#I discovered that I am function on four hours sleep. less is. very bad. function doesn’t mean intelligent either.

[mommalosthermind]

6 and 25 for the asks?

Cheshire!! @aconfusedkitten hello!!

6- Do you have pets?

For the first time in living memory, I do not currently have a furry buddy in the house. We lost our cat at the tail end of summer. Since she was roughly the same age as my first born (14) we’re taking some time before we go looking for a kitty who needs a home.

25- Are you a morning or a night person?

Mmmm, this one’s probably more wonky that it should be. There should be a “i would like to sleep for a month actually” option.

Life’s been weird since uhhh always, and I’m kind of trained to be a morning person. I was getting up at like 4 or 5 even as a really little kid for things like helping my mother slap newspapers together or letting out the fifty billion dogs during her kennel years before school and whatever else. So. I do much better earlier in the day than I do at the end of the day. And by that I mean the second my eyes are open I am Awake and Functional. Now that the kids are self sufficient and I get a consistent amount of sleep I can make it to about midnight before I turn into a pumpkin, but I’d definitely prefer to be Not Awake at that time 😂

[msbutterfly5294]

Writing Advice For Those Who Struggle With Getting The Story Down 🦋🔏

📚 Know Your Writing / Creative Process .

This may seem so simple but it’s taken me YEARS to find or even acknowledge mine . I am more of a short burst writer , I write a lot better when writing for a minute to less then half and hour , unless I have another person / group to collaborate with . I am also a plotter , I write better when I have information about who my characters are , what the story is about , the conflicts , etc etc ; because I am a very forgetful person and tend to get off of track . There are about four to six types of writing processes that I know of : Plotters and Pantsers ( or both ) , and Short Burst Writers and Long Burst Writers ( or both , in some cases ) . As you write , I encourage you to notice if you work in short bursts or long bursts of time and if you create better when planning what you’re going to do or just winging it . None of them are bad , if anything , they reveal how you function and the path to creating that story you love .

📒 Keep A Journal / Document Of Every Idea You Have , Even If You Don’t Use The Majority Them

You know those times where you’ve been tired all day , can’t think properly throughout , and finally when you have time to nap or sleep , your brain suddenly decides it’s time to show you a detailed outline of your story in its entirety ? . . . Just me ? Anyways , by the time it comes it your mind , for some of us , it almost slips away as soon as it arrives . I recommend keeping a small journal on your person at all / most times and - or have an app on your phone ( ex. Google Docs , Notes , etc ) where when that idea decides to show itself to you , put it down . If you have neither , find a way to keep it in your mind until you can write it down or find a pen and paper of any kind and write it down . And , VERY IMPORTANT REMINDER. . . Not every idea you have may not work for a single story or the project you are currently working on , you don’t need to use every idea that comes to mind .

💜 Remember To Take Breaks

I know for myself that life of a creative is fulfilling and fun . Even if I start to feel burnt out and apathetic towards my own creations , I push myself to continue its work because. . . My stories are my life . They give me purpose . They make me happy and fulfilled . And when those feelings of burn out and apathy start to peek through , I genuinely panic because I don’t ever want to feel that way towards my own stories so I work harder . Turns out those feelings arise and end up creating writers block BECAUSE I’m overwhelmed and pushing myself . I admit , when I do take breaks , even for a day or two , I become sorrowful and depressed because I’m not working on my stories ; but during those moments of a much - needed break , I end up coming to an epiphany with something I didn’t know about the stories , finding new ways to drive the story in the direction I need , discovering fun or disturbing facts about the characters , and-or more things . It also helps in taking breaks so you have fresher eyes and processing when you return to your creative projects . You can see typos more , the clarity of how something is written , what needs improvement or what you like about it . So. . . In conclusion , go touch grass or something , especially drinking that clear splashy thing we call water .

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Four

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter Four

When Adrien woke up, everything smelled fresh and clean, like fabric softener and laundry detergent.

He was warm and dry, and the bed, the covers, and his pyjamas were all comfortable and soft.

He’d been holding his cat plushie, Chat Noir the Third, when he’d fallen asleep, and C3 was still tucked under Adrien’s arm, fur fuzzy against Adrien’s skin.

It was comforting. In a way, it reminded him of Plagg and how they would sometimes snuggle.

Adrien rolled over onto his back and hugged C3 closer.

Grief and joy mingled in Adrien’s chest as he stared up at the clean, white ceiling.

The morning sun was pouring in through Adrien’s windows in a cheerful, inviting way that Adrien had never experienced in his old room with his old windows.

He was safe. He had a home—a real home this time.

It had been eleven years since he had last had a true home…since he’d lost his mother and the mansion had become silent, cold, and empty.

But now Adrien was home and safe and wanted.

He buried his face in C3’s fur, remembering what Luka had told him the previous day: Luka had bought C3 for Adrien so that he would remember he was loved.

It had been a long time since Adrien was last loved, and the prospect of getting something like that back was overwhelming.

He set C3 aside so that he wouldn’t get him dirty as he cried.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why he was crying, if it were happiness or sadness or stress, but it felt good to get the emotions out.

When he was done, he sat up, cleaned his face with the tissues on the nightstand, and got out of bed, ready to do his best with the second chance he’d been given.

It felt amazing to get dressed in new, clean clothes with the knowledge that he could throw them in the laundry whenever he felt like it at no charge and that he didn’t have to sleep in them or wear them for multiple days at a time.

It was really nice to have a spacious, private bathroom with a door that locked where he didn’t have to worry about the sanitation.

Well…Luka’s bathroom was currently a mess with toothpaste and shaving cream smudges on the counter and mirror and grooming products left spread out all over the place. Used towels were scattered, crumpled on the floor, and the medicine cabinet was left open.

But Adrien wasn’t necessarily worried, unlike he had been when using other bathrooms where he didn’t even want to think about what kind of germs were growing on surfaces.

Once dressed, Adrien went to Luka’s door and listened for signs that his roommate was awake.

The apartment was still, and Adrien didn’t see any light peeking out from underneath the door, so he assumed that Luka was still sleeping and, instead, made his way to the kitchen.

It was a war zone that had been subsequently ravaged by flood, famine, and pestilence.

It was hard to believe that things could go to ruin in as few as six days, but Adrien was seeing the evidence with his own eyes. Luka was the comparatively neat and tidy Couffaine, but The Breakup had obviously laid him very low indeed.

Dishes were piled high in the sink and crusted with days-old food debris, so Adrien rinsed and scrubbed to the best of his ability before loading them all up in the dishwasher.

Hardly anything in the fridge was worth salvaging.

Adrien got out trash bags from under the sink and started checking dates. He sniffed the items that still resembled food and summarily tossed the ones that were more petri dish than pasta.

He cleared off the counters, sorting the refuse from the misplaced possessions and raided the cabinet below the sink for cleaning supplies.

Once the kitchen was spotless, he expanded his efforts to the living room, picking up the dirty clothes, junk food wrappers, and takeaway containers.

He located the mop, broom, and vacuum cleaner in the coat closet and set about sweeping, reasoning that he would vacuum the rug once Luka was awake so that he didn’t disturb him.

With the living room looking presentable, he gathered up the rubbish, dirty clothes, and items needing to be returned to their respective homes, putting each grouping in their own location to be dealt with later. He then moved on to the bathroom.

By the time he was done tidying and scrubbing, it was midmorning, and he was starting to get kind of hungry. When he’d woken up, he’d still been full from the ridiculous amount of food he’d eaten the day before, but after burning so many calories cleaning, his body was getting ready to eat again.

Luka still hadn’t emerged from his room, so Adrien left a note on the blank page of a sketchbook he had found while cleaning to let Luka know that he hadn’t run away. He was just grocery shopping.

He tore another empty page out of the sketchbook so that he could write up a list of the things he needed from the store.

There was a Monoprix just up the street from the apartment, so it took him less than an hour to walk there, shop, and make it back home again.

He picked up a croissant from the bakery section to snack on as he cooked breakfast but noted that it paled in comparison to what he remembered of those from Tom and Sabine’s.

Adrien was beginning to think that Luka was dead as he plated the food. It was almost noon, and Adrien hadn’t heard a peep.

Luka had looked exhausted the previous day, and he’d mentioned not sleeping well since The Breakup, so maybe he was just catching up on sleep, but Adrien had enough experience with depression to know that it was time to step in and drag his flatmate out of bed.

He knocked on the door, but there was no response.

Taking a deep breath, he turned the knob and discovered it was unlocked.

“Luka, I’m going to be really mad if you’re actually dead,” Adrien grumbled, hesitantly pushing the door open. “Luka?”

Adrien blinked as he got his first glimpse at the inside of Luka’s bedroom.

It was even worse than the rest of the apartment, and that was saying something. Garbage and dirty clothes were strewn everywhere, and the floor was like a minefield of filth.

“Oh, Luka,” Adrien cooed, carefully making his way across the room to the bed. “You’re really hurting, aren’t you?”

Luka snored softly, deaf to Adrien’s sympathy.

“Orpheus.” Adrien kept his voice quiet as he gently shook Luka’s shoulder, not wanting to startle his friend. “Luka? Hey. Wake up.”

Luka drew in a long breath, and his eyes slowly blinked open.

He stared up at Adrien in a daze.

“Angel,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke Adrien’s cheek.

Adrien was torn between enjoying the attention immensely and feeling guilty about it because Luka was obviously still out of it.

“You are not awake,” Adrien chuckled, carefully removing Luka’s palm from his face. “Earth to Luka. Come in, Luka.”

Luka gave a jolt as he blinked and his eyes came into focus. “Oh my gosh. Adrien. Sorry. Hi. What’s wrong? Did you need something?”

“It’s breakfast time. Get up,” Adrien teased, tugging on Luka’s arm lightly.

Luka cursed under his breath. “I am so sorry. Give me just a minute and I’ll go to the grocery store and then make you some breakfast.”

Adrien snorted in laughter. “No need. It is I who have made you breakfast. Come eat before it gets cold.”

Luka blinked at Adrien. “You what?”

“I made omuraisu,” Adrien explained with a pleased smile.

“You what?” Luka repeated, wondering if his ears were failing him.

His Adrien didn’t cook.

“I’m twenty-four,” Adrien enunciated. “I make my own breakfast. Now, get up or I’m seriously climbing in bed with you and pushing you out.”

“…You made breakfast?” Luka echoed in disbelief as he followed Adrien toward the door.

“Yep,” Adrien confirmed with a pop to the p. “I’ve worked in a lot of kitchens these past few years. The chefs taught me some things.”

They stepped out into the living room, and Luka had to do a doubletake. “Faeries came during the night and cleaned the apartment.”

Adrien cracked up. “I mean…it’s not like this is the first time someone’s ever called me a faerie, but…I prefer the term ‘knight in leather armor’.”

Luka gawked at Adrien. “You cleaned the apartment?”

His Adrien wouldn’t know what to do with a broom if his life depended on it…unless he needed to use the broom as a weapon. His Adrien had that covered, but to use a broom for its intended purpose…

Adrien came to a stop in the kitchen, pushing one of the plates of omuraisu towards Luka.

“Surprise,” he announced softly, a sad expression in his eyes that made him look older than Luka had ever remembered. “I’m a functional, responsible adult now too.”

“Yeah,” Luka breathed, looking at Adrien with new eyes. “You went and grew up on me, didn’t you?”

He pulled Adrien into a tight hug, and Adrien squeezed back.

“I had to get it together pretty quickly,” Adrien confessed bitterly. “I cook, clean, do laundry… I even scrub toilets now.”

Luka pulled back, looking mortified. “Please tell me you didn’t clean the bathroom.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Adrien assured.

Luka dropped his forehead to Adrien’s shoulder and let out an animalistic groan. “I am so, so sorry. I swear I was going to clean everything today.”

“I know. I believed you when you kept telling me so last night,” Adrien informed. “It was just that you were completely wiped out, and I saw an opportunity to be helpful.”

Adrien took Luka’s face in his hands and tipped it up to look him in the eye. “This isn’t like before when I’d sneak out and come visit you when I was upset. I may still be a mess, but you’re a wreck too at the moment, and, now, I’m able to help and support you too.”

“Don’t sound so pleased about me being a disaster,” Luka chuckled, horrified and amused all at once.

“I promise I’m not. I’m just glad that I can finally do something for you after all you’ve done for me.” Adrien gave Luka a sincere smile and then stepped back to focus on his food. “Eat your breakfast already.”

Luka sighed, resigning himself to this alternate universe where his Adrien was fully capable of taking care of himself.

“Thank you,” he stressed, digging into the omuraisu. “…Geez, this is good!”

Adrien smirked around his fork. “Told you so.”

“What else can you make?” Luka wondered through a mouthful of rice and egg.

“I specialize in ethnic food,” Adrien preened. “I do desserts passably too, so maybe tomorrow I can make tiramisu and chickpea coconut cashew curry.”

Luka bit his tongue to stop himself from confessing his eternal love to Adrien because it was way too soon after The Breakup to be developing feelings for anyone. Besides, Adrien was vulnerable; Luka would be taking advantage of Adrien’s dependency on him if he made any kind of move.

He never wanted Adrien to feel pressured into anything for fear of winding up back on the street again.

Instead of the declaration of love, Luka smiled gratefully. “I’m really, really glad you came back into my life yesterday.”

Adrien paused, looking taken aback for a moment, his fork pausing halfway to his mouth. “You like curry that much?”

“It’s not just about the curry,” Luka chuckled. “Thank you for all of this.”

“Sure.” Adrien returned the smile with a grin full of pride. “I’m not even done yet. I still have your room to clean.”

“No,” Luka groaned. “I can clean my own room.”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m going to help you,” Adrien informed in a tone that told Luka he would not be backing down. “You can tell me what you don’t want me touching, but I can at least help sort the trash from the dirty clothes from the dishes from the stuff that just needs to be put away.”

“I will consider letting you help,” Luka conceded through gritted teeth.

“Perfect!” Adrien chirped cheerily. “…So, I didn’t start any laundry yet because I wasn’t sure what your preferences were, but this evening after we sort through the stuff in your room, you can tell me how you want your laundry done, and I can work on that while you hide your dirty magazines or whatever.”

Luka rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure that Adrien remembered that Luka was demi and didn’t experience sexual attraction unless he had a strong emotional connection with someone and, therefore, had no need for dirty magazines. They’d talked a lot about sexuality when Adrien was sixteen/seventeen and trying to figure things out. Adrien didn’t have trusted adults to talk to, and Luka was actually really honored that Adrien had come to him.

“I will consider letting you help with laundry,” Luka repeated with a shake of his head.

“Great. So…status update,” Adrien prattled right along, leaning his forearms on the counter as he consumed his omuraisu. “I gathered all the trash and piled it up in bags by the door because I didn’t know what the building’s trash collection procedure was.”

“We can take it down to the dumpster on our way out the door to band practice,” Luka replied.

“Cool.” Adrien nodded, taking in the information. “I also piled all the clothing articles in two heaps over by the couch….” He hesitated, biting his bottom lip. “…Not all of the clothes are yours. I can wash them and fold them up in a trash bag so you don’t have to see them, if you’d like.”

Luka winced. “…I don’t know right now. Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Adrien rushed to assure. “I’ll just go ahead and do that, and then you can deal with them whenever you’re ready.”

“I really hope there wasn’t anything too embarrassing,” Luka groaned.

Adrien grimaced. “You both have impeccable taste in underwear?”

“I want to die,” Luka replied with an ironic smile.

“It seriously wasn’t a big deal,” Adrien stressed. “…Though, I wasn’t able to determine as easily what was yours as far as possessions go, so I just lined them up neatly against the wall out of the way. I hope that was okay? You don’t have to go through them anytime soon. They can just wait until you’re ready.”

Luka reached out and rested a hand on Adrien’s bicep. “Thank you.”

Adrien placed his hand over Luka’s and smiled. “What are friends for?”

“For times like this,” Luka hummed, feeling blessed.

There was a beat, and then Adrien went back to his status update. “I cleaned out the fridge and went shopping for the essentials, but we’ll need to shop again tonight or tomorrow for the rest of the week. Also, I bought a cheap rice cooker. I hope that’s okay. I had a rice cooker up until a few months ago, and I used to cook all kinds of things in it. I can do a lot with a rice cooker.”

Luka grinned, watching Adrien fondly as he animatedly recounted his rice cooker culinary adventures.

Adrien had slipped so easily into Luka’s life, making himself indispensable in less than twenty-four hours. It left Luka wondering what he’d been doing without Adrien for the past four years.

 “Émile!” Josie cried, sprinting across the bar and enveloping Adrien in a fierce hug.

Luka, smiling fondly, stepped around them and went over to get the things he’d left with Jacob the previous day from the bassist. “Glad to know I mean nothing to you, Josie.”

Josie ignored Luka, focusing all of her enthusiasm on Adrien. “Look at you! You clean up nice, Kid! Look at your little baby face! You are the cutest thing. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Josie,” Adrien chuckled, hugging her back with genuine affection.

Luka couldn’t stop grinning because Adrien was adorable. He got attached to people so quickly.

Jacob looked back and forth between Luka and Adrien and quirked an eyebrow quizzically. “You two came together?” he whispered so only Luka would hear.

“He’s actually my roommate now,” Luka confessed, wanting to get this conversation over sooner rather than later.

Jacob’s eyes bugged out. “Dude. You work fast,” he hissed. “You’re already shacked up?”

“No.” Luka winced. “It’s not like that. It’s completely platonic. He just needed a place to stay.”

Jacob nodded, not believing that for a second. “Right.”

“Émile!” Marc greeted, leaving his guitar propped against his keyboard on stage to go give Adrien a hug. “Hey, Kiddo. I did get your text with your phone number. Sorry I didn’t text back. I read it right away, but I was in the middle of burning food, and I completely forgot.”

“No worries,” Adrien assured, returning the hug and absolutely loving it. “So long as you got the message.”

Luka promptly shoved down the little niggling of jealousy that sprouted up at seeing Adrien being affectionate with another guy.

Josie quickly distracted him as she came over and hung off of his shoulder. “You don’t look like crap today.”

“Thank you?” Luka frowned, trying to decide whether to be insulted.

“He said Émile needed a place to stay, so he moved in with him yesterday,” Jacob reported, looking at Josie expectantly.

Josie’s eyes went wide. “Wow. Very opportunist. You get any yet?”

Luka swatted her away. “It’s platonic. I just broke up with The Girl, guys. I am not jumping into anything for a very long time.”

“Are you trying to say that my baby brother isn’t good enough for you to seduce?” Josie snorted, doing a very good job of actually looking offended.

Luka threw his hands up in frustration. “You know, I was having a good day until I had to deal with you two clowns.”

“Émile!” Jacob waved as Adrien and Marc came over to join them. “Sup, Kid?” He opened his arms for a hug which Adrien readily gave.

“Hey, Jacob.” Adrien smiled nervously as he pulled back, reaching up to rub at his neck. “I actually have something I need to tell everyone.”

The band’s expressions suddenly went serious.

“What’s up, Émile?” Josie prompted gently.

Adrien took a deep breath. “That isn’t actually my real name.”

Luka’s eyes widened, and he reached out to rest a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. “You sure you’re ready to do this now?”

Adrien nodded. “Yeah. They’ve shown me nothing but kindness. I don’t want to lie to them.”

“Is your real name ‘Adrien’?” Marc inquired.

Everyone looked to him in surprise.

Adrien blinked. “You knew?”

Josie and Jacob turned to Marc with twin frowns.

“How’d you know that?” Jacob demanded.

Marc shook his head. “I wasn’t sure. I just thought you kind of looked like the billboards I used to see all the time.”

“Billboards?” Josie echoed, arching an eyebrow.

“My name is really Adrien,” Adrien confessed. “Adrien Agreste.”

Jacob blinked. “That…sounds familiar?”

“I used to be a model,” Adrien elaborated. “Especially about ten years ago my face was on everything. You couldn’t get away from the advertisements if you tried…. I’m also known more notoriously as Gabriel Agreste’s son,” Adrien informed, gaze directed intently down at his shoes. “You know. Papillon.”

Jacob promptly pushed Luka out of the way and wrapped his arms around Adrien, announcing, “Just so you all know, this is mine now.”

“I don’t think so,” Josie huffed, coming to join the puppy pile. “I saw him first, but if I get caught when I sneak into jail to assassinate his father, you’d sure as hell better take care of him for me.”

She turned to Adrien (who looked very, very confused).

“You’re adopted,” she declared, her voice just on the right side of calm even as it came out clipped and furious. “There’s no way you’re actually related to that slimewad. He akumatized my little sister when she was being bullied, and there is no way you’re related to him. Besides, like I keep saying, we are officially adopting you now.”

Marc reached out a hand to rest on Adrien’s shoulder. “We’re here for you. Promise.”

“People…don’t usually react like that,” Adrien hiccupped. “They usually want nothing to do with me when they find out who I am.”

“People suck,” Jacob reported. “Obviously, they didn’t put much effort into finding out who you really are because, if they had, they would have discovered that you’re a precious baby who deserves to be loved and protected.”

Adrien turned to Luka with a watery smile. “You pick good people.”

Luka grinned. “I picked you, didn’t I?”

The whole group besides Adrien groaned.

Adrien only smiled.

“…So why ‘Émile Dupain’?” Josie inquired as they slowly pulled away.

“‘Émile’ is actually my second name,” Adrien explained. “I was named after my mom.”

Everyone nodded, making cooing, “that’s so sweet” noises.

“‘Dupain’ I stole from a friend,” he confessed with a blush that made Luka narrow his eyes. “It was the most common surname out of all of my friends, so… Plus, it was like taking a little piece of home with me while I roamed around.”

They all cooed again.

“Wait. Hold up.” Jacob turned and pointed to Luka just as the conversation was about to shift. “He’s not surprised about any of this. Did you tell him already yesterday?”

Adrien bit his lip, smiling guiltily. “I’ve known Luka for about a decade now, actually. I didn’t recognize him yesterday until we were outside on the street, though. He still had blue hair when I last saw him.”

“Man, I dated him when he had the blue hair,” Jacob sighed, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have let him go so easily if I had known the black hair upgrade was coming.”

“Hey,” Luka grumbled. “I looked good with blue hair. It went with my eyes.”

“I actually think the black offsets your eyes better,” Adrien hummed thoughtfully. “The black makes the blue pop. I like it like this.”

Luka’s brain broke. “O-Oh? You think so?”

Marc put a hand over his mouth, holding in a laugh. “He’s never going to dye his hair again.”

Josie opened her mouth to quip, but then she caught the soft, warm, gooey way Luka was looking at Adrien.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “Holy crap! He’s Adrien!”

Adrien gave a start, suddenly very worried. “Uh…yes? I thought…that was okay?”

She waved her arms, shooing away his concerns. “No. The thing with your father is fine. I meant that you’re Adrien. Luka’s Adrien!”

Jacob’s jaw dropped. “He’s The Boy!?”

Adrien looked to Luka for reassurance, quite obviously anxious at something he had no way of understanding.

Luka grimaced and wrapped a comforting arm around Adrien’s shoulders. “Yes,” he said pointedly. “He’s the dear friend I’ve mentioned many times to you.”

Jacob scoffed under his breath at that.

Marc decided to stay out of it.

“I really was worried about you while you were away,” Luka explained to Adrien. “I may have been a little preoccupied.”

Slowly, Adrien began to nod, thinking he understood. “Sorry again for worrying you.”

“He survived,” Marc assured, beckoning Adrien over to the stage. “He was a real mess for a while, though.”

Josie hung back, giving Luka a skeptical look. “You moved in with The Boy a week after breaking up with The Girl?”

Luka shrugged helplessly. “It’s platonic.”

“You make questionable life decisions,” Jacob snorted. “You’re screwed.”

“He’s going to wish he were,” Josie sighed. “Does your sister know that you’ve set yourself up for total emotional annihilation by platonically moving in with The Boy a week after your breakup with The Girl?”

“Adrien isn’t ready to tell people he’s back in Paris yet, so don’t you dare say anything to Juleka,” Luka growled protectively, getting his friends’ attention.

They shared a look and then held their hands up in surrender.

“We’re just worried about you, Dude,” Jacob clarified sympathetically.

Luka sighed, all the hot air coming out of him. “I’m kind of worried about me too,” he confessed.

[theastrophilearchitect]

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming...

Writing journey #4.

15/05/2021 07.22 My break has officially been over for five days, and i have done some writing, but it’s been incredibly inconsistent, so I decided to start this blog post over. Bay Tree has been archived, and though FSB isn’t done, I’ve realised I need to take a step back. It’s why writers leave weeks at a time between drafts--so when they return, they’re in a different mindset, and can improve their work.

For this same reason, I need to take a step back before I finish my outline. My thought process is becoming monotonous, which means I’m losing my excitement. When you start a project, you have the idea in your head as perfect, and when those ‘vibes’ become tangible, it is less exciting. That’s unavoidable. But I just need to take a step back, so when I return, I have fresh ideas, and the plot becomes more exciting to me.

So today, I’m going to start brainstorming a new idea I had, which I don’t have an alias for yet, and I have an idea to essentially bind every project I have together, but not in Grishaverse- or Shadowhunters-style where you need to read ten books just to read the one you want. Just a nod to anyone who does read multiple, like when Aelin falls through worlds and sees Rhys and Feyre for a split second.

So. Let’s brainstorm.

My plan, I think, is to alternate weekly. This week, I’ll work on the new one, next week I’ll do FSB. I could just take this new idea and apply it to FSB, except I just don’t see how that would work. I have different worlds in mind, and this new one is a fantasy where FSB is sci-fi(/fantasy. It’s kinda both).

16/05/2021 07.07 I really wish I was a pantser. Even though I haven’t got to the editing stage, my favourite part of writing is implementing new ideas and making changes, but I’m just not a pantser. I need to know where each part is going. Instead, I have to sit here, brainstorming, for days, to figure everything out.

18/05/2021 07.06 I did a lot of work on the 16th, but I was busy yesterday, and didn’t get any writing done, because, when I was free, I was just reading. So, I’ve decided I’m going to at least write before I leave the house, which gives me about 45 minutes this morning. 

23/05/2021 18.30 Based on the fact it has been five days, I think you can tell how good I’ve been about keeping writing. The problem is that I don’t actually have much past a concept for my new project, so I’m trying to figure out how, precisely, I could merge the two projects. FSB is interesting, but doesn’t have a huge amount of depth, which adding the characters from the new project would absolutely do, while the new project is lacking plot, which FSB (at least the first book I’ve planned) does. So, I’m going to start a new Scrivener project, and consider how I can merge the two concepts while implementing both plots.

Is it too much? I have only two main characters in FSB, but five in the newer one, which gives me seven main characters, divided into three groups. And do I want to write a book with so many separate storylines? I know readers (myself included) always end up favouring one storyline over another, getting annoyed when certain POVs come up. I don’t know what to do.

I could keep the new project, but implement FSB? Hold up. New Project (NP) has two protagonists who could undergo a similar development to the protagonists of FSB... I had a plan for the male protagonist of FSB, his arc, which wouldn’t work for NP’s male protagonist, but would work perfectly for its female protagonist...

Tumblr’s glitching. It wouldn’t let me reblog a post earlier, and now it won’t let me save this draft. Please, no.

Okay, so I had to copy what I’d written for today, disconnect and reconnect to the Wi-Fi, then wait for my drafts to load to paste it. Going great!

21.00 So I didn’t get a huge amount done, because I caught up doing ~evening things~, but I at least have a plan going forward, which is an accomplishment

30/05/2021 09.29 I’ve spent the last couple weeks doing everything I can to avoid writing, but i now have an insane amount of free time, so I have no excuse. I want to use this time in a productive way, and, for me, that means writing.

03/06/2021 10.31 I swear to god, I’ve had ‘writing’ on my to-do list every single day, except not doing it is probably my own fault, because it’s been so far down on the list. Also, I’m doing a buddy read, but am also unfortunately descending into a reading slump, so even reading 50 pages takes me about 90 minutes--they’re not even long pages.

I actually went back onto my old Wattpad account earlier, where I found a load of old, unfinished stuff, but none of it was as bad as I thought it would be, and the ideas weren’t bad. I just really have no idea what it is I’m writing right now, and I hate trying to figure it out.

11.30 There are so many Ss in the word ‘assassin’ this is not okay.

This is actually going so well. I have two storylines in my head, a complex cast of characters, and I’m so looking forward to plotting this.

04/06/2021 08.04 Look at me, two days in a row. Anyways, I’m thinking I ought to name these characters ASAP, because it’ll be easier to shape them to their names than it will be to find a name which fits them once they’ve been shaped.

14.41 Here’s what I’m realising: I like to pants plots, but I can’t do that while I’m actually drafting, so I think my plan is actually to bullet point everything that happens, then revise that, then start drafting, so the story is basically set in the first draft.

I’ve actually gone through a lot of stuff--I have workable plot material!

17.16 So, me being me, I’ve semi-outlined (I say semi-, it’s more like a tenth) a trilogy, meaning I have ideas for three books following this storyline, and it... makes sense. It’s the kind of story where I can follow multiple arcs, a few at a time, instead of several overarching ones, or maybe it’s just that I’m letting myself.

07/06/2021 16.44 I don’t have a damn clue what I’ve spent the day doing. I haven’t done anything in a couple days because it was the weekend and I was busy, but I’m back now. The thing is, I haven’t spent the day reading, watching, drawing, or doing anything, really--it’s escaped me. But, at the very least, I’ve relaxed, so who cares?

I’m not applying story structure to the ideas I’m having quite yet--rather, I’m just developing them to see how they bloom on their own, then I’ll fit it in; it just seems like a more natural and effective way to develop.

Yeah, no. It’s too late in the day for this. I have zero motivation.

08/06/2021 09.49 Maybe I’ll accomplish something today; who knows? Certainly not me.

I’m now applying the 3-act structure, but I’m realising I have way too many details worked out for this--switching to more acts.

22.20 Why am I doing this to myself? I wish I could say I’m not entirely sure, but it’s because I can’t sleep, because this project, and my character Lihan, are the only things I can think about, so here I am. I don’t want to be a night writer, but que sera sera (I wish I could type accents on an English keyboard).

23.22 I accomplished more in the last hour on this project than I have in the last four days.

09/06/2021 - 1,115 words 09.29 I really hope I don’t prove today that night-writing is my sweet spot--I don’t want it to be. Can the world just let me have a functional sleep schedule??

Anyways, so, as I’ve mentioned before, I use Scrivener, which enables me to sort which documents are part of the manuscript from the ones that aren’t. I’ve been working outside of the manuscript, but I think I’m going to move them into it--I have a plan I believe will be more effective for my own drafting. I think I very much need the events to be set in stone before I begin writing in actual prose, so how can I do that? Especially when I also enjoy pantsing, but not in prose?

Here’s the plan: I plot out the main events, then bullet point everything in very high detail, similar to what many people call a zero draft, in which they draft a book in short form. I’ll sort the bullet points into chapters (but not scenes, because as I discovered with Bay Tree, I find scene-blocking makes the narrative less natural), leave it alone a while, then revise, so I can have my plot more-or-less set in stone before I work on prose.

As a result, I’m going to shift my plotting into the manuscript section, because it is, essentially, an early draft, and also I want a word count as a progress metre.

13/06/2021 - 1,611 words 8.18 Alas, I have been busy the last few days, but I’m here now.

9.20 The amount of secrets and who-knows-what in this story is genuinely absurd, but I’m sure I’ll clean it up eventually.

14.01 A few days ago, I came across a post about balancing large casts, which is exactly what I have, and the first thing it mentioned was the two-trait rule, in which every character has two traits completely unique to them, to help both reader and writer differentiate. Which I’m now going to implement.

14.42 I have these two characters, and I know exactly what I want their dynamic to be, except I can’t decide who should be which part of it.

I have made my decision. It probably works better now, but it does alter their roles, so I need to fix that.

I literally swapped them round solely because I decided one was taller than the other and thought it would be more interesting if the short one was the sadist. Why do I make my own life so difficult?

14/06/2021 - 1,574 words 11.08 I didn’t make an enormous amount of progress yesterday, but I did make some, and made notes of ideas for relationship arcs last night, so I count that a victory (forced optimism--surprisingly effective). I’m currently just working through bullet-pointing book one, while making notes of events I want in the rest of the series (I’m projecting three books, and telling myself I will finish them). I’m currently fiddling with one of my storylines to see how I can mould it to FSB’s and OH MY GOODNESS I JUST HAD A GREAT IDEA must take notes, one moment pleaseeee.

Okay, so I have four bullet points for relationship arcs and an idea to adjust one of the storylines--I’d say I have six main characters, two of whom are really the protagonists, two of which are my favourites, and the other two are fun, but in need of development. They’re split into a group of four and a pair, and I’m definitely more into the storyline of the four, mostly because the four contains my two favourites, and it’s more developed than that of the pair.

I’ve been keeping a list of things to add: motivations, loose plot threads, plot points I want to include--I really need to re-organise it.

On another note, I am so glad I named the characters as early as I did. I’m debating having two of the characters swap names, but I don’t think I will, because I will absolutely mix them up, and one of them is part of the perfect ship name.

My mouse isn’t working. I changed the batteries, but it’s not working, so now I get the joy of trying to figure out if the batteries I put in are just old or if the mouse no longer works, which would suck.

Yes, I’m going to describe this. Mostly because when I changed the batteries the first time, it took a minute to stop working, and this will waste a minute. So, first set of batteries, which we’ll call set 1, don’t work. I don’t know if it’s both or just one, but if it’s one, I don’t want to throw away both. I take out set 1, I put in set 2. Set 2 works perfectly. So it’s not the mouse. Now I take out battery 2B, and replace it with 1A, so I have 1A and 2A in here. I know 2A works, but I’m not sure about 1A, but the mouse works, so 1A is fine. Let’s replace 1A with 1B.

Yep. 1B is the problem child. 1A works fine, but 1B doesn’t. Lovely. Crisis averted. It would’ve really sucked it I had to get a new mouse. And back to writing!

12.13 I’m bouncing between documents as I organise, which means my word count is actually decreasing, so I feel like I’m making significantly less progress than I am.

I just realised my two protagonists are cousins. I’ve had it in my head that one’s father was the brother of the other’s father, but somehow I didn’t realise that makes them cousins.

I’m about to delete a list because I’ve reformatted it--my word count is currently at 1,958, but is really about to drop.

AND NOW WE’RE AT 1,572. My session word count is -32. Minus thirty-two. I hate it here, but it’s fine, because we’re ~developing~.

15/06/2021 - 2,113 words 09.39 It’s not even technically summer yet, but it’s too hot, and I hate it here. All the windows are open, so everything’s cool, there’s a nice breeze, and lots of light, but the birds are so loud, and I have to keep all the doors closed because the open windows send them swaying and slamming. You know when you close a door when all the windows are open and it slams? Yep. Not into it. 

I feel like every day I try a new way to organise my plotting. I’m unsure as to whether that’s helping me or holding me back, because it forces me to review what I have, which usually sparks new ideas, but I’m not convinced I’ll ever get to the end as long as I keep doing this.

21/06/2021 13.40 I spent the latter half of last week with zero motivation, then I was busy at the weekend, but I’m here now. I’ve been trying to make myself write basically all day--I have a plan, and a list of things I’ve come up with the last few days, but I just couldn’t make myself do it. I’m not in a good mood, but maybe this will help.

I have, however, just reminded myself that I need to prepare this week’s post, because I sincerely doubt either this or my ongoing Recent reads will be ready for Friday. Actually, if I do quite a bit of writing this week, this post might be, but I’m not willing to bet on it.

And oh, crap, now I just want to write a blog post.

No. No I don’t. I started looking at the list of ideas I had, and now I’m just not feeling it. I’m pretty sure when I open my document for this project I’ll lose all motivation too, but it’s worth a shot.

There’s a specific relationship in an anime I recently watched that I want to pull apart--there’s this ship, and the author of the manga has called the two characters ‘soulmates’. There’s just this huge amount of tension between the two, and I want to re-watch the show because I love it, but also so I can take notes to figure out what was so effective about it.

13.53 I’ve been doing this for 13 minutes, but I do think I need to leave this project/outline alone for a bit, give it an opportunity to ruminate, to evolve. In truth, I may not even come back to it until I’ve re-watched the anime I was talking about so I can tear that ship to pieces.

17.33 So I just learned brainstorming is apparently significantly easier on paper. Hm. I’ve just worked out so damn much, stuff I’ve been struggling with.

18.00 I have successfully tied up so many plot threads, simply by working with pen and paper. This is revolutionary. (I know, not really, but it is for me, someone adamant about working with a keyboard and monitor)

22/06/2021 09.42 Seriously, why did I never try actually working on paper before? Something about holding a pen to paper and scribbling and drawing a mindmap--it just works. I’ve been obstinate about avoiding working on paper because I hate physically writing, yet here we are.

25/06/2021 11.09 I’m really not managing much reading at the moment--since I started reading manga, my attention span has just gone down the drain. I’m currently reading Mister Impossible by Maggie Stiefvater, and I don’t think it helped that I had to stop less than a third of the way in to do a buddy read, but I just don’t have much motivation to read it, though I do so want to. I haven’t been listening much to audiobooks lately either, because when I’d usually listen--when I’m getting dressed, waking up, going to bed etc.--I just want to listen to music, because I also recently fell down the well of k-pop, and the group whose discography I’m getting to know at the moment is BTS. Basic, but they’re the fifth group I’m doing, and they have so many songs. Which would happen after eight years, but still.

I want to read so, so badly, but I just don’t feel like reading Mister Impossible. But I do want to finish it before reading anything else. I think I’ll finish my current audiobook, then if I’m still feeling stagnated in Mister Impossible, I’ll switch to the audiobook of that, then just take a break from reading until I’m ready to actually read. 

But this post is for writing, not reading. I did write on the 23rd, but I just didn’t update this post. The 24th I was busy, but my wall is now covered in post-it notes of world-building, characters, gods, plot points, and a whole load of other stuff.

Also, I had an idea for a book title this morning--not for this one, just in general--and when I went to add it to my list, I found a title that would so suit this project. I don’t want to say it, but let’s just say this project will be called ItLotG--or not. That’s a hideous combination of letters. I promise it is actually a good title.

11.52 I’m having another crisis over these two characters. I’m thinking it would make more sense to have L’s betrayal ‘arc’ initiated before the catalyst, or rather have it be the catalyst, except the problem there is that they’re not in the city they need to be in to receive that offer.

UNLESS,,,, what if this point happens just while they’re in the capital.... I’ve got it. 

17.16 I’ve been taking notes this whole time of everything I want to happen in books 2 and 3, and I have so much now i think they’ll be so much easier to plot than this one.

The downside of working mostly on paper is that my plans on Scrivener have been refined to one document, which is now only 878 words.

Right now, there’s a glaring hole between the midpoint and the ending, but my climax is one of those where the climax itself is a very small part of a bigger event, so if I figure out what I want to happen in this big event which is essentially the whole of the third act, I should be able to fill in the rest of Act Two with the setup for that.

So I’m leaving it there for both today and this post. In the last month or so, I decided to start over and mash two projects together, which created a whole new storyline I love, and now I’m mostly done with the first outline. I want to treat outlines as more than just preparation for drafts, because I find notes so much easier to edit than actual prose, and I hate writing without a clear idea of where I’m going. 

I think I’m going to call these ‘runs’--an outline is a run through, a draft a run through, so I’m nearly done with my first run, and I’m very proud of that, so go, go write the idea you have, drink some water, take a nap if you need one, eat if you haven’t eaten in a few hours, and I’ll be back with another writing update innnnnnn probably august, honestly.

Go write that idea!

[sassy-pelican]

Soulmate AU: Sebastian Stan

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x plus-size-fem!Reader (based off self, explanation in the author’s note) Premise: On your twenty-first birthday, or the twenty-first birthday of your soulmate, you inhabit their body for twenty-four hours. The reader/you wake(s) up as Sebastian Stan. Warning: Fluff, humor, language, implied 18+/NSFW. I don’t know.

A/N: I am basing the reader off of myself. I know that means some physical characteristics are going to be different than actual readers, but I kind of wanted to use the oddity that is my body as a base because of the challenges it might cause for a person that has been a man for their entire life. In no way am I trying to alienate any readers. Also, for the intent of this AU, the reader is going to be bisexual; if that will bother anyone, please don’t read it. Sebastian will also have 20/20 vision, something I am unsure about. If anyone would like to rewrite this to be more inclusive, they may do so, only if they/you have a link to my original post. This has not been edited. Please enjoy. 

Your POV

Finally, less than a day left until you figure out who your soulmate is. Fuck, I hope it isn’t some creepy person. You think to yourself, hoping with everything in that the man or woman’s body you will be in for a whole twenty-four hours isn’t some pervert. You look down, and suddenly begin to feel a but sorry for the person who has to be you for a day.

You aren’t exactly skinny, and while you have made your peace with that, and have realized that without a little extra weight, you would be too top-heavy to have a functioning back, someone else might not. Your thighs touch, your arms are far too long, and all your height is in your legs, which equates to you looking like a newborn deer trying to walk most of the time.

What if they are younger than you and nothing happens? What is they are older and are mad that it didn’t happen sooner? Fuck. Your mind is racing, going through every possible scenario, trying to find an easy explanation. Slowly, you feel yourself begin to panic. Stop! No, we are not going to do this today [Y/N]! No panicking!

Somehow, you yelling at yourself mentally helps. It always seems to anyway. Shit, you should probably clean a little. If this soulmate of yours is going to be you, they are going to see your house, and your bedroom. You look at your bedroom. It is a mess. Clothes everywhere, blankets and pillows everywhere, nothing is clean. You even have your old princess blanket on your bed at the moment. Well that’s kind of embarrassing. Maybe you should change that.

Three hours later, almost everything that was covering your bedroom floor, is now covering your laundry room floor. Still a mess, but not in the first place he or she will see. You hesitate to change the blanket though. It is big and warm and soft; all things that help you sleep, and tonight you might need all the help you can get. Oh, fuck it. It’s staying.

The Next Morning

Peeling your eyes open, you are met with a room very different from your own. It looks like a hotel, and a nice one at that. You also realize that you don’t have boobs but do have a dick. Well, I guess I am a man. You laugh, a lower octave than you are used to, it actually shocks you before you realize, yet again that you are not you. Looking down at yourself, you notice a nice set of abs, which both pleases and alarms you. What if this guy is a fitness nut and expects me to be one too? No, no panicking. Not today. Maybe you should call yourself, see how the person who has your body is doing.

Silently picking up their phone, you realize that is has a passcode, one you don’t know. Well fuck. Sighing, you get up, ready to see who you are, not that you are likely to know who you are, but just maybe, maybe you have met this man before. As you reach the mirror, it hits you. Like a wall of bricks. “Fuck!”

Sebastian’s POV

This isn’t my hotel. What the hell, is that? Reaching up, I grab boobs. “What the fuck?” Confused, I sit up, and see a … a princess blanket? Okay this is getting weird. And Ariel is far too tan. At least the bed is comfy. Brows scrunched in confusion, I slide off of the bed, and walk around the house for a while, noticing very little. Not with my mind still racing at waking up with boobs. And not small ones at that.

Who is this girl? Where is this girl? I hear something. It almost sounds like feet, but not feet. Oh shit, does this girl have a kid? I walk around the corner, and see a dog coming to greet this woman. Thank the universe, I don’t know how well that would have went over. “Who are you?” I ask, not sure why, it isn’t like the dog can answer me.

I continue walking around and spot a note on the kitchen counter. At least there is something. I wasn’t prepared, the poor girl doesn’t have anything to guide her through me. My eyes widen. Fuck. This person is going to wake up as me! Pull yourself together Seb, this isn’t the end of the world. I look at the note.

‘Hello, my name is [Y/F/N] [Y/L/N] and if you are reading this you must be my soulmate. I’m sorry in advance. Please feed Mae a cup of dog food, it is in the big bucket in the pantry, with the cup in said bucket, after you eat dinner. No specific time, but she expects to be fed after you, well me. Anyway … I don’t have plans today, and told everyone to leave me alone, so you don’t have to worry about interacting with total strangers. I have a reminder on my phone to take meds at nine p.m., please don’t ignore it. There is a little plastic container with the bottles and stuff next to my bed with everything you need there. The passcode is [your passcode]. The neighbors can be really noisy, saying anything causes them to get louder so just deal with it the best that you can. Feel free to look through any of my books, I personally recommend Sarah J Maas, or the box set of Harry Potter. Don’t have too much fun. I have to live with whatever you do. ~ [Y/N]’

She sounds nice. Maybe I can make this work. Although, I am still in shock that boobs cause this much discomfort and are this heavy. I wonder what size bra she wears. No. Snooping would be rude, and I, Sebastian Stan am not a rude creeper. At least not yet.

Your POV

You are Sebastian Stan. A celebrity. Of all the possibilities you prepared for, this wasn’t one of them. It never occurred to you that he hadn’t met his soulmate yet. You always just thought that he had met her, and they couldn’t make it work or he kept her behind camera or something. Not that you are complaining, but this wasn’t something you had prepared for.

His phone dings. You read the preview. ‘My pass code is 6548.’ You smile, thankful that he saw your note and thought to reciprocate.

The knock on the door is echoing through your head. Sighing, you get up and do what Sebastian said. You let him in. Chris Evans. Great. You have to talk to one of your celebrity crushes, through your soulmates body, while not freaking out, about being in your soulmates body.

“We have a situation.” You say before Chris can even open his mouth.

“Okay?” He asks, hesitant.

“I am kind of not Sebastian. We have been texting and he told me to tell you what was going on.” You elaborate.

Chris smiles. “Fucking finally!” He practically yells, while doing a little happy dance.

“Um … thanks?”

“Sorry. I am just excited. Anthony is the only one out of the three of us, that has found his.” He stops. “Oh! Text him that I expect an equally enthusiastic response when I find mine.”

“I will. Later. But right now, you need to help me. Does he have anything planned publicly? He didn’t say.”

“Not that I am aware of, but you might want to ask him just to be sure. Oh, I forgot to ask, who are you?” Chris asks.

“I’m [Y/N], apparently I am Sebastian’s soulmate.” You answer.

“Is he in for a body shock? You don’t have to tell me anything specific.”

“Yes. Yes, he is. Already commented on it actually.” You reply, a smile on your face.

“Nothing bad I hope.” He eyes me, well Sebastian, warily.

“No, at least it wasn’t anything that I haven’t thought about everyday since I was twelve.” You elaborate.

“Please continue.”

“Boobs, Chris. I am talking about boobs.” You deadpan. He blushes a little.

“Right. Um, well, wish him luck for me?” You laugh at his embarrassment. The camaraderie between you two coming easier than you thought. Maybe it has to do with Sebastian already being friends with him?

“So, [Y/N], would you like to hear some embarrassing stories about your beloved Seb?”

Sebastian’s POV

It has been hours. She should have texted me again by now. What the fuck Seb? You don’t even know this girl and you are already clingy. I sigh, patting Mae’s head. The two of us have gotten off to a good start. Although I think it had a lot to do with the fact that I don’t think she realizes I am not [Y/N].

I have also discovered that she was right about her neighbors. They are loud. I followed her advice to not confront them, although, it took all of my restraint to do so. I also figured out that she is a lot stronger than she looks. I almost yanked the fucking door to the refrigerator off because I pulled so hard. All my, or her limbs that is, feel awkward too. Like they are little long for her body. But I am not going to question it.

Her princess blanket has become my new favorite object though. It is so soft. However, her food is delicious. She might not have a whole a lot when she returns though. Walking back into her bedroom I eye the nightstand. Don’t women keep strange things in there? Cautiously, I open it. Nothing. I look to the dresser. Nothing.

I go to shut her underwear drawer, something I didn’t intend to open, okay maybe I did, and hear a rattling. I tap the bottom. Shit. A false bottom. Tentatively, I remove it. My eyes go wide.

Your POV

It has been a while since Chris left. And you are bored out of your mind. There is nothing on the hotel television, and he has no books in his room. Almost as if of their own accord, your hands are rifling through his bedside table. You find an order form. Quite a lengthy one at that too. You look at the titles. Holy fuck, he ordered porn. You grab his phone. 

A/N 2: I was going to continue it to include what each of them did with the deal, but after trying to write it and reading what other smut I have written. I realized. I really suck at it. (no pun intended.) However, if anyone would like to try their hand at writing said scenes, feel free. I only ask that you tag me and link the original post. Any questions regarding the post and any specifics I will answer. The website I used for the text messages can be found in the message bar of each.

Also, all text messages are from Sebastian’s phone. I apologize to anyone who actually has that passcode. It just popped into my brain. I also feel the need to clarify his reaction to the possibility of the reader having a kid. I am in no way implying that Sebastian doesn’t like kids/want kids. But if I woke up in someone else’s body and they had a kid I didn’t know, I would be freaking out a little. (I love kids by the way). 

[playquiz]

Life without COFFEE

Although I am not one of those people who find themselves unable to work in the morning without daily caffeine intake,

I love the warm kind that makes me feel the happiness that coffee provides me. Life is full of delicate pleasures, as I like to call it, and coffee is one of my countries. However, as I write this, I am about to start my (fourth) experience "A Month Without Coffee". Well, it's not a big experiment, but it's more of a "habit" control. I used to drink up to six cups a day in January, and for me, this is too much. People just say, drink less. No need to give it up completely. Why are you doing that? She loves coffee. I love coffee. I love coffee! It is not bad advice. When giving up caffeine, or any other addictive substance, it is advised to reduce it gradually rather than absolutely nothing to minimize withdrawal symptoms... but I can't do that. I am not an "admin". All or nothing, I find it easier this way. So I'm going to go from six cups today, to zero tomorrow, and that's how you'll stay for the next 28 days. I think you can change your habits by knowing what drives your behavior. Take a few seconds to ask yourself why you're about to drink something. You always have a reason why you should make the choices you make, and when you drink a lot throughout the day, paying attention to whether this reason is productive or unproductive for your health is worth doing. I think of 4 reasons why I chose to choose coffee. Socially (Meet a friend for coffee) - For warmth - For strategic reasons (just before training) - For fun (I just love coffee time) I am sure you have other reasons to add it. "Addict" was not shown on my list, as I do not think I am "addicted" or "dependent" on coffee, or anything else in this regard. I think another reason to give up is not only due to serious health considerations, but also to prove to myself that coffee is not controlling me, I choose to drink it, and it can stop at any time. All I have to do is replace my coffee with a drink that rewards me in the same way, and this is much better for my health. Another way to control what you drink is to look for signs that make you choose: a specific time of day (such as morning), a particular place (such as Starbucks), when you are with certain people (for example your co-workers), or emotion (such as feeling tired) ), Or ritual behavior (such as waking up with coffee). Caffeine cut, but not ritual! Delicious alternatives that I will share with my caffeine habit: Lemon Juice and Warm Water: Warm water and lemon help detoxify the liver and kidneys from caffeine and the overload of coffee caused by the system. Herbal Tea (Caffeine Free): Peppermint is a stimulant, good for digestion while chamomile is soothing, good for stress and migraine headaches. Root tea: Licorice is useful to support the kidneys in times of stress and is a natural stimulant and ginger that helps mild headaches and digestion, as it is naturally stimulating. What happened the last time you did this? My memories were of the first few days of a very severe headache that peaked from day two to day four. After that, it was easy, and even when the 30 days were up, I didn't know if I wanted coffee or not. I found alternatives that are now part of my daily nutrition and have seen no rush to come back. But since I had never intended to give up coffee completely, slowly but surely, I crept into my work routine. Some days it was three, four others, five or six, depending on my location. Caffeine, like any drug that has different effects on different people, as I discovered, is linked to specific genes. Common symptoms are irritation, dehydration, fatigue, muscle tension, nausea, constipation, and lack of focus. Reducing withdrawal caffeine weakens adrenal, and liver functions and the acidic effect of coffee on the system can gradually deplete the body's general ability to flush out toxins and maintain an appropriate acid balance. By getting rid of caffeine, your body will start doing this to remove accumulated toxins and restore adrenal and liver functions. We have many things you can do to help support your system and help detoxify, as well as reduce drag systems. Lifestyle changes to the caffeine vitamin Drink plenty of water, at least 9 cups per day. Get plenty of good sleep. You are playing sports. I will help you detoxify and give you more energy naturally. Steam baths, leather brushes, and English salt baths help pull toxins through the skin. Nutrient foods: Eat foods rich in whole nutrients - fruits, vegetables, legumes, proteins, healthy fats, and grains rich in fiber. Fiber helps transfer toxins from your body and will stabilize the digestion process, which can be disrupted when caffeine is removed. Fruits and vegetables will help reduce the impact of acidifying coffee on the body, and will also help flush toxins out of your system. Avoid processed foods, sugars, and salt as they will cause your body to retain fluids. Add additional fiber supplements, such as flax, chia, or psyllium husk, to help detoxify the liver, kidneys, and intestines. Maca: It is a natural source of amino acids, essential fatty acids, vitamins and carbohydrates, and helps your body produce energy naturally, without any side effects from adrenal drainage. Add juices or sweets or stir in porridge or milk. Spirulina: a powerful microalga that removes toxins and is a good source of natural energy. It provides many essential nutrients and rare minerals to support your system, and it is surprisingly rich in protein. Add to green juices or in tablet form. Supplements when giving up caffeine (and adrenal gland) The liver is responsible for breaking down caffeine from the body. It is advisable to take a dietary supplement to assist it during this detoxing process. These include: Milk thistle magnesium Calcium Potassium zinc B vitamins Vitamin C So, because it seems, the foremost of the items I like to recommend to attenuate the effect of withdrawal symptoms, I do daily anyway, so apart from the standard behavior, I expect it to be relatively painless. The next question was, why? If I like coffee such a lot, why did you spend 28 days without it? In any case, the superb coffee for you... or is it? Yes and No. Thousands of studies need to be conducted on the consequences of caffeine over the past fifty years, one against another. The consensus seems to be that moderate (high-quality) coffee consumption is often more beneficial in many health indicators than none in the least. But what's "moderate". Again, the research varies counting on what you read, but the range appears to be between 300-400 mg of caffeine, as a maximum per day. It equates to 3 to four cups of coffee (depending on strength and size). Other reports recommend a maximum of two. As I said earlier, caffeine has different effects on different people, so it's difficult to answer. While I drank up to 6 each day and drank caffeine from other things, albeit in small amounts (from dark chocolate), it had been time to rest my body. The dangers of excessive caffeine in your system Calcium Caffeine causes calcium to be excreted within the urine and feces. For each 150 mg of ingested caffeine, approximately 5 mg of calcium is lost in one cup of coffee. This effect occurs even hours after consuming caffeine. Caffeine also blocks the quantity of calcium that's absorbed through the intestine and drains the amount kept by the bones. Tons of studies have shown that ladies who consume a better amount of caffeine have more hip fractures than those that avoid caffeine or drink moderately (1 to 2 cups per day). Vitamin D Caffeine blocks vitamin D receptors that limit the quantity which will be absorbed. Because vitamin D is essential in absorbing and using calcium in bone building, this will also reduce bone mineral density, which results in an increased risk of osteoporosis. iron As everyone knows, caffeine interferes with the absorption of iron from the body, which is essential for the assembly of red blood cells—drinking caffeine at an equivalent time because the iron source can reduce intake by up to 80%. Any caffeinated drink must be separated from iron-containing foods or supplements for a minimum of one hour. B vitamins As is understood, caffeine features a mild diuretic effect, which increases urination. Water-soluble vitamins, like B vitamins, are often depleted as a result of fluid loss. Additionally, it interferes with the metabolism of some B vitamins, like thiamine (Vitamin B1). The sole exception to the present rule seems to possess vitamin B12. It plays the catalyst role for caffeine to supply stomach acid, which helps the body absorb vitamin B12. Vitamins and other minerals All Vitamins and minerals are essential nutrients for normal cell function. Since it must be absorbed from the bloodstream to be effective, anything that impedes this process can cause the body to not getting enough nutrients. Caffeine can reduce the absorption of manganese, zinc, and copper. It also can increase the secretion of magnesium and potassium, sodium and phosphate minerals. There's also some evidence that caffeine interferes with the action of vitamin A. Your skin looks older. Skin needs tons of water to seem plump and glowing. But coffee may be a diuretic, which inspires your body to flush out water. If you drink tons of coffee, your skin may look dehydrated. If you flood your body with caffeine, this suggests that your systema nervosum has entered into an endless state of artificial stimulation. Therefore the skin is your largest organ and wishes oxygen-rich blood. When the body is in tension, it responds by directing the foremost oxygenated blood towards the guts and lungs. Therefore the skin isn't well-nourished. The systema lymphaticum, which removes waste, also doesn't function efficiently, leaving the skin slow and susceptible to burst. Cellulite Coffee can even be utilized in many anti-cellulite creams - applied to the skin from the surface, and toxins stored in fat cells are allegedly extracted to scale back cellulite - but this doesn't mean that drinking it'll have an equivalent positive effect. Coffee-induced dehydration encourages the skin to congest and solidify and to make a dense network that results in cellulite. Feel bad breath Like alcohol, coffee dries your mouth, and as a result, the quantity of saliva that rinses your mouth and fights bacteria decreases. We All Know that Caffeine can turn yellow teeth just like the same way as nicotine roll in the hay from cigarettes as coffee contains tannins, which are plant compounds that give coffee flavor. Coffee is extremely acidic, which over time can break down the enamel on the surface of the teeth. Diuretic effect You can't drink quite three cups of coffee each day features a diuretic effect on the body, because it interferes with the hormones that regulate our water balance. It leaves us dried and makes the urine more concentrated and acidic, which results in inflammation of the bladder walls and even results in painful urination and cystitis. Keep in mind that it takes five to 12 hours for the body to urge obviate caffeine, and once you sleep within the bed, you'll still be unable to sleep. Once washed away, coffee makes sleeping lighter and more annoying. It's because caffeine interferes with the assembly of melatonin, which helps us sleep. Every day is bad for the hair. Caffeine has been found to flush out vital minerals, including those needed for healthy hair growth, outside the body. Our body needs an honest supply of some vitamins and minerals for a reasonable condition of hair and pigmentation, including biotin, selenium, zinc, and copper. If we consume tons of coffee, this may affect our metal stores, which can hurt the condition of hair, including luster and texture. Metal loss may cause hair loss and premature greying. One of the most reasons for pre-menopausal hair loss is low iron levels and occasionally affects their absorption. Copper is believed to contribute to hair pigmentation so that any deficiency may cause premature greying. Insulin sensitivity decreases Regular consumption of caffeine reduces insulin sensitivity, making it difficult for your cells to reply appropriately to blood glucose. High blood glucose levels cause arterial degeneration and an increased risk of disorder. The acidity of coffee Coffee acidity is related to digestive discomfort, indigestion, heartburn, and intestinal disorders. addiction Addiction is usually a drag with coffee drinkers and makes it difficult to believe the body's natural energy source. Low levels of serotonin A component of the neurotransmitter serotonin referred to as the happy chemical present within the urine tends to be high in coffee drinkers, which suggests they'll be in danger of low levels of serotonin synthesis within the brain. Serotonin is essential for healthy sleep, bowel function, mood, and energy levels. It's a vicious circle because caffeine can disrupt sleep and promote anxiety and depression. We all know someone who tends to urge tired, wired and quit caffeine! Lots of reasons to chop back, or in my case, you've got an opportunity from caffeine altogether. It's essential to notice that a lot of the issues mentioned above relate to excessive caffeine consumption. I've also read tons of research on how moderate amounts can benefit our health and more if you drink at strategic times throughout the day. It's been linked to a lower risk of affected by Alzheimer's and paralysis agitans, for instance. Can you hand over your coffee? If you think that you cannot hand over coffee, re-evaluate. It's only a wise experience to understand what it seems like to measure your life on your fuel. Safely remove coffee and caffeine from your system and see how you handle the high energy! It'll not kill you. Sometimes we hold close our vices so severely that we convince ourselves that life would be miserable without them. For the first few days, I admit, I miss the smell and taste of my coffee, especially the first day of the day but these feelings soon disappear, and that I have gained a replacement appreciation for herb tea and roots. Remember that we control our habits. Getting something may be a big lesson in breaking addictions and forming new habits. You'll convince yourself that you directly are managing, and you'll choose and stick with it. This is often something you'll know.

[sterek]

Hey! So I’m new to the fandom I watched Teen wolf seasons 1-6 within 4 days lmao, but I was just wondering could you recommend the best sterek au fics? Your blog is amazing btw!

Sorry it took me a while, but here you go! These are my favorite AU fics in no particular order :) (and thank you boo

A Crooked Way to Fly by andavs [14k G]

“We can’t just leave him here to die.”

“He’s an emissary, Scott.” Derek tried to make his tone empathetic, but Scott’s tendency to fight back on everything always grated on his nerves. “His pack is gone, he won’t survive more than a day or two either way.”

“Then we should stay with him.”

Derek sighed as he studied the man for a moment; he was too pale against the fur rim of his hood, almost grey from lying out in the snow, and his cloak was stained with dark dried blood around a protruding arrow shaft. It was unlikely he would even last the night. They would probably be able to carry on in the morning with little time lost, if any.

It wasn’t a horrible idea, Derek decided reluctantly. They hadn’t been able to set up a real camp for a few weeks in the open foothills, and they were all on edge from sleeping in exposed areas. A defensible place to sleep would be good for them, even if they were surrounded by death. They would be able to give the pack proper burials, at the very least.

“Fine. One night,” Derek relented, already moving away to check on Isaac. “He’s your responsibility.”

Put Down in Words by paintedrecs [203k, M]

“Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.”

“I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning.

“This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it.

*

When Stiles signed up for Dr. Hale’s intro to history class, he had two goals: knock out the credits his advisor was bugging him to complete before he graduated, and spend a few hours a week daydreaming about his sexy professor’s salt and pepper beard.

Derek, a few months away from turning forty and not sure when his life had started feeling so damn lonely, had never encountered someone like Stiles before. Bright-eyed, sharp-tongued, determined to throw Derek’s carefully cultivated world into disarray…and absolutely the last person Derek should be falling in love with.

Cupboard Love by mklutz [32k, G]

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

One life stand by Vendelin [84k, E]

Stiles is used to selling himself to make ends meet. But it's getting harder to keep those ends meeting, and there's only so much of Stiles to go around. Until a too-fancy car shows up in his neighborhood, and he meets Derek Hale.

All Derek wants is Stiles's time, someone to stay on his arm for events and smile for the cameras. It's the easiest job Stiles has ever had, the best-paying one he's ever had, and he's more than happy to sign up.

Derek is everything and nothing Stiles expects him to be, with his tailored suits, sharp mind and his quiet way of caring. But it's just a job and Stiles never meant to fall in love.

In Other Words, Baby, Kiss Me by primroseshows [61k, E]

Stiles has simple goals in life. To successfully complete his secret radar project without getting fired, to get a cottage on the Moon, and to untangle his mess of feelings for Moon Station 3 deputy, Derek Hale. Heck, he'll even settle for two of the three.

The Circus at the End of the World by mikkimouse [91k, E]

Three hundred years ago, the world ended not with a bang or a whimper, but with magic.

Since then, magic has been outlawed, and the world has clawed its way back to some kind of stability, with people and shifters alike divided between living within the walled safety of the Havens, or the small, less protected outposts dotting the frontier.

Derek Hale and his sisters, Laura and Cora, are the proprietors of Hale's Circus of Magic, Monsters, and Mystical Wonders, known colloquially as the Circus at the End of the World. They and their ragtag pack ride the rails between the outposts and the Havens, performing for those who can pay (and some who can't). Their circus is a small haven in and of itself, a place of safety for those who have nowhere else to go.

It's a quiet life...until Stiles Stilinski joins the crew.

The circus has something Stiles needs—a ticket into the Haven of Santa Francesca. His father has been abducted, and Stiles is determined to get him back no matter what he has to do.

But Stiles has another secret, one that puts him and every member of the circus in danger. And if he's not careful, it could get them all killed.

The Silent Fury by andavs, rosepetals42 [31k, M]

Derek is about to leave, content with the smell of blood as proof that the Fury is dead when he hears it.

A heartbeat.

It’s faint and uneven and even with its help, it takes Derek a full minute of scanning the clearing before he finally spots the small heap that must be the human. It’s down on the far side of the canyon, almost completely hidden by a tall oak tree and–Derek jumps down before he thinks about it.

He knows what he has to do. Furies are dangerous. Furies are fire and smoke and a funeral he barely remembers. He lands almost silently and makes sure his hands are fully shifted into claws and then slowly moves forward.

Or, a How to Train Your Dragon AU

Kindred Spirits by Stoney [104k, E]

Anne of Green Gables/Teen Wolf AU.Stiles is the adopted son of the Sheriff, brought to Beacon Hills to hopefully stay for good. A family, a best friend, school, Jackson as Josie Pye (because who else could he be?) and the mystery of a dark haired, green-eyed boy which leads Stiles to discovering a secret within himself.

Sell Your Body to the Night by Dira Sudis (dsudis) [121k, E]

"No," he repeated impatiently. "I'm not a cop. I'm someone who wants to exchange my money for your sexual services. I was told you were in that line of work."

"I, uh, yeah, sorry," Stiles said. He glanced around again and then up--the full moon was almost directly overhead. Just one of those nights, maybe. "Yeah, I am. I do that."

But Then What... by Stoney [24k, E]

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

Little Wild Animal by DiscontentedWinter [61k, E]

Derek Hale finds a feral human on his pack's property.Humans are supposed to be extinct.But then, Stiles is full of surprises.

(also read the other work in the series, it’s more original fic than sterek but i adore it!)

I Know Where Babies Come From, Derek by DiscontentedWinter [51k, M]

Stiles finds a baby on the porch.

It looks exactly like him.

Well, this is awkward.

Don't Speak by fatale [68k, T]

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something's wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can't understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it's gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he's lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Occam's Razor by MissAnnThropic [49k, E] [and also read the sequel!!]

When Stiles goes to sleep, he’s a junior in high school. He wakes up in a world where he’s twenty-four and married to Derek Hale. Stiles just can’t seem to catch a break.

Specialized Technical Intelligence and Logistics for Earth and Space (S.T.I.L.E.S) by Yiichi [63k, NR]

“What the hell kind of a name is Stiles?” he asked.

“You know, a series of sounds spoken in a particular sequence that represent my identity, primarily, referring to me?“ the AI – Stiles – answered cheekily, crossing his own arms in front of his chest, mirroring Derek’s position.

“Ooh, this one’s feisty,” Peter smirked.

Tiny Houses by ohmyjetsabel ]77k, E]

"So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

God, he dreams.

He dreams of fire and swollen bellies and that scene in Alien, of giving birth to jackals through his urethra, the whole horrific nine yards. His head is a terrible place to be, he can’t imagine his stomach is much better, why anyone would want to put a thing inside of it."

Stilinski's Home for Wayward Wolves by owlpostagain [35k, T]

“At least your puppies knock first,” Stiles snorts. “Here I thought their alpha raised them to be well-mannered.”

“There’s a sign,” Derek responds stiffly.

Stiles, whose curiosity outweighs even his hardest of grudges, abandons his chilly façade of nonchalance in a heartbeat. He jumps right up and all but pushes Derek out of the way in his effort to get to the window, and sure enough when he leans outside there’s a laminated strip of cardstock duct taped to the vinyl siding:

DON’T FORGET TO KNOCK Stiles gets cranky when we scare him

---

Or, in which Stiles Stilinski moves to Beacon Hills for his junior year of high school and accidentally adopts a pack of teenage werewolves.

The entire Bodice Ripper 'Verse byStoney!!!

Fly a Little Faster by mirrorkill [32k, T]

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn't step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That's easy as pie, right? Right?

Enemy Lines by qhuinn (tekla) [149k, E]

This is the story of werewolf Derek Hale and human Stiles Stilinski: two people who grew up in the same town but completely different worlds, their realities split by the war between men and wolves.

Years later when Derek returns to Beacon Hills, he does it as Alpha of a military pack on a mission to capture those responsible for the region’s resistance. With his main objective, Sheriff Stilinski, out of sight, he settles for the next best thing: his son, Stiles.

Neither of them suspects they’ll need to trust each other if they want to make it out this alive.

an exaltation of larks by llassah [25k, E]

There are times when he feels as if they could fall into bed together, easy as breathing. If Stiles were not highborn, if he were an omega without connections, Derek would be sorely tempted. As it is, he resists. Derek wants, he yearns, but he resists. Still, the sight of Stiles in his cot is enough to test him, even now that it is familiar. At the end of each lambing season, he sleeps for a week, worn down by months of hard work, of relentless struggle. He doesn’t know how he’ll feel by the time Stiles leaves, how he’ll feel after long days and longer nights spent resisting the insistent tug of Stiles’s scent and the inclinations of his own foolish heart.

All Derek wants is to get through the lambing season with his body and spirit intact. He had thought that the blizzards would be the main danger, not a highborn omega with beautiful eyes and a stubborn streak.

Move A Mountain by ZainClaw [69k, E]

Stiles goes camping with his friends in New Mexico after graduation where they befriend a biker gang led by Derek: a guy whom Stiles can’t decide if he will be either relieved or devastated to never see again once their week is up.

The Importance of Turning Around Three Times Before Lying Down by otter [31k, M]

It’s like this dog has walked out of all of Stiles’ childhood dreams and into the real world just because Stiles wanted it hard enough. He is the most awesome dog ever, and he and Stiles have a bond. A deep, unbreakable bond because this animal is his soul mate, obviously. Now he just has to convince the dog of that. 

Stiles's Story Time by trilliath [125k, E]

Where Stiles is a librarian who is in charge of the kids' reading hour and such. And Derek is 6-year-old Scott's adoptive dad. And Stiles has his own take on Stories and Scott loves wolves and Derek tries not to admit that he likes the way Stiles's face looks in those glasses.Or something like that.

Not Your Disney Romance by Rawren (Zimothy) [42k, M]

After a long-forgotten agreement of an arranged marriage between Derek and the daughter of another pack's alpha resurfaces, Stiles takes it upon himself to become the most amazing fake fiancé that a clueless, desperate alpha werewolf could wish for.

There is a Brotherhood by minusoneday [21k, E]

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it means having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles’ orientation leader had promised it would be, and the dude guarding Scott’s dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when she’d insisted that Scott and Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so it’s all her fault that Scott ended up with a total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus with some guy who has a girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

Or, the one where pledge brothers Stiles and Scott start a prank war with Derek Hale's fraternity.

Prince Among Wolves by Rawren (Zimothy) [101k, E]

Looking for full day/evening sitter. 2 twin boys age 4. Must have exp. w/werewolves. Must be human. No pedophiles. No teenage girls. Pay negotiable.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation by grimm [118k, E]

There's something weird about Beacon Hills that Stiles can't quite put his finger on. The way everyone in town knows his name the day he arrives. The way they insist the melancholic howling that echoes through the forest every night is just a dog. The way his dad denies getting a dog, even though Stiles comes home to find one sprawled across his bed, some big black thing whose eyes gleam red in the right light. The way that massive oak tree out in the woods vibrates under his touch, pulsing with sickly life.

There's something weird going on in this town, and Stiles is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Cornerstone by Vendelin [83k, E]

Suffering from PTSD, ex-Marine Derek Hale moves back to Beacon Hills to open a bookshop and find a calmer life. That’s where he meets Stiles, completely by accident. Stiles is talkative, charming and curious. Somehow, despite the fact that he’s blind, he’s able to read Derek like no one else. 

[Not!Fic] Random Craigslist Missed Connections Derek/Stiles Not!Fic of Doom by fire_juggler_writes (fire_juggler) [17k, T]

An AU in which Stiles is lonely and addicted to the Missed Connections page on Craigslist, Derek is a hermit with a persistant sister, Scott gives unexpectedly good relationship advice, and it all ends happily-ever-after.

Trust Fall by Stoney [144k, T]

Stiles is fairly certain that a case could be made for every bad thing in his life coming back to Peter Hale. This time it's pissing off a powerful witch, who retaliated by swapping Stiles and Derek a la Freaky Friday, because sure. That makes sense. Um, there are GPAs on the line, not to mention the whole thing where his dad wants to shoot Derek on sight. Except who he sees as Derek is actually Stiles, and Stiles did not sign up for filicide.

Great. Wait...does this mean he's the Alpha until they figure this out? Holy. Shit.****

Derek had stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a few minutes trying to control the panic as he saw himself as Stiles. As the loud mouthed human friend of the pack. He was going to kill Peter. He was going to kill the witch, then he was going to kill Peter. Maybe even resurrect him again just to kill him all over.

They were going to have to play this cool. They would have to stay calm and focused. Which is of course why the universe threw him into this situation with someone who physically couldn't be calm and focused.

Of course.

Stand Fast in Your Enchantments by DevilDoll, Rahciach [76k, E]

"Stiles knew damn well what a pissed-off wolf sounded like, and every hair on the back of his neck was telling him that somewhere in this room was a very pissed-off werewolf." An AU in which Derek is feral, Stiles is magical, and they eat a lot of fast food.

Safety in Silence by Survivah [66k, M]

It's perfectly understandable. Even Derek wouldn't want to be Derek's soulmate. 

Where The Inevitable Isn't by Survivah [41k, M]

Stiles has a magical thingamajig that's supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn't in the same universe anymore.

"A part of Stiles had been thinking that he’d come home, and just go, 'hey, Derek, are we mates and you just haven’t said anything about it?' and Derek would reply, 'now you mention it, we are indeed! Now come to my bedchamber, where we will have super hot sex and then cuddle after!'"

"Pretend this is our den, kay?" by Survivah [16k, M]

In which Stiles is raised by (were)wolves, and he and Derek are childhood sweethearts that never stopped. Also, Kate Argent is a homicidal maniac but a very helpful plot device.

The Boy and the Beast by Dira Sudis (dsudis) [116k, M]

In which events in Beacon Hills go rather differently from the start, and a Beauty and the Beast (ish) story ensues. (Scott is not a teacup and no one sings about their feelings.)

[yogaadvise]

6 Beginner Yoga Tips for POTSies

Having POTS sucks. 

  There, I said exactly what everyone who has POTS believes each and every single day.

  For years I didn't realise that I do have some control over just what goes on with my body. You see, when you have dysautonomia - a malfunctioning autonomic worried system - it's tough to seem like you're in control of anything. Yoga exercise helped me repossess control and assisted me make those POTS flare ups a little much less common.

  If you're a POTSie seeking to reclaim some control, you should consider trying yoga. Yoga exercise has been extremely useful and also transformative for me.

  I utilized to be handicapped. My POTS was so bad some days I might barely rise. I might barely function. Each and every single day I had difficulties. I couldn't walk up staircases. I couldn't work out also a bit. I couldn't sleep through the night. I would get breast discomfort from nowhere. I would suddenly obtain lightheaded as well as fall over. I would black out. There was a while I needed to take my showers sittinged so I didn't pass out in the shower.

  About 4 years earlier when my wellness was rather steady, but by no means excellent, my roomate in California purchased Tim Ferriss' then-new publication The Four Hour Body. I began reviewing it, captivated with Tim's quest into biohacking (I really did not even understand biohacking was a trait). I was inspired by Tim's self-experiments to make his body much more effective, as well as over the past few years, I have used comparable techniques to identify how you can enhance my health and wellness, my body, and also my general wellness.

  I track everything because just what can be tracked could be altered. I have actually located what help me and exactly what doesn't help me. What has actually functioned consistently more compared to anything else is yoga.

  A yoga instructor stated having a go at yoga when they found out about my health issue, yet I dismissed it. I thought it would certainly be also tough as well as trigger a lot of heart issues for me. Exactly what I didn't become aware is yoga can be changed. You could do yoga exercise at your very own speed. You do not need to go at a vigerous speed (and also if you are in a yoga course with an educator that does not acknowledge everybody has their own constraints, I suggest you discover a different course).

  1. Acknowledge Your Limits.

The very first trait you need to understand (but you possibly already recognize) is that every little thing takes longer for us POTSies, and you have to go at your very own pace and hear your body. What could take a 'normal' individual one month can take us three. Don't push it, as well as do not rush it, or you'll have a flare up. When you're at the side of your comfort area, stop. Don't press on your own to the point of injury due to the fact that you believe this is just how it's 'intended to be.' As a POTSie you will certainly really feel injuries much more drastically the following day, and the discomfort could trigger a flare up.

  2. Invest in a good yoga mat.

If you don't have a yoga mat, you needs to get one. It doesn't have to be a costly one, however it's handy not to need to depend on carpets. Carpets is no fun on the knees, lem me inform you! Carpets can cause hazardous slipping.

  Your yoga mat will become your buddy. Your yoga exercise floor covering will support you. Your yoga mat will help you without judgment or worry. Your yoga mat will certainly be there for you. See to it the mat you obtain isn't improperly made or as well unsafe. I found the mainstream yoga floor coverings that are so usual on the marketplace were both as well thin and also unsafe for me.

  I utilize the Manduka eKo Floor covering. It is made from all natural rubber, and also is not unsafe at all. It does not glide about on the carpeting, and also I don't glide around on it when I'm doing yoga. (Get 10% off a Manduka floor covering with the code 42YOGIS at Manduka.com)

  The Manduka eKo might not be the appropriate mat for you, which's ALRIGHT. There's a great deal to consider when picking out your excellent yoga exercise floor covering. Right here are some tips.

  3. Start slow.

To start, you need to set aside an afternoon when you don't have actually anything intended at night. Until you have actually done yoga a few times and began to feel your body in different ways, you won't understand without a doubt if you'll have a flare or otherwise. My first two times I had flares, but then I knew I was pressing myself too hard. It is essential to keep in mind that yoga is a practice, not an excellence. Go at your very own pace, and you will find what help you.

  4. Start on the ground.

If you're new to yoga, I 'd suggest you begin sitting on your mat. Until you are used to the motions while also inhaling a controlled manner standing presents might be hazardous, and streams could be horrendous - particularly if you are vulnerable to synscope. After you get comfy with seated positions and also positions where you have a great, strong base under you, after that you could relocate right into standing presents and moves. This video clip from professional yoga instructor Andrew Wrenn is a great location to begin for Seated Presents. I'll conserve standing presents and also streams for an additional article.

  5. Control your breath.

Studies indicates alternative nostril breathing - a prominent yoga pranayama exercise - could modify the heart rate variability, as well as soothe the parasympathetic worried system.

  When you begin discovering pranayama workouts as a POTSie, you could really feel light goinged or woozy. This is typical, and it is absolutely nothing to be alarmed by. This is why it's important to do your pranayama when you're sittinged on your floor covering as well as are not at danger of injury. It has actually taken me a lengthy time to do pranayama exercises. The trick is to start slowly.

  Thanks to pranayama, I can calm myself down mentally. I could redouble my mind if my mind is roaming, as well as I could slow my heart rate.

  Pranayama exercises: 

Alternate Nostril Taking a breath with Gigi Yogini on Yoga exercise Journal

Pranayama with Francesca

Dirgha Three Component Breath with Larissa Hall Carlson ( my favourite!)

Ujjayi Breath with Andre

  6. Start meditating.

Meditation is a fantastic means to discover clearness, balance, as well as sanity in your day. I such as to do aesthetic meditations where I envision my body being full of health and wellness as well as favorable power. As I breathe out, I envision I am taking a breath out the pain, discomfort, and anxiousness that comes with having POTS.

  Meditation Videos:

Training the Mind

Healing Concept for Relax as well as Recovery

5 Minute Wonder Assisted Meditation

Reclaim Your Power

10 Minute Guided Meditation

Easy Daily Meditation Practice

Welcome Yourself Meditation

  These 6 suggestions can help you begin to reclaim a little control, and also hopefully, discover some peace and also sanity. Please allow me understand if you have any kind of questions! You can tweet me at @ 42Yogis or @YsmayWalsh, or just talk about this post.

[your-dietician]

How to start a business without money ... and in five steps

New Post has been published on https://tattlepress.com/business/how-to-start-a-business-without-money-and-in-five-steps/

How to start a business without money ... and in five steps

June 24, 2021 12 min read

This article was translated from our Spanish edition using AI technologies. Errors may exist due to this process.

Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their own.

STEP ONE: THE MOMENTUM

Image: Depositphotos.com

In my case, the impulse started one morning, at 3 in the morning. I looked at myself in the mirror, my face wet, breathing noisily, like Darth Vader in pajamas. I was angry. I was disappointed. I was confused. Above all, he was afraid.

He didn’t know how he was going to get out of this one. I was terrified. And it was not for less -or at least he believed-. Until a few hours ago … I had a job. The salary was good and the future looked fabulous.

But everything turned to nothing when I received the dreaded call: the main investor in the business, after a terrible year in Colombia, decided to cancel the project in Mexico. Thus, without further ado. Goodbye. Thank you. Good work and see you later.

Yesterday he was “director”. Today he was unemployed . Suddenly that impressive title that adorned my little cards seemed inappropriate and ridiculous. The truth is that he was the director of nothing.

To make matters worse, my wife was pregnant and huge debts haunted me. That night was a very bad night. I prayed – stammered – before trying to go back to sleep.

I already knew that my wife trusted me; and that he saw in me a man capable of providing for the home. That should have been a cause for reassurance; but at that moment it was a heavy piano on my chest. I didn’t want to fail him … but tonight I doubted everything, especially myself.

Only one question was floating in my mind as my eyelids closed. If I was a supposedly educated man, prepared, with a career, mastery … How did I get to this desperate point? One of two: either the world was a fraud … or I was.

The next day I did what I had to do. I organized my resume and sent it to everyone I knew, applied to some online positions, made several calls. After a few days without an answer, my calls became more desperate. He was willing to work on anything to make it to the next fortnight. After two weeks of attending various job interviews, without success, I was already questioning everything: my ability, my intelligence, my preparation … everything . What could I do?

And in my own business? For me the drive was desperation, but it doesn’t have to be that way. You could even start a business without leaving your current job. What moves you to start a business? When the urge hits, heed the 5 minute rule and move on.

STEP TWO: CHIP CHIP

Image: Depositphotos.com

The situation took on desperate tones. I thought that if I couldn’t find a job, I would have to start a business. It is not like this? Whatever. I looked online and in magazines about good business to get started. I found hundreds of business opportunities, products and franchises … but all required some type of investment: 20 thousand, 30 thousand, 100 thousand or more. But when one does not have money or work, it is impossible to think of those amounts. Also, whatever money he could receive, he soon disappeared in basic necessities: food, doctors, rent … and in paying past debts.

I thought about taking out another loan, but it would be impossible – and also seriously irresponsible – to borrow more. I thought about selling my car… but they would give me very little for it and I really needed it.

The answer came from Salvador, a good friend (with whom he would later write a book, precisely, about entrepreneurship and personal finance). “You don’t need money to start a business,” he told me, “you need an idea. If you don’t have money, invest your intelligence and your time ”.

I returned home agreed with this idea and sat at a table to put ideas on paper. That day, nothing was off the table. I thought about washing cars, tutoring, walking dogs, and painting houses. I didn’t know how to do any of these things , but I thought it would be a way for me to move around and start “something” temporary, where I got a serious job. I could not come up with an idea that would excite me.

A new inspiration came from my wife: “You have always told me that you like to write. Why don’t you do some business with that? Indeed, I have always liked to write and I even had a very advanced first novel, but that would not give me money for long, even assuming someone wanted to publish me. But the idea made me rethink everything. I was asking myself the wrong question!

Until then I was wondering where can I earn easy money? And I still couldn’t find a way out. But my wife’s comment made me change the question. The new question, the correct one, was: There are some things I know how to do well. How can I make money from these things?

This new question cleared the way because it left out thousands of impractical ideas, and limited my options, making my choice easier . That same afternoon, I decided that I wanted to start a writing and copywriting business . There was still a lot to do.

And in your own business ? Ask yourself the right questions and find your talent: the things that you know how to do well and that you like. My thing was writing, but perhaps your thing is animals, computers, sports or cars. Do not look for “a good business” but build a good business from who you are. And now, start where you are .

STEP THREE: LAUNCH THE BOAT INTO THE SEA

Image: Depositphotos.com

When I made the decision and shared it with my wife, our creative juices started to flow. I had almost no money, so we did everything at home. In one morning we came up with a name for the business, made a simple logo, opened a Facebook page and a free site on Wix. We also devised a “menu” of services that it could offer and we priced it.

This was all new to me, and I set prices that I later learned were too low. I also did not consider many services that I would later discover as important. But we already had what they call in entrepreneurial jargon an MVP, a “minimum viable product ”; something I could start promoting, selling and working on.

That day in the afternoon I sent a message to all my contacts by mail and on social networks. Perhaps, in total, about two thousand people. To all my friends, acquaintances new and old, and even people I didn’t remember. I sent them all. The email was very simple:

“Hello, how nice to greet you! I am Francisco and I am telling you that we have just launched these new services. If you have creative writing, editing or proofreading needs, don’t hesitate to call us! ”, Then a kind farewell and… SEND! And then … wait.

Fortunately we didn’t have to wait long. The next day a first customer arrived (who needed a brochure) and then another (who needed a website). The first week we charge 3,000 pesos for two services. It was still little, but it was something. We could breathe. We were in business!

And in your own business? Do not wait for the ideal moment, or until you have everything assembled and planned perfectly. Right now, the perfect is the enemy of the good. Try to have an MVP and then make changes and iterations according to the response of your market. Stay open, be flexible, and listen to your customers.

STEP FOUR: SYSTEMATIZE

Image: Depositphotos.com

The first months were learning . Still our earnings were low (but they helped us get ahead). We discovered new needs, new niches, and products that we could explore. We started offering advertising copy services, social networks, translation and strategic communication. Each client brought a new problem that we had not thought about before. Then we gave ourselves to the task of investigating, learning and solving what we put on the table.

Little by little we were finding our space in the market , and leaving behind the products and services that required us a lot of time and little profit. Clients – thank God – kept coming and within a few months it became evident that we needed more hands on the business, better management systems and systematizing processes.

We also thought that we could be a company with a human sense, that would help people. We launched a call for writers who could work from home: housewives, men who take care of their children and people with some type of disability. At the end of the year, we went from one collaborator (myself), to eight collaborators with flexible times. We also launched programs to help people in need, doing our bit, no matter how small.

That involved us implementing payroll, tax, customer control and process control systems to ensure that everything went smoothly and in order. We learned to hire, train and sell. We made a lot of mistakes and we learned from them; but most of our clients accompanied us during the process.

And in your own business? This third step is the most difficult in the leap from self-employment to a formal business, because it involves delegating functions, investing, trusting people and “letting go” of direct control of all steps of the business. Find systems that work for you and find people you trust who want to work. Little by little you will find your answers.

STEP FIFTH: GROW

Image: Depositphotos.com

Once the systems started working, I found that my hands were freer. In the beginning I spent all my time doing the essays, even the simplest ones. Now, with a team of writers, I had brain freedom to rekindle the creative drive; think about new clients, bigger projects and look for new business for my business.

Eventually we were able to serve larger national and international clients and launch new lines of products and services that attracted new clients. We open a publishing division. The business today has different areas, different sources of income, managers and operators that work even when I am not present. That is to say: it is a real business and not self-employment. Later, in effect, they offered me an excellent job, which I still maintain today. I accepted it because I liked it, and not just because I was desperate. As the business goes on, I can attend to both.

We are still very, very far from the Forbes 500 lists. We are still an SME with a great desire to continue growing. But, above all, I no longer be the way I felt that day at 3 in the morning. I have other concerns, but I have freedom, I live where I want, I do what I like and I can’t stop dreaming. I’m tired? This sold out! But it is a burnout of the one who knows that he is in the right race.

I have had the help of fantastic people in my family and outside of it and, in addition, my family has grown quite a bit. Trust me, it’s worth it.

And in your own business? It recognizes that there is a market and space for all types of companies, products and services. Don’t be afraid to grow up. Sure, it’s scary and sometimes lazy. But on the other side of fear is freedom. It is freedom and passion (not money) that move the soul of true entrepreneurs.

Your first business may not lift, but if you have invested your time and your intelligence, then there is no way it is a total loss. You will have grown, learned, undertaken and faced. You are not the same as before. Time to start again! Once you have learned to undertake, you will not be able to stop doing it.

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[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

TF2 Fanfic Request - Bomb Voyage

For @camiluna27

Title: Disarmed & Deadly

Hearing the loud bray of his teammates’ mirth intrude on the quiet moment he’d cultivated for himself, Spy’s teeth ground together in frustration. The wine glass shifts, as he rolls it between gloved fingers as the espionage agent contemplated how best to manipulate the others into silence once more. In the background, a record player lazily warbled classical music in direct competition with the din from outside, but is ultimately no match.

Spy sighs, setting down the glass and rising. A few strides across the luxuriously furnished smoking room, and he is flinging open the door to find the drunken quartet of the Soldier, Demolitions man, Engineer and Scout all stumbling awkwardly past. Each attempting to join a rousing chorus of some sort of tavern song, which was admirable considering not a single one was singing in the same key or rhythm, as they leaned against one another in a shambling mass of drunken bodies.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhales and counts to ten in order to forestall the possibility that he may lose his trademark composure. Certainly, this was the time for subtlety, not condemnation.

“Gentlemen,” he opens with, noting how they all swivelled to look at him in shock as if he’d simply decloaked before them rather than having stood in the open for the last thirty seconds in plain sight. “While I understand zhat our victory today is cause for celebration, I must bring to your attention zhe fact it is almost midnight, and we ‘ave battle early tomorrow morning. Not to mention, at least one person ‘ere is too young to be drinking at all… let alone in zhis state!”

Scout giggles, in response, halfway to black-out drunk and slurring his words awkwardly as he tried to inform the espionage agent that he was, in fact, twenty-one so it was totally fine. Spy’s right eye twitches, but he withholds the lecture dancing upon the tip of his tongue; inciting argument would do no good, and only serve to ensure the runner would become even more of a nuisance before he could be guided to bed. How on earth he had had a child with such a temperament-... well, no, considering the formidable woman Scout’s mother was, it was not at all difficult to see where such a brash personality had spawned. He felt a soft pang when he thought of her, for he loved her even still; though that particular passion, that moment in their lives, had now closed forever. Still, they had made something wonderful… even if he was loud, annoying and very, very drunk right at this moment in time.

“Ain’t that drunk Schpy…” Scout mutters, pointing over the man’s shoulder to emphasise his point. Soldier cheers the statement, Engineer giggles, and the Demoman claps the young mercenary on the shoulder as he bursts into gales of laughter. Spy’s admonishment dies on his lips at the golden sound of the Scot’s delight; he’d never heard anything like it before, not even from his former beloved, whose laughter sounded like a summer gale.

A twanging sound from Engineer’s guitar snaps him out of his momentary daze, and Spy clears his throat as if nothing had occurred. His expression shifts, underneath the mask, adopting a look that he hoped conveyed nonchalant disdain for the fellow mercenaries’ continued wellbeing. “On zhe contrary, Scout, I zhink you are quite inebriated… and need to sleep it off, or you will be utterly useless on zhe intel capture mission tomorrow. I am even willing to assist you to your room, if zhat is what you require…” Spy informs them, trying to relax his features slightly to look less threatening. He would love to tell them all to shut up, to go away and leave him in peace; but such tactics would only invoke rebellion.

“Now see here, Traitor-...” Soldier begins, prodding the espionage agent in the chest with a slightly shaky finger. “T-the troops perfor-... prefor-... did good in the trenches today, and celebrating is imperative to the men’s morale!”

“Oui, Soldier… and yet, is not rest and recuperation important to tactical functioning, also?” Spy counters, smoothly. “As zhe leader, you must see zhat your men ‘ave adequate nutrition and sleep, no?”

Soldier’s mouth opens, but he pauses as if to consider Spy’s words. “The sneaky crouton’s right, men! You are all tardy for your deployment in Dreamland, which may have repercuss-... repercush-... may cause mission failure. Company, forward-march to your bunks… dismissed!”

The man smartly salutes them, then ambles down the hallway in a shaky approximation of marching. Engineer mumbles something about ‘making sure helmet-head gets back to bed safe’, and follows along behind at an unhurried pace; leaning against the wall every few steps to stabilise himself.

Spy’s attention turns to the runner and explosives expert before him, already tensing for the anticipated verbal barrage of reasons why neither needed to sleep just yet. Only to find himself pleasantly surprised…

“Don’ w-worry lad… I’ll see ye wee laddie tae bed, safe an’ sound.” Demoman says, expression slightly dazed and dreamlike, but his tone as sincere as it was slurred. The man claps a large hand on Scout’s bony shoulder, forestalling any argument with a simple point of contact between them; Spy was slightly envious at how much the runner admired the older man, tried to emulate him. In a different world, perhaps the boy would have been more like-... ah, but that would never come to pass, so it was useless to waste time dwelling upon it.

Demo slips a companionable arm around Scout’s shoulders, steadying both of them slightly, and started to regale his captive audience with the well-known tale of that one time he accidentally got into a fist-fight with a succubus. It was… amusing, at least the first four times you heard it; but after that, well, Spy was glad that the pair were receding down the hallway towards their own respective quarters. He hears Scout titter, repeating something Demo said, and eventually their voices fade alongside their footsteps. The corridor seems oddly vast and empty, now that silence has descended once more; desolate, almost. Spy shudders, not fully understanding why he does so, and decides that perhaps he is too tired to stay up any longer listening to his record. He shuts the door quietly, shoulders only losing their minor tension as he hears the deadbolt click into place; ensuring security, privacy, for the espionage agent.

His solitary glass of red wine sits, abandoned, upon the small table by his armchair as he wearily trudges towards the hidden door by the fireplace. Fumbling fingers activate the lever, admitting the espionage agent to his bedroom and swinging shut behind him with whisper-quiet ease. Spy messily undresses and shirks his mask, falling upon the soft, welcoming surface of the bed in an ungraceful heap.

The faint sound of classical music drifts through the room, lulling him to rest… and yet, Spy realises as he sinks into slumber, his mind refuses to settle. Dreams filled with a familiar, oft-detested face, and golden laughter, fill the midnight hours…

                                                       ~)0(~

Medic was in fine spirits the following morning, having been forcibly retired to bed early by Heavy -before the medical man could get more than a few bottles of celebratory beverage down. Spy discovered this unwittingly, as the sound of the man’s cheerful singing breached his rest, even though a full room stood between them. He was of half a mind to simply blot out the sound with a pillow and steadfastly return to sleep… but, once the doctor was awake, the base tended to arise around him. Little other choice remained, really.

Perhaps he had become too accustomed to living in the relative safety of RED base, amongst the other mercenaries, but Spy actually found himself considering sleeping in this morning despite their tight schedule. His rest had been… well, not disturbed... but far from peaceful; full of odd images and sounds, all of which demanded attention to things he wished to remain vague for the foreseeable future.

Still, the man dutifully arose, venturing towards his private bathroom, and returning only to forage for attire less rumpled than that of the previous day. Everything was an automatic process after almost a year here; blood, battle and death nothing more than an interesting pastime to fill their days between morning and evening meals. Spy mumbles a curse as a cufflink decides to remain elusive, just out of his reach under the bed, and has to resort to digging out a secondary pair from his drawers, or risk running late to breakfast.

Just another day, like any other.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Today, tomorrow, three weeks from now… nothing would change. Oh, perhaps they might be told to switch bases or missions; but in the end, all that really changed was the soil on which they lay dying until respawn caught them. He’d been melancholy throughout the morning meal, delving deeper into dark thoughts and memories to forestall facing a rather prevalent realisation involving-... well, another mercenary on the team.

Even the blaring siren signalling the start of today’s primary match had done little to rouse him; leaving a perplexed Engineer to elbow him in the side, to ask if the Frenchman was ‘doin’ alright there Spah?’. It just seemed so… pointless, today. Perhaps that was his disrupted sleep pattern talking, or the overbearing denial he was running on; or even, Spy had mused with a tight grin, the strange fear he felt deep in his chest that not even four cups of coffee could drown. He’d startled slightly at the contact, surprising them both, before regaining his composure with practice ingrained from years of training. A terse acknowledgement to the labourer, and not a second later, Spy had cloaked out of the respawn room in search of a victim… just as always.

By the time he heard the Administrator admonishing RED for losing the intel briefcase a second time, Spy had already died four times in various mannerisms. Bad luck and unfortunate timing accounted for the first three; including a situation wherein he had actually run into the opposing pyromaniac in a corridor, resulting in a rather agonising and embarrassing end. Only one of those deaths had he actually been attempting to do anything useful.The opposing engineer having taken a dim view of the RED Spy’s attempts to sap the sentry blocking the BLU intel room, and utilised his Widowmaker to full effect upon the masked man. As he respawned, Spy had thought it an ironic shift of fate to be killed by such a weapon… for he had no one to leave behind, to grieve for him should this system fail and the next death become permanent.

That face flashed through his mind once more, and he tried to blink it away… though in respawn, no such sensation was possible. Spy felt the weight of gravity sucking him down as the system returned him to physical form, whole and hale once more, as his italian-leather shoes touched the tiled floor. As always, there was a split-second of disorientation, but that was easily dismissed. His mood was rather dour, considering… and yet, there was little chance that the match would end in their favour; so what was the point of thinking optimistically at this late stage? None that the Frenchman could see. Might as well return to the battlefield and see in what other unique ways he could die today, before the BLU Scout took their-...

Alarms announced the third capture of their intelligence, prompting a sudden surge of RED mercenaries to come thundering back towards the intel room from all over the map in an attempt to block the enemy’s escape. Spy sighs as gunfire and explosions rock the base, taunts and cries of pain; someone was on fire, going off the scent of burning hair hanging in the air. Ah, no… Spy wrinkled his nose in disgust, whoever it was had just been put out by the filthy bushman. Now everything seemed to smell of jarate, how... classy. His sneer falls as a pleasant sensation overtakes his body, and the man need not glance behind at the Medic to realise that he’d been imbued with a rare moment of overhealing by their resident physician. Spies tended to be low-priority patients, after all; you could never tell if they were your own, or the other in disguise. And yet, the gesture was appreciated.

“Und how are you feeling now, Herr Spy?” Medic chimes in, far too cheerily for someone as gore-streaked as he was. The espionage agent turns slightly to behold the doctor in full, and raise an eyebrow at the unanticipated concern lacing the other’s tone.

“I am as always, Doctor…” he responds, trying to decipher the intent behind the medical man’s manic beam in as subtle a manner as possible. “Perhaps you should save your medigun fluid for zhe rest of our teammates… it sounds as if zhey are putting up quite a fight down zhere.”

“Oh I can spare a moment to pester you, mein freund!” Medic retorts, the cheery sparkle in his eyes becoming that little bit more ominous than before. “Perhaps you vish to talk about vhy you seem so distracted today, hmmm? Vas it nightmares? I have got zhese new pills for-...”

“No!” Spy immediately interjects, recalling the ludicrous side-effects from the man’s last experimental sleeping pills, and never wishing to experience anything like that again. “I mean, zhat will not be necessary, but your concern is noted and appreciated.”

“Not bad dreams…? Hmmm, zhen I suppose it must have something to do vith your little infatuation, zhen?” Medic says, laying his trump card on metaphorical table, contriving to look utterly innocent as he did so. Spy is temporarily disarmed by the man’s ability to blatantly state the issue, and feels his heart drop into his stomach as he struggles to recover his aloof mask of nonchalance.

He clears his throat and adjusts his tie, pretending his heartbeat wasn’t thundering in his ears and making it hard to think of a plausible response. “I-... I do believe you are mistaken, Doctor… whatever gave you zhat idea?”

Medic laughs, “Did you zhink you vere subtle? Admittedly, Heavy noticed first, but it did not take much prodding before I also realised... “ he pauses, as someone screams below their feet. “So… zhe Demoman is to your liking, zhen?”

Spy grinds his teeth together, trying to think of a logical way out of this situation without encouraging the Medic; of course the difficulty here was that if he killed the man, to silence him, the german physician would merely reappear in five minutes or so. There really was no solution, was there? With a soft exhalation, his shoulders lost their tension and he replied, “Oui, zhe Demo… zhough I do not know why. He is everything I detest! Loud, brash, a drunken fool with no pride and always so focused on fairytales… and yet…”

“And yet zhe heart vants vhat it vants, mein freund.” Medic smiles, shutting the medigun stream off so he might put a gloved hand on Spy’s shoulder. His expression grows slightly more sombre, as the medical man leans in to whisper, “But I zhink you have misjudged Demo… ve all have zhings in our pasts zhat haunt us, und for him zhey are far more literal. You smoke to keep your nerve, und Demo… he drinks; it vould be ironic for you to fault him for such a zhing, don’t you zhink?”

Spy finds himself without a witty retort, and so, merely nods in response to the statement. Medic claps him on the shoulder and brushes past, striding towards their own intelligence room wherein a battle raged for ownership of the RED intel. From behind him comes a faint whooshing hum as someone is ejected from the respawn system; the sound spurs Spy into action once more, and he finds himself moving automatically. This match will conclude in the next few moments, whether the final intelligence briefcase is captured or not, RED would most certainly lose… though, Spy would be damned if he let them go out without a fight.

In a fluid motion born of muscle memory, he activates the Cloak and Dagger about his wrist, and disappears… into thin air.

                                                        ~)0(~

Scout is the last to fall out of the respawn system following their defeat; as he was the last hunted down during the humiliation round. The runner is spitting expletives so foul Spy half anticipates the boy’s mother will physically manifest in the locker room to wash his mouth out with soap…

The room is heavy with the sense of failure. A thick miasma of frustration, humiliation and disappointment that seems to drain the energy from their battle-worn minds and bodies like a physical thing. Defeat was inevitable and usually inspired a few dark curses aimed at the BLUs, but all in all the mercenaries simply accepted it; going on with their night as normal. Victory also came with some minor congratulations, a cheery atmosphere and perhaps some tomfoolery involving alcohol; but in reality, it was just an outcome of their day job, nothing to get too excited over anymore. Though this, this was the outcome of a battle wherein defeat felt like failure. It didn’t happen all too often anymore, because after the settling in period even intel capture became a push-and-shove style of warfare where both teams had the chance to display their prowess on the field. However… sometimes, both BLU and RED had a match where they were utterly decimated on the field no matter how hard they tried; scoring no captures of points or intel, and cycling through respawn in a never-ending haze until time was called.

This… this was what failure felt like. Thus the reason no one had stepped into silence Scout’s foul frustrations so far; because they all felt it, the burden of shame that came with failing to even procure a single capture on their home base.

No one was looking at one another, all lost in their own thoughts; running the battle back through their minds, trying to work out what could have been done differently. The room was as melancholy as Spy had been prior to speaking with Medic, which truly was ironic; for now it was the physician who appeared downcast, whereas the espionage agent merely felt slightly aggrieved that his last backstab had been ruined by the match time running out before he could land the blow.

They all startle at the sound of a locker door slamming shut to the loud cry of, “Ah, sod it!” in a Scottish brogue. Demo whirls about to face the room, stern expression cracking into a smile as he claps his hands and says, “Right, lads… who here wants tae drown their sorrows in a big old bottle of Scrumpy? Might as well get nice and tanked, have a laugh about today, and do better tomorrow, aye? Who’s with me?”

Just about everyone perks up at the idea, or perhaps it was the Demoman’s personality that really shifted the attitude in the room to one of slightly less despair than a moment earlier. Spy catches Medic throwing the Scot a look, tilting his head towards Scout, and doesn’t have time to question it before a rush of red-clad bodies obscures his vision. When they clear enough to see, the Demoman has a companionable arm about the runner’s shoulders, clearly in the middle of some tale of supernatural heroics or some-such to soften the scowl on the younger man’s face.

It seemed to be working. Enraptured, Scout’s form lost its angry rigidity; a smile creeping across his features as Spy watched, fascinated by the transformation. Demo’s warm tone filled the room, inviting the listeners to relax into his tale and let go of their earthly concerns if only for a moment. The espionage agent was forced to pinch himself to snap out of the complacent haze the golden voice was weaving about them; frowning a little at his carelessness. Had they not been on RED base, he would most likely die from inattention to his surroundings… and that would be an embarrassing way to die for a Spy.

“...but the main thing of it, lad, was that we did have our asses handed to us, aye. And it felt rotten as all hell at the time, but it sure makes a bloody funny tale now that a few years have gone by, yeah?” Demo concludes, making an exaggerated effort to ruffle Scout’s hair in a familiar fashion, as the runner squirmed and laughingly protested.

He was very good with children, clearly… Spy found himself thinking, oddly charmed by the whole situation.

“Are ye coming Spook, or do I have tae tell you a story too?” Demo’s amused tone shatters his thoughts, catching him off-guard. Spy blinks, and sees the man standing by the doorway that led towards the rest of the base, clearly waiting for some degree of response from him.

“Ah… oui, I am coming.” he manages, striding over and mentally attempting to conjure a plausible explanation for his dawdling. Demo grins as Spy slides past him, a tight fit considering how narrow the doorway truly was when occupied by multiple mercenaries at once, but clearly withholds any lewd quips about the situation as a courtesy.

He feels the muscular arm casually drop about his shoulders, and hopes to whatever deity actively exists out there, that Demo cannot feel the sudden spike in his pulse at the action. Thankfully for Spy, the demolitions expert appears oblivious as he beams, “Good thing ye came willingly, I cannae imagine drowning my sorrows without you about to keep us out of trouble, lad…”

There was clearly more to the statement… or perhaps Spy was reading too much into things. Either way, their contact and conversation abruptly ended as they rounded the corner into the base common room, wherein the rest of the team was already heartily digging into snack foods and alcoholic beverages of varying strengths. Demo broke away to speak with Soldier and Heavy; whilst Medic materialised beside the espionage agent, with a beer in each hand, and a knowing grin on his face.

“Please… resist.” Spy pleads, not really entirely ready to deal with the doctor’s smug self-congratulatory speech about how his instincts were correct. The beam broadens, but the medical man says nothing… merely hands over a bottle in silence, as they survey the room. He takes a sip of the beverage, immediately regretting it as his palate all but rejects the sour taste of cheap beer… but, as it was the favoured drink of the team this night, Spy supposes he could bear it in the name of camaraderie.

Indeed, by the end of the evening’s impromptu festivities, Spy had imbibed a good four or five bottles of the awful swill. It was not so bad after the second bottle, he had mused; most likely because his tastebuds had decided to simply die, around that point in time. Mercenaries were sprawled from one end of the room to the other, in various states of inebriation and undress for various reasons. Soldier was, as one would expect, face down and snoring upon the floor clad in only a thin, oozing layer of honey and nothing more. Whereas the resident Pyromaniac was swaddled in a big fluffy blanket, quietly watching the television with the sound off for some unfathomable reason as Engineer slumbered quietly behind them in an armchair. Beside him, Scout and Sniper were entangled in a giggling pile of lanky limbs being sickeningly saccharine… as new couples often are, especially when drunk. He could have accepted any other member of the team as his so-... youngest team mate’s new partner; but why on earth had the runner chosen that piss-slinging bushman?

He sighs, and lets it go… for now. Tonight was for relaxation, commiseration and inebriation. Getting riled up over something he could not change would do nothing but make the evening’s festivities meaningless. Spy is gently brushed aside as Heavy does his best to steer his Doktor towards their room, a task made far more difficult considering the German had made a point to drink more than anyone save Demoman. Scout had complained that Medic was taking his share of the beer, but the physician had sloppily smiled and tapped his nose in a series of jerky motions that clearly meant Scout had worked out his master plan all along. “Tooooooo young to drink lots, Scout…” the man had mumbled, to the runner’s obvious frustration. Still, seeing the good doctor so debauched was a rare and amusing sight.

Everyone else seemed content to bed down where they were, and Spy was content to leave them to it, for the sanctity of his own room. Except… no, he could hardly just leave the man there like that, it would be terrible for his back. Pinching the bridge of his nose in exhaustion, Spy decides he does indeed have an obligation to keep the other man hale and hearty; regardless of the attraction he felt for him. After all, Medic would be indisposed for some time the following morning given how wholeheartedly the man had participated in the post-battle festivities, and therefore would not be likely to take kindly to an early wake-up for the sake of poor sleeping habits.

“Come along, mon amie.” he mutters, gently coaxing Demo upright from his slumped position over the common room table. The man groans in confusion, blinking blearily and trying to focus on the person jostling him awake; there’s a mumbled question that Spy doesn’t quite catch, but he makes a soothing sound in response that seemed to answer it aptly. Spy manages to untangle Demo from the chair, and get him mostly standing; albeit with the majority of his weight resting on the espionage agent. A little cumbersome, but ultimately a functional method of moving drunken teammates from one room to another… or so Spy had assumed, prior to actually testing this little hypothesis. Stumbling down the corridor had been a challenge in, and of, itself; but the pinnacle of the ridiculous experience had been reaching the Scotsman’s room and realising that neither had the key to open it. Normally he could pick the lock and be done with this ridiculous scenario… but that would require at least one hand being free for long enough to do so; and all attempts to rest Demo against the wall so he might retrieve his lockpicks from within his coat… ultimately failed. The other mercenary was not in a right enough state to remain upright without aid.

With a tired exhalation, the espionage agent realises there is little recourse but to simply take the man to his own room; and begins the arduous journey of guiding the other back down the hallway towards his own quarters. The smoking room was not so far from the Demoman’s own, and yet the whole shambling process seems to take an eternity; predominantly due to the fact that the supernaturalist seems to be alternating between fits of laughter and quiet sobs. As much as he would love to discover the reason for such reactions, Spy was focused on simply getting them through the door to his quarters; which was more difficult than usual, as he had to shift Demo around, so he might free up a hand with which to activate the second, secret door within the smoking room. Still, the rush of relief he felt at finally making it inside to the safety of his own bedroom could barely be described in any language.

He moves the other man to the bed and helps him sit; Demo teeters a little, giggling as Spy removes his boots with an awkward degree of effort. By the time the second shoe thumps to the floor, Spy is acutely aware how much he has drunk this evening, suddenly exhausted by such a menial task. True, he would prefer to shower and ready himself to sleep… but one could hardly do so with a guest present. Carefully, he coaxes Demo to lie down on his side and sets a sturdy pillow against his back so he would be less likely to roll on his back in the night; it was unlikely that the other would be prone to choking on his own vomit, but one could not take risks with an inebriated companion, after all.

Stripping off his gloves, Spy pauses to consider whether or not he should leave the other’s eyepatch on… and decides that it is not his call to make. One night would not hurt, after all. Though he does remove Demo’s ever-present beanie, and briefly running his hands over the soft black hair underneath; a gnawing guilt rising in the pit of his stomach as the other pressed back against his palm, seeking more of the gentle sensation in his drunken haze. Spy snatches back his hand, feeling that the interaction has breached some invisible moral line somehow, and decides to simply tuck the other in instead.

He fumbles at the buttons of his topcoat, tosses his ornate belt somewhere near the nightstand, and yanks off his tie without due concern as to where it lands. The designer shoes are shucked almost immediately, and the espionage agent’s aching feet sigh in relief at the freedom. Spy hesitates, fingers creeping under the mask as if to pull it off like he always did, and wonders if perhaps he could sleep in the concealing garment instead. Though-... no, he could definitely awaken before the Demoman, it would be no real concern.

Tiredly, Spy drops the mask onto the small table by the bed and arranges himself on the remaining half of the mattress. Sleep immediately greets him with open arms, and the espionage agent has no time to ponder the implications of his actions… before the world has faded into dreamless black nothingness.

                                                         ~)0(~

As far as awakenings go, being semi-ejected from your own bed was definitely a unique manner in which to jolt back to consciousness. Spy was awake and armed within seconds, swinging his arm around in an arc to-... to pause, balisong blade hovering a mere inch from Demo’s horrified expression. The previous evening flooded back in detail, making itself known alongside the dull ache of his well-deserved hangover.

The supernaturalist’s mouth had fallen open, whether in shock or disbelief Spy wasn’t sure, but he retracted the weapon instantly with a muttered apology in the other man’s general direction. Demo seemed to snap out of his stupor at the moment, managing a croaky, “Spook?”

“Oui, Demo… who else runs around zhe base in a mask-...” Spy’s retort cuts off as, eyes wide in shock, he recalls the fact he is not wearing the concealing garment. “Merde!” he hisses.

“Bloody hell… Spook you’re-...” Demo starts, but Spy cuts him off with a gesture.

“Please do not mention zhe familial resemblance to zhe boy, ‘e does not know yet.” the espionage agent counters, realising the damage has clearly been done and there was no point in attempting damage control. Though Spy freezes when he hears the other finish his sentence in a soft, breathy tone.

“...beautiful.” Demo whispers, trailing off as the espionage agent’s other statement sinks in. The explosives expert lets out a loud guffaw, “Oh… lad, the entire team’s been bettin’ on when ye were gonna get around to telling the boyo about that. But no, I was talking about your face… it’s a bloody crime to go hiding that little beauty under a mask all the damn time now, ain’t it?”

Before the shell-shocked Spy can muster a single coherent response to such a bizarre conversation, the Demoman begins to take stock of the situation and frowns over at Spy. “Uh, lad… did we…?” he begins, delicately, unsure if he’s about to offend the espionage agent or not.

This time, Spy snorts a little in amusement. “No, we most decidedly did not, I am afraid. You were trying to sleep on zhe table, and it looked uncomfortable so I tried to return you to your room… which, as you may ‘ave guessed, did not work out. Zherefore, I ‘ad no choice but to bring you ‘ere.”

Demo seems to sag in relief, “Cannae tell you how glad I am to hear that…”

“Oh?” Spy returns in a casual tone, “And ‘ere I zhought you would ‘ave been delighted. Given ‘ow much you seem to like my face…” There’s a teasing edge to his tone that softens the statement, and they both end up laughing.

“Well, I mean…” Demo fumbles for the proper way to put it, and then plain gives up, much to Spy’s amusement. “Might as well be straightforward given that we’ve already slept together before I even got ye name, Spook…”

The espionage agent actually lets out a brief burst of laughter at the aptly accurate yet deliberately misleading statement. He covers his mouth immediately as he snorts again, horrified that another person has heard his real, and utterly awful, laugh.

Demo’s wide beam is easily misunderstood, however. “Lad, that’s a bloody cute giggle ye got there… suits you. But as I was trying to say, it might’ve been a mite awkward if we’d gone ahead and been silly buggers last night ‘cause that wasn’t the way I usually announce I like a lad or lass…”

Now that, that statement definitely piqued the espionage agent’s interest. “You ‘ave some degree of attraction to me, Demoman?” he drawls, trying to remain monotonous as he clarified the situation. Things like this did not happen in real life; no one ever magically felt mutual attraction after zany antics… and yet, he hoped to have heard that statement correctly.

“I practically confess my love for ye, whilst half-dressed in your bed, and you want to play semantics?” Demo challenges right back, making Spy grin at the incredulous tone being aimed at him. “‘Course I bloody do, you daft idiot… and that’s before I even saw that face ye been hiding!”

There’s a pause, an elongated silence in the room as both occupants collect their thoughts. Spy breaks it by simply stating, “Medic was correct, you are more zhan you appear to be…” as cryptic a sentence as ever. He clears his throat, “Demo, you may not believe zhis statement because it borders on fairytale given the fortuitous nature of our current situation, but… you are not zhe only one with a confession to make. I ‘ad zhought you loud, rude, arrogant and childish… or at least, I told myself you were, because it was easier zhan admitting zhat perhaps my feelings for you were stronger zhan anticipated. You are very attractive, zhere is no contest… but your voice, zhe care and compassion for our teammates, your radiant personality are impossible zhings to resist…”

“Lad, I cannae blush any deeper without dropping dead… how about ye just stop monologuing and let me kiss you, aye?” Demo interjects, leaning across to the meagre space between them to press a warm hand against Spy’s bare cheek. The calloused thumb worries over his cheekbone, as if memorising the sight, the sensation, for later when it would be hidden once more.

Spy’s heartbeat skyrocketed in surprise; he was not usually taken aback, nor seduced in such a manner. Indeed, half his profession was being the seducer of important persons relevant to the mission; so to say he was on the backfoot in this encounter, was an understatement. Still, he could not deny that Demo’s offer was not in harmony with his own wishes, now that their mutual attraction was known to both parties involved… He leans into the sensation, his own hands moving to wrap around the back of Demo’s head and neck as their lips were pressed together for the first time. It was… chaste, compared to other first kisses he had been party to, and yet, oddly perfect.

They drifted closer to one another, mouths seeking each other for a second, third, fourth kiss as warmth built between them. Spy could feel heat spreading through his body, awakening parts of himself he’d thought long dead and buried with former loves. Demo’s hand slides down his side; and his own trace the contours of muscles beneath rumpled attire the other wore. They break apart, panting and slightly dazed at the attraction, the powerful pull that seems to have surged between them from the brief contact…

“That was-...” Demo begins, trailing off without finding the words to express himself.

“Oui.” Spy agrees, breathlessly.

Faint commotion can be heard, signalling the others had arisen and were busily making the most of their weekend. Though neither man inside the secret compartment felt compelled to move beyond their current surroundings, merely content to lean against one another and enjoy the warmth seeping between them.

“This is ridiculous.” Demo eventually laughs, “Fallin’ for a lad who actually liked me back and all…”

“Indeed, it does seem like a plot contrivance in some badly written romance novel, and yet… ‘ere we are. You… I ‘ad never assumed someone like you could ever reciprocate my feelings, knowing what you all zhink of me, zhe sneaky Spy you barely ever see.” he responds, enjoying the sensation of another body aligned with his own on the bed.

“Pfft, you’re an elusive bastard… but ye ain’t as cold as you want us to think ye are, lad. Backstabbin’ anyone dominating a teammate, remembering important dates and pestering us all to do everyday stuff we’re procrastinating for no good reason. Takin’ a drunken Scotsman back to his room cause ye cannae stand the idea of him getting a sore back over sleeping on the table… ye big softie.” Demo grins, pressing a kiss to Spy’s temple. “Love ye for it. Love ye in general, couldn’t help meself…”

Spy’s mouth quirks up in a grin, “What a way with words you ‘ave, mon amour…”

“Aye, but words ain’t the only thing I’m good at, lad… trust me.” Demo laughs, doing an exaggerated wink at the espionage agent.

“Oh?” Spy responds, expression deadpan and adopting a rather disbelieving tone.

Demo prods him in the side, “Oi, ye cheeky beggar, none of that now… or ye’ll never find out what I’m capable of.”

Spy runs a hand through the other man’s hair, scratching lightly and grinning at the reaction it got. “Forgive me, mon amour?” he teases, and feels Demo nod. “Good, because I would ‘ate to spoil zhis moment with our first fight… especially as I was just about to invite you into zhe showe-... ahhhh?”

The burlier mercenary easily scoops the espionage agent up and marches towards the relatively spacious bathroom before Spy can even finish the sentence.

“Lad, if this thing’s got hot water and some vague degree of water pressure then I’ll bloody marry you and it by tonight…” says Demo, emphatically, impressed by the private ensuite.

“Well zhen,” Spy answers, as he’s set down on the tiled floor. “You ‘ad best get down on one knee…”

That golden laugh echoed around the room, sending small thrills through the espionage agent’s chest to hear the joyful sound. Yes… if a relationship must start somewhere, then here was as good a point as any. In love, laughter, and a bathroom with good water pressure…

______________

The End

___________________________________

I know i promised you nsfw, but this is all that happened and im sorry

[emilyyhill]

Doing the health thing.

As many of you know, the past four to six months has been an absolute roller coaster for me health wise. I have had more diagnoses than I can count on one hand but nothing was drastic enough for to elicit a dramatic response. So I kind of just wandered through this ridiculous season until everything clicked and we worked something out.

Now I’ve only felt good for three weeks, so I’m still taking this very slow. I am not getting too excited just yet. But:

I went super MIA for a good while there. As I’ve reemerged and shared what’s been happening with friends, I hear so many people saying “I feel like that too!” or asking “How on Earth did you get better?” So here we are. The list of things I’m doing to help get/keep me healthy.

Now I’m not a doctor or health professional by any stretch – this is purely what I’ve done and what MY TEST RESULTS informed MY DOCTORS and HEALTH PEOPLE. So please don’t take this as gospel truth.

But I feel like I have some advice for those feeling a bit stuck in a cycle of health that definitely isn’t what it should be.

First things first, it’s not normal to be exhausted. Full stop. We live in a society where we are busy all the time, and a lot of us are unknowingly addicted to a substance (*cough* coffee *cough*) to try and alleviate underlying sleep deprivation. This is not sustainable – you should never be that busy that you are always feeling like you need a weeks worth of sleep.

It’s also not normal to feel tired after 8-10 hours of sleep. Fatigue and daytime sleepiness is a HUGE indicator that your body is not functioning at its peak. It means that something is lacking: whether it be sleep, nutrients, water, positivity – all of things contribute to our energy levels.

For example, fatigue and daytime sleepiness can be a symptom of: • Low iron or excess iron – iron’s can be annoying like that; • Mental health conditions like depression or anxiety; • Food intolerance and IBS; • Sleep apnea or poor sleep routines; • Low blood pressure; • Glandular fever or cytomegalovirus (or a bunch of other viruses); • Super simple things, like dehydration, jetlag or overeating (that post Christmas nap is definitely supported by s c i e n c e); • About a million other things.

So if you are feeling tired even after a regular night’s sleep, first consider your schedule and then consider a further investigation into the inner workings of that hot lil bod of yours 😏

I hear you: “That’s great Em. But who can help me? My doctor doesn’t care because I don’t have blood gushing out of a limb that’s falling off!” I feel you: My doctor ignored me for YEARS until I crashed real bad, and even then, he didn’t really care. *sigh* Not a fun time. Obviously I don’t go to that doctor anymore.

Go see a naturopath. But a good one. Not a hippie one.

Not that I’m against hippie naturopaths, I’m sure they are helpful too. But if a naturopath is going to be your main port of call for recovery, make sure you are seeing an experienced, degree qualified natural health specialist. Looking into your eyes with a shiny light is not enough on it’s own. Make sure they know their stuff.

Make sure they are using reputable brands of supplements (Metagenics, BioCeuticals, MediHerb etc.) that require practitioner prescriptions – in other words, you can’t just buy the supplements “over the counter”. And, they should recommend more than just essential oils.

Naturopathics can be a slow process, and it might take a while for you to see some changes. They look for the cause of the problem and try to resolve that, rather than putting band aids on things (an approach typically taken by mainstream medical doctors). But, for me, once we worked out what was causing my issues, it was a BINGO moment and I hit the health jackpot within DAYS.  

Heads up: naturopaths by definition are a bit alternative. They’ll definitely ask about your poo, want to poke you and their machines make weird sounds but hey, it’s usually pretty non-intrusive.

It can also be expensive, especially when you start taking supplements and vitamins. It’s also not recognised by Medicare or most private health insurance, so it’s usually an out of pocket expense. I totally understand that may not be feasible for everyone. But – if you can, I totally recommend.

I go to Don Graham at Vitage Naturopathics (Springwood). He and his wife Sandy are AMAZING, drop them a line here.

Don’t abandon your general practitioner or specialist.

Look, when things hurt or are causing significant disruptions – GO TO THE DOCTOR. When I’m covered in a heinous rash and I can’t sleep because of it, I can’t wait another three weeks to see the naturopath and then go on an elimination diet and try this, that, and the other. I NEED TO SLEEP DAMMIT. Get me onto those steroids, stat. But not before I take photos to show the naturopath later. It’s teamwork, look it up.

Keep a symptom diary.

We all like to think that we have a pretty good memory. You don’t. Your memory is shit. Write stuff down. Track your period, track your headaches, track the days you have explosive diarrhoea and the days you are constipated. TRACK ALL YOUR SYMPTOMS. 

Whether you go to a naturopath or a doctor, having it all on paper with dates will help you figure out if there are any patterns or if you’re just a loose cannon (still sad about Luke from Survivor, so here’s a meme in his honor).

Find yourself some good friends.

Heck, chronic illness can be lonely as hell. You miss out on parties, on coffee catch ups. you have to drop activities that you did with friends (like going to gym classes or walking your puppies together).

Research has shown that people who report high levels on loneliness are also more likely to develop both short and long term illnesses, ranging from colds to dementia. Loneliness will make it so much harder for you to get better, both physically and mentally.

So what happens when you might drop off the radar for days, weeks, or months at a time?

Rely on incredible friends who understand that every plan is tentative pending health. Find those people who will check in with you when you’ve been a bit MIA, and are willing to ditch the cute café for a cup of tea in your lounge room when can’t get yourself out of the house.

In saying that, reach out to people. Don’t expect everyone to know what’s going on, and still try to take the small steps you can to show people you still care (and just need a little extra love right now).

Be gracious with yourself and the state of your home – you don’t have to have everything perfectly together to invite someone over. Maybe you sit on the couch in your pyjamas and chat for a grand total of half an hour because that is all you can manage. If so, that’s okay! You made an effort, and when you have such little capacity, that will scream volumes to your friends.

Embrace the discomfort of making changes.

I cringe a little bit every time I, a girl wearing a dress with cons, order a soy flat white in my pink Pottery for the Planet keep cup, but hey, we’re embracing the discomfort.

I had to give up God’s most precious gift to humanity: the humble smoked almond. Don’t even get me started on hummus. Yet here we are, feeling a million times better for it. Thank God for a sneaky cheat moment here and there (not a whole day or I’d look like a 22 week pregnant lady…).

Problem was – unbeknownst to me, I relied on food for comfort. It was always familiar; I KNEW I’d feel emotionally better after some cheese and a choccy milk. I had to realise that I needed healthier coping strategies now other than food – like meditation and exercise and… actually dealing with my problems. Ugh.

I also had to embrace the fact that people loved me even when I couldn’t do anything for them. I was still a part of my church when I couldn’t serve on team. My family still loved me when I didn’t contribute to the dishes for a while.

My worth to people isn’t attached to what I can do for them and that was a huge thing for me to learn. I probably would not have fully understood that lesson had I not been so absolutely unable to do anything for anyone but myself.

Embrace the discomfort – you’ll grow from it. I promise.

Find things that you like!

Let’s talk about healthy juices. With this list of food intolerances rounding up at SEVENTEEN, a lot of my faves got the cut (see ya honey, pineapple, mango etc. etc.). You know what didn’t get the cut? BLOODY SPINACH. What is full of iron and good for your belly? SPINACH. What am I eating a lot of right now? SPINACH. 

I don’t love spinach, but when combined with other things and blended to a pulp, it can be good. The only way you are going to stick to a new lifestyle is by finding things you like. Plus, life is way to short to drink gross smoothies every day.

It could be that you try to find new forms of exercise that are better for your condition - I recently discovered yoga and climbing, both of which are heaps less taxing on my adrenal glands and therefore better for my fatigue.  

It may be new routines – I have to go to bed earlier than before which means I often can’t spend time with friends on “school nights”. I had to shift my hours at work from 8 to 4 to 10 to 6 so that I could do what I need to do in the morning before work.

It might be swapping to new products - I changed my skin care products because I was allergic to one of the chemicals in the one I had been using for years. 

It’s trial and error – you have to be open to trying new things, and deal with the fall out of some changes doing more damage than before. But when you work out what works, it’s like a whole new person. Trust me on this, yeah? It pays off in the long run.

Be diligent.

It can be frustrating and it can be so hard not to see the pay off until the long run. Taking your pills twice a day, drinking your veggie smoothie thing twice a day, consistently putting your health first when you just want to go out and eat freaking cheese pizza. I get it, it’s tedious. But consistency is key. It’ll happen and you’ll build a new routine and relish in all your new found health and wellness. YAY.

Pay attention to your mind, not just your body.

The way we think about our body has HUGE implications on our physical health. I touched on this earlier with the loneliness thing. The same principle expands to positivity, to courage, to telling ourselves that our body is strong and rebuilding, not a piece of shit that’s not doing its job. Spend time meditating, reading, reflecting, feeding your mind good thoughts while we feed our bodies with good food!

Wow this got pretty long. If you’re still here, congrats. I really do hope you got something good out of it – even if it’s that you should definitely go buy some smoked almonds because they are something wonderful that this Earth does not deserve.

Hit me up if you ever want to chat! Always open, always keen, available sometimes (because recovering and still kinda tired…).

All my love, E x

[spudandemdotravels-blog]

New Zealand - Abel Tasman National Park, Nelson, back to Auckland and HOME!

Bonjour tout le monde!

(Some of the photos are extras from the last couple of posts as we had too many!)

After leaving Gentle Annies campsite, we wound our way north along the south highways 6 and 60 towards Motueka which was to be our last town on the South Island. Thanks to Betsy (our trusty wagon), the drive was yet again faultless and the scenery was now unsurprisingly beautiful. We wound up through mountains and then onto the flatlands in the Nelson area before turning north west towards the Abel Tasman national park.

(The evening view from Gentle Annie’s campsite)

(Gigantic mussel shells on the beach at Gentle Annie’s)

This time round we picked a basic but very cheap ($6 per night) campsite between Motueka and the city of Nelson. We had to tackle cold showers, no washing up facilities let alone kitchen, and no Cow Shed cafe. Boohoo! However, as we were all feeling the pinch budget-wise and didn’t want to isolate ourselves in the national park due to forecast bad weather, the decision was a solid one. As with most of our travel days, we ended up lacking time to do anything other than set up camp by the time we arrived, although (despite a slight hiccup which involved Em ripping off a toenail on a tent peg) Dan managed to squeeze in a quick ‘gym’ session in the kids park before bed as he had energy to burn after being cooped up in the car all day!

Our plan for the next day was to head into the north of Abel Tasman national park, named after an early Dutch explorer who discovered the South Island. The drive was one of the windiest of the trip, and the 60 miles from the campsite to Totaranui took us over two hours. The mighty Takaka Hill tried its best to wind us into a breakdown, but Betsy was having none of it!

The first part of the day was a short walk out to Skinner Point which looks out over Goat Bay and Totaranui beach. This helped to get the blood flowing, so we turned north and make our way to Anapai Beach. The beach was a perfect spot to stop for lunch and to be harassed by the local Weka birds. It reminded us of some of the Asian beaches we had been on, although the climate was a lot different! After lunch we walked on a bit further to another lookout point before turning back for the car. We covered about 12km which we felt was enough to take in the north of the park, and then walked another 4km to the stunning Wainui falls and back on our way back to the campsite.

The next day was put aside to explore the southern part of the national park. We had a more relaxed start to the day, caught up on tasks that needed WiFi in Motueka and then drove onto Marahau, the trail head. The walk was another out and back totalling around 11km. Whereas the north of the park felt very isolated and wild, we felt that this walk was nicer as you follow coastline and are awarded great views at almost every significant turn. We initially stopped for lunch on a tiny beach just further on from Tinline Bay but we found that the tide was coming in at a rate of knots. So as to avoid getting wet cheese and biscuits we scuttled off and found another more accommodating stretch of sand on Coquille Bay which is found down a path that follows a small valley off the main trail. The weather was defying the forecast, so after we finished eating we soaked up some sun before pushing on to Apple Tree Bay, a bigger and more popular beach, which was our half way point.

We woke up to rain the next morning, which wasn’t a disappointment as we had thought for a minute that a hurricane due to hit Australia might be making its way towards us. Thankfully it was just bog standard rain that we had, so we used the weather as an opportunity to spend the day in Nelson city. We initially tried the market in Motueka, but unfortunately there were hardly any vendors. We managed to buy a couple of souvenirs to take back with us, but made our way into the city after an hour or so. By the time we we arrived the rain had stopped. We walked around the city for a while to decide where we would stop for lunch, and settled on a tantalising sharing seafood platter in Cod and Lobster at the top of the high street. We felt like we deserved one nice meal out before we flew back to Blighty, and it didn’t disappoint! In the afternoon we strolled around the small but beautiful Queens Gardens, and the art gallery next door before finding a cafe to kill an hour or two. In honesty, we could probably have explored the city a bit more, but as we had two solid days of travelling lined up, we chose to chill our beans instead!

The next day was the longest day we had had in a while! We were up bright and early to pack down and make our way to Picton in time for our ferry. We arrived with an hour to spare so that we could all follow up on messages relating to the sale of our kit (a burden we were all feeling by this point), and then boarded the ferry for what was to be a nauseating ride across the Cook Strait. As a result of the swells we were put back by a good half an hour and docked in Wellington at around 6pm. By the time we disembarked, ate and filled up with fuel it was gone 7pm and we had at least four hours of driving ahead of us. We made up the driving team; Spud driving and Em co-pilot, and we navigated the route we had taken almost four weeks ago with the utmost skill (modest). Our destination was a free campsite in Taupo that could accommodate tents, but was very popular so we weren’t guaranteed to find a pitch. We arrived at 11:30pm, dog tired, and completely not in the mood for putting up the tent, eventually we found a little patch to squeeze our tent on that wasn’t at a 15* angle! It was gone midnight by the time we got our heads down, and whilst the night sky was magical we knew we were in for a cold one.

We woke up thinking that our noses had dropped off. The silver lining of it being the most basic campsite we had stayed in was that it was a five minute drive from some natural hot springs. We were all struggling with the previous days travel, but managed to dry off the tent, sweep it down and pack it up ready for its sale scheduled for the next day, before making our way to Spa Park for a natural bath. We soaked for a while before refuelling ourselves and the car, and hitting the highway towards Auckland.

(Taupo hot springs)

We arrived at around 3pm, said our goodbyes to Brendan and Erin and cracked on with the days tasks. We were to pick up keys for Tom and Leonie’s flat where we would be staying until the 28th, sell the tent, clean down the kit on the roof, deliver the stove and gas bottle, deliver the mattresses, buy food for us, and then sell the chilly bin all before bed time. I am sure you are not surprised to read that we were well overdue a hot shower, a good nights sleep with real pillows (our cheap ones had all but turned to mush), in a real bed, in an actual building that night. We slept like logs!

Our final full day in Auckland was spent selling yet more of our camping equipment, and preparing for our flight the next day. Oh, and we forgot to mention that we bought a van on eBay that Dan had been keeping an eye on over the last couple of weeks. That’s the transport box ticked for when we get home! By mid-afternoon we were getting cabin fever, so we ventured out into the city to buy some Kiwi hops for Dans beer making venture, and for him to get a haircut after the DIY do’s he had been getting from Em (she won’t be changing career anytime soon!) with his beard clippers over the last couple of months. We rounded up the day with a mini roast NZ lamb which was delicious having only had it on one other occasion whilst in NZ.

(Sunset near Athol)

Again we slept like logs and before heading to the airport we had just a few more errands to run before we returned the car after a grand total of 6700km of driving over the last five weeks. We felt like errand machines by this point but it was great to know that everything was in line for our return to good ol’ Blighty!

What an adventure the last six months have been for us. We have learned so much about ourselves individually and as a couple (naturally, after around 4380 consecutive hours in each other’s company!) and about a plethora of cultures and countries along the way. It has been fascinating to see how different parts of the world function, and bewildering to see that in most of Asia, people seem to get by with little to no obvious regulation by ‘public’ services! Our eyes and horizons have been significantly widened as a result of the trip, and inline with Emily’s facebook post, we sincerely thank all of you who have helped us to be able to do it. We don’t believe that we will be returning as different people. We have heard some people say that they are on special journeys to ‘find themselves’, and have seen (and smelled) people who have clearly got in touch with their more bohemian side, but that’s just not us. What we have done is to vow to make some adjustments to the way we live to minimise our impact on the environment. Seeing more of the world, particularly those areas that are less economically developed that the UK, has focused our attention on environmental and ecological impacts of our behaviour. We have seen the results of horrific natural disasters, mindless use of single-use plastics and unbelievable amounts of plastic debris and general rubbish in some of the most beautiful areas we have ever seen. We really believe that now is the time for a collective effort to minimise the damage that we are causing in both visible and indirect ways. In particular, reducing meat consumption and increasing quality will be focused on, as well as conservation of water, minimising plastic use and recycling/reusing as much as possible.

Anyhow, we both cannot wait to see everyone at home. It will likely take us a little while to catch up with you all, given that we need to find jobs, a place to live, and carry on with the wedding planning, but we promise we will be in touch just as soon as possible!

Spud & Em x

(Soaking up the rays by Lake Wanaka)

[calpatine]

Accidentally in Love

A Comedy of Errors in Exothermic Reactions

Pairing: Cullen/f!Trevelyan Rating: SFW this chapter, but warnings for a liberal application of swear words. Summary: Modern AU, inspired by too much Real Genius and too many romcoms. Evelyn Trevelyan, a PhD candidate and all-around science nerd, meets Cullen Rutherford, a civil engineering major on the GI Bill, when he shows up for her tutoring session. If Evie didn't have bad luck, she'd have no luck at all. Notes: So the reason why I do not write fic is because fic is HARD and I am LAZY.  But I do get things done eventually!  Thanks for sticking around, I appreciate it.  Chapter artwork here by the incomparable @feylen, who is an infinite delight.

(Previous Chapter) (AO3)

Chapter 2: Good to Be Alive (Hallelujah)

Evelyn had made it halfway through her first lecture Friday morning before she had the horrified realization that while she'd given Cullen her number, she'd completely neglected to ask for his -- and that was, of course, a complete catastrophe. At the break, she immediately pushed her way into the hallway and called Varric.

He picked up right before it went to voicemail. "God's balls, do you know what time it is?"

Unfortunately for him, she had no time for any whining that wasn't hers. "Varric, you have to help me."

"Are you literally on fire?" She heard a rustling noise that may or may not have been Varric making rude gestures at the phone. "Because unless you are literally on fire, I don't have to do anything at eight thirty in the fucking morning." She was almost positive he was indeed making rude gestures at the phone.

She tapped her fingers on the railing in front of her. "You have Cullen's number, right? Of course you have Cullen's number. You have everyone's number. You have to give it to me."

"Well, princess, I believe you will find that to be false."

"Wait, what?" Evelyn pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to stare at the display and make sure she hadn't called someone else by mistake because surely the real Varric would never let her down like this. "Why not?"

"He has your number, right?"

"Yeah?"

"And you're doing dinner tomorrow?"

"Yeah." She switched ears, flipping the phone around just to have something to do with her hands, and heard him sigh.

"That means if I give you his number now, you will spend the next thirty hours sending him increasingly unhinged and ridiculous texts while you try to psych yourself out of hooking up with a dude who seems nice and would probably be pretty good for you."

Evelyn was quiet for a moment and let that sink in. "Not all thirty," she finally said. "I'd sleep somewhere in there."

"Princess. Breathe. Calm the hell down. Don't you have lab today? Go to lab, forget about this for now."

The sheer sterility of the hallway mocked her with a blank canvas of everything that could possibly go wrong. "But what if --"

"No. Stop. Go bang some atoms together, and maybe if you ask really nicely someone tall, blond, and curly will bang your atoms together later on."

"Varric!" She burst into laughter so sudden and unexpected that a passerby was startled into asking if she was all right and had to be shooed away. "That's horrible!"

"There, see? Isn't that much better?"

"Actually yes, yes it is," Evelyn said after a moment, pleased to discover that this was totally true. She still wanted that number, but she felt much less like a raving freak about it. "You're a good friend, Varric."

"It's my job to save you from yourself, princess. Now go do your thing and do not ever, ever call me before ten o'clock ever again."

She couldn't resist a final jab. "What if I'm literally on fire?"

"Unless you're literally on fire."

"Thanks, man. Love you."

"Back atcha, princess."

Evelyn swiped the call off and slid the phone back into her pocket, then did her best to make it to the lab without worrying about big brown eyes and how catastrophically poorly their dinner date could possibly go. She'd already done everything but spill something directly on him, so surely that was the worst possible thing that could happen and since that wasn't entirely that bad, she could totally stop worrying.

That logic was actually successful for quite some time, even through her lab work, dinner, and an evening curled up with a draft of her dissertation notes. It took some personal convincing to not needle Varric again the next morning, but she buried herself in work even though it would totally have been worth it to call him at eight again. In fact, she was focused enough on her research that when the default message chime on her phone went off around lunchtime she was startled into frowning at the unknown number. Evelyn had carefully selected different chimes for every member of her social circle so default usually meant random solicitation, but when she swiped the phone on she had to stare at the text for a few moments.

H = E + p V

If that was an ad, it was the strangest one she'd ever seen. In fact, it looked less like some kind of scam and more like the formula for enthalpy, and why some unknown number would be texting her thermodynamic functions --

Her train of thought fragmented into a bubbling, delighted laugh, and she immediately added the new contact and thumbed out a reply.thrmodymnics! obvs thinkin of me :D

It was some time before a reply buzzed back, but when she read the message she understood why. Working on coursework on break, was reading through your notes and wanted to say hello. I'm really looking forward to seeing you tonight. Absolutely perfect spelling and grammar in a text message, and she'd seen his phone; that thing was a flip phone, for god's sake, so ancient it didn't even have a real keyboard and probably took him a million years to type on it. It was a little thing, but definitely flattering.

Also, he was looking forward to seeing her again, which was more than just flattering. me 2! hahahahahahaaah varic can suck it :D :D she sent back. Limiting herself to only two emoticons was a triumph of will, but Evelyn still stared hard at her phone for what seemed like forever to resist the urge to send even more.

The cheerful Cullen-assigned chime rang again just before Evelyn was about to snap and send a series of smileyfaces of varying hues and expressions just to break the tension. Sorry, I have to go back to work. Is it still good for me to come by around seven?

def look 4wrd 2 it she sent back, and then immediately set her phone aside before she could go off on one of the unhinged tangents Varric warned her against. She eyed the clock; seven meant she had time to change her clothes at least four times and do her makeup twice. It was always best to approach second-guessing one's self logically and with decent limits.

That was where her roommate found her at t-minus fifteen minutes amidst the wreckage of her closet. "Holy mighty fuck, have we been robbed?"

"No," Evelyn said miserably. "I have a date."

Sera's eyes narrowed. "You look like shite. Do I gotta stab somebody or something to get you out of it?"

Evelyn shook her head. "No! No, it's not that. It's just... I couldn't decide where to make reservations for, and then I thought maybe dropping right into a place that needed reservations wasn't the best idea for a first date even though you know how I feel about candles and wine." She shrugged, a weak flick of a movement that echoed her utter defeat. "But without knowing where I was taking him I couldn't get dressed, and then I ripped up my closet thinking I'd find something and that would decide me on dinner, and now I'm babbling in my underwear and he will be here any minute and my life is endless tragedy."

"Just go down there with your tits hanging out and you'll have him eating out of your hand, yeah?" For Sera, the world was very simple. Evelyn, however, responded with an affected side-eye that had Sera throwing up her hands in disgust. "Oh, for fuck's sake." She waded through the pile of clothing detritus and flung her choices into Evelyn's lap. "These jeans make your arse look amazing; keep the top three buttons on the shirt open for some acceptable tit action. Order in some decent pizza, mainline Netflix, and light your own fucking candles. God, Evie."

Evelyn's sense of relief was a physical thing. "Oh my god, you're brilliant."

Sera just rolled her eyes and skipped down the stairs to her basement apartment, muttering under her breath about smart people with no goddamned sense.

A quick shimmy into the directed jeans, some eyeliner, and a call to Fino's for an extra-large pepperoni later, the doorbell rang and the only thing that saved Evelyn from skidding around the corner and into the wall in her haste was actually having remembered to fasten the straps on her shoes. She swung the door open a little too forcefully, still in the process of catching her breath, and almost sagged against the jam. "Hey," she said, trying for exaggerated calm.

Cullen had brought flowers. He was in a tie, again, and carrying flowers, a bouquet of daffodils and carnations. "Hi," he said with that quirked half-smile that made her breath catch, and she giggled like an over-shy idiot before covering her mouth to try and keep it together as he held the flowers out to her. "Thanks for not screaming this time."

Evelyn took the flowers and held the door open, gesturing for him to come in. "These are beautiful. You're not going to let me live that one down, are you?"

"Would you, if you were me?" He grinned at her, flashing a dimple and, to Evelyn's mind, playing dirty. "It was pretty memorable."

She made a disappointed noise as she wandered into the kitchen, Cullen following behind like a particularly tall and well-built duckling as she stretched on tiptoes to get a vase off the top shelf. "'Memorable' is not precisely what a girl dreams a cute boy is going to call her, you know."

Cullen reached over her shoulder and pulled it down easily, presenting it with a flourish. "You surely don't prefer forgettable? But I could come up with an entire host of adjectives if you'd like." She looked up and could have sworn that he was blushing, and he was definitely doing that thing with his hair again. "I've been thinking about it. A little. Maybe. Just these past couple of days or so."

"I'm terrible with adjectives, so you can help me out over dinner." Evelyn carried the vase, now festooned with flowers, out to the dining table and placed it carefully and precisely in the center alongside a steaming pizza box. "And I hope you are cool with Fino's pepperoni because as of twenty minutes ago I didn't even have pants on."

"Fino's delivers? That's amazing! I will never buy groceries again. And you know, I'm going to keep talking about how amazing Fino's is because it is much too soon for me to think about you not wearing pants." It was definite: Cullen was blushing, and as Evelyn turned to lay out plates on the table she saw his eyes keep snapping away from her to stare fixedly at the ceiling. Well, at least Sera had been right about the jeans.

"They don't actually deliver," Evelyn said with a grin. "But I just give them Varric's name and they fall all over themselves. It's amazing. I make a damn fine pizza, but I only just came up with this idea and that isn't enough time for the dough to rise. Have a seat."

Cullen slid into the same chair he'd claimed for poker night, and Evelyn fetched Varric's shiraz bribe and a pair of glasses. When she started to pour, he shook his head. "Oh, no thank you. I don't drink."

She stared for a minute and then very slowly slid both glasses in front of her own plate. "Don't you work in a bar?"

"I work at the door, not behind the actual bar." He cleared his throat and helped himself to pizza. "For what it's worth, that's only one job. I also do some training at the gym on campus and volunteer at the VA twice a week alongside the monthly reservist duties."

"The VA? You're a vet?"

He grinned at her, nothing more than a quirk of that scarred lip, and Evelyn felt her stomach drop. "Really? That's the part you focus on?"

Evelyn saluted him with her wine glass. "I need to think about your biceps probably much the same way you need to think about my pants. The vet thing is way safer, trust me."

With a smiling nod, he conceded her point. "I joined the army right out of high school, and did three tours in Afghanistan."

Well, that answered one of Evelyn's mathematical puzzles. "And that's why you're not a teeny little freshman in Chem 101."

"That's why I'm not a teeny little freshman in Chem 101." He shrugged. "Well, I was never really teeny, even when I was little."

"Three tours, though?" She cocked her head a little, looking him over. "Jesus."

Cullen shrugged. "It was always something I wanted to do, even as a kid. Protecting people, serving the country -- it was a dream. And I kept going back because I still believed in that, even when it didn't turn out the way I expected." he kept his eyes down on his plate, only occasionally flicking his gaze up over her head, past her shoulder -- anywhere but her face. "What about you?"

Evelyn allowed the subject change because even she knew better than to pry at something so obviously uncomfortable on a first date. "Oh, I blew up part of the cellar when I was six and I haven't been out of the interesting classes in school since," she said with an airy wave, like massive explosions were no big deal. "Eventually I'll finish up my dissertation and have to decide what I want to be when I grow up, but until then chemistry tutoring is serving me pretty well."

They continued on in that vein through dinner, covering all the bases of small talk: he was in Civil Engineering, and she was in Theoretical Physics; they both had three siblings, though she had two brothers and him two sisters; his family still enjoyed tangible physical correspondence and sent letters once a week, and she had her mother's ringtone set to the Imperial March.

Cullen threw back his head and laughed, that dimple flashing again and the briefly uncomfortable moment was long gone like it'd never been. "Oh come on, she can't be that bad."

Evelyn made a face, turning down the corners of her mouth. "I'm not saying Talky Tina would trip her down the stairs or anything, but even Varric is scared of her."

He froze, and for a nanosecond she was afraid she'd said something inadvertently horrible. "Evie, did you just make a Twilight Zone reference?"

Her jaw dropped. "Did you just get my Twilight Zone reference?"

"Of course! Living Doll, Telly Savalas." His grin was boyish and infectious, and Evelyn thought it was so glorious the only thing missing was its own swellingly triumphant musical score. "Man, I haven't seen those since they were airing them on PBS when I was a kid."

Oh, there was no way Evelyn was going to let that go, not when Netflix was available. "You're kidding. Come on, get your pizza, we're moving this to the living room and we are going to get our Rod Serling on." Evelyn exchanged her bottle of shiraz for two bottles of water and the living room remote, and they settled on the couch side-by-side to start up their old-school marathon. "Time Enough At Last is my favorite," she murmured as though imparting some profound and precious secret.

"Time Enough At Last is everyone's favorite," Cullen said, laughing, and she chucked him in the shoulder.

Hours flew by as they bonded over 1960s visions of the future, taking turns pointing out unrecognizably young actors in early roles and swapping childhood PBS memories. They had gradually shifted closer over the evening until their thighs were pressed together and every nerve ending on that side of Evelyn's body felt like they were on overdrive.

He had a way of looking directly at her while they were talking as though even the most inconsequential bullshit was interesting and important and the feeling of his regard was a weighty thing that felt not unlike a liquor buzz. It was so easy to meet his eyes and drown in that unfairly long-lashed gaze that she didn't even realize she'd been staring at him until he broke off mid-sentence to furrow his eyebrows at her. "What?"

Evelyn wanted desperately to play this cool. Her coolness was vital and paramount because Varric had an actual literal notebook of all of the ways her coolness had inevitably failed her in past relationships and this was too awesome to fuck up. Unfortunately, her small mental voice of social self-preservation was entirely silent, and so what came out of her mouth was the complete and unvarnished truth: "I would really like to kiss you right now."

Cullen's grin made her blood pound, holding as it did equal parts relief and trepidation. "Oh, thank god." Then his hand slid to the back of her neck, tangled in her hair, and pulled her close for a kiss that fuzzed out every last neuron.

Evelyn wasn't entirely sure when, exactly, she'd made the move to straddle his lap on the sofa, her hips bracketing his and kisses progressing to moaned featherings along his jaw; nor, really was she entirely aware of when she'd started unbuttoning her shirt, with his broad hands on her waist and thumbs stroking the bared skin over her hipbones, though it was probably about the same time his tie had come loose. She was, however, completely aware of when everything came to a screeching halt: when her roommate decided to surface from the depths of her studio and declare, brightly, "Well thank fuck you wore the pretty bra."

She and Cullen jumped apart like guilty teenagers, his sharp move to the right tangling up with hers to the left and sending her sliding gracelessly to the floor. "My god, are you all right?" He reached down for her, expression utterly mortified and the tips of his ears singed red. With an aborted laugh that he shifted to a throat clearing, he gave her hand a gentle tug. "So, uh, you have a roommate?"

Evelyn held her shirt closed with one hand and pulled herself up with the other, eyes screwed tightly shut. "Is she gone?" she stage-whispered. "Yes, I have a roommate, because I am a sucker who hates living alone. Tell me she's gone, or this is a horrible nightmare that I will wake up from at any second." She cracked one eye open and grinned at him. "Well. Not the kissing part. That was more dreamy than nightmarey."

"I'm in the kitchen and I'm seeing nothing," Sera sang back with a brassy cackle and a clatter of glassware. "And now I am leaving, so you can go back to slobbering!"

Cullen glanced at the clock over the television and ruffled his hand through his hair with a sigh, embarrassed amusement still stark on his face. "I don't mean to compromise your dignity and flee the scene of our crime, but I do have to be at work in four hours."

Evelyn rebuttoned her shirt with still-fumbly fingers, not even caring that the right side was jumped up a buttonhole. "You're fine. My dignity fled years ago, just ask Varric." She paused, reached for his hand, and gave it a squeeze. "Or, actually, don't. Let me keep some of my mystique."

They walked down the hallway to the foyer hand in hand, and it was interesting to feel comfortable, safe, and also like her blood was on fire. She didn't want to open the door, but couldn't think of a respectable way to suggest he stay, preferably in her bedroom and preferably with that tie on the floor or employed in a vastly more interesting way. "Cullen," Evelyn started hesitantly. "This is going to sound a little strange, but do you own a tuxedo?"

He was quiet for a long minute. "Something like. Why?"

Evelyn tightened her grip on his hand for a moment, then released it. "I need you to be my date at a wedding, but it's white tie and it's also total bullshit."

"Of course," Cullen said immediately, not even batting an eye at her claim of bullshit. "When?"

"Um." She winced. "Next weekend?"

"Are you serious?" he asked, staring at her with raised eyebrows.

"Deadly," Evelyn said, and couldn't keep every hint of dread out of her voice. "Varric already refused to go with me. I can't go alone or my mother will try and hook me up with someone and I am the most not interested in that."

Cullen cleared his throat and looked away for a moment, running a hand sheepishly through his mussed hair. "To be honest I find I'm not really interested in that either. Who's getting married?"

"My elder sister," she said, so pleased by even the most minor strains of reciprocal jealousy that she had to firmly hold the reins of her id before it did something stupid like ask him if he liked her liked her.

Cullen frowned, and Evelyn had another second to mentally catalog the differences between their respective familial feelings. "And you're not in the wedding?"

"Oh good god, no." She shuddered, mouth curled in exaggerated distaste. Were Sera still upstairs, Evelyn probably would have made a gagging noise to go with it just to make her laugh. "There's a week of parties with twee little cucumber sandwiches and Great Aunt Muffy and second cousins in fancy hats and I couldn't spend that much time away from the lab, so they let me off the hook for the pre-wedding crap. Just ceremony and reception, next Saturday night."

"You don't seriously have a Great Aunt Muffy," he said with a laugh. "Evie, no one seriously has a Great Aunt Muffy."

She shook her head. "No, I totally, totally do, but she's a blue-haired terror and I can't talk about her or you'll say no. I know it's last-minute and you have eleven million jobs but please say you'll come. I will personally..." Evelyn broke off, wracking her brain for something she could do to make this work. "...Get Varric to bribe someone to cover your shifts," was the best she could come up with. His loosened tie and that little triangle of skin at his throat were completely melting her brain. "Or -- whatever you need. I can't face this without someone sane and excruciatingly handsome with me."

His eyebrows flew up again in time with his deepening dimple in a self-satisfied grin. "You know you just said that out loud."

"Of course I did. I'm desperate." Evelyn shrugged, and it was her turn to look sheepish. "Look, I'll be real: it's probably going to suck, and I'm sure it's technically too soon to subject you to my family at all, let alone my family in white tie, but I promise I will make it up to you."

Cullen reached up and tucked her hair behind her ear, trailing his fingertips along her cheekbone with a tantalizing gentleness that made her shiver. "I'll call in some favors. All day Saturday?" When she nodded, he leaned down and kissed her forehead like a blessing. "Please believe me when I say I am happy to spend any and all time with you."

She grabbed his tie and pulled him down for a searing kiss that might as well have made time stop entirely, and when they finally broke apart they were both having trouble catching their breath. "I had a really nice time tonight, Cullen," Evelyn said with a quiet earnestness that right before that exact moment she was pretty sure she didn't even possess. "Thank you for coming." A split-second after the words left her mouth she froze and tripped over her own tongue. "Over. Thank you for coming over. To my house. For dinner."

When he laughed, his entire face lit up and Evelyn decided then and there that it would be one of her life's missions to flip that switch whenever she could. "I knew what you meant," he murmured, and kissed her lightly in a sweet goodbye. "I'll see you Thursday?"

"Yes, Thursday," Evelyn said. "I promise not to stalk you before then, but I will probably text you eighty billion times. You have my permission to ignore me, I've seen your phone."

Cullen grinned down at her and Evelyn fought the urge to preen like a cat. "I'll see what I can do. Sleep well, Evie."

Evelyn gave up trying to play it cool and blew him a kiss like a dork as he turned to wave at the end of her drive. Oh yeah, she was definitely going to sleep well, with the best dreams.

[6four1-blog]

June 20th, 2017 (Kavousi, Crete, Greece)

This week’s hours have been arduously long and I’ve been desperately trying to get more sleep without missing out on too much. The culture shock has been a bit overwhelming and the surplus of experiences is inundating my mental dam and overtaking my writing speed’s capacity. We had to work six days last week, which comprised of nine hours of physical labor everyday, seven hours on site and two hours in the gym. This crazy schedule is pushing my body to its limits but I am slowly growing accustomed to it. My mornings have become as rigid as a science experiment protocol. I unconsciously begin to take out $5.20 every morning at the bakery for my pastries. For these past six days, only three out of five trench members were on site, and the low numbers have blessed me with some extra digging practice and has allowed me to bond with a fewer number of people on a deeper level. There were rumors about negative drama pervading some trenches, and I really didn’t want my trench to develop that kind of culture. Thus, I attempted to make jokes in the morning as an effort to wake others up and lift the mood, even though I was dead exhausted inside. Alex and I have begun giving each other gifts every once in a while. Since Azoria is located in the mountains, any sea stone found on site must have climb there with some form of ancient human assistance. Because there’s no useful analytical data that could be obtained from these sea stones, they are the perfect, and only, ancient objects that we are allowed to keep. I would find a few round pebbles in the sieve every day and I would give them to Alex as presents. He keeps them all in the side pocket of cargo pants, which I find very cute. As the excavation progresses, I intend to build him a large collection; by the end of the trip, I hope he can look back on them as a metaphor for a wonderful third year at Azoria.

Before this week and due to the rain days, our longest streak of site work was three days. This week jumped to a dramatic six days of full-fledged plowing in 27 degrees Celsius weather. It was the physical equivalent of transitioning from Compsci 101 to Compsci 201. The sun literally cooks us like human-sized pieces of Kobe steak and our metal skaliskiris became so hot that our callouses were no less tender than sunny-side up eggs on a frying pan. Today, I woke up unable to completely close my hands, and it’s a miracle that I am still typing right now. I have probably consumed more than two grams of ibuprofen this week alone, a portion that would have probably lasted me a whole month of Ultimate Frisbee at Duke. But at some point in the middle of this week, a mental shell cracked and I entered a new state of mind about excavating, finding myself no longer afraid of the heat, the blisters, and the dirt. I was wearing work gloves for the previous two weeks but I have almost completely given up on them at this point. The clay surfaces and cobble packing require a lot of feeling and touch with certain tools, and while being able to discern certain layers of earth from others sounds like a fictitious ability, understand where clay floors exist is indeed an acquired skill and grasping it has been oddly gratifying. Since it was just Lexi, Kate, and I digging for a while, we have also begun to develop an affinity for certain skaliskiris. Tucker had marked his with the blue twist tie, I had marked mine with a black one, and I helped Lexi mark hers with a green-yellow one. In the end, interestingly, not only have I become attached to my team and the B-trenches, but I have also become clingy to the tools I work with.

On that note, I would like to emphasize I love working with the people in my trench. I love the atmosphere that we’re building, one filled with support, compliments, and, most importantly, sarcastic jokes. Even though Lexi sat behind me on the plane ride from Athens to Heraklion, I, until this week, never really had a full on conversation and quality time with her. She turned out to be a religiously committed volleyball player, practicing almost every day back at Trent University. That was something I could relate to very sincerely because I have lived, and I still continue to live, that lifestyle at Duke. Part of my conscience picked up on that aspect of her character from prior short interactions. There was a determination, sense of self, and mental toughness that is forged almost exclusively through intense participation in and commitment to a physical activity. I am just beginning to know Kate and talk to her more. She seems wholly wonderful like a book just waiting to be read. Later on in the week, she was really sick for a few days, and it was unfortunate that she couldn’t join me and Lexi on site. One of her fellow Iowa State friends’ grandmother passed away, and, even when she was getting sick, Kate sacrificed her entire night’s time and sleep to make sure that Jasmine booked the right flights and would have a safe and worry-free trip home. Her effort impressed me and after witnessing her concern and care, I will definitely make a conscious effort to talk to her more and get to know her better. Overall, in conclusion, working in Alex’s trench is truly a pleasure and I hope we continue to grow and maintain a positive culture for the remaining four weeks.

In addition to bonding with the people in my trench, I am slowly getting to know Alex a lot better as well. After long days on site, we have begun working out in this small makeshift garage gym owned by a local Greek man named Tosos. One can easily tell that Alex is a studious and incredibly kind man just by his demeanor, which radiated from the very timbre of his voice and the form in which he carries himself. However, there is an implacable beast in the man that awakens when the weights start clanking and the music starts beating. His rest intervals are short and he loves to pack his exercises into supersets, which, painfully, tore through all the ATP reserves I had in less than half an hour. His choices of lifts are forcefully dynamic and the pace is unforgivingly quick. The Cretan sun cooks the building we workout in, making it a furnace by the time we arrived at around 5:30 p.m. The oven pushes your exhaustion and blood flow to its absolute limit and every rep gave a pump I that was as novel to me as this island was itself. For the rest of the summer, I am going to put my trust in Alex and I will strive to continue following his workout regime. Having been an athlete all my life, I believe one’s attitude in athletics often translates to his or her work habits in other aspects of life. Now I have no doubt how hard he works at UNC, and I am super glad to have met a principled and persevering man like him.

If you didn’t know before, the two things in the world that I am the most afraid of and the worst at are dancing and singing. If I had to dance and sing in front of a large crowd alone on stage to save my life, I think I would prefer death. This past Tuesday was one of those days when I felt adventurous and bold. So, when David came downstairs and asked me to attend a traditional Cretan dance lesson with him, I said yes and walked out the door with slight hesitation.

The classroom was this mistakenly abandoned building that we’d walk by every day after excavating. The space was overwhelmingly green, and, in a mercurial flashback, I knew that my brother, whose favorite color is green, would have loved it here. The building was a large space converted into a classroom around fifteen or twenty years ago. Two bookshelves and blackboards were haphazardly placed on either sides of the room and both lengths had windows like that of a Gothic church. The blackboards seemed long out of use and parts of the chalk have been stuck on the board for so long that it could have easily juxtaposed some graffiti on a tunnel wall in Durham, North Carolina. One of the bookcases contained beautiful ancient tomes that consisted of, if I recall correctly, almost 20 volumes. The books seemed to be much older than the classroom, as if they were heirlooms of an old family of Kavousi that contained all of this villages’ ancient histories and bloodlines. The other bookshelf was a dramatic contrast, filled top to bottom with children’s books. David and I could not read the Greek, but the images were hilariously entertaining, depicting people of different cultures from around the world. Its depiction of Chinese people was this old, wise, Confucius doppelgänger, which is not a bad image of my people at all. We were halfway through exploring that bookshelf when the dance lesson started. The mid-age man taught us a six step dance that rotated in a circle. I was so nervous trying to learn and coordinate the steps that I grappled the shoulder of the people next to me as if I was hanging on for dear life. Afterwards, the Greek workman beside me, Stellos, introduced himself and apparently remarked to his friend that I was gripping his shoulder really tightly. The trench master Irini, who was on my other side, politely asked me to hold her hand with less anxiety and force.

Eventually, I did loosen up and really began to enjoy myself. Until then, the two indirect non-vocal ways I felt connected to someone was reading their writing and listening to their music. For me, reading another’s writing was both seeing the world from their point of view, as well as seeing into their soul with my own eyes; I get an opportunity to understand how their minds function and exploit a lucky occasion to imagine their perception of the world. Listening to their music connects me with their emotions, and I think one would be surprised by how much we can learn about each other from sharing playlists and songs. In my first revolutionary dance lesson, I discovered another way through which we feel connected to our peers. The beat of the song drowned out all of our howling cultural, academic, physical, and personality differences and served as an united pounding heart for everyone in the circle. Each of our feet were individual muscle fibers of this powerful beating organ, working together in unison with the rhythm and moving in absolute homogeneity and flowing grace. No one was the hero of the stage, and that was what I loved about this traditional Cretan dance. It was done as a group and was meant to connect you with others, rather than for you to show off and isolate yourself. Afterwards, as we walked back to Tholos, I thanked David for inviting me to dance. It was a barrier that I desperately needed to break, and I finally did it here on Crete.

Being confined in a small village allowed me, David, and Weston to grow very close in a short period of time. On a Thursday after working in sizzling conditions that put the Tuscan sun to shame, David, Weston, a bunch of the girls, and I trekked down to the Tholos beach villas. We attempted to check out an herb farm that, very unfortunately, was closed. David and I had worked on site that day and had grabbed a few beers before heading to the beach. After eating almost nothing up at Azoria, the alcohol flowed straight into our systems and had us tipsy in less than ten minutes. We proceeded to drink more beer as we walked and, by the time we found a table down at the beach café, the conversation was flowing like the Yangtze and words were just spilling out of our mouths. I always seem to express myself quite emotionally and very thoroughly every time I am tipsy. Being the only noticeable Asian person in this area, it was a time for me to reflect on what it meant to be a minority in the society that I live in. In the United States and Canada, I have always managed to find myself a bubble of friends who are also Asian and have the same values and life outlooks as I do. Being stuck in these bubbles curtains the fact that I am part of a minority and that, outside of these wealthy and educated spheres, being a minority plays a huge role in one’s identity. Among the local Greeks, I had to disprove the stereotype that all Asian people practice Kung Fu, since the main exposure that these Europeans have had to Asian culture is its popular Kung Fu movies. My physique didn’t really help prove my point; apparently, before they got to know me, they were referencing me as the “Karate Kid” in Greek.

As for my fellow Americans, I tried my best to explain the Asian-American experience. It was difficult because, previously, I never had to pry my mind and think so deeply about my Asian identity in America. I found my inspiration and preferred choice of diction in a Humans of New York post about a young African-American man and his experiences growing up in the suburbs of Miami. For Asian-Americans, oppression and inequality are not necessarily our biggest problems, and neither is socioeconomic status. Personally, I think the most pressing matter is a lack of recognition entrenchment in the collective American identity. For Asian-Americans, there is a barrier that makes it difficult for us to become the leaders and politicians of important institutions and almost anything to do with the general public. As a result, we resort to pursuing careers that either earn us the most money or the most respect. Our immigrant identity is still so young and fragile that we attempt to compensate by obtaining immense amounts of wealth and chasing after the most prestigious occupations, as if we are almost trying to bribe and prove our way into the collective melting pot. Being here in Greece lifted those weighty, ominous clouds off my back. It was as if Atlas had been finally freed from his eternal damnation, finally able to unwind and look upon this world with awe and appreciation for its beauty once again.

In my three short weeks here on Crete, I realized that the locals were always absolutely delighted to learn about my Asian background. They seemed to have had their fair share of American tourists and finally got the chance to spend time with someone who looks completely different. Instead of telling the Asian-American narrative that I have been building for the past twelve years, the anecdotes I shared and the mannerisms I described were as uniquely Chinese as possible, filled with experiences and memories that I pushed away and suppressed so that I could assimilate into Vancouver and fit in at Duke. Maria and I talked for two hours one night, and she told me to never forget where I came from. That “Chinese people, like Greeks, have a long history and a strong sense of ταυτότητα (taftótita; a rough Greek translation for ‘identity’).” As I rode back to the Tholos hotel in Katis’ car that night, I realized I had found myself in a community with an unapologetic and unconditional appreciation for my visible cultural diversity. I couldn’t help but beam as we sped down the road in the clear night. I looked out of the window at the faint outline of the Cretan mountains and at the constellations in the distant universe, finding the Big Dipper and the North Star. These constellations have guided ancient and modern sailors, both Greek and Chinese, away from and back to their homes for thousands of years. Staring at the North Star that night in the car, I decided that, after Crete and Austria, it was time to pay China a visit.

[narcissusneverknewme]

#wokeuplikethis

~It all started with that potion. Well, it may have been more like a cocktail of potions. There might also have been some alcohol involved earlier but Draco would deny any knowledge of that until the day he died. Which might very well be sooner rather than later, if he continued drinking experimental potions thrown together by a couple of half-wits in their first year of healer training. . .

Through callous disregard for safety and the rules of potion making/administration Draco finds his consciousness transported to a magical Otherworld, wherein he once made a Right Choice that changed everything. ~

It all started with that potion. Well, it may have been more like a cocktail of potions. There might also have been some alcohol involved earlier but Draco would deny any knowledge of that until the day he died. Which might very well be sooner rather than later, if he continued drinking experimental potions thrown together by a couple of half-wits in their first year of healer training.

None of it was his fault, to be fair. Hue Mai had discovered an old letter in the lining of an positively ancient textbook. The letter was written by a wizard called Sir Ackley Blythe and was addressed to his sister, Osma.

According to a book on the subject that Hue later drug up from Merlin knows where, Sir Blythe was a philosopher and a member of a group of wizards who held a firm belief in what would now be termed “parallel universes.” They had attempted a number of spells and potions trying to catch a glimpse of the “otherworlds” but had famously disbanded after some kind of near-death experience that lead them each to make dramatic life changes. One notable member of the group, Collin Breathnach, gave up alcoholism and donated half of his wealth to charity within only a year.

The letter itself was long and covered in dust, but the most interesting part indicated that the philosophers had been more successful than people thought.

… Charles remained to observe our physical forms and ensure our hearts and lungs remained functional. After the five had partaken and I myself drank from the cauldron we fell into a sleep-like trance.

I seemed to wake in my own body, but not in my own world. When I examined my surroundings I found I was sitting in my old chair, in our father’s hall. My old hound Spédig lay at my feet. To my surprise, Elizabeth Bonde was there. She came to me with a merry laugh and sparkling eyes. She spoke to me with a peculiar familiarity. As we talked I soon understood why, for she called me ‘husband.’ Soon, the children came. There were four, Osma. Me! With four children! They were wonderful and strange creatures, the lot of them, and they did seem to adore me. The littlest girl brought me a flower for my pocket and sat on my knee.

Too soon I felt I was unable to remain, and was pulled back to my own world. When I was conscious of myself I lept up to speak with my companions, who all reported similar experiences. They seemed to have each found themselves in a place where they had clearly made different choices in life. After much arguing, we agreed not to publish our work, fearful that others would find the temptation to attempt to remain in the otherworld too great. We determined to destroy what records we had and each to swear upon our lives that we would leave that better world as it was.

None of us believe that any of the things we saw nor the words we spoke in that trance were fantasy or drunken apparition- Osma, there is a universe somewhere in which Ms. Bonde and I are the owners of Blythe Hall, and she is Ms. Bonde no longer. Somewhere in some time, I have four children and am happy.

The hall itself, I care little for, and in this life at least the old dog is gone for good: but perhaps I was granted this sight for a purpose. I thought it impossible to mend with Father, but now I think it may not be. And perhaps I will spend some more time in Ms. Bonde’s company. Somehow I had not noticed before, but she does have wonderful eyes.

Love, Ackley

It sounded like utter rubbish to Draco, but the others were immediately fascinated and Draco decided it was better to meddle with extremely dangerous and volatile potions than face boredom. On one point he proved right: the potions were extremely volatile.

The first time the students succeeded in creating a potion that didn’t explode before the final stage, Hue had to drink it. She was out for two hours and when she woke up (with bleary eyes and a fantastic hangover) she reported seeing nothing but bursts of color like a continuous firework show.

Soon they were starting to get a obsessive. None of them were really trying to see into a parallel universe, they weren’t sure what they were trying to do, but they were invested. Eventually they had a weekend off, without even homework to occupy them.

Instead of spending it with friends or getting blathered like normal people, the seven of them brewed three different potions in two days. So far no one had been unconscious for more than a few hours and the worst side effects had been Don Pike broke out in warts. Saturday evening it was Draco’s turn to drink. They’d all had a bit of firewhiskey earlier but they were all sure enough time had passed that it should be safe to take a potion.

Pike handed Draco a haphazardly measured cup of the crimson liquid they’d brewed. It bubbled in an odd, viscous way that turned Draco’s stomach, but smelt fine. It did not taste fine.

As Draco threw it back, swallowing harshly, the potion caught in his throat as if reluctant to be drunk. His peers cheered loudly. A moment passed. Nothing happened. Draco looked around and shrugged. A few more minutes passed. The others exchanged disappointed looks.

“Bad luck, Malfoy,” one of the girls said. Draco shrugged again.

“It’s getting late,” he said, “we can meet again on Monday.”

Draco arrived home at nearly midnight. He prepared for bed automatically, his mind on Sir. Blythe and his mystical Otherworlds. What would Draco’s Otherworld look like? What would be his best life?

“Probably one that doesn’t include you.” He said aloud, sneering at the vials in his hand. Two potions, one for sleep and the other for the nightmares. He took them quickly, pulling a face. As soon as he lay down he felt sleep settle over him, heavy and oppressive like a weight pulling him under.

His nightly potions did their work, and he did not dream.

###

Draco woke up feeling like he’d spent the night treading water, like sleeping had been a chore. He was used to waking like this. It was one of the effects of taking sleeping potions nightly. What he was not used to was waking with the knowledge that he could lay in bed as long as he wanted to.

He had woken laying on his side, unusual since he usually slept on his back, but undeniably comfortable. He was wrapped around one of his pillows, it was blissfully warm and smelt wonderful. He wondered idly if Pip had charmed it for him without saying anything. Pip was an extraordinarily old and caring sort of house-elf that his mother had insisted on him bringing to London, and was exactly the sort of elf likely to do that sort of thing.

He smiled slightly to himself, curling tighter around the pillow, nuzzling into it and humming lightly to himself. It had really been a long time since he’d slept in. He sighed happily again.

The pillow let out a soft sigh in response.

Draco froze. Now that he was awake and paying attention, the pillow was moving slightly, almost imperceptibly. Like it was breathing. And while it smelt good, it didn’t smell like the lavender soap Pip used. It smelt rather like sunshine and a bit like Draco’s hair wash. And it really was very warm.

This is a person. Draco thought. There is a person in my bed. Unless my Potion for Dreamless Sleep isn’t working. Draco considered that possibility, but as the person in his arms shifted and took Draco’s hand and raised it softly to their mouth to place a brief kiss on it, Draco dismissed that idea. Even if his dreams could be this vivid, they were never this pleasant.

So either someone broke into my apartment, snuck into my bed, cuddled with me all night, and is now kissing my hand, or the potion worked. This is my Otherworld. My right choice.

Draco wanted to laugh. He had believed in Sir. Blythe’s words even less than his peers had, yet he was the one to taste the working potion. He was in an Otherworld. A parallel universe in which he’d made some all-important Right Decision. As he considered this, the figure he was currently snuggling tugged his hand from their lips to lay over their heart, fingers intertwining as they did so.

Ok, so they’re a sap, whoever they are.

Draco was too close to the body in front of him to be able to see more than the curve of a shoulder blade, the back of a neck, and a wisp of black hair. The fingers that wound through his were longer and larger than his own, and a lot warmer.

It’s a man. This is a man. There is a universe where Father knows. I’m out. It’s a man. The thought made Draco feel a little panicked. He took a few deep breaths. The man must not have been unused to Draco’s early-morning freakouts, because he immediately turned over to wrap his arms around Draco murmuring a soothing “shh ssh” as he did so.

Draco froze as he caught a short glimpse of a familiar face. A terribly familiar face. Draco’s nose bumped gently against the skin just below the man’s clavicle, a hand rubbed slow circles into Draco’s back. Draco blinked, hard. Hoping that maybe if he blinked hard enough he could erase the image of the man’s face from his eyes.

Dark hair, it looked as though it had been made messy by sleep, but Draco knew it always looked like that. Green eyes, startlingly bright even half-closed and sleepy. A thin, jagged scar shaped like lightning.

Harry Potter?

###

Draco was still freaking out when the soft noises Potter was making faded away. A moment past in which Draco thought furiously. If he was in an alternate universe, he really shouldn’t mess anything up. He shouldn’t curse Potter into a snaggletooth fish, shouldn’t admit that he wasn’t from that universe, shouldn’t even be there, really.

Potter interrupted his freakout yet again, this time by speaking, “Was it the dreams again?”

There was a long pause. Finally Draco said, “Yes.”

“A new one? Or more of the same?”

“... More of the same.”

“Which one?”

Oops. Apparently Harry Potter knew all of Draco’s nightmares by heart. Harry Potter rubbed Draco’s back when he had nightmares and did awful things like hold their joint hands over his heart. Harry Potter slept in his bed and smelt fantastic. Harry Potter was obviously a pathetic sap in every universe.

After a moment Draco said, “Same as last time,” and hoped Potter would drop it at that.

“I don’t like that one,” Potter said quietly.

“That makes two of us.” Draco said. Potter responded with a quiet hum that sounded both sad and amused.

Draco really wanted to not be right there. He very much wanted to not feel Potter card those fingers through his hair, to not feel the man’s breath ghost over his cheek. He very much wanted to not let Potter gently tug his face back from its resting place in the hollow of Potter’s throat where it had rested. He very much wanted to turn away as Potter leaned in. Draco never seemed to get what he wanted.

Potter’s lips brushed lazily against his, as though they had all the time in the world. There was a staggering familiarity in the gesture that made Draco wonder just how serious he and Potter were in this insane universe, how many mornings they had spent just like this. One of Potter’s hands moved to slowly caress Draco cheek. His lips were slightly chap (clearly, some things never change; the stupid boy had chronically chapped lips in school) but roughness only made everything feel more real, more intimate.

Draco was somewhere between preparing to jinx Potter and tell this whole crazy universe to piss off, and never moving again. He didn’t have the chance to do either. Potter pulled away and looked him directly in the eyes.

Absolutely asinine eyes. Much too green.

“Hungry?” Potter asked, but he seemed to be asking something else. Draco didn’t know what, so he raised his eyebrows and nodded. Potter flashed that stupid smile of his and rolled off the bed. All the way off. His back hit the floor as he let out a yell.

“Why… ?” Draco started, so dumbfounded at Potter’s idiocy he couldn’t even think up a good jibe.

“We’re usually more toward the middle,” Potter didn’t look embarrassed at all, “we were too far left.” We must have been together for a long time for him to not be humiliated by executing that feat of lunacy in front of me.

“No, you rolled too far left.”

“It wouldn’t have been too far if we’d slept in the center of the bed,” He said defensively.

“You’re ridiculous, Potter.”

Potter quirked an eyebrow at him. It took a minute for Draco to realize what was wrong.

“‘Potter,’ huh, Mr. Potter?” Potter said, making no so sense whatsoever, “I mean, the last time you called me ‘ridiculous’ was probably at dinner- you could use with widening your vocabulary, Draco- but Potter ?”

Draco shrugged and tried to look innocent. That was never his strong suit. Potter’s- Harry’s expression changed from amusement to worry as he took at Draco’s attempt at innocence.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, finally standing up off the floor. He leaned towards Draco, trying to hold his gaze, “Babe, what’s wrong?”

“Oh. Oh, no,” Draco said, trying his best to sneer and crinkled his nose at the same time, “‘Babe?’ Do I let you call me that?”

Potter laughed, his shoulders relaxing just a little as he did so, “Not generally, no. Come on, let’s eat.” They walked to the kitchen together, though Harry was slightly more relaxed, that green gaze of his was as annoyingly intense as ever.

Draco tried not to be alarmed when he noticed the state of his dress. He was wearing only a ragged old shirt and underpants. During his school days he’d have rather died than let Potter see him dressed like that. He tried to calm himself by focusing on the fact that Potter was similarly dressed, but that didn’t prove to be a particularly calming line of thought.

Pip appeared to offer them breakfast as the two arrived in the kitchen. They sat at the table with tea as they waited. Potter was playing with Draco’s hand on the table. It was both bizarre and distracting. He was still shooting Draco sharp looks, like he was waiting for Draco to tell him what was going on. Draco thought fast.

“P- Harry.”

“Yep?”

“Something happened yesterday…”

Harry waited a moment. When Draco didn’t continue he prompted, “At work? Was it Mai? Did she get you to try one of her experimental potions again?”

“YES!” Draco said, pointing at Harry emphatically, “Yes, she did.”

“Draco, we talked about this. I don’t care how important it is the bloody things get tested, you can’t do it at work with no advanced medical supervision. Hermione said-- “

“I know what Granger said,” Draco snapped untruthfully, “don’t need to hear it again.”

Harry took a calming breath. He’d always had such a terrible temper, Draco thought absently. Harry finally asked, “So. What happened, then?”

“Well, the good new is, no warts.” Draco said. Harry raised his eyebrows. “The bad news,” Draco continued, “I’ve suffered some memory loss.”

There was a pause, “Memory loss?” Harry said, a false evenness to his tone, “how bad?”

Draco silently congratulated himself on his cleverness, “I’m not sure, I can’t remember.” He smirked.

Harry looked like he was going to hit Draco for a minute, but then he grinned. “So what do you remember?”

“ Well… my name is Lucius Weasley and you’re Cornelius Fudge.”

Harry threw a spoon at Draco’s head, which Draco dodged easily. “It’s a remarkably good thing you weren’t a chaser, Potter,” he said conversationally, “You’d’ve been terrible.”

“Maybe you could’ve beat me then.”

“Touche.”

“That’s twice you’ve called me ‘Potter’ in one hour. Did you actually drink one of Mai’s potions?”

“Yes. And I am suffering some memory loss.” Draco said, “But if you ask her about it she’ll deny everything.” he added quickly.

“Did Mai at least try to assess the damage?”

“Yeah, she said it’s very pervasive but likely temporary. She says I’m missing big chunks of basic information. For example, I have no memory of this apartment.”

Harry was silent for a minute as he stared into Draco’s eyes. It was like being burned with a bright emerald flame, but his expression was worried and caring. That’s much scarier than anger.

“Do you… do you remember much about our life at all?”

Draco gulped at “our life” and shook his head. It didn’t looking like Harry was just visiting. Harry’s gaze was flickering between Draco’s eyes like he was searching for something.

Low and quiet he asked, “And… us? Do you remember? Us?”

“N-” Draco was about to say “no” but something in Harry’s expression changed his mind. Instead he said, “not really.”

“How much have you lost? Do you remember the Jumper Incident? That time in Wales?” As Draco shook his head Harry’s look of contained panic intensified and his words came slower, “Our first date? Or when I kissed you? Th- The wedding?”

“ARE WE MARRIED?”

Harry stared, leaning towards Draco, those green orbs searching again. “Draco,” He said with forced calm, “When you called me ‘Potter’ earlier… ?”

“Yes. That’s all I’ve ever called you.”

“To be fair, you never move on from ‘Harry,’ so. Not that far to go.” Harry said weakly. There was a long pause as Harry watched their hands. Now that Draco was looking, Harry wore a silver band on his hand. Draco’s own hand still bore a ring as well, but it was not his old ring, which had borne the Malfoy crest. It was a sleek silver band that matched Harry’s.

“Harry Potter.” Draco said to their kitchen table, “I married Harry Potter. That’s-- “

“Ridiculous?” Harry suggested, and when Draco looked up at him, he smiled.

“Listen, Draco,” He said, “I- we- you- you, and me- well.” His eyes fell to the tabletop and his cheeks flushed red and when he spoke again his words were a muffled, mangled mess, “I- I, er, I love you, and, um, that isn’t dependant on, er. The memories and, yes.” He took a deep breath and met Draco’s eyes, a spark in his own that Draco had never been able to identify if it was passion or madness.

Suddenly, Harry’s voice become strong and his words sure, “Our past doesn’t define us, Draco. It never has. You have to know that I believe that, you believe that, or we wouldn’t be here.” They were so close together now that Draco felt like he was drowning in those firey green depths. Harry’s breath fanned across his face his hand had reclaimed Draco’s.

Right then Pip arrived with food. They broke apart to thank her and accept breakfast, and the tension in the room dissipated slightly.

“Is it always that hard for you to say? I mean, we got married didn’t we?” Draco said, flinging his hand through the air so that his wedding band caught the light.

“What?”

“Is it always that hard for you to admit how loveable I am, or is it because I have no memory of any of this?”

“HA. Is that a joke?” Draco looked over at Harry to see him grinning, “It’s twice as hard for you and we were together for a year before you could say it at all. At least, not without punctuating it with insults.”

Draco looked away, biting the inside of his lips. That’s pathetic. Why would I marry someone as awful as Harry Potter if I wasn’t horrifically in love with the clot? How could I be afraid to say it if we’ve been married? And I trust him with my nightmares and things?

“Draco,” Harry’s voice had gotten weirdly soft. Draco looked up to see him blinking back at him, stupid, wild hair caught in his glasses. “It’s not always easy for us. Hermione says it’s because neither of us were ‘raised that way.’”

“My parents--”

“Yeah, they love each other, and you. But they’re not big on words, are they? If I remember, your mum thinks sentiment is ‘very middle class.’” Draco smiled at that, and Harry smiled back. He continued, “We do say stuff sometimes, because it matters. And we’re better than we used to be. Better with nice things, better with the difficult stuff, better at talking. We’re growing up, Draco. Together.” As he said this, Harry raised their joined hands like he had in earlier in bed, pressing the back of Draco’s hand to his lips, eyes still fixed on Draco’s.

“That’s disgusting. You’re a total sap, you know that?” Draco said. Harry grinned at him.

They spent the rest of the morning as ‘normally’ as they could. At any rate, Harry claimed it was normal. Apparently, Draco now does the crossword while Harry peeks over his shoulder and occasionally ‘helps’. How revoltingly domestic. Then there is a program on the muggle television they sit down to watch. Harry pulled Draco into his lap without a second’s thought.

Draco had to fight the urge to pull his wand on Harry, and settled for shrinking away from him. Harry tried not to look hurt, but just ended up looking like a poorly groomed puppy that’d just received a sharp kick. Draco did not feel sorry for it.

The injured puppy eyes lasted for the entire program. Harry periodically threw Draco sad little glances out of the corner of his eye, his bottom lip jutting out. Draco just smirked and rolled his eyes in response. Git .

They went for a walk after that so that Draco could see the neighborhood. Harry gave Draco more of the sad, blinking eyes when they first left the house, as Draco refused to hold his hand, but his foul mood didn’t last too long, as he soon got swept up in reintroducing Draco to all his favorite places and telling him little details about their life together.

In the center of a little park near their apartment was a large wooden bench, Harry informed Draco it was ‘their spot.’ As they sat Draco’s eyes fell on an old bronze statue of a large man with a heavy jaw and deep-set eyes. His teeth were bared in an ugly grin and held a garden hoe like a weapon. Something about the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head made him look cruel.

“What is that?” Draco drawled, eyes roaming over the unattractive statue, “He looks like he’s half Spriggan. Even trolls would find that hideous.”

Harry laughed, “You come up with a new one every time we come here. Sometimes we just sit here and compete, see who come up with the most inane insults. I usually win, as you can imagine.”

“ Right. ” Draco said.

“Yep. Today, I think his face looks even more like the backend of a shovel than it usual.”

“It’s the lighting,” Draco said, “It does wonders. You should see what it’s doing for your features.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really.”

And Harry kissed him. Just like that. With no warning, no reason, nothing. He just flashed that wild, unpredictable smile before burying his fingers in Draco’s shirt and slotting their lips together.

Honestly, Draco could have put up more of a fight. Or attempted to put up one at all. Or done anything, really, other than sigh and tangle his own fingers in that sodding mess of a kneazle’s nest Harry called hair. My Harry will never know , Draco thought disjointedly as he turned his head to deepen the kiss, and Other Draco’s Harry is in no position to judge. Draco had a split second to worry about the phrase “my Harry” before a pair of hands slipped under the hem of Draco’s shirt and Harry made a little noise in the back of his throat that drove every thought straight out of Draco’s head.

They made it back to the apartment sometime between noon and suppertime. Harry had this dopey grin on his stupid, beautiful face the entire way back, because Draco was grudgingly holding his hand. When they reached their own door, Draco turned to Harry, expecting him to open it.

Instead, Harry crowded Draco up against the closed door, pressing his hands against the wood on either side of Draco’s head.

Draco raised an eyebrow in an expression he knew had aggravated Harry since they were 11, “That supposed to impress me, Potter?”

Harry chuckled and leaned in to whisper in Draco’s ear. Draco tried to remember to breathe. He could feel Harry’s hot breath on his ear and neck and sense the heat from his body, their chests were mere inches apart then Harry murmured, “Doesn’t this feel easier than it should? I like to believe that’s because it’s was right.” He paused for a moment, nuzzling at the base of Draco’s throat.

“You said that before, you know.” He continued, just as softly, “Last time. The first time. When you called the statue a changeling and held my hand when we walk from that bench. And we did exactly this. You asked if you were supposed to be impressed. I didn’t say last time, but,” Harry trailed his lips up Draco’s neck and pressed a kiss just behind his ear, “yes. Yes, you were meant to be impressed.” Draco felt Harry smile against his skin and shivered in response.

“Harry-” Draco took one of the hands he had unwittingly put on Harry’s waist and placed it over his chest, pushing him away.

Harry’s smile just deepened, he bit his lip as though to contain it, “this is when you said goodnight.”

“Did I?” Draco asked, feeling a little dizzy.

“Well, I think you said ‘get lost,’ but the message was the same.” Harry stepped back a little and withdrew his keys, letting them into the apartment, “Only if you tell me to get lost this time it would be a bit inconvenient given that I live here.”

A few minutes later and they were seated at the table with Pip bringing them sandwiches and drinks. Draco started to feel a heaviness in his limbs and a light tugging sensation in his middle, almost like the instant just before being swept away by a portkey. I have to go .

This was what Sir Blythe meant when he said he felt “unable to remain.” I have to go, but I’m not sure I want to.

“Harry, I think I’m going to fall asleep very soon. I think when I wake up I’ll have my memories back.’

Harry sat up straighter, eyes fixing on Draco from behind his glasses.

“Before I go, could I ask you something? Well, three things.”

“Yes. Of course.”

“The war- which side did I chose?”

Harry paused a moment, looking intently at Draco. Then he sighed, “When I said our past has never defined us, I meant it... You chose your family and they chose Voldemort. But it doesn’t matter anymore. You’ve chosen to save and to heal others everyday since then. We were just kids.”

Draco was surprised to feel himself give a sigh of relief. That wasn’t it. That wasn’t the defining choice. He realized.

“Alright.” He said aloud, “and my parents. I assume they know about… this?” He gestured around at the apartment.

“What, about us?” Harry asked. Draco nodded.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “they know. They weren’t thrilled but” He shrugged, “they’re your parents and they almost lost you in the war. They weren’t going to kick up a fuss so big they might lose you to me.” He smiled.

“What about…  in general?” Draco said. “For a bloke, you’re fairly advantageous in the current climate,” Harry huffed at that, “but how did they take the whole…” Draco paused. He’d never said the word out loud. “How did they handle the whole ‘gay’ thing?”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You were so worried about it,” he sounded fond even as he tried to look annoyed, “When you told Narcissa she said she was proud of you. When you told Lucius he said, ‘Ah, Draco, I see… Potter, then?’”

Draco colored, “He did not!”

“I swear. It took you like a year to tell me he said that.”

Draco took a few breaths. “So,” he said, “They’re still… in contact with me? With us?”

“Yeah,” Harry snorted, “just a bit more than either of us would like, actually. We eat with time at least three times a month. You complain about it all the time.”

They were silent for a few minutes, Draco thinking and Harry quietly watching him.

Suddenly, Harry spoke, “What’s the third thing?”

“What?”

“The third thing you were going to ask me.”

“Nothing, Potter, forget it.”

“You don’t remember this, but you only call me Potter when you’re trying to distract me.”

Draco smirked, “I bet is generally works.”

Harry gave him a smirk in return, “Not this time. What’s the third thing?”

Draco felt his face warm slightly. “It’s just- I have to sleep soon. I can feel it’s time. I just wondered… wouldyoumindtogotobedwithmeIdon’twanttoalone?”

“What?”

“Forget it.”

Harry’s face split in a grin, “I heard you, I’m coming.”

They walked up the stairs to their room. Draco didn’t know why he wanted Harry there. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was scared, he knew they hadn’t made the potion right and he didn’t want to be alone.

In case something goes wrong.

About halfway up the stairs Harry took his hand, and Draco let him without even faking a grimace.

They lay down on their backs, staring at the ceiling. Harry had not let go of Draco’s hand, but had insisted they lay in the very center of the bed. “So I don’t roll off.”

“If you looked before you rolled it wouldn’t matter.”

Harry gasped, “How dare you? I am a Gryffindor !” He said with mock outrage.

Despite his best efforts (so, maybe not his best ) Draco somehow inexplicably wound up on his side, with Harry James Potter’s face pressed against his shoulder, and his arm draped over Draco, still holding his hand. He was embarrassingly reluctant to leave, but he knew he had to.

Even if the tug to sleep, to return to his own world, were not growing stronger by the second, he knew that there was another Draco here, one that needed to come home to his Harry. One that this Harry needed to have back.

Draco closed his eyes knowing that no matter what happened when he got home, there would be a universe somewhere, somewhen, in which the startling, intense, much more patient man that Harry had grown up to be was happy with a freer, kinder Draco.

###

Draco woke up in his own bed, in his own flat, feeling extremely knackered. He was relieved that he had survived, that his heart hadn’t quit or his lungs collapsed, but he was also very irritated by how his whole body was tired and achy.

When he checked the clock it showed that he’d only been gone for seven-or-so hours, which made sense. He immediately fell back asleep.

When he woke up for the second time to his empty room in his empty flat, he was less relieved.

He spent the next few weeks putting off what he knew he had to at least try to do. Eventually, he got a day off and no longer had any excuse other than cowardice.

He stood outside the door to the auror department. He took a number of fortifying breaths, then pulling himself up straight and tall like any Malfoy, he strode in as though he owned the place, despite being only too aware of how far that was from true.

He ran into Weasley first, almost literally. “Ah, Weasley.” Draco said as Ronald gaped at him, “If you could point me in the direction of Potter’s current location?”

When did I get so posh? I sound like a ponce. The sight of Weasley must be making me regress.

Weasley said nothing, he just pointed silently.

-One Month Later-

“So I ran across a park when I was tracking this old wizard dealing in cursed memorabilia from the war.” Harry said casually, “There’s a statue right in the middle that I think you’ll like. If you want I could show it to you… ?”

[metng]

ME: The Next Generation Update 2

Episode 1: Remnant of a Dead God

Rating: M - language, violence, sexuality

Summary: 100 years after the Reaping and the Crucible Event, the galaxy is rebuilding into a new golden age. As optimistic as times seem, the darkness between stars threatens to return in the form of infighting between the remaining Reapers. The Shadow Broker silently pulls strings across the galaxy to guard against the Reapers’ infighting, but even she can’t end this alone. When bounty hunter and synthetic-organic symbiote Samus Aran is called on to investigate a Reaper’s mysterious death, she discovers truths about the Reapers’ motivations and the century-old Crucible that could end the civil war–or ignite it into another Harvest.

Scene 4: Chances 

Samus drops down through the cockpit hatch once they hit the relay. "We're in hyperspace," she says to Kiriki, "the Reaper can't follow us now."

"If it's interested," says Varia. "It didn't come for us, but for the corpse."

Varia's holographic avatar is a twin, in appearance, to Samus, albeit in the translucent, shimmering colour of virtual intelligences. No, not a direct twin, Kiriki corrects xemself, there are differences. They are female turians, slimmer in build and lacking the head-crests of males, and their colony markings are an unusual, asymmetric pattern. Samus keeps her mandible flanges filed short and trim, but Varia's are longer, with more delicate tips. Samus is in a form-fitting bodysuit, but Varia has chosen the layered tunic look fashionable on Palaven.

If Varia wasn't translucent, they'd be sisters.

"Synthetic intelligence," xe says, head tilted quizzically. "Living ship."

"Varia and I are partners," explains Samus, who takes a seat next to Varia's avatar at the table. The living space beneath the cockpit is not a large area, and the small circular table is a holocomm as much as a work and eating surface, surrounded by four stools that can be retracted for extra room. There are four sleeping pods built into the walls around the living space, a food synthesizer between two pods on one wall, and a hatch door between the two pods on the other wall leading to the bathroom.

"Partners," repeats Kiriki. "Common term for symbiotic relationship between synthetic and organic intelligence. Similar bond, yes?"

"That's exactly it."

Kiriki pulls back xeir hood, revealing the air tubes and wires coming from the back of the exosuit's headpiece. Xe presses a finger on each side of xeir head, just behind the faceplate seam, and there's the distinct hiss of the suit seals releasing.

"Should you be doing that?" asks Samus, curious despite her misgivings. She's never met a suitless quarian in person before, though she has a friend on Rannoch she's seen suitless plenty of times, through holocomm. "We're not exactly a clean ship."

“Strong immune system,” Kiriki assures her. “Will be fine, no worry.” Xe removes xeir faceplate, and Samus gets her first real look at xeir face.

The most noticeable thing about Kiriki’s face is xeir left eye--the geth eye. It sticks out from xeir face more than the large, much more delicate-looking, organic eye, giving xem a lopsided look that’s only exacerbated by the extensive cybernetics crawling across xeir mouth and jaw on the left side. The accident Kiriki had mentioned must have nearly destroyed half xeir face, Samus realizes. The organic eye is mostly blue, with the usual quarian bioluminescent glow. The geth eye, for now, is a blue tone that more or less matches. The default setting, she supposes.

Quarian skin tones range from warm grey to dark brown, and Kiriki falls on the grey end of the spectrum. Xe has a heart-shaped face, a wide mouth but a narrow nose, and prominent cheekbones. As xe removes more of the headpiece, xe reveals tightly-curled cerebral tendrils, which slowly unfurl themselves when fresh air hits them. Quarian tendrils aren’t like human hair or turian fringes--they’re part of the quarian nervous system, and are extremely sensitive. The tendrils move involuntarily, and they’re known to curl more when the quarian is thinking hard about something. Kiriki’s tendrils have the occasional flash or glow, an indication of how extensive the cybernetics really are.

A true hybrid. Amazing.

Xe takes a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the ship without air filters, then notices Samus staring at xem. “You’re thinking?”

“Yeah,” says Samus, scratching the back of her head. “You really are a true hybrid.”

“Yes? Is that bad?”

“I… no. Probably not, anyway. It’s just--you realize there’s been no other cases of real synthetic-organic integration like that? Partners like us, we’re still individuals. Two minds thinking together. Not the same thing as you.”

Kiriki nods, cerebral tendrils curling around xeir face. “We know. Must always be a first, yes?”

“Yeah… that’s true. I hope the rest of the galaxy doesn’t see you as a problem. Or a threat.”

“Threat?” Kiriki looks down at xemself. Samus’s mandibles quiver with her soft laughter.

“Organics tend to fear what they don’t yet understand,” says Varia gently.

Samus laces her fingers together. "The Shadow Broker wants to understand. That's why we're taking you to the Watcher, our contact in the Shadow Net. The Watcher's the guy who sent us to the Reaper in the first place--he'll want the info you found."

"Mission's not done, have to find Last Chance," says Kiriki. "I want to see this through."

"Are you sure? If that Reaper is looking for the same thing we are, we haven't seen the last of it."

"Am on Pilgrimage, yes? Searching stars for something of value! Willing to give of self for greater good! Can't turn my back on this, not now or ever."

"Nothing dampens your spirits, huh?" chuckles Samus. "I like you, kid."

"Like you too, Samus-Aran and Varia-Aran!"

Samus leans against the table and crosses her legs. "Well," gesturing around them at the ship, "this is Varia."

"Not very big," observes Kiriki. "Just you two?"

"I'm a living ship, like you said," says Varia. "I function without a crew. Quite well, I might add. Would you like a tour?"

"Yes!" Kiriki claps xeir hands together in excitement. Varia, flattered, rises to her feet and starts explaining the intricacies of the ship's design and functioning.

Samus tunes them out and goes to the synthesizer to make herself kaveer, a coffee-like turian drink made from the root of the kava plant. They just left hyperspace; they're in the Utopia system now. Eden Prime is less than half an hour away. She drinks the kaveer, watches Varia and Kiriki, and thinks. Kiriki's a good kid. Smart. That boundless optimism could get annoying after a while, but she's finding it refreshing. Hell, it's nice to just meet someone who genuinely enjoys discovery and helping, after five years of assholes in prison jumpsuits and warden uniforms and a year of assholes worth credits since.

Maybe she can help the kid with xeir Pilgrimage. Bounty hunting isn't exactly a glamourous lifestyle, but it does take her all over the galaxy. And if the Shadow Net wants to keep hiring her, the jobs will be considerably more interesting than just hunting down idiots. She feels protective of the kid, though. Hopefully Watcher 21 will be satisfied with just an interview. The Net would be a very bad group to make enemies of.

Plus, the Broker made her a deal. She has to make sure that comes through.

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