re your coworkers. You all live together in the castle. You should be friendly, if not friends. What on earth do you talk about at meals, then?”

“I don’t know,” Ada repeated. She fought the urge to fidget. How was it possible that her mother could still make her feel like she was eight years old and sitting on the naughty step?

Alma sent a thin stream of magic into her teacup, warming it back up. “Well, maybe you’ll know this, daughter: how do you feel when I ask you about your summer plans? After all, I’m your mother as well as your Headmistress. Certainly, I’ve cause to know your general plans at least, but you’re still cagey about them, nonetheless. So how do you feel?”

Ada gave the question some consideration before she answered. “Like you’re dipping your spoon in my cauldron. It’s not your business.”

“Aye – except sometimes it is. That girl, Hecate, that you’re so worried about, has nothing she can truly call her own save for her time, a few personal possessions, and her privacy. I’ve no care to take any of those things away from her.”

Remembering the hundreds of bottles and jars in Darkwood Cottage, Ada wondered what her mother’s definition of ‘a few’ possessions was. Speaking of the cottage… “Couldn’t you give her Darkwood? Sign it over to her? Then she’d have something of her own, a home, at least. It’s not like the Aca—”

“I can’t.”

“Of course, we can. We don’t even need it. It wouldn’t cost us a thing.”

Alma shook her head. “I can’t. It may not cost the Academy anything, but Hecate? She would lose everything. She can’t leave the grounds.” Ada stared blankly at her mother. “Och, use your head, child. If I give her the cottage, it’s no longer a part of Cackle’s Academy.”

“Oh…” Ada said, deflating. “I didn’t think of that.”

“Neither did we when we tried it.” Alma took her glasses off, letting them dangle from the cord around her neck. “Look, Ada, I know that you don’t trust me, because of… well, because of how I dealt with your sister. You don’t think I’m willing or able to do right by this girl. But Hecate is not Agatha. Her mistakes were born of loneliness, not malice.” She sipped her tea. “I’d also like to think I’ve learned from my own mistakes. But if you need to make me the wicked witch, so be it. I’ve resigned myself to the part.”

“I’m sure you’ve done your best.” Ada shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She wasn’t used to this much introspection from her mother. It didn’t sit well. “I just can’t help but think that she has to be so lonely.”

Smiling sadly, Alma nodded. “I’m sure she is.”

“There must be something we can do…”

“Try making friends with her, Ada. Frankly, it sounds like you could both use one.” With that, Alma put her glasses back on and returned to tidying her drawer. Ada knew the conversation was over.

-----

She was trying, truly she was. Loathe as she was to admit it, Ada knew her mother was right. She didn’t really have any friends here. After her conversation with her mother, Ada had been ashamed to say she couldn’t even name all the kitchen witches with certainty – she never knew if she was speaking to Maria Tapioca or Maisie Tapenade. Trying to ‘make friends,’ Ada was now into her second hour of listening to Mrs. Coriander and Miss Bat gossiping about the latest scandal in the Magic Council. Surely, Ada thought, I deserve a cigarette after this.

Just when Ada thought she couldn’t take any more, Hecate Hardbroom materialized right inside the kitchen door. She took a slight step back when she realized Mrs. Coriander wasn’t alone.

“Forgive my interruption,” she said, placing the back of her hand against her forehead and bowing slightly. “I simply wanted to…” She waved a thin hand and a gallon of milky liquid appeared on the table. “I’ve finished the supplements for the familiars. I expect the litters will be due soon.”

“At the full moon,” Mrs. Coriander said. She carried the jug into the walk-in cooler. “The usual teaspoon mixed with their food?”

“Yes.” Hecate looked uncomfortably at Ada and Miss Bat. “I didn’t expect to run into you, Miss Bat. I would have thought you would be out enjoying your summer break.” No one mentioned that everyone knew Miss Bat spent her summers searching for Mr. Rowan-Webb.

“Soon, dear, soon.”

Ada stepped closer, smiling brightly. “We thought we might enjoy a picnic supper down by the lake this evening. Would you care to join us?”

Hecate blanched. “That’s kind of you to offer, but… I don’t wish to intrude.” Her mouth moved into a tight line that she probably meant to be a smile. “I really shouldn’t leave my work.”

“Ah, well. Perhaps another time.” Ada pushed away from the table. “Speaking of work… I’d best get back to it.” She bid the rest of them good afternoon. Mrs. Coriander made her excuses a moment later.

“How about you, Miss Hardbroom?” Gwen blinked up at Hecate, waiting. At the edge of her vision she could see Hecate’s fingers nervously rubbing against her thumbs. When she didn’t get an answer, she waved a hand and pulled a stool up to the table, gesturing for Hecate to sit. Once Hecate had settled on the stool, Gwen leaned forward. “Do you know what the best thing is about getting old?” she whispered conspiratorially. Hecate shook her head. “You get to give people advice, whether they’ve asked for it or not.” She leaned back and waved her hands in the air. “And you youngsters just have to listen! It’s wonderful!”

Hecate bristled a bit on her stool. “I’m hardly a child, Miss Bat.”

“Certainly not. In fact, you’ve grown into a brilliant witch and a lovely young woman.  And I’m going to give you some advice anyway.” She reached out and took Hecate’s hand in her own. “Whatever happens, you have your whole life ahead of you. Perhaps you’ll find a way to release Miss Moon soon. Perhaps not. Either way, it’s a foolish witch that turns down an offer of friendship.”

“I don’t want Miss Cackle’s pity,” Hecate said, pulling her hand away.

Gwen tutted her disagreement. “Pity? What pity? All I saw was another young witch inviting you to join us for dinner. If anything, you should be the one to take pity on Ada.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look around, dear,” she watched Hecate looking at the kitchen in confusion. “Not here, the Academy. Ada may be a bit older than you, but she’s decades younger than anyone else. Would you really leave Ada to the likes of her mother? Or Miss Inkwell in the library? Or me, for Merlin’s sake?”

“Surely Miss Gullet would make a more appropriate companion.”

Gwen clutched at her chest and gasped. Hecate rolled her eyes at the dramatics. “Hecate Hardbroom! I’ve never known you to be a cruel girl. I wouldn’t believe you capable of such cruelty!”

“W-what?” Hecate stood, eyes wide.

Leaning forward, Gwen motioned for Hecate to lean in as well. “Miss Gullet may be younger,” Gwen whispered, “but we all know she’s bloody awful company. I can’t believe you’d abandon Ada to that.”

Hecate leaned back, irritated and a bit guilty – she didn’t like Geraldine Gullet in the least. Still, to risk opening herself up to another person, even Ada Cackle who’d been nothing but nice…

“Think on it, dear. We witches live a long time; don’t spend all that time alone.” With a pat on Hecate’s knee, Miss Bat ambled out of the kitchen. Hecate stayed on her stool for a long time, thinking.

-----

Astragalus… eyebright… neem… Ada needed to restock those ingredients first and foremost. As much as her mother had gone on about the high standards of Cackle’s potions program, Ada had been shocked at the state of the potions cupboard. Disorganized, untidy, and poorly stocked, it had taken Miss Gullet only a year to create utter chaos. Ada had managed to muddle through her first year with it in this state but feared she would spend all summer sorting it.

An itch of magic let her know someone had entered the lab.

“Ada?” Alma called from the doorway.

“In here,” Ada called back, hastily exiting. She didn’t want her mother to see the state of the storeroom.

“What is this?” Ada’s mother held up an over-sized leather tome. “This arrived in today’s post. I’ve not ordered a new copy of Thornapple’s.”

“Perhaps that would explain why it wasn’t addressed to you,” Ada said sweetly. She took the book from her mother, admiring the tooled leather cover. “It arrived sooner than I expected. Splendid! I feared it would take half the summer to get here.”

“You ordered that? Without checking?” Alma pursed her lips and shook her head. “It’s not in the Academy budget. You’ll have to return it.”

Grinning smugly, Ada held the book close. “Good thing I didn’t use Academy funds then, isn’t it? Be happy, Mother, I’m taking your advice.”

Alma’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What advice?”

“I’m making friends.” Ada hefted the book in her hands. “Let’s hope I haven’t forgotten how.” While Hecate Hardbroom certainly intrigued Ada, she also recognized how valuable it would be to have someone she could talk to who didn’t work for Cackle’s Academy.

-----

 Darkwood Cottage appeared below Ada. She turned her broom to land a respectable distance away. The last time she’d been to the cottage it wasn’t even spring, really, but the gardens had already been in bloom. Now, in early summer, the gardens thrummed with life. Tidy rows of vegetables lined the back of the cottage while flowers and herbs rambled across the front. She could see Hecate working at the side of the cottage. The scent of roses wafted up to meet her before she even touched the ground.

As Ada dismounted her broom, Hecate hastened over, removing her gardening gloves and wiping her hands on her work apron. “Well met, Miss Cackle. How may I help you today?”

“Please, call me Ada,” she said, returning the greeting. She closed her eyes, breathing in the rich scent of warm earth and sun-kissed herbs – and the roses! The floral, slightly spicy smell was even stronger on the ground. “I’d love a tour of your gardens. It’s all so magnificent!”

Hecate blushed and looked down at her worn leather gloves. “If you’d like.” She led Ada around the cottage, pointing out the different microclimates she’d created and discussing the various spells involved. Ada had been impressed with the spell Hecate created to increase the amount of sunshine her plants could receive so deeply in the woods. She also enjoyed watching as the reticent woman grew ever more animated as she talked about her plants.

“I just can’t get over it – combining a basic weather spell with a moving spell! How marvelously clever!” She couldn’t get over the number of varietals Hecate managed to grow, from aloe vera to zedoary. While she examined the delicate leaves of a common wormwood, a sudden thought popped into Ada’s head. “Why don’t we purchase our potions ingredients from you?” It hadn’t occurred to her when Hecate had helped her replace the nettles for the spring Imbolc luncheon, but she’d paid regular bills to Goodcharm’s Apothecary Supplies. A cloud passed across Hecate’s face, blink-and-you-miss-it fast. Luckily, Ada hadn’t blinked. “It makes no sense for us to use Goodcharm’s.”

“Miss Gullet prefers it that way.” Hecate’s voice and face had both been schooled into a careful neutrality.

Ada stood, hands on her hips and frowning. “That makes no sense. The ingredients would be fresher, shipping costs would be eliminated,” she waved a hand over the garden. “Quality is indisputably higher.”

“I believe the issue is me,” Hecate said, coloring again. “Miss Gullet does not care for me.”

“Well that’s something we have in common.” Ada moved into the shade of the cottage. The magically enhanced sunshine blazing down on her black t-shirt and jeans was getting uncomfortable. “I offended her when I declined her offer to mentor me.”

Hecate winced. “Oh dear.” The corner of her mouth twitched upward. “I corrected her about a potions ingredient. She wanted to grate burdock root when the instructions clearly recommended crushing.”

Ada let out a long, low whistle. “You win.” She wiped away a bead of perspiration that trickled down her temple.

Hecate’s easy posture jerked into rigidness. “Forgive me, Miss Cackle, I’ve forgotten my manners completely. Would you care to come in and cool off? It’s a bit warm for tea, but I’ve made a pitcher of strawberry-basil lemonade.”

“I’d love to!” Ada smiled brightly and followed her inside. “And I do believe it was me who showed up unannounced – again – and requested a tour. I should apologize for my own lack of manners – and for throwing off your plans for the day.”

Hecate ushered her into the sitting area, a small space in the living room filled with what Ada recognized as cast-off furniture from the Academy. Ada made herself comfortable while Hecate disappeared into the kitchen. She scanned the room, still marveling at the impressive collection of ingredients. Impossible as it seemed, the room looked to contain even more jars and bottles than it had during her last visit. Perhaps that was due to two extra tables being squeezed in under the windows.

Hecate returned, floating a tray holding a pitcher of pink lemonade, two glasses and a plate of biscuits in front of her. Once they’d settled in with their refreshments, silence fell. It only took a few minutes before it started to feel uncomfortable.

Ada nodded towards the tables. “I see you’re preparing to brew some new potions. May I ask what you’re planning?” She took another sip of her lemonade. Sweet and sour balanced one another perfectly while the basil added an earthy note that was simply delicious. A splash of vodka wouldn’t hurt it, either, she thought. “This is wonderful – it really hits the spot.”

“Thank you,” Hecate said, smiling shyly. Normally, she enjoyed it at the end of her time outside. She turned to look at the tables before answering Ada’s question. “I’m about to start on the inoculations for the kittens. They’ll need to be ready by the time the kittens are six weeks old.”

“I didn’t know you made those.”

“I try to be of service.” Hecate set her biscuit back on the plate. “I do what I can to… lessen the burden of my confinement.”

“You aren’t a burden,” Ada insisted. “In fact, that reminds me of why I came today.” She summoned a wrapped package and placed it on the coffee table in front of Hecate. “I wanted to thank you properly for saving my skin at Imbolc.” Hecate looked at the package as though it would scald her if she touched it.

“I can’t… This really isn’t necessary…” Even as she protested, a slender finger traced the edge of the blue ribbon.

Ada couldn’t help but notice the reverence in Hecate’s touch. She wondered when Hecate had last been given a simple gift. “You can, and it was. Go on then.”

Curiosity finally won out and Hecate picked up the package. If Ada expected her to be the type that meticulously opened gifts, she was wrong. Hecate ripped the paper off with abandon, dropping the scraps to the floor. She didn’t even bother to untie the ribbon, she just sliced it away with a thin stream of magic. Once the box had been revealed, Hecate slowed down, carefully removing the lid and unfolding the tissue paper inside.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise. “Thornapple’s Advanced Potionry? Miss Cackle… it’s very thoughtful… and – not that I’m not grateful! But… it’s too much.” Despite her words, Hecate’s eyes roamed over the cover with anticipation. Lifting the book reverently out of the box, she breathed in the scent of leather and inked pages. “It is beautiful.”

“Indeed. And it’s yours.” She leaned over and opened the cover of the book, revealing an inscription thanking Hecate for saving the day last spring and for everything else she does for the Academy. “As the girls say, ‘no backsies.’ The book is yours. I thought we didn’t need to be going back and forth with the one copy in the library. Plus, since it belongs to you, you can make whatever notes you like in it.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Hecate whispered. She looked at Ada with shining eyes. “Thank you.”

The silence descended again as Hecate read through the first pages of her new book. This time it sat a bit more comfortably around them.

Mission accomplished, Ada finished her lemonade, wondering where they would go next. She still doubted that Hecate would be inviting her over for tea – or that she’d accept an invitation from Ada. Her eyes kept wandering over the potions stores, finally coming to rest on the tables. Hecate hadn’t started on the kitten potions yet, but a slight metallic tang in the air told Ada that another potion was brewing somewhere. She remembered the lab behind one of the bedroom doors that she’d seen the last time she’d been here. An idea began to form.

“I wonder, Miss Hardbroom, if you’d could use a laboratory assistant to help prepare the potions for the kittens? Many hands make lighter work, as they say.”

Hecate tore her eyes away from the book, slightly alarmed. “That’s kind, but I couldn’t ask Mrs. Cackle to cover the expense, and… I’m not an appropriate mentor for a student.”

“I disagree with you on your second part. I think any student would be lucky to have you as a mentor. As for the first, it’s not an issue. I’m offering up myself. I’d be honored if you’d allow me to assist you this summer.”

Hecate’s eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline. “B-But… you’re the Potions Mistress! You’re going to be the Headmistress in a few years!”

“True enough. And I am a good potions teacher, as well as a good potioneer in general. Very good. But I’m not so full of myself that I can’t tell when I’m in the presence of a great potioneer. I’m offering a trade, Miss Hardbroom: my labor for the chance to learn from you. Who knows? Having someone else to bounce ideas off might even help you with your own projects.” Ada leaned back on the sofa, willing Hecate to say yes. “What do you say, Miss Hardbroom?”

For her part, Hecate had every intention of saying no, and was about to do so when she remembered what Miss Bat had said. Ada truly did represent a chance for a friendship with someone who wouldn’t disappear in a few years. Plus, not once in a single interaction had Hecate looked into her eyes and seen pity. “I… I… I say you should call me Hecate.” In a single motion, Hecate set the book on the sofa and rose to her feet. “I usually run four cauldrons at once,” she said, moving to the tables.

Ada tried to tamp down her enthusiasm as she scrambled to her feet to follow Hecate. “That’s impressive.”

“It’s necessary to get everything finished on time.” Hecate folded her arms across her chest, her brow furrowed as she tried to work out what she wanted to say. Finally, she nodded, more to herself than to Ada. “I start early in the morning. I don’t care for chatter, and I expect things to be done in a certain way.” Closing her eyes, Hecate took a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not an easy person to be around, Miss Cackle. You may regret your offer.”

“I understand, but regret and I have long been acquainted. I can’t live my life worried about the next time our paths might cross. When shall we begin?”

Hecate studied her a moment, weighing the sincerity of Ada’s offer. “Very well. Give me a few days to finish up with my own project and get things gathered. Monday morning? Just after sunrise?”

Ada swallowed. She’d thought early meant eight o’clock, not sunrise. Nonetheless, she’d asked for the opportunity. She held her hand out, holding it until Hecate grasped it with her own. “Monday morning, then,” she said, shaking Hecate’s hand. “I’ll see you then.”

Hecate stood in her doorway long after Ada had disappeared over the trees. She hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. Again. 

[queenjanai]

1 2 3 4 10

i’ve already answered 3 4, so i’m gonna answer the rest

1. What was your first fic and could you stand to reread it today?

my first fic i believe was an edgy sailor moon fic, written in a giant pink notebook i had when i was 12. the notebooks is thankfully gone. my first published fic was for a book series i read that turned really bad, i did read it a while ago just to see how bad it is and it is bad. it’s like under 100 words, super idk, cheesy you could call it. but i’m not bashing myself for writing it, because i was freaking 13 years old. and i barely knew english then, fancy vocabulary even less. so yeah it’s kinda embarrassing for 20 years old me, but 13 years old me liked it, so i’m okay with it

2. What’s your most recent fic and how far do you think you’ve come?

my most recent fic, i posted it just now is lovers, and i think i’ve come quite far. i don’t think my level of writing got significantly better, i still read other people’s fics and get blown away by the choice words, but i think my approach to writing got a lot better

i talked about it a little before, as much as taking prompts was a fun, amazing experience that was my starting point, there was a lot of pressure about it. when you take prompts, you’re essentially pleasing other people. you’re writing for them. and the more people who read your fics, the more you wanna please them. i started writing for janaya already knowing not to get swayed by validation, not to let it be the thing that drives me to write. because validation won’t always come, and i don’t wanna get shattered because of it

i often found myself thinking “if i don’t take prompts, will people still care about my writing? will i have anything to write about?” and the answer to both is yes. i obviously lost some readers once i stopped taking prompts, and along the way after. you know i post shit and people don’t agree with my opinions, that’s okay. i don’t wanna go back to the first chapter of knights of sunshine and see who commented and is no longer there because i feel like it will just make me sad

i’m not gonna lie and say that my original fics (that is, not prompts) get less notes/comments, because they do. i get wayyy less notes these days (but we are in a hiatus). i think most of the comments now are from my friends, but that’s okay. i love my original ideas, i love how i’m truly writing for myself, and idc if it causes me to lose readers

if you wanna talk about some real development i’m really proud of, i started posting short one shots that i love. i never did because i feel like people won’t read a fic with a low word count, but i love my short scenes more than anything

so basically, i learned how to let myself breathe, be okay with the number of notes/comments i get, and just chill about it

10. Have you ever written for a fandom without reading other fanfic for it?

uuuhh, i honestly can’t tell? idk if i never read a janaya/braime fic before writing about them. probably not. i do try not to read fics while i’m writing because i don’t wanna accidently copy someone’s work

thank youu for all of theseee

[fallynleaf]

i was “tagged” by @norationalthoughtrequired!

1. Nickname: in middle school during my peak weeb years, i was Tsuki. people sometimes call me fallyn or fally or fallynleaf on the internet. besides that, i don’t really have a nickname

2. Zodiac sign: i’m a cancer and i was born in the year of the dog

3. Height: 5′3″

4. Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

5. Last thing I googled: how to plant sprouted onions

6. Favourite musicians: i don’t honestly have many. Florence Welch, Sharon den Adel, and Yo-Yo Ma are a few that immediately come to the top of my head

7. Song stuck in my head: Judas by Fozzy since literally august 31, 2019, thanks to everyone meming the song, and then hearing it at least once a week since october 2. when will it end. i’ve become i’ve become i’m becoming judas in my mind

8. Following now: 175 blogs, the far majority of which are not active anymore

9. Followers: 446

10. Do I get asks: not very often. i’d love to receive more

11. Amount of sleep: generally 7-8 hours on a normal night when i have nothing else going on. if i’m staying up to watch Japanese wrestling, i’m lucky if i get 5-6 hours lol

12. Lucky number: 2

13. Dream job: i want to write books

14. Dream trip: i don’t really enjoy traveling and don’t think it’s that ethical environmentally, so there isn’t really anywhere that i especially want to go

15. Favourite food: savory food: salmon. sweet food: oreo truffles

16. Instruments: i played the violin from fourth-fifth grade, and then the flute from sixth-seventh, before finally quitting music because performing gave me too much anxiety. i never got proficient at either instrument

17. Languages: English, with some Spanish, and an extremely tiny amount of Latin

18. Favourite song: impossible to narrow it down to just one. i wouldn’t even call this one a top favorite, but i’ve been listening to A Horse With No Name covered by Michelle Branch a lot lately

19. Aesthetic: it varies! honestly, my blog description probably sums it up best: all green and idols. i love plants and flowers, but i also love human-created artwork. i tend to be more fond of natural colors than super bright ones, and limited palettes over very colorful ones, and i prefer cool colors to warm colors. i’m extremely not a fan of minimalism. recently, after getting into wrestling, i’ve become a lot more appreciative of image composition and photographs, and how dynamic and otherworldly a good photograph can make wrestling look

20. Hobbies: fiber arts (especially knitting), book arts, writing, and then nerd stuff, basically. i like reading books and comics, playing video games and tabletop RPGs, and watching movies, TV shows, junk on youtube, and professional wrestling

21. Last movie you watched: Emma (2020). it was ok. i feel like it’s a movie that was made to be giffed on tumblr. it didn’t really have much substance beyond that

22. Meaning behind url: i’ve told this story many times before, but when i was in my peak edgy teenager phase, i wanted to call myself something like ~fallen angel~ but didn’t think i was, like, worthy of that caliber of a name, so i went with “fallen leaf” so that i could keep the “fallen” in there but in a way that was a little more mundane and down to earth. i went with “fallyn” instead of “fallen” because my previous username was “whyrlwynd” 

23. Top 4 ships: this changes all the time for me. currently, my top ship is Kenny Omega/Kota Ibushi. two very formative ships are Kirk/Spock and Remus Lupin/Sirius Black, and i’ll throw in Xena/Gabrielle as well

24. Currently reading: old Star Trek fics on ksarchive lol

i’m not tagging anyone, but if you want to do this, then pretend that i tagged you!

[beth-bunkus]

🖊 + Miranda. the old miranda. in nightshade m o d e

WOW JAM, THAT’S A LOW BLOW, but a n y w a y

For those of you who don’t know, Miranda was the product of my goblin brain when I was in 7th grade

At the time, I was obsessed with Star Trek and also had no sense of how to not write a character that was NOT a Mary Sue

She was absolutely a vague self-insert, but like, way ~cooler~ read here: I was a lonely lil kid who was thirsty for validation after my parents went thru a bad divorce

Years later, I have forgiven myself to an extent for my bad writing bc I was learning!!! And the creation of Miranda was a fundamental step in me becoming more comfortable with my own writing

I’ve actually begun reworking her bc she has potential to actually be a compelling character and one of these days I might actually write a properly good fan fic with her

But that isn’t what this post is about so a n y w a y… from here on out I’m going to referring to Miranda as “RTM” (“rotten tomato Miranda”…. because the original incarnation of her warrants my past self being pelted with decaying produce a la medieval style)

RTM, aka “M*randa K*rk,” aka “very beautiful and perfect person,” was my made-up daughter of good ol’ Captain Kirk from the original series

For those of you who are wondering, she was tall, had beautiful auburn/reddish brown/chestnut hair and blue eyes, and was hEcKiN jAcKeD

alright she wasn’t THAT jacked but she was definitely a Stronk woman

RTM was good…. at everything

Things she was good at include, but are not limited to:

Archery

Knife throwing

Combat in general

At one point I included the fact that she was also a horseback rider (???) and had tamed a reckless colt on a bet

Which technically also makes her good at being a stereotypical horse movie heroine

Garnering the sympathy of: her father who was actively repping 3 brain cell culture the ENTIRE fic, McCoy, Scotty, even Spock

They ALL FELT BAD FOR HER at some point

Being an overall Terrible representation of a trauma victim

Being beautiful

Just…. being annoyingly cliche and a M a r y  S u e

RTM had an annoying cat named Nyla, who could….. talk

Which brings me to my next point

RTM was part of a terrible, absolutely horrible original creation of mine called the Nightshade program

For some reason, 13 year old me decided “yo what if Starfleet did genetic experiments on literal students and trained them to basically activate kill mode” and that was the entire premise of this fictional program

I am not even joking here folks, that was an actual thing I decided was cool

Insofar as the “kill mode” went, it somehow involved these members of this group basically slapping on some edgy makeup and then proceeding to beat the crap out of anyone who was threatening their crewmates

RTM actually DID beat the crap out of a few people during the climax of the 10 chapter story I wrote

The accompanying action scene was just as terrible as she was badly written

Also RTM was modified with cat DNA for some inexplicable reason

Nyla was too, she had a fraction of Miranda’s DNA and that’s why she could talk

I know please stop judging me I was very dumb when I was 13

RTM had an annoying trio of friends – her two best friends Araya and Julia, and a very whiny boyfriend named Ryan

All three of them were intended to be my vague interpretations of my friends at the time, which I immensely regret

For some reason I wrote RTM to have an annoying overbearing mother, which is yet aNOTHER THING I REGRET HAVING DONE WITH HER CHARACTER

Idk, there isn’t a lot else to say, only that she was a massive pile of cringe and soon after bringing my vision for her to fruition I moved onto writing Fruits Basket fan fiction

Do with that information what you will

There was also a bad sequel that I wrote at some point but mercifully did not finish that will n e v e r see the light of day so don’t ask

But yeah that’s her I guess

[applekitty]

god what is it with 13/14 year olds having such fcuking weird standards. when i was 14 i was like "kissing? holding hands? ew, gross. i wont put something like that in my fic. cooties." i would exercise extreme caution while reading a teen shipfic, and i wouldn't even consider reading a shipfic rated mature (which was probably for the best at my age). but torture? seeing innocent characters in pain? my edgy ass was like. y es

i was the same way (except for the avoidance of any mature romantic / sexual themes) back when i was 13, it made me really bad when i was 14/15 gonna be honest, i was insufferable

i think it’s because when you’re 13 you think that edgy stuff is what’s been kept from you your entire childhood. it’s taboo, it’s something new and something ‘unexplored’ by your mind, so you just delve right into it with no regrets because mass amounts of angst make you feel like you’re a good writer. they make you feel like you’re a cut above something else, someone else, because you write harsher topics. it doesn’t matter if you give those topics the respect they deserve, you’re writing them because they make you feel special. they make you feel like you’re more intense, more cool in a sense. those other kids will gawk in astonishment and idiocy as you present these unforseen concepts to them in a light they’d never been proposed before now.

that, or you’re trying to fit in. because everyone else around you is being edgy so therefore you must too. edginess gets rewarded because everyone, like you, is edgy. they like being surrounded by edge. you block out the people who don’t like edge and focus on those who do, and they help you to become even worse and worse, supporting you to write worse and worse things.

i used to get sadistic satisfaction out of torturing characters. but i don’t anymore. because i learned to grow up and realize how truly awful these things really are, i learned to be more humanitarian, more wanting to see people happy than in distress. 

angst is not without its place, but 13 year olds are not mature enough to understand what those places are so they just dump it ontop of everything and hope that it works.

[supposed2bfunny]

Can minors follow this blog?

Sure!

Please be aware: I’m 25 years old and I do discuss 2doc in the context of a lot of adult content on this blog. If you’re like 13, I kinda don’t want you interacting with my more explicit fics/headcanons/etc for obvious reasons. At the same time, I don’t think my blog is particularly harmful for minors, and as long as I don’t get a bunch of edgy 12-year-olds trying to bully me on my own blog (there’s a lot of that in the Gorillaz fandom as we all know), then I trust any minors to follow at their own discretion and comfort levels. 

Basically, if you’re a minor, that’s totally cool, follow away, just be chill please. If you can’t handle that or don’t feel comfortable once you’ve seen some of my blog’s content, feel free to unfollow and I’ll take zero offense. 

Sorry if this answer is unnecessarily wordy; this is just a good opportunity to make my stance on the matter clear. Thank you for asking first, I really appreciate that! :)

[isobel-thorm]

Answer all the questions for New Divide. Please.

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way? Basically a few months back when that one developer did his spiel about the John intro video, my friend and I both kind of looked at each other “does that mean he’s gonna betray them and we’re gonna have one of the cult leaders on our side but he’s gonna be a spiteful little shit?”. Then the game happened, we were very wrong, my friend didn’t like that and told me to Write A Thing to fix it, and New Divide was born. 

2: What scene did you first put down? A scene that didn’t make it into the finished product. I’ve mentioned that originally Nic was gonna be a lot more sociopathic because of Jacob’s conditioning. One of the first scenes I wrote was her kind of coming out of that haze for the first time in months because John pissed her off. It was basically a ‘talk shit, get hit’ moment that ended up as weird bonding because John appreciated getting his Lady Wrath back. 

3: What’s your favorite line of narration? Because I can’t choose just one:

 John Fucking Seed had just saved her life. He was her blood-soaked guardian demon.  

 There’s a ‘John Seed’s seed’ joke in there somewhere- God, Nic, what the fuck?

Something in the back of her head was screaming at her to stop there, that was fucking enough, this is not you. But it was John.

Also I think I have to say the last couple of sentences of the fic itself which I won’t list because super spoilers, because readers clearly lost their minds about it and I got about six messages from usual readers/readers who came out of the woodwork yelling at me about it, so that was the best feeling.

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue? Again, can’t choose just one:

“I have lost everything. Because of you.” 

“Uh... s’mine! I am!”

 “‘So Judas kiss’d his master, And cried ‘all hail!’ whereas he meant all harm…’ ” he recited. John scoffed. “You’ve got the wrong Judas.” 

“You’re my very best friend, you know that? You’re comin’ back. You can do anything. Hell, you yanked whatever stick John’s had lodged up his ass outta there and are planning on beating Joseph to death with it, so you can do anything. Including survive,”

“The only one who gets to kill you is me.”

5: What part was hardest to write? I call the three smut bits the “Smut Disasters” for a reason. Also, writing Joseph was agonizing. Like, I wanted to keep him neutral the whole time, but I also first wrote one of his major scenes during the big fandom war about whether he loved or used his siblings, and since I set it up where he loves AND uses them, posting that/trying to word it as… decently?? as possible was like walking in a minefield.

6: What makes this fic special or different from all your other fics? Reader reaction/participation. This is the seventh time I’ve said it but the FC5 fandom is the friendliest, most active, technically verbally supportive fandom I’ve ever been a part of and I love it 

7: Where did the title come from? The Linkin Park song/ the old go-to fandom video song. But at least New Divide tended to be associated with some good fandom videos. 

8: Did any real people or events inspire any part of it? Outside of my friend yelling at me to write it, not really. 

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic? As mentioned, Nic was gonna be more sociopathic and damaged from Jacob dealing with her. The fic was gonna be super short accordingly, and then the Nick reunion scene happened and John and Nic did a lot of sassing each other via silent communication and I realized there was no way in Hell I was gonna give up that tone. 

10: Why did you choose this pairing for this particular story? During planning,  again it was aaaalllll because of the assumption about the redemption arc. It was always going to be John. But post playing/during writing: Can’t stand Faith, can’t stand Jacob, John was the lesser of all the evils regardless imo.

11: What do you like best about this fic? Same answer as number 8. The fandom/the readers responding to it so much/so eagerly made all the difference. I’ve only ever gotten reactions like that to my main tasertricks fic, but even to the extent that I had with this one. Like, I’m a humble little potato but being a major player in the fic world with New Divide was a massive ego stroke that I very much needed over the last year. 

12: What do you like least about this fic? It’s super dialogue heavy at times and there’s not enough descriptors in places/the descriptors are kind of on the bland side, and then I look at other fics *cough* Revelations from Frequency 12 *cough* and yell because talk about beautiful prose, like why can’t I come up with SUCH ELOQUENT WORDS FOR MY STUFF AS @iheardtheowlcallmenames DOES.  Also, uh… Staci. And I wanted to change it but then it just kind of soured the other reunion later so I had to keep what I did and ugh SO MANY REGRETS. 

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? I listen to the playlist I made for the fic and yell a lot 

14: Is there anything you wanted readers to learn from reading this fic? I hate followng up number 11 with this but I’mma be petty and go “Look Ma! You can do a decent FC5 fic without having the Dep get sexually assaulted/have a 2 Edgy 4 U backstory and still have it be engaging to people!”   I think I’m like… one out of ten people who haven’t crossed that cringey line. 

15: What did you learn from writing this fic? People like my writing