#Haven't had the energy to draw but got a burst of energy to do this!

[chronicsheepdrawing]

Happy Birthday Hal!

To celebrate, we decided to make Hong Kong-style Egg Tarts and attempted to color them like him! ( We were originally gonna make them round like his lens but the tins for that were too big so heart shapes will have to do! )

This is my first time making them and I'm surprised they turned out well! I'm in no way a professional as you can see but we had fun!

[callmekenya]

Pairings: Uma x m!Y/n

Warnings: Contains mild violence, blood, intense emotional themes, and complex relationships. Suitable for mature teens and adults.

_________________________________________

The sun was setting over the Isle of the Lost, casting long shadows across the dilapidated buildings and trash-strewn streets. In a dimly lit room aboard Uma's ship, Y/n, son of Eris, sat reading an ancient tome on chaos magic. The sudden burst of the door flying open barely fazed him as Uma stormed in, her eyes alight with excitement and a touch of malice.

"Y/n! You won't believe what's happened," Uma exclaimed, her braids swinging as she paced the small cabin. "Mal and her little gang are back on the Isle. And get this – they brought Prince Ben with them!"

Y/n's eyebrow arched slightly as he closed his book. "Is that so? How... interesting." His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of something darker. "I assume you have plans for this fortuitous turn of events?"

Uma's grin was sharp as a shark's. "Oh, you know me so well. I've already sent Harry and Gil to bring our royal visitor to us. But Y/n..." Her voice softened slightly, a hint of vulnerability showing through her tough exterior. "What about Mal? Are you going to try to win her back?"

Y/n sat up straighter, his golden eyes fixed on Uma. "And why would I do that, Uma? Do you think she deserves my attention after everything?"

Uma opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure how to respond. Y/n stood, crossing the room in a few smooth strides. He took Uma's hand in his, his touch gentle despite the calluses from years of wielding weapons.

"Uma," he said softly, "you should know by now. You have me, all of me. There's no need for jealousy or doubt."

Uma's breath caught in her throat. "Y/n, I..."

Before she could finish, Y/n pulled a dagger from his belt. The blade glinted in the low light as he made a swift cut across his palm, then did the same to Uma's hand. She didn't flinch, her eyes locked on his face.

"With this blood, I bind us," Y/n intoned, pressing their bleeding palms together. "Our lives, our souls, united as one. Do you accept this bond, Uma?"

Uma's voice was barely a whisper. "I do."

A faint glow surrounded their joined hands, and Uma gasped as she felt a surge of power flow through her. When it faded, Y/n cupped her face in his hands and placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Now and always," he murmured, before turning and walking away, leaving Uma to process what had just occurred.

Meanwhile, in Ursula's Fish and Chips shop, chaos reigned. Mal had burst in, her eyes glowing green with barely contained fury.

"Where is he, Uma?" Mal demanded, magic crackling around her fists.

Uma lounged against the counter, a smirk playing on her lips. "Who, your precious little king? Oh, he's safe... for now."

Mal lunged forward, but Uma was ready. The two girls clashed in a flurry of fists and magic, their battle destroying tables and sending patrons fleeing.

"You've gotten soft in Auradon, Mal," Uma taunted as she dodged a blast of green energy. "Forgotten how we do things on the Isle?"

Mal snarled, her pixie heritage giving her enhanced speed and agility. "I haven't forgotten anything, Uma. Including how to take you down!"

The fight intensified, both girls drawing blood and leaving scorch marks on the walls. Just as Mal was about to land a devastating blow, a sudden pulse of energy sent her flying backwards. She crashed into the wall, her head ringing from the impact.

As Mal struggled to her feet, she saw Uma surrounded by a shimmering aura of power. Uma's eyes widened in surprise, then narrowed in triumph.

"Well, well," Uma purred. "Looks like I've got a guardian angel. Or should I say, a guardian chaos god?"

Mal's heart clenched as realization dawned. "Y/n," she whispered.

Uma's grin was vicious. "That's right, Mal. He's with me now. And if you want to see your precious Ben alive again, you'll bring me Fairy Godmother's wand."

Mal's jaw tightened. "Fine. But this isn't over, Uma."

As Mal turned to leave, Uma couldn't resist one final jab. "Oh, and Mal? Y/n sends his regards. We've gotten quite... close."

Mal paused, her back to Uma. "Is that so? Well, you might want to ask yourself, Uma – if he's so devoted to you, why does he always come running when I'm in danger?" With that parting shot, Mal stalked out of the shop.

Y/n's hideout was a testament to his parentage – a swirling mix of order and chaos, beautiful and terrifying all at once. When Mal and her friends entered, they found him lounging on a throne-like chair, idly toying with a ball of crackling energy.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigal daughter of evil," Y/n drawled, his eyes fixed on Mal. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mal stepped forward, her chin raised defiantly. "Cut the act, Y/n. What's this I hear about you and Uma?"

Y/n's laugh was cold and bitter. "Act? Oh, Mal. You're the one who's been acting. Playing at being good, pretending you belong in Auradon. At least I know who and what I am."

He stood, moving closer to Mal. In one swift motion, he snatched the necklace from around her neck – the one he had given her long ago.

"You don't need this anymore," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Uma deserves everything I can give her. My love, my loyalty, my devotion. She's never tried to change me or leave me behind."

Mal's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "Y/n, please. This isn't you. Uma's using you, can't you see that?"

Y/n's expression hardened. "No, Mal. For the first time, I see clearly. Now go. Try to save your king. But remember – the Isle always wins in the end."

As Mal and her friends left, Evie placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

Mal squared her shoulders. "I have to be. We have a wand to fake and a king to save."

On Uma's ship, Y/n watched as she paced back and forth, muttering to herself. "Uma," he called out, concern lacing his voice. "What's troubling you?"

Uma stopped, turning to face him. "It's what Mal said. About you always coming when she's in danger. Is... is that true?"

Y/n sighed, pulling Uma close. "Come with me," he said, leading her to her cabin. Once inside, he retrieved a dusty tome from a hidden compartment.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked, opening the book to a specific page. Uma shook her head.

"This," Y/n explained, "is a record of ancient rituals and bonds. The blood-sharing we did? It's more than just a symbolic gesture. For beings like us – demigods, children of chaos – it's as binding as any marriage. More so, even. Our souls are literally entwined now, Uma."

Uma's eyes widened. "So when you saved me during the fight with Mal..."

Y/n nodded. "I felt your danger. Our bond called me to protect you. It has nothing to do with Mal, and everything to do with us."

Uma's face softened, a rare vulnerability showing through. "Y/n, I..."

Before she could finish, Harry burst into the cabin. "They're back!" he announced. "With the wand!"

The confrontation on the dock was tense. Mal held out the fake wand, her eyes never leaving Uma's face.

"The wand for Ben," she said firmly.

Uma reached for it, but Y/n's hand on her arm stopped her. "Be careful," he murmured. "Remember what we discussed about Fae magic."

Uma nodded, then took the wand. She waved it, expecting a surge of power. When nothing happened, her face contorted with rage.

"You lied!" she snarled, lunging at Mal.

Y/n caught her, holding her back. "Uma, stop. This isn't the way."

As chaos erupted around them, Y/n locked eyes with Mal over Uma's head. For a moment, something passed between them – regret, understanding, a hint of the connection they once shared. Then the moment was gone, and the battle raged on.

The Cotillion was in full swing when Ben arrived with Uma on his arm. The shocked gasps of the attendees were music to Uma's ears as Ben declared his love for her.

But the triumph was short-lived. Mal's true love's kiss broke the spell, and Uma found herself backed into a corner. With a cry of rage and pain, she leapt into the sea, the magic of her mother's shell transforming her into a magnificent, terrifying cecaelia.

As Mal transformed into a dragon to meet her, Uma felt a surge of power flow through her. Y/n's gift, their bond, giving her strength. The battle was fierce, water against fire, tentacles against wings.

In the end, it was Ben who stopped the fight. As Uma swam away, her heart heavy with defeat, she knew where she was going – back to the one person who truly understood her.

Y/n stood on the shore of the Isle, his eyes scanning the horizon. When he saw Uma emerge from the waves, her octopus form melting away, he opened his arms without a word.

Uma collapsed against him, her body shaking with silent sobs. Y/n held her close, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," he murmured. "You're home now. We'll find another way, Uma. I promise you, one day, we'll have the freedom you dream of. Together."

Uma looked up at him, her eyes shining with a mix of tears and determination. "Promise?"

Y/n smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I swear it on the chaos that runs through our veins. You and me, Uma. Always."

As they stood there, the sun setting behind them, Y/n and Uma knew that this was just the beginning of their story. The Isle of the Lost might be their prison for now, but with their combined power and cunning, it was only a matter of time before they rewrote the rules of their world.

After all, in chaos, there was always opportunity. And they were nothing if not masters of chaos.

[comicaurora]

Hello! I wanted to send my appreciation to you as a longtime fan of OSP and Auroura! I am an English Major with ADHD and your content always makes me inspired and my English Lit. Brain very happy with how good your storytelling is.

My question is what stories inspire you to write or make you want to sit down and tell a story? Your content makes me want to work on my projects, but my Adhd only last as long as I am not disturbed (i.e. need to eat or get up and move). You have always been upfront about your Adhd so my second question is how do you keep focused on your story and not burn out? (Talking as someone who is writing a novel as their thesis)

You have been a great inspiration over the years and someone I look up to as a storyteller! I wish you focus and luck! => 💝

Woo! Interesting questions!

When it comes to inspiration, I haven't really found a pattern for what works and what doesn't. The majority of the time, only new experiences/stories I haven't seen or read before work for me - rewatches and re-reads, while much more comfortable for my brain, don't tend to translate into creative inspiration for me - but it's not like a specific genre, or even a specific kind of relaxation, consistently work for me.

The way my brain works is a bit "no take only throw", as it were. I want to just sit down and make solid, steady progress in a predictable environment with a routine, but what I need is to try new things, go outside, take risks - because all those things give me new material to work with and refill the creative gas tank. When I'm stuck, I can't just hit the gas and punch through the block - I need to back up and try a new angle.

The good part of all this is that whatever engine that's running my subconscious is actually pretty good at signaling what it needs. The ADHD brain will be repelled by activities that aren't working for it and drawn to the things it needs at the time, whether that's creative energy or exercise or cleaning or doodling or listening to music or suddenly binge-watching a show that's not even all that great, and once it's got what it needs out of it - whatever that is - it'll be repelled again, either spitting out a sudden burst of creative energy or retreating to its den to chew on whatever it got out of the experience for a more slow-building reward. Little bursts of motivation and creativity pop up all throughout the day, and if you can pivot to the activity in question - or at least note down the idea you just had - you'll be able to harness that pretty nicely.

This "system" really only works for me because I have an extremely unstructured schedule and nobody relying on me to be consistent moment-to-moment. If I'm following the creative needs of my inscrutable Better Writer In The Back Of My Head, I can't be worrying about things like a consistent lunchtime or classes or a 9-to-5. All of my observations are caveat'd by the fact that I am ridiculously lucky to have the kind of freedom of movement and schedule that I can focus entirely on getting to know my brain better.

When it comes to staying focused on any one project, I've reluctantly concluded that the only way to win is not to play. Creativity needs time and diversity to recharge, and when you stall out in any given work session, it's usually because you're out of gas. This is why I maintain several projects in varying stages of "for my eyes only"-ness - a sketchbook, private writing projects, patreon doodles, music practice; even in the large-scale projects like the channel and the comic I have multiple angles of attack at any given time, where I can as needed switch between scripting, research, drawing frames, storyboarding more plot onto the end of the comic's current draft and lining/coloring/background-ing the finalized pages of the comic chapters earlier. This lets me maintain semi-steady progress on average, even if any one facet of the process is left by the wayside for potentially even weeks at a time.

If you're working on one writing project, one novel, I'd recommend giving yourself some time to do small-scale side-hobbies. It won't feel like they're helping, but they are.

I've started to think of inspiration rather similarly to the way I think about nutrition and digestion. It's a somewhat arcane process that, despite being a part of me, I don't exactly understand what's going on under the hood. If you eat only one thing, no matter what that one thing is, you're going to end up sick because you're lacking all sorts of niche micronutrients. If you parcel out a specific space of the only things you're allowed to eat, you might not get sick (as quickly) but you're likely going to become increasingly miserable as you think of the things you're not allowing yourself to try, or slowly build up highly specific forms of malnourishment by avoiding certain things entirely. But if you start listening to your body and try eating what it says it needs at any given time - oh, I could go for a rice bowl right now, oh I don't think I'm feeling something sugary today, man I could really go for some grapes - you're likely to hit a broadly good balance of health because you're hitting a broad range of things your body needs, even if you don't know all of their names or calorie counts, and your body is putting those resources to good use without your conscious input. Between my brain and my stomach, I only trust one of those to actually understand what a stomach needs to do its thing - and between me and my creative brain, most of the time it feels like I just work here.

I hope there was something helpful in all this!

[there-and-gone]

In regards to prompts, it's probably a very mundane one, but Radiohusk as conmen duo (maybe even conmen trio with Niffty)?

Ooo thanks for the prompt! I haven't written short-form, let alone RadioHusk, in a hot minute, and I have to say it was refreshing. Here's a quick little thing. I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Husk/Alastor

Rating: T

Length: 567

Title: A Little Bit of Fun

Husk reclined back on the lone bench that had survived the slaughter before clicking his fingers to light a cigar and bringing it to his lips. He sucked on the end, letting the smoke fill his chest with heat as he enjoyed the indulgent pressure before slowly letting it out, watching it curl in the hellish air.

He smirked, then grinned as a long, narrow frame of red settled on one side of him while a smaller, shorter, peppier figure took the other. 

They were each in some state of disarray, with him suffering the worst of it and Alastor the least. Husk looked roughed up and mangy in comparison to the scuffs and torn dress Niffty was happily repairing with swift, sure stitches of her needle, and Alastor who merely brushed off some lingering rubble that had dusted his shoulders.

“That was fun,” Husk said as he took another puff of his cigar before offering it to Alastor. The Radio Demon plucked it smoothly from his fingers to take an equally indulgent drag of his own, smiling a matching smile of satisfaction as he blew the smoke out. “Played that asshole like a chump. Guy didn’t even know what hit him. Haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

“If only they were all as amusing as that poor fellow,” Alastor sighed as he leaned against him, taking in their handy work as the devastation they’d inflicted on this sorry part of the Pentagram continued to burn merrily. “Hopefully we’ll find someone just as entertaining. If not more!”

“Oh, oh, oh! I know someone!” Niffty exclaimed as she shot to her feet on the bench, eye bright and manic and filled with sinful delight as she stared at them. Her grin curled devilishly. “He’s a bad boy and deserves to be punished.”

“It’s settled then!” Alastor shouted, lifting his hand into the air like he was willing it into reality while his other arm snaked around him and Niffty, drawing them close. “And I have just the plan!”

“Whatever, so long as it’s fun,” Husk said, too hopped up on the warm buzz of endorphins in his blood to shove Alastor off. Not that he really wanted to.

Especially when Alastor smirked at him, their faces barely separated by an inch.

“Only the best for us, Husker. Have some faith!”

Husk snorted. “Like faith exists down here.”

The Radio Demon's smirk pulled wider, his eyes warm and alive and focused entirely on him in a way that always made Husk feel like the center of Alastor’s world.

“I do.”

Husk snorted and smirked as he rolled his eyes before shoving that shit-eating grin away.

“Fucking narcissist.”

“Guilty as charged! At least with the narcissism.” Alastor burst to his feet, taking a final draw from the cigar before throwing it over his shoulder and into the chaos behind him. Husk immediately swore, surging forward to go after it but was stopped when Alastor caught him and began dragging him away as Niffty darted ahead, glee at what was coming giving her more unnecessary manic energy. “No time to drag our feet now. Time’s a-wasting!”

“You motherfucker—!”

That was as far as Husk got before the bright sound of Alastor’s laughter filled the air, and filled him too, making him excited for whatever the psycho had planned next. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.

[otherhearted-culture-is]

Hey hey! I'm kinda struggling to figure out my identity :,) can you help me?

I'm pretty sure I'm an alterhuman, I've always had a very strong connection to nature, especially animals. I think I'm animalhearted. As a kid, I absolutely adored dogs. I used to pretend to be one all the time. (My mom told me I once went three days straight insisting I wasn't a human 💀) like- that's gotta be a sign for something, right?

But you see, over time, I've kinda lost that like... Idk how to describe it. That connection? I still like dogs, just not as much. I don't pretend to be a dog anymore, and haven't in years. Without a pet dog, that connection just.. Faded

I've been doing quads for about half a year now, yk, just for fun. But as of like maybe 4 months ago I keep getting these weird like, idrk how to describe it. These like bursts of energy that feel almost like they're not me. I'm still in full control, but that's not coming from me. That probably doesn't make any sense, but yeah. I don't want to call them shifts cus I have absolutely no idea if that's what they are, and they're not super often.

I'm thinking I'm probably doghearted? But now I'm wondering if I'm a dog therian? Idk, I mean I like the dual souls thing, I feel like I have the soul of a dog along with my human one. But I'm having a hard time figuring out if I'm actually a therian or if it's just shifting disease, cus I haven't really experienced this my whole life, and it's only after doing research did I start questioning. I've never really had species dysphoria either. Idk, what do you think? It's probably just shifting disease right? How am I supposed to tell the difference between identifying with vs. as?

Thank you for reading <3

(Sorry this took a while to get to! If you already sorted this out on your own, feel free to ignore this answer.)

There's a few things to address here:

1. Some fluctuation in the intensity of a hearttype or kintype is normal. Though this is extreme fluctuation that also neatly coincides with outside factors, so that's probably not it, I feel it's still worth at least mentioning.

2. I hadn't heard of shifter's disease before I got this ask. It was difficult to find information on, but I did manage to find a definition and a couple of forum posts further detailing the phenomenon by asking around on Discord. I'm not a big fan of the name tbh. I know the comparison it's drawing, but it still feels like over-medicalizing it. But whatever, that's the existing name, so I'll use it. Anyway!

To check for this, I would suggest trying to keep your mind off both alterhumanity in general and your own potentially alterhuman experiences as much as possible for a while. Stop researching, don't spend time mulling over it, and step away from any alterhuman spaces you're active in. You should be able to deduce by whether or not your feelings persist through that whether or not it was shifter's disease.

3. Last but not least- how do you tell the difference between ID'ing with vs. ID'ing as? Ever a tricky one. Corv's otherhearted questioning quick guide has a section dedicated to exactly that question, so it will probably be helpful to you! (But yknow, probably wait about it.)

[fic--writer]

Instinctive Charm

If Instinctive Charm were a spell, and Rolan had asked Tav to teach him the art. But the only way to achieve focus remains primal passion.

Chapter 3: Whatever my teacher desires. (final chapter) ⚠️ NSFW, SMUT

— It was really crazy, but I feel better now. Thanks, Tav. But I still haven't figured out how to use it to concentrate. - The truth serum stopped working, and Rolan was no longer anxious when he spoke.

— It will definitely help you, but not right away. Give yourself time to get back on track, to recover from the shock. Learn to live with it. For now we'll try another method of concentration.

He looked at her blankly, got up from the improvised bed and began to study the scrolls on the table.

Tav decided it was time to move on to the next part. The pleasant part. She noticed his nervousness and informed him:

— No, we won't be poking around in your brain any more. At least not today. Just relax.

She stood up and walked towards him, fighting her own indecision, but knowing that it would be foolish to back out now. Especially since she wanted to complete the ritual and check how hot the tiefling's skin could be:

— I would like to ask you a question. A rather personal question. - Tav said quietly - Tell me... are you a virgin?

— What? I'm, uh... - The Master of Ramazite tower choked up for the second time that day. - You really didn't think so, did you? No, I haven't for a long time... But no, I'm not a virgin. - Tav's question stunned him. And foolishly, he began to leaf through the scrolls on the table, pretending to study the magic formulas.

— There are physical methods. Well, to wake you up and get you going, and also to appeal to your instincts. - She pointed to his groin with an indeterminate hand movement. - Now, let's get on with it. Is there any chance that I might be your type? I know the truth serum has worn off, but… Remember, you have to answer honestly, whatever the answer is, it won't upset me.

— I... you know, it's really personal,' Rolan blushed and slapped the air with his tail, but then he pulled himself together and blurted it out: - Of course you're my... type. How could anyone not like you? Look at you, the saviour of Baldur's Gate. But... Why do you even ask that? - He tried to pick up the pile of papers he had unfolded earlier, but only managed to drop a few sheets on the floor.

— I'm asking because it's part of our class, remember why we're here? - Tav continued, flicking a strand of hair back in her face, trying to hide her embarrassment - Because exercise can really help you. If you haven't had a vivid experience for a while, it's OK. Bad memories are in the past, life has settled down and taken its grey course, and the new bright moments are not yet upon you. We'll fix that. There are... There are activities other than tantrums and pillow fights that give you a burst of energy. And they also appeal to basic instinct. These 'practices' help the wizard to create and channel the energy for the spell.

Rolan felt his mind begin to draw all sorts of not-so-decent pictures. But he nodded understandingly and finally left the papers alone. After all, Tav had really helped him, and more than once.

— Good. - She playfully spread her legs to give him a better view of her thighs peeking out from under her skirt. - I ask because if you've been through this before, you know exactly how much energy it has.

— The procreative instinct? You mean the thought of offspring? But... - he replied, lowering his head and feeling the colour engulf him completely. He was still waiting for some hidden catch. The thought of Tav offering him something like that so easily couldn't take root in his mind. Still, who knew these sorceresses from the Charm school.

— Does every mating end in a pregnancy? No, when you're passionate about someone, when you want someone, strive to possess them, you don't think about offspring at that moment. You're just thinking about - desire. The desire for intimacy is nothing but the desire of flesh for flesh.

She was so close to him that he swallowed, feeling her warmth again. The Archmage could smell her scent, the one he had missed in his excitement. The scent of rich, warm caramel and violets. Each of her words was like an incantation, filled with intense attraction. Each part of the sorceress' speech was more enticing than the last. She began to whisper to him:

— And if you're not a virgin, you know exactly how it feels. You know how your heart starts racing when you smell the scent of the one you desire. You know how your breath hitches just thinking about it. How your hands start to shake and your tongue starts to slip when you're afraid of scaring her off and making a fool of yourself. The way your knees tremble, the way your forehead sweats. You know - she whispered provocatively into his pointed ear.

— Tav, I... - he stammered, unable to find the words to express his thoughts. No sooner had he risen from the ashes, from these ruins of his life, than life took a completely different turn.

She ran her tongue invitingly over his lobe and continued:

— You know how your blood rushes and you blush, you know how your throat dries up when you realise that the lustful intentions are mutual. You feel your pulse racing.

— Tav, if you don't stop now, I'll... - The tension between his desire and his mind was at its peak. It controlled him like a puppeteer controlling his marionette. Rolan clawed and clawed at the table. Of course he wanted her, but he still doubted the reality and rightness of what was happening.

Tav didn't think to stop. She ran her lips along his neck and placed her hands on his chest:

— You know the way your flesh heats up and your hands reach for your partner. You know the burning sensation that hides in the pit of your stomach. You know the sensual sounds you'll elicit from each other. You know the hurricane that will break out between you. You long to taste it on your tongue. You long to touch and penetrate every cell. - She nibbled at the skin of his red, freckled neck with her moist lips, making him moan.

— Zurgan! I won't be able to stop if you keep do this - he said with a heaviness in every word. He still hesitated. Could he take what he wanted so easily now? But there was not an ounce of falsehood in Tav's mouth. Her words sounded selfless. She wanted him?

— You know exactly how it is, Rolan. I think I made it clear. Leave all your secrets in my body. - She let out a moan of anticipation and unbuttoned his shirt, running her hand down a torso too pumped for a wizard. Every infernal ridge sent a ripple through her hand as she moved.

The next moment, Rolan pulled his hands from the table with force and moved them to her cheeks, pulling her to him for a passionate kiss. And finally closed her babbling, lewd mouth. His chaos erupted as the tension cracked.

— I tried to warn you, but you wouldn't listen. - He growled, no longer hiding his intentions. His tail wrapped around her legs with such force that she had to work harder to get free.

Tav started to answer, but Rolan cut her off by placing his hand on her chin and covering her mouth with his thumb, which she immediately licked.

— I tried to warn you. Now hush you! - the archmage said, enjoying the jam of her lips. Their searching tongues collided again and again. His hands slid boldly down her back, claws carving shallow scratches.

The room filled with moans, the sound of their breathing and the rustling of pages scattered across the floor. On which they now stomped, almost losing their balance, searching for a foothold.

Rolan lifted Tav in his arms and laid her carelessly, barbarically, on the cushions. The Tiefling piled on top of her, pressing her hard and unrestrained against him. Pulling off the top of her dress, he clung to Tav's chest, like for ice cream on a hot summer day.

In that dense oasis of intimacy, his hand slid down to her throbbing clit. Which he could feel even through her underwear. He moved frequently, his hot fingertips sending shivers down her insides. The tension building up inside him was both tantalising and terrifying.

She wriggled and whimpered beneath him, and the Archmage couldn't stand it any longer. After all, it was her own fault for turning him on like that. Now that she was a whimpering piece of plasticine in his hands, he pulled his trousers down and then ripped Tav's panties off. Her little black lecherous panties. If they consisted of more than a couple of strips of thin fabric, they would have a chance of staying intact.. Rolan looked at her questioningly and she nodded in agreement with a wicked smile.

— Don't be greedy. - Tav said almost pleadingly.

The Archmage pulled aside the ribbons of her skirt and saw the mischievous sheen of her wetness. It beckoned and fascinated him, and the Typhling went straight for her entrance. Her heat rushed to his cock and he entered. All the foolishness of the world and his mind faded away in this gruelling desire.

We are entwined. We are your core desire, your flesh. Souls and bodies collide with terrible heat. Forget the shame in common nature. Leave me to my sins.

Oh, nature's gift to the Tiefling. The velvety skin of his thick cock was adorned with infernal ridges. It moved rigidly to and fro in a wild animal rhythm, and there was no other way. Rolan held her hips with his tail, pressing her hungrily against him. Tav shivered and wriggled beneath him, savouring the heat of his body now in all her innermost places.

Tav literally felt every spark that Rolan shot out of her body. Every now and then a moan escaped her lips. She was on edge, but she couldn't let them climax for the sake of concentration. To get the tiefling's attention, she grabbed his hair, pulled him towards her and bit his lower lip, pulling away before letting go.

— Rolan now. Right now. - She murmured.

— What, you already? - he squeezed out the words, uncomprehending, mixed with deep, hoarse sounds from the bottom of his throat.

— No, I haven't! For now, focus and concentrate all your attention. Gather all the energy of that instinct and cast the spell. Direct it at me, there is no one else. - she found it hard to think and speak in this position, but what one would do for the sake of learning and science.

Rolan realised what she wanted from him, but it was not easy to interrupt such an intimate and exciting process. It was a challenge to remember the theory, the verbal and somatic components of the spell. With an effort of will, he gradually slowed his rhythm, regained his focus and control of the situation.

— Try it now, come on. Concentrate on the sensations. - Tav insisted.

The tower master breathed in the scent of her hair and closed his eyes. He concentrated on the sensation that filled his entire being. He made the necessary gestures, his fingers swirling in the air like snowflakes. Rolan tried to cast the spell again, focusing all his passion on the target. This time the magical energy flowed through him and he felt the spell begin to form.

His magic affects those around her, mesmerising them, bending their will and changing their beliefs.

A glowing aura appeared around Rolan and he directed the flow towards Tav. She, the target of the spell, began to move like a doll under the influence of an unseen force. At his command, she picked up the pillow and threw it aside.

— It worked! - Tav rejoiced as only a teacher can for his pupil. - You did it!

— I really did it! - the inspired Rolan laughed, baring his frequent fangs.

But the next moment, when he remembered the position they were in and how they'd got there, he was embarrassed, his yellow eyes rounded:

— We? I'm sorry if... - He started to get off her in a hurry.

— I have nothing to forgive you for. It's all right. I wouldn't do anything I didn't want to. - She stopped him by grabbing his arm. Tav threw her head back and looked up from underneath him, playfully nudging him with her hips - You know, we don't have to stop.

The Tiefling replied with a cheeky smile and a sizzling look:

— Faz'iam quodzum volu'rit dilectus me magizta. - He spoke in infernal and Tav had a moment of doubt about her proposal.

Seeing her confusion, Rolan hurried to translate:

— Whatever my teacher desires.

[cloudtastrophie]

A little headcannon tidbit based off of chapter 2 of @canarydarity 's ranchers baseball au <3

-----

St. Louis felt infinitely like home. Or, as close to home as Jimmy could get. Coming into the city from the Illinois side of the river made him sick to smell the air of his childhood backyard. To taste the dirt in his mouth as he, once again, lost against Grian at the diamonds. St. Louis was 10 times smaller than grand old New York, New York, but it was 10 times more welcoming. The drivers were calmer, the streets less full, the culture more laid back. It was a lazy city, sticky and slow like molasses in the early summer midwestern heat. 

As the team bus rattled its way across the Eads Bridge, Jimmy felt Joel smack his arm, breaking his gaze away from the lazy flow of the Mississippi. “What in the bloody hell are they building?” Joel muttered, half standing to see over Tango’s shoulders across the isle. Tango looked as if he was about to burst out of the window, he was pressed so hard to the glass. He swiveled his head to look at Jimmy and Joel. 

“You two haven’t heard? It’s been in every paper for weeks!” He was practically vibrating with excitement. 

Jimmy shook his head and stood up taller to see what the fuss was about. By then, the whole team was ‘ooh and ahhing’ at the absolutely massive structure being built, right on the banks of the river. 

“It’s going to be called the Gateway Arch. It’s probably going to be the biggest feat of engineering since the Empire State. Probably better than the Needle out in Seattle is going to be.” Jimmy raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile on his lips. Since when did Tango have a special interest in engineering?

“I did a few months in an engineering class. Got me hooked, but numbers are easier to understand.” Tango explained, as if he had read Jimmy’s mind. Then he turned back around and continued to peer at the stories-tall cranes slowly moving into place, and the two wide, square beginnings of what would apparently become a feat of engineering. Jimmy didn’t really see the draw, but he leaned across Joel and the isle to Tango anyways.

“We should come back to see it once it’s finished.” Jimmy said, watching the construction site fade behind them. The Cardnial’s stadium appeared behind the looming Old Courthouse. 

“I agree!” Tango replied, beaming. Jimmy didn’t care if he was 100 by the time the Arch was finished. He’d come back and see it with Tango when it was done.

------

hi worm i know you're reading this,,,ok I haven't had the energy (or time) to do any art for the baseball au but the brainrot has been stuck with me for DAYS. so I decided to write a little tidbit of how I imagined the ride into St. Louis for that game against the Cardnials. I have a lot of love for the city I grew up around so I really wanted to do something for it for you :) And if you're interested, here's some of the history I incorparated to make it feel more historically accurate! (i'm a cloested history buff, can you tell)

the st louis gateway arch began construction in 1963 technically, but I'm like 90% sure that there was soo much prep work done on the site before the actual construction, as there is a basement underneath it, and a huge walkway/viewing platform area, as well as the whole thing with the levee right on the Mississippi. I wanted to sort of figure out what that would look like in 1961 when the plans were being laid out. Also, the Arch is a certified national park, it's professional name being "St. Louis Gateway Arch National Park"

The Old Courthouse. UGH its one of my favorite buildings I've ever seen actually. Its so beautiful, and you can, from the road I'm writing them on, see Busch staduim looming behind it. The Courthouse also actually held the first two trials of the Dred Scott case, if you're into that kind of stuff.

The Eads Bridge. Also one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It is the oldest bridge on the Mississippi and was constructed under the care of Andrew Carnagie. That bad boy is made out of actual authentic Carnagie steel. Sooo history rich. Pretty sure they actually held a parade with elephants once it was done. so that's cool

Oh, and Busch stadium. It wasn't called that way back when! And it looked much, much different than it does now. I'm honestly not sure what it was called in the 60's, but I'm sure most people called it Cardnial's stadium. It was a beautiful and massive stadium back then, and it still is now.

the seattle neetle was being constructed around the same time as the arch as well, which is why i had Tango say something about it LOL

And for funsies, here's a scorecard that I'm sure Tango would've recieved in 1961 from the stadium.

hope you enjoyed my little rant!! And if you made it to the bottom of this and you're not worm, I hope you enjoyed learning a little about st. louis today. :)

[pbandjesse]

It's not as bad right now but my poor feet are all swollen. It's terrible. Like I am sort of used to my hands swelling from walking around, and that's very uncomfortable. But this sucks. I tried laying with my feet propped up on the headboard for a while. And it helped a little but it is still difficult to move my toes. Not pleasant at all.

I find it extra annoying because I didn't even do much today. I had a pretty easy and restful day. And that was nice after sort of a bad night's sleep. I woke up at least 5 times. I don't remember James leaving. But when I did wake up for real I had a text from them that they made it to work without getting to rained on. So that's good.

I went and turned the shower on and left that to run for a bit while I made the bed and brushed my teeth. I hate to waste the water but I just can't take a cold shower every time. And it would actually get warm after ten minutes.

I washed my hair. And tried to feel like a person. I am using Nivea cream lotion which does not spread well, it's almost a wax, but it's the thickest lotion I can find and my belly stretchmarks are starting to tear at the top! Which is plain unacceptable to me. Like I already have some belly stretchmarks, I've had them for years. But they are very light and I would like to keep them that way. So I am going hard on the lotions and oils.

I would just put soft clothes on today. I started in a sweater, then this fleece but would switch to a sweatshirt by the end of the day. I just was feeling uncomfortable today. I couldn't find the right temperature or fabric. I was trying to be comfy but it was just not in the cards.

I had cereal and waited for my meeting with Kathleen. We must have had a slight miscommunication because I thought we were having a video call but she would call me at like 1015. I had been waiting at my desk for the video call (I very much did not want to do the video call), but she got my number and called me and honestly it was really nice to talk to her.

We caught up, talked about pregnancy and having an IUD, and gossiped a little about the event world. But the call was mostly about a workshop idea for the old time music festival in the spring. They have decided to not have the makers market this year but still wanted to engage with the artists and makers. I'm sorry of bummed to lose that market because I did really well at it. But I appreciate that she wants to organize a workshop with me.

They would have to get a grant but I agreed to write up a document with a proposal and the project and scope. I also hope to make some examples I can photograph.

The project of would be felt pins based on some of the logos of the festival, specifically an oyster and a crab. I think I can precut a bunch of those and have a pretty solid little sewing workshop.

Once I got off the phone I decided to just start working on the document. And would spend about two hours writing. That up and drawing some instructions. I honestly was having a great time. I had my laptop and tablet opened and it was just really fun having a solid project to work on. I really hope I can get more commission work and digital stuff because I truly do enjoy it. I also really want to push myself to make more digital drawings.

I am actually planning a larger project making an alphabet coloring sheet set for our baby shower in January. I started it a while ago but I haven't touched it in weeks. I will have to revisit that ASAP.

I would have a late lunch. I had a hotdog and we didn't have buns so I had it on bread which wasn't as texturally horrible as I feared. It was honestly fine. I sat in the studio and had my lunch and tried to feel productive.

But mostly I just felt tired. I would go upstairs and laid down for a little while.

I would get a little burst of energy and decided to try and go through my closet again. I put some more stuff away. Still haven't folded the storage clothes. But it was fine. I still did not find my shawl. I am starting to get nervous that I somehow got rid of it. Like it was in something and I gave it away. I really hope not.

I spent a good amount of time laying on the couch. Then moving back to the bedroom. And waiting for my husband to come home.

When James got home they accidentally leaned on my leg and it hurt so bad??? And then I was really happy and it made me mad. I tried not to get mad at James because it wasn't on purpose but I was a bit upset with them.

Then would make me noodles for dinner. My favorite pasta side was knorrs, formally Lipton. And they are just so boring now. They used to be so good but they just taste like creamy noodles and it is so disappointing. So much food is so boring or cheap tasting now. And I know it's because companies are cheaping off on ingredients. Everything is expensive but worse now.

James would go to the living room to do their podcast. And I would sit in the studio to work on a little quilting project. I want to make some quilt based things for Christmas gifts. And this quilt piece didn't 100% work how I was planning but I like the colors I chose and I think it will look good as something later.

While I was working at my desk though my feet started getting wildly swollen. They felt full of liquid and the skin felt so tight. I could barely bend my toes. Like I couldn't flex my foot. I would try to push through the discomfort. I moved the to floor, thinking maybe sitting in the kneeling chair had caused something to be pinched? But it didn't help.

I tore one of my quilt strips and cursed and when James came running thinking something was wrong I yelled at them to leave me alone and that wasn't fair. I felt very bad doing that. They said I can be mad at them but they didn't do anything. I was just feeling very very overstimulated and upset.

I moved upstairs and laid in bed with my feet in the air. But I just moved back to laying regular. My feet are still swollen but I can bend my toes again. Still not comfortable but at least I can move.

I am ready to just not think about anything for the rest of the night. James is going to shower and I might take one after. Maybe that will make me feel a little better.

We have thanksgiving prep tomorrow. I would love to avoid the stores because I know they will be packed. But I will assess everything in the morning.

I hope you all have a nice sleep. I love you all. Goodnight.

[nidailylife]

2.10.2023.

Been gone from this daily life blog and Instagram for a long time.

I caught Covid near the end of December. Then i got my whole house sick, because i was so sure it couldn't possibly be covid.😰 My symptoms started while walking in my large backyard with a mask on. How could it be covid?!? It had to be that pms flu some people get. But then the rest of my family got sick, we got tested, and---BAM. Covid. From the freaking backyard. With no neighbors around. While wearing a mask.😵

Fortunately, we're all covid negative now, though we're all still coughing. The doctors say that'll last 2 months. We had to postpone our family's Japan trip again, for the 4th(?) year. But that gives me more time to do my taxes.

Good thing too, because i got sick AGAIN. I've been getting an unusual amount of hives since 2020. (Maybe my "cold" that winter was also covid?) So i didn't realize anything unusual about a bump in January, until it didn't disappear like hives. Clearly now, it was a bug bite. Then it got bigger. Turned dark colors. Filled with puss. Burst like a giant pimple; now an open wound. I was getting chills and fevers, while dealing with an open wound on my butt. Being unable to sit, i couldn't do anything but lie in bed, and endure my fevers. And when i realized my sickness was because this bug bite was infected (and not just another instance of my history of becoming sick from getting too cold), i was still not well enough to think about a trip to the doctor. When the fevers left, being unable to sit meant i couldn't do anything. I couldn't draw, do photography, write, work on my laptop, etc. And while still recovering my strength, i didn't have the stamina to stand or go on walks. Whatever stamina i did have, went to recooking food on the stove, because our microwave has been broken for a while. I really miss having a microwave when you're too tired to stand.😭 When i finally got some energy back, all i could do was browse social media on my phone. And since Instagram posts usually take an activity on my part to document, i just had nothing to post.

I'm much better now, and my open wound only has around 1cm left of gap in my skin to close up. I can sit again, even for most of the day, and DO things.😄

I got my laptop taken in for repair, with 22 days of warranty left to spare. 🎊 The service even called me tonight to say i could pick it up on Monday.👍✨️

I got my city business tax e-filed, WEEKS earlier than i have in years. All because i didn't know how long my laptop repair would take, so i tried to get all my important computer stuff done before i sent it for fixing.

But what i haven't done is walk outside again. Frankly, I'm kind of afraid to. After my last 2 walks, i got an infected bug bite. During each of my 2 walks before that, i caught Covid. Maybe I'll be ok with walking outside again in 2 months or so. But my open wound is still trying to close and i don't want to take away its energy to heal. Early into this bug bite, i tried to walk, and my whole muscular tissue around that area was actually sore. I shouldn't have powered thru it. Now I'm going to give it more rest than ever. So i may not do daily walks again (or even go outside unnecessarily) for a couple months.

Other thing i haven't done in too long is draw. I forgot how hard it is for me to start again. Some artists say the necessity of daily practice is a myth. But for me, it's a must. I have no more confidence or even muscle memory about drawing anything.😭 I cant get the ideas out of my head, out thru my hand/pen, and onto paper!😭 Feels like a literal block between my brain and my hand.🥺 I need to admit for real this time that Creatury does not work for me. That January drawing challenge does not motivate me to draw. Then i fall off my daily drawing practice, and look where i am.😓 Every December, i burn out from consecutive months of drawing challenges: Smaugust, OTPtember, Inktober, Huevember. I need my January drawing challenge to be simple to pick up. One year, i sketched backyard flowers everyday for January. I should have done that again. Referential sketches don't take any thought, and with the end result, being able to emulate realism boosts my confidence. And because the sketches are based on my own photos, i can use them to make merch.👍 So from now on, daily flower sketches, every January.

Right now, I'm 10 days into February and haven't even started the Faebruary drawing challenge. One of my favorites, and I'm letting it fly by me.😓 This happens every year that i cant pick back up with my daily drawings in January.😖���💧💧💧💧

On the bright side, i started learning how to crochet a belt cord. Which is something I've needed to be able to make for years. But it hurts my hand so much, I'm thinking of just sewing belts out of tougher fabrics instead.😜

This is my first time journaling in days, since my laptop has been off for repairs (and my hands don't have the stamina to write by hand for long anymore). I realize this has been a long post, but I just needed to catch up. 📝

Grateful to my cells for working so hard lately.

I've been sick lately, and am still fighting off several lingering effects. But I'm so thankful to my hard working cells, while watching them progress in closing up my open wound and gradually fight back my post Covid cough.

2.10.2023. Figure Friday.

Nendoroid White Blood Cell (Neutrophil), Red Blood Cell, and Platelet.

Plushies from Monster Pet Shop and GIANT Microbes by Drew Oliver.

Scrapbook paper

[tsumuniri]

━━━ Atsumu Miya is a free-loader. Living inside his twin brother's home as if it was his, he would bring home girls and annoy Osamu most of the time. Y/N L/N is quite the opposite apparently because she's a virgin loser. Being the popular anonymous BL mangaka known as Yamazaki, she stays in the homey abode of her parents and watches boys from afar for references (not for admiration sadly).

Now what will happen if fate decided to tie these two idiots together and made them live across each other in one apartment?

。m.list ❯❯ prev┃next

ONE ━━ THE TWIN BROTHER’S DECISION

"SO THAT'S THE TEA?"

You nodded dejectedly and raised the Tuna Mayo Onigiri in the direction of your mouth. You bit into the delicious rice snack, humming in delight as the saucy and sweet flavors of tuna cheered you up just for a slight bit. "They said that a girl my age shouldn't be living with her parents and should finally get a guy instead of drawing an imaginary one. You know that they're old school, Mai." You said, mouth full of rice bits and tuna.

The female ran her fingers through her short bright red hair. "Well, you are 25 now, and you haven't got a boyfriend since middle school," She propped her elbow on top of the round wooden table, resting her chin on her palm. "But they should've told you beforehand, right? How are you supposed to look for a residence in a short span of time?" She asked and watched you devour the onigiri meal with such ease. Her black-colored eyes held an uncertain expression as Mai was concerned for her colleague and friend.

After hearing the unfortunate news directly from your loving parents, your mind had to process the sudden information for two solid minutes. The first person you thought of to call is your closest friend, Mai, your roommate back at art school and a mangaka in the shounen industry. Although the two genres have completely different backgrounds, you two are stuck together like peas in a pod through the grace and glory of fawning over 2d men.

Ain't that great?

"They said I could stay back for two weeks until I could find a place to move in. I still have nine days to move out. And as for the residence part..."

You rummaged through the leather bag slung over your shoulder and took out a creased brochure of a newly built apartment based in the heart of east Osaka with its breathtaking cherry blossom conifers and pious shrines. The leaflet's minimalistic design delineated the idiosyncratic architectural structure of the tall building on the front page. Anybody could tell that this jointly owned establishment may settle for tenants with stable incomes.

For someone who changed the BL archives with her plot-driven works, Y/N could provide the fees to rent a homey room on the clabber-plastered apartment complex.

Mai shifted on her seat and studied the brochure on the table with interest— crossing her legs and leaning her torso forward to get a full view of the given pamphlet. "The building does seem promising. You could even check out your works in the Manga Shops at the city." She remarked as her eyes skimmed through the brochure, taking note of the facilities and rooms for the future tenants.

"Right? I already checked the place out yesterday, and coincidentally, the studio office is close by," The H/C-haired female pushed back the tiny strands of baby hair tickling her forehead as it was annoying her smooth skin. "They even allow pets. The apartment buildings I visited mostly don't allow pets, and the others who do, they have weird-ass tenants whom I don't really wanna be neighbors with." She ended, scratching the back of her neck.

"Soooooo, that's the apartment you're planning to move in."

You nodded your head, "I prepared the papers and told my parents about it. Maybe you can help me move my things out?" You suggested to your friend as your leg overlapped with the other, biting into another piece of onigiri from the porcelain plate.

Tilting her head to the side, Mai let out a light scoff from the BL mangaka's proposition as she gestured her hand downwards. "I'm offended, Y/N! Of course, I'll help you." She expressed her whimsical disbelief through her words. "I thought we were best of friends." The young lady teased.

"After all those collab fan arts of the Akatsuki, why wouldn't we be at this point?" You joked; however, the shinobi anime reference wasn't technically a gag as you both had a history of fangirling over the smexy criminal organization— even if you both had a peculiar taste in men. "By the way, why did you choose this place? Isn't this sort of far away from your workplace?" You questioned the red-haired female, a bit curious on why she decided to meet up with you in this Onigiri Restaurant.

Mai's lips turned up into a smirk as she motioned her finger for you to move closer. "My assistants and I decided to eat here after a hard day's work. By the time we were all seated, our eyes got blessed when the restaurant's owner catered to our table!" She whispered with excitement dipped on her tongue.

"Oh boy, if you had seen him, you would've gotten the inspiration to make a character from his well-sculpted face."

You raised a brow and let out a snortle, "We went here because a hot owner caught your attention? I should've gone with you then." You played along and couldn't help but laugh at your friend's reason for dining out a distance away from her studio office.

Like middle schoolers, you both giggled as Mai continued her story of the dashing Onigiri restaurant owner with her witty play of words. You never had any interest in dating; however, you still bid no mind to your friend's fawning over pretty men who would unlikely pay attention to either of them.

"That owner you're talking about might not visit his restaurant, Mai."

"I know, silly! But I do wonder what that work of art does outside his work."

Osamu is a very patient man. May it be through his responsibility of running an Onigiri business, or may it be just a simple waiting in line at the subway station of Tokyo, the male wouldn't lose his temper nor be frustrated over such trivial things.

But when his exhausted figure slugged inside the comforts of his home and found the living room all trashed with empty bottles of energy drinks and bags of chips, Osamu was finally at his breaking point.

"Atsumu, you mother-fucker... COME DOWNSTAIRS THIS INSTANT!" He burst out, calling out his twin brother's name as he began picking up the trashes scattered throughout his coffee table and his lawson couch. His ears caught the sound of loud footsteps thumping on the wooden-tiled floor as he could immediately tell that it was a certain someone who came down the stairs.

A bed of ruffled blonde hair popped out of the stairway as a certain setter casually jumps into the scene of the untidy crime, walking towards the other twin with open arms.

"Welcome home, Samu! Did your staff make a mistake in the newly-opened shop back at Shinjuku? You look a bit frustrated right now-"

Atsumu stopped himself once he noticed his twin brother standing over the mess he forgot to clean up. His arms dropped to the side while his chocolate eyes shifted over to Osamu's annoyed expression, "Okay. This time, I absolutely forgot to clean up." The male tried to explain himself.

The quiet one of the two shook his head in disapproval, sighing out and pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his fiery nerves. "I found this apartment, Tsumu. I think it's best for the both of us if you could finally get your own place." He stated, hearing the slight choke coming from his brother's throat.

"WHAT?! What made you think that this would be the best for the both of us, Samu?" Atsumu protested, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as to why his brother would suggest that sort of idea.

Osamu raised his hand and lifted three of his fingers to his twin's eye level. "First, you sometimes disrupt my sleep whenever you'd bring your flings at home," He stated and didn't bother to let the other speak their mind about the issue at hand as he continued his statement of reasons. "Second, you'd sometimes forget to do your lists of chores and often lie that you didn't do them because you were tired from training." He paused for a moment, thinking of a third reason until it clicked in the back of his mind.

"Lastly, you're a 23 professional athlete, who makes a lot of money than what I usually make, and yet, you're living with your twin brother."

Atsumu stared at Osamu as he crossed his arms, "So? You'll kick me out if I don't move out of your place?" He derided, his voice mostly holding a hint of teasing as he knew his brother wouldn't act so rashly over those reasons.

Oh, was the male so wrong.

"Yes, Tsumu. I'm kicking you out."

[inactive-luv]

Normal

normal

normal

TW: depression, gender dun dUN DUN

word count: 2216

a/n: i’ve got a lot more gender neutral Spencer Reid fics loading :P

(Spencer's POV)

On a normal day, I would set my alarm for five in the morning and wake up slowly. I'd pour a cup of coffee and make myself some toast. I take a shower and brush my teeth and maybe listen to an audiobook on my way to work. I got this recommendation from Garcia, Ready Player One. I listened to the narrator's voice at a pace 'normal' people would read.

A part of me always felt self-conscious about myself, how I was different compared to everyone else. My mom called me special but that just made things worse. Special still sounds like there was something wrong with me. And that was just my I.Q, later on, I constantly got made fun of for the way I dressed, how I wasn't 'normal' enough. Never 'masculine' enough.

I haven't had a normal day in months. I started to wake up naturally around three am, if I ever slept. My thoughts kept me awake, thinking about the insults and taunts I got. I lay in bed most days. I told Hotch I was sick and stayed in a comatose state for most of the day. I would stare at the ceiling and wonder about myself.

I couldn't do anything. I couldn't eat, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't use the bathroom. The thought of having to stand up in front of the toilet. Washing my hands in a men's restroom, everything just made me sick. I hadn't gone to work in a week. It sounds odd but I didn't feel safe there. Work used to be where I could concentrate and use my abilities to my advantage, I watched and analyzed people's emotions for a living but now, it became so hard to think about myself.

I felt exposed in the workplace, at home I felt more comfortable using my own bathroom and I could wear my own clothes. I felt like someone else in the bullpen, someone different. Having to hear my name makes me feel imaginary. I didn't feel real in my body.

Getting out of bed this morning exhausted me. I dragged my feet across the wood and looked down at my sweater. The temperature in my house was always hot, something with the thermostat, but I couldn't stand looking at my own skin. I wore a thick sweater and a robe on top of it, long pajama pants and big socks. I knew I had to take off these clothes if I wanted to go to work today. I really did, I missed my friends, I missed having to do something.

Having a purpose meant a lot to me. I lost sight of what I was meant to do with my life, I would just mope around my apartment without doing anything and I still felt exhausted. I hated being here, I needed to do something. I couldn't just stay here for the rest of my life. I so desperately wanted my normal life again, but I couldn't even think about stepping outside my house.

I hate thinking about having to do normal things. I hated using public restrooms and wearing my normal clothes. Life becomes meaningless if you can't even look at yourself in the mirror.

A while back I put towels over all of my mirrors, this morning I lifted the one in my bedroom. I looked at myself for the first time in a long time. I looked at my eyes, the bags underneath them screamed tired and disgusting. My whole face looked blue and purple. I saw the veins in my neck, and when I touched them I winced.

Taking a deep breath, I started to remove the robe in front of me. I watched the fabric fall to the floor when I felt the ends of my sweater. A burst of energy filled my gut and flooded through my veins, causing me to haphazardly lift the shirt fully over my head and shimmied my pants off. I felt angry. Angry at myself for not being able to do the easiest things. And sad watching my body shake and my skin crawl.

I forced myself to stare at my chest. I stared long and hard at the flat shape and bare skin. I started to run my hand over my abdomen and I could feel my ribs protrude out of my skin. Tears started to fill my eyes when I glazed over my underwear. I could see the outline of my legs and the thought of what was between them made me sick. I felt like throwing up.

I rushed to the bathroom and clutched at the sides of the toilet. I quickly thought about all of the germs and bacteria and immediately lunged away from the seat. I washed my hands five or six times until my skin curled underneath the stream. I splashed the water on my face and began to sob. I ran my hands over my face and my eyes tinged from the tears.

When my hands roamed their way back to my chest I fell to the floor in a mixture of emotions. I felt depressed, gross, I felt cheated in my own flesh and blood. I felt contained to the bottom of my bathroom sink. The tears relaxed and I started to slowly lift myself off of the cold tile.

I wobbled back to my bedroom and tried to open my drawers. I reached for a dotted shirt and slowly buttoned the clothes on myself. With each button, I sniffed and let out a heavy sigh. I wanted to change my underwear but every time I slid my fingers past the waistband I cringed. I couldn't bring myself to look past my abdomen.

I just tried to pull on a pair of work pants without my eyes and slide a brown belt through the loops. I stared at myself in the dresser mirror and reached for another layer to put on over my body, a brown cardigan. I wanted to smile. I tried to force the corners of my lips to move upward but they only drooped a little lower. I swallowed my tongue and went to get my coat.

...

I walked into the lobby and saw people walking throughout the halls, I felt so out of place. I slowly slumped up to the elevator and pressed the button. It was halfway through the workday, a little after lunch. It was raining so hard outside I could hear it through the elevator walls, I heard the pat pat pat just outside the floors and I started to feel thirsty. I hadn't drunk much water in public because I didn't want to have to use a public bathroom. It wasn't a problem until one day I had to be sent to the emergency room.

I got nervous as the elevator doors began to open. I lifted my head and was relieved not to meet anyone as I stepped out. A sore feeling manifesting itself in my throat. I look up to see everyone in the conference room. I barely catch Rossi's eye when I start to walk up to the bullpen. Soon I can feel everyone's eyes on my back when I rest my bag on the edge of my seat.

J.J. walks out of the room to wave me over. I watch her walk back into the room, I look at her heels and her pretty blouse. I think back to what I'm wearing and feel gross. Why do I keep stressing about these sorts of things? Morgan doesn't worry about how he's dressed. Hotch doesn't care about shoes or what he has to wear. Rossi was the one who probably cared the most and even he didn't notice the things I do.

I rush up the stairs noticing how everyone is waiting on me. My pace slows down as I get closer and closer to the threshold of the conference room. "Hey, pretty boy's here!" I clench my jaw at the sound of that nickname. My stomach turns inside out and I think about just running out of the room and heading back home, or anywhere but here. "Why don't you sit down we were just starting." Garcia tries to talk to me in her sweet voice. I missed her so much, I missed everyone.

"No thank you," I whisper. I hadn't spoken words out loud in a long time. I don't talk to myself and I hadn't seen anyone else in days. I clear my throat gaining a sliver of strength from the anger in my gut. "No thank you I," I start stronger before pausing mournfully again, "I think I need to say a few things before I come back, officially. C- can you all please sit down." I choke in my breath and all of their faces turn worried when they look at me.

"Uhm, I know I haven't been here in a while but uhm," I turn my head to the floor, "I want to be able to come back, I do, and I uh," It gets really hard to talk without tearing up. I swallow hard when J.J tries to pat my arm, I don't mean to but I flinch and try to push her hand away. "I can't come back until," I'm afraid I'll start hyperventilating, "God I'm sorry." I move my hands up to my face and wipe away a few tears before swallowing and whispering again. "I can't come back until I figure out what's wrong with me."

"Kid there's nothing wrong with you-" "Yes there is! I- I- I can't sleep! I can't get dressed by myself! I can't even use the bathroom without feeling sick!" The words pool out of my mouth in a harsh tone and J.J. steps back when I flail my arms, "I can't look at myself in the mirror," Tears stream down my cheek when I turn my face around the room. "I need things to be different around here." Even Hotch's expression turns saddened and weak.

"I-" I choke and wipe my eyes with my sleeve. " I hate the name 'pretty boy'." I try to turn my eyes from Derek who's leaned over to see my expression, "I hate being referred to as 'Sir' or 'Mr.'" I bite my quivering top lip and draw my eyes back to the floor. "I hate hearing," I pause and clear my throat again thinking it would help stop my cracking voice, "he did this or it was him who," I sniff looking at Garcia whose eyes are also filled with tears.

"I'm not comfortable," I whisper and Emily gapes her mouth as if to say something then closes it rubbing her nose instead. "I haven't been comfortable for a long time. I don't know what I am anymore." The word 'what' sticks in the air for a minute before J.J. tries to pat my arm again and I let her. She eases in to hold me and I shut my eyes to stop sobbing.

"I- I- need," I start before shaking my head, "I'd like people to treat me differently." I furrow my brow thinking what to say next, "I looked online," I wipe my face again trying to slide J.J away from me, "and all the labels really scared me but uhm," I pause again "I think I'd like to try something I've been pushing down for a while." Rossi nods his head.

I feel awkward standing in front of all of these people, my friends. Years ago I could trust them with my life but now I felt so exposed and broken. I was scared of how they were going to react, I felt like screaming in my stance and running out of the room crying. I muttered out the first words before shaking my head and trying again. "I think," I clear my throat again, "I want to try different," I look at the group, averting my eyes off the floor while the edges of my lips curl into a saddened smile, before whispering the last word, "Pronouns."

I see Emily mutter a small "Oh," and Morgan's face turns confused. I slump into a hunched position and continue to cry softly when people start nodding their heads looking up at me. "Well," Hotch starts and people start to look at him. "I think that what you're asking for is," He pauses looking to the group then back at me.

"Perfectly reasonable and we will do or call you whatever you want" They all nod and mutter incoherent words. "Yes, yes of course we can." Garcia stammers wiping tears from her eyes looking at me from across the room. "What, uhm what would you like?" She asks rubbing her hands together, "To, you know," she shakes her hands before wiping more tears from her face.

I smile for the first time in weeks. It's not a toothy smile or a cheek to cheek grin but, it makes me feel safe knowing I can still do the things I used to. Come into work and smile. I catch my sighs and draw in a deep breath before looking at Garcia, "They/them." And the rest of the team smiles too.

...

[kate837]

I Love You

I completely recommend watching 2x14 Borrow or Rob, and the beginning of 2x15 Draw O Cesar Erase a Coward, before reading this fic. While this fic is AU it does have many similarities and minor details that it couldn't hurt to watch the episode first! Anyways enjoy!!!!!

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Kurt had a day.

Not bad. Definitely not good. Just... A day.

A day he'll never forget actually. It was so full of ups and downs. From Shepherd plunging a knife into Sean's heart, to joking with Jane about whether or not he could handle Rich Dotcom. From shooting Rich to... Jane's date. That hurt. When Shepherd shoved a knife through Sean Clarke, Kurt's adrenaline spiked, he felt so alert for so long, he thought he would throw up. He got the same feeling from Jane. Except it was everytime she moved, spoke, brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, etc. Her admission of her date was too much. Kurt went straight home, got a damp rag, and laid down. Staring at the ceiling.

Though he did have to say, it still wasn't the worst part of his day. He felt bad. Witnessing first degree murder should automatically be the worst part of your day.

But when it comes to Rich.....

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Kurt and Rich were sneaking through the secret underground tunnels of Jamison College, in order to get into the Deadalus gathering.

"This is interesting." Rich says, while coming to a stop.

"What?" Kurt replies shortly.

"Well this is the door, but the handle's different."

"Different how, Rich?!"

"Wel- well it's not there anymore?? Probably on account of all the hookers I snuck in it." Rich gestures to the handless door.

"Ok, so what's behind this door?" Kurt inquires, looking around.

"The closet. What are yo-"

"Stand back."

Kurt, with a running start, kicks the door in to find himself deep within the walls of a massive walk in closet.

"Aaaaa just how I remember it."

"SHHHHH!" Kurt puts his ear to the door, the one still on it's hinges, just in time to hear the gasps of attending guests and a soft female voice hushedly asking someone to notify security of the discrepancy.

"Shit."

"What?" Rich asks, genuinely confused.

"The guests are getting security to come check out 'the noise in the closet'."

"Oh. What are we gonna do Stubbles? I'm a sly guy but how do we explain that?"

"Oh God, why do you hate me?" Kurt says looking towards the ceiling.

"What? You're acting strange Stubbles, like weirder than normal. I mea-"

Rich was cut off by Kurt's large hands cupping both sides of his face, to kiss him. Without separating he backs Rich against a near wall, mimicking the earlier noise. Rich squirmed at first but expectedly went along with the unexpected.

"Come on Stubbles, you can at least use some tongue!"

"Shut. Up." Kurt snarls. "Actually. . . I need you to make some. . . noises." Kurt says while blushing furiously.

"Security is on their way." Tasha notifies through comms.

"Yeah you guys better get out of there." Reade warns.

"And say what? Oh hey haven't seen you in a while, please excuse my entering through a closet?!" Rich whisper-yells.

"Everyone shut up!" Kurt also whisper yells. "Now Rich I need you to moan a lot. Loudly."

"You could always make me Stubbles!"

"Rich!"

"Kurt what the hell are you doing?" Reade asks, growing increasingly concerned about his teammate's mental health.

"Rich just do it!"

"OOOOH! STUBBLES, YES!" Rich practically screams.

The party guests turn a side eye. But the security, like Kurt hoped, were turning away, figuring that the noise came from two enthusiastic partygoers. Or if the other patrons were anything like Rich maybe more.

Of course Weller didn't know that yet.

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"Ohhh. Now i get it, I can't believe this is working." Reade says, half laughing at the ridiculous noises coming out of his earpiece. "Hey Kurt it's work-"

"Will you shut up?!" Tasha butts in.

"What are you tal-"

"He doesn't know that they stood down yet." Tasha says wriggling her eyebrows. "Hey Kurt most of the security guards stood down but you still have a couple incoming. . . You might need to amp it up a bit!"

Her and Reade try and fail to stifle their laughter after Rich let's out a completely overexaggerated 'UNGH'!

"Come on Stubbles, they're not buying it, you're gonna have to join me if you wanna get out of here."

"Why me? God why me?" Kurt says again looking up.

Kurt let's out a loud and breathless 'Oh God' that completely undoes all of Tasha and Reade's composure. They are hysterical by now. They completely lost it when Rich and Kurt started harmonizing!

"Stop! Stop!" Tasha said. "I can't take it anymore." She pulls herself up from the floor of the van, where she fell from laughing so hard.

"Yeah guys, the security's gone. They're long gone." Reade adds, clutching his stomach.

"Yeah Rich so goo- wait what?!"

"Yeah you're clear." Tasha clarifies.

"You could have compromised this entire op!" Kurt says furiously.

"We all know that's not why you're mad Stubbles. And as the bible states-"

"I swear to God Rich, if you say another word I will shoot you."

"Another word."

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Kurt flushed red just thinking about it. What was he going to put in his field report?!

He turned to lay on his side to take in the fresh scenery of the wall instead of the ceiling. After laying there for about two minutes, he finally got up to fix himself dinner.

While gathering ingredients, Kurt's mind inevitably wandered back to Jane's date. Everything about it tore at him. What she'd be wearing, what she'd eat, would she cover her tattoos, would she wear makeup. . . . . . . .

His thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

It was Jane.

A million questions ran through his head. Why is she calling him? Shouldn't she still be out on her date?

He lunged for the phone but then. . . He stilled. Didn't move a muscle. He picked up his phone, turned it over, and resumed gathering ingredients.

Once the phone eventually stopped buzzing, Kurt's inner turmoil came to play.

'Why didn't you answer?! Jane could be in trouble!'

'Be rational Kurt. She's on a date, probably just calling to let you know that she'll complete her paperwork tomorrow, since she's busy.'

'Look, everyone knows you're in love with her, but you can't act like some overprotective boyfriend whenever she's around.'

Kurt shakes his head. He wasn't in love with Jane Doe. Was he?

'Of course you are! That's why you lunged for the phone as soon as you saw her name, but put it down when you realized she was still on a date.'

'No. If I was in love with her, I would have immediately answered.'

'No. You love her so much that you realized that if she's having fun, even with another man, you wouldn't want to ruin that. That's love.'

'What am I supposed to do? I can't love her from afar.'

'This may be selfish but what if I proposed the idea that Oliver is Sandstorm?'

'It could work. But why not just tell her how you feel?'

"Because I'm just not ready yet." Kurt voiced sadly.

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First thing the next morning, Kurt was walking up and down the hallways, over and over again. In order to 'accidentally' bump into Jane on her way to Patterson's lab.

After three consecutive minutes, Jane appeared. She was wearing this loose, pastel green shirt, that roughly covered all of her upper body tattoos as well as bringing out her eyes. She paired it with tight blue jeans, which she almost never wears, and a few silver rings on her right hand.

"Wow." Kurt whispered. What looked like any other outfit, looked stunning on her. He almost forgot to 'bump' into her.

"Jane!"

"Oh, hey!"

"You get Patterson's text yet?"

"Yeah, heading there now."

They walk in silence for a few heartbeats, until they turn into a secluded hallway.

"Jane wait." Kurt says while gently grabbing Jane's arm.

"Kurt, what is it?"

"After you told me last night, about your date. I started thinking. . ."

Jane subconsciously starts to hold her breath. Her expression wreaks of hope.

"Hey! Glad I found you two, Patterson's got something." Tasha pops in.

"Yeah." Kurt says releasing Jane.

Saved by the bell.

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The debrief, while no longer than usual, felt unbearably long. The charged energy from Kurt and Jane's previous conversation still radiated off of them.

While any hope of continuing it was completely shut down by the tattoo clues pointing to three different entities, causing the team to split up completely. Kurt with Roman, Jane with Tasha, and Patterson with Reade.

This was going to be a longgg day.

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The team finally reconvened at about 5pm. They had just finished the field reports. All three of them. It was exhausting.

Fortunately for Kurt his adrenaline spiked right back up about an hour later when Tasha, so graciously, reminded the group that they never filled out the field report for their Deadalus mission. Which caused Reade and Patterson to burst out into a fit of giggles.

"What's so funny?" Jane asked, looking to Kurt, smiling.

Kurt goes wide-eyed. She doesn't know.

This was going to be a long night.

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The team had just finished catching Jane up while writing the 'going to be extremely redacted' field report.

"Wait I'm still confused. If you just wanted Rich to moan, why did you kiss him?"

All eyes look to Kurt.

"We- well I was under the impression that security was going to be charging through the door at any second." He says glaring at the pair of agents who were strategically avoiding his gaze. "And when they did, if they saw us. . . you know-"

"We don't know, Weller!" Patterson howled.

Kurt glared.

"Yeah I kind of want to know how far you were willing to take it Assistant Director!" Reade joined in.

"We're done here." Kurt said as he walked out.

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Jane had just walked out of the locker room to be met head on with Kurt.

"Kurt, hey!" Jane says, surprised.

"Hey."

"Umm. . . I actually wanted to talk to you."

Kurt raises his eyebrows in obvious confusion, cueing Jane to continue.

"When we were. . . Uh you know- outside of P- Patterson's lab. You didn't finish." Jane stumbles through her words as a new wave of nervousness hits her with full force.

"Oh that." Kurt says, grabbing Jane's arm, mirroring his earlier gesture and leading her away from the locker room door.

"Jane, I was up all night and I couldn't stop thinking about it. We need to be careful. Sandstorm feels like it's everywhere."

"You think Oliver is Sandstorm?"

"Yes. . . No." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt you're not making any sense." Jane says studying him.

"I know. I know. I just- no I don't think he's Sandstorm."

"Then why did you-"

"I've been trying to come up with reasons of why you shouldn't date him for the better part of 13 hours."

"Kurt wha-"

"And I got nothing, because the only reason is that I love you."

Jane goes wide-eyed. It was as if all the air was sucked out of her.

"I love you Jane."

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[ccinagalaxyfaraway]

How do you feel about using songs as prompts? Because if you have nothing against them, do go listen song called War from The Poets of the Fall. Perhaps it will give you some kind of inspiration. To me it does but haven't been able to put it into words just yet.

Part 1

Plo wakes, and everything hurts. His nerves are raw. The galaxy is pressing in on him, every sound and sensation funneling directly to his tender mind. He lies still, waiting for the pain to fade a little before he tries to do something about it. He has other problems, more pressing ones to deal with - like whether his spectacular loss of control has destroyed anything that can’t be repaired. Already he can tell there is a tension in the Force, as though a hole has been torn into the fabric of the world. 

He shifts, taking in the feel of gravel under his back, the ozone in the air, the slow return of sun as his fit of meteorological impertinence dissipates. The heat feels foreign, sitting heavy over his senses. He reaches through it, looking for the sparks of soul that he knows to be his men, and for one in particular that flares beside him. 

When he opens his eyes, Wolffe is there. His posture is reserved, ready to react. He’s got his feet under him in case he needs to spring away, and he’s watching Plo with the same pensive consideration he uses on a the rare captive they take. He blinks slowly, adjusting to the light. 

“Your eyes,” Wolffe says, and then stops. Plo squints at him. It’s too bright.

“What about them?”

“I thought they’d be - different,” says Wolffe. He backs away, giving Plo the room to sit up. 

“Did I hurt anyone?” Plo asks. He scans their surroundings. The landscape is irrevocably changed; it feels dead, not a speck of green in sight, and the new canyon he’s created is a testament to the destructive force of his rage. There are still fires burning where he’d called lightning, with troopers doing their best to put them out before they can spread. He’s seen battlefields less ravaged. 

“A few scrapes and bruises, and a lot of pride,” says Wolffe. “I’m not lying.” 

“Am I so transparent?” Plo asks.

“I like to think I know you,” says Wolffe. What Plo hears is I don’t know if I do. He hangs his head. His dear Commander, ever honest. 

He curls into a tight ball, drawing his knees to his chest. Everything hurts. Everything is an assault on his senses. He’s pulled too much on the Force and let his anger control him. He hasn’t done that in years. He’s put his Commander at risk, and his men, and the war effort. If it were any other time, any other situation, he could take time to regroup, find someone to talk to, debrief and unpack his feelings, but he is needed. They have to continue moving. He can’t slow them down for what is ultimately a crisis of faith. 

Wolffe studies him. “You don’t seem different. I guess the way you Jedi talk about Falling, I expected something else.”

“I’m not Falling,” Plo scoffs. “I’m just -” What? Angry? Grieving? Burned? Or is he just empty, now that all of those have passed, and only the numb resignation to what the war is turning him into remains. “Unwell.” 

He doesn’t have it in him to explain that he hasn’t abandoned his principles, that a single moment of overwhelming anger isn’t a condemnation, that the danger is in allowing it to fester and spread until it rules over him. He doesn’t have the energy to say that he too is a person and that Jedi are people and emotions are as normal for them as for anyone else. Sometimes it feels like the entire galaxy has forgotten and that no matter how loud he shouts, no one is listening. 

He imagines himself with hairline fractures running through his core, ready to burst into shards with just the right provocation, damaged but not the right kind of damaged. There is nothing in him that was made for this life; exploring new worlds, yes, but not conquering them. Not ordering men to their deaths, not surviving while all his friends and family pass on, and not for so long. This is not a responsibility he had accepted so much as been handed, and it is crushing him under its weight. 

He drags himself to his feet and has to swallow against the urge to bring up the water he’d managed to drink earlier. He’ll meditate. Later. Once they’ve stopped for the night and no one is around to see. Until then, he’ll just have to muddle through.

“Can I help?” Wolffe asks quietly, hesitantly, reaching out and stopping halfway. He’s scared. People get scared. It happens. It hurts anyway. 

“No,” says Plo. “You really can’t.”

[deadlydemon]

Keeping a journal is good to see what motivated us in the past, as well. The idea with the 5-Minute Journal is to not think too much about it. Limit yourself to only 5 minutes to write something. No more or no less, some interesting stuff can flourish from limitations. And what does present Ms. Demon is excited about?

Well, our interactions rendered me some motivation to write again, and write I did - for longer than five minutes even! Tell me, anon friend, have you ever had this sort of moment in your childhood where, suddenly, you knew you were alive? In my friend's words, "when you stop being a NPC and become an actual player". I am trying to put that into words.

Present Ms. Demon is definetly excited about this year's holidays - and for me, it will start in about one week. I already have many plans in mind. I want to go to the beach, and to have a picnic with my friends, and hopefully a roadtrip to this very beautiful place, where we'll be able to have said picnic and swim in crystaline blue-green waters. I want to take more on my latest new hobbies, so I'll be drawing, watercolor painting, cooking and baking - and also embroidery, since I do have to finish this piece that I'll be gifting to my dad, though I'm most excited for the former ones.

I hope to write more, as well, since I'll have free time for it. I wish I would write something, probably a fanfic of some sorts, and publish it here, but I am not counting on it. I have been neglecting my plants, but that's a more complicated matter. I'm looking forward to not let them die, at least. I'd like to go back to my daily routine of waking up at five in the morning, though that only takes place when I've got my life together, and this last few weeks haven't been that case. I'd like to have my life in order again by december.

I will also be putting more effort in going to the gym - a butt doesn't really grow by sitting on it, I'm afraid. I also wish I could end this year being successful in a single pushup attempt, but once again, I am not counting on it.

Ahh, the sweet energy summer provides. Makes us all feel alive and absolutely restless for new experiences. Quite a contrast to winter, though it'll remain as my favorite season. I pretty much intend on harvesting the best of this summer burst of energy.

Well, that's a long answer. And what is present Stone-Faced Gargoyle excited about?

[analisegrey]

So you haven't posted any more of the "Bad Things Happen Bingo" stories on AO3 for a while. Is everything okay?

Long story short, yes, everything is ok, and is actually quite good, and I’m very touched that you’d ask, so thank you :)

I’m turning this into a ‘State of the Analise Nation’ type deal, so more specific response under the cut (cause wow it got long)

I know my content creation has slowed significantly over the last few weeks, and that’s largely due to a number of factors:

1) Dave, my muse, went on vacation for a bit.I have written more in the past 7 months or so than I have in practically my entire fannish life, to the tune of approximately 121,679 words, or roughly 90% of my lifetime word count on AO3. For someone who had written maybe a few thousand words total in the entire rest of her fannish life, that’s an unimaginable amount (I still can’t believe it, quite honestly). Being completely unused to that level of productivity, I burned myself out, somewhat, and have been trying not to push myself too much on the writing front. I don’t want to push so much I hate it, since I know when Dave is ready, he’ll wander back. He’s already making forays back into my head, though he’s pointed at Critical Role at the moment. I have no doubt that once the new season hits this upcoming Friday that I’ll have a flood of new ideas and more creative energy for the ones I’ve already had bubbling away.

2) I’ve had some health issues eating my energyI’ve mentioned it briefly in tags, I think, but this past month I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia. I’ve been trying to find a good balance for activity, both physical and mental, that will enable me to enjoy everything to the fullest. The medication I’m on now has helped a great deal, though I know I’m early on yet in treatment, and a lot of my energy has gone towards this. Now that we know what it is, and it’s being treated, things should be starting to even out soon.

and speaking of evening out…

3) AnhedoniaAside from fibromyalgia, I’ve suffered long-term depression and anxiety. Over the past year or so, I’ve made huge strides, and improved a great deal (largely due to this fandom and the online community), but one of the major symptoms I’ve dealt with has been ‘anhedonia’, which is the inability to feel pleasure. If you’ve ever heard of people who suffer depression having trouble enjoying activities they normally enjoy? That would be anhedonia. I’ve had it so long, I’d almost forgotten what it was like to *not* feel it.Until last week.I don’t know if it’s in response to the treatment I’m now receiving for fibromyalgia, but last week I had this sudden burst of energy and joy that I hadn’t experienced in…well to be honest, years. It was almost like being high, the sudden rush of desire to do things, to make things, to want to do everything, and all at once. Right now, it feels like there literally aren’t enough hours in the day to do everything I want to do, and it’s going to take time, assuming this lasts, for me to work on prioritizing what I want to do now that I want to do everything. So that’s a bit of a process.What does that mean for this blog?1) I fully intend to keep writing for the Voltron fandom.I have a lot of stories I still want to tell, ones I’ve started, have notes on, that have been requested. I plan on applying to write for the @vldwhumpzine when applications open on August 12th (even though it kind of terrifies me), I just need time to get back up to speed, as it were.

2) I do plan to keep writing in generalI have gotten completely ensnared into the Season 2 Critical Role fandom, and once I’ve caught up on that, will likely delve into Season 1 as well while I wait for new season 2 episodes to come out. You’ll likely start to see works appear from this fandom, as well as works from the MCU, since I still have stories to tell there as well.

3) I plan to do more sewing and drawing, which may eat some of my timeI love sewing and costuming and costume design in general, and it’s been a very long time since I had the energy or inclination to do so. Now that I seem to have it (and have even purchased fabric), I intend to try to make the most of it while I can. That may mean that it eats into the time I spend writing in the evenings, but again, when Dave has an idea, he’s very difficult to shut up, so if something takes my brain over, don’t doubt it’ll get written pretty quick.So yeah. This got a bit long, but I think that’s about everything. And again, thank you so much for asking after me :) I really do appreciate it.

[veliseraptor]

Okay so ik I haven't even nearly gotten halfway through the actual rtc but would you write a wanda's pov for her reuniting with undead Loki who's now /missing/ something in the everything hurts au? (I love it so much even though at the beginning I was like wtf is going on lol)

WELL APPARENTLY lately I’m in mode “ignore responsibilities, write other fic constantly” so I’ve got a few prompts for this verse lurking around and well who am I to deny the people that vicious angst you apparently want

is it wrong to love a family of ghosts, wanda pov, the everything sucks au, previous installments are under the #everything is awful au tag

She didn’t know what it was at the time, but Loki’s resurrection hit Wanda like a concussive blast, leaving her with a vicious headache and a stomach that was a pit of dread, the more so because she had no idea what had happened. Only that there’d been some kind of disturbance in the energy of things, so intense that she’d sensed it even though it’d been nowhere nearby.

But nothing happened for a month, and then two. Their little ersatz family had dwindled: it was just her, Pietro, Sam, and Clint now. The rest of them - gone. Scattered to the winds. Or - or.

Then Sam showed up one day while the other three of them were making paprikash, a strange look on his face.

“Steve’s coming back,” he said. Clint sat up sharp, and Wanda felt her eyes widen.

“He is?” Clint said. “Did something - happen? Is this related to-” He gestured at Wanda. Sam shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said. “He just said he was coming back, and that he was sorry for being away so long.”

“Nothing else?” Clint asked. Sam shook his head.

“Nothing else.”

Clint made a face. “That give anyone else a bad feeling, or just me?” He asked. Wanda looked down at her hands twisting together.

“Not just you,” she said quietly. She wanted to believe it could be good news. But she wasn’t expecting that anymore.

**

Steve was back.

Steve was back, with Thor. And they’d brought Loki.

Wanda hadn’t seen him yet. Nobody had. How, was the question on everyone’s lips, but Wanda wanted to ask when, thinking of that blast of energy that had knocked her flat.

“He’s still recovering,” Steve said, like death was just another illness, or a wound. “He gets...overwhelmed, easily. So just...keep that in mind.”

He’s not well, Wanda heard. He’s still suffering, even alive. She looked down at her hands, tangled together. Pietro put his hand on her back, drawing closer; glancing sideways at Clint, he looked pale.

She wondered what he was thinking.

As soon as she could, she went to Steve. “Can I see Loki?” She asked, bluntly. Steve hesitated, and she added, “maybe I can help.”

Steve looked exhausted, she noticed. Like one weight had lifted from his shoulders only for another to fall. “Do you think so?” He asked, after a long pause.

“I don’t know for sure,” Wanda said. “But maybe I could. And...he’s a friend, Steve. I want to see him.”

Steve rubbed his forehead. “Okay,” he said, finally. “You should know that he’s...sensitive. To sound, and sometimes to touch, too.”

Wanda bit her lip, and held open her arms to offer a hug. Steve stepped forward and accepted it, his shoulders drooping.

“He’s back,” Wanda said. “We’ll...we can put him back together.”

“Yeah,” Steve said after a pause. “We will.”

**

Wanda hesitated for a long time outside of Loki’s door, her heart in her throat. A part of her was scared that when she opened the door, Loki would be gone. A part of her was scared of what he might be like, if she was there. So far, other than Thor and Steve, he didn’t seem to have spoken to anyone.

Bucky was still gone. Wanda wondered if he knew. How would he have found out?

She knocked lightly on the door, mindful of what Steve had said about sound.

“Yes?” Said Loki’s voice, and Wanda’s eyes burned just for hearing it, just as she remembered. She opened the door and entered.

He stood there, pale, weary-looking, dark circles around his eyes. Alive. Wanda took a lurching step toward him and stopped herself. “Loki,” she said, trying to smile though she felt about to burst into tears. “You’re - welcome back.”

His smile was small, and didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Witchling,” he said. “Thank you. It’s...good to see you too.”

“Can I…” She hesitated, gulping down the lump in her throat. “Can I hug you?” She waited for his slight nod and then stepped lightly forward and embraced him, though not as hard as she wanted to. He felt so thin. Almost insubstantial.

She’d make some hearty cholent, some hot soup like her mother used to make. Good, solid, food. It’d help. It would.

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I’m - you were gone, and I…” She started crying. “Oh, dammit,” she said, wetly, and ducked her head, trying to hide it. Loki reached out and touched her arm.

“Witchling,” he said softly. “I’m...sorry.”

“No,” she said immediately. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t ever be sorry, it wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry. I should have - if I’d dealt with Vision-”

“Don’t,” Loki said. “It isn’t your fault either. That I...died.”

Wanda reached out to take his hands; they twitched in hers and she quickly let go. His skin felt cold. “Don’t ever,” she whispered, “don’t ever do that again.”

“I’ll do my best,” Loki said, soft but wry. He looked like he was fighting for the smile. She looked up at him.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Not dead,” Loki said. Wanda frowned at him, though some part of her leaped hopefully at what was almost a joke. He held out his hands with another weak smile. “Do you want to inspect me? I honestly don’t know what you’ll find.”

Wanda bit her lip, but that was why she was here, wasn’t it? She reached out and took his hands. “Tell me,” she said softly, “if you need me to stop.”

She reached out for him with her magic, slowly and gently. His power, she could sense immediately, was burning low. Weakened, almost to embers, and she tried to feed her own strength into it but it separated like oil from water.

That wasn’t the only thing that was - wrong, though. There was something else, something strange. She probed carefully deeper, and inhaled shakily, realising what it was.

Where there should have been smooth flow of energy, it was like - a snarled tangle of yarn. Loose ends fluttering, bleeding out, dissipating off his skin. This, she knew at once, was why his magic was so weak. This was the wrongness that she realized she could feel, now that she was aware of it, just standing in the room. Something vital, not missing, but broken. His soul, maybe, cut loose and then throw back into flesh, the two struggling to join.

She pulled back and realized she was crying.

“That bad?” Loki asked, though his small, unhappy smile made her suspect he’d already known.

“Loki,” she said, and squeezed her eyes closed. “It’s going to be okay,” she said, because she needed to believe that. With time…

She hugged him again, knowing it was too tightly, unable to help herself. In her arms, she could feel Loki trembling, the quiet and shaky sound of his breathing.