#and my self-care has been spotty for months too

[byrdsfly]

I just spent 5-6 years working 4-10s and seriously, we need that 3rd fucking day. I'm back working 5 8's and I hate it.

I don't know how I managed before. That day of pure rest. The day of pure creative. The day to not have chores, errands, or obligations. Want to catch up on sleep? Go for it. Got a show you've wanted time to binge? Have at it. Games to play? Hike to take? Hobbies to work on?

I never realized what having that extra day did for my well being till it was gone. Yeah, I'm bad at time management, but even on my days off I just feel bad because I just need to rest but I feel guilty if I do. If I sleep too late I won't have any time to do what I need or want. I feel like I'm fighting with myself between my needs and my needs- the need to rest, to catch up on sleep, to get energy, and the need to actually do things- laundry, dishes, cat, self-care.

Yeah, I've been pitching the idea at my new job since I got here- apparently I wasn't the first to bring it up, but it's getting from the 'talking' phase to the 'enacting change' phase.

we need a three day weekend i swear to god no experiments no testing no bullshit we gotta lop off a workday

[octahyde]

twst trans headcanons for pride or something hi

It’s pride month so I figure I might as well post my transcanons!! If I did my sexuality headcanons we’d be here all day so I’m just doing the stuff I relate to The Most know what I’m sayin…

Please note that unless otherwise pointed out, I am totally cool with different headcanons!! These are just where I think the specific characters land, and just because most characters aren’t listed here doesn’t mean I think they’re cis per say, just that I don’t have any particular hcs about them gender wise

Anyways!!

Riddle Rosehearts- Trans Man, Gay, He/Him*

This is one of my biggest ones… I think having femininity shoved down his throat and existence made him unable to explore his real gender. Even when he got accepted into NRC, there was a shock because his mother had been prepping him for an elite girls’ school. She went through with him going so she could brag to others behind his back. (“Did you know? My daughter is going to NRC. She’s the only girl who has ever been accepted!”)

Part of why he’s so militant on rules is because it’s the only way he can function mentally- he is desperately afraid of what will happen when his mom realizes he’s trans, so he enforces them strictly to feel like he’s doing something right.

He was so malnourished his breasts never developed and his periods are spotty at best. This doesn’t ease his dysphoria but rather makes him feel more dysphoric; he feels his body is broken and can’t even do what it’s “supposed” to do right.

He doesn’t have a need to get top, but he does get phallo when his hormones are fixed. “Average size, nothing too grotesque, please.” Throughout all of this Trey is by his side, unwavering in support. Trey is the one person who has known him in every stage of his transition and the only one Riddle intimately confides to.

Eventually Riddle does pursue law; after several months-long IOP sessions for years he IS stable enough to be a lawyer righteously and justly. Meanwhile, Trey runs his family bakery in stead of his parents before him. The two adopt two sons, and eventually after years of being in therapy and having Riddle’s gynophobia eased, a baby daughter as well.

Through all this shit of being married with children to another man who is openly gay and having full testosterone and a literal phalloplasty, Riddle only sees himself as “A devoted ally of the LGBTQ community.” Nobody tell him.

*This is a hc I am VERY staunch on, and I am EXTREMELY uncomfortable with anything fem!Riddle related, be it genderbends or headcanons. That being said! Everyone has their own relationship with gender and I have nothing wrong with people having these hcs, and I even see where transfem Riddle is coming from. I just personally prefer to have it kept away from me.

Cater Diamond- Trans Man, Bi, He/Him

I’m not sure if this is a popular hc or not?? I thought it was but I’m just realizing it’s because every Cater is Transmasc Cater in my eyes so I could just be projecting onto cis stuff without realizing it DIS IF NSFJFN

Anyways Caycay is a trans guy and it’s a lot of why he has disdain for how his sisters treat him, even if they don’t realize it. Similar to Riddle having femininity forced on him, but in a different way and significantly less extreme.

In general, Caycay has a streak of hiding most if not all of his real self under his peppy attitude and social media addiction (his lab vignette, Wish Upon A Star), if not outright resentment (his Halloween vignette) for people who are legitimately as shallow he acts when they don’t have a care in the world (Borderline Personality Disorder).

I think that follows through in his dysphoria; he shows himself as a happy, carefree guy who is just happy to be a guy, but underneath that he does have resentment for his cisgender peers for having what he wants- especially without family knowing he’s a guy but treating them as their little tomboy sister with different pronouns anyways.

His chest dysphoria is particularly bad; he has D cups and every time he puts his binder on he wants to die. Not above self harming, either, but I don’t have any hcs firm on that kind of thing for him. Has likely skipped class on days where it’s particularly bad. Trey Clover, #1 Cis Ally, is also the only person he confides into as well, when his guard is down he’s vulnerable enough (which is to say, not often).

He gets top surgery basically the second his fourth year starts, he’s too much of a suicide risk without it. He can take or leave phallo, but is mostly just fine with what T does to his penis and doesn’t see a need to pursue it. He ends up marrying a bad bitch influencer on Magicam and is basically just a trophy husband when she starts getting actual gigs in advertising. They have a very happy r/childfree life also.

He moves to the Queendom of Roses to be closer to Trey as well. After NRC, he gets a lot more vulnerable and transparent about how badly he really is doing. Trey is the one who drives him to and helps his intake for when he needs inpatient (which is a lot), as well as his ride to and from IOP every day.

Trey Clover’s schedule is basically wake up, get started on the baking for the day, have breakfast with his family, pick up and drop off Caycay at IOP, open + morning shift, lunch break (picking Caycay up and getting McDonalds because that’s all this dumb bitch ever wants, then dropping him off at home), afternoon shift +closing, making dinner, and being intimate with Riddle during their allotted Love Making Time if he so chooses. This is his life and, somehow, it’s his dream life and the happiest he can even be. God bless Trey Clover.

Jamil Viper- Nonbinary (Genderfluid), He/She (alternating)

I don’t have much to elaborate on here, basically since I got into TWST I’ve just naturally alternated on he and she for her depending on how I feel that day LMAO. Her nonbinanry swag…

Nondysphoric and never medically transitions. She probably has more feminine clothing but for the most part doesn’t really feel a need to do anything to herself. She Likes Women In A Gay Way which is the best way I know how to describe it, even knowing other terminology (and also being uncomfortable with them from trauma). Marries a normal person after NRC and is also r/childfree, but is the worst influence on Najima’s children.

Epel Felmier

do i even need to fucking elaborate on this.

Vil Schoenheit- Transhet Woman, She/Her**

Content warning for mentions of an eating disorder, specifically anorexia.

Listen trust me I know a Beautiful Trans Woman when I see one.

She’s out when she’s at NRC and on light E, but that’s it at that point because of her career. She has Turbo Dysphoria, which is exacerbated by her relationships with Neige and Epel- the fact that Neige is so effortlessly soft and beautiful despite being a cis man, and Epel being afab and having such a frail and feminine form but wanting to be masc caused deep resentment for both. The trans envy and projection is a major force in how she treats Epel and why she is so hard on him and trying to mold him.

Eventually, her anorexia causes her to black out and collapse during a shoot. She’s rushed to inpatient for a few months so she can recover. There, she comes to terms with the fact that Neige isn’t her enemy and never was- especially when he regularly visits to make sure she’s ok. He’s genuinely worried about her after all the shows they’ve done together.

She also makes the decision to cut Rook from her life, as he was majorly encouraging a lot of unhealthy behavior- including the eating disorder that landed her there in the first place.

Along with this, she’s finally put on a higher dose of E in the hospital, because it’s a very big contributor to why she got as bad as she did. When she’s stable for a few months after being discharged, she gets breast augmentation for D cups and a vaginoplasty as soon as she can.

Also she actively pursues getting closer to Neige out of thanks for him and they get married and have children and the euphoria Vil feels getting pregnant is crazy. The end

**I am VERY aware this is a controversial headcanon, and one many feel goes against Vil’s entire character. I am not denying Vil is canonically a gnc man, nor am I going after people for not viewing her this way. This headcanon is very personal to me as a gnc trans man and other trans people I know. All I ask for is respect and that you block me if this headcanon bothers you instead of trying to argue with me.

Idia Shroud- Transhet Woman, She/Her

Content warning for actual discussions of self harm (specifically cutting), along with amputation.

My most surprising and shocking transcanon out of all of these

Idia is literally like… what if you took a bunch of white trans women in STEM and put them all in a room together and tasked them with making the most stereotypical boymoder they possibly could. Coding? Check. Loves SHMUPs? Check. Posts about hyperspecific weird obscure interests on the internet? Check. Dresses really nice in MMORPGs despite not putting effort in irl? Check check check. It’s legitimately stunning to me that this isn’t a more popular headcanon. She probably has thigh highs on under her pants at all times.

I unsurprisingly have a LOT of thoughts about this; I’m hardcore yume so I will likely leave that out because it’s personal but tbqh I have enough thoughts to write a book without that.

During the incident that killed Ortho, Idia was out for 3ish days afterward. When she woke up, not only was Ortho gone, but her legs were, too- the phantom took them in the attack, and she had to have them amputated. She ended up as a double below the knee amputee. This incident all gave her EXTREME CTPSD. (Which like, it’s canon it gave her CPTSD and informs every single action she makes and the entire fandom is ableist as hell for infantilizing her autism uwu and ignoring the CPTSD completely, but that’s another post for another time.) It also lead to severe schizophrenia and BPD. She eventually developed prosthetics in the style of Ortho’s legs she wears in her personal life, but at NRC she wears near indistinguishable realistic ones out of fear of sticking out even more. The trauma from everything and lack of proper help eventually lead to cutting herself regularly; specifically at her shoulders.

She realized she was attracted to men around 14-15 through BL. (I will never stop saying DMMD Changed Her Life and she is still in love with Clear to this day. People don’t compare her to Yaoi Jesus for nothing.) It was around her second year when her egg cracked (this time it was Touhou) and she realized she wasn’t a little gayboy.

By her third year she was boymoding; to feel more comfortable she started wearing sports bras and panties underneath her uniform to feel at least a little more like a girl. She was much more openly A Girl online in MMOs and Discord servers based around breaking Mario 64 down to its metaphorical molecular level.

In her fourth year she Finally gets on meds, and the side effect of Risperdal for her Turbo Psychosis gives her gynecomastia. After she’s graduated she goes on E, which, uh. Combined with the Risperdal ends up being very kind to her.

She only ever goes on E, she’s got breast development covered and her genitals don’t particularly bother her. Over time she gets mild shrinkage and gets less erect, which is all she really needs to feel herself. In general, she’s more focused on if she feels like a girl in her body as opposed to if she passes.

I know I said it but she is SUCH a Thigh Highs tgirl. She has ones that accommodate her legs and she basically can’t live without a pair on, they’re SUPER comfy for her. She also dresses like a Hot Topic egirl LMAO… short black skirts, big comfy t shirts and sweaters, some comfy dresses along with really nice ones when she does go out. I have like an entire image board I made of her the other night.

Also I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: regardless of what gender you view Idia as, she wears cat eye glasses. Nobody has good vision looking close to the screen in the dark as she does, and the second she heard “cat” she didn’t bother looking at any other options.

I don’t want to talk about yume stuff because it’s REALLY embarrassing but smfns my sona is a girlmoding (outside of NRC) trans man and as they get closer and start dating over the years they transition together… it’s a very close and intimate thing for both of them. They also have 3 cats (a white one named Clear, a gray one named Ryoji, and my queen and god.) And Ortho and CR-BS01 and 02 live with them also… a happy family.

I think they eventually have kids after Idia’s nerves are calmed about the curse (she gets pregnant because I’m sure as HELL not making a self insert not have phallo let alone have a uterus. This is a universe where a guy can turn people into sand I’m sure fertility treatments for people without vaginas exist), and none of the kids end up inheriting it because her and her parents have successfully handled the phantoms :)

Epel Felmier For Real This Time- Trans Man, Gay, He/Him***

My masc king… I feel like I don’t really have to discuss his transness; he’s overwhelmingly the most popular transcanon for a reason LMAO But just for the sake of it: his docile feminine frame and being compared to femininity bothers him significantly, and he much more desires to be seen as masculine and tough. It really isn’t that hard to see him as a trans guy (speaking as a trans guy who relates to him myself).

His chest is a modest B-C cup, but that still gives him dysphoria and stresses him out when he wears binders. He has much, MUCH more severe bottom dysphoria, though. (matchies with his housewarden OMG) Unlike Riddle, though, Epel goes All In when he gets his phallo size.

He also visits Queendom of Roses with Deuce more often and regularly after Rabbitfes so Dylla can sneak him some T. MILF of the world. Please god just one cha

(His family supports him. It’s just he’s so out in the middle of nowhere T is hard to get. That’s what his MILF in law is for.)

Him and Deuce settle on his farm with Deuce as a mechanic, both for vehicles in Harveston and also the surrounding area past it. (He may or may not get well known and a lot of clients from blastcycle customs too)

They adopt a boy and it’s literally just their Gay Masc Life on the Family Farm. No girls allowed.

***Unsurprisingly, I also do not like any works featuring fem!Epel; my stances on it are the same as my ones on Riddle.

NOT FEATURED IN THIS POST: Ruggie is simultaneously a gay twink and a butch lesbian at the same time. His gender is an enigma even to me.

[the-fiction-witch]

HoneyBear

Media IRL

Character Thomas Brodie Sangster

Couple Thomas X Reader

Rating Sweet + Sad

Concept Helping

Warnings Depression and self-harm

I was admittedly a little nervous. But I had to do it. I'd been away filming in Australia for about nine months without a break to come home it was amazing as working always is especially doing something this big and honestly this good. Even if I had definitely had a few big waves of homesickness the sort I never had before after all my years in this job. 

I guess that was because of y/n. 

I'd always had girlfriends of course and a lot of the time they were always who I missed the most. But y/n's different. 

We'd been friends for years and eventually after a lot of pushing and nervous dates we became a couple. And I've never been happier, she was everything I wanted and everything I needed. Honestly I wanted to marry her but we haven't even been dating for a year. I imagine everyone would go a little mad if I tried to marry her now. 

But I was worried. She's been dealing with alot and I know she hasn't been doing well, she wasn't that great before I left and I made a point to make sure even though I was literally the other side of the planet I wanted to make sure I called, texted her, left her messages and sent her home presents trying to make sure she didn't feel abandoned while I was gone. 

Of course now I'm home I wanted nothing else in the world then to see her. Even if Jack had warned me when he picked me up she that she hadn't been good. Apparently there was some issues with her boss and she went down a bit of a depressive spiral while I was gone. It did unfortunately happen to her alot but usually I'd be here to help her or atleast talk her down on the phone if I was away. I felt awful for abandoning her while I was gone but I had cleared my calendar now I'm back so I could see her and hopefully take care of her as best I could. 

I didn't know just how bad she would be. I didn't wanna ask and I doubt jack really knew anyway, I know about her boss and about the situation so I wasn't imagining it being good. 

I arrived at her little London apartment on the first floor of what was once a basic three floor London town house since it was split by her landline into three one floor apartments. She has the ground floor meaning she also has a small back garden. I went up to her little purple door giving it a firm rhythmic knock holding the strap of my leather bag as I waited on her doorstep. No answer, that's strange? So I knocked again this time a little louder. Perhaps she was in the garden and couldn't hear me, or maybe stood beside her impossibly loud kettle. But still no answer. So I grabbed my phone and called her after about four rings. She answered, sounding quiet and snuffy like she'd been crying "hello?"

"Hey honey I'm outside" 

"Ohh I'm coming" she says hanging up the phone I waited a minute more and she pulled open the door, she stood on her door mat in her little bear claw slippers, long blue gingham pj pants that I'm convinced I once owned but clearly not anymore, her extra large pokemon hoodie with snorlax on the front, her hair up in a messy matted bun with one of her usual spotted fabric ties to hold it up. No make up her face red, dirty and a little spotty. But I didn't care I was so happy to see her 

"Hi honeybear" I smiled giving her a tight squeeze and a kiss "I've missed you"

"I missed you too Thomas" she says even if she didn't cuddle me back

"Can I come in?" I asked given we had been on her doorstep for a good minute or two now 

"Uhhhhh… well I guess" she sighed letting me in shutting the door behind me as I headed into her little apartment.

I did my best not to react. In anyway. As I know that would make her feel worse. The kitchen was full of dishes and cups and bags of trash by the back door. The floor was dirty and dusty with clothes and bags littered across it. A dominos pizza box with God only knows how old half a pizza in it. Her bed unmade things all over her bedroom and bathroom too. Everything dirty, dusty and messy the whole place has a smell of old food and unwashed… everything it actually seemed as if she hadn't even cleaned or hoovered since I left and honestly by the look and smell of her I'm not sure she'd showered either. And even though the place was a tip she just pushed some laundry to the side and sat down on the sofa with a blanket and her little build a Bear brown teddy wearing bee clothes I made her when we first started dating.

"Uuuuuuuhhh… fuck. I uhhh I didn't think it would be this bad"

"Sorry"

"No no it's uhhh" I began sitting in the chair as best I could "y/n? How'd it get like this?"

"I don't know. Just did I guess everything kinda just exploded and I had to stop and… now I don't really know how to start again,"

"Ohh you poor thing. You see that it's bad right?"

"I see it. I just… don't know where to begin"

"Well sitting in all this isn't going to help I know it's hard sometimes physically impossible but in here now. And I promise I'm going to help as much or as little as you want me too" I told her giving her head a kiss "okay?"

"Okay" she nods 

"That's my girl" I cooed "first things first trash because trash is easy" I smiled "I'll do that okay, give you some space to breathe" 

I got up and began gathering things up and throwing them away or into the washing pile In Front of her machine just giving it a once over to give us some room to focus until I got to the table "I'm going to be brave here. How long has this been here?"

"I don't remember"

"When did you last order pizza?"

"Yesterday"

"This has been here longer the yesterday"

"Three weeks ago" 

"Oh my god. Okay," I sighed quickly getting it into a bag without touching or breathing close to it and she began to cry "whoa whoa what's wrong?" I asked giving her a hug as she cried 

"I'm sorry"

"What are you sorry for?"

"Your mad at me"

"I'm not mad at you, I'm not angry at your honeybear I promise I'm not. I'm not angry with you I'm worried about you. You could have gotten so sick just from having that in your living room. You could have gotten really sick." I told her 

"I'm sorry I don't know how it all got like this"

"It's alright I know how hard it is sometimes. How about you take buzzy and get a little nap okay" I told her handing her the bear

"But that's-"

"Please. Get some rest don't worry your head it'll do you good" I told her she nods and slithered away to her room so I tucked her in and gave her a kiss "have a nice nap my little honeybear I'll take care of you" 

I shut her door quietly and waiting till I could hear her sleeping and I cleaned up everything I could throwing away all the trash putting on a few loads of laundry, I dusted and hoovered and even did all her dishes putting them all away for her I even put on one of her nice wax melts to make the place smell nice. Often sneaking into her room to clean around her bed for her. Even setting her blankets and pillows on the sofa with her little bears so we could cuddle later. She was still asleep so I got my phone and ordered some groceries for delivery as she had no food in the house now, filling her fridge and cupboards to the brim with her favorite snacks, her favorite foods, favorite drinks and making sure to put a bunch of her favorite ice pops in the freezer for her. Once all sorted I smiled and went to her bedroom "honeybear? Helloooooo?" I whispered crawling into her bed peppering her and her teddy with kisses "ummmm hello" I smiled as she began to stir 

"Hello Thomas" she cracked a small smile 

"Did you have a nice nap?"

"I did"

"Hey, how's about I run you a beautiful bubble bath? Hey? I know you love your bubble baths when did you last have one?"

"I can't remember"

"Uhhh not to be rude y/n how long has it been since you had a shower?"

"I honestly don't remember"

"Yeah didn't wanna say anything but… yeah. I can tell you on your period cause of smells right now"

"I'm not"

"Ohh god. Okay I will run you a nice very bubbly bath" I told her"and maybe we wash buzzy?" 

"Okay" she sighed handing over the bear which I quickly put in the machine to wash and dry so it would be ready when she got out her bath I went to her bathroom and ran her a nice hot bath with muscle soak, bubble bath, btah salts, bath… potion? Whatever it is it's going in, all of it lavender or flower scented to keep it all in theme, I got her two bath bombs the first an extra large purple lust bath bomb so scented I'm convinced I may have eaten some I tasted so much on my tounge in fact the bath bomb in her bath the wax melt in the living room were having a scent fight. And I also got her a nice lilac love heart that I sat on her little bath bridge with her scrunchie and her favourite fancy body wash she usually only uses for going out, as well as her honey shampoo and conditioner as they always made her smile and of course they were the reason I called her my honey bear as on an early date as we cuddled up her hair smelt so much of honey I was actually convinced she may have put honey on her head and we laughed about it and had some honey on toast ever since I'd called her honeybear. Once the bath was run and perfect I fetched her "come on little bear time for your bath"

"Fine" she sighed slowly coming in 

"You get in and relax while I change your bed okay"

"You don't have to-"

"Get in the tub. Or I'll sheep dip you" I warn her 

"Noooo" she whines

"Go on then" I told her so she began to get changed admittedly I couldn't help but look at her having missed her so badly while I was gone but i gave her some privacy and headed back to her bedroom stripping off her bed and immediately three the sheets away I'm not going to try and wash them just throw them away I'll buy her new ones. I went back tidied her room for her flipping the mattress and making the bed with her favorite bedding the little duvet cover and pillow cases white on one side with little bees doing loop the loops and the other side dark orange honeycomb pattern making her bed up with her blankets and pillows and a special place for her bear once he was done in the Washing machine. I imagined y/n would be back by now but she hadn't so I went to the bathroom seeing her sat in the water surrounded by bubbles her legs pulled to her chest 

"Ohh y/n" I went over getting a little chair and moving to sit beside her tub at first rubbing her skin with the bubbles "would you like some help?" I asked and she nods "okay, take your ribbon out and we'll wash your hair"

"I did" she says handing me the ribbon she had in her hair and yet her hair hadn't moved 

"Okay" well that's a problem.

I got her brush and her conditioner as I would definitely be needing it slowly but surely Washing her hair using her nice shampoo and conditioner brushing the matted knots out of her hair it was clear she'd put it up like this just after I left and hadn't done anything with it since. She was often teary but I always have her kisses and reassured her I imagine it likely hurt alot as I brushed and brushed and brushed using pretty much the whole bottle of conditioner. "There we go all beautiful again" I cooed giving her cheek a kiss as I finished with her hair "hey all pretty. Now you can have your nice … well now lukewarm bath" I told her gently and playfully helping her as she slowly came out of this sadness I was stopped however upon seeing her arms and her thighs that she had done her best to keep hidden all this time I didn't mention in even if I knew some where fresh I just held her hand and brought her arm over giving her skin a million kisses 

"Are you upset with me?" She asks

"No. No I'm not it's okay. I just wish you'd role me you wh re feeling that bad. Please I don't want things to get this bad again I'm not upset I'm not blaming you. Just please of it gets this bad please tell me. You know if have thrown home months earlier if id known you were feeling this bad" 

"I know. I didn't want to be any trouble"

"It's no trouble really. I'd rather you tell me so I can come home and help you rather then… having to clean up the aftermath. I love you you know I do. hey. my little honeybear. I'm not going anywhere not till your better"

"What if I'm never any better"

"Then I'm not going anywhere. Ever again." I told her "your more important that my job. Always." I told her "you enjoy the rest of your bath I'll get you some nice clean clothes and your teddy okay? Then we'll make cheesy pie," I told her giving her one more kiss and heading out

"Thomas?"

"Yeah?" 

"Thank you"

"Your welcome"

"I love you very much*

"I love you more" 

[f4ll3nf34th3r5y5t]

Tw vent. Not too hardcore on trauma just hardcore on description And stress (I don't think anyone reads these?? But if your ocs need trauma or issues ig????😭 This is just a convenient way to get things off my chest)

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Spades and diamonds am I so fuck stressed lately!! I start a new job today, cool. Best friend A is moving STATES AWAY in less than a month, that's hip. Best friend B has spotty availability due to recovering from a surgery, awesome sauce. My younger sibling is moving out in less than a month, chillin. I'm being kicked out before the year ends, fucking. Cool beans. dude. Jesus God damned Christ.

I don't want to love my family or need to be nice to them!! I just fucking learned that me and my younger sibling both dislike my mother!!!!! My older brother keeps trying to act like my dad at the worst. Fucking. Times. And I'm going NUTS.

Basically Everyone™ at my new job LOVES my mother.

When getting kicked out, it's probably either I take my cat or cats or they get put in a pound or left outside. Fuck. Fucked fuck fuck fuck fucker.

Like do I leave early or what. God damnit. Advice might actually be useful, Tumblr. I'll try to censor and explain easily.

NON TW STARTS HERE.

I'm 17 years old physically and I'm 18 on December 10th. I will be homeless but I have a couple options on housing.

A) I beg and beg and cough up all money to stay here with my mom, her fiance, and my older brother

B) I go live with my friend cat. Pros is I can bring my cat probably, cons are the transportation is unreliable and it's cramped.

C) I see if I can live with best friend b. Pros are I might get my own room or suchlike and I'm basically family, cons are my cat can't come I think.

My mental health isn't really the priority right now. I have a bit of things to take aka my clothing (about 1 large tote? Maybe), a 7ft shelf and the things on it, xbox, my bed if needed, and my stuffies(tote full). Other things are honestly sentimental or just small idk.

I'm still in school and I will be for at least 3 more years. Not including college, if I can go.

I make around $400 per check but this job pays less so it'll go down to about $250 I think?

I can't drive and I take medicine (prozac and meclizine), I'm also undiagnosed depressive and possibly (heavily) auDHD. I need to find a dentist too but wtvr.

On a list of things to do should I

A) start downsizing possessions to 3 totes max minus the shelf itself

B) start talking to cat about moving in, see how it'd work etc

C) pack a bit. Idk.

My options aren't a lot since my mom, who I'll start calling Diane now (not her first name it feels weird), places a 7pm curfew on me since I've been to a psych ward(self admitted). She tends to stick her nose in my business if I'm not too careful and anytime we're alone there's a 70/30 chance she'll mention me being kicked out and ask about it. I plan to keep being as secretive as possible, she isn't even aware of any arrangements or stress. She's not sheltering but she's not a good mom. It's a weird balance of careless and overbearing.

To inform more on my mom I'll write a separate post that'll probably be shorter but wtvr I'm just scared I guess. Mostly for my cat. He thinks I'm his mom or something so I'm scared that if I don't take him with me he'll die. Advice of any kind is appreciated, any questions too.

[aelaer]

I love writing; I want to write I'm not able to. Whenever I open a document, ready to write, it's like my fingers get stuck, hovering over the keyboard. It is frustrating and upsetting and doesn't help my non-existing confidence and self-worth.

I know people say it helps when you talk with friends about your writing but I only have one friend and I've annoyed them enough with my writing problems (since we longer share the same fandoms). And I'm scared of people and self-isolate myself from them because my past fandom experiences weren't the best.

Aww love *big hugs* 🫂 Thank you for your trust in sharing this personal information with me. I presume that you shared it with me on the hope that I would give some thoughts and ideas on these troubles. I will do my best to give you an answer that will hopefully be of some use to you. If you just needed to let it off your chest and do not wish for thoughts and non-professional advice, please don't read beyond this paragraph. And if that's the case I just wish the best for you and hope things get better!

But if you're still reading this second paragraph, here's some of my own musings on what you've divulged. (Note - I'm not a professional health person, this stuff is from memory of things I've read and my memory may be spotty.)

The funny thing about hobbies is that they're meant to enrich your life, but oftentimes you can only easily partake in them if you're already in a good place. If you're stressed about work, school, family or friends, it gets hard to focus on things you enjoy. If your health is in the toilet, it's sometimes hard to do hobbies as well. This includes mental health.

It's a bit of a terrible cycle. You want to create, but you are too down to create, which makes you feel even more down than you were before. This is terribly common and it's such a difficult cycle to break.

How exactly do you solve it? I don't think there's an easy solution, or a solution that fits everyone. But I have the following on "things" to try split into different parts, if you want to give any of these a shot. They touch on each of the items you mentioned in your post:

Getting In The Mood To Write

Set up a sprint. Don't know what sprinting is? Here's an article about sprints. Don't have a Discord writing server where sprints are set up? Here's a free sprint site.

Is the story you *want* to write not easily coming to mind? Why not start on some writing prompts. This link has prompts that would be about 1-3 paragraphs to complete per prompt. Need more flexibility? These prompts could be answered in a couple sentences, a paragraph, or a page. None of these may be the story you've been trying to write, but they're a good way to get your muscle memory in your fingers and word-forming in your head to get started again. You can do as little or as many as you like. They can be fiction or non-fiction. You can even answer the prompts as your favorite fictional character if you'd like to for the personal writing ones.

How calm are your surroundings and your mind? This article goes into some tips about setting the mood and getting your mind prepared for the space. It also goes into the importance of the mind being in the right space for it, which goes into my next section.

Caring For Yourself

I really like the article I linked in point three because it emphasizes, in very large text, "Be kind to yourself and let it flow". This is one of the most difficult things to learn because if you've spent a long time beating yourself up for not doing the thing, not being good enough, and other self-negative terminology, that'll be deep within your psyche. Unlearning all of these negative feelings about yourself is not done in a day, or a week, or possibly not even a month or year.

One method of combating these negative feelings is by saying (out loud or on paper) positive things about yourself: that you *are* enough, that you are talented/worth it/hardworking, whatever it is to combat whatever you've been telling yourself that has lowered your self-esteem. This has to become a habit, by the way--something you schedule in your day and that you stick to like clockwork. This self-affirming self-care language is supposed to eventually sink in, because if it is so often in the upper conscious, it eventually sinks to the subconscious. Or at least, that's what the science of it says.

Depending on how long this feeling continues and how many aspects of your life it affects, you may want to consider speaking with a professional about it. If that is not a viable solution, doing some research on what you can do to help yourself could help. Just stick with reputable sites--the .edu's and the like.

One blog I really like following is @insanitysilver because of their constant positivity around writing both original and fan fiction. There's a lot of reaffirming content about being kind to yourself on bad writing days, to your WIPs, and just being a writer (and reader!) in general. This may help give you a pick-me-up in your browsing of tumblr.

Getting Into The Fandom Community

I 100% get not wanting to get into fandom again because you've had bad experiences in the past. Oh my *goodness*, I can't count all the terrible experiences I've had in online fandom spaces and online RP spaces in the 20 years I've been active online and all the hurt that came with it. Heck, I'm friends with a mutual who is also interacting with the person who told me they were disgusted that I had given kudos on their fic and said some absolutely *nasty* things to me, and we're both still active in the same fandom.

Unfortunately it comes with human interaction. If you hide from it forever, you may miss out on some absolutely amazing experiences and beautiful friendships.

Toxic people are everywhere, unfortunately, but you learn to recognize them and, in the online space, block them. And those toxic people (like the one I mentioned above) have to live with their nastiness and you start to feel sorry for them, because how sad must that person be to go out of their way to put others down in such a horrid manner?

If it's a matter of miscommunications and misunderstanding, that gets easier to deal with with experience and time. Experience is a big part of it. Have I committed some big social mistakes and major faux pas in my past? Yes, absolutely, including in the fandom I'm still active in. I have major foot-in-mouth disease, and I feel pretty bad about those! When I can, I try to repair relationships. When I can't, I've learned to apologize where I can when I'm at fault and move on. You don't need to be friends with everyone in the fandom to have a good time.

To start getting involved: joining a fandom Discord would be my recommendation. You can usually find one via Google. Some are super large, so you may want to try and find smaller shipping ones, or character-based ones as opposed to a huge community. The cool thing about this is that you can lurk for a time to see how the community interacts before stepping in, which is a nice part about Discord.

Another way to connect with folks is via tumblr. Look up the fandom tags here and start following folks who post a lot about your favorite things! First you can start with reblogs, then reblogs with tags, and then comments and asks. Baby steps at your own pace.

I definitely recommend connecting with several people if at all possible because you'll have several people to talk about fandom stuff with, and writing with, and if you have a falling out with one of them, it won't feel like you're completely out of the loop. I'd also recommend that you connect with folks who aren't all mutuals -- spread it out. In one of my largest fandom schisms several years ago, a whole RP group kicked me out because the leader was an ableist asshole. But I had several other RP partners to fall back on and to help me through the tough time. It's similar in the fandom space--you want to be friendly with several folks. That's one reason Discord is so great-- you can be in several Discord groups with a variety of people and be acquaintances, friends, and good friends with several folks. If for some reason one of the Discord groups is actually a poisonous hellhole and they're awful to you, you can back out and fall back to the other group without feeling like you've completely disconnected from everyone in fandom. There's a space for everyone.

If your fandom is my corner of the MCU, I'd recommend both the Stephen Strange Discord and IronStrange Discord. They're wholesome groups and you can comfortably lurk there until you're ready to talk about the fun stuff. If you don't have those links, just send me a follow-up ask for which one you'd like and I'll post a 7-day link.

This was pretty darn long, but I hope I could be of some assistance, if assistance was what you were looking for. Best wishes, anon--things do get better.

[softlittleheartsandsparkles]

what do you mean by wait time? I thought you were canadian? Don't you guys have free healthcare?

So, unfortunately in canada, Free healthcare doesn't mean "timely" health care, or getting whatever care whenever you want it. Its sadly not like poppin' in for a hair cut, or showing up for dental work. (dental is private still. I'm fairly sure. ) Like health care in canada is very very VERY backed up. It was like that prior to covid but it covid defs I feel like exhausted existing gaps. Like in BC - because I lived there for awhile, and I feel comfortable speaking about BC. there's areas were people don't have access to GPS/family drs and no walkins. (Or didn't in 2022) Like Canada also has health care deserts. Interior of BC is like that. (Outside of the vancouver/greater vancouver area. Anything outside of there, its very spotty depending on areas.) Which means too people sadly have to go to hospitals. (And this sucks because people need prescriptions.) Like it wasn't uncommon to see questioned posed on fb groups aimed for the city I lived in for 9ish months. About does that city have a walk-in/gp/family dr. And are waitlists being taken, etc. I heard this question even at a pharmacy, a lady came in with her small child, who had what she believed is a ear infection& wanted drops. She was told they can't give drops, she needs a prescription. So she asked are there clinics in the area? She was told there's no clinics local - and she'd have to take her wee one to the hospital. This is the same message fb groups would have. No clinicals locally, hospital. I couldn't even get breast imaging done in that town. you can't self referral. You need a gp/family dr/ walk in to give you the paperwork/do referral. ^^;' Which is one of the things I had to wait for. Until I moved again, to Alberta. & in alberta, my GP isn't close to me. He's almost 2 hours away. But he was also the only one accepting patients when we moved. And this is closer than my previously dr in bc. I do see some work towards offering more options that are in person. (everyone constantly pushes people to telus and there telehealth. Telus is a phone/internet/cable company. For americans this would be like AT&T getting into the health market.) I've noticed pharmacys now can write scripts for mild health issues, or for things like diabetes. (YAY) I do see some family drs opening up now, collecting lists of patients, and some walkins. (also some walkins are ran by pharmacists, so they are again for "mild" causes. Like probably could go in with a rash from your squashes and be like 'this itchy, i touched squash leafs' pharmacist be like 'new to gardening huh? alright well uh. here." - Squash leafs can cause rashes. just so folks know lol. ) But yeah. I also don't think this is all of canada. I can only speak about what I see locally. But health care in canada is extremely backed up, and depending on service and severity medical professionals believe you are, (I.e. they believe your moderate/mild vs severe) you could be waiting. I've been waiting on my referral since March this year. Even with the rectum bleeding i'm still counted as "mild/moderate". & I won't be able to "see" my specialist until late sept. (And what I mean by "see" I mean, we have a phone call aptoment scheduled... from there hopefully I get referral for colonoscopy, and for follow up that can be in person. but I honestly don't know.)

[my-wayward-son]

Soooo… Um. It’s bad.

BPII is a common comorbidity with autism, and the whole diagnosis of BPII was coined (separated from BPI) because the depression end is stronger and the manic end is more like super anxiety. I know this. I’ve known this for a long time.

I have chronic migraine disease and severe gastroparesis/adult FTT. I know this too.

My labs still haven’t recovered completely from the colectomy and subsequent stint on TPN; my H&H is chronically low and my ferritin is shit. Fatigue is is a problem. Like, majorly.

It never fails to catch me off guard, though, when things really take a turn for the worse, especially all at the same time. Lack of interest in things I usually enjoy keeps washing over me. Like, all the time.

Let me explain.

I haven’t seen the new Spider-Man trailer. I haven’t seen What If. I haven’t seen Shang Chi (though that’s also due to fear of the delta variant and crowded theaters). I need 4 (count that, 4) doses of sleep med to put me down for the night, and I still roll all over the bed and listen to Buzzfeed Unsolved I’ve already seen and get barely any REM. All I want to do is ballet, then I get frustrated that I can’t remember combinations easily, but that’s because of the (faulty) migraine and psych meds I’m currently on. I’ve been having sick stomach a la pre-colectomy if I take in anything but clear liquids by mouth. I haven’t combed my hair or put in my hearing aids in about a week.

The list goes on, but I don’t want to bore you. Or sound too complainey. I feel pathetic and like I’m being an attention whore by putting it all out there, but, as DD has told me, at least I have words. A couple of weeks ago I felt so low that I could barely express what was wrong. Now I’ve been to a couple doctors appointments, switched a few meds, and have enough presence of mind to know that everything is seriously fucked up.

The SSRI I’m on is absolutely not agreeing with me, and my sleep med is obviously not doing its job. My psychiatrist is working on coming up with a new med cocktail, though we’ve only been able to talk via email so far.

I’ve pretty much eschewed my migraine steroid pack because it’s keeping me from being able to think, but the headache is… impressive. If my mental health/drive were in order, maybe I’d call the pain functional, but right now it’s edging back up toward status. I take pain meds ranging from ibuprofen to RX injectables at random intervals when I feel especially bad. Intensity ranges from dull throb to skull-splitting, going to vomit.

I know most meds have headaches as a side effect, which sucks fucking rocks because that makes it impossible to tell how much I actually hurt and what’s amplified by my new meds. Not all of them are bad (we think), so it’s kind of a waiting game to see if my body “gets used” to the formulation.

I have neurology in two days, so I guess we’ll be able to discuss the headaches then, however it’ll be hard to ensure any med changes are appropriate when my psychiatrist is still working on a new batch for mood stabilization. I’m nervous and frustrated in advance.

There are so many things I want/need to do, like catching up on short fics in my inbox and doing this month’s Artsnacks challenge. I’m basically living day-to-day right now, and I’m lucky if I get all my daily household and self-care tasks done. I keep wanting to do fun activities with the kids, too, but time gets away from me. It winds up taking 10 years to fold the laundry, and all the sudden it’s time to get ready for bed, and I did nothing all day.

I hope to all gods above and below that everything will be worked out before Inktober/Whumptober, because I really want to commit to completion for both. We’re going on vacation for the first week of October, and I plan to focus my non-beach time on art and writing work. I’m all planned out (was able to do that before the depression hit so badly), but I’m currently doubting my abilities. I also plan to slide back into working on Keeping Safe, so I can take it back on for NaNo. That’s something that will take some commitment and discipline. I want so badly for it to work out. I’ll be disappointed if it doesn’t, and I know it’ll be a hit to my self-confidence. A few years ago I wrote a whole 70k book in just 28 days, and now I’m struggling to pop out shorts…

Anyway. I’ll stop talking now. I hope this doesn’t read as overly dramatic or like I’m begging for sympathy. I’m not. I’m trying to be real and maybe explain why my presence has been spotty lately. All I want is for things to get better.

[lillianofliterature]

Dear followers,

I wanted to leave a larger summary of what’s going on behind the scenes. I know I already give little updates often with breaks in-between stories, but I felt like this last few months has been rougher and more inconsistent than usual. 

First off, I know I don’t owe anyone anything or even need to offer an explanation - I write as a hobby and as a therapeutic method to relieve anxiety and depression. I don’t get paid. I write for free, I share online for free. 

That being said, I feel like my payment is the response I receive for all of my stories. The comments, the likes, the reblogs -- not because they’re numbers or markers of success, but because each notification means I’ve touched someone in some way. I’ve made a good impact on someone out there. I’m making a difference. That means everything to me. You all are amazing individuals. 

With my ADHD (I was just diagnosed back in October, so it’s all pretty new to me still) it makes it so difficult to not feel guilty or shameful about not posting once a week or every other week, or whatever schedule I try to force on myself for no reason other than to “be like normal able-bodied people”, even though no one has ever rudely mentioned my spotty activity. It’s something I struggle with internally that ties into my perfectionism and having to fix a story until it’s “perfect”, which is an unachievable goal regardless of task or person. 

Right now in my life, I have so much going on even though I’m not able to go out and about in the world (like most other spoonies and disabled folk around the globe). I’m in therapy dealing with a lot of childhood trauma regarding domestic violence that I, my mother, and my brother, survived. I was diagnosed with PTSD, which I’m still wrapping my brain around. My panic attacks happen more often now and my dreams are horrific as I remember more and more. I was clinically diagnosed with depression, generalized anxiety, and then there’s that whole looming elephant in the room called POTS and Dysautonomia.

So if I’m being honest, I don’t feel like my best self right now or anywhere near that. And that’s a bit terrifying, especially when the world around us feels so unstable and my family is separated by lockdowns and safety protocols. Therapy is helping, although it’s a painful and truly excruciating experience some days. The biggest blow with all of this diagnosing and discussing is that I thought I was fine -- all of these years I was told by my abusers that I was overreacting, I was just sensitve, I was making things up, only “believing what I wanted to believe”. I had been gaslighted and shut down for so many years that I had believed it was all fine. I was okay. I had no reason to be depressed or bothered by it all. 

And then somewhere in the last five or six months, it all fell apart, or rather blew open like an infuriated geyser. There’s so much chaos in my mind right now that it’s all I can do to get out of bed and make sure I eat, take my heart meds, and stay hydrated. Somehow my brain feels like dark blue, or completely black. It’s just dark and murky up there. Some days I make earrings for my shop, I color in a few drawings, I clean my room five times a day to ward off the intrusive thoughts. But writing has just seemed too daunting and a little bit intimidating. I’m a bit scared to open up my emotional side through a story right now, I’m afraid of what I might find hidden further in my heart. 

I say all of this not only to explain myself and get it off my chest, but to shed a light on anyone who might stumble upon this. You are not alone. You are not crazy. You are not losing your mind or your ability to make a difference with your uniqueness. You’re being sculpted. Chiseled away at like a great marble statue. Pruned like a berry vine so next harvest your fruits will have multiplied. This darkness is not the end. It’s a wave, it’s an encompassing storm that tosses you to and fro and leaves you vulnerable in its wake, but it will not destroy you. It’s a temporay season of life. You will make it through this. 

You are worthy. You have things to do here. Dreams to find. People to love. 

So, I don’t know when another story will come. I have so many ideas I’ve been sorting through and a lot of jumbled up projects rumbling around in the ole cranial unit, but not the energy or wherewithal to execute them with clarity right now. I am by no means leaving the platform or putting away my pen, I’m not going anywhere, but I’m completely through with putting undue expectations on myself when I’m already trying to carry so much at this time in my life. I may post next week, I may post next month. I may post five times in a week or five times across three months. Whatever it ends up being, I’m going to be okay with that.

Thankfully, my therapist encouraged me to write about what happened in a story (and even encouraged my hobby of writing fanfiction as a coping/healing mechanism) and change the narrative to one of strengh and survival, so I’m being encouraged to use my craft as a way of healing, which I know will serve me well. (So basically, everyone, fanfiction is therapist-approved, so tell that to your rude friends or family members who judge you for it.) I sort of touched on it in a cleaned up way through my Aragorn fic, Tell Me Your Story, but there’s still so much left to divulge and toss out of my being for good. 

I just wanted to say all off this and let everyone know that I love you and even if no one in your life is saying it enough or at all, I’ll say it sincerely.

I need you on this planet with me until the very end, you got it? I need you here, doing your thing only you can do, and I need you to take care of yourself. Even if our paths never cross. I need you here. I mean that. Your life makes a difference. It is making a difference. 

There’s no age limit or time limit on success or which path to take. It’s alright to pause, take a breath, and let yourself figure it out at your own pace. 

Just take it day by day. Eat. Drink. Wash up when you can. Exist.

That is enough. Just existing is enough. Living your life, day to day, taking care of yourself and perservering, is extraordinary. Keep it up.

Xx Lillian

[painted-crow]

You said that the only one of your houses that you haven't burned was Ravenclaw primary. What was it like when you burned your Hufflepuff primary model?

Exhausting.

It's harder for me to tell when Puff primary is down than it probably is for other people, because Puff is woven into my Ravenclaw system. It's a model in its own right, but its principles are tied down by Ravenclaw.

So, burning Puff primary doesn't make me stop believing that people as a whole are valuable. Instead, I lose the Puff impulse, the thing that makes me look for others in need and reach out, and I get jaded and cynical in a way that's not usual for me. I still feel like I should care, but I'm too tired and done with people to act on it.

I know this happens sometimes, but I am a depresso bean with a very spotty/selective memory, and I'm having a hard time pinning down a specific memory of when this has happened... except.

The one time I can think to point to as "yeah, Puff primary burned here" is a... situation I went through that actually changed how I interact with Puff as part of my system. I used to have an unhealthy version of it where I subconsciously felt responsible for helping people around me who were in need, which is not the most stable version of Puff primary you can have on board.

Specifically, you know how one of my blog rules is "I can't be the one to talk you down from a mental health emergency"?

That didn't come out of thin air.

Now, you're probably thinking that someone called me for help and I didn't respond in time, or failed to talk them out of it. That was not the problem. The problem was less obviously horrific than that.

The problem was that I succeeded.

...over, and over, and over. Until I was this person's crisis line, on call 24/7.

Am I trained for this? Hell no! How long did I do it anyway? MONTHS. Did I try to set boundaries with this person, or suggest that they call an actual professional? Yes, many times. They thought I was being ridiculous, and tried to guilt trip me.

Eventually I had to block them. I have never looked them up since, and don't intend to. I hope they replaced me with their actual therapist, or an actual crisis line, but whatever they did, it's not my responsibility.

I don't remember much from around that time period. My memory issues absolutely scale with how shitty the depressive episode is, and I was already in the middle of one when this happened. There's enough here for me to guess that I burned my Puff model, and then self-isolated like I do when I'm under stress. (Not a good habit, btw.)

I still care about people as a whole, but I don't take responsibility for their problems. I don't have to be the one to help just because they're in need and I got there first. I get to choose, based on how I think they're likely to treat me, how specialized their need is/how much of a difference I'd actually make, and what I'm prepared to give without sacrificing myself. I'm likely to give more priority when the need is something I'm specifically skilled for, but not always.

There's a tiny local charity that desperately needs a website for some very basic but important info, including a way to donate that doesn't involve an actual paper check. So I went up to the lady who runs it and offered to build it for free, even take care of the expenses of keeping it online. She was very excited about it... then she cancelled the meeting I'd set up to talk about what info she wanted on it, and for over a year she's been "too busy" to try again.

She keeps running into me and going "oh yeah we should do that!!!" and I tell her to call me when she has time. She never will. A younger me would have done all kinds of legwork to make it happen anyway, getting the info from other people, but I'd be the one maintaining the site, and if this is how she treats me now, I don't want to deal with her.

And I don't have to.

Because guess what?

~~~it's not my problem!!!~~~

*jazz hands*

[fromthewifecage]

Never Trust  A Cowboy With A Computer (AKA: Erron Black/Female reader smut)

I’ve had a lot of issues with this, I’ve had to edit the hell out of it, changing a bunch in the 1st chapter, so please reread Chapter 1 before jumping into the smut that is Chapter 2. It���s over 5k words, and it’ll be posted over on my AO3  https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeltAutomaton in a bit if you want to be extra kind and go give me kudos there :D Thank you again to @tomoka0013 @gojihime99 and @malicedragoness for your encouragement and all your help *blows kisses* Hope you like :D NSFW!

CHAPTER 1:

For once, the absolutely only time in recent history, your hair is behaving, thank the Gods! Actually, is there a God of Hair? Hmmm, maybe Kano would know? His stories of meeting Gods are always fascinating, even though he always exaggerates his role and prowess in encounters with said Gods. There is simply no way on Earthrealm that Kano could have stolen the Thunder God’s hat without being zapped into the Netherrealm. Plus, Kano has never produced this hat, so whenever he has one too many beers and starts on another night of tall tales, you nod along and feign complete belief in his words.

Maybe one day you’ll get to meet a God? Not likely whilst you’re stuck behind a computer for hours and hours every single day. Especially working alongside Erron-sodding-Black. He’s gone through at least 5 computers this year, 2 in the past three weeks! You swear he was doing it on purpose. In your steamiest daydreams he’s deliberately breaking his computers so you’ll have to travel to the ‘Black Dragon Boyz office’ (and yes, they spell it with a ‘z’) to spend precious time un-fucking his computer. Every time it happens, you swear you’re just going to tell him to go bother someone else, or get his arse down to PC World and find some spotty 17 year old work experience boy to bother rather than yourself. After all, you’re doing just as an important job for the Black Dragon as he is, well, almost. He might be a super amazing dead-shot sniper capable of assassinating even the most heavily guarded target, but you aren’t just IT support, you are a Black Dragon member too.

******** More after the cut! ***********

You spend much of your time hacking into Special Forces super secret files, reading General Sonya Blade’s horribly dry mission reports, or transferring money from one Swiss bank account to another before you could be traced. Well, that was why Kano had hired you. Yet these past few months you’ve been dragged to broken computer after broken computer by the obscenely handsome aforementioned Erron Black at least once a week. You hadn���t minded the first few times, after all, any time spent in Erron’s company makes you all giddy and wibbly-wobbly inside your knickers. His voice honestly does things to you, actually makes parts that shouldn't tingle at work, tingle. He has warm eyes that seem to sparkle whenever he speaks to you, or catch you staring at him, not that you stare at him. Much. OK, maybe a little. He has a smile that is likely illegal in half the known world. Long, strong fingers that you so often think about, especially when you watch him dance a coin across his knuckles when he’s thinking, his trick to keep his fingers supple. No, no no. No thinking about him. He obviously isn't interested in you. He’s a simple man when it comes to that. You’ve seen him make moves on people who catch his eye; he’ll watch them for a while, then walk up to them, give them a smile, tell them plainly what he wanted. Then you’ll watch them walk off together whilst your heart dissolves into self pity. A few months ago, you made a real effort to try to stop flirting with him. No more lingering looks while spending more time than needed helping him with his computer. The man was multi-talented with most things, just not computers. It probably didn't help that he didn’t grow up around modern technology. You gently tease him about being old and doddery around computers and he takes the jokes well, and really, you miss joking around with him, but it was for the best. Kabal jostles with you for mirror space, smoothing down his hair and giving the mirror a big grin. Why is it so easy for men like him? He probably rolls out of bed after 2 hours sleep with his face in a half-eaten curry and he’ll still wake up ridiculously handsome (the git). Whereas it takes a lot of fussing to even get your hair to behave, let alone look nice and shiny like Kabal’s does. Maybe you could make a small shrine in the corner of your bedroom to the Hair God? You nod to yourself, thinking Kabal must have done that. “Come on, you look beautiful. Now get your coat and scarf, and we’re outta here. If we don’t leave soon, we’ll miss it!” Kabal fusses with his coat buttons. Always unable to keep still, the man practically radiates excess energy. “I WILL BE SAD IF WE MISS THE FILM.” Tremor stands up from his own desk, the building shaking ever so slightly with the enormous man’s movements. “Not as sad as Kabal. He’ll start bawlin’ if he misses his boyfriend’s new film.” Erron spins round in his brand new swivel chair, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Johnny Cage is NOT my boyfriend and I don’t even care about missing the film.” Kabal bristles with indignation. He did care about missing it. He cares a lot. “I don’t even like his films, or him. I’m just watching it ironically.” Erron laughs. You feel that laughter, deep inside and it demands attention. Bastard. “Suuuure. Enjoy your boyfriend.” “He is NOT my boyfriend!” This was going to end up in another fight. Last week Kabal had called Erron ‘Old Man Withers’. Erron had retaliated by drawing on Kabal’s Johnny Cage calendar. (The moustache and glasses actually suited the ridiculously handsome movie star.) So Kabal put a mouse in Erron’s desk drawer and recorded Erron’s screams, playing them every so often whilst laughing. The feud had gone on until Kano forced them to apologise to one another, in front of everyone. This sort of idiocy happened probably twice a month. It had escalated to where people now made bets on how long each feud will last. The longest feud had lasted 23 long days before Kano had flipped. “I DO NOT WANT TO BE LATE.” Tremor tugs open the office door and the handle will need replacing. Again. You follow after the huge man, Kabal behind you is muttering about revenge. “Hey, Sweetheart, you goin’ too?” It takes a second before you realise that sultry Texan drawl is aimed at you. “Oh, yes. There was a spare ticket since Kira’s still stuck on a job.” Oh shit, you should have offered it to Erron instead. You’d been so excited to be included in the cinema plans that you’d been selfish and not asked if Erron had wanted to go. “But……” Erron’s face scrunches a little and he turns to his computer and hits a few keys in quick succession. “It ain’t workin’ again. Sorry, darlin’.” He gestures helplessly to his computer. “But… I only fixed it this morning! What have you done this time?!” You drop your bag to the floor, and peel off your coat with a frustrated groan. You are going to get fired, there was no way Kano would believe this. You are completely and utterly incompetent. No other reason. Your fault. “It’s those darn computer gremlins again.” He gives you an apologetic smile and shrugs with frustration at the computer gremlins. You sigh and wave goodbye to Kabal and Tremor, both eager to watch Ninja Mime’s latest adventure. This one was in SPACE and it was going to be amazing, and you were going to miss it. Nooooooo! You stomp over to Erron’s computer, your mouth twists into a grumpy pout. “That is it. No more computers for you! you want to do some work; then you can bloody well do it on a typewriter.” Erron replies with a “Heyyyyyyy” and a laugh. The throb between your legs from the laugh can just sod off. No more. Not when you were going to be unemployed and unemployable after this. Who was going to hire you? What could you put on your CV? ‘Failed IT support worker’? ‘Only capable of turning a computer on and even then it’ll probably turn itself off again when you’re not looking?’ ‘Can steal FBI or Special Forces secrets but can’t keep an old man’s computer running for more than 3 minutes before it’s broken again’? ‘Want to play Solitaire? Well don’t ask me, best try the sudoku in the newspaper instead’. You’re so engrossed in sulking you don’t notice Erron get up from his comfy chair to stand behind you as you perch on the crappy stool with no back (it had no back because Tremor had tried to sit on it). It was only when strong hands find your hunched shoulders and begin kneading at the tightly knotted and sore muscles, that you look away from the ‘blue screen of death’. “I’m sorry, but I’ll make it up to you, Sweetheart.” By the Gods his fingers are truly magic. His thumbs are rubbing magic circles into your shoulders and it feels soooo good. “Mmmhhhhh?” Maybe he is a God, the God of massage.? You close your eyes, your head rolls back and you enjoy the moment. Heat radiates from where his fingers touch you, heat that only gets stronger when it reaches your face and between your legs. He finds one particularly knotted muscle and you can’t help but groan your pleasure as his thumb circles the spot. His chuckled reply tugs you back to your senses and you quickly shrug his hands off you. Thank the Gods you have your back to him so he can’t see your positively flushed face. You quickly get back to tapping away at the keyboard, but your hands are shaking so badly from the intimacy, you struggle to hit the correct keys. “You sure you got that, Sweetheart?” The computer indignantly beeps at your clumsy fingers. “Says the man who has trashed enough computers to practically bankrupt Kano.” Your hands continue to shake and your thwarted desire swerves into anger. “I’ve made you mad.” “I haven’t been out in FOREVER, and just as I’m about to go out, YOU go break your computer. AGAIN!” “Ain’t my fault your boyfriend doesn’t take you out.” Why did he sound almost happy about that? Hang on… You spin around to face him. “What boyfriend?” “You know, the dwarf.” “The.. what?” “Your boyfriend, the hairy dwarf.” He folds his arms, and shifts his weight to one hip. He doesn’t seem too happy talking about this mystery boyfriend, whoever they are. “Is this some sort of joke?” You honestly have no idea what he means. Maybe he’s drunk or Kabal has told him this for a laugh? “I don’t think so?” One of his eyebrows rises in puzzlement. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t have a hairy dwarf boyf.. why do you think I have a hairy dwarf boyfriend?” Maybe you have a secret boyfriend so secret you don’t actually know you are in fact dating him? Piotr, who runs a very seedy strip club in the seedier part of the city, is a dwarf, (and you only know him because Kano is friendly with him, he’s a bit scary), but he’s balding. Who does Erron think you are dating? “You said you did. You know, you were talking about him being all small and his hair got everyw…. He’s a cat ain’t he.” Erron has the good grace to look embarrassed at his idiocy. “Obviously.” Is Kabal recording this? This is ridiculous. “Shit.” “Yup.” “Then.. uh.. you should go catch up with Kabal and Tremor.” “I still have your computer to fix.” This was going to be such an awkward few hours. Sitting in the office in silence because the pair of you are idiots. “I can do that.” He throws out a warm smile. “Really. The man who can’t even use a mouse without breaking it, can fix this mess?” You can’t help but roll your eyes. If he even so much as looks at the computer it will probably catch fire. “I maybe exaggerated my lack of skills.” His smile wavers, and slides from warm to worried. You are going to kill him if this was going where you suspect it is going. “I maybe might’ve deliberately caused the error.” He holds up his hands in surrender. Yup, you’re definitely going to have to kill him. “I maybe did some classes a few years back when I was at a loose end.” “…… I’m going to kill you!” “How ‘bout I make it up to you? I take you out for dinner, there’s this patisserie we can go afterwards for the best pastries in Moscow. Hell, you wanna watch that film, let’s go.” His eyes plead with you not to hate him, but right now, you really do. “I have a hairy dwarf who’ll be better company, thank you.” That he was possibly asking you out and that he wanted to actually go out on a date wasn’t registering. All you can think of is the waste of time and how humiliated you feel. Everyone probably knows and has laughed at how utterly clueless you are. Kano is going to fire you for being shit at your job - after he finishes laughing. “Heyyy, Sweetheart. I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend time with you.” He really does sound sorry. His eyes go all soft and warm and apologetic and Gods, he is beautiful and you really do want to believe him. “You really thought it was accidental?” He tries to hide a smile and can’t stop one eyebrow from raising quizzically at the thought that you’ve been so utterly clueless. “Well… you’re… there weren’t computers around when you were young…younger, I’m just an idiot aren’t I?” The-all-too brief warmth and fuzziness from thinking maybe there might actually be something there between you dissolves back into embarrassment from being tricked so easily. You grab your coat and bag and leave the office whilst Erron stares after you.

Chapter 2

The flat is dark and cold when you finally get home. The bus had been late, and Russia in autumn is hardly the most fun time of year to be kept waiting at a bus stop. Fur-lined boots and a thick fuzzy coat are nice enough, but do little to keep your body from freezing outside in the colder months. Still, the flat has semi-decent heating, and a thick blanket and a fuzzy cat happily purring on your knee whilst you drink coffee soon has you feeling a bit warmer.

Thinking back to earlier you have to admit you’d have liked a boyfriend, and no matter how humiliating what had happened earlier was, you still wish that this boyfriend was Erron. Your cat, Bob, was great company, and he would never play mean tricks on you, but great company as Bob was, he didn’t keep you quite as warm and quite as tingly as Erron possibly could. Sensing your traitorous thoughts, Bob nudges at your hand with his fluffy head to demand attention, purring happily when you indulge him and tickle under his chin. You give him a kiss on his fuzzy little head as way of an apology for being so utterly traitorous. Soon your thoughts switch to worries that you’ll be fired once Kano finds out about Erron’s trickery. Actually, Kano doesn’t fire people; he has them eaten by pigs or whatever it is that scary gangster criminal people do. Who will look after Bob? Your bottom lip quivers as you think about Bob, all alone in the dark, unable to open his tins of cat food without opposable thumbs, meowing sadly for someone to change his kitty litter. A moment later you force a smile. No more feeling sorry for yourself! You aren’t some pathetic pushover, this means war! You won’t just put a mouse in Erron’s drawer, you’ll put three rats in there and upload his screams to Youtube. He’ll find 30 chickens in his flat and you’ll steal his lunch every single day. You’ll swap all of his guns for water pistols and laugh when he cries about it. A loud buzzing from the doorbell pulls you from your thoughts of revenge. It’s probably Kano and some hungry pigs, so you take three deep breaths to prepare yourself. Scooping up Bob and tiptoeing to the door, you peep through the spyhole to instead see Erron waving at the spyhole. Muttering various threats, you open the door and give him your best pout. “Cute kitty.” He holds out a pink box with gold cyrillic lettering across the top. “I’ve come to apologise.” You keep up your pout and take the box with your free hand, then try to nudge the door closed with your hip. Erron laughs and strides into the flat, giving Bob a quick tickle on the head. 3 minutes later and Erron has taken over the kitchen. He has his own coffee, has eaten two of the amazing pastries he’d brought and Bob is his new best friend. The cat winds around Erron’s feet, meowing for attention, steadfastly refusing to stop even when you refill his food bowl. Traitorous beast! This must be payback for earlier. “You don’t like pastries, Sweetheart? I can go get somethin’ different?” The bastard throws you a smile that would normally have your knickers falling down, but you’re still feeling sorry for yourself, and Erron-Bloody-Black is not going to get off this easily. You have to keep up the pout so he won’t suspect your revenge plans. You shake your head and turn to tidy the counter-top behind you, thinking hard about a plan of attack. How about stealing his hats and replacing them with hats identical in every way except the hats were all just slightly too big? Your plan of attack is quickly ruined when strong hands find your hips and give them a gentle squeeze. Your spine tightens, and you hope your gasp of pleasure wasn’t audible. Lips brush your ear, and when he speaks, his warm breath sends a huge shiver right through you. “Please, Sweetheart, I’m sorry, don’t hate me. I promise, I’ll make it up to you. You want me on mah knees?” The thought of Erron on his knees is enough to make you shiver again. A hard pulse hits you right between the legs. Oh fuck, that was unfair. “It’ll take more than that.” “More cake?” He presses a very soft kiss just below your ear. Another pulse hits. Your legs quiver but you just about manage to keep yourself upright. Your knickers are going to evaporate. “You didn’t give me a chance to eat them.” Your voice is surprisingly steady but you chew on your lip to stop any pathetic noises escaping, just in case. “Dinner, every night for a week. We’ll get dressed up all fancy and go to the ballet, then spend the weekend in bed.” His voice is lower now, rougher. Another kiss sends more shivers through you, nerve endings sparking. Your fingers grab onto the countertop to stop you slithering to the floor. “That’s pretty presumptuous of you.” “You don’t wanna spend the weekend in bed with me?” Your stunned silence is answered by low laughter and him pressing a kiss to your neck. The tip of his tongue teases your tingling skin, and this time you can’t stifle your reaction. Erron takes your whimper as an invitation to slide his hands to your thighs and tug up your dress so his fingers can find bare skin. You lean back against him, his warmth quickly bleeding into you. More prickles of heat fizz through your nerves and aim straight for your core. Strong fingers dig into your thighs as he tugs your dress higher, inch by inch. Warm lips pepper kisses down your neck to your shoulders, lightly dancing his tongue over your increasingly sensitive skin, chuckling to himself with your every moan and whimper. You grip the edge of the counter harder and let your head roll to the side to give him more of you. Each touch from his mouth sends sparks down your spine and you can feel a slickness between your legs. Oh fuck... “This ok, Sweetheart?” Your reply is a mere mumble but he still gives you a moment to decline his touches, his mouth and fingers still upon you. You quickly force a “Yes, please”, and are rewarded by fingers sliding to your underwear, skimming so gently over the silken fabric to tease you. You whine at being denied his fingers and receive a gentle bite to your shoulder in reply. Then he’s gone. Your dress slithers back down to cover your thighs with you almost doing the same and slithering to the floor. You turn and watch him stride through the open door into your bedroom. Luckily he can’t see how your face scrunches into a desperate pout from being denied. “You comin’, Darlin’?” Your reply of “Well I would have been” is mumbled through gritted teeth as you trot after him, wishing you have even an ounce of self-control. He sits himself on the edge of your bed, reaching out to a hand, tugging you to sit on his lap, your legs straddling his as you face him. His large strong hands cup your face, and with a smile he presses the softest of kisses to your mouth. He waits for you to respond, then kisses you again once you kiss him back, a little harder and a little longer this time. His thumbs brush your face, then his hands are holding you close to him, close enough to feel both his warmth and his heart pounding as hard as your own. He is intoxicating, his heat, his mouth, his hands, and you want him more than anything. Your fingers find his face, stroking over his stubble prickled cheeks to learn how he feels, your touch light, nervous at finally being able to indulge yourself. He smiles at your touches and pulls you harder against him so you can feel his burgeoning hardness through his jeans, his smile widening when you wriggle to feel him, delighting in feeling his arousal because of you and enjoying your own arousal demanding attention. Your skin prickles with building desire and impulsively your hands leave his face to tug your dress up and off. He kisses you again, unbuttoning his shirt between every press of his lips to yours. His hands are then all over you, your back, your ass, stroking your skin, teasing you with the gentlest of touches then squeezing you hard enough to make you gasp between your contented sighs. His mouth moves from your lips to your neck, his teeth and tongue teasing louder gasps of delight from your kiss reddened lips. Your fingers stroke through his hair then roam over his chest and back, then moving over his thickly muscled arms, learning just how he feels. Erron murmurs happily into your ear and against your neck, and his fingers dig tighter into your ass, moving you against his groin, becoming more and more desperate to feel you. He tugs at your bra and when no objection is made, it joins the pile of clothing on the floor. He growls into your neck in approval at your breasts being free, and using the lightest of touches, traces the back of his fingers around the swell of your breasts and over your hard, sensitive nipples. Erron chuckles breathily at your whimpers and how you shiver from his touches, your need building as you grind down against his hardening dick encased in his jeans. Every touch of his mouth and fingers goes straight to your cunt and fuck, if he doesn’t fuck you soon, you’ll explode from the building pressure. Your fingers go for his waistband and fumble at the buttons with sweaty and shaking fingers. Erron drags his attention from your chest to watch you struggle with the stubborn fastenings. “You’re an eager one, Sweetheart.” “It’s your fault.” “Yeah, I guess it is.” He cocks an eyebrow, lifts you off his lap and lays you on the bed. Said eyebrow raises even higher when you wriggle out of your knickers and toss them aside, but it’s in jest, and he takes a long moment to gaze appreciatively at you, his smile genuine, warm and tinged deeply with desire. He tugs off his jeans and underwear with ease and tosses them to join the clothes pile, and then he’s on you. His tongue and lips find your breasts, his teasing your nipples harder ever so gently with his teeth has you tugging at his hair. You feel the graze of fingers trail down your body to your thighs that then grip you tightly enough to leave marks you’ll feel for the next few days. His long, strong fingers slide between your legs, moving them apart to finally reach your cunt. Again his touch is so light and gentle, a finger brushes over your folds before dipping between them. His thumb searches for your clit, circling around the sensitive bud as his fingers find your opening. He kisses you again, murmuring between the kisses, he whispers how beautiful you are to him, how he’s wanted you for all this time, how you feel, how hard you’ve made him and when he increases the pressure he pulls back to watch your eyes flutter closed and your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle your pleasure. He continues to tease your clit, using your slickness to keep his touch feather light. He watches you writhe beneath him with tightly closed eyes, your back arching and one hand tangling in your own hair as he changes the pressure of his thumb on your clit, sometimes soft, sometimes rough, sometimes so feather light you beg for him to be rougher. Your feet kick against the bedclothes, rucking them up around you both as Erron pulls more and more pleasure from you. His thumb leaves your clit and he laughs at your indigent whines, instead he slides a long finger inside you. You’re so wet and needy that your cunt accepts him easily, and you soon beg for more. With a smile he adds another finger inside you, then a third, scissoring you wider, his fingers moving easily with your arousal. You whimper up at him, voicing just how good he’s making you feel, and how you want to touch him. He kisses you when you reach out to grasp his long, thick cock, stroking him harder, feeling the velvet softness of the skin over iron hardness. Your kisses quicken and deepen, tongues entwining, teeth biting at the others lips, desire building so quickly that every touch is almost desperate. When you whisper how you want him inside you he eagerly slides his fingers from you, pushing your thighs wider apart, staring into your eyes as he first strokes his cock harder, your arousal on his fingers coating his length along with the pearls of precum that weep from the crown, then rubs himself against your folds. He pauses, taking the moment to breathe, then tormentingly slowly, he pushes himself inside your hot, wet heat. His thickness feels so good, stretching you so wide you can’t help but voice your pleasure. He groans a reply and almost tauntingly slowly, he pushes deeper, his thick cock stretching you more than his fingers could. He pauses, allowing you both to catch your breath and adjust to just how perfect the other feels. He gazes down at you with heavy-lidded eyes that shine with more than just desire, his damp hair messy, strands sticking to his forehead. Agonizingly slowly, he pushes forward, his cock stretching your cunt wider and wider as you cling to him, until he’s filled you completely. Again you kick at the bed, the sensations overwhelming you, your head light and fuzzy, your skin buzzing as sweat beads along your scalp and chest, dampening the backs of your limbs, and between where you and Erron lie against one another. Erron groans with pleasure and kisses you open mouthed, eager and lust-filled, just so happy to be with you. He tears his kiss-swollen lips from yours to take deep breaths and you stare up at him, every nerve tingles with sensation, your cunt so tight around his cock. You stroke a hand through his damp hair and whimper uncontrollably as he snaps his hips first backwards, then forwards. You nerves delight in the friction and beg for more and you’re unable to stop from begging him to fuck you, fuck you hard and fast and to fuck you now! The pace starts out so slow, his fingers digging into your hips, his mouth on yours then moving to your neck, hot breath on sweat slicked skin. Your legs wrap around him, pulling your hips upwards, angling you so he’s even deeper with each thrust, his cock making your nerves sing from the friction and the need for more. Your fingers are in his hair, tugging and stroking and you whisper and moan your delight at feeling him inside you. When neither of you can take it anymore he speeds up his thrusts, still achingly deep, are brusingly hard, your cunt so tight around him that the sensation is almost too much. Sweat rolls down the back of your legs, prickles in your hairline and down spine. Your hands are everywhere, gripping at him, holding your writhing bodies together, and slipping on his hot wet skin. The tightness in your cunt starts to radiate to your thighs and spine. Your thighs grip him tighter and you whimper your pleasure and beg for more, desperate for a release. His replies are muffled, his mouth is in the crook of your neck and when his thrusts start to quicken yet further he lifts his head to gaze down in your eyes, watching as you come undone beneath him. He whispers encouragement, delighting as your pleasure builds into a fire that overwhelms and burns, every nerve aflame and so bright. You cry out and let everything wash over you, your body writhing as Erron keeps moving inside you to prolong the feeling and let you ride out your bliss. His hands paw at your hips as he comes mere moments after you, hips thrusts jerking and stuttering, spilling deep inside you, grunting loudly with his own overwhelming pleasure. He’s heavy as he lies panting on top of you, the pair of you struggling to breath again and calm your pounding hearts. Erron chuckles breathlessly, kisses you between deep breaths, rolls first onto his back, then onto his side to face you and props himself up on one elbow. “Think I’m broken.” You snuggle up against him, reveling in the afterglow, in how your hot sweat slicked skin feels in the cool air of your apartment. “Guess I have a talent for breaking things.” He smiles. He can’t keep his eyes off you. “I hate you.” “I know.”

[seriouslyhermione]

Wanna Bet? [1/2]

Summary: After Ron insists Fred doesn't have a chance with Hermione, he decides to put money on it. The bet? Simple: Hermione must agree to go on a date with Fred before the New Year. Fred thinks it should be fairly easy to pull off--as long as Hermione doesn’t kill him when he tells her.

Warnings: Language, American writer attempting to use British slang, mild Ron bashing (necessary for the plot and not exactly ooc)

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley

Word Count: 5.5k

Request: fremione fake-dating??? maybe someone did a bet that fred couldn't date her and everyone was being mean to her bc ron is w lavender and they expected her to be w him, and fred (who has feelings for her obv) is like "not oN MY WATCH" and he's like "let's fake date so we'll get money out of this suckers" idk!!! hi hope you're well

Fred watched Hermione smile the way one might watch a child fall off a training broom after trying to mount it for the first time: fond, pitying, just the slightest bit amused.

None of the others noticed it, the way her eyes didn’t light up in joy or how her smile was a bit too stiff to be natural. But he did. Likely because he had been the only one to elicit a real, genuine grin out of the witch in the past six months or so. He spent enough time staring at her, he should certainly know the difference by now, even if no one else did.

Harry, he would give a pass to as he had his hands a bit full with his godson running around the room and being forced to sit through wedding planning with Molly as Ginny only rolled her eyes in the background. Poor bloke really was stretched thin these days, and Fred knew he still made a conscious effort to reach out to Hermione and include her in his life despite it. Not noticing her silent suffering in a room filled with noisy celebrations was almost understandable, all things considered.

Ron, on the other hand, was on thin fucking ice.

He should have noticed how uncomfortable Hermione was the second he announced that Lavender Brown would be coming to their family Christmas. Should have given in when Hermione politely tried to extract herself from the event in anticipation of the unbearable awkwardness that was sure to come with attending a dinner with your ex-boyfriend, his annoying new (old) girlfriend, and said ex-boyfriend’s entire family.

But then again, Ron did have it right when he (rather untactfully) pointed out that she didn’t exactly have anyone else to spend the holiday with.

He was supposed to be the one who knew her best though, despite their (mostly) amicable break-up nine months ago. They were still friends, after all, and they were better as such anyway. But it would be uncomfortable for anyone to watch their ex-boyfriend/best friend intermittently sneak off with his new girlfriend that he just so happened to have a rather spotty history with, only to come back to engage in conversation about their other best friend’s wedding and oh Won Won, I just love the way the cream napkins set off the lavender table clothes. I do hope we can incorporate that color scheme in our wedding, never mind that they weren’t even engaged.

Fred was feeling rather nauseous himself, if he was being honest, and he had never been in a relationship with either of them. He couldn’t imagine how Hermione felt, standing with her back against the fireplace as though she were just waiting for the opportunity to make a quick escape through the Floo network. But the forced smile and uncomfortable way she was hugging herself as she clutched her wine glass in a vice grip told him enough, even if no one else could be bothered to notice.

“You’re staring again,” a voice nearly identical to his own warned from next to him, and he immediately averted his gaze. But it was too late.

“Still pining, eh Freddy?” Charlie teased, flopping down next to Fred on the sofa, throwing his arm over his shoulders.

George scoffed into his glass of firewhiskey at his other side, and any gratitude Fred held towards him for the too-late warning faded instantly. He caught Bill’s eye from where he sat in the armchair to their left, and his rather wolfish grin told him that he had noticed as well, though he kindly chose not to say anything.

Which was precisely why he was his favorite brother. After George of course.

Well, after George on a good day. Today just happened to not be.

“Of course,” George said, rolling his eyes in what could only be described as fond exasperation. “I don’t know if he could make it more obvious at this point.”

“I am not obvious,” Fred hissed, hoping they would understand and lower their damn voices before they drew even more attention to his unfortunate state of being.

That is to say, his rather inopportunely timed attraction to one Hermione Granger, of course.

“You stare at her,” George said, tone flat and uncharacteristic frown tugging at his lips. “You send her ‘trials’ from the shop like a dedicated husband would send his wife flowers. You have dinner with her once a week just to ‘catch up,’ like either of you are really that interesting—”

“Oi!”

“—and you get this look on your face whenever she laughs, like she’s made your entire day just by existing.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he sounded a bit unsure. Fred didn’t blame him. No one knew him like George did, and usually his twin had the good grace not to blab his business to anyone else. But apparently his tongue got a little too loose after three glasses of firewhiskey and four months of watching his brother pine after a certain curly-haired witch. “What he said. But you know that nothing can come of it right?”

Fred grit his teeth and ignored the sympathetic look George was pulling in an attempt to convey his own feelings on the subject. He simply sipped at his drink and hoped that his obnoxious and overly intoxicated brothers would find something else to talk about before he lost his temper.

And really, when had that been a problem before? Fred and George were both known for their laid-back and carefree demeanor, but he supposed there had always been something about Hermione Granger that got under his skin and brought out the worst (and best) in him. Thoughts of his fourth year and an attempted attack on Malfoy came to mind, and his lips twitched up without his permission as they so often did when he thought of Hermione.

He really was in trouble, despite his efforts to play it cool. But no one else needed to know that.

“Lay off him,” Bill finally cut in, taking pity on him. “He knows better, no sense in rubbing salt in the wound, yeah?”

And suddenly Percy was Fred’s favorite brother, which was a rather clear indicator of where all of the others currently ranked on his shit list.

“Do I though?” Fred couldn’t resist challenging with a mischievous smirk, if only because he was completely over this conversation and everyone telling him what he can and can’t do and who he can and can’t fancy.

“Fred,” George warned lowly, regret for having started his conversation clear on his face. “Let’s not get into this here, yeah?”

Fred inhaled deeply, ready to concede and make a quick retreat to his room before another voice cut in.

“Get into what?”

All four Weasley brothers turned their head as one to look at their youngest brother. Fred would have been amazed that he had managed to extricate himself from his lovely girlfriend who had a habit of clinging to him like an octopus in heat were he not so concerned that he had just overheard every word they had said leading up to this interruption.

“You’re not talking about ‘Mione, are you?”

Which he had, apparently.

Fred shrugged, feigning indifference even as his heart started beating uncomfortably fast in his chest.

George, ever faithful to his twin, downed the rest of his (rather full) glass of firewhiskey and used the subsequent burning of his throat as an excuse not to respond.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably and looked at a particularly fascinating wall across the room, far away from Ron’s expectant eyes and Hermione’s completely oblivious form, still reclined against the fireplace.

Bill got up and walked away without a word. Fred had always suspected he was the smartest of them all.

“You are!” Ron exclaimed, and Fred braced for the impact of his anger, fingers twitching against his wand in anticipation of casting a silencing charm before he could cause a scene. But then Ron was laughing, and Fred almost wished he would yell at him instead.

“C’mon mate,” Ron chortled, falling gracelessly into the seat Bill had vacated. “Hermione? You can’t be serious!”

“Careful there, Won Won,” George cautioned when Fred only raised a brow in a bid to keep things from escalating and catching the attention of a certain witch. “We haven’t questioned your current… romantic interests. You would do well to return the favor.”

Ron snorted and Fred felt his temper rise in kind.

“Relax, I’m not trying to start anything. Just surprised is all,” Ron answered, voice a bit calmer, though the amusement was still clear on his face. Fred knew that he really had gotten a better handle on his temper after the war, but he suspected his laidback attitude had less to do with self-control and more to do with a complete lack of concern. He tried not to be offended by the implication.

“I mean, really. Hermione?” Ron said again, as though just repeating her name would make Fred realize how hopeless it was. As though he didn’t already know. “I couldn’t make it work with her, and we’ve certainly got more in common than the two of you would. It just doesn’t make sense.”

Try as he might, Fred was officially offended. And when Fred was offended (and admittedly, slightly inebriated), he tended to make poor decisions.

“Oh really? Care to make a wager?”

Ron scoffed, George paled, Charlie choked on his drink, and Bill circled back around to listen in at a careful distance. Fred didn’t care. Ron was being a git—to both him and Hermione—and if he had to do something that was extremely likely to blow up in his face to make a point well… no one had ever accused him of making sensible decisions, had they?

“A wager? What are you on about now?”

“Well, Won Won, you just implied that Hermione would never date me,” Fred answered, speaking slowly in the way he knew made Ron feel like a bit of an idiot. Which he often was. “I think you’re wrong. Are you willing to put money on it?”

“Fred,” George cut in as Ron’s face turned an alarming shade of red, “I don’t think this is a great idea. Maybe just let it go, yeah?”

For the briefest moment, Fred considered taking his twin’s advice. He was, after all, the closest thing Fred had to a voice of reason.

But then, from across the room, Fred heard a simpering voice—

“Oh Hermione, didn’t you bring someone with you? You look so lonely over there all by yourself!”

—and he knew that this had to stop, one way or another.

“No, George, I don’t think I will let this go. If Ron is so sure that Hermione would never be interested in me, then what does he have to lose by putting a little money on it?”

Of course, Fred was smart enough to know that there was plenty of things wrong with making Hermione the object of a bet, but he also knew that he would deal with that after he wiped that smug look off of Ron’s face.

And if the fierce frown on his bright red face was anything to go by, Fred had already succeeded there.

“Alright, fine,” Ron seethed, “if you want to be a git about it, sure. Twenty galleons says you can’t get Hermione to go on a date with you by the end of the year. Deal?”

Fred knew he should refuse—twenty galleons was a lot of money, New Year’s Eve was only six days away, Hermione would kill him when she found out—but what he said was, “Done.”

And then he stood up and strode over to the woman of his dreams without another word and, realistically speaking, without a hope in the world of getting her to agree to a date with him once she knew what he’d done.

.:.

The holidays were the hardest, Hermione knew.

At first, it was just the reminder of all they had lost during the war. Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Moody, even Snape. Her parents were the worst though. Despite the fact they were both alive and perfectly happy in Australia, it stung to know that they would never know they once had a daughter who had to erase their memories of her to keep them safe.

(And, if she were being honest, that’s what hurt the most—knowing they were so happy without her, even if she was relieved that they were able to live safely without knowledge of her world.)

But it also reminded them of what they still had but very nearly lost.

Fred, who was in a coma for weeks before finally waking up after the wall collapsed on him.

Lavender, who Greyback had mauled, but had thankfully been ripped away by Hermione’s hex before he could do any fatal damage.

Which brought her to why holidays still sucked, three years after the war and nearly a year after her split from Ron.

“Oh Won Won, come over quick! There’s mistletoe in the kitchen that I didn’t notice before!”

Hermione was over Ron, she really was. After two years of giving it their best, their relationship never did feel as comfortable as it had when they were just friends: they fought too much and shared so little in common interests once defeating Voldemort was taken out of the equation. He could never follow her when she talked about her workday or projects she was working on, and it only served to make him feel stupid and lash out.

They really just weren’t suited for domestic bliss, something they had both finally admitted and come to terms with. Luckily, they were still friends thanks to this mutual understanding.

However, there were certainly downsides to remaining close friends with your ex, and one of those happened to be sitting through an awkward holiday celebration where said ex swapped a concerning amount of spit and wedding talk with a woman she had once been terribly jealous of.

Now, it was just annoying and uncomfortable, watching a family she considered her own in so many ways fawn over Ron’s new girlfriend and leave her to hold up the fireplace all on her own without so much as a “How have you been Hermione?”.

It was preferable to conversation though, as whenever she did engage it was always met with comments like oh Hermione, you really would have made such a beautiful bride, but I suppose it’s all for the best now or Hermione, did you know that Lavender works in the Ministry as well? She’s already been promoted after a year! Isn’t that just so impressive.

She knew they (as in Molly Weasley specifically of course) meant well, but it still stung to be treated like old news when she had been assured (and perhaps foolishly believed) that she was still family, with or without her relationship to Ron.

She was beginning to think staying at home alone would have been preferable after all.

“Hello, Ms. Granger.”

Her head whipped around, shocked out of her silent self-pitying by Fred Weasley’s smooth baritone and warmth as he sidled up next to her, firewhiskey clutched tight in one hand while the other draped itself across her shoulder. Her lips twitched up without prompting, perhaps the first genuine smile of the night, even if it was a rather pathetic one.

“Fred,” she greeted in return. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Not really,” he answered in that casual way of his even though his eyes appeared to be piercing straight to her soul in their intensity. “Just came away from a rather unfortunate conversation with Ickle Ronniekins.”

Hermione glanced over Fred’s shoulder, unconsciously looking for the spot across the living room where she had been stealing occasional glances at Fred (and the rest of the Weasley brothers of course) throughout the night. What she found were three Weasley men staring at them in intense captivation and a fourth with seething irritation, and she winced in sympathy. She couldn’t imagine what sort of “unfortunate conversation” resulted in a stare down like this, but she knows that she feels bad for Fred for being on the receiving end of it. Even if he did probably deserve it.

“Oh Merlin,” she sighed in what can only be described as fond exasperation—a common occurrence since she started to become better acquainted with Fred. “What have you done now?”

“Something I probably shouldn’t have,” he replied before draining the rest of his firewhiskey in one gulp and turning to face her more fully, completely obscuring her view of their audience.

She only raised a single eyebrow, a practiced move that typically had Harry and Ron spilling their guts but only served to make Fred’s lips twitch in amusement.

Though he did appear almost… nervous. A strange look for Fred Weasley, and one that made her a little apprehensive of what exactly he did do. But in the blink of an eye, the look was gone and suddenly his face was much closer to her own.

“In the spirit of honesty,” he murmured, the whisper of his words brushed against the shell of her ear, the warmth of his breath on her skin and the smell of the Firewhiskey on his tongue causing an involuntary shiver to run down her spine, “I need to tell you something.”

“Oh?” she returned, trying to keep an air of calm unaffectedness despite the goosebumps that started where his lips had brushed against her skin and spread down her neck like wildfire. She sipped on her wine and stared at the Christmas tree that she could just see over Fred’s broad shoulder, pretending that her attention wasn’t entirely focused on Fred and the way his lips were still so close to her now hyper-sensitive skin. And if his responding chuckle was any indication, he very well knew it.

“Mmmm,” he hummed, the sound and vibration causing a flush to rise to her cheeks in a way she hoped could be attributed to the drink in her hand and not the man draped across her. Honestly, how had no one noticed that he was practically absorbing her into his own body at this point? Were they all really that oblivious or was she simply imagining things? Or were the four Weasley brothers still just watching this rather strange show in silent fascination, placing bets on what would happen next? “But I can’t tell you here.”

He pulled back abruptly, and Hermione instantly felt bereft of his heat, though the feeling was immediately chased away by her annoyance at that fact. It took her a moment to even recall what it was he was saying (which was, admittedly, not much).

“And why not?” she shot back once she remembered that this was supposed to be a normal conversation with her ex-boyfriend’s brother, not an exhibition.

Fred’s grin was decidedly predatory, and Hermione tried her best to not relish in that fact but Merlin, had he always been this attractive, or was the wine getting to her?

“A couple reasons. But the one that really matters right now is that it’ll really piss Ron off if we disappear upstairs together. So, what do you say?”

Hermione knew it was petty of her to get a little thrill out of causing one of her oldest friends any sort of irritation, but after the last four hours of standing by the fireplace with only backhanded compliments or outright insults for company, well… her answer was fairly obvious.

“Your room then?”

Fred’s grin only widened as she polished off the last of her wine, set the glass on the mantle, and led the way up the stairs.

If she had glanced back, she would have seen four identical looks of shock on Bill, Charlie, George, and Ron’s faces as she silently reached back and snatched up Fred’s hand on the way.

As it was, she kept her head held high and shoulders thrown back as she tugged Fred up the stairs, trying desperately to appear calm and collected despite the nerves that were tying her stomach in knots as she considered just what it was Fred wanted to confess to her.

.:.

“So,” Hermione starts as soon as Fred has closed the door behind them, “What do you need to tell me?”

If Fred had looked slightly nervous before, he looks positively anxious now. All the smug amusement that had previously dominated his face was gone, and he stood with his arms crossed and back against the door, almost as far from where she stood in the center of the room as he could get. The change was off putting, to say the least.

She frowned when he didn’t say anything for a long moment. “Is everything all right, Fred?”

His lips pursed and for a moment she thought he really wasn’t going to tell her what this was all about, but then he said, “I’m not sure yet.  I have a feeling you’re about to be very angry with me,” and she was both relieved and anxious all at once.

“Well,” she said after a moment, “best to just get it over with then.”

Fred looked like he didn’t agree with her, but he ploughed on regardless. “I made a bet with Ron.” When she didn’t respond in the pregnant pause that followed, he continued. “It involved you.”

“Involved me how, exactly?” Hermione cut in when it seemed like he really was going to leave it there. And if her voice came out sharper than she intended, Fred didn’t appear to notice, too caught up in trying to figure out how to say whatever it was he had to say.

He took a deep breath, then, and let it out in a rush of air: “I bet him twenty galleons that I could get you to go on a date with me by the end of the year.”

Whatever Hermione was expecting to hear, it certainly wasn’t that and all she could think to say in response was a startled “What?”

And though she had to pull the truth out of Fred sentence by sentence before, the words came pouring out of him now.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know it was a stupid thing to do. But I was just so tired of Ron acting like he’s the authority on you and telling me what I could and couldn’t do. As though he really knows you that well, considering he practically forced you into attending a party you knew would be uncomfortable and then does absolutely nothing to make it easier on you. The bloke is completely oblivious ninety percent of the time, but anytime I try to talk to you or ‘take your side,’ suddenly he’s there and telling me to back off. Like he’s the only one that has a right to show any interest in you despite the fact you haven’t been in a relationship for nearly a year and you’ve barely even seen each other since. Not that I blame you of course. I’d rather not see him myself, especially when he’s constantly attached at the hip with that whiny little girlfriend of his. I mean, I suppose she wouldn’t be that bad if she could just stop talking about herself or her dear Won Won for more than a bloody minute. Honestly, George and I thought you and Ginny were exaggerating your sixth year, but obviously—”

“Fred Weasley,” Hermione finally cut it once it was clear this confession had gone off the rails completely. “Are you rambling?”

“No,” Fred shot back defensively, followed by a less sure, “well, maybe.”

“Definitely,” she corrected, grinning widely.

She was somehow thoroughly amused rather than irritated as she knew she should be. Being the object of a bet between her ex and his brother should have infuriated her completely. Especially when it concerned her love life, something neither of them had any right to even discuss.

But this was Fred. Fred who was kind to her when everyone else in the Weasley family (save Ginny) was too afraid of Molly’s wrath to even speak to her during the first month after her break up with Ron. Fred who sent her “care packages” that consisted mostly of WWW products that she would never use but appreciated for their brilliance. Fred who went out of his way to make her feel included during the few Weasley family meals she still attended. Fred who was often on the receiving end of Ron’s glare as a result. Fred who made her smile for the first time that night. Fred who touched her so lightly but incited a warmth in her that she hadn’t felt in ages. Fred who was so much taller than her, and warmhearted and funny and clever and brilliant and—

Dear God, did she have a crush on Fred Weasley?

Well… that changed things a bit.

She bit her lip, suddenly unsure of whether the plan forming in her mind was wise or not. Hermione really wasn’t one to rush into things or make a decision without thinking through all of the possible outcomes, but well… Fred was still staring at her with cautious, heartbreaking brown eyes and he looked so earnest and Ron really was being a bit of a git.

And if even one outcome resulted in her and Fred being happy—possibly even together—then she was willing to risk it. She was a Gryffindor after all.

“Twenty galleons you say?”

Fred blinked at her as though he didn’t understand. “Uh, yeah. Twenty galleons. That was what we bet.”

“Seems like a lot,” she teased, smile slowly forming on her lips as she became more confident in her decision.  “You must be very invested in my love life.”

Fred narrowed his eyes at her, entirely aware that she was taking the mickey out of him. But he answered her with a seriousness that sobered her quickly. “You could say that.”

“Well…” she swallowed, unsure of how to take that but hoping it meant what she thought it did. “I assume we’d split it then?”

“Of course,” Fred answered, though he suddenly looked uncertain, as though he couldn’t possibly imagine where she was taking this. “It’s only fair.”

“Then are you free tomorrow?”

“Am I—what?”

Hermione’s smile only grew, finding Fred’s confusion endearing. She had never seen him so shaken before, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

“Are you free? For our date? I know it’s short notice, but he didn’t exactly give us much time to work with, and the sooner the better.”

This may have had something to do with her fear that she would overthink it if given more time, but he didn’t need to know that.  

“You’re serious?” Fred asked, looking like he had just been told Percy was quitting his job at the Ministry to become a pole dancer. “You’re not mad at me? You’re actually agreeing to go on a date with me?”

“Well, first of all, I’m not agreeing to do anything. I’m asking you to go on a date with me—a distinction you may want to make clear to Ronald,” Hermione corrected, smile turning less teasing and more sly. “And while I do wish you would have consulted me first, I understand that that wasn’t exactly an option at the time. And… I appreciate your honesty. You didn’t have to be up front with me—you could have just offered to take me on a date and I would have had no idea it was with ulterior intentions. So… yes, Fred Weasley. I would like to go on a date with you. If not for the ten galleons, then to see the look on Ronald’s face when I tell him.”

“And for my stimulating company, of course?” Fred waggled his eyebrows, looking much more like himself than he did only moments ago. Hermione’s heart warmed at the sight, pleased that she had that effect on him.

“But of course,” Hermione practically purred, her voice taking on a quality it had never possessed before. One that made Fred’s face flush and his heart beat erratically. “And make no mistake, Fred Weasley. Even if we’re going on this date to win a bet and prove your brother wrong, it will be a real one. I expect you to plan something nice, all right?”

“I can do that,” Fred agreed easily, grin only growing. “On my honor as a wizard, it will be the best date you’ve ever been on Hermione Granger.”

Her responding grin was just as bright. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Shall we then?” Fred asked after a pause that seemed to increase the temperature of the room by about ten degrees. He opened the door wide, gesturing grandly for her to go through first. Hermione rolled her eyes but walked through without complaint. Fred’s grin only brightened.  

That is, until they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Mistletoe,” Hermione breathed as she came to a sudden, jarring stop at the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locked on the offending bit of magical flora that floated above their heads.

Fred’s gaze, however, was locked on a face nearly identical to his own, though his twin was smirking rather than glaring as Fred was. Next to him, Ron appeared ready to combust.

“I’m sorry,” Fred apologized immediately, gaze turning soft and pleading as he turned to look down at her. “I had no idea—”

“I know,” she answered, already guessing at who had moved this wonderful bit of magic to trap them at the bottom of the stairs. Normally, she would be angry that yet another choice had been made for her. But after three glasses of wine, an intense conversation with Fred, and the promise of a wonderful date tomorrow, she was feeling a bit reckless. “Might as well let them know my answer now.”

“What are you—”

She cut him off with a press of her lips to his still-open mouth, and though she had initially intended for it to be chaste, she used the opportunity to slip her tongue inside and taste him properly. His answering groan told her she had made the right decision.

It was a bit uncomfortable, as far as first kisses go. He was a step above her on the stairs, and as he was already taller than her, it meant she had to stretch up on her tiptoes and yank him down by the collar to even reach him. Not to mention she could practically feel the eyes of their friends and family boring into her back. But when Fred stepped down and tugged her closer, never breaking free of her hold on him, they really found their stride.

She had no idea how long they stood there, her fists clenched tightly in his jacket and his cinching her waist despite his overwhelming desire to bury them in her hair, their lips moving and caressing each other seamlessly; but eventually someone cleared their throat and she pulled away with a pop that would have embarrassed her if Fred weren’t currently looking at her as though she was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“Well,” Hermione said after an awkward beat of silence, turning to find that everyone in the room had stopped what they were doing to stare at them, eyes wide and mouths gaping. “It’s been lovely, but I think I’ll go home. Thanks for everything Molly, Arthur.” She nodded to his parents as she separated from him, heading directly for the Floo.

She picked up a handful of powder, ready to throw it into the fireplace, before she turned back to face him at the last second, grin mischievous. The sight nearly brought him to his knees. “Oh, and I’ll see you tomorrow Fred. What time are you picking me up?”

“Six?” he suggested, lips curving up to match hers as his family continued to watch them in a sort of stunned fascination.

“I’ll see you at six then,” she agreed before disappearing is a swirl of green flames.

Another tense silence followed her departure, and Fred took great pains to not meet the eyes of anyone in the room. If they were horrified, surprised, or disgusted, he really didn’t care to know. He had just snogged Hermione Granger senseless, and he planned on ridding this high as long as possible.

“I think I’ll head out too,” Fred decided, sparing his twin one last glance as he made his way to the fireplace. “See you at the flat, George.”

In the seconds it took him to grip the Floo powder and throw it down, the room seemed to come back to life. Molly Weasley started screaming questions at him so fast he couldn’t even begin to decipher them, Ron called out “What in the bloody hell was that?”, Charlie was applauding, Ginny was wolf whistling, but Fred didn’t care. He was already flying through the Floo Network, hoping that no one (save George) was stupid enough to follow him.

He had an important date to plan, after all. And if he had any hope of getting Hermione to agree to a second one, it had to be perfect.

Notes: This got a bit longer than I meant it to, so it's split into two parts. The second part should come later this week. Any thoughts on what our lovebirds should do on their date?

[fourletterworld]

Getting Lost - Was a Big Brother

Cody, Myself, and four of our best friends hiked the fantasy trail of Big Sur, some 7 miles up into the sky. As night approached, we tucked down off the trail into a small camping area and safely lit a fire near a stream. Here we pumped drinking water into our bottles through a filter. I remember feeling so physically tired, it was the only feeling in me. We made dinner in flame light then made our tents in spotty shadows. It was cold, and we'd fallen asleep quickly.

  The next day was crisp and beautiful. We'd made breakfast, coffee and tea and talked a while before heading out to walk off the path into the wilderness. We jumped across the creek where boulders stood out of the shallow depth. After the six of us got across my friend Bob passed out micro doses of mushrooms from a cloudy plastic bag. We chewed them up and continued walking into the trees along the creek. Nothing of note crept into my head, but I have a snapshot of looking back at my friends through the trees and seeing sunlight spill through the canopy onto the green forest floor. There was an Irish glow among the rich tree bark and moss.

  Someone mentioned that it looked like we were in an old Skittles commercial. Slow unconscious laughs built as we smiled half-lucidly at one another.   The effect began to slow some of us down until we stopped at a clearing and briefly sat. Cody and two others decided to keep hiking while I stayed with the other half.

We talked for a while and observed everything within eyeshot. I felt the stillness of a tree growing through my head. The misty sounds of nature began to strike out with colors of awareness. Suddenly I was conscious of the bird calls, and not in the ordinary way when their beauty serves as the backdrop to one of my moods. Instead, I heard their sounds as though they were strangers with first names I didn't know. They were communicating primal information with the worry of survival in their tone. They weren't having a pleasant day in the wild, they were locked in the grind of their reality. I felt sad for their consistent stress. The concern to live up to nature's expectations is so much to put on a creature. It wasn't their fault.

The plants around me gently moved in a soft breeze. Their limbs reached up to the skylight like a baby wanting its mother. They were as alive as starfish, having fixed themselves to the trunks of larger somber giants. The distant sun sat and burned like a far away look. A look that only time will snap someone out of. This sad poem is why we fall in love, I thought. It all hurts with the innocent anticipation of a loose tooth not ready to come out.

After a time of being unusually quiet in the presence of others, I crept away by myself down to the trickling stream we'd been following. In some sort of dreamy trance, I gently touched my face as I looked down into the water. There was a troubled curiosity in my tremendously large pupils. It was the little kid unwound inside of me; the one I'd twisted hard into a man.  Currents pulled at my reflection like smeared paint clinging to an image. Shards of light formed on the folds of water like cuts.  

The tired old question walked through my thoughts: "who am I?" This time, it didn't feel like the ethereal philosophical question. It was more like I was trying to make sense of the thing I saw reflecting in the water: The dark pool-eyed organic machine, the adult and the teen, the arrested development, the ill-defined aged of an angst ridden masculine spirit.

I've applied stereotypes to myself my whole life: being a punk rocker, a musician, an artist, a romantic, a good person, a drinker, and all sorts of things that maybe I'm not. They're all just lines of rope I've thrown out which I follow after to see where they might lead me. Being a big brother was something more than that. It was beyond me and rooted in the physical world. It was an anchor that'd dropped down as soon as Cody was born.

  These thoughts swam through that river until concern began to gather and pulled me back into the moment. I'd begun to feel some kind of tension pulling at the line between Cody and I. He had hiked away and was possibly too far from me, and I started to wonder if he was okay.

  "Hey guys! How long have they been gone?!" I shouted up the small ravine. "They're fine D." my friend Dave called, probably anticipating some psilocybin anxiousness. His assumption that I was paranoid was warranted, but I felt rational in my fear and knew it couldn't be articulated under scrutiny. I walked a short way in the direction the others continued hiking and looked. I didn't see anyone so I began calling Cody's name with my loud voice into the wilderness. I heard the emptiness of the hills as my voice faded through them, and a terrorizing feeling of finality landed. The fear was rooted in the possibility of never getting him back.

  What if they'd eaten more mushrooms than I had and got confused and lost? I was worried for all of them, but I was responsible for my brother. The anchor was somewhere beneath dark water and I didn't know if the rope had been torn. I began making all sorts of promises to some God that I never kept. I started to feel the knot in my throat.

  There was darkness growing in the mountains. Tall pine shadows loomed and collected over the retreating fragments of sunlight. The pleated hills began to look treacherously prosaic, as if no new word would ever come out of its ravine. It would never unearth my little brother or anything else ever again.   I called again, deep and loud, and like a miracle transmission I heard Cody faintly calling back just as loudly from somewhere off in the trees. His voice, when he yelled, sounded just like mine.

"Oh, fucking Christ, thank god", I sighed.

Moments later he'd walked through the trees. Bleach blonde hair and emerald rimmed owl eyes, smiling at the corners. Cody came to me for an instinctive hug. "I'm sorry Dust" he'd said.  He could hear the fear in my voice even at its highest threshold of volume.  

"Don't be sorry, don't be sorry," I replied as I hugged him tightly. Later, shrouded in twilight, I sat next to him at the fire. I tried to express how tangibly worried I was for him. I’d felt him extracted from my life in that moment, and how terrified that made me.

  I'd gone on longer, exhausting my point.  The mushrooms hadn't completely waned and the panic continued to play, but the cause for fear was so present it was like I had suddenly felt through the material of time. I’d somehow grasped the shape of that fucked up day that waited for me years ahead. I had no way of aligning that sort of rationale at the time, but in hindsight it’s the best way to explain the reality of that scare. It never felt like it was in my head.

  Cody listened, patient and contemplative with a lit cigarette. At some point he interjected, "Yeah, but Dust, I'm fine. Everything's okay. Everything was always okay the whole time. You were just worried over nothing".

He said this smiling, as though to model what emotion we should had both been feeling in that moment. He then leaned in and wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I took his two clasping hands with mine and closed my eyes. He saw the concern but not my fear, but I knew I had to concede in expressing my worry for him. I'd always have to learn when it was okay to get my point across and when to let life be life. I had to let go of control.

  I've always had problems with control because it eludes me. My life has always been out of my control. Not really caring to embrace my strengths and desiring my weaknesses has put huge cracks throughout my being. My self-hood is like broken up continents, and my goal is to form it all back into Pangea. I move something to the center and something else floats away. It's like I don't have room for the whole being I want to be. I fall in love, I become dependent. I find peace, I become boring. I get inspired, I become manic. I have fun, I lose my way.

  And I don't want balance. I see balance like a constant sacrifice. I want the choice to be all in, on one side or another, the good and the bad all at one time. I want the full glass now and no glass later.

  That is, I had my mind made up in this way until Cody passed. Once I lost him, these fragmented continents weren't just staid floating islands. Gravity suddenly shut off, and they lifted from their watery globe and suspended in disorientation. I'd seen all parts of myself lift from the anchor of my brother and carry out above me and into the atmosphere. Now there is no center to draw things back into, and there are some pieces leaving my weak gravitational field forever. I lay in bed afraid of this new upheaval, not knowing my feelings anymore, and watching them continue to go and go and go.

  They've been ripping away from me so consistently and slowly over this last 16 months that the pain has become ambience. My spirit has been tuned to the lowest universal frequency of heartbreak. The longest waves of sadness.

  But I keep it together. All of life is too short to let anyone else get tangled in this chaotic orbit of mine, and I think I've become just strong enough to keep it in during the day. Meanwhile this slow-moving shrapnel drifts along, finely opening new aspects of a heart I'd never known. There are things that feel possible in ways that surprise and sometimes shock me. There are days now where I get out of the shower and rub away the fog on the mirror and remember looking into the water. Now it isn't a question of who I am, but who am I becoming, and will any of this ever land again? Did the universe set my heart so it can heal in alignment or is my true nature lost in some ethereal flux?  

There's an animal body looking at me and the human has been knocked into a daze. The eyes in the coal mine sockets remind me of those prosaic hills, with the person behind the wheel having retreated inward to crippled shadowy memories. They don’t hold anything to the same beautiful standard any longer. It’s all become possible with nothing inside of myself to protect anymore. The gate has been left wide open and as I stare at my eyes I wonder if I'll ever really come back again.

[cr0wprince]

Now I’m afraid my name might be brought up though. I did some shitty things with her when we were friends. It’s been five to almost seven years (five since the last time I spoke to her and almost seven since I met her). I was 17-18 in the time I knew her and I’m very easily influenced by the people around me, but I’m ultimately responsible for my actions. I saw another ex-friend of hers brought up (not by name) and now I’m kind of scared.

I’m gonna be a little vague and my memory isn’t the best (I try to block things out as a defense mechanism), but I’m going to try to recount it, just for my own benefit. I’m not even going to name her, but will refer to her as LR. I don’t think anyone cares tbh lmao

I met her in 2014. It was probably February or March, so I was 17. We were both cosplaying Attack on Titan, very big at the time. Someone posted in a con Facebook group that they made a cosplay group for the area/con for Attack on Titan. I only had my jeans, shirt, jacket (that I made), wig, and glasses for Hanji at that time and I posted a picture, “I’m not too confident in how I look, but here’s my cosplay.” and she commented that it was a good cosplay. We went from there, started chatting, and made plans to meet at the con. She was 19 at the time, of it really matters, but we were still age appropriate friends.

The con comes by. I didn’t wear Attack on Titan the first day, felt kind of left out when we started meeting other people from the group. She’s always been a social butterfly (I think it’s an attention thing more than she actually enjoys it tbh, but I might be biased??) and I’ve been really shy about approaching people after being bullied in middle school. The next two days I wore my unfinished SNK cosplay, didn’t have the belts, but had a fun time.

She ran a panel and promised that I could be Hanji in it and let someone else be Hanji as well, and this person got more attention because she was more outgoing, which kind of bummed me out, but at 17, I was a very jealous cosplayer and would get jealous about people cosplaying the same thing as me. Not a healthy mindset, but it is what it is and you grow from it.

She had told me she was in pre-med (I’m going to remind you she’s 19 at this point, not unusual but it’s what she tells me next which is the questionable part) and that she’s going to start on the medical stuff the next year. I’m 17 and naive and don’t question it. I know now pre-med takes four years. This is an example of her lying to me/holding things in.

We continued being friends with the SNK group, had meetups at a local park, and whatever. She lamented to me about not being able to go to Colossalcon because she couldn’t afford it or something and my parents pay for cons, so I talked them into letting her stay with us. I had started cosplaying Ymir to her Christa and I did have a cry privately to LR when another girl cosplayed Ymir to another girl’s Christa because the other Christa felt left out by me being LR’s Ymir. I felt jealous they got more attention, again, not a healthy mindset, but I was 17 and convinced I was going to be a professional cosplayer. I know now it’s a bad mindset. LR took my meltdown the wrong way, which I’ll get to later.

It wasn’t long after, maybe a couple months. She had stopped hanging out with the friend I had met her with at the con, which I realize now is kind of sus, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. But anyway, a couple months later at most, she makes a post in the Facebook group that she’s been feeling left out of the SNK group. A few people from it got together to talk about it, she finds out, and I get pissed. I make a big post in the group about how they’re purposely leaving her out. I’m loyal to a fault, and sometimes it blinds me. It splits the group, they still keep together, but LR and I separate from them.

We move on to different series and start doing cosplay photos. It’s something I wanted to do for a while. She’s a little hesitant, but I hype it up and she eventually gets into it. At Otakon, she asks mentions if I’d be okay with her cosplaying Juvia (a big comfort character of mine, and one I’d failed to finish a cosplay of that con, but I’d gotten Levy done, which still worked with her Lucy) and I’m thrown off guard. I tell her no lmao. I mean really though, what would I do? But it’s important later.

I have big plans. I don’t always finish my big plans. I want to do a ton of different cosplays and she feeds into me. She finishes things while I normally don’t. I realize I shouldn’t have agreed to do so many, but also, the one’s she made aren’t unwearable? She can cosplay without me matching? But it’s something she internalizes.

We book lots of shoots. It’s fun! We don’t get the most expensive photographers (we’re 18 and 20 at the time) but it’s fun. There’s a particular photographer I wanted to work with and she books her since she’s dealing with it at this point since I have a lot of anxiety talking to people. By the time the con rolls around, my costume didn’t work out the way I wanted and my skirt is held up with safety pins. It shows in the photos, so does her back acne. She goes on a tangent on her Facebook cosplay page about how unprofessional the photographer is, how she doesn’t edit photos for anyone but her friends. I, unfortunately, share it. At that time, neither of us have a big following (I still don’t, she doesn’t really either, only 3,700 after she remade, but did have almost 10k at one point), so it doesn’t go far. The photographer and friends stick up for the photographer and it doesn’t go anywhere luckily.

I’m falling deeper into depression at this point. I’m not finishing projects I’m supposed to do with her, messages are spotty on my end. We still do a couple of cons together. The next con of the first we met at comes around, I don’t have anything done, I’m mortified. I skip a whole day. It’s in driving distance so it’s not like I was wasting a whole hotel day. She gets photos solo. It seems fine.

She messages me one day that her parents kicked her out. Something about a fight over her mom saying minimum wage workers don’t work as hard and LR snapping back. Her parents were really nice the couple of times I met them, which isn’t always indicative of how someone really is, but now I feel in my gut that there had to be something more. It feels like petty reason. She moves into her grandparents (and further selfies match that, so it seems like it had to be bad if she never went back). She messages me this and I’m thrown so off guard. Yeah, we called each other best friends. We didn’t talk to many other people as far as I knew at that point, but I had no idea what to say. It’s bad on my part, but I didn’t answer her for a week.

She didn’t message me or anything, didn’t delete me off Facebook, but vague posted me there about being there for people when they won’t be there for you, and people were hyping her up. I realized it might’ve been about me. I called her crying, terrified. Sent her messages. I don’t exactly remember what transpired, but did make up.

There was a point she told me she was dropping pre-med to become an accountant because it took a year and she wanted to focus on cosplay. Again, stupid 18yo me believed that that made sense and was like, “Oh okay!”

We went to a couple more cons, I’m pretty sure she was using me. We make plans for Youmacon, but I don’t message her for like a week in September of 2015. She asks if I’m okay (the only time) I tell her I’m doing really bad. We don’t talk until close to the con. I admit to her that I was thinking of admitting myself to the psych ward it was that bad, but though I didn’t tell her that, it’s ultimately a very hard, very personal choice. (I made it in May and it’s not an easy choice.) She tears me a new one, saying I should’ve went, that I was using her for companionship. She said she had plans to go to another con?? So the way I see it, she cared more about going to a con than anything else. She never checked in on me after I told her I was doing bad, just to take my time.

She has a new bff at this point. This is going to be so cruel, but her new friend isn’t as put together, which is fine! Cosplay is for fun! But I mention this because they get photos together. After my obsession with becoming a professional cosplayer, LR got into that mindset too. I’m so fucking sure that she used this other girl in photos to look better next to. The difference is so obvious in photos.

I make a cosplay that LR cosplayed when we were friends. I’m so proud. I haven’t finished anything in months. I cosplay a couple of things she did, but we were friends at one point, we like the same series, and there are a lot of big series. It’s bound to happen.

She vagues me on Instagram. She continues to stalk me on there (and I did her, not proud of it, but I’ll admit it). She posts things about how an ex friend had a breakdown over her having other friends (when I confided in her my jealousy over the Ymir/Christa duo), how I wouldn’t let her cosplay Juvia lmao (this still gets me. What would I do? Break your arm? You asked me on the spot and I was uncomfortable.). There was one Juvia cosplay post that I mentioned I had lost weight because while my uncle was dying, I wasn’t eating. I was helping with cleaning his house and I just wasn’t fucking eating. She took that as a jab about her because she has self image issues. There was also a big post she made how she KNEW I was cosplaying all the same things as her to make her jealous and to make her insecure, mentioning me by name even. I reported it and it got taken down.

I’d heard things through the grapevine. How she started shit in the Fate community and she was afraid of being beat up at Katsucon’s public photoshoot. How she tried to make a Love Live group, but when two girls couldn’t afford it and they would no longer have all nine, she threw a fit and cancelled the whole group. I’d also heard about her making a fuss over photos she got back when a cosplayer’s grandparent was dying. I stayed away after like a year, but a couple of people who knew me that knew I was friends with her would tell me things.

I wasn’t the best person, either. I’ll take responsibility for that. I wish I could apologize to the people I hurt while friends with her, but I no longer remember their names. I was a dumb teenager. I still get swept up in the people around me and get carried away when the people I are about are hurt. Maybe it’s something I need to work on. But, I ultimately don’t think she’s grown. I don’t think she’s gotten better. I think she’s only gotten worse over the year.

I’m not proofreading. There might be more, but it was a lot to go through, but I wanted to get it out. I hope the read more works, but I’m gonna throw on a long post warning too. If you read this, thank you, by the way. I just felt like I had to get it out.

[aminmelall]

Nostalgia vs Instagram Culture

Something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately... Is Instagram. 

More specifically, the type of culture that seems to have bubbled up around it in the past few years. It is so very big. When I was younger, Maybelline Dream Matte Mousse and spidery eyelashes were the trend, but it was mainly concentrated to secondary schools in the UK, not the entire globe. And not with the same ferocity and consequence that Instagram trends now seem to have.

The Kardashians, “fierce” brows, harsh contouring, and lip injections are now commonplace. Showing off your organic avocado on toast brunch that cost you £15 (not including your iced latte). posing in expensive gym clothes, big fake acrylic nails, makeup tutorials that make you look completely and utterly transformed from your natural look. Phones that cost over two months’ rent. As much as I see the appeal of all these things, to me, they just feel too far removed from the organic and authentic self. The totally stripped down to the basics, self. It almost makes you forget that there is an organic form of you.

When I am nostalgic, I remember washing my face with a bar of soap and a flannel, not having an entire skin care routine with over five different steps. (I still have no idea what toner is for). I remember going outside to the park, and having to go to your friends house and ask if they were coming out, rather than messaging or even texting, back when I was 11 and didn’t even have a phone. When I was younger, there was no social media. I had no concept of fashion, the only things I knew about makeup came from watching my mum put hers on before she went to work and ultimately, the only people I was exposed to were the people i went to school with, not the majority of the population of the planet. If I wanted to impress anyone, it was the kids in my class at school, not literally the entire Instagram-using world. And they were the only people I had to compare myself to.

 I know that to most people, thinking about what life used to be like is something to be snorted at. “Thank God times have changed and I learned how to do my eyebrows!”.

And sure, the beauty and fashion industry has been around for hundreds of years. Obviously before Instagram there were movies, TV shows, TV advertisements and countless magazines that were along the same vein. “These people are desirable, and you should want to be like these people, because if you are, you’ll be desirable too, and that means you’ll be happy!” But that’s not what I’m talking about right now, and is a little outdated.

 It’s 2020, and now with one billion users worldwide, Instagram is the main platform of “This is what you should want. This is what you should be.”

So many people get carried away with Instagram to the point where they dedicate almost all aspects of their lives to fitting this image of perfection that has been dictated by the culture of social media. Your makeup, your body type, the food you eat and everything you do- if you are so constantly exposed to these trends, you’ll start to believe that this is what you need to be. Everyone else has the latest iPhone, so you need one too. People are pumping their faces full of silicone and crayoning on their eyebrows and gluing plastic spikes to their fingertips, so... that’s what you should be doing too, right? These people have thousands or millions of followers. Evidently, they are what is desirable. And everybody wants to be desirable, so what do we do? 

We follow suit, and take pictures along the way, and let the world know; “Me too!! Look, I have everything I need to be attractive and acceptable to the world! Look at me!!”

 And ultimately, does it make any of us any happier? Does it further our careers, contribute to our real-life friendships and relationships in any way? Our real life is all we have. Our family, our friends and every single day we get to be alive, where we are, the city we’re in and the job we work, all of that is happening to us right now. And there are so many people wasting so much time gormlessly staring at their phones, ogling profiles of people who have the lives they wish they had, but they would have never have even known about if they just put their phones down and really looked at everything around them and saw the beauty in the here and now.

As a disclaimer, I’m not shaming anybody for liking iPhones or dip brow pomade or acrylic nails. I am not angry with the people that use these things or engage in social media. 

My main criticism is not about people indulging in these things they may enjoy, but the total disregard and complete amnesia to what it is to be a well-rounded person without those things. The notion that it’s okay to not want all of that stuff. You don’t need them. You don’t need to be anything other than what you are.

You can be a functional, desirable, and hell, even just a happy person if you decide to not wear any makeup. If you don’t want to spend a thousand pounds on a phone. You’re allowed to not want to go to the gym, ever. It’s okay to completely despise avocado on toast. It’s okay to have had the same cracked phone for the past three years, and have no intention of buying a new one because hey, if it works, it works! It’s okay to be flat chested, or chubby, or fat. It’s okay to be ugly. It’s okay to be spotty or have spot scars or be happy in the job you have right now, and to enjoy doing nothing in your spare time. You don’t need to “constantly be striving to be a better you.” You can just be you. You are enough. 

 There is nothing wrong with you for being you, just the way you are. 

Without the makeup, without the fancy clothes, without a phone, or a gym membership, or pictures of fancy food. Without your perfectly sculpted eyebrows, without your acrylic nails, or without a “themed” Instagram profile. It’s alright to just be a person that washes their face with a bar of soap. 

I’ve come to the point where I’ve reassessed the things that bring me true joy, in the here and now. I like cooking, spending time with my loved ones, reading, having a hot water bottle. If I go to the pub, I make a point to not look at my phone, and instead enjoy my drink, or food, and enjoy the buzzing ambience around me. 

It is so much easier, eventually, to enjoy your life when you’re not constantly trying to prove how fantastic your life is to a billion strangers. When you’re not trying to find something aesthetic to post, or when you’re trawling through these perfectly curated profiles and wondering why you don’t have that life.  

Spoiler alert, barely anybody actually has that life. Your life is normal, and wonderful, and has all the possibility to be filled with joy and happiness, that has nothing to do with your social media presence. 

And I really really wish more people would take that to heart, because I’m worried about the world. I’m worried about people and about the decline in communities that look after one another, I’m worried about all the people out there who base their self worth purely on what other people think of them, whether all they can think about is posting the perfect selfie, or whether they’re being cyber-bullied and it’s affecting their whole lives.

 I’m worried about the people that are missing out on their family life, their relationships, because they’re busy scrolling on their phones. One day, there will come a day where I can’t quite remember what my mum’s laugh sounds like. One day, my grandparent’s will be gone. Something terrible could happen to any of my loved ones at any moment, and I don’t want myself or anybody else to have missed out on precious interactions with their family and friends because they are so obsessed with whatever is on their phones at that time, or just in some other way preoccupied with the culture of social media.

And while I am aware that social media can be a great platform to start your own business, meet your soulmate, make friends and discover new places to go, interests, food, and you name it, I can’t help but worry that the cons outweigh the pros, and the amount we would all have to gain if we weren’t so obsessed with social media. 

Thanks for reading x

[universal-kitty]

Tell us about your PC, Aki!! They sound really cool, and I love D&D!

   [sLAMS MY HANDS ON THE TABLE] WELCOME TO a now split party, but a rad af tiefling and her even COOLER little brother.

   Meet Quinzy (and Carnon, to the left side!)!! (Art by the lovely @tiny-pastel-unicorn.)

   Quinzy is a tiefling barbarian who- much like her weapons- dances between a fine line of badass and princess. She loves her bow and flower crown, but her gladiator set, too. She’ll flirt as much as she’ll crave the fight, indulging in the bloodlust that had been encouraged by her demonic father. (A tall, blue demon my DM and bf ended up naming Avnas... Accidentally based him off of Castlevania’s Dracula, Naruto’s Madara Uchiha, and DMC’s Vergil tho, LMAO.)

   Her brother, Carnon... He’s more the sweetie of the troupe. Quinzy’s protective of him as all hell, but he’s STRONG. (Fighter class...and DM allowing him to be Stronk for the fun of it, bless him.) He can’t really read, doesn’t much like to, but he IS a little artist, drawing the group’s adventures as the days pass! Very much wants to make himself known to be his sister’s equal, too, since he doesn’t want to burden her with being weak and defenseless. (Despite the fact he has proficiency in Great weapons.....LMAO.)

   Full family story (plus art of the parents by the same artist!!) beneath the cut~!

   Meet Melita Valentina (the woman) and Avnas, the kid’s parents!! Avnas met Melita after a harsh fight with a blood hunter during a blizzard in her town. Thankfully, she had spotted him in the spotty darkness, forcing him to accept her help, healing him (with the aid of a friend’s potions), and eventually...the two falling in love.

   ...As it wasn’t quite a secret that Melita had a preference, and it certainly wasn’t in humans...!

   Quinzy was the first born... Born with wings, like her father. However, as she grew up and the teasing and harassment from the village kids got to her, she eventually ripped off her wings in an attempt to be more like them. Avnas took this as a sign of her strength, and began training her in various weaponry.

   Before too long, Carnon was born, though Avnas hadn’t been traveling for some time. He decided to leave them for a short while to fight more. Amass more power, and so he left.

   Unknown to him, however, is that Carnon’s horns had grown too soon. Deeply hurting Melita, though the pain wouldn’t become an issue until a month or two later. Her old friend’s potions kept her going for a time, but none had the power the old ones had; the one, for example, that had helped Avnas’ wound. She attempted to send Quinzy and Carnon for it, having staved off some of the ill effects of her injuries and infections... (Knowing the little boy til he was about 3.) However, when they came back?

   Melita had passed. Cold when they came back for her.

   They stuck around for a few months longer, avoiding the room her body lay in and eating up the food the best Quinzy could make of it. Only being forced to leave home when the villagers realized Melita hadn’t been seen or heard from in months and Avnas had been nowhere in sight, either. No sounds of training...

   The villagers burned their home down, Quinzy and Carnon taking their last, precious objects from home (a necklace Melita owned for Quinzy, and Carnon taking a toy his mother had altered for him; so it looked like a tiefling) before running away.

   Quinzy would make a few spare friends (in a brothel, of all places) steal food and money if it meant taking care of Carnon...and eventually, start fighting for money.

   This led her to the beginning of the campaign she started in, where the group would meet Carnon at the door to the underworld of Highwater (he wasn’t allowed down there), and meet Quinzy, the star fighter and the champion of a goblin-run fighting ring. Of course, the curiosity of new fights catches her ear...but considering a hasty shot by a guard caused Carnon harm?

   That goblin didn’t live much longer.

.:.:.

   Over my time playing as her, I got to learn a few things!!! First off... I’ll start with Her Song. The song that makes me think of her every time! Sweet but Psycho by Ava Max (and Youth by Glass Animals for Carnon).

   The energy... The “you’ll love her, but she’ll drive you crazy while you do”.... That’s Quinzy Energy. (And Youth? That’s pure “from Avnas/Quinzy to Carnon” right upfront. Right down to “feel your mother at your side / don’t you know you have my eyes?”) I have a whole WIP playlist for this family, but I’ll be real with ya.....most of it is Avnas pining music (he loved his wife; thus the comparison to Castlevania’s Dracula) and Quinzy’s erratic music tastes. Mostly because-

   Quinzy has HUGE self esteem issues. Being tiefling has always been something that’s bothered her, not that she acknowledges it any. LOTS of false bravado and ego boosting that’s just....empty, if you know her well enough. She’s hypersexual (though polite; if you’re uncomfortable by it, she won’t persist her flirting or sexual comments), but also lowkey repulsed by it....largely due to being exposed young (the brothel), her esteem issues, and events from the campaign. (Where her flirtations and attempts at getting the upper hand via seduction not only got her in trouble, but got her CHARMED by the Bad of the segment- nat 1 (her only nat 1 ever)- and got taken again.....but more forcefully and without her full control of the situation, shaking her up since the encounter.)

   All she wants to do is protect her brother, but during the events of that campaign, she ALSO found out about her dad’s cult. Which wasn’t a big idea until she saw him frail and missing his right eye. Wings gone. From what? Who knows.

   But what she does know is Carnon wouldn’t fight alongside him. Quinzy wouldn’t side with her father if it meant harming Carnon...and led to the first time she ever told him “no.” The daddy’s girl telling him no and the both of them realizing how far apart the other is for the first time in all of this mess.

   Quinzy, hoping her father would fix things.....and he’s essentially gone mad. The patient, honor-driven fighter is gone. Her father is gone and she’s lost. (A breakdown commenced for the first....I’d say 3 or 4 turns until she finally listened to Carnon and engaged, getting in two harsh hits before her attack rolls started slipping.)

   She’s still reeling from that. Last the campaign did, she was suddenly gaining feelings for the resident drow blood hunter, Jivan... The very blood hunter who’d given that wound to Avnas all those years ago. (The wound that was weakening him and driving him mad....but also the fact his wife was dead.)      (And yes, Quinzy likes them- typically- bigger than her, just as tough...older than her, and also has a preference for drow. Dunno where that came from, but she sure as hell does. Ah, on that note...... She’s pansexual.)

   Jivan was upsetting her for, well....existing. Pure, unfiltered emotion isn’t something Quinzy can quite handle. Despite the fact it’s what she used to sorely wish for. To be a badass, warrior princess and to fall in love with someone and be in love as much as Melita and Avnas were.

   A handsome drow shows up with his shit together, nose in a book a majority of the time (a nod to V from DMC5 by my bf, the DM), smooth lines, and a damn good fighter....and now she’s sick to her stomach. Warring with herself quietly. Something only Carnon sees.

   What’s left of a family, falling apart at the seams. And Quinzy, who can’t keep pulling it together by herself.

.:.:.

   WHEW, THAT WAS LONG, but um?? I hope you enjoyed reading this???? I know it’s super long, but I REALLY wanted to talk about all the stuff I keep thinking about regarding her and aaaaaaaa.........

   As a final note! I show you their dolls! They came in...a few days to a week ago from Apocalypse_Too and I adore them!! (Communication was horrible, tho.... Done quickly, but it was a NIGHTMARE to get in touch with them.) And combined with a LOVELY candle from @lemonyflicker (seriously, check them out; their stuff is SO GOOD I cannot praise this custom order I got enough), it makes for a wonderful set~!

   (Also note the lil Quinzy icon in her dice set; we were using those as our “figures” to map out placement. According to a weird, fourth wall breaking canon, Carnon drew them! That’s his art style!)

   ....Okay, ACTUAL last thing: Carnon doing art!!! This was the first page Carnon ever did for the campaign! We stan a little artist!!!!!!!

[pbwsports]

Driveways, canyons, pools: NFL players create clever workouts

A farm. A field. A canyon. A pool. Even a driveway. As NFL players wait for a return to normalcy before the 2020 regular season begins, they have had to get creative with how and where they train.

The ripple effects of these unprecedented times -- nationwide social distancing during the coronavirus pandemic and an unknown timetable for a vaccine --have altered the professional sports landscape, and the NFL is no exception.

NFL commissioner Roger Goodell authorized the reopening of all team facilities this week, in accordance with state and local regulations, although coaches and players who are not undergoing rehabilitation are prohibited from entering team buildings. While a handful of clubs took advantage of this allowance, states such as New York, New Jersey, Massachusetts, Virginia, Michigan, Illinois, Washington and California are still imposing heavier restrictions that affect a dozen team facilities.

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These inconsistent regulations have also changed the responsibilities of NFL strength trainers, who have spent time remotely assessing the workout needs of players, including their access to resources, as well as acting as liaisons for online equipment purchases. NFL teams were permitted to provide each player with up to $1,500 worth of workout equipment. Nevertheless, players have had to find inventive ways to stay in shape.

Minnesota Vikings quarterback Kirk Cousins uses his parents' driveway as his outdoor gym. New York Giants wide receiver Golden Tate mowed a track into a steep canyon near his home. Pittsburgh Steelers wide receiver James Washington designed a training regimen on his Texas farm. New Orleans Saintslinebacker Demario Davis has his personal trainers living with him. Giants linebacker Blake Martinez became the beneficiary of a state-of-the-art gym. And Cleveland Browns punter Jamie Gillan grabbed some beers and built a "grubby" garage gym.

Even though players' locations, living situations and resources differ, there's a lesson shared by all: There are no excuses.

Big-money quarterback staying with parents

The playful jab is uttered without warning, hurled from the driver's side of a passing vehicle.

"Go Pack, go!"

And in that moment of lighthearted jest, Kirk Cousins can only ignore it. He knows the stop sign in front of the house makes him a sitting duck every morning.

Four times a week, starting promptly at 9 a.m., the Vikings quarterback gathers equipment from the garage and arranges it neatly on the long, curved pavement leading from his parents' house to the sidewalk. Resting on a wooden chair is his laptop, connected by videoconference to his longtime personal trainer, Chad Cook, who is 450 miles away in Atlanta. This is a glimpse into what constitutes the 2020 NFL offseason.

2020 NFL offseason

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"I like my privacy, so being out in the driveway, on display for the whole neighborhood to see is probably less than ideal. But desperate times call for desperate measures," Cousins said with a smile during a recent ESPN interview. "If it means a guy drives by in a truck and yells, 'Go Pack, go!' at me while we're working out, then so be it."

The manicured lawns of this Orlando, Florida, suburb serve as a backdrop to Cousins' regimen and his attempt at normalcy in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic.

It's not a "home gym" by any means, Cousins concedes, but he insists he has everything he needs: a medicine ball, jump-rope, foam rollers, free weights and a football. And, the most essential tool of all: the laptop he uses to connect with Cook.

"[Every car will] see me doing my shuffles across the driveway, or my cariocas, or doing the jump-rope or different plank exercises, core work, medicine ball, lunges -- whatever it may be. And different people honk or wave, so it's kind of fun," said Cousins, who signed a two-year, $66 million extension with the Vikings in March.

Spotty Wi-Fi is a challenge when working out outdoors, but sheltering in place with his parents was by design: The nine-year veteran and his wife, Julie, now have plenty of reinforcements when it comes to taking care of their sons, Cooper, 2½, and Turner, 1.

"I kind of laugh when I talk about having two like I have 10," Cousins joked, "because compared to other guys in the league who have three, four, five, six kids, having two is not a big deal."

Dealing with this adversity has reaffirmed his commitment to his craft. It also taught him that the Public Broadcasting Service can be a football player's, as well as a father's, best friend: "'Daniel Tiger['s Neighborhood]' on PBS can be a lifesaver."

'Strict training mode' means living with trainers

The plan was to be in Nashville, Tennessee, for a month, but Demario Davis' offseason residence has become his permanent dwelling during the pandemic. His 7,500-square-foot house, purchased last offseason, is a saving grace of sorts, equipped with enough room for his wife, Tamela, and their four children under the age of 6.

And his two personal trainers.

Davis' trainers, Jose Tienda and Piankhi Gibson, typically work with him in two-to-three-week "strict training mode" spurts before heading back to their respective homes. They'll return to Nashville soon for another extended stay with Davis.

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As the 31-year-old enters his ninth NFL season -- and the final year of his contract -- he is determined not to lose ground to a youngster who might be aiming for his spot.

Mid-morning acupuncture and soft tissue work with Tienda give way to afternoon aqua training in a neighbor's pool with Gibson. Davis pauses for dinner and to help put the kids to bed. But before long, he's headed back for more body work. He crawls into bed around 12:30 or 1 a.m. on those rigorous training days.

With Louisiana still reeling from 35,316 confirmed COVID-19 cases (and 2,485 reported deaths) as of Thursday, Davis wasn't surprised Saints coach Sean Payton -- who was the first known NFL figure to test positive for the coronavirus -- announced there would not be virtual workouts, meetings or workout sessions at the team facility.

"The virtual offseason really wouldn't have fit the flow of how we operate down there," the veteran linebacker said of the Saints, who have one of the oldest rosters in the NFL. "We don't have a young team. ... He knew with our experience level, the strong leaders we have at each position, that we'd get it done as far as training."

While Davis is eager to play, he said he won't waste time guessing when the season will start.

"The pandemic don't know nothing about football season. The virus ain't just like, 'Oh, football season's coming, let me chill out,'" he said with a laugh. "So I'm going to train and stay in shape because that's just a philosophy of mine -- you stay ready at all times. But I think it's a discredit to people who are on the front lines working, and the people who are being affected by it, when we're just thinking about how fast we can get back to sports."

'Grubby little gym' becomes labor of love

The police officers approached without warning.

Jamie Gillan had been punting on a turf field almost an hour away from his Tremont, Ohio, residence, completely unaware of the state's shelter-in-place orders. With nonessential businesses closed, the Browns punter -- nicknamed "The Scottish Hammer" -- had used local fields to practice his kicking drills. That is, until he was no longer allowed.

"[The officers] were like, 'Yeah man, we want to let you punt. We love the Browns and everything, but it's just the rules,'" the Scotland-born special-teamer explained in his thick brogue.

Faced with the prospect of quarantining alone, Gillan chose to go be with family.

He made trips to the liquor store and the supermarket -- packing his truck with several bottles of bourbon for his father, "120 eggs and 16 racks of bacon" -- and then he and his German shepherd named Bear traveled seven hours to southern Maryland to stay with his parents and 19-year-old sister.

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The rural area around his parents' house affords him space to practice his booming kicks, and there's a "massive" field, owned by a friend, which Gillan uses, too. But the self-described "workout junkie" had to get creative with strength training. Soon his parents' garage became his gym.

Unable to buy equipment online because of limited inventory and "skyrocketing" prices, Gillan purchased old equipment from a local high school: barbells, bumper plates, 40-, 80- and 100-pound dumbbells and bands. He purchased rubber matting from a local tractor store.

He searched Facebook Marketplace for a squat rack, but he and his father, Colin, who is a former rugby player and member of the United Kingdom's Royal Air Force, came up with a better solution -- they would construct their own.

"We came back [from Lowe's], cracked open some beers and just started building it," Gillan said with a chuckle. Even with old, rusty weights, his "grubby little gym" was everything he needed.

Gillan said his resourcefulness was forged during four years playing at Arkansas-Pine Bluff, a historically black university. During offseasons when he and his teammates didn't have access to the gym, their surroundings became their workout room. They bench-pressed and squatted logs, they did dips and pullups on metal bars at local parks, and Gillan hopped fences to punt on neighboring fields when access to their football field was prohibited.

"One thing I notice about a lot of historically black colleges is they're very underfunded," Gillan said, stressing that he and other student-athletes had to be creative. "Maybe it got me prepared for this weird period."

State-of-the-art amenities ease the transition

Blake Martinez's father, Marc, had a master plan: purchase a plot of land 15 minutes from the family home in Tucson, Arizona, and build a facility for his son to train and live. It didn't take long for the idea to become Martinez's reality.

The linebacker thanks his father every day for his ingenuity, as well as his construction company.

The 18,000-square-foot facility -- conceptualized and built last year -- "has everything a football player would need," said Martinez, a 2016 fourth-round draft pick by the Green Bay Packers who signed a three-year, $30 million free-agent contract with the Giants in March.

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The warehouse-looking steel structure contains "a miniature version of a college weight room," a full-length basketball court, a 30-by-15-yard turf field and an outdoor sand volleyball court. It also doubles as a residence, with three bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen on the second level for him, his wife, Kristy, and their young daughter.

"It kept getting better and better as it kept getting built," Martinez said. He works out for two hours in person with his longtime trainer, Glenn Howell, four times a week.

But familiarity with his new franchise is a luxury Martinez, 26, doesn't have.

With New York and New Jersey being one of the epicenters of the coronavirus outbreak in the United States, Martinez doesn't know when he'll be able to travel to the facility or even meet members of the Giants organization for the first time.

"It's not like I've been on the team for a while and I know the guys already. So, it's been tough in that aspect, connecting with guys," he said.

Martinez said the pandemic has taught him "I literally have zero excuses not to show up the first day and make sure I'm 100 percent ready to go and help push all of the younger guys to that level if they haven't gotten there yet."

Making use of California canyons

Golden Tate's stunning San Diego views come at a price.

"I've just got to watch out for rattlesnakes," the Giants wide receiver said with a laugh.

When stay-at-home orders were issued in California in mid-March, Tate took advantage of his surroundings -- namely, the canyon his house is built on.

"It's not the best condition to be running in," admitted the 11-year NFL player, who mowed a 7-by-40-yard patch of grass on a steep incline. "But it'll suffice right now. It's better than doing nothing."

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Tate, a married father of two small kids, purchased PowerBlock dumbbells and a Jugs machine from which he catches about 100 balls a day. He bikes at home on his Peloton and uses mountain bike trails for his aerobic conditioning. But finding a flat surface for route running has been a challenge. So, too, is self-discipline.

"Over my career, I'm so used to having someone -- an instructor or the guys around me -- push me. And right now, I'm forced to push myself," said Tate, who turns 32 on Aug. 2.

The veteran receiver played through the 2011 NFL lockout, but he said the coronavirus pandemic is unlike anything he has experienced.

"I feel bad for the first-, second-, third- and fourth-round guys who are expected to come in and help the team right away, but they're not having the same opportunity to grow as a player, not getting those reps on the field," he said.

"The offseason is when you have the time to really focus on the fundamentals of the game, the bigger picture and the details of the game. And it looks like right now we're going to show up for camp -- if we show up for camp -- in the middle of the fire of trying to figure out who's going to make the team and trying to get ready for a season. That can be overwhelming."

Strengths trainers turned investigators

With their players scattered across the country, NFL strength and conditioning coaches feel more like part-time sleuths and office managers than in-person trainers.

"We kind of went more into equipment sales and trying to be a liaison to help guys get set up and make sure they're doing the right thing," said Justus Galac, now in his seventh year as the New York Jets' head strength and conditioning coach. "What we found was, guys in the Southern states and more into the Midwest had more access than our guys in the Northeast and West Coast."

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Strength trainers have been tasked with identifying what their players need from a performance standpoint to achieve their fitness goals, regardless of where they live and what resources they have access to. "Even though they might have access to a Steak 'n Shake parking lot or they might be in a third floor of an apartment," said Justin Lovett, the Los Angeles Rams' new head strength and conditioning coach.

Lovett was hired in the midst of California's coronavirus shutdown, but unlike during the 2011 lockout year, when he was on the Denver Broncos' staff, communication is permitted and has proved paramount. But there have been challenges.

"The biggest problem with the rookie class is they don't have the money that some of the older guys do," Galac said. "Not saying millions of dollars, but able to go buy equipment, pay for a trainer to take care of them, buying more food that you may normally not have to buy because the facility provides it. All those little things are adding up for these guys. And the rookies, they have no idea. And it's not their fault."

This time of year is crucial for strength staffs, not only for getting players in shape but also for getting new players up to speed with their programs. "And we've lost that," Galac said.

In fact, the Jets' weight room underwent a face-lift this offseason, complete with a new floor, turf accents and equipment. "And nobody's using it," Galac said. "It's sitting empty. The players haven't even seen it yet."

Finding space and serenity in the countryside

James Washington misses football. And, occasionally, his farm.

The 26-acre property the Steelers wide receiver purchased near his hometown of Abilene, Texas, made it easy for him to comply with social distancing rules. It also afforded him space to work out and keep in shape by way of chores. Washington, who was an agribusiness major with a concentration in farm and ranch management at Oklahoma State, finds the countryside calming. He enjoys the views of passing cars, wheat fields and cattle pastures during his eight- to 12-mile rides on his recently purchased bicycle.

His workout setup, which included an assortment of resistance bands sent by the Steelers and his high school dumbbells retrieved from his parents' house, was complete with the arrival of a Jugs machine, which he kept in the barn and carried to a flat area in one of the pastures.

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However, staving off boredom is a challenge whenever he's in Pittsburgh, a more crowded city with fewer options for keeping busy.

"When I was in Texas, I'd work out, do my virtual [team] meetings and then I'd have to find something to do cause I can't just sit in the house," Washington said last week, after he, JuJu Smith-Schuster and fellow receiver Ryan Switzer worked out in quarterback Ben Roethlisberger's home weight room. "Being on the farm really helped me a lot, because there was always something that could have been done."

Washington loves his farm so much his recent stay in Pittsburgh was short-lived. He returned to Texas on Wednesday to celebrate Memorial Day weekend with family and tend to his most recent purchase: cattle. The time away from the Steelers' facility has also given Washington time to think.

"It just doesn't feel right," he said. "Everybody feels like we should be at the facility, doing physical stuff, getting ready to go. ... Even if there's no fans, we still have to go out there and just go 110 percent, even if it would feel weird. Fans help make the game. It's really crazy to think about.

"Just being away from things, you really find out how much you miss the sport. It sucks. That's really what I figured out. That I love football." Source - ESPN