#Put that on the list of things I will tackle once my degree is over

[bigskydreaming]

Welcome to Kalen Tries a Life Hack/Brain Hack, brought to you by....well, me.

So certain obvious things are obvious: I’ve been struggling for awhile, the whole being off my meds thing for months cuz of the Adderall shortage hit me HARD, and the number one thing I need to actually build and move forward and get out of eternal debt and accomplishing actual goals is a degree of stability.

I’m eternally grateful for every donation people have given me over the years and its literally kept me alive and off the streets at times. But ebegging sucks, nobody likes doing it, and its not sustainable.

Thing is, I’ve been talking about getting a steady patreon up and running forever but like, there’s always a reason why it doesn’t happen. Part of that is because of the basic nature of how things compound when you lack resources and have issues to address on multiple fronts. New problems demanding my time and attention constantly pop up while adding to stress and affecting my overall mental state and productivity. Part of that is the fact that I am my own worst enemy when in states of high stress, low meds, and minimal resources. 

I get caught in loops where I convince myself that the only way forward or to validate the help I’ve been given or asked is via some big grand production that of course never materializes because haha if I were in a state where I could reliably create the product I want on the timetable I need, most of my problems would take care of themselves. But also I have a tendency to try and pull a former life hack I used to rely on, the whole ‘when my executive dysfunction is particularly bad, use pressure and deadlines to try and force myself to produce’ which y’know....may have worked at previous points in my life but I was in very different places then and bottom line, it just flat out doesn’t work for me now, so it just ends up as overpromising and flaking out with no actual gains to show for it.

So I’m trying a different approach. I’m just putting it out there, this is what it is, and I’m starting small in complete opposition to my usual (and not working) attempts. I’ve opened up a discord for my fics and original projects and am listing the tiers of my patreon below. I’m following this up with complete rundowns of everything I have SOMETHING for, to some degree or another:

1) Teen Wolf fanfics

2) Original fantasy works 

3) Dick Grayson fanfics

4) Original sci-fi works

5) X-Men fanfics

6) Original superhero works (my original superhero universe, the Ellis Eighteen ‘verse) 

I’ll tackle the Teen Wolf stuff following this post, and then try and do the rest one day at a time. That’s the gist of the life hack: just going with the philosophy something is better than nothing. None of these do me any good just sitting on my computer and I’m flat out, literally just never going to reach a stable enough place where I AM just able to complete and release any of them in their complete form, the way I’d like, if I keep overshooting without ending any further along.

So I’m just gonna try building it one day at a time, growing it with the support of people who are interested enough in what there is now to want to see more and help me get more out there, until bit by bit I eventually reach actual completion on some of them.

Any and all of these can be followed up on in my discord server should any catch your eye enough to want to try just a trial’s month - with this next month being much the same for me, as I see how viable this is and how well I’m sticking to it, versus what changes I can make to make it more effective.

My blog isn’t going anywhere, the server is just entirely for fic and original projects and all things related to them, but my usual inanity will persist, I do want to try to get back to writing meta and stuff and being more active in my fandoms, hopefully once I get back on my meds and get a little more grounded.

My existing patterns of posting and interaction aren’t contingent on people donating or joining my discord - I don’t intend for much to change here. And I’m not saying like ‘from now on I’m only posting my writing to my discord’ or anything like that. Its literally just for people who want to help support me while I add to my existing content, are fine with or interested in more of my content even in incomplete stages, are interested in commissioning ‘writing time’ on specific projects of their choice while I do my writing directly in the server....and once I do have a new complete chapter of a fic or complete one-shot, etc....that’ll still get posted for anyone to read. Same as how I still intend to publish or self-publish original projects once they reach completion. 

Its like I said: I just can’t deliver completion in a timely, reliable fashion the way I want, as is, and I can’t make guarantees on when complete projects will materialize without it just ending up more empty promises. THIS I at least can deliver on, and use it to build to something bigger and more complete. *Shrugs* I’d rather get something out there than just continually shifting goalposts about when something will be out here.

SO!

All that said, below are the tiers I’m going with. I literally don’t even have the patreon itself made yet because a) I’ve used ‘I still have to make that’ as an excuse not to do this too many times so I literally just said fuck it and opened up a new post and started typing this instead, lol and b) Patreon does only pay out monthly and not going to lie, could really use donations in the meanwhile as I’m trying to get a new prescription appointment ($180 now thanks to my psychiatrist raising their rates, yay) for different ADHD meds since Adderall still isn’t reliably in stock and they won’t switch my prescription over to something I haven’t tried out yet without a new appointment (and those meds will likely be in the $50-$90 range). 

SO I literally am just posting this now, with my paypal and ko-fi links, but the discord itself is already up if anyone wants to just donate directly and ask for a direct discord link/invite and then I’ll add the link to the actual patreon as soon as its up, but also, if you go the donation route you can try this out and see if its worth it to you this month before actually signing up for the patreon or trying a different tier.

TIERS

1) $1 tier: No rewards offered, I've seen this done by other people who have regular platforms they create content on and don't charge anything so its like a completely opt-in "hey if you just like my blog and content in general, would like to see me be able to make a go of being a creator and support that in general because you think I come up with interesting stuff, this is super helpful and appreciated" thing. I know a lot of people don’t think $1 makes a difference, but literally just $1.39 buys a thing of pasta that can feed me for two days if need be, and a couple more bucks from someone else gets some sauce, lol. Trust me, if you’re ever like “I’d like to support him but only have an extra buck or two and don’t know if that would make a difference” - it does, and is still super appreciated!

2) $5 tier: As stated, I’ve set up a discord where anyone can start threads for literally any of my fanworks, Teen Wolf, Dick Grayson, and X-Men, and ask what I have available as is on that particular project, pick my brain about it, engage me on it in the hopes it leads to me dedicating my next writing session to it if I’m not already planning to write something else in specific, etc. This tier gives people access to it, so they can see the stuff I don't have published or released because its not finished yet, or I’ve written parts non-linearly, and there’s a specific scene they were hoping to see in the fic later on and wondered if that’s written yet, etc. Plus this is where I’ll do all my fanfic writing sessions when I am actively working on a new chapter or something, because I LIKE to write in real-time on things like discord (I used to write fic in a messenger app with Moukie. I didn’t even need them reading it or responding, just knowing someone was 'there' made it easier for me to write, just makes it easier to shut up and write or get the words to come). 

So I figure might as well try and make it a two-fer: for five bucks people can get access to stuff that might not be finished yet (or even ever) but still could be interesting or enjoyable to them, but also can read along as I work on stuff that I'm actively trying to update, even if I still end up with more to go in that chapter or fic and thus its not ready to update yet by the end of a writing session

3) $10 tier: Exact same thing as the $5 tier, which is also included with this one, but this one also gives access to the separate forum I’ve opened up for my various original projects I'm working on or at least started/got a sizable dent into even if they ended up discarded (at least for now). Again, this one is primarily for people who want to support me in general, free up time from constantly stressing about being able to afford food and meds and wasting so much time looking for more freelance opportunities or work - which basically doubles the amount of time I spend ‘working’ every day without anything to show for most of it. This allows for more writing time in general, but at least comes with something to show for it, and like, I figure anyone who genuinely thinks 'hey I think this guy can write/would buy his book' could find something to interest them in here, especially since it also includes the same 'read-along' option for my literal WIPs when I’m doing a writing session on one of them.

4) $15 tier: Both previous tiers are included, but with this tier people also get the option of picking a story from any of the fandom or original projects I have up on my server, and making it the focus of one of my writing sessions that month. They can do it either as a prompt "hey would like if you dedicated one of your writing sessions to working on this particular project this month, whenever that happens to be" or if they want, they can try and coordinate a time for that writing session, as in I’d go "these are the hours I typically do my writing these days, pick when you'd like to see me work on this story," either cuz they'd like to read along, or its earlier in the month, or like, they have that day off and thus its a good day for re-reading that project or maybe getting an update on it, etc. 

Typically, my writing sessions tend to be at least an hour, anywhere up to around six hours, so this tier guarantees that at least one hour of writing time that month would be focused on a particular project. But as much as I hop around between projects in general, I don't switch between projects in the same single writing session, so practically speaking, it would likely be more than just a single hour, and could even result in an entire chapter update on chaptered works. I just know I can guarantee the hour, whereas I can’t guarantee 'oh this will for sure be a five hour writing session' and thus I went somewhat higher than like, a wage for an hour's work, but not like, super high? As I figure its more likely to land somewhere in the middle, length of time-wise. But also, depending on how this actually goes this first month, I might end up adjusting my approach to this tier or the price level, etc.

5) $25 tier: This one includes all the same access and rewards provided by the lesser tiers as well, but with the additional reward that in addition to getting to set the agenda for one writing session that month, you get to also set that same project or a different one as a 'boosted priority' for the month. What this means is - in the interests of maximizing the gains of having people thwart my indecisiveness over what to work on, lol - whatever you pick here will go on a shortlist of projects that are my go-to's for the month, any time I have a writing session I don't already have a prompt for, or a personal desire to focus on a certain project. 

Basically, its a way of creating my short list of 'To Turn To In Case of Indecisiveness' any time I am being stalled by indecisiveness, rather than other external issues, and any 'prompted' writing sessions are already scheduled or used up. So this one comes with caveats....I want to make it clear that 'how much' people get out of this one is NOT something i can guarantee, as it'll depend on how many writing sessions I can squeeze in that month overall, whether or not I have a particular project that's on the brain enough that I'm going to it regularly, just based on my own choice/momentum, stuff like that. 

But the plus side of this one is if the $15 tier is of interest to people, and its worth it to get to be able to ask for several hours' worth of productivity/output on a particular story of mine.....this tier potentially replicates that same thing multiple times throughout a month and can lead to a lot of progress on a certain single story. So potentially, way more bang for your buck. It is more of a crapshoot, but worst case scenario, you're still likely to get at least two writing sessions geared towards a story you're interested in, for less than double the cost of your patronage of one writing session...but best case scenario, in a month where I don't have a ton of other pressing projects demanding my attention, this could keep me engaged with your project of choice regularly throughout the month, with the increased output to show for it. 

Either way, people are still likely to end up with way more output of their choice/liking due to this than they ever would have if I were just sitting in front of my computer playing 'how much time can I waste doing nothing productive while claiming its just cuz I need to Make The Right Choice of what project to be productive on.'

All that said:

I'm focusing just on time rather than length/word count at the moment just because mentally its a lot easier/less stressful for me to think 'oh I know for sure I can make sure they receive the time I guaranteed I'd focus/devote to this in exchange for their patronage' because its a lot easier for me to just show up and start writing than it is for me to look at a set length of fic I need to complete within a certain timeframe - as the latter is a lot more likely to suck me into one of my weird spirals where completion becomes the enemy of productivity.

Anyway.

I think that’s everything, thank you as always for hearing me out and your consideration even if you don’t end up giving this a whirl. No expectations here, I have no idea how well or not it might work out, but its something new to try because previous approaches just aren’t working but I’m not throwing in the towel, just.....reconfiguring for a new run at achieving some long-term stability and productivity. This at least is a lot more geared towards navigating around my particular issues with my ADHD and executive dysfunction and finding a way to hack them even when I’m not on meds. So, let this experiment begin I guess? LOL. The end.

My links:

https://paypal.me/bigskydreaming?country.x=US&locale.x=en_US

https://ko-fi.com/kalenp

And again, if you want to go ahead and give one of these tiers a try via a donation, you can hit me up directly for a discord invite, or if you prefer more anonymity/distance, you can just wait for the patreon with a more automated/streamlined process. You can also upgrade to a different tier later of course, and let me know if you have specific questions.

Thank you again!

[junicai]

tackled.

| summary | Mark hasn’t been in a group without Aria before. He doesn’t know how he’s going to manage without her there.

| word count | 2.4k

| warnings | none

| era | circa. December 2018

n/a: to the anon who requested more superm stuff, i hope this is to ur liking~ a little bit of background before i start writing some actual scenarios for the team :)

Aria wasn’t quite sure how to function; or how to deal with the fact that she was sitting, legs crossed, back ram-rod straight, in one of the smaller conference rooms with Lee Sooman sitting across from her looking a world more comfortable. 

Taeyong on her left and Lucas on her right, Ten a seat down and Mark beyond that. The plastic seats were less than kind to her aching tailbone, but Aria was mildly (read: incredibly) more preoccupied with the thought that she was wearing a faded hoodie and black workout leggings that were old and worn, sitting in a conference room with Taemin, Baekhyun and Kai. 

She was pretty sure the day couldn’t be going much worse. That was until Sooman's voice snapped her from her inner turmoil and she looked up at the CEO, raising a bottle of water to her lips with a lightly quivering hand.

“Aria, you’ll be joining as their eighth and final member.”

Water rushed down the wrong way in her throat, the muscle spasming as Aria choked and banged a closed fist against her chest. Taeyong’s hand flew to rub circles in between her shoulder blades, patting gently as she heaved, trying to re-catch her breath.

She takes it back. It just got worse. 

“Sir?” Aria wheezed out, taking in a stuttered breath as she looked up from the table to meet the CEO’s eyes. 

“SuperM is a concept group designed to take those that excelled in their respective groups and use that as the foundation to create something bigger. You’ve all made a name for yourself; both within the group and individually.” Sooman took a breath, lifting his hands to drum his fingertips across the wooden table. The dark oak was glazed, and Aria belatedly realized that this conference room was so small as it was the CEO’s personal room. His name was imprinted on the front of the door, gold paint enhancing the grooves made. 

He continued talking, focusing his attention on each individual member from his seat, explaining their ‘roles’ so to speak. Aria caught small snippets, chest still rising a beat too quickly for it to be ignorable and her racing mind building up a cascade of thoughts that were rising up in tandem. 

Baekhyun you will be the leader - Taemin as - I think it’s important, no crucial that you remember - this is not a time for - you’ll understand my expectations in time - a common ground for those that - merging the eras -

Aria flinched violently when her name was called, head snapping away from where it was boring holes into the wall just over Taemin’s shoulder. She had yet to make eye contact with a single one of her seniors, having taken a single glance around the room upon arrival and dropped herself into a near 90 degree bow. 

“What with the incredibly - albeit unexpectedly - positive response that came with your inclusion in the various NCT units, myself and my team think it fitting that you’d belong in a group such as this one. Obviously your English speaking skills are a benefit, although I am not so sure that your accent will be as tolerable to the American media as Mark’s here would be. But I’m getting ahead of myself, we can circle back to that in due time.” Sooman leant back in his chair, resting his arms against his sides. 

He looked satisfied with how the meeting had gone - given that all but one member of the newly established team had signed their agreement into another contract, having handed out a thinly spaced document a few minutes prior. 

Aria sat back, pen cradled in her hand as Sooman shuffled through her contract in his hands, as he had refrained from giving hers out with the others. The CEO dismissed the other members, calling for Aria to remain seated for another few minutes. 

As the seven boys stood from their chairs with muffled screeches from the rubber capped legs on the chairs, Taeyong let a hand brush over Aria’s shoulder once. His face was pinched into something, lip caught between his teeth but Aria waved him off with a smile that didn’t lift her eyes. 

Exiting the room, Mark glanced back over his shoulder catching a glimpse of Sooman already leaning forward in his chair and Aria sitting up straight. Attentive. And then the door swung closed, clicking shut with a soft snick and Mark couldn’t see either of them anymore. 

It had been a week. 

Mark had meant to ask Aria what Sooman had wanted to discuss with her privately, he really had. But between schedules and commuting and a million other things that had appeared on his ‘To-Do’ list overnight; he hadn’t found the time.

Either he crept in to the dorms a few minutes prior to the clock striking twelve with barely enough energy to take a shower, or it was Aria slipping in on light feet, sliding in to her bedroom with a quiet goodnight. 

She had been disappearing more often; despite the fact that Mark was near certain that she didn’t have anymore schedules than the rest of them. Not even Donghyuck had been gone as often as her, and the two of them were prepping for NCT Dream’s next album together.

The thought settled bitterly in Mark’s stomach, so he brushed it aside. A million other thoughts filled the space left; equally as acidic. 

Had she signed in to the group? Had she declined? Was there something else going on that Sooman needed to talk to her about? Was she going solo? Was she leaving them? He knew that she’d been offered the opportunity before - it nearly decimated her and Donghyuck’s friendship - but had she accepted this time? Is that where she was going? Why hadn’t she talked to anyone else about it? Why hadn’t she talked to him? 

His head was full of these thoughts running on a cycle. He tried his best to shake them out. 

The dorms were never full anymore - someone was always gone doing one thing, or practicing another, or discussing something else. 

Mark thinks that this was his least hectic day in the last seven. But it was definitely the most stressful.

His hands were sweating and he rubbed his damp palms against the black material of his joggers, an anxious bounce in his knee. Lucas was leant against the wall beside him, tapping a finger against his thigh. 

Scanning around the room, Mark saw his seniors - his groupmates, as odd as it was to acknowledge - in various degrees of unrest. Taeyong appeared relatively calm, although Mark could recognize the tense set of his jawline and he made a note to remind the leader that he had to stop grinding his teeth unless he wanted to do some damage. 

Ten had his phone in his hand and an earbud in one of his ears, seemingly engrossed in watching a video. Mark could see the dangling headphone jack; unconnected to the phone. The video was paused. 

As for a first practice together, Mark assumed that this was not how it was meant to go. How were they meant to perform together if they couldn’t even start a simple conversation? 

None of the NCT boys had seen the choreography for their first single yet, Mark hadn’t gotten around to asking had his seniors managed to get a sneak peak or not. He didn’t think he ever would, at this rate. 

The practice room was quiet, filled with an unsettled air of anxiousness although that may have just been the younger boys projecting, as Taemin looked entirely unbothered, with Kai leaning over his shoulder. 

Baekhyun’s head snapped up as the door to the practice room was closed, shifting up from his seated position on the floor to greet their choreographer. 

“Ah, hello,” He began, nodding his head in a greeting bow.

“..Hi?” Came a smaller voice than he was expecting. 

“Riri?” Lucas said, pushing himself off the wall. “Hey, you alright?” 

Aria was shifting from her left foot to her right foot, hands twisting the fabric at the end of her hoodie. Taemin tilted his head, and noticed that it was the same hoodie she had been wearing the week previous. 

“What’cha doing here, Ari?” Ten asked, moving to stand closer to the girl. 

“I’m here for - for practice? Right?” Aria turned the questioning on him, glancing at Ten and then turning her gaze on Taeyong. “Right?” 

“For SuperM?” Mark was confused. 

“Yeah?”

Aria had her eyebrows pulled together neatly, staring at Mark, who’s face had crested through about eight emotions in the last second, finally settling on a rather odd mixture of relief and pure, childlike excitement. 

“Mark wha-” She cut herself off with a yelp, hands flying to grip Mark’s shoulders as he tackled her around her middle. “Mark!” 

The boy in question only squeezed her tighter, lifting her off the ground a little. Aria squirmed in his grip, but as soon as Lucas’ arms were added to the equation she went lax, knowing that her chances of escape had just dropped to zero. 

“Dude- oh my god,” Mark was laughing, a light breathy laugh. “Dude I thought you didn’t sign it? What was all the secrecy about?” 

“What... secrecy?” Aria wheezed out. “Mark I can’t breathe-”

“Oh, sorry sorry.” 

Aria was put back down on her feet, but Mark’s arms didn’t leave her middle, choosing instead to tug the girl into a hug. “You kept disappearing, I thought-”

Mark hissed in pain when Aria pinched his hip. “You’re such an idiot.”

“What?”

“You know you can talk to me?” 

His cheeks flushed pink. 

Luckily, Lucas saved him from the conversation, pulling Aria out from Mark’s arms and into his own. This hug was more violent, and Aria was lifted and swung around in a circle once, twice, before demanding to be put back down. 

“We’re in a group together!” Lucas was beaming down at her, and Aria couldn’t help but to grin back. “Yeah we are!”

“Group hug!” Ten yelled, and suddenly Aria found herself in a tangle of Mark and Taeyong and Lucas and Ten’s arms, the four boys hugging her tightly. 

Aria laughed, trying her level best to fit them all in her own hug. They stood there for a minute, arms entangled in a rather terrible mimicry of a knotted ball of yarn. 

“Ah hyung, they’re so cute.”

Taeyong coughed, and the five-person cuddle unraveled quickly. 

Aria spun around to see Taemin, Baekhyun and Kai all standing together on the opposite side of the room. Taemin had a fond look on his face, while Baekhyun had his tongue caught between his teeth to stave off a smile.

“Not to ruin the moment or anything, but does anyone know where our choreographer is?” Jongin peered down at his phone. “It’s been twenty minutes, are we in the right room?”

Aria cleared her throat.

“Uh, about that bit.”

Mark’s head snapped over so quickly he might have given himself whiplash. “Ari?”

“I might? Be your choreographer?” The statement came out more like a question, and Aria spread her hands out in front of her. “Believe me, I’m not quite sure how that one happened either, but if it’s going to be a problem I really have no issue with, like, not doing it? I know I’m the youngest and I don’t want to be rude or anything I-”

Mark tackled her in another hug. Aria was pretty sure her ribs were going to be bruised after this.

“Literally shut up.”

“But!”

“Shut up!” 

“You’ll do a great job, Aria.” Baekhyun smiled over at the younger girl. “Do you have anything prepped, or have you heard the song yet?”

Aria shuffled awkwardly. “I have something? It’s only a rough draft really, and obviously its subject to change because, well you’re all here and whatever suits you best is the best option so,” She took a breath. Taeyong slid over to put a hand on her back, but said nothing, still waiting for one of the older members to take the lead. 

“Can you show us? None of us have seen the demo yet, just Jongin.” Taemin grumbled, poking the boy in question in the stomach. Jongin flicked him back. 

“Uh, yeah? Yeah, I can do that.” 

“Wait wait, Ari. Is that what you were talking to Sooman about?” Mark caught her wrist to stop her from leaving the practice room. She had lost the hoodie a few hours ago, and her hair was pulled back into a sad looking ponytail. Tired and weary, all she wanted to do was take a hot shower and spend the next three hours with her face buried in her pillow. 

But Mark’s question made her stop. “Uh, yeah. Yeah he just wanted to talk to me about my, responsibilities in the group, so to speak.”

If Mark was a little less exhausted and a little more alert, he would have caught the odd phrasing, but he was a lot more exhausted and a lot less alert than on a regular day, so it flew right over his head. 

“Ari, that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you.” He went to pull her into another hug. 

“No! Ew get off what’s with you today! Why’re you so cuddly, get off get off you’re gross and sweaty.” She knocked her hands against his chest to try and get him to move away.

“I’m just proud of you~” He sang, swaying her back and forth. “Was gonna miss you if you didn’t sign with us. ‘Dunno what to do without you in my team.”

Aria’s protests died down slowly, and her fists stopped to rest on his chest. She snorted once, poking him in the chest. “Don’t lie, you just didn’t want to be the maknae, you can’t fool me.” 

“No~” Mark continued to whine. “Really, was gonna miss you.” 

“Okay, okay, you big baby. I’m not going anywhere - you’re going to have to try harder than that to get rid of me. Now let go, I want a shower.”

[wizkiddx]

worst case scenario part 5

finally!! so sorry its been an age to anyone still here but lives been interesting atm so....  also this really feels a bit rambley and the ending is deff underdeveloped but I just kind of wanted this done tbh x 

[previous part] [part 1] 

warnings:  hospitals - ICU, ventilation that sort of stuff, just a lot of ANGST post a difficult birth - please don't read if this could be upsetting for you, and my inbox is always open if u wanna chat :) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In a complete 360 degree flip from earlier that day, after leaving the hospital Tom had become obsessively attached to Aurora. They’d got back to his parents place in Tom’s car; Aurora in the carseat Y/n and Tom had ready in their car door for her arrival. Clearly his parents had already pre-warned his brothers, who had thankfully already gone over to Tom and Y/n’s - collecting the Moses basket amongst other items Harry had been listed off from his mother. 

Apart from explaining a little behind her name to his parents on the journey back, Tom had spoken very little, choosing to keep himself to himself - physically stationing himself beside the Moses basket the whole time. Of course, there had been a bit of light conversation and almost procedural passing round of Aurora between all her uncles and grandparents, which Tom had kept a wether eye on - but ultimately not engaged. 

He also knew that physically his body was failing him. Although eating a little of the lasagne Sam had made for everyone, he could only stomach a minuscule amount, which did little to boost his energy levels. It felt as though sleeping was the enemy, because he was neither ready to leap into the car if the phone went; or to hear the smallest sound from the wicker basket, suggesting something was wrong. So as much as he tried to fight it, before even nine o’clock he began to dose off on the familiar couch of his parents sitting room - occasionally jerking himself awake before loosing the fight once again.

Nikki had tried to gently push him to take a break in the spare bedroom, which had been Tom’s before he’d moved out, but was unsuccessful - every time he retaliated with a stern shake of his head, while checking his phone just in case he’d missed a notification. Eventually Nikki relented, later in the evening both her and Dom retiring to bed; once Sam had agreed to stick around downstairs till a bit later - as a chef he worked till late in the nights, so even on his days off like today, his sleep schedule was just a little fucked. 

Left alone with his new little niece and now pretty firmly asleep brother, Sam draped a blanket over the latter just in time for Aurora to start fussing in the need of a bottle. His mum had explained how to do everything, how to mix the formula and heat it up, so after scooping up the little wriggling girl in the hope his brother wouldn’t get disturbed, Sam dealt with her. To be honest no matter how clueless and useless he felt, Aurora was just so cute - if a little wrinkly and alien looking, but in a good way. This was the first baby any of them had had, so the first time Sam experienced this instant connection and love for the little being that was his niece or nephew. It was terrifying, lifting the bottle against her lips for the first time, but then it just sort of seemed to work. She was incredibly smart for less than 24 hours old, instantly latching on, like she had done for Haz at the hospital. 

That gave Sam a little confidence in his ability as an uncle, giving himself a satisfied nod while swaying from the kitchen to move back into the living room. It was just a preference to be within reach of Tom… just in case. His poor brother still hadn’t moved, slumped against the corner of the sofa, leaning toward the now empty Moses basket. Normally, Sam seeing his supposed heart throb of a brother looking as rough as he did now - double chin, mouth hanging slightly open, deep sunken eyes - he would’ve taken a photo to blackmail him with. Now though, it was just desperately sad, seeing his brother like this, hand still clutching his phone tightly above the blanket. 

Rather hoping the calm would last for a while, Sam successfully finished off feeding Aurora; winded and then put her down to sleep again just in time. Because, perhaps expectedly, Tom’s phone began to blare off the default iPhone ringtone making Tom jump and throw the device across the room as he awoke with a start. Sam ran to grab it off the floor, mainly with the hope of turning it off before Aurora was awoken too - knowing that it was best tonight to tackle one thing at a time. 

And so he immediately swiped to answer the call, not even registering who the call was from, much rather just wanting the noise to stop. 

“Hello?”

“Sam? It’s Harrison” Tom had jumped up from his seat hovering beside Sam with petrified look. It took barely seconds for Tom to snatch the phone back, launching questions down the receiver. 

“Slow down would you? Y/n is fine I was just phoning to check in.”

“Oh er yeh… um sorry I just… just thought…”

“It’s the other way mate. Nurse says she’s starting to get there cos first she moved her arm a bit when we pinched her shoulder and then I just called because she started to like gag and now the ventilator thing is gone.”

“W-what?”

“I think she’s breathing by herself? Like she’s got an oxygen mask instead of the tubes down her throat.” Clearly Harrison was not, by any means, a medical expert. 

“They said she would have the ventilator for a few days at least.”

“I guess Y/n got bored? To be fair she couldn’t ever sit still.”

“I’m coming to you.”

“Tom it’s nearly midnight, I was supposed to be kicked out at 10. Just come back in the morning, they won’t let you in I’m pretty certain.”

“What if she wakes up!”

“Then they’ll call you! She’s getting better Tom you should be try and relax for like a second.”

“FUCK OFF HAZ! If she wakes up all alone and terrified then-“

“I’m not going to having a screaming match on the phone with you. I think we both know you wanting to come is more for you than for Y/n, because Y/n would want you to be looking after Aurora.”

Again guilt tripping using the newborn. Harsh but effective. Stopping Tom’s anger dead in it’s tracks.

“Look I can put the nurse on for her to tell you they won’t let you in and they’ll call if anything happens - but you already know that.”

“Yeh sorry fine … I know don’t bother.”

“Okay… I’m was gonna head back to my place and I know you’ve probably got your mum begging to fuss over Aurora but if-“

“Can you come?”

“Didn’t need to ask mate.”

And that’s how the night went. Until Harrison arrived at the Holland family home, Tom had spent the time pacing back and forth, blatantly ignoring the pleas of Sam just to sit down. Once he arrived though, going through all the updates in a lot more detail Tom seemed, for the first time, optimistic. By no means could you call him relaxed or happy - but compared to the rollercoaster that had been the last 24 hours, Harrison thought that was more than enough. Aurora had started fussing again at 1 but by the time it had turned into a full blown scream at Tom, Sam already had the bottle ready. It took a little bit of encouragement and promise that Tom would be able to feed her but actually, she instantly latched on, settled in her Dad’s hold while guzzling down the contents of the bottle. 

After a bit of winding she ended up falling asleep on her dads chest, only when he felt himself start to flag did Tom place her back in the basket. Harrison and him ended up crashing on the sofas, Sam retiring to his own room. Phone still tightly clutched in Tom’s grip.

////////////////////

The first thing Y/n became properly aware of was this intense heaviness all over her body. It felt as though her limbs were all composed completely of lead, meaning as much as she was just craving rolling over, it was as though her own body was holding her down. A very alien feeling that unsettled her slightly, trying to shake of the misty feeling in her head to work it all out. It took a while to drag herself out of the depths of sleep, to the point where background noise slowly faded in - an alien beeping as well as distant shuffling making her heart thump with unease. Finally, perhaps most distressingly , her eyes felt glued shut. Not because they were heavy, in the way someone extremely sleep deprived cant keep their eyes open; rather stiff like they hadn’t been used in so long they’d rusted over or something. 

The feeling  was quite horrific and isolating- as though she were locked into her body without an escape in sight. Whilst trying to calm her racing thoughts, Y/n chose to focus completely on the one thing she could do. She could listen. She listened to the beeps, focusing on the type of sound, the way it chimed so regularly; and it’s form. It was familiar, for that she was sure but for now at least she couldn’t place it. 

It felt like an investigation, trying with all her might to try and workout what the fuck was going on. To put it mildly. 

The most useful clue though, a breakthrough if you will, is when a voice sounded - clear and familiar. 

“Excuse me nurse?” It was Nikki. For sure. It was a clue, but didnt seem to make a hell of a lot of sense. Y/n was so focused on why the hell Nikki was apparently watching her sleep unconscious, she completely missed the reference to the nurse. As in hospital. As in Y/n was in hospital. “… I’m just going to swap out for my sons friend.”

“Harrison?” That voice seemed new and unfamiliar.

“Yes, he won’t be a second I’m sure.”

What was Harrison doing here too? 

It was all very confusing and hurt Y/n’s brain to try and unpick. Gradually then, everything sort of melted away, diving back into the darkness.

The next time Y/n woke up things were different. This time she woke up like she would at any time of day. She woke up and her eyes followed suit. Not particularly easily, since as soon as they cracked open she was almost blinded by brilliant white lights, it taking a build up of willpower before she tried it again - bracing for the pain. 

By now she knew something was wrong. She remembered all these patchy and hazy periods. All full of confusion and disorientation but with different voices keeping her at least semi calm. Familiar voices, all too often laced with such emotion. Especially Tom’s. She couldn’t remember what he had said, nor had she probably been able to understand it at the time - what stuck was the tone. The sadness, the hopelessness , the emptiness. 

It was scary. But it made her want to help. Made her want to open her eyes. 

After wincing at the dazzling white surroundings, Y/n blinked her eyes quickly, in an attempt to get them to adjust quicker. She saw an unfamiliar ceiling, one that was tiled in a similar way to her old school canteen. There was a  weird pressure round her mouth, eyes quickly darting down to see edges of a clear mask pressed up against the bridge of her nose. That wasn’t it though, the further she looked the more her eyes panned down this pale blue blanket, following the outline of her legs to the bottom raised edge of the bed. The hospital bed. 

Her hospital bed. 

As much as she wanted to jump up in panic; physically right now that was an impossibility. So instead, Y/n focused on trying to gleam as much information from the situation. It took a hell of a lot of effort, her muscles literally stiff and ridgid with disuse but with a small groan her neck eventually agreed to follow orders. Just a small tilt to the left and suddenly Y/n felt so much more less panicked. Everything was that bit less scary because there was Tom. 

Admittedly he didn’t look amazing, or even not bad. Tom was sat with his back pressed against the side of chair, so his body faced her. Had he not looked so ruined, Y/n would’ve laughed at the side of his face squashed into the back of the seat. But he did look horrific, for lack of a better word. His brown eyes were locked shut, but also looked puffy and red, while dark at the same time - as though he’d been attempting to gouge his own eyes out prior. He looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, hence why he had appeared to have collapsed in the arm chair. At least though , he wasn’t in a hospital bed himself.

That was Y/n’s pleasure. 

Her next job was to get her neck muscles to pull her head to the other side. It was a slow wincing gesture, yet she was so aware of another presence that needed to be addressed too. But actually it was 3 people.

Right at the back, a nurse sat on a little spinny chair, scribbling something down in a file of papers but to be quite honest that wasn’t were Y/n’s focus zeroed in on. Instead on Harrison who was sat in chair mirroring Tom, except instead of being passed out asleep he was cradling a baby. Her baby. 

Y/n literally felt her heart in her throat at that point, eye widening almost comically. That was her baby - it must be? The monitors all started to loose their regularity as Y/n threw an uncoordinated limb to that side of the bed- already having realised her throat was way too scratchy to try to say anything comprehensible. 

Immediately that got the attention of both the nurse, who immediately leapt up and called for support, as well as Harrison - who looked like he was seeing a ghost. 

“Oh my-Y/n-?” Luckily he kept the baby safe in his arms rather than dropping her in shock, whilst Y/n kept her eyes locked onto the bundle in his arms. Nodding down, she tried to remove the mask (actually just very slightly knocking it to one side) and attempted to ask of the baby. Her throat, being inhumanly dry and scratchy, didn’t really work but Haz still got the message, scoffing in amazement. 

“Aurora… here’s your mummy.” Harrisons voice was quiet and wavering as he delicately held Aurora against Y/n’s collar bone, the babies little tuft of har tickingling her chin. Now Y/n was crying with happiness, looking up at Haz’s icy blue eyes and questioning her name. Harrison confirmed with another disbelieving whisper, whilst the arm that wasn’t still holding Aurora clasped Y/n’s hand with a death grip. “Tom’s choice.”

The mention of him had both of them shift their gaze across the room to Tom’s chair. Even with all the developments, Tom still seemed completely unaware, fast asleep with the side of his face squished against the back of the chair making his lips slightly askew. Y/n were acutely aware of the small congregation of doctors that had accumulated in the corner of the bay but they seemed to be respectfully waiting before they would prod and poke. Haz went to call Tom’s name, before he could though, Y/n squeezed his arm and minutely shook her head. That wasn’t what the blue eyes boy had been expecting, causing Haz to unfold and bring Aurora back up to his chest as he quirked his eyebrows at her.  

She didnt need to be filled in on the situation to know exactly what was happening. She had no idea why she was in the hospital bed; how long it had been since she’d given birth - but she knew all she needed to. From Harrisons unbelievably shocked face; and from the state of Tom - it hadn’t been good. Her fiancé looked almost ghostly, it seemed evident that he needed her. First then, she gestured to Haz for some water, which after a panicked look to the nurse; then from the nurse to various doctors; she was eventually given permission. 

After somewhat alleviating the sandpaper feeling in her throat, Y/n then croakily asked for a bit of privacy. Right now the doctors all were gawking, Harrison assumed it to be because they’d all led him and Tom to believe she wouldn’t wake up for a while- and even then she was supposed to barely be awake, not able to talk and drink or anything of the sort. With an ecstatic nod Harrison, shuffled out - while doing so prompting the medical people to draw the curtains completely shut round the bay.  

Already Y/n had tears welling up in her eyes, purely because she hated seeing him like this. He just looked so broken and shattered which honestly felt worlds worse than the labour she’d gone through. Her whole body still hurt, stiff and achy for reasons yet to be explained to Y/n. None of that mattered though, as she strained her arm out to the side in order to gently reach his knee that was folded up and sticking out awkwardly at an angle. After swallowing one again, Y/n squeezed round the joint and tried to shake it slightly. Instantly the man jumped up in his seat, heavy eyes blinking quickly and repeatedly as he tried to adjust to the room. 

Being so sleep deprived and stressed out, Tom’s brain was not working normally, instead with a delayed haze as he apparently skipped over Y/n in the bed, rather surveying the the closed curtains and Harrison’s now empty chair. As he was lifting himself to sit more normally up, uncurling from the armchair, was when he noticed the hand on his knee. Breath caught in his chest, Tom instinctively bit his lip as his eyes gradually traced up the hand, to the forearm, up to the shoulder. It felt like a fever dream, as though all it would take is for him to move and she’d slip away again. But there were her green eyes, gleaming in a way that literally lifted a weight from his shoulders. Her smile was tired and a little confused, but so her - after spending days of just seeing all her features lax, Tom swore that it was the most beautiful thing in the world.

Only when Y/n finally croaked out a small ‘hi’ did Tom gain awareness of his body, or rather control of it, enough to leap up and leave over the bed - cradling her face in both his palms. Like a psycho he stared intently, swapping his focus from her left to her right eye like a madman. 

“Your-I-I” He was trying to speak, trying to communicate all the thoughts and regrets of things he wished he’d said to her all at once. Weakly she reached up to fully remove the oxygen mask, dragging It down to below her chin, before squeezing his wrists in comfort. Only then did Tom notice the small puddle that had collected on her cheek, which made him realise he was absolutely bawling. 

“You ‘kay?” Her voice was like sandpaper but everything about her was so completely Y/n and it was just giving Tom this unreal wave of euphoria. Physically incapable of replying, the brunette just scoffed, leaning over the bed even more so he could press his forehead on hers. He was laughing too, the fact she was asking him that seemed so preposterous, given all the tubes and wires attached to her at the moment. It took Y/n squeezing his wrist harder again to make him lean back a little, searching her eyes with his. She seemed so worried; seemed so full of concern - only then did Tom consider quite how much he’d ‘let himself go’ the past couple of days. 

It had been two days since Aurora was born, only 48 hours. But the transformation was mad, none more so than mentally. 48 hours had quite literally changed everything for Tom; changed life forever and himself too. It was showing in his unshaven face, with unwashed  greasy hair, everything just looking ‘tired’.

“‘m just really glad your awake.” It was so honest and sincere it did have Y/n wondering what had happened and for how long. What had she put her fiancé through?

“How long?”

“The worst two and a half days of my life… I got you now though, yeh?” Tom whispered wetly, while stroking the side of her cheek - wiping both his and her tears away.

“Always.”

The doctors and nurses then came in, podding and poking Y/n like no tomorrow while Harrison and Tom stood back a little - excitedly grinning at each other and the sleepy girl Haz was cradling, before Tom stole her off him. There was a momentary sick-to-his-stomach feeling after some of the professionals had cleared, seeing her eyes shut again felt like everything was crashing around him. Thankfully though, one of doctors noticed the look of despair on his face, explaining to the two men that she was just asleep normally. That although sh’ed spent along time unconscious, waking from a medical coma is in itself exhausting. 

After the initial excitement of Y/n waking the next couple of days were pretty samey. She’d been moved down to a normal ward, no longer needed all the incessant bleeping machines but still had to stay in hospital. Tom found it tricky too, he just always felt he needed to be by her side ‘just in case’. In fact, it had been a source of a bit of tension between him and his fiancé - she could see how exhausted he was from looking after Aurora, plus the stress of being in the hospital for hours a day with her. As Y/n got better and more switched on to the state of him, she realised it was inevitable he’d crash at some point.

But after a week and a half in hospital - comprising of a baby, emergency surgery, 3 days on intensive care, followed by 8 on the ward - Y/n was discharged. Nikki and Dom moved in to Y/n and Tom’s place, to provide care support both for Aurora; and Y/n for the rest of her recovery; and secretly Tom for everything he’d been through. 

She was still order on bed rest due to her surgical scars, so Tom and Nikki helped to set her up in the master bedroom as soon as they got in. Of course, everyone was aware of Toms odd mood that day. Until then the only thing he wanted was to get his fiancé back at home with him but now she was over the threshold his excitement and joy appeared to have been zapped out of him. In fact, he’d barely uttered more than a couple sentences. So once Y/n was properly comfortable and Dom had brought Aurora and the cot into the room, Tom’s parents quickly made themselves scarce. 

Tom hadn’t stopped, finding some reason to rummage around in the chest of drawers m while Y/n chewed at her bottom lip, watching him. 

“Tom?” All she got in response was a light hum. “Tom please will you come and sit down for a minute?”

“I just need to-“

“Tom!” Her exclamation finally properly got Tom to listen, jumping round to face her. “Please... please will you just stop for a second?” Y/n’s eyes felt as though they were boring holes in his skull. Really, Tom knew he’d be forced into this at some point because he couldn’t avoid Y/n. She had some power of mind reading over him. So with a defeated nod and sagging shoulders Tom rounded the bed, weaving between his side and Auroras cot - where she was sleeping soundly. 

A silence overcame the room as he heavily planted himself on his side of the bed, mirroring Y/n’s posture leant against the headboard. 

“I think we need to have an honest conversation T.”

“If you want.” Nothing about his reply was the picture of enthusiasm, causing Y/n to hesitate a little. 

“Look I am so beyond grateful for everything you’ve done while I was in hospital... and it doesn’t take a genius to tell you’ve worked yourself half to death-“

“I’m fine-“

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re trying to protect me but please... will you just talk to me? Honestly?” 

His reply this time wasn’t completely unforeseeable but it still shocked Y/n quite how quickly it happened, especially almost unprovoked. Because that’s all it took for Tom to break, for the past 2 weeks to get their vengance, for all the repressed emotion to escape. 

He was crying- well more accurately sobbing- into his hands, his back quaking. Naturally Y/n reached out to pull him into her side, suppressing the groan of pain as she moved a little too much for her abdomen to handle. “I’m here T. I got you and I’m not going anywhere m‘kay?” 

And that’s how they stayed, for at least 10 minutes, with Tom crying into her shoulder as Y/n rubbed up and down his back. Eventually though, everything did calm down and Tom repositioned himself to lean his head on her shoulder just facing forward and focusing on playing with her fingers, lacing them fingers with his. 

In all the time since she’d woken up, Y/n was yet to broach the subject of their babies name yet. She sensed it was a sensitive topic to say the least, so had thought it best to wait till they were properly alone - not in a ward of 6 strangers where the only privacy came in flimsy blue curtains. 

“So…. Aurora huh? Thought it was too airy-fairy, head-in-the-clouds for you?”  Smiling lightly, both of them were transported back to the pregnancy when they spent hours and hours bickering over names. Aurora had always been Y/n’s favourite but to Tom thought it was more a name for a hippy kid who went around clad in tie dye and bandanas. 

“Still is a bit...but I needed a bit of a miracle and Iceland was in my head. Plus I sort of accidentally word vomited while shouting at Haz, for being nice to me.” Iceland as in when Tom had proposed under the aurora borealis in the freezing sky - when Y/n had agreed, promised even, to be with him forever.

“But you like it?”

“Of course... mother always knows best after all.”

“I think it suits her too. One of your best choices to date, listening to me.” Y/n mused, earning herself a very delicate but still playful elbow in the side before the room drifted back to a much more comfortable silence. 

“We’re gonna get through this you know? Me, you and her, we’re together in this... I’m sorry I wasn’t in the beginning and I’m sorry I hurt you but now? I promise you got me and I’m not going anywhere…” Y/n needed to say it and needed Tom to properly listen. “ ...literally, I still cant walk properly.” Tom chuckled wetly at that, which made Y/n feel a lot better too. 

To be completely honest, Tom was still hurt and he knew it’d take some mending to move past everything. By no means did he blame Y/n in anyway but just the fact he was left alone and abandoned - well, it was the worst time in his life. The way Y/n understood that and had apologised to him - if completely unnecessarily- meant everything. Meant she would help him to heal... whilst he helped her too. 

“Can we just go to sleep? I need to wake up beside you in our bed not at tiny hospital one.” It was only 3 in the afternoon but because of Y/n’s medicine she was constantly drowsy and Tom? Tom was still in this permanent state of exhaustion. So it wasn’t so much of a weird request as it was on the face of it. With a nod, Y/n shuffled down on the bed a bit more resting her head against the top of Tom’s. It was exactly what they both needed, just a bit of peace with each other. 

That lasted all of 5 minutes before Aurora woke and started to scream. 

Life had most definitely changed. Especially for Tom. Because even though he was he was mentally and physically exhausted,  he only appreciated his daughters screams whole heartedly... because Y/n was there groaning with a tired smile too. They were in this together. 

~~~~

 I really hope the ending didnt disappoint too much, im aware its rushed as hell, but thank you for getting this far! And I hope maybe this series has done a teeny tiny bit to normalise not everything in pregnancy and child birth being perfect - that there is morbidity and mortality associated. Obviously this is all fictional (esp the amazingly quick recovery and lack of neurological/other impairments) and not medically accurate in the slightest !!

my inbox is always open :) t x

Tagging : @whitewolf51 

[misslilli]

Thank you to the lovelies who are still here ❤️

Felix Felicis

MSR. AU. PG-13. | tagging @today-in-fic | read on AO3

Chapter 22 - B Is For Basketball

[ DS ]

October has faded into November, pumpkin-spiced latte has been replaced by peppermint mocha and plans for Thanksgiving break have been secured, my mom beside herself with joy that Bill Jr. will be returning from his assignment overseas just in time for the holidays.

At school, we’ve made paper turkeys for our window decorations in school, and slowly, I’m beginning to get into the holiday spirit myself. I stay late on this Friday afternoon to put the finishing touches on the turkeys, cutting out paper candy corn and taping everything to the insides of the windows that line our classroom. ‘Looks pretty good, the kids finally got the hang of cutting paper along the lines neatly.’

I exchange my heels for my gym sneakers after a long day, grab my book bag and head out, locking the door behind me. The eery calm of an empty school building soothes me and I turn out the lights of our hallway. When I look out into the school yard, I notice that someone has left on the lights in our gym and I roll my eyes. That someone might have been me forgetting after my lesson today, so I cross the yard quickly to turn them off before I head home.

When I enter the gym, though, I freeze at the top of the bleachers. The floor is empty safe for one Fox Mulder, dribbling a basketball and shooting hoops. I know I should just turn around and leave him to it, but I just can’t help watching, slack-jawed, as the muscles of his back ripple under that tight t-shirt. It’s not often that I get to watch him without getting caught, so I allow myself to stare for just a little bit longer, heart hammering in my chest.

I only realize that my hands have gone limp when my keys hit the floor with a deafening crash and I almost jump out of my skin. ‘Run! Move! Now!’ My legs are not cooperating, damn them, and I see to my horror that he whips around and spots me standing on top of the bleacher’s stairs.

“Jesus, Scully! You trying to kill me?” ‘Those damn forearms of yours are what’s killing me…’

His surprised expression morphs into a smile. “Skinner said it’s okay if I used the gym for practice in the winter. What are you still doing here?”

“Uh... I was hanging turkeys … and I noticed the light on … and I thought that I had left them on after my lesson … and yeah…” ‘Stop rambling, you idiot!’

Now he’s grinning even wider and I can tell he’s going to tease me mercilessly. In my head, I start a list of ‘10 things I hate about you.’

“Didn’t know you hang your own turkey for Thanksgiving dinner, Scully, that’s pretty badass of you!” ‘I want to smack that smirk off your pretty face right now, how’s that for badass?’

I roll my eyes at him and he has the audacity to look incredibly pleased with himself. “Have you ever shot a three-pointer, Scully?” ‘What now?’ I take a moment to contemplate what to say next.

“No. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m only a few inches taller than a yardstick, so I guess I have found more necessary things to do with my time than fail at basketball.”

He jerks his head holding up the basketball. “Get over here, Scully.” The tone in his voice makes my skin tingle.

I’m almost 100 percent sure he thinks I won’t do it, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of backing out now, so instead of shooting him down, I walk down the stairs slowly until I’m standing in front of him. I have to tip my head pretty far back to give him a blank look and the eyebrow and smack the basketball out of his hand, sending it bouncing on the floor a few times. Now it’s my turn to smirk at his surprised expression.

Laughing, he goes to pick up the ball and I think of other things I’d like to smack as I get a good look at his backside when he bends down. “Alright sassy lady, you stand here and I’ll try to get around you to the hoop. You need to block me and take the ball from me, okay?”

We move into position and he dribbles the ball a few times. “Okay. Just don’t body-check me!” ‘Oh yes please, body-check me. Tackle me. Wrestle me down to the ground.’

“Body-checking’s for hockey, Scully, so don’t worry!” He moves suddenly, to pass on my right side and I follow, trying to get the ball out from under his hand but he turns and twirls around me and in three long strides, he’s jumping up to the hoop, sinking the ball into it with a satisfying swoosh. Color me impressed.

“You want to try?”

“There was some talk about shooting three-pointers, I think I’ll stick to that for now. Where do I start, here?”

“No, that’s the free throw line. Back there’s the three-point line. Now don’t be nervous, I know for a fact that you can take a shot. Or three…” He looks so pleased with himself at the hint, but it only makes me flash back to Halloween night. Steve. Easy lay.

Shaking the thought from my head, I take the ball he offers to me and bounce it a few times.

‘Oy that’s pretty far away from the hoop, crap. Too late to back out now, Dana.’

I move to stand at the indicated line, holding the ball between my hands and concentrating hard on the hoop, I throw it. The ball sails forward in a pathetically low arc, missing the hoop for miles. If he laughs now, I swear to God, I’ll hang his ass from the backboard.

Thankfully for him, though, he bites back the teasing and instead, moves around me to stand against my back. The hairs at the back of my neck stand up at his proximity. “Come on, I’ll show you.” Reaching his arms around me, his front pressed against my back, he holds the ball in front of my face. ‘He’s too close, damn it! Houston, I have a problem!’

He nudges my foot outward and forward a little with his and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. “Legs shoulder width apart.” Next, he takes my wrist, raising my arm to 90 degrees and places my hand underneath the ball. “Spread your fingers and rest the ball on your palm. Only touch it with your fingertips.” I swallow hard around a lump in my throat, nodding. ‘Mayday, mayday!’

My left hand is placed on the side of the ball. “Don’t grip the ball with your left hand. Now you need to bend your knees and jump.” I start to hyperventilate when it dawns on me where exactly my ass will be pressed against when I bend my knees. But his hands leave mine as he steps back and the loss of warmth on my back makes me shiver.

I jump and make my shot and while it’s infinitesimally better than my first shot, I still miss. I groan in frustration, I hate being bad at something.

“I’m just too short, damn it!” ‘If I start to cry now, I’ll hang myself from that backboard.’ Now I’m not only agitated and nervous, now I’m frustrated on top of it all.

He gets the ball back and hands it to me, a thoughtful look on his face and I wonder what he’s up to now. “Hmm… okay, let’s try something else.”

I almost jump out of my skin when his hands grab my waist just below my ribs. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Relax, Scully, I’m giving you height.” I’m feel lightheaded. “Okay, on three you jump and make your shot. 1, 2, 3!” I follow his orders and he lifts me over his head as I shoot for the hoop, my heart going a mile a minute, a faint ringing in my ears.

This is all so perfect and romantic and sexy all at the same time.

No, wait.

It’s too perfect, too romantic, too sexy, too close, too much. too soon. too many unknowns. too scary.

When he lowers me down his front slowly, I stumble forward as I regain some footing under my feet, whipping around and breathing hard. I don’t even hear the swoosh of my money shot.

Only managing to choke out a strangled “I gotta go!” before ripping up the stairs, through the doorway, into the chilly November night.

Leaning my head back against the teacher’s bathroom door, my mind flashes back to the night on Halloween, bits of conversation reverberating in my head. “Not relationship material. Hot teacher. Catholic girl. Golden Retriever. Easy lay.”

I go back in history to all the times I’ve found myself curled into a ball on the floor of my bathroom, my living room, my kitchen, in my bed. Crying so hard that no sounds left my mouth, all the pain in my chest making it hard to breathe.

I knock my head backwards into the door once, frustrated.

I’m just too broken. Damaged goods.

I wait for what feels like hours but is probably just a few minutes before turning off the lights and heading home.

----------

[ FM ]

‘Shit. You overstepped. You made her feel uncomfortable. Unsafe.’ I want to slap my stupid-ass self as I watch the doors close after her. ‘It seemed like she was having fun, what happened? Should I go after her? Does she want me to?’ After a long while I put the basketball where it belongs, turn off the lights and leave the gym in search for her. I have no idea where to look and if she even wants to be found, but the thought of me causing her pain sends me running through the dark school anyway. I stop to listen for sounds several times, but everything’s deadly quiet. I can’t find her.

Shit.

[mellointheory]

inhaling smoke, i just awoke pt. 2

Red is curled up on his couch, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a rapidly cooling styrofoam cup of instant noodles clasped between his hands. He ate about half of it before he got distracted by the tv, and the rest served better as a heat source, honestly. It was criminal how cold his apartment was; he was wearing his earmuffs inside, for God’s sake.

There’s a knock on the door and he looks up, setting the cup of cold, soggy noodles on the coffee table. He gets up, still swathed in his blanket, and shuffles across the floor to open the front door. Antfrost is standing there, wearing the same thick green coat from earlier that day, with a long shape that looks suspiciously like a firearm strapped to his back underneath it.

“Are you ready?” He asks.

“I’m always ready.” Red pulls his blanket off and balls it up, chucking it back over at the couch. He picks up his baseball bat, giving it a quick once over to check the coat of red and white paint, then slots it into the straps on his back. His bag is sitting next to the door, the velvet pockets lining the inside carefully packed with the pots that he’d chosen. The sedatives Antfrost had requested, swirl pale yellow in their black cushioning. He’s brought some additional ones just in case; shimmering harsh pinks and purples and blues in the shadows of his bag. Antfrost peers inside his bag and nods in approval.

“How far away is it?” Red asks, stepping outside and closing the door behind him. Antfrost leans against the door while Red locks it, his face peering out of the depths of his green hood. His eyes do glow a little, soft blue light that Red would probably have to get very, very close to have reach him. He adds that to the bucket list.

“It’s close enough to walk; we should have time. And I don’t want to get there until after the doors close.” Antfrost turns and starts walking. His tail is tucked away again, safe from the cold that bites at Red’s hands and face when he follows.

“Can I call you Ant?” He asks. “Antfrost is kinda long, you know.”

Ant shrugs. “I guess I don’t mind.”

“Fantastic. Okay, and what’s your plan then?” Red shoves his hands into his pockets as they reach the street. It’s snowing again. Flakes land in his hair and on his shoulders and melt when they touch his skin.

“They close the doors after everyone’s finished betting.” Red can tell from the bitterness and focus in Ant’s voice that this wasn’t a spontaneous thing; he’s been planning this for a long time. “It’s a warehouse that they took over and repurposed. There’s still catwalks on the ceiling and ways to get in from above. I can drop the gas you made and knock them all out and steal the chimeras.”

“That seems like a solid plan.” Red agrees. “What were you planning before you got me to make this for you, though?”

Ant taps his waist. “I was gonna try to get them with the tranq darts I have, but this will be a lot more effective.”

Red shudders at the thought. “You know tranq darts aren’t immediate, right? They take time to work into your bloodstream.”

Ant is silent. Red quickens his pace to catch up--he has longer legs than him, but the cat hybrid moves with more speed and lightness than he does--and looks the man in the eyes. Ant is only about half a head shorter than him, but the hybrid has his shoulders hunched and is looking down so Red has to lean over a bit.

“You knew that, didn’t you?” He repeats.

Antfrost squints up one eye gingerly. “Maybe….?”

“Jesus, you’re lucky you found me.” Red straightens up and continues walking.

“Well, I’m not sure about that yet,” Antfrost mumbles. Red chuckles.

He can tell when they’re getting close to the chimera fights, because he can hear the cheering. Antfrost pushes his hood back as they approach, his head craned up to scan the side of the warehouse. His ears twitch, little flakes of snow falling on the soft fur and standing out against the dark brown in the harsh lights of the warehouse.

“There’s a ladder over there.” Ant points up, bounding lightly over to the rungs. As he runs his tail untucks from wherever it was hidden away, furling out behind him. It swishes in Red’s face when he mounts the ladder after the hybrid, almost brushing his skin. He wrinkles his nose, eyes crossing when he tries to focus on it.

The snow on top of the warehouse is undisturbed except for Ant’s footprints in it. Red follows the hybrid across the roof to the mouth of a heating vent that arcs from the concrete. The metal tube channels sound and warm air up from the warehouse inside; one of them welcome and the other not. He can hear cheering, and snarling. Ant’s ears flatten back against his skull at the sound and his tail begins whipping around like an angry snake. There’s a quiet growl that Red half thinks is coming from the hybrid’s throat.

“What now?” Red asks, partially to distract Ant from whatever rage is welling up inside his little catboy heart.

“Inside.” Ant ducks over and clambers inside the mouth of the vent. Red glances down inside before he follows. It’s a short drop that Ant somehow managed to make silently, then the thing levels out. He adjusts the bag slung over his back and eases himself down inside as slowly as possible. Nevertheless there’s a quiet clang as his boots hit the metal, and Antfrost hisses a quick shush at him. Red drops to his hands and knees and starts crawling down the vent after the hybrid.

“There’ve been far nicer reasons for me to get on my knees for someone,” he whispers. His voice echoes a little against the metal walls. It’s dark in the vent, and he can only barely see the movement of Ant’s tail in front of him. It’s a pity, just a couple more degrees of visibility and he’d see something much more pleasant to look at.

“This is a little bit more important than sucking dick,” Antfrost’s voice wafts back at him.

“Agree to disagree.” Red says. The noise of the cheering below them is now too loud for him to hear what Ant says in reply.

Antfrost’s back drops down from Red’s view and he sees the vent has opened up. When he looks out he finds a catwalk spanning the ceiling of the warehouse, with Antfrost already crouched on top of it. Below them is a throng of the cheering, shouting audience surrounding a ring in the center of the floor made out of concrete barriers. Two chimeras are fighting in the ring, a blur of blood and fur and scales. Red has a strong stomach for gore, but that doesn’t mean he finds it at all pleasant to see what the things are doing to each other.

He lands on the catwalk next to Antfrost. The hybrid jumps, then shakes himself.

“Give me the sedative,” Ant whispers, holding out his hand. His eyes are focused on the ring below.

Red reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the glass bottles; luminous pale yellow liquid swirling behind the glass. He reaches to put it in Ant’s palm, then pauses.

“What’s your tolerance level?” He asks.

“What?”

“Chemical tolerance. You’re a hybrid--it’s definitely been documented for you.” Hybrids are treated like second class citizens; shuffled around to keep more survivable areas of the city habitable for normal humans. Most hybrids have their chemical tolerance marked down somewhere so the government knows what areas they can dump them in without having them immediately die. Red has unusually high tolerance for a human, which is part of why he chose this line of work.

“I don’t know, seven?” Ant whispers back.

“It’s on a scale of one to a hundred, idiot.” Red reaches into his bag and fumbles around for a mask. There’s a screech from the creatures below.

“Red, they’re dying.” Ant says, trying to snatch the bottle out of Red’s hand. Red relents and shoves it into the hybrid’s palm. He pulls out the other two bottles he’s prepared, waiting as Ant arches back his arm to throw.

It’s a work of art, his aim. The first bottle lands directly in the thick of the audience and shatters, the liquid inside turning to gas the second air touches it. It balloons outward, clogging the air with thick yellow mist. Antfrost grabs the second bottle and hurls it so it breaks directly in front of the double doors that serve as the exit. The people down below are panicking; it’s like stepping on an anthill.

Red is good at his craft. A few seconds, and they’re already collapsing. Antfrost throws the last bottle; ensuring the entire warehouse floor is coated with heavy yellow fog. There are hybrids and cyborgs, here and there, who are only momentarily confused by the attack from above, whose systems are too resilient to the gas and are now gathering their bearings. One of them looks up and sees them.

Antfrost tackles Red to the catwalk. It shakes when they hit the metal and he’s momentarily stunned, to stunned to even protest. He still hasn’t gained his breath back when one of the cyborgs on the floor opens fire, bullets punching into the railing and barely missing them. Ant leaps off Red, whipping a crossbow out from under his coat. He aims down below, pulling the trigger. Red is still on his back trying to reinflate his lungs, and he can’t see if Ant managed to hit any of his targets.

A bullet strikes uncomfortably close to his head and he rolls upright, charging across the catwalk with one hand shoved into his bag. He fumbles for a bottle, then stumbles as something severs one of the wires from which the catwalk is hung. There’s the screech of metal and they plummet.

The good news: most of the onlookers collapsed near the edges of the room, not in the center where they fall, and the only casualties are two of the four hostiles still on their feet. The bad news: there are still two people trying to kill them.

Red Red struggles to his feet, yanking his baseball bat out from the straps on his back. Antfrost glances over at him, just for a moment, then leaps backwards as the cyborg swings a fist at him.

Red doesn’t have time to spare concern for Ant, because there’s a hybrid with claws and fangs and a nasty grin on her face charging at him. She has three arrows bristling from her shoulder, and she’s unsteady on her feet. He sidesteps, grips his bat firmly in both hands, and slams it into her shin. She collapses, lashing out at him with a clawed hand. He hops backwards on one foot to avoid her, stomps the tip of the bat to the ground to stabilize himself. She lurches forward, dragging herself with her good side, and sinks her claws into his calf. Red’s first reaction is, he must admit, a dumb one. He tears himself away and is rewarded with claws ripping through the muscle of his leg. Fucking Christ it hurts.

He falls just out of the reach of the hybrid. She has too much tranquilizer in her bloodstream to get up again and she’s already going under. Red tries to reach for his black bag only to realize he dropped it when the catwalk fell.

Catwalk.

Cat.

Antfrost.

He snaps his head up to see Ant dangling from the grip of the cyborg. The hybrid snarls, his hands wound around the arm at his throat. His claws are fully extended and scrabbling against the black metal.

Red screams the first thing he can think of as loud as possible.

“HEY, CUM SLUT.”

The cyborg whips his head towards Red, glowing yellow eyes narrowing. His grip loosens in his momentary distraction, and Ant thrashes forward, sinking his teeth into the man’s shoulder, where metal meets flesh. Red wonders what he has to do to get the catboy to bite him like that.

The cyborg hisses a swear and slams Antfrost to the concrete. Red panics and grabs the fallen baseball bat on the ground next to him. He hurls it towards the fallen hybrid.

A brown-furred hand snaps up and snatches the bat out of the air. Ant rolls backwards, dodging a punch from the cyborg, and leaps to his feet. He bends his knees, grips the bat, and swings.

Red painted that bat months ago in red-and-white stripes out of paint he mixed himself. It was combined with a little chemical mixture that turned acidic when it moved at a fast enough velocity. Red had never been able to swing it fast enough to get those decorative stripes to transform into something that could burn through whatever it hit in milliseconds

.Antfrost, on the other hand, can.

The bat sheers straight through both of the cyborgs legs, eating through the metal like it was butter. The cyborg hits the ground, his legs severed at the knee.

Ant gives an incredulous look at the bat in his hand, then lowers it and bounds over to Red.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

“Claws.” Red says brightly, trying to ignore the warmth seeping from his leg and the burn of the gashes through his muscle. He likes pain sometimes, in certain circumstances, but these are not the type of circumstances he tends to enjoy.

“Do you have a painkiller in your bag?” Antfrost drops to his knees next to Red.

He screws up his face. “Something like that.”

Ant turns and leaps over a few inert bodies, grabbing Red’s bag from the wreckage of the fallen catwalk and bring it over. He puts it down and latches his hands under Red’s arms, pulling him into a sitting position.

Red unzips the bag and pulls out a small vial that shimmers a tantalizing blue.

“You know, they say never get high off your own supply,” he says wryly as he uncaps it, “but this is an exception.”

It tastes like melon milk and fizzes a little as it goes down. Damn, he really is a good producer. The lady who ran the pharmacy he worked at couldn’t make one of these taste good for the life of her.

The pain in his leg fades and he relaxes. Antfrost has climbed into the ring and is picking up the two sedated chimeras, carrying them carefully to the empty cages next to the ring and laying them down inside. He takes the cages outside through a small door labeled Exit, and through a rising haze of uncanny calmness, Red wonders if he’s just leaving. He would be concerned about it, but even with his high tolerance the drink he took is getting to him. He doesn’t feel high or buzzed, just calm.

Ant runs back inside, empty handed this time, and comes over to Red. He bends down to look him in the eyes.

“Are you—were your eyes always that…shiny?” Ant asks.

“Yeah, it’s from exposure.” Red replies. He stares back into Antfrost’s eyes: large blue wells, with his pupils widened in the low light.

“All the chimeras are loaded into a truck out back. Can I carry you?”

“You can pick me up any day, Ant.” Red tells him.

The hybrid slides his arms under Res’s back and legs and heaves him up, walking carefully to the door. His arms are warm and his fur is soft where it brushes against Red’s skin.

Antfrost helps him climb into the passenger’s seat, then runs around the front of the truck to sit behind the wheel. He starts it with the keys still in the ignition and spins the wheel, pulling out from behind the warehouse.

Their section of the city is already near the outskirts, and the drive probably doesn’t take long. Probably. Red’s thoughts wander as Ant drives, thinking about animals and chimeras and acid paint. He snaps back to reality when they’ve officially left the city. It’s easy to tell, because outside is a wasteland of hills and trash.

Ant pulls over on the side of the road and stops the truck.

“Can you walk?”

Red glances down at his leg thoughtfully. The effect of his mixture is wearing off, and it stings slightly, but he nods anyway.

They unload the cages one at a time, driving a little way in between each one. The chimeras run as soon as Ant opens the cages, smart enough to head for the hills.

The last one they unload is the larger of the two that were in the ring when they broke in. It’s still sedated, so Ant leaves the door wide open and then sits on the ramp of the truck to wait for it to wake up.

Red climbs up beside him, shivering a little at the cold night air. “What about the other one?”

Antfrost casts a glance back into the truck. “It’s not doing so good. Too hurt to let out.”

Red looks at the cage with the aforementioned creature. It’s some kind of cat creature with horns and spikes on its back, its shoulder torn open in the fight. It sleeps fitfully.

“Are you sure they’ll survive out here?” He asks.

Ant rests his chin in his hands, hunching his shoulders. “I mean, I did.”

“You lived out here?”

Ant nods. “I’m not actually from Hypixel City. I lived out here until some people came promising opportunities and riches. It was bullshit. I was barely any different from them.” He nods at the still sleeping chimeras in their cages.

“They made you fight?”Ant nods. “For a while. Then Bad came and got me out.”

Red stares at Ant’s ears and the velvet-soft fur on them, the pads on the palms of his hands, the twitch of his nose. He sneezes, rubbing at his whiskers with one hand. Red wonders about the kind of madman who looks at the catboy sitting next to him and forces him to fight in a pit for entertainment.

“I’m cold.” Antfrost says suddenly. Red deliberates for a second, then scoots over and wraps a hand around the hybrid’s shoulders.

“What about you?” Ant asks, staring at the open cage on the ground and the sleeping chimera inside.

“What about my past? Well, nowhere near as bad as you.” Red laughs at the thought of comparing their childhoods. “I have unusually high tolerance for a human, so i started working for a pharmacist. Maybe I accidentally mixed something wrong and blew up the area.”

Ant gives him a sideways look. “Maybe?”

“Maybe.”

The hybrid chuckles, letting his head rest on Red’s shoulder. “Thanks for doing this, Red.”

“For you? Anything.” The words are bold, but he’s not in the mood to hold back his thoughts at the moment.

Ant doesn’t reply, but there’s an unmistakable rumble in his chest that Red immediately identifies as a purr. They sit there for a long time, under the moon in a wasteland, waiting for a creature to wake up and leave its cage.

They talk, about colors and toxins and friendships and names. They sit there until the chimera wakes up slowly, stretching its limbs, and scrambles out of its cage as fast as possible.

And in a toxic wasteland under a yellow moon, sitting on a stolen truck, Red kisses the love of his life for the first time.

Three years later and he wakes up to the chill of a winter morning.

Antfrost is lying next to him, curled around him to soak up as much heat as possible. Red moves to get up, but his boyfriend mumbles something in protest and somehow wiggles even closer to him. Red relents and lies back down, wrapping his arms around the hybrid.

And, finally, his hands aren’t cold.

[dameronology]

the one with the blind date {obi-wan x reader} - pt. 2

part one

summary: it’s been just over a year since you reluctantly let your mother set you up with obi-wan kenobi. now, it’s weird to imagine your life without him - and thank maker that he’s there to help keep your lid on when you’re forced to go to a family reunion (this time with a ring on your finger) 

this is mostly just a mixture of fluff and (an attempt at) some funny moments. 

enjoy,

- jazz

‘I don’t want to do this.’

‘We promised her.’

‘Promise schmomise.’ You muttered under your breath.

Obi-Wan raised his hand to knock on your mother’s front door and you quickly tried to tidy your hair. You’d been apprehensive about this day for months, as you did every year - the dreaded family reunion. This year, however, you finally had something to hold over the heads of your married-and-successful-with-what-felt-like-a-thousand-children cousins. There was only one Obi-Wan Kenobi in the galaxy and you had him on your arm. 

‘Darling!’ Your mother exclaimed, pulling open the front door as she tackled you both into a hug. ‘And Obi-Wan!’

‘Hi - oof.’ You let out a squeak as she held you. ‘Can’t. Breathe.’

‘Please, come in!’ She yanked you by the arm, barely giving you time to prepare as she threw you into the crowded hallway. ‘Everybody wants to hear about the engagement!’

You didn’t outwardly groan - inwardly, however, you were screaming. You’d been practically walking on sunshine since Obi-Wan had put a ring on your finger two weeks previous but the whole thing still felt so sacred to just the two of you. That was how you preferred it; you and him and nobody else. To spend the next three hours being grilled by your distant relatives about Spring weddings and your unborn children just felt like too much. 

‘Let me see the ring!’ Your mum grabbed your finger. ‘Oh, it’s beautiful. Have you started thinking about the wedding-’

‘- nope!’ You cut her off. ‘And don’t you dare ask about-’

‘- and children are next on the to-do list, I assume!’ 

‘I literally just said-’

‘- we’re going to get a drink.’ You felt Obi-Wan’s arm snake around your waist, and he gave it a light squeeze. 

You’d barely spent a moment apart since your first date. About two months in, he’d stayed at your apartment for the weekend and never left - and everything that had happened since had felt so natural. He’d made you believe in the type of dumb, sweet & domestic love that you’d initially been convinced only existed in movies. 

Obi-Wan laced your fingers in his and dragged you through the crowds of people, eventually finding the kitchen. He poured you a glass of something, taking a sip to confirm it was alcoholic before handing it to you. He knew you so well. 

‘Oh, maker. We’ve got incoming.’ You muttered, taking a swig. 

‘Who?’

‘The tall blonde, that’s my cousin.’

‘The one you can’t stand?’

‘That’s the one.’ You whispered under your breath, before putting on a smile so fake that it scared even you. ‘Darling, it’s so good to see you!’

‘Hello!’ She pulled you into a loose hug. ‘You’re finally engaged! We never thought we’d see the day.’ 

There it was. The jabs that you received every year, simply because you’d chosen not to get married and have children immediately after getting your degree. You could have had the best job in the world and the nicest apartment ever and they still wouldn’t care.

You bit your lip, pondering for a moment.

‘I’m sorry to hear about your divorce.’ You gave her a false, sympathetic smile. ‘I’d be gutted if my husband ran off with a woman ten years-’

‘- I’m Obi-Wan.’ The Jedi quickly cut you off, having sensed the disguised hostility. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you. We’re going to go and...stand somewhere else.’

Once again, he lead you through the house and out into the back garden. Your mother’s home was on the outskirts of Coruscant, tucked away in the suburbs with a nice big garden and wide blue skies. The summer sun was beating down on you, warming your skin as you relished in the buzz of the wine you’d just downed. 

‘That was terrifying.’ He murmured, barely able to hide the amusement on his face. ‘She seemed like a nasty piece of work.’

‘She is.’ You replied. ‘She’s like that every year, thinking she has the moral high ground just because she gave into societal expectations to shack up, get married and have a thousand babies by the time she’s 25.’

‘I thought you said she had three?’ Obi-Wan thinned his eyes at you.

‘I’m rounding up.’ 

--

You spent the next three hours showing off your engagement ring to every last one of your family members, practically having exhausted the story by the time noon rolled around. The worst part of it all was that you’d completely lost your Jedi to a crowd of elderly relatives, and he had not yet escaped their clutches. You loved your grandparents dearly but they asked far too many questions and Obi-Wan was too polite to excuse himself.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ you felt your whole body slump with relief when you finally heard his voice. He snuck up behind you, one arm winding around your waist and the other taking your hand. ‘But I need to steal my fiancé for a moment.’

(It still felt surreal that he was calling you that.) 

You exchanged a quick goodbye with your aunt before Obi-Wan pulled you aside, brushing his lips against yours the minute he’d pulled you into a desolate hallway. You relaxed into his touch, momentarily forgetting the stress of everything. 

‘You should call me that more often.’ You murmured against his lips.

‘Noted, my love.’ He chuckled. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Tired.’ You sighed, hands absent-mindedly playing with the front of his robes as he held you at the waist. ‘This has got me thinking about our wedding though.’

‘What about it?’ Obi’s thumb gently ghosted your cheekbone as he gave you a thoughtful look, as though he had been thinking about it too.

‘I don’t want all this - it’s exhausting, with the nosey relatives and bitchy cousins.’ You explained. ‘I like it when it’s just me and you.’

‘Mmm.’ He nodded in agreement. ‘What if we went to city hall and got married? We could bring a few close friends.’

You paused for a moment, before a grin broke onto your face. ‘I like that idea.’

‘So are you free Saturday?’

‘Yeah.’ You pressed another sweet kiss to his lips. ‘Let’s get married this Saturday.’

[missinghan]

「 what am I // stray kids 」

❖ genre : sci-fi; superpower au; platonic relationship au

❖ word count : 3,9k (bullet points only)

❖ warning : explicit language, most likely ain’t scientifically true at all

❖ summary : superpowers manifest in certain individuals once they hit puberty and naturally, those odd abilities will vanish as soon as adulthood occurs; but how will those teenagers protect themselves from the curiosity of science?

❖ a/n : this isn’t a proper fic since I don’t think I’ll actually write smth decent out of this but I don’t want the idea to rot inside my dungeon either- so yea, bear with me through this character intro post(?)

— bang chan ↠ locating ability-wielders & teleportation

· sometimes when he’s running errands for his parents, chan can feel a distinct ‘zing’ ins his bones if someone else with unusual abilities is nearby and can describe their power perfectly to the t; he ignores it at first but learns to make do with it eventually; can teleport another person with him and also needs to calculate carefully before teleporting because he once ends up in the middle of a freeway instead of school resulting from lack of sleep.

· looks intimidating but is the first to talk to a new kid in class and show them around as he’s president of the school’s student council; smiles and laughs a lot once you get to know him, and is also very caring, reliable.

· he wishes to apply for a music production company after his college graduation but his family turned the idea down almost immediately and sent him to a boarding school in Europe.

· chan starts taking notice in strange things at his new school after the first few weeks; for example: how they unreasonably force students to have a daily health checkup, how their food taste like medicine most of the times, teachers don’t really seem to care about what they’re teaching and some of his classmates mysteriously ‘move away’ whenever security shows up at their dorm in the middle of the night.

· after finding out where they actually are via photos of students being locked up inside cells, arms and legs chained up like domestic animals, injected with odd substances on a daily basis which were taken by an anonymous individual, chan secretly packs his stuff and decides to ditch this so-called boarding school for good.

· he works hard to hide his identity ensuing flying back to his hometown for a solid three weeks and the fact that there are more people cursed with supernatural abilities begins dawning onto him; cutting off contact with his family completely, moving from one crusty apartment to another every month, chan tackles this crazy idea of assembling a group consisted of extraordinary people to give him a hand with creating a safe environment for the ‘gifted’ youths.

— lee minho ↠ collapse

· law major, quite the loner, raised by a single mother; didn’t have much since little but his mother’s love and affection make up for everything.

· looks intimidating, is actually intimidating; the only person he talks to in college is his dance coach, doesn’t like school nor has many friends; his slightest glare is as cold as a wife trying to win custody of her children in court.

· minho can make his surroundings crumble and fall apart with his mind, which shouldn’t be confused with telekinesis since he can’t physically move objects to his will; this deadly power is triggered whenever he’s experiencing extremely negative emotions like fear or anguish and he’s not (still isn’t) very good at getting a hold of it.

· a group of suspicious men shows up at his house one day as he returns home from dance practice; they claim to be an agency looking for up and coming talents but by the way that his mother is staring at the ground nervously with her legs trembling, his institution tells him that something’s off.

· he firmly declines their offer with a stiff “I’m uncertain that I’m the talent you gentlemen are looking for, but you should know that when the cops are here to fill out their reports, I’m gonna be very helpful, as helpful as possible.”

· “what other random merry of fucking misdemeanors are going to pop up once they go through your records? domestic violence? illegal substances and weapons possession? human trafficking?”

· with a gun to her head, his mom scrambles to her knees and begs him to go with them, admitting that she’s already signed the contract; if he follows their orders and agrees to become an experimental subject, she won’t have to worry about any financial problems for the rest of her life.

· in the heat of the moment, they ultimately force him to activate his power for the very first time; as a result, his house collapses, the death of his only family and the group of men following suit.

· “I’m too late.”

· chan manages to find minho under the aftermath, severely injured and is hanging by a string of life so fragile that can only be saved after undergoing a twelve-hour operation at the hospital.

— seo changbin ↠ sound waves manipulation

· a good student, reputable within his social sphere at school, and comes from a pretty well-off family.

· changbin is able to bend and control sound waves to his advantage; whether it’s simply for his musical instruments or moving objects around, he can also use something as minor as his own heartbeat when he’s emotionally unstable; using the ability continuously for too long can give him severe migraines and potentially damage his brain to a degree if he’s not mindful of it.

· he stays up late at night to write and produce his own songs, keeping it a secret from his parents; posts his own songs on a SoundCloud account, or performs even live at a random underground club under the alias SpearB if he has the chance to.

· an organization full of outlaw scientists comes across a video of his performance on the web, analyzing how he can enhance the beat, his vocal cords without the help of any form of technology, and just like that, he easily tops the list of their targets.

· having no choice but to do what they want when those men hold his parents hostage inside his family’s mansion, changbin gets sent to the same boarding school as chan but they’re being observed in different buildings for his power is on the more useful and dangerous side; hence, his classes consist of a smaller amount of students and they are put through checkups more constantly.

· he doesn’t really pay attention to the skepticisms that reek off all over the place as he’s too busy being homesick and studying because he fully believes that the harder he works, the more obediently he acts, the sooner they’ll let him go; all hell breaks loose when those photos are scattered everywhere, from the hallways to the bathrooms; changbin takes advantage in the riot to get himself out of there as quickly as he can possibly run to the airport.

· changbin swears to never trust anyone again until chan and minho find him sleeping inside an abandoned grocery store with a pistol inside his sleeping bag, two daggers concealed in his sleeves at all times.

· “are we seriously going to contain some headass who was this close to blowing my brain out of my head?”

· “huh, funny, last time I checked, you almost smothered me to death under a gigantic block of cement when I was trying to save your life.”

· “who are you guys and how the hell did you get in here? I don’t recall not locking the door.”

— hwang hyunjin ↠ permeation & memory manipulation

· a true theater kid, meaning he knows almost everyone but every single student at school knows him; naturally, becomes the Prince after playing one too many male lead roles because of his godly features; rather well-mannered and diligent though he doesn’t look like it.

· mistaken to be a player by every new batch of freshmen that only ever gets to watch him practicing his lines from afar, swooning tremendously whenever he ties up his hair; always carries a camera around, doesn’t like to have too many friends but if you get close enough, he’s probably the most fun to be around, won’t ever judge your questionable life choices.

· hyunjin’s ability allows him to walk right through walls as well as any other solid matters but it will drain his stamina painstakingly, causing him to run short on breaths after using his power to change his costumes faster between scenes; the thicker the wall is, the more strength it takes for him to pass through completely.

· he can also erase a certain chunk of memory from someone’s mind but he needs to physically touch them; has only used this ability one time to wipe his existence out of a childhood best friend’s mind before moving away from his hometown. 

· his interest in photography sparks the moment his uncle comes back from a business trip and gives him a toy camera, it’s nowhere near the real ones but the ten-year-old hwang hyunjin sure takes it very, very seriously; after a decade or so, he has replaced it with cameras that actually work and developed quite the talent for taking photos of sceneries and people (jisung is his number one victim but he can’t care less as long as he looks decent and that hyunjin won’t save any crack ones to blackmail him).

· suddenly gets a sketchy summer scholarship to a boarding school in London (the same so-called school that Chan and Changbin went to), his mom encourages him to go after looking it up on the internet without knowing the chances of her own son being exploited for twisted science is shockingly high.

· and the culprit who takes those photos during a wandering around school after curfew is none other than hyunjin himself; he knows damn well posting those photos means getting himself into trouble but heck, his conscience forbids him to leave this hell-on-earth place without alerting these innocent people.

· so the night before those photos are spread everywhere, in every corner, every edge of the building, hyunjin smashes his camera completely with a baseball bat and burns the broken bits in the school backyard; he tries getting through those sleep-deprived men in their fifties who aren’t likely paid enough with his ability and flees.

· surprisingly, he comes rushing into his best friend’s house right after his horrendous flights only to find him being surrounded by three mysterious men.

— han jisung ↠ plunder

· the jokester of the class, takes great joy in stressing the living daylights out of his professors with irrational questions that aren’t necessarily relevant to the lesson, procrastinates, and sleeps through lessons like there’s no tomorrow but still keeps that shiny ‘A’ on his report card nonetheless.

· being friends with hyunjin results in occasional admirers here and there for him but he does kinda have his own fandom base after being pulled upstage out of the blue in the middle of last year’s spring music festival, musing him an opportunity to show off his rapping skills; because of that event, he takes writing music more seriously with the stage name J.One.

· if jisung is being honest, he hardly uses his power since it’s basically taking over anyone’s body and mind for a maximum of five seconds meanwhile his own body is immobile; and if any physical effects occur (for example, a basketball hits him on the head spontaneously), he’s obligated to endure that pain for that person until they become conscious of their own body again.

· he’s not a creep, he swears.

· and who knows? what if his body gets kidnapped within those five seconds?

· hyunjin and jisung know about each other’s ability but don’t really discuss nor talk about them because they don’t find walking through walls or temporarily possessing someone’s body cool.

· well, that’s that until chan, minho and changbin show up at his house the same day when hyunjin returns from his summer exchange program with a cut lip and bruised knuckles. 

· “han jisung, you’re going to have to come with us unless you want to live inside a cage for the rest of your life.”

· “I’m sorry, are you threatening me?”

· “we’re trying to protect you, smartass, you’re far too dangerous to be roaming the streets so freely.”

· “....me? I’m dangerous?”

· jisung not knowing the slightest bit about his own ability downright baffles chan—he’s only scratched the surface of it at this point; his true potential is if he’s taking over another ability-wielder’s body, he will then take their power for himself; and jisung can’t remember the last time he properly uses it either.

— lee felix ↠ imperfect invisibility

· initially lives in Australia but after finding out about his ability, he moves to Seoul with his parents to live a quieter, more covered-up life without being surrounded by too many relatives.

· an absolute sweetheart, smart, kind, honest, a little slow to read in between the lines at times; can concentrate relatively well on an empty stomach, but gets drowsy quickly after eating, especially big meals. 

· lix is also homeschooled up until high school in order to avoid any unwanted situation; later on, applies for a course that can be taken online for the most parts at an average-ish university to not draw so much attention. 

· since he stays at home most of the time, he spends lots of time playing different video games, experiences random cooking recipes without burning the house down, and teaches himself how to dance through online tutorials, getting awfully good at it fast partially thanks to his natural flexibility.

· he can disappear from a single person’s field of vision for as long as he wants to but it’s still limited and considered flawed since felix can only disappear from the sight one person of his choice at a time; although it can come in quite handy whenever he gets shoved into a dark alleyway by random people varying from cheap pickpockets with a box-cutting knife to muscular men dressed in black.

· learns boxing during middle school so he can still kick asses to preserve his own life.

· felix once punches jisung in the gut and slaps hyunjin in the face with a cabbage after seeing them follow each and every one of his movements the moment he steps out of the supermarket—he’s got used to listening to people’s footsteps over time. 

· “okay, first of all, ow, and second of all, why did I get the punch and he got the cabbage?!”

· “oh, don’t be such a baby.”

· “you two don’t look like those balding dudes in money-dripping black suits...what are you on? crack? what do you want from me? money? food?”

· “of course we’re not balding men in their forties! I take personal offense to that! and please, who do you take me as? a total creep who only ever knows how to follow people with his stupid sidekick tagging along for background noises?”

· “HEY! I NEVER AGREED TO BE YOUR SIDEKICK!”

· “well, it’s time you fucking did then, han.”

· “you know, I suppose this is the part where you two put me to sleep with some kind of drug and bring me back to your excuse of a headquarter.”

· “oh, did you bring the anesthetic pills?”

· “I thought Changbin gave it to you, no?”

— kim seungmin ↠ time-leap

· born in a middle-class family, very studious but also enjoys playing baseball during retreats, takes time to open up to people so he has more acquaintances than close friends but he doesn’t mind, that way he has more time for himself. 

· definitely and never will be the kid who lets his classmates take advantage of his wit, he does do a good chunk of every group project but makes sure everyone has at least one decent thing to do (low-key loves bossing people around); can be pretty distant at first, but he just weirds people out after getting closer and doesn’t hold grudges.

· seungmin is capable of bringing himself back to a specific past event to alter the future outcome though it won’t work most of the time unless he really, really has to for safety purposes or the situation gets out of hands; time-leaping won’t activate if he wants to retake a test but works like a charm when he tries to save a kid on the street from a car accident.

· actually does deep, proper research into other ability-wielders and often stays in school during nighttime to read the news, articles or anything that he can find on the web to learn about how that one cryptic boarding school in Europe that’s accused of abusing their students got shut down all of a sudden, the students never return and family members never bother to look for them. 

· hence, he adapts to hiding his ability and himself fairly well—never takes the late-night buses, doesn’t try to become close and bond with other people, asks his parents to change the door lock every month, burns bills each time he purchases something but he tries not to go out as much as possible. 

· seungmin has seen hyunjin use his power once by accident but decided to say nothing about it; eventually finds chan’s headquarter (which is just his crusty apartment) by following jisung and hyunjin after their practice hour, baffles them all a little but joins in no time. 

· after asking hyunjin to erase his parents’ memory about himself, seungmin gives everyone a hand for their plan of building a school and campus, completely safe and under the radar for other ability welders until their adolescence is over; he time-leaps back to back in order to collect as much information about lottery tickets as he can.

· another flaw occurs when he travels to the past for the third time: his eyesight gets weaker and weaker every time he time-leaps so he starts wearing glasses as a temporary resolution but chan stops him when he tries to do it for the fifth time, saying that they would rather work hard for a little longer than have seungmin lose his vision forever. 

· after over a year or so, they successfully repurchase an education organization and officially establish an exclusive academy for ability-wielders, reaching out to those individuals before scientists can get a hold of them. 

— yang jeongin ↠ superhuman speed

· the quiet kid who most likely won’t talk unless the teacher asks him to answer a question or someone tells him to let them copy his homework; has his earbuds in most of the time to pretend he can’t hear what people are saying so he won’t have to interact with them. 

· joins after you when chan finds him hitting a wall head-on at an abnormal speed while trying to save a kitten in the middle of the streets. 

· jeongin has extremely enhanced agility and reflexes but he still lacks accuracy for he is naturally a clumsy person; therefore, changbin tells him to wear a protective layer under his uniform so even in the worst-case scenario, he can jump off a building and make it out with minor scratches. 

· reluctantly buys lunch for every member of the student council (aka 00 liners + you) on a daily basis although he can’t really see which kind of sandwiches he’s grabbing at and they end up being mushy most of the time. 

· and for those people who say his resting face is scary, he’s mainly just frustrated because of his friends. 

· also usually is the one who returns with the most injuries because of his own ability—he always flees like his life depends on it to save jisung’s ass from being hit by a truck and hyunjin’s camera from being crushed (the sole purpose of the student council will be explained more thoroughly later).

· has single-handedly saved everyone inside a bookstore when a sudden fire breaks out. 

· minho scolds him and felix a lot for spending too much time at the arcade after school instead of doing their required tasks. 

· acts all tough and mature since he’s the youngest of the squad, loves to make fun of jisung for his height but still is and probably will always be a complete child who hates eating vegetables with a passion; gets yelled at a lot whenever there’s a BBQ party since he only ever eats meat. 

· “corn? why are we raiding the Asian market for corn at one AM?”

· “an outdoor, wholesome BBQ isn’t complete without corn, duh.”

· “do you want to get us caught?!”

· “oh please, they’re going to show up either way.”

· “YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE!”

— y/n (reader) ↠ telepathic manipulation

· president of the student council, stubborn, slightly less bossy than seungmin, appears to be apathetic and cranky mainly because you can’t sleep that well; with that being said, you don’t feel too tired during ungodly hours when people are tossing around in the comfort of their bed but snap at irritating people a lot in the morning if they’re making too much noise. 

· your ability allows you to control people to your will, from something as meaningless as slamming their head through a wall to life-threatening actions like forcing them to point a knife at their own throat; it’s somewhat similar to jisung’s power though you don’t have to physically feel what your target is going through and you don’t need to worry about taking over their body.

· the only downside to it is that you easily fall asleep the moment you set your target free.

· minho is the one who gets you out of the laboratory where your parents were working on a huge, secret project about individuals with supernatural abilities for an unknown organization; you’re unfortunate enough to become their first-ever experimental subject which only nourishes resentment slowly, gnawing at your sanity while you’re dreading each day behind those cold metal bars. 

· perhaps joining the student council is what makes your life less depressing, perhaps; you’re far too busy facepalming at the beautiful monstrosity of their friendship and feeding them ensuing returning to the dorm after school since those boys only know how to eat, cooking is too much for them to comprehend (albeit felix).

· when your family was still… normal, your parents sent you to martial art classes every weekend so like felix, you don’t actually need your power to save yourself from some random mobsters on the streets.

· you’re also the only person who eats vegetables properly and even tries to incorporate more fiber into their diets but as always, they never listen, especially hyunjin when it comes to green onions.

· don’t have the best reputation in the academy because the idea of letting the new girl with a seemingly useless ability become president of the student council isn’t very appealing to many people, and it doesn’t help when every member of the council is exclusively allowed to drop out in the middle of a class to ‘collect’ any ability-wielders that chan manages to locate that day since he’s always worn out with changbin and minho from boring paperwork as well as other businessy stuff.

· even when your ability is considered almost perfect, you’ve only used it once when you thought minho was going to sell you off to another place and almost made him put a bullet through his own brain; you’ve refrained yourself from using it since that day.

[pcttrailsidereader]

14 Lessons from theTrail

As the 2021 hiking season is well underway, the time is right to share wisdom from seasoned veterans of the trail.  Brett Fisher (Backtrack) – http://www.wanderabout.org/ – suggested that the five lessons from the PCT as articulated by Anna (North Star) and Chris (Shutterbug) – http://wanderingthewild.com/ – along with the five more added by Bobcat –  http://roamingbobcat.wordpress.com/ – and finished off with his own four, would be worthy of publishing.  I agreed.  Reflection is such an important part of the PCT experience.  

These 14 lessons are a powerful reminder to each of us long distance hikers.  I love the positive spirit reflected in their words. You may have your own to add and you may take issue with some (I’m still chewing on #8) … please let us know.

Brett ‘Backtrack’ Fisher

North Star and Shutterbug noted that their thru hike of the Pacific Crest Trail taught them many things. Here are five of the most important lessons they learned on the trail.

1) Senses awaken in nature. After years of living in a city, our minds subconsciously created filters to deal with the contant  jumble of sensory information. It was thrilling to remove those mental filters and reawaken our senses in the great outdoors. The crack of a distant twig alerted us to an elk, almost hidden in the forest. We could smell day hikers’ deodorant and laundry detergent from several feet away. Our eyes tracked the subtle movements of a soaring hawk adjusting to shifting air currents. The longer we lived in the wild, the sharper our senses became.

2) People are good. On the trail, day hikers and trail angels gave us encouragement, kudos, and tasty food. Other thru hikers shared our joy during good times, and cheered us up during harder moments. Crews of volunteers labored to maintain the trail. The people we met in the small towns along the PCT were incredibly friendly and accommodating. Strangers went out of their way to give us rides, find us rooms, and some even offered us their homes for a night. The kindness and generosity we received went beyond anything we could have expected. We saw the fundamental goodness of people during our thru hike.

3) Hike your own hike. Hikers often tell each other to “Hike your own hike” (HYOH), recognizing a wide variety of backpacking preferences. We knew this phrase before starting the Pacific Crest Trail, but its meaning really sank in with a few hundred miles under our feet. HYOH worked for us in many small ways, such as our hiking pace — we walked slower than most thru hikers so we could take more pictures. But we also realized HYOH applied to larger life choices, such as our decision to continue hiking long trails, rather than immediately returning to desk jobs. To Hike Your Own Hike is to allow yourself to do what works best for you and your passions, and to support others in doing what works for them. The result is greater happiness for everyone.

4) Fewer possessions is freeing.  We found that the less we had, the happier we were. Each possession was not only physical weight to carry, but also mental weight. Carrying just one set of clothes meant no decisions about what to wear in the morning. Instead of carrying chairs, which could break or get left behind, we sat on the ground or on logs. Taking only the food we needed made meal choices simple. We didn’t bring bowls and plates, all of which we’d have to clean. Rather we ate right from our pot. With less items to think and fret about, our minds could relax and be open to all the beauty around us. The simple lifestyle is truly freeing.

5) Wilderness is home. As the weeks passed, we became more and more comfortable living in the desert, the mountains, and the forest. A primal part of us came to the forefront. Fresh air, clean water, and open space surrounded us and sustained us. As our relationship with the wilderness deepened, we felt more at home there than we did in civilization. We had not expected this, but it turned out to be one of the most powerful aspects of the hike.

                                                                     Photo Credit: Rees Hughes

These are the five added by Bobcat.

6) Joy is our natural state. On the trail life is reduced to its most basic necessities: water, food, sleep, shelter, safety from the elements and natural beauty. Because our minds are freed from having to handle what Northstar and Shutterbug call the constant jumble of sensory information, we are open to tackle deeper and deeper levels of thought. Because the trail is so long, at some point we run out of things to ponder, analyze, consider or solve. When that happens, the void that is left seems to immediately be filled with a sense of joy and peace. So, at our most basic level, underneath it all, this must be our natural state.

7) Life is a mirror (you get what you give). I have experienced this more than once on the trail: If I approach the road in a joyful and optimist state, I wait for a hitch less than five minutes; if I approach it with a bad attitude, it will be a long while before I get picked up. The kindness and generosity we received as hikers I believe is in direct correlation to our own state of open-mindedness. The opposite is true also. Fear attracts scary situation. People who feared bears had bear encounters. I started the trail worried about poisonous plants and managed to get poison oak on one leg and poodle-dog-bush on the other. When I became grateful for the cortisone cream two generous hikers gave me, the oozy mess cleared up over night.

8) All you need is love and gratitude. Somewhere in the first few hundred miles of the trail, I became so frustrated with my UV water purifier and so jacked up on iodine that I stopped using any sort of water treatment. Instead, I held the water to my heart and told it, sincerely, “I love you, please don’t make me sick, thank you”. The method proved excellent the whole trail, including with that one batch of “bear pooh water” (see “I believe in angels”). Inspired by my success, I also used this method as sunscreen (I love you Sun, please don’t burn me, thank you), bug-repellent (I love you spider, please stay off my tarp, thank you) and holographic deck (I love you trail, could I get a shady spot, mosquito free, by some water, thank you). Seriously, it works. Try it for yourself.

9) Freedom is an intrinsic quality. Before I left, a good friend told me that the PCT would likely be the one place where I could find enough space to accommodate my humongous need for freedom. All former thru-hikers I have met mention “freedom” as the greatest gift they received from the trail. All that fresh air, clean water and open space seeps into your soul and sticks. I think freedom is always in us, but sometimes our vision of it is clouded. Once we touch that quality within us, it remains wherever the end of the trail finds us. Some of us continue to wander, travel, explore or hike; others return to former lives and jobs from an expanded perspective. In all cases, you can take the hiker off the trail, but not the trail out of the hiker.

10) Laugh it off. Never mind great truths and life-changing discoveries; we know nothing. Any labeled identity we create for ourselves will be destroyed as soon as it’s uttered. I once wrote that my feet hurt, the next day my feet stopped hurting. I once wrote that I preferred solitude, the next day I found myself  hiking with a small group of fun people and loving it. I once was very upset at the thought of no-longer being a “thru-hiker”. I think we all feel that way. That is in part why we seek the company of other thru-hikers post-trail. Am I still a hiker if I’m not hiking? Who cares! Each experience is worth its weight in gold. I think it’s important to not take ourselves too seriously and as Dacia so eloquently put, to get out of our own way, learn to surf the wave, revel in the power of it, and let it all come together.

                                                                         Photo credit: Jim Peacock

And the final four from Backtrack.

11) It’s not a race. Lightweight, a hiker who hadn’t yet escaped the vortex at Casa de Luna, started a list in the Anderson’s trail register, “How To Win the PCT.” First on the list: Be the last to Canada. If you’re hiking northbound that is. Hiking a long trail is not a competition. There aren’t winners and losers. All of us get there only one step at a time.

12) It’s not about the miles, but what happens between the miles. I heard this from my daughter, Dances With Lizards, the only member of Team No Hurries to get to Canada this year. Maybe this is a variation of “the journey is the destination.” We live between the miles. Not in how many miles we’ve walked today, all week, or the whole hiking season.

13) It is what it is. It’s 105 degrees Fahrenheit. It’s 18 miles to water. There’s a thunderstorm right on top of us. The snake ate the rabbit babies. I am very hungry. It isn’t good and it isn’t bad. It is what it is and has no need for meaning. I take a break in the shade in the heat of the day. I carry 4 liters of water. I hunker down from the rain and lightning and watch the display. A snake’s got to eat, too. I eat some food. It is what it is, now and in this moment.

14) There’s pain but that doesn’t mean there is suffering. A day hiker descending Mount Whitney says to me, “Are we having fun yet?” I am huffing and puffing and legs burning on the way up and pant out, “I think we do this for other reasons than fun.” Walking on blisters hurts. Legs and knees and ankles and feet sometimes ache, and sometimes all ache at the same time. Sometimes I am very hungry. Sometimes I smell very bad and so do all my companions. My socks have holes in them. Yet, I laugh at the pain and discomfort. We laugh together. There is joy out here on this trail. Between every step and every mile.

15) add yours here …

[englishgiraffe]

My Love For The Eighth Doctor Books

Disclaimer: This essay is awfully long, the structure is terrible, and it probably shouldn’t have been over 4000 words, but hopefully, you’ll enjoy my insight of the Eighth Doctor Books.

Introduction

Trying to create a character around a brand new Doctor is tricky and Paul McGann’s incarnation is perhaps the biggest example for this. After 1996, he never had a TV appearance to fully flesh out the Eighth Doctor and remember: Big Finish didn’t use the Eighth Doctor until 2001. So writers in 1997 had a difficult task, especially when the Virgin Books lost the rights to the DW IP and were back in the BBC’s rights. Some Virgin New Adventure writers like Kate Orman, Justin Richards, Paul Leonard had come to write for the EDA’s, but new talent had to come in as well. They all had to intricately look at like, what, 40 minutes of McGann’s screentime in the TV Movie, half of which was the Doctor trying to figure himself out from amnesia and the other half is him being thrust into the plot without any way to truly develop his character. So… yeah, I actually can’t blame the writers finding their feet, at least with the VNA’s developing the 7th Doctor, he had 12 stories. Also, trying to pick up from the massive popularity of the VNA’s, and oh my God, I feel so bad for the writers. But, there could be a slither of a chance, maybe the magic they could have brought from the VNA’s can be replicated again. So, did it work? Hell yeah, it did!... just not under the guise of Uncle Terry Dicks. Just…screw everything about The Eight Doctors, it’s the worst possible starting point. But after that blip, yeah, it’s my favourite era of the Doctor Who IP, bar none.

Exciting Ideas

I’ll start off listing the sci-fi elements first before getting into character work. Much like the VNA’s, perhaps even more so, the EDA’s are not afraid to bring bold, extravagant ideas that TV Who could never do, perhaps not even what Big Finish could do, because of the novel format that allows descriptions and characters to fully grow. The Books are able to describe how a planet looks, feels, sounds, even down to taste so effortlessly, and a part of it is how unique, so bizarre, so beautiful these planets are, so… intimate. Could Doctor Who ever do planets like Albert (a planet entirely made out of Grimm’s fairy tales), Hitchemus (a colony world thriving on music and inhabited by intelligent tigers), The Crooked World (much like the Land of Fiction, except all the inhabitants and settings are cartoon-based). Not even Big Finish pulls off such weird and surreal settings and that’s because of the prose style allowing time and dedication to flesh out the multiple planets, without feeling clunky in its description and dialogue, which could plague early BF stories at times. But it’s not just the variety in the settings that make it great, there are also fascinating new ways to tell these stories with different formats. Narratives can be told in a Pulp Fiction-esque, out of order style (The Last Resort), told backwards (Festival of Death), books where the Doctor is barely in it but his presence is booming (Sleep of Reason), books told from the first person POV (The Turing Test, Frontier Worlds, Banquo Legacy), a narrative told from a non-fiction documentary perspective (Adventuress of Henrietta Street), a narrative told in a essay format (History 101), and that’s only a handful of the formats. There’s multiple pastiches and parodies; Trading Futures does Doctor Who crossed with James Bond harder than the Pertwee era, The Tomorrow Windows replicates Douglas Adams’ style down to a T, The Crooked World is basically Doctor Who crossed with Hanna Barbara Cartoons and many more. God, everything is so unique and wacky in this book range.

The Tone and Theming

As for the Books’ tone, it’s certainly interesting. In the VNA’s, because a lot of new talent, and a lack of the BBC reigning things in as well as major inspiration from 90s cyberpunk media such as Judge Dredd, a lot of the books, especially in its first half, were extremely grimdark and gratuitous in order to show shock value for its audience (Timewryn Genesys had Ace sexually assaulted and The Doctor told her to just shrug it off and claim that it was part of the times they’re in and Warlock had unconsented bestiality and detailed animal murder). It was too far in my eyes, despite me saying that DW can be more than a franchise that is just whirling around in a magic police box. However, in the EDA’s, yes there is more sexual content, swearing like bastard, bitch and shit is still a thing, and there can be gory violence. But here’s where the EDA’s success at compared to VNA’s; it attempts to earn it’s adult elements. With the VNA’s, the grimdark nature was so constant to the point of normalisation, with hardly any degree of wonder or wit, especially from its regulars (thank God for Bernice Summerfield bringing some happiness at least). It does address and deconstruct the grimdark nature near the end, but God, even as a depressing cynical man, the likes of Blood Heat, Parasite, Warlock were just too dour for me to truly enjoy. But here, there is moderation and it feels contextual to the overall story. It enhances the story, not pollute it. The Spanish Civil War of 1936 (History 101) is written maturely and handles its mature themes in a thoughtful manner, Suicide and Depression is handled with sensitivity and intimacy (The Sleep of Reason), and when gratituous violence is used, it is detailed certainly but never glamorised and often times extremely terrifying instead of gore for the sake of gore (Eater of Wasps). Hell, even the most comical story, The Crooked World, has introspective themes of free will, the concept of death, existentialism and the value of a soul. But, it’s not all bleak, as said, The Crooked World is perhaps the most comical story since The Romans, anything involved with Iris Wildthyme as well as being weird abstract, is just laugh-out-loud hilarious, Jonathan Morris’ The Tomorrow Windows is pure Douglas Adams wacky humour, and Lance Parkin’s Trading Futures is majorly inspired by Roger Moore James Bond movies. The way the Books tackle true adult themes like Morality, Honour, Sexuality, Gender, Trauma, Redemption, the Philosophy of Nature and Identity, whilst being imaginative, humorous and endearing is… just poignant and beautiful.

 The Regulars-Sam Jones

So… the regulars. Well, I’ll save the main two (The Eighth Doctor and Fitz) for last, because they will be the longest. So starting with Sam Jones (and yes, they do the ‘Smith and Jones’ shtick about a decade prior to Series 3), and off the bat, she’s easily the weakest EDA Companion and a bit of a inconsistency. She often suffered from writers who wanted to write her as the worst extremes of ‘Vegetarian Political Activist’, who constantly bitches and moans towards everything without any proper tact. And I don’t mind characters who don’t believe in tact, Cordelia from Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel is one of my favourite characters, but when Sam gives her opinions on everything in a pessimistic attitude without a degree of optimism… yeah my enthusiasm starts to drain really quickly. Doesn’t help that she’ll flip-flop between being a lovesick puppydog for 8, cynical activist or just… woman. But I will say that when she’s written under the likes of Kate Orman/Jonathan Blum, Paul Leonard and Paul Magrs, I absolutely love her character. She’s perceptive yet bright, naïve but willing to grow, cynical but willing to bring in entertainment. And I will say that her backstory is a fascinating deconstruction of the ‘Perfect Companion’ trope that Moffat loved to overemphasise. She had been manipulated, used as a pawn and twisted by the Doctor (although this is accidental) from the events of the TV Movie, and the real/correct one is just a junkie that couldn’t wait to stick a Heroin needle if it was given in front of her. It’s tragic, especially considering that when The Doctor fixes all his companions’ timeline much later down the line, Correct Sam becomes the correct version and it’s revealed that this version never travelled with the Doctor and died of an overdose, despite Fitz knowing her experiences they had together. I also love her exit story in Interference, she had become more enjoyable near the end and the story is able to show her resources. Unfortunately, the inconsistency up until Fitz joins just left me too much having a cold taste in my mouth for me to love her.

The Regulars-Compassion

Next up, the human-TARDIS hybrid and Ice Cold Queen, Compassion. This is a character that I definitely appreciated way more after a first reading. The first time, I thought Compassion was too cold and aloof but on a reread, while she’s never going to be high on my list for favourite companions and I find her the hardest to analyse, I find that she works great as a hard-edged character, her dynamic with The Doctor and Fitz remind me a lot of 2/Jamie/Zoe, only if Zoe was way more upfront about her intelligence and rudeness. Her dynamic with Fitz as well is interesting as at first, they clearly despise each other for their clashing personalities and find each other untrustworthy but overtime, Compassion learns to enjoy Fitz’s goofiness and even learns to apologise. She can be destructive and violent with no emotion put behind it. That said, she becomes a more interesting character once she becomes the first Human-TARDIS hybrid, with the Doctor and Fitz forced to rely on her, but because of her cold hubris and after The Doctor forces a Randomiser thus violating her body, Compassion can become terrifying to The Doctor and Fitz. She does get brilliant material in The Banquo Legacy as well, with her possessing one person and her personality conflicting with the possessed person’s. And she has a decent farewell as well. Overall, I enjoy Compassion, it’s just really hard to analyse her considering that she only has 12 stories with the combination of perhaps a too subtle character arc.

 The Regulars- Anji Kapoor

Now onto Anji Kapoor. If it isn’t for another companion that I’ll mention later, then Anji is certainly a close second in my rankings of 8th Doctor companions. And I also say with high praise that the 8th Doctor, Fitz Kreiner and Anji Kapoor team is my definitive TARDIS team… ever. You wouldn’t get that impression with her first story, as she has the trappings of an RTD Companion that you can pretty much guess a mile off. Stale relationship, life is going nowhere, working class, dead end job, jeez, I heard it all with Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy, Clara, Bill. The fact that she works in the stock market, an occupation I swear 98% of the population can barely figure out, and I felt like I was never going to like Anji. But Dang… Dang!!! The biggest glow-up happens in her very next story, and it practically sticks until her exit. I always felt that companions inbetween that period of Leela (arguably Tegan) and Anji never really basked in the pure absurdity of what world they were travelling in and never really gave any thought. The combination of new experiences around the universe and her haunting memories of her dead boyfriend was a lot to take in for her, to the point that she never really moved on (in Earthworld, she keeps writing emails to Dave, despite him being dead, and in Hope, she gives the secrets of the TARDIS over to the inhabitants on the exchange that they clone her boyfriend). She fell from grace multiple times, but with the Doctor and Fitz’s help, she was able to pick herself back up before spiralling down. What I love about Anji is despite her caring for The Doctor, she’s very distrustful to him because of his calculating and alien nature and both conflict with each other, their arguments almost feel too real. Anji often considers the options and is usually independent with her financial skills and intelligence. Over the 25 Books she’s in, she has become consistently enjoyable and a delight to read. Witty, clever, full of instinct, and humane, I did feel a proper sense of loss when she left.

The Regulars- Trix Macmillan

On the last companion, Trix Macmillan. She’s probably have the least amount of books in comparison to other EDA Companions (Sam had 25, Fitz had 51, Compassion has 12 and Anji had 25), with her only having 9 Books. Certainly not a lot of time to flesh out her character in comparison, but somehow the writers did it. What I love about Trix and what makes her a stark contrast to the first EDA Companion, Sam, is that Trix doesn’t want to be popular or well-liked. She’s logical, calculating, often devious, and often pretty tactless. She’s the kind of person who would steal a dead person’s identity and money. She treats The Doctor and Fitz not as friends, only acquaintances. But not just that, she can be (intentionally) a walking contradiction. Much like a showbiz actress, depending on what environment, time and crowd she’s working with, she’ll immediately change her personality. To the point that Trix doesn’t even know her true personality, and she is scared that she wants to know what she used to be. She likes being anyone but herself, wanting to become inconspicuous around the Doctor. Her relationship with the Doctor is interesting as well, he is judgemental towards her hobby as a conwoman, believing that she’s only with him and Fitz because she’ll steal whatever she can get. But as time goes on, he learns about her contradictory personality (most likely relates because of his own contradictory personality), and sees her, the real her. And despite her trying to detach herself from The Doctor, she slowly, but surely, opens herself more to The Doctor and Fitz, to the point that she feels hurt when The Doctor accuses her. Even with the short runtime, I found her relationship with Fitz to be really touching, and shows that Fitz’s open loyalty works in tandem with Trix’s cold secrecy. We don’t get much information about her past, but in a way I enjoy the lack of answers, whether she’s just a conartist or perhaps a chameleonic alien, what her relationship was like with her father. And maybe that’s the point, with her shape-shifting and unpredictable personality, she’s meant to be an enigma. At the very least, with 9 books, she had become a fascinating character that was wonderful to read and analyse.

The Regulars-Fitzgerald Kreiner

Now, my favourite companion in all of Doctor Who media, Fitz Kreiner. Better than the likes of Jamie, Donna, Sarah Jane, Ace and Evelyn. Before with Sam and The Doctor, the books were of varying quality, but as soon as he was introduced, even with a bit of a terrible debut story, he brought such humour that made the story just about bearable. He’s a bit of a goofball with some addiction for cigarettes and alcohol, but he starts becoming one of the most complex and special characters in the franchise. He begins as a bit of a James Bond-esque ‘Lady’s Man’, often trying to flirt and womanise, but by his third Book, Revolution Man, the development truly begins. He gets kidnapped, tortured and brainwashed under the influence of alien drugs and forced into shooting a man, with the Doctor forced to finish the job off for Fitz. He’s obviously going to have lasting effects that will damage him in the long run. But Damn, it doesn’t stop there, Interference leaves him in the absolute gutter with him being trapped in a membrane for 600 years, and resents the Doctor for failing to rescue him, and joins up to 8’s longlives enemy, Faction Paradox, and is converted to be a monster, becoming Father Kreiner. And it’s tragic, given his PTSD shown from Revolution Man. But that Fitz is gone, and what stays with the Doctor until the end is a clone of him, with full memories and everything. So thankfully, the loveable oaf never truly went away and only gets better from here. Much like how the 2nd Doctor was perfect for Jamie, or how Ian and Barbara are integral for the 1st Doctor, Fitz is ideal for 8. During the period with Compassion, he wants to prove that he’s the real Fitz, but can’t, because he isn’t. He may have the OG Fitz’s memories, but he can’t dream and thinks that some memories are missing. Even some aspects of his personality are different, like his skills of hiding and blending in easier. He may be a doofus, and hard to catch on certain things, but much like Jamie, he’s street-smart, and is able to spot simple situations that The Doctor wouldn’t give a second notice because of his desire for over-complicated situations. Even with him not being as bright, he’s able to hold off on his own from the Doctor, as in Trading Futures, he’s able to defeat Time Lord-wannabe Space Rhinos (no, not those kind of Space Rhinos) on his own without any of the Doctor’s help or knowledge by impersonating the Doctor, even willing to sacrifice himself. He’s the flame behind the EDA’s for me, the one who is willing to sacrifice everything he has to save whoever he considers family, and the bond that the Doctor and Fitz have together is inspired. He is fiercely loyal to the Doctor, even when he is kept in the dark. They both have a connection towards each other, like a mix between 2/Jamie and early 8/Charley, with Fitz even willing to hold the heavy memories of what 8 did to Gallifrey, even when The Doctor threatens to break every bone in Fitz’s body.  He was the best friend that 8 could ever have, I loved their kindred relationship and it was totally worth it having Fitz for 51 Books to become such a developed character. My favourite companion, bar none.

The Regulars-The Eighth Doctor

And now, finally the Eighth Doctor. Before, I used to cite the Eighth Doctor from Big Finish as the definitive incarnation. And don’t get me wrong, I still love him in the Charley, Lucie and even the Doom Coalition era. He has brilliant gravitas in showing intelligence (arguably the most intelligence since the 4th Doctor), dry morbid humour, the right amount of patronising, and enthusiasm, often excelled by McGann’s excellent performance and Shakespearean voice. But, as time goes on, the era becomes more… how do I say… schizophrenic and uneven. Big Finish sort of starts off creating arcs for 8, but then… sort of wander off and never pick up on arcs they’ve created, like the 800 year maroon in Orbis, the angst in Dark Eyes, then finally culminating with Moffat’s Night of the Doctor, not picking up on his hatred for the Daleks after Lucie Miller’s death, and making him too naïve to the Time War, making it as if his journey from BF didn’t even matter.

Then came my experiences with the books. And discarding the first novel, The Eight Doctors, and jumping straight to Vampire Science, Jonathan Blum and Kate Orman immediately gave 8 more nuance than 75% of 8th Doctor material in BF. I should preface by saying this as well: despite my grievances from the Virgin New Adventures, I still think that the character of 7, Time’s Champion and its character work are still crucial to the EDA’s and how it conflicts/supplements 8’s character. 8 is no longer Death’s pet, stuck to the chains of fate, but much like 7, in the eyes of others, he is simultaneously whimsical, dangerous and manipulative, albeit more flawed than 7. When 7 manipulates, it’s more out of logic, thinking about the bigger scope, while with 8, it’s out of passion and love. He often uses his good looks and often childlike grin as a front to scheme, as evidenced in Genocide. But unlike the 7th Doctor, it’s never constant to the point of predictability, and sometimes, even his manipulation messes up due to his conflict with his passion and childlike personality. I’d argue that 8 is the most anti-hero incarnation of all the Doctors, even more than the 7th Doctor, often obliviously selfish, privileged and at times very toxic and callous. He often doesn’t let other people in on his schemes (him faking his own death to his companions in The Banquo Legacy), often clings onto people out of fear of losing them (Sam in Interference), pulls strings for his selfish needs (uses Alan Turing’s sexuality as blackmail to make Turing help him help aliens but on the basis that the Doctor just escapes Earth in The Turing Test), puts others on the brink of death (orders a possessed wasp-human hybrid to kill one of his closest patients to test if his true personality is still there in Eater of Wasps), often be cold-blooded and violent (throws a medic against the wall head-first and then stuffs him in a cupboard in Vanishing Point). In the second half of the Book range, he had lost his memory from his battle and destruction/erasure of Gallifrey, but here’s why this memory erasure works as opposed to other ones, like in Big Finish. For Big Finish 90% of the time it’s used, it’s often to create false tension. At times, it’s fine, but when it’s used constantly to pad out the runtime, my enthusiasm starts to wane out quickly. But Justin Richards as Book Script Editor brings something interesting. For the first time, the Doctor isn’t bitching about where his memory is, but rather, he’s a mirrored version of the 1st Doctor (my second favourite incarnation): full of rage, irritative, deceptive, arrogant and willing to fill his hands full of blood. The difference is there is no Ian or Barbara to hold him back, to make him grow, 8 must be the one to grow and develop himself, he has to make the work into becoming The Doctor. That’s another reason why I adore the 8/Fitz/Anji team so much; they are all broken, damaged people with flaws, and call each other out. But they are also a trio of friendship, love, can bring unity towards each other and most importantly, feel like a family, in fact probably the most family-like team since arguably 2/Jamie/Victoria or even since 1/Ian/Barbara/Vicki. 8/Fitz/Anji have truly descended into tough times (Fitz especially), but this team shows that you can pull yourself back from the depths of hell when you have the right support going for you.

Writers like Lance Parkin, Paul Leonard, Lloyd Rose, Kate Orman, Steve Lyons, Mags L Halliday, Martin Day, Lawrence Miles live and breathe the 8th Doctor, a true Bryon Romantic, poetic and literal with words. He’s a diplomat, rather than a conqueror. He may be brutal, manipulative, and cold-blooded, but it’s equally mirrored with empathy, mischievous humour akin to the 2nd Doctor, and a lust for the unpredictability of humanity. Yet unlike how Modern Big Finish and Moffat’s Night of the Doctor made 8 into an ineffectual pacifist buffoon, Book 8 is certainly an optimist, but he’s also a realist. In Reckless Engineering, he was given the choice between saving the correct timeline in the universe but at the cost of his friends or let the universe collapse… he actually chooses the universe. It’s a shocking moment (especially for Fitz, considering how long he’s been with the Doctor), but even he knows that, but has a responsibility to save the right reality. And with some introspection, nearing the end, he realises that, because there’s a gorgeous insight in The Sleep of Reason, about focusing too much on the bigger picture and the few things is equally as important. To see 8’s goals come to fruition, he brings it to himself that his mission of helping even just one individual can be seen as the greatest thing in the universe. He doesn’t want to remember the events of Gallifrey near the end because at the end of the day, he’s a man who strives for the present and future, not the past. He may not be a good person, he may not be right sometimes, and he may not have a happily ever after with destroying Evil for good, but he’ll still keep going on just to make a difference. That’s why I adore the ambiguous ending to The Gallifrey Chronicles, we never get a confirmation as to whether the Doctor survives his plan against the Vore, we never get what his plan is supposed to be and whatever happens after the battle (besides a song from Fitz closing off the book). I prefer Doctor Who to have an ambiguous non-conclusive ending than what Marc Platt did for Lungbarrow or Colin Meek for Death Comes to Time. This version of Eight has now become the definitive incarnation of The Doctor for me, I adore this character so much.

Conclusion

To me, The Eighth Doctor Books, especially in the second half, truly encapsulates everything that I love about the franchise: superb prose, introspective themes, emotional moments, pushing the boundaries of what Doctor Who could truly do but never accomplish. The writers made something special, and made the range one of the most suspenseful, sombre, intimate, and beautiful pieces of fiction I’ve ever experienced. I love them, and to me, they are my Doctor Who.

[thisadhdlife]

Gold In The Valley, by MitiS: A Lyrical Breakdown of how this song makes me fee. (Because why TF not?)

So, let’s start with the obvious question first: Why? Why Am I doing this? Because the song makes me tear up and cry every time I hear it. I’ve heard if on/off for 3 days now, almost. So, I’d like to analyze my feelings through writing about it.

Why post a lyrical analysis on this blog? Because it’s my blog. Duh. I’ll post whatever I want, especially if I feel it relates to ADHD and/or the experience (emotional or otherwise) around it in some way/shape/form.

*~*~*

Oh you never know Who you're talking to What things they've been through So just please be kind It was hard to say It's sunshine or rain When somebody's smile Could be hiding pain

This hits hard. Reminds me of that quote from Plato, “Be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle“. For 30+ years of my life, I wasn’t even aware that I was in a constant battle with my ADHD. It’s only now, that the battle is over, and the war has been WON that I realize just how much suffering, just how much pain, and anguish I’d been enduring without even realizing it. Now you might ask, “how can you win against ADHD?” ~ But the fact that I know it’s ADHD, the fact that I can get help, the fact that I can access and use medication. That’s WINNING. You can’t tackle a problem/issue that you don’t know is there, right? So, yeah. I for sure consider the battle won.

But it's hard to pretend Forever and keep it inside And we're all in this world together And no one should hide

I always felt alienated. Like I was stupider than everyone else. Like I was somehow less-than, you know? It hit me like a ton of bricks the first time I took my medication... just how easy being human is for everyone else. I know, sounds strange when I put it like that. But it’s true. I always felt like an alien inside my own skin. I guess that’s what ADHD Alien talks about and depicts in their work... thing is, until I took my medication, I just DIDN’T KNOW how different everyone else’s experience of the world truly is. I mean, if it’s THIS EASY for you to put down your phone and focus on your work, to focus on boring things that don’t interest you... OF COURSE you’ll think that anyone else who can’t do it with the same ease is just lazy. It’s not OK, but, at the same time... I finally understood the perspective of all the people in my life who had been trying to get me to do better, to somehow “motivate” me in all the wrong ways. They were doing the best in the way they knew how, and it’s not their fault. Taking the medication, I think, more than anything allowed me to empathize with others on a level I’d never been able to before and it allowed me to forgive everyone in one instant. They tried their best to get me to do stuff, to get my life together. It’s not their fault they didn’t know... so, forgive them. Educate them, maybe if they’re open to it. And move forward boldly and without fear.

Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Keep it inside

Keep it inside Keep it inside

Keep it inside

For most of my life, I’ve either been made to feel stupid, or I felt stupid myself. It didn’t matter that I somehow got through college and got a degree. Or somehow managed to finish an MA in Psychology. I always felt stupid. Always felt like I just got lucky somehow. I believe the term for it is “imposter syndrome”. And for the longest time, I felt like anything and everything I was able to do in my life was because I got lucky. Because SO MANY TIMES in my life... anything I touch, turns to ash. Anything I try... just doesn’t work out. It doesn’t. So, when it does work out once-in-a-blue-moon... I feel like it must’ve been luck. Surely, I couldn’t be smart enough, or hard-working enough to have achieved whatever it is that I achieved. Right? RIGHT!? That’s what this lyric reminds me of. The “gold” in this context is my intelligence, ability to work hard, and actually achieve something of worth. But every time I find gold in the gold-mine we call life... I just keep telling myself “there’s no gold here, you just got lucky. Take it, and move on. You won’t find more.”

I don’t even know if that makes sense, but that’s how it feels. Like... just be thankful for what you have, and don’t try to do anything more because you’ll end up failing. For the longest time... in fact, as far back as I can remember, that has been my experience of life. But, I’m working actively to change that. I have help, I have support, and I don’t intend to waste my time living in the past forever.

What we put out into the air Comes back to us Flowing through us Know it isn't too hard to care Kindness moves us Hate is useless And I think we can do better One heart at a time

This is the part that always makes me tear up the most. This is the part that I relate to the most post-treatment, and post-diagnosis. I felt... for the first time in my life... validated. That I wasn’t just some washed-up, has-been, lazy, morally-defective waste of a human being with no prospects in life. From the doctor who believed me when I told her the nature and the peculiar condition of my suffering, to the counselor who didn’t make me feel ashamed for choosing to take stimulant medication to manage my condition.

There will always be non-believers and nay-sayers. We, who suffer from this peculiar condition called ADHD, probably know a few. But that doesn’t mean we can’t move forward without them. In my own case, my own parents don’t believe that anything like ADHD even exists. At best, it’s a ploy to sell more medication by big-pharma. And yet... I can personally attest to the fact that the condition is real. The medication works for me more than any amount of diet/exercise/meditation has ever worked... and I’m about as dependent on the medication as I am on the prescription glasses I wear in order to be able to see.

The medication took the “fog” of ADHD away. It made time REAL. It allowed me to visualize and plan, and prioritize almost instantly. And for the first time ever... I could feel, and see, and use the intellect I always knew I had. I’m not stupid, I don’t think I’ve ever been stupid, or lazy. And the medication finally gave me the ability to grasp that fully. Give me clarity. I KNOW I CAN DO BETTER. And I will. My mission in life is clear: Help those who suffer from undiagnosed ADHD in any way/shape/form I can by becoming a Clinical Psychologist. I want to make sure that no one has to suffer unnecessarily and needlessly the way I suffered. That is my drive. That’s my reason for existing. This... pain. This... anguish... that I didn’t even know I was going through until the first day I tried the medication. Nobody deserves this. Nobody deserves to feel this way. And If I have anything to say/do about it... less people in this world will. That’s what the “one heart at a time” part in this lyric reinforces for me.

Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Gold lies in the valleys And all I have Keep it inside

I know that the ADHD will never be cured, or fixed, or be forever gone. Like Type 1 Diabetes, there is no cure. Only management. So, manage it I shall. Would I wish this on anyone else? No. But if this is the way I was meant to be... then I won’t fight it. I’ll embrace it. I’ll use all the tools available to me to focus and channel this gift (or curse, whatever you want to call it) and direct it to help as many people I can. I’ll do everything I can to touch as many lives as I can.

*~*~*

If you made it all the way to the end, thank you for reading. It means a lot.

I love you all. Listen to the song!

Stay safe out there. <3

Take care of yourself, ADHD fam.

[dgvirtualassistant]

10 Super Useful Tips To Start Freelancing As A Beginner | Filipino Virtual Assistance

Thinking about transitioning freelancing but don’t know where to start? You probably think that freelancing is not for you since you have a misconception that you need to own a degree and competitive skills to be a freelancer. This is just a misunderstanding. What you don’t know is that you can start freelancing as a beginner.

Facts about Freelancing

The freelancing industry is considered one of the top fastest-growing industries. Assessing the viability that brands and businesses saw, the “gig” industry will continue to soar in the coming years.

Here are eight freelancing statistics that will blow your mind:

Freelancing is poised to become the U.S. majority workforce by 2027

Google’s workforce has more freelancers than permanent employees

Countries with lower domestic work opportunities are seeing a surge in freelance professionals.

Freelancers are proving to be game-changers for SMBs

Almost half of all businesses employ freelancers.

Freelancing opportunities are rising, with online freelancing platforms being the catalysts.

Freelancers do work to more than double over the next ten years

12 out of the top 20 in-demand skills for freelancers are related to development.

May you be a writer, social media manager, web developer, graphic artist, or admin assistant, freelancing can be for you. You can start freelancing as a beginner then grow from there. And if you are willing to get out of your comfort zone, you will thrive in this career.

Here are answers to some of the FAQs about freelancing. Check here: https://www.fvaconsultancy.com/how-to-start-freelancing/ for you to be guided.

What is a freelancer?

A freelancer is someone who transitions to work from home, offering services to clients globally. A freelancer can be anyone like a housewife, a mother, a high school graduate, or anybody who wants to earn a side hustle. Or someone who wants to focus on succeeding in freelancing. You can start freelancing as a beginner, cultivate your skills and mindset, and grow your career as time goes by.

As a freelancer, you will experience building your own business while having the freedom to choose your projects and how many hours you will be working with them.

How to Start Freelancing as a Beginner?

Here are ten steps to start your freelancing career as a beginner. This is an ultimate guide and tips for beginner freelancers to leverage in transitioning to this new career path.

Step 1: Get The Right Equipment

Smartphone apps are limited in features. It would be best to have a computer run the software required to do the work properly and deliver excellent results. Getting a laptop or even an old computer would do the trick. You will also need an internet connection. Depending on your tasks, you can use a prepaid internet or a wired or fiber plan. These two pieces of equipment are the two main ingredients to start a work-from-home career. And as you go along, earning more, you can invest invaluable things for your freelancing business.

Step 2: Find A Marketable Skill

Since you will be providing your skills as your services, this is an essential element to start freelancing. Whatever skills you have, the ultimate winning factor to be a competent freelancer is to equip oneself with a skill that has a high demand in the marketplace. Also, cultivating it more through enrolling in online courses, teaching others, or doing it most of the time will level up the one skill you have.

Step 3: Polish Up Your Skills

Once you find a marketable skill, learn the basics, grow your niche, and start getting paid by offering services through your skills.

There are various ways to master your ability. You can watch free tutorials on youtube or google. Yet,  taking online courses is the most effective way to learn and polish up a skill correctly. Developing a skill from scratch takes time. Thus, patience is highly needed to enhance your skillsets effectively. And since freelancing is a competitive industry, continuous learning is imperative to your competence as a freelancer.

Step 4: Build Your Reputation

Proving your skills and work will determine whether you’ll be a successful freelancer or not. This is the beauty of the “gig” industry. You don’t need to have a degree as long as you have what it takes to prove to your clients that you’re skilled at what you do. You will find clients who hire and appreciate you.

So if you are a high school graduate, don’t worry. Learn a single skill, master it and then market your services to clients around the globe. Above all, it is your competencies and the work attitude that will thrive your freelancing career. To build your reputation, emphasize providing value to your clients because, as a freelancer, you are a business partner, not an employee.

Step 5: Create A Portfolio

When marketing yourself as a freelancer, it is vital to show proof of your experiences or skills. You are going to collect the best of your samples and then collate them in a portfolio. So, your portfolio will legitimize your expertise.

A portfolio can be a website or inside a Google drive where you put together and showcase all your work. Or, it can be a simple PDF where you collect all of your samples.

To provide your portfolio conveniently to the client, give them the link for easy access on the client’s end.

Step 6: Try Freelancing Part-Time

Freelancing might be for everyone. Yet, there are instances where a certain individual has no willingness to work harder. It can be an overwhelming feeling to market yourself and deal with clients. If you’re unsure whether freelancing is the right career path for you, the best way to know is to do it part-time.

In doing part-time, you can still work with your existing day job. That’s why, when you feel ready to accept more projects, you can decide whether you should freelance full-time and leave your day job or remain to do it part-time.

Step 7: Find The Right Freelance Platform

If you’re starting with your freelance career, it can be challenging to find work. There are the best freelance websites for beginners to help get you started.

These websites are the perfect way to attract more clients to your services and gain referrals so you can grow your career even more.

Related blog: 33 Best Freelancing Websites that Every Freelancer Should Eye on This 2021

Step 8: Charge The Right Price

Knowing how to price your services is an excellent confirmation that you understand what you do. Others don’t know how to price their services the right way. So, clients never even consider hiring them. Learn to set up your price list by visiting popular freelance marketplaces and see what other freelancers in your niche or industry are charging.

As a newbie, it’s not fair to charge those same prices as experienced freelancers. Offer a price list that is just enough, not too cheap, and not so high.

Step 9: Send Your First Proposal

Now that you are ready to work as a freelancer, start sending applications to clients. It’s not like writing a regular email or writing a social media post. It is marketing your services by sending a cover letter, resume, and portfolio.

Check these blogs here for more tips and guides.

Steps To Writing An Effective Cover Letter and Appealing Resume

A Complete Guide to Help Freelancers Get Hired on Upwork

How to Work From Home as a Virtual Assistant in 2021

Landing Your First Client Even Without Training and Experience

FVA Inspiring Stories: Freelancing Tips To Change Your Life

Step 10: Deliver Beyond Expectations

Once you land a job, the next step is to ensure that you deliver the project just as the client has asked. However, this doesn’t mean that you will provide what is expected from you. One reason for this is that if you want to have premium clients, always provide value. Not only providing outputs for the sake of requirements. Nevertheless, delivering beyond what is expected from you.

Overdeliver the job by going above and beyond the client’s expectations without charging extra for it.

Find a way to do work that goes beyond expectations. And learn to stand out from the crowd. That’s the only way to build a lasting career as a freelancer.

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[akathecentimetre]

Hey there, so I really like history as a subject, and I'm pretty good at it. The thing is, I don't know what my career options would be if I studied it, or if I would be able to make money. My parents are heavily discouraging me from taking it as a major. As a 'historian' in training' what's your take? Thank you

Hi there! Sorry for the delay, ‘tis the hectic season…

Oh man, I have so many thoughts for you. Full disclosure: this is something I have worked on a LOT over the course of my graduate career both at my uni and on a national level; most of my advice, however, comes from a PhD candidate’s perspective and may not be directly helpful to an undergraduate, and I should also emphasize that everything I can say on this is very firmly based on the U.S. market only. That being said, a lot of what I can say can be universally applied, so here we go - 

The number of history undergraduates in the U.S. has plummeted in the last decade or so, from it previously being one of the most popular majors. There are many interacting reasons for this: a changeover from older to younger, better-trained, energetic professors who draw in and retain students has been very slow to occur, partly because of a lack of a mandatory retirement age; the humanities have been systematically demonized and minimized in favor of the development of STEM subjects, to the occasional benefit of students of color and women but to the detriment of critical public discourse and historical perspective on current events; with many liberal arts colleges going under financially and the enormous expansion of academic bureaucracy everywhere, resources are definitely being diverted away from social and human studies towards fields which are perceived to pay better or perceived, as mentioned in the article above, as being more ‘practical.’ (We do need a ton more healthcare workers/specialists, but that’s a different conversation to have.) But now I feel like quoting a certain Jedi Master: everything your parents say is wrong. Let’s dive into why being a historian is a positive thing for you both as a person and as a professional - 

You will be a good reader. As you learn to decipher documents and efficiently and thoroughly read secondary literature, you will develop a particular talent for understanding what is important about any piece of writing or evidence (and this can go for visual and aural evidence as well). This will serve you well in any position in which you are collecting/collating information and reporting to colleagues or superiors, and evaluating the worth of resources. Specific example - editorial staff at publishing houses either private or academic, magazines, etc. 

You will be a good writer. This will get you a good job at tons of places; don’t underestimate it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been astonished (not in a punitive way, of course, but definitely with a sense of befuddlement) by how badly some of my Ivy-league students can write. Good writing is hard, good writing is rare, and good writing is a breath of fresh air to any employer who puts a high premium upon it in their staff. History in principle is the study of change; history in practice is presenting information in a logical, interesting, and persuasive manner. Any sort of institution which asks you to write reports, summaries, copy, etc. etc. will appreciate your skills. 

You will be a good researcher. This sounds like a given, but it’s an underappreciated and vital skill. Historians work as consultants. Historians work in government - almost every department has an Office of the Historian - and in companies, writing company histories and maintaining institutional archives. A strong research profile will also serve you well if you want to go on to work in museum studies and in libraries public or private/academic. As a historian, you will know not just where to find information, but what questions you have to ask to get to the answer of how to tackle, deconstruct, and solve a problem. This is relevant to almost any career path. 

You will provide perspective. Historians react to current events in newspapers and online - not just on politics, but culture as well (my favorite article of this week is about the historicity of The Aeronauts). Historians act as expert witnesses in court proceedings. Historians write books, good books, not just meant for academic audiences but for millions upon millions of readers who need thoughtful, intelligent respite from the present. Historians work for thinktanks, providing policy analysis and development (a colleague of mine is an expert on current events of war in Mali and works for multiple thinktanks and organizations because of it). Historians work for nonprofits or lobbying groups on issues of poverty, environmental safety, climate change, and minority and indigenous rights. In a world when Texas school textbooks push the states’ rights narrative, historians remind us that the Civil War was about slavery. Historians remind us that women and people of color have always existed. In this time and world where STEM subjects are (supposedly) flooding the job market, we need careful historical perspective more than ever. We need useful reactions to the 2016 election, to the immigration travesties on display at the southern border, to the strengthening of right-wing parties in Europe - and history classes, or thoughtfully historical classes on philosophy and political science, are one of the few places STEM and business students gain the basic ability to participate in those conversations. [One of my brightest and most wonderful students from last year, just to provide an anecdote, is an astrophysics major who complained to me in a friendly conversation this semester that she never got the chance to talk about ‘deep’ things anymore once she had passed through our uni’s centralized general curriculum, which has a heavy focus on humanities subjects.]

You will be an educator. Teaching is a profession which has myriad challenges in and of itself, but in my experience of working with educators there is a desperate need for secondary-school teachers in particular to have actual content training in history as opposed to simply being pushed into classrooms with degrees which focus only on pedagogical technique. If teaching is a vocation you are actually interested in, getting a history degree is not a bad place to start at all. And elementary/high schools aside, you will be teaching someone something in every interaction you have concerning your subject of choice. Social media is a really important venue now for historians to get their work out into the world and correct misconceptions in the public sphere, and is a place where you can hone a public and instructive voice. You could also be involved in educational policy, assessment/test development (my husband’s field, with a PhD in History from NYU), or educational activism. 

If some of this sounds kind of woolly and abstract, that’s because it is. Putting yourself out there on the job market is literally a marketing game, and it can feel really silly to take your experience of 'Two years of being a Teaching Assistant for European History 1500-1750’ and mutate it to 'Facilitated group discussions, evaluated written work from students [clients], and ran content training sessions on complex subjects.’ But this sort of translation is just another skill - one that can be learned, improved, and manipulated to whatever situation you need it to fit.

Will you make money? That’s a question only you can answer, because only you know what you think is enough money. That being said, many of the types of careers I’ve mentioned already are not low-paying; in my experience expertise is, if you find the right workplace and the rewarding path, usually pretty well-remunerated. 

Specific advice? Hone your craft. Curate an active public presence as a historian, an expert, a patient teacher, and as as person enthusiastic about your subject. Read everything and anything. Acknowledge and insist upon complexity, and celebrate it when you can. 

And finally - will any of what I’ve said here make it easy? No, because no job search and no university experience is easy these days. It’s a crazy world and there are a lot of awful companies, bosses, and projects out there. But I do very firmly believe that you can find something, somewhere, that will suit your skills, and, hopefully, your passions too. 

Resources for you: the American Historical Association has a breakdown of their skills-based approach to the job market, reports on the job market(s) for history PhDs collectively called ‘Where Historians Work,’ and a mentorship program, Career Contacts, which could connect you with professional historians in various workplaces. There is a very active community of historians on Twitter; search for #twitterstorians. For historians who identify as female, Women Also Know History is a newer site which collates #herstorian bios and publications to make it easier for journalists to contact them for expert opinions. ImaginePhD provides career development tools and exercises for graduate students, but could probably be applied to undergrads as well. The Gilder Lehrman Institute is one of the premier nonprofits which develops and promotes historical training for secondary school teachers and classroom resources (U.S. history only). Job listings are available via the AHA, the National Council on Public History, and the IHE, as well as the usual job sites. And there’s an awful lot more out there, of course - anyone who reads or reblogs this post is welcome to add field-specific or resource-specific info. 

I hope this helps, Anon, or at least provides you with a way to argue in favor of it to your parents if it comes to that. Chin up!

[talpup]

Summary: Yami Sukehiro just wanted to join the Magic Knights and make his mentor proud.  He knew there would be trails.  He knew trouble would come his way.  Knew he would be faced with discrimination for being a foreigner and a peasant.  What he didn’t know.  Didn’t expect.  Was that literal Chaos would come his way.  That he and his mentor’s sister would be at the center of world ending trouble.  Or that he would fall in love with his mentor’s sister and face more than discrimination; but the jealously of Nozel Silva who loved the same woman he did.

Please remember this fic is rated mature and has warnings of violence, abuse, sexual tension, eventual sexual behavior, and other possible triggers.  For a full list of story tags please check the fics AO3 (link to that at the top of my tumblrs homepage).

If you read anything I'm offering this week it should be the chat in chapter 87 comments that I had with @XYZ25 over on ao3.

SERIOUSLY!! Their questions are always SO good and never fail to drive and inspire me; but this week things went off on a 'plot bunny' tangent about this fics version of Nozel eventually becoming Wizard King and Solid becoming King.  To better understand Solid becoming king you'd have to read the thread and the way the line of succession works in this fic.

Anyway, I HIGHLY suggest you read the thread.  @XYZ25 came out with the BEST PS that I could totally and WANT to build a fic around.

Chapter 88

Teris woke up squinting at the bright sunlight shining through her bedroom window.  She wondered if only the night had passed or if she had been out longer.  Taking it as a good sign the she was home; she washed her face, brushed her hair, and changed.  She was still filthy and reeked of smoke, but a bath would have to wait until after she found out what happened.

Following her sense of Yami’s mana, she made her way to the Captain's office. Finding the door partially open, she knocked and entered.

“Good. You’re awake.”  Jax greeted.

“Hornsby?” Teris asked, taking a seat next to Yami before the Captain's desk.

“No one was lost but their crops completely were, and the town’s as good a gone.  Hage lost several crop fields but more than half were spared, and the town itself untouched.”  Jax told.

“From the sounds of it the high winds you all had at Hornsby spread the Wild Fire far and fast.  The Sorcery Lance’s that attacked us also didn’t hang around as long, nor did they go around lobbing jars of Wild Fire.”  Yami turned in his chair to face Teris, expression hard as concerned eyes looked her carefully over.  “What the hell were you thinking?”

Teris’ eyebrows furrowed.  “What?”

“I told him how you tackled the Sorcery Lance readying to throw a jar of Wild Fire.”  Jax told Teris.

“Oh.” Teris pulled at a hang nail.  “Sorry.”

“It that an apology or a question?”  Jax complained of her tone.

Upset and concerned as he was, Yami couldn’t stop his smirk.  “She has a knack for that.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”  Jax echoed Yami, scolding Teris.

“I—I didn’t.  I just acted.”  Teris said.

Jax ran a hand roughly over his face.

“Sorry.” Teris said in the same questioning tone.

“Damn right you’re sorry!  You could have died.  Instantly.”  Jax’s throat bobbed at how close he’d come to losing another Vice Captain.  Swallowing the emotion, he joked.  “Where would I have been then?  With Yami as my sole Vice Captain.”

“Captain’s right.  This only works if one of use acts without thinking; and that’s my thing, you can’t have it.”  Yami jested, squashing his needless worry.  Teris was here, safe and alive.

Teris looked between Yami and Jax, easily reading their concern.  This time her apology was genuine.  “I’m sorry.”

“No more leaping at foes throwing jars of Wild Fire.”  Jax told.

Teris couldn’t help but smirk at how crazy it sounded.  But that’s exactly what she had done.  She recalled the mans chard form crumbling to nothing beneath her and wrinkled her nose.  She met Jax’s eyes remembering what the Sorcery Lance that had stood above her said him.

Jax looked away, seeming to read her mind.  He cleared his throat and stood, suddenly needing some air.  “Don’t let her take away and do anymore of my work.”  He told Yami, exiting the office.

Yami grinned at Teris.  “Yes, sir.”

Teris looked after Jax in concern.  She had never known the Captain to date.  Not that she had ever paid attention to his private life.  But if what the Sorcery Lance had alluded to was true; remembering something like that so soon after his best friends death--

“They think the Spade Kingdom started the Wild Fires.”  Yami said, breaking into her thoughts.

“What gave them that idea.  The fact that Sorcery Lances attacked throwing jars of it?”

Yami’s lip twitched upward at her heated sarcasm.  “Greywright said it was cause they wanted us to know they started the Wild Fires and did it in retaliation for Rayla’s death.”

Teris scowled.  It was pointless telling Yami what he already knew.  But even if they had killed Rayla, it would’ve been justified.  Then again Rayla had said her King hadn’t known of her actions.

Teris rubbed her eyes, hoping this mess wouldn’t cause a war.  Along with Sir Jorah, it would be Greywright’s job to make sure that it didn’t escalate to that.  Did she really want such a job?  Would someone come along during her time as Magic Knights Commander and create a similar mess to the one that she and Yami had caused?  She hoped not. Even if Teris didn’t want the job, which she did, she didn’t have much of a choice.  Only the rank of Magic Knights Commander or Wizard King would save her from banishment.  She refused to have Yami fight to free her from her family.  Even if the brother Yami would face was Fyntch and not Julius.

Yami looked Teris carefully over again.  With her not having bathed yet, it was difficult to tell how injured she was.  Clearly there were no terrible wounds and she didn’t appear to be in obvious pain. Still, he wished they could feed off of each others mana.  It had been almost a year since they’d been able to do so.  Almost a year since the Summer Solstice had churned the core of their mana so badly that they couldn’t trust letting their mana get near the others. It was like living in a too small cell; unable to take a full, deep breath.

Yami gripped her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face.  “What’s the matter?  Still weakened from playing catch with Wild Fire?”

Teris would’ve laughed if her head hadn’t been buzzing with everything she had learned the past few days.  Jax’s possible tragic love life the least disconcerting discovery.  She had barely begun to examine what had been done and said while they were captive in Rayla’s lab. She hadn’t even started to process what they’d been told about Advisor Ellara...

She tugged against Yami’s grip till it loosened from her wrist.  Her hand slid down his wrist to hold his hand.  His presence comforted her like nothing else could.  His calm, sure strength sheltered and steadied her.  With Yami, she could do anything.  Face anything.  It had nothing to do with the combination of their magic and the destruction it could cause.  Yami was her anchor in the chaos of this world.  With him at her side.  With him as her home.  She had the inner strength and will to face whatever came their way.

“They lied.”  Teris said.

Yami frowned, eyebrows furrowing.  “Who?”

“Greywright. Sir Jorah.  Julius and Jax too I guess.”  Teris said.

Her hand tightened around his. The other balled into a fists.  Teris didn’t know if the built up mana would have killed Yami, or caused him to experience something similar to what she had gone through on the Summer Solstice; nor did she care.  Rayla had put Yami’s life in danger. Fuegoleon and Nozel had been injured and put in danger as well.  The fact that the Agents of Chaos had been the ones to find and help them left her with a strange mixture of anger, self loathing at her weakness, and a sense of indebtedness.

Swallowing those emotions, Teris said. “After the Summer Solstice, Sir Jorah said they would tell us everything.  From the Agents of Chaos and what they knew of them, down to anyone else who had an interest us. Never once in that telling did they mention the Spade Kingdoms Magical Science division. Yet Greywright clearly knew of their interest when he spoke to Rayla.”

Yami pulled his hand free and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. He hadn’t caught that, and understood why Teris would be upset about it.  They faced so many dangers already.  To learn that there were even more groups wanting at them only added to the danger. Yet what good would knowing do?  Greywright had known of the Spade Kingdoms interest in them and had wound up in Rayla’s lab right along with them.  They had thought they’d known the Agents of Chaos wanted them for the Winter Solstice.  Wrong as they were, the Agents of Chaos had proven they knew exactly where they had been hidden and could get to them.

Yami shrugged a shoulder. “Maybe they forgot.”

“Forgot?” Teris echoed.

Yami scratched the back of his neck and admitted.  “I’ve forgotten the names of all the other groups other than the Agents of Crazies. Maybe they forgot when telling us too.”

“Yami--”

“Do you trust them?”  Yami cut in.

Teris stopped and blinked.

“Do you trust Julius, Jax, and Greywright?”  Yami asked.

“Of course I do.  But--”

“Then it doesn’t matter.”  Yami said over her.  At her expression, Yami plucked at her pant leg.  “We’ve got bigger things, Ikigai.” When she didn’t respond to the nickname in the accustomed way, he sighed.  “What’s this really about?”

Teris looked away.  Learning that yet another group was interested in them. That Yami had been contacted by the page of Chaos at least twice and hadn’t told her.  That the Wizard Kings Advisor was working either for or with the Agents of Chaos, and effecting Sir Jorah to some degree; and Julius, Jax, and Commander Greywright had kept it from them all this time. It was all too much. She was tired.  Tired of the secrets.  Tired of being hunted, wanted, preyed upon because of some supposed primordial power she didn’t understand, hadn’t asked for, and would gladly give up if it meant she and Yami could live in relative safety and peace.

“I don’t like secrets.”  Teris said.

Yami licked his lips.  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the page of Chaos sooner.  I should’ve.”

“Damn right you should have.”  Teris snapped.

Yami’s tender, loving eyes met her fiery ones.  “You were already upset cause of that mess with Rayla.  I didn’t want to worry you more.”

“Don’t you think I can take it?”

“Ikigai.” Yami gave a chucking scoff at the stupidity of such a question.  Of course he thought she could take it.  Teris could take anything.  But just because she could didn’t mean she had to.  It didn’t mean he wanted her to.  What kind of future husband would he be if he didn’t seek to shield and protect the woman he loved?

“What does that mean?”  Teris implored, a slight tired whine entering her voice.

Yami smiled, chuckling further.  “You want me to start keeping record of the times that blasted thing contacts me?”

“Yami.” Teris rolled her eyes.

“Don’t sound that like.  I know how you love your notes.  You’re almost as bad as the paper sniffers in Magic Investigations.”

“Am not!”  Teris playfully smacked him.

Yami laughed.

Teris smiled and shook her head.  “You’re terrible.”

“Terribly in love with you.”

“Stop it.”  Teris blushed.

“It’s true. I’ve got it bad.  Bad enough to be willing to keep some stupid record if you wanted me to.”

“You don’t need to keep record.  But if it starts happening regularly, I expect you to tell me.  I really don’t like secrets.”  Whether it was the timing.  The way Yami was looking at her.  Or the fact the she felt like a total hypocrite having said such a thing.  Teris said. “Nozel kissed me.”  Her eyes widened at her confession, and hurried to explain.  “I didn’t want him to.  It happened a long time ago.  More than a year ago in the stables at Nova House.  I didn’t kiss him back.  I—”

“I know.”  Yami said, ending her babbling explanation.

Teris stared, breath caught in her lungs, leaving her unable to speak.

Yami inhaled deeply, shoulders relaxing as he slowly exhaled. He hadn’t realized there had been a lingering weight from it all until it was gone.  No doubt Teris felt the same relief. His lips twitched slightly upward, though he was unable to hold the smile.  “I’m glad you finally told me.  Glad you finally trusted me enough.”

“I trusted you.”

“Not in this.  Not back then.”

“I—I--” Teris lowered her eyes and mumbled.  “I didn’t know what you would do. I was afraid you might do something that got you in trouble.  Afraid you might think I wanted it and led him on.”

Shaking his head, Yami muttered.  “How can someone so smart be so stupid?”

Teris’ head snapped up at that.

Yami huffed at the temper in her eyes.  “That’s right.  I called you stupid.”  He stood and pulled her up with him.  “Do you think I led Rayla on?  Wanted her to kiss me?”

“What? No.”  Teris said, fiercely.

“Well then?”  Yami’s arms wrapped around her waist. “I mean it when I say I trust you with him, Teris.  That I trust you with anyone.”

Teris hugged him.  Yami was right, she hadn’t trusted him enough in this or else she would have told him sooner.  Guilt over the unwanted kiss and having hid it from him gone, she murmured into his shoulder.  “I love you.”

Yami’s arms tightened around her.  “Thank mana for whoever dropped you on your head.”

Teris pulled back and looked at him.

“It’s the only reason I can find for you loving me.”  Yami said.

“Shut up and kiss me.”  Teris pulled him down and kissed him before he could obey.

88.2

‘Trust me.  I got this.’ Jax’s eyes squeezed shut at the last words he had said to the woman he thought he would marry.  He had been cocky.  A newly promoted Vice Captain taking his girlfriend out on date.  He hadn’t gotten a ring yet but he had been planning to.  And then a team of Sorcery Lance’s, looking for an escaped citizen, had attacked a nearby village.

Of course they had rushed to help.  Jax was a Vice Captain, and Belinda a Senior Magic Knight.

Both Bronn and Julius had told him it wasn’t his fault; their various reasons sound and reasons Jax had given others who had lost a comrade in the filed.  But his friends words had rung hollow.  Belinda had been more than a comrade.  And they hadn’t been out in the field.  They had been on a date.

If only he had pick somewhere else for them to go.  If only he had made them wait for back up.  If only...  If only...  If only...

Jax’s hand closed around a scorched piece of fabric.  Threadbare from years of being carried in his pocket.  From being taken out and rubbed.  It was the only piece he had left of her.  A torn piece of her squad cloak that had ripped when a wave of lava from a Sorcery Lance’s attack had crashed through and took her from him.

Until last night, he hadn’t revisited that horrible day in over three years. Sure she still occasionally came to mind, his hand often drifting into his pocket seeking the last remnant he had of her when she did.  But he had finally stopped reliving the terrible torment of that day.

Or so he thought.

“Thought I’d find you here.”  A familiar voice sounded from behind.

“It was where I use to pick her up when we snuck out of base after lights out.” Jax said, eyes on the scrap of fabric in his closed hand.

“And left me in a sticky situation cause as Vice Captain I was expected to stop such things.”  Julius said.

Jax huffed, slipping the fabric back into his pocket and turned to his friend.  “Doing your duty or looking away while your friend and your future Vice Captain had a secret meet up couldn’t have been an easy decision.”

“It was easier than you think.”  Julius smirked, shrugging a shoulder. His smile fell.  “She would've made a fine Vice Captain.  Certainly more fun and forgiving than Jon.”

Jax nodded, feeling silly at the tears that still gathered after so long.

Julius produced a bottle.  “I brought her favorite drink.”

“That crap.”  Jax laughed, despite himself, remembering how he told Belinda it was nothing more than rotten grape juice.

Julius pulled another bottle out from under his squad cloak.  “I also brought your favored whiskey.”

“Now you’re talking.”

Julius moved beside him.  The two men sat on the ground facing the stream that was part of the border for the Azure Deers property.

Julius watched Jax open what use to be Belinda’s favorite wine.  “I should've been there.  I’m sorry.”

For a moment Jax wasn’t sure if Julius was talking about last night or that terrible day.  Seeking to ease his friend's needless guilt, he threw the bottles cork at him.

“Hey!” Julius wiped at the stain on his shirt.

“Like you can’t use your magic to fix it or buy a thousand new ones.”

“Not if I hope to cover your tab this month cause of that stupid bet.” Julius said.

“You’re only calling the bet stupid cause you lost.”

“Yeah, and?”

Jax chuckled.  “You’re a good friend, Julius.”

“I know.”

“And humble.”  Jax snarked.

Julius smiled, watching Jax lift the bottle of wine to his lips.  “I know that too.”

If you do go to ao3 to read that comment thread, feel free to jump in with any ideas and/or questions.

As always comments and reblogs are VERY MUCH appreciated.

Next chapter snippet:

“Don’t toy with me!  I’ll don’t care what memory mage I have to use. I’ll know everything you do even if it leaves you drooling and catatonic.”  Jax said.

“Just make sure you don’t call upon Advisor Ellara Shaw.”  Iban said, hands lifted in yielding submission.

[thiswasinevitableid]

42 or 20 with indruck! Can you tell I'm a sap?? ❤❤❤

I went with 20, since I’ve actually done a variation for 42 for Indruck before.

Prompt 20 from this list: My amazing partner just dumped me. Please come home with me for the holidays and pretend to be my partner.

“DUCK I NEED HELP!”

Duck’s used to his neighbor and friend entering his house without knocking. After all, he does much the same to him. But the panicked tone is enough to send him tumbling off the couch.

“Ow. What’s up, ‘Drid?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Indrid drops to the floor to check on him, and Duck waves his hand dismissively to show he’s fine, “I’m just, it’s, I realized another horrible part of Derrick dumping me.” 

Duck sits up, facing his friend as the thinner man continues, “The few times I spoke with my parents since I started dating him, I bragged about how wonderful he was. Goodness knows they’d criticized me enough for everything else, at the very least it felt nice to tell them my relationship was going well. And now I get to go home in a week for the holidays, without the wonderful boyfriend I told them all I had. It’s going to make everything worse.”

Duck nods sympathetically. He’d been the first person Indrid told about the break up, Derrick leaving him abruptly two weeks ago after revealing he’d been dating someone else at the same time until he could make up his mind about who would make the better.

He’d apparently said Indrid needed “too much work” to be the winning partner. Duck keeps hoping to run into the guy so he can give him a piece of his mind (and tell him to be glad it’s Duck, and not Aubrey, who’s confronting him because she is pissed). 

Indrid is weird, sure. He can be absentminded, messy, can leave sketches scattered across his floor for weeks. But he’s funny, thoughtful, and Duck has pictured him without clothes more than once, wondering what it would be like if it was him drawing the high, faintly cracked noises from him on the other side of the wall. 

But more than any of that Duck always gets a strange sense of belonging when he comes home in the evening and sees Indrid’s apartment lit beside his own, still dark one. Indrid is home, next door, and that means things will be okay. 

Duck would have given anything to be in Derricks place. 

“Duck, I need you to come with me and pretend to be my boyfriend.”

Duck should have put some specifications on that statement.

“‘Drid, you full well I can’t lie well enough to pull that off. And ain’t they gonna notice I’m nothin’ like the guy you told ‘em about?”

“I kept everything vague to decrease the chances of them finding something to disapprove of. You won’t need to lie, Duck, please I’ll,” Indrid’s gaze darts around the room, his red glasses sitting on his forehead allowing Duck to enjoy the light brown of his eyes, “I’ll design your next tattoo for free, I’ll pay both our internet bills for a year, I’ll, ah, I’ll-”

“Whoah, whoah, ‘Drid, you ain't got to do anythin like that. We’re friends, we help each other out.”

“So you’ll do it?” Indrid bites the inside of his lip.

“How long would it be?”

“Five days, six if we hit bad weather coming back up here. That wouldn’t take you away from work too long, would it? Or do they expect the part time rangers to cover the holidays?”

“Nah, the center is closed on Christmas. And I’m pretty sure Juno wants a few extra hours anyway. I’ll ask to be sure, but think I oughta be able to get the time off.” He looks back at Indrid’s face. There are bags under his eyes, the result of the semester and graveyard shifts at a coffee shop. His strange, wide smile is tentatively trying to spread across his face. It’s the first time since the break up he’s looked hopeful. 

“Yeah, what the hell, can’t let my friend be lonesome for the holidays.”

Indrid makes a delighted noise, flapping his hands, “Thank you!” He throws his arms around Duck, and Duck returns the hug. Indrid loves his hugs (most people love Duck’s hugs, but Indrid’s opinion tends to take up the most space in his mind). 

He’s doing his friend a favor, and that makes the fact this is a terrible idea worth the risk. And hey, five days paling around with his friend in some fancy seaside town will be fun.

-----------------------------------------------

Juno: You know that’s a terrible idea, right?

Juno: Pretending to date Indrid is going to make for one heartbroken Duck and you know it.

Duck: It’ll be fine

Juno: How long have you had a crush on him again?

Duck: A year. And we stayed friends the whole time because I fucking knew when to keep it to myself. And I can keep keeping it to myself because his friendship means more to me than my fucking dick. 

Juno: ……..

Juno:...... Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you

Duck tosses the phone on the bed as he finishes packing his suitcase. Yes, he’s had a crush on Indrid for awhile. And yes, by the time he realized just how intense the crush was, Indrid was in a relationship that made him happy, and the strength of the crush was overwhelmed by the desire to not make Indrid’s life harder. So Duck kept those feelings to himself, focused on being Indrid’s friend, including putting in a good word on his behalf to their landlord so he could get the little studio apartment next to Duck’s one-bedroom. 

Who knows, maybe spending so much time in close proximity will get rid of the crush….

-------------------------------------

…………….Or it will make it ten times stronger Duck muses during his turn at the wheel. It’s the west coast, so there’s no snow, but rain patters on the windshield as they drive down I-5. Indrid is humming along with the playlist he put on, finishing up the last of the meal they grabbed from  Dairy Queen. He’s been intermittently hand feeding Duck fries so he can keep driving. 

He also does a thing where eagerly and licks the spoon while eating his Blizzard and Duck is afraid he might hit the guard rail if he doesn’t stop staring. 

“How did we meet?” Indrid asks somewhere near Sacramento. 

“Uh, think Dani introduced us, right?”

Indrid nods, “That’s what I thought. We’ll need to have our story straight, but it seems easiest just to describe our relationship as truthfully as possible.”

“You mean we ain’t tellin ‘em we me when I rescued you from an evil goat?”

Indrid “humphs” crossing his arms, “I did not expect to tackled at the petting zoo. But I appreciated the rescue all the same.”

“Thought Aubrey was gonna wet her pants laughin at you.” Duck giggles at the memory of Indrid flat on his back with an extremely hungry goat on top of him.

They run through increasingly ridiculous things to tell Indrids family; that they met on a botched bank robbery, they got trapped in an elevator together, their characters fell in love during a game of D&D and it spread out into their real lives, and so on until Indrid is doubled over with laughter. It would be so easy, feel so natural to reach over and squeeze his hand or stroke his face as they both come down from their giggling fits, but Duck knows better than to trap his friend in a car with unwanted affection.

By the time they reach Carmel, it’s well after ten at night. Indrid drives the last leg, explaining that the house numbers can be tricky to see. They arrive at a stately three story house four blocks from the beach.

“Right.” Indrid sits in the front seat, key in his hand but showing no desire to reach for the door, “here goes nothing.”

They carry their bags up to the house, which is all dark save for the porch light. Once they’re inside, Indrid slips off his shoes, Duck following suit and immediately spotting why.

“Who has this much white carpet?”

“My parents.” Indrid grumbles. 

They tiptoe towards the stairs, and in spite of the fact they’re expected guests, Duck feels like they’re teenagers slipping in after curfew. The bedroom Indrid leads them to is bland.

“My, they really did take it all down.” Indrid sighs, setting his suitcase on the floor.

“This was your room?”

“Yes. I wonder what they did with all the art and posters. I liked a lot of them. And I’d lay money that all of Brad’s sports awards are still up somewhere. They always preferred those to my art.” He sighs as he changes into his pajamas, then slides under the floral bedspread. 

Duck didn’t bring pajamas. He just sleeps in his boxers.

“Um” He points at himself in an attempt to indicate the problem. Indrid goes completely still, looking him up and down.

“It’s alright, Duck. That doesn’t bother me. Come on” he pats the mattress, flipping back the covers, “I’m cold and you’re a spaceheater disguised as a man.”

Duck snorts,settles beside him, “No, you’re just an icicle that got an art degree.”

Indrid barks out a laugh, sets his glasses on the bedside table “Touche. Goodnight, Duck.”

“Night, Drid.”

The light goes out and Duck nestles under the covers. Should he roll over so his back is to Indrid? No, that might seem like he’s hiding something. But rolling towards him could be too much, seem like this is real instead of a trick they’re playing.

“Duck?” Indrid whispers.

“Yeah?” He rolls over, finds Indrid on his side facing him. 

“Thank you. For coming with me. The, the next few days may be a bit awkward.”

“‘Drid, I wasn’t expectin anythin else. Not after eveythin you told me about your folks.”

“I know but, well.” Indrid takes his hand, toying with his fingers, “I’m sorry in  advance for anything they say.  Or do. Or imply. Or-”

“‘Drid.” Duck takes their joined hands, holds them against his chest, “You ain’t gotta apologize to me for shit they might do. I knew what I was gettin into when I agreed to this.”

“Thank you.” Indrid says again. He looks so tired. 

“Go to sleep, icicle.”

Indrid smiles in the darkness, and shuts his eyes. He keeps his hand in Ducks, humming softly when Duck pulls the larger quilt over them. Their hands stay linked as Duck sinks into the pillows and a deep sleep. 

-----------------------------------------------

Indrid towels himself off absentmindedly, eyeing the china-shop decor of his once lovely room. Duck volunteered to venture downstairs in search of coffee for them (Indrid trusts three people to make his coffee sweet enough: himself, his friend Barclay, and Duck). Indrid woke up first this morning, found Ducks head resting against his shoulder. He took his time studying the lines of his face, wondering if Duck would let Indrid draw him. Ideally, nude. 

Maybe asking his friend who he has a raging crush on to join him on his trip was a bad idea. 

He’d realized his feelings for Duck about four months ago. But he was happy with Derrick (well, until the last two months before the break-up, when he’d suddenly gone cold around Indrid), and knew it was common to get crushes on people even when dating someone. Besides, he and Duck were close friends; Duck made him feel safe, didn’t judge him for his quirks, was funny and charming in his own quiet way. So what if he occasionally pictured him while masturbating, imagining what it felt like to kiss him on every inch of his body?

There’d been a temptation to ask Duck out in the days after the break up. But his friend would no doubt assume Indrid was treating him as a rebound, and Duck deserved to feel truly wanted. Now it might be too late. 

The door swings open and Duck shuts it quickly behind him.

“This is a fuckin labyrinth.”

Indrid chuckles, “Couldn’t find the kitchen?”

“No! Thank fuck we got a bathroom attached to this place or I;d go to take a piss and you’d never fuckin see me again.”

“If it’s any consolation, you don’t need to worry about a Minotaur unless my brother is up.”

A silver bell rings and blinks, “Does your family use a fuckin dinner bell?”

“Yes.” Indrid finishes dressing as Duck checks his hair in the mirror, “and it means it’s time to face the family.” He holds out his hand, “stay close; I’d hate to lose you in the maze.” 

Duck hesitates, then grabs his hand, and they head downstairs. 

His parents and brother beat them there.

“Is that really what you’re wearing out today?” His mother asks when they appear. 

“Hello to you as well.” He and Duck sit side by side, and he only relinquishes Ducks hand in order to pass dishes. 

“So,” His father eyes Duck, the scrutiny in the gaze making Indrid wince automatically, “you’re Indrid’s boyfriend.”

“Yep. Name’s Duck, and it’s real nice to meet y’all.”

Brad, his brother, snorts, “Duck?”

“It’s a nickname, oh, thanks darlin.” He smiles when Indrid hands him a cup of coffee. 

“Indrid says you’re interested in...environmental science, yes?” His father continues. 

“More or less. Done a lot of work in forestry and botany and such. Goal is to be a full time ranger in a national park or somethin.”

“I don’t know why we even have those; why the fuck are we preserving a bunch of trees when that land could help enrich the economy.”

“Shut up, Brad.” Indrid glares. 

“Indrid, manners. Besides, your brother has a point. All that land could be a boon for mining and development,”

“With all due respect, uh, Mr.Cold, public lands are one of the best ideas we’ve had as a country. And they bring in lots of money to places that wouldn’t get it otherwise. Hell, back home in Kepler, most of the money comes from tourists visitin the national forest.” Duck chews his eggs thoughtfully, “Plus, screwin nature only comes back to bite us in the end.”

“At least it’s a degree that has a potential job that comes after it.” His mother stares pointedly at him and Indrid groans.

The rest of breakfast goes much the same, and Indrid pulls Duck from the table as soon as he’s done eating. 

“Right, that was awful.” Indrid sinks onto his bed. 

“And you didn’t eat anythin.”

“I had toast.” Indrid snips back. 

“One piece. Come on, darlin, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I let my sweetheart starve?” Duck catches the pet names this time, coughs, “sorry, figured better to keep up the game in the house, in case someone can hear us.”

Right, of course. Duck’s being practical. He doesn’t really think of Indrid as his darling. 

“There somewhere in town you like?” Duck settles beside him, voice gentle, “It’s okay if there ain’t. Can even brave the labyrinth and grab you leftovers if you need me to.”

Indrid meets his eyes, and gingerly rests his head on his shoulder, “Well, there is one place…”

------------------------------------------------------------

The outdoor mall is obscenely cheery, Christmas trees covered in shiny baubles and carols blasting from storefronts. Signs tout the perfect gift for that special someone, and Duck imagines himself wandering from salesperson to salesperson until he finds the thing that could show Indrid just how much he cares about him.

After a leisurely breakfast in a tiny, scruffy cafe (indeed, the only scruffy store amidst the pristine, wealth soaked chains and boutiques) in which Indrid scarfed two cinnamon rolls the size of his head, they wander arm in arm, window shopping and people watching. Indrid relaxes incrementally, and keeps casting strange, affectionate glances Ducks way. 

In spite of the chilly weather, they opt to go to the beach, finding it mostly deserted. Indrid shows him a patch of tidepools, and proceeds to ask a dozen questions about what he’s seeing. Duck does his best, though ocean life isn’t his specialty. 

“Oooh, hello little friend.” Indrid is on his stomach, leaning over one of the pools with a hermit crab in his hand, “your shell is so pretty.”

“Uh, ‘Drid, you might wanna keep an eye on that-”

Splash

“Wave.” Duck tries not to laugh at his friend, who now looks like a surprised, damp cat. 

“Oh dear.” Indrid looks at his soaked top half and shudders, “that is going to be unpleasant to walk home in.” 

“Here, take those off.” Duck unzips and doffs his jacket, unbuttons his green shirt and hands it to the taller man, “That oughta help until we get back.”

Indrid, skinny and shivering, takes the shirt and slips it on. His fingers fumble and Duck steps forward and begins buttoning it for him. 

“You don’t-” Indrid starts

“I want to” Duck finishes. When he buttons the last one, he looks up and finds their noses nearly brushing. 

“We should head back.” Indrid murmurs.

“Yeah.” Duck drops his gaze, taking a step back, “lead the way, darlin.”

Indrid hops off the rock onto the sand, offering his hand to Duck so he can do the same. Duck supposes they don’t need to hold hands on the empty beach. 

They end up holding them all the way back to the house. 

------------------------

It all comes to a head at dinner the next night. 

“This is low even for you, bro.” Brad grins.

Indrid rolls his eyes, “What is?”

“Bringing a fake boyfriend because your skinny ass got dumped.”

The little bit Indrid’s eaten threatens to come back up. Duck is still, save for the chewing on the inside of his lip.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Indrid responds coolly. 

“Friend of a friend on Insta said in a group text that he knows your ex.” Brad looks over at their mother, “Apparently Indrid is too stupid to know when he’s being strung along, and too much of a dud to actually keep the guy.”

“In that case” His father turns to Duck, “how did you end up involved in this?”

“Probably paid him.” Brad sips his beer and Indrid growls. 

“Actually” Duck says quietly, “I came because Indrid asked me to. Couldn’t say no to the most amazin guy I know. Indrid’s perfect and Derrick was shitty to him. Just cause we ain’t had time to put a label on things don’t mean I ain’t crazy about him. And for your information” he stares down Brad, “that ‘skinny ass’ is the nicest lookin ass on the entire coast, and you are the shittiest siblin’ I’ve ever had the displeasure of meetin’.”

“How dare you?” His mother hisses and Indrid takes that opportunity to bolt, certain Duck will follow him. As he’s halfway up the stairs he hears Duck drawl, “Mom always said money can’t buy class. Thanks for the real-time demonstration.”

By the time his friend enters the bedroom, Indrid is huddled on the bed, trying not to cry. 

“Shit, ‘Drid, I’m sorry, that was outta line of me but I can’t, I couldn’t sit there and let ‘em talk to you like that. I know you got your reasons for not speakin up, but you don’t deserve to have no one takin your side.”

“It’s not that. I can’t, Duck, how could you say those things knowing full well we aren’t together? Do you have any idea how badly I’ve wanted to believe you feel that way about me? That’s the most loved I’ve felt in months and I know it was a lie.” He buries his face in his hands, glasses denting his skin. 

“Hey, goofus.” Duck nudges him until he looks up, “you’re forgettin the part where I can’t lie.”

The gears of the world grind to a halt, and in a frozen moment in time Indrid processes a dozen realizations at once.

“You do like me.” He whispers. 

“No shit, darlin. Indrid, I’ve been into you for months, but I didn’t wanna push you away by tellin you and makin’ you uncomfortable. I meant every goddamn word, and that all barely scratches the surface of how bad I want youMOphhhm.”

Kissing Duck is a hundred times better than he ever imagined, the two of them tangled up before they even fall fully backwards. Warm fingers tangle in his hair and Duck whimpers beneath him, arching frantically into Indrids touch.

“Fuck me.” Duck pants when Indrid lets him breathe. 

“Not here. I, I think we should go somewhere else, leave early. They don’t want me here, not really, we could go home, rent a hotel room, anything, Duck, goodness please let’s get out of here.”

“It was an exclamation goofus, this room is a boner killer if there ever was one. But yeah, gettin gone sounds real fuckin good to me. I’ll let you take the lead, sugar.”

“You promise?”

Duck kisses his nose, “Wherever you wanna go, darlin. I’ll be right there next to you. I promise.”

[theholycovenantrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, RACHEL! YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF CAPHRIEL.

Admin Cas: This decision felt practically impossible to me. We received two applications for Caphriel, and each application offered a completely different perspective of her, tapped into two totally opposite aspects of her character, but what drew me back to your application, Rachel, was your eagerness to tackle the — ah, less savoury aspects of Caphriel, shall we say? You said it yourself, it would be easy to look at Caphriel through rose-tinted glasses, given all she’s sacrificed and all she insists on doing for mortal-kind, but the matter of the fact is that she’s still an Angel. Yes, she’s kind, she’s selfless, she’s sombre; but she’s also haughty, she’s also resolute, she’s also violent. I think it was this line that sold me: “Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?” I can’t wait to see what other terrible things Caphriel is willing to do in the name of love in your capable hands! Please create and send in your account, review the information on our CHECKLIST, and follow everyone on the FOLLOW LIST. Welcome to the Holy Land!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rachel

Age | 22

Personal Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | Inspiration comes in waves, but I try my best to keep a net one or two posts per day. It might mean I spam the dash with all my replies on one day and then am lurking the rest of the week, it might actually mean one reply a day, it all depends on work and life and such. I am around every day to chat about things, though! You can count on me lurking on discord an alarming amount of the day.

Timezone | PST

Triggers | REMOVED

How did you find the group? | Rosey was like Hey. I think you’ll enjoy this. and she was right!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Caphriel

What drew you to this character? | It took me a long while to settle myself on Caphriel. I was torn between a number of characters as they were posted, but I kept circling back to her – her radiant kindness, the exquisite pain of loving wholeheartedly, despite the weight of sorrows that she carries for others. She is a breath of light that is so deeply compelling to me. It could be easy to see her through rose tinted glasses, but I think there’s an edge to her that I really want to try to draw out.

What future plots do you have in mind for the character? |

I. TAKE UP THY BLADE

Love has brought Caphriel to violence, and it shall do so again. She committed unspeakable acts against God and her fellow angels in their great coup all for the sake of humanity, acts she would repeat tenfold if it meant they remain as they are: stumbling towards a light of their own making, figuring out their place as they define it. Though she despises war, Caphriel carries her sword wherever she goes – can she not say that she is prepared, if she must, to cut down those that stand in the way of her love?

If and when the divine beings start to chafe at their self-imposed equality with the human race, if and when they seek to be once again revered without question, Caphriel will once again take up her sword against her brethren. It is an inevitability, one she feels in her bones. 

Caphriel may not go to bat for every human that she encounters, but there are individuals whom she found fight tooth and nail to spare the horrors of the world. She would put herself on the line for humanity as a whole in a heartbeat, if it came to it, though she would prefer to teach her brethren the things she’s learned from the humans first, instill in them the same deference that she holds. Break from them the desire to be worshipped, for that era seems firmly in the past. I think it would be very interesting to have her interfacing with her fellow angels, attempting to teach this point – in all likelihood, it would go poorly, especially among those that still crave power over anything. She cannot force love when it is absent, but she would bleed herself dry if it would make them understand.

Perhaps the angels get restless. Perhaps her shared animosity with Nerissa comes to a head. Perhaps someone dares to harm those that are beloved to her. I feel there are many paths that can lead to her digging back into that measure of destruction she holds within herself, all varying degrees of boundary-testing. This would be a longer-term arc for her as the plot develops, as there are a lot of dominoes that would have to fall first in order to get her to turn to violence – all other avenues must be closed, or she must really, truly feel like it is the right thing.

II. I WOULD DROWN IN THE FAVOR OF YOUR EYES

As an immortal being, Caphriel has lost a great many things. She watches the decay of mortals with a bittersweet resignation, but there are always a special few mortals whose loss she feels keenly, who she weeps for ages down the line. Luca Riche is one of these, though she has not lost him yet – and she is determined to keep him, greedy and indulgent, for as long as she can. 

History repeats itself, it seems – she loved Abel then as she loves Luca now, but this time she is at his side, an equal rather than a distant observer. He is not hers to protect, but she aches to do so, would likely turn at an instant on one who did him harm. The thing is: did she love Cain less, for his sin? Did she resent him for his violence against his brother? She had wept for him as he bore the mark even as she turned her back on the darkness he harbored within himself. Her draw towards Luca unwittingly brings Jasper into her sphere, and she can sense a similar darkness about him. The brothers have her transfixed once again, but can the violence between them remain unfulfilled?

I would love to explore the established connection with Luca and how that affects her connections to Jasper. Does she see the animosity harbored by Jasper? Is she blinded to the issues by Luca’s own love for his brother, and her love for him in turn? She is a bit of a meddler, albeit a well-meaning one, so there’s a distinct possibility that she would try to facilitate some form of reconciliation, especially if the strain between the brothers begins to reflect negatively onto Luca. It might just blow up in her face.

Whether she eventually learns they are Cain and Abel does not, I think, truly matter – either way there is still the push and pull of her benevolent love vs. the specific instances of Jasper’s darker leanings, the sickly sweet danger of her love for Luca. She was not a direct actor in their story initially, but she could be now – I think she will cling to this, and it may eat at her. This possessive love could so easily turn to rot – she hovers on a precipice which, really, either brother could knock her over the edge of.

III. THERE IS BLOOD ON THE WALLS OF YOUR HOME

Caphriel’s position within the hierarchy of angels feels, despite her mantle as virtue of Charity, quite tenuous. She shuns Caelum in favor of Sanctus Terra, adores humanity more than she ever has her brethren. She took up the sword with the rest of them, followed Michael into the fray not because she believed in him, but because she believed that God had turned against His people. All that she has done has been for humanity – how plain is that for other angels to see? It is etched into the very marrow of her bones – it seems impossible that the other angels would not be wary of this, unsettled by this almost lack of loyalty. 

Michael made her the virtue of Charity – but does he trust her? She had walked away while he was building his empire – does this not smart? Do the other angels view her has naïve for placing her lot so heavily with humanity? Her ferocity still lingers in their memory, but the goodness that she radiates now may turn the stomach of those angels lingering in the darker corners of Caelum. 

She spends most of her time in Sanctus Terra, and I would like to really dig into her feelings about coming ‘home’ to Caelum. Whether she is drawn in some official capacity or simply visiting as part of her travels, there are a lot of mixed feelings about the place and the people. She harbors no ill will for her brethren, but their pride chafes on her after too long a stay. 

It would be interesting to push this divide to the brink, test the limits of Caphriel’s love and loyalty. When given an ultimatum, which side would she choose? She was made to love and protect humanity, but can she really turn aside from her own divinity so easily?

IV. A HEART IS A MUSCLE LIKE ANY OTHER

This is building off something Minnie had in her sample app! I think it’s really compelling that Arianne and Caphriel occupy the same niche in a strange way. They both can assuage the suffering of another being, though Caphriel’s empathy is a bit less immediate of a fix than Arianne’s manipulation of the heart. There is an element of violence to both of their pathways – for Caphriel to take a memory permanently rather than just see it, she must wield her sword; for Arianne, it is easy to simply stop a heart entirely. Caphriel aims to soothe from a place of love; it seems that Arianne seeks the power that comes from dependance. 

They are strange parallels, and I would love to have a possible confrontation between the two. Caphriel tries so hard to love all humanity, but I think that Arianne would push at her limits. She has made herself into humanity’s protector, though the threats she works against are myriad and deeply, deeply unexpected. Arianne’s ability poses a particularly strange threat, one that I believe Caphriel would keep an eye on, especially if she got wind that people were really hooked on Arianne. Her interest is equally a strange sort of covetousness for the position of humanity’s aid and wanting to mitigate what could be a real threat to people.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | If she were to go, it would not be without a fight. In short, yes, but only if it’s really compelling for the narrative/serves a strong purpose.

IN DEPTH

Driving Character Motivation |

Love. A deep, abiding love for humanity in all their glorious failures and corruptions, their triumphs and joys. Caphriel cannot rid the world of all its woes but she can ease the pain of them, and the desire to do so has driven her to the ends of the earth and back again. Her love is a ferocious thing, not the gauzy lightness of poetry but rich and radiant, forged in blood and tears.

Before God’s defeat, Caphriel ached to understand the woes of humanity on a more intimate level, to feel them herself rather than observe their effects from afar. Her empathic power allows her to do that, and she gladly takes humanity’s pain onto herself. She is a hardier being, at the end of it – they will not weigh her down as they do the frailer humans. She will not let them.

Her love is not always good. This is, I think, the crux of her character, and what keeps her from becoming something flimsy. She has spilled blood for this love. Overthrown her creator. Likely even committed violence against the humans she so loves for the sake of sparing the masses further pain. Though her love comes from a place of righteousness, it is, ultimately, her own, and there are those that would see it as a curse or as the delusions of one individual. Her love can blind her to elements of reality and she can lose herself in the memories of others. 

She exists in a strange middle ground – not quite angel, not quite human. It is her divine nature that allows her to act as she does, yet she has always hungered to know the depths of humanity. This counterbalance propels her, though she may not even understand the true extent of it.

Character Traits |

+ STEADFAST

Caphriel’s love for humanity has not wavered for eons. She remains committed to them, driven by the desire to help, to ease their suffering, to feel as one with them. Her unwavering devotion to humanity has shaped her life and all her most important actions: her turn away from God, her participation in the coup, her retreat to Sanctus Terra once it became habitable. Though this devotion is overall a net positive, it can, in certain cases, take on a negative aspect.

- OBSESSIVE

There are certain things that she cannot let go of. Her love can turn to obsession, to covetousness, blinding her to the dangers of her actions. Her hunger for connection to humanity has gnawed at her for eons, driving her forward at times against her better nature. She can lose sight of the forest for the trees if she is not careful in moderating herself.

+ COMPASSIONATE

Her powers of empathy heighten her already compassionate nature. She wants to help, to listen to others when they talk of pain, of suffering, to work with them to ease their burdens.

- MEDDLESOME

Her acts of charity are not always welcomed by those she bestows them upon. Her ministrations and particularly her empathic ability often pry deep into a person’s psyche, which she doesn’t realize may alienate those that have not sought her presence.

+ GENTLE

Angels can be fearsome things. The sword worn across her back and the brilliant white sweep of her wings may be unsettling, but Caphriel’s calm and kind demeanor puts that to rest. She radiates a sense of contentment, in harmony with the hum of her blade, the sweep of her wings through the air.

- VIOLENT

She does not often give into her baser natures, but when Caphriel is incited to a fight, she is vicious. She made a name for herself among the angels during the war with God, her greatsword forged by Michael himself whetted on the bones of her kin. Her mild demeanor may belie her fighting prowess, but the truth is: every angel is terrible. Even one built for love such as she.

In-Character Para Sample |

When she descends to the earth at the end of it all, after the bones of her Lord God have stripped themselves bare, after the Blood Plague has ravaged the new, fledgling land, she weeps. The first touch of her foot to the land of Sanctus Terra breaks her chest open, pain and joy and love, uncompromising love, spilling from the very core of her, mirrored in the souls around her. She walks, heart open, into the fold, sword a comforting weight upon her back, wings a blinding mass behind her. She learns to fold them away, over time; saves the revelation of her erstwhile divinity for more intimate things. She tucks the gleaming herald of her wings out of sight, but still she glows, lit from within by the undying flame of her love.

She walks the length of the land, leaving no corner unexplored. Her footsteps are those of Moses, of John. Of all those that wandered the earth, driven by love for their people, for their Lord. She trails a path through the indelible marks of history, the eons crumbled to ash in the reformation of the world. She carries these pilgrims with her, their memory mingling with new stories, their pain and grief and love cradled between her ribs.   

It is her sword that announces her presence now, its gentle hum blown by the breeze into the small town she has wandered to. Her cloak is heavy and warm in the noonday sun, her body one large and familiar ache that comes from hours on foot. A small child stops in their tracks at the sight of her – she offers them a warm smile. That seems to spook them more than anything, and they run to hide behind the legs of a woman who bustles around the yard of a nearby home. People peer from windows as she passes, pause in their ministrations to watch her go by. They listen to the radiant hum of the sword that glints on her back and they wonder.

She takes a deep breath, lets the energy of the town seep under her skin. They are all so tired, these people – they all seem to be, the further she moves from the center of the Holy Land. Settlers bending the will of the natural world to their own, terraforming the same soil their ancestors had once turned, eons ago. She has drawn up a crowd by the time she arrives in what seems to be the main square, a rough dirt clearing amidst the houses. The people keep their distance, intrigued but wary – she cannot begrudge them this, though she aches to close the space between them, to take them up in her arms and sooth the furrows from their brows. To nurture them as they nurture the land.

There are people in the square – older, she thinks, though she’s never been good at gauging these things, so used to faces that do not line with age. Humans pass so quickly, their meagre collected years a blip in her existence, yet she yearns to understand the scope of their lives, the honors of reaching fifty years, sixty, when all she knows are millennia. She sees the child from before in the corner of her eye, trailing behind her with their mother, so small. A man and a woman speak in hushed tones as she approaches - snippets blow to her, but she captures none but their names - Gideon, the woman says, Sarah, he responds. Old names, familiar ones, and Caphriel is overcome with her desperate adoration of a people too stubborn to die out, rooted deep into lives eons ago whose stories no longer grace people’s lips but in their most basic form: the name of it all.

“My name is Caphriel,” she intones, as the man named Gideon steps forward to meet her. “I come seeking shelter and to bring aid where it is needed.”

“Why do you hide your wings, Angel?” The man before her says. She sees the glint of mistrust in his eyes, the tension in his stance. She had hoped, once, that she might someday no longer be recognizable at first glance – her brothers had laughed at her when she’d said it, so she buried that seed deep within herself. Her cloak was a small concession to herself, though it seems in this case it had been a misstep. It is no hardship to her to assuage his fears, so she bows her head briefly and removes her cloak, unfurling her wings behind her, a blaze of white stark against the dirt road, the richness of her dark skin. She sees the spark of wonder in the man’s eyes and she smiles, a small but radiant thing. 

“I do not mean to hide what I am, or to dissemble and take your hospitality under false pretenses.” The low murmur of the crowd quiets as she speaks. “I take solace in walking where my brethren would fly, and have found it convenient to cover them when they are not in use to shield them from the wind and dirt.” She cocks her head, coy, lets her smile bloom wider, drops her voice like she is telling a secret. “They are a true pain to clean when they get dirty.”

She hears a ripple of laughter from behind her, bright feminine voices, and she knows she has settled into the hearts of these people. Even Gideon, frame still stoic, returns her smile. “Come,” he says, gesturing her into a home along the central square. She folds her cloak in her arms as she walks beside him, eyes adjusting to the change in light as they duck indoors. It is sparse but comfortable, and Caphriel feels at peace. “We don’t get many visitors here, let alone the start of a host of angels.”

“No host,” she says, unlacing her scabbard from her back, laying it alongside her folded cloak. “Just me.”

“Well, that’s lucky,” he replies, “Seeing as I’ve only got one spare bed.”

Her laugh is melodic, filling up the space between them, bright and bubbling with happiness. “Gideon,” she smiles, tasting the prophet’s name on her tongue, rich with history and repetition. “I want to help you. If you tell me what you and your people need, I swear I will do everything in my power to aid you. All I ask in return is a roof over my head for as long as it takes.” She holds out her hand, palm up, a minute act of supplication. “Let me help you.”

“Well,” the man before her says, “Caphriel.” He clasps her hand to shake. She feels the warmth radiate up her arm, into her heart. “Let’s get started, then.”

[walkingshcdow-a]

Longtime follower, big time fan! I love your writing and I wanted to know what you would suggest or have any tips or recommend about how to start writing a book? I want to (and have a bit of an idea) but I don't know where to begin?? Thank you!!

I want to start this ask, first with thanks and then with a disclaimer. Firstly, thank you so much for following me and for reading/enjoying my stuff! I really appreciate it and it makes me feel very warm-and-fuzzy to know that someone on the other end of the internet reached out to me and thought highly enough of my writing to ask for advice. Secondly, I am a writing teacher. I teach high school creative writing and have degrees in English and Secondary English Education. I have written numerous short stories and one day hope to get a PhD in English or an MFA in creative writing. On the one hand, I am Supremely Qualified to answer your question. On the other, I’m... not. I am not a published author (yet) and most of my writing energy goes towards roleplay and fanfiction. The longest finished work I’ve created as an adult is my “Wooden Overcoats” fanfiction “The Greatest Undertaking”, which doesn’t “officially” crack novel length (50,000 words, give or take). When you say you seek advice on writing advice, I’m going to tell you something I’d never tell my students: you don’t have to take my advice. If something else works better for you (this part I do usually tell them), do that. I am not and no writer is the font of all writing knowledge. Anyone who says they are is trying to sell you something, usually, a book on how to write, written by an author you’ve never read or heard of. 

Okay, now that that’s out of the way... let’s talk about what helps me in hopes that some of it helps you!

Don’t be afraid to start. People will make you feel like your idea isn’t worth pursuing. Most of them are doing it on accident and would be horrified to know that their thoughtless comments are holding you back. For years, I did not write characters who had parents because when I was eleven, my mom read a fanfiction I wrote and the main character was critical of her parents and my mom asked me, “Is this how you feel?” If a circumstance hit too close to home, I didn’t write it even if my mom wasn’t going to read it. Thankfully, I’m past that. People won’t be the only thing that will hold you back. Time, fear of failure, impostor syndrome... all sorts of insidious things will give you excuses not to start. Do not let them win. 

Some form of pre-planning is extremely useful! It’s not necessary. Most of my short stories have never been outlined. I just sit at the keyboard and type until I have a short story and then I edit later. But for my longer stories, I find an outline keeps me organized and on track. Currently, I’m writing a story called “Catch and Release”. “Catch and Release” has two separate outlines (I kept the original, even though I scrapped at least half of it), both about five pages long. The outlines, for me, include character summaries (who is this character, what did they do in the last story- “The Greatest Undertaking” - that is relevant, what is their goal now, how do they perceive themselves/others, how do others perceive them, what other details are important), and chapter summaries with bullet-point lists of what plot points and emotional beats need to happen in each chapter. I did this in Google Docs because it means I can access it anywhere (and often do) and so I can use the strikethrough function to cross off plot points and emotional beats I’ve hit in writing. This keeps me on track when I take breaks from writing. I haven’t worked on the writing since a little over a week ago, since real life has picked up. I opened Chapter Nine the other day and was like, “Why did I start with Sid Marlowe?” I checked my outline and remembered exactly where I left off. It’s nice. I wasn’t as thorough with “The Greatest Undertaking” and there was a point where I took a month-long hiatus from working on it (I was teaching remotely from a different city because of the pandemic) and when I picked up “The Greatest Undertaking”, I thought to myself “What would have made writing easier for me?” Your outline doesn’t have to be as detailed as mine. It could be more detailed. Just create a guidebook for yourself in case you get stuck or have to take a break from your work. 

Speaking of preplanning... Brainstorm! Keep a list of your ideas for future fics/stories/etc. Write little plot summaries to refer to later. I like to you the “[Somebody] wanted [goal], but [obstacle], so [climax], then [ending].” model when I’m too busy to write a detailed summary. I’d also recommend looking at and utilizing traditional outlines, like Freytag’s pyramid or the “four-act structure” a professor suggested to me at a Shakespeare conference if you want to push back against traditional storytelling that allows for a longer focus on the resolution/consequences as the characters establish a new normal. Something. Anything to make you know what ideas you have and what shape they might take. Pictures can be helpful!

Even though preplanning is useful, don’t get married to your outline. If you love your outline too much, you might spend all your time working on it instead of the story or you might not give yourself the flexibility you need and deserve to write the story of your dreams. I realized when I was writing “Catch and Release” that I needed the latitude to add in a scene between Chapman and Calliope and to have Chapman and Antigone interact at least once in the series, since they didn’t in “The Greatest Undertaking”. I was able to edit the outline easily enough to add a whole chapter (Chapter Nine, which I’m working on). I might have to add up to three more chapters to hit all of my bullet points and I know my ending has changed from the first outline. That’s okay! As long as I keep writing and preserve the emotional beats, I’ll be content. Some people would hate this edit-as-you-go approach and insist upon sticking to the outline. If that works for you, great. But I’m not going to commit myself to subplots that don’t serve the narrative. 

Decide if you’re a plot-driven or character-driven writer (or, rather, if your piece is plot-driven or character-driven). I’ve put so much emphasis on outlining plot in this thing because I’m character-driven. I am constantly thinking about “but why are they like that?” and “What motivates character X? What is their payoff if they act?” I think in terms of character relationships. This is great! Super helpful! But when it comes to getting my characters do things... I need to outline a plot otherwise they will sit around and talk about their feelings for 30,000 words and nothing will happen. I compensate by making sure my characters have goals outside their intimate relationships, other interests/hobbies/struggles, and lots of things to do. In “Catch and Release”, I had to think of an event that would allow my characters to act out their feelings, rather than think about them privately. If you’re more plot-driven, you will need to make character outlines to keep track of why your characters are doing things that they do and to keep them somewhat consistent in how they behave. People in real life are sometimes inconsistent. In fiction, readers are more likely to notice “out of character” behavior... especially if it isn’t tied to an important motivator. You might need to make character arcs instead of a plot event list. And that’s okay! Do what you need to do to make sure that whether you’re plot- or character-driven, the two tie nicely together. 

Practice writing and read a lot. There are two ways to become a better writer. The first is my favorite: write a lot. In between short story projects and novella/novel-length fics, I write my RP characters here. I experiment with style and voice and character development here all the time. This is my “take a break from writing” writing corner, lol. It’s made me a lot better and the partners with whom I write make me better. It keeps me in continual practice with both story craft and mechanics. The second way to improve as a writer is to read a lot. I’m going to say something my colleagues would probably hate: watching TV and listening to podcasts counts as reading, too. Study how the author or writers craft the book/episode/movie you’re consuming. Look at the dialogue and plot structure. Imitate the parts you like, mix and match pieces of media, use one author’s style to tackle another’s subject material. Decide what you think is good writing and what you think isn’t. I’m having my students do an activity from the book called “No Plot? No Problem!” by Chris Baty, the founder of National Novel Writing Month. It asks writers to list all their favorite tropes, conventions, stylistic choices, etc. and all their least favorites and then to only include things they listed as favorites and to avoid writing about things they hate. Writing is a self-betterment activity, but you don’t get better by punishing yourself. You want to enjoy writing, right? Don’t “write what you know”. Write what you know, what you love, and what you want to know more about! Imitating writers you admire is a good thing for both original and fanfiction. Practice, practice, practice!

Set goals for yourself. I have an app called Habitica to help with my to-do lists. I have three things that are writing-related on it right now: “Respond to writing prompt” (habit), “Work on creative project” (daily), and “Finish Catch and Release” (singular event). On Habitica, you rank the level of ease for each thing. “Respond to writing prompt” is “easy”. It can be a prompt here, working on a chapter of “Catch and Release”, or doing a separate writing prompt. “Work on creative project” is “medium” and can be any of the above... plus outlining or another artistic expression, because sometimes I forget to branch out. I can’t check “Catch and Release” off my list until I finish the actual story and that’s ranked as “difficult”. I get a different amount of points for doing the things I need to do and I lose points for not doing them. I also (unofficially) have a goal that all of my chapters must be between 2000 and 5000 words. There’s no formal system for that one. Either way, these keep me motivated to keep writing. Find a system of accountability for yourself. Some people do well if they reward themselves (I don’t. There’s nothing I want enough to work for except things that have intrinsic rewards, like... I get to keep my job if I do my job. Telling me that is more motivating than telling me I’ll get ice cream for finishing my lesson plans. I can get ice cream even if I don’t. I’m an adult with a modest amount of disposable income or I’ll decide I don’t want ice cream. The only times I’ve done this self-denial tactic and seen results I also dehydrated and deprived myself of sleep. I do not recommend that in the slightest). Others thrive on working competitively against friends, the clock, or themselves. Still others accomplish their goals only by having external people hold them accountable. I will admit: I sometimes need a shove from a friend which is why...

Enlist friends to get opinions from. I have the world’s best group chat on Discord. All three of them are writing partners here and familiar with my fandom (”Wooden Overcoats” in this instance; though at least two of them are familiar with “Phantom of the Opera”/Susan Kay’s “Phantom” and I’ve forced the whole group to know about my original characters). Each of them has a different perspective so I can ask their thoughts and brainstorm with them, throw ideas at them, etc. or just ask them to make sure I’m writing once a week or so. I have other friends who know nothing about my fandom or my stories but who are willing to listen objectively to look for plot holes. And then I have friends who are content to know I’m writing and never ask for more info. Writing is such a solitary activity that it’s important to find support and community where you can! 

Believe in yourself. You can have all the support in the world, but you have to remind yourself that your story is worth telling and that no one can tell it quite like you can. Get writing!

I wish you the absolute best of luck on your writing endeavors! If you ever want to talk or follow up, I’d love to hear how it’s going! Take care!