#bar therapy

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Weeping Into Our Beers

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Big Sky, Werewolf: The Apocalypse, World of Darkness

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions Of Violence

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Beau Arlen/OFC

Synopsis: Wounded warriors from very different worlds find some comfort in each other.

Tags:  Beau Arlen, Emily Arlen, Carla del Lugo, Sarah Fights-The Mighty (OFC), Crossover, AU, Bar Therapy, One-Night Stand

AN:  Sarah is my longest-held and dearest personal avatar -- or Mary Sue if you wanna be a jerk about it -- from a Werewolf The Apocalypse phase I went through way back in high school. For the nerds who care, she's a Black Fury Philodox and practicing ecoterrorist, who's buried a lot of loved ones including and especially her only daughter. In case anyone's coming from that side of the tracks, Beau Arlen is the acting sheriff of Lewis and Clark County (county seat Helena, Montana, USA), a transplanted Texas whose daughter was kidnapped and nearly killed by a serial killer. In this headcanon Big Sky takes place in the World of Darkness and Beau's an innocent human who has no idea werewolves exist. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

Beau Arlen wasn't above playing up to clichés, it helped people feel comfortable around him.  Like not code-switching to hide his accent, using informal-yet-courtly manners, exaggerating his bowed legs a little when he walked.  Someone could call this just another cliché, the hard-drinking Texan seeking truth in the bottom of a beer bottle.  Well better a beer bottle than a whiskey glass, he supposed.  And nobody who knew the story would begrudge him seeking a little chemical comfort.

Still, there was a reason he was drinking at Longhorns as opposed to the Boot Heel tonight.  He was in a weird mood, and it was the kind of weird mood that led to bad decisions.  If Mo Poppernack, Lord bless him and his offbeat cheer, hit him with any more well-meaning kindness he just might knock the poor guy's block off.

A few seats down the bar, a couple got up.  Beau studied them in his peripheral vision.  Not a couple-couple, the body language was wrong.  Family he'd guess, even thought they looked nothing alike.  The man was six feet of ugly, black hair and bad acne scars, with a New York City accent that sounded like sandpaper being rubbed together.  The woman was older, petite and stocky, long brown hair pulled back into a French braid, her voice deep with a rasp that said cigarettes.  They embraced.

"Take care of yourself Chainsaw," the woman said, soft and tender.

"You too boss," the man said, touching her face.  "Don't get too drunk, okay?"

"No promises."

The man left.  The woman stood there for a moment before hauling in a deep sigh and sitting back up to the bar.  She glanced around.  Beau noted her eyes were a fine blue-gray, sharp as she checked the exits and counted heads.  Her jacket fell open as she stretched, and Beau didn’t see a weapon.  Funny, she sure as hell behaved like a woman expecting a fight and a bloody one at that.  Beau also noted a wide scar across her left cheek, four parallel lines like Freddy Kruger had cut her with his glove.

---

"So, the question becomes,” Sarah said, picking up her beer, “how drunk is too drunk?"

"Well, that's more of a philosophical question, I find."  Sarah glanced down at the resident of the stool a few slots down the bar.  A charming smile shone out from a short beard, one that found an echo on her own face.  "Unless motor vehicles are involved in which case too drunk equals 0.08 blood alcohol content or over."

"No vehicles involved," Sarah confirmed, mirroring his folksy slant on VEE-hicles.  "I'm staying at the motel a couple doors down."

"Oh well in that case," he tipped the neck of his own beer in a little salute, "however much proves as needed to thoroughly drown your sorrows."

Sarah chuckled.  "Too bad my sorrows have gills."

He grimaced.  "Oooh.  Yikes."

"I just settle for taking them out back and giving them a bath every now and again," she added, finishing off her beer and asking the bartender for a glass of water.

"Sound plan.  Very sound," the charming man approved.  He lifted his bottle, "My sorrows,” he drank, cleared his throat, “they just refuse to drown."

"Bastards found submarines?"

He laughed and Sarah felt her heart do that liftoff thing it did sometimes.  He really was very handsome.  Reminded her a little of Mark.  Similar coloring anyway, those fine green eyes he’d given Charlie before he split.  "We're way overthinking this metaphor."

"Just a skoash," Sarah agreed, and they shared a smile.

The charming man gave her a closer look and Sarah let him.  Some company would be nice.  Pull her out of her own thoughts for a while.  "I'm Beau," he identified himself, stretching to extend a hand across the empty barstools.

Sarah took it, noting a grip firm enough to be friendly.  "Sarah."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Be my guest," she said, and Beau moved the few seats down.  Stood about six-two, jeans, boots, sheepskin-lined coat, silver belt buckle about the size of her palm.  Forty-ish, she guessed, and he wore his years well.  Better than she was at any rate, with gray threading her hair thicker by the week.

"So, my interesting new friend," Sarah said, "what're your sorrows that they're lurking in submarines?"

"That's a long story."

Sarah shrugged.  "I got time.  Who knows?  Maybe talking them out a little'll make the fuckers drown faster."

Beau considered her.  She saw him noticing her scar, making a mental note of it.  "You're not from around here are you?"

"Obviously," Sarah said dryly.  "You aren't either.  Texas?"

"Got it in one."  He signaled the bartender and ordered, paying for Sarah's like a gentleman.  "Friend of mine was County Sheriff when he got wounded on the job.  He called me to fill in temporarily."

"That must've ruffled some feathers."

"Not as many as you might think although that might be a case of delayed reaction."

Sarah listened and sipped as Beau unbottled and laid out one hell of a story.  It was a struggle to keep her poker face when he described the serial killer who'd kidnapped his daughter.  Revenge or justice or both-- burning the Panty Man didn't make Charlie any less gone, forever lost before she really had a chance to live.  "Thank the Goddess your daughter's all right," she said.

"I mean, yeah, Em's tough.  Shit she's doing better than her mom’n’me."  Oh boy, could Sarah relate, the pups taking in stride what broke their elders.  "Carla's moving back down to Houston, permanently.  Her family's all there.  She needs the support system.  Come to find out plenty of her friends were really Avery's friends and they didn't have much use for her with him gone."

"Assholes," Sarah gave her opinion.

Beau shrugged it off.  "Last time I talked to her Emily asked me point-blank if I was gonna relocate with them."

"You thinking of getting back together with your ex?"

He thought a moment.  "It's funny.  Ask me that question a year-- hell, even six months ago, I'd've leapt at the chance.  Carla . . . she's one of the most amazing women I've ever met.  I think I'm a better man than I was when she left me.  I know I could be a better husband to her.  I’ll always love her."

"But?"

"But."  Beau sighed.  "But the issues that drove her away, those haven't gone anywhere.  And I don't know if we'll be good to each other, after Emily goes off to college, starts living on her own."  After a moment's thought, Beau added, "Avery was a grade-A jackass but Carla loved him.  She's still in mourning.  I don't think trying to get back with her will do anything but end badly."

Sarah made an educated guess and said, "Besides, there might be someone else."

Beau's eyebrows lifted, just a little.  "Are you a cop in your day job or just really good at bar therapy?"

That surprised her into a chuckle.  "People open up to me.  Goddess knows why.  Who is she?"

"One my deputies.  Tubbs's undersheriff," he confessed.  Sarah winced.  "Yeah.  I mean, she's . . . beautiful, tough, smart.  Brave?  Hell she kicks down doors better'n I do.  I think . . ." he trailed off, shook his head.  "So yeah, there might be someone else.  But then there might not be.  She lost her husband little over a year ago, went through a real rocky patch right after.  I'm not sure . . . I don't know if she's really put all that in her rearview.  Plus, she's technically my subordinate and anti-fraternization regulations are a thing that exist.

"It's not just her though," Beau admitted.  "I moved up here pretty much done with ever’thing.  Not just from the job either.  Didn't see much point to doin' anything but the daily routine.  Some days not even that."  Sarah nodded.  She could relate to that too.  "Then Tubbs asked me to fill in for him, just until he got back on his feet.  Now it's looking like he's retiring completely and his job needs filling.  The City Council asked me if I'm considering running for the office next year.  I have to give them an answer by close of business Monday."

Sarah whistled.  "No pressure or anything."

"Nope.  I mean, it shouldn't even be a choice, really.  Any other candidates I can think of are local boys'n'girls.  Who'm I?  I'm just the out-of-towner who happened to be in the big chair when the murder rate spiked to the highest it's been in fifteen years.  And there's Emily to think of.  I . . . I lost a big chunk of her life when I was going through my bad time.  I don't want to lose any more."

"Buuuuuuut?" Sarah dragged out.

"But," Beau said, signaling for another beer.  "But I have a life here, a good life.  Last thing I expected.  I mean, I like the country.  I like the people.  I got a job that might lead to me doin’ some good, 'stead of just playing Catch Me Screw Me with the cartels all day ev'ry day."

"Okay," Sarah said, considering as she finished her beer and asked for another water.

"Ah," Beau said, lighting up like a man who'd just solved a riddle.  He really was unfairly handsome, Sarah thought.  "Pacin’ yourself?"

"Takes the curse off the hangover," Sarah lied.  "And I've made some dumb decisions while drunk."

"Mmm?  What sorta dumb decisions?"

"Aggravated assault decisions," Sarah said.  Before he could ask, she amplified, "Got in a bar fight with a couple of dickheads over a Lions game.  Put'em in the hospital.  Took a plea, did a year, completed my probation about fifteen years ago.  Luna's blood I feel old now."

"I'm impressed."

"Don't be," Sarah said, noting the closer look he gave her.  She'd admit to going to seed a bit the last few years.  "I took boxing lessons all through high school.  I've got a decent left for my size.  And the other guys were really drunk."  Being able to ignore pain at will helped there.  Shifting to Glabro to match their height helped too.

"Makes sense," Beau shrugged.  "What're your sorrows that they need drowning?"

"Nothing that can really be helped," Sarah said, thinking of Misty giving her pups suck and glowing with joy, Chainsaw taking his broken heart back to the solace of his people and trying so hard not to blame her for losing Tripwire.  Roger, oh Gaia and Her mercy Roger--  "The inevitable march of time.  Makes me mopey.  Your problem on the other hand, sounds like something that can be addressed plain and simple.  Stay or go?"

"What do you think?  You have kids?"

"Had," Sarah said, her heart throbbing along the scar.  Charlie had lived there once, under her heart.  "She died."

"Oh Christ, I'm sorry," Beau said.  It was fascinating, she could read his heart in his face.  "I feel like a dick, whining about--"

"Hey," Sarah said, twisting in her seat and reaching over to take his hand.  "We're not talking about me, we're talking about you.  Let me ask you this; have you talked to your daughter about what she wants?"

"Yeah.  She didn't come right out'n say so but she wants me close.  She feels safe with me.  God knows why."

"Because she knows for a fact you'll deconstruct anyone who so much as looks at her wrong," Sarah said.  She thought a minute.  "Your girl's how old, sixteen, seventeen?"

"She'll be seventeen in a few months."

"My advice, for what it's worth," Sarah said, "is call her tomorrow when you both have time to talk.  Ask her what she needs from you.  Does she need her daddy or does she need her father?"

"There's a difference?" Beau asked.  He hadn't moved to take his hand back.  Instead he gripped at her fingers.

"Yeah, there is.  Daddy makes your problems go away.  Father helps you fight them yourself.  If you try to be her father when she really needs her daddy, you'll wind up making her feel alone.  Unsafe.  If you try to be her daddy when she needs her father, you'll wind up undermining her sense of herself.  That'll push her away, just when she really does need you."

Beau stares at you.  "That's possibly the least stupid thing I've heard in a long time."

"Oh thanks," Sarah snorted.

"No I meant-- sorry, I didn't say that right."

"What I mean is," Sarah said, "if you're making the decision for her sake, it might not be a bad idea to make her feel like she's got something of a say in it.  You got a life here that you like and want to keep, and that's okay.  But you got a duty to her.  Wise woman told me once, if there's a conflict between your head and your heart duty gets the tiebreaker.  At least then if it turns out you made a mistake you won't get eaten alive by your own conscience."

Quiet from her drinking partner as he finished off his beer.  He didn't let go of her hand and Sarah didn't take it back.  Been a while, since she'd felt warm at the thought of a man's hands.  His were nice, big and thick-fingered, nails clipped close and tidy.

"Thank you," he said as he put the dead soldier down.  "That actually helps a lot."

"What'd'you think you'll wind up doing?"

"I don't know," he admitted.  "Least now I can think the problem through instead of just brooding over it.  But now I got another problem."

"Mmm?  What's that?" Sarah asked.

A slow smile lit the other man's face, turning him from nice to look at to honestly breathtaking.  "I gotta think of another problem for you to solve for me."

Sarah laughed.  "Smooth."

"Sorry, been a while since I tried to be good company to a lady."

"Lady?  Lady?  What lady?  Where lady?" Sarah asked, miming a confused look-around.  "Shit I wish you'd've told me you were trying to be a gentleman, I'd've used my company manners."

"No no no," he deflected with a raised hand, "you've been delightful.  I'm just sorry I'm out of problems for you to solve for me."

"If you're having car trouble I can take a look--" Sarah teased.

"Naw, Pedro's running like a sweetheart."  No mistake now, his hand was holding hers.  His thumb swiped across the soft skin across the back.  Beau pivoted in his seat, opening his body more to Sarah.  "I, uh . . ."

"Is this the part where you invite me over for coffee or am I supposed to invite you for coffee?  I haven't done the coffee thing in a while," Sarah put it out there.  "Cuz if you don't mind a walk I'd love to have you over for coffee."

Beau considered.  His eyes were a little soft with the effect of the beers.  It made him look even cuter.  Luna's blood he must've harvested broken hearts by the truckload when he was younger.  "I'd like that.  Some coffee."

---

"Oh we need to make a pit stop at the 7-11," Sarah noted as they walked through the bar's parking lot.

"Oh yeah?  What for?" Beau asked.

"Coffee.  You take cream and sugar?"

That surprised him into a laugh.

---

Beau paused when he got down to her underwear.  "It's okay," Sarah reassured him as he looked her over.  At the roadmap of battle scars all over her body.  "If they're a mood-killer for you that's fine.  We can get a good night's sleep and no hard feelings."

"They're very much not," Beau said, touching her face.  "Just don't find it so weird you put a couple guys in the hospital all of a sudden."

Beau had a few battle scars of his own, some knife cuts and a couple of bullet holes.  He seemed to view them dispassionately, a source of neither pride nor shame.  "Mmm," he grunted as Sarah traced light fingers over his ribs.  "Tickles."

"Sorry."  She firmed her touch, slid her hand to caress his chest.  Firm definition under a healthy layer of squish, haired up a bit across his pecs and down his tummy.  She picked up his hand and examined the tattoo on the inside of his forearm-- a fleur-de-lis with a crown and anchor.  "This is French isn't it?"

"Mmm-hmm," Beau said.  "My mother's family's French.  My real legal name's Beaumont Theodore Arlen."

"Beaumont Theodore?  You poor poor boy," Sarah said.

Smiling, Beau put a hand on her shoulder.  "What about this?" his thumb rubbed over the tribal pictogram inked below her collarbone.  Faded with age, not that it mattered.

"Sort of a family mark," Sarah vastly oversimplified.  "The ones on my arms're relics of a gang I ran with when I was younger.  And what have we got here?" she asked as she put her palm over his zipper.

"Well darlin’ thishere's a fella love'ta meet you very much," Beau grinned.

"Luna's blood don't tell me you named it," Sarah groaned around her giggles, as she worked his button open and slowly lowered the zipper.  "On second thought," she said after working his pants down enough to get a look at him, "a fella this handsome probably deserves a name."

"We don't really blush in Texas, so let me," Sarah squeaked as Beau reared up and flipped them over, pinning her beneath his body and giving her a kiss, "demonstrate my appreciation."

"Oh my," Sarah sighed.  Beau kissed down the pad of tummy fat, carefully avoiding the straight line of her hysterectomy scar.  "Your mama raised a very polite boy."  Tipping her a wink, Beau split her with his thumbs and applied his mouth.  Sarah just shut her eyes and enjoyed it.  She couldn't remember the last time a man had done that for her.

"Such a mess for me," Beau noted when he came up for air.  Hot and flushed and panting, Sarah watched him squirm his pants off to land of the floor.  He belly-crawled and rolled to flop next to Sarah, hot and really unfairly fucking glorious in his birthday suit.  He had his wallet in his hand and with a little pleased grunt he pulled a condom out of the inner pocket.

"Allow me," Sarah said, taking the packet away from him.  Beau gave a little be-my-guest wave.  He fit in her hand just right, hot and firm.  Hearing him moan was lovely, as she clamped the condom packet between her lips and just played with him.  Easy to forget how much fun cocks were to just play with.

Beau seized Sarah's hand.  "Gotta stop a second," he panted.  "It's late, I'm tired, and I'm pretty sure I'm only gonna be able to do this once."

"Sorry, got carried away," Sarah said.  Wrapping him up was the work of a minute.  "How do you want me, cowboy?"

“Mmm . . . right about here I think,” Beau said, tugging her up and rolling her beneath him.  Sarah sighed as he pressed into her.  He was warm, warm and thick.  “Oh you make little sounds,” Beau said, because of course he was a talkative lover.

“Careful please,” Sarah said, breathing through the stretch, Little Beau wasn’t very little and it’d been a while.

“Accourse, accourse,” Beau kissed her.  “Lord Jesus you feel nice.  All soft and warm.”

“Careful, careful,” Sarah said as Beau braced his arm on the bed.  He lifted her leg and his hips moved in a wave.  Sarah sighed, he was moving inside her just so nice.  “Goddess yes,” she sighed.

Grinning big and bright, Beau brought her carefully to the edge and over.

As sparkles snapped along her nerves, Sarah flipped Beau over and returned the favor.

---

Glass cool and dusty under his fingertips, the heart inside still vivid red with the living blood it had once driven forth.  Twist slowly clockwise and the masking tape label bearing the single word in Sharpie -- EMILY--

Whirl around and there she was, the she become an it, laying with eyes open and empty right along with the chest.  And more.  There were other jars, other names.

CARLA.  RANDY.  BEN.  DENISE.  CASSIE.

Open empty eyes, open empty bodies, and the knife with her name was in his hand--

Beau woke up gasping.  Breathing exercises, breathing exercises, pull on the air there's plenty of it.  Beau pulled in for five heartbeats, pushed out for five heartbeats.  In, out.  His heart slowed as his breathing did.  Under the sheets his toes clenched and relaxed.  Beau let the motion ground him, pull him back to himself and the world where Emily was okay and it was just a dream.

And a world where he wasn't alone tonight.  How 'bout that.

Sarah wasn't any kind of beauty, a woman pushing fifty who'd lived hard and looked it.  On the other hand, she'd been kind without making him feel like he needed to be managed like Carla, and without the baggage of mutual attraction like Jenny, and not someone whose good opinion he cared about like Cassie or someone who’d been through enough already like Denise.  Beau got feelings about people sometimes, and his intuitions told him Sarah was good at carrying secret things.

He checked his phone, nodded at the lack of messages, and burrowed back under the covers.  As he did, Sarah grunted a bit.  Her muscles were rigid and her breathing was short and shallow.  Carefully, Beau spooned himself behind her.  "Hey there," he said softly, kissing her shoulder, "hey wake up, it's a dream, shh."

"I know that babe," she said, sleepy but clear, "I've had bad dreams all my life."  She rolled over and let Beau pull her close.  Kissing him, she asked, "What about you?  You okay?"

"Yeah."  He kissed the top of her head.  Stroking down her back and making a mental map of the scars under his fingers.  "My daughter's okay, the bad guy's dead."

"Right.  Just your imagination being a dick to you."  That made him chuckle.  "Go back to sleep.  Sounds like you could use it."

"Yeah," Beau agreed.  He took a breath from her hair, smelling cigarettes and beer and sex.  All that plus a warm body alongside his-- all of it pulling him far away from his usual and customary.  It felt nice, a little time-out from his reality where all the choices seemed bad for one reason or another. Beau shut his eyes and let fatigue do its thing.

When he woke up next the bed was empty and the room was full of morning light.  The bathroom door was shut and he could hear the blow dryer.  And singing-- Beau chuckled when he heard Sarah's alto voice singing something he didn't recognize.  Something sweet and melancholy, something that made Beau wish for his guitar.  God, there's something he hadn't thought seriously about in forever, just one of the many small joys that had died with Randy--

That's not true, something in his head spoke up, and for once the voice was gentle instead of accusatory.  Not dead, just put away for a while.  He wondered if Jenny sang, wondered if her voice went high and sweet or deep and smooth--

As he thought he sat up and found his phone.  No messages, thank the good Lord.  As he sent a quick good morning text to Emily, the blow dryer shut off.  "I alone, survived the sinking," Sarah's voice went softer, mindful that someone might be sleeping, "I alone, possessed the tools, on that ship of fools."

Sometimes a man is cursed with the need to know a thing.  Beau opened the browser on his phone and started typing.

The bathroom door opened and Sarah emerged wrapped in a towel, brushing out her long brown hair.  "Oh, good morning.  Shower's free."

"Thanks," Beau gave her a smile and hit the restroom.

---

Sarah got dressed as Beau got cleaned up and ready to face the day.  The day was shaping up beautifully, just right for a long drive down out of the mountains.  Been a long time since she'd been so by herself, not tied up in her responsibilities as pack alpha or sept warder or tribal elder or den mother.  And such lovely new memories to reflect on, she thought with a smile.  If tired and drunk Beau was this fantastic in bed she truly envied the woman who landed him long-term, scars and all.

She was just finishing up with the packing when the bathroom door opened.  "Hey," she said, "I'm on my way out the door but if you want we could grab some breakfast and I can drop you off somewhere."

It wasn't Beau looking at her, it was a cop studying a suspect.  Those beautiful eyes said very clearly bullshit me at your own risk.  "I know who you are."

"Really," Sarah said, pulling her bag up onto her back.  She stood straight and met his hard stare with her own.  "And who am I?"

"Stalinski, Sarah Michaela," Beau recited.  "Person of interest in the Chippewa Valley reactor bombing, person of interest in the Exxon Transit Pipeline sabotage, suspect in the murder of Willard Mikaelian--"

"AKA the Panty Man, and my daughter was his last victim," Sarah pointed out.  He never got to hurt another baby girl again, was the part she didn't say.  The law didn’t handle him for shit.  I did.  She left that part unsaid too.

Beau blinked, but that was all.  "You've got an FBI file thicker'n the King James Bible and your name's on half a dozen terrorist watch lists."

Sarah kept his gaze.  She really didn't want to hurt him if she didn't have to, not as a cop doing his duty.  "So."

"So."

"Am I under arrest?  Being taken in for questioning?  Detained just for the hell of it?"  Because that wasn't happening.

He didn't answer right away.  "No.  No, the only thing I can honestly accuse you of is getting drunk in a bar.  Which isn't illegal."

"Then,” Sarah asked, clapping her hands on her thighs, “why the dramatic reveal?  You wanna feel like you got the upper hand on me?  You got it, you win, fair and square."  He hadn’t and never would, but if the Goddess was good he’d never know that.

"Fine,” Beau said, and Sarah made a mental note to check his bloodlines because a human should not have this much presence, “I want you out of my county, and I don't want to ever see your face here again.  If I do I will turn you over to the feds.  Clear?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow.  "Your county?  Sheriff?"

Beau blinked.

"Sounds like your decision's been made.  And message received-- Helena is a no-fly zone from now on."  Sarah opened the door, but turned to look back at her one-night lover.  "For what it's worth," she said, "you're a good man, and you need to cut yourself some slack.  Take care of yourself Beau Arlen."

With that food for thought plated and served, Sarah shut the door and headed for the car.  Stranger In Town went in the stereo and Sarah drove away into the risen sun.

---

AN2: The scene stuck in my head so hard, I had to write it out. I just got done watching Big Sky, and it's a deep shame the series wasn't picked up for a fourth season-- I'd've loved to have seen Beau and Jenny running head-to-head in the next sheriff's election. Oh, and gotten more Emily. I love Emily.

[paracosmicessence]

have doodle lol

functionally, i am alive, emotionally?? idk about that work has me crying almost everyday now chat idk if i can do this anymore

[stump-not-found]

mabel pines #1 hater

[amberluvsbugs]

Five nights at Freddy's Security Breach and Poppy Playtime walk into a restaurant or arcade.

What are the results?

I think they would love to compete together in an arcade area.

[inheroes--wetrust]

i just had to steal this from twitter because this is the funniest fucking thing ive ever seen in my life. the MOST divorced couple of all time.

[shiftylinguini]

Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack:

@phoebe-delia asked in response to this fun lil ask game:

Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back? . (for the ask anything) Do you have any advice for getting out of a slump/getting writing confidence back?

Now THIS. This is a good question, and something that is very much on my mind and has been for a while, as I am currently absolutely in the midst of this and trying to army crawl my way out. I don't have any magic bullets (is that the saying? idk) but I have been here before and i do have a small arsenal of tips or methods that I find can help me. 

Here is my Fuck I Can't Write Crisis Pack (In no particular order):

Write anything 

This is hardly groundbreaking advice, and it's also the hardest thing to actually do (imo) so do not beat yourself up if it takes a while to get to this. Basically, write ANYTHING―it can be aimless, it can be pointless, it can be crap (crap is subjective!! don't let the brain gremlins win!!). 

Don't think about posting it, don't worry about anyone else ever reading it, just fling a few words onto a page and feel the rusty faucet turn on, proving to yourself that it still works. 

Try and sus out what it is that's blocking you 

Again this one is hard and annoying but functional. Once you can put your finger on the particular reason you're staring at a flashing black line on a blank page it can help you kick that reason off your lawn and into the bin. 

And then, take it out of the bin and be kind to yourself about whatever that reason is. Maybe you feel shit because you're comparing yourself to others, your last fic felt like a lead balloon, you can't muster enthusiasm for what you once loved doing and fear that it's gone forever, you're projecting in a Tumblr post―whatever it is, it's something all the writers you admire and aspire to be like have felt, and been annoyed with themselves for, and so you can wrap it up in a blanket and put it on a shelf and be kind to it so it, (respectfully) shuts the fuck up. 

(and remember, everyone feels insecure about their stuff. Like literally everyone, at some stage, feels like their stuff is rubbish)

Cheat on your OTP 

Okay this one might not work for everyone, but it really does for me lol. Ruts (not the sexy kind) can often come with not wanting to engage in my usual ships, being annoyed by my lack of ability to fucking write them/anything/all my ideas taste like cardboard/bleh, and stepping out on them and reading something new can snap me out of it. Just, an injection of new ideas or scenarios or words or even just a little reprieve from being fed up with myself, which ideally, is why we're all here anyway. 

(And then I come crawling back, and am welcomed with open arms haha)

In a similar vein:

Engage in media 

This subtitle is genuinely terrible, i am sorry, LMAO, but essentially: find a piece of media that makes you go "oh, helLO sailor", unhinge your jaw like a snake, and consume it whole. 

Let it nourish you, inspire you, excite you, making you feel SOMETHING, and then take that and think "fuck, what if i wrote bleepbloopblarp" and even if you write nary a single word, you've thought about it and that fucking counts. 

It might be an album, a book, a song, a show, gifs of a hot person, the wikipedia summary of a movie, literally anything counts here if it makes you feel a twinge of creativity. 

Ask yourself, what would Astolat do? 

No for real. @candybarrnerd and I genuinely use this haha.  

Worried your idea is stupid? Astolat would say write it. 

Worried it's too weird? Nah, just write it. 

It's dumb and no one will read it? Just write it for you *waggles eyebrows* (and then find out that yeah, nah, someone else will absolutely read this and be real fucking happy about it haha.)

Worried you're a one trick pony and have already written this fic before, like, and not even once before, and also you're projecting again in Tumblr post? WRITE IT AGAIN! As Astolat once said, "it's a fic so nice, I wrote it thrice". 

It's good advice. 

Make a friend or lean hard on the ones you have here

Misery loves company because it knows they'll come out of this together :). I know, I know, that's fucking NAFF, but fandom is all about finding like-minded freaks and blowing up their DMs because you saw a gif and now feel a kind of ways about it. 

And lastly: 

FUCK STATS! 

I mean I love stats (yay validation!), but god can they make you feel like a worthless shit (hey where did my validation go :((( ). It can be really insidious, so piss that right off when it starts to fuck with your confidence or outlook on your own writing.

Hopefully there is something useful here, even if it's just looking at this advice and thinking "no that's shit, it's writing POISON" cos then you can maybe do the version you think is NOT shit, and that might work. 

Good luck, fellow travelers!!

[mikachusblog]

💒

[spokeplushie]

gay people can’t just say “i love you”, they always gotta pull some crazy shit like this:

[essektheylyss]

WWE Final Result: Eventually, There's Only One Left...

And the polls are closed.

It has been a wild week, and these thirty-two wizards have sure been through some situations. You've cheered! You've cried. You've laughed, I hope. You've written glorious speeches, made videos, edited memes, and shown off some impressive artistic prowess. To get a bit sentimental here, it was a joy and an honor to campaign alongside and against you all, and to see what awe-inspiring and absurd things you have created in defense of your wizards.

But as it always must, it has come down to one.

Our winner of the World Wizard Entertainment is, with the power of friendship, comedic bits, and unstoppable tiddies: Caleb Widogast.

Here is the trophy, it's leaving my hands— and— it's already gone. Does anyone see Mrs. Brenatto? No? Okay.

The Keeper of Scrolls has kindly invited the competitors out for drinks on the Por'co tab before hopping over to Tal'dorei to clean out Mr. Gilmore's shop of arcane foci, so there will be no opportunity for autographs, and if you are looking for glorious goods, I suggest you try the Marquet locations.

All four of Pumat Sol will be out of commission for a week—that shopkeep parties hard.

(Oh no, yeah, no one's dead, hahaha, when I said there was only one left you thought—? oh boy, no, these weren't death matches, you're thinking of Garyon Garrington's Plunder Games. No, they're not airing right now. Something about a lawsuit, I think.)

If you would like to relive the saga of the World Wizard Entertainment, you can find those posts here, along with the original rankings, methodology, poll results, and campaigning. Do peek through the notes for more spectacular commentary, as it is delightful. (And if you would like to see even more of the absurd and wacky content that did not make it into the main tag while I was trying not to clutter things, #VETHSWEEP.)

Now please check your DMs, as one lucky winner has been chosen... to pay for my ensuing therapy bill! This kind of mental tenacity ain't cheap, folks.

The Ultimate Losers tournament commences on Thursday, March 2nd, at 7pm PST. As if defeat at the hands of a kind, underappreciated teacher and animal lover wasn't enough, Ludinus Da'leth is coming BACK FOR MORE against the Bells Hells!

And lastly, thank you all so much for participating. I know some of us have had our differences, but now, at the end, we come together—and if there's one thing we can all agree on, it's Veth Brenatto's Big Naturals.

(Wait— Sorry, who's calling? Say that name again. Vinni— Vince? Vince Mc—? Nah, don't recognize him.

Put it through to voicemail.)

[thankstothe]

[panstrange]

not one day goes by without me thinking about "pity, yes, but guilt, no" and then like 30 minutes later "you can't feel that much guilt without love"

[chaos0pikachu]

if the friend group had one functioning Auntie in the group they all wouldn't be Like This someone call Tankhun from Kinnporsche these kids need backup

[atlasdoe]

i wanna write a fic called "help i'm still at the restaurant" where some of the marauders characters work at a restaurant with a high turn over and every chapter focuses on a new character joining the staff and telling the story about how/why they left/got fired

[metaltea]

I was never allowed to stay with my therapist long due to my mother not wishing to pay for it, but yeah, I kinda understand where you're comming from. With anything dealing in the realm of 'getting better' there are extream highs and lows. Your brain has been wired to work a certain way fir so Long it's not use to the change, even if positive. You're making progress though. Your getting better even if the lows are still there trying to eat away at you. Therapy takes time, and isn't a permanent fix. But it sounds like it's helping you get and feel better, so I think you're doing amazing. Your are willing to put the effort in and that in itself is incredible. I'm sure your dreams will inevitably return to a comforting place. Because you are an amazing person and I am certain you'll get through this!!!

(Sorry that I talk like a therapist wannabe lmao)

1

AAAAAAAAAAAAAA change is scary and I don't like it. It feels like I'm shifting as a person somehow and I do NOT like that at all... but I also can't just be an anxious shut-in who's scared of living forever S I G H

[madou-dilou]

Viren and Soren : sacrifice for the realm

Both of them are bound to this notion more than any of the other characters.

Viren first refuses to die to save the king, because he knows his dark magic makes him too valuable. Sarai, the queen, died so he could perform it. Plus, dying for the king is the job of a soldier, not that of the High Mage.

But Soren, being a Crown guard, immediately agrees, so much that no one even thinks of asking him his opinion, not Viren, not Harrow, not even Claudia, not even the show. It's obvious.

Viren then agrees to die to save everyone including the king, and tells it to Soren, not Claudia, because he knows he will understand, not her.

When King Harrow dies despite their best efforts, Soren and Viren's paths eventually diverge. They have different definitions of "the right thing", of Harrow's legacy. To Viren, it's the realm. To Soren, it's the princes.

They think that they have no choice when Viren decides to have the boys murdered, and when Soren decides to kill Viren, stabbing him in the heart, to protect them.

Viren is so obsessed with sacrificing himself that he thinks it gives him the right to sacrifice everyone else, including Soren. Soren understands this, he understands Viren's position that one's own life is less valuable compared to the realm. Soren decided to be a Crownguard and is loyal to a fault.

The problem with Viren's attitude is that he gaslights Soren and completely devaluates Soren's sacrifice. And that is because he devaluates himself as well, thinking he's only worth as much as what he can do with dark magic.

That's why all though Viren is trying to protect and save Soren by casting on him the fire-proofing spell, Soren is afraid it's just yet another way of dehumanising him, and leaves Viren.

Before stabbing him through the heart, thinking he was about to kill the princes.

And then, in season 6, Viren is trying to make amends with Soren. He tells him he is so proud of his good heart. But it's too late. Soren rejects it, not believing him, because Viren used to gaslight him.

Then Viren is put in the position he thought he was in, in s1-3, where dark magic is the only thing keeping the innocent safe from the monstrous dragons.

Viren, now terrified of dehumanising people as he used to, is forced back into this way of thinking. And Soren, ever the Crown guard, immediately proposes himself as a sacrifice to fuel the spell he once ran away from. Viren has just praised his good heart, but Soren is taking it literally. Just like Viren had ordered him to, years ago, in that very same cell.

In season 5, Viren told Aaravos he would never sacrifice Soren, which made all of us laugh back then since he did it in season 3. But back then, it was for the realm. In season 5, Aaravos was asking Viren to kill his son so he could live. Which Viren can't possibly accept.

But now, Viren is horrified. Not even the safety of the realm is worth the death of his son.

"You do anything for your children. Not the other way around."

So he stabs himself in the heart.

I can't help but thinking the reason why Soren immediately offered himself was a symptom of a low-self esteem he got from Viren's abuse. And Viren realises it. That's why Viren uses himself instead.

Both have self-destructive tendancies : Soren is a crown guard, Viren is a dark mage. Soren is happy to be paralyzed because it means he can no longer do anything, least of all hurting the princes; he kills his dad; he lets himself be beaten up over and over by Elmer; he tells Viren to kill him as a sacrifice. Viren helps the queens of Duren, performs dark magic, destroying his own health, he wants to die to save Harrow, he commits treason against the realm, which sentenced him to death, he sells his soul to worse-than-death-Aaravos and lets him violating his boundaries over and over as he pleased in absolutely gross ways.

Soren's abusive upbringing probably had a hand in it. And we don't know what trauma Viren went through, but it most likely wasn't fun either.

Viren wrote this letter before he died so that Soren would understand that if Viren became a monster, it was not his fault. It is Viren and Viren alone who chose to become a monster by hitting Kppar then Lissa, causing her departure, then making Soren pay it all throughout his childhood. The letter was meant to release Soren from all guilt. Because when you get given the cold shoulder by your father all through your childhood, you’re confusingly thinking it must be your fault. And, as is well known, all children of a divorce think it’s their fault.

It’s a parallel to the letter that Harrow wrote to Callum just before he committed suicide. It also aimed to free him from the past and from the wrongs of the previous generation.

The problem is, reading this could just as well ("just as well", we see this as Kosmo is talking about the potential futures and the multiverse) make Soren feel worse.

Because this letter confirms that it was to save him that Viren destroyed the family, even if it was a choice that Viren made. Soren remembers that he was sick, his grandfather disappeared, his father saved him and his mother left, but he could never make the connection between all these events.

This letter means that the mere fact that Soren is alive was the first crack that eventually brought down the whole house.

Viren chose to burn the letter, because he hoped to spare his son such a burden. He chooses to die alone, misunderstood and reviled. No one will see the blood that he’s spilling on the floor.

Viren's corruption journey started with saving him as well, since it involved dehumanising Lissa by transforming her tears as a component. And now, at last, he closes it, stabs his own heart, saving Soren with the same spell he once ran away from.

All in service of the realm.

[soypeachypt2]

I’m still alive I promise I was just going through some shit