#and like. i started this project as like. writing training wheels

[htonl-writes]

i wrote 1000 words over the last 3 days!! hopefully i will keep this up :)

[spidybaby]

Jealous Mind

Summary: Pedri gets jealous when he overhears someone saying his best friend likes you.

Warnings: cursing, suggestive content.

A/N: a little angsty and a little something for you 🤍

"Joder, you're spraying yourself with the whole bottle of perfume." Ferran says, waving his hand in front of his face.

Pedri chuckles, lifting the bottle and spraying Ferran several times. Ferran tries to fight by grabbing Pedri's wrist and taking the bottle.

"Venga, stop that." Pedri says, slapping Ferran's hand away. "Let's get out of here." He says, grabbing his stuff.

Ferran imitates Pedri, grabbing his toiletry bag. He walks happy behind his friend. Ferran was talking about this new fifa record he got.

"I'll pick Y/n, and then I'll drive you home." Pedri says, smiling at his phone. "I'm talking her out tonight."

Ferran smiles. "Someone's in love." Ferran yells, hitting Pedri's arm.

"Stop!" Pedri laughs. "We are going to crash."

The conversation went from Ferran teasing Pedri to how excited Ferran was about playing fifa and getting to beat someone's record.

Pedri was talking about this new project he has with Springfield and that he has an interview on this famous TV show in Spain.

"Hey, please text Y/n that I'm almost there." Pedri says, passing the phone to Ferran.

Ferran, of course, can not be trusted and start sending silly texts to you. Reading out loud as he writes them, making Pedri laugh.

You were waiting outside for him, and when he parked in front of you, Ferran opened the door of the passenger seat and told you to hoop up.

"You guys are dropping me off in a little bit, so it makes sense to switch now." He says, closing the passenger door and entering the car again.

"Hola, Pepi." You say, giving your boyfriend a kiss.

"Can I have a kiss too?" Ferran asks, head between the seats. His lips in a scrunched in a duck mode.

Pedri laughs, giving Ferran a hit on the head. "Sientate bien." He says, moving his attention to you, giving you another kiss. "Let's go." He says, hands again on the wheel.

You turn to Ferran, "How are you, Ferran?"

"Very good now that you are here with us, preciosa." He says, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You and Ferran have a very good relationship. He loves making jokes with you, he loves giving you advice and he loves your boyfriend, so it's the perfect friendship.

Ferran and you make conversation, Pedri answer here and there to some things you are asking to Ferran.

"We are here, tiburón" Pedri says, parking in front of Ferran's home. "I'll pick you up to get to training tomorrow."

"Adiós, ferran." You say, smiling at him.

"Adiós, platanito." He high five Pedri. "Adiós, guapa." He says, winking at you.

You waved at him as Pedri started the car. You moved your face from the window to your boyfriend.

"How are you, amor?" You ask him, taking the hand he has on the gear lever. "I missed you."

He intertwine his hand on yours, lifting it up to give it a kiss. "I missed you too. Tomorrow the training is in the evening, and that means we can spend all night together."

You smile at that, happy that you can spend time with him. You were busy with your college studies.

"I asked Fer to make us that dessert you like, and we are going to have a movie marathon."

You hug his arm carefully, happy to spend time with him. "I can't wait, Pepi."

"C'mon, guys!" Flick yells. "We are done for the day. I'll see you tomorrow."

Ferran pushed Pedri to the side as he walked into the dressing room. He turns his head back to see pedri giving him the middle finger.

The social media girl was taking a video of them for a reel. "Pidele a Ferran que envie besos." Pedri asks. (Ask Ferran to send kisses)

"Calla' hombre or I'll send your girlfriend some kisses." He says, laughing.

Pedri gave him a hit on the head. "Vete a bañar, que estas apestando." He laughs.

Pedri goes straight to the showers, leaving all the dirt and grass away. He jokes around with other players and talks with them about the game that's about to happen tomorrow.

He changes between conversations with Lamine, with Pau, with Hector. He loves those kids and loves spending time with them.

"Are you ready?" Pedri asks Ferran.

"Give me two minutes." Ferran says, still changing.

"Meet me in my car." He says, grabbing his things and walking to his car.

When he's there. He pulls the window down a little bit. Going on his phone while he waits. He hears the voice of Hector and Marc, he thought of scaring them since the car that they were using was next to his.

"No, but Ferran was right. That girl is a fucking show to the eyes." Marc says.

"Fuck, when he showed us her picture I felt I was dreaming." Hector laughs. "What he said was her name?"

"Y/n, or something." Marc says. "Fuck, to be able to follow her."

Pedri lift an eyebrow. What are they talking about?

"Bro code, Marc."

"I mean, ughh," Marc groans. "Have you seen her? She's fucking gorgeous, if I had a hall pass I would spend it on her."

Pedri was confused and offended at the same time. Why were they even talking about his girlfriend like that?

"Metete en la fila, because Ferran already said he would be the first if he has a chance." (Get in line)

"Con ese culo, I would try to skip everybody." (With that ass)

They both laugh, entering the car and going their way. Pedri feels a fury inside, he doesn't know what to do.

The passenger door opens, and a very happy Ferran joins him inside the car. Pedri breathes deeply. He's trying to calm himself.

"You okay, platanito?"

Pedri turns to him. He can't believe Ferran would be capable of talking like that about you. Not him. Not his best friend.

"Qué-" He tries to ask. "Qué te hizo tardar?" He asks, trying to act normal. (What took you so long)

"Oh, nothing." He brushed the question. "Just talking with the kiddos."

"Oh." Pedri says. "What were you talking about?"

He starts the car. Trying to act like nothing happened. He's gripping the wheel strongly.

"Just showing them some pictures I had."

The grip grows. He's trying everything not to flip. Maybe they got confused, maybe it's other girl with the same name.

Was your name that common? Maybe it was just a coincidence, maybe he didn't say those things to the boys.

"Are we picking Y/n again?" Ferran asks after a moment of silence.

"No!" He quickly says. "She's doing some projects and can't really go out."

"Oh no, say hi to her for me."

Pedri was lost the rest of the drive to Ferran's home. He was trying to order his mind. Why would Ferran say something about his girlfriend?

Especially something like that.

"Thank you for being my ride." Ferran says, hugging Pedri. "I'm getting the car tomorrow so I won't bother you."

"You don't bother." Pedri says. "See you tomorrow."

Ferran waves goodbye as he drives away. Pedri wants to go see you, even when he doesn't plan it nor knows if you are home.

He calls you when he gets to a red light. Trying to clear his mind from what he heard. The phone rings twice before you pick up the call.

"Hola, mi amor." You answer.

"Hola." He says, sighing.

"Are you okay?" You are surprised by his monotone voice. "Did something happen?"

He keeps his mouth shut for a few seconds, worrying you that something might be wrong.

"No, I just want to see you." He finally says. "Can I?"

"You don't have to ask." You chuckle. "Want me to drive to your place? I know you have a game tomorrow, and you have to rest."

"Don't worry, I'm close to your place. See you in a little bit."

He tries to understand what happened, but he can't understand or wrap his head around it. Why would Ferran say that?

He drives to your place, passing by a drive thru and getting food for the two of you. He's supposed to go home and to rest for the game, but he can't.

He walks over to the elevator, going up to the floor your apartment is in. He doesn't get why he feels nervous. Why is he the embarrassed one? Why is he the one with the guilt feeling?

"Hola, mi guapo," you say, opening the door and hugging him. "What you got in there?" You ask, separating from the hug.

"Your favorite food and some dessert for us to see a movie." He walks with you inside the apartment.

He closes the door, passing an arm around your waist. He goes straight for a kiss. Seeing you makes him feel happy.

You set up the things while he picks a movie for you to see. He helps you move the food from the kitchen to the coffee table in front of your couch.

He picked a creed movie, one of his favorites. You two make small talk as you eat and watch the movie.

He notices that you are on your phone, smiling at something and texting someone. "Attention much?" He jokes with you.

"Sorry, I'm watching a tik tok ferran send me." You say, chuckling at something.

He frowns, not wanting to think about what he overheard. He moves his arm behind you, grabbing your phone and kissing your lips.

"You look so pretty." He smiles, giving you another peck. "Did I tell you that?"

You smile, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. "Only like a thousand times." You laugh.

He humms. Smiling and resting his head into your chest. "Love you."

You hear three knocks on your door. You put the cup on the table and walk to the door. Finding your boyfriend there.

"Hola, camarón sin cola." You say, happy to see him. "Didn't know you were coming, baby."

You move to the side for him to get inside. He walks happy to your living room, stopping when he sees Ferran sitting on your couch.

"Ferran is helping me with a project." You say, walking back to your seat next to Ferran. "He's such a helpful study buddy." You hug Ferran's side.

Pedri feels his eye twitching. "What's the project about?" He asks, seating in front of you two.

"She's writing about Valencia." Ferran says. "And I'm helping her with some information my mom sent me."

You lift the papers, showing pedri that you were writing about it. "I was going to write about Tenerife, but your parents were busy, and I didn't want to seem pushy about it." You pout.

He smiles. "It's okay." He says, getting up and giving you a kiss. "I'm happy that Ferran helped you."

You nod, squishing Ferran cheek. "He's a good friend." You smile at Pedri.

Pedri was on his phone while Ferran was showing and giving you all the information. Pedri couldn't help but notice how Ferran was a little closer than he should.

He didn't make a scene. He didn't want to seem exaggerated. He feels bad for doing that, he can't help but think that maybe he heard wrong.

You two work for another hour or so. Pedri was like an eagle. He doesn't leave out every breath, every movement, and every look Ferran does.

"Bueno." Ferran says, getting up. "It was a nice experience, happy to be helpful." He says, stretching.

"Thank you, Ferran." You say, giving him a hug. "If I get a good grade, I'll invite you to lunch." You say, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I promise."

Pedri sighs, trying not to act weird about something he never found weird. "Adiós, tiburón." He says, giving him a hand shake.

He waits until Ferran exits your house. He then bugs you from the back, giving you neck a kiss. "I missed you." He says.

You giggle at the feeling of his stubble. "You've been here this whole time, Pedri."

He pouts, resting his head on your shoulder. "But you were busy with Ferran." He says in this annoyed tone.

You turn, facing him. "I'm all yours." You say, grabbing his face and smashing your lips onto his.

You feel his hands moving from your waist to your ass, lifting you but not breaking the kiss. He walks over to your room.

The kiss breaks only when he leaves you on the bed. He admires you, looking at your face. With one finger, he traces your jaw and lips.

"Eres mia." He says, more to himself than to you.

"Soy tuya, Pedri." You place your hand on the back of his neck. Bringing you closer and kissing his lips.

You finish with yourself makeup, adding some lip oil to your lips. "Pedri, I'm leaving." You say, closing your bedroom door.

He was watching something on your TV. Playing potato. He lifts his head to look at you. "Where are you going?" He pouts. "I thought we were ordering food."

You walk over to him, combing his hair with your fingers. "I can't, Ferran and I are having dinner, and then I'll go with my friends to the club." You smile.

"With Ferran?" He asks, sitting up from his place. "Why are you going out with him?" He asks, mad face.

You don't understand his reaction, "yes, I got an amazing grade in the paperwork." You smile, not understanding the problem. "So I promised him to take him out to eat."

"And you are going out wearing that?"

You take a look at your outfit, you are wearing a jeans mini skirt with a white tank top (the outfit) nothing you would call crazy or out of place.

"I always dress up like these when I go out." You say, obvious tone. "Why does that even matter?"

He stands up. "I'm coming with you." He says, grabbing his jacket.

You shake your head. "No, you are not." Grabbing him by the shoulders and seating him. "I'm going out with Ferran, not an unknown person. And then I'll go out with my friends."

You walk to your wood rack, grabbing your purse and keys. You were about to leave, but you feel Pedri's arm bringing you back to the couch.

"Pedri!" You whine. "What is wrong with you?" You ask, getting mad.

"I just don't think you should go out dressed like that." He says, standing in front of you.

"Joder, pero que no te estoy preguntando, Chaval!" You say, mad about the acting he's putting. (Fuck, I'm not asking you if I can)

"It's cold, you might get sick." He says, trying to excuse the real reason.

"Talk to me!" You say, grabbing his hand.

"Está frío, look at the weather app." He repeats.

You shake your head no, trying to understand his reasonings. You then think of a way of getting out of there since he didn't want to talk.

You nod, pretending to understand him. "Fine, can you bring me my jacket?" You say, smiling. "It's on the closet, left door. Then we can go."

He nods happy, walking over to your room. As soon as you notice that he enters your room. You grab your purse again and walk out the door. Locking it on your way out.

He had a key, so it didn't matter. That was just giving you time to go down to your car. You enter happy, noticing that he tries to calm you, but you send him to voice mail.

You drive to the restaurant, phone ringing with the calls from Pedri. You park and grab your phone, answering his call. "Hola." You say, happy tone.

"Why did you leave me?" He asks, mad. "I told you I was going with you."

"And I told you no." You say, getting out of your car. "See you when I get back, love you." You make a kiss sound and hang up the call.

You walk into the restaurant, telling the girl at the front Ferran's last name. You see him on his phone.

"Can I sit, Mister Torres?" You ask, smiling.

"Hola, guapa." He says, getting up and hugging you. "Sit, sit."

He helps you with the chair. You order a drink and your food because you were a little late.

"How's Aida?" He asks, moving his eyebrows up and down. "I was talking to her before coming here. She told me you guys were having a girls' night."

"We do." You say, playful smile on your face. "She told me that you guys have been talking a lot."

Ferran blushes. "Don't give me that look." He says, covering his face. "I'm shy."

"You didn't sound shy last time we got out and slept at her house." You laugh, remembering what happened.

"I can play that game, too." He says, moving his eyebrows up and down. "Don't forget that time. I had a very bad sleep because someone doesn't know how to control the volume."

It's your turn to blush. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"Sure, sure." He laughs at your blushed state. "Pedri remembers." He smirks, drinking his beer.

You frown. "Talking about Pedri."

"What, a new adventure you want to tell me about?"

You think if you should really tell him about what happened, but you want to know what might be triggering for him.

You tell Ferran about the incident and how he never asked you to change or to cover yourself before. You ask him if maybe he changed his attitude during training.

"He's been kind of away from me, I wanted to ask you about it." He says, thinking about the whole situation. "I thought you knew about it."

You nod, not really knowing anything of what was happening. You shake your head, moving to another topic.

Ferran and you talk about different things. One of them and the largest was about him asking you for advice on him and your friend.

"I really like her." He says, walking with you to your car. "I just hope I don't fuck things up."

"You won't." You smile, grabbing his hands and giving them a squish. "Hey, Pedri is at my place. If you have time maybe come with me so we can talk."

He nods, telling you that he will follow you on his car. You thank him, driving to your place.

On the way there, you called Pedri, who was still mad at you for leaving him there. You tell him that you will be there in a few minutes.

When you got there, Ferran and you were talking about something Aida sent him. You sent her a picture of the two of you from his phone.

Telling her that you will free him as soon as possible. You also apologize to her for not coming to your girls' night.

"Pepi" You call as you enter your home. "Pedri!"

You ask Ferran to wait for you. You walk over to your room, finding him watching a movie, mad expression on his face.

"Amor, don't be mad." You smile a little. Walking over to him and hugging him.

You feel his arms hugging you back, his warm lips kissing your head. "I'm not mad." He says. "Why are you here so early?"

"I wanted to come home to you." You kiss the top of his nose. "And I have someone who wants to see you."

He frowns, "Who?"

You separate, pulling him out of bed and out off the room. "I know I didn't give you a heads up, but we are worried about you." You say, walking to the kitchen.

"Hola, platanito." Ferran greet him.

Pedri sighs, getting mad at him for showing up at your house. "Why is he here?" He asks.

Your turn to him, astonished by his question. "Pedri, Ferran wants to see if you are okay."

"Amigo, I'm sorry if I've been so distant. I don't know what is going on, but I'm here for you." He smiles.

"I'm good, you can leave." Pedri says, turning his back and trying to walk back to your room.

You stop him, grabbing his t-shirt. "Pedro, stop acting like this. Talk to us." You say, stern tone.

Pedri combs his hair, trying to keep his cool and not snap at his friend. He just shakes his head no.

He walks over to the couch. Ferran and you follow him. You sit next to him, he has his head on his hands.

"Pedri, please talk to us." You begg him.

He lifts his head, looking mad at Ferran. "Want to know the problem?" He asks Ferran.

"Joder, que si!" Ferran says.

"Tú eres el problema."

Ferran and you look at each other. Confused look on your faces. "Pedri, what are you talking about?" You ask him.

"Este imbecil." Pedri says, bitter tone. "Le dijo a Hector y Marc que si estabas buenisima, que si tuviera una oportunidad contigo la aprovechaba." He says to you, pointing at Ferran. (This asshole told Hector and Marc that you were so hot and that if he had a chance with you, he would take it)

You turn your face to Ferran, surprised expression. "Ferran, what the fuck!" You say.

Ferran lifts his hands. "I didn't say that."

Pedri scuffs. "I heard them. They even mentioned that you showed them a picture of her and that they want to follow her just to look at her." He shouts, mad.

Ferran thinks of what happened that day. "I never talked about your girlfriend." He says, chuckling. "I was talking about her friend."

Pedri blinks, confused.

"Qué amiga?" He asks (what friend?)

Ferran takes his phone out, opens Instagram, and searches for your friend's Instagram profile. "See, even the mother fucker of Hector gave her a like on the picture I show them." He says.

"Then why did they say her name was Y/n?" Pedri asks, mad low tone.

Ferran laughs. "Because I told them she was Y/n's friend because I didn't want them to find her."

You then turn to him. "Is that why Hector followed me? To look at my following list?" You ask.

"I would never betray you, hermano." Ferra says, getting closer to him. "I promise."

Pedri softens his expression. "No me estas mintiendo, tiburón?" He asks, pouting. (You are not lying to me, right?)

Ferran then hits him on the head. "I would never look at your girlfriend in any sexual way. She's my friend and so are you."

Ferran throws his arms around Pedri, making Pedri lose the pout. "Enough, I'm still mad." Pedri says, getting off the hug but passing his arm around your waits. "I'm sorry, I was dumb. Sorry to you, hermosa. And to you too, Tiburon."

You understood the situation, hugging him. "Next time, please talk to us about any doubt you ever get." You say.

Pedri nods, kissing your cheek.

"Quieres quedarte, Ferran? It's late." You ask him.

He shakes his head. "No, thank you. I want to be able to sleep." He laughs, refering to the talk you two have over dinner.

You grab a pillow from the couch and throw it at him. "Go away, Torres." You say. Turning to see Pedri, who's laughing. "And you, quit it, or you'll sleep on the couch." You smile a little.

🏷: @gadriezmannsgirl 💛

[bettsfic]

hi betts!

i’ve been a fan of yours for years now (training wheels is one of my favorite stories— not just fics. stories— ever, and i really admire your style. as a writer myself, i want to ask how you’re able to keep your motivation up to complete your projects? i feel like i start out so motivated when i fall in love with an idea, but once that fevered haze fades, it’s almost impossible for me to get the motivation i need to write. i have a few wips that i feel so guilty about not finishing/not wanting to finish/wanting to finish but being unable to get the inspiration to. so, in short, how do you maintain the motivation to finish your wips?

thank you so much! i'm glad to hear it; training wheels is still very dear to me.

first, if you want a step by step guide to finishing your wips, i wrote a tutorial earlier this year in my newsletter.

also as i've said elsewhere, i believe it's more important to follow your inspiration and interest where it takes you even if it means not finishing things. one of the reasons i love fanfic is because it's the only genre i can think of where you get to read unfinished works and be present during the writing of them.

but you asked about *my* motivation to finish things, and i'll say it's taken me a long time to build the endurance necessary not only to complete big projects but also complete them to my satisfaction. in my experience, the better you are at finishing things, the worse you become at starting them, and so whereas i used to have a million wips and ideas happening at once, now i can see the ridiculous endeavor ahead of me and pick my battles more knowledgeably.

also, i don't finish everything, especially not right away. sometimes i sit years on a story before i eventually come back to it. but i've found that it's inevitable that when i put something down that i care about, i'll come back around to it when i'm ready. it's not something i have to force. my attention and interest bounces around all over the place but the things i love, i love forever. so i'll always come back around to them.

most importantly--and this is really very important--i lie to myself.

here are the two main lies i tell myself:

"this is the best thing i've ever written," and

"i'm almost done."

being a little delusional is a huge benefit as a writer. if you're too honest with yourself nothing can get done. but i've always had a natural talent for convincing myself of things that aren't true and although that's gotten me in a lot of trouble in all other aspects of my life, in writing it keeps me just far enough away from reality that i can finish things.

the process is something like this:

vague story idea!

will probably be very small, the shortest story i have ever written in fact

begin writing

feels good, feels organic

no no that's not right, bad vibes

start over

ohhh i see what i'm trying to do

outline the tiniest, easiest outline i have ever made. five bullet points. this happens, and then this and this, and the story ends. EASY

will finish by tomorrow, probably

write write write

will finish by tomorrow, probably

write write write

definitely tomorrow, almost done

check word count. 25k. uh oh

doesn't matter, almost done. have *checks* four out of five bullet points to go

write write write

five point bullet outline no longer effective

re-outline. five points turns into five pages. uh oh

check word count. 60k. big yikes

but! almost done! will finish tomorrow, probably

write write write

get stuck? how? but the outline...

the outline is ineffective. re-outline.

check word count. 100k. :(

almost done :)

a plot knot arises. spend six hours staring at a wall to undo the plot knot

plot knot is more insidious than expected. open new document. start over

*now* i'm almost done

rewrite, restructure, reorganize

check word count. 20k. :(

write write write

check word count. 200k. :((

weeks-long fugue state during which i am god

awaken to filthy apartment. i have not eaten a vegetable in many days. i have not seen the sun.

eat a broccoli

go outside

am i living? am i truly living? is this all life is? am i loved? am i worth loving?

return to safety of fictional world to avoid existential despair

write write write

will finish by tomorrow, probably

so it's really less about motivation to finish and more about motivation to chase down an increasingly elusive feeling of joy through immersion into worlds of my own making and control. it's way easier to run away from something than toward it.

[aritany]

hey hey! im literally on tenterhooks waiting for your announcement (: but in the meantime i thought id ask - you said that getting back into the groove you wrote a bad book SOTM? could you maybe talk about why you thought it was bad, what was bad about it, that sorta thing? interested to hear the perspective of someone who's written SO MANY words and recognising that maybe something isn't working?

only a few short days to wait!! 👀 i even made art to go along with it, i'm very excited!!

YES. okay. i've actually been considering talking about this for a while, because it's so interesting to me. SOTM (straight on til morning) was a queer peter pan (... retelling?) book that i wrote in november of 2022. it was the first thing i wrote start to finish since the first flare of my chronic illness back in 2021, and had since gone through a divorce, a disownment, and had really struggled with the editing process on my debut. regrettably, it was also the first thing i sourced new beta readers on, and was the first thing a bunch of people had ever read from me (it keeps me up at night, i swear).

and the thing is, sometimes books just don't work because they don't work. i have four unfinished novels i'm squinting at because i don't think they're going to work the way i want them to, and that's just because i feel stalled out and frustrated with them. and i don't think they're

in other cases, books don't work because there are road blocks in the way. such was the case for SOTM, which had a pretty cool premise, characters i still love, and probably could have been really interesting, but fell short in several aspects.

here's what i think contributed:

in dev edits for my debut, my prose was stripped down to bare bones. no descriptors, nothing extra. no detail. it was all dialogue, dialogue tags, and plot beats. extraordinarily depressing, but as a literal thinker, i took this and went "ah ok this is what is desirable? taking notes" and started writing new content in a similar fashion. the result was as unpleasant as you might think. feedback from betas was like: "hey what's going on here. i can't visualize anything. where are we" and they were RIGHT.

SOTM is technically supposed to be a horror novel, but i got squeamish at the last second and couldn't figure out how to make my ending actually scary. i feel like i do pacing quite well for suspense, but when suspense leads up to something that just sort of sucks, the end result... sucks.

it was the first thing i wrote after a long period of writing almost nothing at all. i dove right back in with no training wheels, and while i had fun, i was also mostly stressed and rushed, and you could tell.

i was desperate to write something my then-agent would read. i'd had no luck with the first 2 books i sent her, and was trying to cater to somebody who's tastes i no longer aligned with, which was an impossible task, and as a result, there's something forced about the whole book. it's like when you bake a cake with no love.

anyway. the voices Often tell you a project isn't working. sometimes they are evil gremlins trying to sabotage you, and sometimes they're right.

DO listen to the voice when: you're finished the book, your beta readers are giving you feedback that makes you go "honestly yeah", and whenever you think about the project you feel vaguely ill

DON'T listen to the voice when: you're between 30-60% finished (that's when the kill switch activates and it's never right), one person is saying they personally didn't like something (opinions! subjective!), or when it's past 10 pm (thoughts are not peer reviewed)

[openphrase123]

i realize this may not be the best time to ask because of the last post you made, but how do you find the motivation to keep up with so many projects at once? the fact that you can is both inspiring and also very scary and i'm jealous. "average person writes 1 fic in their lifetime" WRONG. ficwriter openphrase123 who writes 3276453287 fics in their lifetime all at once is a statistical outlier and should not be c

oh this answer got long here's a readmore

well first of all. i have a boring dayjob that lets me marinate big ideas on the backburner. i can turn my thinking brain off for 90% of my projects at work. i've been working there for seven years, i can plot fanfiction in my head without taking a single performance hit LOL

second. um. i'm thirty in like four months. that is in NO WAY old, but i have been on this earth long enough to know when i, specifically, cannot execute or follow through an idea. i only pursue projects i know i can reasonably finish without going crazy. i just kind of. know how my brain chemistry works? i have reasonable expectations for myself?? i'm friends with my brain even if it likes to overthink or be anxious or have seizures or go down weird ocd-adjacent thought paths

third, which feeds a lot into the above point. but when you are in your teens and twenties it's going to take you some time to figure out the rhythm of how you work. i like to take a lot of mini breaks in between what i'm doing. this does not work for my girlfriend, who has ADHD and is like "if i take a break i will never recover" so she doesn't do that. brains are all different and you gotta find what works for you

fourth. well. this one might just be me. but the reason i have like 8 concurrent projects is because when i get tired of one, my brain is VERY happy to latch onto another one. no matter what i'm doing, something is getting done?? that's why i was writing 3 fics at once trying to decide which one to do next. and why i couldn't figure it out and had to leave it to a tumblr poll

and, fifth. idk. i don't write fanfiction when i don't want to? if you look at my ao3 account i haven't done it since. like. 2021? and before that the last time i wrote any fanfiction was in like 2013. of which i cannot track down that old accout but i swear it probably exists?

s.sixth??? and this one is going to sound the braggiest. and maybe it is a little bit. i'm good at this? not like. naturally. i wasn't born writing 100k fanfics. but i've been writing fiction for like. most of my life. i wrote a lot of awful stupid shit before i started writing good shit. i'm not falling asleep at the wheel or anything but after you're making art for enough time, it more easily falls into place. after doing it for so long you develop an intuition for the kinds of projects you will be sufficiently motivated for. i don't know how to describe this without sounding like a pretentious asshole. maybe i can allow myself to be for like five minutes. i've earned it

i hope that helped??? my brain kind of just. does stuff. i've trained it over the years to do stuff in the direction that makes me happy!! i wish my brain would let me go clean my bathroom instead but eh. tradeoffs?

[tinks-forbidden-elixirs]

[Mature Content]

Welcome back to Smajor's Smexy Diamond Tour! :D Like I said before, this is my first time experimenting with a fic like this (or of this rating) as a sort of Writer's Training Wheels. I like to think of it as Tink's NSFW Testing Grounds.

This is the second chapter in this series, and definitely not the last. I had a blast writing the dialogue for this one! Have fun!

Chapter Summary:

Scott continues his task of collecting diamonds with a new goal in mind: to have as much fun as he can along the way. His deal-making takes an interesting turn when he runs into a former teammate.

Fic Summary:

When Scott read his secret task at the start of session seven, it seemed fairly straightforward. He was sure he could get it done without too much hassle. You must ask other players what you can do for them in exchange for diamonds, they set the amount and the task. Simple enough, right? You succeed when you have made a total of 10 diamonds from AT LEAST 3 other players. Again, simple. Easy. A few diamonds per deal, a quick trip around the server, and he’d have everything he needed before they even hit the break. You must accept their first offer, and cannot convince them to give you more diamonds. Simple. Right...? But then a stray dirty joke leads Scott down a very different route with his task than expected. Even if it had been a slip of the tongue, Impulse’s first comment had counted as the other half of Scott's deal...and Scott was already holding the diamonds. Granted, Scott knew he didn’t have to say yes. He could march right over to the Secret Keeper and hit fail, ending his task before it even began. He could. He wouldn’t.   OR: Scott's task is worded slightly differently, and an unexpected (and satisfying) opportunity falls into his lap.

Scott/Martyn, 8.2k words, Secret Life setting

(Future chapters to come with other characters. 5 deals Scott makes in Session 7, and 1 time he doesn't need to make a deal at all.)

[i-mushi]

Cloud meeting the Mobile Unit (yeah Green Dreams stuff!!!)

Don't get your hopes up too much! I'm just playing FFVII Rebirth and I'm at Junon, which is so full of nostalgia that I couldn't stop myself. I just have to remind myself that writing GD became a chore, I have new projects, I don't really know where the plot was going to end up, but then... Barret in a sailor costume... polygonal Cloud, Barret, and Tifa playing Fort Condor! I'm not that strong!

(I'm VERY rusty with these characters omg and also suck at screenshots)

Cloud and Zack’s usual training space had been taken over by a grenadiers special training day, so they were outside on another spot not far from the main garages. The sound of heavy metal as some of the mechanics worked on the vehicles was their background instead of the clang of other swords as Zack took Cloud through some grip-switch techniques to handle different kinds of enemy weapons.

The first warning was the thrum of engines growing into a steady roar, then the whooping and hollering that only one unit was known for. Zack broke off his demonstration to grin and settle back on his heels as a cloud of dust and noise so loud it used to make Cloud wince approached.

“You ever met the Mobile Unit, Cloud?” Zack asked as Roche’s distinctive mullet emerged from all the dust, as always the man astride his motorcycle. Cloud shook his head, since in this time he hadn’t, and also because Roche looked only a bit younger, but his ride wasn’t nearly as upgraded. Cloud had actually modified Fenrir off one of Roche’s old bikes. He never found out what happened to the Second after the fall of Shinra.

“Hey, friends!” Roche called, swinging off the bike and striding forward with a huge grin. “What’s a First doing out here? Wanna take a ride?” He gestured at the rest of his unit who were hopping off their bikes and wheeling them toward the garages.

“I’m training, Roche, but good to see you. Dealt with that behemoth out toward the Grasslands?”

“Ha! As if we’d come back without the job done!” Roche’s laugh had seemed fake when Cloud first met him, but he really did just laugh like that. “And who’s this?”

“This is Cloud, Third class and my student. Cloud, this is the captain of the Mobile Unit, Roche. He’s always good for a good time.”

“Do you ride, my friend?” Roche asked, leaning down into Cloud’s face. It was eerily like he used to do when they were on opposite sides—not that Roche had any particular loyalty to Shinra. Cloud suspected he just wanted the cutting edge tech that came with being part of the company.

“I have.”

“Yeah? When?” Zack asked, looking curious.

Cloud shrugged and looked away. “I didn’t walk to Midgar.”

Roche burst into laughter, tilting his head back with his hands on his hips. Zack chuckled too. “If you want to ride, Third class, we’ve always got seats,” Roche offered.

“Hey, don’t go poaching my apprentice!” Zack waved Roche off and turned back to Cloud. “I’ve still got half an hour before Seph starts getting mad. Let me see you switch grips.”

Roche waved and turned back to his unit, and Cloud kept his eyes firmly on his hands, thinking about the first time they’d met before. Zack noticed his discomfort but couldn’t pinpoint why.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

🌟

I reblogged this ask game and then failed to finish the answers to any of the asks i got. whoopsie. better late than never.

Anyway let's try the director's commentary of the train king scene from pez dispenser debris.

I love the train king intro. it's so fun and goofy. it's just got some really fun humor to it in my mind. I had so much fun writing it.

it is a completely pointless scene.

It has no plot relevance. Train king is not the chekov's gun hanging bravely on the wall of that fic. It will have no overarching effect on the plot. So why the fuck is it there?

Well, because it was fun.

Pez dispenser debris has lived in my head for at least two or three years now. Not in the exact form it is now, but it's a very old and much-adored story of mine. I was incredibly fond of it. I tried to write it years ago, and got as far as the first scene, which was originally Izuku and Mirio walking along the street and running into the bus hijacking, which led to the rogue quirk.

It was a good starting point. It's where the action actually started. But it just didn't feel right to me.

So it sat in my drafts for a long time, collected dust, and I spun my wheels on other projects for a while. I went back to it, and tried again, and the new first scene was Izuku rushing in late for the meeting with the realtor. It still didn't feel right. it gave more development to Izuku and Mirio's relationship before we hit action, but something just wasn't right.

Train King was just a silly reason i made up for why he was late. The scene originally wasn't shown, only mentioned in a single sentence. And then I decided--fuck it, it would make for a fun scene. just do it for shits and giggles.

And I had fun writing it. Which means it's probably the only reason why i hit publish on pez dispenser debris to begin with instead of leaving it in my drafts. Because I was in a state of extreme burn out when i started writing that fic, and the train king scene led me to realize what that fic needed to be for me: just something fun and silly to write.

Technically speaking, pez dispenser debris is very sloppy. There's a huge amount of pointless asides and flashbacks that don't contribute to the plot in any way. the entirety of chapter four could be deleted and it would be the exact same fic if i just slightly edited the conversation between aizawa and izuku in chapter six. I legitmately wrote chapter four, said "wow, that was pointless," and hit publish

because I liked it anyway. Like, what the fuck is the point of the backflip treaty? Dabi's extremely reluctant semi-redemption? Absolutely nothing. I just had a good time writing it and thought other people would have a good time reading it.

it wasn't meant to be """"good"""" art. it was meant to be fun, and that's what it was. I had so much fun writing my silly little flashbacks and asides. All of my fics have those kinds of background stories and scenes that exist in their "universe," and most of them never make it into the fics because it wouldn't be plot relevant and it wouldn't make for """"good""" art. With pez dispenser debris, I wanted to just give myself permission to write something fun and silly with as many pointless scenes as i wanted. And train king started that.

[fantrollology]

Walking it Back: PT 1

Characters: Fledge, Alaska

Word Count: 2,103

uhhh i started this over a year ago! i sit on things for a while. id like to get better at writing stuff more consistently but idk im happy w how it came out! hopefully u will not have to wait as long for part 2.

if u read it ummm ty! <3

---

“Hm.” The girl's eyes studied an unremarkable intersection on the floor of the exam room, avoiding the gaze of the doctor standing a few feet from her, who pressed the door closed behind himself following his greeting. Her fingers played with the paper pulled over the examination table.

“Something the matter?” While his tone seemed as genuine as she could gauge, the question made her regret acknowledging the misnomer at all. He set a bag down on the counter across from her and brought out his clipboard from under his arm.

She shook her head.

“Please, it’s alright. What’s up?”

“Uhm,” she paused. Her feet pressed at each other gently over the side of the table. “No one calls me that anymore.”

“Oh, well what do people call you now?” he flipped to the front page of his clipboard and leaned gently against the counter, facing her.

“Uh, Fledge.”

He smirked. “That stuck, huh?”

She shrugged. The little hexagon where the tiles met remained interesting.

He shook his head at his clipboard.

“General Drakon is so cavalier about that sort of thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if everyone thought that was your actual name if he was the one to introduce you. Still though, surviving this long?” He let out a little laugh. “That’s a lifelong nickname now, I’m sure.” 

He looked at her as if he were going to wait for acknowledgement, but then continued. 

“I’m not much of the nickname sort myself but, hey, I think I’m willing to make an exception for you.” He scratched something onto the clipboard.

“Okay.”

He tucked the clipboard back under his side and lopped himself down on the office stool. Its momentum gently wheeled him into the range of Fledge’s downturned line of sight.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

She let him slide his way into her vision and then quickly found another spot on the floor to look at. She shook her head.

“That’s fine.” He waved a hand. “I’m Dr. Alcess Alaska. I conducted your entry psionic evaluation a few sweeps ago. Couldn’t have been more than an hour or two.”

Fledge nodded.

“I’m here with you today to talk about a project proposal.”

Fledge nodded.

“So, you’re aware how even though you’re stationed here, you’re actually a member of the Imperial Psionic Corps, yes?”

Fledge nodded.

“I’m aware you’ve had some training, but do you know much about what they do?”

“A little.”

“What do you know?” he asked, in an attempt to coax a more-than-two-word response from her.

“They’re…” it felt exhausting for Fledge to even think of saying a full sentence. She breathed out. “They’re all psionics, and they do stuff for the fleet.”

“That’s the jist of it, yes.” 

“But,” he raised a finger, “They’re all very specialized psionics, not helmsmen or telekinetics or simple mind-readers. They receive individual training for their abilities.”

She knew that, of course. It was the whole reason she was a part of it. Still, she nodded.

“There’s a standard timeline for progression through the IPC’s induction, but after doing your entry evaluation I found that there’s a lot of potential with your abilities that I think deserve more unique attention.”

He started to say something else, but then cut himself off. He studied her floorlocked gaze, how her fingers crushed the paper between them.

“Fledge, do you know much about psionics? Your psionics? How they work, I mean.”

Fledge shook her head.

He drummed his fingers on the clipboard for a moment before scooting across the room to grab his bag from the counter. He opened it on his lap and set a couple things on the counter as he rooted through it, then wheeled back over to Fledge. He then reached back in and pulled out a colorful plastic brain and a small container containing a few plastic lobes. He removed the lid from the container and set it on the examination table next to Fledge, then set the bag on the floor and lifted the brain from his lap.

“Alright, so, stop me if I say anything you already know. Okay?” He waited for her acknowledgement this time, a barely perceptible nod, and then removed a blue lobe from the back of the brain, that Fledge could now see was held on with a magnet.

“This is the cucular lobe. All trolls have one, but in psionics, it’s a little larger. The shape and the other lobes it has contact with can affect the sort of abilities a psionic has and how they might control them.” Fledge watched keenly as he set the small, normal lobe on the table, and picked up a larger piece of the same color from beside her. “This one is more like yours.” The strong magnet clicked the lobe into place at the rear of the brain.

“See how it curls up past this,” his finger dragged along the brain, along marigold yellow and crimson red plastic; “the occipital lobe, and over to this one? The parietal? This is why your abilities are affected by touch, why you can ‘feel’ electromagnetic energy the way you do.” He offered her the brain. She let him pass it to her and immediately began picking off the other lobes and letting them snap back into place.

“You have what we call a material-responsive M-Type ability,” he continued, watching her play idly. “You can manipulate, but your abilities are moreso characterized by their sensitivity, your extrasensory perception, rather than their ability to make drastic physical changes. More typical of ceruleans, but yours have a certain versatility, and there’s a lot of potential I believe could be accessed through some implants and, of course, appropriate training.”

He took another piece from the container, a long, thin, curved, grey piece. He held it up.

“This is a type of foci. There’s several different kinds; you may have seen other IPC members with the foci behind their ears; those are the most common. This one is an implant and mostly invisible once installed. They allow for the observation of lobe activity, enable additional cerebral pathways, and can be used to enhance psionic ability in a number of ways.” 

He gestured for the brain. She held it out to him and he snapped on the piece, which curled from the front left of the organ back and over the cucular lobe. He withdrew his hands.

“I believe that, by using enhancements to magnify your psychic perception of electromagnetic energy, you can better control the ability. Instead of blowing up televisions and feeling static, you could…. turn the lights on and off, you could…”

---

A shot fired through the skull of the troll in front of her, spattering green viscera across the dry ground at Fledge’s feet.

She hadn’t been paying attention when the olive stepped forward and raised her weapon. Some fleet officer had been talking to whoever these trolls were about whatever they were doing-- a mutiny, maybe? -- whatever. It wasn’t Fledge’s turn. Fledge knew what the signal was, she knew how aggressive these trolls were allowed to get, and she knew what she was meant to do when either of those conditions were met. She just hadn’t done it without her gloves before. The thought had distracted her. Her hands dropped from rubbing at the nodes embedded in her wrist as the body thwapped to the ground. She didn’t need to look to know the sniper's barrel was already shoved down into the dirt, the more experienced soldier berating them— Stop, that’s what she’s for.

C’mon fledgling. Pay attention. Be here.

One pulse. Forward, 170 degree arc. This will dispel incoming psionics and ballistics, but will dissipate after about three metres.

A strong enough magnetic field through the brain is enough to disrupt regular synapse operation and cause seizures. One at the door, two on the balcony. Close the circuit, an invisible spherical tie around their head, and then release. Her fingers twitched about in front of her. It was a shot of air through her nerves, crawling down behind her eyes and across her body like a cool drink of water. Her eyes hunted around for another to show themselves. When none did, her fingers ground into her palms, deaf to her surroundings until a hand met her shoulder.

“That was good. Quicker on the pickup next time, maybe,” the officer quipped while she examined the damage, then started walking, letting her hand slip from Fledge’s shoulder. “Let’s see if whoever is inside is more reasonable,” she hummed.

Fledge followed as the others behind her dealt the finishing blow to the incapacitated troll near the door, another that fell from the balcony. Her mind began to warm again. She lifted the edge of her jacket, touching the bit of green flecked onto the edges. Would that wash out?

---

Alaska waved a hand as if to catch an answer from the air “...move ferromagnetic material. Just… apply magnetic fields and induce current more deliberately, precisely.”

She turned the brain gently in her hands, her thumb ran over the implant. A piece of metal in her head?

“We wouldn’t start with the foci, since your brain is still developing, but it would definitely be a part of this at some point. For now, I think it’d be best to do more research first. Like, where and how exactly do you feel electromagnetic energy?”

He raised a hand as her mouth opened. Ah, one of those not-question questions.

“I’m sure it’s hard to explain,” he continued, “but we can observe it. Before we can enhance, we would get you some peripherals, external gear to gauge what we can.” He gestured over his arms, his clipboard now set beside her on the table. “That will allow us to finely examine the activity of your culural lobe and its relationship to your movements and nerves. I theorize that down the line it might end up being beneficial to install internal receivers in other places too, since your perception is very likely beyond what’s processed by your CL, but that can wait.”

“I have some reading for you here…” he bent down from the stool and pulled out a packet from the side of the bag. She set the brain in her lap to take it from him. “One of the documents goes over the details of this specific project, but I also included some information on focii and some articles on other MRM psionics.”

“And this—” he reached over and tapped the corner of the packet, where a small, stiff card was paper-clipped to the front. “—is my contact information, so you can message me for any follow-up questions you might have.” He smiled and his hands returned to his lap.

“Of course, if you have any questions for me now I’d be more than happy to answer them.”

She nodded slowly as she thumbed through the pages. Diagrams of brains, titles containing words she knew, others she didn’t. She had questions, she was sure, but she didn’t know what they were or how to ask them.

“None right now?”

She shook her head, not looking up from the packet in her hands.

“Alright, well if anything comes to mind, you reach out, okay? Then, when I’m back next perigee, we can go over everything again, and make a decision.”

“I’ll do it.” It seemed so obvious to her. This was why she was here. Whatever doubt she had could be addressed later.

“I like the enthusiasm,” he chuckled, “but I won’t have time to start until next perigee anyways. I’ll be ready then if you’re still on board, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You can keep the brain, if you want. I have another.” She didn’t know if she wanted it or not, but he decided for her as he lifted his bag from the floor and wheeled his chair over to the counter to put the rest of his things away.

She followed suit with her new belongings and clicked the lid back onto the container of spare lobes. The clear box fit nicely into her jacket pocket, and she tucked the packet under her arm as Alaska had done with his clipboard. The brain stayed in her hands.

She hopped off of the examination table. Her thumb ran over the implant that curled around the organ. A fleeting thought, or maybe one of those questions she didn’t know how to verbalize, tried to etch its way to the surface, to piece itself together in her mouth, but got cut off by the doctor’s voice as he opened the door for her.

“It was good seeing you again, Fledge.”

[writing-whump]

The Road Less Smooth

Summary: Isaiah and Seline argue during a car ride, not realizing Seline's fever. Contains emeto. 

Seline didn't want to go.

Visiting the representative of the West European Pack seemed entirely unnecessary, if not downright dictatorial to her. Why did she need to go? She was from Eastern Europe, so she was resigned with the representatives at home. Why did they have to keep track of where she was studying, what she was doing, and where she decided to belong?

The audacity and injustice of it all were driving her crazy with anger.

Isaiah offered to drive her. The message came from him, so she wasn't happy with him, but since she was scared to drive anything over 50 kilometers per hour, effectively banning her from all highways, his offer shortened her 4-hour long train drive to a direct 2.

Seline knew she should be thankful. And not let her anger out on the messenger. Then again, she thought Isaiah didn't belong to a pack to be free and not to follow orders. Not to mention what a good mood he was in. He was smiling behind the steering wheel, fingers tapping it lightly in synch with the music. He had his formal suit on and his long black coat, which she was starting to see as characteristic to him. All polite greetings and smiles. Was he enjoying this?

"So. How is the university going? I hear you finished your bachelor's last semester. You decided to continue on the same faculty. You like it there so much?" One of Isaiah's many attempts to make conversation. 

Seline wasn't one for small talk. Either say something you really want to know or shut up. She would be content just leaning against the window and listening to music, though plugging in her headphones seemed a little too rude.

"It got real worse last semester," she grumbled at the reminder. "Got a really chaotic teacher that makes us do a totally useless project, just because they got money and funds for it. So much for scientific independence. You just research whatever the politicians see as trendy to research."

Isaiah raised his eyebrows, throwing her a look. "You intend to stay in science?"

"I wanted to. But now I think I would much rather be independent. Make my own writing courses of sorts. Not be bound by anybody else's decisions."

"Just the market's whims," he remarked with a grin.

Seline hissed at that but nodded. "Yes. But the market is way fairer than anything I would believe the state to do." Despite the a/c blasting in the car, she felt warm. Uncomfortably warm. She pressed her palm against the opening for the cold air.

"So, what are you specializing in? Where did the writing part come in?"

"I guess you could say I got that from the witchcraft. I'm a Singer. I sing water and air into obedience and the most effective are original songs. All the writing necessary made me into an expert on writing theory." She waved at herself, the air suffocating and hot but flashing a satisfied snicker in Isaiah's direction. "I bet you couldn't name a book on writing I haven't read."

"That's an unusual approach. Most witches I know use pentagrams or incantations. Did you want to study it at the university?"

Her face fell a little. "You can't exactly study creative writing in Europe. Buuuut there is a lot of other stuff you can study, like film analysis, popular culture, media communication, epistemology, psychological processes for creativity…I found a good master that combines all these, so I can research the creative process itself." She gave him a measured look, blue eyes the shade of an upcoming storm. "You are studying psychology, aren't you? Rather unusual for a shadow wolf."

He smiled at that. "I like to stick out a little."

"Yeah. I thought you were different." Selined sighed loudly, leaning her head against the window. "Except we can't manage everything we wish for, can we?"

Isaiah gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Whatever do you mean?" 

"They call, and you obey. Like a good little lapdog." Seline stuck her chin out, watching him defiantly. 

"Is that what you think?" Isaiah didn't seem ruffled at her words at all, a little grin growing on his face. "I don't agree with this any more than you do."

Seline scoffed at that. "And why should I believe you? You pretend to know the gold is just glitter on the cage - like you successfully got rid of it - yet you are driving me to the gates yourself."

A long, tense silence stretched between them.

"Should I be more angry, Seline?" Isaiah was still smiling, but there was something darker about his tone and the way he focused his gaze on the road. "Should I rage, provoke, and complain like you?"

"Better be angry than pretend to smile and do nothing!" Her voice raised before she could stop herself. 

"Anger is a weakness. It gives you away. Why should I allow such an emotion to rule me?" His eyes were fixed on the road. 

"You are a shadow wolf. It's kinda of expected. I can rage all I want, and it will always be inappropriate. But you got the perfect excuse,” she waved her hand in frustration. 

"I don't believe in excuses." His voice was quiet but cutting. 

"No. You believe in lies. Masks and moods and faces, it's all you are. The polite and funny one today, the serious and scary one tomorrow." Seline crossed her hands on her chest.

"All the masks are me. Different faces of me, different roles I take for the situation. They are tools. My extensions. Wouldn't you change your cloak according to the weather?" His dark sea-green eyes flicked to her for a moment. 

"I would not change it to fit other people's expectations," she said proudly. 

"If I know what people want, I can get what I want much more easily. So even if I disagree with this policy, it's better I take you myself and not let somebody force you. It's better to look relaxed while you are alert and watching. It's better not to be ruled by emotions while they rule everyone else. So yes, I'm taking you to the gates myself, but I also know all the holes in the fence." He eyed her, eyebrows furrowing slightly in annoyance, before smoothing over. "You just want what you think you can't have." 

Seline frowned angrily and looked away. As much as she disagreed, it got her thinking. She didn't realize he had so many answers figured out for himself. 

"I find anger safe,” she said into the silence. “It's better than fear. Gives you energy and motivation to do something. To stand up for yourself or change what's wrong."

He raised one perfect black eyebrow. "So you are afraid of me?"

"No-I…" She gulped, her throat constricting. Something about his intense tone, about the speed and emotion of the debate, made her keep talking. "I'm tired. Of not feeling anything. Of feeling too much and not being able to do anything about it, because it's unseemly for witches.” 

Because I should be calming you down, but I envy your freedom to be angry.

He gave her a long look. "You can be angry all you want around me,” he said quietly. 

She hid her face in her palm as if wanting to wash away the tension. "And you will stay calm? Is that the mask you want to wear for me?" 

"I'm the one who wants to wear the mask. I'm the one crafting it, the one willing to change it so it fits you better. Does that count for nothing true?" 

“You sure are poetic about it,” she grumbled, pressing her hand against her forehead. There was a dull pounding in her temples, and the air still felt disgustingly hot.

“Seline? Is something wrong?” Isaiah asked, concerned.

She wasn’t sure. The car ride, the smothering heat, the pins and needles in her arms…she wasn’t even sure why she was reacting so strongly to the conversation. Although she usually never got motion sick, her stomach was rolling rather aggressively. She squeezed her eyes shut, hand covering her mouth for a second.

“Do you think we could take a little break?” she pressed through her teeth. There was a nauseating shiver crawling up her spine and neck. If only the car could stop moving for a second.

“Sure thing,” Isaiah said, detecting the urgency in her voice. He turned towards the left line leading to the nearest rest spot. “Just a few minutes.”

Seline held her eyes closed, breathing slowly through her nose and mouth. Something was definitely wrong.

Once the car finally stopped, she immediately burst the door open, gulping at the sweet, fresh air. The nausea rocked through her like she was on a boat, and she could feel liquid coming up her throat.

Seline stumbled quickly out, only to sway and fall to her knees. Scrambling awkwardly, she wanted to get some distance between herself and the car. The world was spinning and blurry around her and she lost track of how far she was. A wave of vomit spluttered from her lips. Seline could do nothing but spit it out helplessly. 

Her stomach was hurting, cramping hard. She whimpered softly as another wave of sickness rushed out of her.

A cold hand on her arm made her look up. The outline of Isaiah’s middle long black hair, subtly wavy at the ends, hovered over her. He was kneeling beside her, pulling hair out of her face. She felt the milky-like vomit drip from her lips and chin and would have burst into tears if another wave hadn’t made her choke and hang her head in surrender.

“You are okay. Take it easy. You will feel better in a minute,” Isaiah said, hand running through her hair to her back.

“Ugh. What about this seems -uurp- okay to you?” 

He chuckled, rubbing her back as it arched again and she was heaving another gush of vomit. 

“Just a minute. It will pass soon.”

She took quick panting breaths, trying to clear her head. There was still that blurry film over her eyes, the green of the grass mixing with blue over her. Isaiah’s hand was grounding on her back, his touch assured and steady. 

She spit on the ground, her eyes clearing. “Go away,” she said. The embarrassment was hitting her hard now, frustrated tears running down her cheeks.

“A little late now,” he smiled, gathering the strands of hair on the other side of her face behind her ear. Then he charmed out a clean tissue our of his pocket. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well.”

“Didn’t realize,” she mumbled, taking the offered tissue. At least she could clean up her face a little.

A cool hand pressed against her aching forehead. “You are running a fever.” 

“No wonder I was so snappy,” she admitted, leaning into his touch without thinking. Everything was so hot, only his skin seemed to be of desirable temperature. 

“I didn’t see a difference to your usual self,” Isaiah teased. His touch was so gentle like she was made of glass. “Do you still feel sick?”

She assessed herself, then shook her head no. Now that she had thrown up, the nausea lifted like it was never there. If only she wasn’t still so warm. Despite the sensation, a shiver ran through her and she hunched her shoulders.

“Your wish came true,” he said, wrapping his hands around her from behind, dragging her with him as he stood up. Her head felt woozy at the movement and she clutched at his hands around her torso. “The trip is canceled. You are going straight home tonight.”

He guided her towards the car and helped her sit down again. She blinked at the haziness that overtook her, feeling bone-deep tiredness crushing over her. Closing her eyes, she leaned back. 

She felt his shadow above her before disappearing to hunt down a water bottle from the back. Accepting the bottle, she settled it securely in her arms but didn’t have the energy to drink it just yet. 

The car jumped a little as he got inside, shutting the door gently. She rolled her head in his general direction, squinting. Everything was so hot and confusing again, swimming in and out of focus. Was this still real? Maybe she was dreaming.

Isaiah started the engine and then squeezed her knee. “Hang on, darling. We’ll be home in no time.”

[argentumcor]

@paranorahjones tagged me in this. I'm not usually one for this sort of thing but I've been looking at writing-qua-writing to get some stuff in order so I figured I'd do a little navel-gazing (procrastinating).

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

Oh goodness. I think my first fanfic was for KotOR back in…before 2008, before I graduated high school. It’s lost to LiveJournal I believe, or FF.net. Several things are. They were fine, as I recall. Written when I was a lot younger for sure. I had to write them, though.

How many fandoms have you written in?

To go by AO3, 30 that I would consider actual separate fandoms. Many of those are one-shots, sometimes just odd ideas I had about something I watched or read or played, things I needed to get out of my head.

How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

Must be around 16, though there were several years-long breaks in there. I am a dried-up old woman. You'll never be actually cool until you're over 30, kids, and then you won't even really care, get over it.

Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Frankly, read. I read very fast, I write not as fast, no one writes as fast as I read. For whatever fandom I’m working in, with exceptions, I will read new things and things I liked to help keep me motivated and inspired. As you can see from how many fandoms I’ve written for, I devour new fiction by nature. Verily, I hunger for it.

What is one way you've improved as a writer?

Pacing, pacing, pacing. I write my own stuff under my real name- I will not dox myself, partly paranoia and partly a sense of personal artistic ethics- and fanfiction has been my training wheels especially with pacing. It is the hardest part of fiction to me, something intuitive you have to have a go at until you find the right sense of it.

What's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

Hmm. I’m not a great barometer for weird. In recent memory, I spent a lot of time walking around every stupid alleyway and cranny of Night City in Cyberpunk 2077. I spend a lot of time feeling around in the guts of the fandoms I write- sometimes that’s really what it feels like you are doing.

What's your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

Hard to pick. It’s really nice when someone gets what you’re doing with structure and theme for longer works, but the people who are just struck plan by something I wrote are very special to me. All my commenters are, really. You guys rock. You know what though? The ones who say things like “oh thank God I found this, it feels like it was written by an adult who cares about the characters as people and not some teenager trying to get off”, I like those ones best because I totally understand.

What's the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Hmm. It’s a hard life, being a neo-paleo-counter-reformationist, but somebody’s gotta do it (rosary fics).

What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Crossovers most of the time. I have an X-files/SG-1 crossover I may never come back to because it required me to hold this kind of early aughts sci-fi mentality in my mind for two shows that both sync and do not sync and also isn’t where I, emotionally, am at these days. I don’t like to write crossovers generally because of that kind of thing and, even with reading, most of them are like a food combo only explainable by pregnancy hormones.

What is the easiest type?

Brief character studies where you’re looking at a character’s mindset during events. It’s simple and focused.

What is something that you've been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

I started many moons ago, but never got around to reviving or really doing anything with, a Halo/Firefly crossover based on the end of Halo 3 that would have replaced Serenity. The crew finds some weird, old salvage adrift in the black…also my Firefly continuation since we’re on the subject, another ‘this is where the story is going’. I wonder if those notes are anywhere. No, no, wait, stop…

What made you choose your username?

I liked the sound of it. I’m Silverheart most places and argentumcor on Tumblr because Silverheart was taken so I just put it into Latin because neo-paleo-counter-reformationist and also, importantly, I am lazy.

Huh, I broke the formatting a bit? So it goes. I'll tag @womaninwinter because now she is double-tagged and this amuses me.

[kinetic-elaboration]

October 11: Friday Night

Accomplished much today; still need to shower. Work was pretty quiet and afterwards I stayed out a little longer to enjoy the weather, in particular one of my remaining opportunities for such enjoyment before it starts getting dark too early. I feel sort of wheel-spin-y with most creative projects but at least I… want to want to work on them? I don’t know. My motivation to do work at home was in part to maybe have time to think about it some more but that hasn’t happened (I didn’t think it would, really). It’s too late now to add additional tasks to the agenda, and also I’m tired. I do have a bunch of train time tomorrow though!

Anyway, it really was nice out, and I enjoyed myself. Got home, did pretty much everything I’d planned to do—cleaning, cooking, packing—and also went down a bit of a rabbit hole finding the right cord for my phone, to replace the fire hazard the original has become :/ Unfortunate. I’m pretty tired now but the only thing I still need to do is shower. I would like to write just a little bit before bed. I glanced over what I did last night and it’s quite rough so we’ll see.

I’ve also gotten back into reading Moby Dick and am pretty close to finishing. I mean, I’ve gotten to the bits with Moby Dick, so. Not much left. I’m probably past the halfway point of The Green Man as well. Soon it will be time to break out the spooky stuff for Halloween.

…Accomplishing stuff today after work reminded me of an earlier period of more predictable/steadier productivity that I feel I’ve rather slipped from again, that I’d sort of forgotten about. I could get back to that, I think. Doing things actually does build energy, I just feel like I run on a deficit a lot, I suppose in part just because it’s the end of the year. I just… want many things very much. My brain is striving for something.

Gotta shower. Gotta get to sleep. I’m getting up early tomorrow!

[mr-entj]

Hi Mr. ENTJ. As a guy who's always in meetings solving problems, how do you develop mental stamina to stay "on it" all day? Do you have advice on how to do it even without a passionate interest in the topic or problem you're trying to brainstorm with other people? Thank you for your time!

I do it through a few ways:

I'm extremely protective of my time both in and out of work: I actively cut and reduce as many meetings as possible. Meetings are stamina vampires and motivation killers, they're only used for discussions that require rapid back and forth exchanges of ideas or debates when teams can't agree on something and need to drive alignment. All other communications like status updates, one-off questions, newsletters, data readouts, etc. should be through Slack or e-mails.

I don't attend meetings where:

I have no perspective/opinion/expertise to share with the group to solve a problem.

The outcome of the decision has no impact on me, my team, my product.

I can find the same information somewhere else (an internal document, email, message, etc.).

The fewer meetings, the more mental stamina saved.

2. I write more than I talk. I'm big on clear documentation because it allows for organization of thoughts, the addition of visuals (graphs, charts, wireframes) for clarity of perspective, and the creation of a paper trail for future reference. In my role as a Product Manager, that's typically a 1-pager or PRD draft to summarize the problem statement, add supporting data, and outline risks and/or recommendations. I send this out before we meet so people can react to it and add their ideas/questions/concerns so that once we meet we already have 75% of the discussion done before the meeting.

If I don't have a 1-pager, then at the bare minimum, I always have a few bullet points outlining the questions to answer from the meeting. Never show up at a meeting or brainstorming session without anything prepared beforehand.

The shorter the meetings, the more mental stamina saved.

3. I leverage frameworks and solutions from comparable cases. Don't reinvent the wheel-- find solutions to similar problems, distill them into frameworks, and start from there. It'll cut down on the pre-discussions, discussions, re-discussions, and back and forth if we start 10 miles ahead of the starting line. A lot of time existing solutions aren't perfect fits, but they can be adapted to fix similar problems.

The less redundant work, the more mental stamina saved.

4. I lean on the expertise of the people around me. The one constant in my career is that I avoid working with stupid people. Period. Everywhere I've worked, I've optimized for being around very intelligent people and I've aimed for companies that have extremely high hiring bars. Break the problem into smaller pieces and distribute them to people whose skills are best matched. You shouldn't be in a room brainstorming the solution to all the problems-- only the ones you're best equipped to solve. There's that saying: "many hands make light work." Loop in other experts so it expedites the process.

The lower the intellectual burden, the more mental stamina saved.

5. I follow the impact. Don't just focus on the uninteresting topic/problem, trace its impact to the very end and see with your own eyes the fruits of your labor. I remember back when I was in global strategy being assigned to a process improvement project in Asia. I flew out to Singapore to optimize some processes which was a mind-numbingly boring exercise of designing process flows, launching internal tools, and training agents. However, the impact of the work was that people who were affected by dangerous situations during their international travels were able to be quickly rescued and made financially whole again. Reviewing charts and graphs isn't fun, but I would've lost sight of its importance if I didn't follow the impact.

The higher the personal fulfillment, the more mental stamina saved.

... And sometimes there is no meaningful impact to the work that you're doing, in which case, optimize for speed and efficiency to get it done as quickly and as painlessly as possible (see #1-4 above). If you find yourself repeatedly working on problems you have no interest in or flat out hate-- you need to find another place to work or an entirely different career.

[robinscatgirl]

Murder Girlfriends or something like that...

I don't know how I got here but I've been plagued with the thought of writing a Tim/Jaime fic except they're both girls and bi... (I'm projecting but anywho...)

So this is set in S3 of Young Justice, and around the time I think Bart and Eduardo started dating (idc what you say, I'm positive they have something for each other)

Say during the invasion Jaime and Bart had something going on and Bart absolutely enamored Jaime but when Eduardo showed up Bart fell in love with him as well just a little more than he was with Jaime.

So ofc he breaks it off with Jaime saying "Maybe in another life." and she's devastated because she loved her fluffy-haired boy.

So Jaime starts avoiding team outings that involve most of the team couples as she would just be third-wheeling the entire time and the jealousy she would feel ofc.

Tim on the other hand spends more time in Gotham than with the Team in the Watchtower or the Hub as she's not that close with people there (I mean DC practically took away her team, her shtick, and her friends so that leaves us with her Gothamite and assassin friends)

That is attributed to most of the Team members not being really accepting of her when she became Robin as they thought she was trying to replace Jason (which rude much, didn't he replace Dick too?)

So she had a few friends some she lost when she joined Batman Inc. She still has Steph and Cass though so she's not complaining. She broke up with her girlfriend Cassie and hasn't seen any sign of them getting back together.

Somewhere along the line Jaime starts going to the Watchtower and finds Robin there. They fight a bit because she was one of Tim's close friends before she left to join Batman Inc.

Then slowly she opens up to Tim about her feelings and how things have changed. Tim is an awkward bean but comforts her. Jaime frequently visits the Watchtower after that and Tim opens up to her after a while. She tells her about being JJ, how she feels inadequate, and yadda yadda all that.. One day Tim invites her to Gotham at night and teaches her how to train surf and use her grapple (which is unnecessary but still sweet) Tension rises but the sweet kind and oh...Jaime's falling in love again and Tim has butterflies in her tummy for some weird reason.

Then Batman dies (or so they think) and Tim thinks otherwise but others tell her she's just grieving. (At this point it's mid-season four ig, I'm really straying away from cannon)

Dick is Batman and Tim is still Robin because Damian hasn't been introduced yet and is still with the league...do you see where I'm headed?

Tim dips after she finds the first clue Bruce left when he way yeeted into the time stream and makes plenty of fake aliases and assassin friends on the way.

I want to find a way to incorporate her trying to clone someone close to her but idk who.

The scene where Cassie finds Tim is replaced with Jaime but she's encouraging Tim to look for Bruce and tells her to call when she needs help.

Since she doesn't wanna tarnish the Robin name, she makes a new alias to work with Ra's.

In the cave where the assassin from the Council of Spiders tries to off them, Tim calls Jaime. She's stuck bleeding out on the floor with three half-dead assassins.

Jaime answers the call and gets them to Tim's hotel where they're abducted by League Ninjas and taken to Nanda Parbat. Tim's thrown into the pit after losing too much blood during the splenectomy and Jaime's being held captive.

I'm just world-building rn but would this be a good fic or should I just scrap the idea?

[chaotic-toby]

I might write this out or I might not, but I just had to type this out bc I will explode if I don't. Please excuse Toby's ramblings.

Okay, so I've mentioned before about how I wanted to write something about Asa Emory's childhood. Like, a collection of one-shots showcasing random thoughts about how his childhood was like. Just random things I think up.

Well, while I was walking to my third period class today, I thought of Asa Emory in high school and how much of a train wreck that would be.

As I've established before, Asa was-- and still is-- a loner. He barely had any friends in school and the few he had seemed to drift away. I'll come back to that later bc I have a whole thing about that.

Asa hated his classmates. I know that when Asa was in school, it was a completely different generation if you're thinking realistically, but this is mainly me projecting (shocker I know it /sarc) so let's just say that his classmates act similar to how high schoolers act in this day and age.

He despises them. I've seen someone headcanon that Asa hates loud noises, and after rewatching The Collector for the sixth time today, I can see it. His classmates were so loud, and everyday, he would come home overstimulated. However, as a kinda shy student, there wasn't much he could do about that, so he just tried to focus on his school work. His teachers LOVED him, though they were also a bit creeped out by him as well, but they tried their best to not judge too much. Though there were some teachers that didn't care and mistreated him but he ignore them.

Asa tried acting like he didn't care that he didn't have close friends, but when he watched people talking to their friends or partners, he would get jealous. He tried dating the few people who surprisingly took an interest in him, but those relationships never lasted long. They were either using him for sex (asexual Asa believer (I literally just thought about that as I am writing this)) or they were using him to seem nice or something. Idk. Eventually, he just gave up trying to date someone, and every time someone asked him out, he either ignored them or rudely declined.

Everytime there was a bug in the classroom, Asa would stop anyone from killing it, pick it up, open the window, and let it free. He never understood why people would get mad at him for that. It was like they wanted to see bug guts splattered on the ground.

Anyways, back to his friends. This is the part I am excited to discuss. So, I've said that Asa didn't have many friends, but he did have one that he considered a close friend at one point. I like to think he had a friend from the 7th grade all the way to the 12th. However, in the 12th grade, the friend started to hang out with another person a lot. At first, Asa didn't mind. He didn't expect his friend to only be friends with him, nor consider him their best friend. However, he soon noticed how everytime they were hanging out, and the friend's friend showed up, the friend would pay more attention to the other person than him. Again, he was fine with it. He was a quiet person anyways, and the main thing he liked to talk about was insects and gory stuff. It was understandable if his friend wanted to hang out with someone normal.

Though, this eventually evolved into his friend, not ignoring him per se, but Asa became the third wheel. Asa wanted to hang out with his friend, but his friend's friend was always there, taking all of his friend's attention. Every time he tried to start a conversation, the other person will interrupt, leaving Asa to just stand there, watching as his friend was noticeably more happier with their new best friend.

At first, he was sad. He's known his friend since the 7th grade, while the newcomer had only known them since the 10th grade. Asa had known them longer, and yet, it was obvious that his friend preferred the other person over him. He didn't cry over it. Of course not, but it did dampen his mood for a while. It led to him skipping breakfast at school just so he wouldn't have to sit beside his friend only to get ignored.

This sadness, however, eventually turned into anger. He had thoughts about killing his friend's friend, knowing full well that he could get away with it. He spent weeks planning it over. Thinking of all the things he could do to them. How he could mutilate them, if he should even keep them in the first place, or if he should put the person somewhere public so that his friend could see; could see the mistake they made. (I wanna say that that was his first ever kill and what started it all).

Welp, that's all I've thought about. None of what I've said is canon, obviously. Just my little headcanons and projecting. I love Asa so much and I wish the Collector movies were more popular :(

[roblesgavin]

⸻ peter gadiot, 35, cis male, he/him // in the MASONBORO neighborhood of Wilmington, you’ll find GAVIN ROBLES who’s lived there for FOUR YEARS and they spend their days working as the OWNER OF THE HIDEAWAY. They’ve been described as COURAGEOUS, RESOURCEFUL, RESENTFUL, AND MERCURIAL by the people that know them. This is his story.

“Every time I think maybe I’m heading in the right direction, I end up in a place I never even knew could feel this bad.”

triggers: car crash, alcohol and drug addiction

As a child, no one thought of their dreams realistically, or at least that would be Gavin’s argument. Never did he see his dreams, whichever one he ended up sticking with and pursuing, amount to anything. They were always these big ideas and something of grandeur and escape, since it also seemed that all kinds pretty much thought their hometown was boring. His first attachments to hobbies and likes were all things automotive, starting with collecting toy cars then building model cars and eventually working in the garage alongside his father. Gavin and his father got along best when they had a project they were working on together, and when his dad heard that he was interested in being a racecar driver someday they got into building go karts. He raced as a young teen and eventually grew into bigger vehicles as he grew along with his talent behind the wheel.

The graduate from karting was FIA Formula racing, and it was his biggest ticket out of the small town quaint life that Wilmington offered Gavin. He was fortunate to travel around the states and even a few stops outside with his success in karting but with Formula racing everything became a bigger and grander scale. Gavin kept winning and it seemed as though there was no stopping his rising star until a crash during his chase for his second Formula 1 championship nearly took his life. The recovery process and the time it took not only for his body to heal but also his mind was costly, and Gavin never made it back that season. His attempt the following year was a near disaster as his mind simply wasn’t right for racing anymore. Gavin couldn’t shake the newfound claustrophobia he had being in the tight driving space of the car, and he couldn’t get past the panic attacks he would sometimes have — even in the middle of a race. It all prompted him to take time off, go back to karting and working on builds, rather than continuing to force his dream of greatness.

It was another year before Gavin made it back to any kind of real racing circuit, only it wasn’t Formula 1 that he returned to. He began sports car racing and challenging for championships yet again. Success would be found and Gavin would win not one but two world championships before it would all be torn from him yet again with another horrible crash during a race. The road to recovery was difficult once more but even more so to his mind and spirit when the doctors advised he not race again, for damage done to his body and his head. His family and then girlfriend convinced him to take the doctors earnest requests in giving it all up, telling Gavin that he could manage a team or train other drivers. That he could open a garage and build custom cars and karts. Not being able to live his dream anymore and do what he loved had a dark effect on him, with a broken spirit and an unfortunate addiction to pain pills he began to drink too much. It took his girlfriend leaving him for Gavin to enter into rehab and try to make something of the shambles of his life.

There was a lot to regret and a lot of mistakes made because of his addictions, but he had one thing he could turn to and that was music. When he was a kid his uncle taught him how to play guitar and Gavin had fond memories of them sharing music together. Playing and writing music helped him in his darkest times and he had no desire to play in a band or perform, no desire to make anything of his own music. It was all personal enjoyment for him but with the money sitting in his bank account he decided to open up a blues club back in his hometown once he had returned from rehab. He named it The Hideaway for too many reasons, likely obvious ones but it was something for him to do and music had a way of soothing the demons that laid under the surface. Despite his faults, his addictions and the way his broken spirit can lay out onto other people, the blues club has become successful and gives Gavin a bit of meaning.