#and realising it’ll keep coming even with less effort on the consumers part

[a-tomb-with-a-view]

Forgive me if I come across as ungrateful here, ‘cause I really don’t mean to, but there’s just a small thing I wanna address.

Recently I’ve been noticing a down tick in comments that doesn’t really coincide with a down tick in engagement - because I haven’t really seen a downtick in engagement, and when I’ve asked a couple author friends, they seem to be seeing the same thing. I totally understand that the fandom is becoming harder to cling to as we get further and further from the original show, but there’s still a lot of content made in every art form, and I’m not really seeing massively less people read or kudos my stuff, and my friends have said the same.

I’m kind of at a point where the majority of my motivation is coming from servers I’m in with other authors, instead of comments from readers. That’s not to say I’m not incredibly grateful for the massive amount of engagement I’ve received since I joined the fandom, because I know I’m very lucky to have been as well received as I have, and to have so much support, but creating doesn’t just happen, and it feels kind of weird when the similar numbers of people seem to be engaging with the things that I - and people I know - put hours of time and effort, but I have no idea what the reception is anymore.

I know posts about reblogs and comments circle every so often so I don’t want to hammer on - again, I’m aware I’m really lucky to know as many authors as I do, to have had so much support from the fandom, and I’m really trying my best not to sound like a spoiled kid here - but I know people who take more care with their fics and their art and their playlists than professionals, and it’s very hard to stay motivated to keep producing that when the level of reward for that has dropped so severely.

(Yes, I know I’ve been writing more obscure shit lately, I’m taking that into account, I promise)

Anyway. This isn’t a threat to stop writing or anything, because I love writing and I love the fandom and I love my friends within the fandom, but it’s something of a reminder that people pay for content of the quality some people in this fandom have been producing relentlessly since day one, and when it comes to fan made content, creators are offering to do that work with only the request that you at least share it around and let them know you liked it.

If you made it to the end of the post, thank you, I hope this didn’t come across bitter or spoiled.

- meg xx

[kkysolo]

Separate / The Cultist

And Maker, the way it rushes through him. This feeling of complete and utter adoration, of peace, of serenity, of love . He’s never thought it possible, never thought his devils would retreat for long enough to allow him to feel something so beautifully strong, so consuming . His head tips down to rest against yours, relief flowing through every cell of him. 

A/N: Chapter Nineteen of The Cultist translated into Kylo’s perspective (with an extra scene as he prepares for the ceremony). For this lovely anon. Thank you so much for this idea, it’s entirely to your credit. I usually write in second person omniscient, and I’m not sure why the last chapter didn’t see much of Kylo’s perspective, if I’m being honest. So, here you are. Also, I was listening to Separate by PVRIS while writing this and may have shed a tear. So it goes. Please heed the ao3 tags. Also, I realise we’ve been a little inundated with The Cultist content recently. We can take a break if it’s a bit overwhelming. 

Pairing: Kylo Ren/Ben Solo/Reader (female) Setting: Modern AU, cult setting. Warnings: For this piece: memories of past suicidal ideations, separation anxiety, panic attacks, violence, emotional anguish and physical abuse (toward Kylo, not reader, and not from reader), arranged marriage, force dyad. Please see the extensive list of warnings for The Cultist over on AO3. 

Available under the cut, and here, on AO3

Kylo Ren has felt panic before.

He’s felt it at night, before he falls asleep. When he’s stuck in that purgatory between a dreamstate and reality - alone with his demons, alone with himself.

He’s felt it in his dreams, when he chases a boy, a friend, Poe. When he screams to him that he’s sorry, so sorry, that he too hates who he has become. He’s felt it when he wakes, coated slick with sweat, heaving vomit all over his cot. 

It’s a feeling he knows well. But he hasn’t felt it in a while. Not since you. 

“You can’t separate us,” he’s deferring the inevitable, this he knows. His anger won’t shield him, it never has. And when Trudgen reaches for him, Kylo retreats. It’s an act of provocation he’ll surely pay for, but they can’t take him from you. It’s the one thing, he now realises, that he’ll resist. The one order he’ll defy. The one command he’ll ignore. Because he has to. Because he can’t leave you. “I’m not leaving her.” 

But Kylo Ren is not as robust as he thinks he is. His armour built of defiance and fury has faltered, and though he sees the Knight’s approach, though he knows they’re speaking, he can’t hear them. He can’t hear anything - just the sound of his breath as it heaves and burns in his throat. It’s caustic, it hurts. The thrum of his heartbeat rackets through his ears, and he can hear the blood rushing through his own veins. He thinks, for a moment, he might be sick, that he might vomit right there in front of them, in front of you. 

His chest heaves again. He feels like he might lose his footing. It’s as though he’s trapped between panes of glass, cornered in a prism that doesn’t quite feel real. But then it shatters. You’re in front of him now, and he’s hauled back to reality with so much force that it startles him. He gulps for air, gasping harshly as you attempt to find his eyes, hidden beneath strands of sweat-dampened hair. 

“Kylo? Can you look at me?”

He meets your gaze instantly, your voice his only tie to any semblance of coherence, to any semblance of calm. The Knight’s move slightly as they watch - the twitch of arms, the tilt of a head - and each movement frightens him. He braces himself each time, expecting to be ripped from you. No, they can’t take him. He needs to feel you, needs to anchor himself to you. 

“C-can I-” “Yes,” you cut him off, and he knows that you’ve heard him, heard the pleas that circle in his mind. “Of course.” 

He grasps for you like he’s never done for anyone, or anything. He’s not even sought a blanket in the dead of winter as quickly as he reaches for you now, his hands connecting with what feels like all of you at once. Arms, shoulders, wrists. He’s never felt so much of you. A hand grabs for yours, and he cradles it to his chest - an intrinsic action that he doesn’t quite understand himself. Something flashes across your mind, then, from yours to his. An infant with a blue blanket, cradled to his tiny face, wrapped around his delicate chest. He doesn’t understand it. Nor does he have the time to question it. Not when you could be ripped from him, or him from you. 

He brings you closer to him, his other hand lays firmly on your back to ensure that you stay. Right there. With him. 

“Y-you can’t take her from me,” he manages shakily through gritted teeth. His breathing hasn’t settled, despite his best efforts to control it. “You can’t.” 

He lifts his head and stares the Knight’s down with a feigned sense of determined revolt. Because he’s faltering. They know it as much as he does. 

“Kylo,” your voice captures his immediate attention, and his eyes connect with yours. “It won’t be for long, I promise.” 

“I don’t want to,” he’s ashamed, incredibly so, of the desperation in his voice. He’s been taught, for so many years, that such whiny behaviour is weak. The actions of a frail man, and not The Chosen One. “I don’t want to be apart.” 

“I know,” you keep your voice low, calm, steady. It soothes him, somewhat. “I don’t want to either, but when you see me again, it’ll be at the ceremony. You’ve been looking forward to that, haven’t you?”

He has. 

“It won’t be for long,” you repeat. “But it will be worth it, won’t it?” 

It will. 

And Maker, the way it rushes through him. This feeling of complete and utter adoration, of peace, of serenity, of love. He’s never thought it possible, never thought his devils would retreat for long enough to allow him to feel something so beautifully strong, so consuming . His head tips down to rest against yours, relief flowing through every cell of him. 

“And you know what?” His eyes flutter open at your words. “You’ll still be with me in here,” you press into his forehead a little firmer. “Even when we’re apart.” 

Relief gushes through him again, simply at the reminder of your connection, of your bond. He pulls your hand further into his chest, squeezing it softly in recognition. But before he can speak, before he can thank you, before he can say a single word, he hears him. 

“Ren,” Cardo. The brute. “Now.”

“Cardo,” Vicrul hisses. “He’s coming.”

“He’s not, he’s still standing there. Useless, as always.” 

Cardo lunges before Kylo has a second to react, ripping you from his grasp. His hands grip tightly around your arms, and as he tosses you to the side, Kylo collides with him.

“Don’t-” He pummels against Cardo as he grapples with him. “Don’t touch her.” “I just did,” he sneers. “What are you gonna do about it, Ren?” 

Despite his thrashes, despite his violent kicks and shoves, Cardo doesn’t relent. And though Kylo knows - as he always has - that he can win this fight, he doesn’t. But unlike before, it’s less out of fear, less out of terror of the consequences of his actions, and more for you. It would ruin him if you feared him again. He brandishes what little self control he has managed to retain, stifling himself as he’s hauled from your bedroom, from his haven. From you.

He’s being hauled to the showers. He knows this, knows the walk like it’s in his muscle memory. He’s not resisting anymore. He lets his feet fall into stride with the Knight’s, keeps his appendages limp as they guide him forward. He’s not sure if it’s giving up, or if it’s simply part of his routine, part of his body’s natural reaction to being guided down these corridors. The fluorescent lights and the green mold tinted hue to the dampened walls have a hypnotic effect, sending him into a state of obedience once more. 

“I’ve already showered,” he mumbles as they shove him inside the cubicle. Kylo’s panic bubbles precariously beneath the surface, his anxious heart still beating faster than it should. 

“Not well, obviously,” Vicrul grunts. “Your hair’s covered in sweat.” 

The other Knight’s have retreated to the sinks, leaving only Vicrul with him. Cardo, though, he stands by the door. Brooding, imposing. Watching. 

“I don’t know how to do it properly,” Kylo murmurs, his voice diminished to a state so quiet he can barely hear it. “How to clean it.” 

Vicrul scrubs at his scalp with force, not paying much attention to how his nails grate through his skin, causing it to bleed. Kylo doesn’t register the pain. 

“She’ll have to teach you, then, won’t she?”

“Teach me?”

“If you let her, I’m sure she will.”

Kylo imagines your hands in his hair, how gentle they’d be in comparison to this. Because you’re always gentle with him, he thinks. Far more so than he thinks he deserves. His panic dissipates with the thought of you, of your touch. Of your good touch. He reaches to you, then. Tentatively pulling at the tethers that bind you. When he feels you, when he feels how you tug back on that string, he breathes a quiet sigh of relief. You’re still here. You’re still with him.

When they force him down into the seat, the one that faces the mirror he so dreads, he’s plagued with memories of emotions he never thought he’d surpass. Memories of hoping the blade would slip, memories of praying that his body would bleed itself dry, right there on the cracked and dirty tile. Now, he hopes it doesn’t. Because he’s not finished here, not yet. Not now that he has you. 

“Here,” Trudgen holds a selection of unfamiliar dark fabrics on a hanger. “Put these on.”

“What are they?”

Kylo reaches out to run a finger across the stiff material. Instantly, he recoils. “I don’t know,” Trudgen grunts. “But you have to wear it. It’s your ceremony outfit.” Kylo winces. “It feels strange.” 

“Just put it on.” 

So, he does. And how it itches at his skin. How it stiffens at the elbows infuriates him, and the complicated nature of the shirt is perhaps the worst of all. He struggles with the buttons. He’s never worn anything with buttons. 

“Do you know how to tie this?” Trudgen holds out a crimson tie to Vicrul. “He obviously doesn’t.”

“No,” Vicrul shakes his head. Ap’lek, Kuruk and Ushar also shake their heads in confusion. “Alright,” Trudgen sighs. “So we don’t do the tie.” “He has to wear the tie,” Ushar hisses. “You’ll get us all in trouble for incompetence.” “What’s the point in doing the tie if it’s just gonna be hanging around his neck?” Trudgen exclaims, flinging the tie at Ushar. “We’re not doing the tie.” “What’s the purpose of it?” Kylo interjects, and Ushar glowers at him. “I don’t know, but you’re supposed to wear it, and we’re supposed to dress you.” “Just leave it,” Vicrul grits. “And stop bickering, we’ll be late.”

Kylo falls silent again as he’s dragged through the corridors toward the throne room. He tugs on your bond again as he walks, and he sighs contentedly when he feels you pull back. Still here. Still with him. 

“Will she be here?” He perks up, looking to Vicrul.

“No,” he grunts. “Not yet, anyway.” “But soon?” “Soon.” 

But soon isn’t soon enough. His panic, his anger rises once again, and he fears the worst - that Snoke has tricked him, that you were simply a ploy to trigger something deep within him, that you’ll be snatched away as quickly as you were gifted to him. The room seems smaller now than ever before, as he feels the walls begin to encroach on him. Brendol sits smugly off to one-side, awaiting Snoke’s arrival. His face, his ruddy, rounded face only infuriates Kylo further. He’s hysterical, now. He roars. 

The Knights are on him in seconds. 

“Stop,” Trudgen hisses. “Stop acting like a child.” 

Kylo thrashes furiously. He’s not sure he ever was a child. 

“Armitage has just left to retrieve her,” Vicrul says calmly. “She’s coming. She’s on her way.” 

Kylo’s chest heaves as he pauses, looking up at Vicrul hopefully. 

“She’s coming?”

“She’s coming.” 

He brings himself down from the ledge he so often seems to be dancing on, the ledge between fury and losing control. 

He lets Vicrul guide him to the centre of the room, where he’s told to wait. Because you’re coming. Because you’re on your way, because he’ll get to see you- The doors swing open, and Kylo feels you before he sees you. 

Feels your presence, one he wishes he could describe in a deft manner. One he wishes he could articulate. But when he turns, when he sees you, he loses all possibility of speech at all. 

Kylo is convinced you’re made of stars. You have to be. The way you glow, the way you shine - ethereal, celestial and durable all at once. Kylo doesn’t know these words, of course. Not yet, anyway. But you teach them to him, and when he looks back on this memory, those are the words he chooses. The words that fit you best. Because when he was a boy, he couldn’t rip himself from the stars. He was pulled to them, could never divert his attention elsewhere. And now, now that you’re coming to a halt right before him, he wonders if the stars could ever compare to you.

He releases the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, shakily composing himself. 

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, and as he says it, he realises it’s the first time he’s said those words aloud. “Y-you’re so beautiful.”"

"Thank you,” you murmur, and he hopes that you feel it, how his admiration swells further and further each moment he’s around you. “You look great, too,” you smile, and Kylo blushes furiously. No one has ever said such things to him before. “I-I’ve never worn anything like this,” he mumbles, tugging at his cufflinks. “I don’t like it.” You giggle softly, and Kylo’s eyes come alive with the sound. He’ll never tire of it, he’s sure of that.

He barely registers Snoke entering the room, and is only pulled from the moment as he speaks - his tone booming through the mostly empty room. 

“Now,” his gravelly voice rips you from your moment. “Shall we begin?” Kylo has never felt excitement before, and doesn’t quite understand what it is that he’s feeling as the realisation sets in. It’s a ceremony. For you, for both of you. 

“Ren,” Snoke turns to him. “Take her hands.” 

Kylo does, though they’re trembling, and he grips your hands steadily in an attempt to calm you. He feels your anxiety, it shudders right through him, and he can’t stand it. Can’t stand the thought of you being afraid. He does something then, something he hasn’t done before. 

It will be okay.

He hopes you can hear him, hopes that you understand. Hopes that you believe him. 

We will be okay. 

Snoke speaks to regard you, and Kylo feels your irritation, your indignation, when Snoke addresses you by his branded name. Kylo recognises it, empathises with it in a strange sort of way. 

“And Kylo Ren, the Chosen One, the future heir of The First Order and the Earth itself, you’re brought here together by the pull of something cosmic. By the pull of the force. By fate. Forevermore will you be bound - through body, mind and soul. And now, by the power vested in me by the Force, by the Maker, I bind you together in matrimony,” Snoke regards you by that name once again, and Kylo feels a wave of resentment pass from you to him. “Do you accept?” 

The anxiety Kylo feels in his bones now is his, and it threatens to spill over once more, threatens to cause a calamity right here and now. He chews at his lip, and hopes, prays to the Maker that you want him, that you’ll keep him, that you’ll let him stay with you for as long as he’s alive. He’d stitch himself right into your soul, if he could. 

“I do,” you nod, squeezing lightly at his hands. He squeezes back, breathing shakily in relief. 

“Kylo Ren, do you accept?” 

“I do,” he nods vigorously, “I-I do.” 

“Very well,” Snoke grins smugly. 

Kylo knows what comes next. The panic rises again. 

“You may kiss her, Ren.”

Kylo’s brow furrows in frustration. Snoke has been over this with him, has explained to him what to do, but still, he frets. He doesn’t know how. He never once thought that he could touch another person with his mouth - though he craved it upon seeing you unexplainably, he never knew that he really could. 

You don’t have to. 

Your voice echoes through his mind, though your lips don’t move. He breathes out unevenly, swallowing thickly. 

I want to. He does. I don’t know how. 

He feels you squeeze his hands again reassuringly. 

That’s okay. 

Kylo compromises with himself, does what he thinks he can do. Something he craves, and has craved, for longer than he’d care to admit. Because since he first laid eyes on you, crumpled on the floor, it’s all his body could beg him to do. 

He leans down, and he’s aware that his face has never been so close to yours. Close enough to see every minute detail of your skin, every cell that constitutes your being. His eyes fall shut of their own accord, and his lips gently press to the skin of your cheek. It’s soft, so soft, and he leans further into the sensation. His veins feel alight with sparks of you. He never wants to be parted from your skin, from the stardust that ignites you. 

“My bride,” he murmurs against your skin. “My wife.” 

[uk-news-talking-politics]

Week in Review: Labour right to resist a rise in corporation tax

By Ian Dunt

It feels like the world turned upside down. The Conservatives are reported to be preparing for an increase in corporation tax and Labour is opposing it. It's a sentence that shouldn't make sense.

But if you peer a little closer, this isn't as strange as it seems. What we are really seeing is possible preemptive strike for an austerity agenda distorted by mischievous party political strategies.

On the face of it, a rise in corporation tax makes sense. Inequality in the UK was already at disastrous levels. The pandemic has made it worse. Many people - predominantly white collar workers - have continued working as normal, but without any of the expenditure they would usually engage in - no holidays, or restaurant meals, or commuting costs, or days out for the family. Their wealth has increased.

Others have lost their jobs, or been put on furlough with reduced pay, or been self-employed and forced into hardship. They'll have often taken out loans, or run down their savings, or gone into arrears on rent, or maxed out a credit card.

We need to address this and corporation tax offers a tempting way to do it. It is applied on profits, so we know that anyone paying it can afford to. We know that some big companies, like Amazon, have succeeded beyond their wildest dreams as a result of the pandemic, while others relying on footfall have collapsed. It makes sense to increase the taxation they face so we can redistribute money, for instance with credit for utility bills for those in need or tax cuts for those on low pay.

We shouldn't pretend that will be painless. Massive companies like Amazon are adept at hiding profits offshore to reduce their tax while many small businesses have managed to survive the pandemic through the skin of their teeth. Clobbering them with increased taxes is the last thing they need. Nevertheless, there's nothing wrong in principle in thinking of ways to claw back some of the savings made by wealthy people and businesses and using them to help those who are struggling.

But there's a problem. The corporation tax rise is not being proposed as part of an effort to reduce inequality. It is being proposed as a way of balancing the budget. When the government briefed the Sun newspaper on the plan, a source said: "Action needs to be taken now, not in November and not next year, but now. The Budget will make a start on that stabilisation. It can't go the whole way in one fiscal event but it will make a start."

In other words: If a corporation tax rise does figure in the Budget, it'll be the beginning of the austerity programme. We've known it was coming. The Treasury has been clear that it wanted to start balancing the budget for some time. Many Tories yearn to make financial responsibility a dividing line with Labour - an issue polling shows the public still don't trust the opposition on. In all likelihood, some of this will come through spending cuts. And some of it will come through tax rises.

The economic case for reining in spending and ratcheting up taxes at the moment is basically non-existent. The government can borrow at very low interest rates. It needs to keep pumping money into the economy to maintain demand and protect jobs.

The real danger point will come when the pandemic is over. We need to prevent the damage we've seen turn into permanent scars: people out of work for years, each day becoming less likely to ever work again, businesses closing and taking down the jobs of those who serviced them. The right time to pay back the debt is later, when the economy is thrumming away under its own power - not before it has had a chance to recover. We made this mistake once after the financial crash. We musn't make it all over again now.

But that seems to be Rishi Sunak's intention. Focus group research suggests many members of the public - including in Red Wall seats - are already starting to murmur the killer words that all this spending will have to be paid back sometime. This messaging worked for the Tories in two elections and it can do so again.

The decision to start this agenda with a rise in corporation tax is a politically savvy one. There is much more public support for tax rises than spending cuts. Sunak is using it as the thin end of the wedge. If opposition parties agree to it, they will have tacitly acknowledged that the government needs to start balancing the books. They will be accepting the broad outlines of the austerity narrative, with the only debate as to how to parcel out the pain.

Incredibly, the Labour left have fallen for this obvious trap. Corbyn loyalists online yesterday were outraged that Starmer opposed the rise, branding him more right wing than the Conservatives. What they are in fact doing is accepting an economic logic which runs completely contrary to their principles.

It's an astonishing sight. If they were to peer for a moment at Sunak they would surely spot what he is doing. But they apply instead a far more critical gaze to Starmer. Their growing hatred of him seems increasingly to be the way they define themselves. And yet on austerity he is pursuing precisely the principle which they have raged about for over a decade. And that, by the way, is in no small part because of them. They succeeded in shifting the Labour party to the left. But they are too consumed by tribal indignation to realise the extent of their own accomplishments.

There will come a time, maybe even not so long from now, when the economy is sufficiently strong that Britain can and should pay down its debts. When it does so, it should be through progressive tax rather than spending cuts. Corporation tax and capital gains should be part of it.

But that time isn't now. The government can spend without needing to tax. And it must do, in order to prop up demand amid an unprecedented economic crisis.

Starmer is being genuinely radical and principled by refusing to countenance a return of austerity. The left of his party should ignore the twinkling baubles Sunak is leaving for them, covered with razors on the inside. The Labour leader, for all their attacks on him, is fighting for the principles they hold.

[artificialqueens]

When Roses Bloom (Trixya) Chapter Two - Bramble

A/N: I hope updates will be kind of regular and be every Monday but some weeks might be slightly late or missed depending on workload. I really do hope people are liking this fic as it has slowly taken over my life. Enjoy!

The rest of the night is spent between forcing Trixie to make drinks, eating food and getting to know each other. They had spent around an hour talking to Trixie at the table before Shea finally got fed up by herself when the rush of customers came. Ginger and Trixie had hit it off right away, bouncing jokes – mainly targeted towards Katya, but not in malicious way and they even had her chuckling – back and forth. They learned all about Trixie’s shitty living situation and agreed immediately she’d start packing tomorrow. Ginger saw it as being a knight in shining armour and Trixie didn’t do much to deflate her ego. Katya, for the most part, sat quietly enjoying watching the dynamic between the two grow whilst getting to know more about the busty blonde.

By the end of the night Katya discovered she was the only one laughing at Trixie’s more left field jokes. On the walk back home, Katya can’t stop smiling. She doesn’t know if anyone else notices it but they don’t say anything about and she is forever grateful for it. She’s surprised with herself because of how easily she bonded with Trixie, she didn’t make friends easily, and yes, Trixie is nowhere near being her friend yet, but she wants her to be.

“See? It wasn’t that bad, look at how happy you are,” Courtney states walking beside her. Katya keeps her eyes focused on where she was going but she nods her head.

“Not at all,” Katya confesses before sighing deeply.

“I feel like everything is going to change for you, you know?” The Aussie mutters looking right ahead of her.

Katya looks at her when they stop to wait to cross the street. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” She questions raising her eyebrows.

“Changes are scary, but I hope for you that it’s great.”

When she gets home Katya realises what Courtney meant by things were going to change for her. There is an immense change in disposition within her.

She notices feelings that weren’t there in the beginning of the night, ones only present with the vivid memory of Trixie in her head. It goes from her lips to her eyes, from her wide smile to her nervous expression, and it goes from her words to her actions and all that is in between.

Katya has always been in check with her own feelings and it scares her when she doesn’t know what one of them means. This feeling? The one Trixie makes her feel? That feeling is scaring the hell out of her. Not because she doesn’t know what it means, because she’s not stupid, she knows what it potentially means. But because soon Trixie would be living with her, under the same roof 24/7. Katya has never been the best with romantic feelings, she tends to push them aside but with Trixie living here in just under 24 hours, Katya doesn’t know how she’ll manage.

The sun pours through the cracks in the blinds that Katya really needs to replace and cascades light onto her face. She can’t deny it was a nice wake up, if only it wasn’t currently seven o’clock in the morning on a Saturday. On Saturdays she normally slept until around nine before getting up and doing her usual routine. She has to shut off her alarm before it rings out later at a blaring rate and ultimately wakes Ginger up before noon, something she has learned she better not do – so now she has gotten into a habit of waking up before her alarm. Her body was used to waking up five minutes before nine but not two hours before. My morning routine will have to be adapted for today, she thinks to herself as she stretches her arms as high as she can above her head before bringing them down to her toes. She does this every morning and then afterwards she pads through to the kitchen and brews a fresh pot of coffee. She’ll pour her first of many cups of coffee and carry it back to her bedroom. As she drinks the coffee she’ll flick through a few pages of her current read. This month’s book is a lengthy autobiography by a man she’s never heard of but she picked it up because of his cool moustache. Turns out he isn’t that interesting but Katya has never not finished a book she picks up.

When her mug is empty and she can’t bear to think any longer about astrophysics she closes her book, places the book back in its place on the nightstand, and cracks her back. It’s such a bad habit, her mother always told her growing up when she’d do it after practise, but she never did listen to her mother much. Checking her phone Katya groans when she sees it’s only eight.

Swinging her legs off the bed, Katya pushes herself up, grabbing the empty mug and walks back through to the kitchen. She places the mug in the sink to be washed later and grabs an apple from the fruit bowl, something to occupy her for a little while.

Sitting on the couch crossed legged Katya switches the TV on and instantly goes to turn the sound down, not before scrunching her shoulders up and nose in disgust at the volume of the TV. She settles on a news channel, it’ll give her something to go off on a tangent about in between practises later. She occasionally takes bites from her apple as listens vaguely to whatever the people on the news are saying, by this point the TV is merely background noise to Katya as she is in deep thought. She’d probably see Trixie tonight and probably have to perform in front of her. If not when she got home from work some of Trixie’s stuff would be there probably alongside Trixie.

When the clock in the bottom left corner of the TV screen read eight-thirty Katya decided enough was enough and she’d just go to work earlier today. That’s when her usual morning routine was back in track. After discarding the apple core in the bin, Katya poured herself another cup of coffee, this time with a lot more milk and sugar. She hated black coffee, but it woke her up whatever the time was in instances like weekends, she’d find herself needing the black coffee first thing. Any cup after that was had to be to her liking, a shit ton of milk and a generous sprinkling of sugar. The amount of caffeine Katya consumed in a day was borderline unhealthy.

Raking through the almost bare breakfast cupboard Katya managed to scavenge enough cereal to survive her until she’d get her lunch at Chuck’s. She leaves Ginger a note before she leaves that they would have to go shopping tomorrow before carrying her bowl, along with her second cup of coffee, to the living room. If Ginger was awake she’d scold Katya for sitting on the couch with her breakfast instead of at the table.

Katya wasn’t the type to take too long eating breakfast, when people pointed out her speed at eating she’d explain how bored she got. Resting her bowl on the coffee table next to her mug she took another sip of her coffee. Sliding off the couch Katya landed with a soft thud on the floor. Growing up doing gymnastics her mother always made her stretch in the morning, and it was something she carried on to adulthood.

Reaching her arms above her head she brought them down to touch her toes, she flexes her toes as she tries to pull her nose as close to her knees as she can. After she has held that pose for around thirty seconds she straightens her back but keeps her legs out in front of her. She cranes her neck whilst rotating both her wrists and ankles.

Katya continues her stretching for another fifteen minutes before grabbing her dishes and walking through to the kitchen. She always liked to do her dishes before leaving to save Ginger a job later on. Two mugs, a bowl and a spoon later and Katya is heading back to her room to gather her stuff together.

Once Katya is ready to leave she slings her duffel bag over her shoulder, grabs the pack of cigarettes on her dresser along with the lighter balancing on top of it and shuts her bedroom door behind her. She isn’t sure if she’ll be here when Trixie first comes by so she decides to close the door in case she isn’t. It not like her room is messy but she has an odd attachment to her room being somewhere strictly for her, and her only. Even Ginger would rarely go in her room. Walking through the hallway Katya gives the living room the once over before straightening up one of the cushions on the couch and picks up her car keys. She has time today to fuss around with her car that is on its last legs, if she doesn’t get it to a garage soon it’ll most likely completely give out on her.

The drive to Chuck’s takes double the time it takes her to walk there and Katya knows she should have probably just walked but she was planning on killing two birds with one stone and go shopping for some things to tide them over until tomorrow. Not to mention she felt intimated by the knowledge Trixie was officially moving in on Monday and would be dropping off her stuff over the next two days. Katya needed for this time to go better than it did with Vanessa so she was determined to make the effort, buy things with Trixie in consideration, and show Ginger she is capable of doing it. But with Trixie it already seemed less daunting, like there was already a strong connection.

Walking through the back-door Katya could hear the bustling in the kitchen already taking place. The staffroom smelt faintly of coffee and cigarettes when Katya walks in. She is stuffing her duffel bag into her locker when she hears a low-whistle. Turning her head so she is looking over her shoulder she sees Shea holding a magazine. She is still fighting with her duffel bag when she sees Trixie walk into the staffroom. Whipping her head back around so she doesn’t meet Trixie’s eyes, Katya lets out a high-pitch noise as her duffel bag comes crashing down on top of her. Sighing she drops her head as she tries desperately not to run. She hears Shea’s cackle ring in her ears and can only guess she is bright red right now. A few minutes pass before she sees an arm reaching for the duffel bag and the arm picks it up off the floor. Katya lifts her head and watches as Trixie closes the locker and locks it. The taller blonde turns around with a smile on her face as she extends the hand holding the keyring. “Here you go,” she says with a light giggle. Katya can’t help the small smile that creeps onto her face as she hears the sound.

“Thanks,” Katya rushes out taking the keyring out of Trixie’s hand in more of a snatching fashion. The smaller girl quickly left before she could embarrass herself further. Maybe it wasn’t going to be easy to live with Trixie.

Walking out to the bar Katya’s eyes found Peppermint sitting with Max on the stage. Katya hurriedly walked to the stage and took the last empty stool. “Hello, Katya.” Max greets the blonde as she sat down. “Hi, Kat.” Peppermint beamed.

“Hey, guys.” Katya huffed as she pulls her legs up so her feet are resting against the bar of the stool.

“You’re here early.” Peppermint states as she looks at her watch. Katya shrugs as she picks at the tight fabric of her yoga pants. “Woke up earlier, I’m not clocked in yet,” Katya drifts off.

“Find Trixie yet?” Max asks with a kinked brow. Katya was slightly confused until she realises Max is doing the same thing Ginger normally does. She groans as she looks up at the ceiling. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“I literally ran away from her after she witnessed my duffel falling on me,” Katya sighed. “Great impression I’m making of myself.”

Peppermint and Max both share a look before laughing at Katya’s misfortune. Katya, meanwhile, just holds her head in her hands. “You two done yet?” Katya asks a few minutes of them laughing at her, this only makes them laugh slightly more.

“Sorry, it’s just it’s so you, Kat, it hurts.” Peppermint smiles once she stops laughing. Max stops just after Peppermint does.

“You should get lunch then clock in.” Max suggests before turning to his phone.

Katya nods for no one in particular as she stands up from the stool and heads to the bar where Shea is now standing. Shea has a smirk on her face when Katya approaches. “Not going to drop a bag on your head again, are you?” Shea teased as Katya took a seat on a bar stool.

“Shut up,” Katya grumbles. “Just get me my lunch.” Katya says sternly.

“Ouch, someone’s grouchy.” Shea mutters before she walks back into the kitchen. Katya plays with a napkin, tearing it up into small pieces, to pass the time until her food is ready. Around ten or so minutes must have passed before Katya hears footsteps approaching her. Looking up Katya instantly wants to hide again, of course Shea would send Trixie out with the food.

“I’m safe to leave you with this plate and you won’t drop it, right?” Trixie giggled, her teasing wasn’t like Shea’s though, she was more joking and light-hearted with her comment. Trixie pulled up the stool behind the bar and took a seat. Taking a leaf of lettuce into her mouth, Katya stares at Trixie. Great, Katya thinks as she watches Trixie lean on the bar. “So, what are you doing at work so early?”

Katya swallows her mouthful of lettuce before speaking, “I normally come in at around this time to rehearse and sound check.” Katya explains picking up her sandwich to begin eating. Trixie nods playing with the straws in the container in front of her behind the bar. The pair sit in silence while Katya eats her lunch. “So why are you here this early?”

“Shea wanted to show me what the early haul was like, plus it is easier for Ginger to come get me.” Trixie explains.

“How much are you planning on moving into the apartment today?” Katya asks as she pushes the plate to the side so she can lean on the bar.

“Hopefully most of the stuff aside from the stuff I’ll still need at the old place,” Trixie says. “Then the rest of the stuff I can just bring with me on Monday but if it’s ok, I’ll come unpack tomorrow.”

“That should be fine, we’ll be going shopping tomorrow to get some stuff so just tell Ginger anything you’ll need and we can get it,” Katya begins. “But for now, I should go clock in and start prep work for tonight.”

•

Trixie leaves not long after Katya starts. She leaves without remembering to ask for Katya’s number, the night before she was given Ginger’s number but got called back to work before she had a chance to get Katya’s. It, however, came in handy having at least Ginger’s number today so she knows when she is good to start moving in. She leaves when Ginger texts her saying she is on her way to pick her up. She says her ‘see you later’-s before clocking out and exits by the back door. Ginger shows up a few minutes later wearing a shit-eating grin on her face as she sits behind the wheel of a white van. Trixie opens the passenger side and slides in, “If I didn’t meet you yesterday I’d be concerned you were going to kidnap me with that smile on your face.”

“You should be thankful I even have this van, Katya took her car to work today.” Ginger fires back before putting the van into reverse and driving back onto the road. “Now, where to?”

Trixie tells the other women her address and it isn’t long before they’re on their way at a good speed. They encounter some lunch time traffic along the way but the journey is full of chatting and music. Finally, the pair pull up on the road right by Trixie’s apartment. “I have some of my stuff packed, I just have a little more to do,” Trixie explains as they walk into the apartment. Books are strewn everywhere with little piles of stuff littering the floor and one of the couches. The apartment looks something similar to Vanessa’s old room, and Trixie’s soon-to-be room, yesterday.

“You own more shit than I anticipated,” Ginger nervously laughs scratching her head.

“We only have a few more hours until I have to be back at work, so if we can get as much as we can move today and I’ll swing by tomorrow to start unpacking or move the rest of the stuff.” Trixie says as she steps towards one of the piles sitting by an open box.

Ginger does the same as they begin to sort out some things. It shouldn’t take soon the too long as long as they work together and don’t spend too much time faffing around they could easily get it all packed in less than half an hour. But they don’t finish in under thirty minutes, they take forty-five. They carry box by box to the van until it’s full for its first trip. They end up taking two full trips, with Trixie holding a potted plant on the second in the front, before all of Trixie’s stuff in at the apartment. She only has the essential things left behind as she says goodbye to Ginger and heads back to Chuck’s for the night.

•

Katya’s rehearsals went well after clearing her head from her embarrassing encounter with Trixie. It’s not like she had a lot to rehearse for tonight, just a sound check to run and a little warm-up to complete, she did manage to get a new set sorted out. Now she’s relaxing on the lonely stool behind the bar as Shea wipes down the counter. “You looking forward to Monday?” Shea asks with a small smirk on her face as she looks at Katya, who is sitting with her head slightly tilted as she racks her brain. “Trixie’s moving in,” Shea says prying a reaction out of the blonde. “Did you really already?”

“No!” Katya rushes out as she sits more upright. “I mean, I don’t know, I-”

“She’s really done a number on you already, huh?” Shea questions as puts the cloth and spray back underneath the bar, she swivels around and leans on her hands which are on the bar. “She’s just different, getting along with her is easy.” Katya huffs as she looks at the clock absentmindedly checking how long is left before Trixie’s shift starts. At least with her being there will maybe ease the situation.

It doesn’t.

Trixie comes bumbling in muttering about rain as she shakes her head. Water droplets fly everywhere as Trixie smiles at Peppermint with a sad expression, Peppermint seems to understand what Trixie is trying to convey and walks with her into the bathroom. Katya trains her eyes to stare at the stage as she desperately tries to not think about the fact Trixie will be watching her perform for the first time. The early set of customers begin to stumble in as the opening act for the night, Trinity, takes the stage. Katya remembers when she first met Trinity, she could barely understand what she was saying. Trinity was a good performer, lip syncing, dancing and comedy sometimes. She was a good opener for Bianca. Their enemies-to-friends relationship was amusing for outsiders to watch. Katya can recall the night backstage where Peppermint and she would have a good chuckle at Trinity’s and Bianca’s arguments. Bianca often poked fun at Trinity in her sets, usually it was in a cruel intention but now it was meant strictly as a joke. Trinity had truly grown on Bianca like a rash.

Halfway through Trinity’s set Peppermint and Trixie emerge from the bathroom. Trixie looks different now, her makeup is touched up – no more running eyeliner or mascara – and her eyelashes are bigger – probably due to false eyelashes. She’s scraped her hair back into a ponytail and it somewhat drier than it did before. Most noticeably her white shirt she was wearing has been traded out for a pink jumper that’s been rolled up at the sleeves. “How much did we miss?” Peppermint asks with a small as she sits in front of the bar.

“Not much, right Katya?” Shea encourages as she makes herself busy at the other end of the bar. Trixie looks at Katya with a raised brow before looking at the stage. “Trinity’s just warming them up, she’s probably got about half her set still. I should probably go get ready,” she states, excusing herself as quickly as possible from the situation. Walking through the crowd is kind of like a minefield, expect less dangerous. Katya has to dodge the people coming in to see Bianca and the others heading towards the male bathroom, but eventually she makes it to the backstage dressing room. It’s small and cramped and Katya knows Peppermint and Shea are both mentally laughing at her because they know how she only goes into the room after hearing Bianca’s opening joke. But she doesn’t care what they have to say about her behaviour, she needs to focus on getting ready and clearing her head of a particular blonde.

Katya is usually not right about how people are feeling but she is right about Shea and Peppermint in that moment. At the bar, Peppermint smiles endearingly at the direction Katya rushed off in, she looks almost like a mother trying not to laugh at something so adorably awkward that their kid did. Shea, on the other hand, can’t contain her laughter as she full on laughs. Trixie is confused by what is so funny but quickly a flood of customers piles up at the bar to distract her.

Once she has served maybe her tenth customer of the night Trixie has some time to properly pay attention to Bianca’s comedy set, which began somewhere in the middle of the wave of orders. Trixie figures sets must last too long because Trinity hadn’t seemed to be on the stage too long. “After this it’s our girl,” Shea leans over whilst wiping a glass dry and quietly speaks. Trixie nods as she settles down the glass she had just wiped and looks intently at the stage. She didn’t quite know what to expect from tonight. “It’s usually a bit wild and unpolished on a Saturday,” Shea adds with a smirk as Trixie lightly nods.

•

Unpolished was definitely a word Trixie might use to describe the performance she had just witnessed. Other than that, she doesn’t quite know how to describe what she is feeling. She can sense Shea by her side and she can guess she is probably wearing her signature smirk as Trixie stands rooted to the spot with her mouth hanging wide. “You’ll catch flies,” Shea teases as she goes to serve a customer. Trixie luckily didn’t drop the glass she was drying when Katya started her performance. In total she did three numbers, each progressively getting worse compared to the last, and worse was not good for Trixie who had a job to hold.

She sees a blonde ponytail bob as the energetic women it belongs to comes bouncing back to the bar. Katya seems to be in a better mood than she was before maybe getting whatever tension she seemed to hold out in her set helped. “Traaaccccyyyy,” she sings as she moves to sit on the bar.

“What can I get you?” Trixie can’t help the small laugh that escapes her lips as she looks at the smaller women in front of her.

“My usual,” Katya grins as raises a hand to push back her fringe out of her face. When she fails Trixie reaches over and gently tucks the loose strand behind her ear, her fingers linger carefully behind Katya’s ear for a few seconds before the taller women realise how intimate the situation looks and retracts her hand as if she had been burnt. Lowering her head Trixie mumbles something about the usual as she goes to busy herself. Katya looks to Shea and sees her giving Katya a knowing look. Trixie comes back a few minutes later, drink in hand. “Here you go,” she says as she slides the drink to the other women. “Anything else?”

“What did you think of the first night of set performances?” Katya inquires before taking a sip of drink through the straw.

“They were good.” Trixie responds.

“What about mine?” Katya seems more uncertain about whether or not she wants an answer to the question. Trixie stands up straighter as she shifts on her feet. “Well, honestly, I’m a little disappointed.” Trixie says wearing a blank expression and Katya wants nothing more to shrink away until Trixie adds on with a chuckle, “Shea promised me wild, and I felt it to be quite tame.”

Katya looks at her with a smile, “Tame, huh?” She wheezes slightly as she grasps onto the bar for support. Her knuckles turn white from how hard she’s grasping and Trixie can’t help but zone on the way the muscles in Katya’s arms flex and contract as she moves. “Anymore critique distinguished judge?”

“Well actually know you ask, I feel like the whole Britney thing you were going for fell flat. I’ve seen it done before back in college and now watching you was like Britney at 45.” Trixie says in a monotone voice before cracking and throwing her head back as she laughs. Katya is wheezing too but stops before Trixie in just enough time to see her adam’s apple bob as she laughs. She knows it’s best not to ask, so she doesn’t, she just silently acknowledges it and moves on.

“You got me there, bitch!” Katya replies with a wide smile.

[adorebughead]

For Better or Worse - Part 6

It’s finally here! Sorry for being so shit - I had such bad writer’s block with this for some reason and just felt really crappy about my writing in general (still do...) This part is much longer than usual and something finally happens that I know you’ve all been waiting for, so I hope that makes up for it a little bit. Enjoy! <3

PART 1 / PART 2 / PART 3 / PART 4 / PART 5

* You can also read on AO3 here *

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“Silvercross? I’ve never even heard of it.”

“According to Google, it’s a couple of hours out of Riverdale.”

“Maybe we should find somewhere to stay,” Veronica suggested. “It’s getting late and perhaps we’ll have clearer heads after some sleep.”

“She’s probably right,” Jughead admitted.

“Sorry, what was that? Did you just say that I was right?”

“I said probably,” he exclaimed, shaking his head in response to her smirk.

After fleeing from the school, the trio drove away as fast as possible. Nobody was following them, and they were all getting tired, as much as they wanted to fight it. Without even thinking much about it, Betty shuffled over slightly and rested her head on Jughead’s shoulder, closing her eyes and exhaling.

“There’s a motel around here somewhere, I’m sure of it,” Veronica said.

Sure enough, Veronica was right, and roughly fifteen minutes later they came upon an old motel. It wasn’t anything special; in fact, it was far from it. The surrounding area was nothing more than a ghost town, a petrol station and small shop across the road being the only real indication of civilisation. They’d started to lose track of where they even were by this point, consumed by their exhaustion, knowing they couldn’t continue this endeavour without some form of rest.

“I wonder if Norman Bates is hiding in there,” Jughead cried as he stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him.

“It’ll do,” Betty replied, throwing him a playful glare.

“Just stay out of the shower.”

Upon checking in with an old man and his wife who were clearly quite shocked yet simultaneously excited to actually have some form of human contact; Betty, Jughead and Veronica made their way up a single flight of stairs to where their rooms were located. They managed to blag a double room each for a pretty decent price, plus the old woman had taken quite a shine to Jughead, which had helped them in their haggling.

“You know, you look just like my first husband,” she laughed, “but even juicier.”

“Ok, well, we best be getting to bed then,” he replied quickly.

“Well, I wouldn’t say no!” She looked towards Betty and Veronica and laughed, clutching her chest as she did so.

“No, I didn’t-“

“Just shout if you need anything,” she winked, “anything at all.”

Betty and Veronica couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she bounded back down the stairs, her little grey bob bouncing as she did so.

“Why do these things happen to me?” He murmered, shaking his head, catching Betty’s eyes as they both smiled.

“Ok, well I best get some beauty sleep. It takes at least a solid eight hours to look as good as this,” Veronica giggled, smiling as she turned to walk down the hall to her door. “Good night.”

“V,” Betty called out as she briskly followed her, “wait.”

“Yeah?”

And without saying another word, Betty had thrown her arms around her estranged best friend for the first time in god knows how long. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Veronica gave Betty a slight squeeze, pulling away but keeping a grip on her arms.

“You don’t have to thank me,” she replied. The two exchanged a nod of warmth and sincerity before Veronica retreated into her room.

“Well,” Jughead cleared his throat. “I guess I better call it a night too.”

“Yeah,” Betty smiled as she walked back over and looked towards the ground. “Crazy day, huh?”

“That’s definitely an understatement.”

The two stood in silence for a few moments, struggling to gather their thoughts.

“Night, Jug,” she said finally, waiting for something she wasn’t sure was coming, before turning on her heel.

He swallowed, watching her walk away. “Night, Betts.”

Closing the door behind her and taking a good minute to lean against it and exhale deeply, Betty was alone with her thoughts once more. She closed her eyes, placing her head in her hands as she ran over the day’s events. It was impossible to focus on just one, and she kept wondering if any of it had even been real at all.

Pulling off her shoes, jeans and leaving her t-shirt on, Betty climbed into bed and closed her eyes as soon as her head hit the pillow. She hadn’t realised how exhausted she really was until now, yet she still just couldn’t seem to switch her brain off, especially knowing that Jughead was only in the next room. After a few moments of tossing and turning, her eyes shot open and she stared at the ceiling in frustration, throwing her arms to her sides in defeat. Jumping out of the sheets, she walked towards the dresser on the other side of the room and sat down, staring at the person in the reflection before her. She hadn’t looked herself in the eye for so many years. She’d been so cruel and so self-deprecating, always taking the blame for everything that went wrong in her life, telling herself that she was the problem.

Almost immediately, something caught her attention from the corner of her eye. Placed to the left of the dresser was a small notepad and pen, she assumed for leaving a nice old “thanks for the stay, lovely service!” kind of message. Of course, if you’d count ‘lovely service’ as being hit on by a woman triple your age. She giggled again at the thought of the look on Jughead’s face. Then her trail of thought completely shifted. Jughead. Without another thought, she grabbed the pen and began to write, her own words running away with her. After fifteen minutes of scribbling and crossing out and re-writing, she folded up the paper and shoved it into the pocket of a small, white dressing gown that was hanging on her door, before slipping it on and making her way onto the long, shared balcony. She had to see him.

She welcomed the fresh air and the feel of the concrete beneath her bare feet, a cool breeze raising goosebumps on her arms as she tightened them around herself. It had finally stopped raining. She stood still for a few minutes, admiring the night sky above her. She thought back to how she’d always scan the sky every night before she went to sleep after Toby had died, thinking that he was somehow up there looking down on her. As long as the sky was clear, she felt a little less alone.

“Can’t sleep?” A voice startled her.

She turned, meeting a familiar face as she looked down and smiled. Her heart was racing.

“I guess I watched Psycho one too many times,” she laughed.

He stepped closer, only slightly, but she couldn’t have been more aware of it if she’d tried. “Psycho, really?”

“Don’t act dumb, Jughead Jones. You’re the one who made me watch it in the first place, remember?”

He smirked, staring at her, his eyes softening. “Yeah, I remember.”

The sound of silence briefly returned, both of them lost in a momentary memory of a past life. There were no cars on the road and no voices but their own. It was peaceful and slightly comforting, feeling as though they were the only two people awake in the world.

“Hey,” her eyes fell to the floor as she put her hand in her pocket, “I have something for you.”

She presented him with the folded piece of paper she had written on only fifteen minutes earlier, urging for him to take it.

“What’s this?” He asked, looking at the paper then back up at her with a mixture of confusion and concern.

“Just read it,” she murmured. “Later, or whenever, really.”

“Ok,” he said finally, smiling as she laughed nervously.

“Look, about everything,” she started, “today, with us. I know we haven’t had any time to talk, but-“

“Betty, I-”

“It doesn’t matter,” she shook her head, suddenly terrified of what he was about to say. “Just read the letter.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her, for the first time in eight years. God, she was just as beautiful as she’d always been. Her green eyes glinted in the light of the moon which was blindingly bright tonight, the sky the clearest he’d ever seen it, the look on her face making him feel as vulnerable as he had done back when he was just sixteen with no effort at all.

“Ok,” he replied, a little hesitantly, taking the paper and searching her face for some kind of indication of what she was thinking. The wind blew a few stray pieces of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail.

“Night,” she uttered, leaving him in his own company once more. After a few seconds of just gaping at it, Jughead opened up the paper and let his eyes run over the ink-stained words before him. He held his breath, his lip trembling.

 Jughead,

Firstly, I’m sorry that I took seven years to reply to this letter. Unfortunately, I was a little bit delayed. When we lost Toby, in whichever way it happened, something in me broke. And I think it broke for you, too. And instead of us putting our broken pieces together, we pushed them apart and allowed ourselves to break even further. I’m sorry for that.

The truth is that I knew I wasn’t marrying Archie from the moment I saw you on the terrace. I never loved him. In fact, I didn’t think I could ever love anyone again after you. I was scared, and I thought I might never see you again. But, here you are, and here we are.

Whatever happens next, at least we have that.

Betty

 He looked back up, staring at nothing in particular as he processed what he’d read. He turned almost instantly, freezing on the spot as she leant against the door frame. Neither of them spoke. He took three steps towards her, his eyes burning into hers before lowering his gaze to her lips. There was that silence again, their faces so close they could feel each other’s breath. She reached out, placing a hand on his cheek and sighing. Allowing everything she’d been holding back to spill out in front of her. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Jug,“ she whispered.

Before she could say anything else, his lips were on hers. Finally. Time slipped away as if it were nothing, the both of them melting into each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world. They backed up into Betty’s room as the kiss deepened, everything starting to pass in a blur, kicking the door shut without pulling away from each other for a second. His hands were in her hair, then on her neck, hers wrapped around his leather jacket as she moved towards his chest and began to remove it. Her dressing gown fell onto the carpet.

They were against the door then, his lips running down her neck as she tilted her head back, breathing heavily as she closed her eyes. She’d forgotten how good he was at that. She grasped onto his hair, pulling his head back up to meet her lips once more. Before they knew it, they were on the bed, their bodies entangled and their breath quickening. The space between them now non-existent as they effortlessly let go of everything they’d been holding on to. As they put their broken pieces back together again. As they rediscovered themselves between moonlit sheets.

The sun was still rising when Betty’s eyes fluttered open the next morning; the familiar warmth of the body beside her serving as a reminder that it hadn’t all been a dream. Not this time. He was really here. She rested her head on her arm, using her other hand to push a small strand of hair out of his face. In this moment, there was nothing but perfect peace and serenity. In a motel room miles away from everything, lying beside the person she loved, watching the sun rise. He awoke as she ran her fingertips along his cheek, blinking and smiling as he stretched.

“Hey,” she chorused.

“Hey, yourself,” he replied, reaching over and kissing her slowly as he cupped her face and welcomed the warmth of her skin on his.

“As much as I really, really want to stay in bed with you all day,” she breathed, interlacing her fingers with his as her face started to fall, “we should probably get up and get going.”

“Hey,” he said softly, placing a finger under her chin and lifting her gaze back up, “whatever happens today, we’re going to face it together.”

She smiled as he slipped his hand under the covers and pulled her closer by the waist. “Plus, surely we have at least another ten minutes.”

Unable to hold in her laughter, she squealed as he flipped her over and began kissing her neck, then down to her chest. The sound of knocking on the door caused them to both jump out of their skin.

“Er- who is it?!” Betty cried, unable to catch her breath.

“It’s me,” Veronica called back, “are you almost ready to go?”

“Just a minute!” Betty scrambled out of bed, throwing on her t-shirt that was previously crumpled up on the floor on the other side of the room and holding her dressing gown shut as she opened the door only slightly.

“Is everything ok?” Veronica asked, trying to peek into the room as Betty shielded her view.

“Yeah, sorry,” she replied, panting slightly, “I just overslept.”

“Is someone in there?” Veronica mouthed, as Betty grinned and looked to the ground. Veronica’s mouth dropped open in shock, raising her eyebrows as Betty left the door ajar and walked out into the hall.

“It’s Jughead,” she whispered, giggling as Veronica squealed.

“Well I didn’t think it was the old man from the check in desk,” she laughed. “Although, I wouldn't have been surprised if his wife had managed to sneak in.”

“It just happened,” she gushed, “I don't know exactly what it means-”

“Betty, you two love each other and never stopped. You know exactly what it means,” she retorted, smiling as she did so, “and, as happy as I am for you, genuinely, I don’t mean to rush you but we need to go.”

“Yeah,” she shook her head, bringing herself back to the present moment and the reason they were even there in the first place. She couldn’t help but feel angry at herself for not giving it all of her attention amidst the craziness of the previous evening. “I know. You're right. Just give me five minutes, OK?”

“Ok,” Veronica replied, “I'll be in the car.”

When she re-entered the room, Jughead was already dressed and pulling on his black combat boots. He ran a hand through his scruffy hair as he looked up at her. “All good?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, “Veronica’s just waiting outside.”

“Are you ok?” He asked, walking over and placing a hand gently on her shoulder.

“I’m OK,” she smiled, “just scared, I guess.” “I am too,” he confessed, pulling her into his chest as he rested his chin on her head.

She exhaled deeply, wrapping her arms around him and closing her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Hey,” he cried quite abruptly, pulling away from their embrace.

A look of fear washed over her face before she could stop it, her vulnerability creeping its way back in. “What?”

“Whatever happened to that horse?”

She was laughing then as she breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s what you’re thinking about in the middle of our moment?” She teased, before folding her arms playfully. “I texted Polly, she took him back.”

“Well, thank god for that.”

And then, just for a fleeting moment, they were just two kids in love. Broken apart and put back together, the southside serpent and the perfect girl next door, finding their way back to one another. Two kids who hadn’t grown up and who hadn’t felt the pain of losing the most precious thing they had ever been given the chance to love. Two kids who hadn’t felt the space of an empty bed or lost sight of who they really were. Just then, in an empty motel lit by the glow of the morning sun, they were those two kids again.

“Are you ready?”

[alexstrick]

Introducing CoachBot: Your Personal Language Taskmaster

For languages that aren’t new, I often feel like I’m stagnating and get bored when I reach the intermediate levels. This can reflect a lack of materials from which to study (as was the case with Pashto when I first started studying it) or — more commonly — a surfeit of materials. This creates a kind of choice paralysis where the number of options means I’m far less likely to sit down and pick one of them. (In a similar way, I'll sometimes choose not to watch any of the in-flight entertainment because there are too many choices to pick from.)

Studying a brand new language is (almost) always fun: you’re making quick progress, everything is new so you still have that nice-and-shiny feeling, and you feel like you’re really on your way to success. Continuing that study after two to four years of effort is a little harder. Like with any longer-term project, you start having to find ways to remind yourself of why you’re even working on it in the first place. It can often feel like you’ve lost that original magic somehow, even to the extent that you question whether you actually want to learn the language.

It is useful to address some of these issues ahead of time. That way, when you hit a period of less energy or motivation, you have a pre-formulated plan of action (made by you when you weren’t consumed by whatever mood is dominant). For me, this takes the form of making lists of suggestions to my future-self. I have pre-made task lists for:

When I’m travelling

When I’m feeling sick

When I have no time to study

When I have oodles of time to study

When I have lots of energy and enthusiasm for learning

When I have no enthusiasm for learning

Try to have at least 10 or 15 tasks in whatever lists you do end up creating. Maybe save a few pages at the back of your language notebook to list these tasks. This way, you always have them handy. It helps to have a good amount of variety in the tasks you pre-assign to yourself.

I keep lists as described above, but they weren’t as effective as I'd hoped. I’d glance at the tasks, feel only a limited enthusiasm for the options available and then put the list to one side. I needed a different solution.

I happened to be teaching myself to program/code at around the same time, so I thought this might make an interesting practice problem to try to solve. (I was studying Python and so I found a way to make a web app that uses that to connect to Flask.)

CoachBot is the free tool I designed to solve the problem of study choice paralysis for language-learners. It’s still only a prototype, but I'm soft-launching it here now since I imagine it might help those reading who are in similar situations.

CoachBot gives you a task that you can complete within a specific time-frame. If you have only 5 minutes, it'll pick a random task from the database that I curated and wrote myself. Have an hour? It'll suggest a different kind of task. If you don't want to do a particular task that it suggests, just click a button to get a new one.

These are the kinds of tasks I suggest when working with students one-on-one. They’re also the kinds of tasks I had written down in my lists. As of writing, there are 386 unique tasks in the database, which means that the suggestions are far more varied and creative than anything I was previously using.

I’d suggest you use it as follows: if you ever feel like you don’t know what to do to keep going with your language studies, open up CoachBot, pick a time corresponding to your needs and do whatever it tells you to do. When you’re done, make a note of what you did and how long it took in your learning log. Consider doing another session.

I’ve been using this for a few weeks already and can attest to its value. One of the key benefits I’ve found is just in getting started. Sometimes I’ll only need to do a five-minute task before I realise that there was something else that I wanted to read or study and then I’ll get busy working on that.

There are lots of features that I hope to build in for future versions. I want to include user accounts and tracking of how much time you spend on the different tasks. I want to sub-divide by language skill (i.e. which skill is being trained) and eventually to build in some kind of guidance and interactivity to how the tool functions. But for now, use it as it is: get some studying done by outsourcing the choice of what you’ll be studying.

There are more details on the website itself. You can click through to the project’s roadmap where you can see an updated version of features coming soon. You can also make suggestions for tasks that you’d like included in the Bot and/or specific features you’d like me to build as part of the project.

[Special thanks to Alex, Ian, Kevin and Peter for patiently answering my questions while I was building this initial prototype].

[kamerionbeaudry91]

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[afoolsingenuity]

My Blogging Problems // Learning What To Prioritise When It Comes To Blogging

Recently, I have felt like I’ve been failing as a blogger. No matter how hard I try to stay on top of things I always feel like there is one aspect of blogging which I am letting slide. If I’m not behind on blog reading I’m behind on commenting. If I’m ahead on blog posts I’ve slacked on reading other people’s blogs. If I’ve conquered my emails I’ve probably not gotten to spend a lot of time reading books which is kind of the thing which made me want to blog in the first place. I feel like blogging is a juggling act and I’m failing at catching any of the balls.

I have never been brilliant at organising my time. Even though blogging is something I enjoy I still procrastinate about doing it. A review I’ve half finished and needs an hours clean up will take me three hours to do and it might be three hours spread over two days depending on my mood. If you email I’ll either reply straight away or in a weeks time for no reason other than that I didn’t feel like doing it straight away and it somehow felt like an effort. I don’t know why I procrastinate from blogging but I do. And so anything blog related because a daunting task because even when I knuckle down and do things I know it’ll take longer than I want because that’s who I am.

Anyway, I’ve realised my current non-routine is unsustainable. It’s gotten so bad I no longer even know what books I’ve finished reviewing and those I haven’t. My drafts are overflowing. It stresses me out constantly being behind on things and since I’m not reading as much It’s bothering me that I’m wasting so much of my time on blog related things when all I want to do it curl up with a good book. Something has got to give!

I realised I didn’t know what had to give, though. I mean, what facet of blogging is less important than the rest?

Problem #1: Making Time To Read And Comment On Other Blogs

I’m obviously not giving up blog reading. It’s a source of inspiration and I want to see what my online friends are reading and talking about! If I gave up blog reading I wouldn’t be part of the community anymore and it kind of defeats the point of blogging. I do find that I am constantly playing catch up with blog commenting. I am never on top of it I am always behind and there are so many posts up every day!

The Solution:

What I can do is cut down on the number of blogs and read and follow. I’ve spoken before how I want people to follow me who are genuinely interested in what I blog about and I’ve spoken about how I follow a lot of blogs for a lot of reasons (not all of them good reasons). Well, I’ve realised I need to make my blog feed manageable. There are at least five blogs I follow as they’re big names in the blog community but I never read their posts anymore. EVER! I’ve got to admit I followed them, to begin with, as they helped guide me but I know who I want to be in my corner of the internet, it’s time to let them go. It makes me sad to let go of blogs but it’s necessary. Instead, I can slowly introduce in those blogs I am interested in.

Problem #2: Replying to Blog Comments

I am bad at replying to blog comments. Much as I put off blog reading as I know the reading/commenting thing is time-consuming I put off replying to comments because it’s time-consuming. I will never not reply to blog comments. I love seeing people’s thoughts, why would I have a blog and not read the comments?

The Solution:

I will start making set times to do so. I’ve actually started replying to blog comments on my way to and from work. It gives me half an hour or so of time to read people’s thoughts and reply back. I still have to sit in front of my laptop for an hour or so some nights but I’ve already found a way to cut down some of the time I spent doing so. I find responding in small doses is better because I don’t get bored (don’t worry, it’s not your comments which bore me but my replies).

Problem #3: The Dreaded Inbox Where Emails Go To Die

Over the past few months, I’ve started getting more and more emails in from publishers/authors/random people I’ve never spoken to. And I’ve found I am now signed up for all the author newsletters (some I don’t recognise, how did that even happen?) and I also have all my Disqus notifications for blog comments every where and any other response notifications for other people’s blogs. My inbox is a mess and it scares me to go in it a lot of the time. Emails die there. Every publisher who emails me ever gets an email which begins ‘sorry for the delay in replying’ lately.

The Solution:

I saw a post a little while ago over at Howling Reviews about email bankruptcy where you delete your email from a certain date then go through the rest. I hope I haven’t gotten to that point (yet) but I do plan to look back and if I’m going too far back those things are getting deleted. I also plan to start unsubscribing myself from author newsletters as half I am genuinely not interested in. I can then just keep my actual favourite authors on the list who I want to be notified on. The biggest thing is creating folders which work for me. Currently, everything goes everywhere so I am going to start adding things to folders I’ve named and get proactive with my inbox going forward.

Problem #4: Who Has Time To Write Blog Posts Anymore?

I seriously stress my self out with how much time I don’t have to write blog posts. Like I said, a lot of the things above really eat into my usual blog writing time. Sunday’s (and part of Saturdays if I’ve not got much on) will be spent writing up blog posts. I finish off reviews from what I typed up on Goodreads to make it an actual post. I write those discussion ideas which have been brewing. I even do the tags which interest me from around the internet. I don’t have enough time in the week to write a full blown blog post, I can edit and tweak at most so I need my weekends to work for me and lately, they don’t.

The Solution:

This isn’t as easy to solve. I mean, I can’t make more time but I do hope if I do the above it will mean less time spent doing all that at the weekend. The next key thing is sticking to my own mental blog schedule (and keeping planned posts written down in my bujo). I like to post Monday, Wednesday and Friday and have my usual Sunday post. I will change this from time to time, I have no aversion to posting Tuesdays and Thursdays, I just like my three times a week plan. I will also make sure all posts are finished on a Sunday and attempt to slowly build a few posts as back up for my lazy weeks. I want to stay a couple of reviews ahead of where I am and have back up none review posts on the go. I want to be able to plan ahead. I will also go on hiatus when I know I won’t be around so I’m not catching up on everything when I’m back. That means my holiday will be a hiatus. I’ve got to accept my human limitations.

Problem #5: If I Can’t Find Time To Blog How Am I Meant To Find Time To Read?

This one is the one which has been stressing me out the most. Any regular visitor will know I went through a reading slump recently. It was a major reading slump. I lost motivation to read even though I was enjoying reading and it threw me for a loop. I managed to get back to reading when I stopped stressing out over it and I may not be reading as much as I was but I’m reading again and looking forward to reading and that makes me happy but with every other blog thing taking up my time I don’t have as much time to read. It happens at weekends, with the time I put aside for blog writing I’m not reading and it sucks.

The Solution:

This is something I’ve tried to implement for myself before but I want a technology disconnect on evenings when I’m at work. I try and switch my laptop off my 9 pm at the latest (but ideally earlier so I can have a cosy couple of hours reading). I try and set aside that hour or so before bed as reading time so I can get lost in a good book for a little while. It doesn’t always work but that is my plan for reading. I need to admit defeat and accept that by a certain time there is no more blog related things I can do.

***

And there you have it. There are plenty of other problems I have when it comes to blogging (don’t speak to me about social media, I do not get it I will use it as I please) but these are the ones which have bothered me most and I’ve mostly thought of solutions for them.

Are there blogging problems you haven’t been able to face sorting? Do you find writing a plan of action helps you relax about things which have been bothering you? And would you have different solutions to my problems?

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[flawlessbellamy]

stydia - gossip girl au

okay. You got me on this one. BUT......

-Lydia is the light and soul of every party. Every eye drawn to her and every body wanting to be with her. She’s been maintaining her 5.0 GPA with minimal effort for years while ruling the school. Gossip Girl’s first post was about her and Jackson breaking up. 

-She’s grown up with Stiles but he doesn’t really register on her radar until halfway through high school when she’s walking through the deserted corridors after a PTA event one night when Stiles comes skidding out a classroom door. They make eye contact and the next thing she knows Scott Mccall skids after him. Eye’s glowing, teeth out, and claws sharp. And Lydia Screams. The Windows shatter and the next thing she knows is she’s at home in bed. The gossip girl blast about the school windows being blown out overnight is her clue that it was real. 

-Allison and Kira greet her on the front steps and it takes about 2 minutes for Lydia to notice her best friends is treating her weirdly and Scott and Stiles keep side eyeing her from across the quad. Real Subtle guys. 

-Stiles doesn’t really have friends but his dad is the police commissioner and send out an invite to Stiles birthday and her mum insists she has to go. Lydia assumed nobody else would be there but she turns up to see Stiles, Scott, Isaac, Allison and Kira all laughing in a corner. It’s a big affair and half of NY’s social scene is there to network but this group doesn’t make sense. 

-Allison spots her, looks taken back for a second then waves at her. There’s champagne glasses circulating Lydia grabs one and heads over. It’s surprisingly relaxed and she actually has fun. Then when it’s over they all pile into Stile Limo and get dropped off. Lydia is last and the last part of the ride with Stiles is awkward but still relaxed. The blast about the party shows the group of them laughing. 

-the Monday is school Lydia finds the gang all together again. She takes a breath. Adjusts her headband and goes over. and it happens again and again. Lydia does quite understand it. She’s suddenly friends with these boys who...frankly she has veery little in common with. but she’s still waiting to find out why scott’s eyes glow. She’s done her research and reconnaissance obviously but she needs confirmation. 

-theres gossip girl blast going back years with random events, a weird amount of dead bodies and missing people. And whats worse is Lydia’s been involved with the majority. 

-She finds out at the Opera. It’s opening evening. A big gathering and she slips out in the second act. Rests against the balcony and see’s a very werewolf Scott running along the floor after a green scaled thing. Stiles close behind with a bat. So she snaps a picture. 

-She decides Stiles will be the easiest the crack. He’s in love with her. It’ll make him break easily. And he does. She threatens to send it to GG and Stutters out excuse after excuse. Until he grabs her hand pulls her 3 blocks to his penthouse and shows her everything. 

-Quite frankly it fucks Lydia up for a few days. Allison comes over drops off her families bestiary and leaves again. Lydia reads it. Decides she’s going to help and then sends a group text out telling everyone. 

-She trades her high heals for...well for lower high heals but she does start wearing more practical clothing. Spending less time at parties and more time with the pack. Especially Stiles. 

-She doesn’t realise she loves him till she gets a gossip girl blast. It’s nothing new just a photo of her and Stiles at lunch. But when she check her name on the website she realises all of them are with Stiles. And she looks happy in them. Even when they’re talking about Manhattan being destroyed she looks comfortable next to him.

 - she doesn’t admit it to anyone until he’s gone. And Lydia’s heart hurts. So...when they finally get him back she forces herself to wait till they’re alone in his Limo until she jumps him. He seems shocked but kisses her back and they keep kissing until Lydia’s so lost in him that she doesn’t come up for air. Just lets him consume her and enjoys it. 

-They end up being a power couple Lydia herself could only dream of. Stiles follows his dad’s steps and Lydia builds what she assumes is the first werewolf laboratory. She self funds winning Fields medals and Math’s awards on the side. But together they work New York. Keeping it safe and protecting it. 

-Gossip Girl still blasts about them occasionally and when Lydia see’s them she see’s the same look of comfort in their eyes. Still there years later.