#I’ve done every different method I can imagine to get good at memory but what the fuck

[thelovelybitten]

why am I actually on top of all my final projects rn

this end of semester is looking so fire

#viv speaks #I’m gonna write something fun now omg #I’m about a quarter into my paper due on Thursday #epic #my two other portfolios are due on the 10th #then I have my final exam on the 15th and BAM. winter break #WHEW LETS GO GAMERS LETS GO #:D #everything going well except for FUCKING LINGUISTICS MAN FUCK LINGUISTICS #I have been trying so hard to get good in that class and I simply don’t care anymore #I’ve done every different method I can imagine to get good at memory but what the fuck #I failed my last exam. bc I RAN OUT OF TIME BC THERE WAS NO CLOCK FOR ME TO CHECK HOW MUCH TIME I HAD LEFT #smh #oh well #I have straight A’s in all my other classes so whatever bro #I’ll see it to the end but I’m over it #my GPA will remain an A anyways

[theamberwizard]

i’ve been thinking about black widow and the red room recently, as one does, and i’ve got a lot of thoughts about the effects of the red room on widows who’ve escaped. couple things, just before i begin: i would recommend having watched black widow before this because there are implied (?) spoilers, i use way too fancy language while i write and i don’t have an editor cause this is mainly to catch her off guard, so, uh, whoops sorry

trigger warnings: TW: child abuse TW: restricted eating/starving yourself TW: dehumanization TW: death of a child

so yeah, enjoy my list of 10 personal headcanons about how the red room fucks you up on all the levels.

1) black widows cannot sleep in. like, they wake up at 5:00 am every day. it’s not a physical thing, at least not as far as they know, because they can negate that by just going to bed two hours or less before 5:00 am just from their lack of sleep. if, however, they go to sleep at a fairly normal hour they will, like clockwork, wake up at 5:00. this stems from them doing it every single day of their life since they got indoctrinated in the red room. if they didn’t wake up at 5:00 am ready for more training or missions, for any reason, they would be tortured. sometimes physically, sometimes mentally. eventually, all the widows would get that message. they still can’t shake it. because of that, natasha will often refuse to go to sleep at a normal hour, trying to force her body into submission, trying to rid herself of the painful memories that accompanied sleep and waking up afterwards. only clint knows why, because each day in that vent, natasha would snap up at 4:00 am. she had to explain to him that she just wasn’t accustomed to budapest time, and that actually, it was 5:00 am in russia.

2) for months after escaping the red room, widows practically cannot eat. in the red room, they were fed mushy messes of meals, filled with only the necessary nutrients that they absolutely had to have to survive. most widows can only get down one meal, maybe even a snack if they push it, until they throw it all up. they have to slowly eat slightly more each day for weeks until they can get down a normal intake of food. even then, it’s hard to push that, and every widow relapses into throwing up in those early stages. however, this isn’t normally a problem for most widows until a couple weeks into their life with freedom. that’s about the time that they make an acquaintance, who will eventually pluck up the courage to ask them why every time said friend will eat near the widow, the widow will lean over and whisper: “careful, that’s your whole ration today and i don’t want to do extra training.”

3) each “class” of widows had an extra mentor teacher in their early red room years. this was an older widow, someone who’d been falling behind in her recent missions, and with a look that the red room deemed “motherly”. their sole purpose was to be the person each widow got attached too, the parental figure. they were nice, they were helpful, they taught many different basic techniques. then, one day, the red room would have another older widow, (one already introduced to the children as the metaphorical “bad cop” of this scenario) come in and inform the mentor that she had failed her latest mission and proceed to, in front of thirty eleven year-olds, shoot the mentor. the mentor widow would not die that day- the red room refused to waste such a weapon- but the class of up incoming widows would be informed that she had. the official purpose of this exercise was to demonstrate to both the trainees and the trainer the consequences of failing a mission. the unofficial purpose? that would be the last psychological effects the mentor’s “death” would have upon the class, making them learn what happened to attachments in the red room. the day natasha’s class experienced this was the day she cut off all contact with her sister. the day yelena experiences this is the day she first another widow- because yelena killed that mentor with her own bare hands before the informant ever finished the announcement.

4) towards the start of the red room’s history, there were several attacks on the red room. the first ever attack was from a local police station who had been getting complaints of loud wailing, and, upon further investigation, realized what they were dealing with. they brought several other police and militia groups from nearby towns. the immediate action that was taken was to throw the littlest girls they had at the attackers. it stopped the police in their tracks, obviously, because you really don’t expect to come across thirty little girls while searching through a building of highly trained assassins. the red room then sent their fully trained widows and killed everyone. including the girls. the red room then found that footage from their cameras (because of fucking course they have cameras) and then showed it to the next batch of widows, just to show them how disposable they were.

5) yelena and natasha almost caused a whole fucking mutiny within the red room just because of their names. in the red room, you see, widows do not get names. they instead are bestowed with numbers, and even those are a twisted class ranking. they all wore little name tags with the numbers on them until came natasha and yelena came in. yelena, having just seen her mother get shot, complied almost immediately and was addressed as number 42. on the other side of that coin you have natasha, who had already been in the red room and remembered every gruesome detail, and went “fuck you my name is natalia.” upon hearing of this (word gets around fast in the red room. every girl must know they are being listened to at all times, and no secrets can be kept from the red room,) yelena too announced her name to the class.

6) this was met with blanching from every child in that class, because how on earth can you be called by a word? no, they thought, we are numbers, we are weapons, we are not people and we cannot have our own words, for we are not worthy. but secretly, internally, they wished for a name. slowly, they began piecing syllables together until they formed a coherent name, and for the first time in the red room’s long history, they didn’t have weapons. not anymore. they have two full classes of human little girls. the red room officials heard of this, obviously, and took to the only method they had now. violence. the classes were rid of the named girls, yet natasha and yelena were kept alive. they were kept alive to be ostracized, to be the girl the others pointed at and said “she’s the reason all my friends died.” they were kept alive so they could watch the carnage they had unwittingly caused just by saying their own names. and the worst part? well, the worst part was when the teachers accounted for those kills, and made them top of the class. yelena will never forget the day the teachers stood her and her sister up in front of all the widows-in-traning and told them what a good job they had done, how those tactics were sure to help them graduate. i mean, you’re practically a shoo-in if they rest of your class was killed by your school.

7) the red room could never fully stop the names, and so they decided to make a system, and the names would be the highest reward. they told the young, impressionable girls that while maybe outsiders such as natasha and yelena got names at birth, you had to earn them here. if you are to become a spy, you will take on the name of you very first official alias. if, instead, you become an assassin, you will take on the name of your very first official kill. of course, in reality, the widows couldn’t actually address each other with their new earned names, and instead used “team leader” or other such titles. but it became a small comfort for them, thinking of themselves in third person, with their very own names. in some small part they weren’t fully weapons anymore, no, they were people again. natasha took on the name natalia, because in her mind that life in ohio had been her first mission, even if she hadn’t known it. yelena took on yelena as well, but in her mind that little girl in ohio who was sitting in the backseat, caring only about which song they played, that girl had to have been yelena’s first true kill.

8) the names system worked well in the red room, but when you escaped it caused some serious problems. most would have to announce themselves to the russian government, saying they had been flying under the radar their whole life and never became registered. then, they’d give a non-russian name, and their whole ruse would fall apart. unfortunately, this was the least of their problems, because many a widow would someday meet a relative of their very first kill, and when they introduced themselves as the person they had killed all those years ago, the families and friends would often figure them out.

9) one of the biggest parts of the red room’s brainwashing was their little catchphrases they used. ironically, a lot of them were eerily close to boy scout mottos- “be prepared,” an iconic scout motto, versus “there is no safety, only preparedness,” the most frequently used phrase within the red room. when widows then escaped, the most small phrase could set them off. some unknowing widows even adopted little boys in their new lives, who often became boy scouts. the ensuing misery is something you can imagine yourself.

10) after clint helped natasha to escape, she immediately died her hair blond.  clint asked why, of course, and she didn’t tell him. (what, you thought i’d have another cute clintasha moment? never.) this was partly because she hadn’t admitted it to herself, though, because natasha couldn’t remember her sister without remembering all the suffering that came with her.

11) when the widows were smaller, more susceptible to the conditioning, the red room would stage infiltrations. older widows, ones who were closer to retirement, would come in in different uniforms, sometimes the uniforms of UN officers or local police, sometimes different organizations, all different types. the most recent uniforms made yelena sick looking at them, because each time the older widows would pretend to be the avengers there would also be one pretending to be her sister. each time she saw the fake natasha she wanted to break that widow’s neck because that’s not how my sister tilts her head, you’re doing it all wrong. you should be doing it like this, you shouldn’t be doing it at all, i should be doing this, i know my sister. each time those exact thoughts went into her head, and each time all she really wanted was for her sister to be there, for natasha to do her little head tilt upon seeing yelena and take her hand and say “you’re safe now, i promise,” and for natasha to be telling the truth. the only problem was that deep down inside herself yelena knew that this could never actually happen while yelena was still in the red room, because while yelena was still in the red room she knew that she would look at natasha telling her she was safe and tell her in return that there was no safety, only preparedness, and then murder her sister in cold blood.

#FINALLY #we have finished #black widow #black widow 2021 #yelena belova #natasha romanoff #natasha #assassin #yelena #the red room #red room #natasha needs therapy #and so does yelena #headcanon #marvel head canon #fun fact: i've had two tumblr tabs up the entire time while writing this cause i didn't wanna close the draft #anyways y'all know that you can only have a certain amount of tags? cause i didn't #anyways yelena belova #my wife #i love her #and also #my baby #sos i'm way too invested #help #totally cried while making this

[reciprocityfic]

christmas (baby please come home)

title: christmas (baby please come home) fandom: wonder woman, dccu pairing: steve trevor x diana prince rating: t summary: after diana gets steve back for good, the two of them share their first christmas together.

written for @wondertrevcentral​’s 2021 secret santa gift exchange.

authors note: hello, @finnicks​! it’s me, rebekah, aka @kerilynnrussell, aka your wondertrev secret santa! i was tasked with writing you a fic, and i’ve done my best to create something about our two lovelies that i hope you’ll enjoy. i’ve added a playlist at the bottom of this post that goes along with the story. merry christmas! i hope your holiday season and upcoming year is filled with joy 💕

christmas (baby please come home)

Music reminds her of him.

She attributes it to their night in Veld, to the way they danced to Charlie’s piano as snow fell around them.  Now, whenever she hears sweet music playing, she imagines him.  Imagines that he was here with her, taking back the multitude of dances to come that were stolen from them when he sacrificed himself to save others. To save people he did not know.

To save her.

So she decides to collect songs for him, for her to listen to when the pain of losing him flares up and is especially potent. Songs that make soft memories of him fill her mind. Songs she thinks he would like.  Songs for them to dance to.  Her methods change over the decades; first, they're simply lists, until there's the possibility of purchasing the music. Then, there's a collection of records, cassettes, CDs, all full of music that belongs to him, in her head and her heart.

The first time she gets him back, for those precious few days, she doesn't get a chance to let him listen. Their time together is too hectic and too short.  Afterwards, to take away the sting of losing him for a second time, she sits in her apartment, puts on her music, opens her ears and closes her eyes.

The next time she gets him back, things are different.

This time, they have days that stretch on into weeks that stretch on into years.  This time, she won't lose him again.  And this time, they can listen together.

She shares everything with him - every romantic ballad that she thought fit their relationship, every silly pop song that she thought he would enjoy.  They do their fair share of dancing, but other times they simply lay in bed and listen, tangled together as the notes play around them, her head on his chest so she can hear his heartbeat.

That, she's decided, is her favorite song of all.

* * *

Their first Christmas together is special.  She’s always liked holidays.  They reminded her of the camaraderie and love so readily found at home - at Themyscira.  This world of man could sometimes be so focused on things that wouldn’t matter in the end - careers, wealth, always being one step ahead of someone else.  She likes the way that all seems to pause during holidays, even if it’s just for the shortest while.

Christmas has a special place in her heart.  Although she’s not religious, of course, she loves the principle behind the Christmas Story, of a love so great that it saved humanity from themselves.  After all, that’s exactly what she’s come to believe, what she knows - that only love can truly save the world.  And apart from the grandiose gestures detailed in religious texts, she especially enjoys how many tiny acts of love she sees all around her during the holiday season, whether it be the giving of a thoughtful gift, an act of kindness for a stranger.  She’s most hopeful during this time of year that her vision for the world could someday become a reality.

But for her first Christmas with him, she lets all of this - thoughts of the rest of the world - fall away, and focuses on the fact that he is here with her, and that she gets to spend one of her favorite times of year not lonely, but with the person she loves most in the world.  She’s feeling a bit selfish, actually, so she takes him away.  They rent out a cabin on Lake Tahoe and spend a week wrapped in each other.

It’s cliché in all the best ways; they make breakfast together in the morning, hike through the two feet of snow on the ground during the day and then come home and warm up by the fire.  They sip hot chocolate and bake cookies, trade fond stories of Christmases and celebrations past, and plan for their future together.

It’s a paradise like nothing she’s known before.  Not even Themyscira could compare.

* * *

She brings her music with her, of course.  He almost laughs at her, but she tells him it’s not Christmas without Christmas music.

“Plus,” she tells him, as she connects her phone to speakers, “these are your songs.”

“My songs?” he questions, mirth and endless warmth and adoration in his eyes.

“Yes, like the others.  I collected them over the years. Some are sad, but they’re all beautiful.  And all of them reminded me of you.”

He comes up to stand beside her as she opens Spotify and presses play.  He strokes her hair, places a kiss on her head, and listens with her as the first notes of music fill the room.

“Sad, huh?” he asks.

She shrugs.

“What can I say?  I missed you.”

They listen for a few more moments, and then his hands move to her hips.

“Then let’s make them happy, angel.”

He turns her, pulls her into place, and suddenly, they’re dancing across the living room floor.

It’s different than that first time in Veld (she’s taught him a few new steps since then), but it’s the same in all the ways that matter; it’s the two of them in love, the world around them forgotten, dancing as snow falls outside.

Together, they do indeed make even the saddest song on her list, happy.  And she’s reminded of the fact that though she’s always loved music, every song sounds sweeter when he’s with her.

She laughs more than she has in a long while, so much that her cheeks ache with her smile.  And when the last notes of the final song on her playlist ring out, he doesn’t let her go.  Instead, he holds her close, tilts her head up, and kisses her.

She doesn’t know how long they stand there - she’s too lost in him, too lost in the feeling of his lips against hers.  And when they break apart, he doesn’t even give her a chance to catch her breath - or turn off her music - before he’s pulling her towards the bedroom, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I believe we do still have lost time to make up for,” he says over his shoulder as they walk.

“I don’t think we’ll ever be done making up for lost time,” she tells him.

He stops when he reaches the doorway, turns towards her and takes both of her hands in his.

“We have the rest of our lives to find out, don’t we?” he murmurs.

“The rest of our lives,” she whispers back.

She leans forward and kisses him.  It’s deeper than the one they shared in the living room, rich and ripe with love and promises, with all that is to come.  He smiles into her mouth after a moment, and then finishes pulling her towards the bed.  She laughs breathlessly as her back hits the mattress, and he hovers over her, the grin on his face wider than she’s ever seen it.

And they continue on like that into the night, faint music still playing in the background.

* * *

diana’s playlist

listen on spotify.

#wondertrevsecretsanta #wondertrev #wondertrev fic #wondertrevcentral #wonder woman #diana prince #steve trevor #steve x diana #userjaded

[scripttorture]

One of the central characters in a fantasy story I'm writing has torture as part of her backstory. She was captured by an evil race, and one individual in particular put her through a "training" regime designed to turn her into a useful/trustworthy slave. Specifically the goals of the training were:

- destroy her sense of self / agency

- overwrite her ingrained response of healing herself when injured (she has magical healing powers)

- an affectionate or worshipful disposition towards her captors

- immediate obedience to any command

I feel like both physical and psychological torture / mental conditioning are probably appropriate, though I'm leaning away from including sexual abuse. I honestly don't know much about torture at all and the only things that come to mind as producing a result similar to what I'm looking for are the Game of Thrones torture sequence and the use of obdience collars in the Codex Alera book series. The latter is very interesting to me because it is a magical device that inflicts pain in reaction to disobedience but also inflicts pleasure to reward obedience.

I guess I'm just wondering if you have any advice for what kinds of methods would be good to include in a process designed to produce obedience, rather than torture for its own sake or to extract information, as well as if there are any common pitfalls I should try to avoid in writing about such a thing.

The training itself won't be in the book, but I need to be familiar with it for backstory purposes because later in the story this character encounters her torturer again, and is subjected to some further abuse before she finally overcomes her fear and kills him.

Alright well I’m going to be straight up with you: the scenario you’ve presented is a very common torture apologist trope. It’s incredibly unrealistic. And it’s unrealistic in ways that support torture by claiming it can be ‘useful’.

 Which probably means that you’re new to the blog and haven’t heard me give this talk before. That’s OK, we all learn sometime and it’s not my intention to shame you for the fact you’re not as obsessed with this stuff as I am or couldn’t afford to shell out for the books.

 Torture does not produce obedience. The best evidence we have right now suggests it encourages active resistance.

 If you got a lot of your inspiration from Game of Thrones then frankly I’m not surprised you came up with apologia. The torture in that series is incredibly badly handled. And a big part of the point of running this blog is that most people are getting their information on torture from shows like that. Which happens because the research is inaccessible and hasn’t been popularised the way fictional tropes (sometimes fictional tropes literally started by torturers) have been popularised.

 The important thing is what you choose to do now.

 I’m going to break down the problems here and make some suggestions for what you could do instead.

 Firstly: there is no torture or abuse that will guarantee obedience. Pain does not make people meek or compliant or willing to follow commands.

 Torture survivors are not broken.

 They are not ‘controlled’ by their torturers and the suggestion that they are is used in the real world to bar real survivors from treatment. It is also used to bar them from entering safe countries and to argue that they shouldn’t be allowed visas or passports.

 The best statistics we have for any sort of compliance under torture come from analysis of historical French data where torture was used to try and force confessions (something we know torture can sometimes do).

 The ‘success’ rate averaged at 10%. Under torture 90% of people will not comply long enough to sign their name.

 Secondly: torture does not and can not ‘make’ a victim feel ‘worshipful’ towards their torturer. The suggestion is kind of like asking if someone can tap dance immediately after removing the bones from their legs.

 Torturers have no control over a victim’s emotions. They have no control over their symptoms. They have no control over their beliefs.

 And there is no such thing as a torture that can change someone’s mind in a way torturers can control.

 Once again, this fictional trope is used by politicians and the media to justify marginalising real torture survivors.

 I have read hundreds, possibly thousands, of accounts from torture survivors. I’ve read historic and modern accounts. I’ve read accounts from all sort of people from all over the globe. I have never seen a survivor say anything positive about their torturers. I have never seen anything close to toleration.

 A lot of survivors are blisteringly angry at their torturers. A lot of them feel overwhelming levels of spite and some report literally putting themselves at risk of death in order to spite their torturers. And yes, a lot of them are afraid too. None of these emotions are mutually exclusive.

 Affection is impossible. We are not wired that way.

 Thirdly: I understand that ‘evil races’ are a long standing fantasy trope but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention the racism inherent in that idea. That some people are ‘born bad’.

 I’d strongly suggest you look up the Black, Indian and First Nations people that I know are on this site critiquing these kinds of fantasy tropes. Because they will be able to explain it better then I can.

 Fourthly: the term ‘psychological torture’ is a pretty common dog whistle for torture apologia.

 Most of the time tortures that people dub ‘psychological’ are things with real, physical effects that lead to lasting injury and death. They just don’t tend to leave obvious external scars. I use Rejali’s term ‘clean torture’ for these techniques. Researchers distinguish them from scarring tortures because they are harder to detect and prove in court.

 The majority of survivors today will have experienced clean torture. They will have no obvious physical scars. But they will still be disabled. They’re ‘just’ less likely to see any form of justice for it.

 Fifthly: torture is a terrible training method because it decreases a person’s ability to learn.

 Torture causes memory problems. It also often causes lasting physical injuries that make performing basic tasks more difficult. And it causes a lot of serious psychological problems which make performing basic tasks more difficult.

 A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture.

 I probably sound quite angry here.

 I write fantasy and I also write about torture a lot. But I can’t imagine that it’s just flavour for a fantasy world or some artefact of the past. Torture is a real, present threat in the country that I grew up in. If I was to return now I could, literally, be tortured and executed.

 If you want to include torture in your world, in your story then you are committing to telling someone else’s story. You are representing an incredibly marginalised group of people and you are presenting that representation to a third group, one that has never had contact with real torture survivors.

 Are you comfortable with the idea of telling your peers that survivors are still controlled by ‘the enemy’? That they’re passive? That they don’t have the capacity to make their own decisions?

 Are you comfortable knowing that the popularity of this message keeps millions of genocide survivors in refugee camps, blocked from citizenship, aid and safety?

 I understand feeling attached to a story and a character. And I understand that this information is hard to find. Hell I’m probably going to end up with the only English copy of one of the pivotal textbooks because I’m shelling out to get it translated.

 You say you want to write a torture survivor. With respect I don’t think you know what a torture survivor looks like.

 I think the most helpful, and kindest, thing I can do here is describe what torture does to people. Because I can’t tell you whether that’s something you want to write. I could try and rebuild this scenario for you (and if you decide you’re interested in that after reading all of this and all the links then I suggest looking through the blog tags for ICURE, torture as training, Black Widow and Overwatch.) But I think you need to decide whether you actually want to write a torture survivor first.

 Here’s a post on the most common torture apologia tropes.

 Here’s the post on the types of memory problems torture commonly causes. I strongly recommend picking at least one.

 Remember that this would never go away. Improvement and recovery in torture survivors means learning to live with symptoms. The symptoms themselves are permanent.

 It’s a hundred different alarms set up on their phone to try and make up for the forgetfulness that makes them miss appointments. It’s the little bottle of perfume in their pocket to bring themselves back to reality when they get intrusive memories at work.

 Here’s a post on the other common symptoms.

 You want something in the range of 3-5 of those, though more are likely if your character is held for years. Each of them should be severe. Every single symptom should have a large, negative, impact on the character’s daily life.

 Do you know anyone with chronic pain? It warps their world. Work can become impossible. Basic household tasks like getting dressed, cooking, cleaning the dishes are done through gritted teeth or not at all. Hobbies and ‘fun’ activities dwindle as they struggle to find a way to do them that doesn’t hurt. Interaction with other people, even loved ones, can easily become barbed.

 Because the pain makes everything more difficult. It means everything takes more energy, more effort. Which means that things fall by the wayside, whether that’s by a pile of mouldering dishes in the sink or snapping at a child. It means tears and the social judgement that follows them. It means the world narrowing as it gets harder to go out.

 Do you see what I mean? Every part of life.

 That’s an example for one symptom. You need to work out at least four. Then figure out how they interact. Then figure out what the character can do to make her life better.

 With chronic pain that can mean painkillers but it’s always more then that. It’s re-learning how to do things; how to put on trousers without aggravating the bad knee, how to sew with one hand. It means learning to cut down on what they do and it means learning a new sort of flexibility; accepting that there are days when the pain is too much.

 It can mean having the same conversation about disability over and over again. With family, with friends, with colleagues. ‘I can’t do that.’ ‘I can do that sometimes but not always.’ ‘That will hurt me.’ ‘I can’t use that chair.’ ‘I can’t get my arms that high above my shoulders.’ ‘I need help with this.’

 And that sometimes means learning a kind of patience that is really barely held back rage. Or perhaps I’m projecting a little with this last one.

 If you’ve never met a torture survivor, if you’ve never looked at a survivor’s work, then all this is difficult. You’re trying to imagine something from first principals with nothing to fall back on.

 So let’s bring some survivors into the discussion here. Some reality.

 Who’s listened to Fela? How about Bobi Wine?

 Fela Kuti was the father of modern Afro beats music. He was tortured multiple times and during one attack, which destroyed his home, his mother was murdered by the military. When he got out of jail Fela marched her funeral procession past the biggest barracks in Nigeria’s biggest city. He wrote two songs about this attack and he doubled down on his opposition to the military government.

 Fela’s music started causing riots.

 You can read what I have to say about him here. You can listen to his music on youtube.

 Here’s an interview with Bobi Wine, which was conducted shortly after he was tortured in Uganda. He talked about how he was determined to go back and continue fighting. Which he did. He even ran against the president.

 I’ve also got a short piece on Searle who was a cartoonist captured by the Japanese during World War 2. His drawings of what happened in To the Kwai and Back are worth seeing. Especially if you want to write atrocities on this scale. They will show you the scale and how to focus on the small, human elements despite that overwhelming scale.

 Alleg’s The Question is pretty much a must, it’s one of the most thorough accounts from the Franco-Algerian war.

 Monroe’s A Darkling Plain is also a must, it’s a series of interviews with survivors of various different conflicts and atrocities. Some are torture survivors. Some are not. It is essential reading because it shows the variety in survivors as well as giving a sense of their lives beyond the symptoms.

 Finally Amnesty International has literally hundreds of interviews and studies available for free online.

 The most important decision for any story with regards to torture is whether it should be there at all.

 So much of this topic is intimidating and so much of it is difficult to write. Not just in the ‘oh this is horribly effecting’ sense but in the ‘I have twelve things to juggle in this simple scene’ sense.

 Ask yourself what torture adds to this character and this story. What does this backstory actually give this character?

 Because if the point is to have her vulnerable and then ultimately triumphing violently over her attackers I don’t think you want a torture scenario. You could get the same thing from a bad guy trying to drug her and having the kidnapping fail when she fights him off, clumsy but effective nonetheless.

 And she could still come out of something like that traumatised.

 Right now I really don’t see this adding anything but torture apologia to your story.

 Handling torture well in a story means accepting that it can’t be the same story without it. It means watching the characters and narrative warp under the weight of it. It means lasting effects, for all the characters and for the world itself.

 I believe you are capable of writing that if you want to, pet. But this ain’t it.

Edit: I’m having trouble seeing the beginning of the answer here. Can anyone let me know if there are formatting issues again please? The first word in the htmal is ‘Alright’ but what I’m seeing on tumblr starts 8 paragraphs in.

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#songsprite #writing advice #tw torture #tw racism #torture apologia #fantasy ask #torture does not work #torture survivors are not broken #resistance to torture #torturers are not omnipotent #antagonism towards torturers #so called psychological torture #clean torture #attitudes towards torture survivors #attitudes towards clean tortures #torture and memory #writing survivors #writing symptoms #writing torture #you don't need torture to traumatise your character

[pretty-face-breaker]

WIJ Prompt: Sleep

CW. creepy whumper, pet names, implied murder, blood stains, forced to get rid of evidence for a killer, past consensual torture, coercive relationship

@whumpmasinjuly

Timeline: A few months before Hayko escapes

— At its corner, the desk clock read 2:00 am. 

The light of the lamp fell on his hand as he wrote, eyes skipping the document before he turned the page to give the pen a healthy shake. Then, it was from the top again with the court file number, judicial centre, applicant. Down until his hand hung off of the desk. He seemed to only breathe once a page.

He had been dealing with paperwork for the past few hours but for Hayko, filling in blanks was like second nature as riding a bike might be for someone. Just as they would know when to lift their hips for an oncoming bump, he knew where to push the nib hard enough that the ink wouldn’t swipe and smear the space. By muscle memory, he crossed every t and dotted each i but ensured, as each page filled up, to go back and check. 

Two empty fruit bar wrappers sat near him beside an empty mug - all he had eaten since the single boiled egg and tea in the morning - which wasn’t his proudest meal plan but there was work to be done for next week. Crisis had struck. One of the cartel’s major benefactors was on trial for embezzlement. 

He wanted to laugh.  

Hayko sighed, letting the fountain pen click down before stretching up to the ceiling and then back. The exercise was useful when he needed a reminder that he had bones that weren’t made for crouching over a desk for hours at a time.  

“Good morning.” 

The seat almost toppled back as Hayko flinched and darted his eyes to the doorway of the other man’s room. “Jesus, you scared me, Nick.” He stood up quickly, fingers leaning on the desk for support when his head suddenly began to spin and his vision blacked out for a moment. 

Looking at his figure in the doorway, they suddenly felt colder.

“Working late again, busy bee? You should be asleep.” Nick wasn’t moving from the doorway, just leaning on one shoulder and just out of the perimeter that the light would allow him to be seen. It was all too dark to tell, but Hayko felt like he was smiling.

He smiled nervously in response, dragging his hands closer to him. “Always.” They held a long look under the benevolent layer of darkness before Nick ripped it away by stepping forward, then again until the yellow light of the desk lamp crawled up to his face. When Hayko saw his face, he was silently surprised at having guessed correctly that he was smiling.

Then, he saw his shirt. 

Nick must have noticed the immobile terror in his face because he chuckled. It rumbled in his ear, signalling a little involuntary shiver up the man’s back. “Don’t worry, doll. It’s not mine.” 

His fingertips were chilled against the desk now as Hayko kept his eyes locked on the bloodstains, of which there were plenty, clotting near the buttons at the waist, splattered across his sleeves, and painting a grimly neat stripe up to his collar. The glaring light of the bulb brought out their faint redness but mostly, it looked like Nick had painted the shirt black. 

“Th-... then whose?” He’d been meaning to ask. Hayko breaths mellowed as Nick began sliding off his watch and walking over. When it was off, he dropped it behind him with a thunk that made him blink. Right on the court order, too, he thought.

He should have been asleep by now. He should have gone to bed before he got home because then, he wouldn’t have to be dealing with him in the late hours. Nick was different at night, less human, and not in his humanity but his general appearance.  

Nick’s hands travelled to his waistband and plucked the dress shirt from his pants, not hesitating to start immediately unbuttoning. For courtesy, he turned at an angle to the bed next to the desk, facing the headboard as he took off the stained shirt. His chest was splattered with fainter spots of blood. Those would be easier missed and Hayko was glad they were. 

He finally found enough courage to bring his hands fully to his sides but not enough to look at him as he undressed, not out of disgust of the bloodstains but out of awkwardness. Never really figuring out where to look any time Nick undressed in front of him - although he probably would prefer it to be at him - Hayko let his eyes wander to the floor. 

“Is that all you ate today?” Nick was looking at the empty wrappers and mug, skipping the pile of paperwork entirely in a way that made Hayko redden a little for the mess.

He anxiously scraped the tiny crack in the floorboard made by his chair. “Yeah, um... ‘didn’t have much time for much else.” While technically not true, he thought, it wasn’t that he had the appetite for anything more either. With the recent heat-wave that had overwhelmed the city, he could hardly remember to eat without Nick being the one to remind him. Like they were god damn married.

The man pulled his tie loose then swooped both off, tsking in disapproval as he hung them over his arm and faced Hayko. “You need to seriously take care of yourself, love,” he chided with a hint of warmth. “You have work, sure, but not eating?” 

He found it harder to stare at the floor with Nick looking directly at him now. “Wasn’t hungry,” he mumbled, frustrated with the nagging while he stood there covered in a litre of fucking blood. 

It seemed strange to him, even this far into this veil of a romantic relationship, that Nick insisted on playing concerned spouse and talking down to him in that voice thick with adoration. He hated it. But mostly, he hated how it tricked him every time, for a few moments, to believing that the concern was genuine. 

That if Nick wanted to, he wouldn’t just break him in two for a quick, sadistic fix. 

“What if I hire a chef, hm?” Hayko’s eyes travelled uneasily up to his, avoiding the body not out of embarrassment or modesty but the light bruising, the little scratches at his shoulders that indicated there had been a struggle. 

He swallowed down the image of his victim clawing from below so he wouldn’t accidentally imagine his own face to fill in the blank.

“A nice one, family friend even, so you don’t starve yourself cooped up in my bedroom all day with your papers.” 

“Your papers,” Hayko reminded him carefully. It was annoying when he couldn’t at least pretend to remember that he was his employer. But Nick just chuckled before handing him the shirt, tie draped over. His fingernails were black with blood. 

“Do me a favour?” 

The dried, metallic smell overwhelmed him and he swallowed as the scent lingered, reminding him of the uncharacteristically pleasant evening a few nights ago, how the stench had replaced the man’s sage cologne as he had looked over Hayko’s bare back. Looked over the cuts there and decided to open a few up again as he shivered and bit back whimpers. 

He closed his eyes a moment, reliving the painful buzz his mind had been in, too clouded by chanting of more, more, more to say anything coherent until Nick had finished and planted a kiss on his neck and woken him up. Memories like those and how close they happened to each other sometimes made Hayko forget the nature of how he even got here but if he was honest in the moment, that one evening had...almost made it count. 

Hayko gasped back to reality, snatching the shirt before Nick could snap at him. “Sure, yeah, I-I’ll throw it away.” 

“Don’t throw it away, silly,” Nick interrupted as he turned to his bathroom. “Clean it. I like that shirt a lot, you know, you’ve seen me wear it to lots of those end-of-the-month parties Don Miguel likes to organize for us.” 

Hayko seemed at a loss for just what to do with the bloodstained clothing in his hand when he noticed that it wasn’t just stained but bathed in life. The combination seemed heavier in his hand than any of his shirt’s ever had. He thought, with a stirring and morbid curiosity, just which of his fucked up methods Nick had used to squeeze the breath out of the-

“Did you hear me?” 

He should have been asleep, and then he wouldn’t have to deal with this tonight.

“Nick-... I don’t think-” He stammered and motioned to the red cluster. “There’s too much… I don’t think I can, um, actually clean it with the amount of blood.” Waiting in silence for a response, Hayko unfolded the shirt by the shoulders, as if he hadn’t already seen the wreck. “Plus, a lot of it is dried. How long ago did you?...”

Sighing, Nick stopped and tilted his head. “You know I’ve got a couple of those enzyme detergents in the left cabinet of the other washroom. Multiple, actually, so fill up the sink and leave it.” 

And with that, Nick nodded at him which was cue that it was time to stop asking questions.

When he stumbled through the living room, he noticed it was pitch black where Nick hadn’t even spared the bar lights to make his way to the bedroom. Only further proof that the man was a born predator, Hayko thought grimly. 

He searched blindly for the light and squinted upon flicking it on. Nick may not have convinced him with the criticism of his diet but Hayko was starting to pay attention to the poor lighting he usually worked under. 

The left cabinet revealed the detergents. Hayko took them out, one by one, and stacked them on the sink before opening the faucet. He took note to plug it before it filled up and shut the warm dial. The colder the better Nick had mentioned off-hand once on a night similar to this one, where Hayko had watched him scrubbing a shirt in the sink from the hallway, pretending the water wasn’t turning pink between his fingers.

He breathed once, the sharp smell of chemical piercing his nose, and sprinkled it in. The shirt went in next and then the tie and all he could do was stare at it, infatuated. He had watched a man come home from killing someone, taken his clothes, and stuck the evidence in heavy-duty detergent.

He was a fucking lawyer. 

He didn’t sign up for this. 

Where had the time gone for it to have gone this far, to be involved like this with a psychopath? Going from tied up in his god damn basement to playing boyfriend? 

Sure, it had been a stupid mistake on his part but it was a mistake, all he had wanted was to live, and one verbal contract later, now watched blood merge with water.

The blood stained dress shirt stared back up at him disapprovingly. It probably thought he deserved it, Hayko thought faintly and the sudden rush of nausea almost made him double over and wretch into the sink.

The clock ate the time with ticks, and all Hayko did was stare at the shirt in the sink. Until he heard a rustle from behind. The man had probably finished washing up and just in time, too. “You should’ve been asleep.” 

Nick was right, always right. 

Tagging: @doveotions @heathenville @thewhumpstuff @thatsthewhump @adamantem-rose @lonesome–hunter @whumpsorbet @whumpasaurus101 @lektricfergus @downrivergirl914 @burtlederp

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#whump #whump writing #creepy whumper #implied murder #blood #masochism #implied past torture #abusive relationship #wijday3 #prompt: sleep #captive whumpee #whumpmasinjuly #nick and hayko #captivity #psychological torture #wij21day3 #original fiction

[funkymbtifiction]

Can you help me find my type please?- I have been torn between Infj and infp for a little while. I had settled with Infj originally, but in hopes of not being mistyped I am also considering the possibility of me being an infp. There are certain aspects from both types that I resonate with....

You are a wonderful, creative, imaginative ISFJ. Let's look:

On a daily basis I feel as though I am constantly preparing for events or situations in hopes of having some sort of control over my environment. It’s not so much that I want to control people, but I want to know what’s going on around me constantly in order to be prepared for what’s coming next. Being prepared gives me a sense of peace because I know what is going to happen so there’s no unwanted surprises. <- strong Si

When I’m completing an assignment for one of my classes, I always evaluate my options and pick which one is best depending on the circumstance. For example, recently I had to write a paper, psychoanalyzing a character with mental illness from a movie. While there are plenty of movies with characters that have mental illness, I quickly came up with two that I had previously watched since a familiar movie would make the analysis easier for me. Then I was able to narrow it down to one based on the complexity of the characters involved in the two movies and which one had more interesting information to discuss in the paper. This thought process was done quite quickly in my head. <- Si. You chose a character you are intimately familiar with to streamline the process (this is not abstract thinking, this is a useful, practical sensory method of easily accomplishing it)

I like to know the deeper meaning of things and I constantly do that even when I’m out for a walk. For example, if I’m out on a nice sunny spring evening and so see a lovely tree with green leaves. I might start to think about how these leaves are so bright and lively, but in a few months they will change color and fall, then the tree will completely loose its leaves. However, in the end the tree always comes back to its happy state with green leaves swaying in the cool breeze. I would then relate that to the human circle of life. Humans actually don’t have much time on earth, but every stage of life we experience is just as valuable as the next l. There’s will be moments that are more positive than others but they all teach us lessons that are valuable. Once one life is gone another life begins and the process goes on and on as humans evolve through generations similar to the changing leaves of a tree through seasons. <- 100% gorgeous example of Si and Ti. Si knows what is permanent, and sees what things were, what they are, and what they are becoming, the permanence of things. What LASTS. What outlives us. What has stability. What does that tree mean to me? Who has sat under its branches? Who has leaned against it? What has sheltered beneath it in a storm? What can this teach us (Fe) about being human? What do we learn from our life experiences (Si)? A lovely, sensory abstract comparison (Si is abstract, just not abstract in the way Ni is).

When I am with a group of people, whether I know them or not I can easily get a feel for the atmosphere and adhere to what is expected of me. If they are sad I will be somber with them while trying to comfort them if I feel they need it. If they are happy I will be happy with them and try to keep them happy. If people are angry I usually start to feel anxious because I don’t react well to anger. Peoples emotions heavily influence me ever since I was little. <- Fe. My ENFJ says Fe is like being a chameleon. You have no choice but to change colors around other people, to adapt yourself to them so you can reach them on a level they can understand.

My thirst for knowledge is constant and never ending. I’m never satisfied because I know there’s more to learn. When I start researching something about a certain topic, I read article after article, watch video after video, and look at as many posts as I can pertaining to that topic solely for the sake of learning more about it. <- Si detail gathering.

Actually, there have been many times where I’ve completed assignments in a different way to what was “expected” simply because it felt for logical to me. I understood it better that way so I completed the assignment that way. Also, I enjoy helping my friends out with their homework which I usually do. When I am checking my friends work I am easily able to point of mistakes or errors in their work that they were not able to notice. <-Si and Ti. All I can say is thank God for ISFJ proof-readers, I owe them a debt of gratitude. ;)

When I’m not thinking about the future, I’m thinking about memories that I’ve made. These memories are usually triggered by a pretty scenery or an object that holds a lot of meaning to me. For example, sometimes I’ll look outside of my bedroom window when the sun sets and every time I do that, I get emotional thinking about the times I would walk down these streets as a kid and how fast time flew by. I remember how the area changed and people that I loved left to continue their lives. Then I think about how one day I won’t be looking out of this window, but out of the window of my own home looking at a different scenery and introducing new people into my life. It gets me thinking how beautiful life is and how much we take for granted. Usually after these moments I feel very appreciative for the life that I have and the wonderful people in my life. I conclude that I wouldn’t want it any other way. <- delightful SiFe. Warm, centered in what one values for oneself (the things special to me - Si), leading into low Ne thoughts about the future and what it means to be human.

Ever since I was young I felt like I understood things that other children or people did not pick up on. This usually pertained to social cues. I’ve always known how I was expected to act based on the atmosphere of the situation and how the people around me were behaving. However, it seemed that others didn’t really care as much. Children would behave however they wanted and even if they got yelled at by the teacher they would carry on the next day. I didn’t understand how they didn’t know how to behave or why they didn’t seem to care. Also, I always take into consideration the feelings of people, but I’ve noticed over the years that many people don’t care as much. In my everyday life I try to be kind to everyone I encounter. If I were to ever make someone upset or feel a negative emotions I would feel like a horrible person. However, I see other people offending each other all the time and they don’t seem to care. I don’t get how people could easily be so insensitive towards others. In addition, I have always had very good problem solving skills. When people would not understand something, I would immediately try to help them because somehow I understood it without much prior experience. I was just able to figure it out based on observations, which I didn’t see a lot of people doing as much while growing up. <- strong Fe. FJs can automatically know what is appropriate or not and adjust to a situation and become uncomfortable when others do not, because then the "rules" of social engagement are being broken, and it will make everyone uncomfortable or not know what to say or do within the situation.

I doubt I need to go on. You love to make cherished memories, the hallmark of an ISFJ. Memories are all we have, they connect us, they give the world meaning, and we build them around what holds great personal significance to ourselves, yes? ISFJ. Embrace it. Feel at home in it. Love it. :)

#question #isfj

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 8

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Taglist @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW for discussion of abuse and description of PTSD related flashback

Helping Gideon Lightwood visit old memories from his childhood was much harder than Alastair could have anticipated. Gideon did not know exactly where they would find the information they needed, so they had been visiting several memories where he thought he might have overheard something to do with his father’s dealings in the occult. There were several instances where Gideon had seen or heard something he hadn’t understood back then but did now. References to supernatural woman he was interested in mostly, it seemed like Benedict Lightwood had had an interest in sex with supernatural women.

So far nothing that might relate to what was happening to Thomas, though. There was an instant where Benedict Lightwood said something about a rival in business falling ill with an unsettling smile, where Gideon now realized that had been his doing, but they hadn’t yet figured out what creatures Benedict had made deals with beyond the women he’d bargained with for sexual favors. Alastair suspected the creature that might claim Thomas’ life had bargained for much more than sex. He couldn’t imagine giving up someone’s life for sex, whereas Alastair could picture a cold and heartless person such as Benedict Lightwood offering up someone’s life in exchange for money and power.

Part of the problem was that there were only so many of these memories Alastair could take and he was surprised Gideon was doing so well. It was a long time ago, of course, but Alastair couldn’t imagine ever being able to show someone else memories of his father. Not even those where he wasn’t drunk. He could talk about it, perhaps, but he could never show, he never wanted anyone to see just how defenseless he’d been.

Even seeing the memories of someone else’s neglectful father was difficult for him and the occasional racist comment brought back memories from school. Gideon surely didn’t agree with any of that, did he? Still, Alastair pushed through. This was important. This was for Thomas. He didn’t know if Thomas was right, if he was in danger, but Alastair knew he wasn’t going to let him die.

Gideon noticed after a while, it was getting difficult for him. ‘We can continue tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can tell it’s not easy for you.’

‘I’m not used to visiting other people’s memory,’ Alastair said as an excuse. ‘That’s why I’m getting tired.’

He didn’t want Gideon Lightwood to think he was weak and he couldn’t take this. Entering other people’s memories being exhausting was at least believable.

Over the next week, he easily fell into this new routine. Mornings he would go with Thomas and take a walk. They explored the different trails in the forest, and talked about books, music, history, art. Alastair felt like he was getting to know Thomas better, and the more he did, the more he fell in love. Thomas had grown up handsome, tall and muscular, yes, but he was also kind, empathetic, and conversation with him was so easy. He had many interests, and could easily talk about them for a long time. Alastair had never liked small talk much, but neither did Thomas, so instead they soon found topics they were both interested in to discuss.

He would eat lunch with Thomas and his parents, and then continue with Gideon’s memory, always careful not to take it too far. It had to be difficult for Gideon as well, to go over memories of his father, but he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was just very good at concealing his struggle for his son’s sake. Alastair could respect that.

‘Alastair, maybe we should take a break,’ Gideon said after visiting a particularly difficult memory of Benedict yelling at Gideon and his younger brother when they’d interrupted him in some occult ritual. They’d been going over memories for a week now, but so far they hadn’t found the answers they were looking for. Hints, yes, and this ritual could point them into the right direction but right now neither knew what exactly Benedict had been summoning.

They copied everything they remembered about the ritual and wrote it down, and Alastair suspected Benedict Lightwood had been summoning some creature. It was very uncommon for humans to be able to do magic, the ability Alastair had was a rare exception. He imagined Lucie’s ability was a similar exception, whereas Thomas’ sight was a little more common, but still rare. But humans could make deals with benefactors for power, something that rarely ended well. So far, it seemed Benedict Lightwood had made deals with multiple beings, some less consequential and mainly about sex, whereas others had given him the power to make opponents fall sick which must have cost. He suspected there were multiple benefactors involved, something Alastair didn’t think was common. For some people, enough was never enough.

‘Are you alright?’ Alastair asked. ‘Those memories must be difficult for you.’

Alastair was still doing the best he could to conceal how distressed it was. It wasn’t his father, it wasn’t his memory, but he’d been looking through the eyes of Gideon Lightwood with his father yelling at him, experiencing it as if he was Gideon himself. He tried his best to push back his feelings, to breathe. He narrated to himself, describing the room and its contents in a desperate attempt to not lose control. That was something his therapist had taught him, a method to ground himself in reality and assure himself he was safe.

‘I’m fine,’ Gideon said with a small smile. ‘But I can tell using your ability is difficult for you, and I don’t think it’s just because using the ability is tiring. I noticed you tensed up a bit more with every memory we visited. And the last one… I did not realize how bad that one really was before reliving it and I’m sorry for exposing you to that.’

Alastair guessed he now knew why Thomas was so annoyingly observant. It ran in the family.

The memory didn’t really take him by surprise. Nowadays, Alastair could often tell when it was coming even if he hadn’t learnt how to control it. He was thirteen years old and had come home after a particularly bad day at school and all he’d wanted was some time alone to cry and listen to some very loud music. He’d been badly bullied at the time, but he hadn’t dared tell his parents about that. Cordelia hadn’t been at home, fortunately, playing with a friend, Lucie perhaps. But his father had, and he’d noticed Alastair shaking, the tears in the corners of his eyes he’d tried to conceal. His father had been drunk, as he was always drunk, but he’d still noticed how upset Alastair was. He’d started yelling at him, calling him weak and pathetic. At the time, Alastair had still hoped he would carry cortana someday and fight monsters with it, before the sword had chosen Cordelia and Alastair had realized he’d never really wanted it anyway. His father had yelled at him that he would never be worthy of cortana, that he was weak and would run away crying at the first sight of danger, that he’d never be anything but worthless.

‘Alastair!’

Deep down, Alastair realized it wasn’t real, it was a memory and his father wasn’t here. It felt real though. He could hear Gideon Lightwood’s voice, even if all he saw was his father, stumbling drunk.

‘Alastair, I need you to breathe, alright?’

Alastair tried to take a deep breathe, in and out, like he’d practiced many times before. He always struggled with this, purposely breathing tended to make him light in the head. Still, it was better than not breathing at all.

‘Tell me what you can see,’ Gideon Lightwood said.

‘I see my father, bottle in his hand,’ Alastair said with a trembling voice. ‘But that’s not real. It’s a memory. I am in the cottage, and my father isn’t here. You are here, and you’re talking to me.’

Slowly, the cottage’s living room returned and he was sitting on the couch next to Gideon Lightwood again, carefully breathing in and out in an attempt to maintain a sense of control.

‘I took it too far,’ Gideon said. ‘I am terribly sorry, Alastair. I truly didn’t realize how bad the last memory was.’

He felt his cheeks warm, ashamed to let Gideon see him like this. Most of the time, he’d been alone when such a flashback happened, or he’d had enough time to run to his bedroom or a bathroom or anywhere he would be alone. He knew rationally there was a good chance Gideon Lightwood wouldn’t think lesser of him, but a voice inside screamed at him that now everyone knew how weak he really was.

‘Do you want some tea?’

Alastair nodded, still focused on his breathing. ‘Not the English kind,’ he added.

He focused on his surroundings, told himself over and over that he was safe, that he was far away from his father and nothing bad would happen here.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said when Gideon returned with two cups of hot water and a selection of tea bags. It wasn’t his mother’s tea, but it would do.

‘This is not your fault,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s mine, and I’m sorry. I don’t think we should continue looking through my memories.’

‘But Thomas’ life might depend on it. And not all of them are as bad as that one.’

‘I do not remember enough to be sure a memory is safe for you and I cannot in good conscious expose you to more memories like that. We’ll find another way. Thomas wouldn’t want you to trigger your symptoms for his sake,’ Gideon said. ‘We got some information I still need to work out. I take it you haven’t often visited other people’s memories?’

‘I’ve known for some time I can enter other people’s memories as well as my own, but apart from with my family I’ve never done it,’ Alastair said. ‘It is very invasive. I can’t imagine how you could show your memories of you father to someone else.’

Sometimes he and Cordelia would watch movies in Cordelia’s memory, but beyond that he rarely visited other people’s memories.

‘It was a long time ago, and I can tell it hurt you much more than it hurt me,’ Gideon said. ‘It’s not easy, but for Thomas I can do this. I won’t ask more of you.’

‘I’m the only one I know of with this ability though,’ Alastair.

‘That’s not your fault, is it? Did you always have this ability? It was not given to you by something?’ Gideon asked.

‘As far as I know I’ve always had. I think I was seven, maybe even eight when I realized other people couldn’t revisit their own memories the way I do.’

The ability had always come natural to him even as a child, and he’d freely talked about it with classmates in primary school, leading to some very confused reactions. One time when he was five or six he’d tried to teach Cordelia how to do it, which had ended with her throwing a toy tea kettle at his head because she couldn’t do it and they were both getting frustrated. Back then his father had been very interested in his ability when he wasn’t drunk, and when he was eight he and his father had visited a memory of his father killing something monstrous in a forest in the United States, a horrifying deer like creature that had eaten a hiker. He still remembered the way it had gotten up on its hind legs, limbs all bending and twisting in the wrong way. How it had howled, the most horrifying sound Alastair had heard in his life. Alastair had had nightmares for weeks and his mother had been very angry with his father for showing him something like that when she found out.

In the years to come, his mother would yell at his father more often, but that never made him change, and she didn’t leave until Alastair was diagnosed with PTSD. She’d yell at him, beg him to go to a clinic. But his father had always refused, denied the problem, and Alastair had done the best he could to protect both his sister and his mother from him when he was drunk. He suspected even his mother had not truly seen how awful he could become when he was drunk, Alastair had made sure of that.. His diagnosis had been a wake up call for her. But at least she was safe now.

‘We need to know what being my father dealt with.’ Gideon sighed. ‘This would be much easier with his journals, but so far Tatiana ignored my calls.’

‘Perhaps if we look again,’ Alastair said. ‘Sometimes it helps to go over the same memory again, see if there’s something we missed. The details can make all the difference.’

‘No,’ Gideon said. ‘You just had a panic attack from my memories . It’s because of my father’s abuse, isn’t it? He brings up your bad memories of your own father. I won’t take you back into my memories, I don’t want to hurt you. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I… I know what it is like to grow up in a broken home. So if you want to talk, I’m here and I promise I’ll keep your secrets.’

Alastair was tempted to retreat in his shell, to refuse to talk about it as he always did, but he felt oddly comfortable around Thomas’ father. He was kind and empathetic, like his son, and he’d helped him through a flashback. He suspected Gideon Lightwood understood that being told his father was a hero and being a hero came at a price wasn’t kind, even if it wasn’t the same for him. It was very clear that Benedict Lightwood was not and had never been a good person, whereas even Alastair acknowledged his father had done good things once.

‘It seems unfair,’ Alastair said after a silence. ‘To complain about my father to you. From what I’ve seen, yours was worse.’

‘It is not a competition of who has it worse, Alastair,’ Gideon said. ‘My brother and I have both found our way to move on from everything that happened. We had each other, we had friends, a support system that could help us through it. I think that until recently, you have been very alone, and that makes it much harder.’

‘Thomas has been kind to me,’ Alastair said. ‘During our morning walks the past week, but he was also kind when we went to school together. I appreciate that.’

He hated to admit it even to himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever had friends beyond Thomas. In his childhood they’d moved around often and he’d gone to so many different primary schools that he’d never been able to make friends, and when he’d gone to secondary school he’d first been bullied badly, then turned to bullying others in a desperate and hopeless attempt to protect himself. The other bullies at that school might have considered him a friend, but Alastair did not. He knew these boys would have picked him as a target if he hadn’t shown how vicious he could be with his words. And at his last school, he’d simply stopped caring and kept to himself, just cruel enough to make sure the bullies knew better than to bother him.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re getting along with my son,’ Gideon said. ‘Do you have any other friends?’

‘My sister, Lucie occasionally although we’re not close,’ Alastair said. ‘That is all. I never knew how to make friends, and it didn’t help that other children always thought I was weird.’

Alastair had always been one of the smartest children in his class, and other children could be jealous. Some thought it was impossible that a brown boy was doing better than them. Others simply didn’t understand the things he was interested in. Then there had always been children who made fun of the weird food his mother had made for lunch until he’d resigned to eat school lunches even if those were usually terrible.

Alastair considered for a moment, but then continued. ‘I did have one other friend, from when I was fourteen until recently. We mostly wrote emails to each other, texted after a while. He was about six years older than me, and at the time he was the one person I thought I could trust. But I was wrong about trusting him.’

He wasn’t sure he wanted to reveal his relationship with Charles, but at least this would give enough context on why he’d been so unwilling to trust anyone. Charles had done the best he could to isolate him, positioning himself as the one person he could trust. Charles had discouraged him from coming out to aunt Risa, which he’d considered at the time, citing that Iran was very homophobic as a reason. But just because the laws in Iran were homophobic, didn’t mean all Iranian people were and both his mother and aunt Risa had been open to learn more. And because Charles had seemed so trustworthy, so caring, Alastair no longer knew how to be sure he could trust someone. Even now he was wary, there was a voice inside screaming to run, to get away before this ended badly. It also felt nice though, talking to someone who had grown up in an abusive household and had survived. If Gideon had, maybe he could too.

‘What happened?’ Gideon asked gently.

‘I’m not sure…’ Alastair began.

‘You don’t have to tell,’ Gideon said. ‘I know it can be hard to trust someone after having your trust broken so many times.’

Alastair took a deep breath. He wanted to trust Gideon, he really did. It must be so nice to have father like him. ‘He wasn’t just a friend, we were in a relationship. I thought it was everything I could want, and for a time the illusion of being loved was enough to push away the pain. I thought that just what love was like. I left him some time ago when I finally realized what he did wasn’t alright.’

‘You said he was six years older than you?’ Gideon asked.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said. ‘I was sixteen when I entered a relationship with him. I didn’t realize at the time that it was creepy that such an older man was interested in me. I thought it meant I was mature and was so flattered by his attention.’

‘It can’t have been easy to leave him,’ Gideon said.

Alastair stared for a moment. He didn’t expect people to understand that. Cordelia was sweet and caring but he didn’t think she really understood why it had taken him so long to leave. She had a point, why keep going back when every dismissal was like being struck with a dagger? Why keep falling for his praise when Charles would mock him only moments later? Alastair didn’t understand it himself either, only that he’d genuinely loved and worshipped Charles.

‘I had help,’ Alastair admitted. ‘Cordelia spent some time trying to convince me to leave. But even when I started recognizing just how bad he was treating me, I think part of me still longed for his praise.’

‘I think you are very strong, Alastair, that you could choose what was right for you and leave him.’

They were interrupted by Thomas, who entered the room carrying a bag of groceries. Alastair was once again struck by how beautiful he was. In school, Thomas had still been small and skinny and Alastair simply hadn’t noticed him that way. But he’d grown up tall and muscular. Yet his features were still refined and handsome for someone so tall. And he was so different from Charles. Kind, empathetic, a little insecure. Thomas didn’t think emotions were a weakness that needed to be concealed, Thomas would not mock him for feeling. Back at school he’d thought Thomas must have it so easy, to be so kind, but perhaps he was kind because that was what his parents had taught him. Alastair had learnt later that sometimes, the worst people were the ones who had it easy, the ones who had everything yet wanted more. People like Charles, or like Benedict Lightwood.

He wondered sometimes if Thomas liked men as well. So far Thomas hadn’t mentioned it, but he hadn’t mentioned any past or current relationships with girls either. He wondered if he could have a chance with him, with someone who genuinely seemed to care about him in a way Charles never had. To Charles he had simply been convenient, broken and isolated and very much willing to do whatever it took to keep his lover happy and satisfied, scared he might be abandoned if he did not. He imagined it would be different with Thomas, who was closer to his age. A relationship with him would probably feel more equal, exploring both their desires and needs, and not just his partner’s. Thomas was interested in what he had to say, in his opinions, his interests. Thomas could make him laugh, something he’d rarely done the past years.

‘Did something happen, Tom?’ Gideon asked.

Alastair had to agree Thomas looked a little distressed.

‘Yes, but perhaps it’s better if I show you,’ Thomas said. ‘Alastair, would you be able to help? If you’re not too tired, that is. I know it can be exhausting.’

Alastair had used his ability much more than he was used to, but suspected he could do this. However, he preferred to know what he was getting into. He didn’t want to see something that would trigger another flashback and definitely not in front of Thomas.

‘I can do it, but since I’m tired it would be easier if you told me what you saw before diving in.’

He wasn’t sure why he kept pretending it was just his ability. It was easier somehow, a more acceptable excuse. He doubted it was believable though.

Thomas nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I saw someone, and I thought I recognized aunt Tatiana. But now I’m not complete sure, and since dad will be much more likely to recognize her I think it’s best to show. And there was someone with her I don’t know. It’s not the first time either, I think I saw her a week ago but she turned away too quickly then and I didn’t realize… It’s probably best if I show the rest.’

Alastair nodded, and he concentrated to bring both himself and Gideon into Thomas’ memory. He saw the town’s grocery store through Thomas’ eyes, and he tried to slow down the memory.

When Thomas exited the grocery store, he saw a woman enter, a girl behind her. He didn’t think either of them noticed Thomas, whose gaze was fixated on the pair. The first woman was around forty, he guessed, long brown hair and light eyes. Alastair didn’t recognize her, but had to admit she resembled Gideon. The girl behind her didn’t look anything like the Lightwoods. She was unearthly pretty with long silver blonde hair and she wore a long white summer dress that left her shoulders bare. She had to be in her late teens, a daughter? So far Gideon had mentioned Tatiana had had a son, Jesse, who died, but he’d never mentioned her having any other children, nor had Thomas mentioned anyone else. And he’d just said he didn’t know who the girl was.

‘I’m not sure it was really Tatiana, I thought maybe I was just jumpy from everything,’ Thomas said. ‘And I have no idea who that girl could be.’

Thomas turned around and took the car back to the cottage and Alastair reversed the memory, focusing on the part where Thomas had looked at the pair. Gideon has turned pale.

‘That’s her. That’s Tatiana.’

‘But who is that girl with her?’ Alastair asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Gideon said. ‘As far as I know she had no children beside Jesse.’

Alastair took a good look at the girl, but couldn’t see anything unusual about her. Very pale blonde hair, a rosy pale skin, light eyes. She looked around sixteen, but had a perfect clear skin most girls that age didn’t have.

‘She looks kind of helpless,’ Alastair said. ‘The girl, I mean.’

‘I guess so,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think she’s human?’

‘I’m not sure a supernatural creature could look so helpless next to a regular human woman,’ Alastair said. ‘If she was scared of something far more powerful than her, she’d probably look for another powerful being to protect her, not Tatiana. At the same time, there is something unearthly about how she looks.’

Alastair wasn’t sure what to make of her, but tried to take in as many details as he could. She was dressed in a white summer dress, wearing spotless white ballerina shoes and it occurred to Alastair that if she walked around on these shoes often, they shouldn’t be so white. Alastair was glad he wore mostly black as it didn’t stain as easily.

‘I’m not so sure she’s human,’ Gideon said. ‘I’ve seen a succubus visit my father, she reminds me of her. She’s younger though, but maybe succubae and the likes were children once too.’

They left the memory, returning to the living room of the cottage the Lightwoods had rented. Gideon added some things to his notes, describing the girl.

‘At least we are sure now it was Tatiana,’ Thomas said. ‘Do you think we should go talk to her, now that she’s here?’

‘If I can find out where she’s staying, yes,’ Gideon said. ‘But I think it would be best if I go see her alone, see if I can reason with her.’

Gideon left for the town to see if he could find his sister, promising he’d be back in time for dinner. Alastair hoped he would be safe, he didn’t trust Tatiana in the slightest. He understood why Gideon might want to give her a chance, he’d do the same if Cordelia turned against him. Not that he could picture that happening. She could be annoying, frustrated with him, but she’d never betray him.

Alastair decided to stay a little longer. Thomas wasn’t motivated to play chess anymore after a week of losing every game they’d played. Alastair guessed he made it too difficult, and instead opted for a game of ludo which led to much frustration on Alastair’s part. The dice seemed to favor Thomas.

‘I don’t know how you’re doing it, but you’re cheating,’ Alastair insisted.

Thomas threw his hands up. ‘How am I supposed to cheat. We both use the same die.’

Thomas threw the die and rolled another six. Unbelievable.

‘I’m done with this game,’ Alastair announced when Thomas had won.

‘You won at chess lots of times the past week,’ Thomas said. ‘I only won at this once.’

‘This game is stupid. You’re either cheating, or it’s just luck.’

Thomas smiled, and Alastair was very annoyed that his smile was so attractive. His lips looked soft, and Alastair very much wanted to know if they felt as soft.

‘I think you’re just a sore loser,’ Thomas said.

‘No I’m not,’ Alastair said indignantly. ‘I just don’t like it when games are solely luck based like this one.’

‘You didn’t dislike it before you lost,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘You really have to rub it in, do you?’

‘My sister Eugenia is worse,’ Thomas said. ‘Do not ever play monopoly with Eugenia, it will end in murder if she doesn’t win and she usually doesn’t.’

‘I never liked monopoly,’ Alastair said. ‘You know, the original monopoly was supposed to criticize capitalism. The modern version still does a pretty good job of showing why capitalism is terrible. Unfortunately, it goes over most people’s heads.’

‘In what sense?’ Thomas asked, and Alastair fell into a lecture on why capitalism was terrible.

Charles had been one of those people who insisted that capitalism wasn’t perfect, but it was the best system out there and modern society was only possible because of capitalism, which Alastair thought was stupid. Why assume any modern inventions were only possible because of capitalism and colonialism? When they were still together, Alastair had been very insecure in his own ideas and thoughts. Charles was so much older and wiser, he had to know better. After the break up, Alastair had realized that Charles’ ideas were stupid and mostly convenient to rich white men. He’d grown more confident in his own ideas since then, even if people tended to think he was radical.

‘You’re really passionate about this,’ Thomas said. ‘I like the way you light up when you talk.’

‘I hope you listened to what I said as well as how I said it,’ Alastair said.

‘I did, and you make some very good points,’ Thomas admitted. ‘I always thought we have to work within the system for change, but I admit I’m not expert.’

‘I’ve always been fascinated by political theory,’ Alastair said.

‘But you quit studying politics, right?’ Thomas asked.

‘Most other students didn’t take my ideas seriously,’ Alastair said. ‘Including my ex boyfriend. He wasn’t a student though, he’d already graduated by the time I started. And I’m fairly certain I don’t want to be a politician myself, having to deal with white right wingers all day is exhausting. I don’t know how to explain to them that you should care about other people.

But I spoke to some other students in the university’s multicultural association, and figured sociology might be a better fit for me, and I think doing research, figuring out new solutions and writing about them might be nicer. I’m not great at getting people to like me, let the people with better charm try to convince others I’m right.’

Alastair hadn’t socialized much, but he’d attended a couple of events hosted by the multicultural student association. Since many of the members of that association were Muslim, Alastair could be fairly certain there would be no alcohol there.

‘If it’s any consolation, I like you,’ Thomas said with another sweet smile that definitely made Alastair want to kiss him.

Charles had said the same thing at some point. With his habit of looking through memories, he tended to remember what people said word for word. But Thomas was so genuine in what he said, so open and honest, it wasn’t the same at all.

‘Really?’

‘Of course. You’re clever and passionate and you never make me feel weird or stupid for my interests. And I’m glad you decided to come here this summer, even if the circumstances aren’t as great as we’d hoped. If I’m going to die, I’m glad I had the chance to know you.’

Alastair took Thomas’ hand. ‘You’re not going to die,’ he said. ‘I won’t let you.’

#Alastair Carstairs #Thomas Lightwood #Lucie Herondale #Cordelia Carstairs #Gideon Lightwood #Thomastair #Lucelia #fic #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

[ginkgomoon]

Hello there! I hope everything is going well with you. (・∀・)

I have some questions. In CH 30 & 32 the Time Observer mentioned about the "price being too heavy/dear" & he mentioned that he never expected for Victor to choose that method to prevent the crisis. I was wondering what price is he talking about & what's "the method" he mentioned? & Victor collapsing in CH 32 was not from hitting the bullet I believe. What exactly happened there?

Also...I don't know the details but I think I saw it somewhere that Victor goes through different timelines & dimensions for 10000 years in the later part of the story...? I remember reading it in a R&S that every time he crosses a dimension he'd experience soul crushing pain... The mere thought of doing it for so long honestly made me feel traumatized. I was hoping you could give me some insights as to what exactly he was doing.

I hope I'm not bothering you with tons of questions & they made sense. Thanks a lot in advance! Have a good day! <3

Hello!!

Thank you, you too! :)

I hope I helped answered your questions here. It's quite long, so enjoy the read!

I did Victor’s Time Observer analysis and I’ll be heavily referencing that post to help answer this particular ask. Big thank you to @cheri-cheri and @ey8508 for help clarifying some of my thoughts concerning Victor this chapter! Spoilers down below! ⏱

“With great power comes great responsibility.” -The Peter Parker Principle

We all know Victor bears great power, but also with that comes great responsibility. He is the sole individual who has the will and power to alter time and space, however this develops drastic consequences to his health and to history- all for his love for MC.

Victor doesn’t care about this price- he is more concerned with whether he can prevent the death of the girl in every unpredictable future.

“The person who can save the world… is not me, but her. As for myself, I know my ending line and how much pain I can bear better than anyone. I would rather take such a risk.” -Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets

Chapter 30-6

Victor is seen to be flanked by bodyguards on Adagio Street. Moments later, in a pure white space, we see the Time Observer addressing Victor.

I stood in the centre of the street, looking hesitantly around, but I was unable to spot that familiar figure.

In the dead of the night, from the distant horizon, there seemed to come the sound of a mechanical little violin.

In a boundless, pure white space, the music would be at time peaceful and solemn, and at others somber and mournful. After the final note, that pair of tightly-closed eyes opened.

The Time Observer looked at Victor, neither showing surprise.

That pale white hand brushed lightly over the violin strings, and his gravelly voice spoke up with the pluck of the string.

TO: “The natural rules of operations no longer supply. This world… in memory is a turbulent past and in imagination, there is no serene future. She should have stayed in that world. Her return was a mistake.”

Victor: “If you’re still here that means we still have a chance.”

TO: “A chance that comes at such a heavy cost. Is it really worth it? You will soon understand, in some things, you are doomed to helplessness. Try with all your might, and yet, it remains out of reach.”

Victor: “I won’t let her die again. No matter when."

This will foreshadow future events such as in Chapter 32, where Victor shows a demonstration of this.

Chapter 32-6

Amidst the scattering glass shards, I saw a number of bullets flying towards me.

Only one thought ran through my mind.

Am I going to die?

Chapter 32-8

In the darkness, a crack suddenly splits open, and a blinding light appears, obscuring my sight. My heartbeat practically came to a standstill, the pain I expected never came. The blinding light disappeared, instantaneously replaced by darkness.

Time seemed to pause for a second.

The pitch black bullets, the fractured glass, the car in mid-air…

And then it fell all heavily to the ground.

And in this moment, Victor challenged “fate”, or rather, the “natural rules of operations”, stated by the Time Observer.

I reached out and grabbed the black clothing fluttering before me. Even my voice was trembling.

MC: “Victor…”

I looked in a daze at the man before me, at those fierce eyes beneath his wind-blown hair.

He was looking back at me, as if trying to etch me into his eyes with his deep gaze. But there was another emotion hidden within as well.

After confirming he was unharmed, I let out a sigh, then looked anxiously into his eyes.

MC: “What are you doing here?”

Victor: “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

But this time, his voice was flat.

MC: “I’m sorry… but I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not unaware of the danger… I must simply stay and stop them.”

I hastily wanted to get Victor out of danger, but his feet were planted firmly. I looked up, to get a look at his expression.

His voice was steady, stopping me in my tracks.

Victor: “I see.”

MC: “You really believe I can stop them?”

Victor: “I said before, even if you don't trust yourself, always trust me. I won’t do anything I'm not sure I can handle. Go what you think needs to be done.”

He patted the back of my head lightly, with a hint of tremor in his voice. He didn’t ask me or stop me, as if he already knew the choice I’d made.

So, while the STF agents and runaway Evolvers were battling, MC was literally going to die at that moment. But Victor enters- using his Evol to stop time, ultimately stopping the bullets and MC’s death.

I whirled around, hoping to catch sight of him.

MC: “Victor!”

I wanted to tell him I’d done it, that I really had prevented this crisis.

A faint worry floated up in my chest. What about Victor?

Medic: “Someone, come quick! There’s another person here!”

I turned and hurried to the end of the bridge.

I then quickly found him.

Ringed by a crowd of people, there he was, the person I would recognise anywhere.

It was…

I halted my steps for a moment, then ran to him without hesitation.

I broke into a panic.

Chapter 32-10

Victor… What happened to him??

I pushed the crowd aside and frantically ran to him.

His face was pallid, eyes squeezed shut, his hair plastered messily to his forehead with sweat. I grasped his hand, unable to believe how icy cold it felt to the touch.

MC: "How could you… Why did you…”

Just then, those eyes shut with pain cracked open. He pursed his lips and then coughed violently, blood started trickling out. Even like that, he still chuckled weakly.

Victor: “I used to think… that your problem was that you thought you could control fate all by yourself. Stubborn, self-reliant, in over your head. Whenever anyone tried to tell you anything, no matter what they said, it was always in one ear and out the other.”

Although it sounded a little weak, his voice was unusually calm, and didn’t really even pause or halt. Almost if, if he stopped, he wouldn't be able to start again.

Victor: “But I really did learn a little something from you. You are the thing unto yourself, so only know the best what your values and decisions should be. No one can guide you. And just like I can’t hold you back, you also can’t change this decision that I’ve made. Don’t ask why, this time, just let me say my piece.”

His voice grew weaker, but he managed to lift his right hand and place it over mine.

I clasped his hand, and a feeling of suspense and dread came over me like I'd never felt before.

MC: “I know… I know… You don’t have to say more.”

He was afraid of something, but not because his life was slipping away. It was more like… something would happen.

Victor closed his eyes, completely exhausted. I squeezed his hand tighter, as if trying to hang on to those remnants of warmth.

You have to make it through this.

A man standing by the riverside swiped his hand through the fog, swiped his hand through the fog, stirring it up into an erratic vortex.

Zero: “Did he actually…”

TO: Like I said before, he is the most suitable candidate.”

Zero: “But he refused to help us open the Door of Return.”

TO: “Perhaps it’s only temporary, and he’ll change his mind. I didn’t imagine he’d choose this method for preventing this crisis. Too bad… the price was so dear.”

After Victor saves MC from death, she finds him on the ground- pale and in terrible pain. Throughout Victor’s time with MC, we slowly see the influence he has on her- and the influence she has on him. He tells her that while she shoulders everything on her own and never listens to anyone, she did teach him things in the process. With her love and kindness, she strives to defy “nature's course” and saves worlds. Literally.

You were correct, Victor didn’t suffer injuries from the bullets because he stopped them just in time but Victor is overusing his Evol, and it’s gradually taking a toll on his body. Even back before MC crossed over to the Winter World, Victor was trying to find other alternative ways for MC to live and not sacrifice herself. Unfortunately, there were none. He did also suffer immense pain whenever he time traveled, especially when it led to his time travel pocket watch cracking and breaking in the end.

Victor would normally be practical and very principled in how he executes his plans, but this time around, it was him. This- he- was the plan. That's it. This is similar to how Victor opened a time rift to send MC away in Chapter 18- to somewhere and sometime in space. He waited for her to come back with the help of the Time Observers to confirm her safety. Only someone with his powerful Evol could do that, otherwise they’d risk losing consciousness in the “Time Rift”.

Additionally, he held onto that hope that MC could and would be saved in the end, like how he tried to find her for 17 years after the orphanage incident, not knowing whether she was dead or alive. Victor wants to wield that control, denying “helplessness” and “winning all the bets” he had with MC prior to her “death” in Chapter 18. Victor stated that if she couldn’t trust herself, then she should trust him and his decisions to protect her. Even if it’s detrimental to his health. Life-threatening, even. Because in the end, Victor knows he will always win. He just does.

And since he knows that he won’t be able to stop MC from doing what she wants, we now see him fully embracing then acting upon it. He accepts that she’s her own person and he has grown to have so much faith in her, seeing how she successfully survived Winter World then coming back home safe. It’s almost like- “okay. It’s you and me against the world”.

On the sidelines, Time observer and ZERO both observe, surprised that Victor will pay such a high price to avoid MC’s death from occurring- with the risk of his own. Could they have lost their most powerful time Evolver from this incident?

Though, we shouldn’t be surprised that the Time Observers think that Victor would be so foolish to use his Evol up to the point where it would actually kill him just to save MC. It's literally in their name- “Observers''- they haven’t and aren’t even allowed to actively participate in the events that happened in Loveland, let alone the different histories and worlds that existed, other than claiming to “correct it” by influencing other people who can. They don’t appear to have this kind of empathy in understanding Victor and why he wants to save MC’s life, or how important she is to him.

“You misunderstand. We never alter, we are correctors of history. We want you to join us, your power’s scope of influence has already surpassed the dimension of this current world. Before you are rejected by it…”

Victor: “I will not leave this world.”

“Even if you’ve seen the future of what is all to pass?”

Victor: “No matter what happens, the person I’m seeking for is right here.” -Black Curtain: Chapter 6

Also taken from my Time Observer Analysis-

Since Victor’s Evol is strong and has the capability to do more than “observe” like the Time Observers, he is the one who is deemed the most suitable and more responsible for “grasping the time in the past and the future”. Ever since STF found out about Victor’s Evol, they wanted him to cooperate with them too. Every time he stops time, certain surrounding energy and space changes.

The organisation also entertains the idea of fate, and how things should be refused to be changed. Since they have “seen the future of how the world ends”, they want Victor to cooperate with them in making it stop. Nobody can rewrite the ending among them, except him. Victor refuses to join because he doesn’t adhere to this idea.

“QUEEN’s return has brought unexpected consequences; the entire collapse of the world is ahead of schedule. The world’s line has come to an end, no matter through time or space, we can no longer interfere in this world.” Was there a difference in letting each world go to the end alone to close all the world lines in the future directly? Although we found a breakthrough, this situation really caused us a lot of headaches: she who should not have survived and she should not have been sent to other worlds. As a result, it would seriously interfere and disrupt the timeline. No one had done it before, and no one except Victor could do it.

In disbelief, we weighed it and threw the olive branch- as long as he is willing to cooperate, we will help him find her. As decisive as he was to refuse a few times before, this time he had promised me without thinking. And for a moment, I didn’t know if his decisiveness was good or bad. -Chapter 33-34 Rumours and Secrets

Victor "travelling ten-thousand years in the future" was mentioned in his Chapter 35-36 Rumours and Secrets. The Space and Time Administration (who the Time Observers were under) could "repair his abilities", after he stopped the bullets from hitting MC. He would have to stay there for the Space and Time Administration's time duration of ten-thousand years. Victor accepts. (BIG THANKS TO @cheri-cheri FOR CORRECTING ME LAST MINUTE WITH THIS ONE, YOU AMAZING HUMAN!!)

#mlqc #mlqc victor #love and producer #mr love queens choice #恋与制作人 #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc en #mlqc time observers #victor #mlqc spoilers

[star-anise]

I don't know if this is crossing boundaries to ask so feel free to ignore, but do you have any advice for someone with rejection-sensitive dysphoria, an intolerance for ambiguity and a history of social ostracization / access to the In-Group being dependent on Some Unsafe Shit for figuring out where one stands with an online social circle? Like, if one really feels like they're being neglected / put on a shelf, but doesn't know how to address it without receiving platitudes that it's not

(insecurity ask cont.) Really that bad / wasn't intentional / sure they still LIKE one they just kept happening to be busy at the time - etc. Basically figuring a way through the situation if one doesn't want to do what the Anxiety wants, which is cut run and self isolate, but doesn't find the allistic normative reassurance of "oh no we really do want you around sweaty : )" reassuring or helpful in the least.

This is a live topic of discussion in my friend-groups, since my close social circle is like 95% people with a history of being bullied, serious brainweasels* around social shit and rejection, ASD and/or ADHD, and seriously geeky social skills. So my response is not like, “We have a Method! It works! I’m patenting it!” nearly so much as “Um... this is what seems not to have exploded too badly so far.” And I’m answering this publicly rather than privately because other people have useful things to contribute too. 

*(Brainweasel = little nasty thing that eats your brain)

(Like seriously if anyone DOES have A Method I’m all ears because I still do the self-isolation self-destruct way too easily)

Anyway. THE GOOD STUFF (which got really long):

I’ve personally found that it helps to make it really clear to people that if something is wrong, I want to know. I literally say, “My personal definition of Hell is when I think I’m having a happy fun time with a friend who is enjoying themselves, but in reality, I’m annoying them and they secretly resent me for it. Please don’t put me in that situation.”  It’s kind of the opposite of asking for validation--it’s trying to reduce my own emotional hypervigilance, and also shifting the burden of dealing with the problem to the other person. Now, if they find me annoying, they have to do something about it--either spend less time with me, or let me know what’s up.

Asking for things and saying “No is an okay answer!”

Being open about my wants and needs while also letting people know how much I’m willing to compromise. “I don’t know what anybody else is feeling, but for dinner I have a mild preference for pizza,” or “I’m in the kind of mood where I basically want someone to talk to about this creative project for an hour in a really intense, informed, and interested way that also doesn’t step on my creative vision’s toes, or I don’t want to talk about it at all. So unless someone really wants to talk about it, how’s the weather?”

If you can find people who are geeks about feelings and have done a lot of introspection and can be very honest, and basically didn’t think that Twitter thread about asking friends for consent for emotional labour was a bad thing? That’s probably going to help, since when you’re all in the middle of dealing with moderate-to-severe brainweasels that is the kind of wrangling that needs to happen.

Hacking into Dialectical Behaviour Therapy, if you can do it. I’ve had to explain to several people now: DBT is fundamentally about trying to unlearn you from a system of If I Only Behave A Certain Way, Life Will Finally Work Out, to having a more flexible, more adaptive set of skills that you can see in a kind of pro/con fashion and decide which of life’s sucky parts you’d rather deal with because it gets you your preferred set of upsides. The problem is: DBT kind of presents itself as a system of If You Only Behave A Certain Way, Life Will Finally Work Out! So especially for my Autistic friends, doing DBT, while useful, involves considerable arguing with the system, deciding which of it works for you and which of it doesn’t, and hacking it apart and rearranging it in your own idiosyncratic way. This isn’t actually failing to do DBT, it’s using the methods DBT teaches you on DBT itself. 

Finding a therapist who can treat baseline-neurodivergent LGBTQ+ nerds with complex trauma IS difficult, but not impossible. Not every therapist can do it. (I personally am considering giving up finding one in my city, and making use of the temporary relaxation of restrictions on distance practice across jurisdictional boundaries thanks to COVID-19 and phoning up my old therapist a province over.) If you can’t get a personal recommendation, I recommend literally cold-emailing about a half-dozen likely suspects from Psychology Today or Theravive and asking them, “Do you have any training or experience in treating [geeks/adults with complex trauma/queer people/whatever has made therapists act like cats with boots on around you before]?”

To wildly veer back to your original question

Imagine something that someone could do for you that would make you feel warm and loved. Something that would take a minute or less to do. When you’re feeling unloved, say “I’m feeling down, could anyone do [this thing] for me?” That’s literally why I ask people to show me cat pictures--I have times when I feel sad and alone and like the entire world hates me, and that’s a VERY big feeling for anyone to step in and fill, so instead? I ask for cat pics.

This, I should add, required going back into my trauma memories and deprogramming the origin of my Nice Things Are Evil Poison If I Asked The Person To Be Nice To Me brainweasel. Which is part of why I’m so insistent on asking people not to put me in my personal Hell situation.

Like, sometimes with my clients, we literally create a restaurant menu of Things People Could Do If They Wanted To Be Nice To Me, ranging from cheap $5 items like cat pics and memes to $200 bottles of wine that would be getting married and taking out a mortgage together. Sometimes we talk Love Languages just to go through several different sensory modalities. Then, if creating that menu wasn’t scary enough, they start telling their friends what’s on the list. “I really like things with dragons on them” or "I love to know when somebody’s thinking of me even when I’m not there” or “I really wish I had someone to watch movies with”. This reduces the cognitive load if somebody wants to reach out to you but doesn’t know how.

Relatedly: If you’re in a bad mood and doing something to self-regulate, you might consider letting people know what’s going on. People who are merely being civil might interpret “I’m feeling terrible about myself today” as “You are now socially obligated to blow smoke up my ass”; moderating the statement with a positive attempt to make things better, like “I’m focusing on my shoes a lot today because I feel like crap but they make me happy” or “I’m going to go try to shake this awful mood with Netflix” removes that pressure because it’s a problem with a built-in solution, so they’re not socially impolite if they ignore it. If people want to be emotionally closer to you, it opens the door for them to either ask about your problem, or contribute to your solution (”Oooh, I do like those shoes”) (”Have you seen this new series?”).

Okay so

Here’s the other thing

When you’re used to the one being rejected, you can spend SO much energy trying to make relationships work, and when they don’t, you just kind of shut down and fall over

What if (if you scraped together enough spare Cope) you said to yourself, “Whatever is going on--whether it’s them, or me, or whatever--I am not getting my needs met, so I’m going to back away from them a bit and focus on finding something new? They may not be evil or bad, but I’m going to downgrade them on my priority list.”

Like I’m just saying: Think about it. Every once in a while it’s possible it isn’t your fault, but the other person... just isn’t up to being the kind of friend you need right now, and no effort of yours can improve them at this time, so you’re going to let them shape up if they can but start focusing your attention elsewhere.

I realize that’s like the social equivalent of asking a homeless person to dip into their savings and start a business. But, just... sometimes you just need better friends.

Okay, it’s 2am and I’ve run out of ideas. Anyone else?

#staranise original #trauma #brainweasels #bullying tw #tin-can-paladin

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep12: Brand New Mokuba Just Dropped

My tumblr has decided that it can’t save drafts again. Which sure is a problem I keep having but no one else seems to have...but were back. Back and ready to talk about cards.

First off, lets address the best thing about this episode, it’s the return of The A Team animation team! Dunno if it’s the same ones that did the seasons before, but it is a pretty good team this episode, so there’s lots of that to look forward to. Everyone is now 2 feet taller (Kaiba is 4 feet taller) and there’s just some really nice shots going on. It’s not as shiny as other seasons, which makes me think it might be a different team or a different studio using a different method (you don’t really see them playing with line weights anymore which makes it seem like a different method to me) but still--it’s a nicer looking episode today.

So we start off this episode with Seto begging us all to forget the hell that just happened and just get on with it. Of course, no one’s gonna do that, because yo, what just happened was kind of weird.

And because there’s only like...I dunno...maybe 2 episodes left in this arc? (kind of a quick arc, honestly) Leon decides to do a complete personality reversal. Although, it’s really hard to do a reversal when you didn’t have a personality in the first place...so I guess this more Leon showing us A personality--and I’ll take it.

He’s a little jackass now, but it’s youknow...still Leon so it’s not really that bad. Like we deal with Seto on the reg, so I feel like Leon as a jackass is just like...well that’s just how you play cards in this universe.

Everyone speculates whether or not Seto actually did a crime, and a SURPRISING number of them said he did not! Weird! But hey...I’ve gone over a billion times before, their memory is like when you throw popcorn into the ocean--it just fffzt’s and then it’s gone.

Roland was THIS close to actually saving Kaiba corp a huge hassle for once. This Close, Roland. You almost did it.

(read more under the cut)

I love that Roland has decided to give all these teens maybe the uncoolest nicknames in the entire world, and the teens have not made any indication whether they do or do not appreciate their alliteration nicknames.

But despite the fact that although Roland uses these opportunities behind the microphone to embarrass them just SO MUCH, the Kaibas still persist in having him introduce most of the matches. It makes it feel like the Kaibas freakin love this. They love his Dad jokes. I cannot tell if they are like “yes, please embarrass my friends.” of it they’re like “yes. Roland that was so cool. Yeah Leaping Leon. Good one! You’re so cool!” Because they don’t know what fun is.

Also, look what I see in the sky.

Truly a sign that they have overcome their trauma of seasons 2-3.

Or maybe they had a lot of blimps laying around and this is a completely unrelated blimp? Either way, I’m glad they can still handle the sight of a blimp.

And then, just out of nowhere, Mokuba hit puberty.

Which I mean, it was inevitable. It was going to happen some day. Luckily, we will be getting a new Mokuba this episode to make up for the fact that this one has done A Flirt and it was probably a completely innocent turn of phrase he has no idea is a double entendre but do the writers know that?

And while we ruminate the decisions there, lets bask in the glory of purple staircase.

This is such a purple staircase!

On another, identical staircase walks Leon, who gets to have a discussion with Zigfried, who probably just stood next to the wall and just chameleon’ed in here without getting caught cuz coincidentally this staircase dresses like him.

Freakin Mai?

Anyway, lets start this duel where like...I dunno, it’s a little late to start stealing souls, but maybe Leon will do a stab? (He will not)

So glad the storyboarder is back to kind of flex. I don’t normally see Roland drawn with this much attention. Look at him go. That’s the stance a grown man takes when he’s ready to embarrass a bunch of teens.

Kaiba writes a speech introducing himself, or Roland just kinda made up a speech as if Kaiba hadn’t asked him to do that. Either way it’s kind of a big way to talk yourself up--but he is trying to talk up the theme park so people will actually like...go. So it makes sense.

Also what is this nonsense where people worldwide are watching a theme park opening match? Card culture is so weird because we’ve noticed in other seasons there are people that don’t play cards, and I feel like they’re not watching this for fun. It’s like when I watch news unfold--they’re watching to see if they have to raid the toilet paper aisle and the canned goods again to prepare for yet another onslaught of card nonsense.

Legit Mokuba was like “Look at my bro. Look at how he gave up dueling to throw this nice tourney for everyone!” and it’s like...Mokuba...he just dueled...Mokuba...he’s putting all the profits directly in your pockets this is hardly a martyr up here.

Seto Kaiba decided to inform the world that he would have won if he was actually playing and that was sure a statement he made after losing to Yugi like...3 times now? Several times.

Everyone else converses how Leon’s acting weird. I don’t know why they care all of a sudden, because no one acts normal playing this game, but the plot desires them to care.

Which is when we find out...

...the new Mokuba...

That’s right. He was a Mokuba the whole time. For once we haven’t abducted Mokuba, instead...we have too many Mokubas.

This Mokuba even has hella long hair, too. I imagine if Mokuba proper had a ponytail it would probably look just like this but black. It would have been just--so good if he whipped off that ribbon and shook out his hair and it fluffed into a horrible Mokuba mess, but you know, that’s one of the many reasons why I don’t write for this series. That and I was like in high School when this came out.

(Please admire Kaiba’s head of Security who looks like he’s about to drop a poop out of terror. It’s a really small detail, but I appreciate that the storyboarder had him kind of antsy in the background)

Seto insists that the only one to beat Yugi Muto will be himself and it’s like...I know. That’s why I keep expecting someone to get stabbed by this tiny purple haired Mokuba. But instead, Leon’s too busy feeling mad that he’s not necessarily playing the game for fun.

But he’s still playing the game though? so I feel like Yami doesn’t have many stones to throw here. Leon hasn’t even cheated yet. (As if Yami isn’t cheating basically all the time by being 2 people in one body)

I can’t BELIEVE this show would throw that at me after the number of times I have seen Yami Muto nearly murder other people (and sometimes literally do a murder) out of revenge. Yami is basically a revenge god...like...show...what? It’s season 5, I thought we’ve basically cemented this in. Occasionally the show will just be all “card games are supposed to be fun though!!!” and it’s like...these are the last children on Earth who are playing card games for fun.

If anything, it should be Leon lecturing them on how to have fun. They just murdered a Great Leviathan with cards. Before that they were dealing with Noah, with Marik, with Pegasus, with Bakura. The times that Yugi has just played a game for fun has been...This Arc.

So maybe Yami is just begging himself to have fun for once. Maybe he’s just mad that he can’t play a single tournament without someone getting possessed? Maybe his frustrations really aren’t about little Leaping Leon, and more to do with Yami sick and tired of being a protagonist.

But, youknow, it’s not an anime, unless the protagonist hypocritically can get away with every sin out there and everyone else gets punished for it. So lets find out just how far Leon fell from fun-having grace with a flashback.

This Belle cosplayer went off in like...one of the most hilariously bad accents I’ve heard in a while, it was just so much, I’ll probably cap it because lolol.

But since Leon wasn’t actually in line to inherit the company, he has to sort of hole up in his room for his entire childhood. It’s kinda weird, since we can’t assume that Zigfried will either a.) live forever or b.) have or adopt or raise children in any capacity. But they’re pretty sure Zigfried will live forever, and in this universe--maybe.

Also, I’m really not sure why they have to dress like it’s 1890, but they sure are. The Victorian era just never left the Von Schroeder house. Like these women are wearing corsets to be in that dress, and you can’t BUY a corset to match this type of dress, you have to make your own, and I know, because in Quarantine, I got really into historical sewing videos.

I can’t believe I spent an entire year watching historical sewing videos. Holy crap. I don’t even sew.

But then again...Seto is kind of drawn like he wears a corset...so maybe people are still wearing them in the Yugioh universe? Maybe that’s how their fashion just works?

Guys...I analyze Yugioh fashion a lot but the fact that the Edwardians never freakin left this worldly plane is just...that’s canon to Yugioh. I really just want to sit back and analyze Yugioh fashion with a moodboard and try to connect all the dots logically as if they aren’t just one-off jokes, but I don’t know how I’d fit that on this post.

And like, one of y’all brought up in a comment in the last post that what’s neat about this arc is we are seeing Zigfried as what Seto would have been like if he hadn’t like...gotten cursed by Yugi Muto. So, going off that idea, I think it’s kinda fun that Zigfried’s outfit is a bit of a younger take on Pegasus’ whole look with the wrist lace and a fusion of Gozaburos look of wearing a cravat with a smoking coat. It’s fun to imagine that this is what Seto’s inner gremlin dresses like (which...now I think about it...was a thing from S1 where Yami defeated a Seto gremlin but...I don't remember much about it) Of course, Seto would also be hella dead if he hadn’t gone through the Yugi cycle, but it’s still a fun road to think about.

Plus, when we go down that road, it really makes this arc look even more like it’s just about Seto Kaiba’s therapy sesh to recover from the last several seasons that he’s accidentally (or intentionally??) invited the entire world to watch and that’s very funny to me.

Bro has informed me you can make a deck out of Jerry but could not show me any receipts.

...I mean that is Dartz right?

Like I know all the characters have cards of themselves IRL and all the characters are also based on cards that were made before they were on TV (with the exception of our main cast that was...youknow, a horror manga) but like...

...what’s up, Dartz?

Anyway, our little Mokuba decides to sneak out the house and run around the world at the ripe ol age of ... what I’m guessing is like 10-12, and is pretty sure he can just get away with that. Luckily, the crimes he’s committing are exactly the type of crimes that Zigfried needs.

(Pretty sure their Dad died or is incapacitated but OK, dub, go ahead and pretend that plot point didn’t go down last episode.)

Also, I’m really glad we got a good storyboarder for this part who was like “Zigfried looks...like that?” and still managed to make this character design really work this episode. In some parts they even gave Zigfried those wide Marik Eyes that are kind of ubiquitous with Yugioh. It just needs the right hands to draw it, and then any amount of...this outfit...can work.

So, just like when we met Mokuba in S1, he’s gonna do a duel on Yugi to save his family and probably also like Mokuba, not give a damn for how this game is supposed to be played. Luckily, this time Pharaoh doesn’t have any star chips lying around for this kid to just run around and steal before booking it out the back gate.

Yugi over there with his twitter-brand hot-takes, not knowing the difference between actual brainwashing and blackmail/family pressure.

(WHY IS MAI HERE?)

Look at that hatching!

Ah this is the 00′s content I’m here for! Check out the soft brush! The dodge and burn! Ah! Man this sure was an era of computer art! and stuff like this cost a lot of money to make and it looked ... like this!

Now I’m pretty sure we can make art that looks this dated on like...a free phone app.

PS please do not ever shade your art like this. This is what you don’t do. Do not do this. I will shed a single tear shaped like the Photoshop symbols for dodge and burn.

Also...guys...

next episode is Ep 13. Every season so far this show has been like “we’re normal, everything is normal” getting us complacent until exactly Ep 13, when everything gets really effed up. So...

will that happen? Will they continue this tradition into S5 or has it been a coincidence until now? Excited to find out.

Anyway, if you just got here, this is the link to read these from the beginning in chrono order:

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

#ygo #yugioh #yu gi oh #S5 #Ep12 #yugi muto #leon von schroeder #good because I forgot his other last name #zigfried von schroeder #seto kaiba #mokuba kaiba #roland #joey wheeler #tea gardner #the others who didn't say or do anything so I probably shouldn't tag them #Can't believe how quickly this arc is wrapping up

[ahopelessromantic]

I’m Yours, You’re Mine pt. II ➳ S. Reid

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Word count: 4,4k

Warnings: none

Spencer and you are ready to tie the knot. But, like always, life gets in the way. (Read pt. I here)

The sight of Spencer with your daughter filled you with a tenderness you had thought yourself incapable of. She was sleeping serenely in her baby carrier while your fiancé worked on a geographical profile, careful not to move too much so she didn’t wake up. For a moment you just watched them from where you were leaning in the doorframe and basked in the feeling of love your little family caused in you. „There you are.“, you finally spoke up. Spencer turned to look at you with a smile on his lips, then frowned. “Shouldn’t you be at your dress fitting right now?” You rolled your eyes and walked over to where he was standing in front of the case board, letting him kiss your forehead. “I’ve still got an hour. My mom is all over the place though, so I told her I still had to get something done at work.”

Your fiancé deadpanned at you. “(Y/N), you have the next few days off.” You laughed and played with the hem of his sweater. “Are you really complaining about me coming to see you two right now?” Before he could answer though Alex sighed in her sleep, both of your focuses immediately on her. “Has she eaten yet?”, you whispered Spencer hummed in response. “She got her bottle half an hour ago. Since then she’s been a great help with the case.” You laughed breathily, eyes wandering across your daughter’s small face in awe. “Oh, I can see that.” Ever since the birth of your daughter, Spencer and she had been inseparable. He liked to call her his best friend, and that she was indeed. He carried her around everywhere in her baby sling, read his favourite books to her, sometimes you could hear him talking to her when you weren’t in the room. Morgan and Prentiss had even taken to calling him Papa Koala on occasion, to which he always responded that calling him Papa Penguin would at least be more accurate. You know, since Empire Penguin dads are so crucial to the chicks’ survival. Alexandra even looked like a carbon copy of him with her tiny button nose and the elegantly curved eyebrows. These days the Spencer who had been so afraid of becoming a dad felt like a far-off memory. He was nothing short of incredible with her, and the best partner you could imagine having by your side while raising a child. “Hey, Mama.” Derek greeted you quietly while entering the room. “You hiding from your mom again?”, he teased with the lift of an eyebrow. You pouted playfully. “Believe me, you would be too if you knew her. Besides, I just really missed my babies.” You heard Spencer gasp behind you. “You see when you used the plural, that indicated the presence of two babies. Last time I checked I only saw one, though.” You chuckled and winked at your fiancé. “You keep telling yourself that.” Morgan held out his hand to high five you. “But,”, you sighed. “Since everything is okay here, I’m afraid I’ll have to return to giggling mothers and aunts who bully me about my choice of dress. Spence, you’ll call if something happens?” Your husband to be smiled into the kiss you pressed to his lips. “Will do. We’re still having a great time here though, right Lex? Just hanging out with Uncle Derek?” You laughed and carefully kissed your daughter’s forehead, closing your eyes to enjoy her soft scent for a moment. “Alright you guys, I’ll leave you to it. Remember, no crime scene photos for the baby!” With one last look at your family and a squeeze to Derek’s shoulder, you left the BAU, mentally bracing yourself for another wedding-related meet up with your family. There were only a few days left until your wedding to Spencer, and most of your family had already arrived to help you with the last bit of preparations. After your engagement, everything in your pregnancy had happened so quickly that there just hadn’t been the time to plan a wedding. And even now, six months after the birth of your daughter, it still seemed like too much was happening at the same time. So, despite how much your mother sometimes annoyed you with her eternal nagging about how she preferred roses over peonies, you still were grateful for her help.

“Are you ready to see yourself in the mirror?” You took a deep, trembling breath, not really sure about your answer. You were still sure about the dress and the changes you had asked to be made in it, but not even seven months after the birth of your daughter your body was still in its postpartum phase. You were sure the dress was going to look great; you just didn’t know if your body was, too. Despite the mean voices in your head you forced yourself to open your eyes and felt the breath being knocked from your lungs.

“Stop looking at yourself like that.” “Like what?” You asked, your gaze still on your belly. Spencer came up behind you, his hands covering the soft skin of your stomach. “Like you hate what you see. Because this?” He gently tugged at the excess skin. “This is where our baby was. You nurtured her and protected her for ten months and you should be proud of yourself for doing that.” He turned you around, probably to block your view from the mirror. “I love what I see.” He murmured, his words sending shivers down your spine. He captured your lips in a tender kiss. “I love what I see every day, you goddess.” You laughed and slapped his shoulder. “You’re cheesy.” He grinned. “And you’re sexy.”

Now, looking at yourself in the mirror, you suddenly knew what Spencer had meant. You looked different from before you had gotten pregnant, but now you didn’t see that as a negative thing anymore. You looked softer, more feminine than ever before, and the dress was doing an amazing job at highlighting what was to be highlighted and hiding what was to be hidden. Still speechless, you turned to take it all in. The bridal shop had done incredibly well at altering the dress to your taste, and you felt tears well up in your eyes. This was how you had always imagined yourself, wished yourself to be. Successful in your job, devoted to a loving partner, and mother to the most beautiful baby in the world. You sniffled, only now noticing the tears that wetted your cheeks. “Wow.” You whispered, now full-on sobbing. Your best friend got up from her seat to envelop you in a tight hug, petting your hair once you had pulled away. “You look so, so beautiful.” She whispered, tears in her eyes as well. Your mom and the rest of your bridal party nodded eagerly with serene smiles on their lips. You took that as a good reaction. “Mom, can you give me my phone?” You whimpered, and although you could see she wanted to protest at first, she still handed it to you. Without hesitation you dialled Spencer’s number, desperately wanting him to be there in this moment. “Yes, honey?” Suddenly even more overwhelmed by hearing his voice on top of everything, you just breathed into your phone. “Baby, are you okay?” Spencer immediately asked, concern lacing his voice. “Mhm.”, you sobbed, still twirling in front of the mirror. “Spencer, you’re going to make me the happiest girl in the world.” Even though your voice was thick with tears you could hear him quietly chuckle in relief. “Well, that’s the goal, isn’t it?” You returned his laugh, wiping away your tears. “I love you, Spencer. I love you so much.” He took a deep breath on the other end of the line. “I love you more, (Y/N).”

“Do I need to tell security to not let you in until we’ve gotten married?” You laughed, snaking your arms around Spencer’s waist. “Please, just let me have this little bit of normalcy. Mom has been talking about nothing but napkin folding methods all day and if I have to watch one more YouTube video explaining to me how to fold a bishop’s hat, I will go insane.” He pulled you further against him with a chuckle. “Alright, you shall have permission to stay for a while. Is Lex with your mom?” You hummed and closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the calmness exuding from your fiancé. He had always been your safe haven. “Alex has been babbling all day long, I think she knows something’s going on.” Spencer smiled. “Of course, she knows something’s going on. Her parents are geniuses, after all.” You were about to playfully retort something when Hotch came out of his office looking even more stressed than usual. “Conference room. Now.” He called out over the bullpen, the rest of the Team looking at each other in concern. Now you were even more glad to have come to work today. Arrived in the conference room you could immediately feel the tension in the air. Hotch was nervously pacing in front of the monitor, his eyes heavy when they met yours. Once everyone had sat down, he immediately started speaking. “We have an active bomb threat in New York.” A collective wave of shock ran through the team. “There’s a new terror cell that’s capable of even worse things than a bomb and we have to get there as soon as possible. (Y/L/N), Reid, I understand if you want to sit out on this one. I’m sorry we can’t attend the wedding.” You bit your lower lip, gaze fleeting to Spencer. He had the same conflicted look on his face as yours. “Wait, no.” You spoke up after a short moment in thought. “I don’t want to get married without you guys there.” “But (Y/N), we have to take this case.” Emily spoke softly. You felt your heart clench. This hadn’t been a choice you had expected to have to make today. Spencer took your hand underneath the table and squeezed it. “(Y/N)’s right, it won’t feel right without you there.” His gaze met yours. All the answers you needed were there in his eyes. You nodded. “I’ll call my mom.”

“Promise me you’ll be careful out there.” You anxiously asked Spencer, trying to take in as much of him as possible. The possibility of not seeing each other again after a day of work had always been there, but now that you had so much to lose saying goodbye always was even more difficult. Spencer pressed you to him in a bittersweet hug, burying his face in your hair. “I promise. Tell Lex I love her so much, and could you read to her tonight? We’re reading Schopenhauer right now.” You laughed, desperately trying to fight the tears stinging away in your eyes. “I’ll send you a video. I love you, Spence.” “I love you more. And (Y/N)?” He asked, lifting your chin with his fingers. “I’m still crazy about getting to marry you. You’re becoming Mrs Reid, if you want to or not.” You nodded desperately, leaning up to capture his lips in a kiss, With an aching heart, you watched him catch up with the rest of the team, his go-bag already on his shoulder. But as awful as the bomb threat was, some part of you couldn’t help but feel relieved upon knowing the big wedding was cancelled. The whole huge party your family and the people around you had urged you to have had just stopped feeling like Spencer and you at some point, and maybe next time you were going to do it on your terms for real. Over the next few days, your wedding guests all returned home, leaving you alone with a weird feeling in your gut. You were used to danger in your job, but a bomb threat still wasn’t exactly something you had to deal with every day. You were almost glad you had your hands full with Alex and cancelling the wedding, glad to have something distracting you from the thoughts of your team possibly being blown up in New York. Of course, you loved your family. And you had enjoyed seeing them all in one place for your wedding for the first time in a while, but the BAU team was at least just as much your family as your aunts and cousins. They were your immediate support system, the people you saw every day, the people you shared everything with. And Spencer felt the same about them. Maybe you both wanted them to be at your wedding even more than your families. When Spencer called to tell you that he was coming back home the day after your planned wedding date you felt a huge weight lift off your shoulders. You didn’t care about cancelling an event, having your friends and partner back home was all that counted. Emily had gotten slightly hurt fighting off someone, and Morgan had taken a huge risk defusing a bomb, but other than that everything was fine.

“I’m sorry again, you two. I hope you were able to get everything refunded.” Hotch spoke over dinner the day after they had returned from New York. Everyone had assembled in your kitchen to celebrate not dying in an explosion, and you couldn’t be happier to have them all around you once more. You leaned against Spencer and smiled. “It’s fine, Hotch. I’m just glad you’re all back safely.” “What are you going to do now? About the wedding and everything?” Emily mused over her glass of wine. You sighed. “I have no idea. All I know is that I really want it to happen still.” You looked up to find Spencer already looking at you. “Me too.” He smiled. “I finally want to be able to introduce you as my wife. In life and on paper, remember?” You beamed at him and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. The rest of the team groaned. “You’re disgusting.” Morgan declared, looking kind of out of place with tiny Alex in his arms. “You’re just jealous.” Spencer teased, and if Derek hadn’t been holding the baby, he probably would have slapped your fiancé on the head. “I don’t know if that’s something you’d want, but I’m actually an ordained minister.” Rossi suddenly spoke up. You whipped your head around to look at him, then looked at Spencer. The same idea seemed to be forming in both your heads. “I could call and ask if we could go to the Smithsonian again after closing hours?” You felt your heartbeat quicken. Getting married to the love of your life in the very place you had gotten engaged, which was also one of your absolute favourite spots in the entire world? An almost reverent feeling spread through your kitchen. You felt your spine tingle. “Let’s do it.” You whispered, a wide smile spreading across Spencer’s features. “Let’s do it.” He responded, a gleam in his eyes.

Less than a week later you were standing in front of the entrance to the museum in your wedding dress, filled with nervous anticipation. But this time, you didn’t feel pressured to act a certain way or worried about what people were going to think. You were going to marry your soulmate with some of the most important people in your life around you, why should you be anxious? Hotch and JJ were standing with you outside, keeping you company until they had to head inside for the ceremony. “Hotch?” You nervously called after him before he could disappear inside. He stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at you. “Yeah?” You smiled. “Do you think you could maybe… stay?” A small smile lifted his eternal frown for a moment. “You want me to give you away?” You bit your lip and nodded. “Well, my dad’s not here, is he? And you’re the closest thing to it. Also, I don’t want to go in alone.” He came to a halt beside you, holding out his arm to you. The caring look on his face already caused tears to well up in your eyes. God, you were going to cry buckets today. “I’ve got you.” He murmured and you took his arm, immediately feeling more grounded. Then the door opened, and your head was wiped clean of every single thought you had had up until that point. The museum’s rotunda looked as spectacular as ever in its evening lighting, but all you could focus on was Spencer standing there in his tux. He looked so breathtaking that he outshined every single thing around him. You felt your heart swell with love. JJ sent you an encouraging smile as you walked up to Rossi and Spencer, Alex on her arm in the most adorable little white dress. “You look so beautiful.” Spencer spoke with a heavy voice, his eyes just as teary as yours. You smiled, swallowing down the lump of tears in your throat. “So do you.”, you whispered. Once you had both caught your breath Dave began to speak, his voice echoing through the high room. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of (Y/N) and Spencer, two people we all dearly love. After months of watching the two of you tiptoe around each other with starry eyes, and years of seeing how the two of you work in perfect balance, it is an honour for me to be the one to officiate your wedding today. Do you all still remember when they had just started dating and thought they could hide it from us?” The team chuckled. “The warm feeling in our hearts we had while watching you secretly hold hands is still there up to this day when you bring Alex with you to work or take care of each other during long nights of working on cases. Each of us can learn something from the way Spencer looks at (Y/N) and the way (Y/N) supports Spencer through each new interest he decides to venture into.” Rossi took a deep breath and looked at the two of you with the warmest look on his face. “Marriage isn’t easy, trust me, I know.” You all laughed again. “But I trust you two. I trust your friendship, your eternal inside jokes you never explain, your care for each other, your parenthood to Alexandra, and most importantly, I trust your love. I know you’ll be there for each other through whatever our crazy lives throw at you, and I know you’ll master these hardships the best way you know how to: together.” You bit your lip and looked up, trying to stop the tears from falling. Spencer squeezed your hand in different intervals, and it took you a moment to realise that he was telling you ‘I love you’ in Morse code. “Now, please turn to face each other. Spencer Reid, do you take (Y/N) (Y/L/N) to be your wife? Do you promise to be there for her, to grow with her and to love her throughout your life together?” Spencer visibly straightened up, blinking away the tears in his eyes. “I do.” He spoke, his voice wavering slightly. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), do you take Spencer Reid to be your husband? Do you promise to be there for him, to grow with him and to love him throughout your life together?” You nodded, getting lost in Spencer’s eyes for a moment. Of course, you were going to love him. Who else was going to put up with you? “I do.” You responded; voice hoarse. You could see Emily smile at you from the corner of your eye. “Then, I think it’s time for your vows. (Y/N), do you want to start?” You nodded and took a deep breath. “Spencer. When you asked me to marry you, I told you that I never thought I would ever meet someone like you. And it’s true, I didn’t think I was ever going to love someone the way I love you. I thought only people in movies and books got to experience that. But then you showed up in my life and turned my entire belief system upside down.” You stopped for a moment to sniffle. “Does anyone have a tissue?” Hotch chuckled and handed one to you. After dabbing away your tears you felt remotely ready to speak again. “I can’t wait to go on this journey with you, my love. I can’t wait to see Alex grow up with you, I can’t wait to do the Sunday morning crossword puzzle with you for the rest of my life, and I can’t wait to share everything I have with you. I vow to be there for you when you need me, to bring you coffee when you’re deeply immersed in a case, to elbow you in the ribs when you’re overdoing it with your fact spilling. And most importantly, I vow to love you unconditionally for as long as you’ll let me. I love you, Spence.” Both of you were crying messes at this point, and the only support you still had were your hands anchoring you to each other. “And you expect me to top that?” Spencer complained playfully, shaking his head and taking a deep breath. “(Y/N). My love, my soulmate, my person. Every day I wake up to your beautiful face and think of how thankful I am for you. I’m thankful that you put up with me every day, that you chose me to be by your side. For so long I couldn’t even believe that this, us, is real; until you told me that you were pregnant and suddenly everything I had ever wanted was right there in front of me. I know that this wasn’t how we expected to get married, but I’m starting to see a pattern in things not going the way we planned it with us, and I’m starting to like it. This is us, and it’s just the way it’s supposed to be. I vow to always call you as soon as a case went well, so you don’t worry for longer than you have to. I vow to stop talking while watching TV when you tell me to, and I vow to lend you my ear when you need it. I vow to give you all the hugs you want for the rest of my life, and I vow to kiss you breathless whenever you get home after a long day. I promise to love you, to cherish you and to be there for you even when we’re old and annoying our grandchildren. I love you, (Y/N).” Rossi took the rings from Penelope who was crying just as much as you by now. “Let these rings be a symbol of your vows to one another, a reminder of your love. By the power vested in me by the internet, I pronounce you husband and wife. Spencer, you may now kiss your bride.” He cupped your face with trembling hands and pulled you close, kissing you in a way that was probably meant to convey everything he hadn’t had the words for in his vows. You pulled away completely speechless and only then realised that the whole team was cheering for you. Spencer caressed the side of your face, and for one small moment more it was just the two of you. “I love you.” He whispered for only you to hear and you repeated the same words back to him, your own little ceremony.

“Thank you, Dave.” You hugged him tightly later that evening. Rossi had agreed to cook for your wedding reception and you were all piled into his dining room, the air buzzing with happiness and laughter. “I was happy to do it, (Y/N). I just hope I did you two justice.” You laughed. “Are you kidding me? You were perfect. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to do it. Now I can tell Alex one day that her Uncle Dave was the one to officiate her parent’s wedding.” He smiled. “I can’t wait for that. But, I think your new husband already misses you.” Rossi nodded to Spencer across the room, who wasn’t listening to a word Morgan and Penelope were saying, his soft gaze laying upon you. “You’re staring.” You chuckled after making your way over to him, letting him pull you onto his lap. “How do you expect me not to stare when you look like this?” He uttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You in that dress is nothing short of ethereal.” You blushed, leaning into his touch. “You look even better, though. Can’t you wear a tux more often?” The both of you laughed while you absently played with the new ring on his left hand. “I don’t know why, but this ring on your hand is doing things to me.” You secretly whispered into his ear, his breath tickling your neck. “Behave yourself, Mrs Reid. I am a married man after all.” You laughed and kissed him softly. “Call me that again.” “What?”, he grinned playfully. “Mrs Reid? I don’t know why I should call you that, Mrs Reid.” You sighed and rolled your eyes, basking in the happiness that was in the air tonight. “So, what’s next?” Emily asked the two of you over her fourth glass of champagne a bit later. You looked at Spencer, thinking over your answer for a moment. “I think I want a house.” You answered finally, watching Spencer nod excitedly. “Just, our own home for Alex to grow up in. Maybe with a garden big enough to play.” “Definitely with enough space for more children.” Spencer chimed in, taking you by surprise. “You want more? After Alex?” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Yeah. I mean, I grew up without siblings and I was always lonely. I don’t want that for her. And, also, I don’t want to have a tiny baby just once. It already stresses me out to think that she’ll be running around in less than a year.” You smiled, and slowly your cheeks were beginning to hurt from all the laughing. “Okay, looks like we know what’s next.” Emily chuckled and clinked her glass against yours. “To more mini Reids.” The whole table joined in, repeating the toast in unison. “To more mini Reids!”

Most people think that getting married means giving up your independence, the end of your free life. But you were starting to think that these people were just married to the wrong person. This wasn’t the end in the book of Spencer and you. It was merely a whole new chapter, and you couldn���t wait to fill it with as much love as possible.

#criminal minds #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer x reader #dad! spencer #mgg #Matthew gray gubler #Matthew gray gubler x reader #BAU #BAU Team #BAU x Reader #aaron hotchner #dave rossi

[bondsmagii]

This is definitely one of the… wilder stories here, but as always, I suppose people will believe what they will. 

This will unfortunately require some backstory, but I guess you could say the long and the short of it is that I played at being God, and it. Well. Kind of sucked, actually.

So, the backstory. I’ll try to keep it brief. I grew up in a small country village about forty-five minutes away from Belfast, Ireland. There wasn’t much going on there, as you could imagine – just a standard rural Irish town, where the most exciting thing that might happen in a week was old Farmer Joe getting a new tractor or something. Anyway, I’m not sure how many of you know about Ireland’s rather troubled past, but for the most part I missed all that. I was born around the time things were finally settling down, and while my earlier memories are filled with bomb scares and low-flying helicopters and gunshots in the night, the distant sound of shouting and the acrid smell of smoke burning a little too close for comfort, by the time I hit my teenage years most of it had wrapped up. Of course, there was the occasional scare here and there, and I’m not saying my friends and I didn’t go out looking for trouble once we were old enough, but it wasn’t the same. I’m not saying that out of a sense of, I don’t know, regret or annoyance or anything. Now I’m older, I’m not so enamoured by the idea of that much violence. I’m just saying it wasn’t really a patch on the kind of violence that used to happened there – the kind of violence that fascinated my friends and I so much. It sounds bad, but really we were just kids being kids. Little boys everywhere play at war games. It just so happened that the war we were playing had happened in our own country. It’s difficult not to be obsessed, when you see the reflection of history on the faces of every generation around you. Even slightly older siblings would know all about it – it wasn’t something you asked your grandfather, distant war stories over some vague European country that you’ve only seen on a map in your Geography classroom. This was our street corners, our high streets, the road outside the house. Here the grass verge at the side of the road where the bodies were dumped; there the lay-by where over a dozen people were blown to pieces. It was awful, but we were children. We were enamoured.

Anyway. The only violence we got really involved in was the summer rioting that happened yearly, like clockwork. It sounds like a joke, but that’s how it goes. You don’t need to know the details, but suffice to say in mid-July every year, the city would light up like we were back in the 1970s. Localised, of course, and still nowhere near as drastic as it used to be, but enough to get a taste. Petrol bombs. Police lines. Armoured cars. Water cannons. Unrestrained summer fun, you could say. But that’s for a bit later.

I’m a writer. I have been since I was four years old. Generally speaking I’m a horror writer, but I’ve branched into historical fiction a fair bit over the years. Living in Ireland, growing up how I did, it was inevitable that I would develop a fascination for Irish history. I was always a very curious child, my head in books, chasing up stories that would keep me awake at night. I never knew any boundaries. I would go after answers with military precision, asking questions, going places I shouldn’t. Dangerous for anyone, of course, but in a country like mine, where crossing the road could quite literally lead to your murder? It was reckless. I was reckless. But that’s the thing about being that age. You think you’re invincible. You think you can do anything.

I was about fourteen or fifteen, at the height of this obsession. I believe I was fifteen when I wrote this particular story, but it’s difficult to say. It was part of a series, and I was going back and forth on it and other projects for many years. Here we finally get to the point of the whole story: I had developed an obsession with Irish history, as I said, and specifically the more “modern” history – from 1916 onwards, the Easter Rising, the War of Independence, all that. I was fascinated by the Irish struggle for freedom, and while age and hindsight has lessened my… enthusiasm for the violence, I do maintain a strong opinion towards the whole thing, which is not the point here so I won’t get into it. What I’m trying to say is that my stories reflected this enthusiasm, and were undoubtedly glorifying in nature, and also at that age I was more concerned with living the fantasy than doing the research, so it was all very self-indulgent. I’m sure anyone who wrote at that age knows what I mean.

My main character… well. I’m sure you know what to expect. He was—well. Me, really. In the way of all main characters at that age, and perhaps a little even as we get older, there’s a piece of us inside all our main characters. Sometimes a little piece, other times just a cooler and more badass version of yourself. Michael was that for me. I suppose that must is obvious; I wasn’t even trying to be subtle. My name is of course Miceál, which for those of you keeping track is the Irish form of Michael. I’m just grateful that I didn’t go as far as to give him my last name, too, but everything else was there. He looked like me, he held the same views and beliefs as me, he acted like me – or at least, he acted in the ways I liked to think I’d act, or how I imagined acting later that night in the shower, reliving the scenario again. He was the best kind of self-insert character, indulgent and fun and a good friend to me. I poured a lot of myself into him. I poured everything into him. He was a constant companion, something that became ever more important to me as my real life—well, went to shit. To put it mildly. I would sit in my room writing my stories, and Michael would go out there and fight the good fight, killing and bombing for good old Ireland, and then I’d shut my computer down and go to sleep feeling just a little better than otherwise.

I’m not afraid to say that I can be obsessive. I like to get into the heads of my characters; I like to know them as well as I know everything. Yes, Michael was me, but he was also a version of me who had done things I have never done. Sometimes I would try to imagine myself as him; wonder what it was like to see through his eyes. Wonder what a me who had done that would look like. Wonder what he would do in a situation. I asked myself that a few times; a lot of times. What would Michael do? I could have put that shit on a wristband. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. I’ve always been a bit of a method writer like that. It was normal, until it wasn’t.

I first saw Michael on a hot July day, in Belfast. What we call the rioting season had come around; my friends and I were there to take advantage. Just at the sidelines, mind you – nobody wants to get a face full of water cannon, even on the hottest of days. Michael was in the thick of it though. Of course he was. I’d written him to be that way.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. At first I thought I must be seeing things, but the more I looked the more I realised he looked exactly like me. Only he was a little taller, a little fitter, and his hair looked different. His clothing was different, too; perhaps a couple of decades out of date, but looking at him I saw his clothing didn’t remain consistent. The changes were subtle – material, tone – but I noticed. Looking back, I assume it’s because I never did give a specific date for his story to occur in. Well, wherever he was from he was there now, throwing rocks with the best of them, skipping from stone to stone and hurling them at police lines with an easy swing that could only come from years of practise. When we had all finally cleaned out the area – soldiers coming, a helicopter, the kind of trouble you don’t want to toy with – I managed to catch up with him. He was talking to my friends. They noticed we were both there, but didn’t seem to realise we were two different people. The whole time we were all talking, I couldn’t take my eyes off of Michael. I tried, because I knew how obvious I was being, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t work him out. I couldn’t even trust that’s what I was seeing. And the whole time, Michael watched me back. I knew the look in his eyes. It was his smug little, I know something you don’t know look. Of course I knew it. I had made him like that. I had given him that look.

I didn’t see him for some time after that. Believe it or not, I put it out of my head. I mean, come on. It was probably some other guy that my friends knew. We were in Belfast enough, and Michael isn’t exactly an uncommon name. I put it out of my mind, but I was sure that sometimes, I saw him. I was sure I’d see him in Belfast, ducking down side streets or leaning in close conversation with someone I couldn’t make out. He was always watching me. Sometimes I’d feel eyes on me and know it was him, but when I looked around I wouldn’t spot him. On some occasions – and these were always the worst – I would feel his eyes behind my own. Like he was on the inside looking out, moving independently in there, a set of eyes swivelling around over my own. It happened most often when I was trying to write his story. As you can imagine, I was nervous to do so. The more I thought I saw him, the less I wanted to write, but I didn’t think that was a good idea either. I didn’t know what to do.

It was a sunny weekend just before school started back after summer that I finally resolved to do something about it. I didn’t even feel stupid as I booted up my old Windows 95 desktop and opened Word. Michael’s story was there, in 12-point font as I always wrote then, plenty of enthusiasm but a lot less technical skill. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment, and then I typed.

Hello?

Nothing, of course. I deleted the word, wondering what I had expected. Feeling a little stupid now, I tried to think about where to go with the story. It was difficult to write now I had some kind of real person to assign to it all – what were the ethics here? How could I—

I won’t get into that. It would be a philosophical essay all of its own. I sat for a while wondering what to write, and then it hit me that the story had changed. The words Michael had spoken, in the paragraph that I had left off – they were no longer the words I had written. I forget what the original words were now, but they were something relatively simple; some response to another character, and I remember that another name was mentioned in it – the name of Michael’s in-universe best friend, Eamon. Now that name was gone, and the rest of the text had changed, too. Now the writing read something different entirely.

I thought you wanted to know?

I lied earlier. I said that age and experience and perhaps some more emotional maturity had led me to turn away from the kind of violence that fascinated me so much then, and I have no doubt that under normal circumstances it would have done. I had somewhat of a speed run, however; I turned my back on it because

I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had often wondered what it would be like to do what Michael did, of course. To kill and risk death for a cause, to face down prison, torture, exile. I had wondered what it would be like to commit those acts; how easy or difficult it would be to pull a trigger or push a detonator. I liked to think, in my foolish, idealistic teenage mind, that if it came down to it I could. Of course, I was in the very privileged position to not have to actually answer that question.

Michael, on the other hand, knew. And Michael was, if not me, than a product of me. Could it be possible that he could show me?

I ignored the message for several days. I didn’t know what to think. Truth be told I thought I was going mad. School started again and I got so busy that I almost, almost forgot about it – and then I opened the document by mistake one day, got into reading it over, laughing at my brilliant comebacks, you know how it is. And there it was again.

I thought you wanted to know?

Yes, I remember thinking. It stunned me – I remember that. I didn’t want to mess with this kind of stuff – I’ve always been a huge believer in the paranormal, always been cautious when it comes to fucking with that kind of stuff. I believe that magic like this, it requires intent. It needs you to be sure. It knows how you feel, true in your heart. So even when I ignored it again, even when I deleted the words and re-wrote whatever the original had been, even as I didn’t reply… I knew in my heart that my question had been heard by something. I could feel Michael’s eyes on me again, though now I wondered if it was Michael’s eyes, or something else entirely. It felt like a weight. Have you ever been in an old, old place, where you can practically feel the people who lived and died there; reach out and touch them? It felt like that. Like the weight of history was pressing down on me. I didn’t fall asleep easily that night, but when I did sleep was dark and endless.

I don’t know how long I spent in that state. In reality it was only seven hours; I woke up with my alarm. In that time period, wherever I was – because I was not living – I seemed to witness a hundred different lives. Over the course of Michael’s story I had him do all kinds of things; live all kinds of situations. I deleted things, changed others, added things in. I wrote what would now be called alternate universes. In that night I experienced them all. I know how it feels now. I know how it feels to pull a trigger; to watch the spray of someone’s life splatter a wall or a windscreen or the screaming backseat passengers of a car. I know how it feels to push the button, the one that sends a charge surging down a wire or flickering out over my head in an invisible wave of death, notifying the bomb, detonating the explosives. I know how it feels to sit in a hotel bar across a border, listening to the news, sipping a drink and feeling my heart beat in my chest as I add more numbers to the tally, more blood to my hands. I know how it feels to be shot, to be beaten, to watch a friend die, to kill someone who used to be – who still is, despite everything – a friend. I know how it feels to cough blood into my hands, onto the ground; to grip a wound that won’t stop bleeding; the blinding flash of an explosive detonating too soon and how the whole world seems to roar and how there’s a difference between the thud and slap of wet mud hitting the ground and the warmer, denser rain of something that used to be human. For days, weeks, years – I walked in Michael’s shoes, I lived his life, I committed every act.

I felt his pain. His fear. This hellish world that he lived in, created to kill and die and lose and fear, over and over. To meet his God and to finally, finally ask – why?

And what could I say? Because I wanted to know?

Well. Now I do.

#creeptastic #creepypasta #my creepypasta #writing #my writing #short story #fiction #can you tell i've been listening to tma lately? #anyway VERY tempted to record this seems i'm a decent voice impressionist and i have the right accent for the statement lmao

[halothenthehorns]

All in the Family

Chapter 143: The House of Guant

They were once again plunged into utter darkness. The sounds of pots and furniture breaking had nothing on the rank smell of unclean rising to all of their noses. Peter squealed in genuine fright upon something slithering across his face as the others lit their wand in time to see the tail of a snake vanishing into a filthy armchair. James had landed dangerously close to a curdling fire, the smoke still in his face making him cough terribly.

The walls were a gray, dirty stone. There was a boiling pot on a grimy stove in the corner Sirius tipped over, the very air hanging in here made them all wish desperately to be anywhere else at once.

Alice summoned the book to her to get started on that.

"Gaunt eh?" Sirius asked in complete disgust for the house still, though something tickled the name in his memories he'd tried to repress. "Hey Reg, help me out, why do I know that?" Surely he could still talk to the kid without being hated further.

"Morfin Gaunt, tenth branch, line died out with him," he repeated on autopilot.

"Right, thanks," he grumbled, no clue why he'd asked, it helped nothing to make this feel better.

"What's Harry doing here?" James demanded, taking careful steps across the room to be back by Sirius, wand held at the ready for every disgusting pile he passed. "Can't be Dumbledore's lesson to bring him here, what's the point?"

"I suppose there's only one way to find out," Alice sighed as she reluctantly turned back to the book.

Remus came out of one of the rooms with such a look of disgust on his face nobody wanted to ask what he'd found in there. Lily came out of the other soaking wet by her own wand she stowed away, like she'd actively tried to rinse this place from her before they even left.

Everyone but the girls continued laughing enthusiastically about Harry's little cheat sheet of a potions book, until Alice leaned up and whispered in Frank's ear and he stopped abruptly with an annoyed frown. The others didn't pay it much mind, shifting around impatiently to find out what the point of being here was even if they gave the place more life than this dung hill likely ever had as they continued whispering about getting their hands on that in their own time to breeze through their OWLs.

Lily bit her lip hard to stop herself falling to the filthy floor for laughing at that. The idea had never occurred to her she would ever want to help the Marauders, but the idea of inventing that Wolfsbane potion herself was still heavily on her mind and she wished now more than ever she had her own copy on her to take notes in. The tempting idea to inform them they were currently muttering about wanting Severus's help even in proxy was just a bit of a bonus she'd privately enjoy.

Regulus' smile slipped a notch though when he heard of some of the oddly specific spells being addressed in the margins of this book. He'd told Lily the truth, he did not hang out with Snape nor really know what they got up to on a regular basis, mostly he just hung around in his room alone looking at the excellent view and doing his homework, reading, or exploring the castle alone, if not on an errand. Even if he did turn a rather blind eye and ear most times to not hear what they were laughing about too in ignorance, what little he had heard made him wish there was an attic at Hogwarts.

Some of those spells though, he'd swear he recognized them coming from Snape himself, who often spent his times writing in a potion book. He shared his ideas with Mulciber and Avery all the time, and they often taught others if they were satisfied with Snape's new ideas.

He watched Evans for a few moments and felt his suspicion all but confirmed when she kept watching the book as if it were personally hitting her in the face. He didn't want to risk missing a word of what Dumbledore said though, and if Evans wasn't telling them he wasn't going to do it for her, so kept his mouth shut.

Alice did indeed have all attention as Harry arrived for Dumbledore's lesson, and explained what exactly Harry was going to be doing with him this year.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!" Sirius groaned loudly when Dumbledore made to put the first memory in like that was all the explanation needed. "Hearing of his past, are you kidding me? Who the hell cares what he did before he started murdering people for fun?" He could personally speak from experience he wanted no part in someone looking into his past, Harry doing that to them had been awful enough, he couldn't imagine the value of doing so for anyone else, even Voldemort.

"I think it's brilliant," Lily said to him stiffly. "How else are they supposed to learn about their enemy, clearly whatever method everybody else is using isn't working."

Sirius retaliated with grace, but there was a smile on his face as he began hotly going back and forth. Lily even began to relax as well as she shot back for everything he said.

Watching Sirius and Lily's argument escalating, Peter and Remus kept glancing significantly at James like they expected him to step in. He, however, was merely examining his fingers with far too much fascination.

Remus finally cleared his throat awkwardly and asked, "ah, Prongs, you going to...do something about that?"

"Nah," James shrugged without concern, "neither's even pulled their wand out yet, let them sort themselves out."

It was honestly just a nice refresher to James she wasn't yelling at him for once, and Sirius even seemed to be enjoying himself. Considering how well he'd just done not starting a fight, and only guiltily realized out in that shop he'd done it for him again, this felt like old hat! Finally some kind of balance, if Sirius needed to get it out of his system this was probably the best way to do it, neither held any real heat in their argument. She gave some pretty witty retorts, and he was almost curious to see how many different ones she could lob at him before someone gave in.

Instead Prongs pulled Remus back a step and whispered quietly to him, "hey mate, everything okay with you two?"

Remus flushed in the dull lighting and tried not to shift around like a twit, maybe Sirius hadn't spooked off Prongs as well as he thought. "Fine, nothing new to speak of."

"Uhhu," James muttered, clearly unamused. "Look, whatever you two keep going off to do, you're starting to annoy him Remus. I don't know if it was the love potion thing or something else, but could you cut him some slack?" Sirius hadn't been saying anything outright, but ever since he'd come back from the garden he could tell something had sprung up between the two that was bothering them that hadn't been there this whole time. As if they needed another mess to be dealing with!

Remus bit his lip and fought the urge to tell James to stay out of it before reminding himself there was no 'it.' This was his mess and he did need to deal. "Right, sorry," he apologized, thinking ironically James wouldn't blink next time he dragged Sirius off for the opposite reason of why they normally did as he promised in his head to fix this once and for all.

Alice finally cleared her throat to stop the two, watching in a vague sort of amusement as she asked, "regardless of our opinions, can I please get to it? This place isn't getting any more cheerful."

Sirius gave a long, exaggerated sigh and turned in surprise to see James and Remus muttering something, both instantly stopping when they realized the same. "Am I interrupting?" He grinned. "Do you two need some alone time?"

"You think Evans would fall into my arms if I swept Moony off his feet first?" James happily teased back. "She's obviously his favorite."

Remus made his eyes go as widely innocent as possible. "Yes, I'm so sure the multiple attempted murders has just warmed her right up to me."

"Worked on me didn't it?" Sirius smirked.

"You're too easy to please," Remus shot back.

Peter snorted from across the room and James didn't bother to hide his laughter.

Alice was smirking just a bit too when she giggled at Lily, "that wasn't at all what I thought you meant when you said you'd start talking to them."

Lily huffed a bit of hair out of her face and chose not to respond, not exactly wanting to admit how good it had felt to get a little fire out of her system, and Sirius had happily returned.

She finally turned back to the book though and began describing the memory in vivid detail. They all startled in surprise to find themselves back in Little Hangleton, and Remus was first to the door trying to open it in hopes they'd be free of at least this smell.

Blessedly, they were stepping into such a tall, dark grove of trees the bright sun shining down hardly hurt their eyes through the foliage. The snake nailed to the door swung and the house was no more pleasant to view on the outside, but at least it didn't smell as much out here!

The idea being offered that they could make a trip to the haunted mansion in the distance or the graveyard appealed to no one.

Alice sighed in relief to catch her breath out here and sat down in the grass to keep going, but Lily started wandering around in true curiosity what this place had to do with Voldemort. It certainly seemed his type, and now it turned out Tom Riddle's mansion was indeed in the distance, so the connection had a clear line being drawn.

"Oh, horses!" She shouted gaily.

Only Remus went to the edges of the trees to see her delighted shouts as the two grazed in boredom with no clear riders in their saddles.

"They shouldn't be dangerous, look like normal ones, if you want to have a closer look," Remus said off hand, still watching closely. This didn't exactly seem like the kind of house for illegal breeding, ironically, but he still watched carefully just in case.

She needed no further invitation and walked cautiously but openly towards them. Neither creature gave a care to her approach, they were clearly well trained and tamed as she started stroking one's glossy chestnut neck and listening with the first hints of sorrow to leave the house behind her as the gray began nosing her curiously for sweets.

It was completely disgusting to both brothers to realize the line had likely died out because the sister had seemingly refused to have her brother's child, but hardly better she had Voldemort as an offspring instead. Possibly enacting her death from this deranged Marvolo fellow. It was a damn miracle their own parents hadn't managed anymore kids, like a sister for one of them.

Their skin crawled, Regulus retreated farther into the shadows, and fought the urge to purge all pureblood lineage from his mind as his brother had clearly done at such an insight, and Sirius bit his tongue hard to stop the obnoxious comment of asking Moony if he'd be happier if Sirius had been a girl.

They'd known Tom Riddle was only a half-blood thanks to his memory back in the second book, but they'd never have expected to get such details as both of his parents being shown like this though.

When the memory was done and Dumbledore gave his explanation, they all looked around wearily one last time at the beautiful country side, cozy village down in the distance, stately manor hiding the graveyard beyond, and hovel in the bright sun. Who ever would have guessed the destruction of their world could start from such a place.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HP #HBP #Marauders #Wolfstar #James Potter #Jilly #Remus Lupin #Lily Evans #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

[letsperaltiago]

ok time to break my silence caused by the fact that i spent all day making this lol too many feels 

so.. palm springs thoughts !! and there are manyyyy so buckle up and feeel free to hit me up with either matching or contradicting thoughts or whateveer!! i would LOVE to nerd out about this movie with someone:’)

here comes thoughts and pictures!! 

we basically start off with a mr. samberg sex-scene okAYYYYY the mood is set. we love the view

nyles aka. mr. samberg is the most gorgeous man alive and it was a true pleasure to admire him for 90 minutes straight 

CURLS!!????! THEY ARE UNREAL. i shall dedicate an entire post to them

Cristin Milioti is perfect for her role. her acting? *chef’s kiss* I love that she’s not the stereotypical female rom-com lead.

Her chemistry with Andy? Gosh.. Can’t believe Nyles x Sarah is my new main movie-ship!! They play off of each other SO. WELL. Their characters are equally stone cold and bitter, but then again not really, and they both portray it so well!!

“You don’t ned a leg up.” *moans* “Hold my leg up!” i SCREAMED

“Don’t you kiss me.” “Don’t you tell me what to do.” hoW DARE THEY!

Ok ur basically on love already stop it

The fact that they were just gonna fuck on a blanket on top OF ROCKS?!

but then again in this movie’s already insane universe it’s prob pretty normal:)

The overall dark, existential humor?? This is what I live and breathe for on a daily basis. Basiaclly both main characters are a BIG MOOD

Nyles not giving a shit vs. Sarah severely freaking out in the beginning is an iconic dynamic

“I am the antichrist” and then the rock falling? For a hot sec I literally thought the movie was gonna take a turn with Nyles being some magical/scientific creature that’d created the timeloop or something idkkk ahhha

Nyles in the suit... ridiculous(ly hot)

The torture methods Roy uses on Nyles and the fact that he’s not mentally scarred?? How?? 

On that note I love that Nyles and Sarah keep their memories even if the day starts over. Would’ve been a completely different concept if they had to “meet each other for the first time” every day and it wouldn’t’ve allowed their relationship arc to evolve as it did 

Darla is the fucking shit 

Nyles in the baseball cap, amirite?

THE BARTENDER TALKING ABOUT HITTING A GUY WITH THE CAR SHE’S CURRENTLY GIVING NYLES A HANDJOB IN IS COMEDIC GOLD 

“You fucked Jerry Schlieffen?” “Well he fucked me.” Yes SIR. Andy Samberg’s characters are all bottoms and we’re here for it

Sarah’s tongue click and “nice try” when Nyles asks her about her sex life?? 

IDK WHY BUT SO GOD

Randy is hella annoying. That’s it. That’s the tweet.

THIS ENTIRE SCENE:

the fact that they both start waking up smiling because now at least they have each other 🥺😭🤯

uhm i love a good ship that’s like... best friends to lovers and the montage of them basically becoming besties killed me 

this outfit Y E S: 

sarah falling off the car and nyles laughing it off is relationship goals

the crashing plane I LOL’ED

okay so... big moment... the DANCING AND MATCHING OUTFITS? THEY ARE MY DREAM TEAM. Also how excited they are running away from the bar 🥺

IM POSITIVE THIS IS THE MOMENT NYLES KNOWS! LIKE HE DOESN’T ADMIT IT TO HIMSELF COMPLETELY BUT HE KNOWS 

the bomb in the cake and french pirate-skit? so fucking random but i lovee it because it’s so them

*DRUM ROLL* PERHAPS MY FAVORITE MOMENT IN THE ENTIRE MOVIE: 

STORYLINE WISE AND VISUALLY A++++

the deep talks by the fire were SO well written. they were actually deep and genuine, allowing the characters to grow and opening up to us as viewers but also remained fun and witty

sarah trying to get nyles to admit he cares for her and him joking it off??? the flirtinggg

really wish we’d gotten to know more about what nyles meant with “it drifts away: just like they all do.” because it really seemed to trigger something within him. Like WHO “They”???

the dinosaurs lmao no comment but at least they got a cute cuddly moment

from the very first millisecond inside the tent you can CLEARLY tell Sarah is just dying to do something about them!!!

 the disbelief on nyles’ face when sarah says “lets just get it over with” because she’d clearly stated he didn’t want to and even though he obviously did he’s respected it and not done anything further about it oh babey

we love some good making out:’))) 

NYLES HALTING TO TAKE IN THE MOMENT EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO SCREAM INTO THE VOID 

i will die for a post-sexy timez cuddle and how sarah is trying to staying awake to be besides him is just *explosion* 

this has to be *the moment* she realises 

and they’re both sooooo fucking happy when they wake up after damn love me like that pls

THE GROOM BOOO FUCK OFF CAN’T EVEN BE BOTHERED TO REMEMBER HIS NAME CHEATING SCUM 

THIS FACE:

Baby is trying so hard and is so cute and nervous about it. SARAH LISTEN TO HIM HE LOVES YOU.

HE FELT GOOD WAKING UP BECAUSE OF YOUUUU, GIRL. DO NOT CALL IT “FUN”, SARAH 

“Going to bed maybe just got a little better” 😭😭😭😭

The entire cop scene is just pure insanity, very Lonely Island and I’m here for it even though I just want Sarah to rEALLY LISTEN TO WHAT NYLES IS TRYING TO SAY 

“Pain is real” oh babey that means SO MANY THINGS 🥺💔

“I followed you into that cave because I liked you!” like jake would say: don’t love how we got here but we’re going where i want

“pretentious sad boy” me

not shocked that they’ve hooked up before because c h e m i s t r y but don’t like how it got out :)))

why is nyles’ one sleeve shirt rolled up? im triggered

drinking pure vodka? oh babey its gonna be okay 

WE LOVE A SMART BOI WHO RECOGNIZES HIS GIRL’S PERFUME 

Sarah’s parents singing:)) i would cry too, nyles

"I love her.” “I see... That’s interesting” lmao savage

I actually really love Roy’s character. It turns out to be very humble actually and he has some insightful and lowkey poetic that lines i love. Besides that he’s hilarious. 

SO the whole time i was wondering how they’d get out of the whole “same day forever”-thing, if they were to. and I LOVE LOVE LOVE that they had such a logical way out of it: science. Not anything cheesy like “a true love’s kiss” or “you learned your lesson”. Pure logic and Sarah’s hard work to get there. Huge fan of this. 

I will never get over how good Nyles looks waking up and Sarah is xtra pretty in that scene:’) 

Nyles just wants to stay in a loop forever because it means for sure that he gets to stay with Sarah forever and I’m lowkey into it but also like lowkey LISTEN TO HER AND GO WITH HER PLAN, NYLES

“I wanna stay with you” *sniffles*

“I love you. How about that?” PRETTY FUCKING GOOD 

I love Nyles’ character development. He started off so nonchalant and cold, closed off and by this point he’s the softest, smiliest in love fool I’ve ever seen and Andy does it so good. SAMBERG HEART EYES!!

“Nothing is real in here” YES SARAH UR LOVE IS

I’m taking Sarah’s asking Nyles to believe in her and leave with her as her first “I love you” because it’s very clear that she wants to leave with him rather than without. 

just- this entire scene i ugh <3 <3 <3 <3

BREAKING. UP. WITH. MISTY ! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

glass of wine filled to the brim? sarah’s my type of gal

the speech was really beautiful and sweet without being too cheesy and kudos to cristin for really delivering it like a pro! especially her “abe, don’t fuck this up” like yes girl kill him, chop him to pieces with your eyes!!! also camila is such really pretty bride

nyles looks like a cockatoo here :

nyles taking the shot and smashing the glass into the ground got me 🤭😵😏🥵

“I’m your son” I SCREAM

GIVE THE MAN A WHITE HORSE DAMNIT

Gotta admit Sarah looks like a bomb (lol nu pun intended) ass super hero in her bridesmaid dress and C4-gettup 

The sentence ending up being total grammatical gibberish but Nyles trying so. damn. hard is the sweetest thing ever and should and will go down in rom-com history. It’s super romantic but also well-balanced by humor and I just.. so good. This is the kind of characters and relationships I love and wanna write myself 

“you’re my favorite person that i’ve ever met” 🥺🥺🥺

“i’d rather die with you than live in this world without you” WHY AM I SO SINGLE SOMEONE LOVEE ME LIKE THIS 

okay so idk but “what if we get sick of each other?” “we’re already sick of each other. it’s the best.” is so so so soft, the way nyles says it like it doesn’t matter and is honestly another key moment for me: they’ve experienced basically everything imaginable during their time in the box/loop. they’ve liked, disliked, loved, hated each other and still: he loves her. the fact that nyles knows no matter what happens it won’t stop that because it’s them?? ouch my heart. 

this chaotic mess of a pairing?MESSY BOMB BRIDESMAID AND CURLY-HAIR HAWAII SHIRT-BOI!! MY OTp

Them dissing Nyles’ mom on their way into potential death? that’s love, baby 

the fUCKING KISSSSSSS MANNNNNNNNNN!!!! SO ICONIC AND THE EXPLOSION IN THE BACKGROUND AND JUST WE DESERVE THIS THEY DESERVE THIS EVERYONE DESERVES THISSSS!!! 

NEVER OVEER THIS EVER FOREVER NEVER

Ok so I was SURE that when it faded to black that it was done and I grew super ficking frustrated because it would leave us with this “the ending is up to whatever you chose”-kinda thing kinda a la Celeste and Jesse where it just feels unresolved and I WASN’T OKAY WITH THAT. So I’m so happy we got to know that it worked and the bebes will live happuilly ever after with Nyles’ shaggy dog:’) 

Their hands on each other’s knee >>>>>

all in all 100000/10 

#palm springs #palm springs spoilers #andy samberg #cristin milioti #camila mendes #sarah x nyles #emilie says things #sarah #nyles #the lonely island #nyrah

[i-am-just-a-kiddo]

Fic Writer Interview Meme

tagged by dear @vishcount 💕 am sending you a lot of love because you are doing amazing, even if it doesn’t feel like it. don’t be so harsh on yourself. and thank you for the tag, I did my best. 

tagging @cortue, @intyalote, @the-cloud-whisperer, @not-saying-revolution-but and every writer that sees this and wants to do it! 

I was rambling again so there’s the usual cut

name: here just kiddo please - iamjustakiddo on ao3

fandoms: just for shits and giggles am gonna try and list all the fandoms i’ve written for? roughly chronologically speaking, my first fic was for Kuroshitsuji and the we go to Harry Potter, SKAM, Narnia, Sherlock Holmes (unpublished), Peter Pan (unpublished) - I don’t write for any of these anymore? except for Narnia which I might return to when the mood hits. I’ve written a ton for BTS and The Untamed, and still wish to write more for Nirvana in Fire. I’ve also written for Winter Begonia, Hwarang and YYY: The Series. Current WIPs are Word Of Honor, The Sleuth of Ming Dynasty, Original Sin - none of those will probably see the light of day. I’ve also had thoughts of writing for Killer and Healer, Strangers from Hell and Avatar: The Last Airbender.

two-shot: hmm I guess my two oneshots for YYY could count as a two shot? am not sure, but I simply had different ideas and seperated them instead of writing one coherent oneshot.

most popular multi-chapter fic: my BTS Mafia AU Take Me Into Your Skin. I’m quite proud of this one because it was my first ever multichaptered story back when I wrote it in 2018 and it turned out to be over 160k words long, which is just wild? I guess I cringe at it a lot and I would change a lot about it now, but am still proud of it because I had a lot of fun and am still fond of the story. (Statistics - Subscriptions: 144 / Hits: 18319 / Kudos: 519 / Comment Threads: 83 / Bookmarks: 295)

actual worst part of writing: everything currently. I feel a little bit like an imposter doing these games right now, cause I haven’t written anything that I’m truly proud of recently (or like, this past year I guess). This slump is very hard to get out of.  Under normal circumstances, the worst part of writing is when I know what I wanna write but it doesn’t come out? and when every sentence just sounds horrible and not at all how I imagined. Also the physical act of writing is difficult because I get tired so easily and when I don’t manage to get into hyperfocus and a nice flow, it’s just exhausting. 

also coming up with summaries, fuck that. 

how you choose your titles: i’m very basic and usually use some quotes or lyrics, but recently I’ve been trying to be more creative with my titles? I need to exercise that because I truly wanna learn how to come up with my own titles that sound nice. I suck at them so much 

do you outline: absolutely. my memory sucks badly so I always try to keep an overview in my notebooks because I can’t trust my brain to remember all the important details I come up with. Working with notes is also so freeing because I’m free to do anything I want and don’t need to worry about actually writing it? I like having visuals for my stories so it feels like an anchor I can hold on to when I’m lost.

ideas you probably won’t get around to, but wouldn’t it be nice: oh boy this is difficult, because I don’t have specifics for any of these ideas and that’s why I never get around to do them? I guess bringing my Wen Kexing and Wang Zhi character studies into shape is the most doable project rn. I would also love to finish my Original Sin fic because I really want to write a proper case-fic with actual plot but am just so stuck on that and too stupid for my own criminal cases so currently I’ve put that on hold. 

An idea that I’ve had for years now is a Sokka/Suki/Toph future fic? I would ignore what happens in LOK and for some reason I’m stuck on the thought that I want to explore this OT3? I want to explore how in their adult lives, they would fit together and especially how Toph could work as addition to the relationship Sokka und Suki have? I would love to explore the individual relationships they have with each other but I’m also very nervous about it because I’ve never written for ATLA and I don’t know if I can explore this properly. 

another idea that’s been on my mind ever since Singularity dropped is a taegi Dorian Gray AU? I’ve already done a little bit of research about 19th century Korea and Korean portrait paintings because of course, I would wanna make it as historically accurate as I can manage but honestly, I feel this project is quite hopeless. I think I also have very conflicting ideas about how I should do this and if it’s even a good idea to realise. 

Recently I’ve been thinking about writing a slow-burn enemies to lovers adventure story because I have Cravings. I don’t know if this would be an original project or some type of AU for some fandom, but I just really want to write about two people on opposite sides clashing together and having to work together, forming a reluctant bond and just. exploring the progress of that? Maybe there would be horses, probably historical, or maybe fantasy? I have no idea, I just wish I could write something like this some day. 

callouts @ me: stop being pretentious. not everything needs to be existential dread. don’t project all your issues into every character you write. not every sentence you write needs to be a Masterpiece and sometimes less is more. bring more structure to your stories instead of just aimlessly drifting. learn grammar for god’s sake.

best writing traits: i have no idea sorry. maybe that I heavily rely on my empathy? but i  truly do not know.

spicy tangential opinion: I don’t have any spicy opinions I think? Just do what you enjoy. Write what you want, you can worry about what to with it after. If you want to get rid of thoughts just do it. Don’t think about how it looks to other people, because unless you show it someone, it’s your art. It’s okay if it takes time, even if it’s frustrating. Pressure doesn’t help with creating art so maybe allow it to grow organically. is this spicy enough yet? don’t let people tell you you are less of a writer because you do things differently. there are methods, ideas, guides, advice - but there shouldn’t be rules to what makes you writer. everyone works differently. and to everyone who struggles - i know it sucks but as long as you find joy in writing, it’s not hopeless. sometimes things need a break or sometimes it needs a different shape and that’s okay ❤ did I reach the level of spiciness required here? 

summing up, I just wanna send strength to all writers out there because oh boy do we need it! and sending a lot of gratitude to all the fic-writers out there that have made my nights and days more enjoyable by sharing their passion. 

#thank you dear #i know we are both frustrated lately but we will get there #i believe in you #and i try to believe in myself too #it's fine #and doing things like these might be motivating? #or bring things into perspective #anyway #here i go #tag game #personal #writing

[mcrmadness]

Madness draws: Behind the Scenes of the Bela/Farin: “Widumihei” comic.

A few months ago I posted here this comic:

CLICK HERE for the original post about that comic where you can see it in better and bigger size, and also reblog it ;)

And this post is just a deep dive into how I plan, do and draw my comics.

Let’s start with sketchbook things...

So every comic needs a story, right? My comics usually are born from either some dialogue I imagine in my head or by an impulsive inspiration that happens when I see something or talk with people and a random idea is triggered. I’m very good at coming up with new ideas solely based on just one word or so which is why I often ask people if they have anything they would want to see/read because I suck at coming up ideas on my own. Or I do get ideas, but not as often as I’d want to.

This particular idea was very old and I have tried but I cannot find the piece that was my inspiration but it was in some of my old German books because I remember laughing at it with either my brother or even with the German teacher in 2011 or 2012. I was only able to find my first “sketch” of the story:

This is in the notebook I used for writing down some comic ideas and even had one comic in it, plus it’s also my fanfiction writing notebook. It has no date but I know for sure it was either 2011 or 2012 because that’s when I did my last Bela/Farin comic and pretty much started my (unintentional) 6 year pause from drawing altogether.

I have always been trilingual when I do these plans for my comics, often writing the “narration” in Finnish and the dialog either in English or German because I just cannot imagine them to speaking Finnish. The translation of that text goes as:

COMIC (sarjis = sarjakuva = comic book in Finnish)

1. The phone is ringing. 2. F: “Widumihei?!” B: ? 3. B: “Farin wtf?” 4. Farin walks from another room. 5. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “It means, “will you marry me?”“ 7. B: *wtf* REPLAY:

1. Bela is sitting/laying somewhere. 2. The phone is ringing. Reached with his hand? 3. Looks at the phone, “wtf?”, a thought: “von Jan: Widumihei?!” 4. Bela: “Farin?” / “Jan?” 5. F comes from another room, looks in from behind the door frame or something. B: “Widumihei?” 6. F: “Widumihei: “WIllst DU MIch HEiraten”“ 7. B: “WTF”

So when I then started to draw these comics again in 2018, I kept thinking about this one too and still wanted to draw it one day. If you have read the finished comic, you may notice something different in the old plot versus new: I switched Bela’s and Farin’s roles. Back then I didn’t know too much yet but over the years I have learnt much much more about them and I just figured that asking to marry him even as a joke would be too much for Farin and that it would fit Bela’s persona much much better.

***

I had a bit of problems with getting started with this one, mainly because the last times I drew a dä comic was in June 2020, in April 2020 and before those in October 2019. Because of so long time between the comics, I just always forgot about my methods and in which order I do things and what works for me the best. So every time I started to work on a comic, I had to start completely over because all I had was blank paper and I somehow needed to get my thoughts in order and out of my head, into a physical form aka as text and images on the paper, and it’s easier said than done.

So pardon me but from this on the text is going to get a little bit confusing for a little while from now on - but it’s also a very good look over how the life with my suspected ADHD be like sometimes...

I started working on the plot once again to my sketchbook... I think it was somewhere in the beginning of 2020. Because the next idea there is from the summer. This is what the plot looked like at that point - here I had already switched their roles:

Shortly, the texts go: 1. Farin is reading a book. 2. A phone makes a noise. 3. (Farin) looks at it/read the message. / 6. B appears into the doorway. / 11. F spits out the tea.

And underneath it you can see one of the stick figure storyboards I often do in order to kinda see the text in pictures better, and I will write down or draw important aspects like expressions (Farin’s eyebrows) or things like *facepalm’* or *eyeroll* so that I remember to add them.

Next I was struggling with the era. It needed to be an era with the old mobile phones with SMS options but still not too early because I feel that Farin would have not been the first in line to buy a brand new technology object, especially not when it’s a phone. I was even googling when did Germany get their first mobile phone - I remember I got my first phone aka Nokia 5510 in 2000 or 2001 after my mom got a new one and gave her old one to me, so the story shouldn’t happen too many years before the Millenium.

Originally I planned 1997 for that - I needed to think about that based on their styles because shorter hair is harder to draw. Here’s me trying out some hairs and how they’re to draw and which era would suit my needs the best. I actually find the text hilarious altho it’s mine but this is what it’s in English:

Time period -> 1996-1997? 1998 I’ve never drawn 1999 is not that much fun to draw 2000 is already a bit too late? Bela not that much fun to draw. -2001 moustaches are not fun to draw?

I think I was struggling with my thoughts because the next thing in that sketchbook is yet another storyboard:

Or actually I think this was just to see how many sheets I’d need and how many panels I could fit on one sheet.

Anyhow, I then did other things for some time before I got back to this project this year. Including finishing with the sketchbook I had been using since 2010 (and the half of it since 2018!) and I had to get myself a new one. So when I started to think about this comic again, one night I was just thinking about some Bela/Farin scenarios as usual and suddenly I just felt that I NEED to do the comic in the 1998 style!!! So suddenly we jump from the original 1997 idea to the new era, only because of the colors. 

So asap I grabbed my sketchbook and started to look for the proper colors for the hairs:

This one I posted here before too as I was struggling a lot and just felt that I didn’t know how to draw, again. Sometimes when I feel like that, I start drawing with my non-dominant aka left hand because it doesn’t have all that in muscle memory so drawing and writing with it feels more free and it feels almost like pressing a refresh button in my brain. Suddenly the right one know again how to draw because left isn’t too well in control. The below part of the image is done completely with the left hand, including the coloring.

And because I had now a new sketchbook, I somehow couldn’t... deal with the plot and plans being in a different sketchbook than everything else so I had write the plot/dialog AGAIN, into this new sketchbook, along with the storyboards and everything:

Translations: kirja = book, puhelin = phone, oviaukossa = in the doorway, teet suusta = tea(s) out of a/the mouth. “Puhelin zoom” just means “close up to the phone screen” in Madness.

You can also see that I found out that I don’t need to do the stick figure storyboards to imitate a sheet when I can just draw this rectangle and smaller rectangles inside of it and write there numbers to match the things in the dialog to make it much easier for me to plan the pages. And here’s also a small easter egg: there’s 13 panels overall in this comic :D I almost did 12 but then felt that no, I really need to do 13 because, you know, the hairs, the era, the album title. And also because I like the number so much lmao.

So from there we get to the second storyboard which is not just stick figures anymore but just me planning how I want the panels to look like. To get the imagery of the rooms and facial expressions etc. out onto the paper so that I can see them in real life instead of my shady imagination that sometimes isn’t as vivid as what I could be.

Also have you ever tried to draw a beach chair? It’s more difficult than you’d think:

I tried to draw the same thing from the same reference photos so many times and still I always felt like I was trying to draw that impossible triangle or some other illusion image. And it just went on and on here:

Originally I also had planned the second panel to be a close up of the phone so that Farin’s face would be left at the background from the frog perspective. That’s what I was trying to with that weird-ass face on the left but turned out that I have never drawn these characters from such angle and I just... couldn’t see it in my head clearly enough to be able to draw it. So I dismissed that idea and that’s why the angle changed from a phone close-up to a side view to the room and at Farin.

As I was in the middle of planning the second page, I suddenly wasn’t happy with my original plot anymore. I wasn’t sure if it would work and needed to think about it one more time. So I wrote two other dialogs here, along with a storyboards for them both. I ended up choosing B from those two options eventually.

I don’t remember anymore if I had already done the first sketch of the comics or not but at some point I just felt that I no longer knew how to draw in my style. Sometimes you just draw and learn wrong things and wrong methods that you get used to and then you have to take a break and actually do a little bit of studying over your own style to find again the way how you want to draw, and get rid of the bad habits and find the good ones again. In my case it was to draw the eyes way way too big when they originally never were THAT big, so I had to learn how to draw them small and normal again. That’s why I did these, as I really needed to pay attention to the faces and remember how to draw them again:

The front-side views were another big readong for this “study” because I have drawn that perspective only once or twice before and I needed to figure out how I want to draw that. Also, I don’t know if it’s just me but for some reason the front-side Farin reminds me of one of the parent characters from this cartoon called The Rugrats which I watched as a kid. It was totally unintentional, but you can google The Rugrats if you don’t know how the charatcers looked like in the cartoon.

The things below are just me testing something. The red Farins were just to test how the colored pencils work on each other and how the fineliners work with the colored pencils, and which way is the better way to do the shading. And the red colored pencil was the only one available at the time so that had to do.

A little bit about the heads btw: You might notice some difference between the left and right faces. It’s because I have always, always struggled with drawing anything that is looking at right. Most of the animal portraits and all I have drawn so that they look at left because I just find it so much easier to draw. I think with comics it’s because I always start with the eye (and the eyebrows if I don’t forget it) and then do the forehead, nose, mouth and chin, and after that I either continue from the hair (from the front) or do the ear first. But when I am drawing them to look at right, I have to basically draw the mirror image and starting from the hair is not the key because it can easily mess up with the perspectives. I still usually draw everything in the same order but it really is difficult because I’m doing a mirror image and my own hand is on the way, too. Basically I’m drawing from right to left instead of left to right! (I think I should try drawing those with my left hand, then...)

And from here we get to the first sketch of the comic. From here on the images are from my phone’s camera so they are sometimes illegally bad but no can do, I again didn’t think I’d post these to anywhere:

Here you can see I was mainly just focusing on the shapes and the space inside those panels. Just trying to see the perspective and how everything is. The only thing that I drew more precisely was the third panel, with the hand and phone. I had quite a nice memory of old phones in my head but I still googled for some reference photos of Nokia 5110 phones as that was my first phone (as I mentioned earlier), and I also happened to have some of my other old phones on the table nearby so I took my own hand reference photos too:

They always say there’s a little bit of the artist in their art and this one literally has that - “Farin’s” hand is actually my hand! :D And I think the size is kinda on point too because this phone was like 2-3 times smaller than Nokia 5110 and I have small hands, and I believe Farin must have much bigger hands, so the 5110 probably would have looked about the same size in his hand.

After the first sketch, the next step was then - the second sketch:

I also wanted to add more action to the panels so that it’s interesting to look at and not just basically the same panel over and over again with just different speech bubbles, so I came up with the idea of Farin spitting out his tea not being as cartoony as it could be and that he would have to actually clean it up instead of just leaving it there just because in cartoons/comics everything is possible. That way I got more depth into the panels and it was also interesting for me to draw because I drew lots of new postures I have never drawn before, and I’m surprised how well it went despite me not even looking for any kind of reference photos! The only things I used reference photos for were the beach chair, and the phone in a hand. (I have actually always been quite good at drawing 3D objects and spaces, especially if they are rectangular.)

So yeah, this is the phase where everything is then finished with pencil and what follows next is drawing the lines with fineliners - I use Sakura Pigma Micron fineliners for everything else, and black Promarker for doing the lines for the panels (and also if I need bigger pitch black areas done).

Here are the panel lines done but I only had a photo of this first sheet.

And here are both sheets with the finelining done and all pencil marks etc. erased. I really like this part because it looks so clean when all those sketch marks are gone. It’s also crazy to think I literally spend hours drawing something in pencil only to erase it all away later :D

And here’s one photo of the coloring process, the first one has only the base colors done but none of the shadows yet (apart from the shirts), and the second one has some of the shadows done but not everything yet.

Usually after coloring, I will then go through everything with the fineliners one more time to make sure all the lines are dark enough as it just gives everything the finished yet a bit “sketchy” look that what I really like with my comics. The actual last detail is always adding my signature along with the date or year.

And here’s the finished comic one more time for comparison:

Don’t forget to check and reblog the actual post about this comic if you read this post all the way here. I’d appreaciate that a lot since art and artist on Tumblr are not really that much appreciated.

#mcrmadness draws #mcrmadness draws: behind the scenes #my comics #dä fanart #die ärzte