#I’m sure I’ll come back twelve times to fix typos

[zappedbyzabka]

Ftm/transmasc Johnny thoughts...

(tw for everything on that topic)

His white-knuckled grasp on masculinity and the way he thinks he should perform it—all these arbitrary things he and others have applied manliness to, like how much meat is in his food, sucking up his feelings, and how attractive women find him: It all just feels like a person who thinks that if they don’t keep up a strict image of masculinity then everyone will take away that ‘Man’ title.

Just like any boy worries—especially trans boys.

Johnny wants to be perceived as and live as who he is. It’s hard when if you’re a nonconforming guy, you’ll be seen as just a girly boy, but when you’re someone who has to take more steps than that, who has to put in way more effort to even receive that “boy” title, anything could end up with you thrown back in the box of “girl”.

He had the privilege of having a rich stepdaddy who just wanted him to be quiet and behave however he could get that to happen—which happened to be testosterone, cutting his hair even shorter than it was, and being called “He”

Plus, a white lie that he was just an effeminate little kid who grew out of it to anyone who was confused as to where Laura’s pretty daughter went. He just had to avoid anyone who really knew him before.

Because people accept that more than the truth, which is that he was a girl who was always a boy.

Kreese was the only man besides Sid whom he had as a male role model—and of course, Kreese was the only one he loved. The one he thought he should be like—and we all know what a wonderful impact Kreese has.

He wasn’t allowed to care like his mother. He wasn’t allowed to cry. He wasn’t allowed to be a pussy. He wasn’t allowed to be anything but what he saw in front of him, what he saw in movies—stereotypical and obvious.

If he said he enjoyed the dresses his mother used to buy him, he's a faker.

If he mentions that he always loved little soldier toys and monster truck jammies, then he’s not faking. When he’s in the locker room talking about girls and football, isn’t faking. If his towel slips, he’s faking.

That’s how it is. It doesn’t matter who he is inside if people can’t see it.

It’s tiring. He didn’t really enjoy playing a whole new act.

But he clung to every shred of “proof” he had, even when he started to pass. Even when all the “Mis—I mean, Sir”s stopped, even when there was no trace of Joanie.

When she was dead to him and everyone that knew her.

Bobby was there the whole time, he watched Johnny’s progression, was the first to call him Johnny, and was the first Johnny felt comfortable changing in front of. Bobby had some difficulty with his parents over it, and it made Johnny feel terrible. It felt like he was a burden, and his freakiness would always get in the way. That’s why he took so long to be open with any of the the other Cobras about it, besides the fear of getting thrown in a lake for what he is.

Just his existence caused ripples.

He could always tell when his mother missed her daughter—some days he felt like a murderer.

He didn’t like the pressure he felt with the girls he pursued to be this overly masculine meathead. Ali never pushed him into anything—she actually seemed to hate his macho act—but there are rules to being a boyfriend, like there are rules to being a girlfriend, right? You gotta be dominating and tough, and you can’t let her touch your ass even if you want her to, and you can’t talk about other boys you find cute because only girls can like boys, and he’s not a girl just like he’s not a fag. That’s what it is to be the man of a woman.

He didn’t want to be questioned. He didn’t want to see doubt in anyone’s face.

Maybe it was one reason he was so fucking angry about Daniel, who didn’t have to do any of that being born male, yet it all came so easy to him anyway. Didn’t have to worry even if he didn’t do as expected.

It felt like Ali went off to find herself a real boy. One who couldn’t fight, had no muscles, and probably didn’t even know who Rocky was- did none of the things Johnny had to do.

Don’t you have to be taller than your girlfriend? But then he thinks, when Johnny was a girlfriend the height never was an issue.

Daniel just got to…relax into the role of being male.

But maybe it was his view of women that he learned from Kreese that drove her away. Maybe it’s how he forced himself to act. Maybe it’s because his strive had him stepping on women by accident.

Johnny found himself wanting to be more like Daniel. Unquestioned in his shortcomings. Effortlessly masculine. He could do things like...keep his own hair silky without feeling like a gender traitor.

It was infuriating. It was unfair. It was embarrassing. It made him wonder if he slipped up with Ali and she lost attraction to him. He wondered If he wasn’t enough.

Kreese “had no issue with such a strong appreciation for the male lifestyle.” Saw that unique pain in Johnny as another way to mold him. Told Johnny that if his parents failed him, he’d be there to provide his hormones. You really can’t fuck up with a kid that desperate to be accepted, can you? Desperate, glowing potential Kreese needed to keep hidden under his wing. Doesn’t matter what he calls himself, as long as he does what Kreese tells him to.

He could drip alcohol into the cut when Johnny misbehaved with a simple pronoun slip up.

When Johnny got choked by Kreese and completely lost a pillar in his life, he fell completely into his persona, even when he was with the Cobras who always had a way of making him forget he wasn’t born like them.

Beer and chicks and cars and meat—hell yeah, right? Yeah. Yeah. Those are his favorite things. That’s all he wants. Men are supposed to want to fuck things and they’re supposed to look at porn, so he tries to want that. He’s a man’s man, and he never wants to do any of the feminine shit he used to.

He was near-frantic when he kept having rough patches and couldn’t afford his hormones without Sid’s allowance. His life was in that old man’s hands, and when Daniel raised the rent, he felt sickeningly afraid that he’d have to choose between giving up his dojo or giving up the shots that made him feel just okay enough to keep going.

It feels like the comfort of being the man came with a whole new torture caused by the weight of what it really means to be that man—The feeling or the performance? Is he still man enough if he misses a shot?

He never had any surgery. He honestly never really thought about it–he was the only trans person he knew growing up, and he didn’t really…want it? Whenever he told people his condition, that was always the question. “So...did you get surgery yet?”

Yet.

Like he had to do it. As if it were required of him, like all the countless other things, if he wanted to be who he was on the inside.

His chest was the same size as a man with pecs on the plumper side, so who cares? He liked the way he looked there. No one ever commented on his chest, because it’d be rude to say anything about that that to a man.

He didn’t want doctors touching him, or observing him. He didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to think about it.

He still wears binders like he used to and stuffs his pants every now and then—on hard days when he’s worried someone will look into his eyes and just...know.

I imagine Daniel having zero idea until he happened to find Johnny with his binder halfway on. Ending up ruddy and panicked and slamming the door closed to give Johnny privacy.

And Daniel’s old and not all that well-versed in such things, but he tries to be gentle with delicate topics and delicate people.

The talk he and Johnny would have would be awkward. Snappy and defensive on Johnny’s end.

He would somehow be more knowledgeable on the topic than Johnny and it wouldn’t go to far the first time, but slowly and surely Johnny would open up for him. Tell him more and more. Reveal what the big driver for his anger with him was.

There’s something sweetly validating about the man you considered an enemy for so long accepting you as you are and validating you—even with all the details.

Maybe Johnny starts to cry again. starts grooming himself again. Gaining his “I don’t care what you think because I could kick your ass” attitude.

Maybe all the joy of having people that care about him in his life—reconciling with his kid perhaps—has him relaxing his shoulders for once.

Maybe he lets himself try a queer bar. Lets his eyes wander over to other men, easy and guiltless unlike the other times, because truly what’s manlier than liking other men? Maybe he lets himself go home with one, lets himself ask for what he wants because the guy seemed to already understand everything, like he’d been with people like Johnny before. He had no expectations.

(There’s also a world where Sam confides in him about her feeling like she has to be hyper-feminine and palatable to be liked when maybe she wants to shave her head and still wear skirts—)

[jelpiparade]

“It is Wednesday, my dudes.”

*shrill scream*

Now, then! If that vine reference doesn’t make me sound too old, I can tell you about what’s happened in the past week. Heroine for Hire now has voice acting! Ocean Pearls now lacks typos! (I hope.)

It was a HUGE struggle to choose VA when so many talented people tried out. In the twelve days that auditions were opened, we received almost 100 auditions for seven roles! Some of the auditions had me dying laughing because of the energy that was brought the the performance.

I’m really satisfied with the cast and we’ve already begun recording! You’ll have to wait if you want to hear some samples, though. ;^)

Now, so brief bad news: the projected release was September 2020, but unfortunately our artist is dealing with a severe hand injury and will be out of commission for the next few weeks. Personally, I’m a huge worrywart and I’m going to say ball park release date is November 2020 at the earliest.

Currently, there are four out of seven characters who need expressions before the game can be released... maybe it was headstrong of me to try to come back from a hiatus with a release. It’s okay, though. Things happen in life and I can polish Heroine for Hire to be better than ever!

Specifically, I’ve been trying to decide what to do with the extra time... if I’ll write the second route OR if I’ll add the VA in for full release. I’ll only have time for one or the other, but that decision will be for another day. Or specifically, next Wednesday’s devlog.

So! In any case~ let’s show appreciation for the artist’s hard work thus far!

Art by waltera_ki; Left to right: Lyre (MC), Fai, Lute, Veris, Ivis

I absolutely adore these characters and I hope that you all do too! Here’s a bit of information about each character.

Lyre. The main character of our tale. She is impulsive with a strong sense of justice, and depending on your choices, can be cunning, kind or brave in addition to that. In the past two months, she’s held and lost eight jobs for various reasons ranging from thrusting an incontinent cat towards a duchess to knocking over an important banking partner.

Fai. [romanceable] The royal blacksmith. A man of few words and fewer expressions, Fai likes to be left alone in comfortable silence. Unfortunately for him, people like to make jokes around him like calling him a hot-head. (For the record, please don’t.) Fai’s favorite animal is the rabbit and he likes cute things in spite of his appearance.

Lute. Lyre’s twin sister. A savage tongued young woman with a penchant for gossip, she likes to always have her ears on the ground for trouble. Currently, she is the reason Lyre keeps finding jobs despite constantly getting fired. Well connected, she works as a seamstress for a local dress shop that services the rich and noble.

Veris. [romanceable] A valiant knight who is strong, brave and... well. Lazy. So, so lazy. For some reason, he’s got a good reputation and uses it to hide that fact that his favorite thing to do is avoid both baths and duties. Despite his laziness, he’s got a heart of gold and an attitude of silver.

Princess Ivis. A sweet face with an ambitious, scheming mind behind it, Ivis is the youngest of six sisters. She tries her best to shine but as the youngest, she knows well that she’ll never be Queen of Faunestra... but that won’t stop her from trying to become queen of some place. Veris and his reputation are her most precious asset. I mean, knight.

....And more! I hope those tidbits are fun to read about.

Now! Ocean Pearls!

I got the routes all edited up and looking pretty. Hopefully that means that Isven, Soh and Lemos all have typo-free demos! Additionally, I’ve gotten the sprites all resized and lookin’ pretty!

So, all that’s left on my miscellaneous check list is...

make sure the right CG unlocks in the gallery

pick a release date!

I tried to do this and broke something so... to the programmer I go.

Unfortunately, there’s another checklist of things that has to get done...

get some glitches worked out as far as some intense lag going on during the chapter scenes

fix the lag in the main menu

Both of those things are things that I can’t do, unfortunately.... but as soon as the programmer bangs them out and I finish my brief CG work, OP’s will be available to play.

Isn’t that exciting? I know I am super PUMPED because it’s been a long time coming.

[johnny-and-dora]

safe from the world, though the world may try

71. “...you wanna build a blanket fort?” requested by @stars-my-darling in which amy experiences a cornerstone of the offical jake peralta boyfriend experience. (early relationship, around 3x04)

read on ao3  -

Amy Santiago is having a bad day.

It’s bad enough that the Vulture is so awful and grossly misogynistic that he’s making her & Rosa plan his birthday party – what’s worse is that she’s actually committed to the task, unable to disobey her captain’s orders in a way that sends self-loathing flooding through her system. She misses Holt, she misses working actual cases – she even almost misses Gina insulting her pantsuits and shredding important papers.

That’s not what’s really bothering her, though. It’s bad enough that she’s exhausted from the end of an insanely dull work week, but it’s worse that she’s barely seen her sweet, adorable, dorky boyfriend at all despite sharing a desk with him. She sighs, rubbing her temples, barely able to muster up the energy to tidy her coat, shoes and bag away as she flops onto her couch.

She can’t fix the Vulture being their captain, and she can’t fix Holt leaving. But at least there’s something she can do about the other major grievance currently darkening her otherwise rosy life.

To: Jake Peralta, 19:47 Can you come over?

From: Jake Peralta, 19:49 omw, be there in 15 everything okay?? xxx

She tries not to overthink the kisses – really, it’s just three characters, and knowing Jake it could just be a typo – but still, it stutters in her weary heart, affecting enough to invite a gentle sincerity into her answer.

To: Jake Peralta, 19:50 Just tired and stressed out And I really want to see you X

They’re still walking the wire in some ways; it’s still relatively early in their romantic relationship, and while they’re both all in (light and breezy now a distant memory), Amy’s always tended to overthink, intent on crafting the perfect text message as if each interaction is something she can win. This time, however, she presses send before she can even double check for grammatical errors - and already feels lighter when she instantly receives a long string of heart emojis in response.

***

She’s pleasantly surprised when she hears an elaborate rap on her door only twelve minutes later. Amy sinks into him almost as soon as he’s through the threshold, arms instinctively wrapping around her in a warm bear hug.

“Hi,” He says softly, pulling away only so they can go cuddle on the couch together, Amy laying her head on his shoulder “What’s up?”

“Nothing, really. Or nothing new, I’m just so sick of the Vulture. Can you believe he wants me and Rosa to plan his birthday party?” Jake pulls a face, groaning in sympathy.

“That’s so gross.”

“I know. I just miss Holt, and I feel like I haven’t seen you all week and everything just kinda sucks when I don’t see you.” She buries her frown into his hoodie for a moment and is confused when she feels him pulling away.

“Okay.” Jake stands up and clasps his hands together, eyes alight in that way when he’s set on something and won’t stop until he gets it. Amy’s spent years fearing that look. “We’re building a blanket fort.”

“We’re…what?”

“Building a blanket fort. C’mon.”

“So, just to be clear, we’re both starving, exhausted adults in our thirties who haven’t seen each other all week and your solution…is to build a blanket fort.”

“Just trust me. Please, Ames?” He pouts, and any irritation instantly falls to the wayside, her reluctance to create an unnecessary mess in her perfectly organised living room easing with a wave of affection for her boyfriend. She sighs but decides to relent.

“I’ll get the comforter.”

It’s almost immediately worth it for the way he cheers, fist-pumping like he just scored the winning try at the Superbowl.

Jake kicks on some cheesy 80’s pop playlist blasting tinny and crackling from his phone and they get to work, Amy emptying her catalogue of sheets, pillows, quilts and blankets into her arms and on to the floor. She quickly loses herself in the task before her, dragging chairs from her dining table to form a sturdy framework, arranging pillows like a goddamn champion inside.

There’s one moment where she gets really excited about lighting, rushing to the back of her closet to grab her Christmas lights – when she next catches Jake’s eye, he’s looking at her with an unabashed fondness that never fails to spread warmth through her whole body.

As with everything else they do together, they make a great team, and they’re done before Jake can make it through the second verse of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun. He beams at her as they step back to admire their handiwork - even she has to admit that it’s a damn good blanket fort, the lights she strung up adding a perfect homely touch.

She’s still curious as to why this is how they’re spending their evening together as they crawl inside, Jake instantly cocooning himself in her favourite fleece blanket. She absentmindedly makes a note to sleep with that one next time they spend a night apart, then cringes at how clingy she’s already become.

“So, pretty cosy, huh. Do you like it?”

“Yeah. I do. I just…why a blanket fort?” She asks, watching him earnestly as he distractedly plays with the strings of his hoodie, trying to form his answer.

“This is what my Nana would do with me when I was scared or stressed out or sad, about my dad or whatever. Gina too, sometimes, if I let her paint my toenails and choose the movie.” Amy smiles at an image of a young Jake and Gina giggling at a sleepover, throwing candy at each other and sharing scandalous gossip.

“I know it’s kinda silly, but…I don’t know. It always helped me, hanging out someplace safe and warm where the rest of the world couldn’t get to you for a little while. So, I thought it might help you too.” He gently nudges his shoulder with hers, a boyish grin lighting up his face. His honesty and simple sweetness send a quiet thrill through her, stomach fluttering with butterflies instead of anxiety.

“It does.” She admits, smiling softly as she reaches up to cup his face, thumbing over the stubble on his jawline. “Thank you, you’re the best.”

She wants to say more, but she doesn’t know quite how to articulate how at home he already is in her heart. So instead, she kisses him, gentle and honey-sweet. For a moment, it’s as if they’re the only two people in the world and she revels in the intimacy she’s been craving all day, deepening the kiss and touching her forehead to his before her eyes dare flutter open again.

“You’re so welcome.” He grins. “I didn’t know you’d be such a pro, though. The structural integrity of this thing is off the charts. It could probably survive an earthquake.”

Amy glows at the sincerity of his compliment. The more she thinks about it, the more she realises that he’s right – she feels safe, in here, wrapped up in blankets with her favourite person in the entire world.

She always feels safe when she’s with Jake – not the dull, boring safe she was with Teddy, or really any of her long-term relationships before him. Instead, it’s a safety, a certainty, a trust that makes her even more willing to leap without looking back.

“Oh, for the record, everything sucks for me too when I don’t get to see you. You just make everything better.” He gestures loosely, sharpening her focus back to the present – she kisses him again, revelling in the perfect tiny blanket paradise they’ve made.

And just when she thought she couldn’t feel more content, Amy catches him tapping “polish takeaway brooklyn” into his phone and beams, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek.

This isn’t how she expected dating Jake Peralta to be, and yet now she wonders why. He’s probably the only person who’d think to calm her down by building her a fort, and yet he’s the only person who knows her well enough to be certain that it would work. It’s a solution so simple and effective and completely and utterly Jake, and she makes sure to show him just how much she loves that while they wait for their food to arrive.

The delivery guy knocks on the door not long into their make-out session – Amy is delighted to find she’s not the least bit embarrassed as she hastily thanks him, although she does make sure to tip him a little extra. They chat and laugh together in-between mouthfuls and lay back on the pillows when they’re done, Jake idly and soothingly playing with her hair as she rants.

“Hey, Ames?” He says in a sing-song, playful tone after they’ve slipped into a few moments of comfortable silence.

“Hmm?”

“What are your thoughts vis-à-vis blanket fort sexy times? For or against? Because I think I could make a pretty great case for- “

She smothers his argument with her lips, a neat new trick she’s still very much enjoying – and it’s a true mark of her adept construction skills that when they're done the fort still remains wholly intact.

[peanutparade]

Someone asked me what my process was, and I’m not sure I gave her a satisfying answer in the PM, so here I will attempt to explain how I make a game from start to finish.

*Please note the the drafts above are not for the same story, but for the purpose of illustration.

**Also please take this advice with a grain of salt. I’m not a published author (though I do know a bit about the publishing industry), and I’m definitely not a perfect writer. This is my process, and the things I try to keep in mind when I’m writing, and you may find this advice to be complete garbage.

Step one: Get an idea for a story. I can’t really give any tips on how to go about doing this. I tend to take inspiration from other works of media (classical literature is my favorite, though I have taken cues from more contemporary sources as well).

Step two: Consider who your characters are going to be. It’s okay if you only have one or two characters in mind at first. I’m pretty utilitarian about my characters, so most of them don’t get created until step three.

Step three: Open a word document and just start typing shit out. (I use Google Drive so I can access it from anywhere, and for another reason which I’ll get to later.) Don’t stop to think, don’t even breathe. Just type. Any idea that comes into your head goes in the document. Some of it won’t make sense with everything else, some of it will contradict other things, some of it will be vaguely defined. You will fix that later. This is the most important part (especially the way I write), because it’s where you’re going to get an idea of how your story starts and how it ends, as well as cement your cast of characters. If you need a scene where your main character goes to a lighthouse, then you know you’ll also need to come up with a lighthouse keeper (see my comment above about being utilitarian with characters. I’m no authority, so if you do things differently, that’s fine, but I don’t like making characters that don’t serve a purpose).

Step four: Annotation, annotation, annotation! (This is the other thing I use Google Drive for, as it has a comment feature that I heavily rely on.) Go through all your scribbling and make notes for yourself. Be a little hard on yourself here, because this is the part where you’re going to try to make everything you’ve written in Draft 1 cohesive. This will be a long process, as you need to think about how all of this is connected, as well as think about what sort of arcs your main characters are going to go through. I read somewhere once that ALL of your characters have to go through an arc, but that’s a bunch of wacky nonsense. Some characters are minor characters, and thus do not require depth. The only character arc that MUST be included is the main character’s arc. Remember: character arc ≠ character motivation. ALL major characters (protagonist(s), love interest(s), villain(s)) MUST have motivation for what they are doing. The motivation doesn’t have to be anything too complex, just so long as the audience understands why the characters are doing what they’re doing. (Minor characters with motivation can make the world feel more real and lived in, but they can also make the story feel bogged down. Brevity is key here, and sometimes less is more.)

Step five: Draft 2 All of that plotting you just did? Throw it away! Just kidding, don’t actually throw it away. BUT you’re going to rewrite your plot outline, tidier this time, and only refer back to Draft 1 when you get stuck. Feel free to come up with new ideas during this time; Draft 1 is not your story’s final form. If you think of scenes or quotes, feel free to include them in this draft, but you’re mostly just outlining right now. (As you may notice in the image above, Draft 2 is also subject to annotation.) Draft 2 is where you should be solidifying the themes of your story. Character arc(s) should tie into and support this theme. This is also the draft where you should be catching any plot holes (especially if you don’t have an editor/beta reader), as once you’ve begun actually writing the story, any problems here will only compound as you go.

Step six: Write the story It’s pretty straightforward. Follow Draft 2 (and any additional annotations you made on Draft 2), and go scene by scene and write. I never skip around, as it makes it hard to keep track of what characters know at what time, but I know of authors that do skip around, and they seem to do okay. You’ll have to figure out what works best for you.

Step seven: Edit, edit, edit! Aside from the obvious (typos and spelling errors), look out for:

Scenes that are too long or too short. Counterintuitively, these may be the result of the same problem: a lack of purpose. Ask yourself, “Does this need to be here?”

Long-winded info dumps. Consider the old adage, “show, don’t tell.” Whenever information can be conveyed through action or reaction, write it that way. If you can convey two things at the same time (i.e. something about a character and also something about the world--bonus if these two things are actually unrelated to each other), do it.

Information that your audience wouldn’t logically have being the key to resolving the plot. Especially in sci-fi and fantasy stories, if the conclusion of the story relies on knowing something--even if it’s something that the characters all know--you need to make sure your audience also knows this, or else they will be frustrated. Keep in mind the Rule of Threes.

And that’s the story portion done. If you’re making a visual novel/dating sim, there are other steps you need to do. (I usually do this stuff while writing the story so it doesn’t get tedious, but if you’re hiring people to do this other stuff, you should probably have the writing done ahead of time. If you’re hiring writers to help you, you should have Draft 1 done, at the least. Your writers can probably take it from there.)

NOTE: Any job you don’t do yourself is something that will cost you money. If you can find other aspiring creators to volunteer their time to your project, good for you, but please do not approach anyone directly unless you plan to offer to pay them (”for exposure” is not payment).

Step eight: Character sprites Major characters are going to need to be represented visually in your visual novel (go figure!), so... draw some people? I know some people make character design sheets, but I just jump right in, and then later, make microedits to the sprites as the mood strikes me. The design sheet thing is probably a smarter way to do it. I use photoshop, and I would strongly encourage keeping hair, clothing, and facial features on separate layers until you know exactly how you plan to code them into your game.

Step nine: Backgrounds Same as the sprites, except places instead of people. I’m bad at this, so I have no right to give anyone advice. I use a 3D interior design app to create a guide for what I want rooms to look like, and then I use that to get my vanishing points and furniture sizing right. This method is 50% tracing, 50% wishing I was dead. I do not recommend it.

Step ten: Audio If your game will have voice acting, get that together now. If you’re composing your own music, you’re more talented than I am. For my first game, I utilized royalty free options (incompetech and bensound), but now I hire a composer (I do still supplement my soundtrack with royalty free options if it’s for something inconsequential). I don’t use many sound effects, but when I do, I just look for free options online.

Step eleven: Coding I use Ren’py because it’s free and easy to learn (provided you don’t want to do anything too complicated). There are tons of resources online to teach you how to use Ren’py, both from official sources and unofficial sources. I’ve never posted in the forums myself, but the people there seem very kind and helpful if you get stuck. (If anyone wants to see how I code, specifically, I’ll do a Part Two for it, but I have to warn you that my games are the coding equivalent car repairs done with bubblegum and duct tape.)

Step twelve: Playtesting Make sure your game works. It’s pretty straightforward. You can even recruit some guinea pigs--I mean, friends to help you. (I don’t have any friends, so I do this part on my own.)

By this point, a year or so will have passed (give or take, depending how long your game is, how much time you have to work on it, and how much of the work you plan to do by yourself), and with any luck, you’ll have a game! Posting your game on itch.io is free, but putting your game on steam will cost you $100.

Like I said to the person on patreon who originally asked me about my process, making a visual novel is a lot of work, but I encourage everyone to at least try it and see if you like it.

I look forward to hearing your stories!  ♥

[the-headbop-wraith]

3_42 Carbon Dating

When the shutters went up, work began none stop until closing.  For a full twelve hours customers came and went, leaving overworked and troublesome vehicles, whilst others departed with their serviced transportation fresh from the garage.  The bell in the lobby chimed, announcing the imminent arrival of their next client from the open lot outside.  

A large window was set in one wall, and allowed those within the office to see a portion of the garage itself as the crewmen toiled.  The backdoor that led out of the office and into the work zone of the shop always remained open, vivid reverberations from within the garage seeped through on the low hanging perfume of the mechanics lair.  Always the office smelled of fresh oil and plastic, crisp smoke curled from embers, mingled with the ozone dripping from scalded hydrogen of the pressurized pipes.  Pumps wheezed, wrenches cranked, drills squealed with vivid passion; a symphony of metal, an unchallenged configuration that flowed throughout the blazing intensity of the shop lamps from dawn till dusk.  

“Would someone get that hamster OUT OF HERE!” Somewhere a tool clattered on the floor, the unmistakable rhythm of feet hitting cement faded in the back room.

Lance heaved a sigh and sank down a little more in his shoes.  “Look,” he grumbled, into the phone at his ear.  “I’m sayin it.  Not payin’. Not one cent.  I’m not gunna argue this over like a broken record, get your facts straight on that customer report.  Bottom line, you sent us the wrong parts.”  He stepped a little past the corner of the doorway and checked the customers lined up at the counter.  “Uh-huh.  No. No, don’t go there.  I promise, I can break you.  Let‘s be civil about this.”  Behind him, one of the crewmen raced by, bent far forward with his arms outstretched.  Whatever he was chasing, it wasn’t close to getting caught.

The door parted by a fraction and two more customers entered behind a woman and child.  “You can always tell what’s going on inside, by the way the different angles the cars are parked outside.”  Mystery shuffled through the thin gap in the door, while casting dubious glances up at Arthur.  “Uncle Lance! Yellow!” Arthur waved his arm, but turned away from the line of customers as he began another fit of hacking. “Is this a bad time?”  Mystery barked twice, and looked to the lady that was staring at him.  Them. The dog frowned behind his smart spectacles.

“I know you can’t close the transaction, and to be honest that ain’t my problem, is it?”  Lance covered the mouth piece of the phone and stepped into the lobby.  “I was wonderin’ when you’d be getting back ’round.  Your trip go well?”  The worker that had been racing around in the back now moved into the window, he began waving his arms high over his head and making wide sweeping gestures toward Arthur.

“About that,” Arthur hiccupped, eyes fixed on the dancing figure.  He moved by the customer line and met Lance at the gap in the counter.  “We made such good time—” He was cut off when Lance shoved the phone into his hand.

“Here.  Talk to this guy, you’re good with the phone stuff.”  That said, Lance turned and motioned the clerk at the counter assisting their next client.  “When you’re done here, can you go check inventory for those new fangel fuel lines?”

Arthur put the phone to his ear.  “Er, hello?  Parts?” The worker that had been motioning to Arthur earlier, now came over with a clipboard and a thin page tethered to the front.  The crewmate pulled the first page up as Arthur read the transcript over, the guy pointed to the distinctly varied numbers in orders and deliveries.  Arthur pinned the phone under his chin and motioned to the guy with his fingers.  The crewman gestured back and smirked.

Oh dear, they’re doing this again?  Mystery rolled his eyes and sat.

“I’m good fixing phones, not talking people,” Arthur mouthed.  The crewmate pantomimed talking with his hand.  

“I’ll give you a bonus if you can save us a buck,” Lance grumbled.  Once the clerk had finished with the customer, they darted back into the garage through the doorway.  Lance moved over to a stepstool built against the counter, and made a rather graceful leap – for someone of his stature – onto the sturdy stoop.  He pulled the keyboard over for the computer and began typing.  “I’m sorry about the wait, Miss.  Name?”

“Yes?  Hello?” Arthur chirped.  “You‘re the manager?  Good-good.”  He adjusted the phone at his ear, and leaned over the counter as he read over the provided page on the clipboard.  “I’m looking at the order form right here.  Yes.  You don’t need to be snooty.  The invoice says we ordered five cases of the model G, but we only use the model T. The serial number’s off.”  

The crewmate made a series of gestures to Arthur, to which Arthur gave a sideways shrug.  The crewmate plopped his hand back to his side when Mystery darted by, toward the back door the clerk left by.  

“I’m just sayin,” Arthur went on.  He paused and rubbed his palm to his brow.  “Yes, totally.  We can keep the parts, and we can sell them to another shop, and loose some money – that’d be about equivalent to the money we’re gonna lose in the shipping expenses.  Hmm? Is that so?”  Arthur pinned the phone to his ear with his shoulder, his hand reached up over his brow and began straightening up his darker hair tufts. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. Now listen, you’re about to lose a loyal, paying customer over a serial number typo, that’s in your invoice copy. I’m sure Ratchet N’ Clanks would— Whas’that?  You will?” Arthur began nodding.  “That is super-duper, you are such a wizard with bizz to bizz relations.  Uh-huh, yeah, you have a good day too.”  

Arthur groaned under his breath.  He handed the phone back to the mechanic and smacked his forehead to the countertop.  The crewmate gave Arthur’s back a light pat before returning to the garage.  It took a little too long for Arthur to get his bearings together, he didn’t feel inclined to move too fast.

Lance finished assisting a figure in a maroon hoody. “I suppose you’ll want that bonus?”  He snatched a piece of paper that slid out of the printer and handed it to the figure. “If you’ll step outside, someone will get you set up.”  Lance pulled a small handheld communicator from his belt and spoke a brief message into it.

“Put it on my tab,” Arthur mumbled.  “I need to commission some work on the van.” Without meaning to, Arthur dragged out the word ‘some’.

Lance nodded, his hand already directing the mouse on the screen to his nephew’s active account.  The lobby was currently empty, the door slipped shut on their most recent customer.  “The usual oil change?  Check up?”

“Um,” Arthur grimaced. He shuffled a little closer to the computer Lance worked on and leaned on his bent arm.  “I managed to get that done already.  Er, what I was thinking….”

“Yes?”  Lance narrowed his eyes minutely.

Arthur kneaded the edge of his vest with his fingers and took a breath.  “Some inner restoration, new batteries, tires changed, and I need to schedule to get the side repainted.”  The sentence was spoken in a hasty blur.  When he finished, Arthur pressed his lips together tightly and leaned far-far back from the counter.

A slow blink was Lance’s response.  “What?”

“I thought you were kidding!” Lance grated.  “I thought!… you were…”  Lance’s voice ceased and he shut his eyes.  He took a deep breath and reevaluated the notary details of the van presented to him.  Was this really the same vehicle?  It was unfathomable that Arthur, of all people, would let - THE Van - come to be in this condition.  “You know what?  Never mind.”

“Hey Uncle Lance,” Vivi hailed from the back.  The van was parked beside the furthest shutter of the garage, currently empty of customer automobiles, the passenger side and back doors left wide open.  “I’d go over the details, but it looks like we’ll be sticking around for a while. So, no rush on work.”  Vivi held up her hands and motioned Lance to keep it calm.  Though no outer countenance gave away Lance’s inner turmoil, his face was beat red and his fists were clutched tightly at the sides of his belt.  “And you can do whatever you need inside to get it ship shape, we’re gonna unpack everything, and I mean everything.”  Vivi tucked her hands behind her back.

Lance hadn’t looked Vivi’s way, he was still staring at the once pristine yellow clad box of the Mystery Skull’s transport.  “Do I want to know?” he grumbled, at last. “No!  I don’t.  But this’ll keep me up all night… No!  I’ll regret’t if I ask.”  Vivi stared as Lance pulled a hand up and tugged at his beard, he turned away continuing with his gruff mutterings.  “I’m sure there is a safe, uneventful, tale attached to this happenin’?  Isn’t there?”  Vivi’s frown deepened, lips screwed tight.  “Your usually both such careful drivers though.”  He sighed.  

“Uncle Lance?”  Vivi ventured.  “It was just an accident with the equipment.  You know how the laptop always overheats?”  Vivi stepped off the bumper and leaned on the inner side of one door, hands crossed behind her back.  She moved a little more out of the way as Lance trudged forward.

“An accident.  Right,” Lance mumbled.  He heaved himself up onto the floorboard and stood.  “This is the ceiling.”  He stabbed at the flanking headliner with a finger, and looked back at Vivi. “The.  Ceiling.  Its ruined.”

Arthur leaned around the door opposite of Vivi, the corner of his mouth tugged back in a grim smirk.  “It was an interesting experience.”

“Are these scorch marks on the seats!”

Vivi turned to Arthur wide eyed, and brought a hand to her mouth.  “We… I don’t know if you’d understand.”  To Arthur she mouthed, ‘When did that?’

Arthur sniffed and shrugged.  He sipped at the cup of coffee he carried.  In the garage slot they parked near, Mystery’s barks rang out as he dashed after the squeaking wheels of a certain orange fluff.  The little ball zipped around basement boarders and across the yellow/black striped caution tape adhered to the floor, while Mystery kept in hot pursuit.  

“Hey,” Arthur called.  “Are you forgetting who your favorite person is?”

The orange fluff zigzagged out of Mystery’s path. Mystery kept running, even as Galahad made a beeline out of the garage.  Arthur set his cup on the floor and held his hand down for the plump little rodent plush.

“Aw, look’t you,” Arthur cooed.  “I swear you get bigger everyday.  What’re you eating?  Uncle Lance?  What’re feeding Galy?”  Arthur stood and ran his thumb over Galahad’s hair tufts.  He ignored Vivi’s sly grin.

“Oh, y’know,” Lance grumbled, as he pulled some of the ruined ceiling away.  “Crickets, pizza, fish crackers, eggs an’ bacon.  The usual.”

Arthur and Vivi exchanged horrorstruck faces. “That’s not what I told you to do!” Arthur yelped.

The van creaked under Lance’s weight as he tromped out, and hopped onto the pavement.  “Doesn’t seem to be hurtin’ the little fella.”  Lance gave Galahad a pat on his head, then straightened out his belt and walked off.  “We’ll need to get some pictures.  For the website… What d’you feed him, anyway?”

“What?  I feed him hamster pellets, like a normal, responsible pet owner!”  Arthur bent his thumb under Galahad’s chin and scratched. Galahad didn’t care, he was a hamster getting scratchies.

Lance scoffed.  “Yuk.  No wonder he wouldn’t eat.  I fixed that for you.”

Arthur groaned and turned to Vivi.  “A little help?”

Vivi sniggered.  “I’m the last person you should ask.  Mystery won’t even look at dog food.”

Arthur swung his stump in the hound’s direction. Mystery walked by, nose upturned. He wasn’t getting involved.  “He’s different!”  Arthur winced back when Vivi began fixing his vest collar.  He glanced at the flashlight Vivi carried, as she moved it behind her back.

“How do you know Galahad isn’t?” Vivi murmured. “We’ll start getting everything together.  You have the keys?”

Arthur nodded, only partially getting what Vivi had said.  He spun about and looked through the garage, the trucks and cars with hoods raised, the cough of a torch, the sparkle of embers and the buzz of electricity.  His element.  “It’ll be good goin’ back to what I know,” he spoke, softly.  “People think our work is easy?”  He chuckled.  “This is what I know.”  He looked down on his hand.  Galahad was curling down into a relaxed puff, little by little the hamster’s eyes slipped shut.

“Really, Art?” Vivi posed.  “Is that all?”  She frowned at the flashlight when she tried the switch, but it wouldn’t turn on.

“Well, that’s hardly it,”  Arthur admitted.  “A change of pace, I’m looking forward to it.  Huh Galy, you missed me?  Tell her.” Galahad was fast asleep.

Off a ways inside the repair shop, Lance hoots back, “Did you remember to plug your arm in?”

Arthur groans, and realizes he’s unable to face palm effectively.  “It’s not that kind of prosthetic!”

Some of the equipment needed retooling and inspection, following up the assortment and extended use they had taken throughout the course of the trip. They didn’t have the boxes or time at the hour to get the work done today, but Arthur did sift out some of the gear that got the heaviest wear, and took that on up along with a few personal bags. By a small marvel, Vivi managed to convince Arthur to cart up these items in smaller units, rather than the ‘superman’ trips Arthur was initially dedicated to.

One trip down, Lance managed to catch Arthur as he was bouncing down the steps from the top level.  Lance stood by the doorway that opened into the main work room, as Arthur was slinking by, and said, “If you need a few off, to get your bearings. I’ll understand.”  Lance raised his eyebrows when Arthur paused.  “We’re busy, but what’s new?”

“No, no,” Arthur chocked out.  “Vi and,” Arthur caught himself, and shook his train of thought off into a series of coughs.  “Mystery and Viv-vi.  They’ll unpack and stuff at her place, everything‘s cool.  Trust me, I kinda, um…need some distraction.”  Arthur reached a hand behind his neck and rubbed at the edge of his shirt collar.

Lance tugged his gloves a little tighter over his hands. It was no secret between uncle and nephew that Lance was deliberately avoiding the One question.  “Rough case?”

Arthur moved his hand up to a rub at his hairline, and nodded.  “Well, it was mostly— I mean, we did some other stuff along the way.”  Galahad was suddenly on his shoulder.  How he got there, Arthur was clueless to that rational. He scooped the Hamster off his shoulder and debated on whether Galahad could still fit in his pocket.  “Vivi drove most the way back, but she’s not expected back at the Tome Tomb for another two days.”

Lance nodded, without dropping his eyes from Arthur’s face.  “Don’t overwork yourself, lad.  If you need, ask one of the crew to take over.  But whatever you do,” and here, Lance’s voice got low.  “Don’t make me drag you away from your work. Understood?”

Arthur made a little sound as he nodded.  He clutched Galahad to his chest as Lance stepped forward and gave him a firm pat on his good shoulder.

“Now go do your thing.”  With that, Lance spun on heel and returned to the garage.  Arthur stood there for a moment, struggling to take that all in.

__

A question began to bubble within Vivi as she navigated the van, carefully, among the traffic of their hometown.  She wasn’t wondering about the final verdict of their case, didn’t mull over the reasoning of the College’s quick decision; she didn’t even fret over the prospect of Lewis assisting in unpacking what gear remained in the van, though she did ponder a multitude of small, unrelated, aspects.

“You’ve been to my apartment?  A couple times?”

Lewis, in the passenger seat, had looked from the window and stared at Vivi for a full minute.  It didn’t bode well with her.  “I think you… moved,” Lewis petered.  He peered up through the windshield at the complex of building clusters, all set about the acreage of land that was undoubtedly property to the same host.  “I don’t think, you never lived here.  From what I remember.”  Lewis didn’t want to say anymore.  “It’s nice though.”

“Thank you,” Vivi mumbled.  She guided the van through the entrance gate and rolled along the open asphalt parking lot.  There are a lot of cars parked in their respective spaces at the building entrance doors, open yard plots and brush filled up the areas that weren’t road. “I… y’know, I think I moved in the first place.”  She had a hard time putting it into words.  The implications, the sorrow budding in her soul; the yearning and sensation of forgetfulness – she forgot something.  The radio was sometimes left on, she always double checked the oven before she went out anywhere, nothing in her apartment had ever been misplaced, far as she knew – she had a bad habit of leaving small curious in inappropriate places, but never lost anything important.  It was this nagging in the back of her head, but now she knew the source of it. “—Felt like I had to get some space,” she settled on saying.  “This feels kind of open, and Mystery could get out and run like a normal dog.”

A subdued ‘oof’ bounced from the vans back.

The van was parked two spaces down from the entrance doors of the apartment cluster.  A cool breeze ran between the neighboring building clusters, tumbling down through the bare branches of the trees and ruffling Vivi’s cushy scarf.  The air around her was soaked in yellow with tinges of amber, or it could’ve just been the van she was standing beside.  It took a bit more time than estimated to let Arthur get himself unpacked, and the sun was already winding its way downward with every tick of the minute.  Soon it would be dark, but it would be dark in her own home.

Vivi shuddered and fixed up her scarf around her neck.  She rounded the side of the van and popped open the back doors.  Mystery was within, moving around the smaller bags that he could manage and some of the leftover groceries.

“Ugh, we should have left the ice chest with Arthur,” Vivi chided, aloud.  Mystery pinned his paws to the top of the cooler and shoved the sloshing box out of the way. “It’s his anyway.”  She looked up when the anticipated reassurance failed to drift her way.  The purplish pompadour was still hovering by the headrest, the door remained shut. “You okay, Lewlew?”

Lewis raised his shaded eyes over the bench seat. “You sure no one’s gonna care? Seeing me around?” Lewis’ voice took on a soft warble, the echoing tone that had drenched his shaded self.  “They might start asking around, getting nosy.” He had the door opened already and slid out, nearly slipped through the door itself.

“You’re kind of hard to miss,” Vivi muttered, as Lewis joined her.  She reached out and patted Lewis on his vest’s front. “Really, nobodies’ gonna ask about you. Most the tenants are so clueless about what’s going on around them – I actually thought there was an unnatural reason for that.  But! Trust me, it’ll be fine.”  She returned to the vans interior and began heaping up what bags she could manage; she didn’t want Lewis to catch the little hint of a scowl she felt tugging at her lips.  “Daylights awasting, better get a move on!”  On second thought, she shoved the accumulated bags up into Lewis arms.  “Got that?  Never mind, dumb question.”

Mystery lead the way.  He carried quite a bit for a dog, some of the backpacks and a sleeping bag were tied together and looped over his backside, an extra bag of groceries was clenched in his jaws.  He had some difficulty elevating himself in such a way, that didn’t force the bags to topple off his shoulders and onto the floor.  It took some coordination to get his paw up high enough to hit the elevators call button.

“I’m on the third floor,” Vivi mentioned.  The buzzer chimed as the doors opened to the lift. As the three boarded, Vivi hits the number panel with her elbow and backs up to make room for Lewis in the tiny box.  The doors grated shut and following a short intermission, a faint chime signaled the lifts begrudging ascent.

As the numbers morphed on the digital panel at the upper corner, Vivi bit at her lip in the stifling silence.  “But we… the group,” she began.  The elevator dinged, the number read two.  “I don’t know why I moved in the first place.”

Lewis glanced her way.  “Did Arthur help you?”

Vivi shook her head.  Not all the time Arthur spent in the hospital was for recovering from his amputation.  “Where would you stay?  Normally?” she inquired.  The lift chimed as the doors part, and Mystery led the way out.  Vivi didn’t move.  “You don’t have any place to hang out, is what I’m trying to say.  But I don’t remember if you were once crashing at my place, if that’s how we did it, and it felt really awkward to ask.”  She tilted her head sideways, a slight shrug. “You need someplace to… wait, how should I put this?  A place… where you’re known about, and don’t have to hide all the time?”

Lewis kicked his foot into the sliding door when it began to close.  He mulled over what Vivi was saying, though his thoughts had gone to another place. “Whoa, hold the phone!” he crowed. “Is that all that’s bothering you?”

Vivi squinted her eyes behind her glasses and nodded.  “Sort of. Last time, we didn’t really do anything about it?  You hung around the van, and even if it didn’t need to hit the shop, that wasn’t right.”

Lewis kicked the door again.  The elevator didn’t like him.  “That was fine?  Best for me,” he admitted.  “The van, it was a good place to start.  I told you this.”  Vivi marched by and Lewis followed, the elevator doors snapped at his rear. Lewis kicked a foot out backwards, the sound of his ‘heel’ hitting the door reverberated throughout the narrow corridor like a dish crashing on a tile floor.

Vivi whirled back.  “You WANT me to get evicted?”

“It started it!” Lewis defended.  He adjusted the bags in his arms and followed.  The hall wasn’t very long, and at the furthest door Mystery stood unable to sit or anything.  “De todos modos, como usted recordará?  I wasn’t really presentable during that time.”

Vivi scoffed a little.  “You hardly are now, but we manage.”  She swayed over to Lewis and nudged his side with her elbow.  “Mystery?  Which bag had the keys?”

When the door of the apartment opened a crack, Mystery zipped inside and hurried to a couch situated near the kitchens bar and doorway.  It was in the open living area, the sparse furniture there… felt empty.  A few petite lamps camped at the corners of the room, and the end tables of the couch sported Vivi’s customary candles.  There were pictures on the wall.

Mystery sprang onto the couch cushions and shrugged off the multitude of bags, then plopped down onto the carpeted floor and rolled on his back.  His fur was a mess!

“Don’t be so melodramatic,” Vivi chided.  She dumped her keys into a shallow basin on the kitchen counter, and added her collection of bags to those that Mystery had dumped. “I swear sometimes.”  She sighed, and looked through some of the grocery bags. “If you want to,” she spoke, as she looked to Lewis shutting the door.  “Wait, no, go back.  Lemme try again.”  Lewis stood and stared at her, baffled.  “You should stay here.  Would you?”

Lewis nodded.  He placed the bags he had – equipment, sacks, a pillow – onto the largest countertop inside the kitchen doorway.  The layout of the apartment was nice; it was sizable for the estimated square footage he reasoned the individual cells were spared on each floor. “If you don’t mind a… haunted apartment, I guess.”  He couldn’t resist saying it, and the clear delight that bloomed on Vivi’s face made it all worth it.

“Oh my gods, that’s right!” she cheered.  Vivi nearly bit into her knuckles when she clutched her fists against her chin.  “But wait, what if stuff starts to act up with you hanging around?  Should I be worried about that?”  And a little under her breath, “Guess I could do some freelance documentation.”

Lewis grinned, and took his sunglasses off. “Take it easy, my blue.  I’ll try and keep my influence to a minimum, if that eases your tension.”

“What tension?  This is gonna be cool!”  Vivi picked up two of her bags from the couch, and motioned over her shoulder. “Go ahead and make yourself comfy. I just gotta check the water closet right quick.  Unless, you wanna start puttin’ things away?  On second thought, I shouldn’t be asking that.  Just relax for now.  Settle in.”

Lewis moved over to the couch.  “Unless you really don’t want me to, I can start organizing the gear.  But it’s no problem.”  He looked through the grocery bags; no doubt the kitchen is where he should start. Mystery poked his head up and began nosing at the bag closest to him.

“I’ll leave it up to you, then,” Viv replied, as she walked into a connecting hall.  “Be out in a jiff.”

“Tome su tiempo,” Lewis responded.  Most of Vivi’s cabinets were tucked tight with instant meals and Ramen packets.  Lewis was in the process of putting away some of the chip bags he had picked up, when he picked up on the door click.  This was as good time as any.  “Mystery? Hey.”

Mystery had opened a package of pastry bear claws on an end table, and was lapping up the gooey icing stuck all over the wrapping. He glanced up when Lewis came over with a walkie-talkie from one of the bags.  What?  You can’t eat it.  The dog turned his snout down to examine the communicator, a piece of twine wrapped around the speak toggle.  Do you remember what happened last time we did that?  Mystery crossed one paw over the other and gave Lewis a reproaching stare.

“Just let me know if she gets out, before I get back. Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Lewis hissed.  “I have to… get something.”  Mystery took a deep breath and sighed.  “Do this for me, and I’ll cook you up a whole chicken.”  At that, Mystery’s eyes popped open.  “Rotisserie style, with bacon, butter, slow cooked.  You’re not willing to forfeit a chicken, are you?”

Mystery tapped his claws on the table’s surface. Lewis set the communicator down and left with another walkie-talkie in hand.

The shower was going when Lewis returned.  Pipes whistled within the walls, muffled by the depth of plaster and wood, the resonance’s depth lurched as Lewis seeped through the door.  Mystery still wrestled with his gooey desert, and was working to get his paws clean in the kitchen sink.  The dog glimpsed towards the kitchens entrance, upon hearing the apartment door shut delicately.  At current, Mystery was scrambling to heft his body up by his elbows the last few inches, in order to shut the sinks faucet off.

“Okay, so,” Lewis began, as he edged around the corner. He watched Mystery sit and begin drying his paws on the dishrag tucked around the handle of the fridge door. “Will you help me hide this?  She doesn’t know about it, right?  I guess I could’ve left it with Arthur, is he the one that hid this stuff?”

Mystery scrubbed his fur until most of the moisture was gone (it was such a chore), he barely gave Lewis his focus until he realized what it was Lewis had brought up.  Why do you have that!  The fur on Mystery’s shoulders stood on end, his glasses nearly fell from his snout.

“I’m not risking someone poking around and finding it,” Lewis hissed, face dimming and skull winking through momentarily.  “And you don’t have any better ideas.”

True.  Mystery released the rag and lowered one paw to the linoleum floor, the other he curled under his chin in his ponder.  His sharp ears twitched as he listened to the shower run, there were numerous areas in the apartment that Vivi flat out shut up and never revisited; any one might do, but it wouldn’t do to be rash about this.

Mystery made a decision.  He padded to the entrance of the kitchen, his steps slowing as he approached Lewis.  The hound turned his snout up and followed Lewis line of sight as he passed.  Lewis broke his gaze and took a large step out of the dog’s general perimeter.  Mystery gave his coat a hard shake, his dog tag rattled at his collar, but he kept walking. Lewis followed.

Parallel to the bathroom in the narrow hall was a door, and as Lewis suspected it opened up into a closet.  Lewis held the dust brushed container in one arm, as he held the door open with the other.  He listened to the shower running at his back and gauged how much time he ‘might’ have to work with.  If he knew Vivi like he thought, she didn’t savor a shower unless it wasn’t optional. Unless, celebratory returning home shower?  Well, Lewis didn’t need to get caught hanging around outside the door like this…. Ahem.

“She won’t look in here?” Lewis pressed.

For emphasis, Mystery sneezed.  The shelves within were filled with old books and an Encyclopedia collection of tattered used notebooks – the notebooks retirement home and graveyard.  Other shelves were stuffed with a few extra blankets, most in shades of blues and reds. The hound tilted his head far back on his shoulders and directed his snout to the topmost corner.  He used the lowest shelf before him to balance, and stood up on his back legs.  Mystery ambled sideways, nose and ears aimed at that shelf, he yapped, and clicked his jaws.

“I’m trustin’ you, then,” Lewis answered. Mystery shrugged his shoulders and dropped down to his four legs.  He sauntered off to the living area, leaving Lewis to his personal business.

The highest shelf wasn’t too high for Lewis’ stature, but he did raise himself an extra foot to allow for some careful organization. He shuffled around some overburdened boxes filled with knickknacks and curios, some he recognized from a far ago time, from another adventure.  Lewis concealed the box in the out of the way space, and packed in the other cartons that had been misplaced by its introduction.  A blanket, a wall of notebooks, and more boxes – but Vivi was sharp when it came to ‘organization.’  Lewis kept going, and began reorganizing some of the souvenir containers.  Actually, he recognized a lot of these things, but there were artifacts Lewis couldn’t bring himself to hardly look at.  He couldn’t decide if it was for some vague reason he disassociated with, or if it was the item itself.  Most of them were not typical charms, they were authentic but Lewis had never considered what that would mean until now.  It couldn’t be good for Vivi to be hoarding all this stuff.

Lewis must’ve been caught up in the fleeting touch with nostalgia for some of time.  He lost himself flipping through old journals, while looking at a large black cylinder of some sort of rock that might’ve been granite, but probably wasn’t.  The door beside him swung open, and Vivi very nearly stepped and into him.  

Freshly clothed, a towel tied around her head, Vivi brought her raised hands down to her face when she saw Lewis, but only for a splint second.  A collection of papers scattered through a flash of embers, the black stone hit the carpet with a Thump!  Vivi winced and shielded her eyes, more from the light than the wash of heat.

“Oh gosh, Lewis!” she gasped.  Vivi looked around, squinting.  The so named ghost was absent.  “Lew.  How’s it possible for a big guy like you, to get startled by someone like me?”  She tried to stifle a giggle as she knelt and gathered up the torn pages.  “Are you here, or did you vanish to Timbuctoo?”  There was no answer, and Vivi worried.  She postponed book retrieval and sat on her knees, staring about the thin slit of the hall.  It felt smaller now, confined.  “Lew?”

“I’m here,” the disembodied voice rang out, softly. From the hall, there was little of the living area itself that was visible, but that’s where the voice resonated from.  “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Vivi felt a little of the weight lift.  “I was getting nervous.  Do what you need.”  She dithered, as she flipped a page less notebook open.  “A-are you… okay?”

“Peachy,” Lewis answered.  It tried to sound chipper, his speech, but remained a little off. “Yeah, I was a little startled. Even big guys like me get spooked if you, y’know, sneak up on them.  You have a habit of doing that.”

Vivi sniggered, and resumed pulling the torn papers together – some of the edges were tinged yellow and black flacked off. As she tucked the pages together, she reviewed some of the presented files.  “I don’t know why I keep all this old stuff.  We put it all on the computer, eventually….”  This was partially a lie, it was hard to sit down and do more writing than was absolutely necessary.  “I should probably be more concerned with why you were poking around in my stuff.”

Lewis poked his head out around the halls end. “Mystery!  He said it was fine!”

A bark of indignation shot from the living room.

“This is your stuff too, though.”  Vivi rolled the weighty granite ball into the closet, beside a pair of red dog shoes.  “But that doesn’t excuse you for being nosey.”

Lewis stepped over to Vivi and crouched down. He had not managed to slip out of his death suit, but a vibrant purple ascot was wrapped about his collar.  “Lo siento, mi Estrella.  I…” Lewis reframed from uttering a noise of mangled, broken static.  Arthur had asked him about those ‘off noises’ he made occasionally, and Lewis was horrified to learn that the debative hums he thought he was making came across as the pop-crackle that faulty radio speakers were so eager to share.  “I think I’ll be sleeping on the couch.  Can I borrow some blankets?”

Vivi stuffed the pages into one of the stripped empty notebook, and gave Lewis a curious look.  She was without her glasses and the corridor was dark, but the locket on Lewis’ suit front was very bright.  Her eyes moved from it, to Lewis’ face.  “It’s not no where near time for bed,” she said.  “Besides, if you want a bed we’re bringing up the blankets too.  These are,” she reached over and patted one blanket on the shelf, and coughed.  “Not very hospitable, don’t you think?”

Lewis helped Vivi up when she began to rise; she stuffed the books back between their cousins and distant relations on the shelves. For a minute Vivi stood and stared at the cluttered shelves, possibly evaluating where she could stick the next new series of fresh documentations.  

“I’ll just head on down and unload some more stuff, then,” Lewis offered.  Vivi shut the door and walked with him to the living room.  A tall shelf by the window held the stereo, its radio was on and the volume low while Mystery listened.  Mystery let his head slump over the couches armrest, ears slanted comfortable as the dog dozed.  “You should rest for a bit,” Lewis went on.  He turned from the sight of Mystery, and indicated Vivi with a finger, lightly accusing. “And I know you didn’t let your guard down once, at all, on our way back.”  He froze when Vivi threw her arms around his sides and hugged.  “¿Qué, cariño?  I’m comin’ right back.”

Vivi mumbled into his chest.  “I know.  I wanted… I need to try and appreciate you more.”  She removed her hands from around Lewis and stepped back from him.  “I sometimes wonder….”  She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes with the end of her scarf.  “No, it’ll be fine.  Don’t get yourself lost, or I’ll come find you.”  A wide grin alit on Lewis face, and he leaned down to give Vivi a little peck on her forehead.  Vivi shivered, and Mystery gave one of his over-the-top dog sighs.

“You won’t even miss me.”  Lewis left her by the couch and went straight to the door.  He gave a small wave, before he pulled the door shut at his back.

Vivi had a hand to her face and was trying not to grin. She turned to Mystery when he grumbled noisily.  The hound was facing her now and had his arms crossed over the armrest of the couch, head tilted and a curious smirk on his snout.  Vivi was concerned for a moment, as Mystery’s bright eyes moved from her and over towards the door Lewis left by.  Mystery’s grin only grew wider.

Then it hit Vivi like a tsunami.  Vivi raced to the door, backpedaled and grabbed the sunglasses left on the countertop, then burst out the door screaming (as softly) as she could muster without alerting Kingsman Mechanics.  “Lew!  Wait! You’re not descent!”

[chelsfic]

Chapter 6/18 - Safety - Bucky Barnes x OC Soulmate AU

Masterlist

Summary: Soulmate AU! Bucky/OC. Our soulmarks appear at the moment of our soulmate’s birth. The Asset’s mark appears in the Spring of 1987. The words imprinted into the skin of his forearm. “Please! Don’t hurt me…”

A/N: I wrote this fic over the course of 2017-2018 and it was originally published on AO3. Recently, I decided to do some light revisions in order to fix inconsistencies in the POV, some awkward diction and typos. Please note–I’m aware that a lot of people love this fic just as it is. This is not a rewrite, I won’t be changing major plot points and I’m purposely leaving most of the writing alone. Just sprucing it up. Since I wrote this before I started posting fic to Tumblr, I decided to take the opportunity of posting the revised chapters here as I edit them. If you got to the end of this A/N: thank you!!!

Warnings: Kidnapping, Angst, Violence, Eventual happy ending

---

The windows of the (clearly stolen) SUV were tinted almost totally black. There was no hope that anyone in a passing car would be able to discern Sophie through the window--so that avenue of seeking help was cut off. Even if she was daring enough to attempt a tuck and roll in the middle of a highway she couldn’t. He’d tied her wrists together with a nylon cord and roped them to the headrest in front of her. This not only impeded her from unbuckling her seat belt and opening the door, it also meant that she couldn’t lean back in her seat or lower her arms. So this was her state: arms numb and tingling, head aching from all the crying she’d done, body sore from her brief but intense struggle with the man, and the muscles of her lower back forming into one giant knot.

And she had to pee.

Awesome.

She squirmed in her seat for the millionth time in a vain attempt to seek comfort in an alternate position. She hadn’t spoken since he’d loaded her into the car almost an hour before, but she couldn’t take it anymore. She wiggled her hands through the gap at the bottom of the headrest so her fingers could nudge the back of his neck. Even now, she felt the tingle ripple through their soul bond when she touched his skin. This is so messed up.

“Hey, um, you. Man, I wish I knew your name... Maybe we could pick one?” he continued to glower stormily ahead, ignoring her chatter. His silence, like everything else about him, unnerved Sophie. “C-can we please stop soon? I have to use the bathroom.”

Maybe politeness was the way to go. If she couldn’t escape she was going to have to change his mind about whatever mission he was so hell bent on completing. She knew that he felt guilty about putting her through all this, she could feel it. So, he was conflicted but he didn’t think he could disobey orders from whoever was controlling him. Maybe she could work with this. They had a soulbond after all...she could really lay it on him and go for the guilt factor.

“Please! I’m hungry too. I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.”

There it was. She felt the flair of guilt radiate through their bond. And something else. He was irritated with himself. Had he seriously forgotten about food?

“You have to feed me, you know. That’s, like, the care and keeping of soulmates 101. Food. And, you know, being nice to each other…”

He sighed quietly. “There’s a rest stop a few miles ahead. Will you make it?”

“Yes!” she squeaked hopefully. She returned to her quest for a more comfortable position, but left her fingers where they were, gently brushing the back of his neck. He hadn’t told her to move them after all. And even after all of this, physical contact with her soulmate felt...comforting.

---

The soldier had never considered what it would be like when he met his soulmate. He’d never had much time to consider anything outside his missions. He had the vaguest memory of the day they first discovered the mark. He’d felt...hope? It was the smallest spark but it was there, a seed planted within him all those years ago. Now she was here. But everything was wrong. He tried to think back to what he knew of soulmates and bonds. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be, was it? She wasn’t meant to be another mission. She was different, special. He felt the strong desire to protect her and keep her safe. He longed to hold her close to him but the exigencies of the last twelve hours had not allowed it. And now he had her tied up in the back of a stolen vehicle on their way to a Hydra conditioning center. This was all wrong.

When she said she was hungry he hated himself for not thinking of it last night. He’d taken her from her home when she was clearly already exhausted, driven her out of the city against her will, yelled at her, demeaned her, been physical with her and handcuffed her to a bed. And he’d neglected to consider her most basic human needs.

They pulled into the parking lot of a busy highway rest stop. He parked the vehicle and turned in his seat, looking at her with hesitation clearly written on his face. She seemed to read his expression. Or maybe she felt it through their bond. He could certainly feel her. She sent him a wave of comforting assurance.

“I...I won’t try to get away or anything. You don’t have to worry about that.”

She looked profoundly sad having to say those words. And the soldier felt another stab of self hatred that he had made her feel that he was someone to be escaped. He gave a single nod, took out his dagger and sliced through the cord connecting her wrists to the head rest. She nearly moaned in relief as her aching arms finally fell downward. He reached around the seat and gently unwound the cable from her wrists, wincing as the reddened skin beneath was revealed. He took a moment to rub up and down her arms, stimulating blood flow. The act of touching her seemed to fire his nervous system and the strange, invisible bond between them thrummed inside his chest. He tried to ignore the sensation. The girl sat there, eyes wide as saucers, staring at him.

He felt awkward as he spoke, “We’ll go inside and get something to eat.”

She gave him the smallest most pitiful smile and it quickly fell from her lips. But still, it touched the cold depths of his heart.

***

Inside the lobby of the rest stop, Sophie stood awkwardly at the man’s side. It was designed sort of like a mall food court with a few different food stalls lining the wall, a convenience store in one corner and a large bathroom entrance tucked into another corner. She shifted back and forth on her feet a little. He noticed her discomfort and immediately stalked toward the restrooms, his hand gently grasping her elbow.

“I’ll wait right here,” he said, indicating the spot immediately outside the ladies room. She nodded and went inside. She could still feel the tumult of his emotions riding through the soulbond. It pained her to feel her soulmate so conflicted. But the pain was justified, after all. This was not how it was supposed to be. She shuffled into the ladies room and made her way to the nearest stall. The bathroom was huge and she didn’t have to wait, thank God.

When she was finished she stood at a long bank of sinks rinsing her hands and staring at herself in the mirror. She looked...not good. She stood there for several minutes, allowing the never-quite-warm-enough water of the tap to run over her hands as she stared ahead. Her mind was blank, as if it’d had enough frantic thinking for one day and had given up. She nearly screamed when a redhead, slightly taller than herself slid up behind her and spoke into her ear.

“Sophie, follow me quietly we’re leaving here. I’m taking you someplace safe, understand?”

She locked eyes with the woman in the mirror, clearly weighing her options. Sophie had no idea what she was caught up in and didn’t know for sure that she’d be able to differentiate between help or danger. But something in the woman’s crystalline green eyes conveyed her sincerity and she silently nodded, following her into a supply closet at the back of the bathroom she hadn’t even noticed. As they entered she realized it wasn’t a closet at all, but a service corridor with an exit to the outside. The woman slunk ahead of her, cracked the exit door open and motioned to someone outside. Before she knew what was happening the woman was gone and she was being ushered into yet another nondescript vehicle by a couple of stoic looking men in dark suits. They shut the door behind her and she was alone. The A/C in the car blasted and she shivered against the cool leather upholstery.

About half a minute after they’d stuck her in the car she heard distant shouts and pops like fireworks...or guns. Then she felt the sickening tug on her soulbond. He was in pain, and panicked. She sensed his worry for her and his fear and confusion. She threw open the car door and burst forward, fully intending to find him and make sure he was okay. The men in suits immediately grabbed her and refused to allow her to leave.

“Let me go, please!” she shouted. “He needs me! He’s hurt!”

“Calm down, miss. Barnes will be just fine. Orders are to capture not kill.” She realized this dumb dumb had meant to comfort her, but the words capture and kill weren’t really doing it.

She growled furiously and struggled against them but they wouldn’t budge. She could still feel the man’s fear pulsing into her. In desperation she tried to comfort him, sending him waves of affection and peace. But if they got through to him she couldn’t tell.

She heard a tinny voice coming over a radio, “Suspect in custody. Is Ms. Reynolds accounted for?”

One of the men pulled a walkie talkie from his hip and responded, “We have her, Sir.”

“Alright, everyone proceed to SHIELD HQ, we’ll be right behind you.”

Sophie didn’t have time to consider what was happening as the men herded her back into the freezing cold car. She could only ponder the sudden quiet that had come over her bond mate.

tagged: @watsonwise​

[thoschei-rights]

Even more Who Fic ideas I can’t write bc I’m lazy

Okay maybe not lazy- I don’t think I’m lazy? I just really struggle keeping attention, and after a paragraph I’m bored? I struggle to stick with thing?? Idk? I dunno how to explain- but yeah take my ideas and run with them if you like them?? Heck if you write them, hit me up, and I’ll literally link them in this post <3

Okay so some of these exist already but they’re all mostly text fics? But can we please have more Eleven/Dhawan!Master fics?? I think the fandom has mostly just accepted their original meeting was while he was Eleven because he’s the only New Who Doctor not to have a Master Post-Ten? (Look I bolded post-ten so yall don’t think I’m ignoring Nine and The War Doc??) Can we not have the Master lowkey flirting with Eleven and Eleven being flustered af bc Eleven was a baby :’) Idk? I just- I have no excuses haha

This is an idea Ive had for a while, because I like River and y’know? Space Wives?? Please? :’) But anyway, my biggest love would be Thirteen in the Library episodes? Thirteen lowkey infiltrating the exploration squad or whatever the fudge they were called, she could pass as a normal person albeit a bit eccentric? Because River definitely doesn’t know that face if the Husbands of River Song is anything to go by? Thirteen promising herself she’s not there to get involved or change anything, she’s just there to see River one more time- but then Oop- she get’s involved gg :’) Its up to you how much she changes, if anything gets overwritten? Go crazy yo-

This prompt contains Broadchurch S2 spoilers btw Okay this one is a crossover? Sorry. Normally I’m not a crossover person, I just don’t like them most of the time unless they’re really well written? I read an amazing D:BH x Marvel crossover once?? ANYWAY. I’m going off on one... Broadchurch x Who fics aren’t rare.. but ones including Thirteen are hella rare and it makes me so sad?? But anyway, I finished season 2 the other day and lol at they end, Paul is all like lol bye Joe off to Sheffield you go... and I’m just there fucking screaming? Imagine right? Joe is just chilling in Sheffield being the shitstain that he is? And he sees Thirteen? and he’s like? fuck? what? help? Extra points if she’s being super gay with Yaz or she’s lowkey with the Master :’) but either way Joe is pissing himself bc he’s like holy fuck i’m being haunted or karma or- idk :’) extra extra points if Thirteen spots this random human staring and thinks he’s being homophobic or racist or smth and she lowkey gives him a glare and hESHJBF,DJKBFHDHJKFSDG I’m fine. fuck. i’m honestly fine. Joe deserves jail thanks he made my baby cry :ccc

nOW I have that out of the way- iMAgine lets kill hitler but when River gives him her regenerative shizzle, it heals him yes, but he also regenerates into Twelve? bc by this point the ponds have witnessed Mels > River regeneration so they’re aware of the concept? but now? their young energetic puppy of a doctor is a grumpy scot? and they’re whiplash af? but they aren’t the type to get judgemental? bc he’s still the doctor? I think if the ponds ever had to deal with a regen, they’re definitely in the group that would be accepting and wouldn’t taken ten years to get over it (LOOKING AT YOU CLARA YOU MEANIE???) Rory having a mid-life crisis bc now he has TWO anger scot peoples 

Clara breaking Thirteen out of prison bc we’ve all seen the Jack versions but hi Clara can’t get back to Gallifrey to be put back in her timestream if iTS ALL DESTROYED SO IS SHE IMMORTAL??/ Anyway yeah Clara is like lmao psyche I’m gonna go save the dork from prison bc ur not telling me she doesn’t keep tabs on him? pft. Thirteen is like woah holy shit Clara? and Clara is like woah holy shit yoU REMEMBER ME AND YOU’RE GORGEOUS AND WOAH SHIT NOW IM GAY?? :’) and then Jack bursts in and he’s like oh i was late which one of you are the doctor- :’) 

Asylum of the Daleks except Eleven literally takes Dalek Oswin with him? and news spreads among the universe? the doctor and a dalek> traveling? together? it causes the biggest shOOKETH in the history of shOOKETHs? imagine landing places and peoples reactions to a fuCKING DaleK OH SHIT WE GON DIE but then woah?? a literal sassy female-sounding dalek? hi bye wtf? Yes. We stan Dalek Oswin.

Thasmin bc I need to make sure yall know deSPITE THE USERNAME I DO ACTUALLY DIE FOR THASMIN TOO YKNOW??? anyway, the house-tardis (housis) likes Yaz, bc everyone likes Yaz, have you met her? she’s precious? we love? anyway the housis takes Yaz to the Doctor bc Yaz is lowkey begging bc she needs to save her- she doesn’t know what happens but- she hopes and- anyway the housis takes her to prison and yeet Yaz is a badass and breaks her out? Thirteen is like woAH im gay af when Yaz deadass throws a guard over her shoulder or smth and she’s like I DONT APPROVE OF TH E VIOLEN C E but she’s also gay crisis af :’) we just have lots of prison break alternatives in this church

Can i throw in another broadchurch crossover? I like these... The Master escapes the Kasaavin realm and ends up in Broadchurch? He’s bare confused why everyone looks like the doctor or his/her/their human pets :’) he lowkey does double takes every two seconds. without a tardis he’s forced to live as a human for a bit, while trying to contact the doctor, bc as much as he doesnt wanna admit it, he needs her to give him a lift to his tardis lmao- anyway she eventually turns up and idk , everything falls to shit bc the general public are so confused bc now there’s two beths :’)

the fam end up in petes world after a shitshow in the votex :’) maybe someone crashes into them (lol probably the master being a bish) and yep. thirteen is like o shit nope i cant do this- but the fam wanna explore, so she can’t refuse. and ofc, cliche af but oFC THEY RUN INTO ROSE? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WE NEED BLONDE BABIES TOGETHER THANKS? maybe thirteen is trying to pretend to be normal and human and its a disaster and the fam are confused but play along, maybe they’re dragged into an alien issue and its all running and shit? maybe meta doc is dead? maybe thirteen wants to tell rose who she is so bad but? she cant? things are so different now? she’s changed so much> she’s scared? jkhflkjhg precious- but yeah take it as you wANT YO

the fam meeting missy. you can set missy pre-dhawan, post-dhawan, I’m not bothered? personally I really like post-dhawan but it’s fine. the fam are like oo whose this aND IT DOESNT CONNECT THEY’RE THE MASTER BC MISSY IS A NORMAL NAME SO THEY DONT THINK- but then it comes to light and they’re like HYJKFGUIGFDSLUHGSUHL maybe they’re angry and confrontational, maybe they’re defensive and shook?? i dunno but missy and fam are the dream squad thanks-

same as last time, this has lots of typos and gramatical errors, shit punctuation and half the time i forgot to capatalize... BUT i lowkey have a big ass bandage around a finger on my left hand and its hard to type- (i was a numpty and cut a bit off my finger at work) SO YEAH I HAVE AN EXCUSE- ?? haha jokes im just a mess... but yeah I’ll fix this post up evenbtually... 

[rideonwings]

The Talk

A/N: This idea was eating away at my brain for almost a month, but I never had time to sit down and write it… except at work. Oops.

A few things before we begin: While the premise of this is funny and awkward, this fic really isn’t meant to be. I feel like this is the conversation that needs to be had with teenage boys, more than just the regular ol’ birds and bees. We always see the super romantic fluffy fics with everyone getting off their first time and being instantly good at sex… let me tell you, not my experience. Therefore, I wanted a conversation about how the key to good sex is really about understanding your partner, rather than just making Hiccup instantly a sex god… I may do follow ups on this, but again… I can only write at work, so…. We’ll see.

I also really wanted to write from Stoick’s point of view, but not sure how well I actually captured him.

Comments & constructive criticism is always appreciated. I did write this really fast, so I apologize for any typos and mistakes.

Takes place after RTTE, before HTTYD2

Word vomit over. On ff.net here https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13358746/1/The-Talk

The Talk

As he slid off Skullcrusher with a thud, Stoick gave a deep sigh of relief. It was good to be back on home soil. As much as he appreciated the efficiency of riding dragons, he missed the days of sailing from a comfort perspective. Sitting abreast a large dragon for twelve hours at a time wore at his old joints.

Still, they’d made great time, arriving half a day earlier than expected thanks to Skullcrusher’s innate ability to find the quickest way home. Stoick chuckled as he removed his saddle from the dragon, watching the beast shake himself in relief, probably appreciating the break from a 300lb man riding him as well.

The sun was just beginning to dip beneath the western hills as the chief made his way towards his home, only to hear a familiar voice.

“Back early, Stoick?” Gobber’s voice rang out from the forge, the man’s head poking out from the service window. Stoick made his way towards the shop, ignoring his sore feet and the twinge in his back. As he walked through the low doorway, greeted by the welcome heat from the forge, he looked around for his son but came up empty. He sat heavily on a bench as Gobber handed him a tankard – he always kept a supply of mead in his shop for cold nights – and sat on Hiccup’s stool across from him, his own tankard attachment strapped to his arm. “How’d the talks go?”

Stoick took a long draw from his drink, sighing happily, before answering. “Good, Beserkers are willing to stick to the terms we agreed to last year, Alvin’s looking for a little more investment to help rebuild Outcast Island’s guard, but we were able to come to agreeable terms overall. There’s been less dragon hunter activity overall, but they’re keeping steady eyes on the west, just in case that Krogan creep reappears.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t take Hiccup with you, considering he helped form all those alliances in the first place.” Gobber replied, reaching down to fiddle with his peg-leg.

“The boy’s been flying all over trying to save the archipelago for going on three years, I figured he could use some time at home. He won’t have many years left where he can just be a boy, you know?” He surveyed his son’s workbench, neatly organized tools contrasting the scattered pile of papers no doubt filled with sketches of saddles and dragons. “Where is he, anyways?”

“He was in early this morning so I let him out about half-an hour ago. Astrid met him, I believe they were going to go for a flight before dinner.”

Stoick nodded, and the two continued their small talk for a few minutes before the chief grabbed his travel bag and bid his farewell.

As he approached his home, he noticed Toothless asleep on the roof, his tail gently swaying back and forth absently. Stoick was slightly surprised Hiccup would be back so soon – it was a beautiful night for a flight after all, and they wouldn’t have many good weather days left – but was too tired to think much of it as he reached for the door.

“Astrid.” He heard as the door opened quietly (Hiccup had fixed the creaky hinge months ago), a soft moan that sounded distinctly unlike his son’s normally pitchy voice.

To his shock (and mild horror), his eyes snapped to the source of the sound finding Astrid straddling Hiccup, who was laying on the floor by the fire, the two of them closely entwined (though thankfully clothed), with Astrid’s lips fastened tightly to the underside of his son’s jaw. Hiccup’s eyes were closed, his hands in her hair and gripping her upper thigh, just under her skirt, as Astrid chuckled softly against his throat.

It said something about how… involved… they were, that neither teen had noticed his approach – he wasn’t exactly subtle when he walked.

Stoick dropped his bag.

The two teens froze, whipping their heads towards the door and jumping apart, Hiccup scrambling for a nearby blanket and covering what was obviously a very uncomfortable situation in his trousers. Astrid darted a good five feet back from him, resting her back against a chair and looking at Stoick in horror, while Hiccup clamped his eyes closed as though he could block the whole situation out.

Feeling no more comfortable than they, Stoick cleared his throat. “Honey, I’m home.” He said, hoping to break the tension that had settled in the room like ice.

It wasn’t like he was entirely surprised. The two had become a couple over the last year or so, and their romance had been building for far longer than that. He’d seen them kiss a number of times, soft pecks on the cheeks to once, while looking for Gobber, spotting them tucked in the corner of the forge, wrapped so tightly around each other that he’d need two dragons to pull them apart if he’d wanted to. He wasn’t upset by it. They were clearly in love, and their relationship was solid and respectful.

He remembered being in that kind of swirling love, chasing Val into dark rooms, drawn by her scent and her coy smiles. They’d done far more than he’d just encountered. And, if he were honest with himself, he was pleased, pleased that after everything, Hiccup had found someone that made him happy the way Val had for him.

Still…

That embrace that he’d just interrupted, that had been going somewhere. Their flushed cheeks and shaking hands signaled that maybe this had been more than just a typical necking session.

They’d planned to have the whole night alone…

He hadn’t prepared for this. He hadn’t prepared Hiccup for this.

“Astrid,” he said softly. “Why don’t you head on home.” Astrid’s eyes darted to his, then to Hiccup, then back to her hands in her lap.

“Chief, sir… we weren’t… it was my idea…” Astrid stammered, sounding entirely unlike herself as Hiccup shifted awkwardly, moving towards his prosthetic, which Stoick just noticed he wasn’t wearing.  

Stoick cut her off. “It’s alright, lass, you’ll get him back. I just want to speak with him.” She still didn’t move immediately, wringing her hands. “And I won’t say a word to your parents either.” He finished. Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

He grabbed his rucksack off the floor from where he’d dropped it and moved into his bedroom to give them a moment of privacy. Their soft whispers drifted into the room as he began to sort through his bag.

“I can stay, really.”

“No, go. It’ll only be more awkward.”

A short pause, followed by the soft sound of the press of lips together.

“I’ll see you later, okay?” Astrid sounded guilty as she said it, but as Stoick rounded the corner into the room again, she was helping Hiccup to his feet and pulling him into a hug. Almost defiantly, she pressed her lips to his one last time before gathering her things and heading to the door.

Before she could close it behind her, they heard her mutter to Toothless: “What kind of guard-dragon are you, anyways…” before stomping off.

Hiccup was sitting facing the fire when Stoick turned back to him, his thin shoulders set in a tight line, head hung. Stoick sighed exasperatedly.

“Oh honestly, boy, I’m not going to beat you.” He said, patting Hiccup’s shoulder as he walked behind him. He then walked to their small kitchen and grabbed two tankards, filling them with mead from the small barrel he kept on hand. He handed one to Hiccup as he sat in the chair nearest to him. Hiccup took it, still avoiding his gaze. The lad wasn’t much of a drinker, but they’d both need it to get through this conversation. “It’s not like I haven’t been in your shoes.” Stoick continued, “I was once your age and in love, I can’t blame you for acting on it.”

Hiccup raised his head for the first time, worrying his lip. “I… we… haven’t exactly…”

Stoick leaned forward, meeting those bright green eyes. “You haven’t done the deed?” Hiccup swallowed heavily, then shook his head. Relief coursed through Stoick. “Well, at least I’m not too late then. Go on, drink. You’ll be wanting it.” He paused, drinking from his own tankard for a moment. “How much have you done?” He asked, almost afraid of the answer.

Hiccup sputtered in his drink, coughing as it attempted to go down his airway. “Oh come now, son, if you’re not mature enough to talk about this, you’re certainly not mature enough to do it.”

Hiccup looked like he’d rather be eaten by a dragon than have this conversation, clearly forcing himself to speak as he said, “Nothing… below the waist…. I guess.” He said haltingly.

Stoick nodded, ignoring the squirming feeling in his stomach. It was weird to think of his little boy in this context, but he had to admit that Hiccup hardly looked like a little boy anymore. While still thin and wiry, his muscles had become more defined and he’d filled out significantly. It wasn’t as hard to think of him as a man. A man with urges. Stoick tried not to dwell on it too long.

“Dad, you don’t… I know how the…” Hiccup coughed, looking to the ceiling, like he was hoping it would come crashing down on his head. “…mechanics work.”

“Oh, I have no doubt of that. You can hardly get to your age and not hear the stories. Hel, you probably heard them before you knew what you were hearing.” He took a long drink from his tankard. “That’s not what I’m worried about, son. I trust you to be safe and do right by her if she were to come with child.”

Hiccup met his eyes, steeling himself before saying quietly, “She’s been taking the herbs1 for a while now, just in case.” He paused before adding. “Since before we were really together. She was worried what might happen if she were captured by Viggo’s men and they… well…” He swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes tightly shut to block out the horror of that thought. He then took several long swallows of mead.

Stoick’s stomach dropped, both admiring Astrid’s intelligence and horrified that she had felt that might be necessary. “Smart girl.” Was all he said, taking another long drink himself.

His tankard was already nearly empty, and Hiccup wasn’t too far behind. He stood, taking the mug from his son and refilling them before returning to his chair. “Look son, I’m not here to scold you, I’m not even here to tell you not to do it.” He said, reaching forward to hand him his mug, allowing his hand to rest on his shoulder for a moment. “You’ve grown in to a fine young man, you’ll be nineteen in a few short months, you’ve got a solid, healthy relationship with a smart, strong woman. You could do a lot worse.” He chuckled, and Hiccup smiled weakly at him, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m not telling you not to do it,” Stoick continued, leaning back in his chair, “and I’m not going to give you the typical speech most fathers tell their sons.” Hiccup paused with his tankard halfway to his lips.

“What do you mean?” He responded, confusion lacing his voice. “What…” he trailed off.

Stoick stayed silent for a minute, organizing his thoughts in his head, remembering his first night with Valka. How she’d cried, how horrified and ashamed he’d been to have hurt her, how she’d been so torn up in thinking she wouldn’t make a good wife because she couldn’t enjoy it, how it had taken them a long time to find ways to make her enjoy it the way he did. And some men never tried to learn. Hiccup may not have Stoick’s bone structure or bulk, but without the proper care…

Hiccup would not be one of those brutes.

“Son…” he started, his voice softer, and Hiccup’s eyes showed surprise at the change in tone. “Those men, the men that sing bawdy tales of conquering women and ‘taking what’s theirs’…those men are not real men. Any man that has to tell others what a man he is in bed, is no man you’d want to imitate.”

Hiccup nodded, opening his mouth to speak but Stoick stopped him. “You know that I have no tolerance for rapists on my island, it’s the quickest way to get sent to Outcast Island for sure. But what most men don’t understand is that even in their own marriages, everything should be equal. If the woman isn’t interested, or isn’t enjoying it and the man insists, that’s the same as rape in my mind. It’s just much harder to enforce.”

“I’d never…You know I’d never” Hiccup swallowed, moving to put his mug down before changing his mind and taking another drink. He waited for his father to continue, obviously lost for what to say.

“Look, son… here’s the simplest way to put it.” Stoick said, forcing himself to meet his son’s eyes, which were big and concerned. “Sex, it’s a powerful thing. It’s one of the best feelings in the world for a man, especially when you’re with someone you love. Once you start, you’re not going to want to stop.

“But for a woman… it’s different. Yes, if you take the time and learn her body, if you really take the time to care, it’s the same for them, you’ll have a wonderful relationship and many happy encounters.” Stoick cleared his throat, forcing himself not to think too hard about the fact that this was his son he was speaking to, trying not to picture anything beyond what he had to.

“But if you force it, if you rush into it and hurt her, you’ll hate yourself for it for the rest of your life. They’re more complicated in their pleasure than we are, son. They can be hurt easily and might not say a thing about it because they don’t know they shouldn’t have to.”

He drained the last of his mug, setting it down on the table in front of him. Hiccup followed suit, staring at it intensely, though his cheeks were red from the alcohol and conversation topic.

“I’d never hurt her.” The young man said finally, “You know I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. I love her too much.” He met his father’s eye for a moment. “Anyways, she’d probably clobber me if I did, even by accident.”

“You’d be surprised.” Stoick replied. “Many women think it’s their burden to bear, that they have to go through that just to bear children. Others know different, but many think that sex is not for them to enjoy, just to service their husbands.” He shrugged. “We generally try to dissuade that thinking here, but it’s an old way that’s carried through many generations. Astrid’s a warrior, she might just bite through the pain and not admit to it.”

Hiccup looked dismayed, standing up and beginning to pace. “Then how do I know?” The alcohol had obviously loosened his tongue a bit, allowing him to speak more freely without as much embarrassment. “How do I make sure she never feels pain?”

On one of his passes, Stoick grabbed his elbow, his arm dwarfed in the chief’s enormous hand, and pulled him back to his chair.

“You communicate with her. You talk to her, find out what she likes, what she doesn’t… you go slow and take your time and learn her. I can’t tell you what Astrid would like anymore than I could tell you what Gobber would like…” He paused, scowling. “Eh, scratch that, I know too much about that…. The point is, everyone is different, so as long you take your time and are patient and caring, you’ll be fine. The first time will always be a bit painful, just since it’s new, but be gentle and take your time, and you’ll be just fine, son.”

Stoick stood up and walked the short distance to Hiccup, putting his hands on those small shoulders and crouching to meet his eyes. “Hiccup, I know you. You’re the kindest person I know, I don’t doubt you’ll be good to her. I just want you to have the best relationship you can with Astrid, and not make some of the mistakes I did when I was young.” Hiccup looked at his father questioningly. “I made up for it, in the end, but still. I’d rather you not have to.”

Hiccup nodded, draining the rest of his tankard before taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Dad.” He said quietly, “I… I appreciate that you care enough to tell me this. And…sorry, you had to come home to that.”

Stoick laughed. “It’s alright, laddie, like I said, I’ve been there in the past. Now, it doesn’t look like you were planning on cooking dinner tonight, what do you say we head down to the hall?”

It took them a minute to gather their things and make their way out the door. Stoick noted with amusement that Hiccup’s feet were a bit unsteady from the mead, his cheeks flushed and his eyes a little hazy. The boy had come a long way from the talking fishbone he’d been, but he still lacked a Viking’s ability to hold his drink.

As they entered the hall, Hiccup walked beside him as the villagers welcomed Stoick home, accepting pats on the back from the people who had deemed him the ‘Pride of Berk” – a name that still made Hiccup blush fervently.

After filling their plates, they sat down with their respective friends, Hiccup flanked by Tuffnut, who handed him a mug of wine, and Fishlegs. Stoick watched in amusement as his son tried to pretend he hadn’t just had an extremely awkward encounter, drinking from his mug perhaps a bit more heavily than he should.

After a moment, Astrid appeared from the crowd, looking over to Stoick tentatively before walking over to her betrothed with a confidence that the chief was sure was for his benefit. Fishlegs easily made room for her and she sat beside Hiccup, leaning in close and resting her forehead against his own. After a moment, Hiccup dipped his head into the corner of her neck, pulling her tightly to him and whispering something. The other riders carried on obliviously, Tuff and Snotlout arguing back and forth about something nonsensible and Fishlegs making eyes at Ruff across the table.

The two lovers held each other in their own bubble for a few moments longer, soft words exchanged between the two of them, before separating. Hiccup started to eat and Astrid pressed a kiss to his hairline before standing. She made her way to the casks of water and poured two tankards for them, before looking reluctantly towards Stoick, catching his eye. Clearly fighting with herself, she finally gathered the courage to walk his way, stopping by the enormous man with an odd look on her face.

Stoick waited for her to speak, the adults around him engrossed in conversation with hardly a care for the girl’s presence. She leaned in to him.

“Look… I don’t know what you said to him…” She started awkwardly, her voice barely above a whisper. “All he said is that you weren’t mad, and that he never wanted to hurt me, never wanted to disappoint me.” Stoick smiled softly, encouragingly. “I just…” She continued, taking a deep breath. “Thank you… for understanding. And for not being mad.” She paused. “I really do love him, you know.” She said, nodding at him before turning on her heel and returning to Hiccup’s side.

Stoick smiled, watching the girl – no, the woman – move back across the room, sitting beside his son and pressing another kiss to his cheek.

They’d be just fine.

1 I know that herbs probably aren’t adequate birth control…. But come on, we’re in a universe with dragons. I’m calling that sufficient if I want to.

[vintagereveries]

Converts: The Love Story of a Primitive Man and a Suffragette by Joan Paul

This entry is part 5 of 14 in the series The Modern Priscilla - July 1913

You can see how the issues of womens’ suffrage had made it into the mainstream by 1913! This is a fictional story about a love triangle between a suffragette, a non-suffragette woman, and an eligible bachelor. The gold digger, Stella, ultimately changes her ways and selflessly ends this story by bowing out of her pursuit of the wealthy Mr. Carlton and letting Gwyndolyn “have him”. I found it while scanning through the July 1913 issue of The Modern Priscilla. I’ve included the text (extruded from the image- so excuse typos). I think it’s a fascinating document of womens history, and the social history of voting rights in the USA.

  PRECEDING CHAPTERS.— Gwendolen Allison and Estelle Rankin, occupying neighboring apartments in New York, are both young women of the modern type and possessed of independent means, but here the similarity ceases, Givendolen being ardently deroted to the cause of equal suffrage, while Estelle is chiefly concerned in securing the good things of life for her personal gratification. While on a visit to the country she meets Howard Carlton, who seems to her all that is desirable in the way of a husband,—rich, handsome, and talented. He comes to New York and on the way to a Fifth Avenue tea-room with Estelle meets G wendojen while she is marching in the cause of suffrage. At once there springs up a feeling of mutual sympathy, and Mr. Carlton receires his first introduction to the reasons for the demands for equal suffrage. He begs for permission to meet her again, and then Estelle, with a parting injunction to her friend not to get’ too hot and unwomanly, takes him away with her. The second meeting takes place unexpectedly in Gwendolen’s apartment where Stella has sent Carlton to wait for her while she dresses to go out with him. Gwendolen is led by Carlton’s teasing to make a splendid plea for equality. He is impressed with the intensity and fineness of her emotion. In showing him a new picture her finger is scratched. A quick, sympathetic hand-clasp rereals them to each other, and before either can realize what has happened Stella is calling that she is ready. There is an accident in which Carlton is injured. Stella is unharmed. Gwendolen, ‘unable to stand the situation, decides to go away from New York, but does not leave until several notes from Carlton have made her feel sure that she is in danger of wrecking Stella’s happiness, Carlton resolves to follow her as soon as he is able.

I F only that infernal doctor would let him loose !

Perhaps,—here a little cold chill came over

his thoughts—perhaps she had some reason for running away. Perhaps suffragettes did not really want to marry, as Stella Rankin had once said !

“Miss Thomson,” he–ealled, and his special nurse, a plain, grim-faced woman, rose from her seat at a table and came towards him. She had hoped he had gone to sleep and that she was going to have some peace.

“Yes, sir.”

“Miss Thomson, are you a suffragette?”

Miss Thomson’s thin lips looked scornful. “No, indeed,” she said.

“And why not, pray?” Her tone annoyed him.

“Well, Mr. Carlton,” nurse’s arms folded about her own angular waist, “I don’t believe in women being better than men.”

“But who said they wanted to be better than men?” he asked. “I don’t know, I—I—” . Miss Thomson walked with a worried expression to the open door, as if expecting, or hoping, some one outside was calling her. “You musn’t talk so much. And anyhow, Mr. Carlton, a woman’s place is the Home !” ‘ “And anyhow,” Carlton had to raise his voice and head as his adversary was slipping away. “Anyway, it wouldn’t take a woman twelve months in , the year, nor twelve hours in the day to put her name in a ballot-box ! And anyhow—” but realizing he was addressing himself to empty air, he sank back more comfortably amongst his pillows, his keen sense of humor rising to the situation and bringing a smile to lips which had been drawn, till now, with discontent and pain. NURSE had (Tone on down the corridor, and coming toward her were his sister, Mrs. Vanderhyde, and Stella, on a visit to the patient. “Mr. Carlton is not at all well to-day,” she said, bristling with importance and rather ruffled after her skirmish in the sick-room. “He has something on his mind, I fancy. ‘Woman’s suffrage,’ now it seems,” she laughed. Mrs. Vanderhyde, who did not like Miss Thomson, passed on to her brother’s room ; but Stella lingered, arrested by a thought—and did a thing she never afterwards remembered without a flush of shame! She questioned the ruffled nurse and found out several things about suffrage literature, red roses, and a registered letter sent just before his relapse the day before to a woman whose name was on the cover of a book on the table. She remembered many things she might not otherwise have noticed, and when she followed on into Canton’s room she was a very angry person indeed. She remained there long enough to re-

arrange some books on the table by his side, finding Gwen’s signature on two of them, then excusing herself on the grounds of the patient’s restlessness, went away. Later when Mrs. Vanderhyde rose to go she bent over her worried-looking brother and begged him to tell her anything he needed, or that she could do. Short of bringing the North Pole to him, she would do it ! “There is something you can do, Lai,” he said. “Introduce Miss Stella to Teddy Everton, he will take her about, and—and fill up her odd moments. Also will you make up that yachting party we thought out last week and invite him and her ?” “But, dear boy,” Mrs. Vanderhyde looked surprised, “I thought you were ePris there?” “Not at all, not at all, only a mutually arranged entertaining society, nothing more.” “Why, I’m sorry,” and her face expressed the disappointment she felt. “I did think—and she’s such a charming girl, dear !” “I know all about it, Lal ; but it’s no use. We’ve met heaps of charming girls ! With pretty gowns and things to amuse them they will always remain ‘charming.’ But, Lal, I’ll be better —of some use, perhaps, with something more. .Dear, don’t ask me. And Lal, I am not going on the yacht this trip. Count me out, but don’t let on to anybody till the last. day, I don’t want to be questioned.” He looked so childish with his brown eyes, pleading from under the white bandages covering his forehead, that his adoring sister, astonished though she felt, could only bend over and kiss him tenderly. There was something so pathetic about this strong man laid low. “All right, old boy. You may reckon on me, you know. You have your reasons I guess and I wish you luck ! Good-by,”—as she moved away. “Be good and do what Nurse tells you,” and she laughed at his answering grimace. But she did as she had been requested, and Teddy Everton from that evening forth became Stella’s devoted attendant. Stella herself proved not averse to his attentions, town was getting empty and things were dnll ; but she had made up her mind to being Mrs. Howard Carlton, and redoubled her efforts to charm and amuse the invalid in every possible spare moment. The opportunities were hers, Gwen was away, Carlton could not anyhow have met her more than three. times, there was all the yachting tour to look forward to in his company—he would forget if she, Stella, made herself indispensable to him. In that, however, she was wrong. A man worth counting never values the too easily attainable ! Moreover this was a man who, rarely influenced, did not easily forget. To him, Gwen’s spirit alone filled all space ; into a future without her he could

not look ; so it was possible he never even noticed 1he attention and care by which he was surrounded. So day after day went by till convalescence was reached, then strength regained, and the invalid forgot his pains in plans and preparations for the yachting party—and something else which in odd moments would make him pause, gazing into space with desperate longing, or smiling little smiles which surely had some serious meaning ! And so Stella did not know she was wrong until the night before the yachting party was to .sail. She was one of a few guests at dinner to celebrate the invalid’s recovery at Mrs. Vanderhyde’s charming apartment on Riverside Drive, and the word had gone forth that Howard Carlton, though requiring, as he most evidently did, the rest and change some weeks on the sea could give, had decided to remain on shore ! Stella had hidden her disappointment and mortification cleverly at first; but later in the evening as she stood apart from the others, looking down from the wide window across the moonlit river, she had to bite her lips, to keep the temper down. “Miss Rankin,” Howard Carlton stood beside • her, “or Stella, if I may ? Will you do me the great favor to write me down Miss Allison’s present address? There is a desk with ready materials just at your elbow. -I am booked for a motor trip and intend going that—Miss Allison’s way.” So he did not even know where Gwen was! Gwen had been faithful to her friend in that at least. Stella wished she could have spoken as she sat down at the little davenport and drew out an envelope ; but the abruptness of his move disconcerted her. She wished he had not come to her just at that moment when tears were so ready to fall !

However, he was not looking her way, his eyes were fixed now across the moonlit water, and their serious wistful expression suddenly melted the anger which had risen in her breast.

“Mr. Carlton, Howard, if I may,” she lifted her eyebrows humorously and the tears dried themselves, “if I put a note in this envelope will you give it to Gwen with your own hands?” HOWARD CARLTON wrote a note on his own account that night, and Gwen, receiving it two mornings after, nearly fainted over the breakfast table. What he said was surely enough to make many a stronger woman faint. “Little Suffragette: “A Primitive Man will call for you in an automobile between five and six o’clock on Thursday afternoon. He will carry a special license—not for the car—and will be glad if you will prepare to continue the journey with him on the follow- inc.’ day. “HOWARD RAYMOND CARLTON.” This was Thursday morning. When afternoon came she waited in her softest white lace gown to receive him. How she tortured herself as she paced the long drawing-room in an agony of yearning for his voice, his touch ! Suppose he didn’t understand. Suppose he— There was a sound of a car coming up the drive. “If he kisses me–it will kill me !” she thought in her madness—but it didn’t. The butler threw open the door, spoke his name, and softly withdrew. Howard Carlton stood for a moment gazing at her. It was some time later that he drew a letter from his pocket and handed it to her. It was from Stella and she read : “Darling: “You may have him ! I am going to join a Suffrage Society—to learn your ‘little ways.’

  Converts: The Love Story of a Primitive Man and a Suffragette by Joan Paul was originally published on VintageReveries - Vintage Fashion and Ephemera Blog

[flying-guinea-pig]

Season Finale (8/8)

Aaaaaaaand it’s done! Hope I didn’t miss too many typos...

AO3 link

The previous parts

Chapter 8: Aftermath

Elisabeth stared through the window, a thick blanket wrapped around her. Her wrist pulsed with pain. It was swollen and blue, every movement agony, and it probably would’ve been smart to go with the ambulance and have it looked at…

No. Her bruises and broken wrist could wait. There were more important things.

She had taken the offered painkillers though.

Outside, the sounds of the ambulance slowly faded away, taking Francesca with them.

At least they hadn’t lost their entire camera crew. Katya had been lucky – the ghosts had chased her away, scaring her off enough to flee back to the boat before everything went to hell. Odds were she’d still get fired for it, knowing Tenney, but at least she lived.

It had only been what, an hour, since Alcor had tessered them all to the shore? It felt like a lifetime.

She didn’t know what to think.

What to say.

She needed more time… but time was in short supply, wasn’t it? If she waited too long… she’d lose this chance.

A faint movement in the air, and there he was.

Alcor hovered behind her. Not literally, this time. His feet had succumbed to gravity, his hair dark and the freckles faded until he looked like regular Tyrone Evergreen again. He was oddly silent.

She looked at his reflection in the window. On  the other side of the glass there was only the deep,  cold darkness of the ocean on a moonless night.

She knew his Name.

She could do... anything. She knew the tricks and rituals to bind him, to command him, to enslave him. Most needed preparation, but not all. She could order him to make a deal with her, right here and now, his Name hot on her tongue, and he would have no choice but to comply. Oh, he'd fight. And demons always won, in the end. He would escape the bindings, slip his chains.

But not immediately. Maybe, if she was clever, not even as long as she lived. What was one human lifetime for an immortal being, after all?

She could make the deal of her life right now. Forget being careful, she had Alcor the Dreambender on a leash if she only said the word.

It was such an ordinary name too. Very... familiar.

The famous Pines Library. Their unexplained connections to Alcor. She'd never had much interest in Transcendence-era demonology - primitive as it was - but she'd read up on Alcor. And she'd read up on the man who, according to some theories, had bound him into eternal service to the Pines family, giving his own life as payment. It was an impressive story, after all. No one else had managed to make such a amazing deal. A deal that -ha!- transcends generations. To be fair, Alcor had been much, much weaker in those days. There hadn't even been any signs he'd existed pre-Transcendence.

She could imagine it now. How a deal to save an unborn child was twisted into a demon being born in a physical body. No wonder Alcor was so powerful. He didn’t have the limits the other demons had, since his ties to the physical realm were stronger than mere possession. He’d been born here.

How desperate would you have to be, she wondered? How desperate had that mother been, letting a demon spawn inside her own flesh and blood? A demon young enough to have no True Name until she'd given him one. In return for eternal protection, maybe, but still...

Alcor’s sigh broke the tense silence between them. He sounded resigned. “You’re drawing the wrong conclusions again, aren’t you?”

She didn’t turn to face him, but his reflection in the window moved closer, until he was standing next to her instead of looming behind her.

“It’s pretty obvious now,” she said flatly. “You managed to possess a child – probably unborn – so strongly his true name became yours.”

“Adams, you know it doesn’t work like that. I was born as Dipper Pines.”

“Yes, that’s what I just –“

“I was born human.”

That… made no sense.

It couldn’t.

Elisabeth took a slow, shaky breath. Now it was Alcor who stared out of the window, refusing to meet her eyes.

“How?”

“Well, when a daddy loves a mommy very much –“

She poked his shoulder. “No evasions. How did you become – this?”

He shrugged, tension clear in every movement. “Through an unlikely and painful series of events. There was this demon – Bill Cipher. He tried to move into the physical realm and take his cronies with him. My family got caught up into his plans. It was nearly the end of the world.” He turned to her with a rueful smile. “In some ways it still was. We could stop Weirdmaggedon. But not entirely. It’s called the Transcendence now.”

“You’re responsible for the Transcendence?”

“Not on purpose!” he protested. “And it’s not entirely my fault. And hey, how many twelve-year olds do you know who saved the world? And then you complain that it wasn’t perfect.”

She stared.

It shouldn’t make this much sense. But… everyone knew Alcor’s name had only popped up after the Transcendence. And he was different from other demons. Not just in power, but in the way he acted sometimes. Case in point, calmly explaining his origins to her instead of trying to kill her before she had the chance to bind him with his True Name.

He’d been human.

He’d been twelve.

Well, that did explain the obsession with icecream.

“Back there, after the portal went dark. Those weird colours. What would have happened if they touched it?” she had to ask.

“Not much, maybe. The Transcendence already happened once. I’m not sure if it would have changed the world all that much.” He paused. “But maybe they’d have turned into a demon like me. That was their plan, at least.”

“Like you,” she repeated.

He looked away. “Yeah. Most demons have a limit on how powerful they can grow. I… don’t. Somehow.”

“Because of Dipper Pines.”

“Yes.”

The silence between them was thick with words unsaid. She wanted to ask so many questions, but…

Well. It was pretty clear what she had to do.

“I want to make a deal,” she said.

A heartbeat. Two.

“Oh,” he said, his shoulders tensing even more. “Right. I should’ve figured.”

“Shut up.” Elisabeth took a deep breath. “I want you to remove all knowledge of your True Name from the rest of the team. Including whichever recordings they have of it.”

“Makes sense.” His voice was bitter. “Why should you share, right? And in return?”

“In return I’ll give you my memories of your True Name as well.”

Ha! It felt good to catch him off-guard, that smug jerk.

“But… you don’t like tampering with your memories.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You know how powerful my name is. What you could do.”

“Oh, will you let it go?”

A tired smile slowly spread over his face. “Adams, are you telling me you decided to trust me?”

“Maybe I don’t trust myself,” she said, bluntly. “Will you take the deal or not?”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he nodded and offered his hand. Blue fire bloomed around his fingers.

“My knowledge of your true name, in return for erasing all their knowledge and recordings of the same,” she summarised, as a good demonologist was supposed to do. “That’s the deal.”

“That’s the deal,” he said, and took her left hand carefully in his own.

A glimmer of blue, a blink, and something shifted in her head.

She’d… made a deal. About Alcor’s name? Yes. She’d offered it, freely.

That meant something, she remembered that much.

“Maybe there’s another deal you want to make, now?” he said, and nodded at her right hand. “I could heal that for you.”

Long painful weeks of inconvenience, or instant fix?

“Why not,” she said. Too numb to worry about making frivolous demon deals. “In return… you can have my guilt?”

There was such an awful lot of it, after all.

“How about you give me your nightmares instead,” he offered, gently.

“That works.” She closed her eyes for a moment as they sealed the deal and magic soothed the pounding in her wrist.

God she was tired. With the pain gone, there wasn’t anything distracting her anymore. But ha, sleep was going to be hell, in any case. Even without nightmares. How was she supposed to ever fall asleep again with all these what-if’s haunting the dark behind her eyes?

“So… do you want to talk about it?” he said.

“About what?” she asked. “About how I killed someone?”

“Well… yes.” He hesitated. “I think you should probably talk to a professional about it… but I worry you’re too stubborn to try that.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. Can demons even really feel guilt?”

“I can.”

He used to be human. That she did remember. Not his name, but his story, vague as it was. Why he was so different.

“I’m not going to pretend I understand how you feel,” Alcor said. “I was already… changed, the first time this happened to me. And even then it still shook me up, when I came back to my senses.”

“That’s the thing,” she said. “I didn’t ‘come back to my senses’. I knew what I was doing. I knew something horrible would happen if they got their hands on that thing and I just… acted.”

“That doesn’t make you a bad person,” he said. “You had an impossible choice to make.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” She rubbed her face. The wetness was expected as well, and easily ignored. “Not feeling guilty would make me a bad person, though. So… thank you. For not taking my first offer.”

“Psh. I know that wasn’t a real offer, Adams. You know better.”

Silence stretched between them, lacking the tension of before.

Alcor offered her a paper tissue. She made a face and took it. It was black, with little golden stars.

“Really focused on your branding, aren’t you?” she snorted, and blew her nose. Ugh. She never cried.

It wasn’t the most subtle way to change the subject, but he tactfully didn’t comment.

“So,” she said, when her throat felt less tight. She bunched the tissue between her fingers, then smoothed out the little printed star. “What happens next?”

“Well, I suppose you get some rest, and go home in the morning. I can spare you the crowded flight, if you want. I owe you that much. But first, perhaps… introductions?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Hi,” he said, and shook her hand again – without the fire this time. “I’m Dipper Pines.”

“What?” she sputtered, as the empty spot of knowledge in her head popped full again. “Why tell me this?”

His smile was soft and utterly un-demonic. “Just thought… maybe we should both take a leap of faith.”

Ding!

“Oh, right, that reminds me.” He pulled a phone from somewhere and offered it to her. “Here. For you.”

“I’m wary of demons bearing gifts,” she said, but took the phone. It looked a lot like her old one, but less dented. “What’s the catch?”

“Guess.”

[Hi Liz!] the pixelated Alcor waved at her from the screen. [Just thought I’d interrupt you guys before this became too mushy.]

Elisabeth had to smile. “I think you were too late.”

“Oh, ha ha,” Alcor said.

“I’m glad you’re not dead. Or deactivated, or however it works for you,” she added bluntly. “But how?”

“When the stabilisation spells failed, the containment broke as well,” Alcor said. “But I’ll feel a lot better if the kid stays in range of the internet from now on.”

[You and me both,] the Virus said. [Yikes! Let’s have our next adventure somewhere with a strong wifi signal, alright? Just to be sure.]

She made a face. “I won’t be up to much adventuring for a while, I think.”

Sleep. What time was it even?

“Right,” she said. “Time for you to go. I’m going to fall over if I don’t go to bed now.”

Of course, that was the moment someone loudly knocked on her hotel room door.

“Now what?” Elisabeth groaned, and pulled it open.

A blur of white hair and Tenney moved past her, charging into her room with no more than a: “Good, you’re still awake.”

“Whatever this is, I’m sure it can wait until tomorrow,” she said. “Get out.”

He didn’t appear to hear her. He stalked her room, freezing in his tracks when he spotted Alcor lounging near the window, and then turned to her, his eyes slightly wild.

“I talked to my producers,” he said. “There was some nonsense about shutting down the show, but I managed to turn them around. We have a killer season finale after all. After this airs, our ratings will skyrocket!”

Elisabeth frowned. “People died.”

“Yes, and their deaths won’t be in vain. It’s what they would have wanted.”

“There’s such a thing as too obsessed, you know,” Alcor said. “Two-thirds of your camera crew is gone.”

“More like half,” Tenney said. “Steve still counts. And I’ll have to look it up, but I suspect we’ll be the first show to employ a ghost. That’s free publicity!”

“Congratulations,” Elisabeth said. “Now get out so I can sleep.”

“And just wait until I unveil the new direction the show is going to take!” Tenney bared his teeth in a savage smile. “First show to employ a ghost? Ha! How about ‘first show to employ a demon?’ People wiill talk about this for years!”

Alcor coughed. “Excuse me – what?”

Tenney swirled to face Alcor, and raised one hand imperiously. “I know your true name!”

“Oh, really?” Alcor said, starting to smile. “So… what’s my name then?”

Tenney paused, hand still raised. “I… can’t remember.”

“Too bad,” Alcor said, sunnily.

Tenney glared at the both of them, before taking a deep breath and attempting to calm himself. “No matter. I expected this. Of course you would erase that dangerous knowledge from our memories. That’s why I saved it somewhere you didn’t know about.”

Now how much damage could a self-obsessed television host do with the world’s most powerful demon at his beck and call? Elisabeth caught herself eying her surroundings. No, bad Elisabeth. You can’t bludgeon someone with a flower vase. It’s not heavy enough, for starters.

“My dear, you’ve underestimated me,” Tenney said, with that trademark smarmy grin of his. He theatrically flipped open his phone. “Ah, yes. There it is.”

… wait. His phone?

“Alcor the Dreambender,” Tenney said. “Or should I say… Smebulock! From now on you will obey my every command!”

That… couldn’t be right. She glanced at Alcor. A disbelieving grin full of needle-sharp teeth spread across his face.

“That isn’t –“ Elisabeth started to say, but Alcor shushed her with: “No, no, I want to see where he’s going with this. So, Tenney! What do you want, exactly? You gotta be precise.”

“I want to make the best television show in the world,” Tenney said, still puffed up with self-confidence. “And that cannot fail, with Alcor the Dreambender as a cast member.”

“Wait,” Elisabeth said. “You want him on the show?”

“Yes. And you as well. Even bound, a demon is full of tricks. You need to keep an eye on him.”

“Why the hell would you think I’d want to be part of this?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Tenney said. “Do you think you’ll have much of a job, after people see how chummy you are with the Dreambender? Not to mention how three people lost their lives to a demon, while under your watch. You were our designated demonologist, weren’t you?”

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

She gave him a deadpan look. "Are you seriously trying to blackmail someone who summons demons for a living?"

“Blackmail is such an ugly word,” Tenney said. “I prefer ‘mutual assistence’. You help me out, Lizzie dear, and I’ll make you famous!” He snaked an arm around her shoulders. "You know you want it! Fame! Glory! You could make a fortune!"

She shook off his arm. “No.”

“Are you certain?” Tenney kept smiling, even under the force of Alcor’s glare. “After all… I do know your secret, Ms Adams.”

“Right, pal, that’s enough,” Alcor said. “Time to go.”

“Show some respect, Smebulock,” Tenney said. “You don’t want the world to know she’s Mizar, either.”

“Oh for – I’m not!” Elisabeth exclaimed. “Why do you even think that?”

“Lie all you want. I know the truth.” Tenney tapped his nose with a conspiratory smile. “Welcome to the show. I’ll let you know when we start shooting for season three.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be there,” Alcor said. He returned Tenney’s smile with a dark one of his own. “After all… you know my name.”

Tenney nodded, satified, and left.

“What a smug jerk,” Elisabeth said, and yawned. Sleep. Now. Anyone else who showed up in her hotel room would be acquinted with her remaining can of herbal spray, applied directly to the eyes, consequences be damned.

Alcor laughed. “He has a gift with spirits, though. Oh, this is going to be fun!”

“It wasn’t even the right name!”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully. “I mean, do I look like a Smebulock to you?”

She looked at him. His wide fanged grin and golden eyes stole the show, of course, but underneath…

He’d been twelve, he said. She tried to imagine it, and failed.

“Maybe if you grow a beard,” she said. And growled, because damn Tenney and his threats. “You should have just sent him away.”

“What, snap my fingers and transport him to some random place on earth? That would be a bit mean, wouldn’t it?”

“No, ‘mean’ is putting him in frilly dress and sending him to the gnomes’ Jamvention.”

Alcor grinned. “You have a scary mind sometimes, Adams.”

“Elisabeth,” she corrected him. Freely given. It was only fair, after all.

“Elisabeth,” he said. “Why, I really think you’re warming up to me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Smebulock. Now get out so I can get some sleep.”

[djsamaha-blog]

Don’t Lose Sight of the Big Picture: Spend Time with People You Truly Enjoy

“Even if you are on the right track you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” ~Will Rogers

 How is this happening again?

Lying in bed watching The Mentalist at 8 P.M. on a Saturday night, my mind begins to wander.

A year ago I was so happy. I spent almost every night hanging out with amazing friends and now I’m here, alone watching TV.

As my heart sank into my stomach, I shook my head, suppressed my feelings, and pushed play to start the next episode.

A few years earlier I moved to Santa Fe, NM, a state I had never even visited before. Excited to start a new journey, I set out to meet new people and create a life full of amazing friends.

Although that’s exactly what happened, the first few months were extremely difficult. I spent a lot of time trying to make new friends while having zero success. After a couple months, this went from frustrating to depressing.

Luckily, I was able to solve the problem and learned how to make new friends from scratch. It was amazing. I was having some of the best times of my life.

Every week I had friends inviting me to birthday parties, barbecues, camping trips, river rafting excursions, and typical nights out on the town. And when I invited people to places, like my New Year’s Eve party, people showed up.

It was a high I’ll never forget.

After an exhilarating two years in Santa Fe, I moved back to Huntington Beach, CA, the city I was born and raised in.

I was excited for yet another new page in my life. Huntington is a beautiful city with great weather (and waves!). My family, best friend, and other great friends live here.

Kim, my girlfriend at the time (now my wife), and I decided to have a long-distance relationship and I chose to save some money by living with my parents.

The next year was a disaster.

It might not have looked terrible from the outside, but I was eating myself alive on the inside.

Even though I had friends in the area, I was only hanging out with them about once every two months. And about just as often, Kim and I would travel to see each other.

But that was it. The only other people I hung out with were family members. And as much as I love them, this was not healthy for me.

I may have seemed happy, but I was faking it. I was hurting. Instead of fixing it, I kept going with the status-quo.

This feeling was very similar to the one I had when I moved to Santa Fe. A feeling of sadness, hurt, and longing that comes from a lack of spending time with people who make you feel alive.

But this time was different. I knew I could make friends if I wanted to and I already had friends living here. I just didn’t make the relationships a priority like I should have.

My laziness was striking me down and I got stuck in a comfort zone of my own making.

It was easy to say yes and go out with friends when I was living by myself in Santa Fe. But living with my parents made it a little less appealing, which was enough to prevent me from doing it. I’d think to myself:

I’ve already showered and I’m in my comfy clothes. I can hang out here with my parents, have a couple drinks, and watch this movie, or I can get ready again and meet up with my friends. Ah, I think I’ll just stay here tonight.

That’s literally how many of my nights played out. And it was similar for the day time too. I’d decline an invite to go surfing because I already showered or because I was about to go to breakfast with my parents, something I easily could have skipped.

When we finally moved Kim out here to Huntington, I thought my problem would be fixed. Instead, it was more of the same. Mexican food with my parents, cooking chicken piccata with Kim, staying home watching Prison Break, and trail running by myself in the wetlands.

As much as I love hanging out with Kim and my family, I need that outside energy with friends who share some of my deepest interests and passions. So finally, after way too long, I made this realization:

I need to spend more time with people who make me feel truly alive.

My parents and Kim do fill a big part of that need. But I need other friends to fill the rest.

I started making changes to my life that helped me meet new people and spend more time with existing and past friends.

I joined a music production class. Kim and I played on a beach volleyball team with her coworkers and a separate flag football team with strangers. I also joined a soccer team.

I started hanging out with my friends more. I’d text my buddy during the week and say, “Hey, wanna grab sushi Friday night?” I’d send another text to my surfing friends and say, “Surf’s supposed to be good Saturday. Who’s down?”

On top of that, I’ve been reaching out to people I lost touch with. I recently hit up a friend who I hadn’t talked to in years and said, “Long time no see. Miss you dude. Hope all is awesome. You still running?”

That text conversation ended with my wife and I scheduling a San Diego day trip and a twelve-mile running adventure for my buddy and me.

I’ve even been getting together with friends I haven’t hung out with since high school!

Ever since I put more focus and effort into spending time with my good friends, while still maintaining healthy relationships within my family, my life has improved drastically. I’m happier and more enjoyable to be around. Even better, I’m back to being my old, goofy self again.

What steps can you take to make sure you don’t fall into the same trap I did?

If you’re not careful, the same thing can happen to you. In the moment, it’s easy to stay home and watch Netflix because that’s easier and more comfortable. However, in the long-term that can be detrimental.

Here are three steps you can take to get you on the right track:

First, determine whether you have the right people in your life to keep you happy. Do you feel like you can be yourself around them? Do you feel free and alive when you hang out with them?

Second, figure out if they are willing and able to spend enough time with you. Invite them to hang out and see if you can fill the free time you set aside for hanging out with friends.

If you haven’t spoken to the person for a while, try pinging them first. Shoot them a text, a Facebook message, or even just comment on one of their posts. The main things you want to get across are that you miss them, you hope all is well, you’re curious how they’re doing, and you were thinking about them and wanted to say, “Hi.”

If you’ve been in touch with them lately, just shoot them a message and say, “Hey, let’s get together soon. I was thinking of hiking El Morro this weekend. Interested?”

It’s good to invite them to do something specific that you know they would enjoy. If you just ask to hang out, it might be hard for them to imagine what you would do together, which can make them less likely to accept. And if they do want to hang out but can’t or don’t want to do the original activity you proposed, they’ll likely respond with a different idea, still giving you a chance to hang out.

Third, if your friends don’t have the time or you’d rather hang out with different people, it’s time to consider meeting new people. Join a photography class, sign up for a kickball team, find a book club, or attend a young professional’s social mixer.

Go out into the world and meet new people. If you can find people while doing activities you already enjoy, even better.

Once you understand how important your friendships are, you’ve cleared the first hurdle.

From there, it’s on you to stay proactive to create and nourish the relationships that are so vital to your well-being.

It might take a little more effort to pick up the phone, text your friend and schedule a hangout, or get outside and join that soccer team, but when you look back on your life you’ll be thankful you did.

About Rob Riker

Rob Riker helps people create amazing relationships and build a social circle of truly great friends–the type that always have your back, even if you just moved to a new city. Want to see how? Get his free 8-lesson email course Making New Friends The Easy Way and learn how you can make new friends this month.

See a typo, an inaccuracy, or something offensive? Please contact us so we can fix it!

http://www.successwize.com/dont-lose-sight-of-the-big-picture-spend-time-with-people-you-truly-enjoy-3/

[djsamaha-blog]

Don’t Lose Sight of the Big Picture: Spend Time with People You Truly Enjoy

“Even if you are on the right track you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” ~Will Rogers

 How is this happening again?

Lying in bed watching The Mentalist at 8 P.M. on a Saturday night, my mind begins to wander.

A year ago I was so happy. I spent almost every night hanging out with amazing friends and now I’m here, alone watching TV.

As my heart sank into my stomach, I shook my head, suppressed my feelings, and pushed play to start the next episode.

A few years earlier I moved to Santa Fe, NM, a state I had never even visited before. Excited to start a new journey, I set out to meet new people and create a life full of amazing friends.

Although that’s exactly what happened, the first few months were extremely difficult. I spent a lot of time trying to make new friends while having zero success. After a couple months, this went from frustrating to depressing.

Luckily, I was able to solve the problem and learned how to make new friends from scratch. It was amazing. I was having some of the best times of my life.

Every week I had friends inviting me to birthday parties, barbecues, camping trips, river rafting excursions, and typical nights out on the town. And when I invited people to places, like my New Year’s Eve party, people showed up.

It was a high I’ll never forget.

After an exhilarating two years in Santa Fe, I moved back to Huntington Beach, CA, the city I was born and raised in.

I was excited for yet another new page in my life. Huntington is a beautiful city with great weather (and waves!). My family, best friend, and other great friends live here.

Kim, my girlfriend at the time (now my wife), and I decided to have a long-distance relationship and I chose to save some money by living with my parents.

The next year was a disaster.

It might not have looked terrible from the outside, but I was eating myself alive on the inside.

Even though I had friends in the area, I was only hanging out with them about once every two months. And about just as often, Kim and I would travel to see each other.

But that was it. The only other people I hung out with were family members. And as much as I love them, this was not healthy for me.

I may have seemed happy, but I was faking it. I was hurting. Instead of fixing it, I kept going with the status-quo.

This feeling was very similar to the one I had when I moved to Santa Fe. A feeling of sadness, hurt, and longing that comes from a lack of spending time with people who make you feel alive.

But this time was different. I knew I could make friends if I wanted to and I already had friends living here. I just didn’t make the relationships a priority like I should have.

My laziness was striking me down and I got stuck in a comfort zone of my own making.

It was easy to say yes and go out with friends when I was living by myself in Santa Fe. But living with my parents made it a little less appealing, which was enough to prevent me from doing it. I’d think to myself:

I’ve already showered and I’m in my comfy clothes. I can hang out here with my parents, have a couple drinks, and watch this movie, or I can get ready again and meet up with my friends. Ah, I think I’ll just stay here tonight.

That’s literally how many of my nights played out. And it was similar for the day time too. I’d decline an invite to go surfing because I already showered or because I was about to go to breakfast with my parents, something I easily could have skipped.

When we finally moved Kim out here to Huntington, I thought my problem would be fixed. Instead, it was more of the same. Mexican food with my parents, cooking chicken piccata with Kim, staying home watching Prison Break, and trail running by myself in the wetlands.

As much as I love hanging out with Kim and my family, I need that outside energy with friends who share some of my deepest interests and passions. So finally, after way too long, I made this realization:

I need to spend more time with people who make me feel truly alive.

My parents and Kim do fill a big part of that need. But I need other friends to fill the rest.

I started making changes to my life that helped me meet new people and spend more time with existing and past friends.

I joined a music production class. Kim and I played on a beach volleyball team with her coworkers and a separate flag football team with strangers. I also joined a soccer team.

I started hanging out with my friends more. I’d text my buddy during the week and say, “Hey, wanna grab sushi Friday night?” I’d send another text to my surfing friends and say, “Surf’s supposed to be good Saturday. Who’s down?”

On top of that, I’ve been reaching out to people I lost touch with. I recently hit up a friend who I hadn’t talked to in years and said, “Long time no see. Miss you dude. Hope all is awesome. You still running?”

That text conversation ended with my wife and I scheduling a San Diego day trip and a twelve-mile running adventure for my buddy and me.

I’ve even been getting together with friends I haven’t hung out with since high school!

Ever since I put more focus and effort into spending time with my good friends, while still maintaining healthy relationships within my family, my life has improved drastically. I’m happier and more enjoyable to be around. Even better, I’m back to being my old, goofy self again.

What steps can you take to make sure you don’t fall into the same trap I did?

If you’re not careful, the same thing can happen to you. In the moment, it’s easy to stay home and watch Netflix because that’s easier and more comfortable. However, in the long-term that can be detrimental.

Here are three steps you can take to get you on the right track:

First, determine whether you have the right people in your life to keep you happy. Do you feel like you can be yourself around them? Do you feel free and alive when you hang out with them?

Second, figure out if they are willing and able to spend enough time with you. Invite them to hang out and see if you can fill the free time you set aside for hanging out with friends.

If you haven’t spoken to the person for a while, try pinging them first. Shoot them a text, a Facebook message, or even just comment on one of their posts. The main things you want to get across are that you miss them, you hope all is well, you’re curious how they’re doing, and you were thinking about them and wanted to say, “Hi.”

If you’ve been in touch with them lately, just shoot them a message and say, “Hey, let’s get together soon. I was thinking of hiking El Morro this weekend. Interested?”

It’s good to invite them to do something specific that you know they would enjoy. If you just ask to hang out, it might be hard for them to imagine what you would do together, which can make them less likely to accept. And if they do want to hang out but can’t or don’t want to do the original activity you proposed, they’ll likely respond with a different idea, still giving you a chance to hang out.

Third, if your friends don’t have the time or you’d rather hang out with different people, it’s time to consider meeting new people. Join a photography class, sign up for a kickball team, find a book club, or attend a young professional’s social mixer.

Go out into the world and meet new people. If you can find people while doing activities you already enjoy, even better.

Once you understand how important your friendships are, you’ve cleared the first hurdle.

From there, it’s on you to stay proactive to create and nourish the relationships that are so vital to your well-being.

It might take a little more effort to pick up the phone, text your friend and schedule a hangout, or get outside and join that soccer team, but when you look back on your life you’ll be thankful you did.

About Rob Riker

Rob Riker helps people create amazing relationships and build a social circle of truly great friends–the type that always have your back, even if you just moved to a new city. Want to see how? Get his free 8-lesson email course Making New Friends The Easy Way and learn how you can make new friends this month.

See a typo, an inaccuracy, or something offensive? Please contact us so we can fix it!

http://www.successwize.com/dont-lose-sight-of-the-big-picture-spend-time-with-people-you-truly-enjoy-2/

[djsamaha-blog]

Don’t Lose Sight of the Big Picture: Spend Time with People You Truly Enjoy

“Even if you are on the right track you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” ~Will Rogers

 How is this happening again?

Lying in bed watching The Mentalist at 8 P.M. on a Saturday night, my mind begins to wander.

A year ago I was so happy. I spent almost every night hanging out with amazing friends and now I’m here, alone watching TV.

As my heart sank into my stomach, I shook my head, suppressed my feelings, and pushed play to start the next episode.

A few years earlier I moved to Santa Fe, NM, a state I had never even visited before. Excited to start a new journey, I set out to meet new people and create a life full of amazing friends.

Although that’s exactly what happened, the first few months were extremely difficult. I spent a lot of time trying to make new friends while having zero success. After a couple months, this went from frustrating to depressing.

Luckily, I was able to solve the problem and learned how to make new friends from scratch. It was amazing. I was having some of the best times of my life.

Every week I had friends inviting me to birthday parties, barbecues, camping trips, river rafting excursions, and typical nights out on the town. And when I invited people to places, like my New Year’s Eve party, people showed up.

It was a high I’ll never forget.

After an exhilarating two years in Santa Fe, I moved back to Huntington Beach, CA, the city I was born and raised in.

I was excited for yet another new page in my life. Huntington is a beautiful city with great weather (and waves!). My family, best friend, and other great friends live here.

Kim, my girlfriend at the time (now my wife), and I decided to have a long-distance relationship and I chose to save some money by living with my parents.

The next year was a disaster.

It might not have looked terrible from the outside, but I was eating myself alive on the inside.

Even though I had friends in the area, I was only hanging out with them about once every two months. And about just as often, Kim and I would travel to see each other.

But that was it. The only other people I hung out with were family members. And as much as I love them, this was not healthy for me.

I may have seemed happy, but I was faking it. I was hurting. Instead of fixing it, I kept going with the status-quo.

This feeling was very similar to the one I had when I moved to Santa Fe. A feeling of sadness, hurt, and longing that comes from a lack of spending time with people who make you feel alive.

But this time was different. I knew I could make friends if I wanted to and I already had friends living here. I just didn’t make the relationships a priority like I should have.

My laziness was striking me down and I got stuck in a comfort zone of my own making.

It was easy to say yes and go out with friends when I was living by myself in Santa Fe. But living with my parents made it a little less appealing, which was enough to prevent me from doing it. I’d think to myself:

I’ve already showered and I’m in my comfy clothes. I can hang out here with my parents, have a couple drinks, and watch this movie, or I can get ready again and meet up with my friends. Ah, I think I’ll just stay here tonight.

That’s literally how many of my nights played out. And it was similar for the day time too. I’d decline an invite to go surfing because I already showered or because I was about to go to breakfast with my parents, something I easily could have skipped.

When we finally moved Kim out here to Huntington, I thought my problem would be fixed. Instead, it was more of the same. Mexican food with my parents, cooking chicken piccata with Kim, staying home watching Prison Break, and trail running by myself in the wetlands.

As much as I love hanging out with Kim and my family, I need that outside energy with friends who share some of my deepest interests and passions. So finally, after way too long, I made this realization:

I need to spend more time with people who make me feel truly alive.

My parents and Kim do fill a big part of that need. But I need other friends to fill the rest.

I started making changes to my life that helped me meet new people and spend more time with existing and past friends.

I joined a music production class. Kim and I played on a beach volleyball team with her coworkers and a separate flag football team with strangers. I also joined a soccer team.

I started hanging out with my friends more. I’d text my buddy during the week and say, “Hey, wanna grab sushi Friday night?” I’d send another text to my surfing friends and say, “Surf’s supposed to be good Saturday. Who’s down?”

On top of that, I’ve been reaching out to people I lost touch with. I recently hit up a friend who I hadn’t talked to in years and said, “Long time no see. Miss you dude. Hope all is awesome. You still running?”

That text conversation ended with my wife and I scheduling a San Diego day trip and a twelve-mile running adventure for my buddy and me.

I’ve even been getting together with friends I haven’t hung out with since high school!

Ever since I put more focus and effort into spending time with my good friends, while still maintaining healthy relationships within my family, my life has improved drastically. I’m happier and more enjoyable to be around. Even better, I’m back to being my old, goofy self again.

What steps can you take to make sure you don’t fall into the same trap I did?

If you’re not careful, the same thing can happen to you. In the moment, it’s easy to stay home and watch Netflix because that’s easier and more comfortable. However, in the long-term that can be detrimental.

Here are three steps you can take to get you on the right track:

First, determine whether you have the right people in your life to keep you happy. Do you feel like you can be yourself around them? Do you feel free and alive when you hang out with them?

Second, figure out if they are willing and able to spend enough time with you. Invite them to hang out and see if you can fill the free time you set aside for hanging out with friends.

If you haven’t spoken to the person for a while, try pinging them first. Shoot them a text, a Facebook message, or even just comment on one of their posts. The main things you want to get across are that you miss them, you hope all is well, you’re curious how they’re doing, and you were thinking about them and wanted to say, “Hi.”

If you’ve been in touch with them lately, just shoot them a message and say, “Hey, let’s get together soon. I was thinking of hiking El Morro this weekend. Interested?”

It’s good to invite them to do something specific that you know they would enjoy. If you just ask to hang out, it might be hard for them to imagine what you would do together, which can make them less likely to accept. And if they do want to hang out but can’t or don’t want to do the original activity you proposed, they’ll likely respond with a different idea, still giving you a chance to hang out.

Third, if your friends don’t have the time or you’d rather hang out with different people, it’s time to consider meeting new people. Join a photography class, sign up for a kickball team, find a book club, or attend a young professional’s social mixer.

Go out into the world and meet new people. If you can find people while doing activities you already enjoy, even better.

Once you understand how important your friendships are, you’ve cleared the first hurdle.

From there, it’s on you to stay proactive to create and nourish the relationships that are so vital to your well-being.

It might take a little more effort to pick up the phone, text your friend and schedule a hangout, or get outside and join that soccer team, but when you look back on your life you’ll be thankful you did.

About Rob Riker

Rob Riker helps people create amazing relationships and build a social circle of truly great friends–the type that always have your back, even if you just moved to a new city. Want to see how? Get his free 8-lesson email course Making New Friends The Easy Way and learn how you can make new friends this month.

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