#reblogs go off until we have psychologically recovered | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

princessofmerchants · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on A Court of Frost and Starlight, Chapter 21: Cassian — Post-War Nessian

(I’m recording my thoughts on each chapter of ACOFAS ahead of ACOSF. This is my third time reading ACOFAS. The rest can be found here.)

Author’s Note: I have not read any of ACOSF as of this posting, so please keep comments, reblogs, and replies 🛑 spoiler free 🛑 (including references and reactions to what is in the first 3-6 chapters of the book).

I could write so much about this Nessian encounter along the Sidra after the Solstice party and then the snippet of Nesta's POV we get at the end, but I tried my best to reign myself in so I have a shot at finishing this commentary project before the ACOSF release. It’s still another long one though...

This chapter really begins in the last paragraph of the chapter before, when we are still in Feyre’s POV and, after Feyre paid off Nesta for her company at their Solstice gathering, Cassian, who we learn a moment later overheard the whole exchange, finally decides to act in relation to Nesta that evening, and moves his High Lady out of his way and storms out after her.

Chapter 21, though, is in Cassian’s POV, and it is one of the hardest chapters to read in this book, second for me only to the chapter that came before it.

An interesting thing I noticed on this reread, though, is that although this is a really painful scene between them, in which they both hurt each other, on the surface it starts out not too dramatic. Cassian follows Nesta, and offers to walk her home.

For a variety of reasons, some related to pride, some related to self-worth, and probably others I can’t think of, Nesta refuses his offer, but in Cassian fashion, he refuses her refusal and walks with her anyway. Their exchanged words almost (almost) read like banter, until they don’t, but I was surprised that things were not yet too, too toxic between them, not as much as I thought they would be at this point.

There is one line Cassian thinks about Nesta right after he reaches her at the gate and takes a look at her in the moonlight (even distanced as she is from him emotionally), and it just moves me so much: “Beautiful. Even with the weight of loss, she was as beautiful standing in the snow as she’d been the first time he’d laid eyes on her in her father’s house.”

That he sees her beauty even in and through the losses she is bearing across her very body (because trauma manifests in the body), is just one of those moments, and indicators for me, that he is designed to suit her perfectly.

Cassian is drawn to the things about Nesta that turn off just about everyone else, and he is drawn to her (and will love her, in ACOSF, I am assuming), not in spite of those things but because of those things. I love them (Nessian), separate and together, I just love them.

The next really important thing is when Cassian notes in his inner thoughts that their silence around each other goes both ways, that although she hasn’t said anything to him since the war, he also hasn’t said anything to her.

And furthermore, similar to a thought Rhys had in a previous chapter, Cassian acknowledges that after his first battle it took years to recover from it enough to socialize in a healthy manner. It has been mere months since Nesta experienced her first battle, one in which there were casualties she may feel culpable for, one in which she saw her father killed brutally before her eyes, and one in which she violently killed someone for the first time in her life. So, Cassian understands this, which is a relief when looking ahead to ACOSF...

...and which makes his hurtful, cruel comment later in the scene so bizarre and heartbreaking. But I’ll get to that a bit later.

Next we have his Solstice gift that he is holding and hoping to give to her, and which she ultimately refuses to take, and so he throws it into the Sidra (#whatsinthebox???).

At this point, Cassian thinks back to when Feyre gives Nesta money as Nesta departs from the Solstice party. This is such an important moment, because when Cassian thinks back to Feyre saying the words “As promised,” Cassian wishes his High Lady (not Feyre, but “his High Lady”) hadn’t done that.

Cassian understands that moment the same way I do, and the same way I believe Nesta does: that Feyre was signaling that Nesta’s time and company could be bought, and that Nesta’s presence that evening was a mere transaction and nothing more. It hurt Cass, I think because it hurt Nesta. I also think Cassian can see how broken things are between the sisters and I do believe he cares a lot for Feyre as his friend and as his brother’s mate, so the entire dynamic is painful for him, and he wishes he could help fix it.

The only problem is, he gets it in his head to try to fix it by challenging Nesta to “try a little harder.” This comes after Nesta pushes him away with words that Cassian believes were intended to hurt him, and so he proceeds to intend to hurt her back, and it just spirals from there.

He tells her that he doesn’t understand why her sisters love her, and while he may justify that as an attempt to get her to respond with fire (figuratively, at this point) and that he doesn’t actually believe the words he says to be true, all it accomplishes is the same damned thing that Feyre offering Nesta money at the end of the Solstice party did: It’s confirmation for Nesta that there is no one here, in this new Fae life she is living, who wants her presence or thinks her worthy of a kind thought. Even the Illyrian General who told her he wanted more time with her, and when he got that time, did nothing of consequence with it.

Is Nesta’s belief that there is no one who wants her in their lives actually true in reality? No, I don’t think so. But everyone’s actions (or lack thereof) and words (or lack thereof) signal this to Nesta. And it is very painful to witness.

This chapter then does something none of the others do: Toward the end, the POV changes mid-chapter to Nesta, when she arrives home after the confrontation with Cassian along the Sidra. This small snippet of Nesta POV is so important.

I observe Nesta acknowledging their mating bond without naming it (she can sense that he followed and is now on a nearby rooftop waiting to confirm she got inside all right). I also observe the four locks on her door are a deep psychological response to the traumas she experienced during the war and prior to it. I observe she has deep, grave depression, in which she loses stretches of time to it. And I observe that she may be dissociating, where her emotions are so tamped down and cordoned off that she only feels silence inside, which means shame is something she understands in theory she should be feeling but doesn’t have the experience of it.

This snippet of her POV is so moving and well written. I even did a humble little bit of fanart of this moment in the story, it moves me so much (and makes me feel seen).

There is so much more in this chapter, but I am going to reign in my commentary and just encourage everyone to go reread it (along with all of the Cassian POV chapters in ACOFAS, as well as "Wings and Embers") before ACOSF next week, if you haven’t yet. They really set the stage for what we can expect as far as where Nessian start out at the beginning of ACOSF.

#acofas #a court of frost and starlight #chapter by chapter commentary #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #nessian #feyre archeron #wings and embers #mating bond #these two are made for each other #my bbs are so sad #depression #getting personal

25 notes · View notes

theres-a-goldensky · 5 years

Text

32 Reddie Fic Recs

In honor of the joy I feel in finally getting out of this miserably terrible fucking year of my life, I thought I’d do something fun and make up a list of Reddie fic recs, since this has fandom has taken over my life recently. Strap in, friends. This is gonna be a long one.

These recs are in the order in which I read them.

As ever, feel free to reblog and check out my other rec lists for the following fandoms:

IT chapter 2 list part two - Reddie

Good Omens fic

The Untamed list one and two - various pairings, mostly Wangxian

Various BL Series fic (fandoms: Love By Chance, TharnType, 2Moons series, My Engineer, Until We Meet Again, 2gether, History3: Trapped)

Or just head over to my bookmarks on AO3.

All fics are Reddie, all are complete.

** - denotes personal favorite

1. first love / late spring by vowelinthug - ~36,000 words, explicit - They both survive It, but not without some injuries, both physical and psychological. Richie takes Eddie to a secluded cabin to help him recover. And then they accidentally make a podcast. Nice slowburn, a good Richie characterization. I liked the conversations between the two of them, in particular one about Richie’s disdain for shoes that was pitch perfect.

The doctor’s evil eye is on both of them now. “Your friend is gonna be fine. Broken collarbone and a lot of blood loss, but the arm stays on, for now anyway.” Probably at the way Richie sags in relief so hard he groans in pain, the doctor stops looking so severe. “He’s a tough guy. I’ve never seen anyone regain consciousness from that much blood loss just to give me a full medical history.”

“Oh my god,” says Richie, covering his mouth. “I like him so much.”

Bill pats his shoulder in sympathy.

2. the fireworks that go off when you smile by zach_stone - ~10,000 words, teen - Post-movie the adult Losers, including Stan, go on a vacation together. There’s just lots of Richie staring at a wet, shirtless Eddie and pining.

Richie blinks at him, his stomach doing a fucking somersault, pinned under Eddie’s weirdly passionate stare. He swallows another mouthful of beer to stall for time, shifting his gaze away. Spread out before him, the lake looks like flat, black glass. “Jeez, is the risk analyst really telling me to ignore the risks? What’s the world coming to?” he manages to joke.

He expects Eddie to roll his eyes, to huff and lean away again, but he doesn’t. He says, still earnest, “I just think some things are worth the risk.”

And Richie doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that. He resolutely tells himself not to puke on Ben and Beverly’s porch, because he thinks if he did it would just be the words I love Eddie Kaspbrak a hundred times over, all puddled on the slats of wood. He stands up rather abruptly. “I should go to bed,” he says, aware that he’s talking too loud, being too fucking obvious. “I’m jetlagged as fuck. Also maybe a little drunk.”

3. oh, i want the truth to be known by ShowMeAHero - ~7000 words, explicit - Richie sees Eddie die in the deadlights and then manages to save him at the last second, but It skewers him instead. I’m honestly not sure why there isn’t more fic with this premise, because Richie sacrificing his own safety for Eddie and then Eddie losing his shit is absolutely, 100% my jam.

The claw isn’t in Eddie’s chest. Instead, it’s in Richie’s, caught in his side, pinning him to the ground. He chokes on a scream, caught in his throat, and pushes at Eddie, just trying to get them away. He rolls into him, ripping Pennywise’s claw through his side to get away, but once he’s free, he’s scrambling into a half-stumble and dragging Eddie with him until they’re hidden under an outcropping of rock. His side is bleeding, he can feel it, and his entire fucking abdomen hurts, and, for a moment, it’s all he can process.

“Holy shit, Richie,” Eddie exclaims. The pain shuffles to the back of Richie’s mind so he can focus on Eddie instead. He sounds winded, but he’s fucking alive, unhurt and breathing and okay, and Richie huffs a laugh. He’s in so much fucking pain, but he can’t even figure out where it’s all originating from, and the only thought cycling through his brain is it’s okay, he’s okay, Eddie’s okay, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t real, over and over.

4. we'll be a fine line (we'll be alright) by buckyjerkbarnes - ~9,000 words, teen - Richie and the other Losers in the hospital after killing It, waiting for news on Eddie. Richie has a bit of a breakdown.

The ambulance ride had been the longest twenty minutes of Richie’s life. He'd tried not to get in the way of the EMTs who worked frantically to keep Eddie alive; who were far more patient with him than Richie likely deserved. By the time they'd rolled up to the emergency entrance at the hospital, Ben stamping his breaks as the rest of the Losers came to a grinding halt not fifteen yards away, Richie was still a sobbing mess. He couldn't see through the cracked lens of his glasses, and when Eddie, who had not opened his eyes or said a word since they were still in the sewers, was about to be wheeled out of sight, Richie made like a battering ram and lunged towards the pair of swinging doors.

“Sir!" An orderly yelped. "You can’t—!"

And Stan, who had materialized at Richie's elbow, told the orderly: "He's the husband."

5. ** It’s Hard to Tell Sometimes by gallopingmelancholia - ~21,000 words, explicit - Eddie divorces his wife and moves to LA to live with Richie. Richie promptly has like five emotional meltdowns over it. So much pining. So much. This is one of very few that has Eddie in the hospital for a realistic amount of time, which I appreciate. When writers have been hoping out of bed after a day or whatever, it really throws me out of the story.

“When can we see him?” Mike asks.

“He’s asleep, but we’ll send in a nurse when he wakes up. I wouldn’t expect it until tomorrow morning at the earliest. He’s been through quite a lot, eleven hours of surgery, and is on a lot of pain medication.”

“Will he survive? What’s the percentage? He’ll want to know the probability, he’s a risk analyst,” Richie says.

The doctor hesitates. “The chances he makes it through the night are 65%.”

“That’s not bad!” Richie says even as his heart drops to somewhere in the region of his feet. The others look at him pitifully. “Tell him we’re here and we love him. Tell him the Losers are here and we’ll see him soon.”

6. ** it’s a nice day to start again by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~6000 words, teen - Post-movie, Eddie wakes up one morning to discover that Richie and a woman had a shotgun wedding in Vegas the night before. Great, sad-but-trying-not-to-show-it Eddie here. (And yes, Richie is a total disaster gay who marries a woman on a whim.)

“Are you sitting down?”

“I didn’t even get out of bed yet! Bev please just tell me what the fuck is happening.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. Just- Richie got married.”

“What? No he didn’t,” Eddie scoffs, throwing the covers off. “I’m not - he’s not even dating anybody, I see him all the time. It’s probably just a big joke or something, that’s-”

“He got married, in Vegas. It’s all over Twitter, and he- he sent pictures to the group chat last night. She’s some other comedian. None of us have ever met her, he didn’t invite any of us.”

7. Oh, But He Makes You Laugh by MellytheHun - ~9,000 words, mature - Teenage Eddie has to deal with some serious jealousy when a new friend enters their group. This one has a good, slow realization on Eddie’s part.

The boy is in their grade, though not part of their social sphere; he’s nearly as tall as Richie, with light eyes, and walnut colored hair. Eddie recognizes him from his AP bio class, but can’t inwardly recall his name.

The boy nods toward Stanley while keeping eye-contact with Richie, and informs him, “alligators - they can grow up to twenty feet.”

Richie opens his mouth to argue with the new kid, but he’s cut off.

“Which is weird, cause they usually only grow four.”

Eddie watches in abject bewilderment as a hearty, genuine laugh is startled out of Richie.

8. Richie Tozier: Pray Away the Gay by QueerOnTilMorning - ~4,500 words, teen - The official transcript of Richie Tozier’s comeback Netflix special. A lot of writers try to do Richie’s stand-up routine, but not many can nail it. This one feels realistic and contains actual, like, jokes and stuff.

Because I grew up in this little town called Derry, Maine--nope, absolutely not, do not cheer for that. Fuck Derry! I had this friend, for years he thought I was lactose intolerant, because he'd mention dairy and I'd be like "fuck Derry! Derry tried to fucking kill me!" No, I can eat cheese, I just hate my hometown. They did not fuck with the gays, in Derry. That's probably why I dress so shitty. It's a survival thing. I was already super into dudes. If I had developed fashion sense on top of that? No. Oh my God. It was so--I was so fucking scared all the time.

And like, to put this in perspective, has anyone ever heard of Henry Bowers? Any true crime fans in the house? Henry Bowers, the baby serial killer? Yeah, you listened to that podcast! My friend Bill was on that podcast, doesn't he have a sexy voice? Anyway, Henry Bowers, also known very creatively as The Derry Killer, murdered a bunch of kids the summer we were thirteen. I say we, because that dude was in my fucking class. There was an active serial killer in Derry during my childhood and still, still my greatest fear was that someone would find out I was gay.

9. RICHIE TOZIER IS...THE COMEBACK CLOWN by owlinaminor & tinypersonhotel - ~11,500, teen - An excellent multimedia fic about Richie’s life with Eddie post-movie.

While Richie Tozier never stops talking, Eddie Kaspbrak never stops moving. Listening to a conversation between the two men is akin to watching a pinball machine with two balls going at once, slamming into each other and the walls and the levers and each other, lighting up their surroundings in a trance as mesmerizing as it is chaotic. (Kaspbrack laughed when I told him this metaphor—apparently Tozier spent many an afternoon at the town arcade when they were kids.)

Over the course of one twenty-minute walk with their dog, a beagle named Stanley, through their L.A. neighborhood, they manage to call off their engagement, call it back on, invite me, uninvite me, call the engagement off again, debate eloping, call the whole thing back on but disinvite everyone except me, and finally agree on what color napkins to have at the reception.

10. ** The Jenga Dream Date by stitchy - ~15,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie domestic fluff that starts at Ben and Bev’s wedding. It feels so sweet, and you can just see the happiness radiating off the screen. This is truly the ending they deserve.

Then a seriously, unbearably cute thought occurs to Richie. A thought he can’t immediately share with Eddie, because Bill and Mike each independently cornered him and made him swear not to steal Bev and Ben’s thunder.

Ah, fuck it.

“I can’t think why we would possibly be in another situation in the near future where there’s dancing but also my mother is there for some reason, but holy shit, Eds! I have got to see you dance with Mom. During this very special situation. For which I will make hand calligraphed invitations and hire a photographer and-”

Eddie’s eyes dart in either direction before he lets out a short, slightly hysterical laugh. “Uhhh, I also have no idea when or why that would happen, or what sort of event that would be appropriate for.”

11. Bad Parts In by 50artists - ~9,000 words, not rated - It’s Richie that ends up in the hospital after it all goes down, and Eddie who has the crisis. And also some serious misapprehensions.

"I feel like Richie might be slightly weirded out," Eddie says dryly. "Like oh, hey, we've not spoken for decades and you're the straightest man I know, but it turns out I have been subconsciously in love with you since we were teenagers. I dunno, might make things a bit awkward."

"I'm sorry," says Beverly, "just to clarify, Richie Tozier is the straightest man you know?"

"Dude, have you seen his comedy? It's all, 'I love fucking chicks while drinking beer and watching football'."

"You mean the material that Richie doesn't write himself?'

12. ** We Found Love in a Chili’s ToGo by Amuly - ~14,000, explicit - Richie confesses his feelings to Eddie in the airport before they both headed back to their own lives. This is such a lovely story about friendship and love and putting yourself back together. And there’s some A+++ phone sex.

“Nah, Eds. It’s because I had a big gay crush and needed Stan to bitch at about it.”

Eddie frowned, then shook his head. “That doesn’t explain why you couldn’t bitch at me about it.”

“Well bitching about your secret crush to your secret crush is generally frowned upon, Eds. Kinda fucks up the ‘secret’ part.”

Eddie, bless his tiny heart, didn’t get it for a second. His expression scrunched up, about to say something stupid back to Richie, when his brain processed Richie’s words. In a second his expression fell open, jaw actually agape.

“Oh look: drinks!” Richie grabbed his marg, licking and drinking without even letting the waitress set it down onto the tabletop. Eddie barely had the courtesy left to let her set his down before he was grabbing at it.

13. ** Ask Me About My New Material by twoseas - ~7,000 words, explicit - I could read 10,000 stories about a confused and horny Eddie jerking it to Richie’s stand up without understanding why before they meet again in Derry. This one has a great Richie, who reacts like he got hit in the face with a bat when the truth comes out.

In the restaurant, as the gong resounded around them, Eddie looked up at a four-eyed, messy, middle aged Trashmouth and suddenly it all clicked.

He had two thoughts.

Oh, he realized, it’s because I’m in love with the dumbass.

And, Aw fuck.

14. No Parenthesis by pineapplecrushface - 13,000 words, explicit - In the deadlights, Stan gives Richie some instructions on how to bring him back. Spoilers: it involves an orgy. And Richie and Eddie dealing with their feelings.

“Okay,” Mike said, holding his hands out to placate him, and honestly Richie was really fucking sick of Mike saying crazy shit and then somehow—somehow!—convincing them to do it anyway. “I’m not saying we have to do it. I’m just saying, the ritual exists and we could do it, and now that it’s out there, I feel like you should all have the choice.”

“Great. I choose no. I’m fucking leaving before I get ritualed into giving all my money to a cult leader and I end up spending the rest of my sad short life on an alpaca farm,” Richie said, standing up too fast and stalking across the room.

“Richie,” Bev said, and she sounded, unbelievably, like she was not thinking this was completely insane.

“Are you fucking serious?” He whirled around to look at them. They were all giving him varying levels of Richie, be reasonable, which was a look he was familiar with, but not when it came to sex rituals, for some fucking reason.

15. ** Stupid Deep series by anonymous - ~50,000 words, explicit - Richie has a huge dick, and Eddie is obsessed with it. Come for the super, super hot sex, stay for the sweet romance, twist of angst and happy ending.

It’s been five months since then, and Eddie has spent at least 40% of that time thinking about Richie’s big fucking dick. He spends about 20% working from home, 20% arguing with Richie about dumb shit, and the remaining 30% sleeping—this adds up to 110%, but that’s because there’s overlap between the sleeping and the thinking about Richie’s huge dick in the form of extremely graphic dreams.

He thinks about Richie’s dick in the shower. He thinks about Richie’s dick when they’re watching TV together. He thinks about Richie’s dick when he’s trying to eat breakfast. He hasn’t even seen it hard. But god, he thinks about it. Thinks about it hot and thick in his hand, thinks about it twitching as Eddie strokes it, thinks about it stretching his lips, thinks about it leaking precum all over Eddie’s fingers and tongue and stomach. And, most importantly—most vividly—he thinks about Richie’s dick inside of him, filling him up, fucking him.

At the same time, Eddie also spent a good amount of time, woven through the rest of his daily activities, falling so deeply in love with his best-friend-cum-roommate that it was disturbing at best. There was pining. There were lingering glances. There was lying on Richie’s bed while he was out just to ease the ache in his chest with Richie’s warm, familiar scent, which is disgusting and Eddie hates to think about it. There were, in Eddie’s darkest moments, daydreams about Richie holding his hand and kissing him and telling Eddie he’s in love with him. Like a fucking sap.

16. I’m quite alright hiding today by remusjohn - ~7,000 words, explicit - Eddie kisses Richie out of the deadlights, but Richie doesn’t know if that means anything.

On the first night they don’t do much of anything. They unpack (well, Eddie unpacks his massive bags while Richie tries to figure out how to sign in to his Netflix account on the tiny TV in the living room), and they order in, and they argue over what to watch while they’re eating, and Eddie falls asleep some hours later with his head tucked into Richie’s shoulder, and Richie tries not to think too much of it.

There’s been a lot of that, the last couple of days. Richie doesn’t know how to say, You kissed me to wake me up from the deadlights and I don’t know if you did it to save my life or if there’s something else too, but it’s kind of killing me, man.

So Richie doesn’t say anything at all.

17. Haunt Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me by Vulcanodon - ~20,000 words, explicit - AU where Eddie and Richie are ghost hunters who get stuck in a very trippy haunted house. This concept really shouldn’t work, and I’m not big on AUs in the fandom, but the relationship between the two of them really sells it. And, obviously, the pining. There’s so much.

The only time Eddie has ever witnessed Richie freaking out was when they had been fucking about in the woods near Montana for their werewolf episode. Eddie had been walking backwards, trying to get Richie and a creepy footprint in frame when he had suddenly felt nothing but air behind him. He had fallen for an impressively long time down the hill, blacking out briefly when a branch caught his head and when he came to Richie had been leaning over him, white and frantic, hands all fisted up in Eddie’s shirt.

Eddie, Eddie, Eds, Richie had said, nearly crying. Are you alright, can you talk?

Is my camera broken? Eddie had managed woozily to say, and for a moment Eddie had thought Richie might do something crazy like slap him or even kiss him.

He hadn’t done either in the end and Eddie remembers the disappointment, even with the haze of a mild concussion.

18. Five Times The Losers Gave Richie Permission by toomuchrootbeer - ~11,000 words, mature - Each loser tries to let Richie know that they know in their own special way.

“No I don’t mind,” Stan says evenly, shrugging his shoulders like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t mind any of it.”

“Cool,” Richie chirps, grabbing his backpack off of the grass and pushing himself to his feet. “Pip pip Edward,” he calls. “Shall we endeavor to find you a cleaner wardrobe?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie says back, but there is no venom behind his words.

But then Stan is reaching out, gripping Richie’s arm, “Dude what are you-”

“I don’t mind any of it, Tozier,” he repeats, voice lower and his words somehow more weighty, fixing Richie with an indecipherable look. “And I don’t think any of the other Losers would mind it either. If you wanted to,” he jerks his head in the direction of Eddie, “you know.”

19. String Theory by neverfaraway - ~17,000 words, mature - Richie starts slowly regaining his memories and has a disturbing experience in the deadlights.

The thing is, Richie knows this is a version of himself and Eddie that never existed. He can taste the pretence on the tip of his tongue, but the sticky air seems to sharpen and solidify around him. He can’t remember where he was before this moment, watching his fingers alight on the buckle of Eddie’s hundred-dollar belt.

The Voice wavers and Richie comes pouring through the cracks. It's painful to watch the careful way he places his hands on Eddie’s skin. "Fuck, I missed you," he says. "Even when I couldn't remember, I had a hole right through me, straight through the middle. You left a fucking entry and exit wound."

"Damnit, Richie," Eddie mutters, blinking rapidly. "Beep, beep."

20. hoping to be found by eddiespaghetti (foxwatson) - ~25,000 words, mature - Things don’t magically work out after Derry for Eddie. He doesn’t know what else to do, so he goes back to Myra and his depressig life. But at least now he has his friends. He has Richie.

With his memories back now, with all the knowledge of his mother and his placebos and his fake inhaler and his friends, it feels like Eddie has been living the last 27 years in sickly, yellow sepia tones. His memories and even the brief time he spent with everyone at the Chinese restaurant shine in his mind in vivid technicolor, and everything else pales in comparison.

He thought he would die, and now he doesn’t have a plan. His life in New York is miserable and cramped and leaves him feeling small, so he puts it off as long as he can.

The drive isn’t long, even with Eddie taking his time. He takes a detour just to drive along the coast and see the ocean, and stops at any given exit or National Forest along the way that strikes his fancy. He’s still home before nightfall.

21. After Derry series by pineapplecrushface - ~47,000 words, explicit - Richie and Eddie are both pining and miserable disasters post-movie. Until they finally get their shit together and figure some things out.

He woke when Eddie sat on the edge of the bed and touched his back, under his disgusting shirt. “Hey,” he said. “Your turn. I mean, your turn after I wash my hand again. What did you lie down in?”

“Your mom,” he said, sitting up and glaring at Eddie, who was half-naked, a towel wrapped around his waist. “How do you all look so good and I ended up looking like fucking Christopher Lloyd? Like, not young Christopher Lloyd. Present day.”

Eddie’s hand was still tucked under his shirt, rubbing a path across his lower back. “I guess you did grow into your looks.”

“Oh, fuck you, you weirdly muscular little shitweasel,” Richie said, escaping to the shower so he didn’t have to look at the slope of Eddie’s arms. He was weak for that, the line of a man’s shoulders and back. He was weak for all of Eddie, really. After everything he had seen, he guessed it was something he could admit to himself. There was no panic left in it.

22. for better, for worse by kaspbrak_kid - ~26,000 words, not rated - Eddie has just gotten through a messy divorce and is trying to deal with the fact that he’s been in love with Richie for 30 years, and then he has to go to Ben and Bev’s wedding. Not a great combination of things.

Eddie blows out a shaky breath and puts down his phone, then picks it back up again, restless. He scrolls up through his and Richie’s texts.

They’re not that frequent. They talk in the group chat, mostly. Eddie thinks about texting him all the time, several times a day, and then never does. It’s all just stupid shit, anyway. A dream he had or a movie he saw on TV that he remembers Richie used to like, and does he still like it? Some things his therapist tells him he should say, like that he’s been in love with Richie for somewhere between six months and thirty-odd years.

Instead, most of their private texts are just inane bickering, or Richie trying out jokes on him, or Eddie telling Richie how to clean the cut he just accidentally gave himself opening a can. He could have just googled it. But he asked Eddie.

23. feet on the ground, head in the sky by peggyolson - ~21,000 words, teen - I’m kind of a sucker for the slowburn, falling in love over distance trope. This one does it well, with bonus Richie dealing with his issues and figuring shit out.

Mostly, though, it’s just a slight tug at the back of his mind, another part of his day. A mumbled let me call Eddie, like an afterthought, while he’s tapping his foot in line at Whole Foods.

Eddie always, always answers.

“Edward Kaspbrak,” he chirps during business hours, dry and glib, and Richie will respond in a deep, exaggerated baritone with something awful like Mr. Kaspbrak, your test results are in and unfortunately you will keep shrinking at an alarming rate for the rest of your life, something barely funny that he says just to get a reaction.

(It had been such a mistake to give Richie his work number.)

24. it’s about time that you just unwind by fuckener - ~9,500 words, explicit - Eddie finds out that Richie is gay via his stand-up and promptly loses his mind.

“Yeah? Mine was weird, guys, I’m not going to lie. I came up with this really good idea on how to cause total chaos at a family event, you wanna hear it?” There it was - glasses adjustment, not even past the one minute mark. “If you really want to shake up another dull as fuck Thanksgiving with your parents, just wait ‘til you’re in your forties and your elderly father is spooning out his first helping of mashed potatoes for the night and then drop the bomb that you’ve been gay the whole time. Boom, happy Thanksgiving. Pass the sweet corn, I want to fuck the huge green dude on the can.” People laughed. Richie did that thing with his face between a smile and a scowl. “It’s the long game, yeah, but -”

Eddie slammed his laptop shut.

25. feel this burning, love of mine by floatingonthelehigh - 17,000 words, mature - The clown is a bastard. Richie gets a second chance.

“Don’t leave,” Eddie says quietly, and god fucking damn it, it breaks him that Eddie thinks he ever would.

“No, fuck no, Eddie. I’m not going to.” He adjusts his grip on the jacket against Eddie’s stomach, winces when Eddie gasps in pain. Richie’s lip shakes again as he just keeps talking. “Frankly I’m insulted that you’d think I’d leave you, after just remembering you're my best fucking friend in the world, after twenty seven fucking years. My clown-murdering partner in crime! How could I ever leave you? Fuck no, I’m not leaving you, Eds. Idiot,” He laughs emptily, rubbing Eddie’s cheek, and pauses, beginning to nod to himself as a goal flits into his mind. “I’m going to pick you up, I’m going to get you out of here, to a hospital. Right now. And—” Eddie’s grip on his arm tightens, and he stops.

26. hey there demons (it's me, ya boi) by dharmainitiative - 12,000 words, teen - Is this another ghosthunters AU? Why, yes it is. I don’t know why there are two of these, but I enjoyed them both. This one is much lighter, and I really liked the way that the writer creates a very lived-in feeling as soon as you jump into this universe.

As it was, BuzzFeed wasn’t a bad place to work, despite all the shit Richie gave it. He was paid well, there were always a bunch of cushy chairs everywhere, and the food that got brought in for lunch everyday was way better than the shitty grilled cheeses he ate at home for dinner. And despite what Richie expected, his coworkers were actually pretty cool, all things considered. Sure, they were all millenials who thought landing an internship at BuzzFeed was the height of success, but most of them were friendly, and occasionally funny, and like Richie, just excited to get paid to do something that required little to no effort.

Most of them, at least. There was also Eddie Kaspbrak.

Richie met Eddie his first day at BuzzFeed, when he was shown his desk and the incessantly chatty intern that sat at the desk right next to him. Working side by side — literally — let Richie learn a lot of things about Eddie Kaspbrak: he was a neurotic hypochondriac, exclusively owned Polo shirts, and talked faster than Richie could even blink.

27. New Page, Same Old Book by Rend_Herring - 17,000 words, explicit - Post-movie, Eddie divorces his wife, moves across the country and makes himself comfortable in Richie’s home. Richie is totally fine and not freaking out at all.

He clips the wall coming into the foyer, practically crashes over the little table he uses to stack mail—fumbles around with the chain, the deadbolt, before finally wrenching open the door. It doesn’t occur to him until he’s sending it bouncing back against the doorstop, that it might have been a good idea to check the peephole and make sure it actually wasn’t some asshole out for a smash and grab in the middle of the night, or worse — a fan.

Richie would be less dumbfounded by either option.

He squints at the person standing in front of him, blinks.

“I’ve had this dream before,” Richie says, voice still croaky from sleep, “usually you’re wearing less clothes.”

“Jesus christ,” Eddie sighs, and rolls his eyes when Richie jumps back a bit, genuinely startled that it’s not some manufacturing of his sordid imagination. “I knew I shouldn’t have come here.”

28. Drives Me Wild by rustywrites - ~4,000 words, explicit - Eddie and Richie have hotel sex after RIchie wins himself an Emmy.

"I thought I told you no more jokes about how much you love my dick," Eddie says, shifting to straddle Richie's waist in earnest, rolling his hips downward just to emphasize his point, no doubt. His hands are braced on both of Richie's shoulders, pinning him back with his bodyweight, while Richie's hands are on his waist, holding him in place. It's not the most comfortable position, all things considered--Richie's knees are bent over the end of the mattress, his feet still on the floor, and they're both still in their fucking monkey suits.

Richie had tried to make the case with his agent and his manager that he should be allowed to attend the Emmys in the same clothes he always wore (jeans, a shitty t-shirt, a semi-fashionable jacket, you know, the works.) They were good enough for his specials, one of which had earned him the nomination to begin with, but both Anna and Johnathan had pushed back hard, and when Eddie had not-so-subtly sided with them, well. Suit and tie it was.

29. Rewrite by sachi_sama - ~13,000 words, mature - Stan is dead, but somehow only Eddie can see him as they race to beat It. That’s...probably not a good sign. (note: Stan stays dead in this fic.)

“Whoa. Hey, Eds, you being a weepy drunk over there?” Richie asks, and he scoots over into Stan's seemingly empty chair, and Stan vanishes as Richie's hand is suddenly on Eddie's shoulder.

“I just—I saw...” Eddie pauses, and he wipes his hands over his eyes, sniffling. When's the last time he cried? It makes his head hurt every time. “Fuck. I'm sorry, guys.” He stands abruptly. “I'm gonna go splash some water on my face.” He hurriedly exits the room and he hears Mike asking what he saw, but Eddie is already power-walking across the restaurant to the bathroom, aware Dead Stan is hot on his heels.

“Lucky. The bathroom is empty,” Stan says as he leans against the wall. Eddie looks at him, really looks, and he sees the blood on Stan's wrists.

30. ** we are all going forward, none of us are going back series by theappliepielifestyle - ~21,000 words, teen - Richie gets stuck in a time loop and forced to repeat their last stand at Neibolt over and over until he gets it right.

Richie hears himself finish saying Let’s kill this clown and it’s only when he finishes forming the n that reality sets in. What the fuck -

He whirls around. Everyone’s standing around him, just like they were last night - they’re in front of the fucking house, it’s standing again.

“What the fuck,” Richie croaks. “No, come on - what’s going on? Ohhhh fuck.”

He only lets himself stare at it for a few seconds of unbridled hate before he keeps looking at the others, who are now staring at him, pausing from where they’d all taken a step towards the house before looking back and stopping to watch Richie’s nervous breakdown.

31. ** keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theapplepielifestyle - 16,000 words, teen - Eddie dies, sort of, and meets Stan in the afterlife. The two of them realize that they can communicate with their friends in their dreams. Eddie has to watch Richie slowly breakdown in his absence.

32. ** happily ever afters all the way around series by theapplepielifestyle - ~35,000 words, teen - I have so much appreciation for this author’s desire to fix the ending by any means necessary. In this one, that good old turtle lends a hand and sends Richie back in time to fix everything. It’s...a lot.

Then it smooths out into an actual scene, if jumpy: a sigil on wooden boards that look a lot like the floor of Richie’s apartment. The sigil is probably drawn in blood, but it could also be red paint. Although Richie’s being very optimistic about that. Anyway, the dream is mostly that: the sigil being drawn, slow and precise, by Richie. It’s dark in the dream, and the sigil being drawn is overcut with more fleeting images, chased with sounds: Stan’s bloody hand dangling out of a bath. Stan as a kid, on the tail end of saying something as he walks home in the evening. Eddie with blank eyed, slumped in IT’s lair. Eddie as a kid, in mid-argument in the clubhouse. A voice so deep and impossible that it hurts, a voice that reminds him of the turtle’s gaze: come back come back you can change the -

At the end of the dream, the scene will stabilize. Dream-Richie will say some shit he can't make out. Then he'll say the one thing he can make out, which is: I’m coming.

And then he’ll wake up.

LINK TO REDDIE FIC REC LIST PART TWO

#it #reddie #reddie fic #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #fic recs #ao3 #rec list #damn this took so long #i hope someone gets some use out of it

432 notes · View notes

ckret2 · 4 years

Text

Not Quite Exactly Shell Shock

Guess what time it is, it’s time for Prowl Week. Written for @prowlweek day 1 prompt: “Crash”

I’ve been looking for an opportunity to port most of my autistic Prowl headcanons from my RP blog to some actual fic so here’s some “Prowl stims to get through a shutdown caused by sensory overload and his spy friends are trying so hard to be protective of him while he recovers that they almost start punching each other.”

###

"Is he in there?" Jazz asked.

Getaway and Skids, huddled in front of an inconspicuous door, looked up at Jazz warily. "Who?" Skids asked.

"Prowl."

Getaway shrugged languidly. "Don't think so. How would we know?"

Jazz laughed wryly. "C'mon. Spec Ops. You think I don't know about Prowl's hand-picked diplomats?"

They both flinched at that, but did an admirable job of disguising it. Their adjusted their postures—a shift of their footing, a roll of their shoulders—as they stopped pretending that they were casually hanging out in front of this door and revealed they were standing guard in front of it.

"He's occupied," Skids said. "He's not taking visitors right now."

"He can take one," Jazz said. "We just got out of a nasty battle, Prowl missed the officer meeting, Optimus needs somebody to set eyes on him. Gotta confirm he's not bleeding out on the battlefield somewhere."

"You can tell Optimus we set eyes on him," Skids said. "No injuries, just—stressed."

Stressed. Jazz hesitated, processing that; then nodded slowly. "Okay. Got it. And I believe you," Jazz said. "But Optimus isn't gonna buy 'some of the troops said they saw him'—he needs an officer to lay eyes on him and make sure everything's fine."

Skids considered that and nodded. Getaway, though, planted one hand on his hip—covering a little more of the door with his elbow—and said, "He is fine. Sorry, but the big guy's gonna have to take our word for it. Prowl can't take visitors right now."

"I understand what you mean," Jazz said pointedly, "but I'm talking about Optimus. He's gonna insist—"

"Well," Getaway snapped, "I insist—"

Voice lowered, Jazz said, "Look, Prowl's a little overwhelmed right now, right? You wanna protect him, I respect that—I appreciate that—but I can handle it. I won't bug him, you've got my word. I promise."

"We've made a promise to him, and that's worth more to me than some random officer—"

"A random officer," Jazz said coldly, "who's known Prowl longer than you've been alive."

Getaway lunged a half step toward Jazz before Skids caught him across the chest and held him back.

"We're both on his side," Jazz said. "C'mon. If I don't go in there, Optimus is going to. And he's gonna try to get Prowl to debrief him."

"It's okay," Skids said to Getaway. "Jazz is fine, he knows how Prowl works too. Prowl can handle him."

Getaway remained tense a moment; then shrugged off Skids's grip, leaned on the wall beside the door, and crossed his arms and legs like he'd been casually hanging out there the whole time. Jazz gave him a wan smile and a nod of gratitude before opening the door.

The room was dark except for Prowl's biolights; Prowl flinched at the light from the hall. Jazz quickly slid the door shut and took a seat in front of Prowl's desk.

Prowl wordlessly turned his chair away from Jazz. Jazz bit back a chuckle. He knew why Prowl did it—seeing Jazz moving out of the corner of his optics, even just minute twitches and adjustments that Jazz wasn't even conscious of, would just irritate his processor even more—but it was still a hell of a greeting.

Based on what little Jazz had gotten out of Prowl's door guards, Prowl was in about the condition Jazz had expected: very still, completely unsocial, not a sound except for the extra cooling fans around his brain module loudly whirring at top speed. By what Jazz had seen of his face, his expression was completely blank, completely calm; it usually was whenever he was struggling under a crushing psychological load. He was twisting his hands around some small clicking objects that Jazz couldn't see but knew from experience were magnets. There was a lot of clicking. It seemed serious. So Jazz sat back to wait.

Whenever anyone doubted Prowl's capabilities as a strategist, Prowl was fond of dryly pointing out that he was capable of calculating the trajectory of eight hundred moving objects simultaneously. What Prowl didn't often point out was that he was incapable of calculating eight hundred and one objects (or whatever—he'd often tiredly told Jazz that it wasn't exactly 801, it was just that 800 was the maximum he was programmed to safely handle, anything over that was a risk), and that trying to go over the threshold overwhelmed his processor's capabilities. The problem was, if he saw objects in motion, he was unable to choose not to track and calculate their motion. If he saw it, his brain ran calculations. If his brain ran too many calculations, things started glitching. If too much was moving at once, Prowl's entire processor became unable to do anything but attempt to work through them all—along with the mountain of ever-growing error messages.

When Prowl had too much to process, he needed to hide somewhere until his head could work through all the calculations. Extra light added more calculations, extra motion in his sight added more calculations, trying to hold a conversation massively piled on more calculations. For some reason, calculating magnetic fields—such as the feeling of magnets in Prowl's hands—not only cut to the top of the queue of pending calculations, but rapidly deleted other items off the queue when few other things Prowl did could do so.

Jazz didn't have the faintest idea why magnets worked—Prowl had tried to explain once, got about five minutes into a long explanation about electromagnetic forces and the calculation thereof that Jazz lost track of about a minute into, until finally Prowl had to lamely sum up with "They... fffeel better?"—but if the magnets helped Prowl put his head back together when it was falling apart, that was good enough for Jazz.

Jazz wondered what had gotten Prowl this time. There'd been a lot of missiles flying around. He hadn't counted to see if there were over 800 in the air at once, but then he didn't have a processor that automatically forced him to count. Maybe it was just from trying to run tactical simulations and talk to everyone about them at the same time, sometimes that got him too. There was a reason Prowl was their head strategist instead of head tactician.

While Jazz waited for Prowl to get back to a place where he could talk, he pulled out his comm unit and texted Optimus: "Found Prowl. He's okay, just shellshocked." Optimus had a looser grasp on how Prowl's uncommon operating system worked than those who had known him better and longer did; they'd found shell shock was the closest metaphor that he could grasp. As long as Optimus knew that Prowl didn't want his brain to be doing what it was currently doing any more than Optimus did and that the best way to ensure it would stop doing that was to leave Prowl the hell alone in his office until it was over, they figured he understood enough.

Jazz had let Optimus know that Prowl didn't appear to be injured and that he'd get Prowl the notes on the officer meeting by the time Prowl said sharply, "What?"

"Optimus wanted me to make sure that you're alive." Keeping it simple and short, Jazz found, was the best way to ensure that Prowl actually managed to process the statement without adding to his already overworked processor.

It took several seconds for Prowl to reply: "Yeah."

Jazz gave him another few seconds to recover from sorting through that sentence before throwing a question at him. "Want me to leave?"

Another few seconds: "No."

Jazz nodded, sat back, and waited until Prowl was ready to say more.

###

Also crossposted to AO3, link in the post source. If you enjoyed the fic, I’d appreciate a comment or reblog!

#prowl #transformers #maccadam #jazz #skids #getaway #fanfic #my writing #prowlweek

95 notes · View notes

queenmylovely · 5 years

Text

Peer Review

Summary: John deacon x fem!reader. Two seniors in a freshman English class.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: fluff, cussing (ofc), and smut (18+!! marked by ***)

A/N: Cute little oneshot cause idk how to write blurbs. Basically what I wish uni was actually like lol. For you, anon! I hope you all enjoy, and any feedback including likes, replies, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Requests are open!

Request: hi love your writing!! i was wondering if i could request a uni!john deacon au? maybe something fluffy/smutty?

Masterlist

(a sassy Deaky fed up with the freshmen’s bs)

☆☆☆

Waiting to take English 101 until your senior year hadn’t necessarily been a conscious decision. More like you forgot that you were required to take it due to your eagerness to take the classes that were actually for your major. So on the first Tuesday of your last fall semester, just eight months until graduation, you were sat in a room full of mostly freshmen and sophomores.

The first thing your professor had everyone do was to get into five groups of five and introduce yourselves with your name, year, major, and hometown. Quickly, everyone grouped up and circled their desks, awkwardly waiting for someone to start.

Since you had been doing this for the past three years, you took the lead, “I’m Y/N. I’m a Spanish major and a senior because I forgot to take this course earlier. And I’m from here, London.”

Your answer gained a couple of chuckles and helped to break the ice as the girl next to you started without hesitation. After her, two more people introduced themselves and then the last guy went.

He had long hair and kind eyes, and his voice was a little nasally but altogether pleasing when he started to talk, “My name’s John Deacon. I’m also a senior ‘cause I couldn’t be bothered to take this class before my engineering ones. And, um, I’m from Leicestershire.”

When he said that he was a senior he had turned to you with a smile that you returned easily.

“Oh thank goodness I’m not the only one,” you half-whispered to him, leaning over conspiratorially. He giggled at your words before the professor called everyone’s attention back to the front.

For the rest of the hour, the class remained in the small groups, reading over sections of the syllabus and then presenting them to the rest of the class. As experienced students, you and John were able to pick out the most important information from the text with just a glance.

John and you made funny comments to each other every so often throughout the class, saying how young all of the freshmen looked and how they were confused at what office hours were. At first, it was mainly you making the comments, which you were happy enough with since he had a wonderful laugh. But after a little while, he made a few comments himself that were far more severe than yours, making it very hard for you to stifle your laughter.

By the end of class, the two of you had developed an ease of conversation and you were slightly reluctant that it was coming to a close. As you packed up your things, you saw John lingering by your desk and turned to him to say goodbye.

He beat you to it, though, and asked, “Where’s your next class?”

“It’s in the psychology building. Where’s yours?” you replied.

“The engineering building,” he answered.

“Oh, mine’s on the way to yours,” you pointed out.

“It is,” he agreed.

“We could walk together,” you suggested.

“I mean, if you insist,” he said with a cheeky smile and you laughed, lightly hitting him on the shoulder.

The two of you walked over together, chatting about your majors. You found out that John was an electrical engineer major, finishing up in the spring like you. He asked what Spanish majors did and you explained that you wanted to be an interpreter or professor.

“At the moment, it’s looking like I’ll do private tutoring and lessons once I graduate until I find something I really like,” you told him.

“So, are you fluent?” he questioned.

“I better be,” you joked and the two of you laughed. “What about you, John? Do you speak any languages?”

“I took French in primary but promptly forgot it all. Oh, and you can call me Deaky, by the way,” he informed you.

“Deaky?” you questioned a little bit teasingly.

“Yes, it’s short for Deacon. It’s what my friends call me,” he explained.

“Oh, so we’re friends now?” you said with a smile.

“Well, yes, I’d quite like to be,” he said a little shyly, looking away.

“Me too, Deaky,” you assured, and he looked back at you with a grin. You then realized you were at your building and told him so. “Hasta jueves, Deaky.”

“What does that mean?” he laughed as you started walking away.

“See you Thursday,” you called over your shoulder before pushing the door open and going inside.

_____

From then on, you and Deaky paired up together in class and then walked to your next ones. Occasionally, you met up at a coffee shop to study and peer review each other’s work. John wasn’t the best writer, but he tried very hard and improved a lot from paper to paper. You, on the other hand, were so used to writing in Spanish that it took some work to get to a place where John didn’t have to correct your grammar every couple sentences.

About halfway through the semester, the two of you had plans to go over your midterm papers in the coffee shop. It was the Friday before it was due and the plan was to meet at 7:00 and hopefully be done before closing. While you definitely had made progress, you were barely halfway done when you realized that the cafe was closing in 10 minutes. And because you were so engrossed in each other’s papers, the barista was the one that had pointed it out to you. They told you that you could take your time packing up, but the two of you cleaned up quickly since you were the last two in the place, and didn’t want to keep them longer than necessary.

As you stepped out to the street you turned to John, “What are we gonna do? We still have so much to go through and edit.”

“I would suggest we could go back to my place, but my roommates are pretty loud and intrusive,�� he told you. He had mentioned his roommates a lot, but so far you had never met them and wondered what they were actually like. Apparently, though, that would be for a different time.

“Oh, then we can go to my place, that’s a good idea. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that,” you chuckled at yourself.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude,” John hesitated.

“Yes I’m sure, you won’t be intruding at all. I want you there, Deaky,” you reassured him with a smile that he returned after a second. “Okay, so I live about 10 minutes from here, if you just want to follow me? There’s plenty of parking on the street, I swear no one there drives.”

“Sounds great,” he told you.

“Perfect. See you in 10 then,” you said before opening your door and climbing in. You waited until you saw him get in his car and turn it on before you started to pull out of the parking space and leave the parking lot. True to what you said, it took exactly 10 minutes before you pulled over and parked, John parking right behind you.

You got out and waited for John, leading him up to your apartment with idle chit chat about the neighborhood. Opening the door, you let him in first, and he followed your lead when you took off your shoes once you were inside.

“We can set up here,” you said, gesturing to your living room which had a couch with a large coffee table in front of it. You set down your bag on your couch, but didn’t sit down. “Let’s get some snacks or something first, though. We got those drinks at the coffee shop like 3 hours ago.”

John followed you into the kitchen, trying not to get in your way. He stood awkwardly just inside the entrance and you laughed. Grabbing his hand, you pulled him the rest of the way in and nudged him until he was leaning against the counter, “You’re allowed to be here, you know. I live alone, and you’re certainly not bothering me.”

He nodded but looked away a little bit, trying to hide the slight blush that had covered his cheeks when you grabbed his hand.

“I’m going to make a cuppa, do you want one?” you asked him.

“Yes please, thank you,” he replied.

“So polite,” you said with a smile and started making the drinks. Next, you pulled a jar of unpopped popcorn. “Do you know how to make popcorn? I always burn it.”

“Um, yeah I do. Do you have a pot?” John replied, stepping up to the stove and grabbing the jar from your hands. You went over to a cupboard and opened it, reaching up to get the pot. It proved just out of your reach though, and you strained. John was watching you, and when you stretched your arm as high as it would go, your shirt rode up and he caught a glimpse of your waist underneath your sweater. He stared only for a second before recovering and reaching up to grab the pot for you.

“Thank you,” you said, turning to face him. In doing so, you realized how close he was. His breath was fanning out over you, and you had to tilt your head up to look into his eyes. You hadn’t always thought of John as tall, but when he was standing so close to you that you were practically touching, he really was quite a bit taller than you. You didn’t know if it was your imagination or not, but he seemed to be getting closer and closer to you. Was that the tips of his or your hair tickling your shoulder through your sweater? Was it just you or was his knee touching your thigh? Whose breathing had gotten heavier, yours, his, both? Before you could answer any of these questions, the kettle whistled loudly, causing the two of you to jump apart.

“The water’s done,” you said plainly, and then cursed yourself silently for pointing out the obvious.

“I’ll get started on the popcorn,” John said, as he turned to the stove and away from you. Because he did, you missed the bright pink on his cheeks.

You unplugged the kettle and grabbed two mugs and tea bags from a different cupboard, pouring the water and let them steep. Walking over to the fridge, you opened it and grabbed the milk. “Milk and sugar?”

“Just one sugar, please,” John replied, still a little awkwardly.

You nodded to yourself and went about making the tea, adding sugar to both and only milk to yours. Once they were ready, you handed John his cup and you both sipped on the tea instead of talking while you waited for the popcorn to be ready. When the first kernel popped and hit the lid of the pot, the two of you jumped and then laughed together.

Once the tension had broken, you started talking more normally again, “So, how many roommates do you have again?”

“Three; Freddie, Roger, and Brian. They’re good blokes, things can just get pretty rowdy. Especially when Fred and Rog are in one of their moods,” Deaky replied with somewhat of a wry smile.

“Are they students too?” you asked.

“They’ve all graduated now, I’m the last one,” John explained as he took the finished pot of popcorn off the burner.

“Aw, you’re the baby,” you said teasingly and you poked him in the side.

He made a sound of indignation and turned to you as he poured the popcorn into the bowl you had set out, “Care to explain to me why I should continue making the popcorn while you tease and attack me?”

“‘Cause I’m cute,” you said with a wink before grabbing half a stick of butter to melt on the stove to pour over the popcorn. John didn’t have a response to that, instead he blushed and watched you starting to melt the butter.

“Why don’t you take our tea into the living room and take out our papers and stuff, I’ll be right in with this,” you said as you stirred the butter, nudging his side with your elbow.

He nodded and hastened to do what you said, carefully carrying the mugs into the living room and digging out his things. In a minute, you joined him in the living room, bringing the freshly buttered popcorn with you and a couple napkins.

The two of you dug into the revision and popcorn with the same fervor. With another hour of hard work, you finished all you could for the moment and it was a good stopping place for the night.

You both leaned back on the couch, brains tired from the constant critical thinking you had been doing.

“Essay writing is tough business,” you said with a sigh.

“Agreed. I’d take vector calculus over this any day,” John concurred.

“Can’t relate,” you said turning to him to laugh. As you did, you saw the shine of butter next to his mouth. Without thinking, you licked your thumb and brought it up to his face to wipe it off, saying, “You’ve some…”

That’s as far as you got before you realized that John was staring at you with wide-blown pupils and his mouth parted. Your paused with your thumb still resting on his cheek. John reached up to grab your wrist, but instead of removing your hand from his face, he kept it there. Slowly, you moved your thumb from his cheek to his lower lip. You brushed over it softly and felt his hand tense slightly around your wrist. Bringing your other hand to the other side of his face, you caressed his cheek before gently pulling his face to yours.

You had been watching your hands’ movements on his face and John had been watching your lips, but just before your lips met, the two of you flicked your gazes up to each other's eyes. Upon seeing the same look of desire he had reflected in your eyes, John took the chance and closed the distance between the two of you.

The kiss was soft and chaste. Pulling back slightly, you slid your hand so it was in his and brought his hand to your jaw. Once it was there, you moved both of yours to the back of his neck and pulled him into another kiss. This one was longer, and more testing. After a moment, you lightly sucked on John’s lower lip, and he groaned deep in his throat, causing you to both giggle against his lips and squeeze your thighs together in anticipation. In retaliation, John gave your lower lip a bite and you moaned, making John smirk against your mouth.

Soon, the kiss became more heated, and when John slid his hands from your jaw into your hair and gave a light tug, you parted your mouth in a gasp. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, teasing your own, making you deepen the kiss even further. In order to get better access and be closer to him, and maybe to get some friction that you so desperately needed, you pushed John so he was sat against the back of the couch and slung a leg over his hips so you were straddling him.

***

One of his hands moved from your hair to your waist, and he simultaneously pulled you closer to him as he lifted his hips up to you. You gasped into his mouth, and the two of you rocked your hips together as you continued to kiss heatedly.

John started toying with the hem of your sweater, running his hand along the strip of your waist that had been exposed to him earlier in the evening. Catching his drift, you grabbed the edge and pulled it over your head. Not wanting to be left out, you pulled on his shirt and he took it off too. As you continued to make out and grind against each other, you ran your hands over each other’s exposed bodies.

Making his way from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, John kissed and sucked light marks into your skin. With his hold on your waist, he pulled you so you were kneeling at full height and started kissing down your chest, mouthing at your nipples over your bra. You moaned and whined at his actions.

But, when his lips came dangerously close to the waistband of your trousers, you pushed yourself away a bit, and in between heavy breaths said, “Um, we should, um bedroom.”

John nodded eagerly and let you stand up so you could lead the way. You grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet, then practically ran to your bedroom with him in tow. Once you pushed open the door and John was inside, he stopped and pulled you to him again, bringing you into a deep kiss. Slowly, he walked the two of you to the edge of your bed, but before you could move onto it, he lifted you by your waist and threw you so you landed gently in the middle of your bed. You giggled on impact and he chuckled with you.

Returning to the mission of before, John climbed on top of you, kissing your neck hotly as he worked the button and zipper of your pants. Before he pulled them down, he looked up for confirmation and when you nodded, he took them off. Left in only your bra and underwear, you reached for John’s own waistband and he helped you take off his pants, kicking them to the floor.

John leaned up and started kissing you again, holding your face in his hands. Your hands moved from his chest to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. He took the opportunity to grind his hips against yours and you automatically wrapped your legs around him to keep him close. You were spurring each other on to continually roll and thrust your hips as the other gasped and moaned.

Suddenly, John pulled away, but instead of getting up, he reached underneath you, trying to unhook your bra. It proved difficult for him, so, laughing slightly, you said, “Let me.”

Your hands took his place and effortlessly undid your bra, pulling the straps off your shoulders as you removed it. John groaned at the sight of your breasts and you felt your cheeks and chest heat up at the sound. He must have found it endearing because he smiled to himself and started a surprisingly relentless attack on your breasts.

He took a good couple of minutes just to suck hickeys into the tender skin at the top of your breasts, sucking on your nipples lightly every so often just to keep you on your toes. His ministrations made you breathless and desperate for more, and soon you were writhing underneath him, trying to get any sort of friction on your core.

If John knew what you wanted, he didn’t let on, and with a huff of exasperation, you spoke up, “John, can you please move lower?”

He smiled against your chest and replied, “Why would I do that when I’m having such a good time up here?”

“Please Johnny, I need more,” you whined, the nickname just slipping from your mouth.

John groaned at your words and stopped his movements, “Say it again.”

You quickly caught onto what he meant and repeated, “Johnny, please, please, I need you.”

With what almost seemed like a growl, John moved down your body, pulling your underwear off with him. He spread your legs quickly, and you gasped as the cold air hit your wetness. Without hesitation, John licked a stripe up your folds, groaning at your taste. You sighed and threaded your fingers through his hair to keep him close.

John, on the other hand, wanted you anything but relaxed, and started an assault on your pussy. He started by collecting wetness from your entrance on his tongue before moving up to toy with your clit. He kissed, licked, and swirled his tongue on the bundles of nerves until you were squirming beneath him and the hold on his hair had tightened.

When he looked up and saw that your eyes were squeezed shut and your head was thrown back, he moved one hand to his mouth, coating it in his saliva. Then, he pushed his index finger inside you, making you cry out “Johnny!” yet again. He pumped his finger, still paying attention to your clit until your back was beginning to arch and your thighs were trembling. Knowing you were close, he added another finger and sucked harshly on your clit, fingering you quickly until you tumbled over the edge.

Your orgasm was stronger than you expected, and you felt it from your walls that were clenching around his fingers to the shocks of pleasure that coursed up your spine. Gasping out his name as he continued his motions throughout your orgasm, you unconsciously squeezed your thighs together, keeping John as close as possible. As you came down, your breath evened out and you relaxed your legs, John coming back into view once he could lift his head again.

You would have apologized for nearly crushing him, but the look in his eyes was enough to silence any sorry that would have come from you. His eyes were dark with lust and boring into yours. His mouth was still slick with your wetness, and when he kissed his way up your body, he left little tracks that made you shiver when the air hit them.

When he made it to your mouth and pulled you in for a kiss, he pushed his tongue into your waiting mouth so you could taste yourself. You moaned into the kiss, reaching down to palm John through his underwear. Breaking away from the kiss, you pulled down his boxers and his dick, already totally hard, was revealed to you. As you began pumping it in your hands, John moved his attention to your neck, his kisses being interrupted with moans when you swiped your palm over the head to gather his precum and spread it along his shaft.

You continued jerking him off until he pulled away from your neck, giving your lips another short kiss, whispering, “gotta get a condom,” before he got off the bed and grabbed his jeans. As you waited for him, you remained laying down, but moved one of your hands first to your mouth to wet it, then to your pussy and started rubbing your clit.

John didn’t notice your movements until he was opening the condom and started to roll it down his length. “Fuck, you just couldn’t wait?”

You didn’t stop your movements even as John climbed back on top of you. Instead you giggled and shook your head, “Uh-uh.”

He shot back a smile of his own, shaking his head before he reached down and took your hand from yourself, “Leave that up to me, love.”

Next, he moved your legs so they were bent at the knee and were pushed above your hips. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, hurry up,” you nodded and looked at him expectantly.

John scoffed at your words and look and took his cock in his hand, pumping it a couple times before lining up at your entrance and slowly sliding in. He moaned as he did, “So fucking eager.”

His words, along with how he felt inside of you made you moan out a weak, “Johnny, please move.”

Obliging, John started moving in shallow thrusts, getting both you and him used to each other. When you started reaching up to him, he leaned forward on a thrust in and went deeper than he had before. You both gasped at the feeling, and you held him to you by his shoulders, telling him, “That, do that again.”

John didn’t take any convincing and started thrusting into you in deep, slow thrusts that made you gasp and moan. You could tell he was holding back some though, and told him, “You can go faster, Johnny. Go faster.”

He did, and sped up his pace until you were crying out with every thrust. You could feel yourself getting close and almost reached your hand between the two of you before you remembered his words earlier, “Johnny, please.”

Knowing exactly what you meant, John moved his hand down so his fingers could rub tight circles on your clit. It only took another minute of this before you were tensing up around him and you could only say “Johnny,” over and over.

“Come for me, beautiful. Let go,” John whispered against your lips before capturing them with his own.

The kiss pushed you over the edge again, and you came with a stuttering cry that John swallowed with his kisses. It was gentler this time, but still lifted you to a high that left your body tingling and satisfied.

John kept thrusting into you, at a slower pace so you wouldn’t be overstimulated. You could tell that he was close though, and urged him on by meeting his hips with your own. Wanting to encourage him like he did you, you kissed along his neck until you reached his ear and whispered into it, “Please Johnny, come for me. Oh- please.”

Your words in his ear set him off and in two more snaps of his hips, John was coming hard, letting his head fall to your shoulder and moaning your name into the crook of your neck. He stilled inside of you, catching his breath. His heavy breathing on your neck caused a shiver to go down your spine, and you laughed lightly.

Hearing your laugh, John placed a sweet kiss to your neck before slowly sitting up and pulling out. He got up and went to the bathroom he had noticed on the way to your bedroom. He came back having disposed of the condom and cleaned the two of you off with a warm washcloth before lying next to you again. He laid on his back and you curled up to his side, laying your head on his chest while his arm rested on your body.

***

You traced little patterns on his chest and he played with the ends of your hair. Planting a couple of kisses to his chest, you chuckled to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” he said, tugging lightly on one strand of your hair.

“Well, I was just thinking that now I’m really glad that I didn’t have to pair up with some freshman for peer review,” you told him before both of you cracked up.

★★★

Taglist: @somekindof-cheese @gwilyoubemine @deacytits @supersonicfreddie @siriuslovesmarlene @bowiequeen @acdeaky @deakysgirl @sunflower-borhap-boys @deakyfordays @queensilveryrog @happy-at-home @ceruleanrainblues @briarrose26

I just kinda created this taglist so if you would like to be taken off or added, just send me a message or ask!

Reminder that my requests are open! If you would like something in a sort of one shot format/length or blurb, etc. send it in! I’ll write for any of the Borhap or Queen boys (Freddie only platonically), Lucy, Patrick Murray, Gardner Langway and adult!Tim Murphy or possibly any of the other characters these people have played if I know enough about them!

181 notes · View notes

strangerdarkerbetter · 6 years

Text

Where do we even begin? This post is probably going to be all over the place so please bear with me. I'm still figuring out how to talk about all this.

I guess I'll start by introducing myself. My name is Rowen and I am an alter in Sabrina's system.

Since Sabrina last posted on here, a Lot has happened. We escaped an abusive living situation. We moved to a different state. We discovered that we are a dissociative system and that there are quite a few of us in this body.

***

Over the summer and fall, we went through a lot of new trauma that we’re not able to really talk about yet as it’s still really hard for us to sort things as the memories are held by different alters which makes figuring out timelines and things super weird.

But, the gist of things is that we were being psychologically and emotionally abused by someone we considered a best friend with whom we were living. This person used our disabilities against us as a way to control us and invalidate us to others. By the time we escaped, our sense of reality had shattered, we were sleeping only a few hours every few days, and we were severely malnourished from not being able to eat.

As summer gave way to autumn, Sabrina began noticing that they were losing time. They would think back over the day and not be able to account for hours at a time. They would find themselves somewhere and not know how they got there. They would find things moved to completely different places than where they remembered leaving things. The were pieces of writing they didn't remember. Other people would mention prior conversations Sabrina had no recollection of.

As the abuse we were enduring took more of a toll, Sabrina lost more and more time. They were losing days at a time. During this time, other alters came forward to plan our escape. Things had become critical for us. We were sleeping only a few hours every couple days, at times remaining awake for nearly three days straight. We didn't feel safe enough to sleep. We barely ate. We pushed the body far beyond it's limits and kept pushing until we would quite literally collapse.

On a Saturday in October, we finally convinced out partner to flee with us after making the decision that whether or not he agreed, we had to escape. Thankfully, even though he didn't understand, he trusted us enough to leave with us.

The next few weeks were incredibly tough. We stayed with a friend as we tried to figure out what to do. There was a lot of fighting and a lot of tears. We constantly felt like we needed to run, to escape.

It was also during this time that Sabrina started to put together the pieces. They began reading about people's real experiences with Dissociative Identity Disorder and began suspecting that they may be part of a system.

It was also around this time that I, Rowen, was created. With all of the new trauma we had endured, Sabrina couldn't handle being host any longer. Several of us split off during our time in the Manor and the ensuing chaos. When Sabrina stopped fronting, we were basically a revolving door of traumatized alters for a bit before I stepped into the role of host.

We've since moved back in with our parents, and while it was a really difficult transition that brought up a lot of old trauma, it has given us the chance to start recovering.

Things are still pretty rough for us. Our physical health is a mess and getting healthcare has been an uphill battle that we're still struggling through. And our mental health is still quite the mess, though we've definitely made a lot of progress.

We don't have much communication between alters yet, but there has been some improvement.

Sabrina hasn't been around much since the escape and the few times they have come out, they've been very distraught.

Coming to understand that we are a system has been a difficult process, and one that we are still going through. Losing time is frightening. Having such limited memories of our life is hard. Learning to work together is challenging, especially when it is still so difficult for us to communicate. This has been a really difficult journey thus far and there's still a lot of work ahead of us, but we're still here and we're still fighting and we're going to keep working towards a better future for us.

***

StrangerDarkerBetter is Sabrina's blog and was primarily centered around autism. With Sabrina being absent for the time being, we've decided to use a different blog.

If you're interested in following us on our journey as we learn more about our system, you can find us over at @paradoxesofgalaxies. We reblog a variety of things as well as posting original content occasionally (though we hope to start posting more going forward)

Our inbox is open and we will do our best to respond to any questions we receive, though it make take some time as communication is still a struggle for us much of the time.

***

If you're interested in learning more about DID, we suggest checking out some of the following resources:

Dissociative Identity Disorder - The Basics of DID

Living Life With Dissociative Identity Disorder

DID 101 - Some Things to Know

***

We would like to conclude by apologizing for any harm we have caused and to those we have worried. The love and support y'all have shown Sabrina is incredible and we thank you so deeply. Y'all are truly incredible!

~Rowen/The Paradox System

#life update #announcement #abuse tw #ed tw #eating disorder tw #long post #dissociative identity disorder

158 notes · View notes

intellectualshield · 5 years

Text

ARTICLES ON SPENCER FROM S4E7

PERSONALS, DO NOT REBLOG.

TITLED : ONE DOWN, TWO TO GO

A year ago, I wrote a story on young Spencer Reid who had just graduated college... at the age of sixteen! It is rare for such a young student to fulfill their undergraduate but to go on the following year and achieve his doctorate degree in Mathematics the next is a bit unheard of.

“I’m thinking this next year I’ll go for either Chemistry or Engineering. I haven’t decided where I want to focus my energy just yet,” says the young super-genius. When I ask why he chose Cal Tech over MIT and Stanford, he quickly runs down a list of Professors he had a desire to study with. He makes no mention of the weather or girls.

“There was a week or two where I thought I might go to Yale to study the Classics,” he says. “But then I realised I’ve already read everything they teach in the curriculum.” Sound absurd? It is, until you remember he can read 20,000 words per minute. How does that skill translate to math equations, I ask. “Surprisingly well,” he says. “Once you’ve taught one part of your brain to concentrate to focus, it frees up energy in another part of your brain, which can give you a certain lucidity. Time begins to stand still, relatively, of course.”

TITLED : BAU’S NEWEST MEMBER

By Paul Milworth

It’s not everyday the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI accepts a new member to their elite team. Even more rare is the addition of a 22 year-old to the team.

“Agent Spencer Reid has a gifted mind,” said team leader Special Supervisory Agent James Gideon, whose own resume dates back to the very beginning of the BAU. “He is young, and while he has never served in law enforcement, I see him as an integral part of the future of the BAU.”

Others in the FBI community are surprised such a young man would be named to the FBI’s elite, but when asked, Agent Reid had this to say. “My age is not the issue. Certainly, when dealing with an emotional situation, it can be difficult to accept bad news. It’s one of the reasons logic needs to become a more prominent state of being. Logically speaking, I’m the most qualified for the job”

Indeed, with three doctorate degrees from Cal Tech already, and a staggering IQ of 187 (higher than Einstein’s reportedly) as well as an eidetic memory, there is no psychological exam or test the FBI could put in front of him he could not ace inside of an hour.

But what about the social aspect of the job? Knowing how to talk to victims’ families and dealing with local police are two facets of law enforcement types will tell you are impossible to learn from a book. “It’s one of the reasons I have brought him aboard,” said Gideon. “With a little tutelage and some field experience, there will be nothing Agent Red will not be able to accomplish with this time.”

TITLED : FED SAVES RAILROAD PASSENGERS

By Rose Tamlyn USNTnews.com

One Security Officer had already been shot and killed. The FBI Agent, who happened to be on the train, was handcuffed to her chair. The stand-off, which took place yesterday in a train car in Texas, could have ended far worse, authorities say.

“I only went in because I felt I had the best understanding of the suspect,” said Special Supervisory Agent Spencer Reid. “In these situations, you have to first of all understand who it is you’re dealing with in order to save as many people as you can. Fortunately for us, we were able to save almost everyone.”

When asked how he handled things once inside the train, Reid said simply, “Delicately.”

Doctor Ted Bryar, a physics professor in the midst of a psychological break, was put into custody after being rushed to the hospital, suffering from a gunshot wound from another passenger. The passenger, whose name is being withheld by the FBI, had brought the gun on board, and waited for what he judged to be the opportune time to use the weapon.

“We do not condone the actions of the passenger who shot Doctor”...

TITLED : FBI ‘CRUCIAL’ IN FINDING MADISON CHILD KILLER

By Stanley Hartdale

Four children were dead. A fifth had gone missing. The small town of Madison locked all its doors, windows, and even cancelled little league games.

The Sheriff was exhausted. The Deputies were stressed and at a loss for things to say to members of the community, who just wanted to know when [their] children would be safe again.

“I called the FBI because I felt I had done everything within my own abilities to put an end to all this,” said Sheriff Donalds.

“When our help on the case was requested, I was handed the file so that I could do a routine assessment of the case,” said Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid. “It became clear to me, about half way through the file; this was a serial and it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. So, we came out to Madison and we were able to help.”

Help indeed. Because they were even here, Agent Reid was on the phone with Sheriff Donalds warning him of another abduction. Sure enough, about an hour later he received a phone call that another child had gone missing. Normal protocol was thrown out the door.

“Normally we wait a few hours, but given the prior kidnappings and the advice from Agent Reid, we were on the case immediately. He gave us ideas of how to differentiate a missing child from one who had just wandered off for a few hours. By the time they got here, they were halfway to solving the case.”

The parents of the recovered child, who asked to remain anonymous, expressed their gratitude to Agent Reid and his team. “Without you, we would be lose without our child.”

Agent Reid dismissed their thanks amiably, adding, “It’s our job to help when we see fit. This was one of those times the threat was imminent and we acted. It’s a win for us.”

-----------------------

SPENCER’S DISSERTATION :

Identifying Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modeling and geographic regression.

By Spencer Reid

Department of Engineering, California Institute of Technology.

#⤷ 【 yes i’m a genius. 】// headcanons.#even tho this isn't a headcanon but it's still biographical information #anyway yes i really did spend all of this time typing out everything #bc NETFLIX DOES NOT ALLOWED US TO SCREENCAP ANYMORE #also are we sure he's socially awkward bc these interview answers for these articles are pretty fecking good #i mean writers will pick and choose quotes which they think will be the best bet but #still these are PRETTY good

1 note · View note

avelera · 6 years

Note

⭐star⭐ The Only Way Out Is Down :D

The original meme was: Reblog this if you want readers to come into your ask box and ask for the “director’s commentary” on a particular story, section of a story, or set of lines. Or, send in a ⭐star⭐ to have the author select a section they’ve been dying to talk about!

Sorry it took a second to get to this! I kept mulling over what I wanted to talk about that I haven’t gone into detail on already. Usually I sorta default to the Drift section in the chapter “The Handwriting of God” because it was a late addition to the story that I’m very proud of, but I’ve talked about that before.

Soooo, I think instead I’ll go into detail about how the “twist” in the chapter “Treachery” was constructed, because I feel like I learned a lot as an author by doing it and it’s probably the single thing in the story I put the most effort into. Warning, this is very self-indulgent ;P

This is gonna by default have a lot of spoilers for The Only Way Out is Down so please don’t read below the cut unless you’ve finished the story unless you want to be spoiled!

The “twist” in question is the revelation that Hermann’s own traumas with regards to Newt’s possession are writing the “sins” that they’re visiting in each Circle, and that they’re Hermann’s sins in particular, not Newt’s. Furthermore, he’s been identifying himself as the guide, Virgil in the original “Inferno” by default, having convinced himself he’s the hero of the tale here to rescue Newt and not require any saving of his own, when in fact the role he fulfills is that of Dante, the man in need of rescuing from sin. This comes to light in ch. 12, Treachery, after Newt and Hermann have consistently failed to figure out the central logic for why the Circles are styled as they are, or why they break when they do in order to free them to move on to the next and hopefully to free Newt once all 9 are completed.

This twist may not have been planned since ch. 1, as such, because I started the fic as an Inferno-based character study of Newt with the question of, “How do I do a Newt Recovery Arc story where Newt is actually present from the very first chapter?” I’d been reading quite a few Newt Recovery stories at that point, and noticed that somewhat by necessity they all began where Uprising left off: with Newt bound to the chair and the Precursors speaking through him. Then the inciting incident would begin that would allow Newt to finally break through, but usually that was several chapters in.

So I realized 2 things from the outset: 1) I didn’t want the Precursors still around. They just create too much plot to solve and questions to cloud the narrative like “When is this Newt? How good are they at faking him?” and what to do with them after Newt’s freed. Are they all killed? Does the war happen? It sets up a whole huge conflict that also asks the question of how Newt is involved with a theoretical Pacific Rim 3. So I decided this was going to be a Pacific Rim 4, the Precursors are already dead but for some reason Newt STILL won’t wake up, allowing the narrative to stay focused on his recovery with no dangling questions after. 2) Obviously, in order for Newt to be there from the beginning, we need to start inside his head. This made it even more a mindscape journey. His POV gives us reasonable assurance that this is really him and he’s not corrupted. He remained psychologically separate from the Precursors, which is the story’s world state that I deliberately set up so I also didn’t have to answer questions of “how guilty is Newt for what the Precursors did?” He’s not guilty and he actually knows it, because that separation remained distinct in this particular interpretation.

Originally, Newt was absolutely supposed to be Dante, the man at the center of his life who is lost with no way forward and must go on a spiritual journey to regain himself, which may be a bit unfair and confusing for readers to solve the twist because he sees himself as Dante in his opening monologue. But the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to set up that expectation and then flip it for one simple reason.

I didn’t want this to be a “Hermann saves the day” story.

The narrative structure of a lot of Newt Recovery Arcs by default place a lot of pressure on Hermann’s character to be the rescuer and the Knight in Shining Armor. That can lend itself too to a character who has all the strength while the other has all–or most of–the weakness besides maybe the occasional moment of doubt. I didn’t want to do that. In fact, I wanted to deliberately subvert that. I’d already done a story with Prayers to Broken Stone where one half of the ship is in crisis and the other half rescues them, and I always thought that story was a bit flawed because it made one side out to be this angel who never tires of their constant rescuing of the other, and the other out to be desperate and broken and crying all the time. I wanted to do a more balanced rescue story, with mutual rescue, which is one of my favorite tropes for romance.

I started realizing even from ch. 2 in Hermann’s POV that Hermann was Not OK. That the years separated and the revelation of Newt’s possession had shattered him, but he had duct taped himself back together and fiercely refused to acknowledge he was anything but the hero designated to rescue Newt from his coma. Even the fact he’s spent a year Drifting with Newt to try to revive him was meant to be the reader’s first warning sign. Hermann isn’t just being a good partner, he’s not just a hero doggedly refusing to give up. He’s broken. He’s repeating the same attempt every day, shattering his own physical and mental health in order to dash himself to pieces against the problem of Newt’s recovery. This should be the first warning bell for the reader, and for Newt once he’s regained enough of himself to start paying attention to Hermann’s mental health.

I conceived of a crossover style narrative, where Newt would begin the story outwardly broken and in need of healing and begins to transition as he healed into the stronger party of the two. He starts breaking Circles all by himself as early as Circle 5, the midway point, technically he did so with help all the way back in Circle 2 but was too in his own head and convinced of his own weakness to notice. The point of Newt’s arc would be that with each Circle, he gets a bit of himself back. He faces his old traumas and re-writes them to become victories. The reality remains unchanged, sure, but new memories help to ease the old ones.

By the end, Newt’s only remaining trial is to face the memory of the Precursors and realize he was a hero the whole time, that he was targeted because of his strength, that they attacked his self confidence deliberately because they knew he was strong enough to defeat them, and that he doesn’t need to be prey to their manipulation anymore. Then, he’s able to step free of his own traumas in order to save Hermann. That was the big subversion I had built in from Ch. 2 onward. I wanted Newt to be the hero of his own recovery, not without help, but the help was to pull him out of the depths of despair so he could be his own hero.

Hermann’s assurance that he’s the hero of Newt’s story is in fact hubris, and that hubris is why it takes him so long to figure out what is in fact the embarrassingly simple reality that they are in the Drift, so these Circles are constructed from both their memories and the traumas being addressed belong to both of them. His blindspot is himself, as it is with many people. Newt doesn’t recognize this in part because Hermann is so tight-lipped and secretive about the trauma of those 10+ years. So Newt is buying that Hermann is fine because Hermann says he’s fine. That is, until the evidence becomes overwhelming that he isn’t. Each Circle has in fact, brought Hermann face to face with his failures, and it’s reopening the wound until the point where he shatters from the self-imposed guilt.

Hermann’s arc in the story is also a recovery arc, but he needs to actually finish falling before he can pick himself up again. “The only way out is down” is the title and the theme of the story. In order for recovery to begin, they have to push deeper into the things that hurt them, rather than running away, before they can come out on the other side. Newt had to regain his strength because he’d already hit rock bottom and was honest with himself about this fact. Hermann’s journey is first and foremost to stop lying to himself. He can’t begin to recover until he’s acknowledged that losing Newt, learning Newt was possessed and he did nothing to prevent it, the vengeance he took on the Precursors by destroying their planet, and the devastation of that not being enough to wake up Newt immediately actually broke him and he is not ok as a result. It may seem outwardly that the narrative is therefore punishing Hermann, saying he needs to be pushed down while Newt is raised up, but I always envisioned it more that the wound has festered. It needs to be reopened and cleaned so it can heal properly, even if on the surface that looks like he’s being wounded all over again, it’s actually a step in the healing process.

So knowing this was going to be the parallel arcs of the characters back in Ch. 2 I actually went ahead and said it in the dialogue:

“…The journey into Hell was instructive, not punitive.” Hermann frowned. “But you are not Dante, and I am not Virgil who can keep whatever is down there from harming us….”

In addition, many times Hermann notes Newt’s parallels to Virgil without connecting the dots, for example when he notes in the same chapter that Newt’s catchphrase, “Fortune favors the brave,” is actually a Virgil quote. Hermann assigns himself the role of Virgil/Savior, and Newt goes along with it because he doesn’t know Hermann needs saving too, but it’s Hermann hubris and part of that too is that Hermann did not do a close enough read of the text until it’s too late.

Hermann is the one going on a journey into a strange place, which is Newt’s mind, where he is in fact an outsider. Newt is a native of this Hell, just like Virgil. Newt has seen all these memories before. While Hermann has a surface level knowledge of Inferno and the order of the Circles of Hell, that doesn’t mean he’s an expert on what’s actually in them the way Newt is. In fact, as early as Limbo, it’s Hermann asking Newt to explain what’s happening in the Circles/memories, in dialogue that is deliberately cribbed in its formatting from The Inferno.

“"Tell me, my master, tell me, lord,“ [Dante] thenbegan because [he] wanted to be certainof that belief which vanquishes all errors,"did any ever go – by his own meritor others’ – from this place toward blessedness?”

Parallels with:

“Newton, stay with me, what are we looking at here?”

“I’m trying, Herms, but.. ugh, I think I’m feeling kind of seasick? I’m here but I’m also…also there? I don’t…”

“Why would it be showing you this? This level corresponds to Limbo. Think!”

Even the opening quote from Inferno in the chapter summary is taken from when Dante and Virgil go into Limbo and is meant to be one of the first clues of what’s really going on:

The poet, white of face, began: ‘Now, let us descend into the blind world below: I will go first, and you go second.’ And I, who saw his altered color, said: ‘How can I go on, if you are afraid, who are my comfort when I hesitate?’ And he to me: ‘The anguish of the people, here below, brings that look of pity to my face, that you mistake for fear. Let us go, for the length of our journey demands it.’

The poet is Virgil, who is in distress when he thinks about the horrors encapsulated in the Circles, which mirrors Newt’s fear of going into them. Similarly, the next chapter’s quote is:

I learnt that the carnal sinners are condemned to these torments, they who subject their reason to their lust.

But Newt didn’t choose, in TOWOID at least, to be subjected to Drifting with Alice. Newt is not the one who subjected his reason to his lust. Hermann did, by his own admission, when he admits he was too jealous of Alice taking Newt to visit Newt in his new home when he was invited, where he might have begun to learn that something was wrong.

There’s a thread of anti victim-blaming in this story that actually gives away the answer to the riddle very early on, when you realize none of the sins could apply to Newt because Newt was under duress in every memory, while Hermann had free will, which is the only way one can properly have guilt, which is what the Circles are actually addressing: Hermann’s sins, Hermann’s guilt, what Hermann believes he should have done differently to save Newt sooner, meanwhile these memories are constructed too so that Newt can gain strength from seeing himself freed over and over, from that demonstration that someone did are about him.

This goes back to ch. 1 when Newt gives his furious rant at Hermann for never noticing or caring. It’s not that Newt is actually mad at Hermann, by his own admission, he just wanted to see that someone cared enough to try to rescue him, and that’s what the Circles are accomplishing for him. Thus, the Circles are constructed from both of their needs, but Hermann’s is opening his eyes to how terribly he’s been beating himself up for not doing something sooner, to the point where he finally cracks and admits it to himself as well as Newt.

This is why I needed to do two drafts. Because like the characters, I actually went into the Circles not really knowing myself what made them break or not. I resolved to write out all the best thematic “memories” to match the 9 Circles and then find the internal link between them after. That required me to re-write Wrath, actually, in order to make sure it was clearer that Hermann was th eone who got angry, not Newt, and to throw up enough smoke around Newt’s body killing Hannibal Chau to make it seem like he was the one who acted with the traditional definition of “Wrath”.

Actually, each Circle is very carefully constructed so that Newt’s actions are the surface level definition of the sin discussed, but Hermann is the one who actually committed the sin. Newt is physically suspended in Limbo, but it’s by the Precursors. He’s trying to reach out, but he can’t. Hermann is the one with full autonomy who refuses to reach out once he perceives himself as rejected. Lust has Newt in the throes of physical pleasure, but it’s not a pleasure he chose and Lust itself is not a sin. It’s the act of Lust being used to harm others, Hermann’s sexual jealousy of Alice leads him to the sin of abandoning (unknowingly, he’s actually pretty hard on himself) Newt to these torments. And so on.

A lot of effort was put with the second draft to make a casual reader see the sins as Newt’s and the careful reader to see the sins as Hermann’s. By knowing this from ch. 2 on I was able to interweave into the story these two layers so that a careful reader could sense something subtly off about the characters’ interpretation of events, e.g they’re Newt’s sins, until the final revelation in the chapter Treachery, which I hoped would be a gut punch when everything fell into place, which in a way is the “passage” I’m responding to with this ehehehehe….

#my writing #the only way out is down #meme response #newmann #fanfiction meta #pr meta #fic spoilers #shleyaay123

14 notes · View notes

madaboutmerlin · 6 years

Text

Merlin Writer Month: Round up

Hello Merlin fans! We hope you’ve had an amazing week and that you found some new fics to enjoy!

Again, we want to remind you to use the hashtag: #MerlinWriterMonth2018, so that we may reblog all of your wonderful recommendations. Also, we noticed that some of you recommended authors instead of specific fics, so you’ll find them at the end after the GEN cut.

And without further ado, enjoy!

Arthur/Merlin

1. Rules For Roommates by Pickitup Length: 41,235 Summary: Modern AU. Arthur works in publishing and is ashamed to tell anyone he’s secretly editing erotica, and being bullied by one of his authors - the arrogant ‘Lake Anders’. He’s also just taken in a new roommate, the adorable Merlin Emrys, who is definitely Not His Type. Or is he?

2. The Oncoming Storm by Diana_Prallon Lenght: 133,914 Summary: The only thing the Republic isn’t ready for, is war. Everything in their power is being done to appease the systems that have joined the Separatist Movement, to try and keep the peace among all. The Jedi Knights have been sent all over the Galaxy, trying to solve conflicts and stop more and more planets from leaving the Republic, with mixed success. King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, however, doesn’t believe that avoiding war will be that easy and has devised a scheme to help boost the Republic’s defenses – if he can survive the many attempts on his life and remain hidden under the custody of Jedi Padawan Merlin long enough for his master, Mordred, to figure out who is behind the attempts.

3. Let’s Ruin The Friendship by silver_etoile Lenght: 24,564 Summary: Desperate to get Merlin over his breakup with Lance, Arthur makes a suggestion that surely can’t backfire–sex with no strings attached. Arthur’s perfectly capable of controlling his own feelings, so why does this feel all wrong and more than a little bit right?

4. Close Quarters by RocknVaughn Lenght: 3,948 Summary: Albion University’s rather unique “Get to Know Your Roommate” exercise has Merlin seeing red…and blue, and yellow, and green.

5. The Dreams Inside by winterstorrm Lenght: 9,959 Summary: Arthur had always held back, not trusting himself. After all, he’d been in love with Merlin since he was eighteen years old—and Merlin had been with his sister. Now that Morgana was off the scene, could Arthur be blamed for taking his chance with Merlin?

6. Everything by beckybrit Lenght: 5,970 Summary: Arthur wants Merlin to let go and hold nothing back. The result isn’t quite what he expected.

7. Arthur Pendragon and the Philosopher’s Sword by a8csock (ladysockalot), ladysockalot Lenght: 60,941 Summary: Arthur Pendragon was living a normal, mundane life, when he received a mysterious letter inviting him to the magical University of Camelot. Despite his scepticism before long he found himself being whisked of to a world of magic, mystery and destiny. His life would never be the same again.

8. Crisis Muffins by flowersheep Lenght: 2,334 Summary: Merlin needs to stop having crises at ungodly hours of the morning.

9. Meant to Be Heard by jessicamdawn Lenght: 4,768 Summary: Arthur Penderson meets the eccentric Merlin Emrys when he is twenty. While getting to know him, Arthur happens to hear strange things coming out of Merlin’s mouth when he isn’t looking but can’t figure out what they mean. Reincarnation fic.

10. Clouds On The Horizon by Diana_Prallon Lenght: 49,975 Summary: The Golden Age has arrived.It’s been three years since King Arthur Pendragon legalised magic once again in Camelot. Side by side, magical and non-magical folk have worked to rebuilt the land that was torn in the war against magic just as the King and his sister try to heal the rift between themselves. In times of peace, Albions prospers. Prosperity, however, brings a new threat to the land, one that Camelot cannot face without the aid of its allies. Meanwhile, Arthur and Merlin have to figure out how to live with each other now that there are no more secrets between them.

11. Sail Thou Forth (The Untold Want Remix) by fifty_fifty Lenght: 37,070 Summary: Trapped in a marriage of convenience, Merlin Emrys doesn’t believe in love at first sight - or true love at all, for that matter.That is, until he meets Arthur Pendragon, an extraordinary man whose courage inspires him to begin the career that he has always longed for, and in whose arms Merlin begins to hope for better things.But society isn’t kind to men like them, and both must overcome tremendous obstacles before they will be free to live the life they’ve been dreaming of.

12. Touch by autumdragon Lenght: 2,596 Summary: It’s not black. Not really. It’s more shades of blacks: constant silhouettes floating in and out of his vision. It’s all he’s ever known. Black. But then he meets Merlin. And he sees colour for the first time.

13. A Rose in Spring by daylighthour Lenght: 3,746 Summary: Merlin is fed up with doing all the hard work and getting none of the credit. When Arthur lashes out at him in a fit of anger, it’s the last straw.

14. Death Invades Camelot by yourrockyspine Lenght: 19,665 Summary: Camelot’s Police Dept. is facing a multitude of problems: A) A series of brutal murders in a small town. B) An exhausted DCI connecting said murders, much to the derision of his fellow officers. C) A homeless, petty criminal hoping to share his observations (and possibly land himself the DCI in question). D) The DCI’s half-sister, who senses someone is following her.

15. Silhouette by rotrude Lenght: 12,409 Summary: Though his father objects, Arthur wants to become a poet, not a lawyer. Moving from London to the country, he finds his muse, in more way than one.

16. The Sidhe Prince by Caite Roswen Lenght: 67,207 Summary: When Prince Merlin of Avalon visits Camelot, King Arthur is confident that everything will run smoothly. He does not expect to come face to face with a destiny that never was, or to find his most closely guarded secrets unravelling around him. Merlin disarms Arthur with his unexpected charm, lays bare his charade as easily as if Arthur’s whole kingship were made of glass, and accompanies him on a journey which will change Camelot forever.

17. The Door at the End of the Hall by tamerofdarkstars Lenght: 6,998 Summary: Sometimes, what the human mind perceives as reality is different than what is actually there. A debilitating virus has decimated the nation, turning people into vicious, bloodthirsty creatures, and for Merlin and Arthur, trapped in the complex they used to work in and racing together to find a cure before the worst befalls them both, the line between reality and perception is blurring.

18. M.E.R.L.I.N. by Lunadeath02 Lenght: 30,666 Summary: Captain Arthur Pendragon mail orders for a companion robot to keep him company and provide him with sex while he’s exploring the galaxy for unknown worlds; he didn’t plan on getting MERLIN.

19. Time’s Up by Detochkina * Lenght: 31,700 Summary: Is there anything in common between drugs and excellent grades? Or business and psychology? The answer is simple – in the world of big money a lot can happen when you’re bored to tears. Under pressure from his father, Merlin becomes involved in a strange relationship. At first, he can’t get out of it; on second thought – he doesn’t want to. “When they ask me in court how I got into this,” Merlin said slowly, trying to recover from the initial shock, “I’ll just tell them I was too busy snorting crack to notice. Think that would move them to tears?” Gwaine tossed his head back and laughed.”

*You’ll need to log in to AO3 to read this work.

20. To You I Pledge by beren Lenght: 45,009 Summary: Merlin lays his life on the line to save Arthur yet again, only this time there are witnesses, lots of them. Only Arthur prevents him going to the headman’s axe straight away, but Arthur alone cannot save him. That is up to both of them.

21. Learning by Touch by Capriccio Lenght: 802 Summary: Arthur might be a simpleton, but he’s not stupid. He sees the look in Merlin's eyes: soft and fond and sad, like he wants something he can't have. (Set during 4x12.).

22. One Sheet to the Wind by Capriccio Lenght: 753 Summary: Merlin is just a plain white sheet, happily drying on the clothesline, until a gust of wind tangles him with the arrogant blanket next door.

23. Where This Road May Go by batgurl88

Summary: Arthur is a royal who can’t remember his past. Merlin and Gaius are con-men, hoping to return Arthur to Uther for a hefty reward. Little do they know they have the real deal on their hands.

24. I Win. by Kitty_Kanneas Lenght: 4,476 Summary: At the summer faire in Ealdor, Arthur tries his hand at what he terms a 'peasant' game. When he isn't pleased with the outcome, he makes sure everyone knows it's just not really the way things are.

25. The Untold Want by Cookie Lenght: 18,572 Summary: Arthur Pendragon was the down-trodden son of the Duke of Camelot. After a break-down he goes to Cascades, a sanatorium, and begins to learn how to live his own life. That becomes even easier when he meets aspiring architect, Merlin Emrys.

26. Cold as the Wind Blows by arthur_pendragon Lenght: 1,780 Summary: Every year on the first day of spring, Uther lets Arthur and Morgana and the rest of the nobles and servants do as they please, just for the day - and this year, Merlin finds himself invited to the best picnic of his life.

27. Ydill by arthur_pendragon Lenght: 2,955 Summary: One serene day where they're all as happy as they can be.(In which Merlin and Arthur are abysmal at hiding their emotions, Gwen has a big heart for her friends, and Morgana does, too.)

Arthur/Gwen

1. Shatter into the Hope of Tomorror by Mara93 Lenght: 48,000 Summary: Arthur casts Guinevere out of Camelot for the treachery of his heart. When the true treachery begins, and his beloved Camelot is lit ablaze, he is forced away from his home. Without kingdom, his heart must face fate’s greatest fear.

2. Sound and Smoke by sneetchstar Lenght: 27,129 Summary: The newly-crowned King of Camelot gets some assistance in his rule from an unexpected source. With unexpected consequences.

3. Striking a Balance by sneetchstar Lenght: 75,807 Summary: Princess Guinevere and Prince Arthur are promised to one another as toddlers, but never meet again until their wedding day.

4. Growing Up with Benefits by scarlettpeony Lenght: 46,949 Summary: Arthur and Gwen have always been close. As children, they were secret playmates and as adults, they are secret bed-mates.

5. To You, An Admirer (Remastered) by sneetchstar Lenght: 6,376 Summary: When Guinevere and Arthur unwittingly exchange love letters not only do they fall in love but also their entire world is set to change forever as the Kingdoms of Albion teeter on the verge of war. Many obstacles stand in their way, especially once they come to the attention of King Uther Pendragon and Arthur’s aunt, the powerful Queen Anna Lothian. Elsewhere, Merlin tries to help Morgana decode a recurring dream prophesising imminent doom.

6. Be of Good Cheer by schweetheart Lenght: 935 Summary: Canon AU. Camlann is over, and Arthur reigns triumphant over Albion. Gwen basks in the beginning of Camelot’s Golden Age.

7. Here by loveandthetruth Lenght: 422 Summary: It’s barely past midday and there’s not nearly enough shade here to hide them but Arthur just doesn’t care.

8. Plus ca change (plus c’est la meme chose) by loveandthetruth Lenght: 35,649 Summary: Merlin’s hopes to have left the past behind come under fire when destiny intervenes and history appears to be repeating itself. Chaos and adventure ensue as Merlin tries to stop this story ending in the same tragedy.

9. The Moment I Saw You by sneetchstar Lenght: 62,777 Summary: “Hi, I’m Arthur. Will you marry me?”

10. Broken Shackles by AngryPurpleFire Lenght: 26637 Summary: An invasion on Camelot leaves everyone in shambles. Unlikely alliances unfold in hopes of rebuilding what has been lost.

11. Touch by sneetchstar Lenght: 7,259 Summary: After a car wreck, Arthur needs to see a massage therapist.

Gwaine/Merlin

1. Dust of Snow by AkakoDukes Lenght: 503 Summary: Merlin and Gwaine during the first snow of the season on their way to Ealdor. Fluff.

2. Discovery by Luthorchickv2 Lenght: 1,371 Summary: Arthur follows Merlin on an herb picking trip and discovers the source of Merlin’s good mood.

3. Riversong by ViridianJane Lenght: 402 Summary: Merlin’s hands are soaked in blood; poison seeps under his nails and turns his dreams against him. He’s killed with these hands. He’s held death between them and couldn’t bring himself to mourn when he felt nothing inside of him shatter. But Merlin’s hands are also loving.

4. A Type of Heaven. by leashy_bebes Lenght: 2,685 Summary: Gwaine has to be off doing knightly things. Merlin pines. But then "Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.” Canon future-fic.

5. The Gravity of Love by VTC Lenght: 9429 Summary: Gwaine zeroes in on the burdens Merlin seems to carry on his shoulders, and embarks on a mission to discover them and alleviate them. It does not go as planned, but it is so much more.

6. This is Just To Say by Heronfem Lenght: 4,510 Summary: Merlin can track all of his relationships through the books on his shelves.

7. Time Enough by CanaryPaper Lenght: 738 Summary: “I always feel like we’re trying to conquer time,” Gwaine whispers into the soft shell of his ear. Darts his tongue out for a taste.

Balinor/Hunith

1. Back To Where It Began by LittensTinyMittens Lenght: 818 Summary: After Kilgharrah has been sent away, Merlin takes his father back to Ealdor.

Gwen/Merlin 1. Kiss Me When I’m Down by sadpendragon Lenght: 937 Summary: We were each other’s first after all.

Freya/Merlin

1. The Love That Binds Us by rubberglue Lenght: 3,593 Summary: Camelot’s greatest strength was the love that connected her people. Nine snippets of love in Camelot.

Arthur/Gwaine/Merlin

1. Hidden Dragons by LittensTinyMittens Words: 103,388 Summary: When the Purge began, the Dragonlords fled to the mountains and created their own little society with the dragons. Merlin is born and raised with his family and his people, only learning of his destiny when he is 16 years old. No one knows how he will meet the Once and Future King, since these days leaving the mountains can be a death sentence. Lucky for him, the Once and Future King finds him, but to everyone’s shock, it is Arthur Pendragon. Merlin can’t help but feel drawn to him and is then tasked with the mission of teaching the Prince all about magic and their people. Along the way, they’re joined by a handsome traveler named Gwaine, and Merlin feels the pull of destiny with him too…or is it really destiny?

Gwen/Mithian

1. A Delicate Thing by freezerjerky Words: 1,569 Summary: Mithian comes in person to give her condolences.

GEN

1. A Mother’s Eyes by SheWhoStumbles Lenght: 1,598 Summary: It had been three years since the messengers had brought news to Ealdor of King Arthur’s death. It had been three years since magic was restored to the land and Albion entered her golden age. And it had been three years since Hunith had last heard from her only son.

2. Don’t Drink if the Mead Tastes Funny by KaterinaRiley * Lenght: 7,155 Summary: It’s all Arthur’s fault! Merlin didn’t want to drink the mead -it tasted funny- but oh no, Arthur just insisted that Merlin quit acting like a girl. So what happens? They get kidnapped and Arthur’s about to be sold as a slave, that’s what! It’s all Arthur’s fault.

*Canon compliant pairing and hint of slash, but they’re not the focus of the fic.

3. Testament of Weapons by shamera Lenght: 3,569 Summary: Four years and Merlin still had a hard time keeping a sword in his hand for more than a minute in a fight.

12. Problems by MayGlenn Lenght: 40,216 Summary: “Gwaine’s sixth problem, which may have been and always would be the greatest, was his complete and utter refusal—nay, inability—to accept help from others. It tied into his hubris, yes, a bit, and also his pride—for Gwaine had a great deal of pride, contrary to popular opinion—it was shame he didn’t have, which was different." Gwaine has had worse scrapes than this: he just can’t think of any right now. A boar hunt with the knights goes terribly wrong, but as things progress, it turns out that that’s the least of his problems.

Writers

1. AO3 user flammablehat

2. AO3 user triste

#merthur #arwen #merwaine #freylin #merwen #rare gems week #roundup #merlinwritermonth2018

19 notes · View notes

bananannabeth · 7 years

Text

BITE: Chapter 10

percy jackson / teen wolf crossover sorry about the wait, i really appreciate how supportive you all are of this fic, i really appreciate all the likes and reblogs and asks and i hope you enjoy the update (✿◠‿◠)

10/? - Annabeth

The McCall's couch was comfortable. It was better than the motel bed that Annabeth and Percy had been staying in, anyway. It was soft and long enough for Annabeth to stretch her legs out, and she felt relatively safe there, but she couldn't sleep.

Percy was lying on a blowup mattress on the floor beside her; she could hear him breathing, a steady rhythm in the otherwise silent lounge. She wanted to check if he was awake, but didn't want to disturb him if he was asleep.

So Annabeth was stuck lying on her back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling of this strange house and running over everything that she'd learnt over the last day.

Werewolves could be friendly, for one.

She'd known something was weird about Scott McCall from the first moment she'd seen him in Biology - something about the way he held himself, with more awareness of his surroundings than the usual teenager - but she wouldn't have guessed that he was a werewolf until he'd shifted in their fight with the hellhound. He didn't seem like the type to enjoy violence or physical confrontations, nor did he seem to have any particular blood lust.

Annabeth had been wrong in her perceptions of supernatural people before, though. Look at Tyson.

So, for the most part, the McCall pack - made up of werewolves, humans and… something else, she suspected of Lydia - seemed friendly. They'd certainly been willing to go out of their way to help them save Hazel and Frank.

The two of them were asleep in the guest room, recovering from their traumatic kidnapping. The ambrosia had healed up the injuries on their wrists, and Frank's burns, but more time would be required for them to heal from the psychological scars.

After everyone else had left and Scott and Melissa had gone to bed, Hazel and Frank had sat up talking to Percy and Annabeth about what they'd been through.

They'd detailed how they'd been ambushed, how a highly organised and targeted group of werewolves, backed up by two hellhounds, had pounced on them. They'd had some sort of electrical device that had shocked Frank repeatedly and prevented him from shifting, and Hazel had been so terrified and overwhelmed by that that she hadn't been able to manipulate the mist fast enough. She'd been knocked unconscious in the fight, and when she'd woken up they'd been shackled in that underground lair.

It had been physical torture for Frank, who was shocked at regular intervals to prevent him from changing form, and it had been mental torture for Hazel, who could feel exactly which tunnels they could use to escape but had no way of getting to them.

Charlotte, the daughter of Apollo who'd originally been accompanying them, had made it back to Camp Jupiter safely purely because their enemy had wanted them to come looking for Frank and Hazel, Annabeth was sure of it. This entire thing was too well thought out and planned for her escape to have been a coincidence.

But what did Lycaon want? What made this pack of werewolves more desirable than others?

Something Stiles had said when they were in the reserve had been bugging her ever since. "We're near the Nemeton… a beacon for things that would like to hurt us."

She didn't recall anything about a Nemeton in ancient Greek or Roman lore, but, if the recent developments with her cousin Magnus were anything to go by, there was still plenty of mythological material out there to surprise her.

Lydia had felt strange being near the Nemeton, and Allison and Scott had looked outright terrified when Stiles had pointed out how close they were to it. Whatever magical properties that tree stump had, they weren't pleasant.

Agitated, Annabeth sighed and shifted on the couch, dropping her arm over the side and letting her hand graze the floor. Almost immediately, she felt Percy's fingers fill the spaces between her own.

"Are you awake?" she whispered, tilting her head to peer over the edge of the couch.

In the darkness she could just make out one of Percy's eyes, glinting in the tiny bit of moonlight filtering through a gap in the curtains. "Can't sleep," he murmured, squeezing her hand.

"Neither. I can't stop thinking about what Lycaon's plan is."

There was silence for a few moments, where Percy just ran the pad of his thumb in soft circles against the back of Annabeth's palm, and then he sighed.

She rolled onto her side so she could lean down closer to him. "What is it?"

"I don't like it here," Percy said. Annabeth resisted the urge to press him for more information, knowing the conversation would be more productive if she just let him take his time and speak when he was ready. Sure enough, after a brief pause, he continued on, voice low. "Something's messing with my powers."

Annabeth propped herself up on her elbow. "What do you mean?"

"Getting everyone out of that cave shouldn't have taken so much effort." There was the sound of rustling sheets as he rolled onto his side, and his hold on her hand loosened briefly before tightening again.

His sense of unease clawed its way from their linked hands up Annabeth's spine. She frowned. "There were a lot of people, and we were pretty deep underground -"

"I've done more than that before, you know I have." She could hear Percy's scowl in his voice.

"Yeah, but it was a stressful situation, you didn't have much time to prepare -"

He laughed so loud that she instinctively shushed him.

"When do I ever have time to prepare for shit like that?" he asked, in a slightly louder whisper than before. "It shouldn't have been enough to make me black out."

Annabeth didn't reply, because she knew he was right, and he knew it too.

She tugged on his arm until he got the hint and sat up so they were face to face. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, finding them easily despite the dark, and when they parted she tugged him up onto the couch with her. He clambered up over the side and climbed on top of her, deliberately nuzzling his face into the side of her neck and tickling her ribs as he went.

"Percy!" She laughed and pushed at him, kicking gently at his legs. "Shh, Percy, stop, we have to -"

"I am being quiet," he whispered, filling in the end of her sentence. "I'm just trying to go to sleep and you're hogging the whole couch."

"If you'd get off me I could move over -"

"I'm not even on you, you're just… right in the way…" He huffed out a breath as she poked him in the ribs, tilting his head forward so that their foreheads were touching.

"I'll push you back onto the floor, don't think I won't." She squirmed into the back of the couch.

He breathed against her lips. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Seaweed Brain." She hoped that he could feel her smirk.

She could certainly feel his. "Oh, I'd love to -"

"Oh my god!"

Annabeth pushed at Percy's shoulders, but he was already moving on his own, jumping back onto his feet. The blanket that had been between them caught on his ankle and pooled on the floor, but he didn't stumble, pulling Riptide from the pocket of his pants and uncapping it in one swift movement.

The light flickered on and Annabeth spun around to see a shirtless Scott backed up against the wall, one hand splayed on the lightswitch and the other covering his eyes. His gray sweats were slung low on his hips. "Sorry, I didn't - I just wanted some water, I forgot you guys were here -"

Annabeth closed her eyes and exhaled. "Scott."

"Are you - Can I -?"

"We weren't doing anything," Percy said, recapping Riptide. "You can open your eyes."

"Didn't sound like you weren't doing anything…" Scott mumbled, but he lowered his arms anyway. "Sorry for scaring you. I couldn't sleep."

"Neither could we," Annabeth said, sweeping her tangled hair over her shoulder.

Scott nodded and stumbled over to the sink. "Do you want some water?"

"That'd be great, thanks," Percy replied.

Annabeth shifted up so that he could sit beside her, and Scott took the armchair opposite her after handing them each a glass. The atmosphere was sufficiently awkward, with two shirtless boys and Annabeth sitting in tense silence.

"So how's it work?" Scott eventually asked, gesturing at his drink. "The whole 'power over water' thing… Is it, like, all water?"

Percy shrugged one shoulder and took a long gulp of his drink. Some of the shadow lifted from under his eyes as he did so. "Yeah. Seawater's best, and the more polluted the water the less it'll work for me, but yeah."

Scott's eyes were still slightly glassy from exhaustion, but he looked pretty riveted. "So, like, even rain water? This tap water?"

Percy lifted a finger and the water in Scott's glass floated into the air, forming a perfect sphere. He spun the sphere in the air in front of Scott's eyes before having it pour like a miniature waterfall back into his cup.

"Whoa!" Scott exclaimed. "That's amazing!"

"Show off," Annabeth teased, knocking her knees into Percy's. He smiled at her, a little bashful.

Scott went to take a sip of his drink and then seemed to think twice about it. He cradled the cup in his hands and asked, "So today, when you got us out of there, you summoned that water from underground? Can all children of Poseidon do that?"

"Uh, well, there aren't any other demigod children of Poseidon at the moment, so I don't know, actually," Percy explained.

Scott gaped. "You're the only child of Poseidon?"

"Only demigod child of Poseidon," Percy corrected. "I have a brother who's a cyclops -"

"A cyclops!"

"And some other half-siblings who I'd rather not think about… it gets sort of weird…"

Scott turned to Annabeth. "What about you, are you the only demigod child of Athena?"

Annabeth laughed. "No, definitely not. I have plenty of brothers and sisters."

"She's the best of the bunch, though," Percy said.

She ducked her head, hiding her smile. "You're biased."

When she looked back to Scott, he was watching them with a soft smile, almost like he was reminiscing.

She straightened her spine and cleared her throat. "So, Scott, you said you couldn't sleep - Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I just… I can't help worrying about why Lycaon chose Beacon Hills." He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"We'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else," Percy said immediately.

"I know we're going to try, but Derek seems pretty worried about it, and from what you guys have said it seems like we're in real trouble. I don't know if the pack's ready to fight another enemy like this…" Scott lowered his voice and dropped his gaze, hands curling tightly around his cup. "I don't know if I'm ready to lead them in a fight against an enemy like this."

Annabeth tilted her head to the side, intrigued. "You haven't been Alpha for very long?"

"Just a few weeks." Scott huffed out a humourless laugh. "I don't know the first thing about being an Alpha. Derek's here to help, of course, but ultimately I know it all comes down to me now. Everyone's going to follow my lead."

"Based on your actions today, it's a good lead to follow," Percy said sincerely.

"I didn't do anything today, that was all you guys -"

"We wouldn't have gotten Frank and Hazel back without your help," Percy insisted. "You did a lot for us today, and we really appreciate it."

Scott ducked his head and smiled shyly. "Thanks."

Annabeth tossed her empty cup back and forth between her hands. "Do you think the Nemeton has anything to do with why Lycaon's here?"

Scott's head whipped up, and his soft brown eyes were wide. "It could be - The Nemeton, it's… it's sort of just been woken up. We woke it up. There was this Druid, she had our parents, we had to do this ritual to figure out where they were -"

"Who's we?" Annabeth asked.

"Me, Allison, Stiles." Scott ran a hand through his hair. "Deaton said that there'd be side effects…"

Scott's shoulders slumped forward. He looked small and sad, head bowed and limbs curled in.

"Whatever's going on with Lycaon, it's not your fault," Percy said softly.

Scott looked up, locking gazes with him. Something unsaid passed between the two boys, and then Scott smiled a lopsided smile that was scarily familiar.

"What in God's name are you all doing awake?" Melissa appeared in the doorway, hands on hips. "I know that there's a new supernatural threat in town but that doesn't mean you don't have school in the morning, Scott."

"Aw, mom!" he whined, tossing his head back.

"We do, too," Percy said, stretching and cracking his back. "We should try to get some sleep."

Annabeth frowned. "What? Why do we have school?"

Percy looked at her like it was obvious. "Because Frank and Hazel need to rest, which means they can keep an eye on things here, and we need to stay close to Scott and the rest of the pack."

It was obvious.

Annabeth swore in Ancient Greek while Scott laughed.

Percy smirked. "I want you to remember this, Scott. That's Annabeth speak for 'You're right, Percy, wow you're so smart, why didn't I think of that first?'"

Annabeth scowled. "Shut up, Seaweed Brain."

He laughed and tugged the blanket out from under her hips.

Melissa smiled, a little exasperated and a lot fond. It was the sort of smile that Sally often wore. "Goodnight, you two. I'll wake you up at the same time as Scott."

"I can't believe you're making me go to school," Scott whined as he trailed after Melissa, dropping their cups in the sink on the way. "I have to protect the town."

"You can protect the town outside of school hours," Melissa said.

Percy chuckled as he switched the light off. "Am I back on the air mattress?"

"Get over here." Annabeth held her arms out to him, smiling as he settled onto the couch with her. "Just try not to drool in my hair."

"Oh, one time."

#mine #bite #why do you write like you're running out of time?#teen wolf #pjo #pjo au #teen wolf au #teen wolf fic #pjo fic #hoo #hoo fic #teen wolf x percy jackson

111 notes · View notes

thealfanator · 7 years

Text

The Cold-Hearted Thief ~ Chapter 3

As Geralt was making his way back to Hankala, the atmosphere seemed to shift. Only slightly, but to his keen Witcher senses he could sense the tiniest of differences. The mist became so thick that he couldn’t see even a few metres ahead of him. Blinded. Something was wrong. Very wrong. Geralt drew his silver sword in safe measure. Moments passed. The White Wolf turned violently and rapidly, keeping on guard. At first, he was dancing with the fog, back and forth. Back and forth. More moments passed. The air became thin and extremely unusual. The whole scenario became… colder. Then, he spotted it. Out of the corner of his eye. A strange black mass emerged from the cloud, quite leisurely. Strange noises in a foreign language became embedded in Geralt’s mind. He immediately knew that this method was the creature’s distraction technique; psychological effects. Geralt tried to block out the sensory invasions and instead tried to focus on the black figure in the distance. However, no matter how hard he tried, they dug in, creeping, settled behind the enemy lines. Unable to shift and destroy. It wasn’t until seconds later that he realised that he had dropped his sword and was clawing at his own head. The beast had also crept further towards him. It was less than a metre from the Witcher, yet he could not see it. Blocked out of his head – just like Stefan described. Untouchable. Invisible. Geralt tried to use his Witcher spells to delay or distract the ominous presence. Aard… nothing. Igni… nothing. It felt like decades had passed by now, yet Geralt’s subconscious recognised that only seconds had occurred. He fell to the ground and tried to retreat. All energy simmered and evaporated; lost from his body. All muscles were numbing. The Cold-Hearted Thief descended with him, blinding all his vision with its huge nothing. As a last resort, Geralt tried to cast one more spell, in desperate hope that something may happen; anything. It was clear though that nothing could stop this unexpected threat from invasion. He was too unprepared…

Cold. Geralt felt the cold against his cheek. The rock and grit sheltered his vision. A few slow blinks made them scatter. Thick dust clogging his lungs making it hard to breath. He felt energy gently reappear into his muscles. He tried his hardest to push himself up from the uneven earthy ground that currently supported his limp weight. His muscles creaked and wobbled like they were going to snap like fragile bits of splinter. As he steadily came into consciousness, he tried to breathe more calmly and rhythmic like. However, his body blurted out coughs of rejection. Was this even air? The horrific stench that owned the place was so abominable. Geralt rubbed his face as he stood up. Blurred vision finally merged into one. Darkness. Darkness so dark, even the devil would not see it. Geralt came to the conclusion that he had been recklessly dumped at the bottom of a cave. The only light that was visible was the tiny spot of light far in the distance – which silently glowed like a speckle in a pot of glitter. Shit. The Witcher recollected his thoughts. Whatever the Thief was, it was powerful. As ironic as the title suggests, The Thief had not taken any of his equipment. His swords still perched. Potions still remained. Brain still intact. Why would the beast move him to a confined space only to not remove or detain him of anything? Geralt presumed that he would soon find out.

He struggled to clamber his way out of this grave-like structure. He felt like he was drowning in all the soot and dust that was disturbed by the sudden movements and gestures that he made. He made his way towards the light one step at a time. Some time later, he came to a point in the cave which proved difficult to climb. Regarding his weight, it was more than likely he would dislodge some rock and risk falling. He looked down. The bottom wasn’t visible. Small rocks fell to prove it, wailing tiny screams as they rapidly descended. Geralt sighed. This was risky, but he felt there was no other choice to be made. He clung to the nearest piece that stuck out of the wall. He only put weight on the ones he dared to. More rocks fell to the abyss that loomed. He continued. If Geralt had to guess, he was maybe less than fifty metres until the top. Until liberty. The glow at the top laughed at his incompetence, the singular pin prick of the light dancing on his face mocking him. He laid his foot on another step. Then another. Slowly making progress, Geralt maintained his soothing nature and level-headed intellect. In… two… three… Out… two… Shit. Geralt’s foot slipped. Clashes of the ledge which was once comfortably holding his weight echoed – another helpless prisoner, consumed by the Cold Heart’s grasp. Adrenaline kicked in for Geralt. His entire control that he had on the vertical cliff was slipping. He was so close now. One more stretch! He reached for the tree root that glistened in the sunlight…

In normal circumstances, Geralt would be pleased to feel the sun radiate onto his skin. Instead however, it blistered his face and withered his senses. Wincing in pain, Geralt was unsure whether it was because he had been in the dark for such a long period of time or whether it was of the own phantom’s cause. He had no passage of time – how long had he been unconscious down there? Geralt took a long deep breath of the crisp island sea air. Hankala was west from here… Wherever ‘here’ was, he thought in doubt.

He reached the village. Finally. He visited Deryk. On the verge of passing out, The White Wolf tried to export the information he had learned but struggled. He dug his way for oxygen. When he did try to speak, they would rapidly slur into a “hold on, I need to breathe” attitude. After Geralt had fully recovered, he unveiled his cryptic discoveries: the scorch marks, the lack of blood or evidence of death, the encrypted letter.

“I will keep searching,” he promised. For now, though, he requested a room at the inn for the night. He was seeking desperately for rest. Out of sheer kindness, Deryk lent him the room for free – as reward for the evidence he had gathered. Geralt thanked him.

Geralt was gifted with relief when he rested on the comforting bed that sat in the slightly melancholy room. He was just glad he was gifted with sleep. He slowly closed his eyes. Composure, at last.

The White Wolf drifted into tranquillity. Although he didn’t wake, the Witcher felt pain in a part of his unconsciousness. It was acid that had accurately spilled into his thoughts. Evaporating thoughts, disappearing in a blink of an eye. The Cold-Hearted Thief loomed. Everything felt… darkened. Clawing at the edge of his consciousness, darkness tore it away bit by bit. Geralt drifted deeper into an unescapable nightmare…

“Come on! Get up, you lazy Bastard.” Eskel tugged at his shoulder. Geralt awoke from his sleep and looked around him.

“Awake, Geralt – we have work to do.” Yennefer expressed. He was at Kaer Morhen. Geralt swiftly rose from his place. Yep. Definitely Kaer Morhen. He mindlessly followed them upstairs towards another part of the castle.

This story is based off The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt. Please let me know if you enjoy this by following my blog. If you have any feedback please comment. If I find out people enjoy this kind of stuff, I may continue the story. I’m literally just starting out so I would really appreciate it if you reblogged so I can get more recognition. Thanks!

Link to Chapter 1: https://thealfanator.tumblr.com/post/160120934949/the-cold-hearted-thief-chapter-1

#geralt #rivia #assassin #kings #rise #white #wolf #wild #hunt #kaer #morhen #witcher #fanfiction #fantasy #mystery #adventure #story #stories #chapter #3 #three #cold #hearted #thief

7 notes · View notes

silentfcknhill · 7 years

Note

hey I've seen you reblog stuff about drugs and stuff and I just wanted to ask what narcatics were you into? random and blunt question but just curous. I'm having a hard time lately... drinking but I'm trying to quit with with it now and just started weed. I just feel like it's neve gonna be better, you know? shit I so okay for so long and then it all goes to fucking hell again. I'm sorry for unloading like this....

It’s okay, I hope you don’t mind if I ramble a long-ass answer. I was mainly addicted to drugs that were not traditionally considered addictive physically, just psychologically. My main drugs of choice were weed, acid, mushrooms and occasionally molly. I never had a huge problem with alcohol, as in I didn’t drink often but when I did I went way overboard and would often mix drugs that would make me very ill. Weed was okay for me at first before I went overboard and was spending hundreds a month, and I am not completely anti-weed like some people in NA, but I think there are people who can and can’t handle it mentally. I can’t. If you have mental health issues, especially anxiety (though I’ve seen some people it can help their anxiety), paranoia, dissociation, derealization or hallucinations/problems with reality to begin with, it is like playing with fire. I’m not saying you should panic, everyone has different reactions, but I could never smoke again after the bad acid trips and ego deaths I’ve had. Too many flashbacks. And I got serotonin syndrome a lot. I quit using 17 months ago and I’m still dealing with effects like visual fractals, a new worldview and mood problems.

For about a year I was suicidal and having panic attacks every day, and I had to work double shifts while crying and vomiting (quiting was not an option because we are too poor and I did not want to be homeless again, especially in that condition). It takes a while for your brain to recover and learn to produce it’s own serotonin after smoking weed every day for two years, so there is a major depression that occurs when you get clean. I lost my appetite for a couple months, and also couldn’t sleep on my own. Drugs were basically my go-to for every minor inconvenience, so learning to be a person again and deal with problems directly was difficult. I became extremely paranoid while detoxing. I also lost all interest in everything, I experienced no joy and only dread, terror and depression. My obsessions such as movies and music were no longer enough to enjoy, I needed to experience them on absurd amounts of psychedelics and meditate on them and see them from weird perspectives to appreciate them. I have started gaining back my appreciation for the little things in life again by now.

The hardest part for me was coming to terms with the fact that I will never be the same as I was before ever again, and now I just have to adjust. It sucks that I was a teenager while this was happening, and my brain was still developing, so now it became a part of my youth and shaped my personality a lot. But I try to think of it positively, because now I have a new chance to become a better person, I have a fresh start and not many people can have a second chance after fucking up and having no common sense. I am lucky to have not gotten into any legal trouble, though a lot of relationships were destroyed, I really deserved it. I am not trying to self-pity, but it is a fact that I have suffered beyond words and been to hell (I’m not religious but to me hell is a psychological state of torment and existential darkness and lack of reality), but I have also grown as a person and become exponentially more self-aware, empathetic, introspective and accepting of my defects.

I know exactly what you mean when you say you feel it will never get better. When you’re in darkness it effects your whole perception and sense of reality and colors every area of life. We lose our memory of anything good ever. Kind of like a Dementor from harry Potter has sucked out our soul, which Dementors incidentally were written by JK Rowling as an analogy of her depression (Sorry for random reference, I am a fan of Harry Potter). But we are both still young, well I am and I assume you are as well as I don’t know many elderly people on Tumblr, and time changes things. Time doesn’t heal, but it does give you the opportunity to heal and grow. Nothing will ever magically heal, we will always be addicts, but you will have good days, and some very good days and memories, and those are worth riding through the bad to get to. It is very difficult to keep perspective, but I spent a couple years of my life on drugs. I have 70 years left ahead of me, best case scenario. This is not the end at all.

I have seen people successfully drink and smoke and not become upset or addicted, but I have Asperger’s and BPD and I was foolish to ignore the sensitivities and chances I was taking and I put my trust into the wrong influences and people. I have developed my own coping mechanisms throughout my life, because addiction was obviously not the first and only trauma I’ve been through, I’ve been having issues since being a toddler basically including emotional violent abuse from the time I was born, sexual assault, personal deaths, bullying, self-harm and mental illness, having parents who are mentally ill and unstable and dealing with their suicide threats as a child, divorce, homelessness, murderers in the family, robbery, knife attacks, being a therapist to my mother, trying to stay objective as she described to me her post-partum depression involving demons telling her to throw me off a balcony and molest me, multiple suicide attempts of my own including a horrendous overdose, multiple hospitalizations, medications, dating a man in his 40’s as a young teen, being cheated on twice, coming to grips with my LGBT identity, and much more. I grew up in a fantasy world, always acting and playing pretend even to this day, I live my life through the eyes of my favorite characters, even while alone. AT this point it is very easy for me to detach from my emotions and reality and observe my own suffering as though I was a character in a movie or something. This is also why I have a decent tolerance to pain. I just view it as an experience, a memory. Time is really an illusion, so when I am hurt, I just remember that in a few hours it will be like nothing ever happened.

Also, the one most important message I took from NA is probably the simplest, and most people don’t give it a second thought because it’s just a cliche to them, but when you really meditate on it and practice it, you realize how incredibly true and helpful it is: “One day at a time.” And that motto is a principle, not have to take it literally. I know for a lot of people, myself included, it can be more like one minute at a time, but you really gotta try to keep priorities in sight and self-care when need be. Sometimes there is nothing you can do to help yourself but go to sleep all day. It is fine to do that. I have trained myself to fall asleep relatively quickly using deep, controlled stomach breathing and and stims and mental focus patterns such as waterfalls, space travel, etc, movement that stays constant and is relaxing. Music helps too, but only without lyrics. There are a lot of sound pieces on youtube and stuff made for relaxing, like the sound of rain, or nature like the ocean or amazon. Whatever suits you. It is handy to have an off button like a computer sometimes. You just shut down and reboot.

I’m not saying it is healthy to be avoidant, and I definitely have shut down and become very robotic as of late, but it is highly preferable to the alternative for me until when/if I learn better skills. You will hopefully feel better when you wake up, whether it was physical anxiety or mental or both. Plus, scientifically, sleep and dreaming is when our brains process information and memories, so we may come to familiarize ourselves with unknown fears or stresses while we sleep and wake up more able to deal with them rationally without the fight or flight. One day at a time ties in to a concept we call “the triangle of self-obsession”, and it relates to how living in the past causes resentments, focusing on negatives in the present causes anger, and fear stems from living in the future. One day at a time, take shit as it comes and don’t cross bridges before you get to them. of course, planning still is good but we must be flexible and not place our whole mental state on something that hasn’t happened yet. Anger roots back to fear, fear roots back to lack of control, and once we accept that we really cannot control everything and be omnipresent and all-knowing puppetmasters, we become more humble.

I myself have come to terms with the fact that I am very narcissistic. I never thought I was, due to low self-esteem, but it only recently occurred to me that being narcissism is usually just a symptom of low self-esteem anyways, and it is just expressed differently. Some people build massive egos and brag. For me, my narcissism forms through being self-centered and selfishly focused on my own problems. Some people focus daily on distinguishing whether they are living and acting on their own will or their higher power’s will, and adjusting their behavior accordingly, because living on our own will is what got us in this position in the first place. I don’t really have a higher power in the traditional sense at this point, but it is still good to be mindful that I am not the center of everything, and that even though I claim to be open-minded, I am still just as judgmental and hypocritical as anyone else, I just express and experience it in different ways. Anyways, long tangent, no one cares, I will shut up now. I am kind of a basketcase, but if you need to talk, you can message or dm me anytime.

#asks #anon #tw: drugs #tw: abuse #sorry for long personal post but i could not respond privately to an anon

2 notes · View notes

scriptmedic · 8 years

Text

What Makes a Healthcare Worker Happy?

Healthcare workers are an interesting group. We’re broad. We’re diverse. We have different needs and aspirations.

And the other day a reader me an interesting question.

Anonymous said: As a young teen who aspires to be someone in the medical field, I have a question that's not exactly medical related. Auntie, would you say you're happy with what you do?

So I wanted to talk about this in terms of your characters. What will make your characters happy, or unhappy, with their healthcare jobs?

What Makes Up Job Satisfaction?

I’ll give you a hint: it’s about not the money.

Or at least, it’s not all about the money.

Characters who take jobs in healthcare are extremely diverse, but they’re all bound together by the idea of helping others. So there are a few fundamental questions you should have about your characters:

Are they helping others in a meaningful way?

Are they appreciated by their peers and managers?

Are they appreciated by their patients? How does their workplace respond if they’re abused?

Are they a good fit for the culture where they work?

Are they properly rewarded--financially and otherwise--for their work?

Do people notice when they do something good, or only when they make a mistake?

Do their stresses outweigh their joys?

Are They Helping Others in a Meaningful Way?

This question is deceptive, because first your characters need to decide what’s meaningful for them. What’s the gold-standard for a “meaningful” impact? Is it resuscitating a cardiac arrest? Is it helping usher a newborn into the world? Is it helping a burn survivor recover their appearance?

If your character wants to resuscitate people, for example, but they’re “trapped” in a job on a routine medicine floor or in a clinic, they’re likely to be unhappy. However, they may attain happiness either by finding a job that’s closer to what they want, or by changing their worldview. They may not be “saving lives”, but they’re helping sick people get better every day. Is that enough for them?

Are They Appreciated by Their Peers and Managers?

Nothing says “crap job” like busting your butt all day for patients and getting zero appreciation for it.

Unfortunately, that’s the way a lot of healthcare institutions run. Good work is ignored or belittled. Bad work is reprimanded or, in many cases, perversely rewarded.

Not all institutions are good places to work, my friends.

This is where a positive coworker, or a manager who sees and says your character’s good deeds, can make or break their day. Many people have good supervisors and bad ones; when the good ones are around their day can run great, but a bad supervisor can suck all the energy out of a unit right quick.

Are They Appreciated by Their Patients? How Does Their Workplace Handle Abuse? (Are They Safe?)

Patients can be great. I’ve met literally thousands of kind, sweet, wonderful people, and it’s been a real joy to serve and help them. I’ve gotten people who try to give us tips, who definitely give us hugs. I’ve gotten happy waves from kids on the street who want to be paramedics when they grow up.

Patients can be absolute monsters. I’ve spent 45-minute ambulance rides literally curled up in the captain’s chair in the fetal position doing my very best to not let the bastard have the satisfaction of hearing me cry. I’ve had my race, ethnicity, gender, sexual orientation, intelligence, compassion, and candidacy for “being a person” challenged by the same patient. And because of policies in place at work, because of the repercussion if I opened my mouth to reply, I was forced into a situation where I just had to sit there and take it.

That last part, that lack of support if I said anything they could use to go on the attack, is actually the hardest part. ERs can throw patients out who are disruptive or abusive; if I did it I would be breaking actual laws.

I’ve also been groped on the job. Again, my right to defend myself comes second to my employer’s concern with patient satisfaction and keeping down complaints.

So this question has huge psychological implications as to how safe your character feels at work.

Are They a Good Fit for the Culture Where They Work?

I’ll give you an example. I work two jobs right now. One is full-time. I’ve been there for ten years. And I’m preparing to leave, and try to make my part-time job my full-time job. (I’ll need another part-time job, because life is costly, but that’s another story.)

I have good coworkers, good bosses, and I make more than I will at my part time / new full time job. Shit, I work with my best friend! (see my recent reblog of A (Yester)Day in the Life of Aunt Scripty.

So why the hell would I leave?

Because I don’t belong there. I’ve never belonged there.

One job I have sees EMS as a first response agency that happens to be involved in medicine.

The other job sees EMS as a medical job that happens to involve first response.

And no matter how good the one job is, no matter how much I love it, it’s not right for me. Because we have fundamentally different views on what I do for a living.

Is nerd-dom accepted, or is it a bro-y jock culture? Does your character’s orientation and values align with the organization’s? Are they a liberal in a conservative organization? A conservative in a liberal one? Are they the only one of (subgroup X) who works there?

For what it’s worth, until your character works at multiple agencies/hospitals/clinics/etc., they may not realize the depth of the cultural divide between them and their employers, or assume that it’s natural. Sometimes we need contrast to understand what we need.

Are they properly rewarded--financially and otherwise--for their work?

Do people notice when they do something good, or only when they make a mistake? Do patients leave thank-you cards, return to the unit with gift baskets, and things like that, or are they unlikely to know the fruits of their labors?

Do their stresses outweigh their joys?

I think this is the ultimate question that discusses one of the most important questions in healthcare: burnout.

Burnout is real, and it is debilitating. It attacks us at the core of being. It hits us where we live. It’s how good, kind, compassionate people become, frankly, salty old jerks sometimes.

Much is expected of healthcare workers, particularly when it comes to compassion. And providers suffer a lot from compassion fatigue, where our ability to be compassionate to the needs of others erodes as it’s overused.

There is a moment, a line, where patients can go from being a person with needs to being a needy person. Where lines of reasonableness are being crossed, or are perceived to be crossed by the provider in question. What shifts is not the patient’s request, but how that request is interpreted.

Reasonable requests, like “Can I get another blanket?”, can feel like someone specifically trying to irritate the provider by adding to their workload or asking for something “frivolous”. And, no doubt, there are people who will make frivolous requests all day long -- I actually had a patient ask me for a blanket and then throw it on the floor just to see what I would do, and tell me that that’s why he did it. But even when good people ask for the same thing, it can feel like a demand, like a stress.

Just as a heads up, this isn’t a complete list, and writers need to consider additional factors to a character’s happiness such as depression and PTSD from repeated exposure to trauma.

But Aunt Scripty, You Didn’t Answer the Question!

I know. Sometimes the answer to “Are you happy?” is “I don’t know.” There are elements that make me very happy about my jobs. There are elements that make me very unhappy about my jobs.

It’s very, very possible to also be in a position where you love the work and hate the workplace -- either with bad coworkers, bad management, or bad policies.

Personally, I have two jobs. I’m happier at one than at the other, for a lot of reasons. I wish I was paid what I’m worth at either one--medics are drastically undervalued financially, and that puts real stress on my real life.

But I think the answer to “are you happy with what you DO” is yes. The work itself makes me happy. I’m proud to be a paramedic. I’m happy when people rely on me for their darkest moments. I’m less proud of when they rely on me to drag Drunk #5 off to the hospital again. But I never roll out of bed and question whether what I do is necessary or good. So there’s that.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

disclaimer

Consider becoming a Patron and soak up the goodness.?

Free eBook: 10 BS “Medical” Tropes that Need to Die TODAY!

#medical culture #doctors #nurses #paramedics #characterization #masterposts

60 notes · View notes