#But at least I'm allowed to set my foot down at this job :)

[irisbaggins]

For myself, I only feel a lightly simmering anger. But begin to threaten and frighten teenagers? I will become a raging fire of rage. I do not allow for such behaviour within my vicinity. Not at all.

[20dollarlolita]

Hi friends,

it's absolutely okay to use disability aids if they help you, and you are allowed to be the one who decides if they will help you.

I spent Christmas in a non-weight-bearing cast, and a friend of mine suggested I use her backup wheelchair so that I didn't have to use crutches for the whole time. I was initially resistant, but I'm glad I got over it.

It made a huge difference. It allowed me to work my job with minimal accommodation, and allowed me to be independent outside of work. I was able to go out and shop for holiday presents. I could leave my house and not worry about if I was going to get too tired to move. It was better for my body, because I wasn't putting my entire body weight on one hip or leg. It helped me be treatment compliant, because I didn't have the constant temptation to put my foot down and put a bit of weight on it. It allowed me to carry things and shop on my own. I was able to work at my job, make sales, and earn commission. The only work-related things I needed help with was to have us move our office plant (whose name is Randal) and to get help carrying large or heavy boxes. My doctor had approved return-to-work paperwork that said I had to sit down for 75% of my shift, and with a wheelchair, I was easily able to do this without going on disability or medical leave.

Here's a collection of pictures of me, not being stuck on the couch in my house.

And people, both friends and customers, were so very weird about all of this.

A lot of people questioned if it was some kind of overkill, because many people who can't bear weight on one leg will use crutches or a kneeling scooter. Other people commented on how inconvenient is had to be, and how difficult things had to be when I was using a wheelchair.

And I realized that other people saw me, compared their level of ability to what they thought mine was, and decided that using a wheelchair was difficult and inconvenient. What I saw was what my level of ability would be without the wheelchair, and what it was with it. Carrying a drink wasn't doable via wheelchair, crutches, or kneeling scooter, but I'd be unable to carry a drink in the wheelchair and people would see it as a huge inconvenience. (BTW the answer is just to get boba at a place that seals the lids on, carry it in your lap, and punch the straw through once you're at a place where you can set it down. Boba lids are wheelchair-friendly).

I think people see "wheelchair" as the ultimate in disability, but for me it was freedom to take care of myself. People want to save using a wheelchair for when you absolutely cannot function without it, but you deserve to be happy and not just to function.

And the fact is, if people are unable to judge my disability aids by understanding the options to them, and if they're only able to judge my mobility aids by comparing their personal ability to how they'd feel using my mobility aid, then there's no way whatsoever that someone else can judge if I actually need it, or not. But I deserved to be using the thing that gave me the most freedom, impacted my life the least, and was the least damaging on my body.

Anyway, I've spent the morning trying to convince someone I know who broke their leg that using a wheelchair is better than staying at home on the couch. I'm not making a lot of progress with that, so hopefully I can make some progress with my friends on the internet who might be going through something. You deserve to be comfortable and happy, and not just to exist. If you do things that take care of your body, instead of hurting it by refusing to take the help that you need, you'll be able to function better. Wheelchair isn't a bad or dirty thing, and it doesn't have to be a means of last resort. You can use it if it helps you.

[writings-ofthe-heart]

Drabble that I mentioned before :3

well this ended up being longer than expected..

Horror sans/Reader

side notes; College AU not really, I'm kinda bullshitting the medical stuff ok

Part 1 ✔️ Part 2. etc.

When monsters rose from the surface, it seemed like the entire world caught on fire. Everyone wouldn't stop talking about it, everyone went mad. They seemed... dangerous. Eyes either empty, or filled with a dull, eerie hunger. A lust for something filling. Government officials locked them away for the first two years they arrived but after extensive surveying and rehabilitation technology, they were set free.

All monsters were now allowed in the real world, well, limited to the countries who had not banned them. Lucky you, college had finally ended. With a degree under your sleeve, you looked for a job. Weeks, and weeks went by. Nobody called back. You were getting desperate at this point.

A flyer pinned to a community board caught your attention.

"LOOKING FOR RECEPTIONIST AT THE LOCAL CLINIC, CALL THIS NUMBER IF INTERESTED!"

Seems good as any other job, and it's nearby. They called back almost immediately. What the flyer failed to inform you of,

It was a monster-run, monster speciality clinic. The day you arrived at the clinic was... unforgettable to say the least. Since monsters had been freed from their prison down below, you've never seen them, at least out of articles. Never touched one, never spoken to one. You weren't planning on it either.

"Ah, you must be the new hire! Welcome, welcome."

A giant, sheep-like? furry lady basically pulled you in. A bit harsh, but you kept your mouth shut.

"It's so lovely to meet you. My name is Toriel, and this is our clinic!" You shook her hand, giving her your name. She seemed to stare down, not at you, but into you.

It chilled you to the bone. But you couldn't find the courage to say anything.

she pushed you away, into a small desk at the front of the office.

"This is yours! Feel free to wander, maybe don't try to interact so much with our fellow monsters though... you're one of the first humans to step foot here." She chuckled, her claws long and sharp. Yellowed by who knows what. When she laughed, you got a glance at her teeth, her horrible, crooked teeth. Sweat dripped down your neck. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Toriel left the room, as someone was wailing her name. You booted up the computer , and stood. Maybe looking around for a quick second wouldn't hurt? The computer seemed old anyways.

As you walked down the left hallway, you noticed rooms lined up down the hall. Most of them were open, some had doors left ajar. All of them, you could hear crying, shrieking and wailing. Various names, you couldn't recognize. You heard shrill voices asking for their moms, or Toriel. It made your pounding heart drop to your stomach.

Someone appeared behind you, silently. Once you had reached the dead end, you went to turn and go back to your small desk but was halted. Looming over you, a skeleton. With its jaw hung open, tiny pinpricks boring into your eyes. He could feel your nerves, smell the blood pumping into your heart.

The skeleton didn't even utter a word before jumping on to you, knocking you to the floor. His terrible teeth snapped to bite on your neck. You inched away, shrieking. A bellow from behind the skeleton racked the hall.

"Papyrus!" Toriel grabbed the skeleton by the neck, raising him far away from you. "Oh dear, oh dear." The furry monster, now looking concerned, flung the tall skeleton away. A group surrounded the skeleton, eager to help him or... harass him for details on being so close to the human.

Toriel picked you up, her matted fur somehow comforting you in the state of shock you were in. She plopped you on a chair in a vacant room, and left. The door clicked with the lock.

"Um, hey?! You didn't just lock me in here right?" You awkwardly shouted out. No response, only the shrieks and sobs from next door.

[enhashoutout]

Tears and Matching Tattoos (Ice x reader)

I am and will always be a Nessa Barrett enthusiast

Genre: Angst

Trigger Warnings: typical H&L violence, jealousy (please let me know if I missed anything)

I use fem pronouns and descriptions because that is what is easiest for me but if you do not identify with that, please feel free to change that as you read to fit you :)

I'm not sure I 100% like this story, but I'm trying to get out of the habit of being a perfectionist and just allowing myself to publish everything even if I don't think it is perfect so that I have a record of my works to look back on and improve upon.

The one where you’re still in love with Ice even after he’s moved on.

𝕀𝕗 𝕀 𝕕𝕠𝕟'𝕥 𝕘𝕖𝕥 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕥𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝔾𝕠𝕕 𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕠𝕠𝕤 𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕝𝕚𝕗𝕖

✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁

Ice was your first love, and you were his. You spent a good amount of your life not only being his first love but also his best friend. You were there for him through thick and thin. There for all his highs and his lows. You spent so much time together, you guys also fell apart. Today, it suddenly felt like everything you went through meant nothing.

You had split because Ice said that he didn't feel the same way anymore; feeling like you guys would be better if you guys went back to just being friends like when you guys were kids. That's okay, he had a lot on his plate, and some people just fall out of love sometimes. You weren't always lovers, you could go back to that again, right? He went back to friends, you pretended. It's hard going back to being friends when you literally live in the same house as the person you love. Being a part of Mighty Warriors was suddenly like shooting yourself in the foot. You were around Ice ALL. THE. DAMN. TIME. How does anyone move on like that?

Then, Sarah came along. Mighty Warriors had saved the poor girl from getting kidnapped by Doubt. Ice allowed her to stick around, and she became part of the group. Being the only two women on the team should've brought you closer, but it never did. You could see it, it was happening. Ice was moving on. He liked Sarah, he said and did the same things to you when it was you. The only difference is that this time they would last, something you didn't have the luxury of knowing. It wasn't Sarah's fault or her intention, but it did make you hold a secret grudge against her.

You were wallowing in your bedroom, figuring out how to improve upon the track Bernie gave you when Ice burst into your room.

"Well damn, at least knock. Did you need something before tonight's performance?"

"Yeah, can you look at this real quick?"

"Sure." You had answered him thinking he needed you to look at a track or a new styling choice for tonight's performance, but it wasn't either of those. From his back pocket, Ice pulled out a velvet box. He opened it up and showed it to you, a ring.

"Do you think Sarah will like it? I'm gonna propose to her tonight in the middle of Funk Jungle."

You were stunned. You didn't think this day would arrive so soon, and yet here you guys are.

"I- wow. I think the ring looks great. I'm sure she's gonna love it."

"I love her. For once, I'm nervous."

"Come on Ice, why be nervous? It's not like she's gonna say no. She's gonna say yes. She's going to absolutely love the ring, and she's going to absolutely love you."

"Thank you, you're the best. You always know what to say."

"That's my job as your best friend who actually has a brain unlike the rest of Mighty isn't it?" The two of you laughed.

"I'll see you downstairs for your set."

"You bet."

Ice exited your room, closing your door. All you could do was stare at the spot he once stood in. Tears began running down your face. It's been a while since you guys broke up, and a while since Ice and Sarah were together, so this should've hurt less. Should've, but here you are, crying at the news. You couldn't hate either of them, but you did hate yourself for holding onto feelings that were no longer reciprocated. You fixed your makeup and went back to looking at the track Bernie gave you to keep your mind off of everything.

Later that night you stood with Bernie behind his set up, dreading the moment the proposal would happen. It seems like Ice didn't tell anyone else but you, knowing that one of the guys would probably accidentally let the surprise slip to Sarah.

In the middle of Ice's performance, he told Bernie to cut the music for a second. He walked to Sarah where she usually sat on the side, bringing her to the middle of the dance floor. The spotlights focused on the couple. Ice got down on one knee, and into the mic asked "Sarah, will you marry me?" She was thrilled, shouting yes. He picked her up in a hug and spun her, telling Bernie to continue where the track left off. Everyone in the club was shouting and celebrating the two, everyone but you. Bernie noticed this. Aside from Ice, the other Mighty member you were closest to was Bernie. He was the only other person in the group whose brain could process deeper emotions.

Bernie pulled you away from the noise. "Hey, you okay?"

"After everything we've talked about Bernie, how do you think I feel?" you mumbled.

"Like shit obviously but I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask."

"I'll be fine. I'll cry for a while and then I'll be good. I've held out for this long, what's a little more right?"

"Will you be okay? I'm being serious. I don't want you in a place that's causing you pain."

"I don't get to have him but thank god matching tattoos last for life right? I'm heading back, tell the others I wasn't feeling good okay?" Bernie nodded.

You left Funk Jungle and headed back home. In your room, hidden away from everyone else you cried. It's alright, Ice can love her even after he broke your heart. It would be cruel to wish anything other than the best for him. Part of you wished everything was a lie, but the other part of you hoped that your heartbreak brought him the love he deserved. You looked at the matching tattoo you had with Ice on your arm. It had started as a couple's tattoo, switching its meaning when you had broken up. Now it was just a matching best friends tattoo, but in your mind where no one else could see, you could look at the tattoo and remember the time when Ice once loved you.

✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁✫☼☾☁

You reached the end! Thank you so much for reading this little blurb. It's not the best thing I've written or my favorite but I figured I can publish it and use it for improvement moving forward.

I read on the post here on Tumblr that Ice and Sarah get married in the H&L manga series so I wanted to write something to go along with that.

Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

Please don't take my work and repost it anywhere or take credit for it. Writers work hard on their stuff so please don't be a crappy human.

Random question, are there any H&L characters you guys want to see more stories for?

[rainbow-nerdss]

Fic Writing review 2023!

I was tagged by: @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @aidaronan @exhuastedpigeon @jamespearce9-1-1 @theotherbuckley @aspecbuddie @thewolvesof1998 @daffi-990 (And possibly others, i may have missed one or two, sorry if i did!)

I can't believe 2023 is over, honestly. This year has had some ups and downs for sure but overall I'm so proud of what I've achieved. I started the year mainly writing Stranger Things fics, and while I still love that fandom and all of the wonderful people I met there, my inspiration for writing it was beginning to fade.

And along came 9-1-1. I am so happy with where I've ended up, and for all the new friends I've made since I found this show back in April!

Here's an overview of my year in fic:

Words posted to ao3: 235,060

Words written: 250,465

Works posted: 38

Fandoms posted for: 3 (Stranger Things, 9-1-1, MCU/Captain America)

Specifics and tags are under the cut!

Longest fic:

Crawling on Back to You 109k words, 30 chapters Stranger Things, Steve/Eddie, Rated E

Shortest fic:

Keep on Walkin' and don't look back 521 words Stranger Things, Steve/Eddie, Rated T

Top 5 by kudos:

1. Right in front of your eyes

9-1-1, Buddie, 15k

He and Chris, and Buck. They work, they’re a unit. Why should it matter that he’s single? Buck is watching him, like he’s reading every thought on his face. “You’re already planning to lie about the date. Why don’t you just tell her you met someone yourself?” Eddie shrugs and tilts his head to the side, squinting in thought. “She won’t set me up on dates if she thinks I’ve got someone,” he muses. “But she’ll want to meet whoever it is.” “So... Introduce them?” Or: Buck offers to fake-date Eddie so Pepa will stop setting him up on dates.

2. Pinky Promise

9-1-1, Buddie, 1k

Christopher Diaz doesn't mind that his dad's dating someone new. He's not dumb, he knows there's someone. The way his dad has been smiling lately, the way Chris catches him staring at his coffee, daydreaming like he isn't a grown man. The sleepovers Chris is suddenly allowed to go to on almost a weekly basis. Chris is happy for him, really he is. He’s just not planning to let himself get attached to whoever it turns out to be, just in case. He doesn't need a step-parent, because he has Dad, and he has Buck, and that’s enough. Whoever his dad dates, well. They'll probably leave, eventually. Chris doesn’t need to worry about them. Or: Eddie and Buck come to Chris with some news, and he doesn't take it very well at all.

3. Peek-A-Boo

Stranger Things, Steddie, 1k

Eddie tried not to stare. He really tried. He didn't notice at first, too preoccupied with the tub of pringles he'd been making his way through while talking about Corroded Coffin's last gig. Sure, he'd noticed the shorts. The ridiculous amount of leg Steve was showing, the way they hugged his ass, but it wasn't until Steve moved, lifted one foot to rest on the cushion, knees spread, that Eddie noticed another feature of the shorts. Or: Steve puts on a bit of an accidental show.

4. Definition

9-1-1, Buddie, 2k

It keeps happening, time and time again. People get it wrong. Whatever people say, it feels wrong and they don't know how to set the record straight, until Chris takes it into his own hands. or: 5 times people get Buck's role in Chris's life wrong, and 1 time they set the record straight

5. take my hand (knot your fingers through mine)

9-1-1, Buddie, 4k, written with @pock-o-pea

At least Buck’s okay. He’s outside, safe, doing his job. Buck’s okay, which means no matter what happens inside this van, If the crushing weight of the fridge takes him before Buck can get to him, if the van pancakes or flips or any number of likely disasters occur, if Eddie dies in here, alone, and in pain, then… He thinks of Mallory, of Jo. How they’d called out for each other. His eyes shut briefly as Mallory’s words echo in his head. “She’s not my daughter. Jo’s mother was my best friend… she saved me so many times.” Or: what 6x18 could've been

2023 Events I've participated in: AUgust, Fandom Trumps Hate

Current works in progress:

The bodyguard fic (somebody to someone) -One chapter posted, 3 more written and (almost) ready to post!

Steve time travelling in the upside down (of moments and unmoments (of time lost)) -One posted, two more in the drafts 😁

The break-up fic (you were my town) - Two posted, the third almost ready to post

Season 7 fic: 10 chapters, currently being edited to post

and then a bunch of isolated oneshots I've yet to figure out an ending for: 5+1 times Eddie sees buck with kids that aren't his, friends with benefits, secret relationship, Teacher!Buck, Buckley siblings kiss of death, Buck in the stairs (just started this one last night!)

Goals for 2024:

I want to finish posting all of the WIPs which are already on ao3, post my s7 fic before March 14, keep working on all the WIPs I have in my docs and of course write more and keep sharing!

Most of all I want to keep participating in this wonderful fandom I've found on here, I have had *such* a good time over the past year in fandom 🥰🥰

No pressure tags (sorry if you've already done this and I missed it!)

@hellwrites @the-emdash @wildlife4life @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @jeeyuns @callmenewbie @911-on-abc @bittersweet-in-boston @kwills91 @trenchcoatsandtimetravel @spotsandsocks @devirnis @housewifebuck @lover-of-mine @gayhoediaz @mojowitchcraft @wikiangela @steadfastsaturnsrings @sunflowerdiaiz @cardamomsage @velvetjinx

Also tagging anyone else who might want to look back at the year and I've accidentally missed!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

[dollsonmain]

omg

Another chaotic day, but chaotic in a different way.

She added even more tasks to my morning which I don't appreciate. I already struggle to get anything done.

Right when I discovered that the reason the floor in the cooler has been sticky is because someone spilled a whole gallon of milk in there and never told anyone, which of course I was told to clean up because I work there, and it was horrible because it already was stinky and clumpy, and I only had like 20 minutes left before it was time to go, a customer dropped a Monster and it exploded covering two whole panels of products.

The milk spill was in THE most inconvenient place in that furniture will have to be moved, the 20 foot floor mat will have to be pulled out and hosed down, then let to dry, and I physically just fucking can't especially in only a half an hour.

And the Monster Mangler was so sorry. He was like "Um..... I'll pay for that uh..." and I was like "Nah, man, that sort of thing happens." He didn't break anything, he just made everything sticky.

Then she gave me Tasks and I tried to find the sausage patties, looked right at the box, and didn't see it because it was well past Eat Time but I didn't get eat time because I was only scheduled 5 hours today, and both my blood sugar and pressure were dropping and I saw something entirely different in that box. I saw bread rolls.

I'm actually still not convinced that box isn't full of bread rolls.

So I don't know.

And like... The whole cooler needs to be dumped out and hosed down. It's disgusting in there. There's stinky milk, there's mold, there's soda spilled, there's Monster...

And she's like Ok do Task when I had like 10 minutes left which is when I should be counting my drawer and doing my dishes, and Task, which I guess I'm the official sandwich maker now and I do not like that I hate making food and it's such a pain because I have to take the gloves on and off to ring up customers and I get stuck in the gloves because my hands sweat.

I think I need to take some simple cotton gloves to wear under the work gloves maybe. I do have a bunch of those somewhere.

And it's just the same shit you can buy at Walmart and put together yourself and you're just paying like 400%. Because I made it.

Like....

You get one sub roll, 3 thin slices of cheap turkey sandwich meat, and 2 slices of even cheaper American cheese for $5.

The "Cold Cut Sub" is literally a sub roll, 2 slices of Oscar Mayer Bologna, and 2 slices of American cheese.

...

And I just.... I hate making this shit.

But that's apparently my job, now, even though I didn't retake the food handler's course and didn't apply for sandwich lady.

It was already half an hour past when I was supposed to leave, and I still had to tally my drawer, which I couldn't because I couldn't count anymore, because the sugar.

And I also don't get to pee which is bad because of my kidneys. Which is isn't that I'm not allowed to go pee it's just that I don't get a chance. I'm the only one on the floor. So it'd been from about 5:30 since That Guy was able to drive me to work this morning, until like.... noon, until I got to pee and that didn't smell great which is a bad sign. I have to monitor the smell of my pee for kidney infection smells.

I'm chugging water rn to flush everything out.

And it EXTRA sucks because I wanted to go to town this weekend to go to Goodwill and get a keychain bracelet thing or a lanyard for the store key so I can better keep track of it until I give it back to Manager when she gets back from her trip week after next, but I can't do that because That Guy took the car for the weekend. He'll be home Sunday.

So.

I can't do that until Sunday evening or Monday after work at least.

I have fewer hours next week. I guess in case no one else is in the store to give me a chance to go eat at lunch time. Manager said her sister will try to be there when I get there in the morning but there's no guarantee, and the way she's setting things up it sounds like she half expects her sister to not show up at all. Their dad, the owner, tends to show up around my lunch time but doesn't get on the floor. He does admin stuff in the office while he has his breakfast.

Multiple of my fingernails split so I have to cut them all off again.

I'm so.

I'm

tired

[onwesterlywinds]

PROMPT #5: Stamp

Stella had not even set foot in Sharlayan proper yet, and already her stomach had tied itself in knots.

"Your name?" the Lalafellin clerk asked her.

"Stella."

The clerk did not move to record this information on the page in front of her. "Your full name?"

Stella hesitated, then saw at once from the woman's expression that hesitation was, somehow, the wrong answer.

But most people Stella knew had several names to choose from, even when setting aside nicknames or aliases. To some, she was Stella Salt, which was likely what any Garlean records of her birth would reflect if any had ever existed. No one had given her any instruction on whether or not the name "Stella Feare" would be safe for her outside of Ala Mhigo - and she had wondered, more than once, if invoking it would attract more or less hatred than if she went without a surname at all - but everything she knew about the Sharlayans told her that providing that particular surname would be a horrible idea. Belatedly she considered that perhaps it would not be wise to give any name close to her own at all, as she had no idea where records of this interaction would be kept, or whether they would be held against her; by that point, she had remained silent for too long not to say something.

"Riot. Stella Riot."

The clerk peered at her over her funny little glasses. "Riot? Like the revolutionary?"

"Yes. She's my…" Again she faltered over her own words and all their possible implications.

This time, the woman did not demand a more robust answer as her quill moved across the page. "Where do you hail from?"

"Ala Mhigo. First Loch Seld, now the Keane House."

"And what, pray tell, is the purpose of your stay? Visiting?"

"I've got an invitation," she said, and held out the latest of Sihtric's letters. She had smoothed out its creases with care, but there was nothing to be done for the little nibble that Anastasia had taken out of one of the top corners. "I'll be staying with him in his dormitory. At the Studium. That's… allowed, isn't it?"

"It is," the woman said, "so long as you're only visiting." She studied the paper and the writing upon it. "Is this 'Sihtric' a Riot as well?"

"Selsson. Sihtric Selsson." He had given her more information about his dormitory, the classes he was taking, the places he frequented; she had no idea if any of that would be sufficient to grant her entry.

"We'll need to bring him here to vouch for you," the clerk informed her. "You should have made an appointment, or had your guardian make one for you."

"I'm sorry," Stella said. Her face must have gone as red as a galbana. "I didn't know. This is my first time doing something like this."

"Know you've got a job to do, and all," came a familiar voice from the other side of the pavilion, "but you don't have to lay it on so thick."

The first thing Stella noticed about Sihtric was the grease-stained paper bag he was carrying. The second was that he already looked different, older. She had overheard Ashe remarking to Sairsel - or perhaps it was something Ashe had sought to keep from Sairsel - that Sihtric was growing faster than she had thought possible. It had been only two moons since Stella had seen him last, and even she could agree: he now had at least another ilm on her, and his voice, while still recognizable, had dropped about half a scale.

The woman stared Sihtric down with more intensity than Stella had ever seen from someone whose primary weapon was a feather quill. "You don't have customs in Ala Mhigo?"

"Uh, no," he replied, "on account of the whole 'building a home for all' thing. We've got a whole song about it."

Stella bit back a giggle.

The clerk stared between the two of them, then directed her next question to Sihtric. "And this is your sister?"

"What," he replied, tilting his head in a distinctly Vieran manner, "you don't see the resemblance?"

"Mmm." The clerk lifted a heavy-looking object from her desktop and stamped it upon the lower corner of the paper with a satisfying ka-thunk. With this at last complete, she tore the page in two and handed the bottom half to Stella. "This is your writ of passage. Keep it safe and on your person at all times."

She nodded. As soon as she wondered what would happen to her if someone stole it, she remembered that she was no longer in the Undercity.

"C'mon," Sihtric said, gesturing her away from the pavilion with one hand and holding up the bag of whatever he'd brought with him in the other. "Now that you're here, I have got to get you to try a cheeseburger."

[thelearnedsoldiertoo]

Oriana "Echidna" Santoro

A fairly unique Dragon Age OC, Echidna Santoro was a poor City Elf from Antiva. She grew up in the Bastion alienage with her mother and father; her mother was a sailor and her father cleaned and sold what she brought home. When her mother's ship was lost at sea with all hands, she was ten. When her father lost his will to go on, filled his pockets with stones, and rowed out to sea, she was eleven.

When the Crows came for her, she was twelve.

She excelled in her training, displaying significant promise and becoming a full member at just seventeen. Two years later, she was given a unique job--break into the tower of a reclusive mage with a grim reputation on the outskirts of Minrathous, and, rather than setting out to kill anyone, her primary objective was to retrieve an amulet; a golden scarab with a carved and polished ruby for a shell.

The job went exactly to expectations; she was in and out with the amulet without incident. It had taken months of prep, but the execution has been flawless. She brought the amulet to her designated contact, the Crows received their cut, and she hit the road, headed for home.

Then the next morning she woke up as a snake.

The Amulet had been cursed. The Magister who paid for the job had known this, and everyone down the chain had had at least an inkling, but Oriana had been the last to know.

Hiding that every dawn you become a King Cobra is rather difficult to do, and within a few weeks the Crows knew her secret. Rather than let them decide what to do about it, she ran, faking her own death and fleeing to Rivain, where she wound up joining the Lords of Fortune under the captain Magdalene, my friend @bhaalschosen's future Rook. He also did the art, which, immense kudos my guy, you outdid yourself.

She took the name Echidna, with a touch of bitter irony, and did her best to be the best dang pirate and criminal she could. She gained a reputation for stealth and subterfuge--most people assumed when they couldn't find her during the day that she was somehow hiding, and the fact she only ever seemed to allow herself to be seen at night gained her all sorts of nicknames about predators and ghosts. The truth was only known to a few people now that she had folks willing to cover for her, and she became a sort of ship's mascot during the day, often seen lounging in the sun on the deck or sleeping coiled on crates.

She's often asked to help with interrogations and shakedowns--the intimidation factor of a twenty foot snake sliding down over your shoulder while you're tied to a chair, coiling itself in your lap, raising its head up to make direct eye contact, and growling is hard to overstate.

Mostly she's just tired a lot. Literally and metaphorically. She doesn't sleep much, subsisting heavily on coffee or tea, and gets most of her rest as a snake. Tonally, she has a very deadpan monotone Bea Santello/Wednesday Addams sort of goth snark to her, usually burying how much she often cares in favour of monosyllabic responses and boredly sarcastic one-liners.

Anyway I care her so big I'm excited to write her! Ty again, Dex!!!

(I even made a Pinterest board for her if anyone's interested!)

[britswriting]

Fallen For you H.S | AU - Five

Fallen For You Masterlist - Find description here

Read on Wattpad

Rancher!HarryxPlus-sized!OC

⚒️Harry⚒️

My nervous system was short circuiting. 

What the hell was she doing here?

"W-what?" I stumbled, completely thrown off by the five foot six, black hair, brown eyed girl who was standing in front of me appearing like she had all the confidence in the world. Only the slight rocking of her feet tells me another story.

If she was so nervous, why the hell was she standing at my front door? 

She said I hadn't forgotten anything, so why the hell would she be so nervous? Let alone come back here with another plate of food?

My eyes did a quick once over, noticing her now slightly frizzy black hair was pushed behind her shoulders. The humidity decided to take its toll on her. Her neck was covered by a collared shirt that wrinkled inwards towards the dip of her breasts from her bra. Her sweatpant-like shorts that stopped mid thigh were showcasing her legs; leading me to her bare feet.

Barefoot? Why?

"May I come in?" She asked, her voice sounding soft, delicate, unsure, making my stomach clench as I nodded slowly; stepping aside, extremely confused why she wasn't at the family dinner she was so set on me constantly attending.

Every bone in my body wanted to turn her away; but the intrigue my brain felt was too strong to tell her to get lost and leave me to eat my dinner in peace.

Instead, Delaney walks over to the table, setting her dish down before taking a seat in the empty chair across from me. I followed suit, my eyes lingering on her, awaiting her next movement. She stared at me for a few seconds before looking down at her food, spoon in hand as she moved it around slowly, then scooping it and letting it drop back into the bowl.

She looked nervous to the point it was making me nervous. Why was she here? Did her dad send her? He seems to do that. Pass her onto me like I'm some sort of punishment. Or at least that's what it felt like.

I could feel myself start to get agitated as I tried to figure out the motive for her arrival tonight. The silence on her end only made my spiraling thoughts worsen.

I knew I frustrated her. I could see it in her eyes anytime I spoke. She looked fed up with me. Like she'd rather be anywhere else than around me, but then I could feel her eyes linger on me. A feeling I knew all too well that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand tall as I kept walking, hoping they kept their promise that this place was nothing like the Rickman's. So far, that was true.

I wasn't overworked. If anything, I made myself work ten times harder than they had asked. After all, I was used to working on a much larger ranch. When I finished my chores for the day I started fixing little things here and there; keeping myself busy so they didn't have a chance to yell at me for twiddling my thumbs, even though it was never asked of me.

I knew Mr. Fallen didn't expect me to play handyman, but fixing gate latches and a leaky pipe here and there on the hoses made my job easier. I just hoped that they'd be more grateful than annoyed that I had gone and taken it upon myself to alter something they hadn't asked of me to do.

With the Rickman's it was always a toss up. Either you did something they didn't ask you of, and it was never mentioned, — they wouldn't be caught dead praising you for doing something of their benefit, even though you knew they had noticed; or you got yelled at for stepping out of place. Blamed for taking a job from someone else; that person then getting punished for letting their job be stolen.

If you weren't working twice as hard, you weren't working well enough, and if you stepped on someone else's toes by taking their work from them, you were considered greedy and inconsiderate. Yet if you had your jobs taken from you, you were reprimanded for not being active enough. For allowing it to be taken from you, even if you were gone doing another task.

Every day was a fucked up game of Am I going to get yelled at today? Fired? Belittled?

Some days doing more earned you extra, other days you were told you didn't know your place and that it was selfish of you to take someone else's job.

After all, we all needed our work. Just if you did more, you earned more. You were constantly competing against your other coworkers with the possibility of losing it all. Every day was a gamble.

The worst was the night shift. No one wanted the night shift. 

"Aren't you going to eat? It's going to get cold" Delaney's voice shook me out of my head, my eyes focused on her as she timidly ate her food.

I bought a spoonful of what was considered warm comfort food to my mouth, silence falling between us until Delaney had had enough.

"What do you think of the soup? It's my Grandpas' favorite. He loved whenever my Grandma made it, and my dad really loves it; so my mom learned how to make it" She informed me, the new slip of information piquing my interest.

"Your grandpa?" I questioned, Delaney nodding.

I've never heard anyone utter anything about a grandfather.

"Yeah, he passed a while back" She shrugged, "Anyway, do you like it? I'm not like" She pauses, giggling to herself, my lips threatening to show a small smile at the sound, "I'm not forcing you to say you like it" She giggled again, "It's just, my mom wants to know what you like. What her and my Grandma should make more often. It sounded like I was trapping you in a corner, sorry" She grinned, "You must like the soup or else you're kicked off the premises, mister!" She mocked in a low tone voice, wiggling her head as she spoke, hands on her hips before giggling to herself.

"It tastes fine. I'm not too picky" I replied stoically, moving some of the soup around before scooping it up, placing a dumpling in my mouth when she spoke up again. 

"So, what do you like to have for dinner? You can request things, you know. You don't have to eat what we are. Mom's been nagging me about all the things you like, claiming that we hang out so much I should know" her eyes rolling as she inhaled.

"I'm not picky" I repeated, Delaney sighing, setting her spoon back in her bowl.

"You've got to give me something to work with Harry! The woman won't leave me alone. She doesn't understand that us hanging out isn't secret sharing, and more like you hating my existence" She huffed, grabbing her spoon again.

"I don't hate your existence" I told her, Delaney's brown eyes looking up from the soup; our eyes meeting before I looked away. "I just get frustrated, is all" I stated, wishing she'd go away so I could eat and breathe in peace without feeling like she was searing judgmental holes into every part of my body.

Silence fell between us again before Delaney once again spoke up.

"How are you on food? Do you need anything? Don't be afraid to ask us to pick up on stuff. Oh!, and if you want any like snacks or desserts, let me know! I make requests all the time!" She grinned, wiggling a little in the seat as her face lit up, "I made Wren these cupcakes right? They're her favorite! They're like a golden brown yellow cake mix, right? Cooked perfectly so it's all warm and moist but she likes a little crunch on the outside, so I use my darker baking pants to darken the edges like she likes and then I fill them with butterscotch buttercream in the center and I dip them into hot melting chocolates so the top is coated in this yummy milk chocolate! Ugh! They're to die for, Harry!" She groaned, her head thrown back with her eyes closed for a moment before she leaned forward, opening her eyes again. "I'm just saying, you can request things.'' She giggled, "I love trying new baking things. My dad loves Poppy Seed Muffins and I'm honestly getting tired of making the same thing every week" She sighed, scooping up more of her soup. 

"I'm good on food for now" I finally answered her question, watching her cheeks flush pink turn red as she rolled her lips in, murmuring "Sorry" making me let out a low chuckle as I ate more of the soup, tearing a piece of the roll apart.

"I have a tendency to ramble" She confessed, her spoon messing with her soup again; "I know that annoys you so uh.. just tell me to be quiet when I do that"

She sounded so deflated that it almost made me feel bad.

When did I say it bothered me? She looked cute, all excited and happy talking about it.

Wait

Cute?

No.

She's not cute.

She can't be cute.

She isn't allowed to be cute.

I don't have time for cute.

She has to be a ugly troll under a bridge for the rest of her life. I can't do cute, right now. Mr. Fallen will murder me if he finds out that I even for a moment thought his daughter was cute.

The one time I tried to mingle with an owner's daughter did not land in my favor, and since then, I've been working in a place where I did my best to avoid the daughters who thought I was "cute".

Delaney continued to talk, trying to engage conversation with me as she ate her dinner, leaving me perplexed.

Why is she conversing with me? The employers don't talk to the employees. I'm here purely for work. Just like they wanted me to be. It was made clear that they needed me; and what my job entailed, and that they'd do anything to have my help.

I knew what came along with being the help, and conversations over Chicken Dumpling soup with one of the owners daughter wasn't it.

"Oh my god!" Delaney groans, "You can't take me anywhere!" She laughed, her hand holding part of the fabric that was covering her stomach in-between her fingers where she had spilt on herself.

"You've uh.." I paused, Delaney looking over at me, "Um.." I pointed at her face, her head tilting, "Food, here" I motioned towards under my lip above my chin with my finger, her entire face turning red as she wiped her hand across her chin.

"Oh my god" She whined, "That's so embarrassing! I always do this! I should've known.." She trailed off, getting up out of the chair, grabbing a rag and wetting it before dabbing her shirt.

"Do what? Slop on yourself?" I asked, turning to face her, abandoning my food completely as I stared at the back of her.

I couldn't help but notice the way the shorts clung around her ass before falling towards her thighs; the band noticeably clinging to her wide hips due to her shirt being bunched up at her waist as she cleaned it.

When she moved to turn around, I quickly looked away, grabbing my food again and shoveling some more into my mouth, scraping the bottom of the bowl.

Delaney sat back down, her face still hued pink as she grabbed her bowl.

"Sorry. I didn't grow up in the classiest of households. I tend to uh.. be a bit messy, sometimes" She said, not daring to look me in the eye as she took a bite out of her roll.

"I'm used to cleaning up messes" I numbly replied, wishing it came out more in a teasing tone like intended, but my monotone voice slipped out instead making me mentally groan at myself.

I wish I could just relax. Let her in like she so clearly wants, but I can't. I don't know how.

She isn't someone I should mingle with. There are boundaries in place that give me a million reasons as to why letting her in would be a bad thing.

For starters;

I need this job.

We can't afford to let something as silly as a teasing comment cost me the money I'm earning.

I knew from the moment I met her that she wouldn't be like the Rickman girls. She fumbled too much and was too stuck in her own head to be sultry and purposefully seductive. Like she fumbled her way through life more than critically thought out her next move.

Even her stares never felt intentional. She never kept her eyes locked on me when I turned around; almost like she didn't want to get caught, unlike someone who was trying to purposefully seduce you.

I learned pretty quickly with the Rickman girls that eye contact can get uncomfortable within seconds. Especially when they're openly masturbating in front of an open window right where you're working.

It got uncomfortable the moment I realized what was happening,��and then it just never stopped.

You'd think with the presumptions of the male species, I'd get turned on. Want to enter her room, help her out. Fulfill the fantasy; but when it isn't mutual, it's just downright awkward and uncomfortable.

Sure if it was my girlfriend, or wife, maybe I'd put on a show. But my employers' daughter? It made my skin crawl.

I'd be stupid not to notice the immediate differences between the girls. 

For starts; Delaney was heavier set than the Rickman girls. Which wasn't a bad thing, but it of course is one of the things you're taught to notice about people.

Their height, their weight, what they're wearing, the way their hair is styled. The way they smell, if they have straight white teeth or crooked stain ones.

You're taught to judge their appearance within seconds of meeting them.

Delaney seemed anxious when I first met her. She fiddled a lot. Was constantly daydreaming. Hard to have a conversation with; not like I wanted to in the first place.

Her dark hair was pin straight, cascading down her back. Light wash blue jeans covered her thick thighs, a tucked in pink shirt curved around her breasts and belly, hugging her hips as she rocked on her feet, looking like she was going to hurl the more her parents spoke.

The Rickman girls were a lot skinnier. Dark skin, dark hair, dark eyes, dark intentions. 

The moment I met them, I thought maybe we could be friends. I was used to seeing everyone all the time, talking with them whilst I worked; but that quickly changed.

Not only was Mr. Rickman on my ass all the time, along with Mrs. Rickman which was surprising, but their daughters were the least bit subtle when it came to making their intentions crystal clear. 

"Are you done?" Delaney asked, getting me to look up at her.

Her brown eyes screamed uncomfortable, a pang of guilt stinging inside of my chest.

Was it me? Did I make her uncomfortable?

She looked like she was trying to find any reason to slip out of the house they've lent to me; which was fine by me. I wasn't forcing her here. She invited herself here.

"Uh, Yeah. I'll just clean it real quick and you can take it back" I informed, standing up from my chair, grabbing the dishes and walking them to the sink.

"Harry, you don't have to. We have a dishwasher—" She started, my head shaking with disapproval as I turned on the tap, rinsing it before adding soap.

"I can clean my own messes" I reminded her, running the washcloth in the bowl.

"Harry" Delaney's soft voice piqued my ears' attention due to the silence that surrounded us. "You're not working. You're not earning your keep. We're just hanging out. You don't have to do your dishes to gain approval"

My body stiffened at her words before I quickly rolled out my shoulder blades, setting the clean dishes aside, turning to reach for hers, "It's fine" I replied, "I don't mind doing the dishes"

I regret ever telling her that I had to earn my keep. I knew the second it left my mouth that it was a mistake.

She sighed as I cleaned her things, stacking them into a neat pile before stacking them all together and handing them to her.

Delaney took the dishes, looking at me, then the dishware, then me again before her shoulders dropped and she gave a small nod.

"Thanks for letting me eat with you" She sighed, leaving the tiny house, allowing me room to breathe again.

I expected whatever this was to be a one and done type of thing, so the surprise I encased when she showed up at my door the next night, two plates in her hand made the skin between my brown wrinkle as I let her in; watching her set both plates down, moving to my cupboard, grabbing too cups before slipping something out from her back pocket that I didn't realize was there.

"Wait" I finally spoke, having watched her pull two glasses down before twisting open a bottle cap. "Was that in your pocket?" I questioned, Delaney giggling with a nod.

"It was pulling my jeans down!" She giggled, "It also barely fit. We need bigger pockets! I uh— you're not like, against alcohol, or something, right?" She asked, and that's when I noticed she had two Mike's Hard Lemonades.

"You don't need glasses for those" I stated, Delaney's head tilting before looking over her shoulder at me.

"Oh? You wanna drink straight from the bottle? I can get down with that" She grinned, putting the glasses back and grabbing the two bottles between her fingers, moving to set them down on the table.

"You're here again" I stated, Delaney nodding as she sat down.

"I am"

"Why?"

"Why not?" She countered back, picking up her fork, slicing into a porkchop. I stared for a second, watching her take a bite of the food before slowly walking over to where I sat. "Thanks for joining me" She grinned, a teasing twinkle in her eye as she cut another piece of the porkchop, dipping it into some sort of brown sauce.

"What's your motive?" I asked, not bothering to pick up the utensils until she tells me whatever game she's getting at.

This entire thing felt suspicious.

Dinner with me? The ranch hand? Two nights in a row? When she's never done this before? There has to be some sort of reason.

Her brow furrowed, "Motive?" She questioned, as if that was an absurd thought.

"Yes. Your motive" I confirmed, Delaney setting down her fork as her lips parted before pursed, pushing them to the side in a thinking manner, then relaxing.

"What do you think my motive is?" She played, her brows raised as she looked at me, followed by picking up her fork and cutting another piece of meat.

"I prefer to eat alone" I stated, Delaney's body tensing as she slowly chewed, swallowing with a small nod.

"You want me to leave?" She asked.

"No I just, I don't know." I sighed, frustrated with the mind games. "Why are you here?" I questioned, hating that she was making me flustered.

I can't remember the last time someone has made me stumble this much. It was aggravating me to no end.

I was used to working towards a goal. To have a reason. Her being here wasn't again tonight wasn't one of them and it was throwing a wrench into my routine; sending me for a loop as I tried to figure out what the sudden change was. 

If she wasn't quiet, she was yelling at me. Or laughing. Or telling me to go away. 

It was confusing.

She was always around, yet never seemed like she wanted to be there, even though I never asked her to be there. Maybe her dad had like the first day I arrived?

"I wanted to hang out with you, Harry. You're quite the loner" She hummed, taking a swig of the lemonade.

She wants to be here? Like I said, confusing.

"I'm not a loner" I huffed, "I just like being alone. There is a difference"

"Damn. Hit a nerve, did I?" She teased, my nostrils flaring, "Oh calm down, it's dinner. What's the worst that can happen? Mr. Harry Styles isn't alone for a full 24 hours?" She scoffed, repositioning her plate to reach the sides. "Anyways, how was your day? I've been busy out of my mind all day" She informed me, glancing up at me, waiting for a response.

"Was fine. Did my work" I numbly answered, Delaney nodding.

"My dad's been talking high praise of you lately. Saying you were worth the investment. You're allowing him time to go out and outsource more income. Although mom wishes you'd join us for dinner" She looked up at me over her plate, her brows raised.

"I'm fine alone" I repeated; indifferent about her invading my personal space.

"Harry" She sighed, and I knew I was in for whatever lecture was burning on the tip of her tongue. "You may think you're fine alone, but no one can ever truly be alone. We need socialization. You don't talk unless spoken to. We've invited you to join us for dinner because we want you there. You're not banned to these four walls. If you don't join us at least once for dinner so my mom can get off my ass about it; these one on one dinners are going to become a lot more frequent" She said, a smirk tugging at my lips.

I was right.

"So there is an ulterior motive" I replied smugly, Delaney's eyes rolling, sighing in defeat once again.

"I know that's what  it sounds like—"

"You're right" I interrupted, "That's exactly what it sounds like. It sounds like you're buttering me up so your mom will leave you alone"

"I'm not buttering you�� Okay, stop. Listen. I'm here because I want to be. They think I'm eating out back with the bunnies— Don't ask" She warned, "Instead of sitting in here with you. I'm just bringing up that you're welcome to join family dinner. It isn't a big deal. You're talked about at the table anyway, might as well be there to hear what they're saying"

"I don't want to hear what they're saying" I stated, already knowing that if there was a problem, it would've been said already.

"Fine. Just know my mom won't let this go. She holds grudges like a mother" Delaney giggled, wiggling her eyebrows before taking another drink of the lemonade. "Anyway, what do you think of the lemonade? My sister Morgan brought it. I love lemonade and she claims everyone needs a drink or two here and there"

Morgan? She has another sister?

"Why aren't you eating with your family, Delaney?" I asked; exhausted.

I just wanted to be alone. To decompress from today. Instead, I sat at this tiny ass table with a girl who seemed to be playing chess whilst I'm playing checkers. 

 "Do you really want me to leave that badly?" She asked, sounding surprised that my statement of liking to eat alone held more truth than expected.

"I'm tired, Delaney. I want to eat my food in silence. Get ready for me, and be unconscious until my alarm goes off at four fifteen" 

"Jesus Christ, four fifteen?"

"Delaney. Whatever it is you're getting at, get there. I'm too fucking tired to try and decode whatever is going on" I snapped, hating the way she flinched as her nose twitched; glancing away from me.

"There is no ulterior motive, Harry. Sure it seems like I'm begging you to go to a family dinner. I'm just relaying the information. I can respect your boundaries if you do not want to come. Why do you think no one has forced you?" She asked, looking ready to keep talking when I interrupted her.

"You're here. In my personal space. That I requested. You're forcing yourself on me either way" 

She stared at me for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Okay. I apologize for not respecting your boundaries. I'll leave" She excused herself, reaching for her lemonade and plate, scooting out of the chair and turning to leave.

I heard the clink of the bottle being set on the counter as she opened the door before grabbing it again and walking out, leaving the door wide open.

I growled as I exhaled, getting up to close the door only to see her walking down the road instead of turning left, back down the pathway that led to the main house.

Why isn't she going home? 

I stood in the doorway for a few seconds, watching her trail down the dirt road before turning left and sitting down in the grass.

What is she doing?

I slowly closed my door, going to sit back at my table, only to look out the kitchen window and see two big white dogs were next to her now and she appeared to be talking, before handing them something.

I couldn't help but stare at her as I ate dinner, watching her eat her own food, drinking her lemonade and petting the big white giant ass dog that I rarely saw.

As I was washing my dish, I watched her get up, the dogs following her up the dirt driveway, headed towards the main house. The second she was out of view, I felt a tightness in my chest as I realized I could no longer see what she was doing; nor ask why she sat with two dogs instead of joining her family.

The following night I awaited my food to come, feeling an anticipation swirl around in my stomach as I awaited Delaney's' presence, The knock on the door making dopamine rush through me as I opened the door, only to be met with a girl I've never seen before holding a plate of food and a bowl of what looked to be some sort of vegetables mixed into potatoes.

"Your dinner" She said and I nodded, grabbing the food, watching her turn around and walk away before I could even think about saying something; leaving me standing gobsmacked in the entrance of my home.

I couldn't help but think; Delaney would never.

* * * * 

I've redone this chapter so many times. I should be committed into an insane asylum for this chapter alone🤪

For how many times I've read through this, there better not be any errors lol

Written on: September 28th 2023

Published on: September 28th 2023

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapter Six

[ohnoitstbskyen]

So a bit of personal behind-the-scenes blogging here about YouTube sponsorships, doing creative writing for a job, workloads and stress and burnout.

I am never taking this many sponsorships ever again.

I don't know if there was something in the water in September or if a bunch of marketing budgets just needed to get burned, but at the end of August I started getting a lot more emails than usual from agencies that wanted to purchase sponsorship integrations. I'm sure there's some structural industry-side reason for this that I'm simply not privy to, but from my perspective it was just a flood of emails.

There were the usual ones, of course, the RAID: Shadow Legends sponsorship that I am getting very tired of turning down over and over again, a bit of crypto-nonsense and Play2Earn games which can go get f*d, and then a smattering of things that just kinda don't fit my channel or my audience, like a Chinese-run site doing online coding classes for people who want to emigrate and work in the PRC, or one of those semi-fraudulent "purchase a square foot of land in Scotland and become a Lord, technically!" which are, like, usually just a harmless novelty, but not really fit for my audience.

The way influencer marketing on YouTube works (at least at my level of micro-celebrity) is that companies will contract marketing agencies to run campaigns for them. The agencies bid against each other for contracts, promising to deliver maximum engagement at minimal cost. The company picks an agency and gives them a pile of money to spend on ad-buys. Agencies reach out to influencers en masse (usually through mailing lists and directories of channels above a certain size, listing their general content and likely audience profiles), and ask us how much we charge for a 30-60 second integration.

The marketing agency's objective is to make their budget deliver as many trackable metrics for their client as possible, usually in the form of signups, clicks, website traffic and so on. Some agencies will focus on advertising only with huge names that have massive reach, some will pick out a hundred smaller creators hoping to cast a wider net. Most agencies will do some mix of the two.

So, they email me like "how much for an integration?" and I... have to invent an answer. See, there isn't really a standard rate for any of this. How much is a view on my channel worth? How much return on investment does an ad on my channel generate? I'm just a person, I don't have a market research department, I don't have any education or training in evaluating the effectiveness of advertising. I make video essays about game characters and occasional anime.

The best resource for YouTubers on this subject is... each other. We basically just have to talk to one another, figure out what everyone is charging and try and derive a reasonable rate from that. There isn't a union or a guild, there are no associations or central resources (or even community resources) that set the standards or allow us some form of collective bargaining.

My problem is that most of the peers I talk to don't really do influencer marketing. They stick with ad revenue and Patreon/Twitch subscriptions, or just aren't on the radar of advertisers yet, so I'm flying this one kinda by the seat of my pants.

Ayway, returning to the subject. In September I get a lot more inquiries about sponsorship than usual, which puts me in the very unusual position of turning sponsors down not because their product is a bad fit, or a crypto scam, or RAID: Shadow Legends, but because I simply can't make enough videos fast enough to fill the "order."

I book Squarespace and Skillshare, which are reputable companies whose products I've used myself, which basically fills out my schedule, and then the offers keep coming. I should not have accepted as many as I did.

---

I should say, I've never been poor. I come from a middle class family in a Scandinavian social democracy, there are safety nets under me that most people don't get to have, and I don't ever have to really be afraid of ending up on the street or starving. What I have been is broke. I used to make my living as a commission artist and cartoonist, and spent essentially a decade constantly, constantly dancing right on the very edge of being able to make rent each month. I was chasing a dream of building up a customer base to fund my independent comics work, and... it broke me a little bit. I came down with a very dark depression that I couldn't really deal with, and spent weeks and weeks pulling all-nighters chasing commissions and doing work trying to scratch money together.

YouTube happened entirely by accident, and for all that I've complained about the troubles that come with this work, might have genuinely saved my life a little bit.

I bring this up to say, ever since the YouTube gig started reliably paying my bills, I have had at least a couple of realizations per year of just how anxious and freaked out I still get about money. I still check my online bank obsessively, I still fret over keeping savings and paying bills, I still feel guilt over spending money on non-essentials.

And when I get too many sponsorship offers, I still feel like I should accept all of them, and pull whatever all-nighters it takes to fulfil them, even though I'm not 24 any more and when I tried to do it as a 24 year old it caused a depression that nearly made me suicidal.

Because what if these are the last sponsorships I'll ever get? What if the next sixth months are really bad months and I don't make as much in ad revenue? What if my videos lose steam and the audience moves on? What if everyone gets tired of me? What if someone copyright strikes my channel twelve times out of nowhere and kills it forever?

I haven't been broke in years now. I'm not a wealthy man, but I haven't been broke. I don't have a pension fund, but my bills are paid, and looking rationally at the statistics and analytics I have access to, there is literally no reason to believe it'll all go "poof!" and be gone overnight.

And yet, I feel so guilty about not taking every sponsorship I can ethically take. I feel so guilty about not hoarding money, building savings, protecting myself, "being responsible." And I feel so afraid of that unnamed catastrophe lurking just around the corner, where I'll be punished for my hubris to think that I was ever safe, and thrown right back into that fearful scramble. Right back into that depression.

It's a sticky fear. You scrub and scrub and scrub, and the stain of it just won't come out.

---

I took too many sponsorships in the latter half of this year. This is a champagne problem, there are creatives I know who would kill to get sponsorships at all, and I'm not trying to fish for too much sympathy here. "Oh no, too many people wanted to give you money to read 60 second ads, boo hoo YouTube man, how sad for you" is, like, a valid response to this. I'm not exactly being ground down by the Amazon Fulfilment Center over here. It's not a cry for help, or a plea for support, it's just a blog.

But I took too many sponsorships. I clogged my schedule, and committed myself to a lot of work, and... every other part of my life suffered. I found it harder and harder to spend time with my family, because the next deadline was always on my mind. That knowledge that taking time to do anything else inevitably means a harder rush to finish the work, it means more stress and less space to think, less space to do good work.

Because that's the other anxiety, of course. Having taken these sponsorships, I now feel pretty intensely that I need to make videos that are good enough that my audience doesn't feel taken advantage of, that they feel that the content I put behind the ad was worth the time they took to sit through it. Sponsored videos need to be better, they need to have higher production quality, better scripts, better editing.

So how do you justify taking time to do anything else?

I spent less time with my family, I became less and less able to keep the apartment clean, less and less able to cook, less and less able to even spend time socializing and doing enrichment for my pet rats, which they need for their mental health. And I started to feel the familiar sensation of burnout eating me up from the chest outwards.

I had started taking piano lessons at the local community center, something I've wanted to do for myself for a decade. And I had to cancel those lessons over and over again, and usually last minute, because work just got in the way. Last week I told my teacher that I simply wouldn't be able to make it to them anymore, to cancel the whole thing. And that knocked the wind out of me more than I thought, honestly. That was something I had been so excited to finally do for myself, and it just got bled out in front of me by the workload I couldn't get myself to say no to.

I've dealt with burnout many times before. I know what it is, I know how to recover from it. But I have never learned to stop inflicting it on myself. I am a workaholic, I am addicted to the stress of this sh**, not because I find it pleasurable, but because for ten years the satisfaction of finishing a piece of work and securing the paycheck was the only sense of real relief and catharsis I ever got to feel from my anxiety, and I don't know how to stop chasing that high. When I'm stressed, when I'm anxious, when I'm feeling unsure or unmoored, the only response I know is to drown myself in work. Energy drinks and junk food and too little sleep. I don't have any other real coping mechanisms.

It'll take... a while to fix those things, I think. It's not happening right now. But I am promising myself this, at least: I am never taking this many sponsorships ever again.

[foggedupwindows]

part one

It's a warm, lazy morning. The coffee shop is bustling with a wild array of people, the tangy aroma of espresso filling the air with brightness and comfort. The sweet metallic sound of milk being steamed, paired with the crazed hum of orders being placed and companions chatting, allows me to further sink into my comfy leather chair by the brick fireplace.

This cafe has been my solitude for a while now. It was the first place I ran to after my break up six months ago, and the only sense of home I've had while couch surfing after being told I have to find somewhere else to live while my ex gets homey with his new flame. I browse job listings at places I am not qualified for and Windows shop beautiful apartments I couldn't afford even in three lifetimes.

I take a sip of my mocha, and stare out the fogged-up windows at the hardly-populated street. Quiet out today. Odd for a Wednesday.

As I am setting my mug on the table the cafe door opens and suddenly the hum in the place gets even more buzzy. Someone gasps and I look up briefly to see what the excitement is all about. Not noticing anything out of the ordinary I get back to work searching for a new life.

After a few moments I feel someone staring at me and look around quickly. I see a handful of people looking away from me. I look around for another moment before deciding it's nothing to worry about and bury myself in my laptop again.

A man sits beside me in the next chair. Out of the corner of my eye I can see him lift one leg to rest on the other. I take a peak at his shoes; they look comfortable. I start to wonder if I should buy a new pair of sneakers, and realize I left a few pairs of shoes at my ex's house.

"Damn it," I mutter.

I decide I need to buy a new pair of shoes. I take another glance at the man's shoes and he wiggles his foot. I glance up at his face and my cheeks burn red.

Deep brown eyes and a shy smile meet my gaze. I shoot a look at his golden curls and feel my face get hotter.

I quickly grab my mocha and take a sip. My mind is spinning as I swallow down the sweet, foamy chocolate drink. I'm pretty sure Evan Peters is in the seat beside me. I fight the urge to call someone for reassurance that it's a totally normal situation and nothing to panic about. I take another sip as I stare at my phone and will someone to call. This is totally normal, right? Not worth freaking out over. The caffeine is the reason my adrenaline is pumping. My hands are shaking because of the sugar.

I set my cup down and take a moment to breathe. At least, I think I'm breathing. I pull my laptop closer to me and start looking at the apartment listing again. Great area, rooftop garden, Evan Peters, view of the Sound….

I let out a sigh and close my laptop. The listing looks nice and I definitely don't want to lose it by absent-minded scrolling while trying to refocus on the present.

I toy with the edge of my Chromebook for a moment before looking up at the man beside me. And by look, I mean completely check out. Khaki pants, navy blue sweater, wild beautiful golden hair. He is looking out the window.

"Hi," I somehow manage, turning toward him.

He smiles over at me. "Hey," he says. "Hope I'm not bothering you. The place is kind of full."

"No, not at all." I laugh through my nose. "This place is always pretty busy. But these are the best seats in the house."

He rubs the arm of his chair. "Yeah, they looked pretty comfortable. I've never been here before and was kind of hoping for a quiet place to hang." He looks around. "Can't beat good coffee though."

I nod and reach for my drink.

"What are you drinking?" he asks.

"A lavender mocha. It's my fave," I say, lifting the cup to my lips.

"That sounds nice." He looks out the window again before looking back at me. "What's your name?"

"I'm Cate." I toy with the cup between my hands. Do I… ask him his name? That's decent, right? I smile up at him. "What's your name?"

He smiles. "I'm Evan."

I nod, staring deeply into my coffee cup. "What are you… how long… uh… What made you choose this cafe?" My face is redder than a cherry right now.

"Well--"

"Evan!"

We both snap our heads in the direction of the coffee bar. The barista is sliding a mug over the granite counter. Evan jumps up and excuses himself.

I lean back in my chair and let out a puff of breath. I remind myself that meeting a celebrity is exciting and overwhelming, and it's totally okay to be making an ass of myself. Am I making an ass of myself? I sit forward and set my mug on the table.

Evan makes his way back to me-- the chair-- his seat and smiles at me as his sits. He takes a sip of his coffee before setting it down to cool. "Mm," he says. "That's great."

"What'd you get?"

"Just an americano. With cream." He smiles sheepishly.

"That sounds delicious. The coffee here is so good. Caffe Umbria is my absolute fave."

"First time I've tried them."

"Their drip coffee is probably the best I've ever had. It's so flavorful, literally the perfect cup of coffee."

"Are you a cream and sugar girl or do you like it straight up?"

I laugh. "I definitely like cream and sugar. Unless it's iced. Can't stand the acidity of coffee beans otherwise."

"Hm. I get that. Can't relate but I get it," he laughs.

We sit for a moment in silence. We both stare out the window. Maybe a minute goes by before he looks over at me again. "I'm here to check out Crypticon. Have you heard of it? It's like a horror convention."

I slap the arm of my chair excitedly. "Yes!" I try to contain my excitement. "I go every year. I met Denis O'Hare last year. Such a sweetie!"

Evan beams. "It seems like a cool thing."

"It's pretty fun. Lots of great artists. They play horror movies all day. I met my husband there."

Evan nods. "That's adorable."

"Yeah. He's pretty hairy though… pretty sure he had just come from the woods or something." I smile up at Evan.

He looks at me sideways with a laugh. "That's… romantic."

"Mhm," I giggle. "I guess he hadn't been seen in years. Everyone seemed so happy to see him...."

Evan furrows his brow, his smile fading. "What?"

I pull out my phone and show him and picture of me and Big Foot.

"Oh!" Evan laughs. "Oh!"

We laugh as I zoom in on the image. The mask the guy was wearing is pretty good, but the small dark space between the plastic and his eyeballs makes us laugh harder. "He was such a great Squatch though," I manage to squeak out. "He didn't even say a word."

"Just a prom-esque photo with Big Foot," Evan laughs. "I love it. I love that for you."

"Thanks," I say. I put my phone away and look at him. "There are some marital issues though," I sigh.

"Oh?"

I nod solemnly. Evan and I have tears in our eyes from laughing. "Yeah," I breathe. "I haven't seen him in months."

***

[writebackatya]

3, 6, 19, 25 for the end-of-year writer's ask game

{cracks knuckles} Okay then...

(for the people that were tagged, your mentioned in the answer to number 25. Pack a lunch, you'll need to do a lot of scrolling)

3. favorite line/scene you wrote this year

I can answer both right?

Favorite line: "How do you know? I'm magic." - Lena in chapter two of Up, Up, and Away!

So some context for the line. Della informs the kids (The triplets and Team Magic) that she can drive them to the beach to work on their movie just the five of them are going to have to squish in the back of the car. (I like to think that after Donald went on his sea voyage with Daisy, May, and June he left his car for Della to use.) Anyway, Lena immediately calls shotgun to which Della allows to happen much to Louie's chagrin. The green triplet then protests the decision since Lena did not see the car, Della however puts her foot down that Lena gets the front since she is the oldest of the kid group.

Louie then begins to interrogate Lena, letting her know he found it odd not knowing the rules of shotgun after living with Violet to which Lena lets Louie know that Violet did teach her the rules. Louie then let's Lena know that she has no right for the front now because there was no way she could see the car from the Triplets' bedroom to which Lena replies, "How do you know? I'm magic."

Whenever I see artwork of Lena and Louie it's usually just them chilling together. Which yeah would definitely happen because those two would definitely get along. But I'd also love to think they'd have these moments where they need to show the other that they're the superior snarky member of the group

I just love Lena's response because it's a lame excuse. She knows it. Louie knows it. And she knows that Louie knows it. But it's too late, she already has the front and there's nothing Louie can do about it.

They're both really clever and really snarky kids, but Lena has magic. So Point: Lena.

Also when me and my siblings got around the age where we were old enough to sit in the front we'd always fight for that spot calling shotgun. It was so bad that whenever someone called shotgun the people that didn't get shotgun would call "backshot" which is the seat behind shotgun.

Anyway, I always felt out of everyone in that group Louie and Lena would fight for shotgun.

Favorite scene: the scene where Gandra threatens Rick Rath (aka The Punnysher) at his job. Which is also from chapter two of Up, Up, and Away!

Anyway, context for THIS scene. Fenton and Gandra have snuck into the office where Gizmoduck's latest villain of the week works disguised as printer repairers. As soon as the two spot their target, Gandra goes over to persuade the wannabe villain to stop his charade. After doing things the easy way, Gandra decides to do get violent in a rather discreet way in an office setting. All while Fenton is repairing the printer

Overall I do love Fenton and Gandra part of the story. I loved seeing the two do science stuff together, but I really wanted to see more adventures with the two together, more specifically in their respected genres of adventures: Spy and Superhero so I wanted to open their story with an adventure that is a mixture of both.

Also for this scene I had to Google "How many volts of electricity could kill a person" and I wrote Gandra's monologue about that topic while I was at work and I'm pretty proud of that

So here's the thing about my writing process. Most of the time I write on my laptop at home. I will occasionally use my phone at work whenever I'm on my lunchbreak to read, edit, and occasionally add a sentence or two but never anything big. So yeah, that entire sequence was written while I was at work and it was a slow day. I did get all my work down so I wasn't slacking off. It was just a very slow day

6. least popular fic this year

In Views: The Three Caballeros (and Della)!

In Kudos: Up, Up, and Away!

19. any new fics to start next year

While part of me really wants to focus on the stuff I've already started, this other part of me wants to start several other fics that will most likely take up my time as well. So might as well talk about them. Some are already WIPs some I haven't even started if they have a title they're most occupying a save file in the cloud somewhere

Here are Multiple Chapter Stories I Wanna Start:

An Act of Murder!: So in this one Huey, Dewey, Louie, Webby, Scrooge, Launchpad, Gyro, B.O.Y.D., Fenton, Gandra, and Falcon Graves all get invited to a dinner party at Emma Glamour's home hosted by Mark Beaks who acknowledges that he had wronged each everyone of his guests (and his mother's whose home he is currently crashing at) and promises to introduce them to the "new Mark Beaks". Anyway, since this is obviously a murder mystery story Mark is found dead at the dinner party (and later his body goes missing) and everyone is a suspect! Yep, it's going to be that kind of mystery that has been going on since Agathe Christie's classic And Then There Were None...This idea came to me when I was rewatching an episode of Scott the Woz

Back in the Game!: I'm just going to come out and admit it, this WIP is heavily inspired by Korkorali and tsundereanubis's Closets and Moons, and How They're Alike which is a story where Della tells Webby, Lena, and Violet about her past loves. Anyway this would be a story set post-canon where Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Webby help her get back in the dating game. For this one I wanna explore all the different pairings I've seen Della shipped with (along with other ships I wanna brainwash trick force people into shipping).

F.O.W.L. Play!: So anyone who has read Indi-Quack! might be familiar with this title. This particular one would explore the time Gandra worked for F.O.W.L. so this one would take place during canon from the point of view of Gandra as well as a bit of Fenton. I feel like the way I wanna write this one was heavily inspired for my love for the shows like DuckTales, Arrested Development, The Harley Quinn Show, and Inside Job.

The Spear of Selene: Just a pre-canon story of the events leading up to the infamous Spear of Selene incident starring the Original Three. It's one of those stories where I know exactly how I want to begin and how I want it to end. Most likely my least comedic idea of mine, I mean there will definitely be comedic moments but not a whole lot. Expect a bittersweet ending

Untitled DuckTales 87 and DuckTales 17 Crossover Fic: So because of DuckTales 2017 and writing DuckTales fanfics I have now watched most of the classic DuckTales (as well as a Darkwing Duck but that's irrelevant for this one) anyway, I just wanna see these two different universes collide and certain characters interact with one another

Here are some one shots I'm hopping I can start. Because finishing one shots is great you're like, "Cool. Now I'm done."

Every Possible Angle!: Just a story exploring Louie's gift of seeing every angle of a situation. But I don't know, do you think people want an angsty fic starring Louie?

I Think We're Alone Now!: Another during canon story that takes place during season 3 during Gandra's time at F.O.W.L. where Steelbeak catches Fenton at Gandra's place and blackmails his fellow F.O.W.L. agent at bar. While she's there, Gandra runs into Della who is having a Girls' Night with her girl friends Penny and Selene. I like to think this happens right after New Gods on the Block!

In Which Della Shows Her Kids a Movie from Her Childhood: Title not final. Work not started. But this is a story where Della finds out her boys never watched a movie from her childhood and decides to show them (as well as Webby) the movie. You guys will never guess what the movie is

Thanks for the Memories!: DuckTales did a lot different genres of episodes, I always thought the show NEEDED to do a fake clip show episode. If you ever watched The City of Clipsville from The Powerpuff Girls or Paradigms of Human Memory from Community or The Gang Does a Clip Show from It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, it's just like those examples. It would show moments in the show that we the viewer never saw.

We Are Family!: Scrooge recruits a team for an adventure to win a bet against Glomgold only to realize that not a single member of that team is member of his family (by blood that is). And not everyone is on board for the adventure. The two inspirations for this one are interesting again the idea came from reading a fic by Korkorali and tsundereanubis called Time Alone and also whenever I chip away at this one I end up listening to the Meet the Crew song by The Lonely Island. It's just fun to think about how big the family has gotten since episode 1

Untitled Dewey Centric fic: You know Dewey's iconic dream from Nightmare on Killmotor Hill!? Yeah, I wanna share my interpretation of that.

Untitled Fic Where Huey, Dewey, Louie, and Scrooge play Mario Party Superstars: Just as the untitled title says. I don't know if this idea is too niche

Untitled DuckTales/Celeste crossover: I don't know, I just always wanted to do a crossover where Scrooge meets Madeline from the game Celeste. They climb a mountain and talk about their struggles and stuff. This idea might be too niche.

And here are some One Shot Collection ideas

Dewey Dew Night!: Every story would be an episode of Dewey Dew Night where our dewlightful host interviews a character from DuckTales on his show. If I ever do this one I definitely would want the readers to pick the next guest

Untitled one of those text chat fanfic types: I'll be honest, I don't really seek out read stories that are just text conversations but I definitely see the appeal and have even done some text conversations in my stories so it's something I've considered. Plus I love writing character banter and there's a lot you can do with that format. I've thought of group chat ideas but none of them feel like a full idea

And just recently I decided that I really wanna write that AU where Scrooge took the Spear of Selene

Anyway I wanna start those. But I also wanna finish what I already got started.

This is gonna be an interesting year

25. a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read

@christianfoxymc did already ask me this question so instead of giving you the same answer I gave her, I'll just recommend another fic I loved

So yeah, I made it quite clear that I enjoy @korkorali and @imjustusingthistolikeartists's collaborative works and I liked a lot of their stuff. But I think my personal favorite of their is Dewey Duck's Guide to Figuring Out if You're Dating Somebody

I'm pretty sure I was at work on my lunchbreak when I got the email when I got the notification for this story and so I read it while I was at work. And I'm glad I did. This one is great

Dewey is my favorite triplet and Dewelyn is one of those ships I really enjoy and I think the two of them nail every character in this story. It's great

Thanks for the ask @shychick-52!

Also if anyone asks me 3 or 25 again I will most likely answer it again with a different answer. So be warned

[thebreakfastmuses]

Live Hopeful...

"Uhhh, let's see... This much from ad revenue, these bits from Twitch subscriptions, payment from my sponsor... Ummm... That should add up to about..."

"About 100000 yen this month..." About $743 to those who don't get the conversion rate.

At her desk on the other side of the room - the side her viewers never see - financial invoices and bank statements lay strung about, pinned to the surface by stacks of ramen cups and used chopsticks.

Aren't you living the dream, Gwen? Forsaking a normal job in favor of pursuing internet fame? It's going great, isn't it? Well, last time she checked... About 20,000 subscribers on YouTube, 100 on Twitch, and 40,000 on TikTok. But oops! You live in Japan! So no Creator Fund payouts for you on that platform...

Also on the desk, which she reaches for to inspect, is one of her many magical girl figurines. Unlike most other things in her room, the Cure Lovely figure in her hand is kept spotless.

"Loving families, supportive friends, adoring fans, no need to concern themselves with the daily battles of the mundane world... That sounds nice."

With a forced smile, she sets the figure back down and stands up from her chair. As she walked, a jacket thrown haphazardly onto the floor is dragged along her foot as she stops in place for a brief moment to shake it off. She takes care to step over any other trash strewn about - It's not like anyone's coming by to see all of this - And crosses to the bright side of the room. The one that's perfectly maintained. The one her computer's camera broadcasts to the world. At least the parts of the world that actually tune in to watch her.

She could worry about that later, she had five minutes until her next stream started. Off goes the black hoodie and the rest of her normal clothes. On goes the yellow costume loaded with glitter and cutesy accessories. At least with it getting warmer out she won't need to fight back the urge to shiver with it on. She can't show weakness. She's not allowed to. The Magical Girl of Hope has to be perfect.

Three... Two... One...

"Hi-ho! Good evening, true believers!! The Magical Girl of Hope, Gwendolyn de Fey is here for some more Guilty Gear! Ooh, I'm so excited to see how we'll do today~!"

And so, the girl called Gwen Wiegold would hide from the world once again...

[waywardfeathered]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. REPOST.

name. Havu.

pronouns. they/them

preference  of  communication. Discord. My handle is in my rules! Tumblr IM box is difficult for me, but if you prefer that, I will also communicate there.

name  of  muse. Castiel, or in non-canon human verses, Castiel "Cas" Krushnic.

rp  experience  /  how  long. On tumblr since 2013, before that mostly one-on-one in private since around 2006.

best  experience. No one best experience, but in general muses connecting. Like when you end up building dynamics and storylines that take on life of their own, when there is something coherent between muses no matter the nature of it, when you connect enough ooc that you mutually appreciate each other even if it's just in the form of liking each other's dash game posts or whatnot.

rp  pet  peeves  /  dealbreakers. Harrassing people for fictional content no matter how problematic you believe it to be, posting/sharing callouts over fictional content (honestly this counts as harrassment and bullying), policing what fictional themes other people are "allowed" to write of any kind (a polite "don't follow me if you write gore/smut/coffee shop aus/abuse/anything" is fine and not harrassment or policing), individual urls on DNI lists, bigoted beliefs/behaviour.

fluff,  angst,  or  smut. angst, smut, and fluff, in that order. I will write pretty much any genre, but I do tend to love writing angst or angst-adjacent themes more than something entirely happy even though I will gladly do the latter as well. I like writing smut, and am open to writing it without us needing to be friends or close ooc; I only am not comfortable writing smut with muns under 21.

plots  or  memes. Both! Let's say that I am more likely to do better with at least some vague plotting, something to write towards or based on, even if it's a one-line simple idea. However. I will happily wing things as well.

long  or  short  replies.  I prefer 2-4 paragraphs per response. Longer tends to get hard for me. Shorter tends to get too short to say enough. But, I am happy to do single para or novella. I firmly believe that matching length is bullshit and that it's natural for reply length to fluctuate, exposition and such might naturally make a reply novella while action or muses having a conversation where they keep responding to each other works better with just a couple of paragraphs if not less, because I find it awkward to kind of... interject in between, with a reply, and it starts to easily feel like I'm writing three threads in one go with longer form dialogue/reaction heavy threads.

best  time  to  write. No specific time. I do best if I have a sleep schedule, but other than that, I'm on disability and not restricted to time tables through a job or anything that sort.

are  you  like  your  muse. Not very. I relate to a lot of Cas's experiences in how I've been controlled and abused, and I share many quirks with him (he's very autistic coded and I'm autistic), but in general we're super different people. He's much more self-sacrificing and emotion driven, where I'm a lot more self-preserving and analytical; he views life through his heart and I look at everything analytically and don't tend to feel very deeply emotionally. He has strong moral convictions; I of course have my opinions of right/wrong, but I tend to juggle multiple points of view at once and have no issue going against my own morals on a lot of things. He has a very intuitive way of his opinions, feelings, and the universe and such, like of course he contemplates such things a lot, and he has a lot of self-doubt, but it's very different from the way I operate from a set of a logical framework that I am constantly adjusting with new factual information and where he wishes to be steady-footed on his beliefs and sense of self etc I am naturally always in flux and analysing and comparing and going down rabbit-holes of what ifs. He is good at being practical and taking action, I am really passive and impractical.

tagged by: @collidingxworlds, thank you! tagging: @solheimisms, @righteouslysin, @normaltothemax, @detectiveconnor, @lovepurposed & anyone who wants to!

[chronicroderick]

Forever Winter

Hannibal's mind is a dark place. There are some doors even he can't keep shut, and he's grown far too weary to keep trying.

Hurt/Angst, NO Fluff, Suicid3, Self-H@rm NO Happy Ending, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Tw: s3lfh@rm and suicid3

(I'm going through something you guys so read at your own risk. No one wrote any Hannibal stuff that was sad enough for my mood so you're welcome)

***

Hannibal wasn't going to kill himself. That would be idiotic, but god, did it feel like he wanted it. He flipped through story after story, endlessly searching for something short to read that held as much angst as he held in this moment. Anything to colour the walls of his mind as vibrant and red as the inside of his stomach felt. It was a deep, nauseous feeling. Hannibal wanted to throw up and screaming and rip out his hair as much as he wanted to curl into a ball under the deepening snow never to return. He would decay there, becoming one with the worms, the mushrooms, the moss, however it was too cold for any of those things, so he would likely just be mummified. Maybe that would not be so bad. It must be nice to be cool all the way to the core. It is that warmth near the centre that makes us so afraid of the ice.

The straight razor did not magically appear in his hand as it surely would have been described in some languid novel. Those long legs of his had carried him every heavy step across the room. Her bare toes had sunk into the carpet. Each finger now curling around the hilt of the tool was certain. Strong. Even as the rest of the limb trembled.

Just a cut. Just a deep, long, gushing cut.

When he could see the blood pouring out, then he would feel better. When he could feel the droplets wrapping around his wrist then there might be some silence. Then he would not feel as if he was rotting. It was a played out cliche though. There was already a meandering length of deep scar tissue on his wrist from the other times. As he lay in his bed they itched. Setting the razor down he sighed, rolled onto his stomach, and drifted off to sleep, if you could call it that. It was more of a lurch between bouts of wakefulness.

With a slow start he woke and squinted into the glaring face of his alarm clock. It was three in the morning. There was no darkness outside, the city lights would not allow it. Neither would the snow. It created a haunting glow, a fake daylight that seemed to torment him in a way that no one else would understand. Hadn’t that been his blight lately? What would be the use in opening up about something that would seem for all his follies, like a torture chamber of his own making?

They would sympathise and pander. They would urge him to seek professional help. They would ask what happened to Dr. DuMauier, why had he relinquished her if he was not certain that things were going to be okay?

Because how could he know? When your life is an endless walk into a dreary night you are most happy when all you have is sure footing. “At least the ground is soft now. At least the climb has lessened in steepness.” Those are as close as things get to happiness. Hannibal, with all the mental capabilities he possesses, finds himself forever at the threshold of death.

So it is here he finds himself, in front of the full length mirror of his bedroom, leaning against the foot of his bed, straight razor in hand once again. It is quite beautiful. They’ll think him vain for choosing it. Intricate handle, a small bee crafted into the side, furling leaves travelling up until they meet the hinge. The neck of the blade tapered, until it goes out into a fat rectangle, where the true blade begins. Sharp enough to shave without effort, though that was never this tool's job. It had always been to slice flesh. Set in the nightstand drawer, never too far out of reach, not necessarily in plain sight. It was always there. Waiting. Afterall, it served it’s purpose. Dr. Lecter could not go about his life with an infected wound. Though the sting of something so sharp was not quite as satisfying in the moment as it always was in his memory, the ache of an alcohol wipe of the severed flesh was superb every time.

So this time he sat. Sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and sat and fuck he wanted to break things. A ghost of himself rose, ripped the mirror off the back of the door, and ripped the blankets off his bed. It knocked every bottle of cologne, every figurine, every watch off the dresser in one fell swoop. The ghost tore the paintings off the wall, punched holes in the door, ripped the drawers out of the nightstand and tore his suit jackets off their hangers, before it slumped against the wall. Tired and alone. A trembling thing, eyes big. Scared. Hopeless.

The ghost lingered in the corner as Hannibal came back to himself. It faded into nothing. Into dust and shapes and colours.

There was only the blade. There were only his eyes in the mirror. Golden. His pupils black holes, turning him inside out. The universe is observing itself. Realising its own emptiness. There was no denying this was Hannibal trying to give himself a back door one last time. Truly, a hanging would be more thorough. Kick the chair far enough away and no one can save you, not even yourself. Slit your wrists? Perhaps you’ll be able to jam your tendon slashed fingers down on the buttons hard enough to dial 9-1-1. The thought made him chuckle.

Hannibal held the knife over his right wrist and drew down into it in one hard, slow line. It didn’t bleed for half a second, as if the veins were surprised by the exposure. After their initial shock they came running. He was not yet done with the cut, travelling quite a ways across the forearm. He could actually hear the skin tear. He could hear the difference it made this time, the difference between his skin and his muscle. It was almost sickening. His blood felt cold. It ran in rivets as it welled out. So strange. It hurt, hurt badly. He couldn’t move his fingers anymore and his first thought was he’d done it.

He’d done it!

It poured and it poured. Hannibal lapped at the blood, as he had done so many times before when that blade had dug into his arm, but not like this. No, never like this. A viper turned in his stomach as the copper taste coated his tongue. There was so much more than usual. It was always a taste here. A few licks there. Some cuts that could be passed off as accidents but not this time.

Opening his eyes, letting the moment of ecstasy wash away, the world tilted. It made him sway, his eyes trying to focus as his head seemed to spin. Hannibal’s eyes dragged up the form of his own reflection in the mirror, which seemed to blur around the edges. Those slim legs, knees poking against the fabric of his grey sweatpants. The way a bit of his love handle peeked out from the scrunched up tank top he was clad in. It gave a nice shape to his shoulders, let a bit of chest hair peek out from the scoop of the neck, and yet it was stained with a blossoming flower of dark red. As were his pajama bottoms. What a terrible outfit to be found in. At least then they could not say he was faking, nor was he vain. Ha! He let the razor clatter to the floor before laying back onto the silk sheets. They felt so warm, so soft, he could hear Misha laughing, he could feel the tickle of Will's dogs' all around him, his mother held him against her. He didn't worry so much about being alone.

There would be no note. It was a little depressing. No note. He was such an eloquent writer and yet there would be nothing said at the very end. Maybe the ending said enough.

[spacecadetspe]

Oct. 22, 2024

Welp, I got fired.

My bosses and one of my coworkers tipped the scales by doing some disrespectful shit, and so I called one of my lead technicians crying. In the year we've worked together, he had never known me to cry, or get sick, or no-call-no-show, and I imagine that must have upset him. I told him that I was feeling less-than, and he confided in me that the office workers' behavior had him questioning whether or not he would last much longer there, himself. Word spread about this incident, and before long I had all the technicians' support.

By then I'll admit I had one foot out the door, looking for other options, but really I still needed the paycheck. So instead of walking out on Friday (which might have been the office boys' club's plan to begin with), I wrote a lengthy email to corporate detailing every instance of behavior that created a hostile work environment and how making me ask for permission to do my job undermines the point of me working there, and is frankly insulting, considering I've been there longer than either of my bosses (and none of the techs seem to know what they do).

With the techs' encouragement, I hit the send button.

Corporate's response was that their service manager would be down in our office this coming Wednesday (literally tomorrow) to hear out all of our complaints. Then I took Monday off to help a student with her college audition, and this morning I was called into my supervisor's office and "let go" on the grounds that I had not shown any improvement since my review (which is absolute bullshit; I did everything they wanted except change my attitude, and my attitude is strongly dependent on how you treat me).

But I didn't get angry. I didn't have it in me. They didn't deserve my will to care anymore. I gave my loyalty to that place, and they responded by creating an atmosphere of micromanaging and people-pleasing instead of being a stabilizing force for their employees. So I said I didn't have any questions, gathered my things, and said my goodbyes to the people I truly cared about.

And this means, of course, that the corporate service manager won't be coming down to interview anyone after all. Because my letter was the reason he was going to visit, and now I'm no longer there.

All in all, pretty suspicious. I thought about being petty and retaliating, but... why bother? I have just about had enough of those spineless creatures. I'll miss my techs, though. I imagine I'll still be in touch with them here and there after this.

The head tech I'd spoken to about this problem was apologetic, and said he felt responsible for putting me in this position, but I think it was just the nudge I needed. I felt supported by the right people, even if it wasn't the people in power.

This last one was a long weekend. My student set up an amp and a ring light to record her audition at her home, and invited me there. They must have had lots of applicants, because we were in the virtual waiting room for over an hour. So we got to warm up, at least. And then the profs took a lunch break right before our audition time. So... lunch! But where we were located, we would be rushing to get and eat the food, so I meekly suggested I cook for them.

My student's mother called it "making something from nothing." Not really nothing; she had all the right ingredients for what I had in mind. But she also said she was "the worst cook," and graciously allowed me to use her kitchen. So I made a healthy, filling meal with whatever was on hand, and got big hugs from mom and student.

The audition was a success! The judges said they were glad to have heard the piece we prepared, even though we ran a little over on time. That tells me that they could have cut us off, but we impressed them! I'm so proud of my student!

In spite of that, last night was difficult. I had trouble falling asleep, and had some annoying chest and body pain. Wouldn't you know it, my period had arrived. Not only that, but I've been enduring several broken chakras. I've been coping with my celibacy, loneliness, disrespect from the men in my office, and Saisei Kizen's ridiculous delusion.

SK has been contained on a planet Ad Astra has made for him, and Nyx and I have managed to subdue him using her powerful midnight magic and my paradox magic. I branded him with the symbol of the Virtues, making him my apprentice, and left him to try to process.

When he awoke, he attempted to summon the Dream Staff, but it wasn't cooperating with him or his minions. He found he could summon it, but he could not use it; he could not even lift it the width of a finger.

He still wasn't much in the mood for talking, just asking me the wrong questions for how to keep doing whatever the fuck he wanted (which none of us were going to allow). Still, I answered him honestly... and none of my answers helped him. That's a win in my book.

Once I was gone, he started making a mess of the planet, screaming curses into the void, and finally he did the thing; the thing even most angels will not do without utter reverence. He said the name of God.

And Father came with a quickness, throwing lightning that ruptured the ground and sent pieces of the planet flying into space. Ad Astra was awakened by the blasting and became hysterical, poor dear, and had to be restrained by the healers.

I managed to calm him down and explain that Father was not after him, and wasn't going to hurt him; that he just needed to teach that impertinent whelp SK some respect. "Trust him, son," I said. "Trust Him as you trust me."

I went out into the field of lightning after that, following the footsteps of the cowering primordial until I found him huddled with his hands over his head. He finally submitted to the power of Father.

From above, Father's voice rumbled like thunder. "I unmade the Chaos," he seethed. "How easy do you think it would be for me to unmake you?" He turned and looked at me. "My daughter, do you truly see virtue material in this wasted soul?"

I nodded. "I do... but like any unruly child, he must first be broken."

Father sent down a bolt of lightning that split the planet into six pieces, leaving a streak of rainbow fire in its wake. "His first act will be to remake this planet better than he found it," Father commanded.

"Are you ready?" I asked SK.

"No."

I harrumphed. "I'd be worried if you were."

He finished purging yesterday afternoon. He was weak and tired, couldn't remember the last time he ate, and beside him was the black, chaotic aspect that had driven him to madness. Nyx took it upon herself to contain it in a sphere, and then she and Mother took it out to play volleyball with.

I shook my head at the two creators and lifted SK into my arms to feed him. I wasn't expecting him to, but he thanked me.

I'll be bringing him more food as he heals, so he can accomplish the task Father has set for him.

In spite of all that, I had trouble sleeping, and then nightmares. I dreamed my boss had kidnapped me and was trafficking me. I even dreamed he killed two people I had begged for help to get me out of there.

It was a struggle to force myself out of bed this morning. I nearly cried again when it was time to go in to work

What a relief I don't have to go back to that place...