#this is one of those half conscious thoughts that changed my life

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

my brain: I’m so afraid to write this book what if I mess it up

my brain also: what if I didn’t give a fuck

[nomazee]

Silly little thing I thought of

Like like imagine dazai and the reader have been friends for years like the reader knew him since his 15 goofer era... and they got used to eachother sm they usually sleep in eachothers beds n stuff :3

LIKE SOMETHING IS GOING ON BUT THEY STILL HAVE THE FRIENDSHIP LABEL.. 🐺🤞

this concept stuck itself in my head like a tapeworm and it has not escaped me for days IM ACTUALLY OBSESSED i wrote SO MUCH for this omfg i had so much fun writing this thank u for this wonderful idea pairing: dazai x gn reader word count: 2.5k content: fluff, vignette-style writing, friends-to-lovers unspoken label type of thing, soft dazai, domestic fluff without the marriage bit, banter, idiots in love im taking requests!

===

Dazai’s toes are still as frigid at night as they were seven years ago. You, of all people, would be the best person to measure this—not in a weird way, but you two have shared a bed at least once a week since your teenage years. You know all of Dazai’s annoying sleeping habits, including his ones of sleeping without socks and digging his feet into your shins for warmth. 

Annoying fucker. You sigh, batting his arm away from its loose hold around your waist. “Get your toes off of me,” you croak out, half-conscious and mind still addled with the remains of your once-deep sleep.

“What toes,” Dazai mutters back, smacking your intervening hand away and returning his arm to its rightful place around you. “I don’t have toes. I got rid of them after puberty, ‘member?” 

“I’m gonna kill you.” You won’t, not really, and the threats have lost their edge after all these years, but it’s fun to throw at him when he annoys you like this. “I know all your weaknesses, Osamu. One wrong move and you’ll be missing more than just your toes.” 

“I’m cold, dear. Would you really let me freeze like this? So mean.” 

You try not to choke up at the nickname. He’s been a fan of those recently, at least in the last year. You think it has something to do with your new places at the Agency. New workplace, new life, and new nicknames, apparently. If you overthink it you might puke on him and fall back asleep. 

“Not cruel. We have money now, you know. Go buy yourself socks. Wool, or something. Stupid ass cold ass toes.”

He goes quiet. Even in all these years of knowing him, half-living with him, you can’t tell if it’s a normal lull in the conversation or a calculated pause. It doesn’t unnerve you as much as it used to, but there’s still a cold chill at the nape of your neck that springs up at times like these. 

“Why would I do that when I have you?” 

Dazai has also been a fan of this recently—strange uncharacteristic moments of tenderness. He peels himself back for you and bares himself raw. The implications make you nauseous. Swathed in the darkness of the night, he can’t see your fingers twitch from where they lay next to your head, away from his sight; or the conflicted expression that crosses your face. 

Easing your breath out into a steady, deep rhythm, you pretend to be asleep. It’s not like he can’t tell, but the message is there. Let’s not talk about this until the morning. Let’s just sleep for the night. Let’s keep what we have and not change it for the worse. 

==

At age eighteen, shaken with the death of his friend and haunted by blood stains on his fingers, Dazai defects from the mafia. 

He doesn’t take you with him—at least, he doesn’t mean to. He expects to leave quietly, or as quietly as blowing up Chuuya’s car can be. He doesn’t expect you to drag yourself along kicking and screaming. 

Dazai doesn’t remember much about specifics, but he knows that one day he was alone in his underground apartment and the next day you were there. The kitchen smelled like melted marshmallows and rice krispies and his dingy counter was covered in sprinkles. 

“Hi, Dazai,” you’d greeted conversationally. “I’m making your favorite.” 

He doesn’t even like rice krispie treats. Hates them, actually. 

In truth, your presence is less the result of you “kicking and screaming” and more like an after-effect of your own quiet stubbornness. Your kicking-and-screaming was done in the passive aggressive way that you cleaned his dishes and made his bed and left big trays of rice krispie treats in his fridge for the next week. 

Neither of you talked about Chuuya. It was better for you that way. 

On the first night, Dazai remembers you holding him from behind, forehead pressed into the stretch of skin between his neck and shoulder. He’s sensitive there despite being wrapped in his stupid scratchy bandaids. His memories for the rest of the night are overrun by a feeling of want, an itch to feel your fingers on his bare skin, a craving for your hand on his stomach to slide beneath the hem of his shirt and press into the tender skin of his abdomen and keep him warm.  

===

“Leave me alone,” you grumble from behind the sleeve of your jacket. “I’m napping.” 

“It’s not napping if you’re still awake.” 

“I wouldn’t be awake if it wasn’t for your annoying ass.” Rotating your body to face the ceiling from your place on the Agency’s couch, you sigh when your view is blocked by Dazai’s ugly stupid face. He’s smiling in that conniving way that he does when he’s about to do something super annoying. Another sigh escapes you when he leans down close enough for the overgrown ends of his hair to brush against your nose. The puff of air from your verbal discontent makes the strands sway slightly. You try not to think about how mesmerizing he looks when he’s this close, with the light from the window casting a golden sheen on the crown of his head. 

Since when did you get this sappy? Must be Dazai rubbing off on you, obviously. 

“So tired already! It’s barely noon.” 

“You came into work an hour ago. I’ve been here since eight. Try being responsible for a change, might exhaust you just as much.” 

“Hmm.” He tilts his head, big stupid shiny brown eyes blinking down at you like he’s observing a specimen. “I think I’m more than responsible enough.” 

“Sure,” you relent, turning back around to shove your face into the corner of the couch and block out the incoming light. It’s the truth—you’re exhausted. A persistent weariness permeates your bones from how much you’ve been working these last few weeks. It’s not like it’s anyone’s fault in particular, not even Dazai’s despite how much he slacks on paperwork. But looming threats from enemy organizations hang over everyone’s heads and there’s no shortage of uncertainty in the Agency. It’s been mission after mission for you, and you’re taking every break you can get. 

Rustling sounds from above you, but you pay it no mind, busying yourself with nestling all of your body into the crevices of the couch and hopefully turning into a piece of furniture yourself. It might be a more peaceful life, really. The calm is short-lived when you feel fingers tap along your cheek—not in a rousing gesture, but something along the lines of placating. 

Dazai squeezes a hand beneath your head and cups the side of your face pressed against the couch, tilting it closer to him before you feel a warm press of lips against your cheek. He lingers. He always does. You can feel the gentle inhales and exhales breeze against your face before he breaks his kiss away. Your cheek is warm for more reasons than one. 

“Take care of yourself,” and oh, god, you’ll never get used to this, never get used to how tender and soft he’s become with you, never get used to how this Agency has fostered something like kindness in both of you. Your stomach stirs with something unnamed and if you were braver, you’d blink your eyes open and reach up and grab the sides of his face and pull him down to you. 

But you’re not brave, and there’s people still behind you in the office, and you wonder what led Dazai to be soft enough to kiss your face like that in front of everyone. You’re sure they’re watching you both. The Agency is full of gossips, whether they admit it or not. 

===

“Dazai,” Ango Sakaguchi grits out from behind the crackling reception of a burner phone. “They were not a part of the plan.” 

“You think I don’t know that, Ango?” Dazai replies, tone more playful than aggressive. “I know they’re not a part of the plan. They knew they weren’t part of the plan, too. But it’s too late to do anything about it. It’s just a minor change.” 

“A minor change?” Ango’s voice is strained with stress, no doubt pulling out strands of his hair as they speak. “I have to deal with not one, but now two members of the mafia defecting. Do you know how much work this was to begin with?” 

The thing is—of course Dazai knows. He knows everything. The minute he found you in his kitchen, his stomach dropped with the uncertainty of the future. Going underground with another person was nothing short of a burden, at least on paper. But, he couldn't find it in himself to think of you like that. Like a burden. 

“We’ll figure it out, Ango. If you don’t, then we will.” 

A gritty sigh sounds from the other side of the phone call. “I’m putting a lot of faith in you, Dazai. Don’t screw this up.” 

===

“Made you lunch. Since, obviously, you’re not gonna do that for yourself any time soon.” 

A closed plastic container is thrown on the counter in front of Dazai. He looks at it, then up at you, eyebrow raised as if he doesn’t have a clue what this could be about. He’s not that stupid, though. You of all people would know that. 

“How nice of you! Too bad I’m not hungry.” His lip juts out in a poor imitation of a pout, and he looks ugly with it. So ugly. Ugly enough to make you feel the need to kiss him all over and then slap him. An incredulous huff escapes you. 

“I don’t care if you’re hungry. Eat. It has crab in it, see, your favorite.” 

“I thought my favorite was rice krispies?” 

You freeze. It hadn’t occurred to you that he might remember that, after all this time. You don’t dwell, because that’s the worst thing to do with Osamu Dazai—dwell. 

“Don’t act stupid. Just eat it. Even if it’s not the whole thing, at least some of it. It would do you some good.” Getting serious with Dazai is one of the most awkward, unbearable things you could ever do. He has a way of making you feel stupid for worrying about him, with all his roundabout jokes and skills of evasion built up over years. You’ve found that being straightforward is the best way to avoid all those blank moments of silence. 

His fingers curl around the plastic lid and pop it open. The container is still warm, having cooked all its contents just half an hour before showing up at Dazai’s apartment with conviction in your eyes. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll have some.” 

You bring out a duplicate container with a serving for you, and treat yourself to a juice box from his fridge. You try not to launch into a lecture at the sight of his barren pantry—that’s best done by Kunikida. The both of you eat in silence, sitting across from each other at Dazai’s dusty kitchen island. 

He only gets through a few bites before pushing the container away and complaining about how full he is. You know it’s not the truth, but it’s the mixed-up signals that his body sends him. It’s not that he’s full, but his persistent lack of appetite has caused a lot of troubles for him in the past and you don’t doubt that it’ll keep causing troubles in the future, too. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you tell him, dragging him up from his chair despite his whining protests. “I won’t make you shower, but you should probably do that tomorrow, ‘cause your hair’s about to get all greasy and disgusting.”

“So crude.” 

“I do my best.” 

You let him change on his own, but not before picking out a nice soft set of matching pajamas from deep inside his closet. You grumble a little in annoyance. The set was a birthday gift you got for him a year ago and that asshole pushed it to the back of his wardrobe and never touched it again. What a brat. You throw a pair of fuzzy socks at him to boot. 

Once he’s changed into proper sleep clothes, you can tell that the exhaustion is starting to hit him. He sways a little on his feet and his blinks last for a little too long, as if he’s chasing sleep every time his eyes shut. With another begrudging sigh, you set him down on the floor of the bathroom and dollop his toothbrush with fruity kid’s toothpaste—because of course that’s the only toothpaste he owns—and brush his teeth for him. 

Dazai dozes off in the middle of it, and you can’t bring yourself to wake him up in the most annoying way possible. You try really, really hard to not think about how soft you’ve gotten. You’re an ex-mafia member, past coated with dark stains and entrails and death, all of those dark things. Your blood is just as black as Dazai’s, if not more. And yet, being a part of this stupid Detective Agency with this stupid man has melted you down into something parallel to good.

Don’t dwell. It’ll do you no good. 

You use a gentle grip with the toothbrush, ensuring that his delicate gums don’t tear with the force of the bristles. A warm feeling stirs in your chest. It feels like you’ve proven something, like you’ve proven to the world that your coal-stained hands can be gentle, too. You can kill and you can nurture. You tap Dazai awake with a little more care, now. 

“Rinse your mouth,” you tell him in a whisper. “Then you can sleep.” And after a pause, you add, “I promise,” because now you’re in the business of making promises to people. 

Dazai rinses his mouth, and you wipe off the remaining droplets of water from his face with a paper towel that you leave on the counter for your future self to throw out. You lace your fingers with his as you walk to his bed. Not that he needs any guiding. Of course he doesn’t. It’s just a little extra insurance, you think. 

“Stay with me,” he mumbles out the minute you lay him down on the bed. It’s a sentence, and not a question, because he’d rather die than ask you something so vulnerable. He’s doing it again—peeling himself back and baring himself raw for you. Your head swims and your vision blurs with either a migraine or with tears, you can’t tell. But your lips quirk up into a stupid smile and he sees it despite his half-lidded eyes, and he smiles back like the stupid dope that he is. 

“Yeah, of course. I’m right here, Osamu. Go to sleep.” 

And he does. Of course, not before he feels you cup the opposite side of his face and plant a warm, lingering kiss on the swell of his cheek just as he did for you weeks before. The faint laugh that he lets out before he falls asleep is enough to tell you that he’ll be making fun of you for it in the morning. For now, though, he’s soft and pliant and warm between your hands, and you sleep.

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part One

Content Warning: mentions of main character deaths but these are temporary because this is a time travel two-to-four-shot and so, they start dead but then get better :3 Also maybe a whiplash warning? In that it starts off kind of dark for a story that's pretty light-hearted in the end.

Here's the first part of the threatened season 4 AU time travel fic where Steve gets thrown back to the moment in family video when Dustin and Max show up demanding the phones. Previously he was 5 years into a grueling apocalypse.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

Steve has lived his life in regret. Replaying scenarios in his head over and over late at night when sleep eludes him. And sleep is always eluding him these days, weeks, past five years. Steve hasn't known a day without regret since the day they failed to kill Vecna, the day Max almost died. The day Eddie did.

It's five years to the day today.

Steve spends endless nights thinking about how he'd change that spring break. It was the start of the end of everything. Eddie's death wasn't world ending for Steve. It was the end of a what-if. A maybe. But for Dustin. Oh God, Dustin. Who had blamed himself for Eddie's death, who was broken and then never able to get time to recover. To grieve.

Dustin, who pulled away from everyone, from Steve, because of it.

He's not dead, Steve knows, because he still hears his voice on the radio. Separated from the group but vital to their survival. He spread intel on Demo-creature movements, where safe spaces are, news from across the broken and destroyed America, and how to survive the hellscape.

There have been losses. Terrible, tragic losses.

Murray Baughman. Lucas Sinclair. Karen and Holly Wheeler. Will Byers. And those are just the ones he knows. A lot of people scattered to the wind when Hawkins became overran with the Upside Down and its creatures.

He's still two days out on this supply run. Two more days and he'll get to know who is still around. Who they lost this time. It's not always someone they know, but the horrors never cease, and Steve's been gone a total of three weeks.

"Hey," Robin breaks him from his thoughts as she leans over to whisper in his ear, "since you're gonna daydream, you might as well actually dream. Scouts say it'll be a while before we can continue moving."

"I'm not daydreaming, I'm thinking."

"Well, be sleeping instead. You'll be more useful with some rest," Robin pats her shoulder, inviting him to lean his head against it.

"Don't use my weakness against me. You know I love being useful," Steve sighs as he drops his head onto her shoulder.

"I know. It makes you easy to manipulate," Robin teases. He can hear the smile in her voice. "Now, shut up and sleep."

Steve grumbles under his breath. No real words, just grumpy noises as he does shift and get as comfortable as he can leaned against Robin. He is tired, and with nothing else he can be doing, he won't feel too guilty about it.

He closes his eyes.

He opens his eyes, blinking rapidly at the sudden brightness of the sun shining through the glass storefront of Family Video. Usually when he dreams of the past, the sun's never this bright. It's been years since he's seen the sun at all, with the red-black sky of the Upside Down looming above them constantly.

He takes a deep breath, basking in the fresh(ish) air of Family Video. How long has it been since he's taken a breath without his mouth covered by a mask, bandana, some cloth or another? Well, he's not really breathing without a mask on, his conscious self has one on, but it still feels good to fill his lungs and release. He has half a mind to jump the counter and go outside to repeat that; see if his unconscious mind will provide a difference in the air, if it remembers enough to do so.

"Hey Steve," Dustin says as he is stepping through the doors with Max at his side. It's then that Steve takes in where the dream has started. The doors have just opened, and Steve's looking partially over his shoulder, towards the doors instead of the TV as it plays the news of Chrissy's death on the screen. The world fades back into motion, instead of the slowness the beginning of his dream started as Dustin finishes his question, "how many phones do you have?"

"Are you seeing this?" Steve asks on autopilot, playing out the scene he knows, but he holds off from stating the someone was murdered part. He's tired of saying it.

"How many phones do you have?" Dustin asks with more urgency.

Steve takes in Dustin and Max while Robin explains the phone situation. It's been so fucking long since he's seen Dustin. Since Max was able to see him. God. He can't let this play out like normal. It's not going to fix reality, he knows that logically, but what would it hurt to live out his fantasy of getting a re-do while he dreams? Wasn't that what he was thinking about while awake?

He tunes back into the conversation when Dustin shoves his backpack across the counter, and then himself. Instead of whining about the tapes, he reaches for the pen and notepad they keep close to the till. "Hey, what's this about?"

"Max, fill them in while I do this," Dustin replies.

Max turns to him and Robin, who is eyeing both Steve and Max but listening. Max explains what Steve already knows. The lights going crazy, Eddie fleeing his own home, and that it might be Upside Down related.

There's a script here. Responses he has memorized because of how often he dreams this moment over and over. An answer Steve usually gives, but this time he finds he can hold his tongue. He doesn't have to speak. Doesn't have to follow the script.

"Okay," Steve says instead. "Dustin, what's the number for the Byers now?

Surprisingly, that actually pulls Dustin from the computer. He spins on the stool to give Steve a confused look. "What? Why?"

If he's being honest with himself, he's never really had this much control over his dreams before. Having this control makes him want to do all the things he's daydreamed about. To change the choices that fill him with regret and guilt. "I want to leave a message for Jonathan," Steve lies, "or talk to him if he's home. Give him a heads up that Upside Down shit might be going on again."

Dustin narrows his eyes at Steve, suspicious, "Jonathan?"

"Yeah. Jonathan," Steve says in his bitchiest voice. "Number, dude."

He can tell Dustin doesn't fully believe the lie, but he recites the number anyway.

"Thanks," Steve says as he scoots around Robin and heads to Keith's office to use the phone there. The first thing he does is call the police station and let them know that he saw Eddie Munson at Rick Lipton's place, up by Lover's Lake on Holland Road. The lady who answered starts to ask questions, Steve just says he recognized the trailer on TV as the Munson's and hangs up. He'll swing by later once everyone else has pieced together the Rick Lipton part of this all themselves. If Eddie's still there, he'll drag him to the station himself.

'Cause the thing is, Steve has thought of many scenarios. So many. And even if nothing else changes, this is the bit that will. Eddie cannot be killed in the Upside Down if he is in a jail cell instead. And if the police do follow up on his tip, then they'll take Eddie in for questioning before Fred dies. And that's.

Well.

Steve's living through the end of the world and that changes people. It's changed Steve. Once there would have been a time when allowing someone to die, knowing it was going to happen and not stopping it, would have filled Steve with guilt, regret, maybe even some self-loathing. But Steve's made enough sacrifices for this town. Lost enough of the people he loves to be jaded. Maybe even cruel. If Fred has to die to prove that Eddie didn't do it, then that's what will happen.

His next step is to call the Byers. It surprises him that Joyce actually answers with a hesitant hello. That never happens in the dreams.

"Joyce. I mean, Ms. Byers. It's Steve. Uhh, Steve Harrington," he says.

"Oh. Hello Steve. What, uh, what can I do for you?" Joyce's voice is still hesitant.

"Listen, the Upside Down is back. Or, like, it was never gone? I don't know. But I needed to tell you."

"Oh my God," Joyce sounds horrified, and Steve can hear Murray in the background asking questions. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Vec- sorry, it has already killed a girl. Max was a witness. Well, of the aftermath. But that's not important. What I need is for you to tell El that she's never been a monster and never will be. That everything has been the fault of One. And I think you should tell her Hopper is alive and you're going to rescue him."

There's not an immediate answer. A rustling sound and then faint voices he can't make out. She must be covering the phone with her hand as she and Murray talk. Or argue, knowing Murray. After a moment, Murray's voice comes through the line, "How do we know you are who you say you are?"

It's followed by Joyce shouting, "How do you know about Hopper?" and Murray quickly shushing her and some shuffling noises before Joyce says, "Okay. We're both listening."

"Look, I know you have no reason to believe me so I'll give you something that might serve as proof that I know things I shouldn't. When everyone gets back from the roller rink, be there for El. She's going to- to have a bad night, because of a girl that's been, like, bullying her at school. Then, I need you to get them headed this way tomorrow morning, because you gotta be gone then, too, but like. Be there for El tonight. There will be an incident involving a roller skate. So, if you believe me, call me back after that."

"How do we know you're who you claim to be, Steve?" Murray questions again, while Joyce says, horrified, "El's been being bullied?"

"I can't exactly prove I'm me. But call my house tonight after you've spoken to El and I'll answer. That's the best I can do. I... I don't know if Jonathan or Mike have my number, but Mike can call home and get my number from Nancy. That'll be proof, right? Or Will can get it from Dustin. Whichever."

"And how do you know about something happening tonight at the roller rink?" Joyce demands.

"I know more than I should. So, if the roller rink thing holds up, and you decide to at least hear me all the way out, call my house," Steve hangs up then, not wanting to get into a loop of explanation.

"Steve! Hurry up and come help people while I help Thing One and Thing Two!" Robin calls through the door and Steve takes a step towards the closed door to comply but he stops, hand hanging just above the doorknob. That's how the dream goes. That's what 19-year-old Steve would have done.

But that's a Steve that died five years ago, when the world ended, when the apocalypse started. Steve's not 19 anymore, though he must look it, a master of his own puppet. He's never sought himself out in a mirror when he dreams; he's too busy taking in everyone who has been lost to him in his waking life to bother with himself.

What does he want to do this time?

What does he want to do right now?

He leaves Keith's office to beeline to Dustin, pausing only to pat Robin on the shoulder. He slides around Max and comes to a stop beside Dustin.

"I already told you, I need this for-" Dustin starts to speak but cuts off with a squawk that sounds like a mixture of indignation and confusion as Steve just reaching out and bodily turns Dustin towards him. "Steve, this is important!"

"I know," Steve says and then hugs Dustin. Dustin doesn't hug back, but neither does he pull away. Steve knows he's missed Dustin, felt his loss for many years now, but holding Dustin now, feeling him solid and here feels Steve what he can only equate to grief.

Dustin lets himself be hugged for what is, undoubtedly, an awkward amount of time for him before he thumps Steve's back twice and says, "okay... You can stop now."

Steve lets go and turns to Max, who immediately puts her hands up, "No. Absolutely not."

He chuckles and steps around her. He won't force his affection on her.

Then he takes off the family video vest and sets it on the counter.

"Steve?" Robin asks.

"Sorry, Robs, I can't stay and help customers. I have some things I got to do."

"Steve, you cannot abandon me on a Saturday!"

He can't quite bring himself to feel bad for abandoning her. It is a shit thing to do but right now saving Eddie and Max from Vecna is more important. He's already wasting daylight, so instead of answering his gives her his best 'I'm so sorry' face and bolts out the door. All three of them shout after him but he doesn't slow.

He's got a list of regrets to change.

-

Tagging the besties and all the people that expressed interest when I posted the lil blurb about this. Sorry if I missed you!

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @music9009 @apomaro-mellow @soaringornithopter @reighnofdreams @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @vampirestevie @alex-axolotl @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched

[candycandy00]

Roses in the Sky - An Original Alien x Reader Story Part 5

In a future where humanity huddles in decaying domed cities controlled by alien invaders, you and your best friend Anna work as make-shift nurses in a tiny clinic run by the young doctor Terrian. The city is ruled by the aliens' violent, half-breed offspring who serve as brutal overseers. You and Anna have always tried to avoid these overseers at all cost, but your life is changed when one of those same terrifying offspring is brought into the clinic, injured and unconscious.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

This is an original Alien (well half alien) x Fem Reader story! I hope everyone who enjoys my fanfiction will give this a shot! Any feedback whatsoever would be loved! I’ve already written this story so it’s not going to delay my fanfics. Just thought I might post chapters of this between fanfics if anyone is interested.

Slow burn, as this is a novel-length story, but there will be smut in later chapters! Also: violence, blood, rape attempts, death of side characters, etc.

“Hurry and check Terrian! He might still be alive!" you yelled to Anna as you dropped to your knees beside Vartan. He was still conscious, but curled into the fetal position, holding his stomach. Blood was pooling around him. You touched his shoulder, and he seemed to jerk slightly before he looked up at you.

"I believe my wound has reopened," he said calmly, his voice denying that he was in any pain whatsoever. But sweat rolled down his forehead as he struggled to sit up and he hissed a little as he moved his arms from his abdomen and looked down.

You helped him unbutton his jacket and slipped it off his shoulders. The bandages were still there, but they were now soaked with blood. "I have to get these off," you told him.

"Hey!" Anna cried from across the room, her voice frantic. "I found a pulse! He's still alive!"

You leapt to your feet and ran to where Anna was kneeling beside Terrian's body. Together the two of you rolled him over onto his back, getting his face out of the puddle of his own blood. His glasses fell off, and a large bruise was becoming visible on his left cheek. 

You figured one of the half-breeds must have punched him through the face with their full strength. Humans had died from less force, so Terrian was lucky to be alive.

You and Anna stood up and each grabbed one end of Terrian's body, lifting him onto the nearest cot. Anna looked desperately at you. "What do we do now? I've never treated a head injury before! Terrian always did it himself!"

You had your hands on your forehead. "I don't know! Does he have a concussion?!"

"How would I know? What if he has brain damage?! What if he's in a coma?!"

"Oh, God... I don't know what to do! I don't think there's another doctor in the whole city!"

Anna was crying again. "We can't just let him die! He's... he's all we have!"

Vartan climbed to his feet and limped over to the cot where Terrian laid motionlessly.

You were both surprised, and stepped back while he looked Terrian over. "I don't think the injury will cause permanent damage," he said.

"How do you know that?!” Anna practically screamed.

"We have been studying the human body for years. I have some basic medical knowledge."

"And you think he's going to be okay?" Anna asked, a little more calmly.

Vartan nodded. "I'm not certain, but he appears to only be unconscious. The position and color of the bruise indicate that his brain did not receive the majority of the impact. If I'm correct, he should regain consciousness soon."

"But all that blood..." you said, still staring at Terrian.

"Came from his mouth. Three of his teeth are gone," Vartan replied, pointing to Terrian's slightly gaped mouth.

Both you and Anna burst into tears, hugging each other and then laughing loudly. You were so relieved that you almost forgot Vartan was there, bleeding and on the verge of passing out. He was leaning against the wall and his hair, wet with blood and sweat, was hanging messily in his eyes. The two of you rushed to his side, allowing him to lean on you as you helped him to the back room, where the medical supplies were.

Once in the room, you sat him down on a stretcher and he carefully laid back, wincing with every move. You headed over to the counter to get alcohol and thread, when you caught Anna's eye. "Are you okay with this? Helping him?"

Anna gave you a meaningful look. "He saved us. If he hadn't gone against them, I don't even want to think about what would've happened. I hate half-breeds, but I owe him. Big time."

You nodded and then you both ran back to the stretcher to begin sewing Vartan's wound back up. It took you a little longer than it had when Terrian was helping the first time, and your work was a little more clumsy, but you managed to close the wound and stop the bleeding.

Amazingly, Vartan never screamed once, although he did occasionally grunt when the needle pierced his skin. By the time you were finished, he was exhausted and practically immobile while you bandaged him up. He fell asleep just as you looked up to tell him you were finished.

You turned out the lights and quietly left the room, returning to the main patient area to sit by Terrian's bed. You did your best to ignore the sight of the dead, scattered patients, splattered across the walls and floor. To keep yourselves distracted, you and Anna talked.

"Why did you come back?" You asked her.

Anna gave you a weak smile. "I couldn't leave you and Terrian here. I couldn't let you deal with that, not alone."

You looked down. "It must have been horrible for you, how close it came to... to what happened before."

Anna smiled very brightly then. "Yes, it was horrible at the time. But now that it's over, I'm really happy! I fought back! Look, I even have that bastard's blood under my nails where I scratched his face!"

You looked at her, surprised. "Yeah, you really did good!"

Anna laughed, then looked at you seriously. "Before, I was just a kid. I was thirteen. The minute they came in, they told me not to move a muscle. So I didn't. I was too terrified to even flinch, even when they killed my mom and brother. I didn’t even try to help them! And afterward, I felt so guilty. I kept asking myself why I didn't try to fight back. I know I couldn’t have stopped them, but I should have tried! And I promised myself, that if I was ever put in that position again, I'd fight with everything I have, even if it gets me killed. That's why I'm really proud of myself today!"

Even though she was smiling again, tears were forming in Anna's eyes. "I was so scared today, but I didn't run away! I fought back! I faced them! I... I made it right."

You stood up and wrapped your arms around Anna. You stroked your friend's hair as tears fell down your own face. "Yeah, you made it right, Anna."

Anna was crying hard again, and you held her tightly. "We're such crybabies today, aren't we?" Anna asked though her tears, laughing now.

You laughed too. "Yeah, we are.”

"Am I in heaven? I hear two angels talking.”

You both froze, then looked down at Terrian, who was looking up at you with half-open eyes. You both practically tackled him, encasing him in your arms. He laughed, then groaned. "Oh, my mouth hurts," he said, sitting up.

"One of the half-breeds knocked out a few teeth," Anna told him, sitting on the bed beside him.

Terrian groaned again, this time louder. Then he looked both you and Anna up and down. “You're both alright? What happened?"

You and Anna looked at each other for a moment, then you sat down on the cot across from Terrian's. "We came back in to help you, but the half-breeds over-powered us. They were about to kill us when Vartan came in and convinced them to let us go."

Terrian's eyes became large and wet. "You mean you almost died while trying to save me?"

The two of you nodded.

He suddenly stood up and pulled you both into his arms. "I knew it," he said, his voice cracking. "The moment I met you two, I knew you were good girls!"

You and Anna blushed a little, but smiled and laughed as Terrian cried. The family was back together. You were all alive and healthy, and that's all that mattered.

Terrian suddenly stepped back. "Wait, you said Vartan saved us? Where is he now?"

"He's in the back room, asleep," Anna said.

"Asleep?"

"They punished him instead of us," you told him, "and his wound reopened. Anna and I stitched it back up, but I think he ended up passing out."

"I'd better go check him," Terrian said, walking past them. You followed him into the back room and turned the lights on. To your shock, the stretcher Vartan had been lying on was empty, only a crumpled sheet remaining. The back door was open, and the crisp night air drifted in, sending shivers down your back.

The three of you discussed Vartan, explaining to Terrian what had happened to him but leaving out the more embarrassing details of what had occurred while he was knocked out. Neither you nor Anna wanted to worry Terrian any more than you already had.

You spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the bodies in the main patient room. You were appalled by the bloodshed, but Terrian was an absolute wreck. He loved his patients so dearly, far more so than you or Anna could comprehend. You often thought he viewed each and every patient as his own child, no matter their age. It was he who often stayed at the clinic over night, feeding the elderly soup or reading stories to the children. It was he who constantly talked to them, got to know them on a personal level. And it was he who now stood in the center of the room with tears streaming down his face as you and Anna hurried to wrap the bodies with sheets and carry them to one corner of the room.

Terrian had taken the news that the clinic had been shut down very badly. He didn't say anything, but you could tell he was deeply upset. After you moved the last body to the corner, he told you he wanted to burn the clinic. 

"But why? They just told us we can't take any more patients in," Anna said. "We don't have to destroy it! We have so many memories here!"

Terrian looked at her sadly. "I know, but it's not the place that made the memories, it's the people. The clinic serves no purpose if we can't help anyone. And besides," he said, glancing at the bodies in the corner for the first time, "we have to give them a proper funeral."

"Funeral?" you asked.

"We can't burry them all. There's not enough land for that and it would take way too long. So we should burn them."

You and Anna were quiet for a moment, then both of you finally agreed. The three of you cleaned out the back room, boxing up all of the supplies and anything that could possibly be useful later. Once it was all done, Terrian poured out a bottle of alcohol onto a sheet in the middle of the main patient room and lit it on fire with a match. You exited the clinic and stood with Anna and Terrian outside on the street, watching it burn.

Terrian turned to you and Anna. "I'll be expecting you at my house starting tomorrow. For your new jobs."

"What new jobs?" Anna asked.

Terrian grinned at her, the first time he had done so in the past few hours. "You're my new maids!"

You and Anna smiled to each other. "We'll be there, Doctor."

You parted ways once again, the last time the three of you would ever do so on that particular street, in front of that particular building. It was still burning furiously as you walked toward your apartment. It was later than usual, and the streets were fairly quiet. At least the blazing building behind you provided plenty of light, though the half-breeds would show up soon enough to put out the fire. 

You wondered about Vartan, why he had left without saying anything and where he had went and why he had really helped you. But most of all, you wondered if you would ever see him again. All but one of your meetings had taken place at the clinic, and it was where he knew to find you. Even if by chance you saw him on the street, he would no doubt be with other half-breeds and you wouldn't dare approach, no matter what had happened between you. 

You shook your head as you unlocked your door. Why did it even matter if you would see him again? He was a half-breed. He was a monster, regardless of what had happened. The female half-breed was probably right, he probably just wanted to have his way with you and then toss you aside. That's what half-breeds did.

You opened the door and stepped inside. You reached back with your right hand to shut the door behind you, but someone grabbed your wrist. You jerked yourself around to see who was there, and found yourself face to face with Vartan. His jacket was still unbuttoned from earlier, leaving his chest and bandaged abdomen exposed. His grip on your wrist was firm, but not tight or painful. He seemed tired, weak.

He looked you in the eyes and said flatly "I'm coming in."

Tag List:

@scrumptiouslampwobblercop

[do-androids-dream-ao3acc]

chronic pain buck not telling anybody (tommy!)

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while, because I already had this WIP and initially wanted it to become a multi-chapter-thing. But, you know, life (and ideas)... so here's, finally, my humble offering of chronic pain Buck.

A Little Bit Off

Buck wakes up two hours before the alarm clock goes off, and he immediately knows what kind of day it's going to be. 

The world is still dim, a black veil of silence covering the loft. Buck squints at the ceiling until his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. There was a dream, what was it? It’s already slipping away from him, becoming transparent like a faded piece of fabric. It was at night, in a forest, I was running away from something, constantly looking back. Tripping over a root, I fell, I fell so hard – it was just a dream, but when I hit the ground my leg exploded. It wasn't the dream that had woken him, just a nightmare like many. It was the pain. In the past, Buck would have never believed that you can feel pain in a dream, so fresh and strong as if it wasn't just a memory, but had just happened. 

Now it's just a dull, throbbing pain, nothing like the tons of weight that crushed his leg back then. He has lost the actual memory of the fire truck on his leg, even though he knows exactly what happened, even though he was conscious. But those few minutes are missing from his memory, which is probably why he keeps hurting his leg in different, creative ways in his dreams. The pain, however, is real, both in his dreams and now. Not as bad as back then, no, but constant. This throbbing deep in his bones, it will stay with him all day. 

Buck has consulted three different doctors, he has googled his fingers to the bone, but there is no simple solution. This pain is chronic, and it doesn't really matter whether it's a nerve malfunction or a change in the weather. It comes and goes, flares up like a bush fire: quickly, without warning. And it’s just as difficult to extinguish. Buck debates with himself whether he should get up and take a pill, but painkillers often don't help, and he still has a shift. If he's going to gamble on his luck, he'd better do it later. 

All three physicians he visited are not LAFD contract doctors, for one simple reason: nobody must know about his problem. The days when he has no pain, when he can forget that he ever had it, it's easy to convince himself that it's not really a problem. It comes and goes, maybe at some point it will go forever. That’s a deceptive hope, and he knows it. But there’s a fear in Buck, deep down in his guts, that a permanent condition will destroy his career. 

He sighs into the darkness only to quickly turn his head. Did he wake Tommy? No. The sight next to him fills his heart, much more than the pain fills his thoughts, at least for a moment. A few tousled curls poke out of the blanket; they'll be gone in at dawn. Tommy is lying on the very edge of the bed – it's not necessarily too small, but for two such tall men, it kind of is. He has wrapped himself completely in the duvet. It would be nice if that was the real reason Buck woke up so early, wouldn't it? The guy keeps pulling the covers off him at night. He sighs again, quieter this time. 

Swinging his long legs out of bed, the treacherous mattress squeaks, and now Tommy is stirring, after all. 

"Evan?" 

He turns, squinting, but he can't keep his eyes open yet.

"S’it time yet?"

Tommy's sleepy voice causes a warmth to spread inside Buck, flowing through his whole body, lifting the corners of his mouth to a soft smile. 

"No, babe. Go back to sleep."

Was there something in his voice? Tommy blinks again, obviously not quite convinced. He pushes a strand of hair out of his face, opening his eyes. 

"Something wrong?" he asks.

How well he already knows him. Half a year of bliss, and this man notices nuances in Buck’s voice even when he’s not quite conscious. 

"I'm just going for a pee," he claims.

In the bathroom, Buck leans on the sink and looks at his reflection in the mirror. It’s strange that he looks so normal. A little disheveled, a little tired, but certainly not like a man whose leg feels like it's slowly being hollowed out from the inside. Thump, thump, thump, maybe there are little miners inside him, digging for gold. Buck grins at his reflection, but a smile that doesn't reach his eyes is just creepy. 

Thoughtfully, he runs his forefinger over the edge of the medicine cabinet. Should he take one now? Should he take it later? He feels like a drug addict, and that's an amazingly cold thought. Almost analytical. Because even if he only needs the pills sometimes, what if it gets worse? What if he needs them so regularly that he becomes really dependent on them? 

There is a whole spiral of thoughts that have just been waiting for Buck to let them surface. What if the pain gets so bad that he starts to limp? What if he deliberately doesn't put any weight on that leg and people start questioning his movement? What if he can no longer think straight because of the pain, ending up making a mistake?

Knuckles white, he clutches the sink again, gritting his teeth until his cheeks ache. Tommy, he thinks. If it has to start somewhere with nobody noticing, then it has to start with Tommy. The thought feels right and wrong at the same time. Buck lets the toilet flush, then runs cold water over his wrists. 

He returns with the vague hope that Tommy has simply fallen asleep again. Instead, the man sits upright in bed and says, "I've been thinking."

"It's like... 4:30 in the morning," Buck replies with a glance on the clock. "And you've got the whole blanket again." 

Snuggling up next to him, he tugs at the comforter until Tommy finally gives up a piece of it. 

"Yes, but I'm awake now," says Tommy. 

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"Never mind," Tommy returns good-naturedly, "your shift starts much earlier than mine, I'm sure I can sleep a little longer."

Well, I won’t, thinks Buck, but he’s careful to not let his thoughts show. He buries his face in Tommys side, breathing in his scent. It's something he would much rather become addicted to, that peculiarly stimulating smell of sleep and masculinity. 

"And what were you thinking about?" he mumbles. 

"That we should move in together."

Now Buck is also wide awake, even more so than before, and for a brief moment, the pain is actually irrelevant. He sits up, looking inquisitively into Tommy's face. It's still dark in the apartment, the sunrise can only be glimpsed behind the blinds. So whatever he sees now, it may be easy to misinterpret. 

In fact, Tommy's sharp features are soft in these pale surroundings. He almost appears… insecure. Buck doesn’t even know why he’s suddenly kind of shaken, after all he’s moved in with some of his partners before, and earlier, even. They've just never talked about it, maybe because it wasn't necessary, maybe because Tommy still thinks they should be taking it slow. Every time Tommy's supposed confidence crumbles when they're together, in such small, very tender moments, Buck feels like his heart is about to jump out of his chest. 

"Your place or mine?" he asks, and the smile he causes on Tommy’s lips is worth it. 

"Actually," Tommy returns, stroking Buck's hair, lost in thought,  "I thought we'd look for something new. Together."

"It's a big deal," Buck opines.

"Right, it's probably too soon."

There’s not even a hint of disappointment in Tommy's voice, he’s far too composed for that. Buck recognizes himself so much in this answer that it hurts, in a completely different way to his leg. It's easier to withdraw than to live with the disappointment of having your wishes ignored over and over again. Tommy knows this as well as himself, but it only seems to have made him stronger, while it made Buck sadder. At least until he met Tommy. And he doesn't want him to feel like that. 

"It's not," he says, leaning forward to brush Tommy's lips with his. "I'd like that."

"Really?"

"Really."

The sun rises, less outside the blinds but in Tommy's face. His kiss is unexpected and impetuous, regardless of the fact that they should both brush their teeth first. A second later, Tommy's lips graze Buck's earlobe, breathing a "This is going to be great" that sets his skin on fire. Tommy seems to sense this, he starts nibbling on the sensitive spot on Buck's neck.

"I thought you wanted to go back to sleep," Buck mumbles, but his hands are already kneading Tommy's muscular back.

"Hmm," returns Tommy, shifting to manhandle Buck on his back. "If you’re not sleeping, I’m not sleeping."

Tommy’s beautiful face above him, his hands all over his body, Buck knows that this will successfully ease his pain. For a few minutes, at least, he will no longer be able to distinguish between pain and passion. He will forget that he hurts, and it will be easy not to show.

Maybe, one day, he’ll be ready to tell Tommy about it. 

[antifictionsfiction]

Worth the Free Admission - Part 5/6

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / AO3

Fandom: Children’s Theater Critic with Alfred Molina

Pairing: Arthur H. Cartwright x gn!reader

Rating: T

Chapter summary: An awkward morning confirms to you things haven't changed as much as you'd hoped and pushes you to act. Arthur is faced with a situation that he can't back out of anymore.

Warnings/tags: age difference, insecurity, mutual pining, tension (getting somewhat resolved?), personal growth

Additional info: reader is mentioned to be wearing some more masc clothes in one scene, but no gendered pronouns, terms or descriptors are used for them

Chapter word count: 3603

A/N: It's been a long long time, but I want to say a huge thank you to @scorsesedepalmafan for constantly cheering me on (and letting me use one of his gifs again💙) and to @francis-ford-kofola for her support ☺️ And of course, thanks to everybody who's been waiting for me to finish this, I hope you enjoy! And stay tuned for Part 6 ★

“Ah, you slept in.” Those were the words Arthur greeted you with. You had stumbled upon him on your way to the bathroom, hunched over the desk in his study. He was fully dressed, wearing a tweed jacket and from the looks of it, he had been up and working for quite some time now. 

“Well, it was a late night yesterday,” you said, somewhat defensive. Letting him see you only in a T-shirt and a pair of comfy boxers wasn’t something you thought you would be self-conscious about, especially not after last night, but the contrast with his fully professional getup was making you feel underdressed even though it was no later than nine.  

“Yes,” he looked away for a second, his voice coming out uncertain, “I woke up early, that’s all. I couldn’t go back to sleep.” 

“I’m sorry I kept you up.”

“No you didn’t, it was just… back pain.” As if to emphasize his words, he shifted in his chair, straightening up and pushing his shoulders back. 

“Oh, I didn’t know you were struggling with that. I’m sorry.” You were getting anxious just watching Arthur visibly avoid holding eye contact with you.

“I usually don't. I just didn’t sleep in the best position.” 

You would pay to see what was going on inside his overthinking brain at that moment. He was already regretting the somewhat intimate way you’d ended the evening with, you had no other theory. The behavior you were witnessing seemed way too skittish even by his standards. Unlike last night though, something about him felt different, as if he was ashamed or guilty instead of frightened. But it was you who instigated (or tried to, anyway) anything yesterday, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?

“Arthur, if you’re worried about what happened yesterday- I didn’t think anything of it. We were both feeling out of our depths, and I appreciated the gesture. I know you were just trying to comfort me and that’s all it was, right?” The words felt heavy on your tongue, of course you did make assumptions about the way he bashfully suggested to read to you, or the way he let you, let’s face it, full on cuddle him while he was lying next to you and reading. It didn’t bring you any pleasure to lie, but at that point, you were just trying to say whatever would make him act calmer about the whole situation. Whatever would bring the relationship you’d been building for months now back to the way it was before this unfortunate domino effect of repressed feelings.

“Oh.” The way he looked at you, his eyes wide and slightly magnified by his glasses, reminded you of a very large, frightened owl. He pulled said glasses off his face, gripping them in a nervous gesture before speaking again. 

“Of- of course not. I just assumed, for a second, when you said you… But of course you didn’t mean- I should’ve watched myself better, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I- I’m so much older than you and you are- I’ve been reading people and situations wrong my entire life,” the words tumbled out of his mouth in half-finished sentences, his voice unsteady. This was the least eloquent you had ever seen Arthur, and in turn, it left you speechless too. 

You didn’t know what to say and you didn’t really want to keep talking either. You had both been clearly locked inside your heads and unsure how to act, but seeing Arthur struggle to this extent to just describe how he felt made something snap in you. You crossed the room that had been separating you from him, not thinking anymore. You didn’t wait for him to blurt out another badly constructed sentence as you stood directly in front of him. You didn’t have to bend down much as he was quite tall even sitting down - one hand placed on his tweed-covered shoulder, you leaned in and kissed him. 

The kiss wasn’t long nor deep, not to begin with. You pulled back after a couple seconds, giving Arthur an opportunity to push you away. The situation had gotten so complicated you weren’t completely sure, but you were willing to take the risk rather than keep maneuvering around the subject. Arthur’s response came in the form of a faint whisper of your name and a warm hand brushing against your cheek, pulling you closer again. 

The way his lips touched yours felt hesitant, trembling. Not wanting to rush him, you returned the butterfly-like touch with gentle patience, silently reassuring Arthur that he wasn’t doing anything wrong, he couldn’t. To your surprise, it was him who took the next step, opening his lips slightly and deepening the kiss. A subtle taste of toothpaste lingered on your tongue when you broke apart. 

Arthur’s hand slipped from your cheek, reaching for the hand that was still resting on his shoulder instead. 

“I’m so confused,” he said, his breathing still coming out heavier than usual. 

“I really think we should talk, Arthur.” You hadn’t really stepped away from him yet, your legs softly pressed against his knees. 

“I agree, it’s just-” he sighed, putting his glasses back on, probably out of habit, “I need to think everything through first. I can’t give you any… well, answers right now. I’m sorry.” He patted your hand before letting go of it. You took the hint, finally taking a step back. 

Your heart felt like an anchor in your chest, sinking to the bottom of the ocean. He had just kissed you, and no, his words didn’t immediately suggest a rejection. But a part of you was hoping the kiss would untie his tongue, so to speak, and allow the jumbled emotions to run free after all these weeks of circling around the unspoken core of your not quite unrequited affection for him. Couldn’t you just wait a little longer after having survived this whole time? You certainly could, and you were going to give him all the space he needed to get his thoughts and emotions in order. But it hurt, being denied the chance to finally know for sure where you were at with him, to decide the next step in your relationship.

“I understand,” you gave a slow nod, trying to prevent the deep disappointment from coming through in your tone, “and I don’t expect you to give me a definite answer right now. I don’t even know what that should be. Just, please, whatever your thoughts are, whatever you feel, know you can tell me anything. You can be open, no matter how hard it is. Just don’t let it distance us from each other, because… I love working with you and being around you, whatever that might look like.” Despite your best efforts to keep your emotions at bay, you felt held back tears burning in the corners of your eyes. Arthur must have noticed, as the tension in his expression softened. 

“I won’t, I promise. I’d never want that to happen. Not again.” 

Oh Arthur, there’s so much you have yet to share with me, you thought. You weren’t about to push though, not when he was already making such an effort to handle the situation head-on, rather than finding a way to wiggle out and avoid it again.

“Thank you,” you paused, trying to come up with the least painful end to the conversation now that there apparently wasn’t anything else to be said. There was only one that you could think off:

“Look, I think I need some time to process this too, so I guess I’ll just head home. I can take the bus or-”

“I’ll drive you,” Arthur said firmly, getting up from his chair. The resolution was a pleasant surprise to you, you expected him to jump at the offer of some immediate alone time instead.

“Oh okay, thank you. I’ll just get changed and then we can get going.”

“Wait. Let me at least get you something for breakfast first. And a coffee. That’s the least I can do.” Something about the way he said it made you feel like this was his attempt to make it up to you, and you accepted it gratefully. There was no point in running away from anything anymore. 

—

You hadn’t heard much from Arthur since the day he drove you back home. Not that the conversation during that drive had seemed unnatural or awkward in any way, on the contrary. And you had to keep reminding yourself Arthur was a man of a different generation, and so it shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that he wasn’t an avid texter. Still, he had promised he would have a serious conversation with you about the future of your relationship with him, however that was going to turn out, and he hadn’t mentioned it since. Except for a few texts and one phone call, all related to the play, you hadn’t really gotten or found a chance to talk to him in a more personal setting until the next week’s rehearsal.

The greeting was warm and you could sense that something had shifted in the way you were interacting or perhaps in tune with one another, but fragile uncertainty was still hanging heavy in the air between you. You didn’t really have the space to explore the feeling further however, since you had almost run late thanks to an unreasonably upset parent storming into your office after your regular classes earlier. After such an encounter, you barely had any energy left for two hours of extracurricular activities, but there was no way you were going to cancel the rehearsal, for a multitude of reasons. All you had to do was hang on for a little while longer, hopefully with Arthur’s help.

“Ollie, please, I need you to focus. What Luna just said, that was your line, remember?” You had lost count of how many times Ollie (and not only him) had forgotten a line or zoned out during this week’s rehearsal. And to think the performance was scheduled for just over a month from now - you knew you couldn’t afford to lose a single precious second of the limited rehearsal time that you had each week. Which naturally posed a challenge, since getting the kids to pay full attention to the play for two hours straight was proving to be an almost impossible task. 

“I’m sorry. I just don’t like how Arthur’s looking at me,” mumbled Ollie. You sighed. Even though the relationship between the children and Arthur had improved significantly, there were still moments when he couldn’t hold his comments at bay, and of course the children had never truly forgotten their first encounter with him. You turned to Arthur with a tired look, which was met with an almost guilty expression on his side. 

“I was just lost in thought, Ollie. You’re doing fine, just make sure you don’t let your cues run away from you,” he said and you noted the clear shift in how he was trying to match his tone and vocabulary to the setting, even if not perfectly. You gave him an approving smile. 

“What is ‘cues’?” asked Ollie. You didn’t mind actually explaining the word this time, deciding it could be useful for them to know, unlike some other expressions that Arthur was still prone to using from time to time.

“A cue is something you have to pay attention to so that you know when to say or do something on stage. So for example, you were supposed to say what?” 

“Uh… Is this your ship?” Ollie had to think for a second, but he ended up getting it right. You nodded.

“Exactly. And so, what is your cue? What reminds you that you need to say this?”

Ollie was silent for a while, struggling to remember the sequence of the scene. Two little hands shot up, Emily and Luna both trying to answer for him.

“Let’s give Ollie a chance to answer first, okay?” 

“Oh I know!” Ollie beamed, “My uh…”

“Cue?” you suggested. 

“My cue is when we come on stage and the ship appears!” 

“Exactly, great job,” you praised him, “So, this is for everyone, okay? Always remember what comes before it’s your turn to act. Then you won’t forget anything. You’re a team so pay attention to each other.” 

Some of the kids nodded, but most of all Ollie, proud of his little achievement. You checked the time, realizing you’d probably pushed them enough for now.

“Alright, it’s time for a break. Grab your snacks and don’t forget to drink plenty of water. We’ll try this new rule out in 10 minutes,” you said, loud enough for everyone to hear even through all the cheerful noise at the first mention of a break. 

As everybody ran towards their little backpacks to retrieve their snacks, you sank into a chair next to Arthur’s, maybe just as excited for the break as the children. 

“I’m sorry, I forgot to watch myself there,” Arthur said, his voice quiet and almost sad. You touched his arm for a second, a very subtle gesture that wouldn’t make the kids question anything even if they saw it. 

“No, it was okay, don’t worry about it. You’ve clearly been working hard on how you act around them, don’t think I didn’t notice. And at least I got to teach them a new word,” you smiled.

“That’s true, it was a necessary lesson, I suppose.”

“Maybe next time you can try to explain something to them yourself though.” It was only a suggestion, but the truth was you wanted to challenge Arthur just a little further, not only to get some more help from him, but to prove to him that he was capable of much more than he limited himself to. Even in just a couple months of attending the rehearsals, he’d managed to co-write the script with you, learn how to talk to kids and give them many creative prompts. You knew for a fact that with some practice, he could find his way back to theater in more ways than just as a spectator and a critic. 

“I could do that,” he nodded, seeming grateful that you would trust him with it. But that wasn’t the end of your request. 

“Well, I wanted to ask one more thing of you, actually. Let’s be honest, you pretty much wrote this scene yourself. And you had some really helpful notes for the staging. So why don’t you take over for the rest of the rehearsal today?”

Arthur stared at you as though you just suggested something unthinkable. His eyes traveled to the group of kids sitting on the floor and snacking or showing off their newest toys, and then back to you.

“You mean direct them? I couldn’t, no,” he said, quick and resolute. 

“Why not? You’ve been watching me do it for months. You even participated, multiple times. I fully believe you can do it, Arthur. And it would mean a lot to me if you at least tried. I’ll be right here, I’ll help you out if you don’t know how to approach something. I’ll even give you a cut of my pay if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“Oh please,” Arthur scoffed, “you know it’s not about that in the slightest. I’m happy to help in any way I can, I just don’t know why you’d even want me to interfere with your work like this. I know it might be hard to believe after everything I said after that first performance, but seeing you work with them- you’re an excellent director. You know just what to say to set their imaginations soaring, I can’t do that.” 

Your hand found his discretely again. He looked down, a slight flush creeping up into his cheeks.

“Here you are underestimating yourself again. Remember what you told me about learning? This is the perfect opportunity for you to learn. Not just how to do things, but what you already can do, even if you keep telling yourself otherwise. Please, Arthur.” You made sure to hold eye contact the whole time, and even though you could tell a part of him wanted to avoid it, he couldn’t look away. 

“You’re not playing fair, you know that? I can’t believe you’re making me even consider-”

A shrill scream interrupted Arthur’s sentence, making you promptly let go of his hand and walk towards the source of the sound, which turned out to be Lexi. 

“What’s going on here? Lexi?” you asked, a worried edge to your voice.

“Nothing,” said Andy, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Not nothing!” protested Lexi, “Andy ate my cookie. I already gave one to Emily and Erin, and this was my last one,” she sniffled. 

“Andy, why did you do that?” you asked, trying to keep up a balance between stern and gentle tone, but your nerves were starting to fail you. This was the last thing you wanted to be dealing with at that point. 

“I didn’t do anything,” Andy still carried on with his nonchalant facade. Kids this young shouldn’t find lying this effortless, you thought. 

“Alright, did any of you see who took Lexi’s cookie?” you tried another approach, realizing you couldn’t exactly solve the situation unless you got a direct confirmation that Andy was indeed the thief, even if you had no reason to believe otherwise. The reply you got was a disappointing mix of “no” and “I don’t know”. You let out a heavy sigh, your exhaustion catching up to you. 

“I didn’t think you were capable of lying, Andy.” Hearing Arthur’s voice right behind you startled you at first, but the surprise was soon replaced by a wave of relief. You had to hold back a chuckle at how strict his eyes appeared through his glasses. You hadn’t seen that look in a while. 

“I’m telling the truth,” Andy tried again, but this time his act faltered. Even if Arthur wasn’t intimidating through his reputation alone, his impressive height was definitely commanding respect, especially in a six-year-old’s eyes.

“Are you now?” Arthur didn’t have to say or do anything else, the mere tone of his voice (which was surprisingly still very level) combined with his overall presence was enough to crack the tiny thief, who was suddenly blushing and looking directly to the ground.

“Alright, it was me,” he said, almost too quiet to hear. 

“Excuse me, what was that?” asked Arthur, a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

“I ate it, okay? I’m sorry, Lexi,” said Andy, louder this time, but still refusing to meet anybody’s eye. 

“It’s alright… If you give me some of your candy.” Lexi looked much more cheerful already, confidently presenting her conditions to him. 

“That’s a good idea, what do you say Andy?” Arthur turned to the boy, who agreed and reached for his bag of gummies immediately. He let Lexi pull out a whole handful of candy and Arthur nodded in approval. 

“And now there’s just one more person you should apologize to.” Andy looked up at him with a puzzled expression, while Arthur gestured towards you. 

“Your teacher perhaps? For lying like this?” 

Andy’s cheeks heated up again, as he stood up and brought you the bag of candy. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t lie again,” he said, his eyes pleading with you to forgive him. You took a watermelon-shaped gummy candy and thanked him for the apology, relieved the conflict had been solved quickly and painlessly. You were impressed by how well Arthur had handled the situation, showing as clear as day how wrong he was in his perception of himself yet again. 

“Good, good. Oh thank you Andy,” Arthur also accepted a candy from the (now almost empty) packet, “And the rest of you, I believe you’ve had more than enough time for your snacks, haven’t you?” Apart from a few objections here and there, most kids agreed with him. 

“Your teacher deserves a break after all this mischief, so I’ll rehearse this scene with you,” he added, shooting you a quick look and a smile, silently confirming to you what you had been hoping he would decide to do. You mouthed a “thank you”, your affection for him bubbling up in your chest, stronger than it had ever been.

You sat down in the spot that was usually his, watching as he ushered the children back to the little stage, and with a script in hand, started going over the scene you had left unfinished before the break. You could tell he was nervous, and it seemed as though he turned back to look at you, searching for support or approval, almost every couple minutes. You had no reason to blame him for that though: after all, knowing him the way you did at that point, you knew what he must have been going through in order to push himself to do this. And you couldn’t be prouder of him in that moment. Every one of his interactions with the children you observed during that rehearsal was just another proof of how much work he had put into this, into himself. It all had come from inside him of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten anywhere - but the thought that you had been there for the journey from the very start, that you might have even facilitated it in a way, made your heart feel like it was growing impossibly large in the confines of your ribcage. You had to come clean to yourself, you were in love with him.

[studentbyday]

oops! i did it again. lessons from this school year...

Hey, you remember that post I made about my winter term priorities? HAHAHAHAHahaha ha ha. That plan totally went to shit, but it's all part of the journey, right? 😅 (Tbh, it's quite difficult to make a conscious effort to change yourself when the default response to being and feeling busy is to go on autopilot -> all the unconscious habits, even if unhealthy, take control, and bc it's unconscious, you don't realize it until it gets quite bad! anyway! no more! my future plans make it so this will be impossible to do while still retaining some sense of sanity. so to prep, we're gonna slowly implement little changes so hopefully it's not so overwhelming that i give up)

🧘🏻‍♀️ comparing mindsets in fall and winter term

Fall term was not that bad bc I had 2 STEM subjects I really really loved and was interested in (biochem and mol bio 💕), and despite their difficulty, that love and interest and the feeling that "I am in the right field for me" kept me positive. There were times I thought I would feel burnout symptoms if I wasn't careful, but I really think that positivity protected me from the worst of it.

Winter term, however...I had one favorite subject: moral philosophy, which led to me wistfully dreaming about an AU in which I double majored in philosophy and piano performance, lol. After the highs of biochem and mol bio and the natural ease with which the bits of info flowed together in those subjects, I did not enjoy pharmacology or the 2nd half of psyc as much -> loss of interest -> negativity and feeling like I'm in the wrong field bc how dare I not like pharmacology (or psychology) as much as the other life science-y subjects when it's really so important for us to survive and thrive! 😅 I mean, there were times I could get that spark from pharmacology or psyc, but it wasn't often enough or intense enough to keep me consistently inspired throughout the semester. The feeling of "maybe I don't have what it takes and I'm in the wrong field" was compounded by the re-realization that there's sm to know of bioinformatics and I struggle to know any of it! Persevering is important, but it's harder to persevere with a negative mindset.

😤 what went wrong this school year and what i learned from it

I still struggle with perfectionism (and bc of it, procrastination). While it might not be as bad as it was in high school, I still spent too long on assignments that weren't worth much and during finals season, was so scared of getting less than 90% just to keep up my A+ streak. Like, I'm pretty sure no one who cares to know your GPA cares about whether you have an A+ streak or not. I have too high a threshold for what is a "disappointing" grade. I also struggle with deep regret about how I haven't mastered everything they throw at us in each course... definitely an unrealistic expectation, especially as the proportion of new info to absorb increases with each course. I did what I could using what I knew to do, so it is what it is. I may find ways to make improvements and learn more, but I won't beat myself up for not having known to do those things in the past.

Did not use effective study methods. Since first year, my problem has been keeping up with the readings and my solution has been to just use typed outline notes. It worked for the first few years when it was mostly review from previous courses with a few new concepts in between. But as I progress through my degree, the proportion of completely new info is increasing. This notetaking method won't work anymore bc it just causes cognitive overload, especially during exam season (when I've mostly forgotten the details of everything that isn't smth I've already known for years). E.g. for pharmacology, I got so bogged down by the details of all the drug classes that I didn't see the big picture and so didn't organize the info according to it. This made it hard to see patterns and better chunk the info. I was so stressed during finals season bc of this (and the sheer amount of notes that I had to read for psyc 😭). What makes it feel like even more of a problem is that the cognitive overload problem from my notetaking method has been a thing for all other uni courses thus far, it's just that pharmacology was the first time I needed to create a stronger connecting thread between the otherwise disparate pieces of info (drug classes). In all other courses, that thread was part of the nature of the topic being studied so I eventually understood it as I kept going and mentally re-organized it in my brain...but even then it was hodge-podge and so my depth of mastery was and is so flimsy, and every semester I leave feeling drained and like I wasted the opportunity to maximize my learning. (How dramatic I get about this is also probably tied to my perfectionism, but I still think it would greatly benefit future me to change my notetaking style.)

🎓 advice for future me

Look at the academic calendar, specifically the faculty course descriptions. Look at how many hours they say you should expect to spend on each activity in the course. Try to use those learning hours as a guide for your schedule so that you don't spend too long on an item that isn't worth much. If there isn't such a breakdown, assume one based on whatever they give you or other courses and adjust from there.

Be a more efficient reader by skimming the text first so you can map the flow of info in a way that best creates ease of understanding/synthesis/memory (e.g. via an outline, tree diagram, flowchart, mind map, or simple drawings - and noticing when a list/outline will NOT be helpful bc it'll just be too overwhelming and not easy to compare/contrast info and see patterns). I knowww you've survived thus far without doing it this way and done well, BUT with this many courses, the increasing complexity of each subject, and the overload of info in each, you WILL need to do this to make quicker work of the readings, save you sooo much stress during exam seasons, and improve how much you learn while in school which is the real goal you've wanted to achieve all this time. Don't repeat the mistake you made in pharmacology. And it really doesn't have to be aesthetic and you definitely should NOT get caught up with it if you really wanna learn. You could just use one color for everything and a highlighter and just basic shapes/lines - that alone can be way more effective than boring paragraphs/lists or a colorful, overly complex diagram that'll just distract you from the main point.

Create a realistic daily routine (wake-up and sleep times, start and end times for schoolwork) and be strict about following it. Set your non-negotiables for personal goals to keep up with alongside your schoolwork bc academics aren't everything. Remember how you regretted not devoting more time to extra-curriculars and other skills in high school which would've rounded you out as a person. You can try theming the parts of the day so that you don't have to think about what task you should do first after study breaks and keep up the momentum (e.g. mornings for readings and notes, afternoons for active recall/homework). Then you can live the rest of the day after school as structured or unstructured as you wish. If this strategy doesn't work for you, you don't have to use it.

Take advantage of interleaving so you don't get bored. Whether by following the theming strategy or just switching subjects every hour, idc if you aren't done yet, you better switch bc the second consecutive hour of the same thing is never as effective as the first.

[entity9silvergen]

(For my Hisuian Zoroark Ingo fic)

The central themes of the first half of this fic are 1) Ingo accepting that he is a Zoroark and 2) Ingo figuring out how to cast an illusion of his human self. There are a lot of fics where Zoroark illusions fully allow the Pokémon to speak human language and use solid opposable thumbs. It does not work that way in this fic so I'm going to use this post to explain the normal parameters of a Zoroark's illusions to contextualize exactly what Ingo is trying to do.

There are a lot of different types of illusions. In this fic, I break it down into five main categories: visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory, and mental. For example, a visual illusion would cause a Zoroark to look like a human. An auditory illusion would make the Zoroark sound human. An olfactory illusion would make them smell like a human. A tactical illusion would make a Zoroark's fur feel like skin. Mental illusions are more complicated but in simple terms they cause either the Zoroark to believe they are human or someone else to believe the Zoroark is human despite evidence they are not.

I normally picture Zoroark illusions like a façade similar to a light projection. This is not how illusions work in real life and therefore it is more complicated in this fic. A human perceives an illusion when there is missing or conflicting stimulus and the brain tries to make sense of it by creating an image of what would make sense there.

In this fic, the Illusion ability allows Zorua and Zoroark to create that stimulus. They do so in a way similar to using a move. When using a move such as Shadow Ball, the Pokémon uses some power inside itself to create something that you can see, touch, and hear. The Illusion ability lets the Zorua or Zoroark emit those types of stimulus and manipulate them in a way that causes the viewer's brain to perceive something that isn't there. Their physical bodies change in no way.

Visual ones come most naturally to Zorua and Zoroark. Most don't learn any type of illusion other than visual ones and maybe some minor auditory ones to mask the sound of them moving. Visual illusions are complicated but their ability just lets them happen more naturally. There isn't a ton of conscious thought that comes with constructing the illusion. It's mostly practice.

Auditory illusions require that focus. Chapter 6 of the fic dives into this more but the principal component of auditory illusions is something called masking. A real life example of masking is sound-canceling headphones. Sound canceling headphones detect noises around you and emit a noise at a specific frequency to counter it. In this fic, Ingo learns which different types of auditory stimulus he can mix with his own verbal words to create new noises that mimic human language.

Human language is complicated, even for humans, so Ingo just kind of has to brute force figure out which illusion noises match up with human speech. As stated previously, other Zoroark don't know how to do this. Anything beyond changing appearance is pretty groundbreaking among the Zoroark and requires a lot of concentration on correctly matching up the details of the stimulus the Illusion ability is creating.

I don't really dive into tactical or olfactory illusions in the fic. Assume they work similar to visual and auditory illusions where he just creates stimulus using his ability. Humans aren't really sniffers so Ingo does the bare minimum and mostly just neutralizes his scent enough that Pokémon can't tell he's a Zoroark immediately. He has no idea what he smelled like as a human so he just kind of half-asses it. Tactile is way more complicated so Ingo only does it when he's being touched, which is stressful so he mostly dodges it.

Mental illusions are touched on later in the fic. In real life, mental illusions can be anything from just lying to common mistakes humans brains make when trying to comprehend information. The closest thing to the type of mental illusions used in this fic are false memories, but in real life those are a combination of lying and common human brain mistakes (simplified). In this fic it's something more similar to a Pokémon's psychic powers. The Zoroark use their ghost powers to reach into the brain and manipulate their perception of reality and/or memories. I have no explanation beyond ghost powers since there isn't really anything similar in real life as far as I'm aware.

To appear human, Ingo needs to perform multiple types of difficult illusions at once and he can't do that as a baby Zorua, hence the training arc. EV training doesn't exist in Hisui but Ingo does it anyway. There is no mention of him eating grit in the fic but pretend he does. This man maxes out all of his stats so he has the strength to cast a really convincing illusion. I think making characters overpowered makes stories less fun but in this case, casting illusions is hard so Ingo needs to be high-leveled/well-trained in order to maintain them.

TLDR; In other fics Illusion works like Transform so the Zoroark becomes physically human. In this fic, Zoroark abilities are limited to visual illusions that cause others to perceive their body as something it is not. Anything else requires a lot of focus and hard work.

[ravenkinnie]

thoughts on jinx largely using pink for her graffitis because the color reminds her of vi??

i like to think its true bcs it makes all those years of stewing resentment/longing/grieving before she sees vi again hits a little more harder. vi seeps into even the most trivial parts be it conscious or subconscious. even in her 'JINX' grafitti tag the first letter 'JI' is drawn in a shape similar with 'VI' the letter J is just tilted kind of, which is a blatant visual representation of how jinx's heart and soul yearns for her sister. its these little things that truly make me realize how obsessed jinx is with vi & idk to me the fandom doesnt talk enough ab it.

I mean I'll be real lads, jinx was using pink way before arcane and before her and vi were even sisters and I think they chose it because pink and blue go well together and now shes stuck with it forever ksjsjsj. I'm also glad s2 is coming out soon because the more people try to find VI in every poster the more I'm starting to feel like that encanto tweet that's like were running out of things to say about this movie jaisusj

don't get me wrong, I'm also prone to delusions, like riot renewed their K/DA trademark and I've been reading signs in the water and the sky for an upcoming EP/album so its not like I also don't live in delululand but my stance is we don't need to read the posters for signs of jinx's feelings towards vi when jinx already told us. like vi is one of the two protagonists we already know she's central to the story and we know that the vi jinx relationship is the centre of the show and the heart of it. and if you don't realise that then I think you will really love arcane because clearly you've never seen it before jajsjksks

but like, they are the centers of each others stories, vis entire arc in s1 is basically just defined by her sister and s2 will probably do little to change that at least in the first half. we know jinx defines herself outside of vi in some ways but she can't really cut her off, she says explicitly vi is a voice she heard over the years, and seven years on a bitch that slightly looks like vi is a trigger. silcos dead ass or not, that's not something you just move past, vi will always be the most important figure. esp since based on trailers we saw so far it seems that jinx in her current position is not living her best life, we've only seen her struggling and looking devastated so far and I assume vi will also not be thriving so I think it will only emphasise how they really are all each other has. and you can say vi has caitlyn now but first of all, caitlyn is insane amd also a bitch and now has personal and political beef with her sister. second of all, caitvi fandom simply is classist so you would think its not a problem but the class divide between them is a huge part of vis character in league and I assume they will keep thay in arcane looking at the direction they are going towards. they both will never have another person like each other, someone who knows where you come from

the reason the fandom doesnt care about it is not because its not true and factual to the show, its just how this fandom works. firstly, nobody cares about platonic relationships already. secondly, parts of the fandom that care about jinx don't necessarily care about vi and parts of the fandom that care about vi don't necessarily care about jinx so hilariously there doesn't seem to be a ton of overlap between the two parts of the fandom where you would have that relationship explored. and it's a very messy relationship that doesn't show either of them in the best light and fanon content is chronically allergic to complicated dynamics so at most you're getting like ship fics with background vi and jinx fluff or like few throwaway angst lines. and most meta on them just tries to argue that the other one is the problem kskskksksj

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

So after the final round of chemo before a month-long break, I have some…thoughts.

Definitely don’t feel like you have to read below the cut!

I can hardly believe how quickly time has flown! It’s already been a little over six months since my diagnosis, but there was another half of a year prior to that of symptoms.  It’s been like a night and day difference in so many more ways than just physical, though, and I really think I can use this as a sort of divider for my life, as cliche as that may sound.  The 'then', and the 'now'.

Then, not only was I dealing with chronic cough, insane levels of fatigue, progressively worsening shortness of breath, and a general lack of motivation to do anything, fun, or otherwise, but I was also fighting a pretty significant battle against my own mind.  Some of my mutuals may already be aware of just how far into the “pits” I’d traveled, but it was like I couldn’t get anything right.  My viewpoint was that, generally speaking, anything and everything bad that happened to me, I somehow deserved.  I was nothing but a giant burden on everyone I’d ever met, and anyone with two brain cells to their name would wise up, eventually, realize that, and leave.  It was a mindset that got in the way of many friendships and familial relationships, and I was pushing people away left and right.

If you are one of those people, and you are reading this now?  I am nothing if not sincerely sorry for putting you through that.  But I hope that, if you’re still around, you can see how honestly I am trying to change.

(We’ve come to the ‘now’ stage, by the way.  Just in case you were curious.😉)

Now, it’s like I’ve received a well-deserved (and much-needed) slap in the face.

January 18th, aka diagnosis day, came and went, and rather than see this as yet another thing that I “deserved” for being such an inferior and unworthy person, it’s like everything started to shift.  I hadn’t made any conscious effort on my part (that I was aware of, anyway).  It just sort of…happened.  Anxiety wasn’t even a thing.  I met with my doctors and the rest of my care team in the hospital, we put together a care-plan, and that was that.  I was moving forward, ready to fight, and yes, I was reeling (still am, occasionally), but it was like I was finally able to put every last ounce of that worry on something else.  Or rather, someone.

God.

Prior to all of this, I’d always kind of scoffed at the sentiment of “If God brings you to it, He’ll bring you through it.”  My negative vibes just couldn’t grasp it, or at least they couldn’t, as far as it might ever pertain to me personally.  For years (read:  35 of them!) I hadn’t been ready to give up the rigid level of control I tried (and failed) to exert over every possible aspect of my life.  And I think this was finally the one thing that I realized wouldn’t work with that frame of logic.  It just…couldn’t.

Hearing from my primary care physician, who is the one who sent me to the ER to kick-start the diagnostic process in the first place that if I’d waited any longer, I likely wouldn’t have survived at all, only added to the mental booty-kick that I so desperately needed, and now?

It’s like coming that close to death was all that I needed to become a completely different person.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have my negative thoughts.  I give in.  I’m only human.  But by and large, I’m much less anxious.  My first conclusions on a situation aren’t always negative like they were, before.  I can look at myself in the mirror, and still not be 100% happy with the reflection, but it’s not to the point where I fully believe I have zero value anymore.  I know I can contribute to society, and my relationships, in a positive way, and I am determined to try my very best to do so from here on out.

There’s still a potentially long road ahead of me.  In August, I go back for more scans, to determine if any of the original tumor is left, and if there is, more treatment will be on the table at that point.  I understand that, side-effect wise, I may not get as lucky as I was this past time, where a bit of fatigue for a few days will be the only thing that goes “awry.”  But now, I can look to those moments with acceptance and hope, rather than dread and fear.  That makes absolutely all of the difference in the world.  

My doctors have me.  God has me.  And really, that is all I need.

Lastly, to all of those who witnessed my attempts at pushing them away—who saw every last bit of the ugly that was my attitude a year ago and before—THANK YOU.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for staying.  For being patient, when you could have (and maybe should have) just walked away.  I will never be able to repay your kindness, but I am hopeful that I can at least make a concentrated attempt to start!

[eternal-star-rogue]

Prev Post<== @comms-exe

“Wait wha-“ Zipper didn’t even get to finish that thought as Comms seemingly turned himself off and Zim’s body slumped over. Zipper and Ellie stared at him for a moment and then shared a look.

“Is he like… okayyyy??? He’s not dead right?” Ellie asked, nervously scratching the back of her neck in confusion.

“I don’t think he ever was ok to begin with, ah but no. He’s not dead. I’m not sure if he’s conscious or not though. One things for sure, he’s technically not a person. Zim probably didn’t have the time to make him into one, but I’m gonna change that reeeaaal quick.” Zipper said as she rolled the sleeves of her hoodie up. 

“Riiiight.” Ellie said, somewhat lost on what Zipper meant entirely. She started rifling through the case of medical supplies and pulled out a wound-disinfectant and some cotton balls and began cleaning Comms/Zim’s wounds. 

Zipper set herself to work, unbuckling Comms and laying Zim’s body gingerly down on the floor on his stomach. It was then she realized how much she’d grown in comparison to Zim. She was taller than him now, by at least a half foot or so. He wouldn’t like that very much….

Zipper shook her head and got out her tools and began carefully taking what was technically Comms themself apart piece by piece. Processors and cables and computer chips and wires and plugs and all sorts of little data crystals and usbs all strung together and held in place by a couple shabby outer-shell pieces of scrap metal, with… wait what the-

“Ellie holy fuck there’s a load bearing juice box in the middle of all this mess. If I pull it out he’s all just gonna fall to pieces.” Zipper said, pointing at the box with a mini extendable flashlight.

Ellie stopped stitching together the gash on the back of Comms/Zim’s head and glanced over. “Is it… is it even like doing anything other than holding stuff together?”

“No it’s not it’s- wait oh my god look. There’s a message written on it. It’s in Morse code.” Zipper exclaimed.

“Oh shit what’s it say?” Ellie said, going back to stitching Comms up, not taking her eye off her work for a second. 

Zipper squinted as she tried to read the juice box through the tangled mess and was silent for a few moments until she burst out laughing and cackling, almost scaring Ellie into messing up her stitches.

“BAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAHH, It says, ahahah, it say “pieces of shit all they’ve given me is expired prune juice, fuck them and fuck their juice.” Zipper had to put her tools down for a minute as she laughed. “Oh man, yup. Yeah that’s Zim alright.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes and shook her head, but she was smiling ever so slightly. It was good to hear Zipper laugh at least. 

“Alright, let’s get you fixed up Comms.” Zipper said, carefully removing the juice box and beginning to piece together a more solidly built “pak” for him. She worked tirelessly for hours, even pulling out a few components of her own pak that she didn’t desperately need just to help Comms be more efficient. She felt bad for the circumstances of his “birth” and the lack of personhood he had. Perhaps when this was all over, she could make a robotic body for him to inhabit, or perhaps Zim would clone an Irken body for him. Anything that is given even the resemblance of life, deserves to live it in full. That’s what Zipper believed anyways. 

Zipper sighed, wiping the sweat off her forehead and wiping her oily scuffed up hands on her hoodie. She turned the pain sensing inhibitor all the way down to 2%. Any higher and Comms would wake up screaming in agony from the amount of pain he’d be in. Especially with those wounds that were now very VERY slowly healing and regenerating. Thank goodness Ellie had used the dissolvable stitching wire, otherwise those sutures would fuse into Zim’s skin and he’d have to rip them out. 

“Ok now how do we uh… turn you back on… I actually didn’t see a button of any kind so I’m really hoping you have an automatic startup system.” Zipper said more to herself than anyone. 

[xoxoavenger]

Hiii can I please request Jack Thompson x female reader who has powers like Scarlett witch. You can decide what happens etc. thank youuu 💕

Terrified

pairing: Jack Thompson x Fem!Reader

word count: 3322

warnings: some angst but also the fluff

12 Days of Christmas Masterlist

main masterlist

Y/N woke up screaming. 

She woke up screaming most nights, which is why she sacrificed extra money to live on her own, why she almost ruined her friendship with Peggy because she couldn't accept the offer of living with her. It's why she was terrified to spend the night with her boyfriend, Jack. There had been countless nights over the nine months where she had caught herself almost asleep, about to spend the night, before she realized what the hell was happening and left, despite Jack's protests. 

"I can sleep in the other room," 

He thought it was about modesty.

She always made up excuses to leave, kissing him as passionately as she dared to try and assuage his mind. It didn't change the fact that at the end of the day, she was terrified that she was going to have one of those stupid nightmares and wake up screaming, and man would that scare Jack off. 

She knew everyone had nightmares. But not everyone had these kinds of nightmares. 

"You're not coming with me!" Steve yelled at her. They were in the plane on the way to rescue Bucky and the rest of the POWs Hydra had taken. Bucky's family had taken Y/N in when she was young, her father having never been around and her mother dying from some sort of illness. 

"Bucky is my brother! I'm not leaving him!" She knew he would never leave her, would never give up if it had been her in his place. 

"You're not apart of this!" Steve shook his head at her, and she frowned. 

"Just because I'm not in the army doesn't meant that I can't help!" She cried. "I've been with you guys since the beginning! I'm just as much apart of this as you!" Steve wasn't hearing it. 

In real life, she had grabbed a parachute and jumped out of the plane after Steve. In real life she had snuck into the compound quickly. In real life, she went straight to Bucky while Steve was left behind fighting. Her dream showed none of this. Her subconscious didn't care.

"Bucky! Oh my God!" She screamed, going to his side. He barely moved his head, and was quickly trying to free him. 

"Y/N?" He muttered, voice hoarse and body pale. 

"What did they do to you?" She questioned, still trying to free the restraints. 

"You have to go," He said as she got one arm done. He sat up, grabbing her hand. "Please, they're coming," He begged, but she wasn't listening. 

"Steve's taking care of it, don't worry-"

In her dream, every night, they shoot Bucky. In her dream, they take her and do unspeakable things. 

In real life Bucky wasn't shot, just electrocuted. In real life, she was knocked out quickly. In real life, she was barely conscious when these things happened. In real life, she can only remember these things happening when she goes to sleep.

In her dream she is vividly living through it. 

Sometimes she wakes up when they shoot Bucky. She wakes up and has to remind herself that Steve was successful a few months later. That they only had Y/N for half the time they had Bucky, that Bucky didn't die there, he died later on and now Steve is dead and-

It usually doesn't work. 

She knows Hydra did experiments on her. She's still finding out about those. 

~

"Good morning," Peggy smiles as Y/N steps into the office, putting her things down on her desk. They both know that the only reason they are the only two girls in the office is because the government felt bad about the damage that wreaked havoc on their lives. 

Welcome to the 40s.

"Good morning," Y/N tried to be smiley, but she wasn't getting enough sleep to do this over and over again everyday. 

There was no way she could tell people what she was going through. No one would understand. 

"Jack came in a couple minutes ago, went straight to the back. He seems to be a bit on the wrong side this morning." Peggy was still smiling, but this information made Y/N want to scream. 

Of course Jack was upset this morning. The fight they had gotten into at three A.M. was definitely responsible for that.

"What happened?" Peggy asked, mood immediately shifting as she took in the look on her best friend's face. Peggy was insanely good at reading people, and after all that the two had gone through she could read Y/N like a book. 

"Well," Y/N briefly thought about lying, but one look at her best friend's face told her she had to tell the truth. "It's a long story." She tired, but Peggy just glared. 

"It's a good thing our desks are right next to each other, isn't it?" Peggy questioned, already prepared for that answer. Y/N nodded, taking her spot across from Peggy. 

"Jack wanted me to spend the night last night, since it was so late. And as much as I want to, there's just too much going on right now." Y/N tried not to think of the look on Jack's face when she had slipped up, when her eyes went red and her hands began to glow. 

He was terrified. 

"That's not a long story." Peggy commented as she began to go through the paperwork stacked on her desk. Y/N took a deep breath and avoided Peggy's eyes.

"I'm having nightmares." Maybe if she told part of the truth, Peggy would let her off the hook. 

"You've had nightmares since you met Jack. What else is going on?" She looked at Y/N then, squinting as if she were trying to preform an X-Ray with her naked eyes. "Are you," She led off, eyes briefly trailing to Y/N's midsection. 

"No!" She shrieked, probably too loudly, because the other men turned to stare. "It's not that." Y/N looked down at her hands, the ones that had started to glow. The ones that scared Jack. 

She never wanted to hurt Jack. She knew he would never hurt her, that he would try and kill anyone for putting their hands on her, but she never thought she would see the look of fear in his eyes when he looked at her. 

"Then what is it?" Peggy asked, still going through the papers. Y/N began to copy the motion, hoping that if she were doing something normal this next part would seem better somehow. 

"Do you remember when I was captured by Hydra?" Y/N asked. Of course she knew Peggy remembered. They both knew that even though they never talked about what happened over the war, they remembered every detail. 

"Yes," Peggy answered, slowing her work. She knew that what Y/N was about to say was important, much more important than nightmares. 

"They were trying to recreate the serum. They tested it on Bucky, but we never found out if it actually worked." She took a deep breath, because she was about to drop a truth that she probably should have told Peggy, and Steve, when she was first rescued. "They tested it on me too." 

She had whispered the words, but she knew Peggy heard them. Even as she was silent, Y/N knew the sentence had gotten across.

"I'm sorry," She whispered, sounding confused. "I'm not sure I understand. You were tested on by Hydra?" 

"From what I remember." Y/N answered, not looking at her friend. 

"Why didn't you tell us?" The us in that situation was clear, and Y/N tried to block out the fact that half of that group was dead.

"One of you already knew." Y/N tried to be funny, but it was clear it didn't land. 

"Why are you telling me this now?" Peggy tried not to sound brash, but she was confused as to why Y/N was bringing this up now, when she was supposed to be talking about the fight with Jack. 

"Something has been happening." Y/N closed her eyes, no longer feeling the need to pretend she was doing work. "It started when the nightmares got worse, and then there was a tingling in my hands." She looked down, willing the red power to come to the surface just a bit. She lifted a hand to show it, pulling it back once Peggy saw. Her eyes widened, and Y/N couldn't look at her anymore. 

"Y/N,"

"I don't know what's happening to me." She whispered, tears in her eyes. "And last night, Jack was upset that I couldn't stay the night. I started to tell him about the nightmares, but I got too emotional and it happened." She took a deep breath, looking up and away. 

"What did he do?" She asked, and Y/N just shook her head. 

"He was terrified." She shrugged, as if that were the obvious answer. Her throat was closing with emotion and her eyes were beginning to well with tears.

"Of you?" Peggy asked, because she was sure there was no way Jack actually was scared of Y/N. She had seen the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world. Peggy would have never thought that Jack would even think about being afraid of Y/N in any way. 

"Yes. And who wouldn't be?" Y/N got up, not able to stay at her desk any longer. 

"Are you sure that he was afraid of you?" Peggy questioned, sure that Y/N must've been mistaken.

"What else would it have been?" Y/N asked. Peggy didn't have the answer, but soon the Chief was coming over anyway. They had to end the conversation quickly, but one look from Peggy told Y/N this wasn't going away.

"I need you two to go on a stakeout." He had said, and Y/N just stared, waiting for the rest of that assignment. "We need more information about one of the targets. Here's the file, read in the car." He dropped the file on Y/N's desk, and she just nodded, watching the chief walk back to his office. 

"Looks like we're going out today." 

~

"Where's Y/N?" Jack had asked when he had finally gotten out the the interrogation the Chief had made him do. He had gotten to the office early in the morning, hoping to catch when Y/N had come in. He desperately needed to talk to her, but he knew better than to follow her home last night. 

"Why, did you not get enough last night?" One of the guys asked, and Jack rolled his eyes. Him and Y/N had tried to keep their relationship a secret, but it was obvious after awhile. Although they weren't big on PDA, the boys still loved to give Jack shit. 

"I know you want to live vicariously through me, Jenkins, so I regret to inform you that I actually need to talk to her." Jack shot back, not in the mood for a witty comeback. 

"Chief sent her and Peggy on a stakeout." Daniel told Jack, knowing that his friend was going to be pissed. 

"Where?" Jack was packing his stuff when the Chief came out. 

"You're not going anywhere, butterfly boy." Jack tried not to show his anger at the nickname. "You didn't finish your paperwork." He nodded to the papers on Jack's desk. 

"You only told me to do the interrogation." Jack said, knowing that everyone was watching now. "You don't understand, I seriously need to talk-"

"I don't care," Chief Dooley admitted, making Jack have to take a deep breath. "You're at work, Thompson. You can talk to your girlfriend later." Everyone went back to their own work with a couple chuckles, and Jack walked to his desk, trying to forget about his personal problems. 

"Why do you need to talk to Y/N so bad?" Daniel asked as he walked over to Jack's desk. The two had gotten closer more recently, and although he knew he shouldn't ask, he wanted to be a good friend. 

"We got in an argument last night, and I did something I shouldn't have." Jack knew that it was miscommunication, that the look of fear he displayed was not received in the way he meant it. 

He wasn't afraid for himself. He was concerned for Y/N. It was clear she wasn't okay, that she was terrified, and he would do anything to take that away from her. He wasn't afraid of her. He was afraid for her.

But of course he couldn't tell Daniel about that. 

"And that's urgent?" Daniel didn't want to be rude, it just came out. He had never heard that the couple had gotten into an argument that couldn't wait before - they always put work first and figured their own problems out later.

"It's complicated." Jack muttered, starting the paperwork. 

"Sounds like it." Jack closed his eyes and cracked his neck, trying not to take a jab at Daniel. 

"How's Peggy?" He asked instead of saying something he knew he would regret. 

"Ha ha." Daniel rolled his eyes and walked away, knowing he wasn't getting the full story. 

Jack needed to talk to Y/N. He had to explain. 

~

"This is a fool's work." Peggy complained as they sat outside of the cafe. They were waiting to see Michael Carlye come out of the office, because as soon as he did they were to grab a file from his desk and leave. 

"Well, at least it gives us something to do." Y/N muttered as she took a sip of her drink. 

"Maybe you should talk to Jack." Peggy offered, staring at the door still.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that terrified look on his face really meant 'I want to talk all about this.'" Y/N didn't wait for Peggy's response, because all the sudden Michael was walking out of the building, whistling and not even knowing that the SSR was out for him. 

Wordlessly, the two got up, leaving their drinks and a couple dollars before walking across the street. 

"Let's do this quickly," Peggy grumbled as they slid right by security. The only perk of being a woman in the 40s - no one suspects shit. 

"What were you saying about quick?" Y/N teased as they waltzed right into the unlocked office. "I can't believe he just keeps this shit out like that." She said, grabbing the file out of the first drawer in his desk. "I mean seriously, this guy is," She trailed off as she heard Peggy whipping out her gun, turning to see a man in the doorway with a pistol pointing toward them. 

"Drop the file, and I'll pretend I never saw you." The man said with a gross sneer. 

"Drop the gun and I won't shoot you." Peggy fired back, gun steady in her hands. 

"That wasn't an option." The man said. Just as he shot, Y/N dropped the file and put her hands up, not even thinking as she stopped the bullet just before it hit Peggy. 

"Shit," Y/N whispered, not even sure how she had done it. "What do I do?" Just as she had asked Peggy, the man tried to turn around and yell, but Y/N shot out her other hand and pulled the door shut. 

"What are you?" The man screamed, and Y/N just blinked, not sure how to answer that. 

"What do I do?" She asked Peggy again. They knew it was only a matter of time before someone came and tried to see what the commotion was. 

"We have to run!" Peggy said, but she was still holding the gun up. 

"He knows!" Y/N cried, dropping the bullet. There was no way to spin the tale of her stopping a bullet midair.

"You're the only one that knows," Peggy walked forward, standing in front of Y/N. "So if this gets out, I will find you, and we will ruin your life." The girls heard shouting and they knew their time was up. 

"Out the window." Y/N instructed, using her new found magic to flip up the window and was jumping out. Peggy jumped out as well, and just as she was about to shut the door Y/N remember the file. She quickly reached out with her magic and grabbed it, sliding it through the window as Peggy shut it.

"What a nice office view." Y/N said, realizing they were a foot away from a narrow alley. 

"Back to the office?" Peggy offered, slipping into the alley. 

"Do we have to?" Y/N asked, knowing what was waiting at the office. 

"Well," Peggy started, but they heard yelling from behind them. The girls turned to see some men coming at them, the dumbs who tried to shoot them in the front leading the group. 

"Shit," Y/N muttered, because they were trapped. She could use her powers, but she didn't know exactly what that would entail. 

"You have to do something," Peggy muttered, because they were very out numbered. 

"I don't know what I can do." Y/N admitted, but when the first gunshot went off she caught it, anger beginning to boil in her veins. Without thinking, going based off her rage, she pushed her other hand toward the group and let herself explode. The two girls watched as the men blinked before opening their eyes, pupils red. 

"What did you do?" Peggy asked, walking toward them.

"No idea." Y/N ran past them, not sure how long the men would be out.

~

"She's here." Daniel muttered as he walked past Jack's desk, trying not to laugh as Jack practically fell out of his chair trying to turn around. He got up and quickly walked over to her, feeling bad for thanking God that she was looking for the Chief and not looking at him. 

"Y/N," He called when she was close enough that he knew she wouldn't run. He watched her eyes widen as she turned to him. He was about to speak when he realized she was close to tears. 

"Jack, I'm so sorry," She started, moving her hand to grab his arm but then aborting the motion, looking in his eyes for fear. 

"What happened?" He asked, looking over to Peggy, who had a barely contained look of shock and something else that Jack didn't have the time for right now. "Why are you sorry?" That got her to stop in her tracks. Peggy continued on, probably to debrief the Chief. Y/N was thankful they had thought of their alibi in the car.

"What do you mean?" She looked genuinely confused and slightly scared, and Jack grabbed her hand and walked her to an interrogation room for privacy. "Jack, I'm so sorry, I-"

"For what?" He asked again, confused was to why Y/N was apologizing. He was the one that needed to apologize. 

"Everything," A couple tears fell down her cheeks and she quickly wiped her cheeks, not looking at him. 

"Sweetheart," Jack tried to smile to somehow make Y/N feel better. "I need to apologize." He admitted, putting his hands on her face and pulling her face up to make her look at him. 

"It's all my fault," She said as way of explanation, causing Jack to just shake his head. "I didn't know-"

"Y/N," Jack grabbed her hand, pulling her close and trying to get her to calm down. "I wasn't afraid of whatever is going on," He cringed at his word choice. 

"That's the problem; I don't know what's going on." She whispered, sounding unhinged. Jack understood why, but he was fighting not to tale a step back. Y/N would never hurt him - he knew this. He trusted her. 

"We can figure it out, I promise." He put a hand on her cheek, trying to figure out the best way to comfort her. "Whatever is going on, I'll be here." He hoped she believed him, because he knew he meant it. 

"Right," She smiled, but it didn't seem full. "About, um, that," She looked toward the door, knowing that right now Peggy was telling the Chief all about their fake story.

"We'll work on it." Jack smirked, reading her mind. She nodded, tilting her head up and letting him press his lips to hers.

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @roxaya @iluvblueberrymuffinz @thefandomplace @punzoquack @icequeen1371 

[rivnedell]

Tolkien saved me

Just some thoughts I need to write down / Mental health issues mentioned

Not the usual tone of my blog but I just felt a urge to write, sorry

Parental death tw

I'm marked with parental alienation. I was 6 when my mom took us three, her, my sister and I far away to escape. She saved us. But I couldn't understand the bravery and the strength she needed to do that, taking us, a few clothes and driving as fast as she could while he was at work, 900km back to her parents and sisters. We lived a while with one of my aunts then my mom met step-dad. My Dad in heart actually. Fortunately it's a tremendously amazing and caring person, and he helped us to go through the hell.

I was asked to choose between my (bioligical) father and my mom, well my father asked me so. He manipulated me to choose him if I was asked by social workers who do I wanted to live with. He kept insulting my mom in front of me, degrading her, and mocking her when I was with him. Then I was menaced, insulted, degraded, violated, forced to feel guilty about about everything, being under massive and constant psychological control.

And I still feel like I betrayed my mom when I was 7.

The hell lasted until I was 17 and half. I stopped going at his, and I could finally breath, make my studies away and my life from him. In 2018, I was 21, I reconnected with him, I tried to put the negative aside, but it became impossible. It grew as 'it's him or me' and I chose myself, for survival again. It just lasted a year. And for 4 years before he died in nov 22 I could live far away from all of this, far from him, no contact and that felt like a relief.

In reality, I just put everything under the rug and locked it secured.

His death brought back everything, even stronger than it already was.

It felt weird, because I guess I still had a tiny hope that he would change at some point, and that I could someday, be ready to face him and to tell him how much he hurt me, how much he frightened me.

But that will never happen. And all the traumatic memories resurfaced like I was living them in my present. And it's hard. What do I do ? Put it under the rug again and try to survive like nothing ?

No, I don't feel I wanna do this anymore. I'm tired of struggling in the dark. I'm exhausted. Exhausted of being on a constant level of survival mode, while I don't need it.

-

All of this causes me to deal with CPTSD and its consequences. And it's tough to hang on.

I'm currently at a upper max level of procrastination where I am now feeling so numbed in and like a cocoon I am freaked out to leave. I'm freaked out to make actions, to make things happen.

Impostor syndrome, rejection fear, not feeling legit at anything in life, struggling with the simple will of existing. I do want not to stop existing, but I am afraid of fully existing, because of all the above wounds and fears.

But still, I'm avoiding life, while his death awaken in me the fear of not existing anymore.

Paradox.

And, almost, nothing is helping me hanging on, helping me wanting to bring myself back in life.

-

All my life I've been hanging tight on Tolkien's work and Peter Jackson's vision to abandon myself into this fantasy land that is Middle Earth, to escape reality. The reality at home that was made of mental insecurity, psychological violence, control and manipulation. In my childhood I used to imagine myself fighting with legolas with a bow and going home in Rivendell after chasing some orcs with Aragorn, meeting Gandalf and Galadriel occasionally. All those characters are so engraved in me and dear to my heart. All this imagination, this entire world, mythological world, and languages seized me when I was 5. And I never let go, and never will.

Middle Earth saved me and helped me wanting to stay alive in a time I was crushed by violence and psychological pressure and control.

-

But my child self is still rulling me, and I'm trrying to take my actual own conscious power back.

She (little me) used to be afraid, to be frightened, to be insulted, to be violated, to constantly be on survival mode. And she still is, rulling me according her methods for survival.

While.. I, the 26 woman I am now, does no longer need.

So it's a battle between me and me. Because I no longer need to protect myself from a menace that no longer exist, literally.

It's really hard to let go, I think it's the hardest thing I would have ever havr to do in my life. Just let it go and leave the past to the past.

-

I feel alone and lonely sometimes. Feeling like I would annoy everybody with my whining..

I'm just sharing this with hope that it could awake something in someone and.. Though I'm feeling alone, I don't want anyone to feel like I feel so, I'm saying this to you, you're not alone, we're together, we're fighting.

It's not you're fault.

And to be honest.. I'm not gonna lie, it feels good to write it down.

Thanks if you red til here ❤️

[bg-brainrot]

Sooooo curious as to your writing process. What is it like ? How do you come up with plot points ? Or how do you decide one idea is better than another ? Where do you find inspiration ? Sorry for so many questions !

Hello Anon! No need to apologize, these are all awesome questions ✨✨ thanks for asking them!

This is going to be a long one, so a quick read more...

I'm actually going to answer them out of order, so I hope you don't mind!

A quick disclaimer: this is just how my brain approaches it, but everyone is different! Also I'm a fanfic writer doing this in my free time, none of this is professional advice or anything so take it with a grain of salt.

Where do you find inspiration?

I am one of those people who cannot stop reading, writing, watching, listening, etc. because if I'm left alone with my thoughts for too long nothing good will come of it lol. So I am constantly, constantly doing something, usually two things if I can (writing and listening to music, working out and reading webtoons, playing games and listening to audio books, playing D&D and doodling, embroidery and watching TV, the list goes on). So, to answer your question: everywhere!

Every thing I do, even if I ended up hated it, is such great inspiration to draw from. If I were to give a few things extra props, I would say D&D is phenomenal experience in putting yourself in various characters shoes and learning how to react, and webtoons are great for tropes/subverting them as well as pacing (both good and bad hah). Edit to add: Anime. I've mentioned I based my fic's arcs on anime arcs and completely forgot to list it-- very key to my inspiration!

Also lots and lots of hobbies and I will always try anything once. I've rock climbed, I've crocheted, I've done pottery, I've lockpicked (for real), I've danced, I've metal worked, I've done martial arts, etc. ADHD helps with this one 😅

Real life experiences are super helpful, but it's kind of harder to pinpoint how those are inspirational, they just kind of are.

How do you come up with plot points?

I think I once vaguely mentioned that writing BG3 fanfic feels like playing solo D&D. And that's basically how I approach plot points!

So rather than like, this happens then this happens, I look at it as if I have a framework of what I would like to happen, with certain beats that need to be met, but then I just kind of let the characters roleplay that out. Sometimes it leads to things I wasn't expecting, sometimes I need to pivot like a DM with an unruly party lol. But, since I'm working with a framework, it's usually really easy to write around the characters' choices.

For the framework itself, I usually just have a vague idea that I try to poke holes into until it turns into something bigger. So like, "reincarnation story" -> how long are they dead? Is that long enough to be impactful? Why do they care about their previous life? In what ways can they pick up from where they left off and in what ways can't they?

I do the same with one-shots to be honest: "proposing to Astarion" -> who would be involved and how? How would Tav's behavior change? How would Astarion interpret that? How would Tav react to him and pivot?

It's just a lot of questions 😂

How do you decide one idea is better than another?

This is kind of tough to do, and not always a conscious choice I'd say, but roughly two factors:

1. Is this true to the character? Which idea am I more likely to go 'oh yes, he would absolutely do that'? And if they both seem equally likely, which idea would lead to the character experiencing more growth or more actual challenge?

2. Do I like it? Honestly, the most important one for someone like me with ADHD. Because if I don't like it, it won't get written lol. If I like two ideas, but one of them is pulling me toward it with half written dialogue and full on scenes playing in my head, I know which one I'll pick every time.

What is your writing process like?

With all of the above said, my writing process is kind of all over the place. But a very, very rough outline, using one of the one-shots rotting in my drafts as an example...

First comes the idea. Ex: 'Tav and Astarion sparring early game'

Then comes a rough framework. Ex: you're sparring with a party member -> Astarion is watching, amused -> you convince him to spar you somehow -> sparring happens -> Astarion is impressed, intrigued

Then usually comes dialogue (though admittedly sometimes this comes first hah), because I like to build around the decisions they make. Ex: "Oh my dear, surely you can do better than that!" -> first thing I wrote for the fic. Kind of sets the mood, the tone.

Then I kind of write whichever scenes either need to be added to help me understand where the story is going or I add the scenes I want to write (knowing that's a dangerous game, since I might lose interest if all the fun is done upfront).

Once I'm done writing, I reread it once for typos, flow issues, inconsistencies and the like. If I read it too many times I start to overanalyze it, so I try to just release it into the world before that happens lol.

A few added steps that don't always happen:

If I get stuck on a scene: I read the sections leading up to it out loud, hoping my mouth will just fill in the rest (works out a lot of the time 😂)

If I don't like the way the dialogue sounds: I put on my best Astarion and Tav accents and act it out. Usually helps me figure it out or at least catch where it's snagging.

If I think something a character does just isn't making sense: 'ugh, that's ridiculous, why would you do that?' -> usually it means I either didn't set the scene up right, didn't give it enough background or context, or I'm not understanding the motivations enough-- all of which I need to go back and flesh out more.

If I don't like what I'm writing anymore: deadly for a brain like mine, really, but I've found ways around it pretty well. First, reread the fic! I usually want to know what happens next and my brain will kick back into high gear. Then listen to a song that evokes the feel I want from the fic. Sometimes I'll listen to it on repeat as I'm driving, doing dishes, playing a game. Like it's infusing into me lol. And if neither of those work, I try to give myself a challenge. Like, write a sentence and see if I can make it fit into the fic -- it doesn't actually need to go into the final version, but the challenge is what gets me up and going.

Anyway! That was a whole lot. I hope some of it was helpful, and most of it made sense hah. Again, thanks so much for the question anon! I love answering these ❤️

[bullet-prooflove]

Choices! Series Part Three: Fair Trade - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (feat: Miguel Galindo)

Warnings: Brief mention of rape

Tagging: @annetje @anime-weeb-4-life @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @mysoulisasunflower

Part One: First Date (NSFW) - Nester and you have an unusual first date.

Part Two: Familia - (Feat: Marcus Alvarez) - Marcus discovers your relationship.

You’ve never liked Miguel Galindo but then again, you don’t like a lot of your clients. The first job had come as a referral through Marcus. Galindo had been appreciative of your handiwork, there was a skill in it that he admired or so he said. Either way you’d ended up with more assignments. That was the nature of being freelance, make an impression and they remember you.

Today you stood before that swimming pool of his, your gaze on scenery beyond. It really was a beautiful view, the plush greenery in a land that was barren of everything else. It was like an oasis in the middle of a desert.  A fucking mirage build on blood and death.

“We don’t usually meet at your home.” You said, turning to face the man in question. “And we don’t usually meet alone.”

He was seated on one of the ornate garden chair, his sunglasses shielding his eyes. His jaw was lined with that stylish, neatly trimmed beard of his, as usual he was immaculately dressed. There was a manilla file in his lap, his manicured fingertips drummed upon the surface of it.

“I thought it was time for a change.” Galindo told you, gesturing for you to take a seat across from him. “I have a proposal.”

“Don’t you always?” You countered before doing as he suggested.

He smiled at you with that easy grin of his, the one that sent women to their knees and commanded the respect of other men. It was predatorial, a rabid wolf, hiding amongst the pack.

“This one is a little different.” He said tossing the file on the table between you.

“Consider my interest piqued.” You said reaching for the folder and flicking it open.

For a moment it felt like the world had stopped, you couldn’t process the image in front of you. The man looked tall in the photograph, taller than you remembered and leaner. The years had given way to a salt and pepper beard and a full head of silver hair. He would have been attractive if you hadn’t heard the rumours of what he was capable of. The watch on his wrist was an Omega, the gold glinted in the light from the sun in whichever country this was taken in. The private mercenary business appeared to pay well.

“He has some intel that I want.” Galindo told you.

“It would be easier to get blood out of a stone.” You told him closing the file and pushing it back towards him. “He won’t talk.”

“Actually he’s willing to trade.” Galindo said removing his sunglasses for the first time since you’d gotten here. “The intel, for you.”

“You planning to hand me over?” You asked him half seriously. Galindo leaned forward his eyes meeting yours as his fingers laced together.

“Yes.”

“Good luck with that Mr Galindo.” You said raising to your feet.

“He looks like his brother, doesn’t he?” He said as you turned your back on him and you froze, because for a moment it all came rushing back.

Those fingers digging into your throat as he raped you, squeezing just enough to let the tiniest molecules of oxygen through your windpipe, enough to keep you conscious, to make sure you felt everything as he stole away your fucking dignity.

The Major was dead but his brother…

He’d been hunting you for years.

“He knows who you are.” Galindo tells you, putting his sunglasses back on against the glare of the light. “It’s only matter of time before he works out where you are and if he does there’s going to be come collateral damage. Marcus, Izzy, maybe even little Tessa. He’ll take away everything you love, just so he can see you bleed.”

There was a threat there, thinly veiled. Everybody was disposable to Galindo even his right-hand man.

“I’ll play the bait.” You tell him. “But I want Marcus there.”

Galindo tilted his head to one side.

“You don’t trust me?”

You meet his gaze; you want him to see the distain in your eyes, the fury of being forced into this position.

“No Mr Galindo, I don’t.”

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

Nestor didn’t understand at first. Miguel had sent him and Marcus out on some bullshit task, something that usually would have been beneath their attention. It’s only when they get back that he realises it’s been a ruse. Miguel wanted Marcus out of the way to talk to you alone. He doesn’t know what’s been said but Nestor sees the change in you. You look desolate as you sit on the couch in the living room with your hands pressed between your knees, like you aren’t there with the rest of them. It scares him to see you like that. To Nestor, you are bright and vivid, a force of nature. The woman he sees now colourless, devoid of emotion, you look like you’re barely living.

It's Miguel that explains the plan, an exchange.

You for the information he seeks.

This is bigger than the rest of you, he reminds Marcus. This is about playing Potter at his own game, getting the boot off the neck of the cartel, helping the resistance in Mexico to flourish. It’s a double cross, as soon as Miguel has the information, they take out the other party. They don’t usually work like this; a man is only as good as his word, but this other organisation is a threat. Nestor hates it but he understands the play, he just doesn’t understand why you’re so effected.

It's Marcus’s reaction to the photograph in the folder that tips him off. A muscle in his cheek tics and his nostrils flare just for a moment before he closes it over and he takes a seat on the couch beside you, his hands clasped together. He’s close enough for you to feel his presence and Nestor watches the discussion from his position behind Miguel. He can’t hear the words that are being said, but he hears the tone of voice. Marcus’s quick snaps of Spanish, and your bereft response. There’s a fire in his eyes as he looks at Miguel.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He tells the other man.

Miguel’s expression doesn’t change. He simply leans forward, meeting Marcus’s fierce gaze with one of his own.

“I do.” He says resolutely and that seems to infuriate Marcus even more. “And she’s already agreed.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[takeariskao3]

Hey Hannah, could we get some headcanons of Hinny in TPFY and AG? I just want to see how they differentiate between the two stories.

it's so funny to me that this time last year i was asking myself this exact question. but i haven't done this little thought experiment for quite a while because pretty quickly the two ginnys solidified into very different versions her and they definitely take up very different headspaces throughout the stories. honestly even in my own planning and perceptions of them.. they are two very separate people. that sounds so weird because in theory they ARE the same character, but at the same time i did have to find some differences to make the fics unique, and for the prose and narration to sound fresh.

with that being said, this is going to be so disorganized and disjointed. i already know half of it isn't going to make sense to anyone but me, but life is nuts, it's where my head's at right now, and i can't change it.

here goes nothing

i guess i can start with how they are similar? in both stories, the seven books are canon. they are a great foundation and framework for me to work in, i know each book like the back of my hand and i really had no desire to try to tweak or change anything in the original text.

HOWEVER, the main difference between the two, is the path from you is not epilogue compliant. and that was born from several questions that haunted me for about a decade before i even had the idea or the inclination to write hp fanfiction. but the main two i wanted to explore and answer were 1) did ginny really know it was harry that walked past her on his way to the forest? i'm pretty sure she did. so how does she react to something like that? how does that fit into their relationship arc and how does him not stopping parallel other things in their relationship? and 2) what happened to her at hogwarts in her 6th year? how did that affect her in the weeks, months, years afterward?

so why do those questions need to be explored and answered in an canon (read: epilogue) divergent setting? mostly because i didn't really like the epilogue (🤷) but also because it seemed like a two birds one stone situation. i needed time and space between 'the end' (chap 1, which really exists as a prologue?) and 'the beginning' (chap 2, which is when we pick up after the time jump). for maximum angst, tension, and storytelling potential.

so in short, tpfy!ginny is defined by her reaction to harry's march to death/faked death, and her reaction to her own experiences (trauma) during the occupied year at hogwarts.

once i had that story/plot idea in mind. i really started to try and shape ginny into a coherent personality. i mean we have the framework, right? we know what she's like at school, we know what her family and what her classmates say about her, and we know how she acts and interacts when she is in scenes with harry. but how does that become a person. i settled on five (ish) defining character traits (which are basically just a textbook enneagram 8)

Ginny is self-reliant and self-confident. she want's to prove her strength and resist any weakness, she wants to be important in the world, she wants to be a decision maker in her own life/situation, and she wants to be in control of those situations.

the main conflict then became, the way tpfy!ginny feels about harry makes her feel out of control, or another way of putting it, is she can't control how she feels about him. it's instinctual, overwhelming, and it scares her a bit because she doesn't feel like she is in control of her decisions when it comes to him. loving him, caring about him, putting his needs before hers, are all things that she does that don't feel like conscious decisions. this is directly at war with her base personality.

which i've got to say, has been so fun to write. i just torture her, i know i do.

moving on

already gone was born from a place of curiosity and literally took on three or even four different forms before it was an amenesia fic. i had spent nearly a year working on the path from you and was trying to find ways to piece harry and ginny back together again in this altered timeline, and one night i was just like.. 'how the fuck did they do this right away??' i really honestly just wanted to figure it out, for my own peace of mind. how did they get back together within a canon (read: epilogue) compliant timeline.

so i started brainstorming, and i wrote a really angsty post-war oneshot for @hinnyfied's birthday and i thought... this might be something. i might have something here.

but then i was like HOW is she different from tpfy!ginny? because she has to be... but she also still has to be ginny!? but for all the wonderful characteristics she possesses, those same traits can be her own worst enemy (which in tpfy they are)

so in already gone, what is the catalyst that sends her down a different path? i decided it was mostly pretty simple... ag!ginny, didn't make the connection, or at least didn't know for sure that harry walked by her on his way into the forest. the rustle she heard was just that, a rustle. i also decided that the events during her 6th year maybe weren't as horrifying(?), trauma inducing (?), specific to just her(?), as they are in tpfy.

but these were all decisions i made when i was just attempting to write a summer '98 a story.

i really didn't settle on the amnesia plot until two or three months later, because as much as i wanted that summer to be an angsty will they/won't they... it just wasn't. harry and ginny took on a completely different relationship arc than what i had planned and it became, not a story of reconciliation, which i so desperately wanted, but a story of mutual dependency, and the idea that home for them isn't a place, but a person. their relationship (and i do mean both of them, this isn't exclusive to just harry) post-war wasn't born out of shared interests, and sense of humor, and similar values, but of a deep understanding that some wounds don't heal, and some grief can't be quantified. but with that understanding, they can still move forward and live with it. as long as they're together.

so then i was a real bitch and i took it away.

whoops.

BUT THEN THE REALLY FUN PART STARTED HAPPENING

because while i like to assume ginny is deeply affected by her experience with the diary, by order of the phoenix she has either buried it so deep in an effort not to process, OR processed it enough that she can hide any lingering thoughts or actions that might still plague her because of it. she is not defined by her trauma. she has outwardly overcome.

she is also in her peak "i am over harry potter" phase.

like c'mon. that's hilarious. because she wakes up married to him.. and she is also thrown back into an (outwardly) well-adjusted mindset. which could possibly (i will neither confirm or deny this at present because spoilers) throw a big wrench into her relationship that is rooted in shared trauma and the understanding of that trauma. cannot stress this enough, already gone harry and ginny were and are co-dependent. but i sort of love that for them?

ANYWAYS

i've rambled enough. i hope this makes at least some sort of sense. and thanks so much for reading both stories!