20 Questions for Fic Writers

@ghostcat3000 tagged me. Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

26

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

188,069

3. What fandoms do you write for?

None. Um. I've written for SKAM and back in the day HP, I have a couple of outlines for KinnPorsche, but in practice I don't actually write now...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

run down till the rain delights you

I like my sugar with coffee and cream (wtf)

But the prettiest sight to see

And up to the head

Bloody fucking sodding shit

All SKAM, all Evak. I'm not counting the actual no. 5, Knuter på tråden, because that was a communal Scandi effort where I wrote 2 short ones of 38 chapters.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do. I think it's only polite to say thank you somehow when people have made the effort to comment. I can understand that massively popular writers in enormous fandoms don't, but me puttering about, sometimes even in Norwegian? Yeah, I respond.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

It's a (true) drabble. It's Evak. It's here. I'm fairly certain @champagneleftie will never forgive me.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I don't really do sad endings, at the worst they'll be a little ambiguous.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't yet!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Fuck yeah. I don't really know what to say about what kind - hopefully the hot and not embarrassing kind.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Don't write them, hardly ever read them.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Fucking Wattpad assholes. It's been a true joy to see those accounts banned after reporting the thefts.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not counting the ones I've translated myself (sometimes with lots of help from darling @mynameisnotthepoint) from Norwegian to English, who knows. I've been asked for permission several times, and I okay it and ask for a link to the finished translation, and then it's *crickets*, so probably not.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, with @himmelskys (Rake veien) and @vesperthine (run down till the rain delights you and the roll of the harbour wake).

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

That has to be Even/Isak, although Jaeyoung/Sangwoo and Vegas/Pete own parts of my soul.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a supernatural being Evak hibernating on my drive, but...

16. What are your writing strengths?

I do dialogue really well, complete with interruptions and repeats and various other little ways humans talk. Also I'm pretty good at steering clear of exposition and putting effort into showing, not telling.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Plot. I'm completely shit at plotting something. I'm great at world-building, but that doesn't really help. I keep to snapshot scenes, mostly.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't. I may put something in italics and drop a word or phrase into it to show that it's in a different language than the one the characters speak, but in general dialogue (and phrases!) in another language only serves to jar the reader and I very much don't want that.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Er, if I don't count snippets I came up with pre-LJ it was HP.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Eventyr (SKAM, Evak, fairytale AU, English, by all means read if you like). I'm ridiculously pleased with how I managed to make Even not-human in it.

Do I dare to tag someone? Probably not, but if you read this and write fic I'd like to see your answers.

So I actually have a story about how the cover art for this last issue of FUCKIT came to be. 

For those who follow me and don’t blog the FUCKIT: the zine tag (thank you for that, by the way), you’ll probably remember that when I was recruiting for submissions, the image I was using was this guy:

Super fun, right?  Definitely suits the theme of “countering a culture.”  Hideously relevant, what with all the drag bans and everything.  I’d put a lot of time into it (the tackiest art is always the hardest), and I’d enjoyed the time I put into it and I was very attached to it and that was the direction for the issue, I was sure.

I also made that decision back in, like, October.  By February, shit had changed. 

Some of that’s just February, to be fair.  Winter is rough, and the end is the roughest part.  Melancholy is a natural element of the season.  Some of it was Terry Hall dying back in December, which got me back into a lot of music I hadn’t really listened to for a long time, which got me thinking about different things (as music always does).  All the bits and pieces of ideas I’d been rolling over to find subject matter for the zine didn’t really compel me anymore.  None of the ideas that did appeal to me really matched up with smirking John Waters on the Cross.  But letting go of the concept seemed short-sighted, and potentially self-indulgent.  What if people had been writing to the theme I’d presented, with the imagery I’d given them, and then I changed it last second?

Then I read @ximen​‘s piece for the zine.

I know no one’s had a chance to read it yet apart from me (although that’s obviously going to change for several of you in the next couple of weeks, depending on shipping times, and also you can get the zine here), but to give some kind of context:  One of the running themes of the piece is Eric Clapton’s not-nearly-as-infamous-as-it-ought-to-be, deeply racist rant at a concert in 1976.  If you’re not interested in reading it -- well, don’t blame you.  It’s unforgivably bad, and his attempts to walk it back have been not terribly great, actually.  However.  Something genuinely good came out of Clapton’s bullshit, and that was Rock Against Racism, a group of musicians and activists who put on show after show after show in the UK and the USA to fight back against the rising tide of racism, facism, and nationalism.  Over the course of five years, RAR worked to unite ordinary people to fight against groups like the National Front, and inspired people to get involved by founding their own RAR groups, hosting their own RAR concerts and festivals...

And starting bands, of course, like a little group from Coventry that started off as the Coventry Automatics, and eventually became the Specials. 

(pictured:  Terry Hall and Neville Staple of the Specials at a RAR concert in Leeds)

I’ve always been a big fan of provocation.  I love it.  I think people need to be rattled up a bit sometimes.  But I’ve also always been a big fan of earnest, sincere, dirty-handed work, in the power of ordinary people in sufficient numbers to make a real difference, and that’s what RAR represents to me.  That’s what the Specials represent to me, and that’s what Terry Hall represented to me. 

They didn’t free the world from racism, and that’s okay.  “You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it,” and all.  But they saw the way the culture was moving, and they worked to counter it.  And, you know, Enoch Powell never got anywhere despite having Clapton on his side, so you can’t say they did nothing, either.

So I changed the cover of the zine, to give tribute to them, and to give Clapton the finger one more time.

The theme for next month’s zine is currently the Specials-inspired, “We Sell Hope.”  What that’s going to look like, coming out in a Pride month that sees the LGBTQ+ community under attack in hundreds of ways, I can’t possibly imagine.  I might bring John on the Cross back.  I might do something else.  Hopefully, I’ll be working on some voter registration stuff at that point, although we’ll see how it goes.  However it goes, hopefully we’ll see you there.

Remember:  Make art, help people.

btw here’s part 1 of the NHK Hayao Miyazaki documentary I mentioned. Since for some reason it’s tricky to find on NHK’s website. It’s free until 2026

How I played damage control to an anti in a small anime fandom and may have led to her ultimate downfall

I know I had a really nice write up of this at one point but oh well. I’ll spill more of the tea in this one because honestly the tea was so hot.

There are a few things that I have to give context to first. Gaia online was like THE mega forum of the 2000s, you made a little avatar and through posting and doing other activities on the forum you made money to buy clothes for your avatar. There were forums for everything but the fannish portions were really what drew in most of the people. The anime I was into was Beyblade. It was a shonen anime about fighting with tops that were possessed by the spirits of magical creatures. The story was honestly pretty average but the characters were fantastic and the fandom is to this day still one of my favourites. The series had a primarily male cast and didn’t even have a female lead until the second season. This led to the fanfic for the English fandom being about 70% canon/OC, 10 % canon m/f, and 20% slash. The most popular character in the English fandom was by far Kai Hiwatari, the loner badboy of the team.

Also before we get started I would like to add that one of my best friends was neck deep in this and the two of us were more or less fandom married. This is the same friend that I fake dated, had feelings for, and she nearly got me into kpop in 2011 so like if you haven’t read that story please read it too because it will give you a good idea of how stupid I am and how much of a fanfic I have truly lived. 

To set the stage I was 16, soon to be 17 when I joined the fandom and it was 2004. In September of that year I wrote a humour longfic that became an absolute smash hit and I found myself somehow fandom famous. It was around this time that I joined Gaia online. I made my little avatar and immediately went looking for the beyblade thread so that I could make new friends. I found the main thread, made my little introduction and at the end of it mentioned that I was a slash writer but I supported all ships. This is where I met C. She had declared herself the authority on Beyblade in these parts and I had just committed the crime of mentioning slash which was very obviously not canon and we did not discuss in this thread because we only discussed canon things. I was like well that’s a bit severe but like sure whatever I just want to hang out and have fun. 

Oh boy did I have no idea what I was in for. 

C was a year older than me and unfortunately that made her older than the majority of the fans at the time. Her favourite character was Kai, and she was not shy about talking about this fact. She stanned Kai above all other characters, and often at their expense. She was also a fanfic writer of a popular canon/OC series. Actually, she was so full of herself that she didn’t even call herself a fanfic writer, no her stories were in fact novels and were apparently very good. I never read them. But more on that later. 

Eventually the slash fans got tired of her being rude to us in the general thread so we made a Beyblade slash thread. There was a core of like 8 or so of us and we honestly had sooo much fun. When C would be too unbearable in the main thread the people from there used to come over to our thread and we’d chat with them about non slash stuff because we were honestly all multishippers and just wanted to have fun. We’d get comments like “wow, I’ve had more pleasant canon het ship discussions in the slash thread than the regular thread”. We never worried about C coming over and getting upset about comments like this because she refused to be associated with anything related with slash lmao. 

I tried my best to keep the peace between C, myself, and the rest of the fandom because ultimately I hate being in fandom drama. I just want everyone to have a good time. I’m a people pleaser. Unfortunately my newfound fame put me in the awkward position of being the most fandom popular person in our small community aside from C. Virtually every fan that read fanfics that came into our thread knew one of us or the other by reputation and C HATED this. Especially because people would come in to the thread, recognise me and go “oh my goodness I love your fanfics!” and I’d be super sweet with them and it’d lead into “I can’t believe how nice you are, I love you” which would lead to us crying at each other. This was not the kind of fan interaction that C got, no her fans were more kind that were there to praise her and worship her like a deity that had blessed them with some gift. Rarely did they tell her how kind she was. 

Back in the mid 2000s there were really commonly those commercials (usually by Christian organisations) asking people to sponsor say children in Africa or to help build schools or provide drinking water. You all probably know the ones; know the language that they used in those commercials. My fandom wife, who I suppose I shall call wifey because yes we were THAT couple back then, once said that C described her fics like those people described donating money to save the lives of Children in Africa. So we used to joke that her fics were so good they’d save lives in Africa. Looking back at it all, she almost had a very fundamentalist Christian approach to bringing people into her fanfics. She of course tried to get all the slash people into reading it. None of us read canon/oc fic mostly due to our poor treatment at the hands of their fans and creators. Getting fed up I one day told her that if she would read any one of my fanfics that I would read the entirety of her novels. Yes, I was willing to commit to read a couple 100k of canon/oc fanfic that I’d never touch normally if she would even read one of my 1k 1 shots. Heck, I had a fic even that shipped 2 minor characters so she didn’t even have to sully herself reading about one of the main characters. It was honestly a good deal in her favour. I kept this up until the day we all left the fandom. Sometimes I do wonder if her fics were even ¼ as good as she claimed, but I will never know because she refused to read my fics. 

She wasn’t all bad and a tyrant all the time. As long as people kept the conversations on track and didn’t come in to the thread saying things like “KAI IS SO HOT ND T3H BEST N I AM GUN 2 MARRY HIM” she stayed mostly civil. It was always hilarious watching InuYahsa or Naruto fans try to come in and bad mouth Beyblade because they’d unleash the dragon and C was great at chasing off undesirables in the thread. 

The real apex of goings on though on Gaia was the guild drama. So guilds were like exclusive themed mini forums within Gaia. Anyone could buy one and run it however they want, as long as it still adhered to Gaia’s ToS. C of course was the owner of the only Beyblade guild. The fandom wasn’t really big enough to support 2 guilds so we just kind of let it go. Technically she allowed people to post slash fanfics but like everything had to be explicitly tagged and there was absolutely no slash RP. Wifey and I controlled a handful of minor characters together in the forum RP and definitely used to try to push the boundaries a little bit. Some ambiguous flirting here, a stray comment there. It was such a fragile balance though because C was heavy on the ban button. The active portion of the guild was just people that were in the cult of C and worshipped her writing. 

Understandably the other slash fans and myself were getting disheartened by this. So we pooled our funds together and decided that we’d open a second guild that though it was run by slash fans we would welcome anyone into our ranks. We just wanted to have a fun place for everyone to hang out, and to hopefully run a few events out of. In hindsight, we should have seen what would happen. When we opened the guild, with me as the guild leader, it was like somebody blew up the whole dam protecting the delicate ecosystem we had cultivated. Every single person in the Gaia fandom that was not a zealous follower of C applied to be in our guild and left her guild. We of course figured that we’d attract some of the gen population but we did not expect to accidentally poach all of it. All of the moderators were getting messages from people thanking us for giving them a place where they could say whatever they wanted without fear of getting their faces ripped off or banned. 

C lost her shit. She was so mad that we went behind her back to ruin her guild. We literally had to show her posts in the very public slash thread that we had been planning this in public and that it was not to ruin her life. We just wanted a place where we could freely post slash. The two of us had some spicy comments back and forth and then she dropped an absolute bombshell on me. Since Gaia’s mail system is terrible I unfortunately no longer have exactly what she said but it was something along the lines of “Ok, you win. I’m going to close my guild.”. Us slash fans had never been doing this to win anything. We had never been competing. We just wanted a safe space to be ourselves. 

C never joined our guild. The fandom slowly faded out within the next year anyway. We weren’t getting new content so naturally people just drifted into other fandoms. C kept up with the main Beyblade thread for a lot longer than most of us but eventually that eventually faded into obscurity too. 

I learned a lot about fandom bullies from those days. But honestly the thing that stuck with me the most out of everything was that if you provide a positive safe space for people they will flock to it. It may seem like there are so many hostile people out there, but there really aren't. They're the minority but they just make sure that their voice is the loudest. The best way is to ignore them and just do your own thing. The bullies just want attention and if you don’t give it to them and prove to them that their opinion doesn’t matter to you then they’ll move in and find something else to yell at. 

Where Greed Goes, Despair Follows: Chp. 40

Pairing: Ban & Y/N

Anime: Seven Deadly Sins

Genre: Adventure, Romance

Warnings: None

Tag List: @asgleo16 @yuri-2018 @vialuciferscage @commanderawkward @chidayasays @misfitgirlwrites @amberfoxcosplay @catlover7722 @shiggi-trash @softiekage @happynoodle @milkysamu @kageyamis @yogurthdecoco @alysplxnet @chanderefk @furryavocadoowo @nellieleverlin @djdestiny23 @kelseyleia98 @demise-dies-dead @giyuustears @callmeunstable @jaybeingweird @lizzy101 @wishfulcoconut @80strashbag @crownedcupcake17 @rinzyx05 @cinnamonbun332 @smolmacbean @lalalol17 @rintheemolion @lostgirl2007 @god-of-the-universe @whorianscum @ihaveaproblem98 @ariknj @liawinchester67 @sunnsettee @beccawinter @stxtch72 @starrykeigo @fivehargreeves05 @plumrosewine @lie-ana @immamess69

•••

'Everything happened so fast. How did this happen?' Diane thought, staring up at the sky. She breathed weakly, blood and bruises all over her. She struggled to keep her eyes from unfocusing.

The Holy Knights was more dangerous than she thought. Diane was in no condition to fight anymore. Not after all of that.

Dreyfus took out a blue spell bead from his armor and held it in front of his mouth. "I am Grand Master Dreyfus."

The people of Liones all looked up at the sky in surprise. The spell bead made it so that Dreyfus' voice was heard throughout the entire kingdom.

"People of Liones, listen to me. At this time, Liones has been infiltrated by the traitors, the Seven Deadly Sins. They have commenced ransacking the kingdom!

"Damn him," Ban muttered, running alongside Meliodas as they tried to get to the castle undetected.

"The Seven Deadly Sins?!" A villager exclaimed. He turned to look at Diane, who was sprawled on the ruins of buildings. "Then that means this giant—!"

"That's right, it's got to be," another villager said. "It's Diane the Serpent Sin!"

Diane squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from crying as she slowly tried to sit up.

"The Holy War of ancient legend is finally about to begin," Dreyfus said. "But fear not! Liones has its Holy Knights as well as myself! All those able to fight, take up your arms and make a stand!"

Diane finally was able to stand up, leaning on Gideon. The villagers started throwing rocks at her, making her slowly turn around.

"Stop it," she said weakly. "Please... I... I'm not your enemy!"

"Shut up," a man yelled, looking up at her. "Look what you did to our city!"

Diane clenched her jaw and started to limp away.

"Hey, she's getting away! Go after her!"

An explosion went off at her right, causing her to cry out and stumble.

"The giant's started attacking," a man yelled, making the other villagers start to run away.

"You're wrong," Diane weekly protested. "It's not me..."

"What am I doing in a place like this?" Diane mumbled, looking down at the ground. "Humans... The humans' country... What do I care? I've always been alone anyway. And I'll continue to be..."

Diane kept limping forward, blood dripping from her forehead and lips. Guila was running not too far behind, looking for her brother.

She suddenly knelt down, breathing deeply. "No... I made a promise! With Elizabeth and Y/N! I have to help them!" She pushed forward, trying her best to not lose balance or to cry out in pain.

"Diane," Guila exclaimed, seeing the Serpent Sin try her best to keep moving forward. Guila gasped as another explosion went off not too far away. "What was that attack?!"

"The giant, destroying the village as she roams the city. What a stunning visual," a voice said behind her. Guila's eyes widened and she turned around to see the familiar green-haired Holy Knight, Helbram.

"Wait, aren't you the one doing all the destroying, Sir Helbram?" Jericho sweat-dropped, looking up at the Holy Knight.

"Under these circumstances, no matter what I do, the blame will fall on no one but Diane," Helbram said. "It's called staging! Staging!"

"What on earth are you doing?!" Guila yelled, grabbing him by his collar.

"I just told you," Helbram said. "Now that we have a villain, it won't do for her to not wreak havoc. To establish knights as the embodiment of justice, villains are a must. Consummate villains like the Seven Deadly Sins, at that!

"Then what about the reports on the Seven Deadly Sins plotting to take over the kingdom?!" Guila demanded. "Are those lies as well?!"

"Guila, who cares about any of that?" Jericho asked. "Forget that, and let's go after Diane's head together! If we do that—"

"Jericho," Guila cut in. "What did you drink the demon's blood for?"

"Huh?" Jericho said, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Sister," a voice exclaimed, making both Jericho and Guila turn to look at the source.

Guila's little brother, Zeal, was running towards them.

"Sister Guila?!" Zeal cried, running towards them.

"Stay away from here," Guila yelled, eyes widening.

Zeal suddenly froze when he saw Diane not too far away from where he was. "A-A giant?"

Just above him, a building was threatening to fall on him. Zeal looked up, his eyes widening in fear.

"Zeal," Guila screamed, heart dropping as the building began to fall.

Diane suddenly threw herself forward, shielding the boy and the building falling down on her instead. She clenched her jaw, suppressing the urge to scream.

Zeal looked up at Diane's bruised and bloody face. His brown eyes met with her purple ones. "Did you save me?"

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, thinking of you and Elizabeth. "I couldn't do anything for you..." She closed her eyes.

"Looks like it's all over now," Dreyfus said, walking towards the scene. Howzer and Gilthunder walked alongside him.

"Grand Master Dreyfus," Jericho exclaimed. She ran to him. "Please, could you entrust me, Jericho, with the task of taking Diane's head?"

"Very well," he said.

"And when I do," she continued. "Promote me to an upper-level—" Shs suddenly turned her head when she saw Howzer continuing to walk forward.

"What do you think you're doing, Howzer?" Dreyfus said, looking at the blonde man.

"Years ago, you told me this, remember?" He said, turning to look at Dreyfus. "'Only use your own power when you yourself feel it's right.' Well, now is that time!"

"You're going to take us all on by yourself?" Dreyfus asked, glaring at him.

"No," Guila said, standing at Howzer's side. "The two of us will."

Diane's eyes slowly opened at what she had just heard. 'Howzer...? Guila?'

•••

Your eyes stared up at the ceiling of the cavern. Your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath you took. The symbols on your forehead and hands were back to their black color. Your clothes were torn but still able to cover you. How long have you been looking up without seeing?

You weakly turned your head to the side to see that the chains that had bound your body to the stone table were now gone. Despite that, you felt too weak to move. It was as if you had woken up from an incredibly long sleep.

You flexed your fingers and looked down to see that your nails were now pointed at the ends. You touched the symbol that was on the back of your hand. It felt just like regular skin.

You brought your hands up to your face and felt dried tear stains on your cheeks. You blinked and sighed in annoyance at the familiar sensation of your eyes being in pain. It felt as if tiny, cold needles were on your eyelids and poked your eyes every time you blinked.

You slowly sat up, your hands weakly holding the sides of the table to help support you. You gently rolled your shoulders as your bare feet touched the cold ground.

You yelped as you suddenly fell to your knees, hands holding your head. You let out a strangled gasp of pain as the memory of a turquoise-eyed man had surfaced in your mind, your screams of agony faintly heard in the background.

You slowly looked up, breathing calmly. Your eyes slightly widened as you heard an explosion in the distance. The ground of the cavern shook. A surge of aura had gone off in the distance at the same time the explosion occurred. You narrowed your eyes, the glint in them being cold and angered.

You vanished from the cavern in a burst of black and purple flames.

•••

Happy New Year!! I can't believe this is my last post of this year. This year has been so long and has been very hard for so many people. Many people experienced losses with COVID or from other things like trafficking or police brutality. My heart goes out to everyone who has experienced pain this year. Hopefully next year will be a better one.

I want to thank everyone who has read and shared and enjoyed this story! Again, I never expected so many people to find and enjoy this story. I'm proud to know that my writings are enjoyed by all of you. Thank you all for supporting and motivating me and being patient with me. I appreciate all of you!! I hope you enjoyed this last chapter of the year!!

Soo this is the first time i’m hosting a Discord server event. Hopefully it go’s well and you all or some will join?   MUTUALS AND  none MUTUALS  welcome here! since i might not follow everyone who might be interested ?? 

Note: Your Character does not need to dress up if they don’t want too  

Feel free to boost this post i want too get  people thoughts and  interest in it? if you want to join defiantly like / comment or re-blog! a link will be added later on..

So here are some Rules:

Only YUGIOH ( any series )  Muses / Oc’s 

No god modding  Don’t start ooc drama/fights you’ll be banned. Don’t rush people to reply. this is a week long?? event and if it go’s smoothly i’ll consider hosting another event! No ic NSFW unless you all want a room(s) for that than i’ll think about adding. A nsfw room for only that type talk/RPs Same muses are welcome 

Only three  or  Four Characters for each person ( small so no ones stressing bringing all their muses/Oc’s)  OR you can stick too just one or two.whatever is easiest. 

It will start on the 6th of October and end on the 13th this date  might change!!     

A LINK to the Server with be added on the date that’s confirmed to this post anyone that has shown interest will be tagged / or messaged with the link ~ those who seen it after or before and wasn’t sure to join are still  welcome! the link is a never expire one for the week so new faces can pop in.

 here are the rooms:

ASHES TO ASHES | jim moriarty x reader | part 3/13

Word count: 4.3k

When Sherlock Holmes becomes a man obsessed, James Moriarty becomes a man intrigued. That much, you are about to learn.

The first night in your hotel room, you allow yourself rest. The bed sheets are so soft, and sleeping on a mattress is infinitely more comfortable than the floor of a freezing basement. In many ways, despite your fervent dislike of the decor of the room based on its disingenuity, it is a decent opposite to your life before.

There is no blustering breeze blowing through dark, cracked bricks. There are no semi-dangerous power tools strewn over the floor. The sheets don't scratch at your skin.

You make sure, that night, to check yourself over for injuries. The fire was a major risk, you knew that much, and there had always been the chance that you could get caught in the blaze and burn alive, your body remaining trapped in the same house as those of your step-family's, and your freedom curbed by fire.

And you had come out unscathed.

There were no burns on you, not even the tiniest of markings from something as harmless as a stray ember. There was the chance you were suffering from some mild smoke-inhalation, but you felt completely fine, so you weren't too worried about that.

You wake up earlier than most people, but today, you don't have to get up and start sweeping or work on preparing breakfast. You feel absolutely, devastatingly victorious when there come no shouts of your name, no demands to get out of bed and fix the house.

Freedom feels so utterly delightful.

The only real downside is the lack of birdsong. The kind of birds that will chirp sweetly in the morning with you as their only audience do not thrive in inner-city London. Here, there is the eternal street-chatter, car noises, and taxi calling.

When you turn on the TV, having spent the early morning lounging in bed and enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in soft sheets, the news is reporting live from your street.

There is a news reporter lady talking rapidly to the camera, a microphone clutched tightly in one hand. Behind her lie the remains of your parents' house. The blaze has long-since been extinguished, but there still remains one lone firetruck at the scene. The house itself has practically caved in on itself. Tiles of the roof and pieces of wood that had served as the infrastructure of the house lie lamely scattered around the lawn and driveway. It's a mess of ash and what had once been your childhood home.

The words she's saying are almost imperceivable.

Verona's car had caught fire after all. That alone gives you a smug sense of satisfaction. Just one more thing that she had valued had been stripped from her and desecrated.

"...The police have announced that they are launching a murder inquiry into the deaths of Verona Archer and her nineteen-year-old twin daughters Aubrey and Alora. Detective Inspector Lestrade, who will be heading the inquiry, has declined to comment, but sources have confirmed to us that Reichenbach hero Sherlock Holmes will be consulting."

You sit up, more interested in what she has to say than you had been just moments ago. The murder inquiry was no real surprise - you hadn't exactly tried to cover up the fact that the corpses had been hacked to bits. The mere thought of Sherlock Holmes - an allegedly brilliant civilian detective - on the case, did however shock you slightly.

Taking in a shuddering breath only calms you very slightly.

You had been so, so careful, and this had the potential to become your downfall.

The police, of course, would be on the case. You had been smart - burning everything in the house that had belonged to you. Any item that bore your name or image was to be reduced to ash, now scattered in the wind like black snow.

It was most fortuitous that Verona had caused you to have a life of solitude. Her daughters, of course, had been allowed to go out and socialise as much as they wished. Verona herself would attend dinner parties, and had wormed her way into any and every social scene that she could. Everybody had adored the three of them - Verona Archer, with her perfectly curled blonde hair, pink lips, and her darling twin daughters that were the spitting image of her.

That was a social life that you hadn't been permitted. You had been incredibly resentful at the time. Your parent's families flaked away from you once they had both died - there was nobody who cared to reach out and check on their only child. There was no way of being certain whether or not they would even remember that you had been living in the Archer household.

It was rather unlikely there were even any neighbours that even knew of your existence. That obscurity would hopefully keep you safe.

It's mid-morning by the time you eventually leave the hotel room. You've decided that today you're going to buy some new clothes, get some food, and look for a job that won't ask too many questions, all whilst keeping your head down and staying away from any cameras. The employment will probably come in the form of a seedy pub, which does invoke some kind of revulsion within you.

You have to remind yourself that it won't be for long. This is all temporary - once you're able to acquire some forged documentation you'll be in the clear. This is just one step closer to your happy ever after. You've already endured the hardest part and come out stronger for it.

---

Lestrade has relocated his board, featuring pictures, evidence, and lots of colourful string and thumbtacks, to a bigger room in the police station. The board sits front and center of the room, and is the primary focus of the room's occupants.

The full team has been gathered, all congregating in this one room to try to work cohesively.

"Listen, we're under a lot of scrutiny on this case." Lestrade says, grimacing as he looks between his taskforce and the board.

"And that's your fault." Donovan sniffs. "If you hadn't brought in Sherlock bloody Holmes then I bet that the media wouldn't even care."

"Right, right," John tries to intervene. "Let's just look at the evidence, yeah? And try to solve the case?"

As usual, she seems less than thrilled with John's presence, regarding him less than a teammate and more as a tag-along that Sherlock had somehow procured.

"So what do we actually know then?" Donovan asks, staring unrelentingly at the board.

Sherlock steps forward, pinning another picture to the board, next to the Archer girls. "This is our culprit. She's Verona's step-daughter, the child of a previous marriage of Verona's second husband."

There she is - there you are. It's an old photograph, ridiculously outdated from when you had been in high school. It looks terribly out of place next to the pictures of the Archers when they had been alive. Theirs are recent, good quality images - Verona's had been just the night before she was killed. The twins were impossible to distinguish from one another. All of them had the luxury of smiling at the camera, of being happy.

Lestrade takes over. "Her father died almost a decade ago in a car accident, and her actual mother passed away a while before that from health complications. The dad remarried not too long after his wife's death, so Verona becomes her step-mum, and the twins become step-sisters. She's a few years older than the twins, and we have no clue whatsoever what she had been doing since she finished high school."

"And we have no clue where she is now?" Anderson asks.

"None wha-" Lestrade begins.

Sherlock cuts him off. "No, that's not true. She'll be in a major city, most likely London. She'll either be keeping a low profile, or have a new identity set up already. She will have changed since high school - probably a hair cut, hair dye, or even tattoos, though that's unlikely."

"Right, I'll tell the officers on duty to keep an eye out for her." Lestrade nods, "Though I don't think a picture from years ago is going to help very much."

Donovan frowns slightly, her eyebrows tugging downwards slightly. She bites her lip for a second, her eyes darting between the pictures of the Archer girls when they were alive, their bodies, and their possible murderer. "Do we have a motive yet? Are we sure that this couldn't be a stalker who killed the Archers to kidnap their step-sister? I just can't really see a girl who Verona had raised, who loved the twins as if they were really her sisters, just turning on them like that."

"That's been bothering me too." Lestrade says. "I mean, maybe she felt like an outsider, but -"

"Of course she felt like an outsider." Sherlock says. "Verona took away her step-daughter's bedroom and had her sleep in the basement, so that she could store her fur coats upstairs. The step-daughter would be banned from furthering her education, and served as practically a live-in maid. It's incredibly obvious, really."

"They kept her as a maid? In the basement?" Lestrade's jaw hangs open slightly, his tone utterly disbelieving.

"Of course they did. All we have to do now is find her." Sherlock says, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Come on, John. If Cinderella's looking for a story, then we'll help her write one."

---

By the time you get back to your hotel room, your confidence has been bolstered immeasurably. You'd rather cautiously kept away from the more densely populated, camera-filled streets, and remained in more seedy, shady areas where nobody would really care too much even if they did know what you'd done.

In that time, you'd secured clothes, food, and you'd scouted out a few places that would probably be willing to employ you and not ask too many questions, though you weren't under the impression that they would pay you particularly well.

It felt so intoxicating to be completely and utterly free. You had no constraints any more. There were no Aubrey and Alora to hound you when you went shopping, and Verona was no longer around to tell you to be grateful that she even kept you around. Total, complete independence was one of the finest things you had ever encountered.

Perhaps the next few months would be rough whilst you were evading the police and establishing your new life. But ultimately, you were free. From freedom, your happily ever after would be borne.

Hastily, you put the food away - you'd bought simple things that could be stored in the mini-fridge - and pull the clothes on to hangers in the wardrobe. It doesn't feel like home, but oddly, you're glad for that.

Home had been burnt down, reduced to ashes by your own hand. In due time, you'd build a new one if you had to, and it most certainly would not resemble this hotel room.

Once you've finished packing everything away, you try to allow yourself to relax, but for some reason, you feel utterly unable to.

For some, indecipherable reason, you feel watched.

Instantly, your eyes narrow and you stalk around your hotel room, checking below your bed and in the bathroom. There's nobody hiding in either places, and you know that the wardrobe is empty, too. You're utterly alone here, and yet, you certainly do not feel that way. Rather, it feels like there are eyes at your back, scrutinising your every move.

Your next course of action is to check out the window. There's nobody there. Still, you draw the curtains closed tightly. It does little to block out the light or offer you any true sense of security. You're on edge - all of a sudden the shadows in the room feel too dark, too ominous, and it feels like the temperature has dropped several degrees.

There's a deep paranoia settling into your bones, and slowly, but surely, your heart rate is beginning to rise, to the point where your heart is rapidly thundering against your ribcage.

There has to be something you'd missed.

Most people hadn't developed the acute senses that you had. They simply weren't as perceptive, and they had no reason to be. Your distinct awareness of everything around you had been developed over years and years of maltreatment.

Just the slightest movement could tell you a thousand different things. Noises, from the screech of a heeled shoe against wooden floor to the mutterings of your step-mother, were a vital part of determining how safe you felt. Sight, too, was important. You could recognise just from the way Verona positioned her handbag if she would be in the mood to let you eat that night.

You had learnt to trust your senses. And right now, they were declaring that you had missed something - that there was something totally and completely off about this room.

Quickly, your eyes are traversing over every tiny little thing. From the doorframe, to the curtains, to the TV, to the desk -

The desk.

That's what had changed. The sugar packets and TV remote had been pushed to the outskirts of the desk to make room for something that hadn't been there before.

It's in the centre of the desk, and your jaw drops open slightly just at the sight of it. A bolt of ice rushes down your spine and suddenly you're afraid. There had been no fear when you killed three people and set their house aflame. But this, this felt like a threat.

Resting idly, almost innocently on the desk, is a heeled glass shoe.

It glitters prettily under the few rays of sunlight that escape from the curtains, but its mere presence feels insidious. You want to stumble away from it, dash out of the hotel and run for your life. But you don't. Rather, you stalk closer, creeping towards it, your eyes wide and unblinking.

The glasswork is pretty. It's delicate - carefully made, with intricate spirals running up the heel. It's relatively transparent, with a slight blue tint to it, enough to make it appear more frosted. It looks about your size, but it's far too nice to even attempt to wear. It's the kind of shoe you would have relentlessly lusted after as a child. A real life glass slipper.

And yet, neither the pretty glasswork or whether it is actually wearable are the primary thoughts on your mind.

Right next to the shoe, lying so innocuously on the desk, is a little white note. It almost resembles a business card, with a swooping golden border around the edges. If the shoe felt like a threat, then this feels even worse.

Inscribed, in shocking black ink on the bone-white card -

HELLO, CINDERELLA. WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO THE BALL?

Now you really do feel like crying - like yelling out and destroying everything around you, smashing the glass slipper and burning your dreams just as you'd burnt the house down. You collapse to the floor, one hand clutching at your chest, grappling onto your torso like it was a lifeline.

You had been cautious. Cameras had been avoided at all costs. You'd even made sure that there would be no up to date pictures of you available for you to be identified from. You had done everything right.

It was so, awfully unfair. All of a sudden, that tenuous, delightful freedom had been ripped out from under you and torn to ribbons. And you had no idea by whom.

There was somebody out there who knew. Somebody who knew what you had done, and worse still, knew where you were. Somebody who could very, very easily let themselves into your hotel room.

Last night, you had slept so soundly, totally unaware that you had already been compromised.

You had no idea who could possibly do this - who could want to torment you in this way. Nobody came to mind. There should have been nobody that even cared to look for you, beyond the police hunting down a criminal. Logically, there should have been no way for you to be found. All of your bases had been carefully covered.

Worst of all is that you have no way of fathoming what it even means. Is it a threat? A taunt?

You simply have no idea, and you're not inclined to even want to find out. It's entirely possible that you've burnt your way out of one cage just to be put in another. All because there's somebody out there who's smarter than you, who has somehow been able to undo every precaution you put into place.

Taking in a deep breath, you lower your head into your hands and beg yourself to just think.

This could be a threat. You have no idea who would want to threaten you, and you have no leverage against them.

Rather quickly, you come to the conclusion that for now, you will simply play along with whatever they want. It's the easiest option - if they'd found you here then they could potentially find you anywhere. This way, you can dig for as much information on them as possible.

Playing along could mean being extorted, or made into a pawn. Wretchedly, it threatened to put a stranglehold on your freedom.

But, you'd broken out of the role of the pawn before.

If they were threatening you, then you would play along, until you found the right time to burn them to ash, reduce them to cinders that could easily be swept away. You were already well on your way transitioning from pawn to queen, and you were absolutely determined not to let anything derail you.

This time, you wouldn't run away from the blaze. You would gleefully watch it consume anybody who dared stand against you.

If reaching the fabled happily ever after meant starting a few fires, then that's what you would do.

---

There's a deep sense of relief when you wake up and find that nothing's changed. The glass slipper is still resting threateningly next to the card it came with upon the desk, but you haven't received any additional gifts. Not yet, anyway. You cannot simply throw caution to the wind - now you must be more careful than ever.

Somebody has discovered exactly who you are, and they know exactly where you are. It's quite possibly the worst position for you to be in. The last thing you need is anybody else recognising you.

That morning, you creep out of your hotel room, dressed in some of the clothes you had bought the day prior. You were very careful not to choose anything too flashy or that would stick in people's minds. For all intents and purposes, you needed to become a shadow, to fade from memory and hide in plain sight.

Once again, you will be trawling the shadier areas. These are the places bathed in darkness and defined by hidden bloodshed. These people have little regard for the law-abiding. Being amongst them will probably help keep you concealed.

They won't allow the police to get anywhere near them. There will never be any security cameras. There will only be secrecy and that is where you'll thrive. It's where you will hide, until the press has blown over and your step-family's murders have been relegated to cold cases.

You stalk out of the hotel, ever wary of everybody that you interact with.

Any one of these people in the lobby could have left you the slipper and the note. They're the ones with the most opportunity. However, most of the guests here, from what you can reasonably guess, are disenfranchised or senile. It could have even been the lady at the desk, Emily, you think her name had been.

You take to the streets like a duck to water. You decide to walk along a route with less traffic, working your way through maze-like alleys rather than go near the roads. There's almost no cameras here, and occasionally you will see a metal clasp on the brick walls that perhaps, at some time had held a camera, but it had since been taken down or torn off the wall.

Unfortunately, these places are rife with unsavoury people. Realistically, you probably weren't the only person here that was on the run from the police.

Your methodology of travelling only by the shadiest routes brought you past a myriad of seedy little pubs. You'd taken a look at some of these places yesterday. They seemed like as good a place as any to start looking for a job. The people there weren't likely to ask too many questions.

Despite having probably done crimes more morally reprehensible than any of the pub patrons, there's a disparity in how you view yourself compared to how you view them. They're stationed below you - they are just another stepping stone to your future. Among them isn't where you belong.

The way you spend the day is rather boring - doing a more in depth evaluation of all the places nearby that would probably be willing to employ you, mentally cataloguing the pros and cons of each place. It's incredibly dull, but you have to remind yourself that it's necessary. Right now, you don't have much other choice.

By the time the sun is beginning to set and dusk is beginning to fall over London, you've found a few places you like the look of. They're easy to get to, and just seedy enough that they may not care about your lack of documentation. That, of course, had been destroyed in the fire, and even if it hadn't, you weren't about to use your real name.

Once it starts to get darker, you head back to your hotel room, half-starved. You're simultaneously eager to get back just to eat, and nervous that you could have been left another message.

You practically fly through the lobby, hurriedly following the signs back to room one hundred and twenty five.

You make your way down the hallway, pausing cautiously at your door.

There, hung on the door handle is one of the hotel's do not disturb signs. You hadn't been the one to place it there.

Immediately, you're put on edge. The tiny, rectangular blue and green key card feels rather heavy in your hand. Your fingers twitch, and your eyes narrow. Once again, something is very, very off.

You press your ear to the door. There's nothing - no noise that you can discern. Cautiously, you swipe the card, and you tug the door handle down, but you don't push it all the way open. Not yet. You wait another moment before doing so, your eyes immediately flying to check the bathroom before you even truly step inside.

The room looks deserted, overcast by shadows. There's a deep anticipation stirring within you as you step into the hotel room and let the door close behind you.

It's rather dark - the shadows all move in the dying sunlight, and there's too many places for someone to hide.

"Hello, Cinderella." A voice calls out from the darkness, crooning and smooth.

In a second, your hand has slammed down on the lightswitch. The lights flicker for a moment, but they enable you to see him.

There's a man lounging in the chair to the desk, looking directly at you. His legs are outstretched in front of him, and he's passing the glass slipper between his hands.

You'd never seen him before. He's older than you, perhaps in his early thirties, with slicked back dark hair, an expensive-looking grey suit, and eyes that stare straight into your soul.

"Did you like my gift?" He asks, sounding vaguely amused. His dark, all-consuming, black eyes dart briefly down to the glass shoe in his hands. He strokes a fingertip along the glasswork intimately.

"Who are you?" The question tumbles from your mouth before you can even think to stop it.

He rolls his eyes. "I believe that I asked you a question first. You're welcome to call me Moriarty. But you, Cinderella, have been a very naughty girl."

This Moriarty man is rather changeable, you think. His annoyance had quickly faded to something that sounded horrendously like glee. You're left floundering for a response - there's nothing clever for you to say.

"Have I?" You find yourself saying, rather absently, like you were making an off-hand remark about the weather or something equally insignificant. It feels meaningless to refute him. You know exactly what he's referring to.

"Oh come on," Moriarty says. His voice is almost playful - and it's now that you place his accent. Irish. "You know you have. Killing your wicked step-mother and ugly step-sisters? Most people would call that terrible. Psssh, I'm not so boring." He waves it off, dismissing what you had done gut-wrenchingly easy.

You flinch backwards, your back colliding with the door. "Oh?" You manage to choke out.

"No, no. I'd call that impressive," He says in a sing-song voice. He seems so cheery, and he's practically grinning at you. "You see, most people don't quite gather the guts to kill their own families. And when it's a woman - well, they tend to go for poison. Bit of a cop out, don't you think? But no, not you. That would be too boring. Go on, Cinderella, tell me how it felt."

"Am I...being blackmailed?" You don't think you've ever felt so confused and worried at the same time. This man - the man who had figured it all out and found you seems to be dually comical and threatening. You can't really discern what is an appropriate reaction.

"Only if you'd like to be." He replies with an innocent shrug of his shoulders. "Just tell me something, will you?"

Quarantine.26

[Masterlist]  Editor: @yoongisauce​ Pairing: BTS x reader Friends2Lovers But as slow as you can go until the anticipation kills us all…  Genres: friendship, drama, romance SLOWEST OF BURNS BUT IT WILL BE BURNING AN ETERNAL FLAME!!!  Rating: PG-13 and above  Summary: Your brother works with a few BigHit dance teams and whilst having permission to accompany him at work the city shuts down banning anyone from stepping outside for a whole WEEK while they disinfect the streets. If you step outside you might get arrested, shot or poisoned by the chemicals they are emitting through the city.  Words: 1.2k  Announcement: This is dedicated to @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d​ who said they enjoyed the trailer and the fic so far. I really hope you continue to enjoy everything this story has to offer. your comment really helped me through

Also big announcement I have an Editor @yoongisauce​ So, if this chapter seems to be more legible and better quality, go follow them and show your support. Because my writing is like a piece of wood I have badly whittled to look like a puppy, but it looks more like an elephant and they came along and filed, buffed and polished it into this amazing piece. It deserves like ten chef’s kisses from Seokjin. 

[Part 1]  [Part 25] [Part 27] [Tag Yourself Here]

Namjoon sat at the desk with Jungkook’s location on his laptop screen, walkie talkie in hand. To his left was Yoongi, who had his laptop open on a map of the area. Complete with directions and Jin’s location via his phone. 

Thomas no longer paced back and forth, your speech about this being the right thing to do dulled his fear just a little. He didn’t realize how much you changed before you came here. You were quiet, stuck in your shell. Now, you were out there saving lives.

“Jungkook’s signal hasn’t moved. So hopefully, that means he is waiting there. It seems like a warehouse. I tried searching online for any blueprints but there were none. I did get a few pictures and by the looks of it there are a few ways in,” Namjoon said listening to the men repeat. Yoongi watched Seokjin stop on the map and waited, placing his hand on Hoseok’s knee which bounced nervously.

“They will come home right?”

Everyone went silent. Glancing across the room, eyes landing on Jimin and Taehyung who were trying to comfort one another.

 Namjoon pulled the walkie talkie up to his face. “You bring our boy home safe okay?” Namjoon called, “Bring them all back in one piece.”

“Yeah no pressure though.”

~

Jungkook had been in the room a total of 30 minutes and the idiots didn’t realize the ropes around the bulky suit let him slip his hands free on the inside. This meant the rope loosened, sliding off and allowing his hands to be free once more.

Unzipping the front of his suit, Jungkook removed his phone and saw a text from Namjoon asking if he was okay and had his phone available. He replied that it was him and took a photo. His nose and cheeks stained a light pink from his emotional realisation a few moments prior.

 Namjoon explained that the soldiers were coming for him. Last hearing on the walkie talkie that they were outside the building and asking him to be ready as they would be dressed like the gunman.

Jungkook stuffed the phone back into his suit as the door opened, revealing a scruffy looking man with a sparse beard. He stepped inside wasting no time pulling off Jungkook’s mask, eyes widening at the reveal. 

He lifted a walkie, speaking quickly, “It seems we have a mix-up boys. We didn’t pick up the foreigner, we got her little boyfriend. What do we do with him? Do we need him?”

Jungkook watched as the man reached for his handgun, before he was roughly disarmed and beaten by two gunmen in suits. The man lied unconscious, his walkie talkie going off. 

“We should keep him and lure the girl here, I am in the bathroom so give me a second and I will tell those good for nothing assholes to go back out and get her.” 

Ripping off the suit helmet, Jungkook immediately recognized the man as part of the armed forces.

“Jeon Jungkook?”

He nodded, scrambling to his feet, as the soldiers grabbed him and led him out the way they came. There wasn’t anyone on the lookout. The guards all seemed to be drinking and smoking inside, which was good news for them. Briskly moving down the hall, the group ducked past a busy room of men talking loudly.

“The foreigner was really compliant, maybe we offer her a drink.” 

Jungkook saw red at the insinuation in the man’s words, but didn’t have time to respond as they continued on their way. Rounding a corner they heard a flush and a man stepped out of a bathroom, only to be greeted by Jungkook's yellow suit and two rescuers. 

The gunman shouted, reaching for his gun. The leader was quick, knocking the man out but not quick enough. He alerted the others and the chase began. 

Jungkook’s rescuers led him through the fog, meeting up with a third soldier outside. The four of them headed off down an alleyway. The leader shouted, telling someone to run and Jungkook saw two more figures disappear up ahead. 

~

Yoongi was now on the walkie talkie, “Take a left, at the next intersection.”

To everyone watching him, Yoongi seemed to be the only one controlling his anxiety, keeping a calm voice as he gave the others directions. 

But with two groups out there Jin was quick to give a sassy reply.

“Who are you telling to turn left?”

“You and the babe in Group Jin, turn left,” Yoongi said.

“Don’t call us Group Jin, or we won’t make it home,” Jin joked out of breath.

The whole situation had Yoongi stressed. Namjoon opened the web document Yoongi was scanning onto his tablet, taking out a stylus and marking red X’s where the gunmen were waiting.

“The way has been blocked off, Group Jk, take a right and then your third left and keep going,” Yoongi said watching more X’s appear. His heart-stopping as Group Jin was slowly also getting cut off.

“Fuck. You got to move, they are closing in. You got one more street, the fifth on your left. Don’t stop. Keep running. You can’t stop, there is no time. You will meet back up with the others if Group Jk follow their street around the bend and then it is straight home.”

~

Group Jin got the message, speeding up. Hoping the gunshots firing off behind them didn’t meet their target. They were trying their best to navigate the streets, listening to Yoongi’s instructions, when Seokjin ran straight into a hulking figure. The two toppled, Seokjin dropping his gun on impact. 

Seokjin and the man wrestled over the gun on the ground. Flicking off the safety of your gun you aimed it at the man.

“Freeze!” you shout.

He didn’t, instead, he started laughing, “They are coming and you won’t shoot me, foreigner, You didn’t shoot me before and you won’t shoot me now. Remember me.”

“Y/N just go,” Seokjin struggled.

You raised the gun taking a deep breath. 

“We haven’t got time, you need to go. Come on I am being handsome and brave.”

“Drop the weapon now, this is your last warning!” you hissed, watching Seokjin slowly getting overpowered. 

The gun shook and as it got closer to your friend’s head.

Panicking, you pulled the trigger. A deafening shot rang through the air.

You fell to the ground. The ringing in your ears seemed to take away any of the power you had left. 

It wasn’t a clean shot. 

It had pierced straight into the side of the man’s throat. He clutched the area as blood gushed from the wound. Your eyes widened, dropping to your knees. Grabbing the man’s neck, you added pressure.

 “No, it’s okay, you are okay” You gasped.

“We got to go, come on let’s go,” Seokjin said as he grabbed your hand dragging you down the street. Seokjin pulled you along as shots fired over your shoulder.

~

Yoongi threw the walkie talkie onto the couch. They were surrounded and there was nothing he could do, he failed them. 

Thomas stared at the map, in denial at the situation. “No. She said everything was going to be okay. This can’t be happening!” 

He gazed blankly at the map seeing the red X’s and searching for another street, another way out. 

“There!” He snatched the Walkie Talkie.

[Part 1]  [Part 25] [Part 27] [Tag Yourself Here]

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I do think that the new outbreak of toxic people drumming up their toxic groups in this fandom is hurting people. They think theyre doing something right but all they're doing is making mentally ill and/or young fans too scared to enjoy or create in fear of being harassed.

Hi anon! first of all i want to apologise for responding so late. I have a lot to say about your ask and just wanted a clear head before i decided  to respond. i want to start  off by saying you are absolutely right.

Before i continue i am going to put a read-more because, well, i have a LOT to say about this, so, mini-rant ahead under the read-more…

These people are doing more harm than good.

I understand if you want to make a small list with content warnings, for a fandom, that is completely fine! But using such a list to start bullying, harassing, threatening and in general, witch-hunting people is not okay. Many great and talented people have been driven away from the fandom by that tiny toxic group(or the cucks, as i like to call them for easy sakes). Content creators are even scared to post their content too now, both of these things are a huge shame. It’s terrible. Sites like tumblr are supposed to be for sharing your content without limitations. [well, until the nsfw ban, but you get what i mean..]

I happen to be in contact with some people on the blocklist, and let me tell you, they are truly amazing and wonderful people. 

Yeah sometimes people make content you may not agree with, but that doesn’t mean you have start attacking people for it. Do you know how easy it is to click the unfollow or block button? But apparently some people are so stupid they prefer to screech instead of click one single button. 

But for example, I dislike a certain popular hc for medic. I dislike the Jewish medic hc. I’m a Jewish man myself, but I don’t like seeing Jewish medic for multiple reasons, none of which are out of antisemitic nature. What do I see when I see Jewish medic? I mind my own fucking business. The person who posted that wanted to create that, fine by me. I don’t agree with it, and I don’t have to. I’m not going to make a dumb expose list for everyone who ever said anything about medic being Jewish. I mind my fucking business like a normal, mature person. 

And there was/is a huge discussion about drawing or writing tf2 non-con…yeah, rape isn’t good. Every sane person knows that. Writing or drawing rape does not mean you’re a rapist (unless it’s an autobiography of course, then I’d like you to take a trip to prison). But, some people, including myself, write or draw non-con as a coping mechanism. I use confrontation to cope. I have a few triggers, and by confronting myself with said triggers I’m slowly getting over said triggers.

If I write or draw about these triggers or rape, I feel like I’m relieving my feelings about what happened to me. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, and i’m not the only person who does it like that. 

Yeah, I get people don’t always want to see that. That’s why tags exist, that’s why people use those tags for content and trigger warnings. That’s why you block those tags if you don’t want to see it.  It’s that simple

Also, some of them make the claim that fiction is reality. I disagree, fiction is not reality. Yes, fiction can impact reality, but it isn’t one and the same. If you can’t distinguish fiction from reality then, well, you’re either not ready for fiction or not old/stable enough to be able to tell the two apart. Besides, if fiction really IS reality then so many movies and books would have been banned, or the writers of those must have been in jail by now, right? Writing a book about a fictional serial killer does not mean the writer is planning to or already has commit murder. Take Tf2 fan-fiction writers for example. They write about dudes slaughtering each other on a daily basis, but some of them wouldn’t even DARE to hit a fly in real life. 

People who commit crimes because of a fictional piece were already going to do so to begin with. No sane human sees a crime that occurs in fiction and thinks to do the same. Those who do commit crimes because of a fictional piece were already planning to do so to begin with, and were probably not a completely hundred percent stable person.

And about the discussion of miss p being a lesbian, yeah I get that Jay said she’s gay and that, and if she really was a Canon lesbian, it’d be weird to ship her with men. However, those cucks do also make soldier a homosexual despite him having a (gorgeous) wife? Isn’t that kind of hypocritical? Anyways, Jay most likely was joking about miss p being gay, he’s known to be a jokey person like that. I feel like the way he did it was just saying “oh yeah btw she’s gay”. To me it feels vague. In the same sense that jk Rowling suddenly says everyone is gay in Harry Potter. Yeah, I hc her as a funky lil lesbian too, but i don’t go off on a tangent when someone sees her as bi, because the way she was “confirmed” as a lesbian, was vague and uncertain, and most likely a dumb joke that split the fandom in half.    

Anyways, most of the cucks I ran into are underage, and aren’t even allowed on this site, which can explain their irrational behaviour, and refusing to listen to anyone who slightly disagrees with them, but lemme tell y'all something, minding your own fucking business would have prevented this entire blocklist ordeal.

Besides, YOU are in control of what you see on the Internet. Don’t like a certain type of content? BLOCK IT! or just, STOP LOOKING AT IT! it’s not that hard!

You are responsible for your own experience on the Internet. Not ready for that? Then close your phone/laptop and go outside. Content creators are not responsible for what you do online, these creators don’t know you, don’t expect them to fucking take care of you, they’re not your parents. Avoiding certain content does NOT mean you have to start policing others on what to post. You have no right to tell artist what they can and cannot post. Again, you may criticise or dislike it, that’s fine, but actively demanding censorship or threatening the creator makes you look like an incompetent asshole. 

And if you disagree with something, it’s better to start with calming yourself down and contacting the OP in a respectful and mature manner. Maybe talk to them, broaden your horizon, broaden their horizon. Can’t agree eventually? That’s fine, it’s normal. Simply block the tag or the creator themselves and boom! You’re done, and didn’t harm anyone in the fandom and probably learned something, and OP probably too! If something isn’t tagged you can always, nicely, reach out to OP and ask them to tag. Most of the time they will. And if they don’t, just unfollow or block them if they continue posting a certain something that triggers you. Making a blocklist is one of the most immature things you could do. You bully and harass people to the point where some feel unsafe, and some even suicidal, in a fandom about a dumb fucking hat Simulator. Is that really what you want?? A fandom is supposed to be a safe and fun place for everyone who likes a certain something. By being toxic, and harassing others to the point where they don’t even feel safe(not only those who are young or mentally ill) in a what was supposed to be a safe place for them, you’re actively harming that safe place, and frankly, you don’t deserve to be in the fandom. 

Also, I’ve seen a lot of these cucks say they actually hate tf2 as a game, and really, if you hate the game so much why are you still here in the fandom? And ruining it for the rest for us?

If you do feel unsafe, follow steps I mentioned above. Talk to people, block tags, block people, and mind your own business without policing others in what they can and cannot do. Unfortunately, the creators who do feel unsafe because of the toxic group cannot talk them, because the moment someone even slightly disagrees with them, or tries to respectfully discuss why they’re being “cancelled” the cucks start screeching like full-blown autists.

You’re not the law enforcement, you are (most likely) a minor who isn’t even allowed on tumblr in the first place, and who has no idea how the internet, or fandom spaces in specific, even work.

Fucking hell I miss 2014 Tf2 fandom sometimes. 

~~

I hope this ramble makes sense, and again I’m sorry for making this so long.

And I’m sorry for posting drama again, I don”t like it either, and i usually have a lot of patience, but after a few years of this shit, i have come to reach my boiling point, and i just snapped, I’m sorry.

I sometimes refer to the cucks as you, idk why, but just now that isn’t referring to you anon.

Hopefully this will be the last of drama/discourse for now.

Thank you for reading, have a good day. 

-pop 

at 10:01am on november 4th, 2019, nearly half of marathon entertainment employee mailing list received an email. initially, most assumed the email to be the error of another brand new intern... until they read the subject line---

admin note: please read through the post for time sensitive plot opportunities and event details. interactions for this event will start on saturday, 2pm est ( approx. 23 hours ). this is still plotting period, and interactions have not started !!

please like this post once you’ve read it !!

background — han gyumin (npc) is one of marathon entertainment’s longest serving vocal trainers. he initially joined marathon in 2004 while still in his twenties in order to help the pnco boys prepare for their debut. in the fifteen years since, he’s worked with numerous artists, but he’s most known for his work with trainees — both male and female. for these trainees, many of whom are now debuted artists, but also for new staff members, mr. han was one of the first friendly faces they met at the company. though he’s been becoming a little more gruff with age, his endless patience and warm personality has won him many fans over the years. many of those who know him liken him to a father- or older-brother-figure.

the mission — at the beginning of november, mr. han quietly submitted his two-week notice to leave the company in favor of moving abroad to canada with his family. however, marathon’s rumor mill moves quickly, and it wasn’t long before various staff members and artists caught wind of this. a couple of weeks ago, a group of marathon employees came together and decided to plan a surprise farewell party for mr. han. they need as many volunteers and attendees as possible to make sure that mr. han feels loved before he leaves the marathon family. saturday at 8pm. trainee practice room. be there… or face the wrath of some of marathon’s scariest trainees.

ooc / admin notes !

welcome to marathonhq !! we’re floored by how many apps/accounts we received in such a short span of time, and we’re so grateful to everyone who applied !!

we wanted to kick things off with an opening event that’s wholesome and chill, so that everyone can get a lil bit of a warm-up. as this is a private party, no press will be at this event. drinks ( alcoholic and non-alcoholic ) and snacks will be present. however, it will still take place within the company headquarters’ walls, so it might be best to still put your best foot forward. but really, your muses should feel pretty at home, and hopefully this gives you an opportunity to delve into your muses’ true personalities.

you can assume any connection with the npc, han gyumin, based on his description blurb above !! if you want to headcanon that mr. han made your muse cry, go for it. if mr. han was the reason that your muse kept persevering for years, go for it ! if your muse went out to drink with mr. han every other thursday, i believe you !! just keep our banned plots in mind.

you can set your threads during the event itself, or during the planning stage of the event. the hub of the party will take place in the trainee practice room but your muse can definitely step outside and explore any other part of the company building while the party is going on. find the layout of marathon here.

though the party takes place at 8pm on saturday, november 23rd, event interactions will take place from opening until november 30 at 11:59pm est.

tag all event-related posts with #ment.event01

if you want to take a break from the event/or lose muse at any time, you may also start general, non-event-related threads.

optional subplots

let us know through our askbox to the main if you’d like your muse to participate in a subplot. for capped subplots, participants will be randomly generated and posted at 2pm est on nov 23 to make sure that members of all timezones can get a chance to read it. all muses are automatically invited to attend, so don’t feel the need to apply for a subplot if none interest you / you think it wouldn’t make sense for your muse’s personality/background !!

the party planning committee (3/8) — park saetbyeol, wen yunru (henri), lee changmin (othello) : a group of artists/trainees/staff who took the reins in organizing this event. these are not the marathon employees who love mr. han the most. they might just be the ones who are best with microsoft excel, or the ones most eager to see mr. han cry.

volunteers (3/no limit) — yun tahyun (axel), song miyeon, seo huirae (huile) : the ones who are arriving early to decorate the room with streamers, the ones making sure that the room is fully stocked with snacks (and drinks), the trainees who are exploiting mr. han’s generosity by making him come into headquarters at 8pm, and the ones who are putting mr. han’s breath stability exercises to. the. test. by filling the room with balloons.

!!!! MAJOR Warning to the Descendants RPC/Fanbase !!!!

Okay. I really try to keep these to a minimum but this is an issue we simply CAN’T ignore. And I normally don’t ask this but please, please, PLEASE spread this message, spread awareness as to what’s happening so hopefully, enough of us together will... do something about it.

I don’t even LIKE callout culture but sometimes things have to be done, this is one of those times.

Content warnings for mature content of a s*xual nature. God, how fucked up is it I have to make that sentence in a PSA like this?

The Group:

There is a new dependent roleplay group, @/auradon-royal-university, that is explicitly defined by being a mature, 18+ Descendants-based roleplay group.

This, in and of itself, already is shaping up poorly. I know people are ready to defend this group for my wording, but hear me out here-- Descendants is a franchise that caters to young children. My nine-year-old niece and her four-year-old sister are SUPERFANS. There are no CONTENT WARNINGS on this blog. There are implied warnings, being that members must be 18+ and the group advertises it as a “mature” group, but browsing through members’ blogs it becomes abundantly clear the group is fully intended to be pure smut-- again, in and of itself not bad until you remember Descendants is intended for young children, who in this modern era, are gonna google “Descendants” and go through all the cool stuff they find.

As the main blog, nor any of the members’ blogs, are flagged as explicit by Tumblr guidelines, and none of them warn children away except in the “18+” line, easily overlooked, eventually, someone is going to stumble upon them. SafeSearch isn’t going to filter these blogs until Tumblr flags them, and currently, as of 11/21/2019 at 7:31pm EST, Tumblr has found no reason to flag them.

As they do LITTLE tagging do discourage any younger following, you can imagine how quickly this goes from harmless RP fun to potential legal action against members and moderators in a group like this.

However, my issue isn’t only with the tagging (or lack thereof) and the blatant ignorance to the reasoning many groups I’ve seen or even been a part of in the Descendants community (indie or dependent) have either a PG-13 rating or heavy tags and content warnings.

The group is clearly intended to fetishize gay men, as they have implemented a strict role that only men can be in the group and the content, again, heavily relies on explicit relations.

But even more on the lovely scale, they have banned trans male characters, which I think more than summarizes what their opinions really are on the LGBTQ+ community.

The guidelines also encourage using DMs to send explicit content in character to other members, including, most horrifically to me, leaked nudes of the celebrities they may use if they exist. I don’t think I need to go into how many layers of messed up THAT is, not to mention the fairly racist undertones in telling non-native English speakers they can’t write anything in anything except English.

And this is just in the group alone. But wait, there’s more!

The Moderator:

Now with no official naming on the main that I saw before I reported it to Tumblr and blocked it, I will say this is based on something an anonymous friend told one of our mod team about this group but we have no reason to truly doubt this based on the first character added to the group (evidenced by the follow list).

The moderator of this group, is a former member of our own group, AskTheDescendantsHQ. While he was a part of our group (for a very, VERY short lived stint), this person, Mat, was extremely toxic, argumentative, and generally problematic.

He lead to a lot of infighting between the mod team about how to approach him and caused us to lose a deputy mod and nearly led to me quitting this group, that I have poured my heart and soul into building and creating this community.

Mat was often argumentative against the mod team and our rules, attempting to dispute them or challenge us if we mentioned them and would get very huffy if we said no. He was manipulative and gaslighting, especially towards me as I tried my best to be the “nice” mod. He attempted to make me feel bad for the mod team’s decision to give him 2 strikes on our 5 strike policy for his previous behaviors (after being a member for no more than 2 weeks) and insinuated he felt betrayed by my doing this to him.

I attempted to address some of my above issues anonymously to the group but you can clearly see him dismissing these concerns and saying that what anyone who really knows children knows will happen, absolutely won’t happen to him. He doesn’t really, in the opinion of the four of us (and our deputy mod), have the maturity to be running ANY kind of RP group, but this one in particular is just horrific for him to be responsible for.

TL;DR: Fetishizing gay male relationships, anti-LGBTQ+, vague racism, toxic moderation. auradon-royal-university has it all.

ML Discussion Project

I know I literally JUST started this side blog (none knows about my existence so far) BUT. I have an idea to change that. 

Since I would love to improve my analysis skills on characters and storytelling for this show, I was thinking...How about I come up with discussion ideas where anyone can chime in to share their thoughts and ideas, and we can create one big collaborative meta post? I would love to be able to exchange and communicate more with those who share the same interest as me!

The only rules are:

Please do your best to keep your post organized with proper grammar/spelling, so everyone can read it. Please also refrain from inappropriate slurs and behavior/language in general.

Don’t patronize anyone for anything you disagree with. Don’t bully them for “mistakes” either. We all start from somewhere and we all have different opinions. Please be respectful and open-minded. If anyone acts out and is harmful towards anyone( insults, threats, etc) they will immediately be blocked.

No unnecessary negativity. The whole point of this blog is to focus more positively and enjoy ourselves with Miraculous as much as we can. Of course you can still offer your own critique, I’m not trying to restrict you but there’s still a difference between critiquing and just plain hate. This is a salt-free zone. Insulting characters, staff members, writing, and/or creators are all banned and will result in blocking. I’m not being “sensitive”, I’m just trying to keep this blog a safe, non-toxic place.

Just have fun! Don’t strive to be perfect, I just want you to enjoy yourself. Go into as much detail as you want and don’t hesitate to speak your mind or ask questions. I WANT to hear them. Treat this as a learning experience if it’s your first time doing something like this. No need to feel shy or intimidated if you really consider joining.😊 

With that said let’s get right into the first discussion idea!

  Tough Love vs Tender Love❤

So while I was looking through @booabug ‘s meta posts (THEY’RE AMAZING), this particular post got me thinking about tough love and tender love. More specifically how Marinette and Adrien react differently to both kinds and how they are being used in the show to push our two protagonists forward.

Marinette: One of the sweetest girls you’ll ever meet right? Grew up surrounded by love and support. Has been exposed to a lot of tender love. Her friends and family are always extremely kind and patient, has always been given second chances when needed, always has someone to turn to when she feels down. Emotionally speaking, our little cutie pie is spoiled rotten. Not to say that she has never experienced bad days or deals with insecurities, no. But all the positive experiences she had growing up to this point help outweigh the bad, and is the main reason why she is so optimistic and has no trouble picking her self back up. It’s also because she was able to grow up like a normal girl experiencing both the good and the bad, along with a healthy living environment to learn from, she was able to mature so much and understand the bigger picture. 

However this does have its drawbacks. We’ve seen Marinette act irrational and emotionally impulsive, especially during the first season, she had pretty heavy black and white views on good and bad, was easily prone to jealousy, and can be pretty sensitive. She is aware of how the world is realistically, but she tries hard to achieve the ideal standard, sometimes blinding her from the fact that the actions she takes to achieve said ideal is probably not the most ethical or even attainable if she proceeds to use said action. Tender love made her into the lovable, empathetic gem she is, but it also made her heavily emotionally prone. 

That’s why she reacts to tough love so well. Marinette understands that the best way to approach goals is with logic and realism but when you grew up where had emotional guidance to depend on, you gained little logical guidance to help you strengthen up and move through the emotional obstacles. That’s why in Frozer, Marinette acted on Kagami’s advice and not the girl squad. By landing the cold, harsh truth on her, Marinette was able to see the big picture again clearly without any tinted goggles. “You want to be with Adrien? Stop pitying yourself and take a chance. All you have to do is approach him.” The same thing in Origins too. Marinette felt too guilty making a mistake the first time being Ladybug, she gave up her miraculous in hopes of fixing her mess by entrusting it to someone better. But when she saw Alya in danger all that changed. Marinette  realized the real problem by not taking action the fist time. She realized she was the savior of Paris, if she did not do anything people will DIE. From then on she approched being Ladybug with “There is no time feeling sorry for yourself. Forgot about Marinette’s problems right now, focus doing Ladybug’s duty. SAVE YOUR PEOPLE.”

Adrien: A true cinnamon roll at heart but a truly tragic character. Grew up isolated from the rest of the world with one garbage dad and (morally questionable) mother who has now been missing for a year. Has been exposed to a lot of tough love (more like emotional abuse this point). While its suggested that Adrien did have affectionate parents before Emilie went missing, he still was confined in his own house with little to no interaction from the rest of the world. His only friend growing up was Chloe, and was always told that the outside world was dangerous for him to be in. He has high expectations to be “perfect” because he is not like “everyone” else, he is the son of a world famous fashion designer. There is a huge social pressure on him not to make a single mistake or he will literally screw both himself over and his dad. When he makes a mistake its never sugarcoated for him; “You have done this wrong”, “do better”, “why are you still making these mistakes?” “If you can’t improve, it will not end well for you.” There is literally none in the Agreste mansion Adrien feels comfortable enough talking to when he needs guidance and his feelings are not even taken seriously, just something he needs to “get over”. 

 Emotionally speaking, our cat son is pretty much deprived of any positive reassurance. What he lacks in TLC, it is made up in logical reassurance in; “My father is only hurting since he lost mom too. I should at least try to be there for him .” “Everyone is fond of the Agreste name. It’s only natural I live up to that”. “The world outside is not perfect, dad is just scared for me.” “If I can prove my skills then he won’t have to worry so much anymore.” Adrien learned his empathy in a different way. By observing all sides of the situation and using his own negative experience, he tries to place himself in the shoes of others and does his bets to understand why people act certain ways and what he could do to improve the situation.

However, without a healthy home environment to learn from, Adrien has serious trouble understanding his own emotions causing him to lash out, act immaturely, and have horrible self-worth in himself. He understands what he has done wrong, he always does the right thing in the end thanks to his logical reassurance, but he has trouble learning from his mistakes quicker because he always tries to bottle up all his negative emotions. 

That’s why he reacts to tender love so well. Adrien needs to learn that his own problems are important as well, that he needs to learn how to properly communicate with others if he truly wants to feel okay in the end. That’s why in Glaciator and Frozer, Adrien was able to calm down so quickly. Ladybug understood he was hurting but that he also needed to be reminded of what’s important. She knew she needed to be calm and patient with him to bring out that logical side of him again that is being hurdled by emotional struggles. By validating his feelings, Adrien was able to what the problem was. “What are you doing? You’re partner needs you right now. She may not love you back but she still values you as a person. That is more than enough right now. Forgot about Adrien’s problems right now. Focus on doing Chat Noir’s duty. HELP YOUR LADY.”

In Conclusion:

Both Marinette and Adrien have been exposed to opposite types of love throughout their life, thus their go-to response for supporting others is the kind they have been subjected to. This is another reason why they need each other as partners whenever romantic or platonic. They give each other the opposite spectrum of support they lack and need when times are desperate for them. Ex. Cat Noir reminds Ladybug to think logically when she gets to impulsive and Ladybug is also patient with Cat Noir, reminding him that he needs to balance his feelings.

This is my first time doing something like this, so naturally I already see A LOT of flaws but hopefully I was able to get my point across. With that said, I hope this is something I can get a lot of people involved in. If there is anyone you would to tag to join as well ,by all means! Here are some talented people I picked out. (If they see this, I hope you will consider.)

@booabug @familyagrestefanblog @kisilinramblings @akas-ladybug @adrienaline-rushed-art @karama9 @imaginemae

Have Fun!

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 3.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: Campbell’s just trying to survive in the new world. He knows he can make it– it’s everyone else he’s worried about.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Slow Burn, Dubcon Kissing, Romantic Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, implied animal death, the dog lives, Antisocial Personality Disorder, ASPD, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 5417

Ch 1 || Ch 2 || AO3

Death had a way of changing things. Harry  actually came out of his room to get dinner. They watched a movie  together, with Campbell between them; Elle snuggled against his side,  not seeing that Harry was gripping Campbell's hand tightly under the big  blanket they shared. Elle slept in Campbell's bed that night, her face  pressed against his arm and her arms tangled around him. They were  frightened. All Campbell could do was let them cling to him as much as  they wanted; it helped them feel safer, reassured, and he drank up the  attention.

The next day, they all received texts at breakfast.  There was to be a meeting at the church, with Allie speaking to the  wayward congregation. So, Grizz and his band of merry folk had managed  to persuade her. Everyone was whispering in speculation as they shifted  around in the church pews. Maybe they caught Cassandra's killer, one teen suggested. Ridiculous. If the killer had been caught, everyone would know already. The doors of the church opened as Allie came down the aisle, flanked by the guard. She  stood at the podium, head high and shoulders back. She had a flare of something Cassandra didn't have, that Campbell couldn't put his finger on right out of the gate. Whatever it was, it gave Allie the nerve to   she needed to speak. "In the name of my sister, I'm taking over the   responsibility of keeping us all safe. Of reinstating and enforcing the rules that she established. All the things that made this place work." Her voice was clear, loud, as she glanced around the room. "Is there   anyone who objects?" Harry glanced to Campbell. Campbell said   nothing. No one did. Just as Campbell thought, everyone was willing to   let Allie take control. "Okay," Allie continued. "New work lists will be posted this afternoon. Starting immediately, I'm going to be   confiscating all guns. Every last one." Helena let out a shout of protest. "You can't do that!" Allie looked at Helena, eyes cold. "I can, and I will.  We don't need them. All they're good for is getting people killed. I'm  not gonna let what happened to my sister happen to anyone else." And  that was that. No voting, unanimous or otherwise. Allie walked back   out, leaving everyone else still whispering, and more than a few people fuming. Campbell sat and listened. Watched. Took note of who was angry.  Helena stormed out, mouth twisted in rage; Campbell had never seen her  quite so mad before, though it figured that Sister Christian was a gun  lover. That seemed to be how things went-- thou shall not murder, unless  the fucker deserves it. The only thing thicker than their Bibles were  their hypocrisy. But whatever, it'd get some weapons off the  street. And, hopefully, make people less on edge. Campbell didn't see  much of his old friends, the precious few he'd had, but Elaine told him  at lunch that she'd heard the shooting yesterday had been some fool  dropping a gun. A ban would help lower the chances of that, anyways. Too  bad the damage had already been done. Sure, nothing had actually  happened, but their generation had grown up with active shooter drills  and news of school shootings plastered everywhere more times than anyone  could count; Cassandra's death had brought the idea home to roost. The  mood in the cafeteria was low, with everyone glancing around and jumping  at every little sound. Someone dropped a tray, and a few kids started  crying. Campbell walked to Allie's house after lunch, stopping by  his own home first to fetch the gun he stole from Harry's mother. It  was the best gesture of good will he had to offer. Not that he expected  it to work; Allie was stubborn, and never forgot a slight. It would  either make her a good figurehead or a terrible one. They'd find out  soon enough. The asshole sitting in front of her home's door didn't fill  Campbell with much hope. Clark was sitting on the steps. When he  saw Campbell coming, he stood up and blocked Campbell's path. "Hey,  nobody comes in without approval. What do you want?" "I need to talk to Allie." "Stop." Clark made a spinning motion with his finger, a smug look on his face. "Turn around and put your hands on your head." Campbell  wanted to kick the guy in the junk, but he grit his teeth and did as he  was ordered. He jumped, though, when Clark's hands were on him without  warning. A pat down. "Seriously?" he snapped. This was the kind of shit  Allie was choosing to put in charge of the rules. "What are you doing?" Clark took the gun and dangled it. "Could ask you the same. What the fuck, man?" "That's  why I'm here, asshole. Allie didn't give us a place to turn them in, so  I brought it here to hand over. I didn't know there was gonna be a   fucking TSA check." "Keep your hands on your head." "You gonna pull out the handcuffs next, officer?" Clark--  still smirking-- led him into the house. Allie entered the front room a  few seconds after, glaring at Campbell the minute she noticed him.   Clark held out the gun to Allie. "Found this on him. He wanted to see   you." "I came here to turn it in," Campbell repeated. "Is this really necessary, Allie? We're cousins." Allie  took the gun and shrugged. "That doesn't mean anything, now. Everyone's  a suspect until the killer, and anyone who helped them, is caught." "Look,  you're in the right. This situation is fucked up, and I agree that none  of us need guns. I'm on your side here, just like I was on Cassandra's  side." "This is the gun you threatened her with before. Isn't it?" "Jesus christ, Allie, I didn't threaten her.  The gun was empty. It was a ploy to see who stood with Cassandra and   who didn't. She knew that. I did the shit I did to help her, not hurt   her." "Would you do the same for me?" An interesting   question. Campbell met Allie's eyes, trying to get a read on her   thoughts. She wasn't like Cassandra; she wore her emotions right on her face, including contempt. "What Cassandra and I had going only worked   because we trusted each other completely. Unless you're willing to do   the same, I can't help you." "Right. Anything else?" Allie asked. "No." "Then go." Campbell  was glad to leave. Allie had her little group, and she didn't have room  for him in those ranks. That was fine. He didn't want to be there anyways, in case Allie drove things into the ground, but he worried   about no longer having access to what was going on. Cassandra had always  tried to keep him in the loop. Except Sam would know, wouldn't he? It was a good excuse for Campbell to make up with his brother, when he   wouldn't allow himself an excuse before. Of course he wanted to keep his  distance, but well, if it was to get information about their dear   leader, surely it would be okay to go for a walk or get same re-reheated  tater tots together. Campbell traveled to the edge of town,   overlooking the railroad tracks. He remembered their first night there, and how he'd seen Cassandra afraid for the first time in so, so long. Of  course she'd stumbled a little at first, but she'd bounced back and returned to her iron-clad self in no time. She'd always seemed so   indomitable, like their own personal Boudicca. He wanted Allie to be   that, now that Cassandra was gone. Political intrigue was never   Campbell's thing. It would be best if Allie could just grow up and take her place as their new leader, and find a way to return the order to the  town. But what if she didn't? There were plenty of good people in town,  but what if they didn't want to try? He sat on the ground,  leaning his head against the bars of the bridge and closing his eyes. "You should still be here," Campbell spoke to the air. "You should still  be here with me." If he held still enough, if he slowed his  breathing enough, Campbell could imagine that he felt Cassandra's hand  resting on his. He could imagine that he felt her next to him, could  almost hear her soft breathing. How long he was there, he didn't know,  but it started to get cool and the sky began to get darker. The sound of  bang in the distance-- a car backfiring, probably-- jerked him out of  his meditative stillness. His eyes opened and revealed the truth. He was  alone. She wasn't there, and never had been, but it had been a welcome  illusion all the same. Campbell went home, walking faster than  usual just in case the backfire wasn't a backfire at all. The house was  dimly lit, and Campbell could hear a faint sound coming from the  kitchen; when he rounded the corner, he was greeted by the sight of  Harry, who was sitting on the floor with a knife and hyperventilating.  Fuck. "Harry? Hey. It's me. What's going on?" Campbell tried to  sound soothing, but it didn't seem to be working. He made his voice a  little sharper. "Harry." That, Harry reacted to. He snapped his head up, eyes wide. "I heard a bang." "It was a car. You're okay." "A car?" "Yeah. Backfire." "Oh."  Harry sucked in a breath and let out a shuddering sigh. He set the   knife on the floor and stood, wrapping his arms around himself. "You   were gone. You've been gone all day. I came out to look for you, and   then I heard that. I thought..." Campbell shook his head. "I'm fine. I just needed to clear my head." "How could I know that?" "Text me?" "I did. You didn't answer." "I've  kept my phone on vibrate since that shit went down at the cafeteria,   just in case. I must have missed it. I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to   make you worry." Harry was a little unsteady, but he wobbled over  to Campbell and threw his arms around his neck. Campbell almost   complained, but then Harry's lips were brushing against his ear. "You   could have been hurt that day," he said, voice low and husky. "Or worse.  I've been scared fucking shitless since. If I lose you, I don't know   what I'll do." "I'm fine. Takes more than some jackoff with a peashooter to bring me down." "Stop it. Just, stop. Stop making everything a joke." "Harry, really. I'm fi--" His  words were cut off as Harry took Campbell's face between his hands and  pressed their lips together in a hard, fast kiss. It was over before   Campbell could even realize what was happening; Harry stumbled back,   covering his mouth and shame in his eyes. They didn't speak. Harry just hurried back to his room, shutting the door behind him. Campbell stood there, touching his lips with his fingers. His heart fluttered and fuck,  fuck, fuck. Elle. What was he going tell her? She needed to know.  Didn't she? But what could he tell her? He couldn't out Harry. Campbell moved into the kitchen and picked up the knife, putting it into  the dishwasher and slamming the door shut. Goddamn it. He hunched over  the sink and tried not to feel sick. He was used to anger, and by now he  had adjusted to the reality of grief, but this was something else. Not  direct at Harry, but at himself. Enough to make him nauseous, even  though it was distant and numb. Some sour, terrible thing. Fear. But  then the door clicked open and shut as Elle came home from her work   shift at the cafeteria. Meal prep, again. She yawned as she shuffled   into the kitchen and grabbed a reused water bottle from the fridge.   "Hey. It's almost dinner time. Ready to go?" "I..." Campbell ran his tongue across his lips, swallowing hard and forcing a smile. "Yeah.  I'm ready to go when you are. Just gotta run to the bathroom." "Alright. I'll go get Harry, then." Campbell  nodded and make a hasty exit. For a good five minutes he argued with   himself about taking one of the pills in the cabinet. It would be so   much easier to just feel nothing, but what good would that do, in the   end? He was already fucked up enough without making matter worse. By the  time he came back out, they were waiting for him on the porch, talking  and laughing like they were actually friends. And maybe they were, but  that only complicated matters. With Harry grinning like that and  joking around, it was easy to forget what had happened; it was easy to  forget how much was going on underneath that charming smile. Still,  Campbell knew those mannerisms and knew that heart, and he knew when   Harry glanced at him that Harry was scared, too. He'd fucked up. They'd fucked up. At least there was something to talk about, to keep Elle   distracted. "So," she said as he took Campbell's hand. "I talked to a few people about an idea I had." "Yeah? What about?" "I  thought maybe it'd be nice to have a movie night once a week. You know,  get people out of the house. Something nice to look forward to." Campbell  gave her hand a little kiss. The idea of being stuck in a room with a bunch of people, in the dark, made him want to gag but there was a   hopeful little glimmer in Elle's eyes that he refused to squash. "It's a  great idea." "Would you go with me?" "Sure. Yeah, of course." She  seemed happy, and that was all he wanted. Things had been so off   between them since Cassandra's death; maybe she'd finally tuned out the assholes who'd been accusing him of being involved. Not that it'd   matter, if she found out about Harry kissing him and left. If she didn't  leave, of course Harry would have to. The miserable look on Harry's   face that night during work said that Harry knew that, too. "Are we gonna talk about it?" Campbell asked when they were alone, scrubbing the floors of the cafeteria. "At all?" "Do I really have a choice?" "No." Harry  sighed, shoving the mop back into the bucket. "So then tell her, okay?  I'm sick of pretending like I don't have these feelings. Maybe it's easy  for you, but it's not for me." "You think this is easy for me?" "Isn't it?" "Oh, right. Campbell Eliot, the first known man to exist without a heart. How could I have forgotten?" "That's not what I--" Tossing  down the ice scraper he was using to pop gum off from under the tables,  Campbell stood and turned to face Harry. "This has never been easy for  me. My family thought I was a monster. I've been in love with you the  whole time I've known you, and had to watch you go and fuck damn near  everyone in town, including the cousin who hates me. The one person who  really understood me is dead, and now the only person I've ever loved  who actually seemed to like me back gives me weird looks because people  told her I'm a murderer. But sure, Harry. Sure, this is easy for me." "I'll leave," Harry said after a long moment. "I'll go back to my house. "No,  you won't. I know there are people in this town who are struggling, and  I know you're one of them. That shithole is going to end up killing  you. I'm not letting you go back. We're gonna shut the fuck up and deal  with this like grown ups." "We're not grown up, Campbell. Not really." "Then we're gonna have to fucking pretend." Campbell  pick up the scraper and went back to work, venting his frustration out  on the cafeteria tables. Harry was right about one thing. They were 18.  Some of the teens in town were just barely 16. They were all trying to  be adults, when they shouldn't have had to try so hard yet. People like  Will had been trying for a lot longer, Campbell knew. But now, now it  was everyone, and many of them were flailing in the uncharted waters. It  was only a matter of time before some of them went under. Campbell  refused for one of them to be Harry. But that didn't mean Campbell knew what to do next. They walked home in silence, but Harry stopped a block away, staring at the house. "Are you going to tell her?" "I'm not going to lie. Not to Elle." "It  doesn't matter what you want, you know. She's going to make me leave. Even if she never says the words, she's going to find a way to push me out." "That's more something I'd do." "I know, Campbell. I  know." Harry's eyes were almost black as he gazed at Campbell, a circle  of golden lamplight burning around them. "Isn't that why you chose  her?" Campbell didn't answer. He kept walking. Elle slept in his  bed again that night; he kept trying to find the right point to say  something, to bring it up, but there wasn't one. She was so excited  about movie night that he couldn't bear to ruin her mood. And anyways,  maybe it would be best to take a day to think about how to say it. Except  one day turned into two, and two turned into three. They went to work and came home like everything was normal. Harry looked like he was   waiting for an axe to come down on his neck. From what Campbell heard,   most people turned over their guns within that time frame-- the ones   they admitted they had. It didn't stop people from being on edge. The   rumors of who killed Cassandra just kept getting worse and worse, and   full conversations would often stop when Campbell walked by. Grizz   didn't seem to mind; he kept up his end of the bargain, agreeing to meet  Campbell at the old library a couple days a week. "Why do you think you have an anger issues?" Grizz wondered as they settled in the back. "I've heard a lot of things from a lot of people, but..." Campbell shrugged. "I was born wrong, I guess." "You believe that?" "Sometimes." Grizz  drummed his fingers on the faded leather of the chair. "You know, when I  was tiny, I didn't talk for a long time. I wasn't like other little kids. I hated being touched, I hated playing with others. My parents   thought there was something wrong with me." Tilting his head, Campbell faintly recalled something he'd read during his online research. "Autism?" "Yeah."  Grizz smiled a little. "But I don't feel like I was born wrong because  of it, even if my family kinda made me feel that way." "Explains a lot of the nerdiness. I always thought that was cool." "It comes in handy sometimes. So what about you?" "Me? I've..." Campbell felt the words stick in his throat. "Does it matter?" "It could help, if you know. I won't pry it out of you, though." "All  that's important here is that I lash out a lot. When I was a kid, I'd get upset and punch things, break things. Get hurt that way sometimes. I  used to beat up jerks in school. I'd do drugs and drink. I mostly   stopped but since Cassandra, I guess I've just lost it." "Right, well. That'd do it. Did your parents try to help you at all?" "Not  really. My parents took me to some psych once, but then they pretended I  was fine after that. They were good to Sam but I was the unruly pet. If  I didn't behave they'd just swat me and yell at me to go to my room." "Wait." Grizz sat up straighter. "They hit you?" "It's whatever." Grizz  shook his his. "Maybe that's what you've told yourself, but it's really  not whatever. Even spanking and stuff can really fuck up how someone  thinks. There's never an excuse to hit a kid, you know?" "I guess not, but they just got sick of my shit." "So?  You didn't ask to be born. They're the ones who are supposed to teach you how to behave." There was a simmering anger in Grizz's tone, and   Campbell shifted uncomfortably in his chair. No one had ever really   expressed anger on his behalf before, not even Cassandra. It was just   how life was for their family. "It just teaches kids to solve things   through violence." "It must, because fuck knows that's how I solve things a lot of the time." "Right. Why did you lash out, though? If you don't want to hurt people, why do you?" Campbell  frowned. "It's the only way people will listen, or leave me alone. I   mean, I try not to do that much anymore, but sometimes I still end up   yelling or punching walls and shit. I guess it still feels like people   just don't care unless I make a scene." "That sounds like a stressful way to live." "It's why I'm here. I know it scares Elle, and I don't want to do that." "Of  course not. Most people who have anger issues don't want to hurt the   people around them, you know? I used to get really overwhelmed, and I'd get mean, too. It's because I just didn't have the right tools to figure  out another way." "Tools?" "Yeah. Ways to keep yourself  from getting overwhelmed, ways to communicate your needs effectively,  ways to get the anger out without resorting to physical violence. That's  what my middle school counselor told me." Campbell snorted. "Is  that where you're getting your psychology information? Some middle aged  guy named Greg with a french bulldog?" "Steve, actually, and it was a boston terrier." "Awesome." "But it makes sense, right?" "I  guess. I don't really know how to communicate things sometimes, but I could always try harder. What do you do when you don't know what you're  even feeling?" Grizz fiddled with a nearby book, running his   fingers along the spine. "This would be a little easier if you told me   what's going on, you know. If I knew what we were dealing with." "Can you still help me?" "If you're willing to let me." On  one hand, the idea of someone who wasn't Cassandra dissecting his brain  and telling him how he should behave chaffed at him, but isn't that  what he needed, in a way? So Campbell nodded, and they got to work. They  spent the better part of an hour going over materials Grizz's counselor  had printed off; most of it seemed a little cheesy, but a few things  struck a chord. How to detangle why he felt the need to yell or throw  things, and figuring out how to address that root problem. Logically, he  already knew the deep down issue, but it would be worth looking at  directly rather than acknowledging it and then burying it again. Still,  everything was about emotions, emotions, emotions. His were locked  behind a few sheets of lead, a moat of alligators, and a barbed wire  fence. "Do you mind if I hang onto these?" Campbell asked. It  wasn't something he was going to figure out in a night. "I should get  going, but I'd like to read over them later." "Yeah, go ahead." "Thank you." Grizz watched Campbell pack up, and walked with him to the library door. "Hey, Campbell? Can I say something?" "You already are." "Yeah,  but..." Grizz trailed off. "I know you said you're doing this for Elle.  But I think that sometimes, in order to really have a healthy   relationship with someone else, you kind of have to start having a   healthy relationship with yourself. So maybe do this for your own sake, too, yeah?" "You sound like Cassandra." "I'll take that as a pretty awesome compliment." "It  was." Campbell was about to leave when he paused and glanced back at   Grizz, eyeing him a bit. "By the way, my brother's into you, too. Go for  it." "Really? I mean, I don't... what?" "You almost peed  yourself in the car during Fugitive when I asked if you liked anyone. You'd only do that if you thought I'd be mad, and I'd only get mad about  Sam or Elle. It wasn't Elle, so it must be Sam. Plus you two were being  all awkward at Allie's house." "So... you're not mad?" "Nah, I'm not mad. Break his heart and I'll break your kneecap, though, Football Boy." Grizz blushed bright red and looked at the ground. "Yeah, I get it. See you in a few days." "See you." His  good deed for the year was done; Sam could thank him later. Campbell   strolled home a little slower than usual, giving himself time to think   the meeting over. He didn't feel too different. Not that it was going to  be some magical cure or anything, but he still felt... off. Wrong.   There was, however, a part of him that felt a little lighter. Not   better, but less smothered. Maybe it was worth it, after all. Hell.   Maybe it would be possible to be honest with Grizz; he'd never told   anyone besides Cassandra about his condition, not even Harry, but maybe Grizz would understand. And hopefully, that would be a step towards telling Elle. Elle  was getting dressed when he got home; it was Saturday, one of the   town's two days off and the designated movie night, and Elle was   dressing a little glamorous. "Ready to go?" she asked as he come into   the room. "Everyone voted on The Princess Bride." "I don't know. I feel a little underdressed next to you." She ducked her head and smiled. "Do you think it's too much?" "Not  at all, beautiful. Here." Campbell set down his papers and helped Elle  with the clasp of her necklace. He placed a little kiss to the name of  her neck before letting her hair back down. "Let me go change my shirt  real fast." "How about that soft black one?" "As you wish." It  was the least he could do to look less frumpy. Elle peered at his   papers while he rummaged through his clothes. She didn't say anything,   but she did give him a bit of curious look at the left the house. Maybe it would have been good to talk about it, but he was busy trying to amp  himself up to even go to the movie. The only reason he was going was for  Elle. Not that he hated the movie, but he still hadn't gotten over the  idea of being around everyone else. It wasn't so bad on the way over,  but once they got close, Campbell felt his heart start to race. "What's wrong?" Elle asked as he ground to a halt outside the doors. "You look like you're gonna be sick." "Maybe you should go on without me. I think I should just go home." "Is  it because there's too many people?" Bingo. Campbell tried to find the  right words, but Elle leaned up and gave him a small kiss on the cheek.  "If anyone says anything, I'll break their nose. Okay? Besides, Harry  saved us the best seats." It didn't really help anything, but  Campbell nodded and forced himself to go in. No one said anything, but  they still shot him dirty looks. He bolted to where Harry was sitting,  sinking into one of the chair as far as he could. Elle brought them  popcorn and cans of soda. As the lights clicked off, Campbell felt some  of his anxiety ease, though another thought began to nag at him halfway  through the movie. What if the killer was in the room with them?  What if they still had a gun? What if they never found the killer? They  would just be walking free among everyone, and who knows if-- when--  they'd kill again. Thankfully the movie came to an end soon  enough, and Campbell tried to escape. Not so thankfully, Elle was  hanging behind and talking to Clark and some of the other folks. "I  promised to stay behind and clean up," Elle said when Campbell tried to  prod at her. "Why don;'t you go home and I'll catch up in a little bit?" Of  course it wasn't okay, but he couldn't say it wasn't, because he was  supposed to be supportive. "Yeah, yeah." He tried not to imagine Elle on  the ground, covered in blood. "Sure. I'll see you soon." Harry,  who had watched the exchange, pulled him aside before he made it out the  door. "Do you want me to stay here with her? Keep an eye out?" "Would you?" "I wouldn't offer otherwise." Campbell wanted to say no, because like hell he wanted them anywhere near each other at the moment, but he nodded. "Thanks." Harry  gave him a pat on the back, and Campbell took off at a brisk pace. He just needed to be away, in the quiet, alone. Just long enough to rest   and recharge his batteries. Campbell hated that he had to walk by the   street where Cassandra was killed, but it was the fastest way home; he   was almost by it when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. A  flash of light fabric. Campbell stopped and looked, but there was   nothing and no one there. Not even that dog, the collie he hadn't seen   or heard since that night. Whatever. Campbell walked   quicker, locking the door behind him when he got home. He set to tidying  up the house, trying to ignore the time. They'd be home when they were  home, he told himself. That attitude changed after thirty minutes had gone by, and then forty-five. He texted them both, but there was no   answer from either. Campbell made some tea and went upstairs to his bed,  breathing slow and reminding himself that sometimes time got away with  people. An hour and fifteen minutes later, Elle pranced up the  stairs and kicked off her shoes. "Sorry we're late. We wanted to finish  off the popcorn so it wouldn't go to waste, and suddenly it's way past  curfew." "It's okay. I was just worried." Even to himself, his  voice was tight. Aggravated. Campbell closed his eyes a moment and  forced the irritation to the side. He followed her to the bathroom,  bringing Elle her pajamas as she drew a bath. "Did you have fun?" "Yeah, I think so. I've never really talked to anyone that much before. Are you doing okay?" "I'm fine." "Are you sure? I just thought--" "Can  we not talk about it right now?" Campbell interrupted. "It's just been a  long night, and I don't want your water getting cold." "Oh. No, of course." Hopefully  by the time Elle came back out, she'd have forgotten the whole thing   and they could just pretend like it was a happy, fun night with no drama  whatsoever. And, Campbell could admit, for the most part that was true.  Most of the bad parts were entirely within his own head. Nothing bad  had happened. Elle and Harry both returned safely. It was the thought of  what could have happened that haunted him, and the fact that they  hadn't come home when he'd expected. Combined with everything else,  though, and it was a sickening cocktail of worry. Elle wandered  in a bit later, arms crossed over her chest as she hovered in the  doorway. "I'm sorry if I did something wrong. I know things have been  tense, but I thought this would be good for us." "No, no, it is  good for us." Closing the space between them, Campbell ran his hands  lightly down Elle's arms. "I promised I'd keep you safe, you know? And  it's just hard to do that when there's still some armed killer out  there, and I can't keep my eyes on you. When you're at work, when I'm at  work, nights like this. It freaks me the fuck out and I hate being  freaked out. It's not your fault." There was a small flare of  doubt in Elle's eyes, but then she wrapped her arms around Campbell and  rested her head on his chest. "I just want everything to be okay again." "Me too, sweetheart. Me too." And that, at least, was the truth.